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jades-typurriter · 6 days

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Wife Swap

This was a bit of a chain of inspiration; me and Bowsiosaurus, who have crushes Vanilla and Toriel respectively, joked about switching girlfriends, and then vee drew this rather out of the blue to follow up on it. Vee THEN wanted to pay me to write a story to go with it, but I was feeling motivated anyway after seeing how this came out, so I asked ver to help me design Posie instead. Anyway, this is RIDICULOUSLY self-indulgent. Please enjoy the boundary between realities passing over the two of us at a party!

Jade and Bowsie stood in the living room of a mutual friend, holding plastic cups of fruit punch and catching up about their new relationships. It was a casual affair: a few friends who all happened to be in town at the same time, some movies, bags of popato chisps—chips? no, no, chisps, it was hard to tell for a second—lining the countertop along the side of the room.

“We met when she moved into the apartment next to mine,” the serpent explained as Jade stretched, letting out an appropriately catlike yawn. “A lot of the time we were getting to know each other was me making excuses to help her with things, if I’m being honest.”

“Well, hey! You don’t have to be a man to get to a girl’s heart by being gentlemanly.”

“She does like to call me that…”

“Tori’s little helper, huh?” she teased.

“G-grawawawa!!”

“Heehehehehee! Okay, okay. What sort of stuff does a lady like Toriel even need help with? She seems pretty capable.”

“Well, um! I really like helping her in the kitchen. I’ve learned a lot about baking from her! She also does a lot of community service type things. Did you know she used to be a teacher?”

“Oh? For what grades?”

“Little, little kids, uh, kindergarten and stuff.”

“Oh, wrow,” Jade mrowed, “that’s a fun coincidence! Vanilla has a daughter right about that age.”

“You and moms, huh.”

“Oh, shush,” she snickered.

“It’s true!”

“It is!! It is.”

“So, has dating someone with a kid been complicated?”

“Oh, not at all! Cream and I get along really well, actually. I sit down with her and, like, have tea parties with her little chao. She’s such a sweetheart. She made some cookies for me last week!”

“Uwa!! Well, if you’re getting along well with her, that must be a good sign for Vanilla.”

“I’d like to think so, yeah! If the family likes you, you’re so in.”

“Mhm, mhm.”

There was a lull in the conversation for a few moments. Bowsie looked absentmindedly over ver shoulder at someone messing around at the snacks table. It looked like they were trying to pick something up with a fork instead of just grabbing it with their hand, which was odd—it was all finger food! Or, wait, did the host spring for a chocolate fountain? Had that been there the whole time?? Jade took a sip of her punch, and Bowsie turned back around when she leaned in conspiratorially:

“Alright, so, apart from the obvious—what do you like about her?”

“Grawa??”

“Like!! Any little habits, cute things you’ve noticed. I know she’s an older woman and I know she’s twice your size, like, believe me. I’m shaking your flipper about it. But like other than that.”

“Um… okay, h-her, her ears are really nice…”

“I suppose I’m obligated to shake paws with you on that too.”

“Heehee, yeah, I guess so!”

“So, do we just both have a thing for big floppy ears and we didn’t know it?”

“No, no, it’s more like! Well, her fur is soft all over, but it’s really nice to just touch her ears, y’know?”

“Ohhhhh, yeah yeah yeah. Petting girls is just like a blessed experience.”

“Yeah… It’s like…”

As vee continued the thought, something began to change in the back of ver mind. Literally. Whatever was going on crept over the room from behind them, continuing from the snack table. Ver long, fishy tail began to shorten, fluff sprouting along its length as it seemed to roll itself up like a snowball—and like a snowball it sat, puffy and cute, at the small of ver back. The fins on ver head lost their perkiness, flopping down the sides of ver face, which was also pulling back into itself, snout disappearing in favor of a pink, Y-shaped nose.

The fins lengthened, and more fur began to grow in place of the scales there; soon enough, they stretched all the way down to ver butt, nicely framing the new tail. The tie around ver neck stretched in odd ways: the ribbons at the sides reached around ver neck, pinching itself into the links of a necklace, for which the knot of the tie became a big, bejeweled pendant. From ver tummy sprouted something a lot like the fur cropping up elsewhere, but much tidier—a dress, appearing seemingly from nowhere, sporting cuts at the hips and a hem in the front that matched ver (previous) underbelly pattern. Between the neckline and the pendant was, suddenly, some notable cleavage, and a feather boa cascaded over ver shoulders, seemingly from nowhere.

“She’s just such a cute little thing,” Vanilla continued, swirling the red wine she now held in her paw. “She really thrives on affection! Rubbing her ears is one of the easier ways to do it… she can’t get enough of laying her head in my lap and letting me scratch right between them.”

As the serpent spoke, Jade distantly realized that it was getting harder and harder to tell what vee was saying. It was getting harder and harder to see ver. Maybe the punch had more alcohol in it than she'd realized? She struggled to listen more closely; her ears burned, as if in embarrassment, though she still couldn’t make out any specific words. She felt like she should be flustered by what her friend was saying, but she wasn’t sure why… Slowly, the sensation came into sharper focus, drifting away from feeling exposed and closer toward a sense of scandal, like she was more shocked that this was the subject of public conversation than the subject matter itself. Nervously, she attempted to change the subject:

“Yeah, yeah, totally!” She began, taking the tried-and-true “smile and nod” approach for when you can’t hear someone in a crowd. “So, you were saying earlier about how you help Toriel around the house, right? Do you ever have to help her deal with computer stuff?”

“Oh, dear, you know I’m no good with computers.”

“Well, you know you can ask Annie for help any time you need!” Jade continued, seemingly unable to reconcile the sudden difference in tone. “She’s taught Vanilla a few things before. That’s one thing that’s sorta weird about the relationship, is just, the total difference in skills 'cause of how far apart we are in terms of age…”

She was interrupted by the lengthening of her own snout. The changes approached her from the front—she had been facing the opposite way as Bowsie, after all. Her kitty nose flattened, vanishing beneath the fur of her face and becoming two simple slits; her canine teeth became more pronounced, sticking out from under her upper lip. Her fur began to turn white, spreading from her nose over her face and down along her neck, and the hair that framed either side of her face became less and less fluffy, more and more orderly, until it was two solid masses of fluff: floppy, lop-goat ears that now grazed her shoulders.

Her loose top, once propped up by a single shoulder and a chest full of fluff, became a sleeveless gown, held in place by a chest full of… well, chest. A very full chest, as a matter of fact. Her hips widened, and she grew a head or two taller—she would have towered over Bowsie like this, but Vanilla was actually a fairly tall woman. Her paws grew to match the scale of the rest of her body, and the fluff around her neck receded to reveal a luxurious string of pearls. At her hip, Anodyne—hitching a ride in the phone in her pocket—slowly morphed from silicone transistors and diodes to brass gears and springs, taking the shape of her beloved heart-shaped locket.

Toriel and Vanilla stood in a reputed ballroom, sipping from crystal wine glasses and gossiping about their adorable new partners. It was a rather big-name event: Mobians and monsters who had made reservations months in advance, live music, hors d'oeuvres lining the pristine tablecloths of the refreshments along the side of the room.

“Sorry,” Toriel said, blinking hard over her bifocals, eyes refocusing on her gal pal at the end of her snout. “Where was I a moment ago?”

“You were talking about the age difference between you and Bowties, Tori,” Vanilla chirped.

“Oh! Yes, that is right,” she said, the conspiratorial smile returning to her face. “Now, I am only saying this because you were talking about pressing your partner’s buttons—how naughty, by the way! One of the cutest things about Bowsie, though, is the way that he falls all over himself at the slightest advance.”

“Oooh,” the rabbit tittered, “Not just younger, but less experienced?”

“That is understating it!”

“How flattering, though!”

“Well, sometimes I wish it were less of a momentous occasion when I change my clothes. It can be frustrating when your partner needs to stop and collect himself when you wish you could simply get into things. But, yes, I suppose all the attention is nice… It makes me feel pretty to be able to knock someone flat like that again!”

“Oh, hush, Tori. You look as good as ever! You haven’t aged a day as long as I’ve known you.”

“And neither has our taste in partners, hmm?”

“Goodness!!”

“It is true!”

“It is!” Vanilla giggled. “It is.”

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to see more of my writing, feel free to take a look here and here.

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jades-typurriter · 10 days

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Cache Clearing

A piece I did in a bit of a frenzy after working with (you guessed it) Bowsiosaurus on the design for a new OC: meet Posie!! The thought process here was literally, like, no sooner than we decided on "make a Renamon" i was like "hey what if she ate a bunch of data", so, I hope you enjoy it as much as she seemed to =^w^=

CW: Weight gain, tummy/breast expansion, stern office woman is so full from Information yum

A tall, stately fox moved down the drab, linoleum-and-drop-tile maintenance corridor with the same grace, the same level and unerring gait, that one of her four-legged, flesh-and-bone counterparts might display while stalking prey through the underbrush. Though her feet ended in points, modeled as a smooth taper from her knee to a single vertex apiece, the clack of high heels echoed down the empty hallway with each step. Her purpose was singular, and her focus undivided.

She was a Renamon who had adapted to a digital landscape that was as predictable as it was unforgiving; while her predecessors were more suited to the wild west of the adolescent internet, all the precision and discipline that they dedicated to roughhousing instead allowed her to operate within the razor-thin margins of error of the corporate world. She kept things running, and that was exactly what she made her way to the server room to do now.

She waved a paw over the electronic lock on the door, an uncannily smooth, mechanical motion, made with the other paw primly held behind her ramrod-straight back. It was a far cry from the jerky, stiff displays one might expect from a physical construct, though the knob turned under her touch as though she was solid as steel. As it swung closed behind her, she approached the subject of her attention for her next task: server rack B-0, a cabinet of solid-state drives stacked even higher than she was, each loaded to the brim with trade secrets, proprietary information, logs of confidential exchanges, schematics, financial records. All of it was outdated. She had been sent by the management to ensure that it was properly deleted.

Her lip curled into a sneer at the thought. Data disposal was so… undignified. It was beneath a woman of her stature. She had thoroughly demonstrated her particular capabilities: the multitasking necessary direct intra-system traffic in real time, reducing latency; her knack for optimizing data for the most efficient storage; she had even taken the initiative to create financial projections from the figures under her care. And still they expected her to perform a task so crude that any program picked up on a shovelware site could handle it without complication! She huffed, her eyes narrowed into her typical glare, as though she wished she could melt the damned server with the infrared beams she would otherwise use to communicate with it.

Nonetheless, there was no use putting it off any longer. The 2.6 seconds she had spent ruminating could have been better spent elsewhere, and she would be remiss to waste even more time. She was the Renamon assigned to maintaining the integrity of the company’s data center, and she would not shirk that duty, no matter how uncouth it was. She unlatched the wire-mesh cabinet door, reached into the rack, and removed the first drive in the array with a soft k-chk.

Closing her eyes and bracing herself with a deep breath, she brought the disk to her snout, opened her mouth, and moved as though to take a bite out of it. Her pointed, polygonal teeth passed harmlessly through the metal, phasing as she could through any of the other surfaces in the building (though she made a point of logging her activities by using her credentials at doors, like any other employee). The data on the two plates within, however, were far from unscathed—bits parted like the muscle fibers in a succulent cut of steak, zeroed out as she pulled the drive from between her lips, swallowing the information once contained within.

She let out an almost-gasp—Pahhh!—like she was trying not to gag. It wasn’t that the data were unpalatable. Far from it; she could, begrudgingly, understand why her wild cousins were so apt to chew through any unsecured files they could get their paws on. It was the task itself that was distasteful: this was only the first bite of the first drive in the entire rack! She resented that her superiors seemed to think of her as a bottomless recycle bin. Besides, work of this nature came up rather infrequently. Reacclimating herself to the sensation of eating was always a touch uncomfortable.

