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Shapeshifting Lust

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by anonymous

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Christine met her own eyes in the mirror, her blonde hair in a sensual fall of curls that night, though to say that she was a “plain Jane" out of her stripper wear, well, that would have been entirely accurate. Sure, she looked good all dolled up and on show, but there was still something about her that made her look as if she was merely part of the crowd, someone that could have been anyone. Only a stripper in the sense that she didn't stand out or draw the big crowds, few looked twice at her and the other ladies backstage or onstage hardly saw her as a threat.

“Did you see who's in the crowd tonight?"

Chris' eyes slid to the side, leaning forward even as she pretended to be putting on her lipstick, her eyes overly done in smoke and curls, the lashes enhanced. Carmelita smirked, sharing the gossip, the Hispanic woman (Chris had never cared enough about her to care to ask where she actually came from) relishing in the moment that gave her, at least for the time being, some semblance of power.

“Yeah, it's all the bigwigs from that finance company, what was it – Tiger Finances? Something like that."

“Ooooh, they're good tippers."

“Ain't that just what we need!"

It was a flutter of conversation that Chris was well used to, though it was not something that she spent too much time on under normal circumstances. There was not much space in the dressing area of the strip club, everyone crammed in against each other, though she hardly minded the sexy Carmelita's arm pressed up against hers, the honey-brown of her skin, changing shade depending on the light that hit her. Chris wished that she could be like that too, but, well…

…that there was something more at play for Christine was only just coming into the limelight.

Her lips parted, a short gasp claiming her airways, skin tingling, something burning through her. Her eyes widened, reflection shocked, but Chris was up on her feet, staggering in her heels, for points that sharp were never intended to be walked on with anything but the utmost of care.

Out, out. Something was wrong, wrong but right – but she'd only uncover that a little later, a flirty nuance of change that would reveal itself to her only, and only when, it was ready to show her.

“Sheesh, what the hell's her problem?"

But she would not be missed, not for the time that she was backstage. Carmelita flowed through her veins as she ducked into the hallway, back pressed to the wall, fingers trembling as she held them up before her eyes.

For that was no longer her hand that she saw, even in the dim lighting, the pulsing music of the club coursing through her. Her nails became smaller, more delicate, showing a different hue of skin. Carmelita was thicker than her – not overweight, of course, but with curves that Chris would have killed for – and it was that thickness that layered itself down Chris' body, making her lingerie (for she had not been wearing more than that at that time) strain tight. Gasping, she scrabbled to unhook her bra, but it was too late for that as her breasts popped out, fabric stretching, pricking into her back as it fought to stand up to the stretch.

But nothing mattered but her form as her feet, somehow, managed to fit into her heels perfectly, her toes more delicate, finely formed, everything about her set to hunger the eye. Even her own as her hair softened into delightful black, the cut ends splashing across her shoulders in a lustful tickle of sensation. Chris whimpered, the form that had fallen over her being that of Carmelita, yet it was the cold shock of that realisation that set things in motion that could never again be turned back.

She was in control… She took a breath, yet that didn't make it any better as she ran her hands over her new curves, the bra still pinned around her, but barely hanging on. event hat light touch alone had her grunting and moaning, surprising herself with the sounds that passed her lips, as nothing seemed right, nothing right at all, and yet she could not stop. The hallway, where she could have been discovered at any moment, should have been colder, and yet her skin prickled and ached with a sort of desire that could not be quelled so easily.

Without thinking, Chris pushed her hand, trembling, into her panties – yet it was no longer her hand but Carmelita's. She'd never seen Carmelita in the throes of orgasm before, but she could imagine it, picking up little things from her behaviour in the club, how she must have sensually allowed her head to fall back, lips parted, so plush, so full. Carmelita's lips did not need gloss and Chris treated them with the reverence that they deserved.

Her fingers brushed them, the other hand pushing further between her thighs, feeling out the shape of her folds. The change had felt as if she'd blinked and missed it – and how had it happened? Had it all come from touching the arm of the other dancer? Oh, she'd have to try it again, but she was too frazzled, burning up from the inside out, moaning and humping, grinding her hips as if she had a cock or a pole to show off with right then and there.

“Yes… Oh, yes… Fuck me, stud…"

Chris could imagine Carmelita saying that, it felt natural to her, slipping into her form and personality like taking on a second skin. All was as it was meant to be as she moaned and whimpered, gyrating her hips, the shape of her sex different even then. She had not known that it was possible for a woman who was not, admittedly, a porn star, to have folds that were so plush and full, so succulent that any man would have wanted to dip his tongue between them and savour her essence. Yet it was Chris who moaned out loud, again and again, a part of her not caring if she got caught, for it was Carmelita, to be fair, who would face the consequences of that.

Her fingers drove deep, spreading the heat of a sex that she had no experience, of, grinding over her clit. It was only right that she brought herself off, explosive orgasm ripping through, her toes curling in her shoes, flexing, the feel of that alone enough to let orgasm roll on and on, powering through her in a way that she had never realised was possible.

And yet it was all hers for the taking as she sucked off her fingers lustfully, ensuring that not a drop of her tart juices were lost and laid to waste. Even that was different, better than the taste of her bland pussy, though Chris could not deny that her diet, considering everything, was pretty good. Sucking off her fingers was almost as good as eating out another woman, but, with the power of shapeshifting flowing through her, suddenly everything was possible.

Everything.

She stalked back into the changing area with her head held high, an imperious glint in her eye. After all, she was no longer Christine but Carmelita – and everyone knew that Carmelita was one of few that ran the show backstage. Her boobs were out, the better lighting showing off the rich tones of her skin all the better, nipples perky in the cool air but a darker shade still. She shivered. If she'd been alone, her hands would have been all over them.

