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**This series of stories is going to be treated like seasons of a show, each episode with a soundtrack. This first season is all character introductions that establish the world and the characters.**

[b]Preview - The Cherri on Top[/b]

[i]~TubePunk Witches: Season 1 - Illicit Introductions[/i]~

[i]By Mabel and Elara Singlais[/i]

[i](Edited by DumpsterShark, Akikotigress, and Ramda Singlais)[/i]

[i]Track List:[/i]

[i]Season 1 theme: The Warning - XXI Century Blood[/i]

[i]Episode theme: Metric - Handshakes[/i]

[i]First TF Scene: Brittany Spears - Touch of My Hand[/i]

[i]Second TF Scene (Cherri's Theme): Megan Trainor - I Love Me[/i]

[i]Season One Credits: My Chemical Romance - Destroya[/i]

[i]Spotify Playlist Link:[/i]

[i]https://open.spotify.com/playlist/34qPQOvXMJrLs4iD9pNI5e?si=a388de60de264f30[/i]

The sun was just starting to burn off some spring fog from the Pacific and the sky was still alive with shades of pink. Sparrows and doves greeted the morning while well caffeinated commuters navigated the grid of Long Beach's magnolia-tree-lined thoroughfares.

Euclid Avenue was like all the streets around it. In addition to magnolia trees, the tan-stuccoed, two-story apartment complexes with arched, classical facades had rosemary, lavender, roses, and hibiscus growing out front of them. Breaking up the uniformity were occasional light gray and dirty white stucco complexes. Spaced between them were ranch-style houses with brown, light green, or cream exteriors. Some of these houses had entryways that sported square columns and accents that made them look like cheap, Vegas-style knockoffs of the Parthenon.

Breaking the relative silence of this sleepy residential street, a phone rang in a brown apartment complex, three complexes north of the intersection of Euclid and Grand.

Outside Christopher Langdon's tiny kitchen window, the clouds parted and a sunbeam hit a pink and white rose bush that was trying to outgrow the fence behind it. The shrill ringing from his rotary phone didn't fit the moment at all.

He grumbled as he shoved his spoon into his cereal bowl, knocking a couple of wheat squares onto the teal, metal-rimmed table. Then he slid back in his steel and red vinyl dining room chair and got up, his feet feeling the slight gaps between the boards in his dark, reddish-brown hardwood floor. His slate-colored socks slid as he dashed over to the bit of wall between the front door and the coat closet. He grabbed the coffee brown receiver for his rotary phone and held it up to his ear.

"Hello?" He scratched his belly through his undershirt with his free hand.

"Good morning, comrade. I've been thinking about the awkwardness between you and Pavel and I think it would be best if you sat out this company cookout." Dr. White's voice was gentle and sympathetic. Well, for him. He was far too heavy a drinker for his voice to retain any smoothness.

"Are you serious? It's been two months since I talked to him at all."

"Yes, but when you did talk to him, you ignored my advice and corrected him instead of letting me do it." The sympathy in Dr. White's voice increased. "If you hadn't been so obviously right at the time, it might've gone better. It's just--he's been calling you a gopnik and I've been having to justify why you're on the payroll."

"I cost you nothing compared to the people with degrees. Why would he even care about my barely-a-living hourly wage?" Chris's voice rose as he spoke. "It's not my fault his anemic ego can't handle someone without a degree being smarter than his masters-in-management ass."

"His anemic ego may not be your fault, but it is your fault that you challenged that ego when it belongs to the one person with the most power over your career." Dr. White sighed. "I suggest you treat this as an opportunity. You'll have the whole warehouse to yourself and be able to wholly focus on finishing your prototype. If you impress the Commissar, you won't have to worry about what Pavel thinks of you."

"The warehouse all to myself?" Chris thought for a moment. "I'm okay staying back if you save me some BBQ chicken, bean dip, cornbread, and coleslaw."

"You got it! I'll tell them you're eager to get your prototype up and running and make sure to mention your fantastic work ethic." Dr. White sounded so pleased he was almost chuckling.

"If you're able to impress them, see if you can get me a raise." Chris smirked.

"My doctorate is in condensed matter physics, not miracles."

Chris laughed.

"Enjoy your day at work and lunch is on me. Just put it in your expenses and I'll make sure it's taken care of."

"Thanks, comrade! Talk to you later!" Chris took the phone away from his ear.

"Ta-ta!" Dr. White said before Chris hung up the phone.

