Part 8

The Escapist!

Part 8: The Transformist

The eighth time happened when my business partner decided that I really needed to go on a date.

It all happened one evening when we were reviewing quarterly expense reports in our office. Things were going well for PUBES Inc. and the business had grown, which meant the paperwork and administrative side of the business had grown along with it. Avola and I had started our day with the intention of crunching through the numbers by the afternoon and quitting early as a reward. But like most great plans, it hadn’t survived contact with the enemy. And now here we were, well after quitting time, munching our delivered dinner and sipping beer, among the mountainous carnage of paperwork we still needed to plow through.

“Will this never end?” I whined, “I’m beginning to feel like an airship pirate crew’s whore…”

Avola tittered, “Darling, please. A pirate’s whore gets laid once in a while.”

Avola was leaning back in her chair, feet up on my desk, sipping a beer with one hand and snatching another slice of pizza from the box with her penis trunk. I snorted a laugh and looked at my best friend. The penis-trunked, elephant-cocked, dickgirl somehow managed to look fresh and relaxed despite our long, obnoxious workday. She popped the pizza in her mouth daintily, careful not to knock any grease into her artfully kinked black hair and mane or onto her cute dress. I scowled at her and tried to ignore how rumpled my untucked shirt looked, how tangled my hair was, and how greasy I felt.

Avola took another swig of beer and examined the three, vividly painted fingernails of her left hand. “Speaking of getting laid,” she said giving me an appraising look, “when was the last time Ms. Thesca Piste has gotten her ham stuffed?”

“Ew,” I groaned. “Do you have to put it like that?”

Avola grinned, “Of course. The point stands though.”

“I will admit,” I said breezily, “that it has been a while since I’ve been intimate with a gentleman caller.” Taking a ladylike sip of my beer to punctuate my point.

“I didn’t realize that ‘whiles’ were now the favoured unit of epochs.” Avola purred.

“Okay, so maybe it’s been more than a while.”

“I know.” Avola smiled a worryingly predatory grin. “Which is why I’ve set you up on a blind date.”

“No…” I whined.

“Yes. You know the alchemist Carl?”

“Ugh. ‘Carl the Canny’? That weaselly little fuckup who has more accidents than anyone? Please tell me you did *not* set me up with him!”

“Of course not. He’s married and his wife’s cock is much too large for you to compete with.”

“Then who?”

“Gabriel, one of his lab assistants. Very handsome, young, but not too young for you. Still completely factory issue human, since you like that. Dresses well and looks like he works out. Very symmetrical face. The total boring Thesca Piste package.”

“Is it too late to cancel?” I asked.

“It’s tomorrow dear, and you should really go to this. Your romantic life needs a kick start and you, darling, desperately need to get laid.”

“Oh yeah?” I wheedled, “It’s not as if you have much of a dating life either…”

Avola quirked an eyebrow at me. “What makes you think that?”

I stammered, realizing I was headed for troubled water. “Uh, well, you haven’t had any boyfriends or girlfriends in years…”

Avola frowned at me. “You are making some pretty big assumptions there, darling.” She jabbed me in the shoulder with her penis-trunk. “I keep my personal life private, so you honestly have no idea what my romantic life is like! You’re right that I don’t take longterm heteronormative partners, but that isn’t because I suck at dating. It’s because I *don’t* want a partner. I have a life filled with love and people I care about! I have friends I go out to dinner with, lovers I sleep with, and friends who are also lovers that I’ll go out for dinner with and then sleep with. I get everything I want and then everyone goes home and I have my nice big warm bed and perfect apartment to myself. My romantic life is fulfilling!”

“Sorry.”

“I know you didn’t mean anything by it,” sighed Avola, “you just think you know everything like a total butthead sometimes.”

“I know,” I replied contritely.

Avola waved her hands, “But we aren’t here to discuss my unorthodox and amazing sex life, we are here to talk about how you are a boring workaholic who needs to get some.”

“I’m not a workaholic,” I protested. Avola just gave me a look.

