Part 6

The Escapist!

Part 6: The Apparatus

The sixth time happened when I went to clean up an alchemy spill at The Freyan Temple.

It was in the early days of my alchemy clean up company with Avola. They were lean times; despite the attention from the Alchemists Convention we only had a few clients. We had a small stable of notoriously clumsy alchemists who frequently needed small or moderate spills cleaned up and a larger client list of alchemists who called us the one time they actually had an accident they couldn’t handle themselves. We also received the odd referral, a client forwarding someone who found an environmental dcum source on their property or a private citizen who had a mishap with alchemy. We were getting by, but it was hardly a lucrative business yet.

Avola had suggested that working as a cleanup crew might be a suckers’ game, and that we should take a more proactive approach and get into the safety consultation and sales racket. I was coming around to her way of thinking, at least entertaining the idea of offering that as another product. Helping alchemists have fewer accidents would probably do more for the environment and other people than any kind of remediation.

We were having another conversation about this when we got a call for a rush job from a new client. Avola, who took the call smiled widely and set the phone back on its receiver with her long penis-trunk. “Saddle up, darling. We’re going to The Freyan Temple.”

It took all day and night to drive in our rented van, filled with what cleaning supplies would fit in the vehicle. I drove and Avola ‘navigated’, napping happily in the sunny passengers seat, trunk thrust out the open window. My androgynous friend with her elephant-like cock-trunk, large elephantine penis, and mane of styled black hair blowing in the wind was the very model of contentment. Her mana-sensing antenna flexed slowly in happiness. As we neared the border of the Freyan Realm, Avola grunted and told me to pull off the freeway and turn into a parking lot at some kind of roadside amusement park. I stopped the van and Avola hopped out. “This is the place,” she said brightly, stretching out her arms and trunk.

“I thought you said we were going to a Freyan Temple,” I asked.

Avola smiled mischievously and wagged her antenna at me. “No, I said we were going to ‘*THE* Freyan Temple’.”

“Which is a roadside tourist trap…” I muttered.

“Yep!” laughed Avola, “You should see the look on your face!”

I climbed out of the van with a sigh. I rolled down the sleeves of my blouse, pulled on my cheap suit jacket, and changed into my rubber nurse shoes. I stretched out my neck and wound my long hair into a businesslike bun. Avola kept her bright paisley dress on and her long hair and mane free, but did pull on a pair of cute rubber boots she had made by ‘footfetish shoes’ to fit over her altered feet. Avola wound her trunk around her shoulders like a scarf where it wouldn’t cause trouble. She nodded at me and we pulled on thin nitrile gloves, picked up our toolboxes, and walked towards the ticket gate.

The ticket gate was a small wooden hut mounted in the tall chain-link fence of the theme park’s boundary. It had a narrow turnstile entry, a tall one way exit gate, and a single glass ticket sales window. A bored looking and naked young woman sat in the booth, leaning back in her chair reading a comic. A sign above the gate read “The Freyan Temple!” in peeling, painted block letters. Under it the sign said “A friendly enclave of Freyan Culture safely outside the realm!” Below that, in much smaller writing, read “No refunds, no transfers, and no satisfaction guarantees.” I glanced questioningly at Avola who only smirked.

“Hi! I’m Katy!” chirped the naked ticket girl as we approached the window. “Welcome to The Freyan Temple roadside attraction! A ticket will be 19 bucks each!”

Avola giggled, “Robbery…” she mouthed at me.

“Hi, I’m Tesca Piste and this is my associate Avola Unteer. We were contacted to clean up an alchemical spill.” I held out our card to the ticket taker.

She looked it over. “Oh! You’re the ladies form P.U.B.E.S.!”

I groaned and Avola beamed. When Avola had suggested we name our company Piste-Unteer Belial Environmental ServicesTM, I didn’t realize what the acronym would be. And it was already much too late to change it.

“Why yes, we *are* the ladies from P.U.B.E.S!” gushed Avola. “Right, darling?”

