Part 5

The Escapist!

Part 5: The Convention

The fifth time happened when I tried to launch my business at the Annual Alchemists Convention.

In my final year of college, following the Jizza incident, Avola and I became best friends, although the road to getting there was fraught and challenging for both of us.

Avola’s struggles mostly had to do with her transformation. While she was very satisfied with her remade body, she found aspects of it challenging at first. She loved her new penis trunk, finding it to be an agile and excellent new genital during sex and, with its prehensile foreskin, a useful extra grasping limb the rest of the time. However, she also found that swinging it around in close quarters or among polite company caused a lot of mishaps and misunderstandings. It took some practice, but Avola eventually found that she could comfortably wrap her five-foot trunk around her shoulders like a scarf when she was say, sitting in lecture hall or in a crowded café.

The bigger challenge was sex with her elephantine penis. Avola’s cock would invariably thrash around in pachyderm rooting behavior as soon as it slipped from its sheath. This meant that Avola had trouble using it for penetrative sex with anyone but the staunchest size queen or someone transformed to have an enlarged and durable cunt. Fortunately, Avola discovered that her tailbone orifice kept her anus very well lubricated and that her new, elephantine prostate was so sensitive that she *really* enjoyed being fucked in the ass. Her sex life, then, became centered around finding a well hung guy, dickgirl, or transformee to ram her ass while her elephantine cock thrashed and wiggled and heaved below her. There was a learning curve, but in the end Avola was very satisfied.

The biggest complication from Avola’s transformation was that of gender presentation. Like most Jizza transformees, Avola was functionally male, having replaced her female genitals with exclusively male ones. However, unlike many longterm Jizza residents who knew that they were male, Avola wasn’t sure what she was. She had two huge phalluses on her body, but she still had very small breasts and her body was otherwise quite androgynous looking. At first Avola shaved off her beard and tried to carry on as before, to keep wearing the unisex t-shirts and sloppy jeans that had always been her uniform. Except now that meant many people just assumed she was male. So Avola steered into that and tried out being a man, growing a thick beard, taking to plaid workwear and gruff manners. When that wasn’t quite right, she shaved her face again and took a turn at being butch. Avola found that she missed being girly, despite her male anatomy, and eventually settled on presenting as extremely femme. She took to styling her black hair in luxurious ringlets, dressed in brightly coloured, patterned dresses, and started wearing makeup for the first time in her life. She also cultivated a long beautifully styled mane, meticulously shaving her face but allowing the hair along her jawline and neck to grow out, an affectation that made her look like an exotic crossdressing lion. It was like seeing Avola transform a second time, suddenly becoming vibrant and confident and sexy. Avola still wasn’t sure what she was, whether she was a woman or a kind of roundabout transwoman, but since she was happy she didn’t really care.

The challenge for me was getting over my discomfort and prejudice of the transformed. If the Jizza incident taught me anything, besides don’t drink the coffee in Jizza, it’s that I was actually afraid and distrustful of transformees in a way that was deeply problematic. I tried my best to suck it up and be there for my friend while she rediscovered herself, but my issues stuck like a thorn between us. Her new body made me uncomfortable and I couldn’t respect her choice to transform. Avola, still butch and having a miserable day, finally called me on my shit and asked what the fuck was wrong with me, her cock-trunk gesturing wildly. I broke into tears and told her about my past, about my run in with the Avatar in the mountains, my transformed friends, and the lab accident I had narrowly avoided. Avola, showing her intelligence and more compassion than I deserved, was patient with me, slowly teaching me that she was still the same person; that as a transformee she was nothing be afraid of. Then she introduced me to the small handful of other transformed people she knew on campus, letting me see them as people instead of things or victims. There was nothing like first hand knowledge to break down ignorance. It took a while, but I eventually learned to accept Avola’s new body and to be comfortable and accepting of other transformees.

With both of our baggage out of the way Avola and I became much closer. Out of some combination of the shared Jizza experience, the work we did to understand each other afterward, and the shared misery of classwork, or maybe just because we genuinely got along, we became nearly inseparable. We studied together, ate together, went out together, and then became roommates. We took a ski trip during winter break and a raucous beach vacation during the spring reading week. When my cousin got married I dragged Avola along as my friend-date, which was hilariously fun because my extended family had never met a transformee before. We both danced and got spectacularly drunk, and Avola even managed to seduce and get butt-fucked by the best man. It feels weird saying it, but in many ways my friendship to Avola was the most important thing in my life then.

