Shapeshifting Lust

This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.

Please note that all characters are clearly over eighteen and written as such in all stories.

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Christine met her own eyes in the mirror, her blonde hair in a sensual fall of curls that night, though to say that she was a "plain Jane" out of her stripper wear, well, that would have been entirely accurate. Sure, she looked good all dolled up and on show, but there was still something about her that made her look as if she was merely part of the crowd, someone that could have been anyone. Only a stripper in the sense that she didn't stand out or draw the big crowds, few looked twice at her and the other ladies backstage or onstage hardly saw her as a threat.

"Did you see who's in the crowd tonight?"

Chris' eyes slid to the side, leaning forward even as she pretended to be putting on her lipstick, her eyes overly done in smoke and curls, the lashes enhanced. Carmelita smirked, sharing the gossip, the Hispanic woman (Chris had never cared enough about her to care to ask where she actually came from) relishing in the moment that gave her, at least for the time being, some semblance of power.

"Yeah, it's all the bigwigs from that finance company, what was it -- Tiger Finances? Something like that."

"Ooooh, they're good tippers."

"Ain't that just what we need!"

It was a flutter of conversation that Chris was well used to, though it was not something that she spent too much time on under normal circumstances. There was not much space in the dressing area of the strip club, everyone crammed in against each other, though she hardly minded the sexy Carmelita's arm pressed up against hers, the honey-brown of her skin, changing shade depending on the light that hit her. Chris wished that she could be like that too, but, well...

...that there was something more at play for Christine was only just coming into the limelight.

Her lips parted, a short gasp claiming her airways, skin tingling, something burning through her. Her eyes widened, reflection shocked, but Chris was up on her feet, staggering in her heels, for points that sharp were never intended to be walked on with anything but the utmost of care.

Out, out. Something was wrong, wrong but right -- but she'd only uncover that a little later, a flirty nuance of change that would reveal itself to her only, and only when, it was ready to show her.

"Sheesh, what the hell's her problem?"

But she would not be missed, not for the time that she was backstage. Carmelita flowed through her veins as she ducked into the hallway, back pressed to the wall, fingers trembling as she held them up before her eyes.

For that was no longer her hand that she saw, even in the dim lighting, the pulsing music of the club coursing through her. Her nails became smaller, more delicate, showing a different hue of skin. Carmelita was thicker than her -- not overweight, of course, but with curves that Chris would have killed for -- and it was that thickness that layered itself down Chris' body, making her lingerie (for she had not been wearing more than that at that time) strain tight. Gasping, she scrabbled to unhook her bra, but it was too late for that as her breasts popped out, fabric stretching, pricking into her back as it fought to stand up to the stretch.

But nothing mattered but her form as her feet, somehow, managed to fit into her heels perfectly, her toes more delicate, finely formed, everything about her set to hunger the eye. Even her own as her hair softened into delightful black, the cut ends splashing across her shoulders in a lustful tickle of sensation. Chris whimpered, the form that had fallen over her being that of Carmelita, yet it was the cold shock of that realisation that set things in motion that could never again be turned back.

She was in control... She took a breath, yet that didn't make it any better as she ran her hands over her new curves, the bra still pinned around her, but barely hanging on. event hat light touch alone had her grunting and moaning, surprising herself with the sounds that passed her lips, as nothing seemed right, nothing right at all, and yet she could not stop. The hallway, where she could have been discovered at any moment, should have been colder, and yet her skin prickled and ached with a sort of desire that could not be quelled so easily.

Without thinking, Chris pushed her hand, trembling, into her panties -- yet it was no longer her hand but Carmelita's. She'd never seen Carmelita in the throes of orgasm before, but she could imagine it, picking up little things from her behaviour in the club, how she must have sensually allowed her head to fall back, lips parted, so plush, so full. Carmelita's lips did not need gloss and Chris treated them with the reverence that they deserved.

