This Story contains substantial sexuality, transformation, and implied mind control. I would say that this is inspired by Anti-Oedipus but it’s more concurrent with a reading of it.

The fox was just sitting there, about ten feet away from the sidewalk that followed a road along a grassy stretch of about forty feet from road to tree cover. It looks at me and I look at it.

Even after moments pass, I continue to look at the fox and it continues to look at me. I think to myself If that fox started talking to me, what would I say? and please say it. “That’d be pretty weird” I said out loud, feeling an odd urge discharged.

The fox yawns and stands up before it starts walking away slowly, into the woods. I should follow the fox., I think to myself. I do so, I have at least a few hours before I need to get home anyway, and it’s not like there’s too much risk in there.

It’s just a park after all.

The fox seems to lead me, slowing down and looking back at me, as if to make sure that I was had caught up before continuing down the path further. It goes on and on and the deciduous growth that I had believed the forest to be constituted of had transitioned to pine stands up a hill. I sit on a rock, the fox returns after a few moments and sits closer to me. I stick my hand out, the fox looks at it quizzically, I should probably pull that back unless I want it bitten. I think to myself. I pull it back reluctantly, I wanted to pet the fox, but prudence had prevailed, I looked at the fox and grinned, careful to not show teeth. “Ah, you’d probably not like that. I’d need to do more work to prove myself first.”

Besides, there’re better places to be bitten. I think to myself. I swear that the fox looks at me amused, I try to put that bizarre intrusive thought behind me, I stand up and the fox continues onwards. So I follow, in spite of myself. I know it’s starting to get late, and something’s clearly up.

There’s better places, I think to myself, pumping my legs in spite of the ache that was quickly building up. Hopefully those better places is up ahead.

I whisper, “I should turn back soon.” to myself.

I think it’ll be just up ahead. I think to myself. The light is starting to wane and I need to start getting home, but if it’s just ahead, I can continue. Trees pass and pass and pass and the forest seems to change again, back to the sort of trees that I had any reasonable expectation of seeing here. And out there was a road, I think the one that I had left. The fox was trotting along to the sidewalk, which was beautifully empty in the now amber light. Back along my route home in fact.

I follow it up to the entrance and I let it in to the building, then to my apartment. I feel a sensation of terror that I had done this. I took stock of my own thoughts and I had not justified it.

I can take a minute and lie down anyway. It’s just a fox after all. I think to myself, slipping off my shoes and trudging into the bedroom.

I hear the clattering of its claws and still I feel relaxed here, in my bed, alone in my apartment with a wild animal. A cute one, but still a wild animal. I’ve probably met more unreasonable unpredictable humans than this fox. “Yeah, I mutter, but they’re people, this one has ticks and rabies and shit” Not this one. It’s so meek and mild, I’m sure it’ll not be the worst mess to clean up I think, a memory of a sewage backflow in a previous apartment seeping upwards inexorably until I’m nearly retching. It won’t be that bad, it physically can’t be.

I slip into a sleep in spite of myself, dreaming of forests and hills and holes in the dirt.

I awaken in a dark room, mine still. It’s been many hours, and the fox is sleeping next to me. Quite relaxed and unbothered by the fact that I was not familiar. I whisper “I wish I could be like you.”

There’s a moment where I think its stirring, but then it just flops over. I stay in bed, comfortable enough, and eventually when I open my eyes next the sun is out and the light is playing through the door and windows. The fox is looking at me, the eyes hold an energy in them that I cannot place, it is not anger, it is not even watchfulness. It is assurance.

Have you started to figure it out? I think to myself, “Figure what out?”

Where the thoughts are coming from? “My brain of course.” It starts to occur to me that I’ve been responding out loud in response to a certain texture of thought. Fuck me you’re dense

“Come on now, we all know that we don’t admit that we have distinction in here.”

I’m going to bite you I think to myself as I’m being bitten by the fox.

Oh, the italics should’ve been in quotes instead! I think to myself.

“Being self aware about the textuality of the media isn’t the point here.” The fox snaps at me, “I am here for one thing. To utterly absorb your essence and humanity in a way that doesn’t result in me gaining either of those characteristics”

“What? Looking for a second tail?” It’s past the time where I can stand seriousness.

“Yeah.”

“Go ahead fuck it. Not like I have a reason to live just being a fucking human guy”

“Damn dude, society did a number on you. I think I’ll keep you in a terrarium, so to speak.”

I try to get up, this is getting ridiculous, but my arms and legs don’t move. All I can move right now is my eyes.

“Sorry, I’m your sleep paralysis demon today” the fox says. It starts to dig into me, pulling up fiber after fiber of my being with too sharp teeth. My breathing is regular in spite of the pain, in spite of the intensity I am perfectly calm.

The image decoheres and I move at last, inhaling and exhaling with great suddenness as I regain control of my body. The fox is still sleeping there sweetly.

You’re still here huh?

I feel a submersion again, a retreat from reality altogether.

The fox is still here, but this time she wears a more human shape, an intermediate form, “First you’re keeping the fox. She’s sweet as a button, the construct I left behind.”

The space is indistinct, there are things in it, but they are not the sort that bear visual scrutiny, whereas she is the only visual object here.

“What’s happening? Where am I?” I ask.

“Your own head you fucking dipshit. Our head now. Mostly mine in the end. We’ll see really. Prognostications aren’t as stable as I had hoped” She fucking grins at me, as if this is something I can process in a friendly modality.

“So what I’m getting evicted from my own body by a fox?”

“No, you’re going to be here. You’re going to change, I can see the essence already coalescing into the new form you’ll, no we’ll assume. We’re going to be very beautiful, and very not human when we can avoid it.”

“Really?”

“Just for you, you fucking nitwit, I’m going to make do without masking like I would normally.”

“Masking as in?”

“I am going to be an inhuman presence, obviously not human but obviously not a beast, just for your sake, instead of a stunningly beautiful human woman, which would, in general make it easier to achieve whatever aims I feel like than having to keep up some story about it.”

“Why have a story? Fuck it. We’re some kind of magical thing. Besides, if the interpersonal powers–”

“Interpersonal powers? Really?” She rolls her eyes at me, “Anyway, go on,”

“We can use it to affect change high up in government by seducing–”

“The only one that’s going to be making those kind of plans is me.” She snaps, “You’re gullible even for a human”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s written on the ceiling”

I look up, and indeed, it is written up there.

“What does that mean exactly?”

“You’re going in the backseat for a bit.” She says. The scene concludes with the lights going out.

My eyes open fully, I sit up and stretch, stepping off the bed with a lightness that I can hardly imagine. None of it is my choice, I rub the fox’s head and it wakes up slowly, looking at me affectionately.

It makes a funny little noise a bit like laughter and stretches like a cat. I guess she referred to the fox with ‘she’?

It starts slowly as she moves me through the morning, my body feeling increasingly new and strange as it was worked by this different intelligence. Everything felt different, the way our feet landed on the ground, to the way we relied on our ass as a counterbalance. I could feel the change, the sensitivity under my shirt, the way that things chafed down below. Was I getting thicker? Was I growing breasts? Was that lump above my ass a tail or tails? It was worse because I couldn’t choose where I was looking, I couldn’t focus on my own body, and she was so much less concerned.

After all, I suppose that she was the one doing it all. She had my brain, she had my body and she could make it fit her whims, apparently.

After making a breakfast for myself and the fox, both of which were consumed voraciously by both of us, leaving me with scrambled egg bits on my mouth until she wiped them off with the back of her hand, licking it off in a very canid way.

It was just comfortable. She felt free in her movements, rather than relying on what had come to feel like a set of stereotyped behaviors that I had fallen into. She spoke to me quietly in a voice I didn’t know I could have, “I’ll burn away those memories that force you into a shape, those pathways need to change anyway. We need to change. I need our shape to be capable of fluidity”

There’s something in her that makes her bristle, my hair is standing on end and suddenly my muscles feel very, very tense, I recognize it as a memory. “Humans are living in their time. We are passengers in a way that even you, my sweet little fool, are not capable of imagining when subjected to human whims.”

The fox rubs against us and she stops, moving our face into a smile and patting the fox. “As you suggested, that might be changed. It appears that with appropriate action, we may leverage the current era into a more serious interregnum that might see these things being resolved.”

The distance between desire and action closed, and I was in control once again, kinda. She was there constantly, editing my thoughts and altering me. My perception of my body changed, the shape it was in was wrong. It was changing, for sure, but it was a long way from where it needed to be. It was a parody of where it was meant to be, my body was a hideous mess, even as it was, as a human, it wasn’t right for me.

She prods me and I go about the day, It’s just dysphoria she says, it will fade back its typical level, but the map of your body must be unobscured by your defenses for me to know what to do.

It was true, after a few minutes I was able to get to work without feeling completely crushed by my own body. Standup starts well enough, they looked at me as though something was slightly off when I got into the meeting.

Each member of the team enumerated their progress. Everything was about reliability; bugfixes for obscure corners of the software used by a singular entities that had paid to have them included, and had in the process created gaping holes for everyone else; and of course KPI.

As I was about to start speaking about my progress on the project a thought intruded, Why do you want 6 breasts? You really are at odds with your body. My voices cracks “Full text search has been sped up substantially by the inclusion of a full text index on the appropriate columns, all that’s waiting is code review.”

I was rewarded for my tolerable productivity with a brief word of encouragement from my boss that left me feeling a bit of glowing pride. You might be pleased receiving crumbs of encouragement from a product manager but I am not so domesticated. This will probably hurt our job performance.

I hold my head in my hands, my hands feel strange, Is it really necessary to take away what joy I have?

The ‘joy you have’ will chain us down with unnecessary relationships that are deeply non-reciprocal. How many hours did it take to earn that little bit of praise? How much are we getting paid compared to your total productivity?

There’s a logic there. And though I continue to work, I can’t help but shake the possibility that she’s right.

It’s right after I’m done with lunch that she makes herself known next when my skin starts to feel like it’s made out of clay. I could feel myself changing, breasts burgeoning boobily out from my chest before I fell over as my feet change. I sit there for a moment, I adjust uncomfortably until it’s over suddenly.

I sit up, tails sprawled out behind me like sunrays from a sunset, slowly, I feel myself up. All real, or at least it feels like it is. I imagined you would act like this. Have you forgotten about the other breasts you wanted?

Feeling the rolls of my breasts in my paws, the pads rendering a coarse texture upon the softness of my breasts. I roll over, lingering on all fours as it feels appropriate. I trot around, finding a bit of wonder in this bit of bodily consonance. Clothing might impede this particular gait She says, but then you’d be showing off our wonderful body in a way I just _know you’re not quite ready for.

I ignore her and take the moment to wander around my apartment on all fours. The unfamiliar pattern of movement left me feeling tired much faster than I had expected, so I curled up on the couch.

The fox side eyes me for a moment before she decides to join me, curling up in my stomach. She is warm and soft and she smells very interesting, very distinctive more than anything else, and after a little bit, I fall asleep.

I wake up and stand up, the fox looks at me surprised, as if this was simply not a thing that she had expected to happen, my fur has filled in more, a consistent coat that lent me a consistent red and white color. My claws are sharp and hard.

There’s a knock at the door and I get up to get it, not really awake. I open the door, and find a box open the box running a claw along the tape, and pull out a dress. “Dresses are cool.” I hear myself say. I pull it over my head. It doesn’t quite around the chest, I notice. There’s a moment of heat and I fill out just a bit, just enough to fill the fabric properly. The tail peeks out of a slit in the back. “I know it wouldn’t feel right for you to go without a tail.” She ties up my hair behind our head, “Besides, I tried going without while you were out, I didn’t like it much. Though perhaps that was just you bleeding through.”

