Of Course Of Course (With Illustrations by Soty!)
Don't read if you're under 18, or don't like it, blah blah blah. Read someone else's warning, I'm too lazy to write my own.
SOTY.TFCENTRAL.COM/OFCOURSEOFCOURSE
Life isn't normal if you're Melissa Young.
If you were Melissa Young, you'd be rich. You'd be hanging out with the "wrong crowd" to try and spite your millionaire parents, who sent you to the greatest school in Florida. TFU, or Tampa Florida University as it was known, was a brand new, very dignified school which for some reason was never full. Strange, but not stranger than Melissa Young. Donning her jacket and beanie, Capri pants and flats, you'd never guess she grew up in gold-leaved dresses eating with pure silver flatware. But then again, that was normal to strange Melissa Young.
So when her new friends asked her to prove how tough she was by spending the night at an Indian War Horse burial ground, strange Melissa Young said of course. It was all normal to her. Little did she, or anyone but one person know, but things were about to get stranger than normal. Stranger than anyone was comfy with.
Stranger than strange Melissa Young.
TFU Campus: Tuesday, 8:29 PM.
Mean old Sandy Jacobs. The same meanie who liked to pull hair and dump lunches was now calling out poor Melissa in front of everyone at dinner time, of all times. "Bitch, we know you ain't anything but a boujie little skank. You think you can get to us just by buying our 'dro? I don't think so. Listen, here's how you can prove how tough you are. The Seminole burial ground, right outside of the dorm circle. Stay the night, and stick this knife in to prove you were there." She unceremoniously yanked the dull, serrated end of a butter knife out of her potato and tossed it at Melissa, making her jump and causing her dress to be painted with butter and chives...low fat butter, she thought. That bitch could cut diamonds by elbowing them, she was so bony.
"Fine," Melissa chimed, and the cafeteria was aglow with the rousing "oooooh" only known when a child says a curse word in class. For them it meant time out, for strange Melissa Young, it meant the moment that she'd never forget...
Melissa trotted back to her room, haunted with specter like signs Sandy had no doubt placed. "Come on, bitch." "You can do it." "Unless you wanna go home to mommy and daddy and have them..." Sandy hadn't counted on the paper being so small, and Melissa had to search for the other half, lying directly beneath it. "...wipe your ass with mink paper." Enraged, strange Melissa Young did a strange thing indeed...she took the knife she'd pilfered from the cafeteria, packed up a change of clothes, and stomped out of the dorm, slamming the door loud enough to wake the hardest hangover.
Burial Ground: Tuesday, 10:47 PM.
Melissa was sorry now that she left in such a hurry that she'd forgotten her sleeping bag, and the ground here was certainly unforgiving. Not having being touched for hundreds of years keeps the ground pretty rough, she thought. Almost like path markers, she followed the gravestone of the Seminoles, a stick with a feather tied straight up. It was supposed to help them fly to heaven or something...Melissa didn't want to think about it. She just wanted to go home. If she could dig the knife in and sneak back to the dorms, she'd be home free, which caused her to pick up the pace, crunching old bones underfoot like dust.
She couldn't wait to see the look on Sandy's face when they all walked out there and saw the knife. She'd be the coolest kid, finally...and hopefully, strange little Melissa Young wouldn't be so strange anymore. The sticks that lead her path abruptly ended in a circular pattern, with a crudely made sign in the middle. "Go Away," it said simply, and Melissa had a chuckle. "Guess those injuns weren't so great at their English," she said dryly to nobody but the wind. She sat down, staring up at the half lit moon, then to the circle around her. Her body seemed to vibrate with a kind of strange energy, but she chalked it up to nerves and laid her head down, trying to sleep.
That's when she remembered why she came here in the first place. Pulling the knife from her jacket, Melissa looked for a good place to stick it...she wasn't the strongest lady, and the ground here was very hard. She remembered the bones and how easily they snapped, and found a sizable one lying on the ground, driving the knife into it, albeit with a bit of force. She cursed Sandy for picking a butter knife and rolled over, making a "humph" sound and trying to close her eyes.
This is where it gets strange, even for strange Melissa Young.
Burial Ground: Wednesday, 12:03 AM.
The ground shook and rumbled, and Melissa hopped to her feet, hoping to find someplace to hide from what she thought was an earthquake, until she realized with horror something was keeping her glued to the ground. Her mind racing, she fell on her butt, tugging on her legs so hard they chafed, trying to pull them free from their invisible prison. She screamed, the sound being cut off acoustically like she was singing in a padded room, and the look on her face only intensified as her heartbeat matched that of a rabbit caught in machine gun crossfire.
She fell down and sobbed, stopping her relentless tugging assault, when her body suddenly illuminated with emerald strands, wrapping around her ankles and partway up her calves. The strands soon materialized into a tail, and the tail soon materialized hoofed legs, a thick, strong torso, and a majestic head, perfectly shaped with the most elegant mane one might ever see, the whole apparition floating as if it were ghostly, but from the way Melissa was stuck, it was quite vividly solid.
The Horse stared down Melissa, showing its dominance by making her look away with disgust and fear.
"Are you quite finished?" it asked in a booming voice that settled the ground around them, most obviously male.
"What...What a...are you?!" the poor girl yelled, trying to pull away but most unable, the Horse still had a steely grip on her with its otherworldly tail.
"Not important. I am the Horse. The people who are buried here call me God, Hero, Warrior, but first and foremost, I am what you see before you," he replied, his voice much gentler. His instincts told him this human was dangerously close to passing out. "Please calm yourself, I'd just like to ask a few questions."
Melissa shook her head, swallowing before staying still again, and then nodded. "I'll...I'll answer them..." she choked, honestly half expecting something like this to happen.
