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Her Taste for Transformation

Part two of four

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by Cheeseguy3412

Sylvia

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_ _

She did not realise what she had assented to. Not that I needed her consent, but…hm. Things were still being worked out for me, in that aspect.

Oh, the poor one. She was so full of herself, so comfortable with who she was. I couldn’t wait to strip her down to nothing, even less than nothing. Just a pile of flesh, left orgasming constantly, breasts and cocks and balls, squirming and pulsating with twists of lust. In climax too, endless climax, she would be deviously entertaining to me. Even Gale had some use, but I didn’t want this one to have any use at all, to go so much further in my own mind than I even had with Gale. It was deliberate, this time, of course, but I took Gale’s phone in hand as I transported myself, with an easy spell, right into Ember’s bedroom.

Well, there was never any sense in waiting around. Waiting would just make things go slower and, after waiting so long already, I had no desire at all to wait for a single moment longer.

Ember tapped away on the phone and I indulged her, even though merely talking to her made it so that a connection could begin to be formed between us. I had learned, even if only in a small way, that it was that very connection that gave my magic its increased power, the potential to take things further, to be darker, to be even more potent than before. Just another little thing that transforming and cursing Gale had helped me with.

I followed her through the house, though the woman’s body was not all that interesting to me, as a succubus. She had moderate breasts, big hips, thick thighs. Some humans liked that sort of thing, but it was the flavour of a soul that was the most enticing to a succubus. Even arousal, rippling and heated, was a draw for us, though my demonic tendencies had been suppressed for too many years.

Her life… It was normal. It was nothing worth me writing home about, nothing to take in my attention. But I needed to know her, to take in the way that she fluttered her fingers and tucked her hair back behind her ears, the lack of a fringe, the smattering of freckles, very light, across her cheeks.

Of course, I was invisible. I didn’t want or need her to see me, not yet. But, as the hour turned to one in the morning, Ember did something very interesting indeed. She had seemed uncomfortable for quite some time, always shifting her weight back and forth, never able to focus on one task at a time. Yet I savoured that growing throb and thrum of her arousal, even if her masturbating was simply not going to do it for me.

I wanted something more than that, the insidious fantasies that burned and brimmed over, like a cup filled so much that the fluid contained within could not help but slop over the edge. She was desperate for it. And, as my connection with her grew, following Ember back to her bedroom, I licked my lips, hungrier than I had been for a very long time. It had been Gale that had awoken that in me, but Ember who would make it so very much more than it ever could have been.

She did not waste any time fantasising, slipping out of her clothes, though she squirmed oddly when removing them. That was interesting to me, all those little quirks of humanity that should have made sense, but didn’t really. They were such weird creatures, those humans, so much so that I wondered if I had been waiting and living amongst them the whole time to find an opportunity like the curses.

I had tired of that existence, but I had never thought that the answer to bringing fresh life to it had been right before my eyes the whole time.

I watched her as she stripped, eyes alight, sometimes half-closed, though it was as if they were somewhere else, somewhere far away. That was why I dipped into our connection, seeking out her fantasies. The picture and sounds were faint and blurry at first, though became clearer, my essence in tune with hers as I fingered the edges of Ember’s less than lovingly.

My pretty, soft thing… You have no idea what is truly awaiting you.

_ _

Ember moaned, her hips pumping up, though she didn’t want to masturbate just yet. She wanted to take in the pleasure, to let it build slowly. There was no rush, I could sense it, feeling too much of her through our connection, almost as if I was omnipresent in her life, a window into her mind allowing me to see what she saw.

In Ember’s mind, she walked through an old forest, the image taking shape around me and her, as if we were present in it, with old, gnarled branches, still dripping with pine needles and beyond, arching overhead. The ancient wisdom of the forest rang through with the dropping of birdsong and Ember walked gladly into it as the day in the fantasy turned to night.

I sensed that her fantasy came from an old book, the impression there in her mind about those that walked in not making it out under their own power.

“Yes… Oh…”

Ember rubbed her chest, breasts tingling. Even that tiny sensation could be felt through our link. In her fantasy, Ember walked through the forest, lifting her legs unnaturally high as if she was expecting something.