It’s true that I worked a lot. Running PUBES Inc. was more than a fulltime job. Between managing the business, coordinating our three cleanup crews, pitching in for the big jobs, and doing safety inspections and consulting, there was always something to do. Then there was maintaining all of our certifications, getting supplemental training, and keeping up on what was new in environmental technology and alchemy to stay ahead of the game, most of which had to be done on my own time. And a girl had to sleep sometimes. It didn’t leave a lot of time for socializing! My schedule was busy, but it wasn’t crazy… was it?

It’s not like Avola didn’t work a lot. She pitched in on the biggest, hardest cleanup jobs just as long as I did. She also did the lion’s share of the consultation and, with her mana sense, almost all of the safety inspections. She had nearly as full a plate as I did. But… she also made sure she didn’t work for more than 10 hours a day unless she had to, kept weekends sacrosanct unless there was a crisis, and I suspected, didn’t use quite so much of her free time doing homework. Avola had, I realized, developed a functional work/life balance and I hadn’t. Maybe I was a workaholic?

“I *am* a workaholic, aren’t I?”

Avola nodded. “And that’s why I set up this blind date. Which you will be going to for your own good.”

I nodded mutely.

“And if he is a nice boy, I expect you to fuck him right away.”

I gave her a look.

“What? It was worth a try.”

***

I was sitting across from my date trying to smile encouragingly at him while feeling rather uncomfortable. I was never any good at talking to strangers, especially strangers in supposedly romantic situations. I did all right in a professional context, as I could always lean back on a shared interest or my competence to muddle through. But when I wanted someone to like me I always found myself clumsy and bashful. And it certainly didn’t help that Avola bullied me into wearing the slinky, blue halter dress that she had once forced me to buy. I recrossed my legs in the tight skirt, took a sip of my drink, and tried another encouraging smile. I hope I didn’t look sick.

“So Gabe,” I tried, “I hear you work for an alchemist…”

“Yeah,” he coughed.

Gabe was, to Avola’s credit, a good looking guy. He had warm brown eyes perched around a straight, well-proportioned nose. His cheekbones were high and well defined and his jaw has square and strong and even had a little cleft at its tip. When he smiled, his eyes wrinkled and his cheeks dimpled a little. His haircut was stylishly short, he looked like we worked out, and his button down shirt and dark jeans were sufficiently stylish. As jokingly advertised by Avola, he had symmetrical features in galore.

He was also, it turned out, *very* boring and quite bad at conversations.

“What does an alchemist’s lab assistant do?” I asked.

“Assists, mostly,” he managed.

I resisted the urge to sigh. “And what, pray tell, does that entail?”

“Uh,” he said, brows furrowed. “I guess I do all of the work that doesn’t need the alchemist’s expertise. Like, mixing some of buffers and solutions and reagents that shape the dcum effect. Some of it is pretty time consuming to make, but straight forward if you know what you’re doing.” He pursed his lips for a moment. “I trained as a chemist, you know.”

“Uh huh,” I said, taking another sip of my drink.

I took a look around the bar we were meeting in, The Serpent’s Hood. It had a nice long bar tended by a transformed woman with a kind of built-in hood and puffy skirt made of labia and a slick, pink face made of clitflesh. Around this bar was a large common room with booths, high tables, shelves built into pillars filled with chattering patrons, about half of whom were transformed. A team of waitresses slinked through the crowd, most of them pretty young women with normal bodies, but a couple were transformed. One was a woman with her face on her crotch and a pussy slit where her neck should be and another had clits for tits, a huge vaginal gash on her torso, and a long cylindrical caterpillar tail trailing behind her. A stage with mounted brass stripper poles was set up in one corner of the bar. A heavily tattooed transformee with cock dreadlocks, six cock-nippled breasts, and a phallic serpentine tail instead of legs was chatting with the DJ, a tall man with a cock-tongue and a curly afro, which on closer inspection was a massive round scrotum on the back of his head covered in pubes. Avola picked the place and I could see why she liked it.