“God damn it, Carl," she snapped, clicking her fingers as if she really was Carmelita. “Get this thing off me! I can't get ready for any goddamn show if you're not going to get me the right clothes out here!"

The stagehand rushed around, red in the face, though he should have been used to what the strippers got up to back there, their nudity and sass. It was the way of their trade, after all, claws out, fighting fire with fire, and it was that very fire that rendered them as explosively attractive as they were up on stage. A new set of clothes were in her hands in a moment, something better fitting Carmelita, as they liked to dress her up as a Spanish princess – whatever that meant that they thought of her heritage, her culture. Carmelita did not care about things like that as long as she was getting paid and Chris slid them on with bated breath, bold enough to even let the folds of her pussy show, however briefly, as she swapped one pair of panties for another. Skirts and tops would follow, but, well, she probably wouldn't get as far as to put them on.

“Jeez, Carmelita, you're really letting it hang all out over there, gurl."

That drawl was from a woman who had a bit of a mixed accent. White but tanned, the drawl was reminiscent of the deep south while she had spent enough time in the city to draw on a New York twang, the fading cling of her accent playing on her tone. They called her slick and she was already done up in a cowboy hat, boots and daisy duke shorts that hid nothing at all, her shirt nothing more than a bra, tied around her tits while the massive rounds of them spilt over.

Carmelita licked her lips.

“You know it. What's the fun in keeping it all tucked away?"

She took her chance while she saw it, dressed up but not for long as she passed by, brushing her fingers over Slick's shoulders, grazing skin. That was all she needed, though it was something that she had to confirm as she ducked into a properly curtained dressing area, fingers tingling from that little touch alone. Oh, how she loved women, though the women there didn't love her back, Slick a cowgirl in disguise through and through to the point that no one knew quite who she was.

But that meant that she was easier for Chris to embody as, slowly but surely, she lost Carmelita's exotic looks, the darker hues of her skin fading to white, though tanned as if she had been out working in the glorious sunshine. Releasing Carmelita's garb, she took on Slick's, her breasts even larger, heaving with every breath, a bosom that required that the muscles of her upper and mid-back strengthen to accommodate the heft of it. The brassiere was too small for her, but she managed to keep it in place, the nipples almost bursting free in a pink spill – but not quite, skin lightening, so much lighter in comparison to Carmelita.

“Yes… Oh…"

It was new, exciting, the sort of thing that meant that her life, in any way, could never go back to the way that it had been before. There was no forgetting, after that moment, that she was a shapeshifter, that something had chosen her, been born in her, the ability to shape her future in her own hands. Once, she had been an actress but had not lasted for very long as she had taken on so much from the characters, thinking that she was them the moment she slipped into their forms. That had not stood her in good stead in that kind of industry but, with her humping hips brushing the curtain into a flutter, it would make all the difference as, finally, she stepped into her own in the strip club and beyond.

She'd never only been meant to be just Chris.

Her thighs thickened a little, stronger with muscle but a nice layer of fat on top of them to make them womanly. It was a wonder that Slick managed to fit into those daisy duke shorts at all as the arse that pushed out against her underwear, the skirt she'd been asked to wear as Carmelita falling away, thick and full. The roundness of it was not something that she wanted to stop either as she moaned and pushed her panties down, fingers once again driving into the folds of a changing pussy.

More athletic, it was a new experience for Chris to feel strong thighs gripping her hands as her fingers rammed desperately into her own body. Her body… Slick's body… It was all the same to her, she was Slick and Slick was her. She could be everything at once, more desperate than ever as the changes pushed over her. Once it had begun, it seemed like the sort of thing that was impossible to stop – not that she would have ever wanted that to be the case anyway. No, she wanted to lust and moan, whimpering out in Slick's raspy twang, the broken accent that was so endearing when she shook her arse in just the right way.

“Yeah, baby, just like that…"

Her fingers pressed to her clit and she muffled her orgasm the best she could, a pink nipple showing over the edge of her bra, her shoes kicked off, toes curling. Even her feet felt stronger, the set of her body stabler still with more muscle, for Slick was fit and ready to go, biceps and triceps lightly defined, which was no slacking feat for a woman, any woman. She pushed up onto her toes, calves aching for more, her buttocks straining, pushing back even as the natural tilt to the weight of Slick's body made her want to push back.

Yet as orgasm drummed through her like a herd of stampeding cattle, she could only focus on her feet, how they curled and pushed, the strength in them. Oh, that was so erotic, so very much so, though she was more drawn to the feet on her own body, in that moment at least, when she knew they were not truly hers. They were pale with a freckle on the right one that stood out, even the nails painted as if the “whore" Slick was going to drag herself off to a hoe-down after the cows were home and get down and dirty. The city girl mixed with the country girl into one blend that could jump from one to the other and it was all embodied in those feet, the contrast between strength and flexibility against the delicacy of those pink painted nails.

She moaned and moaned, orgasm pounding through, her body settling, a narrow waist gracing her and wide, flared hips, the kind of hips that a woman who rode horses would have been grateful for. It was a body unlike the pleasure of which she had had the delight of touching before, fingers dipping into the waist of her underwear, pulling it up, the lines of it making her hips look too long.

The last part of the change was the warming of her features, cheeks strong and round, the line of her jaw daring others to challenge her. Her hair was smooth, falling in a cheeky, auburn curtain, cut more shortly around the front than the back so that it tempted imaginary hands to caress it oh so smoothly. She only needed a hat to pop on her head and she would be the cowgirl of everyone's dreams, coy and flirty and always up for some fun.

