(a strange little story by Garuda. Probably deserving an 18 rating. If you are bothered by transformations, spiders, or disturbing things happening for no good reason, then clear off)
“Four-Hairs, what are you doing?”
“Finishing this web.”
“I mean the web. Why is it all over the Big Thing, and not hung properly.”
“Because it’s meant to affect the Big Thing, as opposed to random flies.” “You dozy excuse for an arachnid. Have you got any web left for catching youself a random fly or two? If you starve, I’ll eat you myself.”
“I’ve a few stashed away. What do you think of this web though?”
“It’s overly complex, pointless for catching anything, and isn’t that a pattern of changing legs over that bit?”
“Yeah, good, isn’t it?”
“Why all the detail over the protruding soft bits?”
“They were an easy surface to adhere to. Smooth and firm, with a nice curvature.” “Big Thing isn’t going to appreciate it.”
“Probably not, but it’ll certainly be distracted while I work on the other project.”
“You’re weird, Four-Hairs.”
Lucille woke up because she couldn’t scratch her nose. She opened her eyes to the light streaming in through her bedroom window, and wished she hadn’t as the pulsating throb of a hangover sounded through her skull like a really monotonous base track. Lying here would do nicely for a bit (throb throb throb), she thought fuzzily. No need to move, it’s Sunday. Her mouth felt pretty icky, there was a faint breeze raising goosebumps all up her body to where her breasts were sore. Conclusion: got drunk, staggered home, stripped and fell asleep on my tits again. She thrashed her left arm out from under the bedclothes (her right arm had been lain on all night, and was refusing to co-operate), and brought it up to a face covered in something sticky. Urrgh. What was all this? Cobweb? Several muscles protesting, head throbbing and right arm still AWOL, Lucille levered herself off the rumpled bed and headed for the bathroom, and a mirror. The spider sitting in the corner of the ceiling watched, and this is what he saw: A young caucasian woman, maybe early thirties/late twenties, with dark brown hair cut to shoulder height, and a physique tending towards the chubby. She had generous breasts, rather swollen at the moment, a waist that was still discernable (after several years of too much wine and not enough exercise) if not slim, and a well-rounded (and padded) bottom. Her brown eyes were a little bleary, her steps unsteady and her movements stiff, but this was probably due to the hangover. Actually, the spider saw a lot more than that, but 8 eyes provide a bit too much information to translate.
Lucille propped herself up on the sink and gazed at her face and shoulders, which was all that was visible in her small bathroom mirror. She was covered with cobwebs, in huge looping strands, all over her face. What had she been doing, walking into spiders webs while drunk or something? And if she’d picked them up last night, why were they all over her body (including the breasts, quite a lot on the breasts) instead of all over her clothes. No worries, all coming off anyway.
Several steamy minutes later, she was leaning back and relaxing into a hot bath, her head clearing, and her sore muscles ceasing to complain. Even her arm had woken up. A skein of cobwebs floated on the hot and scented water, interrupted by her breasts, floating in the water and breaking surface like a couple of mostly-underwater breasts.
After about an hour of bobbing in the cooling water, Lucille awoke again from a light doze, feeling much better, and rather hungry. As she sat up, an unexpected shift of weight on her chest caught her off balance, and her hands dropped to her breasts.
“These aren’t mine, officer, I just picked them up somewhere”, she muttered as she hefted her boobs in her hands. They were definitely larger, having jumped in size to a round DD. She wasn’t pregnant, but they looked swollen. She couldn’t have gotten breast expansion surgery in a night (amusing thought, bigger boobs while you wait), and it wasn’t like she could have suddenly put on extra weight, all on her breasts. Maybe it was a reaction to something she’d drunk or eaten last night?
After she’d dried her hair and was thinking about getting dressed, her breasts were larger still, seeming to have grown in a few minutes. The unexpected weight was catching her off guard with every move, and when she looking down, her feet were completely concealed by the mounds of soft jiggling flesh, unfamiliar and looking alien to her normal self-image.
