[COM] Bug Girl

Commissioned piece, an alien disguising as human!

Loona skinsuit

Old patreon reward, Loona wearing her human disguise!

Jeanne mask off!

Old requested artwork on Pixiv!

Gunning for a Piece

Features human bodysuits and male to female gender bending.

You laid down your weapon against the milky bed sheet, its metallic lime coat reflecting snowy, almost viscous, waves. The weight of it dragged down the cloth all the way to its equally soft mattress, creating a depression on your bed. You glanced at the placed object. Strikingly similar to a nine millimeter handgun, the only offset that it wasn't the gunpowder variant were the neon colors in contrast to the default grayscale. That served to help, as wielding it in public gave the idea it was a simple prop or a child's water gun. Though, innocent as it looked, it wasn't an ordinary item that anyone could get their hands on. It was a gift from your older brother, a professional engineer who worked alongside the government and several scientists to produce the rough draft that was relaxing on your bed. He called it a costume gun, and one could say its capabilities were quite inhumane and illegal. The gun has a low range of three meters, but every shot is similar to a noiseless beam. Ammunition is finite, as the firearm is powered by electricity; you would have to send this back to your brother for a refill. Whoever is hit suffers no physical or mental damage, but instead becomes a human bodysuit, essentially a human body missing all of its innards. The suit has a straight opening on the back, allowing a person to crawl into the skin. It has a limit of one person at a time, so shooting another person when someone else has already become a suit would do nothing. Taking control of a human and having access to their life is quite illegal and intrusive, so your brother avoided this by deciding with his co-workers and higher authorities that to ensure the technology would be kept secret, the general public having no idea it existed and any models hopefully dispersed to the right hands. As an impressionable teenager, it was safe to say your rebellious nature and developing maturity was definitely a contradiction to putting the weapon in the right hands. But there were rules to kept people such as yourself at bay. For one, doing anything illegal inside the bodysuit would give the wearer a massive penalty. Another rule was that any currency spent would be from the one wielding the costume gun, meaning no foul play with anyone's funds. Telling any individual who has no affiliation with the innovators and thus does not know about the costume gun was also a strict regulation. You were limited to using the firearm in privacy, as publicly use would evidently cause panic. Lastly, it was important to not shoot yourself. Otherwise, someone else would have to use the gun to bring you back. If any of these rules were to be broken and caught on camera, you would have the costume gun taken away forever, be it your brother or the authorities. You didn't intend to cause harm with whoever you wore, but you knew not all people could be on their best behavior with this revolutionary tool. With all that set in stone, you threw yourself on the silky landscape and rested your arms above your head, making sure the gun or a stray pillow didn’t obstruct your landing. Staring at the concrete ceiling, your eyes trailed across the white ocean of stillness while afternoon sunshine illuminated the room with a golden glow. Your normal lifestyle would’ve had you stripped naked while taking naps in the middle of the summer, but today would not result in sleeping. “I'm not going to do anything illegal.” Your gentle, ladylike voice was left devoid of a response, sounding as polished as the bedsheets. Shifting your body to let your back face the ceiling, it was high time to get on to checking yourself out again. The girlish body mirror she had in her room would finely fulfill that task. One leg bent upward, dragging the blanket along to stretch out your tanned ass. It had the imprint of a one piece swimsuit, your female goods in stark contrast to your light-toned brown body. You raised your upper body to lift up small breasts out of the white terrain, moving your head upward in the process. Putting your left hand underneath your chin, you could finally see the body mirror that shamelessly reflected your vagina and its conspicuous labia. Though, the person in the mirror wasn't truly your own, original body. You weren't born as a girl, of course. The person in the mirror was your fellow classmate and first victim of the costume gun, her full name being Anya Khouri; it leaked of Egyptian root. The two of you barely interacted, but both parties knew of each other's existence. But how did you find her and safely turn her into a bodysuit? Simply put, she was also a victim of circumstance. The season of summer meant school was on a break, and Anya had a reputation of being a prodigy swimmer. Slender arms, despite their appearance, cut through chlorine waters easily to end every competition with her team's victory. A talent like that required honing, and the pool she constantly practiced in was coincidentally near your house. You and your friends would occasionally find yourselves there, as it was an unpopular spot due to a fabricated rumor of some sort of vengeful spirit haunting the premise. She must’ve taken the low visitor count to concentrate, as you would see her alone on a different lane every time your friend group arrived. Not only that, you two had exchanged addresses once for a school project, making impersonation easier to do. With those aspects in mind, she was the first person you thought of using the costume gun on. You planned a specific date and time to turn her into a suit, coming in during the weekdays before noon. Luckily, there were no poolside showers in the area, as it would conflict with what you had in mind. When the time to strike came, your plan came into fruition without any hurdles. Equipped with some basic swimming shorts and other necessities, you could fabricate the idea that you were genuinely planning to swim. You knew the lifeguard was always off this hour, but they wouldn’t have to worry about protecting a certain girl that always frequented there.

