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Mint Miltank Chip Ice Cream - 2/4
RIIIP!
RIIIIP!
RR-R-RIIIIIIIP!
The first sign that Pheagle may have made a little mistake was not the egregiously loud sound of ripping cloth, nor the concerning groans coming from the stool beneath his rump, but rather the realization that the cone was strangely getting smaller in his hand. Ice cream of course deformed over time, buuut cones…didn’t shrink.
Among the many downsides of undergoing so many transformations throughout his life, one of the most detrimental was Pheagle’s desensitization to it. Pheagle had long since grown so accustomed to the bizarre sensations of his changes, that he rarely even noticed they were happening until they were far too underway to stop. Naturally, this would cause plenty of grievance to not only him, but quite a bit around him too, and most especially, his wardrobe.
So it was hardly surprising that when his bones began to stretch, his skull starting to push outwards, when his flesh began to inflate, starting to split the seams of his sleeves and trousers as his hands fattened, and even when entirely new limbs formed and sprouted from his increasingly inhuman body, like the sphere-tipped tail that ‘Ripriprip-riiii-i-iiiip’ed and ‘Cra-a-a-a-aaack’ed out from his rump and trousers, that Pheagle barely even raised an eyebrow.
Pop! Pop!
Rip-riiip-ripripripriiiip!
Pheagle’s green and white tracksuit was quickly coming undone before he could even process what was happening, as his form slowly began to swell and bloat like a water balloon being filled up, his gut starting to engorge even more drastically. Seam lines along both the jacket and trousers strained tight against his growing limbs, digging and squishing into his increasingly ample flesh, until dozens, nay hundreds, of breaches and holes ripped and split open, widening and merging together as the stitching ruptured and frayed apart, the football player’s bloating limbs spilling out, all while button after button after button popped and pinged off his jacket.
Crrreee-e-e-e-eeeerrrrn
As his sports jersey underneath began to tear open across a broadening chest, down below, Pheagle’s shoes and socks were now getting considerably overstuffed. They shrank vice-tight against his similarly bloating feet, and pinched so aggressively, that not even the material itself could withstand the damage. Yet, strangely, Pheagle’s toes didn’t hurt at all from the building pressure. The shoes shrank, pinched and strangled, yet even though the toes couldn’t move, they remained the exact, rounded shape they were mutating into, not feeling a single twinge of fabric deformity against them. In fact, actually, they didn’t feel…anything. It was like they didn’t just transform, but had solidified. Pheagle had changed into such a massive variety of species, that he acutely understood the differences between each kind of animalistic foot structure, and if his toes had gone from soft and fleshy to solid and unfeeling, that could mean he had sprouted-
POP! POP!
Crk-crk, RIIIIP!
…Hooves.
Pheagle glanced down at the sudden, loud popping of his footwear, and sure enough, bursting from the fronts of his shoes, and ripping his socks into threads, were the sharpened tips of cloven hooves, somewhat still articulated, but far from the dexterity of more predatory, carnivorous creatures.
As Pheagle gazed down to stare at his ripping socks to figure out what species his body had decided to indulge in this time, his theories of it being that same Holstein Super Swell had turned him into before were scrambled, as he realized that a thin, yet plush coat of creamy pink fur was sprouting all across his skin, peeking out of the spreading rips in his clothing in tiny tufts. No regular Holstein sported that kind of fur pattern, at least not naturally, and Pheagle was still staring down, his mouth slightly open in thought, before he realised that…something else was happening to his groin.
His crotch was swelling. In fact, it was swelling quite a lot, and boy did it feel strange.
Crrreak, creak, creak, crreeeak.
Pheagle’s eyes darted down to the offending area in a slight panic, as the inflating globule in his pants pumped and throbbed, as it bloated and bloated, both his trousers and his underwear pinching tighter, and tighter, and tighter, until…
R-RIR-RI-RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP!
Until both loudly tore open, their seams and stitching bursting wide across the sudden sprouting of bulky, swollen…udders, as a familiar tail swished and smacked the flooring underneath him.
Mint…Miltank…Chip.
Ah.
Pheagle visits a mysterious ice cream parlor to snack on a new flavor of theirs, only to find himself transforming yet again!
Art sequence drawn by
JazzaX
Accompanying story written by
caelanj13
"Chocowlate Marshmoolow" refers to a comic I got earlier this year from
MiltonHolmes
Original
<<< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >>>
RIIIIP!
