Becoming Monsters 1: Ch. 02

Now available on Literotica: Becoming Monsters Book 1, Growing Problems!

All 40 chapters will show up here, so look forward to Honoka’s adventures with monster girls chapter by chapter as I figure out how to format everything to fit my vision.

For right now, enjoy the story and join with thousands of people when I say to KEEP HARMONIZING!!

PREVIOUSLY ON BM: Honoka, working at an architectural firm in Boston, needed to deal with the difficulty of being a Futanari in a modern world filled with video game Status screens and magical monster races such as herself.

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Chapter 2: Coming Out On The Bus

Honoka exited her cubicle around 9 pm, shuffling along with the other overworked drones at Babcock Architecture Solutions. Around a thousand employees, the office faculty was large enough to house some impressive talent and they worked on significant projects for hundreds of high-end international clientele. Taking advantage of the renowned Boston Architectural College - where she graduated from a little over five years ago - BAS gobbled the best talents in the country fresh off the graduation runway and put them to work for a reasonable wage. They accomplished this by placing their fancy highrise right on Huntington, across the street from the college, and lots of aggressive recruitment drives.

Honoka looked up at the night sky, wondering if she should move into the city to spend more time at home. Forty minutes on the bus, then ten minutes walking to her apartment to get not enough sleep. Wake up, back at the office by eight tomorrow morning, rinse, repeat. However, rent in Norwood was a thousand dollars less and the young woman didn’t make enough money to live in Boston proper.

The transit was uneventful and mostly empty at this hour, seated in the entirely empty rear half of the articulated bus, the white fluorescent pleasantly dim. Honoka spent the bulk of her time sending off texts letting everyone know she couldn’t make it this weekend. There were too many WTFs and surprised emojis for the harried woman to deal. It got so bad Honoka turned off her phone and lay back in her seat, closing her eyes and tried not to let her emotions out. Forced to work tomorrow and Friday - and probably most of Saturday - wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to her, though it felt like the worst. For the first time since the Change, she felt important and special, and this weekend was the culmination of all that.

“I should quit,” Honoka muttered, her eyes closed and her thoughts swirling in depressing circles, “tell Steve he can do it himself. Maybe throw in a rectal enema to boot.”

“I don’t know. Steve might enjoy that.”

“Gah!” Honoka nearly fell out of her seat. Not so much from someone replying to her, but because it sounded and felt like a whisper in her ear. Looking around wildly, Honoka found a girl close enough to kiss leaning into her personal bubble, smiling wickedly. The tired architect snapped her head back, crawling as far away from the space invader as possible. The metal railing of the seat pressing hard into her back, Honoka raised her bag in front of her like a shield to defend her maiden virtue.

“Hey, no need to get your panties in a bunch, only being friendly.” Her voice sounded sultry like she licked each word before speaking. A husky alto, mingling with the sharp cadence of a slight Boston accent. The girl…woman - Honoka couldn’t place her age - matched the voice and then some. Hair the color of bright fire under a wide-brimmed hat, teasing between red and vibrant orange, unnaturally wavy, was tied into pigtails going behind her ears. Light freckles instead of tanned skin on her pale face went with her large kelly green eyes and wide, full crimson lips, the spots accentuating her allure instead of distracting it. Honoka couldn’t see any makeup but she looked like the kind of woman on the cover of gentleman’s magazines from yesteryear, the perfect girl next door type.

“Um, ah,” Honoka sputtered, her throat suddenly dry and her heart racing from anxiety more than surprise.

The girl smiled wider, a simple act causing the Beast to twitch from her erotism. “Nice to me ya, ‘um ah.’ My name is Diane Long.” She reached out her hand and Honoka suddenly realized there was more to look at than her head.

