Octopus Ink

I wrote this octogirl TF as a quick experiment to get a sense for how the changes might work. Explicit.

As I draw the water for a bath, I lean over the tub and squeeze a few drops of blue octopus ink from an eyedropper. They hit the water and billow out into columns of ribbon that drift in the flow from the spout. The little plumes remind me of jellyfish, which have always given me the creeps. The bottle says two drops, but last time I barely felt it, so I do four drops to make sure, then set the bottle and dropper on the edge of the tub.

I just want to relax for a couple hours, but in the back of my head, I keep telling myself I should be doing something productive instead. I strip off my clothes and toss them into the laundry hamper, then kneel down next to the tub and swirl my fingers through the water, until it's blended into a solid, bluish color. I flick the water off my fingers and look down at my reflection. There's nothing wrong with wanting to feel good for the rest of the evening. To keep myself from chickening out, I plunge right in, slipping over the edge and splashing down into the water.

The water's hot at first, but it's not hard to get used to it, especially as I lie back and settle in. It's only high enough to come up to the tops of my thighs. The flow from the spout douses my toes as I stretch out my legs and lean against the back of the tub.

It's hard to tell when the changes kick off, because I start anticipating the feelings before they happen; the warmth of the water soaking into my skin, my muscles tingling as they stretch. The easiest way to tell is to watch my legs. After a minute, the blue ink starts to seep in, leaving its tint on my skin. When I lift my legs out of the water, I can make out new coloration emerging: lighter along my inner thighs, darker along my hips.

I stretch my toes out into the water and sink into the tub with a little shudder. I'm definitely not imagining the feelings any more—I can feel them even when I try to ignore them. My joints go loose and warm and elastic. My shoulders relax. I curl one of my legs out of the water, enough for me to run my fingers across the slick surface of my skin. It's like stroking your leg right after shaving, but infinitely more smooth.

The water's high enough to lap at my ribs now. I take my arms off the sides of the tub and dunk them under the water, spreading my fingers, letting my skin soak up the ink.

There's a gentle thrumming running through my head, rising up from my temples and washing over my forehead. I can feel the blood thumping beneath my skin. Everything in my head starts to shift backwards. It's definitely weird, it freaked me out the first time I tried this, and it still plays hell with my balance. I tip my head forward, chin to my chest, and close my eyes. My forehead slopes back, receding as my head elongates behind me. My ears pop. I try not to think too hard about the faint gurgling noises coming from my growing mantle.

I blink my eyes open so I can check on my arms and legs. My arms are light blue along the top and pale along the bottom. Thick webbing runs between my fingers, thick enough that I can't quite spread them. They've both got a floppy, rubbery sort of feeling, like when your arm falls asleep and the whole thing goes limp. My legs are further along: a richer shade of blue, with the tiny buds of suckers dotting the insides of my thighs. I can't even see my feet, they've vanished into the tapered tips of my growing leg-tentacles. They curl and twist lazily in the water, testing their newfound flexibility.

With a soft groan, I slip further down into the tub. Although my body's absorbing some of the water, taking it in along with the blue ink, it's still rising higher. It's up to my shoulders now. My legs slip open underneath the water. The aquatic coloration creeps further up my torso; between my legs, I see a pale mound with a pair of whitish folds. I roll my hips and take a deep breath. I feel swollen and sensitive. My heart thumps along and that same beat throbs across my skin.

Why am I getting so excited? Sure, the ink's gotten me worked up before, but never so much so fast. Maybe it's the extra ink. For a moment, I consider climbing out, but even just sitting up makes me so dizzy I slump back down into the water with a groan.

My eyes roll back and slide shut. My head's changing more: the new ridge of my brows form above my eyes, my nose vanishes into the retreating slant of my face, and holes almost like spouts open where my ears would be. I can breathe through those now. The whole time, my mantle's growing bigger and heavier, weighing down my head. It's like a long, rounded crest, a thick lobe rippled with blue hanging behind my head. The nubs of my other four tentacles are already dangling from its underside.

When you're human, you kind of place yourself right behind your eyes. That's where 'you' are, centered on your face. When you turn into an octopus, that kind of...stretches out. You're up behind your face, stretched between there and your mantle. It's a trip, having your sense of self elongated. I know it bothers some people, but it makes me feel like I'm so much more a part of this new body.

It still makes me dizzy, though. My eyes flutter open a few times, my pupils dilate wildly, and the bathroom lights kaleidoscope around me. My right eye settles down first into a solid, iridescent black, then my left follows a few seconds later. I don't see colors quite the same any more; it's like looking through a photo filter.