Still, she settled, breathing deeply, her breasts seeming to rise far more than was necessary as she inhaled.

It was erotic, so very much so. Every nerve-ending in her body tingled with a “barely there" fire, as if she was too hot, even though she could feel cool air licking her skin. Nothing had to make sense though as she flicked her hair, her bra in place and panties tugged up, skirt dangling from one hand, because, really, what did she need to cover up there for? Slick wouldn't be dressed in what she was wearing and she'd have to find something better to put on, something more cowgirl-like so that she could best “wow" the crowd.

However, the others there did complicate matters a little, catching her strutting in wear that was not Slick's, as much as her smirk and drawl embodied the other dancer as she left the changing room.

“Hey, Candy, what's got you looking so fine tonight?"

The black dancer glanced up, her skin a deep ebony, fingertips and palms a lighter shade. That colour change had always caught Chris' eye as a thing of beauty, though she was more than aware of the troubles that an African American woman like her faced in the city. It was a trial that Candy had to go through, but Chris could not help but wonder what her name was, the one that, of course, she went by normally, rather than stripping.

She'd kept her name. Women like Candy hadn't had quite that luxury, if they wanted to, quite literally, be the eye candy of the crowd.

With her hair piled on top of her head in a messy, tight bun, curls flowing in frizzy gloriousness, Candy shot her a look, out of the corner of her eye, not all that much of a talker.

“Slick? What in all hell are you doing in that get-up?"

She laughed, tossing her red hair back, the ginger falling softly down her back, tickling the nape of her neck.

“Hey, hon, sometimes you gotta get on up in there and go with the flow, you know? Whatever brings those dollars rolling in, can't be doing any more than that."

Candy rolled her eyes, long and leonine, elegant as the queen she truly was. She sat beside Candy, practically holding her breath even though she knew she had to breathe, still had to breathe, wanting to change clothes into something that Slick would wear but, well, Slick was already out and one stage. She'd have to choose someone else to shift into if she wanted to put on a show as them, to dig into what it was that made their characters pop.

But her eyes were on Candy, breath catching in the lump in her throat. Her strong shoulders, how slender her form was. Her bones could be seen but that was, in a way, part of her appeal, that she was different, that she was herself. Her lips were large and full, her chin angled down, and her breasts may have been smaller than the ones that Chris currently wore as if they were her own, though they were just as alluring.

She licked her lips as Candy stood, her back to her, sliding off her looser shirt to reveal her bare back, something beaded and fiddly with a strange zip at the back easing over her arms. Yet it was, apparently, not the easiest to don as the goddess of a woman fumbled for the zipper, beads rustling and rattling lightly against one another where they swung down over her breasts in a sort of fringe. But Chris, in Slick's body, did not need to understand just how things were to admire Candy's gorgeous figure, the quiet strength in her that came out more loudly when she did not even need to speak.

“Damn it…"

Candy cursed, struggling with her top, grasping blindly behind her for the zipper. They always were in an out of the way place when it came to the sorts of clothes that they had to wear.

“Do you need a hand?"

Candy shot her a look but nodded. They weren't the best of friends, her and Slick, but Chris knew that it would have been a different story if she had been in her own body. The shapeshifter was not well liked there, but her mind was not on any of that as she brushed her hand, without thinking, against Candy's arse, the stripper pushing away from her.

“Watch it!"

“Aw, c'mon, what's a little touch between friends?"

Chris drawled as slick, diffusing the situation, even as Candy grimaced, but the moment was ripe for her to take for her own and all she needed to do was to pull her hand across the front of Candy's top, adjusting how it sat across her breasts to be able to better do it up at the back. There was a part of Candy that obviously flinched but the way that she stayed where she was had to be interesting too, leading Chris to wonder whether there was more going on between her and Slick than she had first thought. She watched, always, taking in everything around her, but even someone who absorbed everything around her was not always as on top of everything as she liked to profess herself to be.

“There ya go! All done!"

She stepped back, licking her lips, admiring Candy's figure, her narrower hips, how tall she was, a good head above Slick. But she had to hold the change in mind, the form that she had just absorbed, even though all she wanted to do was to heave and to pant, delighting in all that she had done.

That time, however, she was able to hold back the change, the form in her mind, there when she wanted it. She could become Candy right there and then or hold off on her shape for another time and a later date, exactly as it pleased her. Candy muttered something and headed off, allowing Chris to let her natural form come back to her, a little like stepping back into a comfortable pair of shoes. That was better, yes, for her, a little more natural, though there were more nuances to be brought into the light, others to take on, forms to embody and lives to steal for her own pleasure…

“What are you doing back here?"

Tina scowled, leaning back against the wall, tapping her long nails on her arm. She hadn't even heard her enter but the woman was probably the one with the closest figure to Chris as she usually was, which was likely one reason why they were always in such fierce competition with one another. She didn't know what nationality Tina was and, considering what was apt to come out of her mouth on so many occasions, she wasn't so sure that she wanted to know either. The dark brown of her hair, no matter how much she treated it, was prone to a bounce and a frizz, her skin brown and glowing regardless of the lighting. Despite their competition, that she was a beauty was something that Chris would not deny.

Her eyes raked down Chris' body as if she was analysing her, though Chris stood tall, a new power in her back pocket. Tina had nothing on her, leaving her to simply enjoy the view as she never got to before, those long, shapely legs only enhanced further by her stilettos, the blouse-bustier shoving her tits up practically to her collarbones. The get-up that Chris was wearing was hardly what she would usually have been caught in, though she had never got on so much with the other strippers there that any answer she could have given would have been the right one. In a way, that left her free to say anything she liked.

