*Yeah it's holding me, morphing me*
*And forcing me to strive*

*To be endlessly, cold inside,*
*And dreaming I'm alive*

**-Muse, Hysteria"**

----

The man forced his eyes open.

A keyboard was on the left of his head, and his cheek felt funny. Beyond the keyboard, there was a coffee mug. Stuck to the wall. Sideways.

Oh.

He sat up, massaged the side of his face, the...interesting key pattern there. Any drool on the keyboard?

A little. 

He cleaned it with the end of his tie.

The corner of the computer screen said 7:34. Right. He had finished the proposal, finally, put his head down to 'rest his eyes'-

A smile spread across his face. *Not the first time I made that mistake.* At least this time nobody wrote on his face.

There was drool on the desk, on the papers his face had been resting on. But instead of the dark stain he expected, the papers were covered in a slick-looking gold sheen. 

He raised his tie. The end had the same stuff.

He rubbed at the corner of his mouth, and it came off with little dried flakes of gold. He got really close to the slick spot on the paper -

It was a puddle, really. A puddle of some weird gold liquid that apparently came out of him. It smelled like...he wasn’t sure how to describe the smell.

Later, he wasn’t sure when he actually decided to lick the spot like the last dregs of sauce on a plate.

He sat up, smacked his lips. If there had been anyone there to see it, they would’ve noticed how his eyes glazed over, the way his mouth hung open, how his tongue lolled out.

They might even have noticed the faint gold tinge to the tip, to the drool that rolled down the length, gathered at the tip, gathered into a bulge, a drop-

Fell.

Hit the keyboard, right on the D key.

Up.

He blinked.

He was hungry, he was thirsty, he needed to pee, but most of all, he needed to go Up.

The roof was locked; there had to be some kind of substitute. Something like... like the corner of the cubicle. 

It seemed perfectly natural for him to stand up, send the chair spinning across the floor. To test the desk corner and - once he was sure it would hold his weight - to step onto it.

To realise he made a mistake. 

To retrieve the chair and use it to step onto the desk. Once he was up there, kneeling, his head and shoulders were clear of the wall and he could scan his domain. 

Empty, of course.

As he gripped the metal and plastic and strange artificial fibres found the world over, his hands slid a little. His palms were coated in a strange yellow substance much like his tongue. He rubbed it between his fingers. Sticky.

For experiment’s sake he stuck out his tongue. And out. And out—it stopped somewhere near his tie clip, around the second button down from his collar. If he crossed his eyes he could see that most of it was gold. 

Well.

That was... interesting.

He tightened his grip on the cubicle wall, got his feet under him, and stood up. The desk wobbled for a second, and a spike of cold shot through him.

This was crazy. 

This was necessary. 

He had a moment of uncertainty when he got his left knee up. He tightened his grip on the wall on the far side. He got his left leg up, then, somewhat gingerly, he planted his left shoe, then his right shoe on the wall. He bought his torso forward, rested his hands on his bent knees for balance and suddenly realised how ridiculous he looked.

Not that it mattered, with nobody there to see.

He looked down for a second. Maybe he should have taken off his shoes.

When he looked up, there was a woman there, holding a folder, pointed in the direction of the copier. She looked athletic somehow, with dark skin, nice cheekbones, a black business skirt, and a white shirt with — he raised his head and sniffed — a soy sauce stain. Fresh.

“You...OK buddy?”

He was fine. “I’m fine.”

“Are you *sure*? Because the last time I saw you, you were sleeping. And you're slav-squatting on a cubicle wall.”

“Couldn't get to the roof.”

The woman was quiet. Her eyes went a little wide, she looked at him looked at the exit, looked back at him, closed her eyes, bit her lower lip, and sighed through her teeth. “Look, is there where someone I can call?”

“Call?”

“You *just* said you want to jump off the roof.”

“No I didn't. But come to think of it.”

He *had* dreamed of flying.

“Then...why do you want to go to the roof?”

“I... just do, that's all all.”

She shook her head and muttered “*I do not get paid enough for this.* And where do the contacts come in?”

“Contacts?”

“Nobody has gold eyes naturally.”

Huh?

He blinked. 

He turned and looked down at his cubicle desk. and the glasses he had left on it.

He hadn't even noticed.

He could see the woman in perfect detail. Her puffy hair, the light on her cheek bones. The slight, almost-hidden-enough swallow. The drops of sweat on her forehead, near the hairline. The sunken circles, not fully concealed by makeup, under her eyes.

And in that moment, he pitied her.

“What,” she said, “is wrong with your hand?”

*My...?*

He held up his hand. The palm was gold, and wet-looking. Something gathered on the palm, like steam on a window. He turned it sideways - the back of his hand was not-quite-black - and watched the liquid slide down, gather on the edge of his hand, and drop onto the computer monitor.

