Ran over a fox (miko)

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Get off the crapper

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A Warning [READ THE TEXT BELOW THE IMAGE]

THE CONTENTS OF THE CAPTION IS ONLY RELEVANT TO WHAT IS WRITTEN BELOW, AND BOTH ARE FROM THE VIEWPOINT OF THE NARRATOR. I DO NOT HATE TRANSFORMATIONAL ARTISTS AND I APPRECIATE THEIR WORK.

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My knowledgeable correspondent called me and told me “to witness a justice served”. He is pretty much fixated on those abusing their transformative powers, as a part of his detective work investigating all those underground transformation ability-users and above-ground communities. I’m more familiar with transgender stuff, and when he told me the whole process will be much of my interest I immediately hopped onto my car, following him.  

One of the safe houses his team has is large enough to hold a chamber for interrogating the captured. Well, this time, he told me, is a serial transformation abilities user who had a particularly notorious record of randomly zipping hapless victims far-away, with a wide range of the ways and end results he had used and done. So incredible, describing them will fill a whole volume.

His arms were tied to the back, blindfolded and gagged. His body was sedated and barely moving. “Move him off to that large glass tank,” he instructed me to help while untying the knot behind the chair. Even in a coma, we still felt the warmth and wobbling weight of the “convict”. The tank had no water but filled almost to the brim with a kind of sugar cube-like salt. The chamber was dim, but the salt still glittered and illuminated the place mildly, flashing like a rainbow, and with a slight gem-like translucence. I might had seen it somewhere before…

Stepping up to the right level, he then told me, “Leave him here”, eyeing the small platform tied to chains. We were careful not to touch the pool of crystal. He lowered the chains and sank the body below the unnatural prisms. The salt swallowed that body like quicksand, sucking and burying the body in, radiantly shining wherever the flesh was touched. “He’s done, get ourselves a drink”, he signaled.

A while later we were back in the chamber, slipping from small flasks of beer. “You’ll see what I mean by “a punishment worse than death sentence”. He raised the platform, much lighter than a medium-build man should be. The body’s hands were still tied, the blindfold and tape were still there, barely moving. But who was it, the one he captured certainly had no soiled safari hat, not the two bright feathers almost falling out? Not the clothing either, the dull red shirt and shorts he had. And I couldn’t even tell if that was a boy or a girl (not even the wimp I just saw), androgynous dark hair and a childish figure. They’d fit into the surrounding wilderness, maybe complete with a blank memory and eagerness to explore the woods. Black gloves and a backpack, make no mistake! The punished was gone, but not so much.

“Incredible! What were you thinking when you bought this tank of transformative crystals? And you are simply using this on him?”

“Ever seen Jurassic Park? Those nearly magical crystals are from a similar facility, partly open as a safari to tourists, off the coast of Japan out of business a few years ago. They used to have loads of wildlife there, trying to experiment with this substance. Something catastrophic happened and the facility was abandoned, nay, destroyed.”

“How does that substance end up here?”

“Some miners are willing to be paid lucrative wages to be on the archipelago, mining them at the threat of unknown mutated wildlife there.”

“Well…” That account wasn’t barely coherent. Maybe he had better contacts in the deep, being more of animate transformation man than myself, but a mineral that’s guaranteed to be more highly priced than diamond for the same woes my correspondent condemned? What was he, another of the transformational predators… on the top of the food chain?

“Well… I just can’t swallow what you have just done. Quite unethical to be blunt”. I told him.

“You haven’t seen the real power of this crystal. You will see what will be done next to compensate the animalized victims.” He signaled me again to remove the tank, the body resting on top of the pool. I couldn’t hesitate, his eyes already sternly focused on my torso.

“As you want.”

Out in the woods, he suddenly kicked over and threw half of the contents of the tank over the patch of grass, the body bumping out. “Oh hey! What are you really thinking?” “You haven’t seen the full potential of this starry sand. In a week some girls right out of the undergrowth will roam here, and I will do a service for the lost.”