The trepidation curled through our link, dark and tasteless to me, like something I wanted to push from my mouth. That wasn’t interesting… Where was the real fantasy? The one that I could use, the one that my power could grow from?

A feeling of foolishness came down the link, though, as our bond strengthened, my mind following along wherever hers led me, I came to understand that it was all part of what Ember was imagining, her fantasy. Such a detailed fantasy, even though it did not seem to be going anywhere in a hurry.

Ember still stroked between her legs, fingers inching closer and closer to her pussy. She was bare there, or at least trimmed, for it was not there that my attention lingered.

Yet the Ember in the fantasy changed, her legs thickening, swelling, slowly at first so that the fantasy Ember was not quite sure what was happening. Bit by bit, her legs strained against her cotton trousers, forcing them to split at the seams, and Ember gasped, wobbling, no longer seeming to be able to hold herself comfortably stable.

“What… What’s happening? Ohhhh…”

But her moan came with a hint of fear in it, tangled in the arousal of a fantasy. I supposed that it was difficult to show true fear in a fantasy when, of course, Ember logically knew that none of it was real. She couldn’t just throw that all away, not even as her legs bulged, feet flaring out and fattening up, desire curling through the pit of her stomach.

I drank it all in keenly, sitting back and watching as Ember transformed, huge cocks bursting from her trousers in place of her legs – what her legs had become. Her shoes could not fit on her feet anymore, popping off where the flares of huge horse cock swiftly made themselves known. The transformation of her legs was much quicker than I would have made it, but it seemed too that fantasies did not follow the same time constraints as reality. Not that I minded as she wobbled about, whimpering and crying, the massive horse cocks that she had for legs swiftly losing their function as legs.

“Oof!”

Ember crashed to the ground and I moved up on her in her fantasy, taking the chance, as her hands, in the real world, ran over her chest. It was too tempting to change her, just a little, but there was absolutely no consent there at all, not for her and me.

I didn’t want it, not as I fed my magic, slowly and subtly, into her chest. I just wanted to make them swell, to let her feel a little of what my power could do. They trembled very faintly, as if Ember was struck by a shudder, and I swallowed my groan of need. I enjoyed lingering there too much, pressing in, just lightly enhancing them, making them more sensitive.

“Oh… This…”

Ember didn’t seem to know what to do, though I liked the fear in her that flared up when she crashed to the ground in the fantasy too. As dawn came, her massive horse cock legs drooling and spurting, giving her untold, limitless orgasms, locals from the fantasy world that she had become so swiftly infatuated with came to retrieve her, the deadly forest only set with such transformative powers under the cover of darkness.

There was more to the fantasy, dim memories of the old text and things that I wasn’t all that interested in, though I could not help but absorb them, even then. She was an interesting character, all in a way that I could not have imagined, but to have another so similar to Gale gave me pause. Not in a bad way, of course, but in a way that excited me.

Gale had been so interested in the old stories too, looking back on text upon text, telling me about all of them even during and through her transformation. That had been what had, cautiously, spurred me on, back then, to transform her further, letting her have the curses that her heart so very clearly desired.

I merely watched her, her body in the fantasy transforming, fascinated entirely by how similar Ember was to Gale. Even though it was an old term, it was as if they were cut from the same cloth. Ember had come up with a backstory too, something about how people could only travel through that ancient forest in the daylight, that men who entered felt faint and even underwent sex changes too before losing the use of their legs. It was insane to think of – well, it would have been, if I was not so taken by her, everything that the woman offered me, well and truly.

In short, Ember’s greatest fantasy was very similar to what Gale underwent at my hands. I savoured the moment, heat flowing through me, like liquid gold pouring through my veins, richer than I had ever been. Perfect. She was perfect.

And there was something more as I watched the fantasy: her fear. As she got more and more into it, masturbating furiously, as if there was nothing else, absolutely nothing else, that could bring her any kind of relief. There was more of that for her than there was for Gale, though it needed time to come though, turning her on even more, despite it being something that human beings should have, quite naturally, shied away from. They should have known what it meant, that there was something there that the fear was trying to warn them about, yet there was a big part of Ember, looming and straining through, that wanted to run straight into it like no one ever had before.

