What could be more soothing than being turned into a big, fluffy snow leopard? After all, cats are very good at relaxing. Explicit.
The receptionist swings the door open, then steps to the side with a gentle smile. "You'll be right through here," she says. "You'll want to take off your clothes. You can use the towel to cover up."
I've never had a massage before. Never been to a spa before either, but I got that gift certificate, and the way work's been lately, a full-day relaxation treatment is hard to pass up. I give the receptionist a shy grin. "Is that...should I take off my underwear too?"
She's probably gotten that question a ton. She shrugs and says, "Up to you, sir. Just lie down and ring the bell when you're ready."
I step into the room. She swings the door shut behind me. It's not a large room, but it's spacious. A thickly padded massage table sits in the middle, with plenty of room to move around it. The walls and cabinets are a deep, peaceful red. There's speakers in the corners playing a soft loop of natural white noise, wind rustling through leaves, birds chirruping, that sort of thing
There's a changing screen in the corner, so I step behind it and peel off my clothes. I want to be polite, so I fold up my shirt and pants and set them on the stool behind the screen. Then, after a bit of debate, I take off my underwear too, and tuck it between my other clothes. Before I step out again, I tug down the towel that's hung over the screen and wrap it around my waist.
I hop up onto the table, sit down with my legs over the side, and glance down at the brass bell sitting next to the headrest. Ringing a bell to make someone come feels weirdly posh, but if that's this spa's thing, I don't want to make it awkward. I pick up the bell and give it a loud ring.
A considerate couple of seconds later, the door swings open, and in come two women with short, dark hair and burgundy scrubs. "Hello, sir," says the more confident-looking of the two. "We'll be your masseuses today. If you would, please lie down on your back."
"Sure," I say. I turn around on the table, scoot in toward the center, then stretch out until the back of my head rests against the donut cushion at the top.
"Is this your first time getting a massage?" she asks.
"That obvious?" I say.
She takes a bottle of oil from her assistant and squirts a dollop into her hand, then starts working it between her palms. "You may feel some strain, but that's normal. Don't worry, just relax. You're in good hands."
Her hands lay on my shoulders, warm and soft. Her assistant is at the other end of the table, wrapping her fingers around my feet. I close my eyes and try not to think about how strange it feels to be touched so closely.
The stroking starts: her hands rest around my neck, then move downward and outward, toward my arms and toward my chest. Her pace is slow and gentle. She moves her hands back, presses outward again, and splays her fingers. I feel like a piece of paper she's smoothing out.
Her assistant rubs her fingertips into the underside of my feet. It's like she's working the stiffness to the surface, then massaging it out of existence. I feel one of the joints in my toes pop as her fingers squeeze around it like a potter twisting clay.
As they work at both ends of me, I can smell the warm oil they're kneading into my skin. It's lavender and cedar--the cedar makes the scent enticing, while the lavender softens it, keeps it from becoming overpowering. With slow, deep breaths, I sink deeper into the cushions and my eyelids relax.
I decide this is pretty nice already, and let go of the knot in my stomach.
The head masseuse's hands range down across my chest, reaching down to my stomach and digging into the soft skin there. Then she moves back up, kneading the muscles along my sides, until she gets to my neck again. Her hands work the stress from each joint in my neck as they move higher, until they finally reach my face.
Meanwhile, the other masseuse works her hands along my thighs and calves. I'm warm almost head to toe with the oil. it's slick, but it doesn't leave me feeling wet, and the fragrance is helping my mind to drift.
The masseuse's fingers press into my cheeks. The pressure is sudden enough that I tense up instinctively, but I make myself relax and I unclench my jaw. Her fingers sink in again, then draw back and pull outward. They spread, running from my cheeks to my jawline, then grip my skin and gently pull outward. I let my lips part and my jaw go slack. She squeezes my cheeks, rolling them up towards my eyes, then back down.
By now, my face feels like rubber: numb and pliable. To be fair, most of me feels like that right now. It's just more obvious where she's touching me, like the warmth from her hands is making me all soft and gooey.
Her fingers slide up around my nose, steepling together, then pushing back down against my lips and cheeks. With her palm, she slides up the bridge of my nose to my forehead, then spreads both hands across my brow and down to my temples. She does it all again, and I can feel a gentle strain in my cheeks and jaw, like it's being pulled farther than it wants to go. I try to stay relaxed, though.