Since we were so close, it was no surprise that Avola invited me to her Alchemical Senior Thesis presentation. Attending this demonstration was… a big step for me, since to get an Alchemical degree at our college you had to actually perform a transformation on someone and I wasn’t sure how I felt about being around live alchemy. Avola of course didn’t ask me to be her test subject, and instead shocked everyone by transforming herself. I sat in the demonstration hall, near the back of the room clutching my seat in terror as Avola carefully applied drops of her concoction to her temples with her cock-trunk. The flesh there bubbled and elongated and grew into short, blunt antennae which gradually waved around the room. Avola had smiled afterward and gushed that it worked, and then explained to the room that she had given herself new organs which could sense manna and dcum. A transformation she hoped would aid her career as an alchemist. From what I understand that was a very difficult transformation to devise, and so Avola graduated as an alchemist with top marks.

My own academic career ended a bit more humbly: I got my degree in environmental engineering with a minor in alchemy without any particular distinction. I did manage to con, plead, or wheedle my way into several safety certification programs though. So despite my fairly modest academic record, I was actually licensed to work with and dispose of a surprising amount of hazardous material. I could realistically live my dream of helping prevent transformation accidents by cleaning up alchemical spills and wild dcum.

I just needed to get a business up and running.

So I sat down and put together a business plan and applied for loans. Unsurprisingly, the banks, which found the whole transformation business dubious and my lack of collateral unacceptable, declined to fund my business. Surprisingly, I did get a modest grant from an alchemical venture capitalist, the Rycroft Fund, who received a letter from my business partner… a Ms. Avola Unteer. I was shocked! Avola wanted to work on my cleanup business? She wanted to be an alchemist, had all kinds of opportunities to continue her studies or take an apprenticeship, why would she ever want to work with me? She had never given me any sign. When I confronted her about it, she had just shrugged and said that she thought my business sounded like a good idea, and would be fun to try for a while. Besides, she said, there was no one she would rather work with than me. And so we became partners, incorporated our company, and bought our first supplies. Piste-Unteer Belial Environmental Services was open for business.

Now we just had to find a client base.

“I know the perfect way to market a dcum cleanup service,” Avola said brightly fussing with the hair of her mane. “We should buy a booth at the Annual Alchemists Convention!”

I shuddered. “Ugh. You just want to go to the convention.”

“Well yes.” Avola smiled, “But look, it’s the perfect way to get our name out there! The people who are most going to need alchemical cleanup services are going to alchemists. And for our environmental remediation products, well, when ordinary people encounter dcum in the wild, they are going to contact their local alchemist first, right? So going to the convention and making ourselves known to the local alchemists is going to be really helpful.”

I chewed on my lip. I really couldn’t fault her logic: the convention really was the best place to show off our new business and a great way to market our services. I groaned.

Avola looked me in the eyes. “Look Thesca, I know you don’t like being around transformations or alchemists… but if you are serious about going into this business, you are going to have to get over it. Cleaning up alchemy and dcum is going to mean a life spent around this stuff. So… maybe it’ll be good for you to go and confront your fear. See that it’s less scary than you think it is.”

“Okay,” I sighed, “We might as well do it and get it over with.”

“Ah!” Avola grinned, slapping me on the back with her trunk, “I’m so excited! I didn’t think you’d actually agree to it!”

***

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” I muttered to Avola as she painted my mostly naked boy with another layer of white rubberized paint.

“What?” she asked innocently, “the paint or the convention?”

“Both!” I glowered. “And I still don’t see why are we are using this body paint!”

“Because it’s a show! People don’t come to the Alchemist Convention to see stuffy presentations by cool professionals, they come here to see transformations and pretty nude girls and get free stuff and maybe witness a small explosion! We have to do something that stands out and grabs attention, while still being on brand.”

“And white rubberized body paint?”

“T and A, Thesca darling, T and A. You are a sexy young woman, and I am an even sexier… whatever I am.” Avola thrust out the bulge in her white speedo and gestured at her white painted body. “We should use our wiles to our advantage, get some attention, and then leverage that attention into selling our company and product.”

“And how is sexy naked painted chicks ‘on brand’”

“Well, white is a very clean, sciencey colour and rubber paint seems sterile and kind of alchemical-ly. Think of it like a sexy hazmat suit that shows off your lovely tits.” Avola swatted my breasts with the paint brush making them jiggle a little.