The woman watched it slide down the screen with her mouth hanging open. “Is...is that *normal* for you?”

He licked his hand, with a long tongue, grinned at her with sharp teeth. “It's about to be.”

The woman blinked, stepped back with one foot. “I'm...gonna go.”

The man smiled at her. His teeth felt strange in his mouth. No, not strange. The opposite. “Okay.”

The woman took another step. She half-turned away, turned back. “You're not going to try to stop me?”

“I'm busy.”

“With what?”

The man grinned wider. “With **this.”**

He leaned over and *flexed*. Muscles and not-muscles, things no human had, surged in his back. Even under the shirt, there was something wrong. Something different.

The woman had seen videos of people popping pimples. Of someone with tweezers removing some kind of bug or insect. 

The man stood, and spun around so he was facing away, and crouched again. The surging in his back became two peaks. Two things, one on each shoulder blade, trying to escape.

And those things, as it happened, were wings.

The wings burst out in a spray of gold and black. Little dots landed on the woman, her glasses. She flinched. Nothing happened.

*Okay,* she thought, *this is way too crazy-*

The wings were swirls of gold and off-black. Were they symmetrical? She tried to check, but every time she tried to look on the other side, she’d lose the point of comparison-

She blinked.

His tail - his *tail!* - curled over his back, like a scorpion. And underneath...?

She had, of course, seen a man's butthole, balls, and taint before. But they usually didn't have a tail above them, and the first one usually wasn't gold-on-black.

He shifted back, just a little, and his cock flopped down. By now, it was pointy, and weird, and had spines behind the head. And it was huge, of course. When did he lose his pants?

The woman bit her lip. She wasn't sure why.

The squishdragon spread his wings for balance, looked over his shoulder. "You should be running."

"I-" He was right. She really should.

He flexed. Especially that golden ring. 

*This entire situation is completely insane.*

The dragon made a low, sort of *purring* noise that rippled through his entire body, all the way to the end of his tail-

*He's displaying.*

The ripple went through his dick too, and more drops fell off. She wasn’t sure where she should be looking-

His wings fluttered. The pattern shifted. She didn’t notice. Not consciously. She only saw it out the corner of her eye.

Well, he wasn’t really trying to hurt her, was he? It couldn’t hurt to watch. Just to *watch*.

And...come to think of his butt… Aside from the color scheme, it wasn’t...that bad. Bigger than a human man’s, the tail would take a little adjustment-

The dragon shifted on his roost. His...pucker puckered.

*When I came in this morning,* she thought, *I did not expect to end up staring at a dragon’s bunghole.*

The dragon tensed. The hole dilated, just a little. There was something in there. Then it closed again. And opened, a little wider this time. The dragon bore down, and this time, she saw enough to tell whatever he was trying to drop was...curved?

He relaxed, let it retract. Pushed again. This time, a third of the object got out. It was the same sort of off-black and gold as the dragon himself, but it looked wetter, somehow.

No. No, it was *covered* in liquid. In some kind of goo.

Relax. Push. 

The object got to the same point, but the dragon held this time-

*Egg.

It’s an egg.*

-and kept going. Once he got the widest part out-

*Come on! What are you waiting for! Do it!*

Another mighty flex, and the egg cleared the hole. It didn’t immediately fall to the floor. There was too much sticky liquid coating it, attaching it to the dragon proper. 

Instead, the egg rolled down the dragon’s taint. Down his nutsack. He flicked his hips upward. Instead of falling off, the egg jumped, hit his dick, flowed to the end. 

Paused.

The woman held her breath.

The egg fell off. But the goo caught it. The egg dangled off the tip like a water drop with a steroid problem.

Fell. 

It hit the corner of the desk, behind the computer screen, behind the desktop box. The woman couldn’t see the impact itself

*did it break?*

but she saw the way the gold stuff splashed on the walls.

Then the second egg hit the edge of the desktop. It didn’t break, just deformed, kinda. Soft. It slipped behind the box, left a splatter on the box.

The third egg.

The fourth.

Fifth.

Then she kinda lost count. Afterward, she did remember the image of the eggs racing down the walls of the cubicle, how they left shiny, slick trails. Some of them came out of his dick instead.

*That's physically impossible,* she thought.

Part of her mind snorted. *Oh, now you notice?*

*You can run. Just leave. Maybe someone finds it in the morning. Just leave it for someone else. The janitor, maybe.*

His wings. That glorious gold and off-black pattern-

Close-up, the egg was a swirl of gold and off-black. Not too heavy-

*When did I pick one up?*

*What...what does it taste like?*

The texture was slightly rough. Like licking an avocado.

It tasted like…*something*. she wasn't sure what, but she needed more. She lowered her jaw until it ached, and plopped the egg in.