I just glowered at her.

Katy looked from one of us to the other, puzzled but disinterested. “Okay,” she said, “I’ll call the park manager, Judy, to show you were the problem is.” She picked up a walkie-talkie and radioed someone.

A few minutes later I could see a Freyan Dickgirl striding purposefully towards the ticket booth. She had the tall, torso sized cockshaft body, heavy bulge of udder-like testicles, long legs, shapely ass, and vagina of the beautiful and much celebrated form. “That’ll be Judy,” said the ticket girl, exiting her booth and walking over to meet the dickgirl. When Katy met Judy, the dickgirl bent over, resting her shaft body on the ground, ass in the air. Katy wrapped her arms around the dickgirl’s shaft body and started tugging on it, grinding her breasts on the huge penis. I was puzzled by the display and glanced at Avola who just shrugged and kept watching. Katy’s ministrations, rather than cause the dickgirl to come, made the body split apart and the torso of a human woman to pop out the bottom of the shaft. The woman, Judy, stood up, stretched her arms and then undid her suspenders and dropped the heavy balls hanging from her waist. She was completely human.

“A costume…” I said.

Avola giggled. “I love this place!”

Judy, now naked, marched the last few steps up to us and shook our hands. She was a wiry but handsome woman with a lean compact body and small breasts. She was a bit red in the face and sweaty from wearing her heavy costume and had odd tanlines: pale, pale torso and face but thoroughly tanned legs, hips, and ass. She scratched at her short, shaved hair, extended her hand and introduced herself. “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” she said.

“Coming on short notice is our specialty,” purred Avola.

I jabbed her with my elbow. “We’re happy to help. Can you tell us about the problem?”

Judy beckoned us to follow her and started to explain. “Well, it’s a real pickle actually. We usually celebrate the solstice by affecting a real transformation, it’s one of the biggest draws to the theme park.”

“I didn’t realize the solstice was a Freyan holiday,” I said, interested.

“It’s not,” Judy replied, “but the kind of tourists who stop here don’t know that.” She smiled plastically, “We are more about a fun experience than… an authentic one.”

I looked around the park, seeing what Judy meant. I was far from an expert on The Realm, but ‘The Freyan Temple’ was a parody of the culture. Everywhere there were fake huts built of cement and fiberglass, some selling kinky tourist tchotchkes, others selling ‘Freyan fertility charms’, and others selling ‘classic Freyan cuisine’ like cum smoothies and breast-woman milkshakes. Small gaggles of cockgirls strutted around, but now that I knew what to look for I could tell they were all women in costumes: the balls hung too solidly, the latex and foam of the shaft bodies pinched and folded, and there, at eye level was a hidden screen to see out of. We walked past a ‘breast-woman corral’, a fenced in patch filled with large round tits, but most of them were clearly inert fiberglass, and the few flexing breasts near the front were clearly filled with performers. A fake Freyan pussygirl waddled along, just two girls providing the legs for a paint-scarred and hideously fake double-sided vagina body made of fiberglass. The sound of them chatting to each other inside the costume echoed as they passed by. It was a pretty pathetic spectacle.

I did manage to spot one real Freyan transformee, an anus-woman. She was leading a stupid looking group of tourists who were gawking at everything and snapping photos. The anus-woman just kept tromping along on her arm-legs, her sphincter pulsing as she kept up a stream of bored sounding exposition. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like working in this farce as an actual Freyan woman. “I’m afraid the Great Temple is closed today… but if you follow me this way I can show you a real live breast-girl being milked.”

Judy smirked. “Breast-women are the easiest to come by since you can sometimes purchase them at farm foreclosure auctions,” she confided to us quietly as she waited a second for the tour group to scuttle past.

“So you were saying about the solstice celebration?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“Right, right. On the solstice we transform a volunteer. Since this is a big deal for us we do the transformation up at the top of the Great Temple, where everyone can see and where we can charge extra for prime viewing. We use a kind of Freyan transformation apparatus for this, so when it’s not the solstice we keep it stored inside the temple chamber and use it as a prop.” Judy shrugged, “The tourists eat it up.”