---

The clattering of caramel sandals protected your feet from scorching concrete as the pair made its way to an isolated lane. You stared blankly at the scenery ahead of you, soon focusing your attention on the teenager gliding through the water. Blazing sunbeams coated your body in sweat, and approaching a girl made your teenager hormones shudder. Nevertheless, you stuck yourself back to the plan. All of your belongings were safeguarded in a locker, leaving you with what could be fit inside the pocket of trunks. “Hey! Can I ask you something?” You did your best to play the part of a naïve, boisterous teenager. On the other side, you could see that Anya looked back to see the voice. Dressed in her black school swimsuit, her head rose from the water to respond. “Y-yes?” Her feet wove through the pool, keeping her perfectly afloat. She had taken off her goggles and swim cap, revealing the feminine beauty underneath. “You’re Anya, right? Don't we go to the same high school?” Building up a peaceful conversation was your idea of lessening your hesitation. “Yes.” Her answer was lower this time, but you paid little attention as you finally got to the point. “Well, I was just wondering, do you know where the public showers are?” The idea was to be chaperoned by her to that distant place and use the gun. You already knew how close it was from your position and had been there multiple times, so now you were praying she didn’t she you during any of those. “Oh, you would take a left, then a right, and—” “Ah, I'm not really good at that direction stuff. Can you take me there?” “I could take a break, I guess.” She quickly brought herself out of the water, deciding not to use a towel to dry off. Her suntanned skin welcomed the heat, glistening from the pellets of clear water. It would’ve been easier on her to reject your plea for help, but she was a model athlete. You could see her bend down to grab something, but the distance was too far for your eyes. Now that the hard part was done, all you needed to do was let the tide flow. Letting her come towards you, once you met up you stayed behind her as she slowly paced her way there. You had seen her body now and then, but thinking of how the small figure you were following would soon become your own sparked some surreal thoughts. Not once did you think about what could happen to your body, and if you somehow lost the costume gun. As you lost yourself in thought, it wasn’t long before you reached the facility. The building was given some attention to make it sanitary, as the white tile floor had the reflection of cleanliness. Two open doors split both genders, and Anya gestured you towards the men's showers. “Here we are.” She waited for you to speak, but you were finalizing that the two of you were alone by scanning your surroundings. “Hello?” “Sorry, blanked out. Thanks.” You looked to see a pair of uncomfortable eyes. She was never one to take the lead. “It's fine.” With that, the two of you proceeded to head back to the pool, her steps bringing tremors to the burning ground. In the heat of the moment, you loudly pulled out the costume gun and shot at her. She was mere feet away from your blast as it coated her in a vibrant aura, which began to sap away at her life. The last thing she would remember would be her sudden collapse onto the floor as her entire body crumbled, creating a flat heap of a former human. It may have lost all life, but sweat and chlorine water still stuck on her skin. A soft clang of metal echoed throughout your ears, and it wasn't until later that you realized she was carrying the locker key. “Well, I'll be damned if that's not terrifying.” You really had no expectations for what would occur, but seeing a human fall apart like a balloon was quite the sight. It seemed like minutes had passed before you had the nerve to holster the gun back into your pocket and hold up the wrinkled skin on your palms. You feel the core temperature that was active seconds ago, as well as sweaty beads of chlorine on her body. Her swimming gear had fallen on the ground too, so you piled that on the suit. “Eh.. Time to move on to the next stage. This better have been worth the nightmare fuel and preparation.” Each step towards the women's showers seemed as if you were stepping on the freezing seabed, as your footwear seemed immune to the sun in exchange for numbness. Your movement wasn't all like dipping sore toes into warm, revitalizing tropical water, but rather still and lifeless like the depths of a frozen ocean. Setting your luggage on one hand, you slid another across your forehead to catch droplets. “I gotta stop over exaggerating things. She's not dead or anything.” That was right. As long as you made sure to hold on to the costume gun, she was still alive. You tried to think of more optimistic situations, like the authorities would just give you another costume gun to bring her back. Now wasn't the time to think, and instead act upon previous actions. Inside the showers, you saw various stalls with repetitive shower heads, lined perfectly against one side of the bleached room. The other side supplied marble sinks and bathrooms, though you only planned on using the shower side. Each one was divided into sections with individual towel hangers and other tools. It felt unreasonable to wear the skinsuit with shorts on, so you put those glove as well as Anya's clothes inside a wall compartment. You unraveled the suit to observe what it really did to her, witnessing sockets without eyes and a hollow mouth that almost looked like you could stick your hand inside. It drooped downward, like limp clothing. With a sigh, you turned the bodysuit around and saw a streak that ran across her head to her posterior, which opened up her inner, coral body. Judging by how you heard an opening should have been made, you assumed this was the ticket. You tapped one foot methodically, the noise of puddles ringing throughout your ears. What have you got to lose? Her leg was logically the best way to start wearing the suit. The source of the tapping descended into the open gash first, reaching down into the skinsuit's right leg. To say it was a perfect fit would be a lie, as your leg bulged out of the suit, a sight similar to wearing clothing too small for you. Nevertheless, you ignored that discrepancy and put your left leg into the other leg, doing your best to match the toes with yours. Your two limbs didn’t confine in the space without hassle of course, and it seemed like at any moment the fabric would tear apart. With most of your naked figure inside, you let go of the suit as the next step would be fitting your arms inside. The husk fell down, with the upper body collapsing on itself as it touched the tiles. One hand positioned a majority of the suit back up, while the other delved inside the tanned arm. Chocolate waves rippled across your arm, covering your more peachy skin. Your body was disproportionate to the minuscule skinsuit, as your shoulder was still exposed when it supposed to be tucked into a rounder joint. Not only that, your fingers could barely match the small, glove-like fingers, laughably distorting each one. Despite the looks, you continued by sliding another arm into the bodysuit, your back and head now the only things remotely masculine. Her small breasts were more or less flattened bumps on your chest, and her impenetrable vagina oddly had the swelling of a penis. And now, the final step would be replacing her face with yours. Anya’s head may have had a connected gash, but her short black hair had made finding it a tedious task. When you finally split the strand to find it, you wasted no time in using your covered hands to drag the head into yours. It was definitely a tight fit, as there was