She powered through regardless, knowing the feeling would settle as she got further underway. She brought the drive back up to her face, taking another bite further into the plate, as though she was gnawing off segments of a particularly thick chocolate bar; with her other paw, she disengaged another drive from the rack. She nibbled off the last morsel of data from the first drive and brought the second immediately to her maw; it was… more efficient to do it that way. As fast as possible. The sooner she could get all these units formatted, the better, of course.

Replacing the first, now-empty drive, she replaced it in its slot and reached for a third as she chewed on the second. On and on she went, paws working in perfect unison to maintain an unbroken chain of drives to deplete; she might have compared herself to a juggler if her cheeks weren’t already burning from the indignity. Electrons slid down her tongue—her mouth was watering more than she cared to acknowledge—and down the back of her throat. Bite. Swallow. Bite. Swallow. Replace. Switch. Bite. Swallow. Bite.

Her pace only increased as she continued. Of course it would. A computer performs better after it’s had time to warm up, after all. And, of course, she simply wanted this to be done and over with as quickly as possible. It was a mercy that she didn’t need to pay any mind to her volume controls, as far away from any other personnel as the data center was. Not that she was paying attention anyway, fully-focused on completing her task as she was. Nobody—not even herself—would notice the muffled mmphs and nnffs she made as she pressed on.

All the data on the disks had to go somewhere, and it was at this point in the process that that tended to become apparent. Beneath the fur on her chest, meticulously brushed and fastidiously fluffed, her breasts became gradually more prominent. At first, the tuft was enough to mostly obscure them—after all, so what if she seemed slightly fluffier that day?—but was soon outpaced. Electrical charges by the millions, now unmoored from their tidy array inside the drives, now sloshed into her, taking up more and more of her own storage space. In short order, the fluff was scarcely enough to cover just her cleavage.

One third of the way through the server rack, now. Still, her pace only increased, one drive in each paw.

Her thighs were already rather prodigious. They were the majority of her curves, under normal circumstances, and she took some pride in the matronly figure that she cut as a result. Now, they pressed closer and closer together beneath the skirt of fur that she sported, the conical abstractions of her lower extremities widening bite by bite (and byte by byte). They pressed further and further outward, straining the “garment” itself, pushing the hem further and further up along her legs; the circular patterns on her hips, reminiscent of loading symbols, became distorted, stretched. She would have thought it was a crude change, not unlike resizing an image file with improper scaling—if she were capable of focusing on anything other than the gigabytes upon gigabytes she was so doggedly downloading.

Well over halfway now. She was shoving storage into her maw two at a time, with both paws. If she was able to hold more drives at a time, she would have; as a matter of fact, it didn’t stop her from trying.

The largest component of her directory—her midsection—naturally took the brunt of the new load. Slowly, the soft, icy-blue fur of her tummy billowed out, first simply swelling as her stomach filled, then folding onto itself, rolls smushing down on each other under their newfound, still-growing weight. Soon enough, she found herself pressed up against the lower racks of the server, though even in her focused state, she hadn’t realized that she had stepped closer. She hadn’t moved any closer, of course, but she needed to step further back regardless: she found that she was beginning to struggle to bend over, straining against herself to reach the lowest-mounted drives in the array.

Finally, heaving for breath, she extended her paw for another drive and found none remaining that needed to be cleared. She blinked and, once she was more aware of herself, pushed down a sense of disappointment. Instead, she straightened herself (allowing the new mass to settle to a stop after the motion), dusted her skirt, and conjured a good riddance air about herself as she closed the server door once again. She could still find pride in a job well done, even if she was loathe to do the job.

As she stepped out once again into the hallway, ensuring that the door was securely closed—not that there was a single trace remaining of anything sensitive that had been stored there—she folded her hands behind her back and surprised herself with a burp that was most definitely ladylike. One paw flew to her snout as it echoed down the hallway, both in shock and to hide the near-glow of her cheeks. She glanced in either direction: mercifully, still vacant. Her shoulders slumped in relief, one of the rare occasions on which she relaxed her posture. Thankfully, nobody but her would know that she’d had to do one of her dirtier jobs today. She set off back the way she had came, her footsteps now playing at maximum volume—not even a clack anymore as much as a clomp.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it =^w^= If you'd like to see more of my writing, have a look here and here!

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jades-typurriter · 13 days

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Cache Clearing

CW: Weight gain, tummy/breast expansion, stern office woman is so full from Information yum

One third of the way through the server rack, now. Still, her pace only increased, one drive in each paw.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it =^w^= If you'd like to see more of my writing, have a look here and here!

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jades-typurriter · 13 days

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Wife Swap

“Well, hey! You don’t have to be a man to get to a girl’s heart by being gentlemanly.”

“She does like to call me that…”

“Tori’s little helper, huh?” she teased.

“G-grawawawa!!”

“Heehehehehee! Okay, okay. What sort of stuff does a lady like Toriel even need help with? She seems pretty capable.”

“Well, um! I really like helping her in the kitchen. I’ve learned a lot about baking from her! She also does a lot of community service type things. Did you know she used to be a teacher?”

“Oh? For what grades?”

“Little, little kids, uh, kindergarten and stuff.”

“Oh, wrow,” Jade mrowed, “that’s a fun coincidence! Vanilla has a daughter right about that age.”

“You and moms, huh.”

“Oh, shush,” she snickered.

“It’s true!”

“It is!! It is.”

“So, has dating someone with a kid been complicated?”

“Uwa!! Well, if you’re getting along well with her, that must be a good sign for Vanilla.”

“I’d like to think so, yeah! If the family likes you, you’re so in.”

“Mhm, mhm.”

“Alright, so, apart from the obvious—what do you like about her?”

“Grawa??”

“Um… okay, h-her, her ears are really nice…”

“I suppose I’m obligated to shake paws with you on that too.”

“Heehee, yeah, I guess so!”

“So, do we just both have a thing for big floppy ears and we didn’t know it?”

“No, no, it’s more like! Well, her fur is soft all over, but it’s really nice to just touch her ears, y’know?”

“Ohhhhh, yeah yeah yeah. Petting girls is just like a blessed experience.”

“Yeah… It’s like…”

“Oh, dear, you know I’m no good with computers.”

“Sorry,” Toriel said, blinking hard over her bifocals, eyes refocusing on her gal pal at the end of her snout. “Where was I a moment ago?”

“You were talking about the age difference between you and Bowties, Tori,” Vanilla chirped.

“Oooh,” the rabbit tittered, “Not just younger, but less experienced?”

“That is understating it!”

“How flattering, though!”

“Oh, hush, Tori. You look as good as ever! You haven’t aged a day as long as I’ve known you.”

“And neither has our taste in partners, hmm?”

“Goodness!!”

“It is true!”

“It is!” Vanilla giggled. “It is.”

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to see more of my writing, feel free to take a look here and here.

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jades-typurriter · 17 days

Text

Wife Swap

“Well, hey! You don’t have to be a man to get to a girl’s heart by being gentlemanly.”

“She does like to call me that…”

“Tori’s little helper, huh?” she teased.

“G-grawawawa!!”

“Heehehehehee! Okay, okay. What sort of stuff does a lady like Toriel even need help with? She seems pretty capable.”

“Well, um! I really like helping her in the kitchen. I’ve learned a lot about baking from her! She also does a lot of community service type things. Did you know she used to be a teacher?”

“Oh? For what grades?”

“Little, little kids, uh, kindergarten and stuff.”

“Oh, wrow,” Jade mrowed, “that’s a fun coincidence! Vanilla has a daughter right about that age.”

“You and moms, huh.”

“Oh, shush,” she snickered.

“It’s true!”

“It is!! It is.”

“So, has dating someone with a kid been complicated?”

“Uwa!! Well, if you’re getting along well with her, that must be a good sign for Vanilla.”

“I’d like to think so, yeah! If the family likes you, you’re so in.”

“Mhm, mhm.”

“Alright, so, apart from the obvious—what do you like about her?”

“Grawa??”

“Um… okay, h-her, her ears are really nice…”

“I suppose I’m obligated to shake paws with you on that too.”

“Heehee, yeah, I guess so!”

“So, do we just both have a thing for big floppy ears and we didn’t know it?”

“No, no, it’s more like! Well, her fur is soft all over, but it’s really nice to just touch her ears, y’know?”

“Ohhhhh, yeah yeah yeah. Petting girls is just like a blessed experience.”

“Yeah… It’s like…”

“Oh, dear, you know I’m no good with computers.”

“Sorry,” Toriel said, blinking hard over her bifocals, eyes refocusing on her gal pal at the end of her snout. “Where was I a moment ago?”

“You were talking about the age difference between you and Bowties, Tori,” Vanilla chirped.

“Oooh,” the rabbit tittered, “Not just younger, but less experienced?”

“That is understating it!”

“How flattering, though!”

“Oh, hush, Tori. You look as good as ever! You haven’t aged a day as long as I’ve known you.”

“And neither has our taste in partners, hmm?”

“Goodness!!”

“It is true!”

“It is!” Vanilla giggled. “It is.”

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to see more of my writing, feel free to take a look here and here.

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jades-typurriter · 17 days

Text

Cache Clearing

CW: Weight gain, tummy/breast expansion, stern office woman is so full from Information yum

One third of the way through the server rack, now. Still, her pace only increased, one drive in each paw.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it =^w^= If you'd like to see more of my writing, have a look here and here!

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jades-typurriter · 24 days

Text

Hello, all!

I wanted to share this here because when I'm not writing indulgent furry stuff, I'm making tabletop systems with a couple good friends :)

Agents of Fate is a system we designed to emulate the snappy, back-and-forth action of a choreographed fight scene, as well as the out-of-order, suspense-filled storytelling of movies like Bullet Train and Glass Onion. Another inspiration we wear on our sleeve is The World Ends With You: we thought the urban fantasy aesthetic was perfect for the kinds of stories we wanted players to be able to tell!

We geared it toward one-shot sessions and self-contained storytelling, so if you want to make a new, hyper-niche, gimmicky character for every mission, if you want to introduce new players to something rules-light, or even if you want to treat the system more like a party game, we hope it'll be a good match for you.

It only ever asks you to roll 2d4, so turns go by quick and there are plenty of opportunities to interfere with the other players at the table without it turning into a slow mess of simultaneous interactions. Plus, you can get narrative bonus points for MacGyvering environmental or circumstantial details into your actions!

Please check out the Kickstarter page!

We do a much better job explaining the system's highlights in the properly-scripted video than I did here with my little attempt at marketing, lmao

We hope you enjoy it!

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jades-typurriter · 29 days

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Spider's Kiss (And Other Drinks That Will Knock You Flat On Your Ass)

A commission from July 2023 for a good friend of mine who's not on tumblr, wherein you get knocked out by a pretty spider woman's venom at a fancy bar but its Totally Cool because you thought she was hot anyway. Enjoy!

CW: Kidnapping, Drugging (it's her natural venom, But Like Still), Bondage, Noncon But The POV Changes Their Mind Before Anything Happens

You push on the gold plate, riveted tastefully to a mahogany door marked “REST”, and stride over the frame from polished marble to rich silk carpet. You tipped the attendant quite handsomely, and you’re still feeling generous; when you get back to the bar, you think you might just buy the whole joint a round of something from the top shelf! You make your way back to the seat at the bar, winding through throngs of people arrayed in their finest, swimming in an ocean of murmurs and laughter under shimmering starry canopies of crystal chandeliers, and—someone’s in your stool. How rude! You wonder if they knew who that seat was reserved for, but as you draw in a breath to give them a piece of your mind, you break free of the crowd, get a better look at them, and find it taken away from you instead.

Sitting in your place is a petite, feminine figure with two cane-shaped antennae poking out of the top of her head. Around her shoulders is a boa of dark, opalescent feathers, like seafoam made from black pearls, bubbling at the base of the auburn cascade that is her hair. Your eyes drift lower, to the cut in the dark purple, almost black, dress that spirals around her midriff. The skin beneath is crisscrossed by a few sturdy threads, between which zigzag thinner and thinner strands, all the way down to gossamer lace filling in the remaining gaps—a spider’s web woven into a film that traces the contours of the small of her back.