“And this device is the source of the problem,” I asked.

Judy nodded, “I think so. One of our ‘temple guards’ stepped in a puddle of something in the temple chamber and now has two stiff, inflexible cocks instead of legs.”

“Demons,” I said, “I’m sorry.”

Judy waved her hands like it wasn’t important. “Yes, well, because of that we’ve had to close the Great Temple, and that’s the main attraction! Now we have unhappy customers who thought they were coming here to see a Freyan temple who are going to leave disappointed.”

“Tragic,” whispered Avola.

“If word gets out we’ll have to close for repairs, or worse, offer a discount!”

“The humanity,” breathed Avola. I elbowed her. “Just show us the problem and we’ll see if we can’t quickly and quietly clean it up.”

“It’s what I’m paying you for, isn’t it?” Judy pointed, “That’s the Great Temple there.”

'The Great Temple' was a terrible name for the structure Judy was pointing at. It was, like everything in the ‘Freyan’ attraction, a sad parody of actual Freyan civilization. The ‘temple’ was a three story, trapezoidal ziggurat assembled from cement cinderblocks. On the top of the structure was a flat terrace and a small square cinderblock pillbox that must be the ‘temple chamber’. A broad stairway made of garden paving stones lead from the base of the structure to the rooftop. It was just as tacky, poorly executed, and inauthentic as the rest of the theme park.

Judy lead us up a wide, paved path toward the base of the ‘Great Temple’. It was lined with propane torches and had stones painted with crude genital symbols along the edge. We walked past a crowd of ‘worshippers’, nude women wearing grass skirts, and a ‘high priestess’, another costumed dickgirl wearing gold cockring bands on her shaft and a headdress held onto the top of her glans with a cockpiercing. The fake dickgirl bent forward and released a shower of white fluid on the other actors with a whoosh of compressed gas.  Avola giggled, but I could only grimace at the spectacle.

When we reached the base of the pyramid, Judy was called away for a second by one of the grass skirt wearing ‘worshippers’ to deal with bit of park business. I gave Avola a long look as Judy walked away. “This is offensive.” I said frowning.

“An absolute travesty!” laughed Avola.

“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

“Completely! It’s spectacularly tacky!” Avola gestured grandly with her penis trunk, taking in the sorry theme park. “Could it be any more kitschy?”

I had to grant Avola that, The Freyan Temple was a monument to bad taste and if you ignored the rampant cultural insensitivity, was hilariously poorly executed. I shuddered. “These place just bums me out.”

Avola nodded, her smile a little sad. “Yeah, as funny as it is, it’s also… pretty shitty. But you know we need the work…”

I sighed, “Yeah, and it’s probably better that we clean up whatever this is before some dumb tourist gets reduced to a knot of genitals.”

“Are you sure they don’t deserve it?”

Judy walked back to us “Deserve what?”

“To have a fabulous time, of course!” gushed Avola innocently, “Darling.”

“Could you show us the apparatus, please?” I asked.

Judy nodded and led us up the steps of pyramid and we started to climb the ‘Great Temple’. As I looked at the cracked and clearly precast paving stones I couldn’t help but wonder how any thinking person could be taken in by this farce. One stone step was installed upside down and the manufacturer’s brand stamp was clearly visible! In just a couple sweaty minutes we had reached the summit and stood on the paving stone terrace. From the top I had a fantastic view of the rest of the park, the large parking lot, the highway, and a rundown strip mall and scrapyard. Truly a magical, mystical experience. I sighed, I couldn’t wait to leave this miserable place.

