FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Man, it's a hot one.

Like seven inches from the midday sun.

And in this heat, a woman lies on her bed. The balcony doors are open to the street, the urban noises outside. The air conditioning of the apartment is broken, and the fan found in a closet woefully inadequate.

And so, she lies on the bed in camisole and boyshorts, sweat dappling her lithe, feminine body, staring at the light fixture on the ceiling.

A hand is lasily swung out, and it picks up a water bottle and brings it to her lips.

...Only to find that it only contains a few drops. Right. She finished it already.

"Uuuuggghhhh," she groans, and lets the bottle fall off the bed.

"Honey?" a man calls from the next room, through the door.

"Don't worry," the woman responds. "'S nothin'."

And then she faces a monumental decision; whether to roll off the bed and get more water, or maybe she should just take a nap.

The nap's looking good.

Something hits falls from the ceiling, from the light fixture. It looks not unlike a drop of paint, except it's not liquid, exactly. It's like it's something in between solid and gas, except it took the long way round.

And it stops about six inches above her crotch.

Huh. She must be asleep already.

This is a very realistic dream. It looks just like it's sliding down something the approximate shape of a twinkie or hotdog. Like drizzling icing onto a cake, except it's coating the inside. Dripping faster and faster, until it's a stream.

She twists her hips left and right. The white falls onto her hips instead. It's like there's an invisible shape sticking out of her-

Oh.

Just to confirm her hypothesis, she lets it finish, lets it run down to her slit, lets it spend lightning shooting down her spine, and her back arching into the air.

She spends a few seconds panting when she comes back down, then looks down.

It's about six inches long, juts from her crotch, undeniably phallic. Even has nuts underneath.

She can barely get her hand around it.

The white, the binding, flat white with no shadow at all, comes off on her hand. She releases her penis, and stares at her hand as the white spreads up it. Makes it bigger. Stronger looking. No nails. She makes a fist as the white broadens her wrist, adds muscles to her forearm.

Distantly, she knows that she should be concerned. That she should want her arm to stay female. But much closer, much bigger is the idea that it would be better, better for her, at least, to just turn male.

Yeah.

An analogy that may interest the reader; imagine a gallon of milk. Imagine a shot glass. Imagine trying to pour the gallon of milk into the shot glass.

There will be...spillover.

The white drips up her stomach, presses into her navel, pierces her stomach, and spreads, under her skin.

It would be better, thinks she, for her breasts to flatten, and her pectorals to develop.

The white complies.

For her very bones to shift and strengthen.

The white obligies.

For her waist to widen into a masculine gut.

And so it does.

The door opens.

The boyfriend enters the room, phone in hand, to show his girlfriend a humourous prank video. He looks up from his phone and stops dead, transfixed.

It should be noted that the transformation, at this point, is only partially complete. His girlfriend is merely white-sheathed in the torso, groin, and most of the upper arms only. As he watches, the not-liquid drips up the side of her head, and covers her eyes.

"Baby?" she says. "Is something wrong?"

"Karen?" says he. "What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?" she says, as the not-liquid covering her eyes bulges, points. Two long horns emerge. The white flows up her forehead.

"There's..." He grapples for phrasing. "-Stuff on you!"

"Oh, this?" she says, as the legs he caressed on many a night grow broader and broader.

"This is just me changing to who I'm supposed to be," she says, as the white creeps over her thighs like the tide over a rock.

She stretches out a hand. " Join me."

He steps back. "No."

The white envelops her forehead, and a diadem of eyes opens, focuses on him, blinks. "Are you sure?"

"Ye-"

Something white falls off her, hits his hand holding the phone.

He steps toward her boyfriend. " Join me."

He stares at her for a second.

Then he steps back and closes the door.

+Q+

I stare at my phone.

The red stuff my girlfriend spat at me is thick and gooey, and I can barely see the screen. There's some on my left hand too.

I need to call 911 or something.

I try to wipe it off with my free hand, but it just smears and now it's on my hand. I wave my right hand, try to shake if off, and the orange just spreads. Up my hand, somehow.

Okay, what happens when I wipe it on my shirt?

I'll tell you what. It leaves a yellow stain. And that's spreading too.

And then I drop the phone.

It's not my fault. That green crap is all over it and my hands now. They're not working properly, and it just kinda slips out, like a bar of soap.

I stare at the thing. Hope it isn't broken. Get down on my hands and knees, flip it over. Try to press it with my nose a half-second before I realize it's a bad idea.

But it's too late. The smell is already in my nostrils. And my shirt is getting tighter, and being on all fours feels right somehow. Like sitting in your favorite chair-

When did I stick my tongue out?

When did I decide to lick the blue off my phone?

...Why does it taste so good?

No. No. I have to stop this. Just stand up, get to the door, open it, and leave.

Except I can't. My hands are too slick, too much like paws-

The shirt squeezes me, like it's pushing mass up and down my body. Like squeezing the middle of a tube of toothpaste when it's half-empty.

