Salamander Slut

This erotic story features anthropomorphic (furry) characters, intelligent humanoid beings with both animal and human characteristics.

"Salamander Slut"

SHORT STORY

Chris loitered outside the Amphibian Research Centre, whistling while he paced. Another minute or two of nothing, and he'd be about ready to leave. Screw Trey. He was the one who wanted to meet, he should be on time!

Why Chris even bothered to respond to his texts was a mystery. Yet here he stood, the building before him lifeless, devoid of activity. He stood alone. Nine o'clock in the morning. At least the weather was nice.

It was Spring Break of his final year, and for some bizarre reason his former classmate had reached out to him.

Trey...

What an asshole.

They were never on the best of terms. Chris was a late bloomer when it came to his physical stature, and spent the majority of his school-days a short, dumpy nerd hoping — nay — praying for a growth spurt. It'd come one year too late. Why, you might ask?

Because Trey dropped out.

Trey. That name carried with it nasty memories. In both middle and high school he bullied Chris relentlessly, often accompanied by his gang of sycophants and hangers-on, eager to show their master loyalty and torment him. Trey was the reason young Chris desperately wanted to grow tall, grow strong...something, anything to help him stand up to that snot-nosed shit-heel.

Not anymore.

In the past year Chris had experienced a major turn-around in his appearance. A foot taller. Fitter. All those round edges that once qualified him as 'tubby' gone. A triumph of diet and exercise, and giving a shit about his appearance. He actually looked healthy. Nothing spectacular, but still...given his previous situation, quite an improvement. Not that he could do anything with his newfound peace of mind, the confidence it granted him...

Because Trey dropped out.

Last year to be precise. Failed his end-of-year exams, and disappeared off of everyone's radar. Oh, there were rumours aplenty. That he'd fallen in with criminals; he'd moved out-of-state with his family; he'd gone to military school after disappointing his father. The list was endless, and only increased as the schoolyard rumour-mill wove tales of the most salacious speculation. Did he get someone pregnant and have to marry them? Did he run away from home? Did he commit suicide? Ooh, that last one was

dark.

Chris knew about as much as anyone else in his class. Which is to say: nothing. This served to add to the surprise when his phone received Trey's first text. I NEED 2 TALK, it'd said. Talk? About what? Chris chose to ignore it.

Another text: I REALLY NEED 2 TALK. Again, ignored.

A third: CHRIS, I WANT YOUR HELP, PLEASE. That one caught his eye.

FUCK YOU, he sent back, WHY SHOULD I?

Weeks passed before he heard anything more. Clearly his response had touched a nerve. But, eventually, Trey texted him again.

SORRY. FOR BEING A HUGE A-HOLE. JUST TALK TO ME OK?

This touched his hardened heart. Maybe he could spare a moment of his time to humour his bully.

Yeah why not? I've got ten minutes to waste

, he thought. So he sent a message of his own: WHAT IS IT U WANT?

Thus begun the chain of events that led to Chris presently wandering the parking lot in front of the ARC. The drab steel-grey facade of the building felt eerily out-of-place, juxtaposed with the low-density office blocks surrounding it, the other buildings more colourful and lacking the same sheer volume of cold, uncaring glass and concrete the structure before him comprised.

The ARC actually extended several dozen acres beyond the facility proper, the local river having been diverted into the compound to provide easy access to fresh water. The sound of rushing water could be heard in the distance.

In short: it was an odd place to meet.

Why he'd been asked here specifically, Chris didn't know. Did Trey work here? Was he trying to meet up before his shift started?

Chris noticed someone at the door. They opened it and asked him what his business was here. After informing them of Trey's messages, he was ushered into the building.

* * *

Out back Chris sat on a patio chair, in a small tree-ringed alcove with a large body of water (most likely an artificial lake of some sort) to his side. The person who had led him here told him to stay and wait, then they promptly vanished, no doubt to continue conducting research on the resident 'amphibians'.

Chris was no fool. He knew what kind of research centre this was. There were stories. There were pictures. He'd seen those people. What they were. The world kept turning though. Lots of

them

were even on TV. Living lives as normal as the rest of us...or as normal as they could...

He'd never expected to find himself in a place like this.

There wasn't much else to see. The area he was in was relatively small, and while he had the luxury of tilting the chair back and relaxing in the warm Spring sun, he couldn't. Not here. There were too many questions. Now if only Trey were here to answer them.

