This day is going to be perfect.
The kind of day of which I dreamed since I was small.
All those Armor loving bores, say I look great in uniform.
What they don't know is that I have fooled them all.
This day was going to be perfect.
The kind of day of which I dreamed since I was small;
But instead of having cake, with all my friends to celebrate.
My wedding bells may never ring for me at all.
I care not a thing about the ring. I won't partake in any cake.
Vows,well I'll be lying when I say.
That through any kind of weather. I'll want us to be together.
The truth is I don't care for her at all.
No,I do not love the bride for my heart is dead inside;
But I still want her to be mine.
We must escape before it's too late;
Find a way to save the day. Hope? I'll be lying if I say,
"I don't fear that I may lose her, to 1 who wants to use her.
Not care for, love, and cherish her each day."
For I oh-so love the bride. Oh i
His friend Harry however revelled in this animalistic environment. He had much more success with girls in clubs, and liked to brag about how many girls he had managed to make out with. Harry had gotten tired of Luke ruining his fun with his moping and complaining, so he decided that it needed to change. He bought some pills from a guy hanging round the club, who with a sly grin told them that it would make his night a whole lot more inter
"Chase, it's time to get up!" I rolled over, not wanting to get out of bed. I was so comfortable…in fact, I had slept better tonight than I had slept in a long time. For so many nights now I had slept so uncomfortably…and I would only sleep for maybe 3 or 4 hours at a time. Part of the reason was because my bed was a bit too small for me. The twin size bed was fine when I was still 6 feet tall…but now I'm 6 feet and 5 inches and athletically built! My feet dangle off of the sides and I can never get comfortable. Then there are the nightmares and thoughts that fill my head. The thoughts of going to school…and the people that were there. It seems odd, right? I mean, why would someone like me be afraid of my peers at high school. The fact wasn't that I wasn't really afraid of them…they were afraid of me.
I'm not a bad person! I'm no bully! In fact, for the first part of freshman and sophomore year…I was beating down on the bullies
Most "TF" stories have a tendency to include the abbreviation "TF" somewhere in the title, in conjunction with what the transformee/victim is turning into.
Rarely will a TF story give much character development or expanded plot prior to the transformation.
Rarely will a transformation-themed story carry on beyond completion of the transformation.
In those that do (particularly short stories), the aftermath is typically brief in explanation, and often closed.
TF stories involving author-inserts are frequently derived from role-plays.
If present, TF stories tend to describe genitalia in:
deliberate 'kiddy' terms (i.e. manhood, woman-parts, member, etc); or
deliberate anatomical terms which seem out of place within the rest of the story.
This is especially common in transgender-themed TF stories.
The most common setting for a TF story is a generic non-descript locale.
if it is modern fantasy, it is usually Anytown, USA.
Transformations generally o
A blurred and painful awakening disrupted Chuck’s dormancy as his eyes slowly focused on his digital alarm clock.
The blinking colon between the hour and the minute counters violently drummed the seconds of his alcohol induced torment. Chuck’s head bellowed upon waves of whiskey infused headache. How had he managed to drink so much?
More importantly, what happened last night? The evening was a muddled conjecture of missed connections and happy accidents. The late hours of a night’s outing at his local pub usually lead to a booze-infused discussion of politics, religion, and sex, soon obliterated by a cleansing alcohol-fueled memory wipe.
Something prolific, a profound moment, had managed to escape the mental gravity well of his binge. A monolith, no... a person had managed to survive in his memories until his awakening.
Suddenly, a tide of recollection swept over his mind.
Chuck cringed at the realiza
Sam watched the jagged Miami skyline melt into the horizon as the cruise ship chased the sun towards the Bahamas. He pondered his reasons for agreeing to a seven day single’s cruise as he looked out over the sea, entranced by the seagulls hypnotic soaring.
Sam was a chiseled, hansom man with an insatiable lust for beautiful, athletic women. He had perfected an efficient process of seduction that produced perfect results and no unwanted byproducts. At first, he was in search of love, but he had quickly grown addicted to the fruit of his labor. He was in love with the lustful hunt and capture, his slain prey were merely trophies to be forgotten upon the next challenge.
The ship’s foghorn sounded, reviving Sam from his trance. He looked around the decks of the vessel, scouting for potential targets. The cruise ship was populated by a perfect one-to-one ratio of men and women, but few women were doing much to peak Sam’s interest. Sam decided to find a bar;
Sandy sat cross-legged on the sofa, her bulging stomach straddled between her thighs. A laptop rested precariously on her calves as her large stomach prevented her from placing it closer. Cleavage bounded from her low-cut blue camisole that strained to encompass her pregnant proportions. Black yoga pants clung to her legs as they were the pants she felt most comfortable in these days. She strained to reach the keyboard while typing in a new search query, her arms contorting around her bulbous stomach and enlarged bosom. She was thoroughly annoyed with her huge chest and inflated abdomen, wishing they were less of a hindrance.
She pondered how long it had been since she was able to see her feet while standing upright. She recollected on memories of the sudden obstruction of her view that was her new, large bosom. Over the past eight months, her stomach had expanded, growing with and finally surpassing her ample breasts, now filling much
Harmony clutched the white cotton panties Sandy had discarded before bathing and placed her free hand on the small of Sandy’s back, guiding her toward Chuck’s room. “Let’s see if we can throw an outfit together that doesn’t make you look like you’re wearing potato sacks,” she teased.
Sandy bit her lower lip as she tautly sauntered to the room she had known as a male, apprehensive towards being seen in public in her new anatomy.
“We’ll start with the panties. I realize they’re tight, but that’s all we have to work with right now, Sandy,” Harmony reminded Chuck of her newly chosen name.
Sandy slotted her petite feet through the apertures of the panties. As she slid them toward her waist, she noticed they slid with less friction, thanks to the smooth nature of her freshly trimmed lower body. The panties slotted tightly around her waist, aggressively wrapping her robust bottom. A
President Nixon stood solemnly as he addressed the world with an unprecedented announcement.
“The United States shall renounce the use of lethal biological agents and weapons, and all other methods of biological warfare. The United States will confine its biological research to defensive measures such as immunization and safety measures.”
Nixon’s speech did little to quell the fears of a third war between the world’s superpowers. The biological threat was merely a footnote to the nuclear arsenals of the United States and Russia. The world could not yet comprehend the awesome power and horrific capabilities that lie within the biological warfare arena. The shadow of the nuclear world was the perfect cloak for the further development of biological weapons.
12 June 1987
A man struggled to free himself from the limb restraints wrapped around his extremities; the hospitable bed he was imprisoned in clanged and crea