Just Say "Oh~"

The story is largely above board, I believe, but since it involves someone (willingly) taking a drug at a college party and then getting railed (consensually) six ways from Sunday, I just wanted to state that up front to keep anyone from having bad vibes.

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"First one's free," the dragonwoman said. She held one wing like a trench coat over her voluptuous body, while the other was extended, revealing pouches and pockets full of pill bottles. Some looked like legit pharmaceuticals, others were in fun shapes and obviously the product of an enterprising chem student and a home lab. There was Felyne, of course, but he also recognised Bov-Nine, DrakeTonic, Bunnilin, Gobolium, and even a few containers of the designer favourite YoursElf. A dozen ways to transform his body, all for the low low price of free.

"No thanks," Milo said, trying not to sound like the protagonist of a DARE cartoon and failing completely. "I like the way I am."

"Suit yourself," she replied, rolling her golden eyes and tucking her wing back over her body. Milo hurried out of the little tunnel and back into the sunlight. The conversation lingered in his mind long after she'd disappeared from the corner of his eye. Was the answer he'd given truly right? Was he happy with himself?

He was asking some variation of this question ever since Metamorphix released their discovery of the programmable genetic matrix into the public domain. The realization that human DNA was not only uniquely malleable but the process of transformation could be easy and cheap had upended civilization. Or at least, made things a bit more interesting. Politicians, being mostly out-of-touch old people, passed laws prohibiting most forms of morphic drugs unless specifically prescribed by a doctor. And god was it hard to get a prescription for turning into an 8 foot tall oni girl.

That was also the catch with morphics. While the form was determined by the individual drug, the shape that form would take was dependent on a dozen hidden factors, resulting in the potential for what scientists called "gender fuckery". You could never tell what parts and what feelings you'd end up with when you dosed. Some men looking to become hot werewolf guys had no problems, whereas some ladies seeking to spice up their bedroom life by turning into a cowgirl...well, let's just say there was a bit of a bull in a china shop situation.

His phone chirped. The lock screen preview of the message said: Hey fucko, where are you at?

Milo let out an exasperated breath. He was only going to this stupid party because Darren had asked him to, and now he had the gall to act impatient.

On my way, cool your ass

Some of the spice in the message was just generic male banter, but he might have let a little of his own emotions leak through the text. He had so much to do this semester, so many classes, so many hours he had to log. Milo really didn't have time to go socialize. Especially not with a bunch of dudes his age. There was a disconnect there that he just couldn't put his finger on. A lot of guys were too aggressive, too domineering, too...guy-ish for him to fit in. Especially ones who permadosed on morphics and ended up as burly orcs or hotheaded demons. He much preferred the company of his female friends, or better yet, a night in with a nice book.

The get-together was being held off campus, as all the cool parties tended to be. Close to a student bookstore run by a sarcastic racoongirl and just before you reach the independent theatre sat a tall, thin house. One of a dozen that had once been identical, but over the decades they'd diverged as each owner dealt with the damage that catering to college kids accumulates over time. Walls painted and repainted, doors fixed and broken into then fixed again. An endless procession of window panes leaving not a single hint of intact glass from its original construction. The one Milo was looking for had a big bench covered in empties and pizza boxes.

"Ugh."

Ambling up the wooden steps, he knocked a single time before a green hand yanked the open.

"Milo! Thank fuck, good to see you buddy," the creature in front of him said. Standing two metres tall and sporting dark green skin, Milo had never seen this person before in his life. At least, he thought so. But the cleft chin, the jaw, and the slightly crooked smile...

"Darren?" he ventured. The orc nodded, then pulled him into the house. Milo nearly tripped on a pile of shoes at the door, but his friend's new powerful arms kept him on his feet. He tried not to read anything into the sudden butterflies in his stomach at being so easily manhandled. His whole demeanour had changed. Darren of old had a slight nebbish quality to his mannerisms and voice. This was a proud, bold version of the same man. Was that a part of the transformation too?

"Glad you could make it! C'mon, you gotta try some of this shit out." Before he could ask what "this shit" was, he was being led further down the corridor. He barely had time to take his own shoes off before being pulled into the kitchen. Three people, all monstrous and gorgeous, gathered around a plastic tray of snacks.