For a moment, she lifts her hands off my head. My face is warm and sore and too relaxed to move. I hear her ring the bell again. A crack open one eye and tip my head to the side. A pair of masseuses, in the same burgundy scrubs, slip into the room. I lean back against the headrest as they step around to either side of the table. Each one takes one of my arms, turns it palm-up, and starts to massage from wrist to elbow.
My cheeks feel puffy and my lips are a little numb. While I try to talk, the head masseuse is pulling her fingers up along either corner of my mouth, so it comes out a bit slurred and soft. "Thish'h nice," I say. I blink a few times, fighting the urge to close my eyes and doze.
"We're just getting started," the masseuse says. Her hands press from my temples toward my nose again. It feels like she's pulling my whole face with them, stretching it forward while squeezing back against my nose. My nostrils flare wider and broader as I breathe in. The smell of the oil is thick, and the air in the room is warm and pleasant. I really could fall asleep if I wanted to. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
The pair of masseuses rub their palms across my hands and work the oil into my fingers. As it seeps in, my skin feels softer and more supple. They keep rubbing, kneading down into my palms. My fingers curl as they press into my hands. Back and forth. The oil softens, lets them squeeze harder. There's more skin to squeeze. The more they knead my soft, puffy palms, the softer and puffier they get.
Occasionally, they slide their fingers up around one of my fingers, working one by one, pressing their thumb into my fingertip, moving in tight circles. They push hard enough to drag my skin along, working it out thicker and fuller, until my fingers are tipped with plush, swollen pads.
My eyes flicker open one at a time, and I manage to squint up at the masseuse's face, past her thumbs squeezing my cheeks. "Nn-my hands...?"
"Don't worry," she says.
My cheeks feel too soft and too big, but I think that's got to be the afterglow of the massage. I curl my upper lip as I try to squint, and it too feels thick, overstuffed, struggling to squeeze against itself. The bridge of my nose looks longer, my nose itself flatter. "Mmface," I mumble, as she kneads my cheeks out thicker and my eyes slide shut again
The more my hands puff up, the easier it becomes to massage the soft pads and coax them to grow. My knuckles pop and the tendons in my arms grow warm. It's like they're stretching out my hands, making more space for big pads. And then, all of a sudden, fur. Even if I can't see it, I can feel the prickling as it fills in, thickening my fingers, making them even more pillowy. I curl my paw and tuck my thumb against my palm, like I'm making a fist. It feels as if I'm holding something in my hand, but all I'm holding is my own paw pads. The two masseuses politely uncurl my fingers and continue their massage.
I think it's then that it finally clicks in my head. Paws and fur and big flat noses. I'm turning into a cat. I arch my back and make a soft noise of protest, but the pair of masseuses politely hold my shoulders down.
Someone tugs at the towel around my waist. It's got to be the assistant. Even if my paws weren't pinned down and getting massaged, I'm not sure they'd be nimble enough to catch the towel before it's pulled off completely. My cheeks grow hotter against the masseuse's hands.
Then it gets worse. The assistant's soft, warm hand slips its fingers around my shaft. Her thumb grazes along the underside, stroking slowly. I can feel her knuckles pressing against my belly as she holds my cock steady. At the same time, her other hand presses up against the base of my balls. It's such a strange, unexpected pressure, but it makes me gasp and stiffen. Soon, with two fingers, she's kneading that tender spot, every so often pressing inward. Each time, there's a soft note of strain from my throat, and an insistent throb from my cock.
"Mmh, w-wait..." I say. My whole face feels numb and soft, like a costume mask over my actual face. The masseuse's fingers don't have to knead so deep now; now she can grab and pull and stretch my face like soft clay. The warm prickle of fur sprouts up across the front of my cheeks, underneath my flattened, stretched nose. It comes in thick and fluffy.
I try to move my paws, but they're held down against the table. Instead, I flex my fingers and extend my claws. They curl out in front of the thick pads, then slip back beneath the thick-and-thickening fur. It's already climbing up past my elbows, like a thick winter coat.
"Try to relax, sir," the masseuse says.
Her assistant shifts her hand every so often, changing her grip on my cock so it's always fresh. I'm stiffer, more tender. Her fingers squeeze, then relax. It feels more like a massage than a hand job, and throughout it all, she's applying a gentle downward pressure, as if she's trying to pull it down into my body. Her other hand still kneads at the soft spot behind my balls. Her fingers press up into me--up inside of me--and make me gasp and roll my hips against her hand.
