The Life Of Lydia

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   I’m sorry, Lydia. I know what you're thinking, I’m a terrible father. But you had such a perfect life, such a perfect body, that I couldn’t resist taking it. I felt terrible casting that spell but, on the plus side, nobody will ever know. You wouldn’t have any objections if I removed these clothes to examine my prize, would you?
Mmm perfection.
Here, let me retrieve you from where you’ve fallen. ‘The Life of Lydia’, what an amusing title! You don’t mind if I just flip through to the last page. Ah, it’s still being written! More magic! Let's see here... *clears throat*
“Lydia stared up in horror at the figure - her figure! It was her! Her own father within her body, while her soul had been evicted into this vessel of paper and glue. He stooped, picking her up from the flooor. She felt tiny within his hands. He was a giantess! Her leather spine creaked painfully as he spread her wide open, riffling roughly through the thin parchment that was now her entire being. ‘This can’t be happening’, Jessica screamed, though no sound could be heard. ‘This isn’t happening. Give me my body back!’”.
You make for such fascinating reading. I’m afraid your body is my body now, and reversal is quite out of the question. I suppose the kindest thing would be to burn you to free your soul from these pages but, alas, if I’m to take over your life, I need all the secrets written in these pages, access to your innermost thoughts. You don’t mind if I read through these memories, do you? I simply need to know how you and your husband first met.
Oh my, these pages are quite erotic. And with illustrations too! You naughty girl! Is this what I have to look forward to?
Hmm, what’s this you're writing now? “Lydia watched, hope kindling within her as her husband slipped quietly into the room. Unknowing of the theft of her body and life, the man’s dark eyes glittered lustfully at the sight of her father’s exposed, stolen ass. With amorous intent, her husband approached her father, and she saw the same dark lust alight in her father’s eyes as he read her thoughts, as he considered what was to come - his acquired womanhood impaled over and over on his own son-in-law's cock. Too late, Lydia realized her mistake, tried to mask her mind even as her father read it, but the hope of freedom intruded over all other thoughts. The hope that if her husband were only to catch a glimpse of the writing of her book-bound form -even just her title! - he would realize the deception and rescue her from this tor-”
*snap*
Don’t think I don’t see you creeping back there, dearest, admiring my ass. Hmm? 'What was I reading'? Oh, nothing important. But you’re welcome to watch as I put it away. Far, far away.

The Cruise Of A Lifetime - Part Two

 

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Ah, Maisie, you’re home already? Has it really been twelve months since you stole my life? Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun. Did you enjoy sharing that tiny cabin with your grandmother all that time, enjoy having your wrinkly old balls drained night after night by her toothless gums around your cock? Gwendoline’s quite the cougar and she doesn’t like to take no for an answer.

I suppose you expected me to jump at the chance to change back, but I’ve gotten quite comfortable in your skin. It was a shock at first but I soon came to view your body and life as my own, and decided to make a few changes. Hm? ‘I made you a lesbian?’ Well, not quite. Don’t you recognise the tattoos? Don’t you recognise your husband?

Your plan to swap us must have been short notice if you didn't even tell him about it. It was a simple matter to pose as you, and I soon had my darling husband wrapped around my little finger. Such a sweet, gullible young man, he truly did love you. Well, me now.

After I told him I only had eyes for women, he begged me to stay, said he could change. After giving him a big pair of silicone tits, it was a simple matter to push him to take hormones. And those got him so confused and submissive, persuading him to undergo the snip was easy. I’ve been treating his body as my plaything ever since he lost that ugly cock of his. While you were eating oysters in the mediterranean, I was eating out your husband's beautiful new pussy. Do you like what I’ve done with him?

I hear your wife calling you. She truly is your wife, you know, after you renewed your vows. You shouldn’t keep her waiting too long. Who knows how long an old man like you has left!

