It's Not Easy Being Green
This was actually written as a commission for someone who mysteriously disappeared when it came time to pay for the work. Since I'm not one to let hard work go to waste, I'm sharing it with you lovely folk here. If you have enjoyed my writing and would like to see more from me, do message me about commissions, or pop over to my ko-fi page if you want to support me - https://ko-fi.com/junorain
***
Oliver wasn't usually one of those 'fuck around and find out' kind of guys. He was scientifically minded - rational, logical, methodical. And that was how it started. He'd been trying out some spells, in the most methodical way possible; try, make notes, revise and try again. It was small-scale stuff. Glamours, simple transmutations, turning a potato into a banana. Nothing complicated, nothing spectacular. Until he found that one spell.
It was in there with the glamours, so he assumed it was fairly straightforward. Only basic ingredients were called for - stuff that he had already in the garage he used as a workshop. A few words - not Latin, so he couldn't translate them, but they looked easy enough to read.
And it was perfectly logical to try a spell out on something else before you tried it on yourself. So he tried the spell on something small, to make sure it worked.
It was a muscle spell. Sure, he knew it was probably a little vain to want to look beefier, but who didn't fantasise about that every now and then? But he could hardly try it out on the potatoes and bananas from his earlier experiments, and the only living thing he'd been able to catch in the garden was a little green frog. It would have to do.
It had been sitting in a big glass jar, watching him balefully, croaking its annoyance, and occasionally making failed attempts to jump out. It struggled when he picked it up and applied the magical paste made up from the spell's ingredients, and he had to cup both hands around it to keep it from escaping. But soon enough it settled down sufficiently for him to begin the words of the spell. It ended with a little 'whump' of air pushing through the gaps between his fingers, and the usual drifts of shimmering smoke drifting upwards, to reveal the frog sitting in his cupped hands, now about twice the size it had been before.
Its legs bulged with neatly defined muscles, almost obscenely big, like something out of a cartoon. As he watched, the frog extended its front limbs, one by one, as if testing out its new, muscular body. He felt it shift its weight a little, rocking back on to its bulging hind legs, then, just in time, he cupped his hands tight as the frog tried to make a break for it, leaping with enough strength that it was almost painful when it bumped against his fingers.
"Neat!" He laughed to himself in the empty garage, then moved to drop the not-so-little-anymore frog back into its jar. When it started jumping against the glass, he had to hold it steady to keep the jar from being bounced off the edge of the work table. He laughed again at the sight of the frog, its huge shoulders hunched and its powerful back legs tensing each time it threw itself at the glass. The spell had worked!
So far so good. But then came the real test: using the spell on himself.
He quickly mixed up a second batch of the spell's ingredients with his mortar and pestle, and rubbed the resulting paste onto his palms before reading aloud the words from the book that was still propped open on the table. As he neared the end, he braced himself for the spell's effect, already noticing little drifts of shimmering white smoke rising from the stuff on his hands.
The frog seemed to sense the magic too, throwing itself frantically against the side of the glass jar as the spell neared its end like it knew what was about to happen and didn't like it. Then, just as he reached the final few words, the frog launched itself so hard that the glass skidded across the table, almost toppling over. Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed for the jar, only just keeping it from falling and smashing on the floor.
The spell kicked in before he could register anything else. His whole body felt as though it was being squeezed, then stretched. The force of the magic lifted him up on to the tips of his toes, then dropped him into a heap on the floor, the paste on his hands becoming burning hot before evaporating with a sound like a gas burner being lit. His vision was clouded with that white smoke, causing him to gag and choke from the thickness of it.
When he felt he could move again, he scrambled across the floor, pushing at the garage door to lift it just enough for the smoke to escape as cool fresh air flooded in, cooling his heated skin. He lay there for a moment, panting, trying to regain enough equilibrium that he could stand again. Then, when he began to feel steady enough to move, he rolled over and put a hand flat on the floor to push himself up.
Except it wasn't his hand. Or at least, it didn't look like his hand.
The shock of seeing bright green bulbous digits instead of his own fingers shocked him enough that he yanked his hand back, like jumping away from a cockroach that had just crawled close by. But the green limb moved like it was his.
He skidded back across the floor, struggling to sit up, until he could hold his hands up in front of himself. Two thick green arms poked out of the torn edges of his shirt sleeves, each tipped with four long digits that ended in big, round pads. His legs, stretched out in front of him, had thickened enough to split his pant legs, and the remains of his shoes hung from enormous green webbed feet. His pants had burst their fly, and his shirt had split to accommodate the beefy muscles the spell was supposed to give him, but every bit of skin that he could see between the shredded clothes was definitely, unmistakably, green.