Honestly, Honoka’s mind was agog to miss such a feast of a body by being entranced with a pretty face. Wearing a dark forest green colored tube top barely more than a strip of cloth wrapped tightly around her chest, it pushed significant cleavage upward and would keep the average male distracted as they tried to count the freckled spots scattered across her mounds. Leaning towards Honoka, the girl presented a clear outline of her nipples under the nearly transparent fabric, the edge of her areola in plain view and either a miracle or masking tape keeping erect nips from popping out of the strained material. Her abdomen bare, the faint lines of a girl who did crunches every day small and almost dainty, she looked like a healthy and trim woman before her hips flared out above a low riding and very short matching green skirt, black loops of a thong coming out the top and cresting back to a mostly naked ghetto-worthy booty seated on the stiff cushions of the bus. Continuing downward, Honoka felt herself harden as she spied the hint of black thong under crossed legs, black fishnet pressing up on thick runner’s thighs down legs that went on for miles, past calves lightly flexing heart shapes, before ending in a pair of black stilettos.

And that was simply Honoka’s lust looking. When her brain managed to take back the driver seat, other more apparent parts came into focus. The hat’s large brim hid a pair of horns curling around from above her ears and trailing her temples in a slight tilt before sharply cresting upward, even poking through the top of the hat with some holes made for those green tips. Small emerald wings were folded yet remained barely visible behind her back. A long, emerald, forked tail coiled in the seat opposite Honoka’s. Having an inkling of the woman’s Race, Honoka guessed she owned a rather long tongue and a magical aura driving men to drooling if they drew too close to her.

Men and woman, Honoka thought, discreetly slurping a bit of mouth water from her lips.

“Don’t leave a girl hangin’,” Diane said after a few awkward seconds, waving her hand in front of Honoka.

Jumping again with a body flinch, Honoka reflexively wiped some of her drool that gathered on her lips while using her other hand to give a limp squeeze. The architect wanted to be polite and greet properly before turning away from the sinful sex sitting next to her, but Honoka neither said anything nor looked away. Quickly taking her hand back, Honoka turned her head to appear like she was gazing elsewhere, yet her eye remained locked on every piece of exposed flesh.

“Wow, I don't have this much effect on horny anime nerds.” Resting both of her hands on the empty edge of Honoka’s seat, the temptress pushed her boobs between biceps while licking her upper lip. One of those nipples sprang free, dark and crimson, as fat as the tip of Honoka’s pinky, the movement bringing a ripple of jiggling breast. Honoka gazed intently at the jellied jostling, the whole alluring moment either captured in slow motion or lasting far longer than physics dictated.

Diane didn't move at all while her kelly eyes remained locked on her squirming victim. “Oopsie,” she said without much inflection, “guess I’m having a Janet Jacksen moment.” Pouting, she leaned in closer to the petrified Honoka. “Could you give me a hand?”

Honoka’s hips lurched forward involuntarily, the snaps of straining velcro audible in the rear articulation. Diane’s eyes darted to the uncomfortable architect’s skirt, her smile widening in questioning hunger. However, before either went any further, the bus came to a stop and the doors opened.

“Sorry!” Honoka screeched, shooting up from her seat and falling out of the bus to sprawl on the curb in a gasping mess. Looking back in a panic, hoping the seductress wouldn't follow, she was relieved to see Diane calmly observing her from the bus window, deftly putting her escaped boob back into place. As the doors closed and the bus got moving again, Diane winked and put her hand up against the side of her head, fingers out in a familiar sign.

Call me, she mouthed, the last things Honoka saw were those lips and a bit of tongue, pouty and wet and likely very willing.

“Fudgesicles!” Honoka swore, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her cock so swollen it was a wonder it hadn’t spontaneously gone off yet. Looking around in the desperate state she was in for the possibility of a place where she could privately take care of her escalating problem, Honoka swore again. “Double fudge!”

This wasn't her stop.

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It was midnight when Honoka unlocked the door to her studio apartment, hands shaking bad enough anyone looking at her would mistake her for a junkie so far in withdrawals they wouldn't know whether to drive her to a hospital or the morgue. Halfway through her stumbling walk home, she removed the harness behind some bushes, chaffing getting too close to finishing her in the street. The last half of the March Of The Boner presented Honoka sporting an impressive tent in her skirt, attempts to conceal her problem laughable as she used the canvas purse and a hunched silhouette to play it off.

While Norwood was neither the safest part of town or most deserted at night - currently home to the redlight district of Boston Metro - plenty of well-meaning men stepped up and offered to help the distressed damsel. Honoka turned them all down quickly, mostly with a vigorous head shake or a few polite negatives squeaked out. No muggings occurred, thankfully, but the Change made assault perpetrators leery of jumping any mark based on size and gender. Never know when a seven-year-old girl was a level twenty Paladin.