Florida Man(?) - Chemical Leak Sexchange

 Didn't dare upload this one over on DeviantArt yet as pretty sure they'll run me out of town with pitchforks :S All the best to everybody currently in the situation over in Florida,

HEALTH ADVISORY FOR PALM BEACH COUNTY

   A Florida man has reported severe itching and swelling of the chest and buttocks following contact with flood waters in Palm Beach County. Storm surges struck the nearby Agrigenex chemical plant in the early hours of Wednesday, and there are fears that 10 thousand gallons of the concentrated compound estragene-412, a potent synthetic estrogen analog used in the chemical castration of livestock and manufacture of dairy cows out of superfluous bulls, may have leaked into the surrounding water supply.
While Agrigenex has released a statement assuring Floridians that the leak was a minor one and poses no threat to human health, local hospitals have been inundated with a 1000x fold rise in cases of gynecomastia and acute facial and bodily hair loss in the last 24 hours alone. Emergency personnel working in the area have reported symptoms such as diminished muscle mass and strength, confusion, and distracting impulses.
Wildlife experts at the J.W. Corbett Wildlife Management Area, where work is being done on flood defenses to limit damage to the area, have reported the sudden and almost total absence of male fish, frogs, amphibians and water-dwelling birds.
A provisional advisory by the FDA has advised all local Floridians, but especially men, to avoid contact with flood waters wherever possible, to avoid drinking non-bottled water, and to attempt to reach higher ground as the water levels continue to rise.
We will bring you more on this story as it develops.

The War of Magni's Member - Part Two

 

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"Master Orim! Master Orim! Look what I found at market!”

   The elderly dwarf received quite the fright as I burst through the blacksmith door waving a stone phallus. I’d received incredulous looks all the way through my sprint through the dwarven district, though, as a human, it made a pleasant change from the looks of hatred these days.

The heat from the forge today was intense, and Orim had stripped down to a leather apron, as he had been wont to do before the… change. His nubile, naked ass perched atop a stool beside an anvil. I swallowed hard, trying to hide my body’s reaction within  my apprentice smock.

“The blazes do ye have there, boy?” Orim rumbled, his deep, gravely emerging erroneously from his diminished and delicate body.

“It’s a… it’s a… well. It’s a thingy…” I blurted, feeling suddenly sheepish. “I know things haven’t been easy for you since the emperor stole all your… thingies and- and, well… there was this man selling dwarven…. thingies at the market. And I’ve saved up the money you gave me so…”

Orim sighed wearily and set his hammer aside. “Bring it here, boy."

I set the stone cock down on the anvil. Orim wiped his sooty hands off on his pert, forge-bronzed breasts before lifting the phallus to his eye, squinting at it. Then he fixed me with a withering stare.

“First of all, this isn’t mine. Mine is longer and thicker. Second, this is carved. Yer’ve been scammed, lad. I hope ye didnae spend too much on this ornament.”

My face fell. “Uh. No. Not a lot… Uh. Five gold pieces.”

Orim spluttered. “Five gold?! By the Gods, my cock wasn’t worth that much when I had it, let alone now.” He shook his head in disbelief, long tresses of hair dancing about his slender shoulders. “Yer a good lad - for a human- but too trusting. I’ll beat that out of ye if I have tae.” He handed the false phallus back to his young apprentice. “Find a soldier’s widow. She’ll give ye a few silver for that thing.”

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

Alone in his forge, Orim was unsettled. He’d lied. The thing the young man had held was undoubtedly a dwarf’s manhood. It might even have been his own. But such an object was contraband with the death penalty attached for any dwarf found possessing it.

In disposing of it, he'd consigned one of his brothers to eternal, humiliating womanhood. A fate worse than death for any self-respecting dwarf. A choice he'd have to live with.

He wanted no part in this dwarf-human war. All he wanted was to keep his head down and focus on his work.

'Keep my head down'. His mind drifted to the unmistakeable tent in the young man's. There were rumours already that some of his dwarven brethren had learned to 'keep their heads down' or part their legs in exchange for preferential treatment from their human overlords.

Orim licked his lips as he considered his apprentice's human cock, wondering how much more of himself he would be willing to sacrifice for the sake of an easy life.

The War of Magni's Member

 I should probably clarify in advance that I don't support the brutal subjugation of any peoples, real or imaginary, before I get pitchforked to death by an internet mob.

------

   The dwarven district was the industrial heart of the human empire. Dwarves had been allies since humanity took its first steps into the world, and dwarven smiths and artisans churned out armor and armaments in huge quantities for the security of all. In any other war, they'd have been indispensable. In this war, with the united dwarven clans marching on the borders, they were a liability. Rumors of the sacrilege a human had inflicted upon their vaunted God-King were spreading in the district, turning it into a literal and figurative powder keg.