simply no way your height was on a level to conform to her smaller frame. As you tried to stuff your head into hers and match the eye sockets, there was some success as you could see your damp surroundings. Even though you had some advancement, you didn't know how to cover up your back. Once you somewhat aligned your facial features with hers, however, it seemed as if something was on your back. You rubbed it with your hands, but all you felt was the skin-like texture instead of a normal human back. Perhaps that was the next step, as you were completely stuck inside. Before you could think any further, you were abruptly met with tightening pain from all over. Your body started to compress into the suit, shrinking every finger and toe that didn't previously match. The uncomfortable, sweaty tension on your body slowly decreased as you felt more and more in line with her. Your hair, which was stuck inside the suit, did not feel conformed as more luxurious ebony hair became your own. A greater pain struck your chest, pushing it more and more back as you continually coughed. Only then when your lungs became hers, and deflated breasts sprang forth did your pain subside. It went on to your legs, your thighs reducing in size, but your ass growing ever more pronounced and round. “This is happening too fast!” Your voice sounded of a higher pitch, retaining most of your normal voice. You could no longer bear the suffering, so you put a knee down to rest your legs. A hand touched the floor, but there was something wrong about how you could feel the square texture without any feeling of insulation. Your genitals remained male throughout this process, but only now did they start to lessen in size, its erect length failing to stay large. As it disappeared into nothingness, an unfamiliar feeling emitted from your crotch. There seemed to be an emptiness there, and shifting your thighs to search for your male genitalia ended with failure. Amazement that you were definitely a girl now seeped into your brain as your head painlessly became hers. You opened your mouth, though even a basic function like that drastically changed as your jaw and teeth were much different. “I.. I feel like her, way too much.” The same soft-hearted, gentle voice that guided you here fully masked your old, deeper tone. You looked down, feeling no layer of skin on your face follow. It was obvious your perspective changed, because moments ago the ground was farther away. The final change had your irises gradually sink into a plum-colored ones. From your short, jet-black hair that reached your shoulders to your new tiny foot size, nothing made you indistinguishable from the real Anya. You even put a tawny hand, which no longer felt like wearing a glove, to your new face, rubbing your pleasant cheeks. Compared to your old, bulky body, this one was lightweight like a cloud. This was the last planned action, so now you stood idly to contemplate your next choices. “I shouldn't explore her body here.. maybe I should do it at her house.” You weren't fond of having your brother barge into your room while you explored Anya. Plus, when you would eventually revert her back, she would safely be unconscious in her house. You decided on that plan, but to get to her house you needed to be dressed. That meant wearing the one-piece swimsuit and retrieving any items that might be in her locker, while also making sure your stuff wouldn't be stolen. You got the swimsuit out of the compartment, forcefully straightening it out to see how you would wear it. Holding the navy shoulder straps with both of your hands, you put your legs in one at a time, now concealing your vagina in a sleek latex cover. You raised it up further to put your arms in, successfully hiding your breasts. For the sake of going to her house faster, you grabbed the remaining articles of clothing and jogged towards the locker room. How she could casually walk from the pool to the showers without burning her feet was an accomplishment, as you could feel the sensation of hot coals with every step. You were thankful to find her flip-flops basking in the shade, right next to the locker room. They sheltered your feet marvelously, and the overcast roof brought a comforting waterfall, shrouding your body in cool air. “Woo. Made it.” No lifeguard was there to witness your blazing trail, lit by two legs you had no experience in traversing with. It would have been quite a sight for anyone to see the prodigy swimmer, who apparently had no fear of walking under the sun beforehand, now tremble messily from the ground it scorched. Your breathing remained normal throughout the whole ordeal, but the occasional misstep and near descent into the stone path ruined any idea of professionalism. Those thoughts came and left like a river stream, as you entered the building where your important possessions were safeguarded. For ease of access, your items were right next to hers, knowing full well she would not go to this place until the sun began to cool for the night. Concerning how you would breach the metal barrier into her belongings, any fragment of doubt was shattered into grains of sand that piled on a beach shore, as you sprung out the key from your sun-baked hand. For some odd reason, it fell down when she was converted; bothering yourself with how it was on her body in the first place was an unnecessary worry. With a twist, her guarded items came loose. Just a couple of summer, outside utilities and her phone, all discovered when you peeked into the duffel bag inside of the locker. You stuffed your own summer clothing in the sack, zipped it up afterwards and closed the chamber, casually walking out with an optimistic smile. The next order of business was to go to her house and explore her body in some privacy, and a quick run on your phone’s GPS confirmed your memory was true. Several minutes later, you were greeted to the doorsteps of her house. It was a simple, two story house blended with tan painting, plain enough to be called middle class. You pull out a different key from her bag, under the thought it was for the house. Thankfully, the squared door came open without hassle. “Hel-looo?” You so unprecedentedly chirped. To add to your previous success, no one response came, perhaps meaning Anya was a latchkey child. A depressing truth, but relieving for this situation. The inside of her house was quite sanitary, devoid of any impure marks on the wall or bountiful loads of dust. Air conditioning kept the place cool for the summer, as much as it heated up the electric bill. Your petite feet, freed of footwear, tapped against reflective wood as you explored her life. Her cradle. Thinking of it that way made you skeptical of how realistically dangerous the very weapons that led you here was. You intruded on her very being, and so normally invaded her house as if you stole her daily life. Two slaps on the cheek let go of the contemplation, squishing her delicate skin in the process. Doing that always helped stop make your mind wander. You weren't going to let overthinking ruin your vacation, right? Enjoy the person you're wearing and make sure nothing bad happens—your confidence soon swallowed up any culminating doubt. With it came perversion, and with that came the dash of your athletic body has to the second floor. Your body felt the light gray carpeting and relaxed itself more as time seemed to move quickly as you stood in the hallway. Two closed doors laid left, and one master bedroom to the right; a couple of cabinets started the crossroad. You chose the first option, as one of the doors had her name in glamorous Broadway lights. You unleashed Pandora's Box and ventured into her room, thinking it would be pastel colored and filled with stuffed