"Who's this?" a manticore girl asked, her fat tail slapping gently against the kitchen counter in an unconscious rhythm.

"Looks like fresh meat," a catcutie said, licking their lips in a thoroughly disconcerting way. Especially when Milo noticed the pointed teeth that tongue slid past.

Darren patted him on the shoulder. "This is Milo! He's never tried morphics before."

Milo's eyes went wide. Why everyone was non-human suddenly made sense. His friend had dragged him to a friggin' morph party!

The third person, a creature with a snake-like lower body, hissed out a laugh. "Wow. Jumping into the deep end right away! Respect."

He had two options. He could say what he wanted to say, that he had no plan on ever taking morphics and that he was dragged here under false pretenses...and dissolve into a puddle of social anxiety. Or...

"I guess so," he mumbled out, looking over the tray of snacks. Each was a different baked good, with no visual indication of what product lay within. That was the whole gimmick of morph parties: going at random to unleash the creature within.

"Are they safe?" he asked, not expecting an actual answer.

But the snake girl surprised him. "Perfectly. Morphics like these offer powerful transformations but burn out of your system quickly. 24 hours or less you'll be 100% human again. I'm a teratochemistry major, I know the basics."

He picked up a cookie. Peanut flavoured, judging by the smell. "And there's no way to tell what I'll turn into?"

Darren slapped him on the back with his meaty orcish hand. "That's what makes it so fun!"

He mumbled a brief thank you and shuffled over to an empty corner of the room, staring at the morphic edible. Was this really something he was going to try? This was all just so fast...

"You alright?" Darren asked. He'd broken away from the small ground to stand at Milo's shoulder. The play at comical bravado has melted away, leaving only a voice of concern.

"It's a bit much. Why did you even invite me here? I don't know anyone..."

"Because you're a ball of stress, my guy. I've seen you bust your ass for months without a break! I wanted to try to get you out of your comfort zone, try something new. And I figured you wouldn't come if I made it clear what kind of get-together this was. I'm not gonna force you to try anything, nobody can. But...transforming can feel *really* good. Trust me on this."

He gave another weak affirmation, eyes still locked on the cookie. Looking closely, he could actually see a little bit of the baked-in active ingredient. It looked like edible confetti; morphics all looked alike when baked into food. If he wanted to find out, he'd have to try it.

After all: what was the worst that could happen?

He took a single, tentative bite. It tasted like cookie alright. Another, and another. It was a really good cookie. Not too hard, not too soft. A decent chewy peanut butter cookie with just a hint of something *else*. Hard to verbalize what the other flavour was, but there was no mistaking another active ingredient beyond the sugar and the butter. Before he knew it, he'd had it polished off and was licking his fingers. Whelp, he thought, here goes nothing.

The first strange sensation he detected was a gentle tingling of the extremities. He held his hand at eye level. No visible shifting in the colour of his skin, no fluff or scales. But perhaps it was too soon.

"How fast is it supposed to happen?" he asked, but Darren had been whisked off somewhere. Suddenly he was alone.

The tingling intensified, becoming impossible to ignore. He felt every bit of his skin, the presence of his clothes a constant presence rather than a blissfully ignored reality. Every moment they were on him was another thing dragging away his attention. Keeping him from focusing. He had to get them off.

Thankfully he found the bedrooms on the second floor of the house. Some of the doors were locked, with noises ranging from conversations to...other things indicating they were occupied. He entered the closest evidently empty room and started peeling off his shirt. The relief of not having to deal with that nagging scraping on his torso was soon replaced with another emotion: shock. Because as he looked to inspect his now topless form, he found two bumps around his nipples that hadn't been there before.

"Wha?" he asked, voice cracking as he spoke. He poked one protrusion with a finger. The flesh was beyond sensitive, and he had to catch himself to keep from falling over. Not only was he growing breasts, but they were far more sensitive than they had ever been. And they were growing with each heartbeat. Whatever kind of monster he was becoming, it was one with tits.

His lower half chafed the same way his upper half did. Somewhat more sheepishly, he yanked off his pants and felt around. A slowly growing nodule on his lower back grew outward and down, fluffing and stretching until it dangled over a foot. Unconcious reflex made it swish back and forth against his inquisitive touch, confirming that he had indeed grown a tail. A sound like microphone feedback made him clutch his ears. But instead of reaching for the side of his head, he grasped at a pair of fluffy points that parted his hair at the top. Ears. Specifically, dog ears.