Despite his shaking, unsteady limbs, he managed to get to his feet, and tripped towards the table he'd been working at. There, he scrabbled with his new four-fingered hands to find something reflective. Eventually, he found a polished tin that held a stash of medicinal herbs, part of his collection of magical ingredients, and slowly held it up until it was level with his face.
Enormous eyes peered back at him, bulging from a squat green head. When he blinked, it was with his lower lids, filmy and sheer enough that he could still sort of see even with his eyes 'closed'.
"Shit."
Was what he tried to say. But when he opened his mouth, his tongue flopped out, so long and thick that it felt twice the size of his head. It made the curse sound muffled and buffoonish, and he almost wanted to laugh at himself, until he realised just how unshakably real his transformation was.
He scanned the table, trying to ignore the rising panic in his chest, looking for the spell book. Just as he got his hands on it, there was a bang at the garage door, so unexpected that he dropped the book in his surprise.
"Mr Green?"
He recognised the voice that called through the door as that of his neighbour's son, Sam. He'd seen the young man a couple of times in the past week, home from college for the summer break, and his eyes had definitely lingered longer than they should have.
"You in there? My dad wanted to borrow your drill." There was another knock on the half-open garage door. "He's putting up shelves and his ain't working."
He was about to call out, when he realised he wasn't even sure if he could speak in this strange new form. His tongue felt thick and ungainly inside his own mouth. He wondered if he could just stay silent and wait for Sam to give up and go away. But Sam was already reaching his hand to grab the bottom of the half-open garage door and push it up, ducking underneath it and stepping into the garage.
"There you are! I thought I heard-"
Sam trailed off as he finally registered just what he was looking at. Oliver watched his throat bob as he swallowed, watched him blink rapidly, too terrified of what Sam might do or say to move.
"What happened?" Sam said when he found his voice again. He didn't seem afraid, or like he was going to hurt Oliver; instead, he actually seemed curious, stepping closer, looking Oliver up and down to take in the full effects of the transformation. "My dad said you'd been experimenting - he was complaining about the smell, actually - but I didn't realise you were good enough to do something like this."
As Sam got closer, Oliver could see his eyes becoming glassy and his face and neck flush red. When he reached out a hand to touch Oliver's bulging bicep, his hand seemed to move in slow motion, as though he wasn't even aware of what he was doing. It made him wonder if there was something more to the spell than he'd anticipated; sometimes glamors came with the added bonus of bewitching onlookers, so perhaps Sam was caught up in the spell's extra effects? Or maybe it was a pheromone thing - did frogs have pheromones? Either way, it was clear that Sam most definitely liked what he saw as he looked Oliver up and down, his eyes lingering over Oliver's muscular chest and sculpted upper arms.
"This is..." he began, then trailed off, the hand on Oliver's bicep slipping around to trace over a defined pectoral muscle, visible where his shirt had ripped to shreds from his increased size. He didn't dare speak, in case his long tongue spilled out of his mouth again and frightened Sam. Sam didn't seem to mind, stepping close enough that his chest bumped against Oliver's, both hands now flat on his chest, mesmerised as he stroked the green skin that peeped through the remnants of his shirt.
"I don't - I mean, I want-" Sam's voice was deep, thick with whatever magic had entranced him, and Oliver could not find it in him to stop the kid from running his hands over Oliver's new muscular form. Where he'd been petrified of his own appearance just moments ago, Sam seemed to like it very much, judging by the way he bit his lip and drew in a shuddery breath as he looked over Oliver's green skin and prominent muscles.
Before he knew what was happening, Sam leaned in and pressed his face between Oliver's pectorals, breathing deep, his hands reaching up to trace Oliver's wide mouth.
"This is - oh god, I want-"
Unable to help himself, Oliver reached around and placed his four-fingered hands on Sam's ass, pulling him in. Whether it was the spell, or Sam's behaviour, he couldn't say, but the way Sam was pressing himself so close made the want inside him flare hot and bright, and he wanted Sam even closer. Sam didn't shy away, running his mouth and tongue over Oliver's chest, pulling the shreds of shirt fabric aside to expose those huge muscles. It felt incredible, and Oliver couldn't help pushing his hips forward against Sam's, feeling already a noticeable hardness pressing against his own groin.
With a grunt from deep in his throat, Oliver hefted Sam up off the floor and carried him back to the table where he'd been working earlier. He shoved Sam up against it, rutting his hips against Sam's with abandon. Sam cried out as Oliver sat him on the table, widening his legs so that Oliver could push up against him, wrapping them around his hips with his ankles crossed to hold himself there.
"Oh god, I want you," Sam breathed, as Oliver leaned over him, nudging his nose against Sam's throat. "I have no idea what happened to you, but I want you."
He pushed Oliver back just enough that he could slip off the table and turn around, bending forward and sticking his ass out.