“Tina…" Chris smiled, nipping at her lower lip less than coyly. “Aren't you supposed to be off tonight?"

“What's it to you?"

Ooooh, the snark! Oh, it was so different to be back in her own body that Chris rejected it, though she had to get the touch in, had to sneak it, building up her arsenal of forms as a plan grew in her mind. A small plan, to be fair, but one that was still coming together, softly and slowly, bit by bit, all in such a way that she would have the club in her clawed nails, she was sure, by the end of the night.

And she needed Tina for that.

She made as if to leave but it was too tempting to drag her hand down and across Tina's bare thigh. One thing about the strip club that had appealed to her right from the beginning was that there was hardly any shortage of bare flesh there for her to enjoy. And one touch was all it took even as Tina spat a curse and jerked away, hand flying back, trying to curl her fingers into a fist.

“You back off with that shit or you'll get what's coming to you, bitch!"

The venom behind those words was not something that Chris needed to carry with her, however, two new forms to try in her catalogue of shapes and, oh, it was time to see just what she could do, taking on their characters. Being herself was simply too boring as she stood tall, the hourglass shape of Tina falling into her mind as she reached for it. Shifting was easily becoming the most natural thing in the world for her, drunk on the exoticism of it, an addiction that she already could not get enough of.

She left Tina for another room, somewhere where clothes that they weren't using that night (not that they ever needed to wear that much at all) were stored, the racks of clothing familiar. A smile pulled her lips as wide as those of a Cheshire cat as she drew on Tina's form, her skin, once again, taking on a darker shade, though the rich brown was more luxurious than ever when painted on her. Even her nails grew long and shapely, just like Tina had had them that day, her hair poofing out a little, more volume and life to it than Chris' natural blonde.

“Yesss…"

She hissed through her teeth, hand in her panties, working away at her pussy furiously while she pushed up onto her toes. Why was the shift in the feet so erotic? They tingled and throbbed softly as if they were being massaged, wriggling her toes, trying to push them down while keeping her mind on every transformation at once. The woman whose form she was taking may not have been all that different to her, but it excited her, made her feel like all those characters and personalities that she had “stolen" in acting before had been for something, worth something – something greater than even her.

“Ohhhh!"

Chris moaned, her hair falling past her shoulders as Tina, every outwards appearance that of the woman with who she had the rivalry with. She was the perfect form to steal, her buttocks thicker and rounder, breasts about the same, though they did sag a little more. That was interesting, but alluring, her clothes shoved out of place so that she could grope and squeeze them. In a way, it was like she had become her very own sex object, panting and moaning, trying to get out her lust in any way possible while her hips bucked and gyrated in fervent orgasm.

As Tina, she stood tall, stalking back into the dressing area for an outfit that would be best for her. She didn't need to go up on stage, not now that she had a handle on her transformations, a giggle on her lips. Tina was flirty, coy, forward, but restrained, a mystery to all that had men following her every whim. And that was just what Chris needed to start off, strapping on a pair of shoes that showed off her feet – for herself and those that liked that sort of thing too. Her skirt could barely be called such, revealing a slice of arse-cheek below the pink cut of cloth, a blouse-type top wrapped around her and tied below her boobs to push them up further. That looked well enough like something that Tina would wear, the pink and purple clashing and yet ideal at the same time. To finish it off, however, she slid a thong up her legs, moaning as it pushed between her pussy-lips, the wetness still present there.

“Mmmph… Yeah, baby."

“You getting yourself all ready?"

Maria grinned, high-fiving Tina as she staggered out, a swagger in her step, though the play on not being able to walk in her usual heels was totally in keeping with her character.

“You know it! Let's make that moo-lah!"

She laughed, though Maria was softer and finer, a smaller, Asian woman who did not, like so many others there, use her real name in the club. A good head and shoulders shorter than Tina even when they weren't wearing heels, Chris briefly lamented not being able to grope her to absorb her, though she would have to settle for exploring Maria's body at another time. The fine, Asian lady's shoulders were narrow yet strong, her hips wide and childbearing, though Chris ached to enjoy her feet in a special way, just how the exotic tingles of transformation would shoot through them.

But she was Tina for the moment as she sashayed out with a swing in her hips to work the floor, the openness of the strip club and pounding music calling her on. Tina may have been up on one of the smaller stages, where they usually sent Chris, but she would be there to take them all, a smile on her lips, putting her charms to their best use.

Where she was Tina…she could still be a better version of her.

“Hey, handsome, aren't you looking for some company?"

Of course, the man with his tie loosened and a forgettable face had another dancer already practically grinding on him, but she was new and fumbled. Her tits were big though – Cassie, was it? Tina took over for her, hip-checking her out of the way and stealing a grope and spank of her arse in the progress.

“Let a real woman show you how it's done, sweet-cheeks. I got you…"

And she did. As Tina, she was free, no longer in her own body, exultant in every shape and form that she could take for her own. The man could not touch her, but he was liberal with the bills, tucking them into her blouse as she cooed and pushed her tits together for him.

“That's it, darling, you load 'em up and the fun just keeps on coming!"

Soon, she had a crowd around her – but that was too much for a first foray out as another, pretending to be them openly. As exuberating and releasing as it was to be Tina, her loins ached for release, nipples as hard as bullets, her body wanting to get off and to get off hard. Alas, that was not something that could be done out there in public, as much as she may have enjoyed it, slipping away to an alcove. The curtains there, for a modicum of privacy in the flashing lights, spinning dancers up on the staging areas… Well, those flimsy curtains would have to do.