As master of the guard, I’d been given instruction by the emperor himself to contain the situation. He’d chosen me for my benevolent and diplomatic nature. It was vital the forges remained open - he needed control, not a slaughter.

I assembled 15,000 guardsmen and entered the district in full battle array. The air was mutinous, wizened dwarven visages glaring out from the windows. My soldiers took the two main thoroughfares, dividing the district into quarters, and dealing with each quarter at a time.

At the business end of 15,000 crossbows, the dwarven workers were ordered to down tools and gather into lines within the foundries, where they were made to strip away their overalls and turn into their stone forms. Some disobeyed and ran, only to be cut down by crossbow bolts. The majority of them obeyed. One foundry foreman, so bent, gnarled and twisted as an old oak tree that he couldn't be any less than 600 years old, spat at my feet, though all dwarves will naturally slip into stone after a few whacks from a truncheon.

Taking a masonry chisel and mallet, I went along the line, removing each of their thick, petrified cocks with a single hard blow each to the base of the shaft. Their fallen manhoods were gathered up and thrown in a pile.

   Human sculptors followed behind, utilizing carving chisels for the finer work; grinding wheels, files and rasps to scrape away the brutish masculine physiology, erasing the ropy bands of muscles of their biceps and abdominals; while a team of men wielding rock augers finished up the job by working the crudely broken lumps of their former manhoods into delicate, dainty, tight little holes.

Their chosen form was a shrewd and calculated one - slender and petite, so as to be less danger in the event of an uprising. Human, as how better to instill loyalty than to make them appear as one of us? Feminine, and fuckable - the dwarven invaders lusted just the same as any other race, and things didn’t end well for women in a failed siege. What better incentive for the feminized workers to keep the walls standing?

One by one, the ex-dwarves shifted out of their stone shapes, staggering and collapsing at the changes wrought upon them.

“Consider these hostages, stored at his majesty’s pleasure,” I stated, pointing with my chisel at the pile. My soldiers began shoveling them into sacks for the Emperor’s vaults. “When this war ends in our favour, they’ll be returned. Cause trouble, and your cocks will be ground to dust to become mortar for the city walls. Get back to work.”

Before today, there had never existed a dwarven woman. After today, there would be 40,000.

One maiden caught my eye as I left, her look of loathing transformed into the most delightful sultry sulk on her new face. It was the foreman. I appraised his comely figure.

“Nothing more to say? No more spit?” I leered, gesturing to my guards. “Perhaps we can find a more fitting use for that mouth of yours.”

We Can Rebuild Him. We Have The Sorority - TG

    When I went and got myself blown up by an IED in the line of duty, the army scraped up what was left of me and shipped me home to my girlfriend, fully expecting me to expire on the way home. They were already measuring me up for a coffin and, let me tell you, it wouldn’t need to be a long one.

Yet somehow I held on. And if I wasn’t about to give up, neither was my girlfriend. She got me the best medical care she could afford, setting up charity drives to raise further money. Yet the organ transplants required to replace my damaged body were too much. The damage was just too extensive. My arms and legs were salsa, I’d suffered deep tissue burns across 80% of my body. Liver, kidneys, everything was failing.

As I lay there dying, she gathered all her friends together and made one last, incredible push for donations - not money this time, but organs. Skin, fat, bone and marrow, a kidney here, a chunk of lung there. Not much each but enough to form a mostly complete human. I was a Frankenstein’s monster, a mashed up jigsaw of a hundred different people, but alive. It was just a pity that all her friends were girls.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked my sorority for so much,” she’d said nervously when the bandages were first peeled away from my breasts.

Rehab was lengthy. Learning to walk again - new legs, who dis? More surgery, cosmetic this time to make the face look less of a patchwork, though they made it far too pretty if you ask me. My squadmates are already making fun of it. The visit whenever they’re on leave, as if I don’t see straight through their intentions. I’ve already overheard one of them making a crass remark about the appeal of fucking an entire sorority at once.

I knew I was healed when the army rang, asking when I’d be ready to be redeployed. I told them I’d think about it.

My manhood was gone, reduced to atoms - our sex life changed, though certainly hasn’t stopped.

“Does it bother you?” I asked as we lay in bed entwined in each other's arms. “When you kiss me, it’s like you’re kissing your friends.”