Her fingers brushed them, the other hand pushing further between her thighs, feeling out the shape of her folds. The change had felt as if she'd blinked and missed it -- and how had it happened? Had it all come from touching the arm of the other dancer? Oh, she'd have to try it again, but she was too frazzled, burning up from the inside out, moaning and humping, grinding her hips as if she had a cock or a pole to show off with right then and there.

"Yes... Oh, yes... Fuck me, stud..."

Chris could imagine Carmelita saying that, it felt natural to her, slipping into her form and personality like taking on a second skin. All was as it was meant to be as she moaned and whimpered, gyrating her hips, the shape of her sex different even then. She had not known that it was possible for a woman who was not, admittedly, a porn star, to have folds that were so plush and full, so succulent that any man would have wanted to dip his tongue between them and savour her essence. Yet it was Chris who moaned out loud, again and again, a part of her not caring if she got caught, for it was Carmelita, to be fair, who would face the consequences of that.

Her fingers drove deep, spreading the heat of a sex that she had no experience, of, grinding over her clit. It was only right that she brought herself off, explosive orgasm ripping through, her toes curling in her shoes, flexing, the feel of that alone enough to let orgasm roll on and on, powering through her in a way that she had never realised was possible.

And yet it was all hers for the taking as she sucked off her fingers lustfully, ensuring that not a drop of her tart juices were lost and laid to waste. Even that was different, better than the taste of her bland pussy, though Chris could not deny that her diet, considering everything, was pretty good. Sucking off her fingers was almost as good as eating out another woman, but, with the power of shapeshifting flowing through her, suddenly everything was possible.

Everything.

She stalked back into the changing area with her head held high, an imperious glint in her eye. After all, she was no longer Christine but Carmelita -- and everyone knew that Carmelita was one of few that ran the show backstage. Her boobs were out, the better lighting showing off the rich tones of her skin all the better, nipples perky in the cool air but a darker shade still. She shivered. If she'd been alone, her hands would have been all over them.

"God damn it, Carl," she snapped, clicking her fingers as if she really was Carmelita. "Get this thing off me! I can't get ready for any goddamn show if you're not going to get me the right clothes out here!"

The stagehand rushed around, red in the face, though he should have been used to what the strippers got up to back there, their nudity and sass. It was the way of their trade, after all, claws out, fighting fire with fire, and it was that very fire that rendered them as explosively attractive as they were up on stage. A new set of clothes were in her hands in a moment, something better fitting Carmelita, as they liked to dress her up as a Spanish princess -- whatever that meant that they thought of her heritage, her culture. Carmelita did not care about things like that as long as she was getting paid and Chris slid them on with bated breath, bold enough to even let the folds of her pussy show, however briefly, as she swapped one pair of panties for another. Skirts and tops would follow, but, well, she probably wouldn't get as far as to put them on.

"Jeez, Carmelita, you're really letting it hang all out over there, gurl."

That drawl was from a woman who had a bit of a mixed accent. White but tanned, the drawl was reminiscent of the deep south while she had spent enough time in the city to draw on a New York twang, the fading cling of her accent playing on her tone. They called her slick and she was already done up in a cowboy hat, boots and daisy duke shorts that hid nothing at all, her shirt nothing more than a bra, tied around her tits while the massive rounds of them spilt over.

Carmelita licked her lips.

"You know it. What's the fun in keeping it all tucked away?"

She took her chance while she saw it, dressed up but not for long as she passed by, brushing her fingers over Slick's shoulders, grazing skin. That was all she needed, though it was something that she had to confirm as she ducked into a properly curtained dressing area, fingers tingling from that little touch alone. Oh, how she loved women, though the women there didn't love her back, Slick a cowgirl in disguise through and through to the point that no one knew quite who she was.

But that meant that she was easier for Chris to embody as, slowly but surely, she lost Carmelita's exotic looks, the darker hues of her skin fading to white, though tanned as if she had been out working in the glorious sunshine. Releasing Carmelita's garb, she took on Slick's, her breasts even larger, heaving with every breath, a bosom that required that the muscles of her upper and mid-back strengthen to accommodate the heft of it. The brassiere was too small for her, but she managed to keep it in place, the nipples almost bursting free in a pink spill -- but not quite, skin lightening, so much lighter in comparison to Carmelita.