The reason she needed to get home instead of using some random gas station restroom remained mostly personal anxiety. It was the same reason she didn't date, didn't even leave her apartment except to go to work. Honoka spent most of her days alone because the thought of doing anything anywhere terrified her, even more than her Changed lust urged her to take care of problems immediately instead of waiting.

Honoka lived in an old colonial-style mansion hidden behind thick tree lines in a cul-de-sac located in the northern part of town. Refurbished around fifty years ago, the large estate was refitted and remodeled to house twelve apartments. She was the only one on the fifth floor and had the pleasure of climbing up the narrow and winding stairs each night to get to her tiny apartment, a problematic climb most nights but torturous tonight.

“This…is going…to hurt…” Honoka didn't bother with the clasp on her skirt, the stains of precum soaking the entire front ruining the fabric. With a grunt, she tore the claps off and let the skirt fall to the floor as she closed and bolted her door. Revealed in all its trembling glory, the Beast looked larger with a shade of dark purple, what felt like most of her bloodstream compressed into dark woman meat, rigid veins straining to keep from bursting as they visibly writhed in time with her hammering heart.

“Still need…something…to watch…”

Stepping out of her shoes and socks, throwing blouse and bra to the side, relieved to remember her panties were in her bag, she managed to boot her gaming PC rig, click a few times, then make it into her bathroom without a moment to spare.

Her studio apartment was tiny, around five hundred square feet: just a bed, her desk with a behemoth of a computer sporting three screens and fancy leather chair, a counter in the corner holding a small sink and stove, and her bathroom. The bathroom was custom, taking up more than half her floor space. When Honoka accepted what her needs would be four years ago, she’d spent through the nose to renovate. Large whirlpool bathtub, enough for her to lay her entire body flat and submerged if she wanted. Wooden slat floor with drains spaced throughout, Japanese style sink with shower wand for rinsing off before a bath. The entire room had been sealed and included vents to pump steam in like a professional sauna. And the shower.

“Gonna need…Thor today…” Honoka mumbled, drool unabashedly dripping off her chin when she pulled open her drawer of dildos and grabbed the massive beige silicone, twenty-inch long, thicker than her arm, sculpted to the ideal penile shape, the pussy destroyer: Thor. She didn't bother with lube, her legs and the puddles trailing behind her enough testament she was ready. She entered her Fortress Of Debauchery, stepping over the waterproof mattress on the tiled floor. Seven feet long and four feet wide, the open shower used a tile partition around three walls. At the far end, above the faucets, hung a waterproofed, high definition computer screen linked to her rig and currently playing a looped two hours of some appropriate porn. Touching the screen, she activated the surround speakers and filled the shower with the moans of a redheaded cheerleader pounded by a long and thick black cock. She wasn’t worried about the noise: encased in three inches of cork, other tenants wouldn’t hear a bomb going off inside this bathroom. Honoka’s dick twitched as if to say ‘hi,’ spurting some juice and filling the shower with a cloying, sweet scent.

The hermaphrodite had moved beyond words, turning on the water to scorching hot and adjusting the three rain-style heads on the ceiling and four heads on the walls to a light misting, like in a rain forest. Honoka wasn’t worried about hot water; the remodeling included three tankless water heaters, two filters, a softener and a pump used in Olympic sized swimming pools to regulate pressure. She could run all the shower heads at full blast twenty-four hours a day and the water would be as hot as boiling and clean as bottled Evian the entire time. It made showering pure bliss, even if it cost half as much as her rent in water bills some months.

Crouching down, she screwed in Thor to the short metal shaft sticking out of the waterproofed motor assembly resting at the base of the shower. Tilting the screen downward, Honoka lay on the porous foam mattress that took up half of the shower floor and looped her feet in the stirrups on either side of the motor. Turning a handy knob on the tile to her left the slightest amount, the deliriously horny woman used her right hand to slowly ease Thor past her sopping labia and stretch her out properly. Sometimes it amazed her how a girl who never so much as sent an exploratory finger into her treasure room became a size queen in only a few short years. It took her three pauses until it eased up against her cervix. Then she cranked the dial. With a scream that matched the redhead on the screen, the horny woman lost herself to the sensations.