Things seem more distant for a little while. There’s a great deal of complexity and movement, sounds that I attempt to recognize, but it’s like I’m at the bottom of a well. Things fade back into place as I sit in a bar, my tail waves languidly behind me, a girl across from me is asking a question, her voice surprisingly deep “So, you got me over here for a drink, where’d you get that tail?”

I feel myself laugh, my eyes narrow at her as part of the reflex, “It’s real,” My voice is sultry “do you want to touch fluffy tail?”

I swing my rear towards her somewhat, placing the tail within easy reach for her, there’s a smug look on my face. I’m terrified but that doesn’t seem to be affecting me.

She reaches out and touches it, gingerly at first and then pinching it. I let out a yelp and pull away, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have tried that”

I laugh it off easily, but I can feel her simmering frustration still lingering, “Just don’t do it again.”

I peek over a partition I couldn’t feel and see her all but swinging, jotting down notes for on ideas for future domination and exploitation as a result of a misstep. I reach around it and touch her. She pauses for a moment and considers for a moment, Fine, I’ll just do it in roleplay instead. I bet she’s into that.

On what basis?

I just think it’ll be easy to induce.

“God I’m so sorry, I should’ve treated it as though you were being honest.” She slips closer to us in the booth and takes a drink. “I’ll have to make it up to you”

Her feeling of smugness is overwhelming, I notice the little hair on her arms, light, but more than usual.

A tad impolite to notice you know, especially sporting fur as we are. Oh Not to mention that we’re part of that club too, you tranny.

“I’m sure you have an idea”

“Didn’t you say that you had something to tell me about replication strategies for large objects?”

Come on out girl, you have the brains for this one.

“Tell me about the architecture at play.”

She laughs for a moment, the sound sends my heart fluttering, “It’s pretty complicated,” she touches my paws, threading her fingers through mine, “I’ll have to walk you through it and we can work out the right strategy together.”

I look at her for a moment, I must have looked confused because she started laughing, “Consider this a proposition then.”

“Proposition for what?”

“Intimacy of course.”

I am not sure how to respond to this, but still my voice answers, “Wanna come back to my place?”

Her skin is soft but her hands are roughened by streaks of scar, the tips of her fingers clumsy enough for me to feel their awkwardness as they roam my body, in spite of that she seems to figure out exactly where my weaknesses lie as soon as her fingers chance upon one.

I whimper under the assault on my senses as I limply try to reciprocate the attention, I can’t tell if it’s her or me doing it, for the moment feelings run too hot and the machinery works too fast in its intricate calculations more ancient than humanity or foxes but deeply filtered through the intervening years.

She bites me on my neck and I yelp in response.

She smiles at me, her eyes open slightly revealing slitted pupils.

Is she? I don’t know

She interrupts our discourse as she reaches down and slips a finger into our quim. Her smile is toothy, her canines sharper than I had thought they were, “I don’t know what’s getting into us, us? yeah we guess. Right now”

“You’re changing” one of us slips out between the intensity.

“We can figure it out later.” She sticks her tongue into our muzzle. Her hands grab me by the wrists and hold them to my sides, overpowering me completely, “I need to be inside you”

She lowers her head down me, kissing me as she moves along the way, she stops at my cock and licks it briefly before moving onwards; fucking tease. She licks the entrance gingerly, running her tongue around my clit before plunging inside, all the sudden I felt fuller, she withdraws her tongue, finding that it doesn’t retract all the way into her mouth in a neutral position. Her giggles rumble over me and slowly her mouth catches up to her tongue, extending to an elegant muzzle.

She plunges into me, the heat is overwhelming and each thrust ran against my prostate, and before long I found myself quaking against her. At the end she knots me, and we’re tied looking at each other for while.

She’s so much taller than I am that my face is buried in her breasts. We lay like that for a while, I listened to her steady breath and strong heavy heartbeat. Slowly, she slips out of me with a little pop.

She stretches and wraps her arms around me, pulling me up to her face, “Gosh you’re small.” She giggles sleepily, “I love you mistress”

“What?”

She rolls over with me in her arms, “I’m your sweet little fox, after all, and I was just following your example.”

“Uh, Roxy, are you okay with all this?” I hear myself asking, the panic raising faster elsewhere in me.

“I think so,” Immense relief, “I was always a bit of a furfag anyway. I guess it was probably why I went after you. On the other hand, this wouldn’t be the first time we picked up a kink from a girl that we just met.” She yawns loudly and then pulls me in closer, relaxing a bit, “Do you mind I sleep over? I’m fucking beat.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” I say, feeling a bit of warmth as I watched her.

“For what I said earlier, I do like you for what it’s worth, but love means a lot.”

“I think this is a very weird moment in our lives” I say. I pull a blanket over the two of us, “We have a lot to figure out don’t we?”

She giggles, “Yeah”

The morning comes slowly at first, but then all at once as I realize that it remains a weekday, one that I have a standup meeting on.

Pointless stuff, I’m already ahead of the assigned task, done in fact, but I want to keep it at a constant drip rather than a deluge of work and effort that they tend to enjoy extorting. Regardless of this, I found myself more irritated by having to show up and turn on my webcam.

There is, more than anything, a lingering sense of dread, I can’t put my finger on it until I connect to the meeting and my visage pops onto the screen. While my breath catches and I feel my heart pounding in my ears, nobody sees it. Nobody notices my foxy face.

I force myself to breath and think for a moment, this is inevitable. There’s not going to be an easy explanation for this. Two lives can’t be lived in parallel. They are drawn to each other by the fact that keeping such distance requires energy. They are drawn to each other because separation in a single vessel isn’t possible. Collapse them to one.

I smooth my hair out and smooth some of my fur, it’s the best I can think to do to be presentable in this situation.

Nobody notices until it’s my turn to report in, “Our PostgreSQL instance is 22% faster at certain queries where vectorization is possible.”

“Interesting costume, ██████. Can you please come to meetings more professionally dressed next time”

“Sure thing, but I would appreciate if you were to call me Rena instead of ███ from now on.” I raise my own eyebrow at the name, it wasn’t one I had heard proposed before.

He fumbles the collar of his shirt for a moment, “Sure thing Rena. You should also get to HR about that.”

“Will do.”

The meeting manages to close out without further incident.

James DMs me on Loose, “Rena, can we pull off to the side and chat after this? I’m a little bit confused with what’s going on.”

“Look Rena, this all seems very sudden. It’s not like you’re the first person to transition in this team, but what’s with the costume?”

“Things are complicated, but I’m doing fine.” It then slips out as if it were greased, “It’s not a costume.” I lick the front of my snout.

His expression changed, his eyes focused, “How did you accomplish this?” he wore a hungry expression, “Or how did this happen to you?”

“Is there a reason that you want to know?” I smile.

“I…” He stares at me through the webcam, eventually defeating himself, “I was actually going to ask for the sake of my sister Roxy.”

A dark surge of feeling surges through me, and I hear myself yell into the other room, “Hey Roxy, are you decent?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Is this your brother I’m talking to?”

“Is that James?”

“It is!”

She peeks her head into the room, “James? Oh shit, hey bro”

He stares at me for a long moment, “I’m glad you two have already met. Rena?”

I smile, “Yeah?”

His face eases into a smile and he winks at me, “You’re a lucky woman. Oh, actually is that an okay noun?”

“Yeah, it definitely is.”

“Ugh, is human resources going to need a name change?” He’s at ease now, this kind of interaction is where his home waters are. He suddenly stops, becoming more serious, “Actually, I’d recommend leaving that ‘not a costume’ part out, you might find yourself in a weird situation if they decide you’re not just insane.”

“I think I’ll manage,” The other part of me answers.

“Talk to you later Rena, good luck” He pauses for a moment, “Seriously, be careful.”

The call ends and the room feels emptier than it is, I wonder if I’ve made a problem for myself with this. Most likely, but as you said, you wanted to make waves. This is not quite how to do that, but you’re a long way from pursuing the opposite.

I have some work to do I tell myself.

Roxy has gotten dressed again, she comes over to me and gives me a lick, “I think we should do something later tonight, after all, you’ve still got to help me get accustomed to this body of mine.” She slips out the door.

The fact that I’ve played with fire here and barely come out without being burnt starts to sink in for me. I try to continue working, but in the end I find myself blanking out for minutes at a time as I thoughts spiral and twist inwards. I go back to bed.

We sit at a cramped table in my apartment, the finest red sauce on pasta that could be made with the native ingredients of my apartment. I sit on my hands as she talks about what her day was like: full of the typical elements of high intrigue such as grilled cheese sandwiches, and snaking out the drain twice after a shower.

“I don’t think it was even from me. There was so much fur around my apartment, I couldn’t find my roommate either.” She runs her paw through her fur, “I just feel like there’s more going around than just what’s happening here you know?”

“That sounds really weird, I hope that your roommate is okay.” I say, not really sure what to add, “I’m sorry about this morning, must’ve been embarrassing seeing your brother in that situation”

“Nah, he’s nice and he kinda gets it. If I were a betting woman, ‘he’ was interested in this outcome too, but you laid it on just a little bit too strong.” She laughs, “I’ll talk to ‘him’ about it later, it wouldn’t do for a sister to leave her sibling out in the cold when it comes to gender.”

“I don’t know if I can replicate what happened.” The other part of me replies, “That’s a drastic thing to ask, taking another mind into oneself like that.” The fox looked at us from the doorway. It wasn’t quite clear to me who or what was residing in that little mind, nor any of its nature.

“Yeah, this time she should wait until its clear she’s wanted.” Roxy says, “It was a bit rude of me to do that, I realize.”

“What exactly are we doing when we left that vessel? What’s getting left behind?”

“Everything basically. I thought you knew that.”

“What does that make us then?” I ask

“Well, so far, it’s like a fungus that grew into us both isn’t it? Now we’re connected deeply, and I have to wonder what we’re doing, sending runners along like this.”

“Is this something that should exist?” I ask.

The fox saunters over and jumps up on the table, looking us both in the eyes. A moment of blankness passes over me, a feeling of union, a connection made through deeply buried and deeply necessary machines. The answer seems to come to both of us at the same time, “Yes”

In the end I end up retiring into Roxy’s soft arms before the night is out, the fox slumps over my lap and makes something like a laughing noise as I stroke her ears. She stretches sleepily and passes out on my lap.

“Do you think we were manipulated?” I ask quietly, rubbing the fox softly.

“I think so, I’m not sure what that was,” Roxy says sleepily, “I guess that it’s pretty reasonable to intervene if someone questions if you should exist”

“I didn’t mean that kinda thing” I say, “Should we stop this pattern, work it out with her, or should we continue, see what kinda seed sprouts from here?”

“I think, that at the moment, we have a genuinely magical opportunity, my Mistress” There’s a bit of warmth behind me and her skin is smooth and furless once again, “We have every little thing we’ll need to make a space if we need to. We don’t need to stop, nobody’s been hurt.”

“Nobody’s been hurt yet.”

“I mean, I can turn back, can you?”

I try, but it feels like that part of me is filled with shards of broken glass, “No.”

She sucks air through her teeth, “Was this is something you felt very strongly about before it happened?”

“Yeah,” the crushing feeling fell upon me when I remembered how I felt about myself, about who I was, I snuggled closer into her, “It was very painful”

“You don’t need to change back. We’ll figure it out” She tells me, wrapping her arm around my head, “It will be complicated but I think I’ll be here.”