He chugged the rest of his cup of Russian black tea and downed his cereal. Then he headed into his bedroom.

At least a dozen layers of paint were crusted on the closet doors and, as he slid them open, they were sluggish in their tracks. He picked out a light blue button down shirt and a pair of reddish-gray slacks. After donning his shirt, he pulled his pants up over his blue pinstriped boxers.

On his way out of his bedroom, he stopped in front of his walnut veneered dresser. Sitting atop it was a chestnut-colored stuffed horse and a light blue stuffed otter with a purple bow around the base of her tail. Each was about six inches tall and were in good shape despite having been in his possession since he was five years old. Between them was a wavy-banded amethyst ring and a shark tooth necklace with a black silk cord.

After putting on the necklace, he put the ring on his right pinky and then patted the otter's head. "See you later, Cherri."

He surveyed the room for an onlooker he knew wasn't there, he could practically feel his mother's steely gaze (the woman he'd hidden these stuffed animals from in his teens). Then he pet the horse's mane and smiled at the name tag he'd put around its neck. It was a small identification plate off of a transformer that he'd burnt out when experimenting with electronics in high school. The plate read "Tinsleytronics," in a simple, white, newspaper-like font that was etched into the black metal.

"Ta-ta, Tinsley." He chuckled as he withdrew his hand. Having someone to say goodbye to whenever he left the house, even if they were inanimate, was a comfort.

To complete his outfit, he slipped on a pair of black, non-slip work shoes, a brown, wide-brimmed fedora, and a brown bomber jacket. He slung his leather briefcase over his shoulder as he reached for his front door's knob.

When he opened the door, he found his copy of The Los Angeles Post. Plastered on the front page was an image of three guards, all crumpled to the ground on the steps of a marble-columned government building. Going toward the camera and to the right were blurred streaks in a vaguely humanoid outline, like what happens if one tries to take a sports picture with a slow shutter. The headline read, "Coven's New Speedster Wreaks Havoc Again!"

He shook his head as he slipped the paper into his briefcase. These days, it seemed The Coven snagged a headline at least once a week and it wasn't just happening in California, it was all across the Usonian Union.

On his way to his bright red Pontiac LeMans, which was parked on the street outside, he passed a magnolia tree, whose flower buds would open in a couple weeks. After getting in his car and merging with the early Friday traffic, his mind drifted back to today's headline.

So far, other than when they caused the police to swarm and clog up traffic, The Coven had never directly inconvenienced him. The news loved calling them terrorists, but their strikes seemed to avoid crowded places like train stations, sporting events, and other large gatherings. They seemed far more interested in government labs, warehouses, and breaking their own people out of prison, than harassing the average Usonian.

Deep down, he hoped the rumor about The Coven being a group of revolutionaries was true. The status quo had done him very few favors.

As he passed Cherry Avenue, traffic slowed and he looked to his right. The buildings were more dilapidated here and in the short time he was looking, he spotted several chimera: a fox, two dragons, a hyena, and a tiger. Chimera was the term the Usonian Government used for humans who had been corrupted by magic, becoming human/animal hybrids.

Chris's stomach clenched. He'd always found them deeply interesting, and oftentimes beautiful, but didn't dare share that opinion with anyone. Oh how many times he'd called them disgusting just to fit in with his coworkers and bowling buddies.

The teal-scaled dragon, and the feminine hyena she was chatting with, had obvious bulges in their slacks, which made him feel even more sick. As always, he had no idea why.

His forehead started sweating as he stared at them, on the edge of fascination, fear, and fury. Just as traffic picked up, a policeman approached the two women. This policeman was in the typical navy blue uniform with maroon leather accents.

Chimera lived short, dangerous lives.

His mind drifted as he drove by block after block of Long Beach's largest chimera slum. He'd never dared to converse with a chimera beyond saying "excuse me" in a grocery store and he didn't know if he was being smart or was just a coward.

Recently, the marine layer was more responsible for low visibility in the mornings than the smog. The advent of catalytic converters had reduced the smog noticeably over the last decade, but the lethargic economy meant people were reluctant to buy new cars or upgrade their old ones. On most mornings, like today, he could only barely make out the stacks of shipping containers in Long Beach harbor a half mile away. While outside the green iron gate that led into work, he counted the number of street lights he could see before they disappeared into fog, four. The air quality was definitely improving faster than his life was.

In an ironwork arch above the gate were big yellow-painted letters spelling out "Willmore Dynamics." Behind the gate was a collection of warehouses which had been used, several decades ago, to store foodstuffs for the second World War. They now housed the California Protectorate's most advanced magitech research facility.