She sat, briefly, perching one leg up on the seating curve as she moaned, fingers rammed into her pussy. The skirt pulled up, exposing Tina's gorgeous legs, feet pressing down as hard into her shoes as she could. Even that tiny sensation sent an electric thrill through her as she masturbated furiously, rubbing her clit, fingers hardly able to stay inside her slippery cunt with the passion that she needed to release.

Yet she did not waste time, drawing on Candy – yes. Yes, Candy was out for her last show, flirting her goodbyes on stage, the last of the night, that was. If she took her form, leapt up on stage, then there would be time to seed confusion, to wind it through the club, to make everyone doubt the semblance of their own reality.

She took on greater height, her long, elegant legs slimming down, though there was a strength and a power in them that needed no explanation. Candy's ebony skin rang through the dim light, even with what flashed into her less than a private alcove, hair shifting to black, a perfect fall of hair that felt like it was lacking in weight with the natural springiness of the strands. She moaned through thickening lips, her tongue pushing out over them, imagining just how her eyes must have been so very soulful, drawing people into the depths of them.

There was no time to pause, not as she stood as Candy, smiling widely, a flash of white teeth obvious in her face. They were the brightest part of her face in such an environment, devoid of lipstick but eyeshadow and mascara painted on, the liner only enough to draw the eye to the depths of her orbs.

“Candy?"

That was Maria, blinking, stepping back.

“I thought you'd finished for the night?"

The club throbbed around them, though all Chris, as Candy, had for Maria was a scoff and roll of her eyes.

“Maria, you should stick to your own gigs, girl, I got a show to put on."

And so she did, taking charge of her position, slipping through the crowd, though she hardly minded the sly hands, the gropes and touches she received. Her clothes hung a little loosely on her and her skirt showed too much, though that was all well and good for her as she took those long legs up on stage. It was one good thing, at least, that the shoes fit the same, her dark toes pressing down, showing lighter under the nails, between and along the soles of her leopard-like feet.

“Now…" She fluttered her eyelashes at the crowd, commanding the stage, even though there were other dancers up there already, wondering what the hell she was doing. “Is everyone ready to see what a real lady does with her body?"

To be Candy was to embody power and she hooked her leg around the pole, spinning, twirling, the greater strength and length of Candy's body allowing her to pull off moves that she had never thought were possible. Her head dropped back, an arm flung out, though the looser blouse baring her stomach could not help but work itself loose. She wasn't about to stop it.

With nothing underneath, it bared her breasts to the club, the women staring, scoffing, muttering about her being a show-off, something about having her time in the spotlight for her night. The men, however… Oh, them and more. They were where her attention lay and she cared about little else as their eyes fixed on her, the bills raining down, money filling the air. Though Chris was hardly done showing off her body as her chest heaved, panting for air, the fabric of it around her cloying and closing in, pushing in on all sides.

Her skirt. That was next, leaving hardly anything left but a thong, so far for a strip club, but, well, it was not unheard of. In public, they were supposed to titillate, to arouse, to keep the drinks and the money flowing, but she was there to bare it all. Where was the sense, anyway, in hiding such a gorgeous body? Candy's crotch was waxed, not a hair to be seen around the edges of her thong, a goddess in all ways, climbing the pole as if her body was weightless.

The men roared. The money flowed. Her smile widened.

Strutting backstage with her clothes left behind her, she took her time, others muttering about how Candy had spent too much time raking in extra tips – but she was not Candy, even if she was sowing her destruction. Without pausing in her stride, as much as she wanted to orgasm again, she took Maria's form, shrinking, gasping, even the thong she was wearing suddenly proving to be too large for her body. Maria was small and petite, maybe even less than five feet in height, though she'd never really thought about it. Her eyes took on that sweet Asian shape, her lips soft and pleasant, an easy smile lending warmth to her cheekbones.

Oh, she could be fine and delicate as Maria, her hips widening again as her skin softened to a deep brown glow, something that seemed like rich honey-tones had been struck through. And Maria's body was firmer and tighter than even Chris could have imagined, her hair changing to a dark brown that was almost black, short and cropped around her chin at an angle that drew eyes to her lips.

Light and delicate, easily breakable. It was a far cry from the body of the woman that she had just borrowed, though Chris did not worry. Her smaller, daintier feet could not fit into those shoes, so she simply stepped out of them, leaving them behind and worrying about little else as she paused at a rack of clothes, finding something suitable.

“Hm…"

A brassiere, black and studded with rhinestones. A pair of panties to match cut high over the hips and around the thighs, almost with a lure of being a dominatrix – but the kind that would submit in an instant, of course, to the will of the crowd. No one out there watching the dancers, of course, would have wanted to think that they were not actually in control. It was risky, so risky, to dress out in the corridor, where anyone could have walked in on her, and yet it felt, in a way, like just the thing she needed to do too.

Simple clothes, but no shoes. Her small, neat feet would have to wait to find something, though it was likely a black heel that would go best with such an ensemble, nothing overly exciting there. She wouldn't have wanted to hide Maria's feet though, not even as she took on the Asian woman's light, gliding walk, the one that held a cheeky presence to it and yet could sneak up on just about anyone.

She paused, a locker grabbing her attention. She was sure those would have just the right shoes for her, even if she had to make her feet a little larger to fit them… It would not stand out.

As Maria, she grinned widely.

