Put on the catgirl costume — thong, bikini top, collar, ears, and tail plug — piece by piece.

Pandora's Box Costume Shop, Birch Street, at 11:58 PM on Wednesday October 30th, 2024

I strip off my clothes again — t-shirt, jeans, boxers pooling at my feet for the second time tonight. My body looks wrong in the mirror. Not just the shrunken cock hanging between my legs, but the way my skin seems to shimmer with residual sensitivity, the way my nipples are still dark and slightly puffy from the previous transformations. I look like someone who's been used.

The thong goes on first. I step into the thin straps and pull the glossy black fabric up my thighs. It settles against my crotch — barely containing my reduced cock, the material cool and impossibly soft against my oversensitive skin. The moment the fabric makes full contact, a jolt of heat shoots through my pelvis. My hips jerk forward involuntarily and I grab the edge of the bench, gasping. The phantom pussy throbs in sympathy — or anticipation.

The bikini top next. I fumble with the ties behind my back, the glossy cups hanging loose until I manage to knot them. The fabric settles against my chest and my nipples — still swollen, still three times too sensitive — press into the material and sing. I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper.

The collar. I pick it up and the tiny bell chimes, a crystalline sound that seems to vibrate through my bones. I fasten it around my neck — the leather is warm, almost alive, conforming to my throat like it was made specifically for me. The bell rests in the hollow of my collarbone, chiming softly with every breath.

The ears. Two clips attached to a headband — sleek black fur, perfectly shaped. I slide them into my hair and feel a sudden pressure at the top of my skull, a tingling that makes my scalp prickle.

And then the tail.

I hold it in both hands — the black-furred appendage, thick as two fingers, flexible, with a tapered tip. The plug at its base is smooth and warm, already glistening with something slick. My hands shake as I reach behind myself. I've never — I've never put anything there. But my body moves on its own, bending forward, spreading my legs, the plug pressing against my asshole with inexorable pressure.

It slides in.

The moment it seats fully inside me, the transformation detonates.

My spine arches. The tail merges with my body — I feel it connecting to my nervous system, every hair on it suddenly alive with sensation. My ears burn and reshape, migrating upward, elongating into pointed feline peaks that twitch at every sound. My skin ripples — fat redistributing, hips cracking wider, waist cinching, thighs thickening with soft feminine padding. My breasts swell against the bikini top, pushing the cups to overflowing — larger than before, heavier, the nipples so hard they ache. My cock shrinks further, retreating, and then inverts — flesh folding inward, reshaping, a wet heat blooming between my legs as a pussy forms for the third time tonight, already soaking the thong.

But this time it's different. Everything is different.

My entire body is a single erogenous zone. The air itself feels like fingers stroking my skin. The bikini top against my breasts is almost unbearable. The tail — my tail — curls and sways behind me, each movement sending sparks directly to my clit. Heat floods my core like a furnace being stoked, a desperate, animal need that makes the schoolgirl's submission feel like a gentle suggestion compared to a screaming command.

I need to be filled. I need it so badly my vision blurs. My new pussy is dripping — actually dripping, slick running down my inner thighs, soaking through the thong. My mouth waters. My ass clenches around the plug that's now part of my body.

I look in the mirror and see a catgirl staring back — petite, curvy, with enormous breasts straining against the bikini top, a flushed face with slightly feline features, twitching black ears, and a long black tail curling between my legs. My eyes are wider, pupils slit like Pan's.

The bell on my collar chimes as I pant.

From beyond the fitting room door, I hear Pan's voice — low, amused, hungry.

"Oh, you sound delicious in there, kitten. Are you ready for your friends?"