Avola, who was seated at the bar on a stool, a living stool that I recognized. It was actually one of the transformed girls from the alchemy show a few years ago. Avola flirted with the bartender with an easy familiarity, chatted happily with the pair of stool girls, and looked to be having more fun than I was.

“…the thing I love so much about alchemy is how much potential there is. You can make anyone into nearly anything. You could turn someone into your heart’s desire! Make them your deepest fantasy!”

“Mmm,” I said. Gabe was talking now, but I realized I hadn’t really been listening. Most of what I had caught had been dull. It was a bad sign when the venue is more interesting than your date.

Gabe, oblivious to my waning interest just kept droning on, going from mute to self-obsessed orator. “Think about it!” he said intensely, “the chances of meeting someone just right for you is what? Infinitesimal right? They might make you laugh but be bad with money. They could be kind but lack ambition. They might be attractive…”

“But they might be boring.” I said.

“Exactly so!” Gabe said without missing a beat. “Or they could be perfect in every conceivable way, but not… quite what you want sexually. Finding a perfect mate is complicated! Too complicated to leave to chance!”

“I’m finding chance to be a pretty lousy matchmaker right now,” I said, shooting a dirty look towards Avola. She was laughing at some joke the bartender said. Bitch.

“I’m glad you feel that way! It’s going to make all of this so much easier…”

“Gabe, sorry to interrupt you, but I’ve got to go to the powder room for a moment.” I smiled, draining my glass of wine. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

***

I marched across the bar, poked Avola in the shoulder, and kept going to the bathroom. Avola got the hint, excused herself and followed me to the bathroom. “Demons,” I said, “you have set me up with the most boring, self-centred man I have ever gone out on a date with!”

“Then you haven’t been on many dates,” mused Avola.

“That is hardly the point!” I spat.

“So it isn’t going well?”

“No. It really isn’t,” I sighed. “I don’t see why you thought he would be a good match for me.”

Avola blushed a little. “Well… this is probably my fault, but I didn’t exactly lay a lot of groundwork here. Carl the Canny may have mentioned that Gabriel had asked if you were single that last time he needed a cleanup. I thought he looked cute and if he was already interested…”

“Avola…” I grumbled.

“What? I thought it couldn’t hurt for you to at least meet the guy.”

“It hurts! It hurts!”

“Fine, I owe you a drink.”

“Three!”

“Two, darling, I will buy you two drinks.”

“Fine. But one of them will be a double. And you also have to help me find a way to gracefully get away from this guy.”

“Just be honest with him.” Avola advised. “Dating is a numbers game, not all of them work out. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“Two. Drinks.” I checked my reflection in the mirror and fiddled with my hair. “You better have them ready.”

***

As much as I preferred to just leave the bar and vanish on Gabe, I wasn’t quite that much of a jerk. I had to face the crushing awkwardness, at least for a few moments more. So, like a condemned woman, I walked back to the table. “Two drinks,” I said to myself, shooting Avola a look at the bar.

Gabe saw me coming and smiled and waved. He was sitting at the table with a fresh pair of drinks: another snooty microbrew for him and a fresh glass of wine. I smiled thinly; at least the bore had the good sense to buy me more booze. I was willing to grant him a point for that at least. I slipped into the chair.

“Hey,” he said, “I got you another special drink.”

“Sure. If you think the house red is special…”

“I do! This one at least!”

“And what makes it special?” I asked, eyebrow quirked.

“Just take a sip.”

“In a minute…” I took a deep breath and sighed it out. “Gabe, buddy, pal, I don’t think this is going to work out. I think you’re a nice guy but I’m not really feeling the chemistry.”

“Oh,” he said with a strange look in his eye. “I thought things were going well.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not really feeling it,” I smiled at him, “You’re a great guy, but I’ll be honest, I’m not in a super datey place right now. I’m kind of here because my friend gave me a push…”

“Maybe you’ll change your mind,” he said in an odd way, glancing at my drink.