dolls. You were half right once you laid your eyes on ordinary and extraordinary furniture, like a modern lamp. The paint was a subtle pink, fitting the established drowned out tone. Her small bed and walk-in closet were equally mundane, and the only thing that stood out was a couple of plush animals on top of a clothes drawer. A pink spherical carpet encompassed a dressing table, as well as another table with a chair and laptop. At this point, you were entitled to every single thing here. Now that was a good thought. You immediately dropped your duffel bag at one of the tables and sprang into her bed, ruining the surface as soon as your body flapped on it like a fish. The aroma of a young girl flooded your nostrils, making you stop movement just to hold up a portion of the blanket and smell it further. It was laced in perfume, and as suited you soon realized the fragrance was there from the very start. You were in a garden of peonies, and each petal smelled of sugar and vanilla. This was the true woman’s world, and if it wasn’t the most bewitching atmosphere of female perfection. What wasn't entrancing, however, was the artificial stench of chlorine, every swimmer's menace. This was going to corrupt your once-of-a-lifetime experience, and soon enough you smelled the sweat you gathered from the sunshine. Priorities leapt you out of bed and scrambled into her cabinets, in search of clothing for a shower. “Wait. If I'm alone, why play dress up?” You dropped a pair of satin panties back, and undid every spontaneous action before. Instead, you walked out of her room empty handed and checked the other door, a granite bathroom with sliding glass shower doors and sleek white sinks. You set the costume gun by one of them and looked under to see if anything interesting would pop out of the wood drawers. Indeed there were, a couple towels and some toilet paper rolls. What luck. You slipped out of your one-piece and walked into the dew-stained shower like a princess, which each foot swinging over the other. An idle arm came through to pull the shower handle into action, and from there water spewed out of the head. You closed your eyes to bask in the frosty rainfall, dragging hands down cheeks to rub it in. When they reached your breasts, you finally spoke. “Ah, what a day.” Your slippery hands gave them a short massage before descending further, down to your crisp thighs. You felt the luscious, cushions of skin shiver as you squeezed them a couple of times. A gentle, whisper of a moan was let out, the silky murmur unheard by anyone except you. It wasn't of sexual pleasure, no, but the enjoyment of being such an epitome of beauty. And when you plunged deeper to grasp your half-pale ass, another squeeze relieved all of your stress. You spread the cheeks, leaving your private parts unattended in return for hypnotically spinning your hands on them. You'd save that for later. You finished groping yourself by slapping the surface, which gave a little vibration. Now that you were coated in more pure water, you could relish your soft and wet body. First, though, you modified the jet stream of water to become more delicate, like the choppy current of a lonesome river. Your eyes came out of a their chestnut shell to witness how lovely you were now; back at the pool, you couldn’t pace yourself. As they looked downwards to survey your delectable form, all you could think about was how this body was yours. Anya, the purest of girls at this school, had clear dark tan and white skin that must've made her peers jealous. The slenderness of her entire figure and lack of any body or pubic hair as well seemed so otherworldly to a boy like you. To add on to her beauty, her short black hair, those straight midnight strands, rivaled the smoothness of goddesses. Though her breasts weren't as developed, she had quite the perky ass. Removed of your male physique would normally be a phobia, but to temporarily give it up for Anya was a mindless trade. “This is what she uses, huh. I need this in my life.” A dry soap bar lay relaxed inside a steel bar rack, along with other goods such as shampoo and conditioner. The bar was of an innocent snow color, curved like a crescent moon with a logo you’d never seen. It wasn’t a center of attention for you until now, but now that it was, this was without doubt what she used to emit freshness. You shined it in the shower head to make it usable, and then gave it a whiff to smell that floral grace again. water to lather yourself in the grandiose item. You let the bar plaster itself onto your hanging arm, leaving bubbly footprints in its wake. Looking at her arm once more made you think how womanly it resembled. Such thinness like a cinnamon stick, such flawlessness, and yet, strong enough to blast through water. You were dazzled by its wondrous talent as your hand subconsciously swept through it with soap, your eyes glowing at how shiny your arm was becoming. After that, you switched hands to cover the other arm, the same pleasant feeling blessing your soul. With both arms done, you moved on to your stomach. It tingled from every swift sweep of the soap, almost making you giggle. Nevertheless, you also covered your back, and then your two boobs. Especially those. You used the bar as a messaging tool, and it was that same tingle that seeped out a grin. It was electric, and each short shock made you want more of it. You stopped that sensation, as your legs weren't prepared yet. To start, you scrubbed your thighs in white at an unmatchable pace, and then crept to your vagina and anus. “I'll need to give this a deep clean. A girl like me should always be tidy.” You smugly declared, each word slipping away like maple syrup. You dragged the bar to your bare vagina, and moved it up and down the space between your thighs. The movement was slow, but repetition made you shiver with delight. Merely gracing over your crotch was entrancing, as you would always see a penis lying there instead. When you ran up the soap bar to your tight flesh folds, the pressure brought out a jolt like no other. Even your posture dwindled at how different this electricity felt compared to your breasts and ass, making your hand escape that private place. Because of that, you made a quick promise to yourself to indulge in that fleshy goodness later, when you were cleansed of any disruptive smells. You proceeded to stand up and walk into the downpour. The soap melted away into nothingness, sliding down your limbs and collecting as fizzy sleet into the drain below. Regal purple eyes observed all of it wash away, glistening at the spectacle from a dark-skinned perspective. How grand was it to see soap creep down your dainty breasts, on a voyage to explore your caramel figure. You let the soap continue on with its descent as you squeezed out shampoo from a bottle. Again, you moved back to spread the foamy substance all over your head, similar in whiteness to the soap you used earlier. Once your head was a mixture of black and white, you closed your eyes, stepped into the shower head, and scrubbed away the product with continuous strokes. The aftermath left you blossomed with that charming floral smell, a scent of impeccably ripe peonies. The hand that once held soap pulled the shower back into inactivity, and vigorously the glass doors unleashed the tan teenager inside. It was you who confidently came out soaking, who grabbed a nearby towel to stop your hair's drizzle. You dried up your head, arms, chest, and legs in that exact order. Once that was out of the way, you left the towel beside the sink and grabbed the costume gun, happily walking back to your room. Calmly setting the firearm on the surface of your bed, the aforementioned events at the beginning were set into motion.