Roxy, a curvaceous woman with a booty to die for sat before the mirror applying her make-up, her lips parted to get just the right coverage. Paler skinned, she still was the embodiment of beauty, but she was just another stripper, another stripper that Chris lusted for. Her thick body begged attention and yet she held herself well, perhaps not as strong as Candy had been or most certainly not Slick, but all the guys loved her anyway. Chris could most certainly see why.

“Hey, I thought you were headed out to work the floor."

Chris smiled, bearing Maria's form.

“Nooo…" She flirted, a little wink and shift of her hips all that she needed to be Maria, nothing too obvious. “I thought you weren't meant to be here tonight either? I've got all the shifts mixed up…"

Truth be told, she just wanted to find out who was where and what they were doing. Roxy blinked at her, looking her up and down, the fall of her blonde hair tied back in a high, sweeping ponytail that left her body completely on show, just as she liked it. Was there something about Maria? No…

“No, I was on, definitely." Roxy shook her head, doubting herself. “Yeah, I'm on. Hey, where'd you get those heels? They're super cute! They're just like… Holly's heels?"

Oh, had she grabbed the wrong ones? Well, anything was up for grabs when one was a shapeshifter, something that Chris intended to embody.

“Well, we're the same size, must have got them at the same place as her."

“They're Lucite heels though, aren't they?"

“Yeah, like I said." She giggled, shaking her head. “Same place."

Smiling with a little too much of her devious nature showing through, Roxy had to take her at her words, even though there was obvious doubt in her face. Maria, however, was sweet, sweet enough to be believed, and Roxy only giggled as Maria dropped a kiss on her cheek, hand dragging down the back of her neck, pulling her blonde ponytail with a cheeky tug.

“Oh – you!"

But Chris in Maria's body was too hot and ready for more as she absorbed yet another form, holding back her moans with difficulty. Of course, she'd had to make her feet larger to fit into Holly's shoes, but those black Lucite ones had a butterfly wing at the back, rendering them a little more distinctive than most. Just how could she pass those up, whimpering softly, pressing herself into the backroom, if only for a little privacy.

“Yeah… Oh…"

Even her voice was lighter as Maria, kinder and teasing through with a little pull in her throat. She felt like she could be bent over and taken by a fine, strong woman right then and there, though she already held the strength of so many forms in her. Hips working, she arched her back, shoving her hungry cunt deliriously onto her own hand, soaking her panties. The damp patch, however, would have to remain for the moment, exhilarating in Maria's body, taking all that she knew was her due there and more.

Her cry of orgasm was muted as she pressed her lips into her arm, a curtain sheltering her from view, though she could only hope that Roxy was far enough away from her to not hear. She had to be, had to enjoy herself, hips rocking, imagining that she had perhaps even Candy behind her, with her tongue plunged into her pussy.

She was a hotter, sweatier mess than she would have liked to be when she stood again, wanting another. She had to sow distrust and that was just why she took on dancer after dancer right there, showing off her powers to no one but herself.

Roxy. A new form, curvy and sensual, her feet too large for those shoes at a size ten, however. That was a woman with a presence about her! She kicked them off to better curl and flex her toes, shifting from Roxy to Candy, the shades of her feet changing, even down to the nails. After that, it was Maria again, fingers rammed into a tiny, neat pussy, loving the moment, the passion of shapeshifting flowing through her as if it would never again be something that could be held back.

Not that it was something that would come back to bite her, for she was too powerful already to be stopped, but Roxy, well… She had not gone far. On the contrary, she was on the other side of the curtain in the back of the area, her eyes wide as she stared down at the feet under there, bare of heels, changing before her eyes.

But it was not something that made sense, she told herself, the lighting playing tricks on her eyes. Yes, that had to be it, for pale feet could not turn like that from black, or even the shade that had been Maria's feet, her natural skin tone. A moan had her stepping back, hands fluttering up to cover her lips, her outfit a slinky reveal with a tearaway that would leave her body on show in all its glory (just the important bits covered up for the imagination). Oh, it was time for her to go, someone calling her name, pushing the thought of what those feet had been doing from her mind.

She'd brushed up against Chantel, a deviously sensual lady from Australia who appeared of mixed heritage – perhaps Filipino? – in the club, but had not managed to steal more than a sliver of touch across her thigh. It had been enough, but so much so that she emerged from the curtain with a flourish, her clothes too small for her, wearing exactly what Roxy had last seen her in as Maria.

“Hey, hun."

She winked softly, patting Roxy's shoulder, a spring in her step as she went off in search of new clothes, more clothes, something that better suited a seductress like her. The flow of her body caught the eye and, even as someone snapped her name, growling that it was time for her to get to work, Roxy stood and stared after Chantel.

“But you were Maria…"

It didn't make sense – yet confusion was just where Chris worked best. Chantel was tall and strong, a moderately thick body not widening into flared hips but a powerful figure. Her hair was a dark, flowing brown, enough curl in it to bounce, though that changed from day to day, depending on how Chantel wanted to make herself up.

She found a better pair of heels for Chantel's larger feet, toes settling into the open-toed heel, for it was not wise to strap them in too tightly. No, those puppies needed to breathe! In that moment, Chris truly felt like Chantel, light-hearted, horny, looking at men like she looked at women, even as she took on a flowing, rippling top, a skirt that could be pulled away to show off her underwear, everything to arouse and pull on the tips.

To control the club, after all, she needed to be out there, as much as her appetite to turn into woman after woman thrummed powerfully through her. She wanted to get off already again, to shove her hand between her legs and writhe there in a sweaty mess, but she could not, would not, not when there was so much to do.