Padding across her flat to the kitchen area, in the nude, Lucille swayed a few times, but managed to adjust to her new figure. Upon opening her well stocked fridge (food shopping was one area of housework never neglected), though, she discovered she was out of milk.
“Did I drink the last of this last night? Do you know anything about this?” asked the slightly miffed woman of her new bust. Her breasts maintained their right to silence. With a gritted mutter (“Sunday shopping.Grrr”), she mentally ticked off a few other things she could usefully buy, and went to get dressed.
The breasts, though, proved a problem. Large breasts frequently are. In this case, Lucille had few clothes that could have accommodated her growing chest, now up to an E-cup, as she would gauge it. As one garment after another failed to cover her top-heavy figure, she grabbed both breasts and tried to squash them in frustration. To her horror, it succeeded, and with a strange sliding sensation that seemed to run through her whole torso, right down to her bum, her breasts pushed into her chest, shrinking several sizes as she pushed upon them, down to a large B-cup before she realised it and jerked her hands off. She was standing at the time, and the skirt she was wearing bulged back as things re-arranged themselves, but beyond an instinctive shift in balance, she didn’t notice.
Lucille was shocked by the behaviour of her breasts. Body parts don’t just expand and shrink! And what was that nasty internal feeling? Was she sick? Food poisoning? Something else? Crazy… Maybe she was still dreaming. Maybe someone had spiked her drinks with something last night. But at least she could get a shirt on now. With the intention of asking at the pharmacist for something de-toxing, Lucille left the flat, her big sexy bum wobbling disconcertingly under her skirt.
Her local supermarket was open, and she pottered around happily for a few minutes, buying a bit of this and that, until she turned in the coffee aisle and knocked some boxes off a shelf. Twisting round to see how, she was horrified at the size of her bum, sticking out several inches beyond its previous dimensions. She couldn’t repress a little squeak of horror, and the only other occupant of the aisle, an old lager lout by the name of Jason, looked over at her and exclaimed “phwoor, what a bum!” He would have said more, but an incandescent glare from the subject of his lechery caused him to leave the aisle before he caught fire or something. Lucille was left alone with 400 jars of coffee and her bum. And, and, and her shirt was getting tight…
She hurried to the till and paid quickly, dashing round the streets to her flat, and up the exterior stairs, and in the door, practically shutting it on her inflated behind. Stifling panic, she stopped and had a cup of tea, frantically ignoring messages of restraint from her body. Slightly calmed, she returned to her bedroom, manouvering through the door and shutting it to see the full-length mirror, before taking off her clothes. She started shaking as she carefully checked her changing body. Lucille’s bottom was huge, almost disproportionate for her figure, if not balanced by her growing breasts. Strangely, it seemed that it wasn’t her butt cheeks that had grown, but that the whole section of her body had bulged out. Her bum cheeks seemed tighter, and the crack between them smaller, and her pussy, not frequently visited but still familiar, was no longer between her legs, but just behind them, along the bottom of her protruding… bottom. A quick examination led to desperate, procastinating, don’t want-to-think-about-this masturbation, and it was several minutes later, prompted by the need to shift her balance again, that her eyes (and hands) crept up to her old friends, her new enemies, her breasts. With a shock, she realised that they had grown still further, and were now easily up to the E-cup they had been. Before she squashed them. Had that caused her bum to expand? As breast tissue squidged through her and into her bum? That was impossible, surely. “But don’t call me Shirley…” Lucille giggled, hysterically, as she realised there was a very easy way to make sure. Standing sideways to the mirror, she looked at her nude profile, took a deep breath, and grasped her breasts for the second time that day, in shaking hands. Squeezing slightly, lightly, she distinctly felt that strange sliding sensation inside her, as her breasts slid into her chest, and her bum grew, and swelled, and protruded still further from her shifting body… And at this point, understandably, she fainted.
