Weaseling Out
It's an odd feeling, I would think, to transform. While I myself have yet to experience it, I have a vivid enough imagination to appreciate how shocking it might be to an unsuspecting lycanthrope or therianthrope to change forms for the first time. Me, I prefer were-sciurids and were-mustelids, and certainly wish that I could experience the pleasure of pure instinct, no longer having the intrusion of human consciousness, only the urge to hunt for food, be it for acorns or Eichhoernchen (that is, red squirrels). As it is, though, I will have to make do with tales of those lucky ones who have this ability, though they might disagree with its "luckiness!"
Already, two of my tales are recorded here. I once did another, but it has since been lost, and will most likely remain so. I hope you, the readers, will enjoy this addition to my portfolio.
"Jean shoes. Oh. My. God. They have jean shoes."
"Denise, just 'cause they're made of denim doesn't make 'em jeans," Camille giggled. "Besides, they're boys' shoes."
"Still. I want them!" She rushed the doors and snatched them up, turned around to face the cashier and shouted "How much?"
The cashier, a rather overdressed old woman, addressed her in a snooty British tone. "I'm sorry, madam, they are not for sale."
Denise put her hands in the shoes and stuck them on her hips, defiant. "Come on, you've got more in stock, just put another pair up there."
The old lady pulled down her glasses in the time-honoured reproachful glare. "I don't think you understand. This item is not for sale."
Camille pulled at her friend's sleeve. "Come on, we can get them somewhere else. It's a big mall."
"No, I want these," she retorted, and with a passing wink, turned to the cashier and pulled out a thick wallet. "How 'bout $150."
The lady adjusted her chocolate-hued fur shawl. "I'm sorry, miss, I cannot accept that price. I will not sell these shoes."
"$200. I'm giving you twice what they're worth."
"Miss," the woman cried in a high-pitched, reproving tone, "you may barter all you wish, but you will not get these shoes. I am sorry." A thought came to her mind. "However, I would part with this stole," she said, secretly regarding Camille as she slipped the shoes off of Denise's hands and into the bag. Of course, the green-skirted thieves didn't notice. They just wanted to get what they could for as little as possible. That was how they could afford their imported clothes and Gucci purses. It wasn't fair that they should have to pay an arm and a leg for what could be got for free with a little subterfuge. They were a fine team.
Denise stiffened. "Who's stealing?"
"No, no, a stole is a kind of shawl." She draped one over Camille's shoulders. "You look quite smashing in it! Here, you offered $200? I'd accept that for them both."
Both girls looked at each other. It was Camille's turn to wink as she pulled forth a tetrad of 50s.
"Thank you very much, girls, and may you have a fine day," the woman called back as she slipped behind a rose curtain into the back room.
She pulled off the mink coat. "My word, how positively sweltering," she gasped, as she drank a glass of mint tea, long since cooled from that morning. Taking a seat in a fine plush chair, she lazily pulled off the screen from a little television set. Running this store, when taking expenses into account, was not as lucrative as she had suspected, and it definitely wasn't profitable when dealing with thieves such as these girls! Hmph, at this rate, I shall have to purchase another set of shawls, she considered as she tapped the on-button.
The screen lit up to show shops passing by - nothing the woman had not seen a million times before - while the audio kicked in only a few seconds later on the girls shared giggling. They hi-fived.
"C and D strike again," one of them said, and they dissolved into laughter all over again.
"I'm sorry, you can't have that because I'm a wrinkly old bitch," the other crackled. The lady sniffed - her voice was still clear, without any hint of age.
Once their giggling died down, outside the mall, Denise looked at her friend's pocket. "Why'd you waste all that cash?"
"Waste? You got it all wrong, sister! Those bills are about as real as Pamela Anderson's breasts!"
"Whoa, you're telling me you scanned a 50 and printed copies?"
"Yeah! Isn't it sweet?"
Denise stopped at stared at her. "Camille, this is serious. Stealing's one thing, but we could get in deep s*** for making fake money."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh puh-leese, that old fart's prolly as blind as a bat. She wouldn't know if there was an elephant in her store!"
"Still, cut it out. I don't wanna be caught for laundering."
"Fine. Geez, you sure you didn't pick up the bitchy bug from her?"
She looked around her. The back of the mall was right next to another plaza, and someone had set up a firewood store in an alcove in the middle. She and Denise had walked all the way over here, god knows why. The wood-seller wasn't at his post, so they were alone.
"Sweet," Denise said, "I get to try on my jean-shoes!"
She pulled them out of the bag and stuffed them on her feet. "They're a perfect fit! Jackpot, baby," she grinned as she hi-fived Camille.
"And I look so hot in this fur steal or whatever!" Camille beamed.
"You so do."
It was the tone of Denise's voice that put Camille off. "Wha?"
"You look sweaty. Your face is all red."
"Really? I'll take off this thing," and she pulled at the stole, which stuck to her neck with a death grip. "What the hell?! Denise, this thing's not coming off!" Her eyes bugged out. "Ho-ly-s***. Either I'm f***ing nuts or you're shrinking.
Denise looked down at her feet - her shoes felt big on her. She saw that it wasn't only her shoes that were too large - all her clothes, which had fit just fine a minute ago, were hanging off her and seemed several sizes too big.
Camille noticed this too, as she pulled at the fur. What the HELL was going on?
Her attention was diverted to a pressure in her lower back. It didn't hurt; rather, it felt like she needed to void herself, but higher up on her body. More to the point, she found herself unable to stop her muscles from pushing. As a lump grew inside her skirt, she sniffed the air, certain to smell the odour.