Well, there’s no need to go in guns blazing, right?

Excuse you, you beg her pardon for interrupting her banter with the bartender, but would she mind terribly if you joined her at the bar?

“Oh, not at all,” she coos, casting you a glance over her shoulder. Two eyes look back at you over half-rimmed glasses, and four more eyes from above those. Three of them wink, and she curls a finger at you with one hand as she flags down the bartender with another. Another hand reaches up from where it was folded in her lap to raise her drink to her lips, and a fourth provides a perch for her chin as she turns to face you on your (new) barstool. The last two of her hands, still idle, drum their fingertips across the granite-and-gold bartop.

“Dear, I have to tell you, I’m quite out of my element in a fancy place like this. Perhaps you can help me orient myself…? Do you come here often?” That was gonna be your line, but you never turn down an opportunity to introduce yourself.

Actually, you helped set this party up, you inform her.

“Oh? Do you cater, or are you with the band, or…?”

Doll, you chuckle, you helped pay for the whole shindig. She gets a glint in her eye at that—one you’ve seen plenty of times before. Everybody wants a piece of the pie, but damn if that doesn’t have its uses!

“Oh, my,” she swoons, resting a hand against her chest, “It was quite thoughtful for you and your friends to extend an invitation to little ol’ me… Surely, someone who knows the place like you do could lead me to the dance floor?”

You thought she’d never ask. But first—her name?

“Lula,” she purrs, downing the last of her drink before rising to her feet.

You try it on for size, and it rolls pleasantly off your tongue; you assure her that a name like that fits a lady as lovely as her, and she giggles modestly. You take the first hand she offers you and lead her back through the cliques and clowns, the dilettantes, debutantes, and drunks, all the way to a sparser area at the base of a semicircular stage. There are just as many revelers here, but they at least have the good sense about them to spread out a bit more to dance, and she follows you into a nice little gap between a couple of couples.

You perform a showy little bow before the two of you begin, which earns you another little laugh from the little lady, hiding her pointy smile behind one of her hands. She lets you place your hand on her hip, and she takes the free one in two of her own so you can lead. The bass lazily plunked and ba-bumped out the beat of a waltz, rocks tumbling in swing time into a babbling, meandering stream of piano notes. The two of you swirl and sway, slowly stepping to the sound, song after song, and eventually, Lula tilts up onto her toes to plant a kiss on your lips. Then another, then another, then a kiss along your jaw, and further and further along your neck, until finally she nibbles, hard, just above your collarbone. A pair of her hands squeezes your ass—almost slaps it, really—as she does it, which almost shocks you even more. She's very forward. That's good! You like someone who knows what she wants.

You let her take the lead, since she’s clearly trying to take charge. Despite her short, lithe stature, she can pull you around a fair deal, and she spins you until you start to feel a little lightheaded. The two of you, having danced yourselves dizzy, stumble your way back to the bar; you find yourself leaning on her a good bit for the trip. When you clamber onto the stool, she orders a round for the two of you. You prop yourself up on your elbow and watch her nurse her drink. She winks at you, and for a moment you feel like you might faint. Have the butterflies in your stomach been this bad all night? You glance at her glass and see that her whiskey’s just about gone, even though she’d barely been sipping it. The bartender eyes you trying to compose yourself and says something to Lula.

“Just a touch too much to drink,” you think you hear. But, you haven’t touched your own tumbler at all. You make out something about the bartender cutting you off, and you feel Lula wrapping her arms around you. She gently places your arm over her shoulders and cradles you with two of her own.

Your tab, you insist to the bartender. He waves you away, and Lula cooing in your ear is the last thing you remember as she helps you stagger to who-knows-where.

---

When you come to, you first think you’re at home, in bed—after all, where else would you be lying on something soft and tucked snugly in? You try to roll over, to sit up, to stretch your arms and twist your back, and find that you can’t do any of those things, actually. You blink the drowsy haze from your eyes and look down, finding not blankets, but thin, stretchy strips of something grayish and elastic, layered over and back on itself, keeping you pinned so tightly you can only wiggle. You’re on a bed, propped up on a few pillows, but the room is unfamiliar.

“Hey there, sleepyhead~,” calls a very familiar voice through a doorway to a side room. You can’t see what’s in there, other than a mirror and some shelves. Lula steps into view, carrying a pile of clothes or an accessory on each arm—probably some kind of walk-in closet. “I know normally, when you wake up in a stranger’s bed, you hope to hear that they made you breakfast, but I have even better news for you: we still have the fun part to get to first!”

Fun part? What, you demand, is she gonna hold you for ransom? Is she gonna start taking trophies to send back to your estate as proof? She stares at you for a few seconds, those damned fangs poking out through her slightly-agape lips. She blinks with all six eyes, and then bursts out laughing, slapping herself gently on the cheek with one of her free hands.

“Ransom? Don’t be ridiculous! You didn’t even tell me your name while we were at the club, you big lug. How the hell would I know who to tell that I had kidnapped you?”

Then what DOES she want, you snap, the silk straps stifling your angry little lunge forward like a seatbelt does a driver.

“Well, it was sweet of you to let a nobody like myself into your party. I don’t really care for the money,” she mused sashaying across the room to stand at the side of the bed. “But someone like yourself? Someone of stature? Well, consider me easily flattered, but…” She leans down to caress your cheek, sharp nails gently dragging along your skin. “I just wanted you, sweet thing. At least for a night~.”

You blink.

Well, you did say you like a woman who knows what she wants.

“That’s the spirit!” She beams, hurrying back to the closet like she forgot something. “And don’t you worry, hon, I’m gonna make it real fun for you, too! Let’s start off by slipping into something more comfortable, hm~?” Now that she mentions it, she’s still wearing the dress from the party. She lays out a tall pair of boots and three matching pairs of gloves at the foot of the bed before turning around, shooting a smoldering look at you over her shoulder. You watch as two of her hands run down her sides, over her hips, and down as far as they reach along her thighs; her topmost pair stretch around behind her back, reaching for the zipper on the dress. Slowly, tantalizingly, she allows the shoulders to fall away from each other, showing her bare skin to you; as she turns, her third pair of hands slides along her tummy and chest, settling over her chest and keeping it covered.

She wiggles her hips as the dress continues to fall, tucking another pair of hands into the bunched fabric around her torso and coaxing it the rest of the way down. Again, she brings a pair of hands to cover herself—which makes you wonder whether she had been wearing underwear at all at the party. This woman really is forward! Now utterly nude except for her own palms, she takes her last free pair of hands and picks up a pair of the gloves at your feet, sliding them on slowly, sensually, as though she were wrapping a present for you (much like she had already wrapped you up for herself). With the first pair on, she swaps out the newly-bedecked hands with the pair that was holding her breasts, raising her topmost arms high above her head as she slides on the elbow-length lingerie. Finally, she brings those top arms down, covering her breasts with her upper arms and folding her hands in her lap. She leans down, giving you a coy smile and winking at you as she dons her bottom pair of gloves.

You watch, hungrily, as she turns around again, giving you a nice look at her tight, bouncy rear. She’s slim, but boy is she soft where it counts. Now that she doesn’t have anything facing you that she needs to cover, she gives it a squeeze with her lower two hands, and then a nice, firm SMACK. You watch it jiggle, settling quickly back into place, and her smile grows wider as the skin of her cheek reddens. Carefully, without turning to show you too much, she picks up one of the boots. Holding it in two of the hands on her left side, she gingerly places her right foot into the opening. She puts on a real show of fastening it: instead of pulling it up her leg, she raises her leg up in a perfect standing split, guiding it along with one of her right hands and sliding it deeper into the boot as she holds it steady. Your jaw drops, and she giggles as she pulls the zipper. It wraps her leg snugly in its shiny, creaky leather, pinching her thigh at the top. She puts the other boot on in the same way and, now fully dressed for the occasion, turns back toward you, once again covering herself from your hungry eyes.

She climbs up onto the bed, using her two free hands to make her way up along your body on all fours, careful not to let anything slip. She straddles you, leans back, and grins mischievously down at you; her eyes ask you if you’re ready for the real show to begin, and you nod enthusiastically. She moves her lower hands—pushing gently on the insides of her thighs to spread her legs for you—and you finally get a look at her cock. It’s a cute one, only a few inches, small enough to hide behind her hand despite the fact that she’s obviously as aroused as you are. One of her middle hands tilts your chin up, guiding you to watch as she moves the last pair away from her chest, revealing a pair of small, perky, bouncy little tits.

“Do you like what you see, doll~?”

You tell her that you sure fuckin' do. Her laugh softly chimes again, and she leans down to bring her lips to yours.

“That’s a good toy. You’re gonna make me feel real good, aren’t you?” You nod. “Good toy! Let’s start with this,” she purrs, and begins to roll over on top of you. She brings her cushy ass up and leans back, half-resting on her haunches, presenting herself to you. With her ass right in your face, she gives you a very simple instruction: “Pucker up~.”

From here you can smell her; ass smells like ass, of course, but more than that, you can smell the sweat between her legs, you can smell her leaking with excitement from her cute little cock. You suspect that you also smell the same thing in her venom, whatever tempting toxin this vixen’s body cooked up that made you so loopy in the club, and it’s making you just as crazy now. You lean forward, as much as you can, and plant a kiss right on her hole, cute, pink, and smooth, just for you. You tentatively lick, then again, and again and again with more confidence, breathing deeper, wishing only that you could reach up and squeeze her ass, bury your face more deeply in it—and she grants your wish, pressing her rear into you, eager to feel more of your tongue. You tease her, and one of her hands gropes at the back of your head, digging into your hair, looking for more purchase to push you in further; you prod with your tongue, and another hand reaches down to stroke herself off. It’s muffled, between the cushions of her bed and the cushion of her behind, but her moans are like music to your ears, and you just want to hear more of them.

All the while, the wrappings around your legs have been coming undone. You can’t say whether her webs are getting less sticky over time, or if she’s been digging into the bedspread so hard that she’s been pulling them apart—hell, maybe you’re just that hard—but one way or another, your cock slips between the layers of wraps and springs up beneath her. It was hard to tell under all the homespun fabric, but it was clear as day now that she’d stripped you before getting you into bed. Not that you’re complaining now! When her eyes stop rolling around long enough for her to see it, she gasps.

“God damn, you really are a person of ‘stature’, aren’t you! Hell with the foreplay—” she mutters, hopping off of you and fetching a little bottle from the cabinet. Restraints and lingerie, sure, but lube seemed like it was out of a spider’s repertoire. She squeezed out the cool gel onto your dick and perched herself on your lap, hotdogging it. She looks down at you like she wants to spend even longer teasing you, but instead, she just huffs and reaches down to grab you, poking around for her hole with your tip. “I’m gonna get such good use outta you, toy,” she mumbles, practically giddy.

She finally lines you up and pushes herself down on you, inching deeper and deeper, until evidently you reach her sweet spot. She picks up the pace almost immediately, going from stretching herself out on you and seeing how far it’s comfortable to take you, to bouncing higher above you and lower onto your lap. In less than a minute, she’s bringing her ass all the way down to your legs, making the bed creak like a rusty old gate and making a downright maddening SLAP with each thrust. You hear her whining under her breath—fuck, fuck, fuck me, please, fuck—even though up ‘til now, she’d been doing all the work, and she seemed like she enjoyed being firmly on top. Her claws dig more and more desperately into the sheets (and your restraints) by the second, and soon enough, she’d managed to fuck you loose of all your bindings from the waist up!

As her whining reaches a fever pitch, you wriggle your ankles free of the last of the webs and lean forward to take her by the shoulders. Your touch startles her; it seems like she hadn’t realized how much she’d been tearing at her own little trap. It doesn’t matter, though. She doesn’t resist, and you’re going to give this woman exactly what she wants. In one animal motion, you flip the both of you over, pinning one pair of her hands beneath yours, as well as folding her in half beneath your hips. You keep pounding away at her, forcing out an adorable little squeal every time your tip shoves past her prostate, and she quickly loses all pretense of control. Her eyes start to beg, when they aren’t squeezed shut or sightseeing the inside of her skull. Eventually, she finds the words: Kiss me.