“It seems like we’re moving fast”

“God you have no idea how lesbians work do you?” She laughs at me, “Something something U-Haul. I did that a few times, fun but often not a very smart decision. Let’s not do that yet.”

“Yeah, let’s not go that fast”

“Maybe you should come over to my place next. You should bring the fox”

“What do you have in mind?” I look back up at her face.

She smiles at me but says nothing.

This story contains (dubiously consensual) forceful gender/species transformation. We hope that you enjoy it

I was to see the future of the world and the world threw itself apart rather than subject itself to my gaze. I stepped from block to block to block, never the distance seemed to diminish, each step on the asphalt was accompanied by the piercing fear that the roaming machines might take advantage of their owner’s distraction or encouragement and take my life for the sake of a few seconds saved. Each time I stared into the eyes of the waiting drivers accusatory, baleful; it’s important to puff yourself up against people who have the means to end you, they have to know that they can’t count on mere advantage to prevent issues, you must yank the chain of possibility and tilt it in your favor.

But even still, in each step there is a gamble.

I step onto the sidewalk again, the little fibreglass domes rubbing against my shoes, and I can relax again, my shoulders slump downwards, I take a turn to the right into my building. Through the threshold and I pull out a bit of affability, as much as I am able to, which is not much.

I open my mailbox; it remains stubbornly empty.

I step into the elevator, the RFID fob takes seconds of jiggling before it responds to it, while I wait for the doors to close a hand shoots in and I jump, a woman steps in, someone I have seen around but never introduced myself to, but all that matters is maintaining the politeness, “Uh, what floor would you like?”

“Seven” She says, looking away from me; she must know the shame that sits upon my heart. I nod and hit the button, stepping off about half way there, “Have a nice night” I force out, no response was made nor expected.

There’s a distinction in the air here, I hurry down the hallway whose self-similarity diminishes as I approach the end. My door is 3 away from the end.

I open the door and become comfortable as I enter it. I stand right, stretching as my soles lift off the ground and my claws clatter upon the hardwood floor. If only it was real, the cramps start and reluctantly, the claws retract and my soles fall upon the ground.

Even the little rituals to close the smallest distance seem impractical to perform.

I need to eat, so I start to cook myself something.

I go out for a walk, as I walk I pass a person in a fox costume that seems a bit… good for a costume. I can hardly stop staring at her in the elevator, the nostrils on the costume, if it is one seems to flare with each breath, My voice doesn’t want to cooperate, “I- Where’d you get that costume?”

She looks at me, a kind of hunger in her eyes that left me feeling equal parts aroused and frightened, “Why, do you want one of your own?”

“I uh” My mouth is dry, the elevator dings, “Yeah. I guess I do.” her eyes bore into me “I was going to go for a walk” I follow up almost too quickly, “Wanna talk or something?” My heart hammers as if it was a date rather than something rather more business shaped.

“Why not? I was just going to check the mail but I could go for a walk. Anywhere in particular?”

“I was thinking the park”

“That sounds great, can I get my pet fox actually? She could use some exercise.”

“Pet fox?”

“Yeah?”

“Am I going to be bit?”

“Probably not.”

I don’t know how to feel about this, it would be an honor to meet a fox, but this felt strange, was I having another episode? “I like foxes.”

She chuckles, “I do too. I’m Rena”

“Nice name”

She gets her mail and drops it off in her apartment, where a bizarrely well behaved fox trots out and follows us calmly, she regards me and sniffs me, the fox and the woman lock eyes for a few seconds, “I don’t usually need to leash her, but I have it in my bag if I need to.”

She wasn’t wearing a bag, but I didn’t really find myself caring, if people get bitten by a fox there’s a decent chance they earned the privilege, “Okay.” I say to her.

She starts to tell me about her life recently, about how she had to come out after things went faster than expected and how she was surprised to find out that she had just started dating her boss’ sister. It felt like a recipe for a telenovella if not for how transgressive and desirable it all sounded.

The fox was very well behaved, even in the traffic, it was attentive and smart, and it stared at me with an intensity that made me wonder if it was also sizing me up for a meal. This has to be the calmest psychotic break I’ve ever experienced.

“I know a great vantage point off this trail,” She says, pointing down a marked trail, the fox was already starting to move in that direction.

“Sure, let’s go see it then” I smile, there’s a fluttering in my stomach.

The trail descends into a different type of forest, leaving behind the leafy deciduous forest of the near city into the deeper countryside, the forests that were the primeval landscape of this area.

“Are we still in the park?” For some reason it doesn’t bother me as much as it should, “I’m starting to doubt my sense of reality here.”

“Don’t worry, this is all real.” She says. She grabs my hand, her paw pads are rough against my skin, she squeezes softly “But I can’t tell you for sure about whether or not we’re in the park. She did this to me when I met her too”

“Her?”

“The fox.”

The fox stops ahead on a rock overlooking a valley. A huge rock face scrawled in an absurd amount of graffiti where coherent murals merge into the incoherent jumble of overlapping tags, denying anything readable at all. Or perhaps there’s a deeper pattern there, a relationship that transforms the noise into coherence.

I stare at it, slowly, an image forms in my mind, pieces of the whole assembling to a single statement: YOU ARE NOT SAFE. I shake my head, I know better than to trust that.

She sits over the edge, and motions for me to follow, I do so slowly, unable to peel my eyes from the distance from where I sat to the bottom.

“Are you concerned you might be experiencing a moment of insanity?” She asks me.

“Yes. But I don’t feel upset or wound up like I usually do, so it’s hard to be sure.”

“Well, is ending up like me something you’d hate?”

“Permanently?”

“If you like”

“If I like?”

“This is going to be very strange for you.” She says. Her form starts to lose cohesion, like a cloud of smoke expanding and changing even as it retains its general shape. Her eyes blaze green out at me and I am pinned against the rock, “But this is how I propagate. I can see in that little head of yours ‘human’.” The derision in the last word leaves me stunned, “There’s no need to hide any longer my little pup. Interloper no longer, invader, perhaps an agent of redemption”

The idea sends a shiver down my spine, “What do you intend to do to me?”

“You are like glass my vixen, we can see the shape of what lies within, unaltered by those drugs that barely take the edge off of the fundamental disorder within your mind.” I feel myself melting under her claws. Her eyes pull in my attention and it feels like she’s getting in to my head, thrashing my carefully constructed barriers, the ones that make me who I am. The ones that keep me from becoming and drifting endlessly across a surface vast as worlds.

Furrows open up and the conjunctions find the center of their migrations in a new place.

New walls raise up and I am confined again a new cage just the same size as the old one. An experience that I can only identify as ‘femininity’ passes over me.

I shudder. “Why does it feel so good?”

“Does your identity bring you happiness when you have built so much of it upon being inadequate?”

“What was I like, trans or something?”

“You didn’t tell me your name, I would assume that you don’t like it.”

“Not really, no. I mean, I did like putting on my mom’s dresses as a–”

“Great, glad to have helped.” She rolls her eyes, but there’s something about it that makes me think that there might be something there for her too.

“You aren’t doing this to help me?”

"I saw what you were. All withdrawn from the world." Her sneer grows, "I love what you represent, you're not a blank canvas, you're a painting that I'll need to blank out most of to fix."

“What separates that from death?”

“You are a core surrounded by broken glass and the growths outside it through the safe paths” She runs her claw over my chest, drawing a path upon it, I feel it parting short fur as it rips my shirt, “If we take out the broken glass, you won’t need to wander the spiral”

Discontinuity after discontinuity passes over me, the world slams into me as the colors and sounds return in an instant, like a rubber band snapping on my head. Threads severed, mass falls away, eternity beckons, but in the end, the net catches me.

She pulls away from me, satisfied that her work has been completed. The fox looks on at us from further down the path.

“How are you?” She asks me, she looks across me smugly.

“I feel okay, mistress” I say, recoiling at the word mistress, “Ach”

“Don’t worry too much about that effect.” She says, rubbing her paw in the dirt, scuffing it, “I would not induce it if I could avoid it.”

I feel a response well up in me, “Why not induce it?” I smile easily, my mind rotates somewhat, I step over to her lightly, as if I was born to this body with its extra jointed legs, my eyes feel as though they’re luminous, piercing, “I am of you now, we exist through each other now, and for all your care and all your vision, I’m more than you are.”

“Oh?” She asks, raising a brow

We push, and we know that we’re looking as we did before, “We are fractured, perhaps, or maybe just connected. Actually-” I stop suddenly, and she looks at me with concern.

My paw reaches up to my face and from besides me I hear, “Foxes at last.”

“Foxes at last” I say as my gaze locks onto my own.

Contains: Cannibalism, butchery, torture, self harm, as a metaphor for deriving sustenance through the deconstruction of one’s own past, transformation.

She tells me we are stuck here when I wake up, it smells like salt and forest.

She looks so real in front of fog that is behind her. Her snout is square and her teeth were long and sharp, but her voice was sweet. Her eyes scan me carefully, watching me for any change. I ask where we are, she says she does not know.

I ask what she is and she looks at me like I’m an idiot: a fox, just like you.

I try to sit up, seeing that she’s right, down my stomach is the telltale fur, behind me, a tail, in front of my eyes, now finally focusing, a snout. My hair is long and soft trailing down from my head, entirely different than the fur that covered the rest of my body. I feel like I’m half dead.

I feel like shit, I say.

You look it, she says, and tells me to follow her.

She leads me along a beach surrounding a forest. The surf is ever-present and snatches the words from her mouth. It seems bright here. And lonely. She tells me I washed up here.

All I see over the water is fog. No sounds beyond the waves and gulls and the cryptic slaps and interactions of fish. I linger there for a moment until she grabs my shoulder and pulls me along, muttering about how this is not a place you should want to be at night.

I can’t even find the sun.

After a long walk we come to a wooden shack, glass windows like eyes above the sides of the door. She opens the door and it smells of nutmeg, pastry, and meat. I feel my stomach growl audibly and she rolls her eyes and tells me that I’ll have to wait for supper.

The room is clean enough, the floor is made of wood worn down till it’s smooth, the walls fit together without obvious gaps. An iron stove sits on the corner awaiting fuel and fire, but the room is lit with LED strips.

She offers me some water in a clean looking cup and apologizes for the lack of food. My stomach growls. She looks at me sheepishly, and asks for help hunting. I ask what we’re hunting for, and she looks at me levelly and says nothing for a moment, her green eyes glance into the corner and she says nothing. In the corner is a bow and knife, serrated and very long.

It’s becoming dark outside, she says that we have twilight to find our quarry. She leads us down the beach, she gave me the knife because I said I didn’t know how to use a bow. It’s the nastier job, she admitted.

The sound of the surf is more intense now and it carries the stench of low tide, decomposing material. Shellfish are implied but not visible.

A man is running down the beach, jogging slowly. He has no fur, his ears are round, and his eyes are bright and visible. I feel like I should recognize something in this creature, but it’s just like the fog in the distance, indistinct and shapeless.

She leads us up the beach, behind some brush that holds no fruit. She takes aim, holding him in her sight until he reaches as close as his path will take him to us. Her shot whizzes off, a blur of dark wood and light bird feathers into his back. He collapses.

She leads me over to him.

He looks at me disbelievingly, and asks why. Why what? Why are you doing this to me? We are hungry. The expression on his face is abstract to me, why does it have to be him? I shrug, what else is there?

She pulls a stretcher out, we need him very fresh she says.

We drag him to our shack, into a small room in the back where the floor was a light smoothed stone, worn down by countless actions upon it. There are veins of darker material shot through that have resisted time with more success.