To fight the dizzy feeling, I slip down beneath the water and wrap my arms around me. They're more tentacles than anything now. They curl smoothly around my chest, sliding slick across my skin and against each other, until they've wound around my body a few times each. I look up at the rippling light above me, and take slow, steadying breaths of water.

Another, stronger shudder runs through me, and a groan bubbles up from my lips. My leg-tentacles squeeze and coil around one another and the new tentacles growing from my mantle curl behind my back. My whole body is going soft and pliable. I can arch my back further than I ever could, twist my hips, roll my joints—it's such a refreshing change from a stiff, rigid human body.

My growing mantle-tentacles slip around my torso. They test out their new suckers, plucking at my waist, stretching, exploring, nearly as thick as the tentacles hanging from my shoulders. They drape around me, rolling across my body as they grow. One of them wraps itself across my breasts, curling until its suckers can pluck at a thick, dark blue nipple. Another winds its way down around my hips, slips between my legs, and presses itself between my pale folds.

My black eyes widen and my body arches upward. A sharp gasp rises from my throat. My tentacles tense and tighten and grip anything they can: the sides of the tub, my body, each other. My tentacles aren't easy to control; not that they have minds of their own, but they're more in tune with my subconscious than my conscious. Which means that if I'm feeling horny, they're going to help.

My suckers roll across my skin in slow waves. The water sloshes in the tub as I wriggle against my own tentacles. Those probing, curling suckers squeeze and knead like a hundred little mouths suckling at my clit. I can't muster the force to pull my tentacles away—tugging at them only makes them more excited, and I'm too caught up in the rippling pleasure washing over me. My leg-tentacles squeeze together as my body starts to rhythmically rock..

I feel like I'm being stretched out, not just pulled up into my mantle but down into my tentacles too. It's a hyper-aware feeling, like I'm in all of my body at once, but I can't quite cooperate with myself. My tentacle-selves want to grope and explore and my torso-self wants to buck against the squirming, sucking, pumping tentacle between my legs, and my mantle-self wants to get the rest of me under control, and my original face-self wants to wrap my lips around something.

At first, I don't even realize this new urge is there. My mouth is changing: teeth merging into a chitin plate, tongue thicker and rounder, cheeks pulled higher and tighter, and lips growing thick and tender. They fall into a pout as I breathe in through my mouth, out through the holes on the sides of my head. My tongue darts across my lips and I squeeze them together and make a soft pop in the water. They don't feel all that different from one of the suckers on my tentacles: just as tender, just as tight, just as eager to squeeze around something.

With my sense of self so spread out, it's hard to keep tabs on all the parts of me, especially while I'm being fucked by my own tentacles. The slick skin of my pussy is even warmer than the water, and my nipples ache against the suckers wrapped snugly around their tips. Even with a single-locus human consciousness, I don't think I'd be able to stop myself as another tentacle loops around from behind and wriggles in alongside the first. I nearly ink myself on the spot.

The waves of coiling pleasure rolling through me pull me further and further from my human mindset. I feel less like a human in a new skin, and more like an octopus myself. It's part of what makes this so relaxing: I get to leave all that human-ness behind. It's even hard to consider why I spend so much time being human when being an octopus feels so good.

I feel my tentacles roll across my shoulders and down my back, kneading and massaging my skin, flowing free and loose in the water around me. I don't think I've ever been this into my new form before. I can't get enough of it. I briefly wonder if I might have used too much ink, but the thought doesn't quite make it from my face-self up to my mantle-self. The thick tip of one of my arm-tentacles curls up to touch my mouth, and as I slip it between my lips and start instinctively sucking on its tender cups, I forget what I was thinking about entirely.

Another few inches of muscular tentacle squeezes up inside of me. My black eyes flutter and I jerk upright, surfacing from the water. My arm-tentacles grip the sides of the tub. I take a couple panting breaths of air. Down below, my four mantle-tentacles keep working over my chest and between my legs. My skin glistens, wet and ripples with blue. Its colors shift subtly beneath the surface as my chromatophores shudder.

The bottle of ink is still sitting on the edge of the tub. I wrap the tip of a tentacle around it and pull it close to my face. My tongue rolls across my lips. I already feel so much better than usual, so much less human, that it's hard to think of any reason why I shouldn't take it all right now. I press the bottle to my lips and suck it down in one gulp.