“It’s wonderful,” she said, kissing me passionately. “Every time I look at you, I see the precious gift they gave us.” She hesitated a second. “Kinda wish my sister didn’t donate though.”

“Why? Which part is she?”

“You don’t want to know.”

The-Not-So-Great-Shift - Breeding Season

 After the Great Shift, population numbers were in severe decline. It wasn’t just the people who perished on Shift Day or those we lost in the months of chaos afterwards, it was the birthrate - about a third of what it had been before the Shift.

   It was understandable. Practically every existing relationship in the world had been ripped asunder, partners dispersed across the globe (with many millions still trying to find their way back home) or placed in bodies completely incompatible with their ex-spouses. Reforging those broken pairings and forming new ones was slow. Half of men were now women, and half of women were now men, and -for the most part- sexualities had been unaffected, rendering around half of the population technically gay overnight.

Then there were matters of age, religion, culture, and language, all of them scrambled. The awkwardness and generational divide of dating a smoking hot, teen blonde with the personality and values of 90-year-old Sudanese man. Finding common ground was hard these days.

It wasn’t that babies weren’t being conceived - with sex being one of the few universal cultural touchstones we still had in common, there was plenty of it going on (too much if you ask me), but few males had the nurturing instinct that a lifetime of hormones and cultural programming instilled. Most ex-males avoided pregnancy like the plague.

Ultimately the state intervened once it became clear how dire the situation was. The Compulsory Coupling Draft, the government called it. My blood ran cold the day they announced it. Forced breeding. We - everyone with a functioning uterus, female-born or not- was to be assigned a partner. A stud. We were to be bred like animals! Me! A respected surgeon and father of four! Given to some man to be impregnated again and again like some puppy mill. I was only just coming to terms with the fact the uterus between my legs might actually be mine, and now I was being told it was actually property of the state.

The man I was given to, Cathlene, was a thug and a brute. Testosterone psychosis. By all accounts, his body had been an affable family man once and his mind that of a sweet grandmother. Some women don’t cope well with being thrown into a brain with foreign, male impulses, which can run unchecked, making monsters out of the mildest ex-women. Even if I could escape the draft, there was no escaping Cathlene once he discovered the delights of breeding me. When I tried, the beatings began.

I’ve been lucky so far. I’ve yet to fall pregnant, though not for lack of Cathlene trying. The state monitors all fertiles closely, knows precisely when they’re ovulating. This month, it hit at work. There’s a special breeding room the hospital sets aside for staff-use, lilac-painted and decorated with photos of babies. I strip, lie back and stare at the ceiling. Cathlene spreads my legs eagerly and has his rough way with me.

“Perhaps this will be the month,” he croons, and I try not to flinch as he strokes my abdomen. The thought of my belly swelling with this man’s child makes my skin crawl.

I stifle noises of discomfort as he mounts me, knowing he hates anything other than my fake orgasms. His leering face is red and sweating as he rocks above me, growing in pace and intensity until he’s practically berserk, slamming me against the bed as he all-but foams at the mouth. A sticky warmth blossoms within me and I shudder, turning away. Suddenly he grabs my neck, squeezing. “You didn’t say ‘thank you’,” he snarls.

“Thank you,” I croak out.

“Hngh. Good girl.”

Dwarven Assassins

 

   I have quite the collection of dwarven assassins. With their affinity for the earth that lets them turn their flesh into solid stone, they all have the same bright idea - concealing themselves as statues to be imported into my chateau, then transforming back while I sleep to throttle me in my bed.

It’s not a bad plan. I’m well known for my statuary after all, though they don’t realise until it's too late that they are all their brethren who came before them, chiseled down from thugs into beautiful things.

Nor do they realise the enchantment around my chateau locking any dwarf within their stone form until they leave the grounds. Which, once they’re in my collection, they never do.

Their petrified flesh makes such wonderful, workable material for a sculptor. Some are like granite, others marble, while some even become creatures of brass, though it is all the same softness under my adamantine chisel. To a master, the statue is already there within the stone, just waiting for the superfluous material to be removed, begging to be exposed to the world as items of feminine perfection. Which I do, carving away all the ugly dwarven musculature and brutish pronounced brow until at last I step back and admire my creation.