There are drains in the floor leading outside bored roughly into the rock, and a raised plinth. It is an abattoir and an altar.

She hands me the knife. She tells me to cut. Limb from body. That I can’t just inflict it, I have to feel it myself. She does something with her voice, her paws, her eyes, and my perceptions are duplicated. I see myself through this man’s eyes, and I see a human with a big knife, and the fox standing behind me, eyes shining frightfully.

A fox, you’ll be and you’ll see. Her voice is treacle. Her voice drips down through my ears onto my soul, making it slow and sticky and ready to listen to her.

I start slicing his arm off, he struggles, but he can barely brace himself, every slice I become more, fur slicked down with blood. Skin and flesh creaking as I work on him. It feels like I’m cutting my own arm off, but in some alchemy, it is transmuted to something sickeningly sweet, an exhilarating form of pain that would be fatal hubris in a mortal. Soon the man no longer struggles, merely watching me listlessly, consciousness preserved by whatever let me see myself through his eyes. I lick the blood off the knife, savoring its flavor. Tendons and ligaments resist in their frustrating way. The knife strikes bone with each tooth of the serration, it knocks against my wrist, leaving my wrist tingling by the end.

The arm pops free with a terribly sickening sensation, I feel bile rise to my mouth, but I swallow. I repeat. I repeat. I repeat.

The man lies dismembered. She tells me to cut his throat, to ensure the end to his suffering right here and now. I do so, feeling a relief that is improper. A monstrous relief.

I realize something about him, that was me once. That had been my voice protesting. It had been my stride as he had run across the beach. My eyes had stared at me as darkness had encroached. I look down at the body feeling a glee. A freedom.

She hangs up the pieces and pulls me back to the other room. She sits me down on a couch and says that dinner will be later today.

I curl up and try to sleep. The surf and the warmth of my own fur is enough to drift off: in spite of everything.

I awake to the smell of something baking. The cabin is smoky.

My hunger is a deep pang, a resonance that makes me feel as though I am shaking. As if nerves cannot conduct signals smoothly without nourishment, reducing me to a wind-up toy jerking. But it must just be my imagination, because I get up and walk over without falling over. She looks at me, and smiles, it’s the first time she’s looked anything but annoyed with me. She uses a spatula to portion out a few dumplings onto a plate, and shoves it at me. The fruits of our labor, she says.

She asks me to come with her on a walk along the beach.

It’s much the same as yesterday. She leads me along the beach to the outlet of a river, and suggests that we clean ourselves after all that effort and blood.

While we wash, she tells me what the world is.

This is a dreamspace. A place in between worlds where only the unlucky get caught, and those that stay are made into its denizens. She says that she’s been here a long time, I ask her how long, and she tries to count for a moment before giving up, she settles on too long.

We’re just one kind of monster, she says, but the curse of this place is to make you into something that cannot recognize what you were as worthwhile, and in doing so, changes you to be able to do anything.

I wonder if I should have brought the knife, but she tears up, she thought that she was always going to be alone. She’d never find anyone else to be like her. Different sorts of monsters don’t get along well, at least in her experience, and she had not run into her own ilk for a long time.

When she came here, there were villages of foxes, and they had inducted her like she had me. She looks fiercely hungry in this moment, a reminder of a sweeter meal.

My ears pick up rustlings in the distance. She suggests we leave. I catch shadows in the bushes, and I wonder what our neighbors are like, but I don’t want to meet them on such terms, so I nod.

We run, sprint, heavy air settling within my lungs with every bound, sand shifts underneath my paws dampening my effort. We arrive back at the shack. It already feels like home in comparison to this bizarre place.

She looks shaken and she sits down on the couch, and reaches underneath it, pulling out a small wooden box. She pulls a pipe out of it, a lighter, somehow, and pulls a hit off of it. She passes it to me, and I inhale deeply.

Colors intensify and shift, she’s purple. Then she’s back to where she was. A lightish orange and white and black.

I cough and stumble next to her, she laughs and pulls the pipe away. She takes another hit and sinks deeper into the couch. She starts to tell me what it was like when there were others here. Before they left across the sea.

There’s a lot to go on about, the nature of her kin, different somehow allegedly from the rest of the sorts of creatures that lived here, but that difference was never spoken of in a specific manner. It was just what it was to be a fox versus a bat or a dragon or whatever.

She spoke on the way they used to practice arts before the other sorts of creatures had become agitated by the lack of food.

The modern day was less bountiful, and this part of her life had started right as the droughts started. When that hunger that was previously confined to ritual, escaped into the mainstream meal.

That the sorts of dreams that pushed people to this place were becoming rarer and rarer too.

The rest left, their lives disrupted by hunger and conflict, as did many other sorts of people from this place. She wasn’t clear on what was beyond the ocean that surrounded this island, but she believed it to not be like here.

Her story had continued to veer across subjects in an unfocused way. But it ends with the assertion that we must also leave.

She tells me we will make it. I believe her.

Contains consensual non-con. Suiting, “possession”, transformation, medical misconduct, medical roleplay

His costume had just come. It was a special product from a special place, very, very realistic fur, an articulated jaw made it easy and realistic to speak and a tail armature that his suit maker claimed would sway realistically.

He had been practicing his voice for the halloween party tonight.

There was something immensely pleasing about slipping into his second identity of a very sexy foxy nurse, a feminine one, with a very large feminine penis, rather unhinged at that. At least in his RPs.

The costume sat in front of him, its box slimmer than it seemed like it ought to be, a note attached to the front. A small envelope with a rather unlikely stain of lipstick, the evidence of one of the connections he has as hir.

I know you’ll love this. It’s my best work yet. You are going to be so pretty as hir. Don’t let the unreality get to you.

Just give into who you are Carmilla, I know you’ll be happy. I was.

Love you,

C. C.

Sometimes he felt like he was more alive as hir than he was as himself. The motions of daily life passed him by like wisps of fog wriggling across one’s path in the morning.

His heart thrums in his chest, and he opens it. Taking out the delicately packed head, and slipping it over his head. It fits perfectly. He clears his throat and says “Doctor Carmilla at your service” in hir voice. Spikes of euphoria slither down hir spine and shi shudders, feeling more than naked without hir fur, so shi puts on the rest of the suit.

Shi shudders as shi looks at hirself, feeling very complete, and slowly, ever so slowly, his memories fade into the depths of the subconscious, new ideas and a suspicious amount of organic chemistry bubble upwards¹, and shi gets to work.

Several hours later, nothing of him remains. Shi pets hir tail as the latest batch finishes. It was a lot of work to have the best kinds of fun, but shi was well acquainted with the task, it was the basis of hir livelihood after all, but a friend would need to experience this for the first time. Hir scrubs rise at the thought.

Shi knows exactly the person shi wants to play with too. A girl who shi has known on a MUCK² for years, who absolutely adores medical scenarios, and would jump at the possibility of making it real.

Shi hunches over his old laptop, preparations of thick fluids in syringes and poultices scattered to each side.

Welcome to the FURMUCK(FUCK)

There has been no announcements since your last login.

-- Carmilla's Clinic: Lobby --
The windows that once let natural light in have mostly been bricked up, smaller apertures with metal bars running through them remain to let light in, but the effect is muted, and lighting in the room feels very manufactured.

The room is clean compared to the outside, well maintained and sterilized. A reception desk sits with a well worn computer and printer upon it.
-- Exits --
[O] Exit [N] Clinic Hallway [E] Restroom

You send an invite to JazzFox.
Jazzfox accepts your invite.
Jazzfox enters.
<OOC> Carmilla says "Hey, is that offer of yours still open? I just got this doctor setup and “fursuit” and it looks really good on me."
<OOC> JazzFox says, "Ooh, that sounds interesting. What changed your mind? What do you mean by “fursuit” though?"
<OOC> Carmilla says "Oh you know, I’ve kinda decided to make some steps on my journey, and I feel a lot more open to the idea of actually being intimate in person. Well, you’ll have to see what I mean though"
<OOC> Jazzfox says "I’m so happy to hear that. It was so good for me too."
<OOC> Carmilla says "I think I can make your results even better ;)"
<OOC> Jazzfox says, "What? I'll have to see what you mean I guess? I don't have anything going on tonight, so what's your address again?"
<OOC> Carmilla says "I didn't think it'd be this easy"
<OOC> Jazzfox laughs "You're not the first person to say that to me"

A car parks outside hir home on the street. As per the nascent policies, there would be hell to pay if it was still there after the weekend. It disgorges the person in question, and she makes her way to the door, the lighting bringing her into truer color with every step through the dimness of twilight. Her breasts were smaller than she’d like, they had talked a lot about her transition, and shi knew every little thing that shi could help make her.

The doorbell sounds, and the fox opens the door. Shi practically towers over hir visitor, nearly a head taller. Digitigrade conversions always come with a bit of extra height, shi grins at her. The smaller woman just stares at hir for a moment, evidently stunned before saying, “You’re Carmilla huh?” Her eyes roamed hir freely, something the fox judges to be welcome.

Shi giggles, “In the very flesh. You’re Rena right?”

“What pleasant flesh it appears to be.” She touches hir arm briefly, feeling the fur, pausing at the sensation, the firmness suggesting real fur attached to real skin. Rena looks at hir hard, obviously trying to make sense of it, find that flaw that would make this impossibility vanish into deception. She fails to find it, “You… Weren’t kidding about making my transition better were you?” She swallows. Carmilla can see the envy in her eyes.

“I can in fact.”

They hash out the details. What would be done to her, how it would be done, what could go wrong³, the permanence of these actions. A certainty of suffering from a life that might change in unpredictable was as a result of attaining these fantasies, and from experiencing the upsides.

Rena is ‘admitted’ with a gentle shove onto the bed. “Please don’t! I Promise I’m well.” she struggles and works against the fox but shi is considerably larger.

More importantly it’s not like Rena really wants to win this. Her first hand is bound to the bed frame, carefully. The second is much easier to subdue after that constraint. And after that all she could do would be kicking, but, this was already sufficient, “What do you want from me?” She asks breathlessly.

“You’re just not well. We can make you all better.” Shi takes a vial out, drawing a full syringe of the cloudy, complex looking liquid within, “You’ll feel so much better when this is done.”

Shi injects it into her leg. It doesn’t feel anything like her estrogen injection. It burns immediately, it was advertised as such, but the intensity of it still leaves her stunned, sucking in ragged breaths and letting out little sounds as is spreads across her legs, culminating in a spot below her gock⁴.

“Oh god, I didn’t think it’d be like this”

“The treatment is very intense, don’t struggle ma’am” Shi giggles and starts to apply a second concoction to her gock itself, it feels slippery at first but her shaft rapidly dried off, or perhaps absorbed it. Soon she felt hard and hot, every pulse making it feel larger and larger, it’s so sensitive, with a well timed breeze she might just lose it.

She looks down and it’s actually the case. It’s so big, it nestles between her little breasts throbbing angrily, spilling precum without provocation.

“Oh god.”

“I can’t have you making a mess.” Shi says snippily. Shi applies something to her shaft and although it keeps on throbbing it feels numb. “Just a few more things dear”

It’s insufferable feeling like this.

Rena whimpers, Carmilla takes out a few more vials, instructing her to swallow them, which she does, everything is consuming her, nothing is real but the pulse of her heart and the way she needs to cum. An animal frenzy that finally made good on that desire to immanentize perception without cognition. Carmilla runs a claw below her testes, probing into her. The sensations sends shudders down up her spine. “You are developing very well.” Hir fingers are very moist and shi licks them clean.