Little did she know that I was going to give her everything that she craved, everything that she’d ever wanted, fear or no fear. She would fear a succubus, a demon, just as she truly feared being stuck in her fantasy, transformed form, with the throbbing, pulsating horse cocks for legs, and I would adore every, decrepit second of it. I needed her and I would have her, even if she did not truly need me.

And I would not be reasoned with. I told myself that, unfamiliar with the part of myself that wanted to toy with power and control, that wanted to delve into that deep, dark part of myself, what had been unlocked and not yet explored. There was so much more for me to do, so much further for me to go, stealing away her senses, her physical capability, giving her all the sexual transformations that her fantasies had ever fed her even as the life that she had known was stripped away.

I’d watch her flop and I’d watch her squirm and I’d watch her cocks drool and drool and drool. For every last little bit of it would be for me and not for her, Ember merely a victim in the scheme that I’d come up with.

And what a pretty victim she will make…

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*

Ember

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_ _

I couldn’t sleep, not after a climax that hard. It had felt like it was ripping through me and my breasts – wow! They’d never been that sensitive before, so much so that I hadn’t been able to stop myself from jumping up, despite how shaky my legs were afterwards, and checking myself out in the full body mirror of my bedroom. They looked bigger, but I was sure that was a trick of the light as I panted and laughed breathlessly, the dim light from the lamp on my bedside table casting a favourable glow across my body.

If I squinted just right, however, turning my body to the side and cocking a hip, I could feasibly imagine that my breasts really were larger, that something had happened to me during that fantasy. Even then, however, I knew that they could not really have gotten bigger, but I swore that I felt the weight of them distributed differently on my chest. They were more sensitive, but I could not spend too much time caressing them, not even circling a nipple ever so lightly with the tip of a finger.

It would be too distracting, though I was far, far too worked up to sleep. Better to try to work on my oil painting, even though the light in there wasn’t great. Maybe it would give me a bit of creative inspiration, watching how the shadows danced, and I was grateful for the luxury of not having to get up early in the morning.

It meant that I could be a night owl when I wanted to be, that I did not, at that time, have to worry that I would not be fully rested for work in the morning. My phone sat nearby, on charge, though my attention was taken up by the little electrical project that I had left on my bedroom desk too.

There were so many things to take my attention, though I shook my head, trying to focus. I’d put my clothes back on after having my fun, more comfortable with a bra, but, for some reason, that time, it didn’t feel as comfortable on my chest as it did before. Maybe it was because I’d been too caught up in things, rubbing my back and adjusting the straps over my shoulders, though I felt there was little that I could do about that. My breasts just felt like they needed that support too, so I was loathe to take it off.

There didn’t seem to be a right answer. Maybe it was something to do with how sensitive they were, though I couldn’t fully speak of that one, not really. I still was not entirely sure if I had imagined that or not, despite how sure I had been only a moment before.

“What is going on here?”

I shifted back and forth, a scowl pulling at my lips. There had to be something wrong with me, there really did, but I didn’t want to feel like I was crazy, not after the screwy things that I had just been thinking about. It could have been that talking to Gale and her being all weird had made me feel odd too, but I had to be imagining it.

Because things like that couldn’t happen. Even if my breasts seemed to be spilling over the top of my bra as I tugged down my loose pyjama top to look inside. It was meant to be a comfortable one, a size that was comfortable to support my chest for sleeping, rather than one I would wear every day. It was strange…but maybe that meant that I needed a break from it too?

Oh, it was all so confusing, wriggling and fussing with the back strap, annoyed and trying to find a way, any way, to soothe my frustration. My fingers didn’t seem to go under the strap very easily anymore and I tossed the notion aside, picking up my brush again, though it slipped out of my grasp instantly.

“Ugh, come on, butterfingers…”

I chided myself gently, though didn’t want to berate. Not even when my fingers could not pick up the brush again, so I tried for something larger, heart beating harder than it should have been. My paint palette didn’t seem to be held very easily either, losing the sense of dexterity in my hands, all clunky and awkward.

What the hell?

_ _

It didn’t make sense. I tried to tell myself that I must have been really tired, that the long days were getting the better of me, that maybe I should have been keeping to a better sleep schedule. The sky outside was pitch black and there was nought I could do about getting to bed earlier that night, not when I was still so worked up and on edge. Even then, it was as if I was expecting something to happen.