I couldn’t even muster my courage to stare at this fiend. I quickly speeded away from the safe house, with only an excuse and farewell, and back into my driver’s seat.

What was the worst that has happened after I left?

 

A raccoon searched through the leaves and branches for something. It wandered around, almost aimlessly, until it saw a rough, glowing outline of a heap. It quickly sneaked towards the pile, where a cover-like and cloud-colored thing rolled off.

A treasure?

 

(If you look at the name of the image file or the tags I have already given the game away.)
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I need a Kemono Maid

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Erune Cafe

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InstaWaifu! is damn buggy

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InstaWaifu!

A friend of mine leads the development team of this amazing app and he wants to use my space to advertise that.
He promised me "3 months free" and "extendable as much as you like it". Cool.
For you readers of my DA and blog he's giving out this code for a long 14-day trial: Roco20Promo (enter it right before the Google Play purchase screen shows up, you'll see where you should enter it.)

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Becoming the Dream "Prince"

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Refreshing Swim

I AM BACK

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Cosplay Malfunctions

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Encounter on the Platform

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Hot Local Moms Need To Strip

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Easter Bunny Hunt

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The Way Not To Self-Promote

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The Best Gift Ever

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Spy Damn It

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Where to go

Just a heads up, I'm freaking out from the whole coronavirus hysteria and the lockdown/self-quarantine that follows. I'm really fearing a lot of power abuse from whoever enforcing the measures and/or whether the measures are really going away once the pandemic fades out (which I think would be by summer).
That's enough to induce a writer breakdown in me that might recover when I return to writing out of boredom. Take care y'all, and stand up to anything you think unjust during the whole chaos.

The Queen, Part 1

Jeff barely looked up. The whole flurry of the more-animated-than-usual office was bewildering. He knew not looking up meant “not attentive to team-working”, but his irises were wobbling around the blurry grey and black blobs that was his office. He wanted nothing to do with this, nothing, none. He decided the best way for him is to fade from the scene, to drop dead on his cubicle, not that the higher-ups were around to tend or even observe the mess. A few more clicking of the keys, pretended or not. The smell of damp paper, springtime it was, but still chilled by the blasting air conditioning, and suffocating sniff by sniff, draining your arm’s strength until his back was sucked onto the chair. That’s the life of a soul-crushing cubicle worker, and every workday had been like that. In work days he could have gone to the bar for a soothing drink washing through his brain and emptying the self-pity, but lately all the overtime work punched a hole in his little leisure time. Now what? Bite the bullet, what else? Reality was pitched against him until he gave up.

At least he still has the weekend. On his way back he’d read through a few of the private chats, nothing alarming to him. And after them – It’s Friday, finally, and he finally could take his own time back. He had an address for Saturday, and it was on his phone. He had a few friends lightly touching on it, saying almost nothing about it, except “all your most depraved and twisted desires can be fulfilled. Nah, do any fucking thing there as you wish.” Fucking everything! Jeff could imagine nothing barred, of course – anything. Anything without decency. He could guess anything with bodies and objects, anyway, and anything was right. That was the only tip he needed before searching for the directions of the club.

Granted, it was remote, and it took a few hours of drive out of town to be there – not the place for those trekkers, hobo or not. He looked back – no one else was with him. No one to witness whatever faux pas he would have, or little rumors to be spread by those coincidentally there to witness him. The gates were over there, and in front of it was an almost underage girl – no reason why she would not be illegally employed if it was famous enough for the twisted orgies. “Welcome to Juxtaposition, our new master.” He could easily look down on her, not idiomatically, with her average, unboosted height and a slightly drab glow over the bunny form. “How can we best serve you, master?” Those words startled him, even on a vantage point over her. “Huh… Um… I’m new to this place, so what can this place offer?” Jeff has less courage than the usual reserved self. The whole free-for-all image in his mind wimped him, and it showed. The girl in front of him turned back and turned the door knob, the 2 panels creaking as they made their entrance into a new world.