You oblige. One at a time, her body seems to recall how to keep asking, how to drive you, further, faster, Her legs wrap around your waist; two of her hands rake her claws along your back, earning a growl from the base of your throat; one more buries itself in your hair again, this time holding you in your embrace, keeping your lips locked to hers. Her last free hand finds its way between you, frantically fucking her fist as (if the way she’s moaning into your mouth is any indication) she gets closer and closer to cumming. Between her tight ass and the way she’s caressing every inch of you with all those deft hands, you’re getting close to the edge yourself. You pull away from the kiss to ask her if she’s ready.

“Just cum inside me! Make me YOUR toy!” Just like you have all night, you follow instructions, hilting yourself over and over, harder and harder, in her ass. She’s moaning—screaming—right in your ear now, wrapping her topmost arms around you and clutching you for dear life. You finally feel your balls tense up, and you BURST, flooding her insides with cum; she gasps, and you feel her do the same, squirting between your two tummies, twitching and writhing and mouthing yes, yes, YES, yes, YES! In the throes of her orgasm, she squeezes you harder than she has all night, pulls you closer, and sinks her pretty little fangs right into your neck one more time. You make a choked, shocked noise, more indignant than anything. You know it’s not gonna hurt you, but you kind of thought you were past this, by now! She just smiles right back at you, that same self-assured grin you had seen at the bar, and manages a wink between ragged gasps. You start to feel faint even faster than you did the first time, and you flop down on top of her. This time, the last thing you remember is her practically petting you: playing with your hair, stroking your shoulders, and whispering all sorts of sweet little things into your ears.

---

You wake up in the same bed, which, after you collect yourself and shake out the venomous hangover, you suppose makes sense. She did say she had no idea who you were. She left you home alone, though, so she doesn’t seem to mind having you around too much. There’s a little message, scrawled in lipstick in her color along your arm: her phone number, complete with a little heart. Well, you think. Who says you have to leave so soon and get back in touch later? Maybe you could surprise her with breakfast.

Plus, you could really go for round two.

Thank you for reading! If you'd like a commission of your own, my prices are here; if you'd just like to see more of my work, check here!

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jades-typurriter · 1 month

Text

Hello, all!

I wanted to share this here because when I'm not writing indulgent furry stuff, I'm making tabletop systems with a couple good friends :)

Please check out the Kickstarter page!

We do a much better job explaining the system's highlights in the properly-scripted video than I did here with my little attempt at marketing, lmao

We hope you enjoy it!

#reblog

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jades-typurriter · 1 month

Text

Hello, all!

I wanted to share this here because when I'm not writing indulgent furry stuff, I'm making tabletop systems with a couple good friends :)

Please check out the Kickstarter page!

We do a much better job explaining the system's highlights in the properly-scripted video than I did here with my little attempt at marketing, lmao

We hope you enjoy it!

#writeblr #indie author #indie ttrpg #ttrpg community #trans author #john wick #knives out #glass onion #twewy #the world ends with you #ttrpg #tabletop #action movies #kickstarter

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jades-typurriter · 1 month

Text

Checking those chompurrs.....

A lil something I drew for my story! Give it a look :3

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jades-typurriter · 1 month

Text

Of Two Minds, Chapter 1

4.6k Words

Little sequel to House Guest! Not super necessary to read that first though, but I'd appreciate it :pleading:

Takes place some time afterward. It's morning, and it's time for You to head to the mall to meet up with your good friend! Looks like someone wants to come along for the ride...

Contains possession, TF, WG, hypnosis, a tiiiny bit of reality shift, and thought manipulation

Has illustrations!!

Divided into 2 halves for Tumblr, view the full thing here >:)

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Morning comes quicker than you’d like. It always seems to. Your hands grip the sheet beneath you as you drag yourself out of your slumber. You roll over with a grunt, and you meet a beam of light as it seems to shine perfectly between the blinds. Your tail curls between your legs as you pull the blankets over your face, trying to salvage what’s left of your sleep. It’s ultimately in vain, and you eventually find yourself sitting up. You let out a low groan as you run your hand through your hair, wiping a few strands away from your face. You ought to get up - you know you ought to - but you find yourself sitting there for at least a few minutes, eyes closed, as you idly knead your blankets. An urge strikes you, and you arch your back, letting out a drawn out, mewling yawn as you give your arms and legs a much-needed stretch. As you smack your lips, a single thought crosses your mind…

‘I’m so thirsty…’

A glance at your clock gives you enough motivation to slip out of bed. You scratch your back, barely mustering the energy to stand up straight as you trudge your way to the kitchen. You were thirsty, sure, but you’re also pretty hungry. You take a quick look in the fridge, and your eyes immediately land on a jug of milk. Just what you need.

Swiping that, and a box of cereal from the pantry, you get to work crafting your breakfast. It’s hard work for sure, but you persevere. You pour a bit of cereal and a lot of milk, and you spend a few minutes lapping it up – taking breaks to idly browse the internet on your phone. Once you finish, you opt to make your way to the bathroom to freshen up. You let out a grumble as you run your hand through your shaggy, curly hair. You need a shower. When was the last time you washed it anyway…? As you enter the bathroom, your eye catches a flash of purple in the mirror. It stops you in your tracks, and you whip round to face the cat in the mirror. Blinking your wide, turquoise eyes, you lean against the sink as you draw closer. You wiggle your button nose, running a hand across your fuzzy cheek in wonder. Your ears, those fluffy little triangles poking through the top of your mane, swivel and flatten as your tail coils against the floor.

Oh my god… You’d almost forgotten, hadn’t you?

You open your mouth and study the inside of your maw as you lick your sharp, feline teeth. You’d almost forgotten about your night with Spectre – that cerulean ghost. How long has it been since then? A few months at least? Ever since you met her, you had never been the same.

Literally, you think as you look down at your chest. Most of your body is a faded periwinkle, but your chest, middle, and the end of your tail are a dusty, light purple. You give your chest a gentle heft, letting out a sigh through your nose as your cheeks turn a darker purple… Your thumbs – at least you still had those – sift through your fur as you revel in how soft you feel. You sway your hips – they’re a little wider than they used to be, you think. Your ears instinctively swivel as they catch the sound of a far-off birdsong. It’s all become second nature to you. From the weight of your tail behind you, the feeling of your fur against your body, and the steadily rising purr in your chest, it’s a wonder that you forgot you were a cat. Or…

As you direct your attention back towards the mirror, and think back to the way you reacted, you ponder it some more. Maybe, in a way, you’ve gotten so used to your new body that you forgot you were ever human at all.

“Hmm,” you give a concerned hum. You weren’t sure where the sudden existentialism came from. Scratching your head, digging your nails—claws, into your hair, you figure it’s much too early for that kind of introspection. You meander your way into the shower, sliding your hand along the tile wall until it reaches the handle. You turn it on, and let out a sigh as warm water falls onto you. Your shoulders deflate and you angle your head up, eyes closed as you just. Stand there for a while, soaking in the water and warmth. You remember hearing somewhere that cats don’t like water, but that clearly doesn’t apply to you. Good thing too – you aren’t sure how you’d manage if you couldn’t shower. You suppose that you could… Lick yourself?

You grimace a little as you imagine yourself bending over, leg outstretched, dragging your tongue through your fur... Hheughh. You could never do that. …Though, you’ve also never really tried, have you?…

You wrangle your thoughts away from how you would taste, returning to the feeling of water soaking through your fur. If there’s one thing you realized a few months ago, during one of your first showers in your new body, it’s that you feel heavy when you’re soaked. Your tail lazily sways behind you, brushing the floor… Your waterlogged hair hangs over your face and clings to it, prompting you to brush it out of the way as you reach for the shampoo. Your paw nearly hits an old bottle of body wash, causing you to pause. You don’t exactly need it now that you’re covered in hair.

You spend the next few minutes running a hairdryer over your body, purring quietly as you then comb your fingers through your fur. Compared to before, it feels much softer now! If a little damp. Looking in the mirror, you take a bit to fuss over your hair. You pick up your brush and drag it through your mane. You gently pull it through your curly locks, carefully undoing any snags you encounter. You continue to brush it, then comb it a bit, before settling on a fluffy bob-cut. You… take a second to admire yourself in the mirror, puffing your hair up with your hands. You put them together, shuddering from the way your fuzzy chest squishes between your arms. You look so girly, you feel so girly, and?

“Mrrr~rrow~?” You experiment.

Well, you don’t sound very girly. At least, you don’t think so.

You let out a disappointed hum. As you hear your voice for a second time, something in your chest sinks. Your voice comes with an unmistakably boyish tinge. It’s a little deeper than you’d expect from a body like yours. It’s not as soft or silky smooth as you’d like it to be…

But, you think that that’s okay. You just, had to make sure. It comes naturally, at any rate. Feeling your meows rumble up and past your tongue fills you with the warmest sense of affirmation. Collecting your striped tail in your arms, you play with it as you pitter-patter your way back to the kitchen, giggling and meowing along the way. Today’s going to be such a fun day! You had a lot planned. First, you’re going to wait for your fur to completely dry. Then, you’ll go out to meet your best friend, Roy! You recall that he wanted to go to the mall with you about… four months ago, by your judgement. Of course, that was before he found out about your sudden change in lifestyle.

Understandably, you two never went to the mall that day.

It wasn’t that he was against your transition. You two just spent the day talking about, well, you instead. It was a weird time for you - it still is - but he was there to support you.

Then, work started to get in the way for both of you. You were at least thankful that your boss was understanding towards you and your changes, but – your hours have only gotten longer. You think that maybe he sees you as more of a mascot than anything.

But never mind that! You brush those negative thoughts aside as you enter the kitchen. You pull a chair and sit down, paw on your chin. Glancing at the clock on the wall, you still had some time before you ought to head out. What should you do now…?

Suddenly, your chair shifts beneath you. It sways and wobbles, behaving more like jello than wood. It nearly knocks you off completely, but two paws emerge from the wood to wrap around your middle. You let out a confused meowl as they give you a tight squeeze.

“My, my…~ Mew’ve gotten fatter. Nyaaa, softer too... What’s meowr secret, hm?~”

You’d know that voice anywhere. That smoothness, the rumbling undercurrent it possesses. Not to mention the constant cat puns. Your chest seems to lighten as you recognize it. Looking down, you’d find a cat oozing partway out of your chair. Her paws squeeze your soft middle, kneading it like fuzzy dough. She rubs her cheek against your side, vibrating against you with content little purrs. She looks a bit like you, you think. Her mouth curls into a smile as her dark, monstrous eyes look up at you.

“S--… Spect~aahhh?!” You open your mouth, but you’re thrust into the air as Spectre jumps out of your chair. Her paws, hooked beneath your arms, turn you around and pull you into a nice, soft hug. Her ‘fur’ feels just as soft and ethereal as you remember. Your ears angle just a bit lower as you hear, and feel, her steady purrs. For some reason you join her, purring as well. You’re not sure why – maybe it’s purely instinct, but you can’t deny how nice it feels as your voices start to harmonize. Your thoughts begin to drift back to that night - the night she invaded not just your house, but your personal space as well. By all metrics, it was the weirdest night of your life. So why are you smiling?

“Someone’s missed me.~ Prrrr…~” She coos, smirking as you nuzzle against her cheek.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask in turn, looking up at her, “I thought you’d never come back.”

“Why wouldn’t I? Mew’re too cute to just leave alone. Mwrrrr.~” She lilts, gently setting you down. You find yourself shuffling in place, twiddling your fingers.

“A,Am I really cu—"

“But,” she continues, putting up a paw, “I’m also quite bored, truth be told… Compared to m’your life, the Nyafterlife is so boring.” Oh, she even finds you interesting? This is not helping your flustery little episode.

“O,Oh, well,” you stammer, glancing around for something to do as you stroke your tail, “Well—Um, make yourself at home?” You offer, “I was about to go out, but… um. Yeah.” You look away a bit, cheeks ablush, and Spectre lets out a most interested coo.