Judy called us over to the cinderbox ‘temple chamber’ a small square room on the top of the pyramid. It was dark and shadowy, pierced with beams of light from gaps in the tops of the cinderblock walls. The floor and walls of the space were decorated with crude mosaics made from smashed up dishware in the shapes of cocks and cunts and breasts. In the centre of the room, gleaming in the limited light was the transformation apparatus. Superficially it looked like a chrome throne that someone could sit inside of. It had a wide base with a seat and grooved leg rests for the seated person. Suspended from the base by an articulated mechanism was a tall, vaguely egg shaped pod. It was clear that a volunteer would sit on the base and the pod would descend, sealing the person inside before transforming them. The apparatus was obviously a Freyan Phallification device.

With an eye to any wet spots on the floor and trusting my rubber nurses shoes to offer some protection, I hurried over to the device. Despite my desire to remain unchanged, I had a professional curiosity about the machine. Unlike alchemy, which used relatively crude demon cum as its transformation engine, Freyan technology harnessed the power of raw mana to change supplicants. They produced rigorously controlled, reproducible transformations without the risk pollution or the fickle madness of an avatar. I had always wanted to see a Freyan transformation device in real life, and now I had a chance to inspect one up close!

I put down my toolbox, removed my jacket, rolled up my sleeves, pulled on heavy rubber gloves, and started to examine the machine. I ran my hand along its cool, metallic exterior. I knelt a little and tried to glance at the interior of the pod, to maybe get some insight into its internal workings. It was too dark and an awkward position to see anything. “Judy, this thing isn’t on right? It’s safe, right?”

“What? Oh. Yeah, sure.”

I decided that the best way to inspect the transformation apparatus was to climb inside it. I swung my feet over the base and sat in the seat, legs resting in their groves. I wiggled a bit, it was surprisingly comfortable but chilly through my pants. I swung my body inside the suspended pod and squinted into the gloom, touching the interior of the machine. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting… maybe some runes or circuitry or something. Instead the interior was smooth except for a ring of depressions 2/3 of the way to the apex of the pod. I touched one of these and felt… some sort of emitter, like the fixtures used to spray pressurized steam in less advanced alchemical rigs…

Avola who had been performing a careful circuit of the ‘temple chamber’ while I had been poking around the machine had found, using the mana-sense of her antenna, a small puddle of alchemy on the floor. She knelt careful not to touch any of the fluids and saw that that the dcum solution was leaking out of the transformation apparatus. A peek around to the back of the machine showed an exposed riot of pipes, heating elements, a vaporizer to mix chemicals with pressurized steam, and an alchemical holding tank that was slowly leaking onto the floor….

“Fuck!” Avola and I said simultaneously, “This isn’t a Freyan Machine!”

I started to wiggle frantically, desperate to be out of the unsafe fake Freyan device. I didn’t know if it would safely turn me into a dickgirl like the real device, but I had no interest in finding out. I scrabbled at the inside of the pod and tried to slide out and touched… something. A wire shorted somewhere and my finger was bit by an electric spark. I yelped and the transformation apparatus whined into life. I screamed and the lid mechanism crunched to life, lowered the pod, and trapped me inside the machine. I screamed and pounded on inside of the pod with my arms as transformation device continued to activate, humming as heating elements started to make steam. I kicked my legs futilely and tried to push the lid off of me, but it was locked in its lowered position. I didn’t want to transform! I didn’t want to be an offbrand cockgirl! “Fucking help me!” I screamed.

Avola stepped well clear of the alchemy spill and grabbed onto the lid with her arms and trunk. She tried to pry it open, but despite her considerable strength, found herself unable to make it budge. She slid her hands and cock-trunk across the outside of the machine searching for a lid release lever or emergency shutdown control. Not finding anything she shouted at Judy. “Get over here and help me get her out!”

Judy kicked the ground, “Not my problem…”

“I will sue you and this fucking park into the ground unless you help me right now,” growled Avola.

“Why didn’t you say so!” Judy spat and hurried to the machine to help.