“Chantel? Didn't I just see you on the floor?"

She grinned at Val, brushing her fingers across her collarbone – a little lower, grazing breast. The athletic powerhouse sucked in a breath, clearly not expecting that, but Chantel, well, she was not a woman that anyone there, least of all Val with her dirty blonde hair struck through with streaks of blue and red, mixed up in all sorts of crazy shades, talked back to.

“Must have missed me, sugar, but if you hang around, I'll let you know just how you can put on a show too…"

Val was good, but not better than Chantel, and Chris oozed personality and charm, perhaps serpentine in her presentation. She was everything that she could have ever wanted as she passed a cocktail to a man, sitting on the edge of his chair, chuckling throatily, letting her hair swing just so that he could smell her perfume. His eyes were drawn to her tits, but her eyes were, of course, on the real eye candy of the room, Roxy up on stage. The woman's eyes kept flitting to her as if she was trying to put her finger on something, but it was not as if anyone was going to consider her a shapeshifter. No, that was absurd!

Yet there were others there as she wound through the crowd, absorbing woman after woman, her lusts rising. Could she ever feed her appetite so much that she would not need to become them again? Oh, it was impossible, dragging her hand over Cindy's backside as she turned with a tray of drinks, stalking Ruby as her dark skin dipped into the deeper shades of the club. Ruby was a gorgeously tall woman and her large feet held even more promise, as much as Chris had never had the chance to adore them before. That would change, however, as she slung an arm around her shoulders.

“Lady, this club is hopping," she breathed, breath tickling Ruby's ear. “You doing alright out here tonight?"

For as much as she was in control, she was still a motherly figure, absorbing Ruby's essence and form even as she drew her in gently to her chest. Ruby giggled, lighter and flirtier than most others, letting their boobs press together as Chris suppressed a sudden of raw delight. Oh, she'd dreamed about that for so long…

“Yeah, darling, but I've got a handle on things out here, have you?"

Chantel could have said yes and left, for she'd already done what she'd gone out there to do. But there was another way, a way to manipulate things further, her lips parting to tenderly and exotically take Ruby's against hers, tongue plundering the other woman's mouth. They were well matched for size and height and Ruby moaned openly into her mouth, not resisting in the slightest, though she did have to set what she was holding down. It helped to have such a willing partner to put on a show with her, and it seemed that what Chris has spotted between Ruby and Chantel was certainly correct. She trembled, murmuring softly into Ruby's lips. It was always good to know when the rumours were true.

“Ohhh, baby, I didn't think you wanted to do something like that in public."

Chris winked, though Ruby only saw Chantel's eyes dancing back at her, nothing off there at all.

“A little something for later. I think the guys will tip you even better now, not that you need help."

Warmth flooded her tone, but she was under no disillusion that she left a rather flustered woman behind her, fussing with her clothes, the patrons of the club eyeing her up as if they saw fresh lure in her and her body. That was just how Chris wanted it to be, however, for she needed good people on her side. Ruby was one of the good ones, or perhaps a little too clueless in her head to be a bad one. Chantel could be turned too if Ruby was on Chris' side, though Chris was not at all worried that things would come up just peachy for her.

All she needed was a little time.

She took Jessica's form by stealing a pinch of her butt, something in keeping with Chantel's attitude of being able to do anything and everything she wanted, though the woman still squealed.

“Chantel!"

But she was already gone. Out of the way, out of sight and very much out of mind, all so that she could steal more and more forms. She perched next to Sylvanna in the dressing room, pecking her on the cheek, revelling in the boldness of Chantel, the confidence of her new form, however temporary it was, oozing from her.

Ah, it was only a start, just a start, but the beginning of something new, something new and something very beautiful. Chris hardly felt the need to secret herself away all that much anymore, considering that she was in someone else's body. Of course, she had no reason to deliberately go out and embarrass herself, but embarrassing Chantel meant that power was stripped from her, more and more falling into Chris' hands…

She'd waited for that power for too long. Maybe it had begun with revealing herself on stage as Candy, but Chantel was a goddess who never did anything so crass, who never slipped up, regardless of what the stakes were. Thus, laughing, she spun in her chair, tumbling off it as if she was drunk, staggering back up, arse first, the security guard even shaking his head at her.

“Girl, you gotta get a grip."

“Yeah, you can't do that when there's a show to do."

“You've got to hurry up and get it together."

One fall. But a stagger and a drunken “burp" helped that deal. It may have only been the beginning, for such a takeover would take far more than a single night, but Chris was only laying the groundwork. To think of her future, yes, but to lust after shifting into the forms of as many women as possible, confusing them, while they all thought that they were talking to their colleagues and friends.

“Has anyone seen, Chris?" Someone shouted, though she didn't care who it was. “She was due on stage!"

“No, she's already done."

Everyone stared at her, but Chris as Chantel only shrugged.

“I told her to head off. She's done her gig for tonight and got the tips in, what more do you want someone like that to do. We've got to work harder than here."

It was a statement designed to confuse and one that could be taken in many ways, though Chantel's smile was what sealed the deal, others in the dressing area, bright with vanity lights and mirrors and costumes, returning it, however shakily it came. Yes, if it came from Chantel, that must have meant that it was right, everyone going along with her. Still, she had other forms to try out, wanting to play with another darker-skinned beauty again, her paler skin as Chris woefully unappealing.