“Going meowt, hmm?~” She lilts, splaying herself out in the air. “And where might mew be going? Can I come with?~”

“Just to the mall,” you reply, pulling one of your locks aside with an airy chuckle, “I, um, figured I haven’t gone out in a while, y’know, and— Wait.” Your gaze whips back toward your guest. “…You, wannya come with me?” You repeat her words slowly, trying to pick out any hidden meaning. Spectre must’ve seen the look on your face, because you hear her start to giggle.

“Nya’of course! There’s nyathing wrong with that, is there?” She asks, paw on her cheek. She floats around you, brushing her pawpads against your fur. You try not to shiver.

“Well-- Mew’re a ghost!” You offer, “Mew–... You, can’t just show up in public! …Can mew?” The idea hadn’t occurred to you before! But, you could imagine that a ghost just, flying around in full view would be… Well, it’d attract a lot of attention for sure.

“Mnyaa, I don’t see why nyot…” She muses, “Who’s to say they wouldn’t take a liking to me, nya? Nyafter all, mew sure did.~” Her uncharacteristically thoughtful expression shifts into a much more familiar grin as she floats closer to you. It was hard to explain how, but her presence is tangible. It’s as though she has an invisible aura, one that never fails to make you feel flustered. Shy. Vulnerable. Your pointy ears flatten as your tail starts to coil around your leg. As you lift that long, fluffy, thoroughly catlike appendage to hold it between your purple paws, you at least have to admit… She has a point.

“But.~” She begins anew, snapping your attention back to her, “Purrhaps mew make a point as well. It would draw a bit too much attention, wouldn’t it? What if I…?” She trails off, and you watch as she begins to glow in the morning light. Her paws and chest, as soft as they were already, lose their definition. Her wispy tail widens and begins to solidify as a pair of legs begin to form from her narrowing hips. She puts a paw – a forepaw – to her hair, pushing it up and aside. That azure and white-tipped mane recedes and dissipates, leaving a shower of sparkles in its wake. Spectre’s ears, now without any hair in the way, flick and swivel.

“So.” She takes a step towards you, a most confident smirk on her face. “Pwrrrrr, I think this will do… What about mew, what does this one think?~”

Spectre stands before you, on all fours, resembling an actual cat. …If a cat was blue. And was also as tall as your chest.

“...Spectre,” you carefully enunciate, putting your paws up as she steps closer, “I, don’t think this will work.”

“Mrrrp? Why ever nyot?” She lilts. With a pwomf, she presses up against you, standing on her toes for extra height. “People own cats, right?~ Mwrrr, and they love to take them nyout fur walks in the park. Or the mall. Or wherever it is they go.~”

“Spectre,” you give her a pointed look, “How many cats do you see that are, what, four feet tall?” She tilts her head. Judging from her expression, you wonder if she might finally see your point. But then, her mouth curls into an unnerving, feline smile. Ohh, no. You don’t know where this is going, but it gives you a feeling similar to watching a car crash about to happen.

“Oh, I see.” She gives a little huff. “Do mew nyot think this will work then? In that case…” The cat begins to glow, and your fur bristles as she grows bigger, bigger, bigger. Where she was nearly as tall as you before, she towers above you now. Her glow subsides just before her head can bump the ceiling.

“Nyaaa. How’s this?~” Spectre asks, tilting her head and giving her lips a lick. She lays down in front of you, deftly wrapping her forelegs behind you. You flinch as one of her massive paws bumps against your back. Each one is as wide as your body is tall, easily pushing you closer to her waiting face. You bump against her nose, and you let out a forceful hwumph as you bend against it. With an innocent chirp, she firmly nuzzles you, sifting and sniffing her nose through the soft fur on your belly, stopping for only a moment as it bumps up to the bottom of your chest.

“S,Spectre.” Your cheeks tinging a deep purple, you run your hands down the length of her snout. Her nose isn’t really that long, at least proportionally, but all the same, your arms almost fully extend before your hands reach the base of it. She was just that big. Her breath feels warm against your body, and you again suppress the urge to shudder. It’s all you can do to maintain your composure. “I, r,respectfully, think you’re going a little overbb~ooo~oo~aaahh,,,,~~”

You gasp as she begins to vibrate. Her massive purrs worm their way deep into you, before vibrating right out the other side. You could feel your own thoughts rumble and blur as your body vibrates incessantly. At some point, you begin to purr too, spurred to join your good friend in this shared bliss… Spectre’s rumbles fall into a rhythm that ebbs and flows. You feel compelled to follow her lead, eyelids fluttering as you struggle to stay at least halfway cognizant. You lean forward and over the tip of her nose. Her large eyes, completely abyssal if not for her yellow irises, angle to look at you. Her purrs stop for a moment, if only so she could crack an amused grin.

“Poor kitten…” She muses, as quietly as she can, yet her voice sounds as though it’s all around you.

“Hhmnn…~ Mmnn~nyaa…~” Is all that your soupy brain can form in response. Everything just feels… really soft nyow. You feel safe. You feel warm, all over.~ You’re more aware of the softness of your fur, the sensation of your tail as it curls in the air behind you, and the soft fibers of Spectre’s ghostly fur as you knead it with your paws. You’re almost addicted to it, which is why a swirling sense of disappointment dwells in you as she lifts her head, out of your reach. Her massive mitts, securely keeping you in one spot up to this point, turn you around. You note their overwhelming strength, and but also the immense care she must be taking in order to manipulate you this way. Almost like a doll. She gives you a gentle squeeze, forcing an especially spirited purr out of you as her vibrant blue paw pads squish against your chest and belly. Though you were facing away from her now, you could feel her presence behind you. Her warm miasma grows more and more intense as her face draws closer. Her nose brushes through your hair so it can press against the back of your neck, lovingly rubbing up and down. By the time her lips press up to you, you feel the urge to say something to her, but your mind is too scrambled to figure it out. And, as if that isn’t enough…

Pwrrrrrrr… Prrrrrrrr… Prrrrrrrrrrr…~

Squeezing you tighter, she pushes herself against the back of your neck, and begins her purrs anew, sending them directly into you and down your spine. You arch your back, fur standing on end, before you feel yourself turn to jelly. You think you start to drool at some point, but your head is too full of that rumbling cacophony for you to care. You mewl with a pitiful softness, moaning as your vision begins to blur. You hardly have the presence of mind to think about it, but it’s a wonder that you haven’t completely blacked out. Purring is all you know, and you purr in harmony with your captor. You’re compelled to buck your hips as you feel something tense up down there. You feel like you’re on fire, yet in the deepest bliss you’d ever known. It was like an EMP hit your head, fuzzing away any and all coherent thought, and leaving only the most soothing, reaffirming kitty feelings in their place. It’s a hypnotic soup of feelings, and you’re totally lost in the sauce.

Soon, the purring that forms your entire world tapers off. You try to take stock of your situation, but your bleary eyes don’t help matters. Spectre hums, considering something from the sound of it. You splay your hands out, before balling them up, then splaying them out again, marveling at just how like, fuzzy they are… Your paw pads feel funny when you clench them, and you love the way your claws feel when they slip out from the ends of your digits. Like, how does that work, y’know? You giggle, and you wipe the drool from the edge of your wobbly smile. However it works, it feels good to do. You hear Spectre quietly giggle, then nudge your neck again. Before you can get your sluggish thoughts together, to ask her what’s wrong, you feel something sharp gently bite the back of your neck.

Then, you go limp.

Spectre scruffs you, lifting you off the ground. You try to move your arms, your legs, your head, but your body refuses to respond. You’re powerless but to go along with her as she carries you out of your kitchen, towards the living room. You end up on your couch with a muffled thud, rubbing your cheeks as you slowly regain your senses. What just happened?

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Spectre lilts as she effortlessly slips beneath you. You find yourself lying atop her, resting your head atop her pillowy chest, “We could spend nyall meowrning like this, couldn’t we?~”

All morning… all morning… Wait.

Oh my gosh, you almost forgot.

“I gotta--…” You grunt as you get up – as much as you hate to leave a spot so comfy. Your knees wobble as you stand. Clearly, your body was still recovering from the experience you just went through. “I was gonnya,,, gonna meet someone today! What… Mwrrr,” you purr out some residual rumbles, rubbing the side of your head, “What time is it?”

Spectre almost looks disinterested as she flips her paw, staring at her bare wrist.

“Looks to be nyearly 11 o’clock, dearest, but are mew sure mew can’t spare a little more time~?” She offers. As much as you’d love to, more than you yourself even know, you shake your head.

“Spectre, listen, I… Um, I’ve been looking furward—forward to this fur a long time. And I don’t think you can really, well, come with? Being a cat and all.” You blush as you offer the best explanation you can, fighting through your own reluctance at having to decline her. A blush that only deepens as she giggles.

“Nyaaaa’rling, I do hope mew realize… Mew’re nyot nyexactly inconspicuous mewrself, mrrr~?”

Your ears lower. You rub your arm, remembering just how fuzzy you are.

“Oh. Right, but—”

“But that’s nyalright,” she cuts you off with a nonchalant flick of her paw, “I’ll just hitch a ride instead, hmm?~”

“Mew’ll hitch a ri—…” She said it with such a casual air that it took a second for your silly little head to catch up, “Mew’re gonna do what?”

But it was already too late. With a swift motion, Spectre wraps her arms around your middle as she floats behind you. You couldn’t help but let out a meek squeak as she gives you a hearty squeeze, securing you within a surprisingly soft hug. Her chin rests on your shoulder, and the feeling of her massive chest rubbing up and down your back makes you shudder.

“S~Spectre…? Mew’re, nyot really gonnya…” Your plea fizzles out as you look to your left, at her. From the corner of your eye, she gives you a sly look to combat your wry, flustered grin. You blush… You could still vividly remember the last time it happened. Or at least, parts of it. You were so out of it, the possession itself was more of a blur. You aren’t sure if you’re ready for the full experiohmygod.

Spectre unclasps her paws, releasing her grip before you feel her just phase right into your back. You let out a surprised, shaky “Mnnyaa~aa~aa!?” as you feel her shove her way inside. It’s a tight fit. Her wispy tail wiggles nakedly in the air behind your back for a bit, before managing to slip in. You could feel her energy spread and permeate through your body, bringing an odd warmth along with it. Your rub your shoulders to try and pat down your bristling fur, but… but…

Um, what were you… doing?...

You blink a few times, trying to recall what just happened to you, but your thoughts feel slow to form. They feel amorphous, floaty, scrambled... Your head feels… um… full…? You idly rub your unfocused eyes. It’s as though your thoughts are being pushed out of your own head.

“Mmyaa, sorry, sorry.~” comes a thought, “I thiiiink I’m taking up too much space.~”

“Hmmnh,? Mmrrr,,,?” You murmur in reply. Immediately, the fog recedes. Your eyes begin to focus. “Spectre?”

“Mrrp?”

“…This is your plan? Purr~ssessing me?” You ask, tilting your head slightly. “…A-Again,” you make sure to add.

“Mmmmhrrrmm.~” comes a purring thought. A thought you’re pretty sure you didn’t think, now that you think about it - but, it is one you thought anyway. “Don’t think of it as purrssession. Really, I’m just tagging along, nya~ I wannya see what myour daily prr~routine is like! Mew’re hanging out with that cute guy today too, aren’t nya? I’d love to meet him too.~”

“Are… you sure?” You ask, rubbing your shoulders some more. Even if she isn’t in front of you, you could see the smug, catlike look coming off her. Especially so now that she was… well, inhabiting your body. “Wait, how did you know I was meeting someone?”

“Just purr~etend I’m nyot even here.~” She reassures purringly. “I’m just a passenger.~”

“Well… nyalright,” you acquiesce. The fact she ignored your question isn’t lost on you. You wanted to pursue the question, but… You think you know the answer already. “Just, don’t do anything, y’know, weird.”