“Yes, YES!! [Fun] me, [fun] me good with your huge black cock!”

Honoka snorted a little bit between her moans, the machine moving Thor in and out of her in sync with the video’s actor as her hands firmly gripped her shaft and pumped them up and down, using the copious natural lubrication of her precum to keep the friction down. An adamant hater of any profanity or blasphemy, she badly dubbed the words herself over the usual filth hardcore typically spewed. Properly descriptive words were permissible: a person can go to Hell, or sport a pair of massive tits, or even be called a bitch if she was both female and canine. However, the ordinarily demure and mousy half Japanese girl became a vengeful goddess amid foul language. It was her crusade.

“Oh my [word] oh my [word!] I’m cumming! I’m cumming! [Fun] [fun] [fun] [fun] yes yes YES!!”

When Honoka paired her pleasures, working both male and female genitalia, it was the only time her cock would patiently wait for her pussy. It didn’t make it easier. Jacking and Jilling usually resulted in the Beast increasing output in proportion to the stimulation, a painful experience most days. Thirty minutes passed, the rhythm a frantic buildup as the cresting wave of her vaginal orgasm grew closer and rose higher while the dam of her dick felt ready to burst.

Can you give me a hand?

In Honoka’s mind suddenly, the redhead cheerleader became Diane, her hair growing and framing a pair of horns as those lips spoke directly to the rabid and rapidly masturbating woman. Honoka even imagined what pleasures Diane’s tail brought, thrusting deep into her canal and teasing the whole inside of her. Or how the seductress’ precious place would clamp down on all sixteen inches of Honoka’s black shaft, taking it in and ruining her of her Fortress forever.

“Diane…DIANE! Take meeeeaaaAAAHHH!!” Honoka lost all control, her legs and hips bucking in the stirrups, a fountain of cum firing almost to the tiled ceiling before cascading down all over her, one long stream in a sustained spurt as her vaginal walls cinched like a vise on the still grinding silicon, trying to push it out as every muscle in her body tensed and spasmed, drenched all over in sweat and shower rainwater. She felt a gushing squirt building in her pussy, the orgasm about to take on a second stage.

It became too much, her vaginal ejaculation cumming at the same time as the second gout of semen shot into the air, Honoka felt her consciousness cut to black as she passed out, still convulsing like a person with epilepsy as the pleasure wracked her body and her fire hose shot uninterrupted for the next few minutes.

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*beep* *beep* *beep* *beep* *beep*

“…I hate mornings.”

Honoka lay on her waterproofed mattress in the shower, still locked in the stirrups and sporting a massive headache. The dildo long ago retracted, the water shut off and the room a broiling ninety degrees to keep her from getting sick sleeping cold and wet. She was still damp in places and covered in the remains of her sex, but all the controls in her bathroom were slaved to her computer and incorporated automatic shutoffs installed. Today wasn’t the first time she woke up covered in cum and feeling miserable.

Fortunately, after many assurances from her uncle doctor, and many, many tests she learned early in her mutated life that her Race came with immunity to her own semen. So while coated in every orifice with her honey-smelling spunk, she wasn't going to find herself pregnant without outside help.

Adding insult to injury, as if he didn’t get enough yesterday, the Beast throbbed insistently at full mast in front of her face.

“You are the reason I hate mornings.”

It took her ten minutes to spank the monkey, adding another coat of shame glaze to her sex cake before she rose up and took a short but thorough shower. Then she lathered up her legs and gave them a quick shave. While toweling off, she called up her Status out of habit. No alterations, again, Honoka considered forgetting the whole thing and getting on with her life. There was no chance she would discover her Class unlocks the magic of friendship and everything would be pastel ponies from then on. Slipping on a matching set of daisy yellow panties and bra with bits of white lace on the edges followed by the dreaded harness, Honoka headed to her kitchen corner.

“Ug.” First, Honoka scooped up her scattered clothing and dumped them in her closet, making it tomorrow’s problem. Her stomach then shot insistent pangs to remind her eating was more important than laundry.