“You’re mad!”

“That’s what they tell me!”

“I still don’t see why we couldn’t have just worn labcoats and fishnet stockings…” I muttered.

***

Our booth wasn’t much, just a square space of plain white walls, a plywood floor we had covered in cheap white industrial tiles, and a stainless steel work table we had borrowed from a friend’s kitchen. Tacked to the back wall were white posterboards covered in Avola’s shockingly neat and legible trunk-writing explaining who we were and what services we provided. (Avola’s handwriting was messy scribbles, so I always found it shocking that she could write so well with her penis-trunk.) On top of the workbench and placed thoughtfully around our little stage were examples of the medical and chemical cleanup tools and technology we would be using to handle alchemical and dcum spills. (And by examples, I mean literally every single thing we could afford to buy for our nascent company.) It wasn’t much, but by sheer white austerity it managed to stand out amongst the more professional kiosks.

Avola and I stood around trying to look professional and eager to help. When that failed to attract a crowd, Avola started to strut around a little, to gesture with her penis trunk and stick out her slender hips. She posed on a corner of the stage, feet spread and leaning forward, jutting out her bottom lip. It was a pose that didn’t do much for her tiny, painted breasts but did draw a lot of attention to the bulge of her huge elephant cock in its tight speedo. “You know,” she looked said glancing at me, “you could try to work it a little too… you are the one of us who still has a rack.”

I rolled my eyes, hands on my painted hips, inadvertently striking a bit of a sexy pose. “I think,” I said, frowning at her, “that it’s a bit early in the day to resort to theatrics.” I looked around at the morning convention goers, mostly other exhibitors or professionals just getting the lay of the land. “I’m sure it will pick up.”

“We both don’t need to stand here all day,” Avola said, arranging her cock-trunk around her shoulder. “Why don’t you go explore a little, see what’s around before it gets busier.”

I looked around, clearly nervous and showing it.

“Consider it networking,” Avola said, “If people don’t want to stop by the booth yet, you should go to them! The more people we can introduce ourselves to, give them a face to think about, the more likely you are to find some clients.” She waved her three fingered hands, “Go on! I’ll man the table now and you go convince the world of the importance dcum remediation.”

“Okay…” I said uncertainly, climbing off our stage.

“Or at the very least,” Avola said smiling playfully, waggling her antenna at me, “you could go and get a cup of coffee!”

I startled and flustered when I got the barb of her joke. I glared at her. “You are the worst person.”

“You love me,” she smirked as she turned, unfurling her trunk and bending over to flirt with an abbreviated woman whose head and neck grew straight from her hips. “Hello beautiful, have you ever had a problem with an alchemical spill or…”

And so I hit the floor of the Annual Alchemists Convention.

Despite how early in the day it was, the convention hall was already crowded with people. Well dressed alchemists hurried to their stalls and smaller groups of business casual ones chatted and strolled. Nude volunteer girls circulated, chattering with excitement and everywhere there were transformees, easily the most I had seen together since Jizza. I saw a boothgirl adjust her three breasts, smile, and approach a knot of alchemists, her tight bathingsuit doing nothing to hide her straining erection. A pair of Freyan dickgirl models breezed glamorously by, their high heels clicking on the floor, their long legs jostling their huge balls. A freshly conjoined pair of volunteer girls, now two heads perched on a single naked body, argued about where to go next and what transformations to add to their body. An anthro horseman handed out coffees to a multi-breasted catgirl and a disembodied head with a cock and insectile legs. The head gushed thanks and drank her coffee through a straw while the catgirl held her cup for her. A very tall armless woman with a torso covered in breasts spun her head in a perfect circle, surveying the crowd. Smiling in recognition, she started to scuttle towards someone on her four radially spaced, bent legs. A crowd of people mobbed a kind of brontosaur woman with a long penis neck and face and a matching tail that was wrapped with a kind of condom-cunt-woman. They were signing autographs and I realized they were contestants from that Belial Idol program. I shook my head, amazed.

I started to explore a little, gawking at the various booths and kiosks. Even after visiting Jizza, the Alchemists Convention was a mad spectacle. There were all manner of alchemists showing off their inventions and elixirs, trying to woo groups of naked women volunteers to be transformed and show off their wares. Squeezed between these were merchants trying to sell services to alchemists, safety equipment and glassware, or financial products and liability insurance. There were even booths specializing in goods for transformed people, clearly trying to impress alchemists into advertising to their customers.