---

You exited the pose you were making, flipping your back and getting back up in the process.

“Masturbating sounds great right now. I wonder if she has any sex toys. If people are really watching me from god knows where, can you lend me a hand?” No response, of course. You never took into account the sheer embarrassment or shame that all your actions created, and now that it was starting to settle in, you decided the best choice would be to deepen the hole and bury your masculinity.

You examine the dressing table you skimmed over the last time you came to the room, singling it out with no real reason. Like every other furniture piece, its texture and color was gilded in white, the type a hospital room would use. You stare at it for a couple of seconds, before delving into the miniature compartments below the surface. Two were on each side, and a quick look at the ones to the left revealed an assortment of feminine garments, from hair clips and bands to bows. A subconscious force gave you inclination to try all of all of the accessories on; maybe even put on makeup to top it off.

You turn you body to reach the other containers, coincidentally stumbling upon the basic tools of makeup. Mascara, nail polish, lipstick, that was the extent of what you could name from the piles of it. You give up trying to expand the idea of wearing makeup, picking off a simple ribbon instead. It was as white as any object in this room, with loose straps meant to wrap around part of your head. The endeavor was something you had to take a look in the oval mirror atop the table for, magnified to reflect only your head. Handling your new hairstyle was one thing, but add on a pair of two thin hands and an object you had no practice with turned the casual yearn into a tedious labor. You set the ribbon part to the center of your head, wrapped the strings around the inner tufts of hair to avoid a laughable look, and tied it behind your head. During this time, you barely utilized the mirror, using it to admire the end result instead. Your amethyst eyes glistened like jewels in a dark cavern, unexposed to this fashion. You weren't interested in being female forever, rather it was more akin to never having a woman so close or irresistibly naked in your life. Without a doubt, you would never get tired of this first person action.

“As much as my sex appeal rose, I forgot about masturbating.” You lean away from the mirror and turn to see where the sex toy, if it does exist, is hiding. A gamble, yes, but a mutual way to also explore a girl’s life.

A check on the drawers with her clothing that you previously raided gave no lead. You did, however, learn the various colored panties and bras she has, a fact something stalkers would share. A glimpse of what was under her bed only showed bits of dust forming. Investigating her computer wouldn't help, and the table it sat on was made of glass clearer than day. The last and most demanding check was the walk-in closet, and with the sun still blazing, there was nothing to lose. You swing the ridged doors open, the first thing you see are boxes of schoolwork, juvenile toys, and racks upon racks of outfits.

You take a few steps to go inside, intending to open the box labeled schoolwork. Your toes, however, poked at the toys box, creating a short sound of hollowness. This was the first box you saw, so you thought it was going to be loaded soon. Such a noise was peculiar, so you ended up lifting it up and hauling it over to your bed. You flip the cardboard covers open, intending to see emptiness to move on, only to find a phallus-shaped vibrator laying dormant. When your eyes stared at the bottom and traveled to the top, you had to look again. It was of pastel pink and white color, the two taking half the space of the phallus and the bottom being layered in white switches.

“Anya, you're crazy to put this, of all things, inside the closest box.” You take it from its brown case, expecting weight but receiving weightlessness instead.

Simply grasping the shaft to look at it felt dirty, yet imagining Anya using this made you feel obligated to abuse it. You toss the box back where it came from, sealing the closet doors and jumping back into bed. There, you rest yourself comfortably on a pillow, your body as straight as ever aside from a pair of open legs. The pastel sex toy found home on the top of your chest, inches above your belly button. Your left hand grabbed the lower part, filled to the brim with settings, and flicked on the lowest setting.

It sprang to life, humming like a gentle bee and spinning like a rising tsunami. You didn't go for your vagina instantly, and tested the waters by sliding it down your right arm. Contact with the smooth surface, along with the buzzing sensation of a massage, brought a pleased chill. A switch of the dominant hand gave that same satisfaction to the other limb. You drove the vibrator to your lower chest and dragged it upward, lightly vibrating all over your well-tanned body. When you reach your breasts, a thought came to mind.

“Wouldn't it be fun to roleplay some?” A brain driven by hormones and curiosity tempted out loud.

The answer was a surefire “yes.” You bent your left hand to your two boobs, and spread its fingers, getting a perimeter of her small orbs. She would always withdraw from conversations that commended her skill in water, holding back from pride and letting the compliments get carried into the ocean. Perhaps it was her mixed tan of dark and light that lowered her morale, or how she acted respectful and soft-spoken in your classes, as if such manners were imprinted by her family. But now, as her, you could bend her personality to whatever you wanted. Be it assertive, bashful, or timid like the original, your imagination defined your fulfillment.

“I'm Anya, and I love swimming. Today I saw this cute guy when I was practicing.” Your held was feminine, but held the masculine tone no longer. It came out more airy, almost innocent, mimicking Anya’s way of enunciation. As you talked, thinking of how this girly attitude was your own made your vagina tremble in delight.

“I've always had my eyes on him during school, but I'm too embarrassed to say anything to him.. I don't know what to do.” The vibrator now resonated against your thighs, making them quiver. It was so close to your vagina that the flesh hole quivered as well, as if wanting to be engulfed by that sweet sound.

“And when he needed my help to find the shower room, I could feel my heart skip a beat! It was so embarrassing.. I knew he was staring at my butt.” Previously split legs united like magnets as the vibrator was squished between your thighs, leaving your vagina some space to keep it visible. The entrapment made your entire lower half reverberate, moisturizing your vagina from the sheer neglect and anticipation. At the end of your sentence, your free hand instinctively went under to grope your adorable coconut butt, relishing how each squeeze was more luscious than the last.

“I love him. I masturbate and imagine it’s him who pleasures me.” With that final line, you still clenched your legs as your index finger glided above your clitoris, where pubic hair was supposed to gather. A small amount of pressure slightly caved into the skin, and in no time the search concluded with finding your clitoris’ shaft. Circular motions on the thin cord unleashed a can of worms never fathomed by or felt by your penis. You could feel sweat create a lining of your body on the bed, and each rotation hypnotized eyes that bore witness to it all. With one hand occupied doing that, the other went down to feel your clitoris’ hood. Rubbing the fleshy exterior gave way to even more pleasure. Combined with the lurking vibrator, your hands jittered at each tremor.

You ceased that after your lower lips was fully soaked in pearly lubricant, and released the sex toy out of its chocolate cover. By then, it was warm to the touch. You raised the strength by a small fraction, enough to turn it into a torrent. Time moved slowly when you held it over your yearnful vagina, and when it lowered to touch the bulb that was your clitoris, time vastly accelerated. Your athletic body weakened at the sensation, feeling glorious ripples stream all over your vagina. Your legs weakened at that single action of bliss, and to amplify it further the second hand wildly stuck two fingers into your aching vagina, relishing at how the inner walls cushioned them in pure velvety goodness. That alone was enough to release a full-fledged moan that painted lust all over pastel walls.

“T-this is..” You held choked on your breath at the realization of an incoming orgasm.

It was like the first time you ejaculated; a soft pain followed by harsh spurts of discharge and hormonal joy. You had to close your eyes at the massive wave of tension that took over your body, firmly closing numb toes. The feeling was equivalent to the descent of a rollercoaster, so full of excitement, though your hands stood frozen at the release. Euphoric jolts endlessly came, bringing a moan blind to the sensation every single time. A feeling of lightheadedness flooded your senses, giving an out-of-body-experience. Your crotch was so warm—so hot—from nearby pearly liquid splashing onto virgin white sheets.