I like to leave a little something of the men they were to remember them by. The latest, one-eyed, devilish-looking cut-throat to grace my abode had such a pronounced hunchback I couldn’t resist carving it into a pair of angelic wings.

He makes a fine effigy of Aphaea, goddess of fertility and childbirth. My hand graces his thick thighs and broad, childbearing hips, and I press one ear to the statue’s breasts, listening for a moment to the stifled, terrified dwarven oaths echoing within, before sending him to be presented publicly in the grounds.

The Fabric Of Life - Gymwear

 

 There was a new clothing store on the highstreet, The Fabric of Life. Unusual for a clothing store, it didn’t sell clothing. It would be more accurate to say the clothing sold themselves.

Personal wearers were in vogue. With the breakthrough in TF tech, people -quite often men- paid handsomely to be turned into and worn -quite often by women- as items of clothing, and a whole industry had sprung up, with some enterprising influencers making wearing their fans a huge part of their income.

As is often the case with new markets, personal wearers was completely unregulated. There had been tragedies, far too many missing persons, if the term ‘person’ could still be applied to the misplaced or malicious discarded ex-humans that now drifted through thrift stores, car boots sales, and ebay, trapped forever within their fabric bodies to be bought and sold by unknowing owners until time and use wore them out.

The Fabric of Life store had established itself as a reputable middle-man. Celebrity clients submitted requests to stock their wardrobes, the store advertised, and then performed the transmutation and delivery of paying customers into objects. When the contract expired, they ensured the individual was returned to their previous life. Sure, people occasionally still fell through the cracks, but it was safer.

When Emily Ratajkowski put out a request, the store made a huge deal out of it, advertising on buses and billboards, and turning it into a midnight opening. It wasn’t just that Emily wanted people-panties. Oh no, her entire wardrobe, her whole life was to be stocked with lucky fans. Not only would they have the honor of adorning her body, they’d decorate her home, be her furniture, her perfume, toiletries, even her food and drink.

Fans of the actress camped out in advance to secure spots in the queue, which snaked down the highstreet, half a mile of excited chatter. You were there to try a short-term contract, enjoying the positive vibes as the impromptu fan community light-heartedly divided themselves into #TeamPanties and #TeamSneakers. You were stuck behind a 19-year old superfan named Eric, a ginger-haired gentleman wired on so much coffee and anticipation he hadn’t slept in three days or, seemingly, stopped jabbering away factoids about his ‘goddess’, Emily, for even a moment.

At long last the store doors opened and fans surged inside. Store technicians began processing contracts. The non-disclosure agreement was 30-pages long - after all, fans would have intimate knowledge of every aspect of her life.

“How long?”

“Just 48 hours,” you reply. “I was hoping I can be her-”

“That’s $600. We take cash or card. Due to the volume of fan response, the store cannot guarantee final form,” the store technician stated bluntly, not even meeting your gaze. She had a long shift ahead of her and yawns as she ticks through boxes. “Though you will legally be the possession of Emily Ratajkowski, the store does not guarantee that you will be used, worn, touched, looked at, or otherwise acknowledged by Miss Ratajkowski. During your stay, you are not entitled to move, except where your final form entitles or requires you to move to perform your function. Due to safety legislation, you will be able to speak, though you are not entitled to speak to Miss Ratajkowski, in her presence, or in the presence of the press or paparazi. Failure to maintain silence will result in yadda yadda blah blah.”

The speech rambled for forty minutes before you were allowed to sign. You were led through into the transformation booth. Everything went black.

—----------------------------------

What a bargain! Only $500 to have your entire being stretched tight across your idol’s thighs, ass and pussy. Your entire form signs with each movement she makes. Her body heat permeates every part of you, her scent the most intoxicating perfume as you subtly nuzzle against her womanhood. It is as though your senses are stretched out, your entire form acting as your eyes, nose, and tongue.

And it has only been an hour since she plucked you from the wardrobe, ascended you above all others to be hers and hers alone. Your anticipation grows to fever pitch when you catch sight of yourself in store windows - you’re gym clothes! Soon you’ll drink in the sweaty delights of her workout.

Emily tenses suddenly as a nasal voice speaks from nowhere. It’s Eric.

“Oh, wow, you lucky bastards, I can’t believe you got to be her actual gymwear! What am I? Can anyone see what I am? Oh my god, she’s actually touching me! This is the best day of my life!”