Even in the corridor leading up to where he would wait for things to be prepared, he was already bombarded by all the sensations he could never feel in the cubicle, or the confines of his home. Not even him sitting in the bar, with a few close contacts, could compare. All the flickering positions and places, some visible and some half obscured; whorish moans and testosterone-filled shouts; scents of flesh and fluids. This was no normal club, and those were quite a lot to bear. From the assault on his senses, the seconds by bits, and each slide beside him, faded from the mind…

“Go this way and just wait”, the bunny half pushed and half commanded him. Jeff’s body said “no way” to his mind, wanting to slip out of like a mirage, but every way his body fell, the bunny just righted him, sort of like a cosmic choreography. The dancers slip by swiftly… Like a few moments later (he didn’t know), a pair of penetrating mallow eyes stared from the opening of this otherwise dark, cushioned room, into the depth of camera obscura in him. The first thing he knew, perhaps entrancingly, was “I wanna be that girl, I wanna get excited”. And then, he asked, what girl was this? As more and more of her figure entered into his eyes, the second greeting from her was the waves of her rolling, coarsely strapped butt. Rhythmically her spine spun along her way onto him, every step the jiggling boobs swung by the dotted leather bikini. Inches and feet of shining skin, once belonging to the sun, but now radiating sunlight on its own. And hell, the devilish, imposingly sly smile under the equally demonic lavender hair, every corner protruding an aura imposing and overwhelming him, locking the limp body in place. Not to say the crown - and from this he instantly discovered her appellation: “The Queen!” Speechlessly, from her wavering entrance and firm stance, a leg was ready to be raised - and off the thick, purple sandal came that, onto his face. A light peek at the unzipped shorts and zap-

“Out of yourself! out!no dumbing down with my majestic body! This a command!” With a sharp quirkiness in her words, his whole body was zapped by the boot on his face, crushed-

Crushed is his face, the nose pointing back gently to the Queen’s right foot. The plushy ass of her coiled back when she released her new slave. A private first session, getting started by the way the real Jeff never expected - clamped in her regal body. Like strings pulling a puppet, her blood pulled his spirit, bound to his Queen’s body, and returned to the one-leg-up-front pose she asserted on the floor. “Your Matronic Majesty… your slave’s humble body… submits to Your Majesty…” with this said his eyes barely meet her exalted presence. “Your slave… presents here… your perfect Queendom… for your enlightened pleasure…” As this obstinate slave mumbled. A great service to the (unweary) Queen. Jeff knew this would be a place of depravity, not a place to be with a twist. And this first time, his body submitted, a nobody, under the radiance of Her Majesty. And for a new slave, “he” has shown a total bowing before her, unwilling to rise above even her navel.

“Your Majesty… your slave… will lead you into the hall…” and The Queen knew she had, from the pressing sensation on her butt, a lash. Sleekly from the belt she drew the lash, and harshly it fell on the slave, once and twice, each lash firmer and firmer as The Queen regained the momentum of subjugating this new slave. Not just a little implement - to rhyme with it, a servant handed a velvet plate. On it was a leash, a pitch black cord cuffing at one end and handled at the other. Nimbly and swiftly the slave’s neck was tied to her gloved hand, and a pull almost choked him with a red, twitching face. Like a battered horse pulling her invisible chariot, the slave, little drips on his back, started fumbling as he tried to crawl across the room towards the exit. Small gracious steps and unrelenting lashes followed him.

The hallway was glowing purple and spotty with the shadows - some of those waiting for her glory. And lo, from one of those hallways, the new slave announcing her path. “Uh… *flap* Hail to the Queen!... *flap* Submit to the Queen!... *flap* Let no ill be spoken of Her Majesty!” With each lash, and each streak on the drenching shirt, the slave cleared his throat and stuttered with the announcement with a barely audible whine. With the loud shouts entering rooms and reverbating in the little chambers filled by lust and pure lust, a great many in the rooms peeked, not taking a second out of whatever sensual pleasures they reaped and Her Majesty’s presence would sanction. The Queen had come! All Hail the Queen!