*Now what?*

The egg dissolved, like chocolate on fast-forward. It slid down her throat, left her standing there, swirls of color on her fingers, dripping to the floor, dripping from her open lips.

*more*

She could hold two eggs per hand. She tried to grab a third, but it slipped out, landed on the floor. Her hands were full. She knelt, pressed her lips to it, sucked it into her mouth. There was a slight taste of dust and carpet, on top of the delicious, hot, *liquid* swirl. 

She sat up. Heat traced a from her lips, her mouth, down her throat, pooled in her belly. Like eating hot sauce, except…*not*. 

More so with the next eggs. The heat was like opening a car door on a hot day.

She leaned forward. 

*more*

Leaned over the desk. Reached out and shoveled the eggs into her mouth, swallowed as fast as she could. The pressure grew and grew, like it was spreading out from her throat, her stomach. The heat was a fire. Her nipples were tender- 

She looked down. There were two honey-gold spots on her chest. Right where her nipples were.

*Doesn’t matter. More.*

And more she had.

She breathed heavily, her mouth open. Like she couldn't...like she couldn't wait to get one more egg in, to feel that slick heat falling, dropping through her, like adding stones to a shopping bag, making her heavier and heavier until her knees collapsed and she fell to the floor and she kept *going*, kept reaching for the desk and her lips until-

Until there was nothing there to reach for.

She blinked.

The corner of the desk was empty.

In fact, there wasn't even a computer screen in front of it. Where had it-

It was on the floor. There were yellow stains on the frame, fingerprints, like someone had-

She looked at her hands. The gold liquid was stark on her dark skin. 

The cord had snapped. She could see the ruined end dangling off the side of the cubicle desk. Had she done that? Had she shoved it off that hard?

Her fingers felt puffy. Not just her fingers. A bee-sting, but...*everywhere*.

What had she *done*?

Her stomach gurgled. It felt bloated. But it wasn’t just her stomach, it was all over. She grabbed her stomach. It felt wrong. Taut. like-

Like a water balloon.

She looked up, at the dragon, who smiled - *smirked* - down at her. It only looked remotely human. Pointy head, horns, gold irises in a sea of black.

As she watched, the pupil stretched, narrowed into a slit.

“What did you do to me?”

**"Me?"**

He got down on all fours, approached her. Stalked, really, like a territorial dog that just noticed someone climbed the fence into the backyard. She backed away.

Where had his shoes gone? His pants?

**"*I* didn't do anything. *I* didn't make you eat my eggs. I didn't keep you from running away. The only thing I *have* done is...this."**

His tail was a blur, a striking cobra. She barely had time to flinch before it was over the top of her waistband, down her panties, caressing her-

She shrieked, and stumbled away. He didn't move, even as she fell to the floor. Didn't stop smiling either.

**"Don't want your eggs to get out."**

Huh?

She stumbled to her feet, Reached behind her, scabbled for her skirt’s zipper. Her fingers were heavy. Couldn't quite get a grip. She grabbed the hem in the front, and lifted her skirt.

Or at least that was the plan.

Her skirt ripped in half all the way to the belt. She would have gawked, but, as it happened, she had more pressing concerns. Quite literally.

Without her skirt’s restraining embrace, the full feeling got worse. She could feel herself swelling, how her panties dug into her-

Her face twisted into a snarl as she grabbed her panties in both hands and yanked. They parted even easier than her skirt had.

And there it was.

The gold smear covered her vagina, in sharp contrast to her dark skin. She reached for it, paused, drew back, and reached down again. A vague, semi-ironic thought about shaving fluttered through her mind, but that was less important than sliding her finger along the curve of the golden liquid and - biting her lower lip - pressing into herself.

Well, in theory.

It was like trying to poke her finger through a limp balloon.

And then her knees gave out. 

Someone had turned up the gravity. It was all she could do to keep her chest off the ground, and it got harder and harder with each second, with each wet breath that left her throat. Little gold-ish flecks appeared on the carpet.

She looked at the back of her hand. At her nails. She hadn’t worn polish that morning. There was something dark brown under the nails, where her skin would normally be light.

She flexed her hands. Puffy. Bloated. Why?

Something twined through her short, curly hair, and pulled her up. She was too numb to notice the pain, to do anything but just dangle from his fist. One of his claws scraped her scalp.

He twisted his hand, and the woman dropped a little. *What's he doing to me?*

Something touched the back of her neck. 

Something with a soft tip.

She stiffened. Tried to stiffen. but she was just so, so *tired*. And heavy. Like her skin didn't fit right, like that one time with the bridesmaid’s dress at the wedding.

He dragged the tip over her head, through her hair. Rubbed it along the top of her head. It caught on her hair, like a human man never would. The weight-

She breathed a little faster.