Emily rolls her eyes, plucking the mouthy sunglasses from her head. She grips the two lenses tightly in her fists, flexing the thin, brittle plastic. The sunglasses give a tormented scream of pain in their final moment before there comes a crinkle of splintering plastic as the sunglasses are snapped into a dozen pieces.

Emily holds the broken fragments out in her open hands for the rest of her stunned attire to see. “Anyone else have anything they want to say?” she asks, tossing the pieces in a garbage bin.

Reality Switch - Pantified Boyfriend

 “Oh thank god you’re here, Lydia. Look, me and Jessica decided to fool around a little with a reality switcher. Something has gone horribly wrong.”

“Uh, Jessica, why are your panties talking?”

“Thanks for noticing! Cool, huh? They were a wedding present. Somebody got me a pair of novelty panties. You know, the Talking Panties™ with speakers sewn into the fabric? They’re like those greeting cards with audio messages when you open them.”

“I don’t know if those are… a thing…?”

“Sure they are, they sing happy birthday to you.”

“No, I mean I’ve never heard of panties with speakers in them before.”

“Of course you haven’t! Nobody has! That’s just the reality shift trying to explain why I can speak.”

“It’s a very niche product.”

“Lyia, listen to me, I’m Jessica’s boyfriend. I’m a human. The reality shift erased me but Jessica was never meant to be part of it. She needed to remember so she could revert things to how they're meant to be.”

“Does your husband know you have boyfriend panties?”

“Haha, very funny.”

“She’s not meant to be married, Lydia! Without me in existence, she must have met somebody else. Some macho asshole who-”

“How do they know my name is Lydia?”

“Just a coincidence. They come pre-loaded with different fun catchphrases. Stuff like ‘Jessica, please help me’, ‘I love you, Jessica’, ‘reality is broken’, and ‘please don't wear me when he touches you’.”

“Those don’t sound very fun. And it just plays randomly?”

“Uh huh. Little snippets of audio. Sometimes the audio sounds like its syncing to things you say, almost like it’s replying, but it’s just a coincidence.”

“I am replying to you!”

“See?”

“Don’t they seem like a strange wedding present to you?”

“Not at all, they’re totally-… Huh… Actually, now that you mention it… yeah, they are kinda weird…”

“Thank god, a breakthrough. Finally you’re seeing this isn’t how reality is supposed to be.”

“And so annoying too. The sobbing audio seems to be stuck on a loop.”

“Annoying? No I-”

“Why didn’t I mute them weeks ago? All I need to do is remove the battery from the speaker.”

“No no no, Lydia, don’t let her mute me. No no. DON’T LET HER MU-”

…

“Finally a bit of peace and quiet.”

“I know, right?”

“Good job they’re cute panties or I’d have thrown them in the trash.”

“So anyway you were telling me about your sex life with the gorgeous new hubby.”

“Oh, right, where was I…?”

Transcation Excursions - Facatativá

 

In the 17th century, the area of Facatativá in present-day

Colombia was brutally put to the sword by Spanish conquistadors. So the tale goes, as the priestess of Huitaca lay bleeding out, she placed a curse upon the land, so that the invaders would experience the fate of those they had killed.

That night the conquistador slept beneath the open sky. As the silvery light of the moon touched them, they took on the bodies and faces of the slain villagers. When a second party of conquistadors arrived to relieve them, the transformed Spaniards discovered their tongues too had been taken from them. Watching as their former comrades drew swords, they could only plead helplessly in the native tongue in the moments before they were struck down by the men they had once called brothers.

But the curse didn’t stop. Ever since that day, all who sleep there awaken to find their flesh twisted into the shapes of long-dead men and women…

Today the city is a thriving spa town! Drawn by the so-called curse, retirees from across the world throng the streets, staying at one of the many luxurious high-rises that dot the hillside of this once-sleepy village.

By day, guests can enjoy the local culture, experiencing first-hand a forgotten language from their own lips! Try the cuisine, visit pre-Columbian architectural sites, or perhaps even catch a bus tour to visit the spooky, unmarked graves of those unlucky conquistadors.

And at night, our transformed attendees engage in acts that would make Huitaca, the goddess of sexual liberation herself, blush!

Thinking of booking an excursion to Facatativá? Contact us today!