The masseuse works her hands across my face, and where her fingers touch, I can feel the fur growing in after. It slides back along my thick snout and crops up across my cheeks. With a little twitch of my lip, the first whiskers poke from my upper lip. Her fingers slide through the thick, silvery fur. They grip it, pull it, and stretch it like putty.
The pair let go of my paws and move inward, in unison, like they've done this before. Their hands slide across my arms and my shoulders, then down to my chest. Their soft fingertips start to knead the bare skin, pulling and pressing and squeezing. Each time their hands press down, there's a little more give to my skin. Each time they pull back, my chest stretches up a little further. They work in an alternating rhythm; one pushes inward, the other drags out, then vice versa.
With each deep, lavender-and-cedar breath, there's more weight on my chest; more thick, soft, swollen mass stretching in front of me. Soon, the twin mounds on top of my chest are big enough that they can't be anything but breasts. Round, swollen, tender breasts.
I open my mouth to tell them to stop, but all that escapes is a heavy groan. The assistant's fingers have found some kind of...space between my legs. It's big enough for about two fingertips side by side, the skin's warm and swollen and each stroke of her fingers across it makes my whole body stiffen slightly. At the same time, her other hand is wrapped around my cock, which shrinks shorter with push and throb and groan, like it's slipping up inside of me. It's not any less sensitive, though.
The pair of masseuses work my breasts with their whole hands. They squeeze and knead and pull, and the bigger my chest swells, the more I feel the tightness and tenderness of my nipples. They're stretched by the growing size of my breasts, they're stiff and swollen, and whenever a fingertip brushes across them, it's like touching a live wire.
My eyes roll open and squint past my thick snout and plush cheeks. A thick puff of white fur is sprouting up right in the center of my chest, nestling on top of the deep cleavage between my breasts. My eyelids flutter shut again. I'm not struggling with sleep any more. It's the uneasy pleasure and strange stretching making my head spin and my thoughts a jumble.
The assistant shifts between my legs. There's less and less of my cock to squeeze between her fingers, but there's more space for her other hand to explore. Her fingers slide inside of me, rubbing against my swollen walls, spreading me wide open. My heart quickens, both because I know what's going on now, and because of the wrenching feeling of pleasure curling its way through my body. I'm not just turning into a cat, I'm turning into a cat woman.
And it feels really good.
The head masseuse's hands move from my face to my throat. Her thumbs graze along the front, pressing against my adam's apple. There's a soft pop of cartilage and a sudden shift in the back of my throat. My breath hitches in my chest. For a moment, I can't breathe. Then I can, but when I breathe out, there's a low rumble rising from my throat.
I try to tell myself that's not a purr, but I'm not sure I believe that.
My breasts are squeezing against each other now--the two masseuses will press down against one, and it'll squash up against the other, then back and forth. It's a slow rocking now, the weight of my chest swinging to one side, then the other, the skin tender and taut, with the occasional jolt from my swollen nipples. I can feel the fur spreading outward now, out from the thick tuft of chest fur, across my oversized breasts, and down my stomach. It's thick, white and downy.
The masseuse's hands lift away from my neck. In the couple seconds I have free, I reach for my face. My paws are thick and not very subtle, but even they can grab a handful of soft cheek fur. I hook my thumb underneath my lip and peel it up, feeling the thick fur wrinkle against my broad nose, and the big fangs curled behind my black lower lip. I wrap my paws around the sides of my face and push, and the fur squeezes up around my eyes. It's silvery gray, speckled with black spots. I comb my claws down through the layers of snowy fluff around my cheeks.
With freshly oiled hands, the masseuse comes back. She slides her fingers through my scalp, spreading the soothing warmth and fragrance. I can already feel the tingle as my hair sinks back and gives way to more thick, plush fur. My pelt's growing so thick and dense that I'm starting to pant in the heat. I could stand out in a snowstorm and not feel it. While my chest rises and falls with my heavy breaths, the pair of masseuses keep kneading and groping and stretching my breasts. With a fresh coat of fur, they look even bigger and thicker than before.
The assistant's hand is now resting against my crotch, stroking the soft fur growing out across my thighs and stomach. Two of her fingers are parted around a thick nub, as wide as her thumb, nestled between my swelling folds. It's so tender it's practically buzzing, and even the lightest brush of her fingertips is enough to make me squirm and whine.
With her other hand, she's fingering my pussy. Every push of her fingers makes more bits of my body slide and pop and shift inside of me. My hips curl up and my breath hitches each time.
