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He ordered coffee with cream on the side, but so far he has only received his coffee. When he first mentioned the mistake, he was told that the place was very busy, and he was assured that if he headed outside to his open-air table, he would surely get his cream in short order.\n\nThat has been several minutes ago now, and Derek feels annoyed that he’s now faced with the option of either drinking it black or waiting until he can get the barista’s attention. That remains difficult to come by right now, as the inside of the cafe has absolutely flooded with people. He taps angrily at his phone as he keeps obsessing over the time. It’s nearly time for his bus! Don’t they realize he’s a busy person too?\n\nHis mind is in a dark place for a few moments. Nothing too serious -- he’s not [b]seriously[/b] thinking about killing anyone -- but he does feel that hint of suppressed primal rage: a disrespect for everything, for the timing and the lateness and the expectations and [b]all of it[/b].\n\nHe tries to get his mind off of it by looking at the people around him. Mostly, they are other office workers like himself. He does notice a nice pair of university-aged ladies in shorts and tank tops who seem to be having no end of fun chatting at each other about some smart device or other that has them both totally stoked. One of them ends up making a few lewd remarks at the other, which triggers a playful pushback: the victim verbally bemoans the fact that such things are being said in public -- and says that loudly enough that others cannot avoid hearing her. It is the first thing to draw a little smile from Derek, who can guess that the two have a great friendship.\n\nAnother minute passes. Several others stand from their tables to leave. Derek wonders why he isn’t hearing the sound of the bus pulling up. Perhaps it is late, like his cream. He momentarily considers trying to scoot over to the two ladies who seem like fun and trying to talk to one of them, but his petty waiting takes precedence for now.\n\nThe bus continues not to arrive, and all of the sounds in the area seem to slow to a halt. People are still talking… sort of, but there’s something funny going on, a strange feeling in the air.\n\nDerek, due to the very nature of what is going on, does not notice. He cannot see the boundaries of reality as they start to turn gooey like a hot fudge mocha. Beings with better senses than him can perhaps watch it and comprehend, but not an ordinary person. He is part of the goo, and he bends and warps with the materials of which he’s made.\n\nHe keeps wanting that cream in his coffee and feeling the irritation and held-back rage that the desire has induced. With those desires well-focused within him, his body undergoes a most casual change of shape. His torso fills with muscle and bone, the skin moistening as it rapidly expands. His suit shreds around him, the remnants of it sagging along his arms, which don’t really seem to be growing at all, so much as changing a little. His five fingers melt together, and then there are three: clawed, fierce, yet somehow small and stubby in comparison to the way the rest of his mass is rising.\n\n[b]Thunk![/b]\n\nThe weight of his change spreads downward just in time to spare his chair from breaking under his mass. He lands on his increasingly massive feet, steadying himself atop their respective three toes. He can see the iconically deep scales and long bones as he glances down -- and watches his chair fall to the side as he bumps it -- and starts to realize something.\n\nWhy should he wait for cream? He has plenty of cream… and as a rex, he can do what he likes. He reaches for his mug to lift it in a mocking toast to the situation -- and finds that he cannot reach it. His arms aren’t long enough for how big his chest has gotten. The jaws that are still growing into view in front of him are no more useful for this task of dexterity either… but that doesn’t stop him from insisting on his coffee being done right.\n\nAs his head gets bigger and his brain smaller, his thoughts on the matter take on a corresponding simplicity. Abstract ideas like “self” and “other” are lost, but Derek doesn’t mind. He single-mindedly cares about getting his cream, and he knows there’s a place between his massive thighs that can make it, [b]if[/b] he rubs it the right way and gives his eyes something nice to look at.\n\nHe finds his inspiration in the forms of his fellow patrons. Over at that other table, the chatty girls are now raptors. They’re shrieking and then chirping, continuing to carry on their conversation from before without missing a beat… except one is a male now and is expressing keen interest in the other’s cloaca. Licking ensues between them, and then the inevitable humping, the male raptor teasing himself on her thigh before finding the right angle for penetration.\n\nThe rex shifts his footing slightly, getting a better view of their antics as his penis swells forth to play. For just a moment -- a foolish moment -- he tries to reach his shaft with his tiny hands and then wonders why in the world he would’ve ever assumed that would work. As a T-rex, he relies on rhythmic muscle contraction and rubbing against external things in order to get this job done! How could he have been so confused about that?\n\nThe raptor couple, who he’s sure have always been raptors, are soon going at it to the hilt. Their voyeur grinds carefully over the table, Derek still having just enough presence of mind not to tip his mug as he lets instinct guide his pleasure. His briefcase, however, is not so lucky, getting partially stepped on and then kicked aside as he continues to adjust his position for the sake of masturbation. Papers of forgotten importance go everywhere, while the heavy flexes of his massive groin muscles allow him a pleasant self-stimulation. He forces his cock to rise and then slaps it down wetly on the surface in front of him, with his “wood” feeling great as it taps repeatedly against the literal wood of the table.\n\n[b]Plap. Plap. Plap.[/b]\n\nHe rumbles. He can smell so much in the air, with the breeze also carrying the scent of the raptors’ breeding. His tail swats the floor and makes the table shudder. The shade umbrella of a table behind him itself swatted against the entrance of the diner nextdoor, courtesy of the swaying motion of Derek’s excited tail. With his repeated [b]plaps[/b], he works his way toward the conclusion.\n\nIt takes a humorously dainty pelvic motion to angle his shaft correctly for the climax, but once he has done so, he gets the tip over the rim of his mug where it belongs. From there, the cream he has been looking for gushes naturally from the tap, mingling with the too-dark coffee that he has been trying to get corrected this entire time. Bliss overruns him as he growls and groans in triumph.\n\nThe raptors are having fun too… or, perhaps [b]finishing[/b] their fun elsewhere, as they seem to have pulled out and started to scamper. Perhaps to get away from him, the far larger predator? The notion would’ve made him chuckle, if he were still capable of laughing.\n\nIn the excitement of that moment, his tiny rex brain takes full hold at last. He is still himself, certainly -- [b]himself[/b], the tyrannosaur he has [b]always[/b] been, enjoying a good release over something warm. Err, what is that bitter dark liquid anyway? And why is there still some sort of lingering sensation on his left arm and atop his neck? It feels to him like some sort of very dry, yet very smooth vine or other plant matter has gotten stuck on his vast body. How did that happen?\n\nThese thoughts run through his head in an instant, while his seed is still pouring -- [b]Slosh![/b] -- and he manages to tip over his cup. He flexes his cock up and away from the hot fluid as he watches it spill, pouring out like the world’s puniest tarpit over the wooden… thing.\n\nThe names aren’t there anymore as he looks around at his perfectly normal setting. Down the street, jungle trees are springing into existence in various spots, and some of the asphalt and brickwork are crumbling back to return to the earth. It looks like a confusing blur to him, so he focuses on something more appealing: his afterglow, and the sight of the other creatures around him. Some tiny mammals too small to be worthy of his notice scamper through the area, coming from up the street and passing between his legs in a panic. Some other predator is roaring and getting closer, as if in pursuit of them.\n\nNever one to let some other creature spoil his pleasure, the T-rex bellows back a challenge, sweeps his tail around, and tromps off in search of whoever dared to make noise on his turf. His footprints dig deep into the soft earth as the city around him continues to dissolve away, like a dream, into the wild prehistory of home.[/i]\n", "description_bbcode_parsed": "A man is out enjoying some coffee... though changes are occurring about him and 'to' him that he doesn't find out of the ordinary