"Yes... Oh..."

It was new, exciting, the sort of thing that meant that her life, in any way, could never go back to the way that it had been before. There was no forgetting, after that moment, that she was a shapeshifter, that something had chosen her, been born in her, the ability to shape her future in her own hands. Once, she had been an actress but had not lasted for very long as she had taken on so much from the characters, thinking that she was them the moment she slipped into their forms. That had not stood her in good stead in that kind of industry but, with her humping hips brushing the curtain into a flutter, it would make all the difference as, finally, she stepped into her own in the strip club and beyond.

She'd never only been meant to be just Chris.

Her thighs thickened a little, stronger with muscle but a nice layer of fat on top of them to make them womanly. It was a wonder that Slick managed to fit into those daisy duke shorts at all as the arse that pushed out against her underwear, the skirt she'd been asked to wear as Carmelita falling away, thick and full. The roundness of it was not something that she wanted to stop either as she moaned and pushed her panties down, fingers once again driving into the folds of a changing pussy.

More athletic, it was a new experience for Chris to feel strong thighs gripping her hands as her fingers rammed desperately into her own body. Her body... Slick's body... It was all the same to her, she was Slick and Slick was her. She could be everything at once, more desperate than ever as the changes pushed over her. Once it had begun, it seemed like the sort of thing that was impossible to stop -- not that she would have ever wanted that to be the case anyway. No, she wanted to lust and moan, whimpering out in Slick's raspy twang, the broken accent that was so endearing when she shook her arse in just the right way.

"Yeah, baby, just like that..."

Her fingers pressed to her clit and she muffled her orgasm the best she could, a pink nipple showing over the edge of her bra, her shoes kicked off, toes curling. Even her feet felt stronger, the set of her body stabler still with more muscle, for Slick was fit and ready to go, biceps and triceps lightly defined, which was no slacking feat for a woman, any woman. She pushed up onto her toes, calves aching for more, her buttocks straining, pushing back even as the natural tilt to the weight of Slick's body made her want to push back.

Yet as orgasm drummed through her like a herd of stampeding cattle, she could only focus on her feet, how they curled and pushed, the strength in them. Oh, that was so erotic, so very much so, though she was more drawn to the feet on her own body, in that moment at least, when she knew they were not truly hers. They were pale with a freckle on the right one that stood out, even the nails painted as if the "whore" Slick was going to drag herself off to a hoe-down after the cows were home and get down and dirty. The city girl mixed with the country girl into one blend that could jump from one to the other and it was all embodied in those feet, the contrast between strength and flexibility against the delicacy of those pink painted nails.

She moaned and moaned, orgasm pounding through, her body settling, a narrow waist gracing her and wide, flared hips, the kind of hips that a woman who rode horses would have been grateful for. It was a body unlike the pleasure of which she had had the delight of touching before, fingers dipping into the waist of her underwear, pulling it up, the lines of it making her hips look too long.

The last part of the change was the warming of her features, cheeks strong and round, the line of her jaw daring others to challenge her. Her hair was smooth, falling in a cheeky, auburn curtain, cut more shortly around the front than the back so that it tempted imaginary hands to caress it oh so smoothly. She only needed a hat to pop on her head and she would be the cowgirl of everyone's dreams, coy and flirty and always up for some fun.

Still, she settled, breathing deeply, her breasts seeming to rise far more than was necessary as she inhaled.

It was erotic, so very much so. Every nerve-ending in her body tingled with a "barely there" fire, as if she was too hot, even though she could feel cool air licking her skin. Nothing had to make sense though as she flicked her hair, her bra in place and panties tugged up, skirt dangling from one hand, because, really, what did she need to cover up there for? Slick wouldn't be dressed in what she was wearing and she'd have to find something better to put on, something more cowgirl-like so that she could best "wow" the crowd.