“Aah, that.. that was great.” Like a candle, the heat diminished with every passing second as your body melted into the cloth.

“I could go for another round, but I won’t. For her sake.” You were still laying as a blind arm sprawled against the sheet to relocate the costume gun. When cinnamon fingers touched something much harder than a pillow, they came back with the gun. Your hand was still shaky from orgasm, having some struggle to carry the firearm. Both hands grasped the single pistol, steadying a shot directly at your chest. A forceful press released a blinding light, and when your eyes reopened, no longer did they feel natural. Your body expanded as another shriveled up, making milky, more rough, hands out-of-place. Ebony hair no longer reached down your head, and no silkiness could be felt with an elastic cover. You moved uneasy hands to unravel your true head, which was surprisingly free of hot temperature or tiredness. In fact, when you pushed your naked form out of Anya’s petite frame, there was nothing that felt humid.

“I guess muscle memory doesn’t transfer through skinsuits.” It was the most possible conclusion. You got of her bed, grabbing the costume gun from the flattened belly. You walked over to her duffel bag and pulled out all of your personal belongings, becoming one with your male physique again and wearing the swim gear you brought. The height increase was familiar, and slowly your mind adjusted to its former figure.

“See you next summer.” An effortless movement pulled the neon trigger, reforming Anya back to fullness. From a stranger’s perspective, she was casually sleeping after masturbation. To you, you were staring at yourself. If you heard your brother right, he said something along the lines that undoing the costume gun’s bodysuit would leave the victim unconscious for a few minutes.

Since you were already close to the door, you went ahead and shut it. You sluggishly went down the same stairs a pair of hazel feet dashed up, and came to the front door. They came loose once you unlocked it, but locking it was the problem.

“Hey, if you’re watching me, bro, make sure no one breaks in? I’m not going to take her keys.” You were probably going to get a nagging for leaving a house open to be robbed, but you were urgent to get back to the pool and grab your other leftover items.

This time, the journey became a short sprint to the pool under the glaring sun. Upon entry, you navigated through the locker room and took out the rental key. You greedily grabbed your cool items and went out to the chlorine water, seeing the lifeguard idly looking at nothing. You caught his attention, handed him your keys, and gave thanks before departing. There wasn’t much to do now. You decided sprinting would do nothing to your way back to your house, so you let yourself grow sweaty. Upon noticing the trickle of water on your forehead, you learned you no longer smelled of vanilla grace. Instead, your sunscreen-coated skin shimmered from the undying heat. You kept a mental note to buy the brand, and from there the concrete sidewalk repeated for minutes, an organic path of grass traveling by its side. The greenery halted when a path leading to a house split it, which continued on for some time. Only until you saw your own, extremely ordinary house did you stray from the main road.

Walking and greeting your brother inside was going to be awkward. You so casually masturbated under the lens of your sibling’s crew, and now you were going to waltz into your house no different from any other day. You thought of these things while traveling up to a hay doormat, noticing the car your brother owned roasting in front of the furnished brick garage. An apathetic hand dove into your black and red shorts, taking out the personal house key. You were ready to get teased for saying all those erotic things as Anya, and with open eyes the door swung open. How perfect it was that the first thing most people saw when entering your household was the dinner table; a figure casually sat on the closest chair to the door. A granite mug—a particular container your brother always drank coffee from—came towering down to the redwood table.

Scary Monsters & Super Creeps

Features bodysuits and gender bending.

Warning: This features graphic depictions of violence and identity loss.

The soft crinkle of rusty leaves rang throughout the autumn night. Origin of the sound was a person carrying a holstered gun who stopped crushing them at the sight of a wooden fence protecting the backyard of a house. He climbed over with ease, but his more notable achievement was scaling the wall and entering by breaking a window. There, relaxed in a bed, slept a teenager who now found his peace shattered. Despite screaming, the invader nevertheless silenced him in a mere second, ran to another room to grab something, and bolted. The local police never found the man. How he even got inside was one mystery, but why he supposedly did not take anything or murder was far more perplexing. The boy told them it was inhuman, that some sort of animal had crashed into the house, but such an unbelievable story fell on deaf ears. His older brother was the opposite, accepting it immediately. He told him his secretive experiment finally had a hole, that someone in the world broke his trust and the government’s trust. With ease, and with the engineering brother’s fervent knowledge, the government deduced him as Albany Peterson. Albany was a former marine and a childhood companion of the brother, Nathanael. Never was he out of line, showed malicious intent, or appeared heartless. He was always known as protective and loving of nature, but now, Nathanael cast those memories behind. This project was his magnum opus, his only chance at the history books. Out of self-infatuation and fear for his family’s safety, Nathanael requested for the government to kill him. His plea was heard, but the decree was already set that he would be tracked down and killed as his trust was broken, meaning nothing stopped him from spilling out the secret of bodysuits. For this special mission, a hitman was selected by Nathanael himself. He was provided a costume gun to use as a disguise, to allow multiple identities and less chance of tracking. The brother was able to contact him for a short talk. Situated in his workplace, he made sure to speak his words carefully with him. The two sat opposite on a wooden table that was removed of stains or scars, making it unnaturally spotless. Their conversation began after Nathanael spent a minute or two meticulously making his beverage.

“John Oates. It’s a pleasure to have your expertise—” Before he could speak any more good will, the hired gun brought his index finger to Nathanael’s face and snarled.

“I don’t need your pat on my back. If you’re trying to be nice, quit it. I know you’ve put the most effort into those god damn bodysuits.” He spat, his head slightly to the side during delivery.

“I wanted to take things slowly before talking about those, but I see now.” Nathanael took a sip from his stone mug, and when he put focus on the hitman he saw his menacing gaze look back.

“Pfft.”

“There’s a reason I chose you for this. You hate the bodysuit technology. On one of your assignments, an illegal company manufacturing bodysuits without using the costume gun had one of their men disguise themselves as a woman, lure you into someplace devoid of authority, and for your pride I won’t go further.”