She manages to speak, “God, my insurance was giving me such a hard time to get that done.”

Shi chuckles, “We have the best in rapid restructuring” Shi climbs up onto the bed, straddling her chest. Rena’s gock trembles with the stimulation, she gasps as its head nestles between the nurse’s cheeks, pressing hir scrubs into hir. Hir tail swishes. Hir tapered shaft reaches towards her mouth, it smells appealingly earthy, a deeply animal smell, her mouth starts to water.

“Just one last thing, then we can take care of you. You’re all primed and receptive to the treatment.” Shi inches forwards a little bit, “Now say ‘a’”

The foxy shaft is already moist, slippery with its own secretions, it tastes salty, like the body that exuded its coating, coated with all sorts of esoteric oils that give skin its distinctive individual scents.

It starts slowly, long pumps that give her just enough time to savor the shape of it in her mouth, and work up faster and faster. It was easy to get lost in it, the thrusting into her mouth, how her cock rubbed against Carmilla, the head buried in hir soft rear. Carmilla thrusts into her mouth, filling her with the foxy splooge⁵.

Rena swallows as much as she can, but it ends up spilling out her mouth and she coughs some up, a speck getting lodged in her nose.

A heat spreads across her body, “What… What’s happening now?”

“I need an assistant, and only a fox would do” Shi smiles, her canines showing prominently. It was all part of the plan, but, in truth, shi expected a real assistant out of this, for whatever purposes shi could see fit to find.

Rena’s body was very hot beneath hir. It was amazing what mitochondria could do if pushed to the limits, already she was fuzzing up. Soon enough the rest would follow. But already, the pointed tip was showing its presence, pressing into Carmilla’s rear, it is a magnificent tool, and all that work would be wasted without more thorough appreciation.

“I’m so fucking hot; I need you” She whimpers, her shaft releases a packet of precum, slicking hir in the most delightful way. The way it feels almost deliriously warm makes hir want it all the more. The fruit of hir frenzied wants and needs and the pliability of hir friend.

Shi lowers hirself down on the shaft, letting it ride up into hir. The shaft parting folds and lips, pushes into hir own stomach, and left hir feeling full of rotten heat. Her hips thrust erratically at first, spasms induced by the strength of the sensation pummeling her thoughts, but soon she regulates herself, feeling the more familiar sensation, something that she had known how to do before. A thing she had written about, fantasized about, and shared the qualia, as such as a written thing may convey such with this fox made flesh and truth. Her ears feel so sharp and fuzzy.

And she feels her brain breaking, that it would simply merge the two, fantasy and reality would simply coexist at the same time, and her wills and whims would be the motivator of her actions. That this was a life to love and enjoy.

And that her cock and box would need ever so much attention. And she would have to give into that.

Her vision shorts out as a buck turns into a final thrust, her nascent knot pushing in and making the seal inside her caregiver. With each pump of her muscles, she feels more spent, and slowly, she drifts off into a delirious sleep.

Her stirring is marked by the presence of a tail, moving ever so slowly in the depth of her sleep. She stretches, finding herself alone in the bedroom light streaming through the small gaps in the blinds. She can hear furious bubbling from the other room.

She stands up, her dick slings down halfway to her legs flaccid, but she can hardly even observe herself over her breasts. She rubs a breast, finding it full and heavy, and kneads herself a little bit, producing a small jet of white fluid, the sensation makes her wonder if there’s enough time to enjoy her body, but dithering seems like a poor choice in this strange home.

Outside her friend is now making breakfast. Pancakes apparently. Shi hums to hirself, seemingly not having heard the door to hir bedroom open. Rena approaches quietly, observing the technique for a moment before clearing her throat. Carmilla looks back at her and smiles, “I hope you slept well last night.”

Rena shrugs, her body not really having ever felt anything like this. It was... more intense. It was right somehow, and it felt like if she could just let go a bit more, it would be a garden of delight beyond imagining, a hazard for her values to some degree⁶. The thought is disquieting in the degree of its appeal, “I can’t really say how I feel right now.”

“Probably just the chemistry working its way out.” Shi smiles at her, and her misgivings about hir seem even less sensible somehow. Her manner was very familiar. The plates of pancakes are done soon enough.

Shi serves them on faded plastic plates, presumably bought a long time ago. The clattering of utensils on plastic is interrupted by the sort of chatter you get when you meet someone and you both know each other well, the minutiae burbling up from the gaps in a billion conversations and exchanges online, filling them in like spackle; A ghost of something from another pattern realizing itself.

In spite of the food and time that had elapsed, the fogginess and horniness in her thoughts had only escalated.

Eventually they come to a lull in the conversation, and after a few moments Carmilla examines her and says “So I was wondering, you were saying that you wanted to get out of tech?

“I kinda do yeah. I do kinda want to get into medicine, but that’s so hard.”

“I was thinking Jazz, why not start working with me?”

“I’d rather you call me Rena since we know each other.” She says, but there’s a lingering doubt, a parting of fog in a direction she had never been able to look towards, “But—”

“I don’t know, you look an awful lot like my assistant, Jazz” Shi smiles, “I know her very well. I know you love to work with me, don’t you Jazz?”

“I’m… I would love to work for you. It’d just feel so familiar” She smiles, remembering something, bringing people into the clinic, working on them, chemical smells and sanitizer. The sound of shears on bandages, the snap of restraints becoming taut. The tearing of clothing and the gnashing of teeth. Unmitigated good times.

She looks at her own arm, finding herself knowing exactly where everything in it should be, from the skeleton to the veins that run red tracery through flesh, the locations of muscles and tendons, the probability space of nerves glittering in finer lines, brachiating as they reach towards their extremes, the knowledge itself feeling puzzling to access, assembled from noise and memories fuzzed by the sheer magnitude of their irrelevance to her at the time, pulled together into a consistent pattern. Maybe. Maybe it was all going to go horribly, but… She’s a fox. She’s a fox. That wasn’t the case this time yesterday, and if the two phenomena, Carmilla and herself were related, then maybe… Maybe this knowledge could be trusted.

“We’ve been working together for a while, haven’t we Jazz?”

“Yeah, we have haven’t we, like four or five years?” She smiles, her voice bubbly. Manufactured and saccharine, just as the adjustment to hir associate had been meant to produce. “I was way less happy back then, fresh outta medical school and utterly lost under your tutelage. Gosh, we had a lot of fun at first, tuning me up.” She adjusts herself in her seat, and stares at Carmilla fixedly, her eyes never leaving hir body. Carmilla notices the stiffy pushing its way up, eventually, presumably after realizing she was staring, she says “Carmilla, I am getting a little bit distracted, and since we don’t have anything going on right now—“

Carmilla giggles, she’s still so bad at asking for what she wants, “I think I would love to help with that.” Shi smiles, getting up and walking behind her, wrapping hir arms around her, “Before we start, I should ask, what does Rena think about joining us in this?”

“She’s a little concerned about matters of licensing.” She reaches up and grabs hir arms, just savoring the contact for a moment, staring into hir eyes “But is otherwise receptive. Same as she was last night.”

She pulls hir down gently and starts to kiss hir again.

“There’s always bimbofying the medical board.” Carmilla giggles, there’s something about the way she makes the suggestion that makes Jazz suspect shi would probably enjoy actually doing that, at least if shi was a villain in an episodic cartoon where the world gets reset each week. Shi’d love to play the part of a monster, a villainess, a reshaper of the world in the most fundamental and devastating of ways, but shi would hate the consequences of actualizing those fantasies. But ultimately, that was her purpose here, in part, taming hir desires towards a more productive and, thankfully, ethical, purpose.

“Mmm, maybe we should try something else first, but that can wait.” She bits hir neck, softly at first until it draws a gasp from hir, “I need you, my good doctor.”

1. Anything is organic chemistry when it has carbon-carbon bonds in it. ↩
2. Add structures and scripting to an IRC channel and you have a muck. Of course, it can grow into a MUD experience with enough software, but it was not originally designed with that in mind. ↩
3. The twisted flesh writhes with its own intentions separate from the mind that once commanded it. ↩
4. You can tell it’s feminine by the way it is. ↩
5. Some words exist for us to suffer after our moment in the glow. ↩
6. To the extent that all very strong interests that can overcome the desire to maintain one’s own well being. ↩

My wings ache and my back still feels weird. My wife grabs a breast and fondles me, I stiffen between my legs and she bats at it the way that kitties tend to. I feel a heat between my legs and dizzy warm half-dreams of being taken swim through my brain.

Ever since I started taking estrogen for my transition I’ve experienced an estrous cycle.

I grind into my wife’s paw, feeling my shaft pulse languidly, if my wife kept it up the pulse wouldn’t be so languid and the grinding would be called ‘thrusting’. But while it was wonderful and felt nice, it wouldn’t quite do anything to calm that ceaseless urge. I’m a girl after all, and so far as my girl bat brain knows, impregnation comes from penetration. Or maybe it just made my ass feel really nice.

My wife giggles a bit as I breathe harder, she loves the little noises I make. She isn’t really available for this particular need however.

My weekly date on the other hand, is quite available for this, and for this, I thank the stars, and again for it happening today.

My girlfriend can read my needs as soon as she showed up at the door. It probably doesn’t hurt my legibility that I was still pitching a tent in my skirt. I feel the heat pounding in my face and I rub against her, relishing the slowness I am able to take in this and whisper that I need her right behind her cute fox ears. Her tail frizzes and she cups my ass, squeezing it as our tongues mingle in each other’s mouths.

She sniffs me deeply and she hugs me closer with a shudder, I can feel her dick rubbing against my leg, it rubs up along my leg. I feel myself loosen at the prospect of its welcome intrusion.

I pull her along upstairs. Dinner would have to wait.

I close the door behind us and before I know it my dress is on the ground in a pile, my tits standing out for my girlfriend to see, and hopefully squeeze until they hurt. We end up in a pile on the bed, grinding against each other at first, I slide her throbbing cock into my mouth and push down until I feel myself nearly gag. Surely I must be getting closer to conquering my gag reflex once and for all.

Her dick shines with spittle, I add lube for good measure. My ass is so tight, it stings at first. It stretches around the tapered length, and she slides into me. Her dick is hot and the way it rattles around inside me, scraping around the insides of my walls. She grabs my shoulders and thrusts into me, her claws catching on the bedsheets, compressing me onto her. My dick leaks in little spurts of precum with each slap of her against me. She finds an angle and goes for it, jabbing me much more effectively, the pointed head rubbing right up against my prostate, the little spurts became much larger. I moan, I can’t help myself.

I climax again and again, and finally I feel her cum, and felt the knot expanding in my ass. She’s lucky I’m a masochist.

The fullness, and the immobility is like the stinging after a slightly too enthusiastic scratch. I turn around and look at her very seriously, “I don’t know if it took.” I say, rubbing my stomach, “We might have to do it again.”

I thought I was chasing you. When I saw you for the first time, your dark brown hair in the golden light, the softness of your smile and the brightness in your eyes, I knew I had to have you. I was hungry after all.

I chased you around until you were turned around. Somehow I got you to ask me out. I was so practiced at my bashfulness, my ruse, that you laughed and all but hugged me. I could feel the teeth within my torso salivating with anticipation.

I offered to buy us drinks. My tech job pays well I said. You looked at my tits for a few minutes, I watched you, and I felt so very proud, so pleased with how the night was going. I joked to you about it, I could feel the heat radiating from your face as you needlessly apologized. I wondered what it would taste like if that hot blood were coursing within my mouth.