-the *size*- 

Something electric ran down her spine.

**"Excited?"**

Terror was *technically* a form of excitement.

The woman, as it happened, had seen porn once. Though no fault of her own, she insisted. Just a few seconds; a woman’s hand jerking a restrained man off. Up and down. Up and down.

And, more than once, she had wondered what that felt like.

If that slick hand had, somehow, been reshaping the dick as it went, it might’ve felt like she did. She wasn't sure what shapes her hair, her *head*, were becoming, but she knew they were long and pointy, one on either side.

And that wasn't all. She felt the pressure of…*him* on the back of her head. Sinking in. Pushing in. Thrusting in.

And then - *in* her. Past her hair, past her skin, past her skull, until it rested neatly between her brain’s hemispheres. She could almost imagine that she felt the wetness spread out, filling up the cracks in her brain.

Her hair was like handlebars now. Or – horns?

*squish*

Yes, horns. For him to grab on, to use as grips, for his -

*squish*

She should be sustaining brain damage.

*squish*

Her mouth shouldn't be falling open.

*squish*

She shouldn't be waiting.

Waiting for…*what*?

Something pushed at the roof of her mouth from the outside. She touched the roof of her mouth with her tongue. something — she *knew* what it was — that pushed at the then barrier between her mouth and the rest of her skull. it broke through, and she wrapped her tongue around —

*No! Stop!*

She slammed her mouth closed with a little click. It somehow felt distant, like someone had shut a door in the next room. 

She knew what pushed at the inside of her teeth. She couldn't let it out, even as her teeth, her *face* began to deform under the assault. She *couldn't*.

*I’ve never heard of someone who could give a blowjob without opening her mouth before.*

She would’ve giggled, but that would’ve let something out. Something dark. Something dangerous.

*What did he do to me?*

Her tongue fell out of her mouth. Tried to. She grit her teeth, felt the tongue shifting too. The slickness from her tongue, the inside of her mouth leaked out, she felt it on the inside of her lips-

**"No point fighting it. You can't hold out forever."**

Try me, she could've said, but that would've Let Her Tongue Out. 

She couldn't do that. Bad Things might happen. 

She slapped both puffy hands over her puffy mouth, and the wet filled her, leaked between her fingers.

Her bra felt like Velveeta squeezing through fishnets. Soft, round Velveeta.

**"Well. Let me help."** The golden dragon's tail reached into her purse, rummaged around, lifted one of her business cards, bought it up to his face for a closer look-

The woman realized what was happening approximately a half-second before Goldenrod flung the card at her.

There was a video she had seen once. A slow motion video of a giant water balloon or bubble or something popping. Just the skin rending itself out of sheer tension, in slow motion.

She could've dodged, could’ve wriggled, could’ve done *something*. Theoretically. If she wasn't weighed down. If she wasn’t bloated and sluggish. 

She didn't see the breach when the card, *her* card, sliced her open.. 

She felt it.

The tear started at the rip, and kept going. A seam opened up across her collarbone, and she bulged out. The pressure in her chest, her neck pulled it wider and wider, and the tense pseudomuscles of her shoulder pressed against the inside of her shirt like they had pressed against her skin.

The breach proceeded down her arm, and her bra gave way with a snap. She barely noticed, lost in the relief, the wonderful relief; her massive, heavy breasts were *free*! 

With nothing holding it in place, her neck ruptured, raced toward her chin. Her other arm followed suit, and she could feel her Biceps - she had never had any worth the capital letter - feel their power. Almost involuntarily, she flexed, and the skin basically exploded off her hands.

The split reached her lips, and her lower jaw escaped. The split proceeded horizontally from the side, which meant it didn't have enough integrity to keep her upper jaw in place, and it met the world too. She could smell herself, old and new, and - more importantly - smell *him*.

With the front half free, nothing that kept her tail from curling up her spine, and bursting out, which left her head's skin unconnected to the rest of the body. The sheer, thick weight of the tail pulled down her lower back, her buttocks, and she staggered. And then there was a lot more of her.

Her skirt started to split. The buttons popped off her shirt.

"Nnnng**h**.”

Strangely enough, the top of her head stayed intact, though it started to look odd, like an outsized costume mask. She blinked, and her eyes shaded a different color, just for a second.

**"What are you waiting for?"**

Her eyes snapped to Goldenrod, who was perched on the cubicle wall again. Come to think, they probably weren't designed to support a human's weight, let alone a dragon.

**"It's already over."** His voice dropped to a whisper, somehow. **"*All that's missing is the best part.*"**

The best-

Something moved in her back. She froze.

**"Go on."** 

She...she *couldn't*-

**"*It's okay.*"**

She blinked. 

And then she let go.