It was all too much. Sensory overload. He couldn't tell what he even looked like Milo took stock in front of the bedroom's large dresser mirror, poking and prodding around his changing body for clues. Canine features, clearly. Rather than become a terrifyng werewolf, he'd come something closer to 'person with animalistic traits'. There was a word in Japanese for that, but he couldn't remember it.

Another body-wracking wave of transformation slammed into him. This time, instead of his extremities and skin, he felt the changes deeper. Like it was in his bones. He felt himself fill out, flesh pushing out from his gangly frame and forming curved shapes. He also found himself closer to the ground. Once easily over 6', his eye level dropped maybe half a foot. In the mirror, all the changes became obvious. He was changing into some kind of chubby doggirl...but he was a guy! Something had clearly gone wrong!

The transformations were rippling through him now. No longer singular spikes, they ebbed and rose like tides of metamorphic bliss. He felt himself shrink further, reducing down in more ways than one. Feeling an impossible tingling between his legs, he felt his cock fully recede into his body, replaced with a yawning slit that made him shiver to the touch.

Pussy. He had a pussy. Milo knew he should feel emasculated. But none of the rage or shame that he assumed he would find reached him. Instead, all there was to feel was a new, bubbling desire. His hand's mission slowly turned from diagnostic to stimulation. He probed and stroked every new shape and crevice of this strange new organ, exploring a battery of new sensations like a platter of those delectable morphic desserts. He stared at the hot doggirl in the mirror and frigged himself to the sight.

"What have we here?" a voice said, instantly breaking the spell. Milo's eyes became as wide as dog bowls. He leapt for the comforter of the bed, covering his thick new form.

"It's not...I-It's not what it looks like!" he tried, the excuse sounding weak even to him. He looked to the door, where a huge, burly werewolf boy stood with his shoulder pressed into the open doorway. Fuck, he thought, how come he got to turn into a hot monster guy? His massive frame made him nearly have to tilt himself to the side to fit in through the doorframe. Rather than cute, diminutive ears like he'd gotten, he was a full on lycanthrope. Red, devilish eyes peered down at Milo from behind a snouted mouth full of jagged teeth.

"That'd be interesting," he said with a snort, "Because it looks to me like a bitch in heat so lost in her hole that she forgot to close the door."

Already blushing, the realization that he'd been masturbating in an open room made Milo turn scarlet. That word though. *Bitch*. He suppressed the urge to squirm in place, but there was no denying the dampness growing between those thick thighs.

"Oh god. I'm sorry, this...this is my first time with morphics. It's all so..."

"Overwhelming? Yeah, I get that. Well let me help you take care of one source of distraction." He slid into the bedroom and pulled the door closed behind him. His massive hands dwarfed the tiny doorknob, forcing him to squeeze it between his thumb and forefinger. Even in his lust-addled state, Milo managed to grasp for excuses.

"N-no...I'm not...I mean, I'm actually a guy..."

The wolfman snorted. "I don't care that you think you are. I could smell your pheromones from the other end of the house. You're in heat."

Another urge to squirm, but this time he couldn't resist it.

"That's not...ngh...not true!"

His tormenter wasn't convinced. As he removed his belt, he asked, "What's your name, slut?"

A flicker of spine. "Milo. M-My name is Milo."

"Wrong. That's a terrible name for a dog. Your name is...let's say, Molly," he said. Before Milo could deny this, the man pulled down his pants to reveal a throbbing bulge in his boxers. The mere hint of an erect cock shortcircuited the freshly minted dogbrain. "Like what you see, Molly?"

"Hhh, not, you can't just..." the words came out half mumbled. A bright pink tip poked out from the boxers. What was a werewolf's cock like?

"Sorry, I didn't hear that," he said with relish, mouth a cave of daggers pointed straight at Milo. He gripped the thick package barely contained by the fabric. "Only bitches get to touch my fat fucking cock. So I ask again, slut. What's your name?"

"Molly."