A guard hut next to the gate was a perfect cube with a pointy roof. On a high chair, in front of a console, was a woman with dark curly hair and a round, middle-aged face that had been so etched by boredom that it no longer had the ability to display emotions. Willmore Dynamics was the sort of secret that was so well kept that, though it theoretically benefitted from security, no one ever tested that security.

Leaning forward, the guard pushed the button that opened the gate and then went back to her horribly placid existence. It was sad to see someone so done with everything, but Chris understood that feeling.

* * * * *

Inside the expansive, steel-beam-supported interior of the warehouse was a wide array of projects. Chris had used his gift to help with many of them, despite not knowing exactly what they did. One of them was connected to three four-meter-tall metal towers with mirror-polished balls on top and head-sized vacuum tubes powering them. Another was a six-meter-in-diameter torus hooked up to high-amperage magitech circuits and vacuum tubes the size of a person. There was one in the back that looked like a windmill combined with a bug zapper.

His project looked a lot more mundane than any of those. Just a microphone, a pre-amp circuit that used small, thumb-sized vacuum tubes, an amplification circuit that used vacuum tubes about four times larger which had boxy black centers, and a tube that was head-sized and built like a soccer ball inside of a soccer ball. The outer soccer ball was made of a wire grid while the inside soccer ball was made out of black plates. Just to the side of that soccer ball was a tube that was even taller, about one and a half times the size of Chris's forearm. It had a double helix of plates on the inside and cylindrical mesh in the center with tiny hexagonal cutouts in it.

This tube was Chris's brainchild and it's where most of the magic literally happened.

Against the warehouse's insulated steel wall was a power box with a switch two-thirds as long as Chris's forearm. Another box only half its size was next to with a switch no longer than his hand. He pulled the smaller lever down, igniting the neon lamps on the power strips of the large plywood workbench that held his project.

Heinrich, their lab assistant, had gotten the new layout for the amplifier circuit all set up and all Chris had to do was make the solder connections. So, he grabbed a soldering iron, some flux, and a spool of solder and got to work.

Because no one was calling him over to look at X, Y, or Z issue, he got everything soldered in under an hour and by the time he was done, he was grinning ear to ear. It was time to turn his baby on.

He cackled like a mad scientist from a pulpy sci-fi film as he pulled down the giant electrical box's lever. When the switch fell into the "on" position with a big clunk, an electric buzz permeated the air around him.

The soft orange glow of the filaments in the tubes lit Chris from below as he went over to the preamp circuit and started testing various connections with the oscilloscope. He found noise in the circuit immediately, and four hours later, he was no closer to figuring out where it was coming from. All his experience told him the problem was some sort of grounding issue, but he was completely out of ideas as to what to check. None of the smaller components were suspect. Not surprising since all of the resistors, diodes, chokes, and capacitors had been made by TinsleyTronics, which had incredible quality control.

Instead of banging his head against the wall, which was tempting, he turned off the power and went to a nearby cafe for a late lunch.

For dessert, he had a fudge sundae with extra maraschino cherries on top. He kept the receipt for the dessert separate, not wanting to annoy Dr. White by taking his offer of a free lunch too far.

Once back, he flipped the power on again. It was time to inspect each tube, each circuit closely using his unique gift.

Now that the filaments had warmed up, the blue glow of flowing electrons added an eerie edge to the room. Thin, effervescent, magenta tendrils moved like the limbs of tiny octopuses, mingling with the electrons. That was the evidence of magic one could see with their naked eye.

Chris took long, deep breaths, letting himself feel his annoyance at the long work week, his tiredness, the depression that was nearly drowning him, and his glee at finding the silver and gold amethyst ring that was now on his pinky finger. He had to visit that jewelry store in Santa Monica again after a few more paychecks.

Throwing out that tangent and regaining his focus, he took a few more deep breaths, listening to the electric hum of various components. He took off his shoes so he could feel the concrete floor under his socks. Vulnerable, present, and open to his emotions, magic flowed into him up through the floor and from the very air around him.

He could see and feel the tendrils that everyone else only caught glimpses of reach outside the tubes, into the air, and down the power lines.

Thrumming, fizzy magical energies mingled with his being, tugging on him as he stared deep into the preamp circuit. An urge to laugh, an urge to yell, and an urge to clench his fist all passed without him giving in. Magic, like all living things, could be tirelessly playful and curious.