“I’m pretty single minded,” I said gently.

“Oh,” he said, “I imagine you could be more single minded.”

What was the supposed to mean? Weirdo. “Well, thanks for the drink. You shouldn’t have.”

I reached for the glass of wine, planning to take a sip. Gabe was staring at me and the glass intently, eyes roving back and forth between the two. He was biting his lip a little and his fingers were clenched. What was wrong with this guy?

“GABRIEL D ICKHOLT!” shrieked an angry voice. Gabe sat bolt upright in his chair, eyes wide. I looked all around to a see a furious woman making right for us.

“Debra!?” Gabe said, blanching. “Honey.”

“Don’t you honey me, you philandering twit!”

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“What’s going on, you hussy,” growled Debra, “is that I’m his wife! This piece of shit is married.”

“I had no idea,” I squeaked.

“Debra! Thesca! I can explain!” stammered Gabe.

“Save it! I don’t want to even hear it!”

“Debra…”

Debra reached forward, snatched up my glass of wine and flung at Gabe, soaking him in wine and splashing a cute waitress and two young women at the next table over.

All four of them started to moan as their clothes dissolved.

“Oh. Fuck.” Said Debra.

“He spiked my drink…” I choked. “he’s a transformist!”

Gabe moaned in an oddly throaty and feminine way, his voice cracking and becoming a smokey contralto. “Oh my…” he rasped in a bedroom purr. His lower body began to soften, and swell, and feminize, leaving the would-be transformist with wide hips, a luxurious bubble butt, and long, silky gams. He wiggled his newly pneumatic derriere, going up on the tips of his delicate toes and cooing. His penis and balls started to shrivel up, and slowly contracted into his crotch. I was expecting to see his male genitals retract and invert and blossom into a new vagina, but instead Gabe’s feminine crotch became genital-less, just a smooth plane of blemish free skin. Gabe groaned and stumbled forward as his shapely ass began to swell oddly, pushing out behind him. He caught himself on the edge of the table to balance as his large ass growth developed a second pair of legs that slowly grew down to the floor. Gabe settled onto his four cute little womanly feet and his four long, tremendously shapely legs and cooed prettily. Gabe arched his back, and slowly between his front legs and rear legs, he grew a new horizontal torso, a female one covered with eight heavy breasts that hung heavily below his body. He gasped and shrieked in orgasm as his new rear filled out into a huge, round butt and the labia and slit of a massive, fleshy new cunt grew in.

Meanwhile the waitress had also been transforming. She started as a petite, cute brunette with modest curves. She cooed herself, her own voice becoming husky as her changes began. A coo that became in stereo as the moaning waitress grew bulges on the back of her neck and shoulders that extended outward and gradually gained definition, becoming a second neck, head, and face as well as an extra pair of arms that grew from her back and faced backwards. The two heads glanced down in shock as the waitress’ chest bloomed, her breasts becoming bigger and perkier and being joined by a matching extra pair below them. Her back swelled as four identical breasts budded, swelled, and flopped into being. She gasped with two mouths and pawed at her chests with her four arms. She groaned in stereo again as her crotch began to also swell outwards, growing into a huge, round ass, while her original ass grew to match it. Below that her legs changed shape, thickening and changing to look like two inward facing legs melded together. Her knees crunched as her kneecaps dissolved, leaving her with legs that bent either way and her feet became symmetrical with toes pointing in either direction. The waitress mewled from both mouths as she came as her changes completed. Where before there was a cute woman, there was now a doublesided waitress, like two women joined back to back above the waist and two women joined face to face from the hips down.