I stopped by one of these kiosks, ‘Footfetish’, a shop that made custom footwear for the transformed. Standing on their little stage was a three-breasted, three-legged woman who was gushing about how this company made the only shoe that would fit her symmetrical, two-big toed middle foot. Next to her stood a short, highly muscular lizard woman wearing thigh-high boots that somehow fit her massive feet. Another woman with arms for legs was modeling a kind of glove-shoe that flexibly fit her hand-feet. A kind of humantaur woman with three horizontal torsos and eight legs walked through the crowd handing out pamphlets. I noticed that her four pairs of matching slingback heels were very stylish. She caught me looking, clicked over to me, and handed me a pamphlet. “We make shoes in single pairs,” she said happily, “bespoke footwear is for normal people too.”

Next to the shoe specialists were a row of alchemists. A tall shaggy creature covered in so much curly hair that I couldn’t distinguish its gender gestured at their ‘Folliculizer’, a device made to ‘put hair on your chest, breasts, or wherever else!” Next to the merkin-person was the ‘Amazing Multiplexir’, a body part duplication method sold by a pitch-person with two heads, four breasts, six arms, four legs, five cocks, and two cunts. She, it seemed, had a running banter between her two heads that she was using to draw in crowds, her six eyes roving for a nude volunteer test subject. The next alchemist was a dour looking man standing next to a clear glass chamber containing a freshly conjoined couple, a pair of girls forever joined face-to-face, locked in a kiss. I rolled my eyes and strolled along.

Another alchemist, ‘The Lady’s Breast Friend’, was showing off his patented breast expansion technology with the help of a giggling volunteer. The naked girl had needles inserted into her nipples, held in place with fresh piercings, which were connected to surgical tubes running to a large storage tank. The alchemist was pumping some form of solution into the squealing girl’s tits making them go from modest, to large, to huge. The young woman already had breasts the size of beachballs and was crying “bigger, bigger!” The alchemist was looking dubious but kept the flow of alchemy into her breasts. She shrieked happily and fell forward onto her humongous tits, now swollen to the size of household appliances. The young volunteer was now laying on top of her giant titflesh, body and legs held off the floor. “More! More!” she tittered, “I want to be bigger!” The alchemist cleared his throat to protest but the girl shouted over him “I want to have the biggest tits in the world!!!” People were crazy.

Across the aisle from the spectacle of the girl with now automobile sized boobies was a stall devoted to Cleanly Farms, a local dairy that was rebranding itself with transformed women. A man in coveralls and a straw hat was drawling about the benefits of milk from the transformed while a chubby cowgirl with four large breasts and an enormous udder sat on the edge of the stage. She idly kicked her hooved feet in the air, flicking her tail and ears as she chewed cud and mooed. In front of the kiosk stood another cowgirl, a large quadrupedal one with a muzzle face, cow fur, and two udders hanging between her front and back legs. She stood placidly on her four hooves while another cowgirl, this one being mostly human with two huge, four-nippled tits and a tail, milked one udder and mooed at passersby to try milking the other. Also in front of the Cleanly Farm’s stall was a cardboard cutout of a headless cows body where convention goers could pose behind and look like a cowtaur. An arrow shaped sign next to it said “This could be moo!” and a bullgirl with a huge cock and horns stood a few steps away snapping pictures of ‘cowtaurs’ with an instant camera. It seemed Cleanly Farms was recruiting. A strange Freyan Dickgirl with cowspots, hooved feet, udder-testicles, a slightly bovine-penis shaft body and a ropey tail was strutting around with a tray of milk samples. The dickgirl clopped over to me and mooed. I smiled and said no thank you and moved on.

I was so eager to avoid any kind of beverage that I blundered right into a wall of muscle. I looked up at a pair of hugely muscular headless shoulders with a narrow little pussy where a neck usually was and then looked down to the hulking creature’s crotch were a strong, twitchy feminine face was glaring up at me. “Welcome to the ‘Muscle Maximizer!’” shouted the face loudly. I took a startled step back, seeing that the cuntboy in front of me was an absolutely ripped mountain of muscle with four huge arms and a crotch face. He made his pectoral muscles dance and growled, “Sister! Protein powder might be the best thing science can do for a bodybuilder since a raw egg! But for real! Instant! Results! You can now harness the amazing power of alchemy!!!” The cuntboy drew in a huge breath and flexed, “MUSCLE MAXIMIZER!” he screamed at me.