I didn’t know what. But something was going to happen.

You’re being silly. Stop thinking like that. It’s all Gale’s fault, she’s just gotten you all worked up again and put all these strange thoughts in your head, you know what she’s like.

But…it was not just a feeling. My breasts could be set aside as something that had to be out of a fantasy, a dream that had slipped too far into reality, confusing the lines between them. My hands, however, they could not hold the little paintbrush or anything much else on my desk for that matter. I wasn’t much of a painter, still finding my way and tinkering with things – ah, maybe that was where my work focus should have been, though I was concerned about not having a prestigious enough job if I went down that path – but my hands were important to me. Very important to me, in fact, which was why I noticed so quickly when my hands tingled.

“Hey, come on, now…”

I tried to ease the growing sense of oddness within me, a strange sense of trepidation, though it was not as if it was unfamiliar to me. It was akin to what had been in my fantasy, not all that long ago, though I did not understand it was there.

My hands ached, but I tried to push away my growing concern, taking my favourite skin cream and massaging it tenderly into the palms of my hands. I followed the lines as if I was a palm reader, but I was trying to soothe the muscles, wondering what on earth I had done to make them ache so much. I hadn’t been working that hard, had I? Or had I pulled something accidentally when I had been masturbating?

I groaned and made a face, feeling more and more sheepish. That would have been such a silly injury… And yet it could not have been that, for both my hands ached at the same time, equally.

Pressure grew on my palms and I trembled as I held them out before me, the itching growing and growing, prickling and biting like a million insects across my fingers, my palms, even the backs of my hands. My nails moved as I ran my fingers over the backs of the ones on the opposite hand, playing with them, but I sucked in a sharp breath as my nails, one by one, all fell off.

Tears pricked at my eyes, the horror of the moment sinking its claws into me well and truly, but I couldn’t just stop it. For there laid my fingernails right there on the desk as if they had never, not even once, been attached to my hands.

It took too long for my mind to catch up to what was happening, how my hands changed, the skin darkening, some parts growing pinker, though…that wasn’t what I focused on. Not as my fingers thickened up, even as I tried to bend them, blood roaring in my ears as adrenaline, fuelled by fear, pumped through me with determined, renewed need.

I…couldn’t use my hands. The thought came to me numbly, as if through a haze. I really, truly, utterly couldn’t use my hands anymore, as if they had been taken from me, chopped off. But they were still there! I could still see them! I could even wiggle my fingers, even though the skin looked a funny colour.

And they didn’t bend along the joints anymore – well, only a little at the fingertips. I held them out before me, fingers spread out, trying to take them in, trying to understand. I thought that I could understand if only I stared at them, if only I stared at them hard enough. But no understanding of the changes in my body could come to me in a bedroom that was so different and strange to me even then, something that should have been familiar taking on a foreign edge.

Breath… Come on… It can’t be that bad, everything’s fine, everything’s going to be fine…

_ _

That was what I had to tell myself, yes, even though I did not believe it, not as the tips of my fingers, where my nails had dropped away, thickened up, pulsing and flaring out. They bulged even as a strangled cry broke my lips, red hot humiliation at being “caught” so unnerved pulling at the pit of my stomach.

There was no one there to see me, was there? And, still, I felt humiliated, burning up from the inside out. There had never been any weakness shown in my family and yet I knew that that was not the “done thing” even as I panted and heaved and tried with all my might to move my hands as I once had, even to pick up the radio that I had been playing with, trying to get to work.

“Come on…”

But my fingers didn’t work as I fumbled and dropped it straight back on the desk. A sob broke in my throat, which was too tight already with emotion, pushing at the desk, my tools, knocking the paint palette off.

All my little projects… Nothing!

I wanted to paint for relaxation, I wanted to fix things… I wanted to do so many things with my hands and then…the chance was gone. It was as if it had never been, my fingers thick and difficult to move, as if the bend in the joints had gone.

I tried to push back from my desk, the chair scuffing over the carpet that, really, was a bit too thick to comfortably put a chair like that on with hard legs that damaged it a little more every day. But the lack of flexibility in my hands didn’t get me anywhere, merely rocking in place as I stared in horror at my hands.