RR-R-RIIIIIIIP!
The first sign that Pheagle may have made a little mistake was not the egregiously loud sound of ripping cloth, nor the concerning groans coming from the stool beneath his rump, but rather the realization that the cone was strangely getting smaller in his hand. Ice cream of course deformed over time, buuut cones…didn’t shrink.
Among the many downsides of undergoing so many transformations throughout his life, one of the most detrimental was Pheagle’s desensitization to it. Pheagle had long since grown so accustomed to the bizarre sensations of his changes, that he rarely even noticed they were happening until they were far too underway to stop. Naturally, this would cause plenty of grievance to not only him, but quite a bit around him too, and most especially, his wardrobe.
So it was hardly surprising that when his bones began to stretch, his skull starting to push outwards, when his flesh began to inflate, starting to split the seams of his sleeves and trousers as his hands fattened, and even when entirely new limbs formed and sprouted from his increasingly inhuman body, like the sphere-tipped tail that ‘Ripriprip-riiii-i-iiiip’ed and ‘Cra-a-a-a-aaack’ed out from his rump and trousers, that Pheagle barely even raised an eyebrow.
Pop! Pop!
Rip-riiip-ripripripriiiip!
Pheagle’s green and white tracksuit was quickly coming undone before he could even process what was happening, as his form slowly began to swell and bloat like a water balloon being filled up, his gut starting to engorge even more drastically. Seam lines along both the jacket and trousers strained tight against his growing limbs, digging and squishing into his increasingly ample flesh, until dozens, nay hundreds, of breaches and holes ripped and split open, widening and merging together as the stitching ruptured and frayed apart, the football player’s bloating limbs spilling out, all while button after button after button popped and pinged off his jacket.
Crrreee-e-e-e-eeeerrrrn
As his sports jersey underneath began to tear open across a broadening chest, down below, Pheagle’s shoes and socks were now getting considerably overstuffed. They shrank vice-tight against his similarly bloating feet, and pinched so aggressively, that not even the material itself could withstand the damage. Yet, strangely, Pheagle’s toes didn’t hurt at all from the building pressure. The shoes shrank, pinched and strangled, yet even though the toes couldn’t move, they remained the exact, rounded shape they were mutating into, not feeling a single twinge of fabric deformity against them. In fact, actually, they didn’t feel…anything. It was like they didn’t just transform, but had solidified. Pheagle had changed into such a massive variety of species, that he acutely understood the differences between each kind of animalistic foot structure, and if his toes had gone from soft and fleshy to solid and unfeeling, that could mean he had sprouted-
POP! POP!
Crk-crk, RIIIIP!
…Hooves.
Pheagle glanced down at the sudden, loud popping of his footwear, and sure enough, bursting from the fronts of his shoes, and ripping his socks into threads, were the sharpened tips of cloven hooves, somewhat still articulated, but far from the dexterity of more predatory, carnivorous creatures.
As Pheagle gazed down to stare at his ripping socks to figure out what species his body had decided to indulge in this time, his theories of it being that same Holstein Super Swell had turned him into before were scrambled, as he realized that a thin, yet plush coat of creamy pink fur was sprouting all across his skin, peeking out of the spreading rips in his clothing in tiny tufts. No regular Holstein sported that kind of fur pattern, at least not naturally, and Pheagle was still staring down, his mouth slightly open in thought, before he realised that…something else was happening to his groin.
His crotch was swelling. In fact, it was swelling quite a lot, and boy did it feel strange.
Crrreak, creak, creak, crreeeak.
Pheagle’s eyes darted down to the offending area in a slight panic, as the inflating globule in his pants pumped and throbbed, as it bloated and bloated, both his trousers and his underwear pinching tighter, and tighter, and tighter, until…
R-RIR-RI-RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP!
Until both loudly tore open, their seams and stitching bursting wide across the sudden sprouting of bulky, swollen…udders, as a familiar tail swished and smacked the flooring underneath him.
Mint…Miltank…Chip.
Ah.
Pheagle visits a mysterious ice cream parlor to snack on a new flavor of theirs, only to find himself transforming yet again!
Art sequence drawn by
JazzaXAccompanying story written by
caelanj13"Chocowlate Marshmoolow" refers to a comic I got earlier this year from
MiltonHolmesOriginal
<<< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >>>
Category Artwork (Digital) / Transformation
Species Pokemon
Size 2048 x 1352px
File Size 2.27 MB
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