A twitch in his leg, a tremble in his hand, a tingle behind his balls, all of it he ignored. He had to hang on and get this figured out because if he could get this done today, he could sleep for a week without Dr. White caring. He needed enough rest that his answer to relaxation wasn't drinking himself into a stupor. And to get this done, he needed to maintain his focus at all cost. If he didn't, he'd end up a chimera, the magic's whims forever leaving a mark on his body.

Every swirl of tendril, every reverberating wave, every bit of interference from the randomness of the universe, all of it was as it should be.

There was a prickle on the back of his hands. This was the point where he normally quit, but there was a lot more to check. Looking at the amplification circuit, he felt the prickling on the backs of his hands spread up his arms and his abdomen throbbed. A good throb? A moan escaped his lips as he spotted white peach fuzz on his upper arms and hands. This throbbing felt way too good and was spreading from under his belly button to between his legs.

"Haah! That's new." He groaned before closing his eyes and basked in the pleasurable tide of magic flowing through him.

He giggled, blushing as he fiddled with the beautiful amethyst ring on his pinky. The waves of silver and gold in the band were so elegant. It was something he could get away with wearing, something soft, and wearing it felt good in a similar way as what was going on between his legs. He bit his lip and blushed, feeling a tugging inside him, something moving. His areolas and nipples ached, his nipples tenting his shirt, looking bigger than ever. Maybe he wanted this to happen?

With a growl, he steeled himself against his emotions and all the sensations, shoving himself out of the magic's flow. He knew better than to act girly. That would only get him shunned.

His body tingled while the pleasurable ache between his legs waned and his breathing returned to normal. The fuzz had just gotten long and dense enough to be considered fur before the flow of magic stopped.

Even though all the signs of his brush with magic had passed, his heart was still racing. He'd been on the knife's edge, nearly falling into magic's embrace, crossing the chimeric threshold. But he hadn't fallen victim to it. In fact, it had been easy to pull away even when it felt good. He had tons of practice fortifying himself against his emotions, after all. Why had he been so cautious all this time?

The only places he could think to check now were the power supplies, the ground loop, and the magitech tubes. Everything else had to come before the magitech tubes. If the problem was inside them, the project would be offline for a month while they waited for them to be remade, but that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was trying to identify a problem inside them, which could take months and strained his magic sense to its limit.

Centering himself once more, he let magic mingle with his being. Fur started to show on his arms immediately, but it was coming in slowly. As pressure built on his chest, his nipples expanded once more. If he could keep all these changes going as slow as possible, he'd be fine. Temptation, curiosity, and pleasure were all the magic trying to claim his body.

Concentrating on his breathing, he stared into the power circuit. The magic coming out of the power line was wild and cantankerous, but the capacitors, electrical chokes, and resistors in the power circuit mellowed it out enough that it could flow through the rest of the system. Chokes did wonders for mellowing problematic oscillations in the magic signal, even when the electric signal didn't need one. But since turbulent magic could easily mess up an electrical signal, it wasn't always easy to tell which one was the source of the problem and most magitech circuits had more chokes than they needed.

His instincts told him this noise was starting from the electrical side of things, but he'd run out of ideas for what he could check. Plus, sometimes tracking the magic signal could reveal problems with the electrical signal.

If he didn't have his sense to rely on, he'd have to use a magic-sensing oscilloscope and wave what looked like a tiny metal fly swatter around all the wires, connections, and components of this contraption. The readout on a magic oscilloscope was much noisier than a normal oscilloscope and it was grueling work that tested one's patience.

Taking the time to apply his magic sense wholly to his hearing, he listened for noise in the signal coming out from each choke. His ears itched, enlarging as fur grew in on them. Sharp pricks just above his upper lip on either side of his nose brought his hand to his face. His eyes widened when he found whiskers, but his eyes relaxed fully when he found it soothing to stroke them.

He needed to stop stroking his whiskers and stop drawing magic right away. But stroking them was so soothing, so wonderfully--no!

As he pulled his hand away from his face, he felt his chest jiggle. Looking down, he saw his button-down shirt straining due to a sizable pair of tits. A blush pinkened his cheeks as he felt another pair below them squishing against his shirt.

"What the fuck?" He tried to push back against the magic flowing into him, to stop the changes, but the magic had momentum this time. He got a sharp ache in his head and chest.