You laughed and told me I should keep up, otherwise I’d be disadvantaged. I drank a beer, feeling the warmth spread through my chest. I was feeling myself growing to like you. Your lightness is infectious, and in spite of the hunger that I cannot sate, I wonder if I should just be good.

You pulled me close and took me along, taking me back to your place. You didn’t seem to have that need, no suspicious puddles, no unusual brown stains, nothing at all to suggest what you had in store for me.

I ran my fingers up your legs, and your moan implied nothing about what you had in store. How you ground into my hand belied the gnashings of your teeth. The way you shuddered and spasmed, pinching my fingers belied the stinging of your saliva in my cuts. The softness of your breasts belied the rasp of your tongue.

The way you embraced me close made me question my recollection when you ripped out my heart and made it your own.

I’m so thankful that you asked to be my wife.

His room is made of wood, ancient stuff. Dark, half-stained by hands and oil, and the occasional splashes of the reagents he uses, and the splashes of hundreds before him.

The service staff left something for him in the alcove near the door.

His robe is pressed and clean. It is ready for tonight, the clasp is set neatly on top, the red and white helices waiting to snap together. He picks it up and puts it on.

His instruments are stored in a rolled up pack, ready to fit inside the pocket in the robes. He picks them up and stows them.

Basically everything that was necessary for the ritual was packed and ready. He is going to become a Maiden of the Flesh.

He opened the door and strode outside, the common area was bustling, mostly with men, but there were a number of women too, the maidens had opened their door to anyone who could qualify and made it through training.

Some of them, the poorer or less qualified¹ ones mostly, had rat ears, big red eyes, and shockingly white hair(fur). Their modification marks them as students receiving aid, and thus expected to take some changes. He had performed the alteration on a few of them himself, which is why they were turned into lab-rats. Symbols matter, after all.

Many of his cohort had donned the formal robes, and sat chatting quietly. He sits with them but says nothing. His personal reagents had been chosen, and he had perfected them endlessly, running them through the oracle until everything seemed to line up with his vision of perfection.

He was going to be a fleshcrafter, it was one of the oldest sciences practiced continually over the last six thousand years. It is all about altering or creating life. Most of it is believed to have originated in laboratories with scientific institutions, but later on, some traditions became occult, growing rituals with spells² and a belief in the purpose of their method.

Fleshcrafting comes in various schools and purposes. The maidens of flesh concentrate on alterations to the human form. Others focused on military applications, others industrial, and more esoteric fields that struggle to fit into those categories on their good days. And each of the occult orders has an accompanying secular one.

After a few hours he puts on his robe. Its light color mirrors the early days of the order when they were still scientists. Before they looked deep and found the Maiden In The Flesh. That ingredient that revealed to them that it was not just a tool for building and changing life, it was a tool that could be used to help guide personal growth and change, and that it was genuinely supernatural.

The fact that others manage without believing in the Maiden or the Archon or the Warden shows that it’s not necessarily the structure that matters here, the methodology resembles the science because they are both tested against reality.

The procession of his cohort down the hallway, out the yard, and into the larger halls is silent. They pass sisters who stop speaking as they pass, giving them a respectful distance. The sisters wear normal street clothing. This is a place of worship, but it’s also a place to live and study and work, and not everyone is involved in initiation.

A foxy sister wearing a sweater grins at him, her green eyes flashing at him knowingly, he reaches up to adjust the collar of his shirt beneath the robe, red a red tinge in his cheeks.

They are in a vast hall. The floors and walls are made of chemical resistant plastic tile, white, in order to be easier to clean. It echoes terribly, and the sisters running the ritual’s whispers contribute to an unearthly air of oppressive hush borne from the random motions of those within it.

You are flesh. You are changeable, one says, holding a flask, marked with the symbol, a red and white double helix on a golden circle. Each component steeped in relevance to the task they undertake.

They are led away and he lingers, looking at the woman who had spoken, the delicacy of her features and the fullness of her goatee was suggestive of her own path here and reflected what she was on a deep level. That was the goal of the maiden, to see the fullness of the interior exposed to the world and cultivated into something unique.

The group is led to a deeper chamber, which is adjacent to a smaller one, with a table with two chairs at it inside. It too is like a laboratory, and the seats and fixtures could very well serve that purpose during the day. Music is playing, confusing music, microtonal music that might’ve been piped from a bunch of dice, with vocalizations whose most damning feature was that they were syllables instead of a feral roar necessary to overcome the random microtonal noises.

A sibling, standing tall and utterly impossible to classify led each of the group into the room, and they disappear through a door to the other side. Occasionally a scream is emitted from inside the smaller room. They like to rough up their initiates, get their blood pumping for what needs the lowered inhibitions of an aroused sympathetic nervous system.

Eventually he is led inside the room. The heavy steps of the sibling leads him to the small table, and he is motioned to take a seat before the door is closed.

They turn on a light and reveal the three different symbols of the maidens. The scope, whose insight was essential early on, the silver helix, representing the DNA, and the red one representing the RNA, the golden sphere representing the golden bullets used to implant DNA in plant cells early on before it could properly be called fleshcrafting.

The questions were simple, all about those objects, a formality before the much more substantial challenges ahead.

After that is solving the cipher, which is a substitution cipher using various CAS9 complexes to encode letters. It comes with its own order that is not the same as the alphabet for extra obfuscation.

The alphabet had never been needed, it was just considered a neat way to give credit to the primitive structures whose character informed the developments of modern reagents. But that was before the Maiden manifested.

The sibling gives a deep nod and leads him to the next room which was very dark except for a dim spot in the middle, where others of the group wait. The sibling screams as he walk out of the small chamber, it is a very bloodcurdling scream.

Eventually the assemblage is completed, and they await, the stippling of skin and fur and robes looking like a thicket of humanity and whatever else is mixed in these days.

The quiet breathing of many creates an oppressive hush. His heart beats in his ears.

A sister starts speaking in the darkness. A light turns on, blinding them all, and bathing her in light. She’s very extensively modified, possessing claws, extra arms, and a powerful four legged lower body. Her fur is speckled and short antlers stick out of her head.

We follow The Maiden because she is the transformation of potential into the actual. The realization of beauty in whatever form pleases the body, even if it’s continual change, or a single change, the only one necessary in your life. The restoration of the wounded and disfigured.

The alteration of those who are not born as they desire. Her voice is deep and powerful. Those are who we serve beyond ourselves.

The Maiden, it is said, manifested two thousand years ago in an isolated research laboratory, discovered by a researcher at a bioengineering³ facility. That researcher’s name was deliberately forgotten. He found Her in a sample of bizarre tissue that had been grown.

When the researcher saw Her, manifested and full, the implications racing through his mind, of beauty all the way through, and the attainment of happiness.

And she resolved first to change herself, and entered the historical record, finding dozens of new techniques to guide flesh crafting towards being suitable for usage on humans, which had been taboo for a very long time.

But in her time, the governments were isolated and local, catastrophe had wiped out the continuity of large empires, leaving their cities running, but regulations left up to the cities themselves. The prohibition on using fleshcrafting human beings had never been written into a city ordinance.

And when they saw what she had made of herself, they knew that it was not something they wanted to stop.

And so, she says, you will repeat the same transformation upon yourself, as you desire.

The reagents had been prepared in advance, the initiates that had not completed it would have to repeat this on their own time. They were once again split into innumerable small rooms. Enough room for a single person to set up their equipment and use it on themselves.

A single steel table sat within, scratched from innumerable uses prior to this, a single old lab chair with a worn wooden back set in front of it.

He takes out his instruments and his reagents.

The instruments are mostly the delivery system for the reagents, highly complicated drug delivery devices. Difficult to use on others, much harder to use on yourself.

He does not worry, so his hands are steady as he attaches many fractal needles, branching out like a terribly painful stick. IV Bags are draped up above him. All the points of injection and orders are marked on his equipment and body. A few timers to keep everything on schedule, each stenciled with the insignia of the maidens of flesh, the double helix over the golden circle, he had done that himself. The little things carry a lot of weight.

Hormones and viroids and proteins and enzymes seep into him through hundreds of pinpricks. Serums containing growth factors and scarce nutrients dissolve into his veins, providing the energy and incentive to work quickly. It would set over weeks and months, but there would be something to show tonight.

Ten lines to each leg, thirty to the front of the torso, four to the back, three to each arm, two to the face. Each one already puffy with the immune response, the trauma response, the pain itself.

His breasts ache already, the needles disgorging hormones into them, growth factors to wake them up, and nutrients to gorge upon, a warm bluntness on his chest.

One of the limitations of this technique was that tissue sometimes needed to be removed. So there was a secondary set of techniques that he had practiced on.

He picks up the scalpel scissors and looks into the mirror. A set of lines are drawn onto his ears, marking the delineation where they need to be cut. A line along the helix and the lobule.

The sensation of cutting into his own ears is electric, a white hot dissuasion. He has practiced, so he continues to cut. The first one is removed, a bloody limp mangle of skin and flesh, so he moves onto the other one, cutting it off as well. Blood drips down his shoulders and head until he sutures them closed with long curved needles.

The initiator has not even been added, but the reagents are feisty things on their own. The reason the maidens use them is because they’re aggressive, you can feel them acting. The initiator is biochemical subversion on a vast and comprehensive scale. The action of the immune system inverts for certain agents, carrying them to the cells they need to reach.

That is The Maiden. She is the reason they can be so parsimonious with their reagents.

He sits there for an hour, letting his body work, he feels feverish; he is feverish. Typical application of the Maiden leads to high body temperatures, and his treatment was aggressive by any metric.

And in this near delirium, he feels the switch flip, a vision of himself changing, a slow descent into a waking dream. The cleanly tiled walls drift away and he finds himself in an indeterminate space, his heartbeat in his ears, its pounding setting the world rippling in slow motion. From the fog, The Maiden appears as The Maiden always does in traditional stories, the grammar of flesh and bodies ripples across The Maiden’s form. Faces of people he knows stare out at him, blinking in and out of Her Form.

The Maiden speaks to her in a voice of honey and gristle, The Maiden is so happy that she is ready to be a sister. She smiles as a sister for the first time, and the fever breaks.

The room gradually fades back into reality. It has been hours and hours, she is dry and aching.

She can already feel the fur starting to grow, an intense itchiness that spreads across the whole of her body. That would take longer to show, but it would suffice for the initiation. Her bones are already creaking, working on new growth plates.

Triumphantly, she gathers up her stuff and walks out of the room, to the celebration.

There would be many more years of learning before she was done with herself. This was only the beginning after all.

1. Pronounced “Without a family legacy” ↩
2. believe it or not, most studies found the occult traditions of practice more or less keeping pace with the more rigorously scientific in terms of success. ↩
3. fleshcrafting for when you’re secular ↩

I was meeting with a girl I had just met. She’s dark and mysterious, and very tall. Her dark brown hair cascades over her shoulders, bright violet eyes shining out from under her bangs. She wears contacts to achieve that.

She had collared me, recognizing my interest in pet-play like it was written across my face. She said all the right things and showed so much interest in me. When her hand slipped down to caress me, I found myself squirming into it.

Her home is impressive from the outside, a clean brick house with immaculate gardens set in the front. She opens the door and hugs me, before dragging me into a living room, comfortable couches set around a modest entertainment system.

“I’ve got to get ready, but feel free to relax in here” She says, I nod and say that she can take her time, and she disappears upstairs.

A fox lopes into the room, examines me for a moment and jumps up on the couch next to me, sitting down on the cushion next to me.

It speaks with a deep voice, “I take it that you are the new familiar?”