The two girls who were splashed, also started transforming. When they had been splashed, one of the women, an angular blonde, was leaning close to the other, a curvy dark haired woman, to whisper in her ear. The two became fused together wherever they had been touching and slowly melded into each other. The two, newly conjoined women moaned in sexy, raspy contralto, their voices becoming identical. When the two women finished melting into one body, they shared a single torso with their heads side-by-side on a wide set of shoulders. They had a single pair of arms and on their chest sat five breasts: a row of three small, pointed ones from the angular blondes, and a second row of two larger breasts donated from the darker woman. Below the waist they still had four legs, awkwardly arranged to hold them up. The two women cooed huskily as their hips rotated outward, so that their crotches pointed out to either side of their torso. The legs dropped into a squat, leaving the conjoined women with four radially arranged legs with a central pussy that had clefts that opened on three of her crotches: the front and either side. The rear-facing crotch had the pucker of their anus. The conjoined women yelped and cooed as their back sprouted nipples which then swelled into four truly massive tits, the lower pair resting heavily on their backward facing thighs and the top pair, resting on the lower, riding as high as their shoulder blades. The changes slowed and stopped, leaving the former friends a multibreasted, conjoined pair on four squatting legs. The conjoined women orgasmed, one releasing a husky screech and the other tightly biting her lip and grimacing silently, as a gush of feminine fluid splashed out of them.

“Ooo” Gabe cooed, now a fit man from the waist up, but a curvy, hypersexual humantaur below the waist. He slowly turned in place, showing us his single, rear-mounted cunt. It was swollen, dripping, and reeked of arousal. His shapely ass was blushing bright, bright red. “I think, I think I’m in heat,” he breathed. “I need to be fucked,” he whined in a raspy purr.

“What the fuck?” I asked, still stunned. “You tried to do this to me?”

Gabe shook his red, womanly ass, spreading his scent around. “Yes,” his contralto purr responded, “I wanted to make you my perfect lover…”

“This? This is your perfect lover? A multi-breasted, purring, sex slave in raging animalistic estrus?”

Gabe panting in need, nodded. “I told you,” he gasped throatily, “it was impossible to meet someone who matched my sexual tastes by chance…”

“So you were going to make me into your fantasy against my will?”

“I had hoped,” he whined, “that you would come to like it.”

“But why me?”

“Because I love my wife too much to do this to her.”

“Fucking transformist piece of shit!” Debra barked. “How could you do this?”

“Please!” Gabe squealed. “I need someone to fuck me! I can’t reach my pussy…”

“What the actual fuck!?” Screamed the tattooed serpentine dick woman. “We had a transformitorium installed to avoid shit like this. You are all looking at a lifetime ban, if not a lawsuit from my transformed staff. That is, if I don’t just fucking kill you first.” She glowered menacingly at us, her tail lashing the air, her fists clenched, and her cock dreadlocks writhing.

“He… spiked my drink…” I said meekly. “I didn’t know.”

“Wait? He’s a fucking transformist!? In my bar!? FUCK!”

I nodded, still a little stunned.

“Robin! Call the cops!” Shouted the tattooed serpent woman at the bar. “And you,” she said addressing Gabe the would be transformist, “I’m going to kick the shit out of you until they get here…”

“Can you really kick him without legs?” muttered Debra, sounding like she hoped the serpent-woman could.

“Watch me,” promised the serpent.

“Could you not just fuck me instead?” whined Gabe waving his fragrant pussy and blushing ass at us.

***

Suffice it to say this experience put me off dating strangers for a while and made me swear off blind dates set up by Avola entirely. Avola did buy me those two drinks and several more as an apology. The double-sided waitress stayed on at the Serpent’s Hood and made better tips, at least double what she had made before. The conjoined women seemed to cope with their transformation fairly well. They became regulars at the Serpent’s Hood where they could often be seen happily flirting with boys or squabbling amongst themselves like an old married, conjoined couple. Gabe the transformist went to prison for his crime. He was sentenced to 12 years in a mens prison where he was very popular with the other inmates because his permanent heat meant he was always, always seeking someone to fuck him. Debra divorced the man and ironically chose to transform herself into a busty, leggy humantaur.

And that’s how I escaped a transformist through the intervention of an angry wife.

***

Credits:

Story and words by Indigocarmine

Key transformations were developed with Compound37

Additional editorial help by KSG

***

Part 9