While that certain scent was lacking, many other scents became clear to her. The wood, for example, held a musty, wet scent, while the scent of garbage from the bins on the side of the building registered more faintly, and, to her shocked disgust, appetizingly. Strongest though was her own scent, which surprised her since she'd not smelled it before.
Denise felt the last of her clothing drop off as her shrinking slowed to a stop, her body just larger than a Barbie doll. Camille had shrunk too, but there was something else different about her in the way she sniffed at the air, poking at it as though it were a solid surface. "What the hell are you doing," she shouted, and shivered as she heard her squeaky voice.
This shiver gave rise to another feeling. Too frightened to talk, Denise did manage to cry as her legs and arms shrank into smaller, stubbier limbs, as her fingers became likewise stumpy, and her long nails sharpened into pointed claws. What the f*** is going on?!
She groaned (though it came out closer to a whine) as her torso lengthened, and saw a similar change happening to Camille. This panicked her even more as her friend's cheekbones and nose stretched out to form a snout, mirroring the pain in her own face. Her ears were moving too, towards the top of her head and back - it was like her head had turned into modeling clay, and someone was reshaping it into... what? What the hell was she becoming? And what- was that a tail? Denise looked down her back and saw the same appendage hanging down.
"Camille," she began, cutting herself off with a gasp after a series of hisses and yowling squeaks. At the same time, her friend's back and sides sprouted a thick coat of fur, the same colour as the shawl, now indistinguishable, and pure white down from her chin to her tail.
She's some kind of ferret. Oh my god. That woman must've been a witch or something. They were, in fact, both weasels, least weasels, save for in mind, so Denise was not far off the mark.
Camille, meanwhile, looked toward the other weasel. She padded up, on all fours, and sniffed it. It was a foreign scent, not hers, but some force stopped her from driving this potential rival away from her territory. Every instinct told her otherwise, but this one force was strong enough to outweigh it.
Denise felt horribly uncomfortable with her best friend sniffing about her like a dog. If turning into some ferret-like creatures and losing their voices wasn't enough, Camille seemed to have taken the next step, losing anything human about her. Denise blamed herself for this, for letting her friend turn into this, some wild animal. I'm sorry, she whimpered, and lay back hopelessly on the pavement. We're in deep s*** this time.
She looked down at herself. Two she-ferrets aren't gonna be able to use clothes or anything. Hell, we couldn't even carry a wallet. This bites.
As she reflected on her predicament, she felt that telltale shiver arise again in her head and torso. Holy cr**, not again!
She groaned as her nipples (all that remained of her bust) receded into her fur. Beyond that, she felt another stretching, and watched, mortified, as a shorter tail grew out of her, this time out of her front, and - what the hell? The thing was hollow! She poked a stubby digit down the hole in the centre, absolutely bewildered.
She squealed in horror as a pink stick rose out of it, and as her skin below it pushed out, and a pair of solid oblong objects descended into this bag. Denise now faced the fact that she had transformed not only from human to weasel, but from human girl to weasel male. Denis? Oh god no. No way. No. Freaking. Way. I can't be a guy! I'm too pretty to be a man!
She was simply in too much shock to hold off the last phase of the transformation, that of the brain.
The weasel blinked and sniffed at the air. A female was nearby, he could tell, and what was more, she was in heat. This was perfect for him, he being overready as it was to sate his lust. This was, after all, the time of year that his species mated!
There she was, by the woodpile, looking over a blue denim shoe - he could not identify it as anything more than an object. He made his way over to her, and had somehow anticipated her refusal to run, despite it being natural instinct. Some outside force was acting on him, but he paid no heed to anything save his desire.
She too felt likewise. Something about the male's scent calmed her and assured her that he was not going to harm her. She turned around and lifted her tail, inviting him.
He did not let her wait. Curling around her, he tucked himself in, and, holding the back of her neck with his teeth, shook back and forth, pushing into her, producing a sensation that, unbeknownst to him, humans considered to be very pleasurable.
Even after achieving his desired results, he paused and lay atop her, waiting a short time before he repeated the act.
She did not protest. It was what was done. There was no such idea as choice in her mental vocabulary - she simply followed what her instincts told her to do.
After what humans might call an hour, the male pulled out and did something distinctly unmusteline. He put his arms around her and, bending his head around, put his lips to hers.
"I love you, Camille," he murmured.
She likewise felt a flood of memories wash over her. "What the- who're you?"
"Denise, or at least I was. I guess I'm more Denis than Denise now."
"B-but you're a weasel! And you're a guy!"
He rolled his eyes. "Duh. As I just said, I'm more Denis than Denise now."
Camille couldn't believe this. Her best friend and partner in crime was a boy?! If it wasn't weird enough that both of them were weasels (Camille had cone a project on them once, so she knew from the onset what species this was)...
He licked her nose. "You're very pretty, you know that?"
"Yeaaaaaaah..." she said, hesitantly.
Denis climbed back up on her back and tucked himself into her. "I want you, sweetie."
Despite her first instincts of revulsion, a wave of pure pleasure washed over her. It was alright now. Camille was no longer human, and Denise was, well, about as far from her original form as she could get. Why bother returning to their old selves? There were plenty of rats in the mall's basements; she'd once seen them herself. They'd never go hungry, and they could live without any fear of going hungry. And more importantly, they could do this as often as they were together, she smiled as she felt a squirt of his spunk enter her.
Who knows? Maybe they could snack on the odd hamster from the pet store!