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."


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.


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.


Spell-Bound

Megan hypnotizes Erica into becoming a burly lion barbarian; the now-male Erica takes control and hypnotizes her right back. Explicit.

While Erica leaned back cross-legged on her girlfriend's bed, Megan pulled a mahogany jewelry box down from the top of her bookshelf. Holding it in one hand, she opened the lid and lifted a brass stopwatch out by its long chain.

Erica stifled a snort. "You're gonna use that to hypnotize me?"

Megan's cheeks turned red. She began to bundle the chain into her palm. "Well, I mean, I don't have to use it. I want you to be comfortable. I thought—"

"No, it's fine." Erica shook her head. "I just figured a watch would be, like, too stereotypical."

The smile returned to Megan's face. "It's easier with a physical focus," she explained, scooting up onto the bed to sit in front of Erica. Megan had insisted that the both of them dress down to just their underwear, though she hadn't explained further than to say that this was going to be a 'sexy hypnosis session'. She'd dodged every question Erica asked about what that meant or what she was going to do, though Megan had been clear that Erica would be able to stop any time if she wanted. Megan had been so eager Erica couldn't refuse. It was hard to say no to those big brown eyes.

Megan bent over the watch, clicking the stopper a few times, then winding it up, clicking it again, and winding it one more time before she seemed satisfied. Holding the chain between her fingers, she let it drop from her hand and spin until all the kinks in the chain were worked out.

"So what do I have to do?" Erica asked.

Megan caught the stopwatch between her hands and held it between her palms. "Just listen to me. You'll know what to do," she said. She waited until Erica's eyes were on her, and not on the watch. When Megan was sure she wasn't looking, a tiny glimmer of light flickered across the brass case and wove down into the clockwork gears. The spell was set. Megan opened her hands again and smiled. "Ready?"

Erica re-crossed her legs to get comfortable, sat up straight, and nodded at Megan. "Hypno away," she said. She tried not to be too sarcastic. As dorky as she thought all this fantasy role-playing stuff was, she knew Megan was into it.

With a click of her thumb, the watch began ticking. Megan dropped it from her hand, then let it sway at the end of its chain. A slight tip of her wrist from side to side kept it swinging.

Curious, Erica followed the swinging watch. She wondered what it was about watches that was supposed to be so trance-inducing. Maybe the gleam of the light rolling off of brass and crystal, maybe the way the second hand spun within the pendulum's arc, maybe the tick-tick-tick-tick that kept tick going and tick wouldn't tick stop tick.


Dog Days

In this story, someone turns into a cartoon rubber doberman, then turns someone else into a cartoon rubber poodle via sex. So, y'know, be warned. Explicit.

It started with a hiss.

He'd been hunched over the desk for---geez, was that the time?---hours, and his back had begun protesting. He set down the pen and rose from his seat, straightened up and arched his spine. There went his joints: pop, pop, pop! A crack so sharp he heard it echo down the hall, followed by a low, steady hissing noise.

Did someone turn on a faucet? He cocked his head, glancing up at the ceiling, then over his shoulder. The sound wasn't coming from the walls. And it wasn't quite as light as running water; it sounded tighter and thicker. He turned in place and waited a moment, but the sound didn't change. The heavy hiss seemed like it was coming from...beneath him.

He looked down. His eyes fell on his crotch, bulging against the front of his jeans. Its shape was smooth and swollen, and slowly straining against the denim while he watched. He staggered backward; his bulging crotch bobbled from side to side against his thighs. The wall caught him and he stood there, staring down at his expanding crotch.

Damn it, not again!


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.