“Sorry,” I muttered, “Not really into weight lifting…” backing away.

“Don’t be a pussy!” roared the cuntboy from his crotch face.

I just kept backing away, resisting the temptation to point out how poor a slogan that was for a cuntboy whose face was between their thighs.  The cuntboy spotted another convention goer to harass and began to shout at them. It seems I had made my escape.

I grinned. The Annual Alchemist Convention wasn’t terrifying. Despite the press of transformed bodies and the scores of bizarre transformations happening all around me, I felt safe. There was a measured quality to the transformations, professional alchemists using well made and understood apparatus to affect desired transformations. There was order here. There was also a sense of fun: all the fresh transformees here were happy volunteers and not unfortunate victims. This was a carnival of transformation and not the terror of a mad avatar’s whims or whatever insidious madness was happening in Jizza. The convention was, despite its grand scale, a kind of transformation I could relax around, maybe even enjoy.

Even if I was spending the day basically naked except for a thick coating of white rubber body paint.

With that spirit in mind I joined a crowd of people gathered around a kiosk for the “Cuddle Factory” a furniture themed alchemist who had talked two nude volunteer girls into joining him on stage. The mustachioed man smiled and waved, straightened his smart green blazer and bowler hat, and asked his audience for just a moment. He turned to his volunteers and began conferring quietly with the two girls, I hoped negotiating the terms and caveats of their upcoming change.

While the boilerplate was being settled, I took in the outrageous sight of the alchemist’s booth and the two transformed women… or perhaps display models he had on stage with him. A young human woman wearing a frilly maid costume stumbled around the stage, posing saucily and dusting the living furniture.

One of the transformed women was a huge four poster bed made out of some combination of flesh and wood carving. The frame, headboard, baseboards and posts were all seemingly made from some dark wood and covered in carvings. At the center of the headboard was the beautiful face of a woman perched in an idyllic forest scene surrounded by smaller figures of satyr and nymphs dancing and fucking. Each of the corner posts ended with a woman’s dainty limbs, hands on either side of the headboard, and delicate feet on the baseboard. The posts themselves were chased with ivy and more frolicking, copulating satyr and nymphs. The baseboard continued the motif, but in its center, instead of a face, was an elaborate vagina, a flesh and blood one with huge labia like the petals of a flower. The bed itself seemed to be made of flesh, the sheetless mattress a wide expanse of pale, freckled skin with soft pillows made of large breasts or a wide ass for those that prefer firmer support. The blankets of the bed seemed, and probably were, woven from threads of red-gold hair and seemed to grow from the baseboard. It was a majestic piece of furniture, but an odd choice of body.

I began to notice that while the bed was broadly immobile, it wasn’t quite inert. The mattress and ‘pillows’ rose and fell with breath, the blanket rippled and fussed a little on its own, and the wooden carvings moved a little, the nymphs and satyrs actually dancing and fucking a little. The hands at the end of the bedposts gestured, and the carving of a beautiful woman’s face on the headboard smiled. The bed-woman said, “You’ll have to excuse my husband, he does so love talking to pretty, young, naked women.” The crowd chuckled agreeably.

The other transformed furniture-woman on stage was the alchemist’s lighting. This woman had apparently become an entire set of matching lamps. On the front corner of the stage was a pair of tall standing lamps, with bordello-skirt lampshades and a single, shapely leg sticking out to act as a stand. The legs were flesh and blood, but immobile, dressed in fishnets and squeezed into tall stiletto heels. On the back wall of the kiosk was a pair of smaller wall lamps. These had matching lampshades, but with stands that were the woman’s arms, the hands of which were gripping handles on the wall to clamp the lights in place. Finally, on a false mantelpiece at the back of the stage stood the lamp-woman’s head. Superficially she resembled a bust, a heavy stone base with the sculpture of a neck and face resting on it, except the face was flesh and blood and smiling winningly at the crowd. Upon the head of this living bust grew an elaborate candelabra of lights, looking like a showgirls crown or inverted chandelier.

The lights began to dim a little. “Luxia, dear? Some more light?” barked the alchemist.