Lucille jerked back to consiousness, feeling strange and unbalanced. She felt the pull of her huge... bum? protrusion? end? and twisted round to get a look. Her bum was definately huge and becoming somewhat tapered at each end. She couldn't see a butt crack, but she seemed to have developed three long ridges, leading back from her hips towards her, erm, her tip? That would do. Struggling to a kneeling position, she stood up, big end somewhat counterbalanced by her breasts, which yes, had carried on growing. Her legs kept wanting to crick forwards, as if she was wearing high heels. And she was, yes, definately calmer. It was puzzling, but the strange changes to her body had been mentally accepted and accounted for, and she was vaguely interested in finding out what came next. But it was a pretty tenous calm, and she decided the most important thing was to keep busy.
She had enough food for the moment, but if this continued she might not want to go shopping for a while. She could do much of her work from home, and had some leave coming up, so that wouldn't be too much of an issue. Her large end felt like a continuation of her spine, and when she found the right muscles to relax, it drooped slightly instead of sticking out behind her, in a vaguely familiar way. Turning a chair sideways, end sticking out and legs propping out in front in a comfortable manner, she ate a hastily prepared meal, and considered immediate needs.
The supermarket would deliver, and just about everything else could be set up from her computer. After eating (what would turn out to be far more than intended), Lucille considered her breasts again. They had expanded while she was unconcious, and were now definately too big. She could balance a dinner plate on them. They were huge, they were still growing, and they were rapidly straining her fragile hold on calm accaptance. And if she was to go out to arrange grocery deliveries, they would have to be dealt with. Which meant more changes... Still, soonest done.
Lucille grabbed her shoes, and a long coat, and a loose t-shirt, laying them down over a chair. Nothing she had would fit her lower half now. Tying the shoes with difficulty (breastflesh kept getting in the way), she stood up, took a deep breath, and stretched forwards, her breasts now each the size of beach balls. Trying to relax and enjoy it, she took a deep breath, and squeezed in on her breasts. For a moment all she saw was a cleavage you could lose spelunkers down, then that strange, slick feeling rippled through her body, as her breasts started to reduce in size, moving into her torso and out the other end. She concentrated on her breasts. If she was going to leave, she'd need some time before they swelled to unmanagable proportions again. Her hands came closer, and the sliding feeling oozed through her body, and she could feel her end burgeoning into a new shape, as her feet tingled and her hands reached her chest. Looking down, she saw her feet for the first time in days, slimmer than usual and a bit more pointy than she remembered. Anyway, flat chest, no breasts for a while, make the most of the time. Relaxing her spine? bum?, she felt a large wieghty mass, firm and solid, fall against the back of her legs, as her hips pulled forwards. Catching a wall for balance, she was careful not to look down, or she'd have a screaming fit, she just knew it. Calm. Calm. T-shirt, coat on and swung wide to cover everything.
Stumbling for the first few steps, Lucille walked carefully out of the flat. Anyone who knew her would have seen that her face and particularly what leg showed under the coat were slimmer, but her bum under the coat was large and wide, and she held herself with concentration and a steady stare ahead.
By the time she reached the supermarket, her breasts were back, small and perky. She filled out the forms for home delivery, sweating as her t-shirt slowly expanded in what she hoped was too slow a progression to notice. As she straightened up and handed them to the rather surprised man behind the helpdesk, she noticed his eyes flicking to her substantial bust, now back to DD and growing. She turned and walked out hurridly, thin legs stretching out as she left the supermarket, and the tip of her swollen lower body flicking into view beneath the coat. With a few hundred yards to go, her t-shirt started straining to cover her expanding breasts, and her feet were becoming sore. Reaching the block of flats, she heard a ripping sound from her front, and broke into a run, leaning forwards and holding together the coat with one hand. Bounding up the stairs, her lower body stuck out behind her, lifting the coat. A rather frazzled drunk got a good look at what was underneath, but put it down to tequila.