Latrice was voluptuous with a shockingly tiny tuck of a waste, a black stunner who begged attention. She was often in corsets and cinched for the gods, though that did mean that she was not as flexible on the pole as some of the other dancers were – not that that meant at all that she didn't bring in the tips. No, she was one of the best and her quiet power was something that Chris duly hungered for, the heave of her tits a siren's call to a shapeshifter on a mission. Chris leaned in close, murmuring in her ear, though she hardly needed to stalk her at all as the open lesbian groaned and trembled into her touch.

“Mmmph, Chantel, I thought you…ah…were…"

“Don't you worry about that."

Because there, truly, was nothing for Latrice to concern herself with as Chantel winked, kissing her cheek, a touch of lipstick left in her wake.

“Something for you to remember me by."

Sowing unrest had never been so easy. But she needed one moment, just a moment, slipping behind a rack of clothes, head thrown back, lips parting and closing as her hand thrust between her legs.

She masturbated madly even as she transformed yet again, changing Chantel's sinuous form for one that was thicker and fuller. Her thighs blossomed into womanly thickness, though she'd have to find the rack of clothes for larger ladies, her height increasing, though she wondered at just how Latrice was six-foot tall. It may have been a little unusual but all in the most erotic of ways, at least when it came to transforming, kicking off her shoes to allow her feet to grow larger still. All the better to support a body that was devoutly gorgeous and begging for attention that only her adoring audience, her fans, could give her.

There was a softness in the fullness of Latrice's face as Chantel's form became another's, lips lighter, yet more kissable at the same time. Her hair darkened to a deep black, though it appeared pulled back, pulled up high on her head so that the ringlets and natural lightness of the hair could buoy itself up, even then. It was good how her transformation could pick up on little things like how the dancers wore their hair, yet another tiny flirt to hide away as she dug her fingers between the folds of a thickly plump pussy, juices flowing freely.

“Has anyone seen Chantel?"

“She was in here."

“No, she was out there."

“What are you even on?"

Confusion spread, one dancer seen in one place when they were meant to have gone home, others in two places at once. The dancers spat angry words, eyes flashing with wicked intent, for it so very often was every woman for herself out there, even if Chris was set to rise above them all. She transformed into the powerful Latrice with a shudder of her shoulders, a little more fat shaping her body – but she had seen Latrice walk with that goddess-like swagger to her more than one time. For she had been watching and waiting, listening for so long, for her chance to make her mark in the club, to change everything for the better when she had not even realised that such changing powers were in her reach.

“Chantel?"

Someone caught sight of her back there but thought that she was still Chantel, thus she ducked further back as Latrice, her legs shaking, wanting another change, yes another. Her skin deepened further, the richly dark shades so much more alluring than plain white, her lips parted and eyes dark with mischievous glee.

A corset, tightened to form her waist. Heels to die for, showing off her feet. She was taller, bigger, better, stronger, and a smile painted her lips as she donned a type of babydoll over the top. It may have covered her up a little more but it was required over the corset to show off the designed figure, her legs all on show up to her hips, a tuck of cloth between her legs just barely hiding her plump pussy. Orgasm ached through her and, again, all Chris wanted was to feel that high, to shift, again and again, moving through form after form even if there seemed to be no end to the pleasure she could take.

“Latrice – you're up!"

She took a moment, drawing Latrice back into a storage room while they called her name repeatedly, though locking her up in there would only be a for a little while. Latrice would have thought that she'd seen a woman that looked a little like her, but could not name them – and, of course, no one at the club looked like Latrice, as unique and bolshy as she was, so she must have imagined it. No one would believe her when she was found, before the club closed, hoarse after pounding on the locked door for hours while Chris shook her hips in Latrice's body and tucked dollar bills after bills into her top, nipples showing lightly through the tighter fabric. She turned and twisted, bent over, showed off her buttocks, everything about Latrice's body knew to her, thick and wanton, everything that radiated a sense of control over her surroundings. Maybe Chris had had to give up what control she'd thought she'd had left over herself to find her calling, the truth in herself. Truth be told, Chris didn't much care about that anymore.

As the lights flashed and the other dancers moved around her, performing the show that she knew all too well, even if she had never gotten to take centre stage like Latrice before, Chris revelled in her element. She took a chance, for no one would ever believe it to be so, the rapidly flashing, pulsing lights hiding her form as she shifted rapidly, clothes softening around her, though they were never too tight. One form and then another slipped into her control as she played with Ruby, with Chantel, with Roxy, with Maria and more. Even the other dancers around her were shapes that she could wear like clothing, though all the audience saw was her form, her figure, another dancer. Whatever they thought would bring them back to the club again and again and it would be Chris behind it all, the one who had brought the passion of the club to its knees.

They'd need her more than ever, seeding words of praise for herself, turning the tide that had been set against her. Back as Latrice, she parted her lips to show a flash of white teeth behind her lipstick, though to step back into her pale-skinned body as Chris no longer seemed as appealing.

It was better that all attention was on her. Better that way, giving her more than she could have ever dreamed off, smiling at her crowd, her adoring audience. The tips rained down, more than she had ever before earned in a night, and it was all her due, even as the owner of the club shook his head from the balcony above the main stage. He'd wonder what was different about Latrice, why there was even more money flowing than usual, but when Latrice attributed it to Chris, well, he'd listen. Not to Chris, of course, until later, but the voices that mattered to the money flowing in the club, yes.

Chris took her form, backstage calling, another performance and another change dragging anxiously at her, her pussy hot and flushed all over again. There was no way to satisfy herself, to tease things down a little more, but to masturbate again, to shift again and again and again.

She moaned. Everything that she'd ever wanted stretching out before her, waiting for her to take that first step. The other strippers had no idea what was coming to them.

Chris grinned, a wink dazzling her audience.

The club was already hers.