Her half-grown wings poked at what was left of her shirt. Her legs, her stockings, basically disappeared. And her underwear was weighed down by eggs, eggs, *eggs*!

She squatted. It didn't matter now, and it felt so good. Her eggs - *their* eggs - overflowed her underwear, piled on the floor among the remains of her when she had been a boring old *human*. It had been five minutes ago. 

It had been a lifetime.

Goldenrod approached, but he didn’t force anything on her. He let it be her choice. What she wanted to be. What she wanted to become.

A partnership of equals, perhaps. But she'd let him handle the high level strategy, and the meatwork. She could cover tactical and...finesse.

Her freed tail whipped around out like a snake, doubled back on itself - and into her. She jumped, of course. She jumped again when the tail’s tip emerged from her folds. Covered in honey. *Made* of honey. 

She looked down at herself. At her honey-colored core, barely restrained by a chocolate-brown coating. At the parts where the core bulged out, dripped down. At the bands on her arms, her legs, her chest, a sweet X where her sternum should be.

Impossible.

For a human.

But she wasn't human anymore, was she? 

And, more importantly - 

*I'm into it.*

Her wings, her glorious chocolate and honey wings, burst from her back, smacked someone's mug off a desk. The mug hit the carpet, fell over, and spilt its dark brown contents across the ugly grey pattern on the floor.

The stain went right up to the feet of a middle-aged man. A man in sensible work shoes, and coveralls. A man with a moustache, a worm face, and a mop in his hand.

The dragons stared at him.

He stared at the dragons.

And then Goldenrod spread his wings.

The janitor flinched. Then he stared. And he continued to stare.

Then something wrapped around his upper arms and laced fingers behind his neck.

*What the—*

Wait, when did the second dragon get behind him? When did he drop the mop? How long had he been staring at the Wings?.The wonderful patterns on the —

“Babe?” said a voice very close to his ear and a million miles away. “I think you're distracting him”

The dragon shrugged. **"Right. Sorry."** He folded his wings, and reality reasserted itself.
The reality where the janitor was in a full Nelson from some kind of squishy dragon.

The correct response, the almost-forgotten high-school wrestling response, was to link your hands, press them against your forehead, wait until your opponent got tired, and then pull down sharply. Hopefully, that would break the grip.

The janitor suspected that tactic was less practical when your opponent wasn't made of flesh and blood, instead of bee juice and a delicious cocoa treat.

The male dragon approached. **"Calm down. we're not going to hurt you. in fact, you're going to thank us in a few minutes.”** He reached around the man, gripped the lower back of the janitor’s coveralls, bunched the fabric in his grip, and *pulled.*

The cotton resisted for a second or two, then it parted like a cotton puff.

*Imposible!*, the janitor thought.

The dragon let go and stepped back **"Honey?"**

Something poked through the hole, and proceeded to another hole. The hole in his boxers between the waistband and the fabric, the hole he was going to fix on the weekend for, oh, a few months now.

But if both hands were holding him, he thought, was it the wingtips? A dick? Someone else’s hands? Did the dragoness have extra hands?
He felt the cool, pointed, wet tip follow the curve down, reach his taint, brace itself, and yank the back of his boxers down in one smooth, swift motion.

A tail. It - *she* - was using her tail. A tail that curled down the curve, and-

He tried to clench, he really did, but it was no use.

And then he felt - it was *impossible*, but he felt the tail travel up his anus. Then something, deep in his...pelvis? Was that his pelvis? He swuiremed, wriggled, but the dragoness kept going, until the strange feeling reached the inside of his dick. 

It widened from the base, as the tip pushed through, like putting a finger into a rubber glove that was too small. And then the tip poked out, wriggled at him.

Just another impossibility on the pile. 

Like the size of the gold-and-dark claw that grabbed his dick. The janitor shivered, squirmed, and the hand squeezed. Hard.

The dragon said **"Hold still."**

The janitor held still. It was really, really weird to feel something touching his pene on the inside and the outside.

But it was even stranger to watch his tiny - well, relatively tiny, compared to the dragon’s monster - dick enter the dragon’s. 

After a moment’s consideration, he decided it was the other way around. The dragon’s cock was engulfing him.

As part of his career, he had put his hands, feet, and - on some dark days - head into more disgustingly moist places than most people would ever know existed. This was like all of them, minus the smell. There was more...pressure, too.

So. He had a tail in his dick, and his dick was inside another dick. Like a turducken. Or one of Abuela’s stuffed peppers inside another, larger stuffed pepper.

The dragon pulled back, slowly. Something rose in the janitor's throat. Again, not the first time. If he puked, would the monsters give up? 

The dragon spread its wings, slowly. The janitor fell toward the patterns-

No. He looked down at his dick.