His eyes shut, oblivious to the world, Chris heard the wet slap of feet approaching. Someone had been for a swim — judging by the sound. He turned his head, seeking the source of the noise.

The sight before him made him do a double-take. Wearing a one-piece bathing suit that barely contained her ample cleavage, an anthropomorphic salamander walked towards him. Her amphibian skin had an oily appearance to it, coloured a dark blue-green with bright yellow patches. Her body was athletic but soft. Her legs and arms contained powerful genetically-enhanced muscles, their shapely curves wobbling slightly as she strolled onward. The creature's form was slender, gorgeous. Her odd, alien face held a fascinating beauty to it. A thick tapered tail followed behind her.

Chris watched the exotic female come ever closer. He was confused, and a bit worried. What was the meaning of this?

The salamander smiled, her eyes lighting up as she greeted him.

"Thank you for coming to see me."

"Where's Trey?"

The creature giggled. "That's me silly! I'm Trey." She looked offended that he didn't recognise her, and how could he? She looked nothing like him. "Or," she added, "I was Trey."

She took two more steps towards him, her webbed three-toed feet smacking against the stone paving. The anthro salamander extended a hand to Chris, who shook it. The feeling of her wet, slippery skin intrigued him, warm to the touch yet so...strange. This was more than enough for him to second-guess coming here. Things were getting weird. What mess had he stumbled into?

At the very least, it explained why he'd be summoned to the

Amphibian

Research Centre.

"You can call me Trace."

"Trace?"

"Yup. Trey wasn't gonna suit me no more was it? Not the way I am now."

"I guess."

"Can I sit down?" she asked politely. Chris merely nodded.

"Thanks!" she cooed. "It's fun to meet with outsiders. They don't let us leave the centre much."

With a moist

plop

she settled into her seat. Rubbing her skin, 'Trace' studied Chris' wandering gaze, her dark red tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth, touching her cheek. She took to opportunity to stretch her legs, running her hands along her knees and thighs in a sensual manner.

"I'm glad you're here. I didn't know if you'd actually come."

"Don't know if I should," Chris spat, "not for you."

Her gaze moved downward, the salamander's features wearing a sullen, heavy expression. No easy way out of apologising, profusely, for the way he (she?) had treated him in the past.

"Chris. I want to talk to you because, because..." she hesitated, "I've no-one else left. Nobody left to be kind to me."

Consternation was visible in the way she avoided direct eye contact. A potent mix of shame and anxiety. Her voice was timid, the way she spoke: cautious. This was not the brash asshole Chris knew as a human. This was someone who was running out of hope.

"Oh, I'm supposed to be kind to you?" She winced as his sharp tongue struck at her delicate state of mind. "You? You made my life a living hell. This year has been the best I've ever had, you wanna know why? 'Cause dickheads like you aren't around to bully me!"

"I'm sorry, I—"

"That's not even going into what you've done to yourself," he cut her pleading off, astonished at how he (she?) could be so naive. To think she could make things right in a single conversation. "You tell me you don't have anyone else? Good."

"C'mon dude!"

"You stole my girlfriend..."

"

Pff.

She wanted me more."

"You and your gang of thugs beat me."

"I..." Trace fell silent. She had no response to that.

"You're an all-round, grade-A prick

.

Karma should be fuckin' you in the ass as hard as possible! Go homeless. End up on drugs. LOSE the game of life. Fuck if I care."

"Listen, I—"

"But nooooo. God doesn't want me to be happy, it seems. You get to paddle your way up shit creek to safety by trading your life as a human for one as a fucking lizard."

"Salamander! We're amphibians. That's prejudiced."

"Cry me a river."

"JUST SHUT UP FOR ONE SECOND!" she screamed, at her wit's end. "I've changed."

Chris snorted. "I have eyes, y'know."

"Not THIS," Trace said indignantly, showing off her curves for effect, "I mean as a person."

"I'll believe that when I see it." He looked around, wondering if their argument had attracted the attention of the ARC staff. Seeing the place deserted, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Will you at least listen to my request?"

"

Hmpf.

Fine."