They didn’t respond to me and I couldn’t even feel them properly anymore, as if they were merely something at the end of my arms and wrists, but not something familiar to me.

“Oh my god… Oh my god!”

I had to go to the hospital – but how was I going to even call an ambulance if the use of my hands was denied to me? I could call and they could trace it, maybe, if I could manage to put any numbers into it. Didn’t phones have an emergency voice call system these days too?

I had to go, had to do something, even as my hands bulged, something swelling from the heel of my hand, fat and bulbous. Pausing, half off the chair, I heaved and panted, chest rolling with every breath. Even my pyjama top, over the top of my night bra, felt too tight around my chest, but I couldn’t spare the time to focus on that as my hands ached and something entirely foreign pushed from the palms.

And then I didn’t want to call an ambulance at all, for what was happening to me was so much more horrifying than I could ever have expected that it sent a lurch into my stomach, turning over, leaping and churning. My palms swelled and swelled, but I could see what was coming there as what I could only describe as a pair of balls spilt from my palm.

“No… You can’t…”

My stomach clenched, muscles that I didn’t usually have to think about tightening, though it was all in a way that I liked, that I wanted to feel more of, despite the horror snarling in the back of my mind. It didn’t blend, but it did come together, a big, grey pair of balls swelling fully from my palms, fat and heavy and still growing.

Oh… Oh, it was like…

But, no. I couldn’t let my mind go there, not as the weight of the balls, a pair on each hand, yanked my hands forward. It hurt! It was not comfortable, not like in my fantasies, though I didn’t even know, truly, if that was what was happening right then. I could only assume, the pressure pushing out and bearing through as my chest expanded too.

For I had not imagined that either, the swelling growth of my breasts, a pained groan breaking my lips. There was too much there, too much going on, everything colliding in a moment where I couldn’t take it in. I could feel, even then, the ache in my wrists from the fresh weight on my hands, too much weight on the end of a limb that, for a human body, was never meant to support it.

And my fingers… Seeing the balls made the shape that my fingers were becoming easier to imagine, though I reeled in horror, holding my hands out as far away from me as I possibly could. I tried to wiggle them, but I lose more and more of the mobility in them, even the shape of my palm growing such that it just looked like an extension of the balls, fat and throbbing, trembling every time my hands so much as made the smallest of movements.

“This can’t be happening, this can’t be real… Oh, no, no, no, no, no!”

The words were real and the more I talked aloud the more I clung to that as my sense of reality. My fingers shaped themselves with fatter tips that bulged out to the sides, the testicles pushing out too through the back of my hands. I didn’t want to rub my hands together, didn’t want them to touch anything at all, though I wasn’t able to hold them up any longer and they had to thump, awkwardly, down to the desk.

“Unff…”

That hurt, sending a tremor through me, though I could not shake the sickening sense of being watched. But there was too much to take up my attention even then, my fingers no longer responding to my direction. I’d never had to think about how to wiggle my fingers, but that made me try again, breathing coming in shorter and sharper pants, the cocks that were my fingers bulging and swelling.

There was a flare at the tip, just like the horse dicks that I fantasised about, a medial ring pulling into place, somewhere in the middle. Yet every wiggling movement they made, entirely of their own will and weight, rubbed them against one another and the desk.

“Ohhhh…”

I had not been expecting a moan, but I had not anticipated my fingers changing into cocks and my palms into balls either. The balls wobbled back and forth, thick and heavy, large enough to supposedly feed every cock that my fingers had become.

Fear tangled with arousal. I had to be dreaming, I had to…but I didn’t want to think like that. I didn’t want to think, not even then, that I was going to be stuck with my hands like that, the bugling cock flesh of my fingers useless to me for anything. I couldn’t paint, I couldn’t delve deeper into the workings of electrical items, I couldn’t tackle what had been my passion in life.

It took a moment like that for me to realise what it was that I had wanted to do. No wonder I had never stayed in those little passing jobs, things to occupy my interest. Sure, I seemed to be good at marketing – but I didn’t need to be! I could work on mechanics, engineering, technical…stuff! And yet not if my hands had transformed, all against my will, into nothing less than horse cocks and balls.