Molly didn't even realize she was saying the word before it left her mouth. All at once, an enormous burden fell off her shoulders. The need to maintain the pretense that she didn't want this dissolved in the heat of her own desire. She let the comforter slide to the floor, revealing her obscenely curvy new body shape.

She got another laugh, but the real reward came when his boxers hit the ground. Between his legs stood a strangely shaped cock, tapered at the tip with a huge, flared bulge of flesh near the hilt. Knots, she had once heard them called. Her mouth watered at the sight.

"Good slut."

He approached, showing just how tall he was. Easily a foot taller than her, he practically towered over her supine form. Long, frightening fingers reached down and slid inside her slit for a moment. She gasped. It felt different from when she was playing with herself. He withdrew his hand to eyeline, showing off the clear glaze of her own pussyjuices in the light.

"And what are you, Molly? Here's a hint: it starts with B, and it's not 'Boy.'"

She didn't know what had come over her. Though not a virgin, Molly had never been known for being all that interested in casual sex. But as the morphics pulsed through her veins, her old frigidity and nervousness melted. Her lip quivered as these new feelings bubbled up to the surface.

"B-bitch..." she whispered, shuddering.

"I couldn't hear that." Driving the knife in. What a bastard!

"I said I'm a bitch!" Molly squeaked, almost in a parody of defiance. If he wanted her to submit, she wasn't going to be demure about it. He gave her a sly grin in response, nodded once, then pushed the glistening finger to her lips. Without thinking, she let it in, tasting her pussy for the first time.

"Then quit wasting my time. Get on all fours and present yourself."

Thus commanded, Molly obeyed. She climbed onto the bed and shoved out her ass into the air with her face pressed into the mattress. Somehow, being unable to see this stranger made it seem even more depraved. This wasn't lovemaking. This was fucking. She was moments away from fucking someone she didn't even know the name of.

She inhaled sharply at his first touch. But it was just a finger again. It slid around her lower lips, making slow circles around her needy hole and driving her into a heated frenzy. She wasn't subtle about her feelings either. The shuddering and quiet noises became desperate whimpers and thrusts back against his hand, only for his fingers to with withdraw at the last moment.

"You want it bad, don't you?"

Flustered, she gave him what she thought he wanted. "Y-yes! Please..."

"Please what?" he asked. His hands found her hips.

"Please...please fuck me!"

With a laugh, he complied. She could feel just the tip of his massive wolfcock press against her entrance, which was enough for her brain to get a little fuzzy.

"Gonna go slowly. Not just to tease you, course I'm gonna do that too. But you seem pretty new to this 'being a slut' thing. First time with a pussy?"

Molly nodded. For some reason, she felt a little ashamed at the admission. She'd had sex before, as a guy. But for some reason she wasn't going to examine deeply, this felt different. More 'real'. Before any potential self-discovery based revelations could be reached, however, her thoughts were scattered to the four winds as the tapered tip of an enormous werewolf cock slid inside her.

"Aaah~" was about all she could manage at that point, her fingernails digging into the sheets. "So...so big!"

"Darling," he said with an audible grin, "It's barely in."

As he pressed himself inside, Molly realized he wasn't exaggerating. Inch after inch slid in, and yet there were seemingly always more inches to go. What's more, the girth increased with each insertion, stretching out her new favourite hole and ruining her chance of having a realistic perception of the average dick size forever.

"Nnngh~ There's...so much...I can't..." she stammered, breathless.

"Shh..." he said softly, running a clawed hand through her hair with gentle strokes. Being petted was far more relaxing than it should have been, and Molly relaxed instead of instinctually fighting against the width currently pressing her lower lips apart. "We'll teach you how to be a good fuckhole yet, won't we?"

Something primal about the action made her tension dissolve. She relaxed her muscles and let the wolfman's length slide in and out without resistance. Or rather, with minimal squeezing. It was impossible for his fat cock to not stretch her a little. But by keeping her relaxed, he was able to use her properly. Her breath caught as his hands wandered back to her hips, this time gripping her tight.

"Oooh~" she cooed. He was just so strong. So dominant and confident. And there was just so much of him! She could feel something huge press against her entrance. But nothing that big could fit inside...could it?

"Yeah, that's the knot. But I doubt you're ready for it," he said, pressing gently against her folds. "I'll have to save something for later. For now, you can just enjoy getting creamed."