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Mask Season

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Extra Day, Extra Twin

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PanaMilk

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More Exposed than Ever

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My Own Goddess

“She’s cute… I wish I could be with her… maybe forever…”

Another 3am, another night spent with the glowing screen. I was drowsing, drowsing like I would be out of the world, wretched. A few sheets of note are scatter around my desk, waiting for me. The mind was almost blank except for her. Praying in the deep. This tab, this item on Amazon… It’d change my life. No, it’d take me to a life I’d never dreamt of. Reborn, maybe. In the mirror I now see the reflection of her body, my angel’s body… my body.

I am my own angel. 

She was an angel. An angel in my heart. An angel from my first sight of her – when I was in a corner, far from the teacher and other boys. Her pristine voice penetrated me from outside the wall I made with my notebook, carrying me from my seclusion to her heavenly face… Love at the first sight.

The face… it was softly pressed on my brain, coming up from time to time. Day after day, even with her sitting over the corner, lively and fluttering, I’d better be left alone. I gazed her from behind my books, her aura radiantly shining – with her best pals, alone, or barely away. Not a boy in class ever approached her. She wasn’t just a lowly angel, she’d be too sanctified to be molested! I wasn’t brave enough to ask this goddess out even if I wanted to make a girlfriend out of her.

“I wish I could be with her… maybe forever…” One day, the classroom was emptied, except for a daydreaming me. The day was almost gone. What were left were light breezes, a tilting sun and drips of dew. I dreamt of her, the sunlight all over her, halo-like. And as I dreamt, she was really there, standing over the whiteboard… gazing at me. The face she had, I didn’t know if she’d be cozy with me… And she left, leaving me behind. I wasn’t going to ask her. I couldn’t… What’d she say? Would she even accept me? Her flowing hairs, still glittering under the gilded light, drifted away. Her voice echoes on… If I couldn’t be with her, I’d better get her. Her mind and body… What if I could get a hold of both of them, not by catching her by surprise, but… something else? With her, I’d be god-like…

I’d like to be my own goddess. 


That dream was strange, just like what I thought at the end of it, but I no longer lied to myself. My heart throbbed and the blood gushed every time I remembered the time I dreamt about a girl that almost never existed. I vowed find a way to reach her someday, and that day came when I was holding a strange vial, half a grand apiece. But even with the damning eyes of my other friends (real or online) I was determined. I gulped the honey-colored liquid down, fully. 

The memories of the process are haphazard when I think about it, now that the flurry frenzy is long over. At once my mind was wavering, hopping out and in consciousness, and quite trippy for seconds. If there were real ascensions I would have experienced the of it. Pretty quickly, the whole room around me wasn’t the same stuffed place I knew for months. It was still deep in the night, but under the mystical grey veneer bright wall paint and a few pastel plushes. I fell into her place. 

Getting to the bathroom and lighting the dim lamp over me, the amber eyes I see in the mirror are hers. I used to imagine seeing, or even touching her in close. But this was something else altogether. My mind was now a permanent part of her, elevated, now joined with me in the past and for the future. 

“Gorgeous me…” my pajama’s bottom piece was slipping off my thighs, leaving one side with only hole into my lushly colored panties. Suggestive of my body’s decent figures, eh? The whole of that had a dim, heavenly aura to it. I’m lucky enough to start owning and appreciating this body, or just more proactive than anyone in claiming the girl for myself. The 2-pieces easily stripped off…

“Aha…!” Just as I smiled “her” face also smiled in the mirror. A few more weird faces, and even an ahegao, the face in the mirror did nothing but followed, with “her” fresh cheeks. Her flesh felt miraculously real. “Cute me…” I closed onto the mirror to meticulously glean over every spot of my spotless body. The nearer my face was to the mirror, the girl in the mirror leaned closer to me, until we made a “mwwwu” with my lips and the lips in the mirror… “me kissing myself, my girl and myself, one and the same…” I finally got the kiss her in the least imaginable way her potential boyfriends could can up with, and with the kiss we’d forget time passing. 

