{"sf1_id":1178240,"sf2_id":"V1YoqpJm","title":"HoT sPoT (Lovecraftian colors TFTG)","author":"Nequ","words":2013,"posted_at":"2017-05-06T15:55:00.000Z","tags":["Ass","Boobs","Booty","Breast","Breasts","Butt","Cock","Cock Growth","Corruption","Dick","Erotic","Fear","Forced Sex","Forcedshifting","Futa","Gender Shifting","Goo","Herm/solo","Hermaphrodite","Horror","House","Jugs","Licking","M/F","M/solo","Mammal","Mind Control","Modern","Non-Consensual","Oral","Poem","Predicament Bondage","Shemale","Slime","Tits","Trance","Transformation","Transgender","lovecraft"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1178240-hot-spot-lovecraftian-colors-tftg","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/V1YoqpJm","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/ce/5e/ce5e15e8-dff4-4a65-85f1-f1bae12eef2d","description":"You know, when I sat down to write a story about hot weather and goo. I never thought it would turn into sexy mind-bending Lovecraftian horrotica.\nAnd I never expected my sexy mind-bending Lovecraftian horrotica to use Carlos Santana's \"Smooth\" feat. Rob Thomas as the opening lines.","content":"Man, it's a hot one.  \n  \nLike seven inches from the midday sun.  \n  \nAnd 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.  \n  \nAnd so, she lies on the bed in camisole and boyshorts, sweat dappling her lithe, feminine body, staring at the light fixture on the ceiling.  \n  \nA hand is lasily swung out, and it picks up a water bottle and brings it to her lips.  \n  \n...Only to find that it only contains a few drops. Right. She finished it already.  \n  \n\"_Uuuuggghhhh_,\" she groans, and lets the bottle fall off the bed.  \n  \n\"Honey?\" a man calls from the next room, through the door.  \n  \n\"Don't worry,\" the woman responds. \"'S nothin'.\"  \n  \nAnd then she faces a monumental decision; whether to roll off the bed and get more water, or maybe she should just take a nap.  \n  \nThe nap's looking good.  \n  \nSomething 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.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; And it stops about six inches above her crotch.  \n  \nHuh. She must be asleep already.  \n  \nThis 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.  \n  \nShe 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-  \n  \nOh.  \n  \nJust 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.  \n  \nShe spends a few seconds panting when she comes back down, then looks down.  \n  \nIt's about six inches long, juts from her crotch, undeniably phallic. Even has nuts underneath.  \n  \nShe can barely get her hand around it.  \n  \nThe 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.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; 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.  \n  \nYeah.  \n  \nAn 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.  \n  \nThere will be...spillover.  \n  \nThe white drips up her stomach, presses into her navel, pierces her stomach, and spreads, under her skin.  \n  \nIt would be better, thinks she, for her breasts to flatten, and her pectorals to develop.   \n  \nThe white complies.  \n  \nFor her very bones to shift and strengthen.   \n  \nThe white obligies.  \n  \nFor her waist to widen into a masculine gut.  \n  \nAnd so it does.  \n  \nThe door opens.  \n  \nThe 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.  \n  \nIt 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.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Baby?\" she says. \"Is something wrong?\"  \n  \n\"Karen?\" says he. \"What _happened_ to you?\"  \n  \n\"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.  \n  \n\"There's...\" He grapples for phrasing. \"-_Stuff_ on you!\"  \n  \n\"Oh, this?\" she says, as the legs he caressed on many a night grow broader and broader.   \n  \n\"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.  \n  \nShe stretches out a hand. \" **Join** me.\"  \n  \nHe steps back. \"No.\"  \n  \nThe white envelops her forehead, and a diadem of eyes opens, focuses on him, blinks. \"Are you sure?\"  \n  \n\"Ye-\"  \n  \nSomething white falls off her, hits his hand holding the phone.  \n  \nHe steps toward her boyfriend. \" **Join me.**\"  \n  \nHe stares at her for a second.  \n  \nThen he steps back and closes the door.  \n  \n+Q+  \n  \nI stare at my phone.  \n  \nThe 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.  \n  \nI need to call 911 or something.  \n  \nI 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.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Okay, what happens when I wipe it on my shirt?  \n  \nI'll tell you what. It leaves a yellow stain. And that's spreading too.  \n  \nAnd then I drop the phone.  \n  \nIt'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.  \n  \nI 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.  \n  \nBut 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-  \n  \nWhen did I stick my tongue out?  \n  \nWhen did I decide to lick the blue off my phone?  \n  \n...Why does it taste so good?  \n  \nNo. No. I have to stop this. Just stand up, get to the door, open it, and leave.  \n  \nExcept I can't. My hands are too slick, too much like paws-  \n  \nThe 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.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I need to get out. I need to get out now. My tongue is tingling, shifting. My lips feel weird.  \n  \nThe doggie door.  \n  \nI can hear Kendra-or what used to be Kendra-moving around. The bedroom door opens.  \n  \nI already have my shoulders through when I remember that my shoulders shouldn't get through. Kendra's would, but...  \n  \nWhat is this gunk _doing_ to me?  \n  \n**Going somewhere?** said the thing that used to be my girlfriend. It sounds amused.  \n  \nI brace myself against the floor and the door, and push.  \n  \nAnd I can't get through.  \n  \nI pause for a second. Watch the purple spool from my tongue, drip, drip, drip to the floor.  \n  \nMy _hips_ can't get through.  \n  \nGreat.  \n  \nI'm stuck.  \n  \nAnd someone's coming up the stairs.  \n  \n+Q+  \n  \nYou walk up the stairs and say \"Hutch?\"  \n  \nHe's in his doggie door, from the previous tenant. They always kept it locked, but here he is, halfway out of it.  \n  \n\"What are you _doing?_\"  \n  \nHe holds up his hands. \"I can't get the door open, and my hips got stuck.\"  \n  \nHuh. He must have narrow shoulders.  \n  \n\"Oh.\" You nod. \"Okay. Why the lipstick?\"  \n  \n\"The what?\"  \n  \n\"The waxy black substance on your lips.\" You take a step closer. \"I had no idea your lips were that...fat.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; He looks down. Rubs his tongue over his lips. It would be very sexy if he were a woman.  \n  \nActually...it's kinda sexy anyway.  \n  \n\"Is this some kind of sex thing? Kinky roleplay? Because I _do_ not consent to anything.\"  \n  \nHutch sighs. \"Look, it's...look, it's Karen, and it's a long story. Just call the police.\"  \n  \nYou reach into your purse. \"And what do I tell them?\"  \n  \n\"Some kind of biohazard, I don't kn-\" He stops, his eyes widen, he half-turns. \"Let _go_!\"  \n  \nWhat the-  \n  \n\"Hutch?\"  \n  \n\"You're hurting me! I can't get back in, my boobs are in the way!\"  \n  \nIf 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.  \n  \nIs 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-  \n  \nWow. That's a _very_ convincing tongue. It actually looks like it has black on the e-  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Wait.  \n  \nThat's vantablack.  \n  \nThat's that high-tech nanotube stuff that doesn't reflect light _at all_.  \n  \nIt always looks like a bad Photoshop in pictures. And it's expensive as _balls_.   \n  \nEither you're hallucinating, or this is real.  \n  \nHutch's lips are the same color. And it's staining his shirt. How did you not notice this before?  \n  \nAnd how did you not notice how he's not yelling anymore? Just kneeling there, on all fours, eyes, blank, something dripping down his chin.  \n  \n\"Hutch? You in there? You okay?\" And most importantly, can you get past him?  \n  \nHis entire body shakes, forward, like-  \n  \nIs someone having _sex_ with him on the other side of the door?  \n  \nHis 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.  \n  \nSomething hits your crotch. Something slides into your underwear, and you shriek and dance away, hands flailing, afraid to actually touch it.   \n  \nThe thing in your clothes stretches-it's...it's his tongue. His head is upside down, his neck is extended, and-  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; 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...  \n  \nIt's still in there.  \n  \nYou 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.  \n  \nAnd there goes the other eye. The drips fall outward, then curve, then land in the other eye.  \n  \nI can hear the grunts on the other side of the door.  \n  \nHe - 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.  \n  \nShe reaches for you.  \n  \n\"Let us help you,\" she says, in a voice pitching higher and higher.  \n  \nYou 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.  \n  \n\"_Ma'am? Ma'am? Are try trying to get in?_\"  \n  \nYou shake your head. Oh, wait, she can't hear you.  \n  \n\"N-no. I think I'm safe.\"  \n  \n\"_Good. We have an officer on the way. Do you have a room with a strong door you can lock?_\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; You nod.  \n  \n\"Yes.\"  \n  \n\"_Go there. Now._\"  \n  \nYou nod again, and stand up-  \n  \nWhoa.  \n  \n\"_I need you to stay on the line. Can you do that for me?_\"  \n  \n\"Hang on.\"  \n  \nThere's something coming out of your crotch. It's the same off-black color as the stuff on Hutch, the same bad-Photoshop darkness.  \n  \nIt's about six inches long, and shaped like a-  \n  \n\"_Ma'am?_\"  \n  \n\"Shhhh.\"  \n  \nHuh.  \n  \nYou can _barely_ get your hand around it.  \n  \n  \n_ **/ENDF** _  \n  \n\n* * *\n  \n**Hot Spot**  \n2017 Nequ  \nCC By-SA-NC  \nI like fan stories and fanart.\n* * *\nIf 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.  \n  \nI mean, I didn't use \"lustful\", \"corruptive\", or \"transformative\", but it was a near thing.  \n  \n----  \n  \n**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. \n\n  \n  \n\n"}