The transformation machine had developed a whistle like a kettle and somewhere a valve banged open. I whimpered and stopped struggling. I wasn’t going to get out of this machine in time, I was trapped and there was nothing I could do to escape. And judging by the rumble of machinery as pressurized steam started to move, it wasn’t likely that Avola and Judy would be able to rescue me. I closed my eyes, tears running down my face and braced myself for the inevitable. The machine started to shudder alarmingly. Maybe being a dickgirl wouldn’t be so bad; they were beautiful in a weird way and certainly seemed very glamorous. Having a huge penis should be erotic, even if it was at the expense of everything else. I could make the best of it. The transformation machine banged alarmingly. That was all assuming the apparatus didn’t turn me into something else, something awful. Or just exploded. The apparatus was vibrating wildly and then with a thunderous, explosive BANG! steam shot into the pod, scalding me! Time had run out!

I screamed!

My skin was burning!

Was this what transformation felt like?

Why did it have to hurt?

And then, after what seemed a lifetime… a thunk and the whoosh of steam. The transformation apparatus had unlocked and was opening. I blinked my sore eyes at the sudden light and looked down at my body. I gasped in relief, I was still myself: my body, bright red from steam burns, white shirt transparent and clinging from moisture, hadn’t transformed. I scrambled out of the machine and winced at the discomfort of my burns. “What? What happened?” I gasped.

Avola pointed behind me.

Judy had transformed instead.

It seemed the leaky alchemy tank had, when the machine pressurized, failed spectacularly. The final bang had been the tank exploding and spraying its contents out of the machine. This meant the machine lost its alchemical payload and sprayed me with ordinary steam. Which is why I had been spared a transformation.

Judy, who had been searching through the wiring and pipes in the back of the machine for a way to free me, was less lucky. When the tank ruptured, she took the full blast of alchemy in the face and promptly transformed.

Judy had stumbled back from the machine cursing, “fuck fuck fuck!” She kept right on cursing as her arms slowly shriveled up and sunk into her shoulders. She kicked the ground and spat, as her torso became rounded and stretched, her breasts sinking into a familiar cylindrical shape. As if to confirm everyone’s suspicion, Judy’s hair began to fall out and her head started to mold itself into the familiar shape of a glans. Judy had become a living version of her costume: her untransformed body from the waist down, a massive cock from the waist up. She was becoming an ersatz Freyan dickgirl…

…or maybe not. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” warbled her voice from the dickslit at the top of her body as her glans peeled open in two places revealing her blinking eyes. “Fuck!” again as her pussy sealed over and her labia expanded into testicles, but not the massive ones you’d expect for a cock as big as her torso, just small little droopy human scale balls in a wrinkly little scrotum. Judy sputtered as a slow drool of precum started to dribble from her dickslit/mouth. “Fuck! Fuck!” she sloppily slurred as her legs clenched and then started to shrink, losing their feminine softness and length, growing short and gnarly with muscles. As her legs shrank, her ass contracted and became wasted but muscular. Judy stumbled for a moment and cursed again as her feet grew longer, becoming huge, veiny, bony things that flopped meatily on the floor. All the while the precum kept dribbling from her dickslit. Judy hadn’t become a glamorous Freyan dickgirl, she became a kind of warped little dick-goblin. “Fuck!” squealed Judy.

I couldn’t help myself, I gawked. Judy might have started the day as the manager of the park in a dickgirl costume, but now she was like a living mascot for the theme park: a sad shadow of a true Freyan. I was hugely relieved that hadn’t happened to me, and wasn’t sure whether to cry in relief or laugh at Judy’s predicament. I knew it wasn’t kind or good of me to feel this way, but I found it hard to sympathize with Judy. A part of me couldn’t shake the feeling that Judy had received a kind of karmic, or maybe Freyan, justice.

“What the fuck are you two staring at?” spat Judy through precum. “Get this place cleaned up!” She tottered to the opening of the temple, her feet slapping the ground. “I want this place ready to be reopened by tomorrow!”

And that is how I escaped The Freyan Temple because a fake dickgirl became a real live parody of one.

***

Credits:

Words and story by Indigocarmine

Key transformation and Belial setting help by Demon-Man

Additional editorial help by KSG

***

Part 7