"I feel like, if you're not inside me soon, I'm - I'm gonna explode or something!"
Oliver could not resist an offer like that. He yanked at Sam's shorts, pulling them down to expose his sweet sculpted ass. With his new strength, he easily tore them away until they were just shreds of denim hanging around Sam's ankles, and Sam was too far gone to care about them. He dropped to his knees, got his four-fingered hands on Sam's buttocks and spread them wide. Without stopping to think about it, he opened his mouth and let that enormous tongue out to lick between Sam's cheeks.
"Oh fuck, that's incredible!" Sam gripped the edges of the table, his head dropping against it with an audible thud as Oliver worked his tongue. It was too thick to get inside Sam's asshole, but it left behind a thick saliva that he smeared with a bulbous fingertip to open Sam up. The stretch was easy, and he wondered through his lust-induced haze if that was something to do with the magic or if Sam was just someone who had his ass played with regularly.
He pulled the last remaining shreds of his pants and underwear away, and reached down to take himself in hand. There was the briefest moment of panic, when he found himself wondering if frogs actually had dicks, and if the magical fusion meant he might have lost his completely and gained a cloaca instead, but to his relief, he found his erection hard and weeping, standing proudly, flushed a deep green, between his legs.
When he stepped back between Sam's legs, his thick green cock slipped through the ring of Sam's asshole like it belonged there, and Sam let out a long and satisfying groan as he pressed forward, bottoming out in one easy push. He held there a moment, getting used to the delicious squeeze of Sam's passage around his thick cock, before Sam started wriggling impatiently beneath him.
"I need you to start fucking me, please," Sam begged, pushing his ass against Oliver's hips until he began to move. His powerful thigh muscles meant that each thrust into that tight hot passage was forceful enough to push Sam forward over the table and make him cry out as his ass was speared by Oliver's cock. "Oh fuck, yeah, that's it!" Sam moaned low and loud as he was filled, the harsh sounds of his breathing mixed with the squelch of each slide of Oliver's dick.
He wrapped his long green fingers around Sam's hips, pulling Sam back on to his cock with each thrust in. Their movements had caused Sam's shirt to ride up, exposing the broad expanse of his back, and as Oliver fucked into him, he leaned forward and let that long tongue hang out, licking Sam's back to taste the salt of his sweat. Sam yelled out at the new sensation, his back arching up as Oliver covered it with his tongue, and his thoughts turned briefly to what it might be like to suck Sam's dick with his new froggy mouth. Maybe they'd have time for it later.
"Oh fuck, fuck, you're filling me up so good," Sam moaned, widening his legs and gripping the edge of the table as Oliver pistoned his hips, fucking Sam's ass like a thing possessed. The tight slick heat around his cock was like nothing he'd experienced before, and his solid thigh muscles let him smack against Sam's hips with a rhythmic slapping sound that filled the garage and echoed off the bare walls. Anyone walking by outside would surely hear them, as Sam moaned and cursed and Oliver began a croaking sort of grunt with each thrust into that tight, slick channel. He still had little idea if he could actually talk in his new form, but his head was full of filth; how he felt like he could fuck Sam all day and all night, how big and powerful he felt as he covered Sam's body with his own, how he wanted to fill Sam's ass with cum until it was dripping out of him.
Sam's moans had become one continuous wail as Oliver slammed his cock home at a frantic pace, and Oliver heard the sound catch in his throat as he suddenly shuddered and shook, evidently coming just from Oliver's cock without even being touched himself. His inner muscles tightened around Oliver's erection, squeezing him almost painfully tight, and Oliver slammed home with enough force that the table slid across the floor. As he came, spurting wave after wave of jizz deep in Sam's guts, the jars and bottles stacked up on the table rattled, some toppling over and spilling their contents over Sam's hands. With his cock still buried deep, Oliver reached out his green fingers, grabbing at the shelf above the table, hoping to steady himself and keep from splashing the spilled magic ingredients over himself. But his new strength caught him off guard, and the shelf pulled away from the wall, resulting in yet more jars and pots tipping over, until Sam's hands and face were covered with myriad shimmering, pungent substances.
As Oliver eased himself out of Sam's ass, his cock still hard despite his climax, he helped Sam up off the table, looking at the mess of herbs and ointments mixing on Sam's skin. Already, little puffs of oily grey smoke were rising from his hands and face.
"Oh shit," Sam muttered, too gone to even try wiping away the stuff that dripped from his hands, "what's gonna happen to me? Am I gonna transform too? Am I gonna turn into something like you?"
Oliver had no idea, but as he watched the smoke billow above them, and felt the pressure in the air build from whatever magic they'd unexpectedly created with their fucking, he figured that it might be fun to find out.