He froze, not even breathing, and worked to endure the pain. A thought drifted through his mind as he was gathering his resolve to sever his connection to magic and return to his normal human form: shouldn't he at least answer the one question all guys ask themselves? What does one's date feel when someone touches their tits?

His hands reached down to cup the upper pair and the moment his hands made contact, he gasped.

He should've been scared, he should've been freaking out, but instead he was just standing there, holding them while tears blurred his vision. Why the fuck didn't men have tits? These things felt astoundingly good, soft with just the right amount of firmness. He gave them a squeeze and moaned.

Everyone had told him this would be a painful process, magic warping his body unnaturally, but this was the opposite of pain. Maybe he was special?

The sides of his fingers, along with his fingertips, felt like they were getting massaged while he felt yet another pair of nipples touch his dress shirt. This clearly wasn't a normal thing to have happen, but he couldn't figure out how having more tits would be a bad thing. Sure, it was the sort of thing only a chimera had and many would call it weird, but he thought it was kinda neat. He'd turn back to his original form soon. All he wanted to do was satisfy his scientific curiosity for another minute or two.

He grabbed his second pair of tits and felt blood rush to his prick. Between his legs, there was a pinch and then a tugging sensation. His pants felt tight too, like they were giving his balls way too little room.

A delightful fuzzy warmth was settling throughout his body, so delightful that he didn't want it to stop. All his life he'd been riding the edge of anxiety, but in this moment he felt so very calm. He rubbed his palms on his nipples and moaned as his prick started getting stiff. Well, maybe not completely calm. Had he known passing the chimeric threshold felt this good, he would've--

He jumped and yelped in surprise as the base of his tail bone pressed outwards and made the situation in his pants a thousand times worse. Now that he could see his white-furred hands, he spotted light blue paw pads at his fingertips, light blue webbing between his fingers, and paw pads forming on his palms. The webbing was pushing his ring towards the end of his pinky. The paw pad on the end of his pinky was keeping it from coming off.

His breath caught in his throat. He could see a deeper texture to the magic around him. A swirling, vine-like, tangled mess of it was flowing around, and through, his experiment. Then there was the writhing mass of it that was flowing into his body. The magic was a network of vibrant tentacles that were adding depth and life to everything.

These wonderful sensations, the beauty of the magic, how right this felt, the rest of the world was thousands of miles away. Perhaps the magic had him in its web. Perhaps this is why he'd been warned all his life to stay away from the chimeric threshold. It didn't matter. He couldn't find a single shred of resistance inside himself.

Huh, it felt kinda wet between his legs. He undid his pants and let them fall to the floor before sliding down his boxers. Tears clouded his vision again as he realized what that might mean. He still had his balls and his prick was half-hard, so that meant the magic was giving him both? He bit his lip and reached down toward his crotch.

Right behind his balls, his fingers found a big, round, clit nestled between moist pussy lips. Simply his fingers coming into contact with his clit sent a white hot jolt of pleasure through him. He screeched and bucked his hips wildly as waves of contractions crashed throughout his brand new cunt. As his cock started spasming, it took on a light blue shade and tapered toward the tip as it got larger and larger. His right hand gripped the workbench next to him to keep himself upright while his left hand rubbed his clit in little circles.

He couldn't hold back. Everything was automatic. And as he let out a breathless scream, his dick fired ropes of pearly white all over the concrete floor. Pussy juice wetted his inner thighs as he gushed between his legs. It felt like someone had set off a flash bulb inside him and burning white light was permeating every facet of his being.

When the dual-orgasm was over, he was just standing there, panting, feeling warm and relieved in a way he could barely comprehend. This was the sort of orgasm he'd thought he'd get when he was first with a woman, but he'd achieved it on his own. He pulled his fingers away from his pussy and licked his own nectar off his paw pads. It tasted faintly of fresh squeezed orange juice with a bitterness like the peel and a tartness reminiscent of cranberries. He was still licking it off his fingers when a clang echoed throughout the warehouse. Someone had just unlocked the swinging steel door next to the large warehouse door.

"Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit!" He dropped to the floor, hiding behind the workbench, wetting the fur on his knees with some of the feminine excitement that had dripped onto the floor.

If he was caught this far transformed, he'd be...Witness Chris's attempt to not get caught and his later full transformation into a horse-hung otter herm by reading the rest on my [url=https://www.patreon.com/posts/105068797/][color=orange][b]my PATREON![/b][/color][/url] OR [url=https://subscribestar.adult/posts/1327586/][color=fuchsia][b]my SUBSCRIBESTAR![/b][/color][/url]

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