It was covered in the same golden color as the dragon. *Drip, drip.* The dragon who hadn't pulled out - pulled off? - entirely, who made eye contact with the janitor and thrust its hips forward.

This time was different. This time the janitor felt something. In his verga. Like hearing quiet music from a few rooms over.

*Pull. Thrust.*

The goo on his dick seemed...thicker, somehow.

*Pull. Thrust.*

Yeah, that *was* thicker. The 'music' was louder too.

*Pull. Thrust.*

**"Problem?"**

Was he smirking? Was the dragon *smirking*?

"N...*no*."

**"Good."**

*Pull. Thrust.*

The coating was lighter. The shape was different too. He could still see his original plumbing in there, but-

*Pull. Thrust.*

Now the music was playing at a normal level, in the next room over.

*Pull. Thrust.*

Were those *spines*?

*Pull. Thrust.*

Yes, those were spines.

*Pull. Thrust.*

Spines with feeling, with sensation. He could feel them scraping the inside of the dragon's cock. He didn't seem to mind.

*Pull. Thrust.*

"He" being the dragon, of course. Not the janitor. The janitor wasn't enjoying it, not one bit.

*Pull. Thrust.*

Honest.

*Pull. Thrust.*

The head of the cock was still tipped in gold.

*Pull. Thrust.*

Some of the goo had landed on his crotch. The hairs looked shiny. And-

*Pull. Thrust.*

-they weren't black anymore. Not exactly. Felt heavier. More like-

*Pull. Thrust.*

-purple.

*Pull. Thrust.*

Could he get it off?

*Pull. Thrust.*

Or was it stuck on forever?

He felt something tense in his bowels. Something hot and needy. Something-

No.

Oh nono nono-

The dragon grinned. **"Enjoying yourself?"**

“N-*no!*”

Hot, wet breath tickled his ear. Honey whispered “*Liar.*”

The janitor tensed, shivered. Couldn’t stop. 

The tail in him pulled back, thrust in again. Not quite in sync with the dragon’s thrusts, just enough to be stimulating-

The shiver, the tension ran down from his neck, his shoulders, to his-

He erupted, as warmth and *release* swept up his body. He arched in the female’s grip, and his cum spurted up - down? - the dragon’s cock, into-

...his balls?

The janitor panted and blinked. That was...that was his cum. In the dragons’ balls. The dragon’s transparent balls-

The dragon pulled off, the dragoness pulled out, and the janitor’s dick flowed to the floor, spattered goo on the legs of his jumpsuit.

It was still at half-mast.

Also, not human. 

The janitor had gotten quite familiar with his equipment over the past few decades. He’d had it as long as he could remember. And his dick had never looked like that. No human did. The closest he had seen was an exotic bong someone forgot to hide, once.

Could-could he touch it?

He knelt a little. His right knee twinged. But It was even worse close up. Kind of a dark purplish color. And it had ridges, and - were those spikes? Or just nubs?

Almost before he realized it, he touched one of the little nubs. A thrill shot down the length.

Oh.

Okay.

His finger came off dark and sticky. He rubbed it between his thumb and index. It was stubborn, didn’t want to come off. Looked like a job for rubbing alcohol.

The black stopped at his crotch. A thought occurred to him, and he lifted up his - yep, it was on his sack too. The front half, at least.

So, he had a dick almost the size of his forearm. Was the original plumbing still somewhere in there? Could he get it out himself, or would he need - 

There was something above him, at the top of his vision. He looked up -

**"You didn’t think we were done, did you?"**

The janitor rose slowly. “I was kind of hoping.”

The dragon smiled wider. His wings spread. The janitor tried not to look at them, even out the corner of his eye.

Tried.

Things got a bit hazy for a while.

Goldenrod’s talons wrapped around his own golden rod, and bought it into contact with the janitor’s. The former’s was still bigger, of course, but with a lot of grunting, and pushing, and squeezing, the dragon got the head in. Then a good portion of the length. Then he snapped his wings shut.

The janitor blinked, looked at the squishdragon, looked down at their dicks, and turned pale. “N-”

Goldenrod came. Instantly. His cum and the janitor’s cum rushed down his cock, out through the janitor’s urethra, and landed - somehow, incredibly - in the janitor’s balls, which instantly swelled to the size of grapefruits.

The janitor tried to stop it, of course. He tried to squeeze his dick shut, but he might as well have tried to stop a firehose with a twist-tie. It took a few seconds for the reality to sink in, then 
The Dragoness holding him said **"how about a little recycling?"**

The dragon looked around, grabbed some pens off the desk. Used his tongue to slick them down. grabbed the janitor’s dick in one hand and aim the pens with the other. **"Hold still,"** he said.

The janitor struggled, he writhed, he tried to get them away from further changes but it was no use. He felt every inch, every millimetre, of the slick plastic on its way in. He shouted, he screamed, he swore in two different languages but, presently, inevitably, the pens sealed his cock.