"I failed my exams. Everyone knows that part. I was a bully to a lotta people. Hurt them. Kicked 'em when they're down. Didn't care much for guys like you. Socially fucked with you all too. Held parties for the popular kids, the jocks—"

"And didn't invite those you picked on. Organising it so that we were collectively flipped the bird by your band of douches."

"Yes." In Chris' mind the mere fact she acknowledged the shitty things she did was a start. He looked at her a little more favourably. "Yes...my parents didn't approve."

"Obviously."

"I blew through my last couple o' warnings without a care in the world. They grounded me. I cussed, told 'em to go fuck themselves. They grounded me more. I sneaked out to continue partying. They found out, and ground me for the rest of the school year."

Harsh, but nowhere near harsh enough,

Chris thought.

He listened as she continued: "The deal was I get good marks, I don't get thrown out on my ass at eighteen. Which, given I was held back a year, meant I'd already disappointed them. This was purely about me not giving them a reason to kick me out. Mom's a bitch and dad's a hard-ass, so they meant what they were saying."

She chose her next words carefully, painfully aware of how Chris would treat her based on them. "Things didn't work out for me. Surprise!" she laughed awkwardly, hiding her sorrow. "They disowned me. My 'friends' gave less than a shit 'bout me after I was no longer seen as 'cool'. Shit fucking sucks. For the first time I saw them as you did: bullies." Chris remained silent. She cleared her throat nervously, wary of his judgement. "I wasn't finished school, so no graduation, no diploma. Family kicked me out. No friends. No-one to turn to. I needed cash, and somewhere to live. Ended up coming here and signing up to their programme."

"That's a helluva fall from grace, Trey — I mean

Trace.

"

"Mm-hmm. The money they offered was decent, and I would have my own place. They asked in return that I undergo the transformation. That...that wasn't the only catch..."

Trace averted her eyes, unwilling to face him. She bit her lip. "There was a shortage of female volunteers."

"So they had to make do, huh?"

Trace turned away, embarrassed, cross-armed, trying to cover her womanly figure. That was the worst part. Not the signing away of his humanity, but the uncomfortable reality of his/her gender-swapped life. Becoming a research anthro was enough for one to stomach, becoming a woman was in a whole 'nother ballpark.

Trace looked down, the female's view filled with her generous cleavage. Real salamanders (the four-legged kind) lacked mammaries; the twin teardrops that decorated her pronounced chest, a queer melding of human and amphibian characteristics.

Then again,

she reminded herself,

real salamanders don't speak or walk on two legs either.

This has gone on long enough. Time to lower my guard. Hope Chris takes this the right way...

Haahh,

she sighed internally,

am I really gonna ask him?

* * *

Trace recalled her first day as a female. The fear, the uncertainty. Terrified she made a terrible mistake, doctors trying to calm her, kicking and screaming and scratching over and over and over.

The ARC staff were far kinder than she'd expected. They took their time explaining the details of her new life and body. There was unease in the pit of her stomach as her mind realised the extent of the physical changes. Fear and disgust at what she had become. It brought her to the brink of tears.

Her handlers were patient. They cheered her up just by talking to her, assuring her she wouldn't be treated as anything other than their honoured guest. Timidly, Trace stood on unfamiliar legs and made her first steps towards a new beginning. They walked her to her room, thankful she had volunteered to help their research.

Her body was the hardest aspect of her changed life to come to terms with. The reflection in the mirror disturbed her. Gone was Trey's handsome (if brutish) exterior. In its place was a blue, green and yellow-patterned animal. Animal. Creature. Non-human, the less open-minded would say.

Her hands were three-fingered, webbed between all digits. Same with her feet. Large webbed toes, like...like a frog's (she never knew that much about salamanders, so starved of an apt comparison she was). They made swimming a breeze. That was the one advantage she liked. Her fellow denizens of the centre had been gifted their own abilities, far in advance of her own. She couldn't crawl up walls like she saw some smaller, lighter frogs in the ARC do — not that she even wanted to. Too weird.

Putting aside the shape of her head — her jaws more suited to devouring raw meat than cooked food — the colouration of her skin, the presence of a big tail...Trace knew she'd overcome this out-of-body discomfort. She wasn't the only one to have gone through this.

There were others here, and she resolved to talk to them.

Over time, she made friends with some of the other residents of the ARC. There was Missy, a ballerina who joined to get even more of a spring in her step (she of course, became a frog). Missy was older, and often spent her leisure time in the 'Bufonid' section with the other frogs and toads, but she always made time for Trace — offering support, and the occasional shoulder to cry on.