“Saul,” she whined, “I’m only as bright as I am aroused.” She bit her lip and purred, “You’ll have to turn me back on.”

Saul sighed and walked back to the head of his lighting and whispered in her ear. Luxia giggled merrily, blushed, and squealed. “Saul! That is absolutely filthy!!” The many light bulbs of her body grew blindingly bright.

“Now that’s out of the way,” Saul said clapping his hands for attention, “we can finally get started!” Saul the alchemist herded the two nude volunteer girls into the centre of his little stage. “How about a round of applause for our brave volunteers!” The crowd, still growing, clapped politely and one of the young women waved self-consciously. “Amy and Cass here,” Saul said, indicating which was which, “have agreed to become barstools to demonstrate the Cuddle Factory approach to furniture production.” The audience shifted a little, maybe uncomfortable with the idea of such a drastic change. Saul, sensing he was losing the crowd, went on the offensive. “Now, good folks, when we discussed what change these young ladies might like Amy here jumped at the chance of being a public house stool.”

Amy blushed a deep crimson, colour shading her face and the tops of her breasts. “Yes.”

Saul beckoned with a do go on motion, “and why would you do that?”

“Oh! Well, you see, I finished college a few years ago and I’m having the hardest time finding work that matches my degree. And, well, I have truly massive student debts so I’ve been working three menial jobs and barely covering the interest. I work constantly at jobs I hate and have no fun…” Amy took a deep breath, “And I’ve always thought transformation was pretty sexy. So I thought I would come here and volunteer and try to become some sort of sexpet or possession where I would be taken care of and not have to worry about money and just have lots of sex!” Amy blushed even redder. “And being a living barstool must be fun. Always at the party, meeting lots of new people…”

Saul cut her off. “Perfect! And Cass, why are you choosing to become a chair?”

“Well, Amy is my best friend. Gotta stick by her through thick and thin. Ho’s before bros, y’know?”

Amy giggled, “Don’t you mean ‘stools before fools’!?”

Saul chuckled, “that’s the spirit!”

The alchemist tugged at his jacket and clapped his hands and the girl dressed in a maid’s outfit tromped onto stage carrying a tray of open beakers containing coloured fluids. Her shoes were outrageous platform heels and she tottered horribly on the stage, very unsteady on her feet. She stumbled, arms steadying the tray instead of herself, and nearly fell right off the side. Saul reached over and grabbed his assistant by her upper arm, saving her balance. “Thank you dear,” he said smoothly. He picked his way across the tray of alchemy, and lifted up a beaker full of a lime green solution. “Can either of you two do a headstand?” Cass nodded that she could and flopped into a headstand. “Perfect.” Saul walked behind the two women, took a careful step back, and then dribbled half the contents of the beaker onto Amy’s head and the other half onto Cass’s upraised butt. “Folks! Pay careful attention now! Watch as these two lovely volunteers are turned into even more gorgeous living furniture!”

Both women immediately started to moan as the alchemy went to work.

Amy warbled as her shapely young body began to abbreviate, her arms and legs sinking into her body. Soon she was left as a shocked head and torso resting on a hugely expanded ass, which pooled around her, supplying support. Amy moaned and arched her back, thrusting out her expanding breasts, which grew larger and larger. Amy’s back kept arching, now impossibly bent so that her huge breasts rested on the top of her, becoming the seat cushion of her stool body. Amy cried out in orgasm and her head and neck began to melt into her body, retracting into the space between her cleavage.  When Amy’s head finished its migration all that was left was her chin and upside down mouth sticking out of her tit-cushion, optimally positioned to lick a pussy or suck the balls of someone sitting on her. Finally, her smooth, toned abdomen elongated, stretching so that distance between her ass-base and tit-cushion was about four feet. Her mouth squealed, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

While this was happening Cass was also changing, but in reverse. Like Amy her arms and legs flowed into her torso. Unlike Amy, Cass’s head was also absorbed and she grew four more breasts in a ring around her limbless, headless torso which all expanded hugely to form the base of her pedestal. Cass’s ass then expanded massively and became the cushion on the top her stool, with her anus and pussy sticking out between her ass cheeks invitingly. Finally, her abdomen elongated, identical but inverted to Amy’s, turning her into a four foot tall stool.