**"Well look at that,"** Goldenrod said. **"The pen is hornier than his sword."** Then both dragons laughed a generic husband-and-wife laugh. The janitor had made it himself often enough.

The group on his arms loosened, and released him. He was free! 

Relatively speaking.

“Is this some kind of trick?”

**"No trick. You get to walk away. No interference."** Goldenrod looked over the janitors shoulder. **"Good idea, honey."**

**"Thanks, shmear,"** Honey replied.

And there the janitor was. Standing there with a weird goo dick with pens in the end.

Kind of uncomfortable. Like getting the needle in to draw blood.

He stepped away. They did nothing. He got a little further away. They...continued to do nothing.

There was something *wrong* with him. Not just his cock, something deep in his gut.

“What did you *do* to me?”

Goldenrod smiled. **"If you love something, set it free."**

What did *that*-forget it. The janitor took a few more steps toward the elevator. Or stairs. He’d decide when he got there.

Without any effort at all, he unclenched, and something thick and wet spilled out, slid down the inside of his legs. He bent over as far as he could. Yep. Purple.

Definitely something...wrong. He had had some microwave tacos in a gas station once - nothing like the ones *Abuela* used to make, but he was in a hurry. This was like that, except a lot more pressure, and a lot more watery.

There could be worse times to soil himself, but he smiled anyway. He would probably have to clean it up.

Something moved behind him. The janitor didn't look back. The dragon rumbled "Something wrong?"

The human gritted his teeth. "Nnnn....*nothing*."

**"Oh. You just seemed a little distracted."**

The janitor shuddered. More morado spurted out of him.

**"Well, I'll just leave you to it."** Goldenrod wandered off with a *squish, squish, squish*.

The same squish the Janitor made when he tried to walk, in fact.

He looked down.

The purple had...hit some invisible shape, and run down his legs. Like he was wearing a suit made of completely transparent glass. The purple was already up to his calves, and he wasn't sure if his shoes were still on. He *was* sure of the slippery, walking-on-wet-marble feeling under his feet.

*Okay. Short term goals. Get to the desk. Any desk. Like that one. Find scissors. See if I can pop...whatever's happening to me.*

He shuffled toward the desk, and past the office some exec had left open. The office with the big window.

*Wait.*

There was a story he had heard once, from his old boss. Lawyer in a skyscraper. Throws himself at a window to show it's safe, done it a million times before. Except that one time, the window wasn't safe. He falls twenty-five floors - or was it twenty-four? - squishes flatter than a sombrero under a steamroller.

The janitor paused in the doorway, leaned against the frame. The crap was up to his waist. His cock kept swelling. There were ridges on it. *Definitely* wasn't *human* anymore-

He took a deep breath.

He wouldn’t make it to the elevator.

The window was about 20 feet away. 

A tear rolled down his cheek. He didn’t notice.

He took a step into the office. Two, Thr-

His cla - his *foot* slipped in the goo, and he went down. Purple and dark goo went everywhere, and he felt it, warm on his front. He got up on his hands and knees as fast as possible, and there was something on his chest.

Two somethings.

His cousin had had breast implants, and she asked him to be there for moral support. He saw the silicone thingies, a sort of milky almost-transparent. His chest looked like that. He could see his actual nipples under the...the...

*Breast explants.*

Another sharp smile. He reached down, tweaked the nipples. He could feel his hand. Well, he could feel the invisible thing sheathing his hand, the pawpads, the claws. And the invisible thing could feel the mass of the breast-

Some of the not-clear mass of the breast detached, fell through the "hand" like an ink-drop falling through water, and landed on his hand as a swirl of black and purple.

This was *loco*.

He had a clear run to the window.

He took a deep breath, rocked back on his haunches, and went for it.

It was a little awkward, running on invisible paws. His muscles felt funny. But he adapted fast, and just before he hit the window, he realized he was running on all fours.

He closed his eyes and led with his shoulder. Not for protection, he just didn't want to see. There was a brief moment when he felt the glass pieces scrape over his invisible skin, and then he was outside, in the cool night air, his tail unwinding behind him.

He tumbled through the air as the night spun. *Building sky ground, building sky ground*. The purple liquid still crawled all over his body, splashed on his face faster now with the force of his spin.

His shoulderblades itched. No, that wasn’t an itch, it was-

When he was small, he dreamed of flying. every kid did. but now, when it was upon him, he wanted to obliterate himself on the pavement. He hoped he wouldn't hit anyone, wouldn't smash up a car. He hoped he would reach the bottom before -

But he didn't.

The wings burst from his back in a spray of purple and almost clear liquid. The wind caught them, slapped one across his face. With no effort of his, no thought, the wings spread themselves, braked him against the wind, stabilized him into a glide.