What would her – my parents think when they would wake up in the morning? The mark of my drool, all over the mark on the glass? I’d tasted her “forbidden fruit” (remembering what I said when I first admired the body) – why shouldn’t I “fall into earthliness”? “Show me everything you have on your body”, I murmured to myself… And my right hand reminded me of my places I could touch. “Mmm… soft boobs… so soft… aww so soft and gigantic…” I moaned sweetly and lustfully while I grabbed and rubbed my chest. I’ve brought a goddess’ flesh into reality… so serenely… and I couldn’t wait to see how lewd I’m easily capable of! As all the cushioning on the top went on two fingers snap inside… “Ah!” louder I cried when a lightning shocked through my body and numbed every part except the most enticed ones. So touchy and addictive… Down here my slim fingers ticked and harnessed my sexuality, slipping and clicking, mixed with my singsongy moans in the bathroom. “Great, awesome, honey…” Calling my old name I’d be more than amused at experiencing sex the first time, in this unknowable way. “keep entering and seeding in me, I’m so lovely… mmm, mmm, ahhh~” I didn’t need a boner to get her aroused, just her own fingers finding their way, and being both sides of sex this time burned more intensely on my head, totally blinding me. “Ah, Ah~” Ascension in a split second… fumes of heat and pulsated from where I was on the tiles, and over it (and at my fingertips too) I found puddles of “drool” coming from my second mouth - my “nectar”.


 
I only gained all her memories when I threw myself on the bed. Maybe if her mind was still around in my head, used to be hers, she’d be listening to all my lewd thoughts and be truly loving to who her body ended up with. 

The desk of my old self was empty the next day I entered my classroom. He’d finally found his goddess, and I’m finally with her forever, a perfect couple with my mind and her body.

No Futas?

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Crossdressing Woes

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Daydreaming with Skinsuits

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Only the Cats Knew

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Fake It Till You Make It

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Magical Bunny

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A Try at being a Bunny

A veiled moon lays low, outside the mansion...

The terse leggings on her poorly plushed legs are sliding again, like they are going to be left behind on the oily floor, even though they are fast strapped on her and pulled by the suit she’s wearing. But then, the suit is just as stuffy as she never expected when she first entered the gate of this dreamy place. Under the ebony leather, many dots of her own sweats are rubbed over her unprotected skin, lubricating the suit for stark but soft touches. Hot for the tensely-backed stretches hugged by the leather, and hotter for the two’s gazes. Strange sensations - she has never embraced the skin and flesh in this body before, let alone really doing anything titillating with it. But the diffusing excitement besides, this isn’t the best time to enjoy. They’ve got two particularly prized patrons to serve. And it starts among the orgies...

The dirty blonde beauty juggles a dish-sized plate among the clamoring mist of desire, towards the three faces she has seen so many times. Hesitating for a bit if the two bulges in front of her can support a roundel, the flashes of broken shards in her mind keep the glasses off her narrow cleavages and on the lightly spread hair of one of the laps. At least, the sound of shattering is replaced by chirps of two streams of a malt-yellow alcohol - like what we will always drink, hand on lap or not. Proficiency with her body. She has to learn the handling of this fresh body from her now blonde pal, who’s been through so many times of being the chick she is now. And look at their old bodies, who are just as fuming as they should have been. Is she, “Gina”, the only one out of place here? Like, any of those guests who’ll never guess so, complete with the blush?

