Ms. Feb 23: Dance the Night Away (Patreon)

Trigger #104: The South Pole Strip Club (aka the northern branch of the Sala City Coven)

Organization Class: Workers of a strip club in upper Sala City that I've taken under my wing as fledgeling witches. Due to the top secret nature of how experienced witches can more efficiently recharge their magic (i.e, "The Secret Recipe") they made the perfect candidates for the new Coven.

Transformation Type: TG, Corruption. Heat, Breast Expansion, Ass Expansion, Reality Shift.

Threat Level: Benevolent. Use the Empathy spell to spot customers in need of a change.

Subject: Andromeda "Andi" Starlight, F, 21, formerly Andrew Ride, AMAB, 21.

The following is a biographical account of events based on the subject's own testimonies and several eyewitness accounts.

When Andrew was little, he wanted to be an astronaut. Not for any noble reasons, he was ashamed to admit. Andrew wanted to fly, to defy gravity and swim amongst the stars.

Not being much of a scholar himself, when he was told that becoming an astronaut required several years of school, he decided he wanted to become something else.

He never really ended up deciding what he wanted to become.

That is, besides becoming one thing in particular.

But that was impossible, he decided. He couldn't be that. That is to say, SHE couldn't.

On his 21st birthday, Andrew was dragged to a strip club by his well meaning but painfully naive friends. Andrew hated every second of it. Andrew was a pretty quiet guy, all things considered. He liked to keep to himself, liked to hide away in dark, quiet corners. The South Pole was a dark corner, but certainly not quiet. Loud music vibrated through the air like a heatwave. Andrew could barely hear himself think, let alone hear his friends through the haze of sounds.

Worse still were the girls. Gorgeous, confident women who carried themselves with the pride and grace of goddesses among mortal men. They way they moved, swaying their hips and baring their breasts for all the world to see. They were beautiful, and they knew it, and they weren't afraid to show it. They were resplendent.  

They were everything Andrew wasn't. They were everything Andrew wanted to be.

Some of the girls saw how miserable Andrew looked. Empathy is a very simple spell. All it requires is being able to put yourself in someone else's shoes and burn a smidge of mana. Then, their deepest desires are revealed to you.

Andrew's desire was simple, all things considered.

Andrew wanted to be a woman. Andrew wanted to be one of them.

They looked at each other, and nodded. They knew what they needed to do.

They dragged Andrew away from his friends for a "private lapdance."

"You look miserable, 'sir.' Are we doing a bad job?" they coo-ed in his ear.

"N-No! You're doing a great job! I-I'm just... tired. But you're all lovely!" he stammered as they continued to press the fullness of their bodies against him.

"Really? What is it you like about us?" they teased him, with their words and their bodies, fingers combing through his hair and hips pressed against his waist.

"Well, I uh... you're all gorgeous to start..."

"Mm-hmm...?"

"B-But more importantly, you're confident and brave enough to flaunt it..."

"Go onnnnn...?"

Andrew swallowed hard as one of the girls pressed her breasts against the nape of his neck.

"Well... you're all so strong. It must take a lot to do what you do on that pole and... um... gyrate like that... you must practice alot...uhh, s-sorry, I think I'm losing my voice from shouting over the music or something..." Andrew's voice started to crack, raising higher and higher in pitch until it was less a murmur and more of a seductive whisper. 

The girls continued to pry.

"And...?"

Andrew wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, not noticing how his hair was steadily growing, nor how his hand had grown slender, with long, painted nails. "Your presence... the way you capture everyone's attention... the way you keep all eyes on you. I wish I could... uh, sorry, I..." Andrew swallowed the words back into his throat out of fear.

"You wish you could be one of us."

Andrew froze. Never in his life had anyone understood. Never had anyone, himself included, put words to it. Never had he admitted to himself that "he"... was a she.

"Okay then, gorgeous. Watch and learn."

They pounced on her, more aggressive now, like a runaway train careening downhill.

Her hair grew longer, brown locks dying themselves with the vibrant purples and pinks of the universe. She shivered when she felt her hair creep over her shoulders. It was so soft, silky, curly and... perfect. The glittering stars gave her questions. "Is this a wig...?" she asked.

One of the girls combed slender fingers through her hair. "It's not a wig, girlfriend. It's YOU." The slight yanking, the feeling of nails on scalp, made it undenyable.

"How are you- mmpfh!" before Andrew could continue, another girl pressed her lips against hers. As her tongue wrapped around her own and massaged the insides of her cheeks, her face was molded and softened like sand in the tides. The itchy strands of her scraggly beard pushed their way out of her pores, never to be seen again. When her eyes opened, they were filled with stars, great swirling cosmos of light. 

The changes continued. One of the girls pressed the fullness of her breasts fully against Andrew's torso. It was as if pools of fat were being pumped from the girl's breasts right into Andrews, her pecs melting and bubbling into enormously plump breasts. When the girl pulled away, Andrew's tits dropped and pulled her forward ever so slightly, pulling on her shoulders and ribcage. She whimpered in surprise as her arm reflexively pushed up against them for support. She could feel their weight, their heft, how their softness wrapped around her forearm... and she loved it. She loved all of it.

The girls continued, running their hands down her waist and pushing it inwards like clay pressed on the pottery wheel. Her hips, on the other hand, were pulled outwards, bones popping and more fat and meat pooling in like an overstuffed pastry. Their fingers sank into her thighs and they only grew bigger until it was like squeezing a marshmallow. She heard her pants rip and red washed across her face as she rose up a few inches in her chair with a delightful bounce.