"Alright," the Horse shouted. "Why did you find it necessary to stomp on my brothers' bones? To break what they had left in this world. You had no right. And then, you defile MY spine? The spine which rode thousands of warriors to victory, and thousands of women and children to safety. For that, you shall be punished...but how?" Before Melissa had a chance to speak, the Horse had shoved her down, one front hoof on her face, pressing it into the dirt, the other on her back to make sure she stayed still, her ass in the air, quivering like a leaf with the festering wind all around them.
"Here's your punishment. You're going to repopulate the earth with us, become one of us, spread the word of what happened here so others leave us to rest in peace!" Melissa gurgled, her throat too caught up with fear to make words, as possiblities for how the Horse would do this flew through her mind until one set itself in, and she convulsed with a mixture of utter terror, extreme repulsion, and unusually high arousal. But this IS strange Melissa Young we're talking about.
The Horse clumsily wrapped his hooves around Melissa's shoulders, tearing her jacket and a trite bit of skin with his onyx hooves. Melissa wore tight pants, and when the Horse ground his portly member against her back, the resulting spreading or her hips caused her pants and panties to tear just enough to expose her bits, she cursed herself out loud when she felt the wind tickle her juices. She wanted this. And she hated herself for it. As if to torture her, as if to bend her to his will, every change was pure pleasure instead of pain, and as the shaft rubbed between her cheeks, her hips popped out of place, growing much thicker and bulkier, her poor pants ripped to shreds along with her dignity. Normally, one would expect the bone shifting to be the most painful experience of their lives, but not for strange Melissa Young. For strange Melissa Young, every single millimeter those bones moved was an explosion of orgasmic bliss, every popping sound was orgasmic bliss, every disgusting scrape of bone against bone was orgasmic bliss, until finally, her pants were completely gone. Her ass was comically large compared to the rest of her body, a sort of golden fur tightly wrapped around it with the nub of a tail peeking out, almost to see if it was okay to ravage her senses further before sprouting like a psycho weed.
The whole thing was orchestrated perfectly, with no bad interaction from either party. Call it destiny, call it luck, but every bit of Melissa's changes went smoothly. The only imperfect factor was her face, which was twisting with a mixture of horrible, horrible self hatred, and a moan, a look of easement. The Horse's throbbing cock was the conductor, as it thrust into her waiting, dripping pussy like the root of a crescendo. Her body followed in turn, the changes rippling upwards, first stretching out back to her legs, the muscles in them growing and pulsing with power like bass drums. Her feet thinned and cracked into hooves, her leg bending back like the strings of a harp before her toes meshed together like the uproarious crack of a leadblock. The Horse, satisfied with this sonata of transformation, squeezed the woman closer, burying himself deeper, wanting to taint her very core with his power.
Her crying voice was the crashing cymbals, her back and torso widening, popping and crackling like snare drums. Muscles rippled through her body like chimes, and her body was soon larger than her shoulders would allow, allowing for quite the hilarious site. But like any good composer, the Horse would not let this tune fail. Her shoulders spread forth to meet her new girth, like the brazen sound of hi-hats, as her neck stretched away, bending forward, acting as a bow for her new, rougher voice, an out of tune violin. As if on cue, the Horse plowed himself into her one last time, his sac churning with release, and kept it there, waiting for her mouth to widen and stretch out. Her nose flared and stayed so, and her ears made a light and almost unnoticed travel to the top of her head, like the melody of a flute, before being pulled into pyramid shapes. Finally, her transformation was complete as her arms pulsated with the same power of the rest of her, her fore and middle, ring and pinkie fused together in ebony, like the keys of a piano, her thumb staying how it was, albeit a very hard, black fingernail took the normal one's place.
But normal fingernails are not for strange Melissa Young.
Burial Grounds: Wednesday, 1:00 AM.
The forest was quiet, much like the calm before a hurricane, when the Horse's bellow shook what seemed to be down to the very fabric of time itself, unleashing a torrent of sacred seed into strange Melissa Young. Her stomach swelled rapidly, becoming pregnant with a full size colt, and her breasts filled with nourishing milk, swaying in time with her new mane of hair. Her jacket strained and complained with protests, but eventually ripped out of the way when her new giant rack became too much to handle. The only thing left on her was her beanie, and that came off as well as she convulsed once more, six more smaller breasts popping out onto her torso. They all leaked milk onto the ground, and her stomach was certainly at full term. "Now," huffed and yelled the horse. "You will birth my first son!" At those words, Melissa finally felt pain, her sizable rump slickening with the head of a colt, the rest following soon after with a cry from poor Melissa. Her new maw run down with tears, she stood, albeit wobbly, and held her breasts, very round, very heavy, and too large.
The ultimate shock, however, came when she glanced down at her stomach, which had already shown signs of growing again! The Horse spake once more. "Every seventh day you will bear my children. One week a colt, the next, a foal. Here are my final words to you, Melissa Young. Yes, I do know your name. I do know all. And I do know that Sandy Jacobs will be punished for her trickery."
"Wait...WAIT!" Melissa yelled. "What do you mean her trickery?" The Horse threw his head at bushes, and a disheveled Sandy Jacobs stood up with a newly melted Polaroid camera. The new colt finally found its legs, so, holding up her 8 breasts, her new stomach, and what little pride she had left, even stranger Melissa Young took her colt, and walked out of the forest. She could hear the sounds of screaming, ripping, and neighing behind her, and she smiled for the first time tonight, before pointing her ears down to the noise of some Seniors having a campfire.
This is how she'd spread her message...as even more strange Melissa Young.
R und R, prease. ^^
SOTY.TFCENTRAL.COM/OFCOURSEOFCOURSE