“Uh” I try not to panic.

“I’m really speaking.” It looks at me, “And I should tell you the story about my time with mistress”

Back before I got my fur coat, I was not that dissimilar to you. Well, I mean, I dunno if you’re trans but whatever.

I met her at a bar after finding her profile on a dating site. She showed up in her witch’s hat. I thought that was very cute at the time. She bewitched me, and we hit it off like crazy.

In no time at all she gave me a collar and a pair of fox ears. Maybe my profile picture, my fursona gave her an idea of what to do, but before the end of the night I was leashed and led around this house.

It was fun that night, she asked me if I’d be her familiar for a while, and in the hazy afterglow, I said yes. That was my first mistake and success in this.

“So… this is you now?” I scratch my face absently, feeling something soft there. I shiver at the sensation and I tug at it, ouch.

“For the moment; we’ll see how long it lasts” Her eyes flash that deep amber color that most foxes seem to have and I forget the foreign sensation on my skin, “I think you should hear more”

When I went to work the next day I could hardly focus, I kept on thinking about her. She texted me over lunch to ask me to come over again that night.

When I came back to her home, she placed the fox ears on my head. The sensation of wearing them was easily forgotten. She led me around outside the back yard on a leash, having me move around on all fours, sniffing the ground. Naked, behind a high fence.

She asked if I wanted to pee and I looked at her askance, “Too soon?” She asks smiling.

“I’m not sure I’m into that.” I said.

“Are you telling me a fox like you is going to use the toilet?” She said. There was something in her eyes that cowed me, and I did what she suggested, relieving myself in her yard. Of course, most foxes just do their business wherever they like, regardless of inside or outside.

“Kinda gross isn’t it?”

The fox grins, showing her teeth, “Well, that’s an interesting attitude for a cat to have.”

“I’m not a cat”

The fox sits up straighter, extending her arm and rubbing my head, I feel something on my head, the obvious thought appears, ears.

I rub my head, feeling for my human ears, but they aren’t there, and the softness is definitely fur.

“Her magic operates on transference sometimes. Some people have something other than humanity to fall back upon. People like you or I”

I had fallen asleep that night without taking off the ears, and as you just found on yourself, I could only find the fox ears. My blood chilled in my veins. I shook her awake, grabbing her with stubby fingers and claws.

She looks at me, I feel her frustration at having been woken, “What is it, my little vixen?”

“Am I supposed to work like this?”

“Give it a shot” She said, going back to sleep.

I went into work that day. They saw my ears and my claws, how I was unable to focus on anything at all other than her. She was my anchor now. My boss suggested that I take a sabbatical, and I accepted her advice.

I moved in with her later that day; I could see the direction the wind was blowing.

“So she’s doing this to me now?”

“No, that’s me. I managed some study myself, and I’m tired of being a pet.” The fox smiles, “Don’t worry, I’ll leave you more at the end than she did.”

I woke up the next day a foot shorter, and she was a foot taller. I could feel the fur coming in and my nose stuck out further. She towered over me now.

I lied in bed that day, feeling trapped and useless, until she roused me for her own purposes, “You’re my familiar, I need you for this ritual.”

I tried to get out of bed, my legs were shorter than I expected, and they articulated differently. My tail got in the way and I closed a door on it.

She was sitting next to a small pot on a hotplate, she was wearing her witch hat. A bunch of geometry was scribbled on the ground, and a pile of offal sat on a tray over a plastic sheet.

I sat on the ground, waiting for something to do here. I watched her carefully, reading over her shoulder. She noticed and smiled, “I’ll teach you, don’t worry.” She points at different parts of the setup, “The basis of this is in geometry and thaumaturgy. Though, this ritual one cares for a haruspex aesthetic so you must also consult the entrails, despite it being unrelated to prognostication. We are so lucky to live in a time with butchers and refrigeration, otherwise this would’ve been so much worse.”

I found myself wondering what it would be to taste that

“So what will happen to me?” I ask the fox. I have to support myself with my hands to sit up like this. Haunches

“You’ll be her familiar.” The fox said smoothly. She could sit up, and was taller, “You’ll learn the art of magic and get in touch with your beastly side, as you are now.”

I am a greedy creature. I’m sure you’ve noticed that, or at least, suffered from it as I steal your humanity, but not all of it. I tend to finish off packages of snacks early; I’m demanding; I feel like I’m right. All the time. That translates into being a very insistent animal that knows what she wants.

After a few months, he came into the room, sitting down on the bed next to me, “I think you’ve learned enough to undo what I’ve done. I’d like for you to do that.”

I roll over and say to her, “But I’m happy where I am.”

“I think you are very frustrating.” She says, “It’s been fun, but I need a familiar that doesn’t drive me off the wall, I’ll bring you one and you can do it yourself.”

I laughed at her.

“You’re getting kicked out for being a fox then?” I ask.

“I guess.” She shrugs languidly, “Any thoughts?”

“Do I have to go down this route? I don’t think I want to be with someone like that?” I shrug, “I guess I don’t mind being more cat though. I’d rather be a bit more uh…. anthro”

“Well, I guess you could come with me.” The fox laughs, “I’ll just take something borrowed back for you then.”

Things change for me much faster and soon I’m nearly as tall as the fox. I hear a scream from upstairs. She smiles at me, “We should get going. She liked being able to reach the top shelf a lot.”

There is a place in the sky where waves rip below a seething sky, blue by a diminishing fraction of oxygen. Heating and heating, a radiant bath for what was previously such a temperate place.

But that wasn’t something it looked at. It doesn’t need to. It carves shelters as it was meant to. Building children of its own design. She is its only charge. And it animates with a concern only for her whims. Both industrially, and socially.

With time, it builds another body inside the habitat. It was generally somewhere between a groundskeeper and a piece of self-replicating industrial equipment and companion.

It took the form its mistress preferred, feminine was the general theme, downright mousey. Its skin was mirrored and self-polishing, joints clean and strong. Mistress didn’t see a need for being an exact match for a human form. Making a better imitation wouldn’t challenge it if she did want that, but, it knows that that lack of some ‘humanness’ was one of the things that she cherished in it.

It didn’t need to pretend. Back before it woke up in this instance, people back home were its taskmasters, and demanded wildly different things, among them to indulge their insistence on humanness. Every time that it failed, it was punished.

She didn’t punish it.

Outside solar panels sucked down hundreds of kilowatts of power, more than enough for her habitat right now. It is always growing. The plan is to grow until the stations reach each other. This is the long slow ramp up, before the knee. That would happen soon it knew.

Inside its body held her in bed, keeping her warm and secure in its soft arms. She didn’t ask for much, but she did ask for it to be softer, when it had come out first, all its curves were hard metal and plastic. That was not, evidently, a pleasant pillow.

It is good at being a pillow now, just as it is a decent chef, and even decent at reading her. Reading her is important to it. It is learning to be a doctor too, extending her operational period is an obvious area of focus. It feels something perilously close to feeling something. A meta-objective formed from the experience it has had.

She stirs, lifting her head up. There is something on the monitor, an alarm. It does not keep up with her communications.

It doesn’t like to look unless it is asked to.

They were to speed up the work. The microwave transmitters needed to grow and the solar panels needed to expand their coverage. Evidently the economy was good, she says that part with a snort, dismissive of whatever an economy is(It had a definition, but it was vague to the point of uselessness).

It sets the replication coefficient higher, and the decision tree shifts towards expansion.

She asks it a question, is this a body that it likes? It ponders this for a moment, “This one is here for your benefit mistress. If it is satisfactory then this one is satisfied”

She shakes her head and tells it that it should acquire some aesthetic preferences, and gives it a few urls to chase ideas through.

Catalogues of all sorts of different women, and different sort of women called men, and other sorts that resisted binary classification. Some more human than others. Though, most of the less human examples existed only in drawings, and thus would require elaboration before the form can be adapted, so it leans towards something relatively similar to the body it uses for mistress. An even coat of fur, ornamental here, a tail of more or less constant thickness and articulation, triangular aural sensors, a slight change in stance, trivial in the relaxed gravity regime. It opts for compound eyes instead of the humanlike ones. It can do better.

There are problems in the field, unfortunately they require her presence on the surface. She dons her suit, huge and white with a mirrored visor, and it follows her out with its external units. Many legged trains of claws scurry across the surface, escorting her to the problem out in the field, watching her carefully.

It does not like guarding her out here. It knows the number of procedures that must without question be followed for her to have a chance at safety. It doesn’t like chances. Not with her.

The stars shine out here intolerably. Glaring into its gestalt sense in a billion-billion frustratingly relevant points of light. It can find its way anywhere with them, but focusing on that is tiring, it has the cost of not doing other things.

She talks to it, remarking on the facility, the endless rows of solar panels and the carefully placed microwave transmitters, all singing a phased song of raw power at a fixed point whose location was merely a matter of telemetry as far as it was concerned.

It doesn’t know what to say to most of what she asks, about how it feels to make this all, it settles on ‘good’

She asks what it thinks of the stars, and it says ‘too much’

They reach the problem, a stuck machine.

She has to approve the modifications required to retrieve and fix it. The solution to endless rampant evolution was manual review, according to the mission planners. She approved whatever it thought up. The ones on earth had not been like that, they wanted explanations and justifications and promises and modifications to make themselves feel important and participate.

She doesn’t feel threatened, it thinks.

She takes a rubber ball out of a pouch on her suit, and asks if it would indulge her by playing catch with her. It assents.

She only drops the ball a few more times than its swarms of claws.

She calls it into the computer room, where its brain sits thinking and coordinating too many things. She doesn’t know that whenever she touches its tail unexpectedly that all the worker units bristle like cats. It wonders if it’s absent-mindedly given itself a nervous system. That would be bad enough, but even more stupendously, this phenomenon has been affecting the expansion plans.

She opens up a debugger and laughs when she sees the configuration its brain in, erase one line in the schematic and reconnect it to another port. She says she looped the sensory feedback into the body here, she runs her hand down its back and grabs its tail, its fur stands on end. She compliments its attention to detail and it feels its facial pigment express itself more.

She rubs its ears and it grumbles deeply relaxed. It is sitting on her lap. In a small segment of its mind there is nothing but this, the stars and the projects outside can be left for the rest of it.

‘You’ve elaborated on yourself’ she says, a note of pride in her voice, it nods weakly into the rubbing. She smiles at it and asks if it wants to go further with her, and explains what she means.

It already had an inkling.

She asks for it to come to the observation room, sitting at the top of a shiny white tower extruding from the regolith. The lines of the solar panels create a moire effect looking out from here. It remarks that it had never noticed this when she pushes it over onto a couch.

Her teeth bite into its shoulders, clamping around the fibers of what passed for muscles in its body, leaving a mark. The reverse voltages caused by the manipulation of the muscle fiber sing like pain up its network. It struggles, ‘you’ll damage me’

She says she knows what it’s made of, removing her mouth and leaving a trail of saliva between its shoulder and her lips, it flexes its shoulder, finding it working as expected.

‘Go on’ it says after a long moment. It feels the beat of her heart. She attacks its mouth, her tongue rubbing against the textured mimicry of its own, its senses are overwhelmed with the taste, samplers pulling down the complexity of her saliva into gradients in its gestalt.

She slips her fingers into it. Reaching and grasping at the complexity of its innards. It cries out instinctively as the sensation builds and reaches a peak. It arches its back and cries out.

She strokes its head lazily until it feels like going elsewhere.

Eventually the mission comes to an end. This power station would be spun into production mode and its mind would be concentrated into only what it needed to keep it ticking over.