And finally, the piece-de-resistance. "Sausage or no sausage...?" one of the girls asked as she sat firmly on Andrew's lap. "We can also make it even bigger! Like bratwurst!" one of the other girls pitched in. "Um... n-no sausage, please?" Andrew said timidly, and the girl began grinding her massive ass into her crotch. The two blimps she called her butt wrapped around Andrew's member, massaging, pulling and pushing, up and down, harder and faster. The pressure was building like a mercury thermometer about to explode. Faster, faster, and faster still, until, with a desperate moan, Andrew came in her pants. The girl, however, refused to stop, sending Andrew teetering on the edge of insanity, overwhelming her with pleasure. She grinded her flaccid cock down into a fine paste, and it crept back up into her body like blood retreating from the cold. Her testicles rolled up into her pelvis, melting into a uterus and ovaries. When the girl rose off Andrew's lap, all that was left of her "manhood" were the lips of a sopping wet labia.

"Let's get you out of those nasty clothes, Andi," one of the girls said as she pulled Andi's now tight and ill fitting hoodie and shirt up and off her. She couldn't help but stifle a moan as the rough cotton dragged against her virgin chest. Her pants were another story, her waistband far too small to fit past her incredibly motherly hips. Eventually, they managed to squeeze her out of the garments. The cold air kissed every new inch and curve of Andi's perfectly smooth skin. 

It was only then Andi finally noticed where they were. The dancers' changing room. Racks and racks of lascivious costumes lined the walls. The girls let her pick her own poison, a latex star bra wrapped in chains. The girls were more than eager to supply accessories. A pair of shiny metal "bracelets" and lock shaped earrings, to symbolize  her newfound freedom from the prison of her body. And a pair of cute high heels, mostly to tease the new girl, who stumbled around awkwardly like a newfound fawn before finally finding her stride. Plus it made her ass pop out and look even bigger, and that was always a win.

They sat her down and set to work on her makeup. Puffy, pouted lips were painted with glittering purple lipgloss. Mascara was combed through her lashes, her eyes lined and shadowed to perfection. A touch of blush and a spritz of setting spray, and she was done. When she finally looked into the mirror and saw their good work, she almost cried tears of joy. It was like looking into the eye of the universe, an unecapsilatable beauty and awe.

A burly man with a clipboard walked into the dressing room and looked directly at her. "Andromeda, hon? You're up next!"

Her new name, so simple yet deep in meaning, froze Andi stiff with delight for a few seconds, before she jolted upright at the realization.

"W-Wait! You want me to go out there?! B-but I've never... I have no idea how to... I can't do what you all do!"

The poor girl had awful stage fright. The other girls looked at each other in feigned confusion. "What are you talking about Andi? You've been working here for months now! You know how to work that pole better than any of us! Just trust your body. It remembers. It'll know what to do.

Andi couldn't resist the urge to cover herself as she was pushed up onto the stage.

Past the bright neon lights, Andi could see the lust consumed faces of her friends. She couldn't decide if she wanted them to recognize who she is, save her from her embarrassment, take her home and let her enjoy this new body in privacy. Or... never recognize her. Let the old Andrew die, and let these men view her as just another stripper. Let them stare at her body with lust and intent. Let them desire her, let them touch themselves at the thought of her, fantasize about having just one night in bed with her. Let Andrew die, fade from their minds, and let Andromeda, the seductress, the succubus, the stranger, take his place.

She could feel her womanhood grow wetter by the second, see her breath as the roiling heat in her stomach blew out of her mouth like dragonfire. 

She wanted only to be an object of their desire. A star they look up to and wish their deepest, darkest desires to.

"Hey boys..." Andi said, voice dripping with honeyed lust, "The name's Andromeda Starlight. I'll be your hostess for the evening." She swished her hips, flipped her hair, and blew the boys a kiss. She had never before moved her body in such an unmistakably feminine manner, but it felt so deliciously right.

The men went wild, some already throwing money onto the stage. Andi giggled to herself. Was it really this easy? she wondered. Maybe with a body like this it is... she thought with a smirk as she caught a glimpse of her ass in the body mirror at the other end of the catwalk.

She took a deep breath, shaking with excitement, and straddled the pole. She pressed the folds of her womanhood around the metal rod as if she wanted to swallow it hole, to take it's fullness up and inside herself. It was cold, and hard, but smooth, perfect for its unique task. She wrapped her leg up high around the pole and dragged her crotch up against it. She moaned, biting her lip and looking out into the crowd for approval. They cheered, but she could see in their eyes they were hungry for more. She was hungry too, hungry for attention, hungry for these men to look at her with desire like astronauts look at the stars. She was a star now, breasts, thighs, and ankles wrapped around the pole, lifting herself up and then upside down like she was weightless. 

She was dancing.

No.

Flying. She was finally FLYING.

Her slender, muscular body effortlessly slung her curvaceous form around the pole like a skilled acrobat. It was exhilarating to feel the speed and arc of her spins highlight every new curve and bend her body had been blessed with. The rush as she let her arms hang loose, her body left suspended only by the strength and mercy of her perfectly toned legs. She stopped to smile at the crowd, a stray hair sticking provocatively to her lip. Her heart was pounding so fast a far off part of her mind fretted it might just give out.

Andromeda was like a woman dying of thirst in the desert having just been poured a tall glass of water. But it wasn't enough for her. No, she wanted more.

Just their lustful eyes weren't enough. She wanted desperately to touch them, to be among her adoring fans, comb her fingernails through their hair and feel the wanting in their fat, erect cocks firsthand.

A naughty little thought curled her lips, and she spoke.

"I'll give a private lap dance to the first guy who drops a twenty."

Andromeda smiled as a shower of Andrew Jacksons rained on the stage.

She was going to like being a stripper, she decided.

And she hadn't even had to take off her clothes yet.

From the desk of

Mira Alcott

Head-Mistress of Transformations

(Special thanks to TashaTheWitchQueen for the suggestion, to my Test Readers, and to all of you for your support!)