Lucille slammed into her flat door, and bounced as her breasts got there first. leaving the coat to fall open, she frantically fumbled the keys out of her pocket, and dropped them on the hall floor. Whimpering, she leant down to flail around for them on the floor, but something went click in her hips, and her grossley expanded bum brushed against the other wall. But that was nearly three feet behind her! Not looking behind, she grabbed the keys, and found she couldn't fully straighten. Her legs just didn't bend that far anymore. Nearly mad with panic, Lucille finally got the door open, shuffled forwards (she could FEEL her bum dragging on the floor), swivelled as best she could, locked the door, and collapsed.
Panicked gasps died down to pants, and Lucille, collapsed on her side inside the door, eventually regained a bit of strength. Pulling off the remains of the t-shirt around a set of breasts each bigger than her head, and the coat as well, left her tired again, and she lay there on the carpet, legs sprawled out in front and to each side. Looking closly at her feet, she seemed to have no toes left, or only one, long and thin. Her heels seemed to have developed into bony spurs, and as she tried to wiggle her toes, the spurs twitched and shifted. With a shudder, she turned her gaze to her breasts, which were a familiar shape if not a size. And then, inevitably, holding her breasts up in her hands, she twisted her butt one way and her torso another, to see what she had become.
Her bum seemed huge, bigger than the rest of her body, bursting out from the back of her hips and widening to a bulbous extreme, before tapering to a point. The shape was definately familiar, but from where? The three long ridges on each side seemed definately connected to her hips, and perhaps jointed. She reached down with a hand to stroke her huge lower body, and it felt as if she was touching her abdomen. There was a faint gurgling sound, as of a persons stomach after food, but it came from beneath her hand, not her ribs. Straining into a twisted position, Lucille grabbed the tip of her abdomen, and found her pussy barely within reach before the strain proved too much, and she collapsed back onto the carpet, pulled down by the huge breasts in front of her. And in front of her, scuttling along the base of the wall, was a spider. Spindly legs, big abdomen, and a pose echoed by hers...
And then she realised that she was turning into a spider. From the waist down, into a huge hairy arachnid, with an enormous bum and 8 legs, and she broke down into hysterical sobs, as the loss of her humanity became apparent.
The next few hours were hard. Lucille sobbed onto her massive breasts, and begged God or anyone else listening to help her. She screamed for her parents, for help, for death, she screamed at the spiders, but mostly she just whimpered, and cried. Her neighbours were absent on one side, and playing loud music on the other side, and no-one heard her. Eventually, because there is a physical limit to how much a person can cry, she tried to straighten up, in desperate need of a drink. To find that she couldn't and that she was barely able to move, pinned to the floor by the wieght of her obscenely huge breasts, each now the size of her abdomen. There seemed to be very little of Lucille left, between three colossal globes of flesh. This set off another round of screaming sobs, until she realised there was, if unpleasant, a way out of this, or at least off the floor. Complete her transformation, into an enormous spider or whatever else, and she would at least be able to move. Probably. With a last snuffling tear, she lunged forwards towards the wall, dragging her abdomen behind her and then curving back to lift her breasts just a few inches forwards. He arms gave her barely enough leverage, her stick-thin legs unable to lift her wieght. A few more inches, then a few more, and she was pressed against the wall and the carpet, at the edge of her living room. She couldn't reach round her breasts, and had to push against something. Pushing off the floor, Lucille leaned into her breasts, pushing them against the wall. For a few moments she was suspended, balanced on the tip of her abdomen and the tops of her breasts, and then the slippery, internal sliding feeling began, and for the first time there was pain.
