2nd person tf fic

Contains: 2nd person erotica, bad semi-philosophical rambling, pointlessly colorful writing, non consensual furry transformation and sex, transgender bullshit

There is a difference between distances. The color of the stretched out cairn, as you recede faster than you might’ve ever thought possible. Everything stretching out, growing etiolated as relative wavelength increases, where time stops and the world comes to a closer end where time fails to advance at the rate expected. You lose what you are.
To change your shape, you should recognize that there is stretching, that there is a skein of what you are that will require more radical reorganization if you don’t give the envelope time to relax and regenerate. Like bones jutting out from skin, or the stars poking holes in the night sky, light bleeding from above. Or teeth puncturing a friend’s skin and giving them that which changed you, or simply taking from them what you need. The boundaries matter, between yourself and the universe, between what you will do and what you won’t do.
But in the end, those can end up altered no matter how much time you give yourself to stretch and change, as they ought to be. That flexibility is how you can survive in different contexts, as fur begins to sprout across your body, and therefore it should be cherished, changes like this don’t come often, and they do matter.
We live in a finite universe, and the material that we have to work with is limited, it’s why your feet only now snap into their new stance, just wait until you see the abs you’ll grow for balance, but of course, that’s only in supplement to your tail, but you haven’t quite gotten– ha, nice timing huh? The energy it takes to make a change varies nonlinearly with the amount spent, depending on the facet that one desires to change, such as those teeth of yours, falling out and much, bigger, better teeth are already growing in, give it time, suckle from me, you’ll need calcium for those changes. So we must trust in the charity of the cycles that move energy throughout our environment, and the kindness which I show you here. There there, your ears are moving, it’s always nice to be able to finally really read them, decipher their body and map it to the words they cannot bring themselves to say, or at least
I love the way you just seem to get it, the way your new tail grows longer and thicker and covered in fur, wrapping around me as your tits grow in, you’ll like those, I know about your dysphoria, don’t worry, it’ll subside a bit. You know it won’t ever go away forever, you’ll have your doubts, but your world will change for the better, well, it did for me.
The trouble is that qualia are subjective, they are forged from memories and sensations and the raw mechanisms of consciousness, those are private, so I can hardly know for sure that your sensations are right for this, but ultimately, you should know that I have to do this. Well, ultimately there’s not much of a difference between needing and wanting, the distinction is entirely post-hoc, something that I’m sure we’ll have time to explore a great deal given what your cock is doing as it surges and changes, I wonder if you’ll get multiples?
But the thing I have to wonder, when you look upon your wonderful dual tone fur coat, will you think of me for giving it to you? Will it be possible for me to visit you wherever you go? Or stay with you forever, oh gosh, look at me, babbling like a horny fool, letting my feelings draw me into you, as if this exists in a more coherent form than the hormones and transmitters and raw absurd state coursing through my brain. But I don’t think there is anything beyond that, what is more real and significant than the mechanisms that enable thought? Even if they are also associated with foolish behavior motivated by over high emotions.
I would guess at the nature of the soul, but it is not a real thing, just an observation that people can only change so much in their nature without losing them as a person entirely. I do not know if that has a bearing upon us; you’re leaking all over me, no, don’t stop, mark me if you like, leave me covered in your essence as it is.
What matters in a person then? There is hardly a map of what a person may become with borders annotated for when they become someone else, the distinction is arbitrary, cultural norms would seem to be the providing part for when it is. But ultimately, behavior is a deep deep rut in humans and other animals, changing is hard, which is how you get things that nearly constitute a soul, body language, kinesics, the languages which the body learns of absolute necessity on its own, but that is hardly unique. The easiest things to learn are rewarding to the entity learning them, whether that is sociality, technical witchcraft, or, I suppose, sex. You’re nearly done aren’t you? A pleasant sight I must say.
The trouble will be the nature of consent. Was knowing that you would enjoy having this thrust upon you sufficient consent? In general, I would say no, but in this case, does that particularly matter? Is it responsible to leave someone in such a state as yours? Without offering at least a modicum of assistance? Without taking the opportunity anyway?
But if I don’t take the opportunity to ask, where does that leave us? Would you, my dear friend, like to fuck? Should I take the humping of my legs to indicate that you’re already ahead of me? How does a fox pussy(fussy) feel? Why don’t you find out for me?

Gatsby And The Bulgy Wulgy

Blame this on Sierra, but know that this would’ve happened regardless. It was a practically a promise.

Contains: Furry road head, lesbiab, Gatsby derived work, unsafe driving, light musk

Jay Gatsby clasped her paws with Daisy’s as they left the restaurant. This was something of a change for them both. They shared warm looks between each other and flushed as they looked into each other’s eyes. They found the new yellow coupe and Daisy got into the driver’s seat.

Jay hesitated.

“Can I drive home?” Daisy asked, her rows of teeth exposed ever so slightly in her grin.

Jay started to hand the keys over, “Can you drive?”

“How hard can it be?” Jay looked at her with more concern, “Tom taught me some things about it. I’ll drive safe; I promise.”

Gatsby grinned, “I guess so.”

She got into the car and they drove off, at first a bit wobbly, smoothing out as Daisy got the hang of the handling of the car.

After a few miles Daisy was getting more and more flushed, stealing glances at Jay as she imagined what she would do with her when she got home. Her skirt was tenting and the feeling of the wind rushing over her lengths was delightfully distracting as she drove.

Jay’s smile took a more predatory turn as she noticed the bulges in Daisy’s skirt. She reached over, tracing her paw from her lap to between her legs, pulling down her underwear. There were more reasons than the strictly romantic that she had stayed with Daisy for the last five years. She missed had missed the twin shaft’s shapes in her paws and elsewhere and the smell of the shark girl’s musk.

Daisy laughed, “Is this the best time to get into this?”

“Well, it looks like you’re distracted enough with the breeze alone.” She responded, rubbing the shafts slowly as rivulets of precum emerged. She pulled her paw back, licking the fluid off. “You still taste so good.”

“Go ahead then” Daisy told the fox, she reacted with glee and pulled down her underwear and pulled the skirt up. She leaned over to her, running her tongue up and down the shafts one at a time. Daisy moaned. It felt nice, but the distraction was even worse than before.

She teases the twin shafts, running her paw across the shark’s sack, as she works her mouth deeper and deeper with each pass, working into a rhythm, taking both at once into her mouth, then her throat as she incrementally relaxes the muscles involved. Her own shaft grows hard in her pants and she rubs at it automatically, a low moan rising in her throat as the thoughts of what will come after grow more vivid in her head and the smell of her lover grows to fill her head.

Daisy is immersed in the sensation, living in a half world of driving and the sensation, she almost doesn’t see Wilson crossing the street. She barely manages to swerve out of the way, the car’s wheels crashing off the road and then back on, forcing the shafts all the way into Jay’s throat roughly. The fox pulls off of her sputtering, “fuck!”