My head rolls back and I try to keep my breath. My breasts are rising and falling into the pair's hands, making it even easier for them to squeeze and stretch them even larger, even rounder. The masseuse's fingers are kneading across my scalp, spreading my soft fur all the way from my forehead down to my neck. I feel like I'm being pulled in four different directions and I can't focus on anything but the feeling of being spread open.
The assistant's fingers push forward, my body jerks, and everything snaps into place. My muscles clench tight around her fingers and I melt into an orgasm. A loud, lingering yowl slips from my mouth, while a few drops drip from my new, plush pussy onto the massage table.
I slump back against the table and sink down into my own fur. Everything is so warm and thickly padded that it feels like I'm buried under a mound of pillows and blankets. They leave me alone for a moment, so I just sprawl out, gasping for air, fanning my face with a thick paw.
Still floating on the afterglow, I sit up a bit, reach out, and see how far I can reach around my chest. I slide my arm around one breast, trailing my paw through the fur until I feel bare skin under my paw pads. My nipple is fatter than my thumb, and the areola is bigger than a silver dollar. I reach further, trying to get to my other breast, and I just manage to stretch my fingers across the gap. They're big enough that I can only just barely cover both nipples with one arm. They're remarkably round and pert and soft, more like huge cushions than normal breasts.
Through the horny haze and the smell of oil and the ringing in my ears, I hear the masseuse say, "Turn over, please."
I try to roll over, but I'm still all numb and freshly thick from the massage. The side of my breasts bump up against the table, and I have to push myself up on my paw and hold back my chest just to get over onto my knees. They were prepared, though--the assistant grabs a stack of pillows out of one of the cabinets, and coaxed my head down on top of it. The pillows support my head, and take some of the weight off of my chest. They coax my head down onto a stack of pillows, so that even with my breasts underneath me, my head still has support.
Sleepily, I grind the side of my face, my thick muzzle and plush cheek, against the pillow. "Wh...what're you doing," I groan in that warm voice that's not quite mine.
The masseuse brushes her thumbs against my ears and begins to rub them between her fingers. I can feel her gentle tugs pulling them toward the top of my head, stretching the tips, curling their shape. "We're helping you relax," she says.
The more she rubs my ears, the better it feels. I want to tip my head to one side to let her get at more of my neck, but she's working both ears with both hands, so I'm stuck sinking my chin into the pillows. My eyelids start to fall and my throat lets out a soft rumble.
My hips flex and push my swollen pussy against the table. I'm still horny, even after that orgasm.
Now the assistant's massaging my lower back. Her fingers start on my thighs and slide upward, cupping over my ass, and coming together to knead her thumbs against the base of my spine. I lean back against her hands.
The pair of women massage the muscles along my arms and shoulders, squeezing and kneading them. The heat of their hands and the warm oil brings out new muscle tone across my upper body, though it's hard to see much definition beneath my thick fur.
"You're not going to worry about a thing while you're here, right?" the masseuse asks.
The pair move down along my back. Their hands leave my muscles aching, and swollen, and utterly relaxed. By now, I couldn't even move if I tried. My body's just too unwound to do anything. I lie there on top of the pillows, while they sink their fingers into my fur and knead more strength into my back.
Each time the assistant's fingers roll up over my ass, they squeeze that soft skin, coaxing it rounder and thicker with every push. When she presses her thumbs into the small of my back, my spine bends and I hear a few joints loosening and popping.
I purr at the massuese and shake my head slowly. It's not her eyes, or her voice, that's making me want to agree with her. It's those fingers behind my ears, pulling them out to either side of my head, filling in thick with fur. I need her to keep doing that. I'm horny, I'm light-headed, and I want to be rubbed.
"You're not even going to think about anything outside of the spa, right?"
The pair are down beside my legs now, working over my hips. They work deep into the muscle, rubbing and stroking, making sure there's plenty of power in my thighs, but they also use a lighter touch, too, moulding and stretching and kneading until my hips are soft and round and plush like the rest of me.
When my tail sprouts, it's like a kink in my back I never knew about suddenly popping free. The joints crack, my tail flicks through the air, and it's already starting to fill out with fur. The assistant grabs it and starts stroking from base to tip. I purr louder and flick it more eagerly. The thicker fur swishes heavily through the air.
I shake my head again and stretch my head forward to rub against the masseuse's palms. Her fingers scratch all around my ears. They slide through the soft fur on the insides and brush along the rims and dig into the warm, thick fluff right behind my ears. I feel more relaxed than I've ever felt before.