Disclaimer: New bodies will be received by guests upon sleeping within the perimeter of Transcation Excursions Resort and Spa. Transformations are determined at random from a pool of 449 17th century indigenous muisca peoples. Transcation Excursions does not guarantee the age, sex, gender, or any other attribute of the body received by our guests. Transcation Excursions can not be held responsible for any loss or acquisition of age, limbs, hair, tattoos, or sexual organs upon transformation. Transcation Excursions can not be held responsibilities for any pregnancies conceived during or following a stay at the Transcation Excursions Resort and Spa. Transcation Excrusions can not be held responsible for cloudy, stormy, or otherwise moonless weather conditions during your stay. For indemnity purposes, all transformations are considered Acts of God. All transformations are final. 

Green Fingers, Thumbs, Limbs and Torso - Plant TF

 Honey? Are you still there?

We're still spiritually linked by the spell, Simon. I can hear you for now.

I changed my mind. I want to go back. I can’t see, I can’t move. Undo the spell. Please?

Undo it? But didn’t you say you wanted to support me? That you wanted to share everything with me? It’s so incredible feeling your life force, strength, humanity, everything flowing into me. I could run a marathon right now. Mmm your life essence tastes so good. Even if it has gone straight to my ass, haha!

But I’m a houseplant!

And what a beautiful houseplant you are too. There really isn’t enough life force left to hold you in the shape of something complex like an animal or a fiance.

But- but- we were meant to share everything…

We will. I’ll share with you the sunny window ledge of my new apartment. Let me introduce you to the collection. Say hi, boys.

Wait. Are these men too?! How many fiances ha-

Aaand there goes the link.

The Not-So-Great Shift

 

They're calling it the Great Shift. Hell if I know what's so great about it. In its wake came anarchy. Nobody knows who is in charge anymore, or who is who at all. Prisons emptied out overnight, inmates roaming free in their acquired bodies, murdering and stealing. People wearing the bodies of cops take what they pleased. The Police, FBI, CIA, judges, politicians, almost the entire backbone of law and order are now scattered to the winds in bodies unsuited for authority, or on the other side of the planet. The president himself is in diapers for crying out loud.

Resources are getting scarce. Nobody knows how to do the jobs their bodies once did. The global supply chain collapsed. They say the oceans are adrift with thousands of cargo vessels captained and crewed by people who’ve never seen a boat in their lives. Thousands of planes fell from the sky in the minutes after the Shift.

I’m one of the unlucky ones. I didn’t even get a flesh and blood body. I woke to find myself trapped in this fuckdoll, my humanity stripped. I barely made it home through the chaos. My house was deserted. Whoever or whatever is in my body, it isn’t here now. Maybe just trying to get back to their family, same as everyone else.

I hear looters next door. They’re moving from house to house, scavenging anything they find. I'll be damned if that includes me. I’m under no illusions what awaits me if they get their hands on me.

Whatever happens, they’re not taking me alive. Assuming this rubber body of mine can even die.

Request - The Mind Switcher (father/daughter)

 

Thanks again to Muted-Building for this request. If the concept is a little dark, don't worry, she's backed up and I'm sure she can be rescued at any point :)

Maid in Dubai

 

After multiple scandals and with most of the world barring their own people from traveling to the Middle East to work, the people of Dubai turned to americans for their overseas labor force. They found an eager pool of young men fresh out of college looking to spend a gap year abroad, earning life experiences and a generous paycheque at the same time. And they had enough money to make sure their new au pairs looked the part.

I was one of the first men to take their offer. They collected me from the airport and drove me straight to the surgery. I’d already surrendered my passport, not realizing they never intended to return it.

Only as the surgeon pressed the mask to my face and the anesthetic began to knock me out, did I realize something was wrong.

When I awoke, they had already castrated and feminized me. They explained I’d have to work for them until I paid them back for the cost of my surgery! And if I tried to escape… they described the severe punishments for women that disobeyed.

Please help me. You have to get word to the American embassy. Tell them I'm here. My master and his wife, they call me Kadijah and keep me locked away in this house. They force me to wear these disgusting clothes. They treat me like a slave. And the way my master, Khalil, looks at me…

*shudder*

It will be years before I work off my debt as their maid. He’s offered… other ways for me to repay him.