“So you know everything. If you know, we’re done and I’m calling this off.” As he stood to leave, a taunting voice called back to him with.

“Do you not think you could utilize your emotions for the better? Catch this bodysuit criminal, and no one will have to go through what you’ve gone through.” John tilted his head back to see the mug meet the table once more.

“Albany is unreasonably cold. He’s smart with his military background, so you’re the only candidate available. Knowledge of bodysuits is something we’ve held back for years, and we wish to keep it that way. You’re one of the few ‘good guys’ who know.”

“Fine. Since you’re so eager about it, I’ll bite. But let me tell you this. You’ve been on my personal hit list for a long time.”

“I already know. I also know polonium-210 was put into my drink. Who knows who the culprit is, but I’d say it was a waste of fortune to use it.” The perpetrator sniggered.

John Oates, realizing he was not an easy kill, forced himself to continue listening to the run-down of the plan. He was told that the costume gun was capable of turning animals into suits, and that Albany  used this method to climb inside a whale due to being on a different continent. He timed his arrival to the Pacific shores at night to get out without any attention, turned the whale back to normal, and let it die beached. His plan held one flaw; whales decompose before showing up on beaches. The anomaly was uncertain for both the media and Nathanael’s team, and it wasn’t until Albany’s betrayal that they believed the two cases were linked. Now in the present, he relentlessly searched for three days in the immense city. The real problem was that Albany could easily leave the area, hide under a variety of personas, or any other plethora of tactics to stay low. John’s agitation led to his demands for other agents, more cameras, or simply anything. So Nathanael pulled together less professional operatives who had no knowledge of bodysuits, instead being told there was a anonymous killer on the loose. In fact, one of John Oates’ friend came on the case with him. The police were involved once more, though the case was put into vague terms as an unidentified person likely to murder due to a fabricated note that was forged by Nathanael. The news broadcasted a call to civilian action, that they should make sure to lock all doors and not wander alone at night. These were all pointless for the man wielding the versatile firearm, but instilling those practices helped decrease other crimes to be committed at the slight expense of increased fear. It took one week of hunting for a dead body to appear. At the edge of the city to the side of an ordinary highway before the morning commute, a pile of skin was scattered beside a bush. John was the first to find the disfigured bodysuit, stumbling upon it while driving around the area drunk. What was meant to be in one piece was instead cut up into six parts; the arms, legs, and head were separated. As there was no blood to flow in a bodysuit, the scene was devoid of it. Regardless, John vomited the instant he saw the warped pile, and could not believe his nightmare cycled back. There was no chance of bringing the victim back alive, as they would instantly die of blood loss. Connecting the skin like cloth would not work either. Yet, to preserve the secret of the technology, John was ordered to shoot him back to life so his body would be a mutilated corpse for the police to perform a hopeless autopsy on. He left before it fully formed. Later that day, around evening, John kept himself on a bar stool. He’d ordered five shots of beer by now, give or take, and was tipsy. The bar was an underground setting that barely held two visitors at a time. John made up one half this time, calling Nathanael to talk with him and fill in the remainder. He downed one more shot before Nathanael decided to tell him to give up and let someone else take arms, but John chuckled. “You want me to give up? That Albany killed my drinking buddy.” His rugged force contorted into a feral smile and he slammed a pint he was holding down. “I’ve known his family for years. For Christ’s sake, his wife gave birth to a baby girl a couple months ago,” The racket died down as he stuck fingers up to his forehead, another securing itself on his brown shaven beard, “and I’m the reason his kid won’t see her dad again since it’s going to be a closed casket.” At this, Nathanael slapped John at the shoulder. “Look, John. If you weren’t going to do it, someone else would’ve. If everybody didn’t want to, I’d do it.” Instead of quenching sadness, it fueled another emotion. “Hah, that says a lot about you! You know, you’re the reason why all this happened! You and your group made the costume gun, isn’t that what you said?” With some anxiety, the recipient nodded. “Now that’s got me thinking. Why don’t you go to the front lines? What, are you working on something that’ll fucking turn everything into a bodysuit?!” At this point, John stood back and pulled out the costume gun he was supplied. No one working on the mission had one except him. Even at the mercy of a trained killer, Nathanael was calm. He swiveled his chair to face him. The bartender behind both of them shook in horror at what unfolded and what could unfold next, so he laid below the shelves of alcohol. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I am under the government’s protection and they could be spying on us right now.” That made John even more enraged, that their practically omniscient surveillance failed to track down the most volatile killer. “Lemme tell you this. I miss my chap and drink lots, but don’t take me as a sore pushover. I’ll shoot you. For Daryl.” He aimed directly at the head, a talent instinctive after several years. Nathanael folded one leg over the other, taunting, “Then do it.” “Gladly.” What was meant to turn Nathanael into a crumbling mess was instead a shot that only made his body glow with electricity. Before John could comprehend why his shot was thrown away, a rectangular bottle of Jack Daniels bludgeoned his head, surely fracturing the back of his skull and destroying an artery. He fell with a spurt of blood following, and on the floor struggled to rise up against his attacker. When he finally did, he saw it was the bartender, for he was pridefully holding the bottle like a fresh kill. “The real Nathanael is probably out working, or maybe spending quality time with his younger brother.” The spectator moved out of his seat and leaned down at him. John’s breathing becoming bursts of a person running out of time. “Do you think I plan my crimes alone? Do you think I haven’t told anyone about this?” “Why..?” “A fine question,” He gave a curt cough, “It pains me to see anyone like this, so I’ll tell you.” “Why did I talk about Nathanael if I’m wearing him and he can’t do anything? Sure, the world Nathanael and his team are leading innovation together with their bodysuits” Albany answered himself, receiving nothing as a response. “But there are other companies. Other illegitimate workshops who’ve been working from scrappy blueprints that don’t use the costume gun. Thing is, they all lead back to the original production. When I broke into his house, I didn’t steal from his little brother and leave. I took a sample of good Nathan’s genetic code. A single strand of hair was all I needed.” John processed a few words. House. Steal. Genetic.