Art for me by https://twitter.com/nyhgault

With story by www.furaffinity.net/user/dolphinsanity

Involves: Mental Changes, Transformation, Humanoid-to-Feral, Reality Change

Derek is an ordinary human office worker trying to get some service at a local cafe.  He ordered coffee with cream on the side, but so far he has only received his coffee.  When he first mentioned the mistake, he was told that the place was very busy, and he was assured that if he headed outside to his open-air table, he would surely get his cream in short order.

That has been several minutes ago now, and Derek feels annoyed that he’s now faced with the option of either drinking it black or waiting until he can get the barista’s attention.  That remains difficult to come by right now, as the inside of the cafe has absolutely flooded with people.  He taps angrily at his phone as he keeps obsessing over the time.  It’s nearly time for his bus!  Don’t they realize he’s a busy person too?

His mind is in a dark place for a few moments.  Nothing too serious -- he’s not seriously thinking about killing anyone -- but he does feel that hint of suppressed primal rage: a disrespect for everything, for the timing and the lateness and the expectations and all of it.

He tries to get his mind off of it by looking at the people around him.  Mostly, they are other office workers like himself.  He does notice a nice pair of university-aged ladies in shorts and tank tops who seem to be having no end of fun chatting at each other about some smart device or other that has them both totally stoked.  One of them ends up making a few lewd remarks at the other, which triggers a playful pushback: the victim verbally bemoans the fact that such things are being said in public -- and says that loudly enough that others cannot avoid hearing her.  It is the first thing to draw a little smile from Derek, who can guess that the two have a great friendship.

Another minute passes.  Several others stand from their tables to leave.  Derek wonders why he isn’t hearing the sound of the bus pulling up.  Perhaps it is late, like his cream.  He momentarily considers trying to scoot over to the two ladies who seem like fun and trying to talk to one of them, but his petty waiting takes precedence for now.

The bus continues not to arrive, and all of the sounds in the area seem to slow to a halt.  People are still talking… sort of, but there’s something funny going on, a strange feeling in the air.

Derek, due to the very nature of what is going on, does not notice.  He cannot see the boundaries of reality as they start to turn gooey like a hot fudge mocha.  Beings with better senses than him can perhaps watch it and comprehend, but not an ordinary person.  He is part of the goo, and he bends and warps with the materials of which he’s made.