I need to get out. I need to get out now. My tongue is tingling, shifting. My lips feel weird.

The doggie door.

I can hear Kendra-or what used to be Kendra-moving around. The bedroom door opens.

I already have my shoulders through when I remember that my shoulders shouldn't get through. Kendra's would, but...

What is this gunk doing to me?

Going somewhere? said the thing that used to be my girlfriend. It sounds amused.

I brace myself against the floor and the door, and push.

And I can't get through.

I pause for a second. Watch the purple spool from my tongue, drip, drip, drip to the floor.

My hips can't get through.

Great.

I'm stuck.

And someone's coming up the stairs.

+Q+

You walk up the stairs and say "Hutch?"

He's in his doggie door, from the previous tenant. They always kept it locked, but here he is, halfway out of it.

"What are you doing?"

He holds up his hands. "I can't get the door open, and my hips got stuck."

Huh. He must have narrow shoulders.

"Oh." You nod. "Okay. Why the lipstick?"

"The what?"

"The waxy black substance on your lips." You take a step closer. "I had no idea your lips were that...fat."

He looks down. Rubs his tongue over his lips. It would be very sexy if he were a woman.

Actually...it's kinda sexy anyway.

"Is this some kind of sex thing? Kinky roleplay? Because I do not consent to anything."

Hutch sighs. "Look, it's...look, it's Karen, and it's a long story. Just call the police."

You reach into your purse. "And what do I tell them?"

"Some kind of biohazard, I don't kn-" He stops, his eyes widen, he half-turns. "Let go!"

What the-

"Hutch?"

"You're hurting me! I can't get back in, my boobs are in the way!"

If this was a TV show, you and Hutch would make eye contact, and realize how strange that was at the same instant. But this is reality, and he keeps yelling at the door, and you suddenly recognize the shapes in his shirt.

Is this some kind of prank? Someone pretends to try and pull Hutch back in while you stare? Are those even real boobs? Is it actually Karen in disguise? Come to think, Hutch looks kinda feminine-

Wow. That's a very convincing tongue. It actually looks like it has black on the e-

Wait.

That's vantablack.

That's that high-tech nanotube stuff that doesn't reflect light at all.

It always looks like a bad Photoshop in pictures. And it's expensive as balls.

Either you're hallucinating, or this is real.

Hutch's lips are the same color. And it's staining his shirt. How did you not notice this before?

And how did you not notice how he's not yelling anymore? Just kneeling there, on all fours, eyes, blank, something dripping down his chin.

"Hutch? You in there? You okay?" And most importantly, can you get past him?

His entire body shakes, forward, like-

Is someone having sex with him on the other side of the door?

His pupils expand, regular shiny black. Like polished obsidian. It fills his right eye, starts to drip horizontally. Right toward you. You step out of the way.

Something hits your crotch. Something slides into your underwear, and you shriek and dance away, hands flailing, afraid to actually touch it.

The thing in your clothes stretches-it's...it's his tongue. His head is upside down, his neck is extended, and-

His tongue. His tongue came out of the bottom of his mouth, curled over her waistband, and slid down your vagina, your anus. How did...what...

It's still in there.

You finally get far enough away for him to break contact. His head snaps back to his neck like a rubber band. His beard is gone, and his face really does look softer.

And there goes the other eye. The drips fall outward, then curve, then land in the other eye.

I can hear the grunts on the other side of the door.

He - she? - looks skyward, toward the ceiling, her mouth open. She makes a kinda moaning noise, them her head comes back down and looks in your direction.

She reaches for you.

"Let us help you," she says, in a voice pitching higher and higher.

You don't know how you got in your apartment, when you hid behind the couch with your phone in your hand, starting at the door.

"Ma'am? Ma'am? Are try trying to get in?"

You shake your head. Oh, wait, she can't hear you.

"N-no. I think I'm safe."

"Good. We have an officer on the way. Do you have a room with a strong door you can lock?"

You nod.

"Yes."

"Go there. Now."

You nod again, and stand up-

Whoa.

"I need you to stay on the line. Can you do that for me?"

"Hang on."

There's something coming out of your crotch. It's the same off-black color as the stuff on Hutch, the same bad-Photoshop darkness.

It's about six inches long, and shaped like a-

"Ma'am?"

"Shhhh."

Huh.

You can barely get your hand around it.

_ /ENDF _

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Hot Spot

2017 Nequ

CC By-SA-NC

I like fan stories and fanart.

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If some of the lines feel awkward, that's probably deliberate. I went out of the way to break my usual rules for writing. Like using passive voice. Like using "only" or "down" twice in a single sentence.

I mean, I didn't use "lustful", "corruptive", or "transformative", but it was a near thing.

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Protip : If you have two decent story ideas that aren't working, try combining them. It doesn't always work, but it's pretty reliable.