“Weird? Me? Yoww, I can’t believe you’d think of me that way.~ Noooooo.~” Spectre coos. Hearing her voice in your own head makes it hard not to blush. Despite everything, her words are… oddly soothing? You’re sure that you’d be able to catch her if she tried anything... In fact, you know you will.

You awkwardly stand for a few moments, rubbing your arm as you take stock. You were a little tired before, but now? You feel quite good, actually! More than good. You look yourself over, glad to see that you aren’t too tousled up after what happened.

“Okay.” You take a deep breath, “…Okay. I’m normal. I’m, so normal.” You can’t quite take your mind off the fact that you’re literally possessed now, but. Unlike last time, you’re still in control. Which is good! You feel just about ready to head out too. Just one more thing, though…

“What should I wear…?” You wonder aloud, looking down at yourself. Even though your transition was a few weeks ago, you still haven’t gotten around to changing your wardrobe. You aren’t even sure what would fit a catgirl like yourself. You definitely couldn’t wear your old shoes anymore. You’ve tried that. Even still, you’re sure that you have a few clothes that you could make work.

You hum as you weigh your options… Maybe a shawl could work, or a jacket of some kind? You’re pretty sure you have at least one of those. Then again…

Something tickles at the back of your mind, causing your thoughts’ tempo to skip and stutter. A warm feeling wells up in your chest, bubbling up until…

“Naaah.~” The word just slips out between your lips, and you crack an adorable little smirk. Who’re you kidding? You look good like this. Between your periwinkle fluff, your subtle stripes along your shoulders and upper arm, and that adorably white tummy, why would you want to hide any of it? Your clothes hardly fit you anyway.

You find yourself taking a few moments to just, admire your own body. Squeezing your pudge, you almost wish you had more of it… You’d feel really comfy, then…

“Ah! Right,” you shake your head. It’s as though your thoughts are returning to you. Weren’t you about to head out? You’d best get on that.

Continued in Chapter 2.

#OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK #ITS REAL ITS LIVE ITS HAPPENING

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jades-typurriter · 1 month

Text

Filling In for the Boss

Something I wrote for my bestie Bowsiosaurus involving my own cast of OCs. Vee enjoys the scenario of finding verself having simply REPLACED an existing character, and experiencing reality catching up with the change and making ver "fit" into that character's spot. This time vee replaced one of my characters! I hope you enjoy that process, as well as getting to see more of the Lapras Lounge =^w^=

CW: Big Lady TF

Here's a little art vee did, as an eye-catch for ny'all <3

Bowsie, not for the first time, and likely not for the last, awoke in a room that wasn’t vers.

An unfamiliar alarm clock was what roused the little sea serpent from ver slumber; the second giveaway was just how dark it was. Usually, in ver own room, there was at least some light leaking in through the window. As vee slithered out from under the covers—the mattress was a lot stiffer than vee was used to, vee noticed—and felt around the room, vee followed a tiny sliver of sunlight that traced the edge of a large windowsill. Pulling back the thick, heavy crushed-velvet curtains, vee found verself looking out at the skyline of a large city: skyscrapers in the distance, a busy street a few stories beneath ver feet, and the sun hanging low in the sky, casting a hazy yellow glow over the world.

Well, vee thought to verself, I guess that’s one clue as to whose life I’ve stumbled into this time. They must be well-off to afford a place like this. Ver eyes swept across the now-illuminated room—it wasn’t opulent, but it was spacious, and in a high-rise in what looked like a downright metropolis. The covers were thin, but quite soft, and embroidered with tasteful geometric designs that reminded Bowsie of the sorts of fabrics vee saw in movies from the 1920’s. That told them something about the owner’s tastes, but…

What kind of person sets an alarm for six o’clock in the afternoon? Vee wondered. At least vee woke up on time for whatever this person’s schedule looked like. Now the only question was, what did vee have to go and do on their behalf?

Vee decided vee would start looking for clues in the closet. Vee jittered slightly as vee approached what looked like a walk-in—yet another sign that this was somebody with a bit of money, and one who cared about looking respectable, at that. This part was always something of a thrill; it wasn’t so much that vee was invading somebody’s privacy, doing something that should’ve been “off-limits”. After all, it’s not like there was anybody around whose privacy could be violated. Once Bowsie showed up, it was only a matter of time before it was ver personal spaces, anyway!

No, more than that, it was the suspense of getting an idea of who vee was about to become. It didn’t help that vee had a knack for being transported into the lives of older… larger… very, very attractive women. The thought that vee would cease to be verself in as quickly as a few hours, and be someone much more experienced, much more confident instead… it never failed to send butterflies fluttering through ver light-scaled tummy.

Vee reached ver stubby paw toward the handle—one of the last times vee would be seeing it, vee faintly registered—and slid the door open to find a large, neatly-organized collection of professional wear. Pantsuits, blazers, pencil skirts, a handful of nightgowns—all, as vee had hoped predicted, several sizes too big for ver as vee was now. Was she some kind of executive? A politician? This was certainly modest housing for ver idea of a CEO, and not quite as secure as vee would expect for someone in a high-profile position, so vee didn’t quite think that was it. Still, it was clear that she was the boss of something, and that she not only had the cash to amass a collection of formalwear like this, but good reason for it to see frequent use. Vee was really going to have to fake it till vee made it, this time around…

Vee reached up again and unhooked one of the simpler, more modest outfits from the rack: a blouse, a straight skirt, and a pair of pumps. While most of the time, vee didn’t need to cover much to stay modest, that didn’t tend to stay true as a day like this progressed, and vee could tell by the size of this woman that there would be a lot for vee to cover. Laying it out on the bed and closing the door behind ver, vee ambled out of the room in search of something a bit more actionable as far as what vee’d be responsible for this evening.

The entryway to the apartment had a number of prominently-displayed pieces of memorabilia along the walls, as well as a few upholstered seats. Whoever owned the place, it was apparently where she hosted guests, or at least was the first thing she wanted them to see if they ever stopped briefly in. Most of them were autographed photographs of a number of people that Bowsie didn’t recognize: a stout Purugly who oozed self-confidence even from the faded glossy paper on which she was pictured; a slender, graceful Altaria featured on a framed piece of instant-development film; a Floatzel, in full color rather than the sepiatone or yellowed paper from the 60’s or 80’s, whose headshot looked like it could’ve been printed yesterday. A further look around confirmed this—their debut posters were mounted in mock marquis frames, like the advertisements outside a movie theater, and the Floatzel’s first performance was someplace called the “Lapras Lounge” just a couple years ago.

Was this woman some kind of… talent agent? It’d make sense for someone like that to live in the middle of the city, and vee supposed it would make decent money. If the Lounge belonged to her, it would also explain the scale of her wardrobe—a Lapras could get up to five hundred pounds! Though, Bowsie had dealt with enough older women to know never to bring up a fact like that to one of their faces (even if vee did find the fact to be very fun). In any case, now all vee had to do was figure out where the Lounge was! Or at least, how to get in touch with one of the employees… The Floatzel seemed like a safe bet.

A small table near the door held most of her day-to-day necessities: a purse, her cell phone (plugged in somewhere apart from her room—she must have had some firm boundaries between her personal life and her “day” job), a pair of reading glasses, so on and so forth. Vee unlocked the phone, pausing as vee realized that certain, habitual things were already slipping into ver mind. Vee really didn’t have much time to get everything in order, did vee? Of course, once everything went through and they fully took over for this woman, vee would just handle everything exactly as she would, but the both of them would be late if vee didn’t get the show on the road now. Collecting verself, vee began scrolling through the phone’s contacts until vee saw one that matched the name on the poster: Eleanor Ángeline. The phone rang a few times, then clicked through to the other end.

“Donna?” came a silky voice on the other end. “You don’t usually call last-minute like this. Is the program different tonight?”

“H-hi, um, Eleanor,” the serpent haltingly replied, struggling to keep ver voice from coming out with the tone of a question. Vee cleared ver throat and tried again: “I just wanted to ask, how were you planning on getting to, to w-work? Tonight?”

“I was just going to drive. What, did so many VIPs decide to drop in on a moment’s notice that I won’t be able to fit?”

“Oh, no! I just—” vee fumbled around for an excuse, and spotted a way to kill two birds with one stone. “I just, was wondering! Would you be able to drive me tonight?”

“Are you feeling sick or something, Donna? You sound a bit different. Your voice keeps catching.”

“Uh—yes! Yes, I’m a little… under the weather, tonight,” vee said, craning ver neck up at the ceilings that were clearly built for someone at least twice ver height.

“Well, it’s not like you to ask for help, either, so it must be pretty bad. Are you sure you’re alright to open at eight?”

“Theeeeee… show must go on?”

“Ha! Now that sounds like you. Let me know if you want me to pick up some cold medicine or something on my way over.” The connection went quiet, and Bowsie’s shoulders relaxed. Either vee was changing a bit quicker than vee thought vee would, or vee was getting better at guessing how ver “host” usually acted. Either way, vee knew vee had to be ready within the hour—city traffic was never fun, and for all vee knew, Eleanor would try to pick ver up early for whatever pre-show preparation she and Donna—her name was Donna! Vee’d have to keep that in mind—usually did. Wait, she had asked whether vee could “open”... vee dearly hoped vee hadn’t gotten it backwards, and that Eleanor was the headliner to ver opening act. Too late now, though. Hopefully, if vee had to go onstage, it’d be after Donna had fully returned.

Bowsie’s confidence in ver Donna act faltered when Eleanor finally arrived. The poster didn’t do her justice—the way her dress and her fluffy tails flowed as she walked her self-assured walk made her seem as though she was always gliding through the water, right at home anywhere she went. She was pretty, too, and her voice was much nicer to listen to when it wasn’t filtered through the tinny grain of a phone line. It didn’t help that she was a head taller than Bowsie—any woman vee had to tilt ver head up to speak to was enough to kick ver heart rate up at least a notch.

The ride itself was mostly uneventful. Thankfully, Eleanor already knew the way, else Bowsie would’ve had to scramble around trying to figure out Donna’s address. Luckier still, the car was clearly made for someone Eleanor’s size. Her brow furrowed as she watched Bowsie climb into the seat—it was a comfortable fit for the little sea dragon, but surely couldn’t have accommodated Donna’s typical form. When vee was all buckled in, though, she seemed to put the thought aside, and sat down herself to start the car. The one exception to the calm ride—as calm as Bowsie could keep verself, silently hoping that Eleanor wouldn’t as her maybe-boss anything too important that Bowsie hadn’t figured out yet—was when she spoke up a few minutes away from their destination.

“Hey, Donna,” she hazarded, apparently unsure of herself. It was a strange look on her, even for someone who had only known her for a half an hour.

“Y-yes?”

“I’m gonna be honest with you: I know you said it wasn't happening, but I psyched myself out a little bit thinking about a crowd full of big names, earlier. I don’t think I’d freeze up or anything, but it’d sure be a lot more stressful to go out in front of them. Do you… do you think I’m ready for that sort of thing? Talent scouts and other artists?”

Bowsie froze. Mercifully, Eleanor could only bring herself to glance over in ver direction—it was as though she was as afraid of the answer as Bowsie was of getting it wrong. That, and she had to keep her eyes on the road. It gave the dragon a little breathing room, but it still wasn’t much time to think. Vee would have to word this very carefully.

“How much have you practiced, Eleanor?” Eleanor took it as rhetorical, but Bowsie was honestly relieved just to be able to ASK a question at this point.

“Years.”

“So wouldn’t you say you’ve prepared a whole lot?”

“Yeah, I know I have. You know I have,” she said, wrongly. “But it still feels like I don’t have it down. Sometimes I feel more like an actor than a singer, ahah.” Bowsie chuckled too, trying to sound more reassuring than awkward.

“Well, if it helps at all, I know how it feels to pretend you’re somebody you’re not.”

“Really? You? Donna?”

“Mhm,” said Bowsie. “Eventually, it’ll just… It’ll just come to you. Like you knew it all along. It’ll just click into place and you’ll feel like a whole new person, but you’ll still be the same one you’ve always been. You’ll just know who that person is.”