The pair of masseuses take my feet into their hands and start to knead them with their thumbs, just like they did with my hands. I relax and let my toes stretch, let them squeeze them and rub them into thick pads, let my feet grow bigger and longer and more feline. The tendons tightening in my feet make my toes curl, flexing their claws, before the thick fur fills in and hides them. The soft pads and thick fur are plush enough to muffle my footsteps--I could walk across marble without making a sound.
The assistant lets go of my tail once it's fully-grown, and lets it sway back and forth behind my back, just as heavy and thick as all the rest of me.
I close my eyes and purr and squirm against the hand stroking across my forehead and the fingers scratching under my chin. My tail flicks around and I kick out. I roll onto my side and crane my head back, stretching out my fluffy white neck.
But, of course, petting can't last forever, and eventually, the masseuse lifts her hands away. I lay my head against the pillow, purring loudly, with my thighs pressed together around my still-swollen pussy, and my tail happily thumping against the table.
The masseuse takes a washcloth from beside the sink and wipes her hands clean. "Now that you're done with the massage, you can head on to a soak in the hot tubs." She glances over at her assistant. "Show her where to go, please."
With one arm steadying my chest, I slide off the massage table and stand. I have to hunch just a little to keep from bumping my head against the ceiling. The assistant smiles at me and steps out of the room, and I follow her, stooping underneath the doorway. In the hall, I can stand up straight again. I flick my ears and give my fur a quick shake, before following after the assistant.
"Right in here," she says, pulling open one of a series of doors and letting me step inside.
As it turns out, the hot tubs are private. I get my own tiled room, with towel and blow dryer for afterward, and a round hot tub sunk into the floor, already steaming. I sink down into it, take a seat with the water reaching up to my belly, and stretch out. A loud purr rumbles out of my throat as I exhale.
Well, now that I've got some time to myself, I slip my paw between my legs. My thumb pad brushes over my fat clit, while my paws press open my thick folds and squeeze inside. My purring grows louder and my tail starts to beat against the side of the hot tub. My toes curl and I stretch my legs out into the water.
My paws might be thick and plush, but so is my pussy, so it all works out in the end.
With two paw pads rubbing away between my thighs, I sink deeper into the tub and let my eyes roll closed. My free hand slides up to cup to my chest. I squeeze my nipple between two pads, then start to rub it between my fingers.
My tongue laps over my lips, then hangs out over the front of my fangs as I start to pant in earnest. My clit is bulging and swollen, soon too tender to even touch. I plant my paw pads on either side of my pussy and spread myself wider, giving my fingers more room to work With my other hand, I squeeze my nipple between my padded fingers and start to tug.
I squish my cheek against my shoulder and spread my thighs wider. My rumbling is loud enough to make the water ripple around me--though when I start rocking and splashing water over the edge, it's harder to tell. I sink my fangs into my black lower lip and tip my head back and push against my paw. My head is pounding. My eyes roll back.
The orgasm hits. A snarl bursts out of my throat and my body jerks hard enough to splash water up against the walls. My vision pops as I ride out each wave, sinking down a little deeper with each shudder. My muscles have clenched around my fingers and my toes are curled so tight, they're cramping up. It isn't until my chin's touching the water that the last aftershock ripples through me.
I heave my paws out of the water and pull myself up, propping my shoulders against the tiled edge of the tub. My chest's still heaving, and every breath comes with a thick, rumbling purr.
Balanced on the seat in the hot tub, I stretch out both my arms and legs, spreading my paws and flexing my claws. There's still a little ache lingering from the massage, but mostly, they feel thick, relaxed, and limber. I yawn good and wide, then squish my cheek against a thick-furred shoulder and let my eyes slip shut.
I'm totally relaxed. All I can think about is basking in this hot tub for a while, then maybe getting out and lying in the sun, or maybe finding someone to pet me, or maybe a couple more orgasms, or maybe all of the above.
Maybe all at once.
I leave the spa with a gift bag: a bottle of cedar and lavender massage oil, a pack of incense, and a fine-bristled hair brush.
"Come back again soon!" the receptionist says. She waves to me from the front door.
I turn and give her a smile and a wave back. On one hand, I can barely remember anything that happened yesterday. On the other hand, I feel amazing right now, so maybe it's worth coming back some time.
Then I unlock my car, open the door, and wrap my paw around my breasts to hold them back as I squeeze into the driver's seat.