“You..” All he could do was say one thing, free of emotion. It was less voluntary and more automatic. “If he wasn’t home, then I’d put the other gun back, steal a random object, make obvious destruction, and leave. The most basic form of robbery.” He thought out loud. “You’re bleeding hard.” John was on the threshold of unconsciousness, with dull eyes missing the livid spark to avenge his companion. “You won’t die. You’ll live on.” He whistled at his accomplice to set the bar to “Closed.” “Did you get the bodysuit prepared?” They nodded, for some reason not using the voice. “This is from a costume gun. So’s the bartender’s.” In Albany’s hands was an extremely small disguise, a disheveled scrap with minimal details of a rat. John wanted to defend himself. Pull one last stand, take Albany down with him, but his body was coldly numb. He could only watch as they tore him naked and started stuffing him into the suit. Breaking scientific boundaries, his body gradually fit inside as it expanded further and further, looking like strained patches of fur. The composition of a rat is different from a human, so his legs were put at the rat’s hind legs and his arms at the front pair. His head was squashed into the dots of eyeholes, but with his entire body tightly inside, the magic had begun. He shrank within seconds, crushing all human bones into the thin skeletal frame of a rodent. Recovering from blunt trauma with a bodysuit did not solve the mental brain damage associated. Though true his new, minuscule brain was free of injury, it could not support every single thought and decision making. His cognitive functions were damaged enough by the harsh liquor, so assimilating to a more feral way of thinking suited the poor soul. “You’re so tiny! How cute.” The bartender squealed. John heard it all, knew of the sounds and their syllables, yet could not muster anything out of it. His humanity rivaled an infant’s. “If you have the cage, keep him there for the night.” So the fake bartender did. It wasn’t made of bars, but of plastic with a holed cover fit for insects and other vermin. John fit quite easily into his new habitat. With shop closed, the two slept on a table while the animal scurried about for sustenance. Next morning, Albany and his quiet helper decided to ditch the city. Before doing that, they brought the bartender back to life and slumped him against a stool. The helper, in their true form, held the rat. “I need to meet with a friend, though it shouldn’t take long. Hold John and wait outside.” She bowed at the request. As Albany left with both costume guns, he knew the murderous nature of his apprentice, who opened up the cage and squeezed the rat by their left hand once he left her view. Overnight, John lost all sense of humanity and was no different from a disgusting, multiplying sewer rat. The grip broke its bones, and now it was squirming for life. Without a care, she threw the rat out into the city street. There, it inched back and forth with tiny paws trying to live on. The pain was worse than the previous blow to the head, as the injured part removed some of the feelings. But for this, every single movement hurt: ruptured lungs gave no air and one foot was obliterated and would never move. Death finally came once a car destroyed all remaining parts, instantly killing the rat and its whining. Another flattened its scraggy corpse, and as time continued, it would probably resemble a random stain on the floor to be cleaned. No one would ever suspect it to be a bodysuit and even less, a human. After the gruesome act, she waited. She waited for nothing, and no one came.

--- By now, the real Nathanael sat on a rotating chair beside the dining table, facing the entrance. A knock on the door brought him up, and it opened up to a carbon copy of the engineer. This clone casually passed back his cell phone. “Done?” “Yes, I am. You really wanted John Oates gone since he was going to kill you eventually, but—” “It’s selfish, I know. On the other hand, I think I’m helping out the future generation.” The bigger picture began rolling in Nathanael’s mind. A world where no one could die with the blessing of bodysuits that reversed age. He thought of how those with amputations could have bodysuit recreations of themselves and wear them, or how a deaf person could use their imitation that was modified to having working vocal chords. All these good things, he told himself, came at a price of minor skirmishes such as John. “Our government works with the other global leaders, and they all control the so-called illegal bodysuits. I guess we’re all working together under a common goal.” “Quite the cycle.” Albany ripped his expensive bodysuit into pieces, shredding it like fabric all over the doormat; the polonium no longer poisoned him. His true, staggering height of six feet and more blasted through the undersized disguise. He was in a full set of luxury clothing shadowed by a charred tuxedo jacket with a tone of skin covered in blemishes that came with old age.

“Quite.” The two of them picked up the remains, which Nathanael would later burn.

“This is my last gift to you.” The gray-haired elder passed one costume gun back. He looked back at his friend with sullen, aged eyes.

“It’s the end of the line for me, Nathan. I did for you as payment for how much you’ve helped me in the past.” But he shook his head, rejecting the manners.

“I don’t know if I can call this payment. You told me your plan to get the entire world to hate you, trash part of my house, and it succeeded. But for what purpose?” This revelation of emotions made his eyes averted from his friend, but two wrinkled hands brought his attention back to Albany’s selfless expression.

“My reasoning is simple. Human desires. Material greed, an urge to love, to grow smart, having knack or addiction for killing; it’s unhealthy for a human to live that way. Maybe it sounds too old-timey for you youthful progressivists, but I’m leaving those behind. As a marine, I was rash. Violence and sex were all I thought of. How I wasn’t labeled mentally ill was as crazy as my head back then. For years I wanted to get away from the life I made when they finally decommissioned me.”

“So the costume guns were your new hope.”

“My godsend. When I depart from you, my friend, I’m going to sail away in a dolphin to a deserted island. I’ll live the rest of my days untouched and in a tropical utopia, a home by the sea. It’ll be enough time to think about all of my sins. John Oates, my daughter, I’ve harmed too many.”

“I see.” The old man gave a half-smile as the other let out of a tear. Everything that occurred today, unprecedented or planned, was too much for Nathanael.

“This is a lot to hear from a person you’ve respected, isn’t it? I apologize.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Then I suppose I’m done here then. Enjoy the future, Nathanael. You’ll be on your own in this big world.” Nathanael hadn’t realized the two were standing so close to the door until it was closed on him. Thereafter, he remained still. Upstairs, his little brother overheard the end of the ruckus and flew down the wooden steps.

“What was that all about?” Wiping off any remaining tears, Nathanael casually responded with life-changing words.

February Choccogestion #1

At the beginning of each month we ask  our Tier 2 supporter ideas for illustrations, then put all the  ideas in a poll and see which one wins! Since the number of  Choccolate Travelers keep increasing, we got more and more suggestion  each month and we felt sorry to only pick one. We unfortunately can't do  them all, so we poll those idea and pick the best five and turn them  into reality!