Missy had been obsessed with anthros growing up, and wanted nothing more than to be one. She took the plunge five years ago, when the centre was first opened, and had watched the rising amphibian population with excitement. This was her home, and she welcomed Trace with open arms. The young salamander felt comfortable in her presence. The insecurities she'd nursed since transforming faded as they grew to be fast friends. She found she belonged in her new skin.

There were nights when Trace looked upon her as more than a friend; the possibility intrigued her. Nights when they frolicked in the pool, moonlight dancing off of Missy's moist skin, her lithe form surging through the waters with grace. Petite breasts streamlining her figure, on display as she swam naked. Her dazzling red-green eyes pulling Trace in. Yes...there were nights when she thought of taking their relationship a step beyond mere friendship.

Yet, she didn't truly feel it. Not like when she was a human, lusting after pretty girls. She had changed too much to feel that way about another female. This worried her. Pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind Trace continued to settle in; Missy was always there to help out.

It was through Missy she then found a friend in Bill, a large muscular toad. The guy came off a self-centred prick when Trace first met him, a hypocrisy she was well aware of. First impressions weren't everything, however, and she grew to like the guy. Minus his...um...dress sense...

Bill tended to stroll around the grounds buck naked, his big oily toad-pecker swinging in the wind. While it caught the eyes of many of her fellow females in the ARC, it was a little off-putting to hold a conversation with his pride and joy hanging free. The others had the decency to put on a swimsuit, togs or bikini most of the time. Then again, he probably liked the attention. Trace didn't mind it too much. Her feminine mindset made sure of that.

Missy once hinted she'd love to 'wrestle' such a well-built toad, but joked that she wasn't his type. Trace was ambivalent. Despite this, he was a looker. She felt drawn to him, his physical presence alluring — a shining male specimen of his kind.

Those thoughts distressed her. Her mind fought itself, struggling with a crisis of identity. She could feel the attraction to males growing, it permeated her entire being. But this wasn't her! I mean

him

! This wasn't Trey! Trey...no...Trace! Trey was a man for the ladies, always has been, always will; Trace, well, Trace was something new. It hurt, feeling this divide in her psyche.

Maybe...maybe she'd ask him...could she...?

Could they mate?

Would that do it? Help her feel happy in her new body?

Then again, it wasn't likely. What did Missy mean when saying he preferred a different type? Well, Trace soon discovered the answer. One day she wandered in on the brawny stud pinning down another bufonid male, pounding the living daylights out of his companion's squishy behind. His glistening length slid in-and-out of the frog's ass, the lesser male squirming under his relentless thrusting. Quite the sight to behold.

Well that explains it...

The vigorous display continued. She watched him take hold of the frog's hips — make one last, powerful thrust — and cum. Flooding his partner's rear with his thick load. Deep, rumbling noises were made by Bill as he threw his head back in ecstasy. His submissive lover lay still beneath him, immobile, unwilling to spoil the moment by sliding free.

Trace saw the seed leak from around his generous member, pumped in volume from the vice-like grip of the lesser male's tail hole, dripping onto the floor beneath the pair. She could've sworn she noticed wriggling in the sea of sticky white cream, like teeny-tiny tadpole sperms — just visible to the naked eye — were slithering about in his juices. Or her eyes were playing tricks on her, the excitement of spying on the racy encounter overwhelming the poor girl.

Worse still, the craving was stronger than ever, the rutting males having awakened a desperate desire. She wanted to fuck. Wanted to be fucked. Wanted to

breed.

From then on Trace would lie in bed at night, fingers tickling her sensitive womanhood, wondering how it would feel for her, as a female. To indulge in the fruits of her new body.

A male. She wanted a male. Her attraction to Bill tormented her. Her pain would be brief, luckily, as her craving for toad-meat waned over the coming weeks, going from intense lust to tempered attraction. Nevertheless, she wanted to breed. Desperately. It burned a hole in her heart nothing else could fill. Better still, rumour had it breeding was a good way to get lots of extra perks from the ARC. She fantasized about getting rich off of her lust. There was a certain appeal to such a lifestyle. Her instincts were the source of this desire, after all. No need to stifle them if she could exploit them.