Both women-turned-stools sat like that for a moment, Amy’s mouth moaning loudly and Cass’s pussy dribbling wet. Saul stoked his chin thoughtfully and drew a slender vial from inside his blazer pocket and poured a drop more alchemy onto both of his volunteer stools. For a breathless second nothing seemed to happen, and then the something poked out of the belly buttons of both stool-girls. The somethings slowly wiggled out like worms, but expanded as they lengthened, becoming neck width tentacles. When the tentacles eventually grew six feet long their tips became wide and blunt and gradually developed the facial features of the two volunteers. Cass soon had her original, smiling face at the end of her belly button tentacle. Amy had grown a face on the end of her new tentacle as well, but in place of her mouth, she grew a duplicate of her lost or buried pussy.

“Awesome,” breathed Cass happily.

“Totally!” gushed Amy from her mouth on her breast cushion.

Saul clapped “Another very satisfied set of furniture!” The happy audience applauded and the stools smiled at each other happily. “If you’d like to start a life as a unique, priceless piece of living furniture, come see me after this demonstration is over, and I’ll happily take your contact information. If you want to own a beautiful, custom, loving piece of living furniture, I have cards for you so that we can start the vetting, sales, and design process.” Saul smiled at the gathered onlookers, and beamed at the crowd as people started to shift and walk on to the next attraction. “That went well,” Saul said and slapped his French maid assistants back, she yelped, stumbled and pitched right off the edge of the stage, her tray of alchemy splashing on her and in an arc in front of her, splattering on a man and woman standing right next to me!

The poor assistant, soaked with an orange solution, stumbled right into the man who had been splashed with something yellow. She went head first into his crotch and… stuck there, conjoining to him face to crotch. The man grunted sexually as his and the assistant’s clothes melted off their joined bodies and as their skin became supple, beautiful oxblood leather. The woman’s naked leather legs scrabbled backward as her body lost its arms and breasts and stretched, becoming wider and longer and flat from the man’s hips to her shapely ass. The man grunted again as his arms and head melted into his torso, which became wide and flat, and tilted backwards so that it met the woman’s body at a 45 degree angle. It was obvious now that the man and woman were becoming a leather chaise lounge, a reclining couch like in a psychiatrist’s office, but one with legs: a feminine ass, legs, and cunt on the foot end, and a masculine ass, legs, and cock below the backrest. The legs stumbled uncertainly, as the woman’s feet grew chunky, wooden heels, boosting her to her toes and making the two ends of the chaise perfectly level. “Ohhhhhhhh!” moaned male and female voices from the assholes on either end of the reclining couch as they orgasmed and ejaculated in pleasure.

The woman who was sprayed was coated in teal and blue fluid and was looking stunned. She was holding a plastic bag full of odd, phallic fish with penis bodies and round, testicle shaped tail fins. She blinked her eyes rapidly and burbled oddly as her clothes began to disintegrate off of her body. When she was naked, three things gradually happened simultaneously: her stomach started to swell as if she were pregnant, her head and legs began to look wooden, and her torso became glassy looking and translucent. Her wooden face moved like she was moaning, but didn’t make a sound.

The woman’s legs, now seemingly made of polished mahogany, began to warp and flow, becoming tubular and boneless and stretching across the floor as a third matching limb wiggled out of her buttcrack like a tail and grew out behind her. She wobbled for a moment, but was soon resting solidly on a tripod of five foot long wooden legs, each developing a carving pattern of scales and, at their ends, wide fishtail flukes. Between each one the woman’s new tripod legs, a circle of human flesh remained, inset in the wood like decorative crotches. One ‘crotch’ featured the pucker of her anus, another sported the pink gash of her cunt, and the third had a feminine pair of lips which began to pant and throatily moan. All three orifices clenched, and the lips squealed, and the woman’s wooden face pinched in a look of orgasmic bliss… and froze that way becoming an immobile mahogany sculpture, her wooden hair rearranging itself into a spikey crown of fins.

Meanwhile the transforming woman’s translucent torso continued to swell, becoming massively, roundly pregnant with matching, huge heavy breasts. The tissue or fluid inside was completely clear now, and her skin was obviously a layer of thick, crystal glass. Her arms, also made of glass and still clutching her bag of penis fish flowed right into her swelling belly leaving her armless and her torso populated by the obscene fish. It was obvious now that the woman was turning into a fishtank.

