Lather
For you I would have done whatever And I just can't believe we ain't together --Justin Beiber's "Baby"
Marika was scribbling down an address when Dempsey left his room. He locked the door behind him. Couldn't trust her, after all. She might sneak in and take the rent he owed.
She realized she was staring, and worried her lip before turning back to her computer. The orders weren't going to fill themselves, after all. She couldn't resist one last peek at his butt, and that's when he turned around.
When she had met him, he had poured on the charm. The apartment wasn't big, but when she had lost her job at the helpdesk due to outsourcing--or "helldesk", as the rest of the team waggishly called it--she had found herself unable to make the rent on her ownsome. Dempsey had been the fifth potential roommate she'd consulted, and she found himself shrinking under his looks, his smile, winding her hair around her finger like a lovesick teenager--
"What?" said Dempsey, not noticing how she suddenly wrenched her eyes back up to his face. "What are you looking at?"
Marika's brow wrinkled in thought as she fumbled for words. None were forthcoming.
After a few awkward seconds, Dempsey said "So! I'm just...y'know, going out. With the guys."
Marika didn't know any of the "guys"; Dempsey had never bought his friends over. Except his lady friends, and that tended to be, oddly, whenever Marika most needed sleep.
The girl was still staring, and Dempsey tried not to frown. Wrinkles, you know. A thought entered his vacant, pretty head, and he flashed his Winning Smile™.
"Is this about the rent? You know I'm good for it. Look, I'll get dinner. How's pizza sound? Anchovy pizza."
She hated anchovies. He knew she hated anchovies. She had told him, and told him. He would eat the whole thing. Maybe he just forgot. Mushrooms would be nice; a pizza half mushroom and half sausage, just like she wanted--
"Okay," she said softly. No sense making a fuss.
"Great!" he said. "So, I'll see you in a couple hours."
She even hated the smell of anchovies. If he came home with the pizza, she would be woken up by the smell (again) and have to get up (again) and light some of those scented candles (again) which wouldn't be able to overcome that fishy scent until the pizza was finished, which meant she would lie in bed until Dempsey was done, even longer if he bought his raucous friends along, her body would wake her up at her regular time the next morning, and she'd be out a few hours of sleep.
Again.
She tries to bring it up again, she really does. But by then he was halfway across the room, then he was at the door, scooping his keys out of the little woven basket she had bought, and she even opened her mouth, but she happened to look at his tuchus again and by the time she re-railed her train of thought he was gone.
Marika hadn't even had a 9-to-5 job for months now, yet her body still insisted on kicking her out of bed at seven. Of course, she logically had to get up around by at least noon or so--tide and e-commerce waited for no woman--but it would be nice to have the extra REM sleep. If she tried to roll over, she'd be plagued with shallow, easily-disturbed nightmares about carpets ten feet thick, every fibre soaked with boozy-smelling puke.
She wasn't sure what Dempsey did, exactly, for a living, but at some point, he had become a master of Roommate Chicken. You just ignore whatever mess, dirty dishes, or vomit-discolored carpet until the Other Guy does it. Marika had bought every cleaning supply in the house except toilet paper, and that was only because Dempsey "knew a guy".
His charm had worn off some time ago. He was cute, of course, but not very bright, and self-centered. They fought like an old married couple, and she somehow managed to end up on the bottom. Of course, if they were married, at least she'd be getting--
The computer pinged at her, and she focused her attention on it.
Mr. Roeper (from 3D) had once decided to have a few words with Dempsey, on the nature of maturity, responsibility, and a man's role in the world. Marika had...overhead the discussion they had had outside the apartment door He had warned him that someday,, Marika was going to lose her temper. And Dempsey had become a model roommate.
For all of a week.
Two items, shipped within the lower 48. She worked out the rough shipping rate in her head, and made a note on the pad of paper she kept near the computer. It still smelled like beer from the time it was used as a coaster.
Marika realized that she was stabbing at the keys with unnecessary intensity, and sighed. Welp, time for a little personal time. She dropped the browser into "don't tell Mommy" mode, and started to type in the address of her favorite porn site. At least, that was the idea.
Maybe there was some sort of magic in the air. Maybe the power was inside her all along. Whatever it was, she sneezed, her fingers pressing down on the keyboard accidentally.
"Ew," she said, and reached for a wipe. As she laid eyes on the odd pattern on the screen, an electric feeling coursed through her. It was followed by an achy, trembling sensation, like the time she had the flu. She stretched, luxuriously, not unlike a cat, more curious than afraid, and looked back at the screen again.
The pattern was gone.
It started with her hands.
They swelled and stretched, her nailes reshaping into claws. She flexed them as she stared, and looked down as her feet were similarly changed by the strange force. Hair--fur, really--rippled in waves up her mostly-human body. She pushed the chair away from the desk and stood up; unsteady on her changing legs, the muscles shifting, moving.
She felt a strange heat.
And the sense of power, rolling over her like ocean waves. She turned her hand--claw, really--into a fist, and marked how different it felt, how much stronger.
She found she wasn't scared. Not one little bit.
In the lobby of the apartment building, Dempsey stopped, turned around, and headed back to the elevator.
Back in the apartment, Marika's breasts--well, her boobs were pretty big anyway. But they got firmer, prouder.