“Ya know, he gotta get some unsober fun going~” being in that body, especially for months on end, makes her the real “Mel”: even the way she talks is the Mel “Gina” knows. Sweet, light lips. As Emil he’d never suspect Mel was not Mel and Chris not Chris. They never showed any sign of being “out of their character”, like someone you’ll see in fiction. Definitely being in a girl’s body gives you all the ways of coping with your body, ways to please the other sex and even the whole mindset! But not Emil, not yet. Having to talk like Gina, after all the intimate time with the real deal, gives her a stammer. “No worries, Gina. Ever seen the Mistress? Sure she had no for your sweating and huh-ings!” The first glass filled, the second half-full. “And she won’t mind for us to be who we secretly wanted to be, and even more for Cutie, yeah?” Hearing her or not, Tim’s eyebrows jolt with the remark, then signalling for another glass without words. 

“Get prepared, ‘Gina’,” “Emil” quickly nibs one of the leaves on her chest, "you never know how great they're doing like us now..." slowly penetrating under the shining leaf, down onto the modestly milked, and fondles the still-unsucked nipple. "This every night, months on end..." "Emil" reminds both of the pair, half intoxicated and slurring, still with half a mouthful of simmering beer on his tongue. "The beer, my finger, everything..." "Mel" goes on with cuddling and forcing her hand-moulded body onto her "boyfriend", his face crushing under the pair of h-cups. When the leather comes out, some ambiguously white foam are dripped over the polish. "Tim" would rather bury his head under the embrace of this pair, over her hourglass belly. The music in the background, between a whirlwind of piano and saxophone, clatters wildly.

"And so the eyes roll aside," "Emil" aptly quips. By now, even with the hands crossing over "Mel"'s waist, "Tim" would take a few looks on the girl at the pole, now and then. "Right at home here." All the bodies twisting so shapely, contorting and revealing all the feminine curves. Even "Mel" has joined and slithers her spine to the silent rhythm that is moving the pole dancer, fluttering. "Tim" needs more than the twists and grabs "Mel"'s ass, cushier than the pair of breasts he just smelled, and then thrusts her in place. “Gina” realizes, like her own “boyfriend”, they’re best served by her instead of the one already being the prize of “Tim’s”. Two more tall glasses later, the bottle is empty, and dutifully “Gina” ships the plate off the scene. Now, even “Mel” turns her head over to that dancer, barely pubescent, tying herself around the axis, the axis gaining almost all the attention in the pool for her to flex her joints. Her limbs are like the heads of snakes entangled and weaving together, meeting all the bewildered faces, and returned with even more gymnastics on a leather bikini. The couple, even “Emil”, would rather turn towards the marvel over a few glurps, than really be content just to be served.

Better served? Better served by her. A moment later, that little girl is dislodged by the side. From now on the metallic axis is Gina's. And everyone's eyes, some recognizing this chick, some not, is even more fervent in seeing every swing this new "hottie" might bring about. 

Emil was never the most athletic kid in the lot of college kids, and not even so, a few years after graduation. Gina has a hard time of thinking the right way to start moving. It's easier to be standing at the pole, watching all the greedily waiting eyes, than really taking her place for being an actual gymnast. But so naturally she starts raising one of her legs, and the leg, even though as sharp as a pen, is light enough for good movements. So quickly she lifts her petit torso off the ground, all her weight flinging around easily, and pretty soon she's waving her legs, making a T-pose with the lower limbs like a ballet in the air, all the private but covered part being on the top of the cheering crowd. A surprisingly easy start. Rolling her center of gravity back, a swirl later, she is making a perfect stretch of her legs right on the ground. 

Even Mel and her boyfriend is running to the stage, getting a better sight of Gina's newly gained proficiency. Great, the first steps of belonging here, Gina tells herself silently. Emil is already at the front of the crowd, so whenever Gina ends one of the throws or spins, clearer and clearer she thinks of what to do with the three of them, and more and more she realizes how many of the ways to please are in her muscle memory. She's gonna show who's the boss in sex. She'll drag the three of them one by one onto the platform, then act like what Emil did to her, until the stage is all wet…

Then her boyfriend, Emil, might just wishes the swap to be permanent for being so perfect. Great, who'll know? 

Maybe their dreams are in fruition, in this night of silhouettes... 

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Not So Sissy After All

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