The pain of a terrible sunburn across her skin, and the pain of a violently stubbed toe in each foot, and the pain of knowing that what she was was gone, and she was becoming something very different. Lucille's legs became thinner and spikier, hairy on the underside of each foot, which elongated to a single delicate toe. The heel-spurs stretched into rudimentary thumbs or perhaps pinceres. As her hips shifted and remoulded themselves, the ridges on each side of her lower body gained definition and seperated, folding forwards into another 6 legs alongside her previous ones. She could all but feel her internal organs shifting, sliding, forced down through her hips and into her huge bulky abdomen, as her waist slimmed down massivly, to a bare 10 inches round, jointed above the hips and behind, crooked back so her abdomen almost touched her lower back. As Lucille arched back, she grabbed her breasts, managable now, and squashed them into herself, until they stopped moving and remained properly in place. She was shorter now, her hips starting almost immediately below a tiny waist and a truncated ribcage, and she couldn't turn round any more.
Panting and sweating, Lucille rocked to one side, then the other, legs snapping into position and straining, 6 of them for the first time. She rose, somewhat unsteadily at first, but balanced and stable for the first time in what felt like days. She needed to get a good look at herself, and turning on the spot, command of her new body coming instinctively, she started to move towards the bedroom and her large mirror. Stepping carefully, her slightly hairy feet seemed to be getting excellent traction on the carpet, and she soon realised she would not easily fit through a door. Biting her lip, Lucille moved to the wall and experimentaly placed a couple of forefeet on it, "clenching" her "toes", or what felt like them. Her feet stayed attached, despite more wieght on them, and she slowly, one foot at a time, moved her wieght up the wall, until she was standing on the wallpaper, hair hanging behind her, looking at the ceiling. It was a disorienting, dizzying feeling, but as she turned on the spot she realised it barely mattered. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, were all the same to her now. Walking along the wall, she slipped through the low, wide door into her tiny bedroom, shredding a couple of posters on the wall with her feet as she turned, worked out which way to move the door from this perspective, and posed in the mirror.
From the waist up, Lucille was still recognisably herself. Thinner face, thinner arms, waists back to a generous B (and doing strange things at right angles to gravity). Her upper body ended short, curving back into a jointed section of what felt like skin over bone, from which 4 legs extended on each side. Her legs were long and triply jointed, forming an angular framing effect on her torso in the mirror, tapering to elegant points, with little pincers/thumbs behind each furred tip. Effortlessly, and as if she'd worn this body all her life, Lucille reached out her second right fore-foot and picked a hairbrush off the floor, passing it to her right hand. Brushing out her tangled hair, she turned slightly, to get a good look at her lower body. Her abdomen curved out and back, smooth and feminine human skin over cartilage and bone, in a tear-drop of sensual grace. Twitching something at her tip, she "stood" out a bit further from the wall, curving her abdomen to see it beneath her. Her anal sphincter was just visible, below a sextet of finger-like protrusions around the lips of her pussy. Wiggling and clenching these, she dipped "down" to the wall, and came away with a strand of cobweb, as thick as her wrist, attached to the wall. Smiling wickedly, Lucille ran up the walls to the ceiling above the mirrored door, deposited another strand of web, and let go of the ceiling. Playing out a little web from within her cavernous body, she descended till she could see herself in the mirror. Sexy human face and upper body, a lithe and graceful multitude of legs, and her glorious abdomen, fecund and majestic.
Swaying gently from her web, a malicous grin spread across her face. "I'm finished!" she declared, "and I am magnificent!"
Days later, Lucille had fully adjusted to her new body, and wouldn't have gone back to her old one for love or money. Her human furniture was stacked neatly in a corner of the flat, and cobwebs crossed most of the open space. The groceries were ordered via computer (itself attached to the ceiling), and snared in from the flat door with a surrepticious fore-limb. She had claimed a terrible illness against work, and was doing what she could by telecommuting. It would be months before they were able to sack her, and in the meantime she was building quite a following after some posing with a digital camera and posting to the 'net. "The poor computer geeks," she lamented to herself, "spending hours trying to unpick the photo-manipulation. Maybe I should have one round for dinner sometime..."
Several weeks later she broke out in hysterics again, but that was completely justified. Because she was pregnant.