I felt the clothes then, and they didn’t feel like the cotton and wool they should have been–they were smooth and slick, like something in their makeup had changed, or the cum coating them was warping their actual nature. It felt…good. I had fought so hard to get it off, and feeling it, all I wanted to do was put it right back on. Instead, I hung it up in the closet to dry–I didn’t bother thinking about washing them then, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to, even if I wanted. I did, however, manage to shower for the first time in days.
It seemed like such a feat, in the moment, but I think what allowed me to do it was the fact that I knew, even if I was clean on the outside, everything on the inside was wrong. No amount of water, or soap, was enough to scrub away what (I’d thought) Cumster had done to me. All the same, I felt better when I stepped out, though once I saw myself in the mirror, some of that feeling of good will disappeared. Not everything that had changed about me was bad, exactly. I was more muscular than I thought I should be, and perhaps a bit taller and hairier, even. The beard I hadn’t bothered shaving in a few days was thicker than my stubble usually was, but it framed my jaw well, though the hair was too long and needed a trim. It was the most disordered part about me, and I wanted it back in my usual high and tight, but there were more pressing concerns than a haircut. Mostly, my balls.
They had easily quadrupled in size in the course of the night, from Cumster’s eager treatment. No wonder I had been able to cum as many times as I had–I could almost feel them churning in my palm when I hefted them up, barely able to hold them with my fingers spread wide. I…didn’t know how I was going to hide them. I didn’t know if I wanted to hide them at all. I…I kind of wanted everyone to see them, I wanted them to know I was different, that I was wrong. That I…I wasn’t like them. My mind keeps telling me to write it, it wants me to say that I’m not human, but that’s not right. I know I’m human too, even if I’m also something else now, or maybe I always was, the things I remember now…I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know what belongs to me, what was buried away, and what all of these freaks have put in my mind along the way.
My phone was dead–I plugged it in, and immediately got a deluge of notifications from it, mostly calls from the department. Dreading what I was going to have to bear, I called the captain, telling him I’d developed some nightmare flu. In the end, the excuse didn’t matter, because there was something more important than the fact that I’d kept dropping off the grid for most of the last three days. Jules had called in with a location, and nothing else. The department was getting ready to go investigate it–I told them I would meet them there.
It was so fucking hard not putting my filthy dress uniform back on when I was getting ready. Something…told me I was going to need it, I would want it…but I couldn’t be seen in something like that, and it wasn’t exactly easy to hide under my usual clothing. I felt it, and it had cured somewhat in the closet, in just that short while. It was no longer wet, nor not exactly wet, but it wasn’t dry either. It took be a few moments to realize it didn’t even feel like the right kind of fabric at all…because it felt more like rubber.
It felt like rubber–smooth and flexible–but it didn’t smell like it. It smelled like…like me, like my cum. It smelled like sex, and my cock pumped a load of precum into the front of the boxers I was wearing, saturating the front in a matter of moments. It felt like something from my memory, like something I’d forgotten so long ago, that I might have just been inventing some imagined past out of fog. I wanted to put it back on, I wanted to feel what it…felt like to have it on, but I knew if I did it would never come off again. In the end, I got dressed in my usual clothes, and tucked the uniform into a bag that I took with me. At least if it was close, and I needed it, it would be there. The one exception were the gloves at boots–they still felt like they had…kind of. The gloves were…thicker, though more flexible. On my hands, they seemed to warp to every wrinkle on my hands, while at the same time making them seem…huge. The same with my boots. The cum had made them grow in some odd sense, and yet they hugged my feet so tightly they had to have been made for me. I didn’t care if anyone noticed, I…wanted them to notice, even. I was terrified, and yet, whatever was inside me, was hungry all the same.