He keeps wanting that cream in his coffee and feeling the irritation and held-back rage that the desire has induced.  With those desires well-focused within him, his body undergoes a most casual change of shape.  His torso fills with muscle and bone, the skin moistening as it rapidly expands.  His suit shreds around him, the remnants of it sagging along his arms, which don’t really seem to be growing at all, so much as changing a little.  His five fingers melt together, and then there are three: clawed, fierce, yet somehow small and stubby in comparison to the way the rest of his mass is rising.

Thunk!

The weight of his change spreads downward just in time to spare his chair from breaking under his mass.  He lands on his increasingly massive feet, steadying himself atop their respective three toes.  He can see the iconically deep scales and long bones as he glances down -- and watches his chair fall to the side as he bumps it -- and starts to realize something.

Why should he wait for cream?  He has plenty of cream… and as a rex, he can do what he likes.  He reaches for his mug to lift it in a mocking toast to the situation -- and finds that he cannot reach it.  His arms aren’t long enough for how big his chest has gotten.  The jaws that are still growing into view in front of him are no more useful for this task of dexterity either… but that doesn’t stop him from insisting on his coffee being done right.

As his head gets bigger and his brain smaller, his thoughts on the matter take on a corresponding simplicity.  Abstract ideas like “self” and “other” are lost, but Derek doesn’t mind. He single-mindedly cares about getting his cream, and he knows there’s a place between his massive thighs that can make it, if he rubs it the right way and gives his eyes something nice to look at.

He finds his inspiration in the forms of his fellow patrons.  Over at that other table, the chatty girls are now raptors.  They’re shrieking and then chirping, continuing to carry on their conversation from before without missing a beat… except one is a male now and is expressing keen interest in the other’s cloaca.  Licking ensues between them, and then the inevitable humping, the male raptor teasing himself on her thigh before finding the right angle for penetration.

The rex shifts his footing slightly, getting a better view of their antics as his penis swells forth to play.  For just a moment -- a foolish moment -- he tries to reach his shaft with his tiny hands and then wonders why in the world he would’ve ever assumed that would work.  As a T-rex, he relies on rhythmic muscle contraction and rubbing against external things in order to get this job done!  How could he have been so confused about that?

The raptor couple, who he’s sure have always been raptors, are soon going at it to the hilt.  Their voyeur grinds carefully over the table, Derek still having just enough presence of mind not to tip his mug as he lets instinct guide his pleasure.  His briefcase, however, is not so lucky, getting partially stepped on and then kicked aside as he continues to adjust his position for the sake of masturbation.  Papers of forgotten importance go everywhere, while the heavy flexes of his massive groin muscles allow him a pleasant self-stimulation.  He forces his cock to rise and then slaps it down wetly on the surface in front of him, with his “wood” feeling great as it taps repeatedly against the literal wood of the table.

Plap.  Plap.  Plap.

He rumbles.  He can smell so much in the air, with the breeze also carrying the scent of the raptors’ breeding.  His tail swats the floor and makes the table shudder.  The shade umbrella of a table behind him itself swatted against the entrance of the diner nextdoor, courtesy of the swaying motion of Derek’s excited tail.  With his repeated plaps, he works his way toward the conclusion.

It takes a humorously dainty pelvic motion to angle his shaft correctly for the climax, but once he has done so, he gets the tip over the rim of his mug where it belongs.  From there, the cream he has been looking for gushes naturally from the tap, mingling with the too-dark coffee that he has been trying to get corrected this entire time.  Bliss overruns him as he growls and groans in triumph.

The raptors are having fun too… or, perhaps finishing their fun elsewhere, as they seem to have pulled out and started to scamper.  Perhaps to get away from him, the far larger predator?  The notion would’ve made him chuckle, if he were still capable of laughing.

In the excitement of that moment, his tiny rex brain takes full hold at last.  He is still himself, certainly -- himself, the tyrannosaur he has always been, enjoying a good release over something warm.  Err, what is that bitter dark liquid anyway?  And why is there still some sort of lingering sensation on his left arm and atop his neck?  It feels to him like some sort of very dry, yet very smooth vine or other plant matter has gotten stuck on his vast body.  How did that happen?

These thoughts run through his head in an instant, while his seed is still pouring -- Slosh! -- and he manages to tip over his cup.  He flexes his cock up and away from the hot fluid as he watches it spill, pouring out like the world’s puniest tarpit over the wooden… thing.

The names aren’t there anymore as he looks around at his perfectly normal setting.  Down the street, jungle trees are springing into existence in various spots, and some of the asphalt and brickwork are crumbling back to return to the earth.  It looks like a confusing blur to him, so he focuses on something more appealing: his afterglow, and the sight of the other creatures around him.  Some tiny mammals too small to be worthy of his notice scamper through the area, coming from up the street and passing between his legs in a panic.  Some other predator is roaring and getting closer, as if in pursuit of them.

Never one to let some other creature spoil his pleasure, the T-rex bellows back a challenge, sweeps his tail around, and tromps off in search of whoever dared to make noise on his turf.  His footprints dig deep into the soft earth as the city around him continues to dissolve away, like a dream, into the wild prehistory of home.
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