The ink is oily and slick on my tongue, and as it rolls down my throat, I can feel instincts surging up fresh and raw inside of me. My mantle-self thinks that I need water to dilute the ink. My lips and my tentacles just want to squeeze tight around something. My eyes focus on the spout, still running water into the bath, and the rest of me moves before I even know what I'm doing.

I turn and roll over onto my back, twisting my torso around to put my head beneath the spout. My arm-tentacles wind tight around the base, so tight I can feel their suckers straining against the polished steel. They pull me up, lifting my shoulders and chest out of the water. My mouth opens wide, my lips close around the spout, and my throat starts steadily pulsing with each thick gulp of water.

My invigorated instincts only make my tentacles even more eager. They keep kneading at my chest and suckling at my pussy, writhing in coiled waves that make my whole body rock and make the water lap against the sides of the tub. My tentacles twist and tighten as I try to hold myself back—not trying to stop, but trying to pace myself, so I don't finish before I've fully enjoyed myself.

The shot of fresh ink and steady flow of water send a growth spurt rushing through me. My tentacles swell thicker and stronger; blue pigment rises to the surface of my skin, turning my coloration darker and more vibrant. My mantle bulges, hanging taut and heavy beneath me, while I clutch myself against the spout. I can feel myself tightening around my probing tentacles, squirming as they slip in and out in turn.

The new mass I'm gulping down swells out into the rest of my body, too. My chest pushes back against my tentacles, sloshing and squeezing, forcing me to adjust grip to keep a tight hold on them. Further down, my hips broaden, keeping pace with my thick, powerful leg-tentacles. Pulled taut around the lip of the spout, my lips bulge outward, growing rounder and plumper and even better at forming an airtight seal. I start sucking water down faster than it comes out. The pipes groan behind the wall as they strain to keep up with me.

My tentacles play with my swelling breasts, squeezing them curiously to feel them deform around their tight grip, or plucking their suckers against the smooth, rubbery skin of my nipples. The two tentacles between my legs writhe and suck and tug while I buck against them, eyes hanging half-closed, trying to squeeze them even deeper.

Each time I rock my body, my breasts slosh back and forth, hanging round and heavy in the open air, supported only by my tentacles coiling around them. The water in the tub splashes with each pump of my hips. My plump, swollen lips squeeze tighter than any sucker around the spout.

I orgasm and the rush hits me even harder than the water. My tentacles slip from the spout and I plunge back down beneath the surface. I ride out the rolling ripples that wash over me, shuddering and panting while my own blue ink clouds the water around my thighs. I unwind my tentacles from my body, and for a little while, I just let the waves rock me back and forth.

After a minute or two, I slip two tentacles over the edge of the tub and pull my head and shoulders up onto the edge of the tub. I sit there, panting softly, letting the water roll off my face and my mantle, my chest squeezed taut but pliable against the porcelain. When I'm ready, I have myself out and onto the floor. The tiles are cool and damp with condensation from the hot bath. Throwing a tentacle around the towel rack, I lift myself up and get my leg-tentacles beneath me. While it's not as easy as sitting or being in the water, there's nothing stopping me from standing on dry land.

I pass my tentacles across my sleek skin and flick off some of the excess water running down my body. A few dark, inky drops linger between my thighs, so I sweep them up with the tip of a tentacle and suck it clean between my lips. After indulging my instincts for a moment, I turn to look at myself in the mirror.

I make a gorgeous octopus, even by less-discerning human standards. They don't quite understand what makes an appealing mantle or coloration, but I can't blame them.

Turning from side to side, I tweak my chromatophores like a human fiddling with makeup. I settle on a simple undulating pattern along my mantle, and some carefully-chosen markings along my face to accentuate my eyes and cheeks. My lips hardly need accentuation, but I pick a pleasant sea green color for them, just to make them pop even more. All the while, my tentacles slowly wrap around me, curling through my cleavage and hugging my hips.

With a soft coo, I play with my tentacles, curling one around another, slipping one beneath another to lift it away, gently teasing them. Everything about my body feels so good and natural and pleasant, from the limber flexibility to the diffuse sense of self, that it's hard to imagine going back to being human.

Maybe I will in the end, or maybe I won't—but I want to see how long I can make this last. I'd been meaning to take a vacation soon anyway. A small smile comes to my lips. I can already imagine soft sand beneath my tentacles, warm ocean waves washing up against my thighs, cool drinks, and freshly-caught seafood.