I groaned, trying to lift them from the desk, my heart pounding. There was a loss there, but the arousal, oh… Oh, it was not as if I could set aside everything that I had dreamed about, everything that I had fantasised about for so long. I tried to open the drawer of my desk, where my camera was, but the heads of those cocks were already glistening, shockingly so, with pre-cum, drooling and dripping.

“Oh… Yes… Ohhhh…”

I couldn’t hold back my moans, even though I knew that they did not belong there, not on my lips, not that time. The arousal was something to struggle with, heaving and grunting and panting, no longer even sounding like myself. Yet how could I sound like myself when I didn’t even look like myself? I couldn’t go out in public with cock fingers and balls on my hands! I didn’t even have hands!

The chair creaked under me as I fumbled at the desk drawer, but I couldn’t get into it, tears in my eyes, dampening tracks down my face. My lips twisted, grinding my teeth, clenching my jaw, but even trying to get into the drawer got me nowhere.

Pleasure blossomed and I moaned all over again as I smeared pre-cum over the drawer handles, the notches in the smooth, polished wood that should have been so familiar to my fingers. I whimpered, hating the sound as much as I loved it, heat rippling through me. How was it even possible to feel so aroused and so horrified at the same time?

My fingers grew still, the cocks that flopped down against the edge of the table as I gave up and laid them back down there. The skin stretched, an odd sensation of pulling, though I grimaced and bore through it. At least the drumming of my heart in my ears, pounding a rhythm, gave me something normal to focus on, though that did not help as much as I wanted it to.

My cock fingers throbbed, drooling and pulsing – and it was then that I was treated to my first orgasm as they swelled to several times the thickness of my fingers, so big there that it was comical to think that they had once been fingers. They seemed too big, altogether, for the balls that fed them, though I did not yet know that that would change too. I moaned and let my head fall back, no longer feeling in control, wavering on that edge, all as seven of my cock fingers drooled and spurted in orgasm at once.

It was not comfortable, but there was a kind of pleasure there, an ache that throbbed through, though I’d never felt that kind of throbbing before. I wanted more of it as much as I wanted to pull away from it, the pleasure too intense, snarling, snapping, demanding that I pay it the attention that it deserved.

But it did not deserve it, not at all. I wasn’t a fetish…thing! I didn’t want that! I didn’t want that at all, not as I heaved and grunted, tipping forward over the desk, my shoulders rounding. Oh, the bra was bad, even as my mind was tugged from one thing to the other, finally pinging free with a sharp snap against my back. I arched, jolting with the pain, but that only made me smear my fingers across the desk, my other three cock fingers pulsing in orgasm, rippling drives of need swelling through.

The desire was not to be ignored, as much as fear tried to control me. And I didn’t know what, even then, I wanted to be controlled by. I wanted to control myself, of course, though that did not seem to be possible anymore. Ropes of cum, sticky, creamy ejaculate, splattered across the desk, my radio, my broken palette, but none of that was going to matter anymore to me. Even if I did not know it at that time.

That did not change how I felt, horror aching through, arousal pulsating, the prickling tingle of skin stretching further over the thick flares at the heads of my cock fingers making me think more. But the bra dropping away brought attention to my swelling chest too, how the weight of my breasts became harder and harder for my back to bear. Without the cupping support of the night bra, as comfortable a one as I could find for my sleeping preferences, the pyjama top, which I had thought was loose before, was the only thing that could keep my breasts in check.

And it did not do that for long, not as I moaned and whined and slumped sideways, shoulders weaker than they had been before. My arms were simply not ready to contain such a weight and it affected parts of my body that I had not thought about before, how the muscles interacted. If everything had not been happening at such a pace, my eyes desperately locking onto my phone, wondering if I should try to call the ambulance still, I might have had more consideration for the biomechanics of the body.

Not then. Not as my hands throbbed and spent another load, though I did not track, not that time, how many cocks spent their seed, marking the desk, so fat, so unwieldy. My body was all I could focus on, something else sinking into me, something dark, something that struck a deeply rooted sense of unease into my stomach, as if my whole digestive tract was churning and aching.

Continued in part three of four…