However, the others there did complicate matters a little, catching her strutting in wear that was not Slick's, as much as her smirk and drawl embodied the other dancer as she left the changing room.

"Hey, Candy, what's got you looking so fine tonight?"

The black dancer glanced up, her skin a deep ebony, fingertips and palms a lighter shade. That colour change had always caught Chris' eye as a thing of beauty, though she was more than aware of the troubles that an African American woman like her faced in the city. It was a trial that Candy had to go through, but Chris could not help but wonder what her name was, the one that, of course, she went by normally, rather than stripping.

She'd kept her name. Women like Candy hadn't had quite that luxury, if they wanted to, quite literally, be the eye candy of the crowd.

With her hair piled on top of her head in a messy, tight bun, curls flowing in frizzy gloriousness, Candy shot her a look, out of the corner of her eye, not all that much of a talker.

"Slick? What in all hell are you doing in that get-up?"

She laughed, tossing her red hair back, the ginger falling softly down her back, tickling the nape of her neck.

"Hey, hon, sometimes you gotta get on up in there and go with the flow, you know? Whatever brings those dollars rolling in, can't be doing any more than that."

Candy rolled her eyes, long and leonine, elegant as the queen she truly was. She sat beside Candy, practically holding her breath even though she knew she had to breathe, still had to breathe, wanting to change clothes into something that Slick would wear but, well, Slick was already out and one stage. She'd have to choose someone else to shift into if she wanted to put on a show as them, to dig into what it was that made their characters pop.

But her eyes were on Candy, breath catching in the lump in her throat. Her strong shoulders, how slender her form was. Her bones could be seen but that was, in a way, part of her appeal, that she was different, that she was herself. Her lips were large and full, her chin angled down, and her breasts may have been smaller than the ones that Chris currently wore as if they were her own, though they were just as alluring.

She licked her lips as Candy stood, her back to her, sliding off her looser shirt to reveal her bare back, something beaded and fiddly with a strange zip at the back easing over her arms. Yet it was, apparently, not the easiest to don as the goddess of a woman fumbled for the zipper, beads rustling and rattling lightly against one another where they swung down over her breasts in a sort of fringe. But Chris, in Slick's body, did not need to understand just how things were to admire Candy's gorgeous figure, the quiet strength in her that came out more loudly when she did not even need to speak.

"Damn it..."

Candy cursed, struggling with her top, grasping blindly behind her for the zipper. They always were in an out of the way place when it came to the sorts of clothes that they had to wear.

"Do you need a hand?"

Candy shot her a look but nodded. They weren't the best of friends, her and Slick, but Chris knew that it would have been a different story if she had been in her own body. The shapeshifter was not well liked there, but her mind was not on any of that as she brushed her hand, without thinking, against Candy's arse, the stripper pushing away from her.

"Watch it!"

"Aw, c'mon, what's a little touch between friends?"

Chris drawled as slick, diffusing the situation, even as Candy grimaced, but the moment was ripe for her to take for her own and all she needed to do was to pull her hand across the front of Candy's top, adjusting how it sat across her breasts to be able to better do it up at the back. There was a part of Candy that obviously flinched but the way that she stayed where she was had to be interesting too, leading Chris to wonder whether there was more going on between her and Slick than she had first thought. She watched, always, taking in everything around her, but even someone who absorbed everything around her was not always as on top of everything as she liked to profess herself to be.

"There ya go! All done!"

She stepped back, licking her lips, admiring Candy's figure, her narrower hips, how tall she was, a good head above Slick. But she had to hold the change in mind, the form that she had just absorbed, even though all she wanted to do was to heave and to pant, delighting in all that she had done.

That time, however, she was able to hold back the change, the form in her mind, there when she wanted it. She could become Candy right there and then or hold off on her shape for another time and a later date, exactly as it pleased her. Candy muttered something and headed off, allowing Chris to let her natural form come back to her, a little like stepping back into a comfortable pair of shoes. That was better, yes, for her, a little more natural, though there were more nuances to be brought into the light, others to take on, forms to embody and lives to steal for her own pleasure...