“You make it sound so simple. I guess you’re right, though, that it’s almost like muscle memory… Eventually, you practice so much, it’s like you can’t not have the skills you need. Like riding a bike, right? And you just gotta… have faith that it’ll be there when you need it. It’s not like it’ll go anywhere, right? Just gotta… get used to the feeling.”

“You won’t even second-guess it, soon enough!”

“Ha!” Eleanor barked another little laugh. “I sure hope not. I’m gonna have to really put my game face on tonight, I think. But thank you, Donna.”

Bowsie nodded, then turned to face the window, hoping that Eleanor didn’t notice how much ver shoulders relaxed as soon as the attention was off ver. That was certainly one of the closer calls; it was rare vee had to outright guess ver way through a conversation, let alone such a sensitive one!

When they finally pulled up to the Lounge, Eleanor circled around to the back and parked her car in the rear. They only had about 45 minutes before opening, and Eleanor had to get ready; she got out of the car and walked up a few steps into a backdoor. Through it, Bowsie could see what looked like the trappings of a dressing room: a mirror, a dresser, some clothes, and curtains along one of the walls. Best not to follow her in there, then. Thankfully, she was already gone, and didn’t see ver turning a darker shade of blue at the thought.

Instead, vee tried the other door; one of the keys in Donna’s purse opened it for ver, leading ver into an office full of chic furniture and slightly-more-dated fixtures. Several pads of paper sat beside a dusty computer monitor; a rolodex sat on the corner of the desk. Before vee could get too good of a look around, though, vee heard a distant thumping, and left to investigate. Passing through a wide-open restaurant floor, a bar to ver left and the stage and a few rows of tables to ver right, vee approached the source of the sound: an agitated-looking Snubbull woman pounding on the tall, glass double-doors.

“Excuse me,” she cried as Bowsie unlocked the door to speak to her, “are you the manager? I’ve got a flier here that says you all open at 7 PM. I’ve been waiting here for over FIFTEEN MINUTES!”

Bowsie blinked at her, still poking ver head out from halfway behind the door. Given that Donna had the keys to the place, vee assumed that she was the manager—that vee was the manager, now—but vee wasn’t quite sure what this woman wanted from ver? Vee was pretty sure she was wrong about the opening time, too. Maybe it was the wrong day of the week, or maybe the flier was just outdated, but vee was pretty sure that Eleanor knew more about the schedule than this lady did. At the very least, she knew more than Bowsie!

“Mmmmmay I see the flier?” vee asked, forcing a polite tone.

“Oh, you need the flier now? It’s your restaurant, don’t you know when it’s supposed to open?!”

“I just, thought there might have been a mistake—”

“So you’re calling me ILLITERATE now. What WONDERFUL service!” Okay, what was her problem? Bowsie couldn’t tell whether this was genuinely about the time—she seemed entitled enough or that to be the case—or if she was just looking for a problem. Vee rubbed the bridge of ver nose, trying not to show too much frustration.

“I, okay, I’m very sorry, ma’am.” She huffed and crossed her arms. Apparently, the customer service voice was what she wanted to hear, but she didn’t seem satisfied. “We still don’t open until 8 PM, but can we offer you a drink once we do open?” She opened her mouth, probably to say something about how she should HOPE a bar would offer her a drink. “On the house! Uh, of course.”

Her lip curled, showing off one of her stubby little teeth in an obstinate snarl. After a moment scowling that way, though, it seemed to be enough to placate her. She threatened to “ask for the manager again” if she wasn’t served promptly when she came back, then stormed off down the street. Bowsie pitied whoever’s business she was going to patronize—be patronizing in, really—but was glad vee didn’t have to deal with her anymore. Vee groaned under ver breath, shuffling ver way back inside and toward the office; vee still wasn’t quite sure what it was vee was supposed to be doing at the Lounge.

Across from the door to Donna’s office was a wall of shelves, capped with a file cabinet adjacent to her desk. Given the state of the PC, and the organized but intimidatingly-large piles of paper surrounding it, Bowsie figured that any indication as to recent business would be more likely written down by hand than typed out into a text file or a spreadsheet. Vee sighed; that would make it much more of a pain to track down… Vee understood why someone older would want to do things with pen and paper, between old habits and the difficulty of keeping up with the nuances of ever-changing software menus, but honestly, just having a search function makes it more than worth it compared to all this!

Still, as vee shuffled through papers, poking ver nose over the edge of one of the drawers and rifling through sheets of paper with their fingertips, vee couldn’t deny the appeal. There was something satisfying about having the fruits of your organizational work in ver fins, and sometimes it felt like ver brain latched onto things better if vee had a physical location to attach to them. Plus, something about the system Donna used just… clicked! It made it easy to find the sorts of things they were wondering about—inventory, schedules, order forms for food and drinks. Luckily, the Lounge was probably stocked for at least tonight, so vee wouldn’t have to figure all this out right away. Vee had plenty of time to keep sifting through all this and familiarizing themself with it.

Well, vee would have, if vee wasn’t interrupted by an airy voice from over ver shoulder.

“Pardon the intrusion—” she began.

“GRAWAWA!” The poor sea critter jumped, whirling around as papers fluttered from ver fins.

“Ah. Sorry to startle you.” Before ver was… something in the shape of a Gardevoir, with skin the color of the night sky, arrayed in shimmering skirts that twinkled as brightly as its smokey, wispy tiara.

“How, um! How did you get in here? I thought I was the only one who was supposed to have the keys.”

“Are you supposed to have those keys?” She asked. Her tone wasn’t accusatory; more matter-of-fact than anything. “You don’t seem like you’re from around here, little one.”

“O-oh! You can tell?” Vee paused. “Um, how?”

“Well… I’m not from around here, either. I don’t think it’s quite the same, but I can see things most people can’t.” She glided across the floor, leaning down toward Bowsie. “You happened to catch my eye.” Those eyes, burning like stars, scanned Bowsie up and down; it wasn’t the same look of confusion as had crossed Eleanor’s face earlier, but more like the way somebody appraises a painting, or ponders a puzzle. “Where’s Donna?”

“I… Hm. I haven’t really thought about that.” When the Gardevoir cocked an eyebrow at ver, vee put ver fins up defensively. “GRAWAWI didn’t DO anything to her! Just to be clear! I think I technically am her, now? Or at least, I’m in her spot. So to speak.” She squinted; one of her hands went from where it rested, crossed in front of her chest, and rubbed her chin instead.

“...That does seem to be the case,” she finally concluded. “Interesting! I haven’t seen anything like that before.”

“Do you see other strange things often?”

“Well, I don’t mean to boast, but I might be the strangest thing you run into here. I’m something of a… bedtime story. A local legend,” she giggled. “The biggest clue that you’re from somewhere else was that you weren’t immediately shocked to see me in the flesh. So to speak.”

“Who are you, then?”

“Polaris! It’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise!” vee answered, reaching up to shake her hand. “You can call me Bowties.”

“I’ll try to keep it in mind. I have a feeling you won’t be using it very much, soon.”

“Wait, how do you know about that part?”

“I’m watching space shifting around you as we speak,” the Gardevoir smirked. “Your snout didn’t have that curve to it when I came in. Your fins have gotten curlier, too!”

“GRAWAWA?!” Vee whirled around again and started digging through Donna’s purse, looking for a makeup compact or a pocket mirror or even the black screen of her cell phone. Sure enough, ver face had less of its usual roundness, now closer to the draconic shapes of a Lapras. Vee looked back at the file cabinet, and realized that vee could now comfortably see down into the drawer vee had been rummaging through. “Th… this part usually happens all at once!”

“Is that so? Well, maybe you’ll be able to enjoy the journey a bit more, this time around,” Polaris replied, a knowing tone in her voice. “I promise I’ll give you more privacy than you have so far. Evolving is a delicate matter, from what I understand! I’ll still be around, though—any Donna is a friend of mine.” With that, she simply floated out of sight. Not through a door, or even passing through a wall—she simply stepped into thin air as though there was a passageway Bowsie couldn’t see, and then she was gone, leaving ver blushing and stammering and trying to collect verself.

Maybe Polaris was right; that had been the first time anybody had been able to tell what was going on during a swap like this, and vee worried it would upset—or at the very least confuse, like with Eleanor—somebody if they saw the changes progressing more slowly than usual, too. Vee waited for a while (it was already nearly 8 PM), listening to the noise of the Lounge rising and falling. People slowly filled the restaurant—vee could hear somebody, probably one of the other employees, open the double doors properly, and the sounds of chatter, utensils clinking against porcelain, bottles being popped and drinks being poured, all drifted through the closed office door. Eventually, a hush fell over the establishment, which piqued a mixture of curiosity and concern in the sea critter.

Vee stepped quietly out of ver office and walked along the back wall. Thankfully, all eyes were on the stage; the lights had been dimmed and a spotlight had been set over a microphone in the center, drawing them all away. Vee found a place to stand by the bar, where a Shinx girl (a fair bit shorter than vee was, but vee was certain that wouldn’t have been the case a few hours ago) watched intently, patiently waiting. When Eleanor stepped out from the wings, vee watched ver eyes light up, not just metaphorically, but with every sparkle in her sequined dress reflecting in her wide, admiring eyes.

Bowsie couldn’t blame her, either: she was already a beautiful woman, but seeing her all adorned in her stagewear and moving in time with music elevated her to something that rivaled even the otherworldly Gardevoir who had just bullied ver until vee was blue in the face. Vee forgot verself more than vee already would in this situation, lost in her performance, following the flowing motions of her dress and rising with the crescendos of her voice and the house band. Vee was only shaken out of ver trans when it was the Shinx’s turn to notice how enraptured vee was.

“You all wrapped up in pride over there, Donna?”

“Oh! Well,” vee stalled, seeing how enamored the Shinx clearly was with Eleanor, not wanting to admit that vee was also admiring her. Still, a spark of familiar, maternal emotions toward the Floatzel colored ver thoughts, making it a bit easier to come up with something else to say. “Of course I am. She’s followed my advice well, don’t you think?” See? And it wasn’t even a lie! It came so naturally to ver lips.

“She really is something… I wish I had as much confidence as she did. Maybe that’d make it easier to talk to her.”

“You wanna know what I told her?” vee asked, neglecting, for Eleanor’s sake, to mention how recently it was.

“What’s that?”

“I told her,” vee began, another kernel of recollection popping inside ver brain, “you have to just make a leap of faith and go for it, trusting that you have what it takes to back it up. That’s the only way you’re ever gonna get past the ‘am I good enough’ hurdle, and once you’re over it, the doubt is never gonna slow you down again.” Of course, it wasn’t exactly what vee had told Eleanor—vee knew that Ceri needed a different kind of confidence boost entirely. Vee watched the gears turn in Ceri’s head as she mulled over the dragon’s advice, and it slowly dawned on ver that vee hadn’t found out her name secondhand, and that vee shouldn’t have any way of knowing about the Shinx’s anxieties. Whatever change was going to happen it was getting closer and closer.

“Anyway, I-I have to get back to my office and take care of a few things. You, uh, keep up the good work. I know you have what it takes every bit as much as she does!”

“Thanks, Donna,” she sighed, wistfully resting her cheek on her paw, looking back toward the stage. With the attention once again off of ver, vee scuttled back to the office as quick as vee could. It was definitely gonna cause some problems if vee finished ver changes without getting Donna’s proper clothes on!

Taking a moment to lean against the inside of the door and catch ver breath, Bowsie took stock of what was available to ver. The makeup wouldn’t really be an option; vee didn’t know how to apply it properly, let alone how Donna usually wore it. The clothes would at least be easy enough, even if vee expected them not to fit at all. Of course, vee was once again surprised by how much closer the clothes seemed to be to ver own size than they had been earlier in the evening. The sleeves were several inches too long; the skirt refused to sit snugly around ver waistline, having neither the hips nor the tummy to support the waistband; the blouse hung loosely over ver shoulders, and the chest in particular was baggy as all get-out. And yet, a mere few hours ago, none of it would have fit at all. The skirt would’ve fallen clean off, and the blouse would have felt more like a robe.