Her outward changes seemed to stop, while inside her tank body she was developing terrain for her school of the brightly coloured penis fish. A layer of bone coloured white sand covered the bottom of her tank which sprouted breast shaped stones, a phallic castle, a cunt shaped coral, and pink seaweed that looked like delicate labial fronds suspended in water. The bottoms of her hollow glass breasts, looking like fishbowls projecting from the front of the main tank, also gathered sand in their bottom and grew fronds of labia plants. The school of cockfish happily swam around and started exploring, one pushing it’s cock-body into the cunt-coral and others rubbing themselves along the labial plants. The fishtank-woman’s mouth gasped at the sensation.

I was simply agog, the woman who had been standing right next to me was now a cross between a three-tailed, pregnant mermaid statue and a fishtank. I moaned a little in surprise and shock and more than a little relief that I seemed to have been spared.

“What happened?” asked the fishtank

“You transformed,” I said dumbly.

“Ah… into what? I can’t seem to see or move my body.”

“You’re a kind of… glass mermaid statue filled with water and fish.”

“A fishtank?” she asked incredulously.

“A very beautiful one,” I managed lamely.

The fishtank sighed. “I guess that’s something.”

“What about me?” asked the female ass of the conjoined chaise.

“You conjoined with that man you bumped into and became a sort of therapists couch thing with legs and genitals.” I said.

“How appropriate!” chuckled the man-ass side of the chaise. “I’m a psychiatrist!”

“No!” squealed the woman-ass. “I’m taking psychology classes right now! I want to be a sex therapist!”

“A sex therapist?” asked the man ass.

“Why yes! I want to help people get over the inhibitions and learn to enjoy intimacy better.”

“But why?”

“Well I needed to choose a major…”

“No, no, start at the beginning. Tell me about our childhood.”

The chaise started to walk away, psychoanalyzing itself. I took a shuddering breath, amazed that I hadn’t been splashed by the furniture-man’s elixirs. I was standing right next to the fishtank, it was miraculous that I escaped. And then I saw that I hadn’t, really, that I had droplets of purple fluid all down my painted arm and side. I had been splashed! I whimpered in fear, and started to panic.

Except, I was still human. Unlike the others I hadn’t been transformed. I looked at the beaded droplets on my painted skin more closely. It seemed the alchemical compound hadn’t been able to touch me, that the layers of rubber body paint had made an impermeable barrier. I burped a slightly unhinged giggle. I had been saved from being turned into living furniture by Avola’s ridiculous marketing ploy! I laughed harder, what a ridiculous turn of events, I couldn’t believe it! I had tears in my eyes I was laughing so hard. I reached up with my hand to brush them away and then caught myself. I was still covered in alchemy! I swallowed and hastily headed to the bathroom to wash the offending fluids off.

After using paper towels to dry off most of the alchemy in a restroom, I hurried over to Avola, carefully bringing all of the soiled paper with me. I told her what happened and she chuckled and brightly told me that this would be a perfect demonstration. So she gathered a crowd of onlookers, pointed out that I had been spilled on. Using her roving antenna to sense alchemy, Avola meticulously decontaminated me, cleaning my body paint thoroughly and then carefully pealing it off before disposing of every contaminated article in a safety receptacle. I stood naked in front of a crowd of clapping convention goers deeply grateful to still be human.

***

In the days that followed we started to get our first calls. It seemed that between our presence at the convention and our demonstration we had managed to get the attention of the alchemical community. I was relieved because it meant we were at last in business and Avola was hugely smug because she had been right.

I also followed up with The Cuddle Factory to see what had happened to the victims of the accident. Saul’s wife, the bed, who along with being a floor model was the stores receptionist, was happy to help. The fishtank woman apparently ran a pet shop with her husband and since her transformation had been installed in their store. The conjoined psychiatrist’s chaise had decided to remain in the therapy business, now working as a team of conventional and sex counselors. Apparently the chaise-duo now made housecalls, walking into their clients homes to have their patients lay on them and discuss their issues or fuck them to get past their insecurities. The bedwoman was also happy to tell me that the barstool girls had already sold and had been adopted by The Serpents Hood, a popular bar in the transformee community. I told Saul’s wife that sounded like a good place for them and was happy everything had more or less worked out.

And that is how I escaped the alchemist’s convention because of a layer of ridiculous body paint.

***

Credits:

Words and story by Indigocarmine

Key transformations and the Cuddle Factory were developed with Redstar

Additional editorial help by KSG

***

Part 6