*No!*

He was heading for a restaurant. Some of the people below were starting to look up, to rise. He couldn't - he had to *get away* before he made them like him.

He had to-

Were the wings just for gliding? Like that one cartoon?

And then he flapped his wings. Gained a little altitude.

Yeah, that was good. Maybe he could get away. Climb as high as he could, then do the job *properly*. Before that tickle at the back of his mind grew, and grew, and took over-

*Tree!*

Some panicked flapping, a partial impact with the tree, and a half crash on-

A cafe's outdoor table?

The dragoness blinked. She had landed with knees bent, arms forward, clutching the edge of the table, wings spread for balance.

There was a cup of coffee in front of her. Spilled, of course. And a woman, with a half-eaten croissant halfway to her mouth.

In the moment of frozen silence, the coffee went *drip, drip*, to the floor.

The squishdragoness let go of the table, and straightened up. She used her wings and tail for balance, like see had been doing it all her life.

And depending on how you defined "life", maybe she had.

Her lower body was purple and goopy, the kind of purple Roman emperors wore. But from her navel up to her shoulders, the purple faded to not-quite-clear. It was enough to see the top half of his old, boring body encased inside. When the man's head moved, the dragon's moved, on its long neck

The purple faded in again, from her upper arms to her hands, except for the clear pads and gold claws. Her nipples were purple, along with her eyes and the inside of her mouth - but only when it was open. The tongue was clear at the base, and gold at the tip.

Two clear cutouts wrapped around her hips, curled up her back, until they became her wings, with purple membranes stretching between the "fingers". Her tail faded from people to clear at the end, and it all...felt...so... natural!

*What was I afraid of?*

Regal shook her head. She wasn't quite complete. She reached down, coaxed her cock out to play. The human cock was encased with clear not-liquid, but she liked it that way. Everyone could see what she had been, how she was so much *better* now.

The woman leaned as far back as she could without actually getting up and running for her life.

Regal took herself firmly in hand, and flexed a muscle she hadn't had ten minutes ago.

The pens flew out of her cock, trailing clear and purple ooze. Two landed in the poor woman's hair. Another one bounced off her nose, landed in the coffee cup. The woman flinched back, a second too late.

Regal straightened again, stretched. "That hit the spot." She reached down. "Hey, mind if I...?"

The woman shook her head so frantically, the liquid whipped across her face.

"Perfect." Regal plucked the pastry out of the woman's hand, stuffed it into her own maw, crouched, and exploded into the air.

The woman watched it go.

"What just happened?"

The woman looked down. At the man across the table. The man who had been facing the dragon's...tail.

He continued "was that some kind of costume? Was she on wires? Are-" He looked around. "Do you see any cameras?"

"I...I don't think so."

"What's that on your nose?"

*My...?* She reached up, touched it. It came away purple-blue. What was that color?

*Violet*.

She licked her lips. Violet.

"Should we call somebody? Are you feeling okay?"

She stood up, leaned on the table. "I...think so?"

"You don't look okay. Here, let me just-" He got up, came around the table, got ahold of her.

The coffee cup swirled with purple.

She looked up.

She smiled.

She kissed him.

And when Violet pulled back, his lips were blue.


----

#Squishdragons: Goldenrod
2020 Nequ
CC By-SA 3.0
Fan stories and fanart welcome

*Hey, Nequ, why do all the dragons have stripper names?*

What are you talking abo-

Oh.

I swear, that wasn't on purpose.

Certain readers may think there's some kind of deeper meaning in the fact that a humble janitor becomes an imperious creature named Regal. I'm terribly sorry to disappoint you, but I came up with the colour, then the name, and then months afterwards in the shower I went "oh".

*What about starting the woman's real transformation with a business card, a symbol of the identity she's about to lose?*

Noticed that in the editing pass, can't take credit. Goldenrod originally used a stapler, but business cards seemed cooler.

*So this Author Note is just things you can’t take credit for?*

I’d say ‘Yes.’, but then I’d be lying.

Oh, and here’s the original outline;


story. guy squishdragons as he goes up to the roof, feels compulsion to get up high. At one point, he needs claws to break open the door.
starts with head drips down body
drippy gold cock-trail. 
his tail trails goop too.

wings burst on rooftop, showering goo onto pedestrians below. they start to change too. 
One is a woman, who sees the stuff land on her face. Something appears, her mouth feels funny. She reaches for her compact, realizes she has a snout, and one eye is a reptilian blue.
stares at herself, starts to smell the others changing around her. Involuntarily licks her muzzle.
Her tongue is blue at the tip.
The squishdragon surveyed his domain. A proper start to establishing his claim.
janitor makes mistake of trying to clean goo up
story ends