“BOSS!” came a shrill voice from the bar, interrupting Bowsie bemusedly (and more than a little bit flustered) examining verself in the mirror. With that, something in Bowsie’s mind kicked into action. Someone needed setting straight. Someone in the crew needed a problem dealt with. The only person for the job, the one with the force of personality, with the authority, necessary to run this ship, was Donna, and Donna was going to march out there and see what the emergency was.

That is, after she fixed herself in the mirror. She pulled the cuffs of her blazer down so they sat properly at the ends of her wrists. She tucked her blouse into her skirt. She adjusted her blouse, smoothing out the wrinkles and straining to get one of the buttons in place around her chest—had she accidentally grabbed one of her older, smaller tops? What a pain. She exhaled as much as she could (not that it made a major difference, with the rigidity of her shell), and pulled firmly to fasten the damn shirt. She wasn’t gonna seem very authoritative if she went out there and her buttons started flying open, now was she? She finally turned, threw open the door and marched toward the bar in the direction of Gina’s voice, the booming clack, clack, clack of her pumps heralding her approach..

“Boss,” she began, now that she didn’t have to yell across the restaurant, “this lady said she wanted to—”

“Oh,” Donna steamed. “You again.”

“I beg your pardon?” growled the Snubbull.

“Listen, miss,” Donna pushed right through her uppity routine to lay down the law. “I dunno what came over me earlier—I must’ve been feeling real generous—but if I give you an inch, that does not mean that you get to walk into my restaurant and take a mile from my staff, do you understand me?”

“The only thing I’m taking is the free drink you offered me for your incompetence—”

“What you are TAKING is an ATTITUDE, lady.” She loomed over the Snubbull, leaning down far enough that she was nearly doubled over, utterly unaware that she had had to tilt her head up to make eye contact with the bratty woman before opening earlier. “Now listen, and listen good. You can either TAKE yourself OUTSIDE, or I will TAKE you there MYSELF. Do I make myself clear?”

The Snubbull gritted her teeth, crossing her arms with so much force that Donna could see her claws digging into her shoulders through her clothes. After a staredown that lasted a good ten seconds, the woman finally buckled. She hmphed, just as she had earlier, and huffed her way right out the double doors. Derrick offered her a sarcastic nod as she passed by the two of them; Rhodney remained as stoic as ever.

“Thanks for calling me over, Gi. I had half a mind to find the bitch myself just to take the drink back from her. Glad she gave me an excuse.”

“You know I live to tell the customers to go fuck themselves, boss!” the Maractus chirped, sashaying away to tend to the next happy patron at the bar.

“Oh, Donna!” Ceri said, emerging from the kitchen. “Did you, uh, change clothes?”

“Yeah, I was feeling sick earlier, don’t remember most of this morning. I must’ve shown up in my at-home clothes, but I was handling things around here basically since the moment I got in, so I didn’t have time to slip into something nicer before Eleanor’s show. Don’t mention that to her, though, hey?”

The Shinx mimed zipping her snout shut and throwing away the key before carrying the order in her other paw out to a table. Donna turned and walked along the edges of the main room again, this time making for the entry to the backstage area rather than to her office. She knocked twice as she gently opened the door.

“Eleanor!” she cheered, spreading her arms. “Look at you, you little starlet, what did I tell you?”

“You told me to trust myself, Donna,” she said, sighing and getting up from her seat in front of the vanity to give her mentor a hug. “Trusting you made it a bit easier.”

“Well, you’re not quite there, then,” she joked, “but you’ll learn soon enough. One of these days you’ll impress yourself as much as you impress me.”

“Thank you,” the Floatzel said, stepping back again. “I mean it.”

“I mean it! Now, listen,” Donna continued, “I really hate to pat you on the back and leave, but I think I’m calling it early tonight. My head’s still a bit foggy from earlier, and I don’t think my car is in the lot. I’m not sure how I got in, but I’m gonna have to call a taxi to get out.”

“Oh, I—” Eleanor began, before abruptly stopping, her train of thought seemingly derailed. “Huh. I’m not sure, either.”

“Well, no harm, no foul, huh? You drive safe tonight, sweetheart. Tell the boys they’re in charge—no mercy!”

“You got it,” Eleanor chuckled.

“Oh, and if you know anybody who needs some 4XL women’s clothes, let me know! I gotta get rid of these,” she said, tugging very carefully on her blouse, taut like a spring. “It’s like I forgot how to dress myself today. Imagine—a girl my size forgetting just how much she grows!”

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jades-typurriter · 1 month

Text

Horned & Hangin, Horny & Hung

Another commission for @pixelgoat, this time starring the eponymous Pixel and my own sona! Pixel makes for a very cute toy =3c

CW: Bondage, Excessive Cum, Null Play, Basically Using The Little Dude Like A Toy

“Alright, perfect,” lilted a smoky, self-satisfied voice from over the goat’s shoulder. He could hear the sheep walking over, the slow tap-tap-tap of her hooves on the floor telling him she was doing a cocky little victory lap. “Not bad for my first time rigging this sorta thing up, huh, Pix?”

The goat craned his neck to look up at Jade as she gently placed a paw on his back. He nodded, rocking gently with the force of the motion.

“You comfy?”

He nodded again. She moved her paw between his neck and shoulder (his arms were currently bound above and behind his head) and bounced him firmly to test the ropes (the rest of him was bound a few feet off the floor).

“Good! Good. And the hooks and pulleys and such all seem sturdy. We expect nothing less from something I put together,” she boasted of her admittedly over-engineered rigging. Normally, he would’ve rolled his eyes just to nudge an elbow into her self-aggrandizing ribs. Right now, though, he was already quite excited, and his anticipation only grew as she further walked past him; her bare back came into view, then her bare rear. He was right: she was laying it on real thick with that exaggerated sashay of hers.

“It’s good to be eeextra sure, though. After all,” she paused, turning to face him from between his legs, which were forced wide open by the ropes holding him to the ceiling. His eyes nearly popped out of his skull—there was nothing between his legs to obstruct his view of what was between hers. Twitching, bouncing, throbbing, leaking, nearly the length of his entire torso… She waggled her hips again, giggling as she watched him follow the motion with his whole head. She leaned back and swung it up, flopping its tip onto the bare, fuzzy expanse of his crotch with a PLAP.

“We’re gonna get a lot of use out of all this,” she continued, “aren’t we?” She rocked her hips forward, and he shivered, nodding with head and shoulders, swinging himself hard enough that he was practically doing the work for her. She grinned, her feline teeth glinting through the navy-blue of her lipstick. “God, you’re just the cutest when you’re excited.”

He could only blush in response. He could feel the warm rush throughout his entire body, but most of all in the sensitive, tender patch between his legs; he could feel the heat radiating off of her cock, and by the way she oozed precum onto his tummy, he was sure she could feel the heat coming off of him, too.

She grinded against him, closing her eyeshadowed lids over the heart pupils beneath as she relished the feeling of her favorite toy beneath her cock. With every thrust, she inched a little bit forward, until she was rubbing herself along his stomach, then his chest, then practically poking him in the face; it wasn’t long before she had to hold onto his thighs—sending yet another jolt of pleasure through him as her claws found purchase—to brace him against her, to keep him from swinging away from her.

“I’m gonna have to figure out… another way to spring you up next time, I think…” she panted. “I want to squeeze your thighs together and just rrrrrrRAM them~,” she teased, halfway between a purr and a growl. “There’s just something I like too much about having you spread like this… so vulnerrrable…”

Her blunt, horse-shaped tip butted against his chin, over and over, leaving a shiny, sticky trail every time it pulled away from him. He craned his neck downward to try to get it into his mouth, stretched his tongue as far as it would go to at least lap up some of her juices, but every time he got close, she would pull away again, continuing her rut against his bare crotch. Eventually, she looked back at his face and realized what he was after. She stopped, and he looked up at her, eyebrow cocked in confusion, when her dick didn’t reach toward his face again on the rhythm he’d been expecting.

“Y’know, I did initially think about gagging you,” she started, breathless, “just for the bit. ‘Cause like, it wouldn’t make a difference, but you’d be tied up in one extra way, and it’d be kinda hot. I’m kinda glad I didn’t now, though! You just… you just wait one second.” She clop-clop-clopped off out f his sight again, and he was left hanging, literally. He tried to twist around in a way that didn’t strain his shoulders for a moment, before startling when he felt his weight suddenly shift. One of the pulleys overhead creaked, and his legs were hoisted higher and higher, while his head was slowly, jerkily lowered toward the ground. He parted his arms, still fastened to a pulley far above his head, to allow his horns to pass between them as he shifted closer to “hog-tied”.

“Thaaaaaaaat’s about right, I think,” she mumbled from where she’d tied down all the ropes. He looked over at her, watching as she walked across the ceiling and towered downward past his horns. He looked down from her hooves to meet her face staring back up at him, but was interrupted halfway—she was already standing next to him, and her cock captured his attention before any eye contact could even dream of being interrupted. His tongue lolled out, almost reflexively, like a dog in a cartoon, and he could distantly make out the sound of more of her snickering.

“See? You know what that mouth is really good for. What a well-behaved toy you are~!”

She didn’t keep him waiting much longer. Gently tucking a finger under his chin, she tilted his head further back to make as much extra room as she possibly could in his throat, lined herself up, and forced the head of her cock into his mouth. She started slow, letting him stretch out and relax to make way for her, but she knew a needy thing like him didn’t need—or WANT—to be treated gently.

She picked up the pace, quickly working him up to the point that she was able to fit her entire length down his throat. With every thrust, his face was sandwiched between her soft tummy and her bouncing, sloshing balls; every time she pulled back, he finally got to savor the precum he’d been thirsting after so feverishly, and every time she pushed forward, he got a lungful of her heady, sweaty scent.

She doubled over him, grabbing him by the midsection with both paws as she kept hump-hump-humping away; she was so lost in the rhythm of fucking his throat that she was putting most of her weight (a lot.) onto him. It would’ve been lovely if they were doing this on a mattress—who wouldn’t want to be smothered by a curvy catsheep? It’s not like Pixel needed air—but it was much scarier when flopping down on him added extra strain to the ropes.

Still, the two of them rocked like a hammock, and from the way she twitched and tensed in his throat, he could tell the ropes wouldn’t need to hold up for much longer. Her sack lifted ever-so-slightly from his face as every muscle in her body tightened; she squeezed him tight around his midsection as she started gushing down his throat with enough force that she could hear it sloshing through his abdomen. As she fucked him into a little waterbed to rest her head on in the afterglow, she bleated loud enough for the both of them, moaning and panting as shot after shot of cum flooded the smaller ovine’s stomach.

When she finally lifted herself off his body, breathing heavy and a little woozy, she looked up at the ceiling. No cracks, no loose hooks. Nice! Satisfied in more ways than one, she checked up on her toy, whose face was covered in a little of his own drool and a lot of Jade’s cum. For a moment, she was sure the horizontal slits of his pupils were actually cartoony little X’s, but she wasn’t sure even his charades-loving self could pull off a gag like that. Well, to his credit, it took a lot to make him gag. She sauntered over to the ropes again to set him upright before returning to pat him between his horns.

“Great job, cutie~,” she thanked the goat. “I didn’t mean to go that hard, but at least we put the ropes through their paces! Still comfortable?”

He nodded, weakly; even though, with his inflated, wobbling stomach, he was visibly heavier, the ropes weren’t digging into him at all under the added weight.

“Nice! Uh, how long… how long do you think the ropes’ll stay comfortable?”

He looked up at her, quizzically.

“Do you wanna. Keep going? For the sake of testing ‘em out further, I mean.”

He nodded again, suddenly filled with enough energy to sway in his rigging like a hammock in the wind (complete with rippling waves in his stomach).

“Atta toy! I so wasn’t done with you, anyway,” she rumbled, and went back to the ropes to get him back in position for another go.

Thank you for reading! If you'd like a commission of your own, my prices are here; if you'd just like to see more of my work, check here!

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