Her spine reshaped with a series of pops, making her even taller. Her shoulders broadened, and neck lengthened.
The tail was next. She knew that, somehow.
Her new appendage shot out of the base of her spine, already covered in tawny fur. Was she turning into a lioness? A wolf? No, no, it was some sort of hybrid of the two. Maybe some other things too.
The heat swept down from her stomach, becoming a banked fire in her loins.
Marika blushed, even as her face pushed out, somewhat unevenly, before settling into a proud long snout. It would assist her in the hunt. Her new, sharp ears, already twitching, suited her. An inviting wolven tongue darted from between her lips.
No...she wasn't quite done yet.
"C'mon," she said, in the same tones she would use to coax a kitten out from under the bed. The banked fire had become a tiny point of heat just above her crotch, like someone was burning it with a magnifying glass. The heat backflowed into her needy femsex and outward, into her new, throbbing cock.
"Good boy."
It had elements of penises from dogs, cats, rabbits, ducks--it occurred to Marika that at some point, she had learned an awful lot about animal dongs.
Her ears perked up. There was someone in the hall. someone whose scent permeated the apartment already...
Dempsey opened the door and walked in. His roommate's new look and the scent hit him at the same time.
"I hope you're hungry, dear," murmured Marika.
Before her roommate could react, she had crossed the room, knocked him down, and pinned him to the floor. Dempsey wasn't bright at the best of times, yet his pheremone-addled mind was still capable of noting that Marika's new hybrid tail was trying to wag and whisk at the same time. Her low but friendly growl unsettled him, but not as much the dick rubbing along his stomach. And past his collar. And into his--mmph!
"Consider this a start on the rent you owe me," Marika said huskily.
Her first stroke was long and slow, revelling in her power. Dempsey writhed under her--for a while--but between the weight, her pheremones, and her newfound strength, she held him with little effort, and no noticeable effect on the rhythm she was building into, faster and faster--
All too soon, Marika's eyes rolled back in her head as she arched her back. Something white spurted from her roommate's mouth, and dripped onto the floor.
"Well, that was unsatisfying." She removed herself from Dempsey. "It was satisfying, but not satisfying, know what I mean?"
Dempsey had been taught never to talk with his mouth full.
Marika flexed sexily. "It's not enough," she said to herself. "We need to go deeper."
Before he could protest, Dempsey found himself pressed against the wall by the heavy claw around his neck, his pants around his ankles. He tried to protest, said "no, wait--"
But Marika was heedless of anything but her own pleasure, her own dominance. As she drove in, there was a "squish" noise.
Marika paused, withdrew.
Her dick was covered in a familiar, smelly brown substance. And a certain amount of red, too.
"That's what I was trying to tell you." Dempsey said. "I came back up because I needed to use the bathroom."
Marika released him, and he slid to the ground as she backed away in horror, staring at her twitching, poop-coated rod.
"I could...I could still suck it." Dempsey rolled over, got on his hands and knees.
"No, just...no it's covered in sh--in poop and semen and...why would I do that?"
"Because...because it's sexy." Dempsey said, slurring like a punch-drunk boxer. He started to crawl towards Marika, his eyes unfocused.
"No, no it's not." Marika's eyes suddenly darted to the ground. In hushed tones, she said "my carpet has semen on it."
Dempsey looked down. "Oh, yeah, that'll come right out--"
Marika's hands crept towards her face. "My home is covered in bodily fluids."
"I think we got some Oxy-Clean--"
"Get out."
"What?"
"Out!" Marika screamed. She picked up the man and bodily threw him out of the apartment, where he collided with a wall for the second time in ten minutes. Dazed, half-naked, and filthy, he decided to lie on the floor for a while.
Marika had a bit of trouble getting her Heavy Gloves--Mr. Marten and Mrs. Faye-- on, until she figured out which muscle to flex so her claws would retract. And then she found herself lactating, dripping milk onto the carpet--among other things--and it was clear that she would have to clean herself off first before anything. She stripped off the gloves, and hurried into the bathroom.
"I'm leaking! My juice and milk and semen is coming out of, of, everywhere!" She stepped into the tub. "Clothespins! I need clothespins! And about five miles of rubber sheets!"
She found her biggest, strongest brush and favorite shampoo, and started running it through her fur. Probably would end up using the whole thing, and some of Ben's "Body Scrub" stuff too. But that was okay--she tried not to slow her breathing--as long as she could be clean. She could handle being a tranny freak, as long as she was a clean freak.
She started muttering to herself, oblivious to the dozens of small cuts the stainless-steel brush was making, to the blood and lather running down her fur."Gotta get clean. Gotta make everything clean-"
In the hallway outside the apartment, Mr. Roeper (from 3D) came around the corner, and found Dempsey on the ground, pawing at the door. His eyes travelled from the dent in the wall across from the door, to the pants around Ben's ankles, to the various substances smeared around the young man's rear. His nose twitched at the smell.
He waited for Dempsey to realize that he was there, for him to turn his head, and said "I told you, son."
Dempsey looked confused.
"I told you about her temper."
ENDF
"Lather" 2011 Eulalie "Nequ" Quentin Creative Commons 3.0 By-SA-NC