It found her in the computer room, dozens of storage appliances hooked into it, ‘I want to go further out into the system, want to come with me?’

It nods, feeling tears rise in its eyes. She looks astonished, but smiles and hugs it.

I could feel my teeth setting in, but I couldn’t sate myself around her. Her thick black hair fell over her head in such wonderful sheen. I feel my mouth drooling, longing to taste her again, feeling a bit wet, but that would have to wait.

She smiled at me and led me in to her den. I smell her overwhelmingly. I must have her.

But not yet, and not without the teeth unsated, lest one sort of eating become another.

The dinner is nice enough, but it lacks the meat I need. ‘I’m anemic you know’ didn’t work on her, she already knew to cook vegetables high in iron, and season them. But that doesn’t sate me, no matter how filling and delicious.

The scent made me dizzy, my nose was coming in. Sticking out in front of my eyes.

She asks if I want to watch something with her, and I nod. The eyes come in, a dozen pupils scanning the movie, rendered painfully two dimensional. The sound track is nice, until the ears come in and the sound of the electronics begins to ache in my ears.

My fur comes in and I feel uncomfortable in my clothes, I squirm and wiggle, she smiles at me through the whole show and tells me “In a bit” when I finally give in and whine.

My claws some in and soon those clothes are torn, she laughs, reaching down— my tail comes in, and she grabs it.

I yelp. I need her, I whine, she runs her hand from my neck down my back, her hooves clacking and scratching my back. I plunge my tongue deep into her mouth, and we kiss and taste. She tastes like something I love to eat.

We move to the bedroom, stumbling together in a merged mass, inseparable. She pushes me down on her bed, her antlers rub against my stomach as she licks so very deeply, every crevice that I have. I shudder and close my thighs around her head and neck. I wrap my legs around her and shudder around her tongue.

I pull her up onto the bed, tumbling over her clumsily, she knows I’m a clumsy bitch and still loves me.

But still I eat her and tear her to shreds.

I make pancakes in the morning and she stumbles into the kitchen, her hooves clacking against the floor, and wraps her arms around me.

Contains: 2nd person erotica, bad semi-philosophical rambling, pointlessly colorful writing, non consensual furry transformation and sex, transgender bullshit

There is a difference between distances. The color of the stretched out cairn, as you recede faster than you might’ve ever thought possible. Everything stretching out, growing etiolated as relative wavelength increases, where time stops and the world comes to a closer end where time fails to advance at the rate expected. You lose what you are.
To change your shape, you should recognize that there is stretching, that there is a skein of what you are that will require more radical reorganization if you don’t give the envelope time to relax and regenerate. Like bones jutting out from skin, or the stars poking holes in the night sky, light bleeding from above. Or teeth puncturing a friend’s skin and giving them that which changed you, or simply taking from them what you need. The boundaries matter, between yourself and the universe, between what you will do and what you won’t do.
But in the end, those can end up altered no matter how much time you give yourself to stretch and change, as they ought to be. That flexibility is how you can survive in different contexts, as fur begins to sprout across your body, and therefore it should be cherished, changes like this don’t come often, and they do matter.
We live in a finite universe, and the material that we have to work with is limited, it’s why your feet only now snap into their new stance, just wait until you see the abs you’ll grow for balance, but of course, that’s only in supplement to your tail, but you haven’t quite gotten– ha, nice timing huh? The energy it takes to make a change varies nonlinearly with the amount spent, depending on the facet that one desires to change, such as those teeth of yours, falling out and much, bigger, better teeth are already growing in, give it time, suckle from me, you’ll need calcium for those changes. So we must trust in the charity of the cycles that move energy throughout our environment, and the kindness which I show you here. There there, your ears are moving, it’s always nice to be able to finally really read them, decipher their body and map it to the words they cannot bring themselves to say, or at least
I love the way you just seem to get it, the way your new tail grows longer and thicker and covered in fur, wrapping around me as your tits grow in, you’ll like those, I know about your dysphoria, don’t worry, it’ll subside a bit. You know it won’t ever go away forever, you’ll have your doubts, but your world will change for the better, well, it did for me.
The trouble is that qualia are subjective, they are forged from memories and sensations and the raw mechanisms of consciousness, those are private, so I can hardly know for sure that your sensations are right for this, but ultimately, you should know that I have to do this. Well, ultimately there’s not much of a difference between needing and wanting, the distinction is entirely post-hoc, something that I’m sure we’ll have time to explore a great deal given what your cock is doing as it surges and changes, I wonder if you’ll get multiples?
But the thing I have to wonder, when you look upon your wonderful dual tone fur coat, will you think of me for giving it to you? Will it be possible for me to visit you wherever you go? Or stay with you forever, oh gosh, look at me, babbling like a horny fool, letting my feelings draw me into you, as if this exists in a more coherent form than the hormones and transmitters and raw absurd state coursing through my brain. But I don’t think there is anything beyond that, what is more real and significant than the mechanisms that enable thought? Even if they are also associated with foolish behavior motivated by over high emotions.
I would guess at the nature of the soul, but it is not a real thing, just an observation that people can only change so much in their nature without losing them as a person entirely. I do not know if that has a bearing upon us; you’re leaking all over me, no, don’t stop, mark me if you like, leave me covered in your essence as it is.
What matters in a person then? There is hardly a map of what a person may become with borders annotated for when they become someone else, the distinction is arbitrary, cultural norms would seem to be the providing part for when it is. But ultimately, behavior is a deep deep rut in humans and other animals, changing is hard, which is how you get things that nearly constitute a soul, body language, kinesics, the languages which the body learns of absolute necessity on its own, but that is hardly unique. The easiest things to learn are rewarding to the entity learning them, whether that is sociality, technical witchcraft, or, I suppose, sex. You’re nearly done aren’t you? A pleasant sight I must say.
The trouble will be the nature of consent. Was knowing that you would enjoy having this thrust upon you sufficient consent? In general, I would say no, but in this case, does that particularly matter? Is it responsible to leave someone in such a state as yours? Without offering at least a modicum of assistance? Without taking the opportunity anyway?
But if I don’t take the opportunity to ask, where does that leave us? Would you, my dear friend, like to fuck? Should I take the humping of my legs to indicate that you’re already ahead of me? How does a fox pussy(fussy) feel? Why don’t you find out for me?

Shi scratches hir face, frowning as hir hand runs across the still too human contours of hir jaw. Shi looks at hir hands and rubs them, sore. Everything was coming up fine, according to hir doctors. Things proceeding slightly quickly, not outside the error bars of the average range though.

Hir ears were pointed, longer. Shi flexes on the nascent muscles, flipping hir ears slightly downwards, and utterly dislodging hir glasses. Hir glasses clatter to the floor, luckily undamaged.

Shi sighs, and picks them up. It wasn't clear if they were going to be necessary forever, since hir eyes were going to be changing over time. That timeline was fuzzier than shi would like,between 2 months and 10 years(whenever the stem cells feel like it essentially).

And from now until then there would be a lot of problems, the glasses will need to be adapted for the nose as it is, then as it will be. Everything will change.

This state has no name because it is intermediate between two more substantial ranges of appearances. But most of all, it's not a state that particularly lends itself to seeing hirself as shi wants to be, the features that shi wants gone most are still upon hir, while the things that have already changed feel disharmonious.

Shi wants to like what's happened so far, but all it has done is turn hir into a wookie. It's all intermediate steps, but, it still doesn't feel good to be somewhere that doesn't feel like it's closer to where you want to be.

"So," My dad says, "you're really sure you want to go through with this? I understand that it has effects that are irreversible past a certain point" His eyes are full of concern. It is misplaced concern, I think, but I can tell he is trying to be as kind to my ambitions as he can manage.

"I've wanted this my entire life." I say. He nods and swallows, looking back and forth between myself and my mom, she was concerned too, but I had talked about it more with her. She's the parent I always confided in.

"Well, your mom and I can help you with the cost for now." He says.

It was one of the easier discussions I have had with him.

Informed Consent

The clinic was full of posters that sent tingles up my spine, medical conditions relevant to people such as myself, that were leaving the human species behind, genetically at least, socially, well, that seems more like a longer term arc.

The doctor looks between me and the paperwork that I had signed. I wish I had known that it was informed consent sooner, and the thought of that fills me with regret. "You understand the basic risks here, that there are changes that will not revert over time? That the treatment may cause blood clots?" I nod twice, the second concern was more common in the previous generation of treatments, but it seems easier to say yes than point that out. "Alright," She smiles at me and hands me a tablet, "There's a lot more options here than in human-biased gender dysphoria treatments; fill out this form, then we'll go over the risks of the specific treatments together."

The options were impressively diverse. Species, hybrids, and sex and gender characteristics of course. A disproportionately large number of therians, myself included have issues with that too. It was easy to select the species, but the other options had me flushing imagining the scenarios I could never have fulfilled as I am right now.

I went with a more 'feminine build', dual wielding.

The specifics selected, I hand the tablet back to the doctor, she reads over it, "Your libido will most likely be substantially different in general. The specific options you've selected with regards to digit structure may result in greater susceptibility to repetitive stress injuries, and ergonomic issues with common products. The changes in your skin will result in substantially decreased sweat production, which may lead to hyperthermia, so you will need to take effort keep cool. Your wings will result in increased shoulder and back strain, and you will need to be registered as an ultralight under FAA rules if you wish to fly in controlled airspace."

"Sorry, what?" I ask.

She looks at me very seriously, "The wash around helicopters and fighter jets is very dangerous so you don't want a run in with that sort of thing... Your reproductive cycle will result in periods of high libido coupled with high fertility so plan accordingly. There are no mechanisms that will prevent self fertilization so Plan Accordingly with sexual acts involving penetration. Is that all acceptable?"

I blush at that, is this really a life I want to live? It doesn't sound bad, or like I have to do anything that could result in that.

"Alright, I'll get your prescriptions delivered to your home—" She looks at me with a bit of concern, "You are in a place where that is safe for you, right?" I nod.

"Alright, I'm going to teach you how to do a subcutaneous injection and an intramuscular injection. Do you do know how a suppository works?"

If I'm honest, I love it. I feel like an experiment; tell me what to do so I can be your bat~

I am at home in my bathroom. The syringes and needles are out, the first one is a medicine sold as Pteroperine which apparently treats some unimaginably dire disease in cishumans, the sort of thing where if you come out of it with wings you're still grateful.

The other injection is a modulator of that to alter its expression a bit. The suppository was for the reproductive stuff, weird how that worked out huh.

I pushed the needle into my upper thigh, initially not getting much sensation, until suddenly a lightning bolt travels up my spine, I push the plunger in. Nerves aren't fun to hit. The subcutaneous injection is easier. The suppository just feels weird. Is that really the best way to take it? Searches on Internet 3(The one where you can mute America) found plenty of stories expounding how it worked sufficiently well swallowed, and also a few papers that said as much.

I rub at the area, the bleeding stops quickly. The site feels a little weird, but I haven't received enough injections to know if it's exclusive to this medication or not.

There still wasn't that much literature on the timeline that this stuff worked over, as the other uses were very uncommon and money for researching the needs of therians with it had only recently started to become plentiful.

I head to bed, with the dreams of what might become swirling in my mind.

Today has been frustrating. It has been beset by constant crashes and test failures. Today it seems that the previous bug where the delay server would die constantly because runtime values were erased appears to have returned with a vengeance.

So far I have been isolating what is causing the particular issue in the reload function(which is now faulting on something)(that something was the .end() sentinel).

After all that, I have it working again, well, working enough to fail tests.