I never realized people wanted to have sex with catgirls. Fuck catgirls might be the more appropriate phrasing in many cases. Regardless, for me it was always an envy thing. First of all, you get to be a girl, which like, holy shit obviously. Second, you get to have cat ears which are soft and fuzzy and you get a tail, which is also soft and fuzzy. What’s not to love?

For many years I kept this desire to myself. In what situation is it socially appropriate to say “Jesus Christ, I wish I was a catgirl?” Also, I everytime I tried to think about this seemingly out of place desire, my mind would frantically think of something else, anything else.

Then one day one of those damned machines showed up on the corner.

My area is too old to have many malls, so for us, trust machines popped up, basically, where there was a lot of pedestrian traffic. Fortunately (or unfortunately) for everyone in my high school, there was a great nearby street corner at the intersection of two commercial boulevards which got one of the first trust machines.

Pretty soon everyone and their mother had some story about so-and-so who went in and died, or disappeared, or had the greatest night of their life. Or got eaten, or their head chopped off, or turned into a stick or whatever. A lot of loose talk about transformation, a lot of horny anime nerds: a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to become a catgirl. I knew my way around the school’s social scene, though I myself wasn’t particularly popular, and started hanging around where the kids who were into the kinda thing I was looking for hung around. Pretty soon I was getting pretty close with them, and purposefully cultivating an up-for-anything reputation (a few too many slides down railings, comedic megaphone announcements on the quad, stern talking-tos from higher-ups, stuff like that.)

One day I showed up to the hangout spot with my food for lunch and opportunity threw itself at me.

Dave, the edgiest of them all, was explaining his plan to the group. “We just need someone to Venn into a catgirl! It’s that simple! And then catgirls will be real!”

“Who would agree to that?” retorted Mark. He was a little shorter and the most reasonable of them all, who numbered, at that particular moment, six or seven. “It’s like being an anime character, like if someone showed up for school as Jojo.”

“It literally is being an anime character,” added Daniel, Mark’s best friend.

Dave’s confidence didn’t waver. “One of us can just do it,” he tried to claim, but the group was despondent about the whole idea. Each looked down, or out at the other people in the common room, scanning for potential suckers.

“Doesn’t look like anyone's volunteering,” said Greg, mostly observantly but with an undertone of his characteristic cynicism.

My heart, of course, was racing, but I didn’t want to be too obvious about asking. Just as I was considering how to get my in, Dave took care of it for me.

“Hey Tommy, why don’t you do it?”

Half the group’s eyes turned expectantly towards me; the rest were careful to avoid eye contact and continued searching for other potential volunteers, outside the group.

“Sure, since none of you losers will.” I practically fainted, I was so excited, but I kept trying to appear cool.

“Great-” Dave began again, but I cut him off.

“Two rules though: I have to be anatomically possible. You can make me as hot as you want, give me whatever proportions, but I have to look like, if catgirls were real, I could be a real one. And! You have to give me reasonable clothes: skirt down to mid-thigh and at least a full bra.”

Dave’s face dropped, but before the disappointment could fully materialize he contorted it into faux-seriousness. “Of course, of course. What do you think we are, porn-sick anime nerds?”

He looked to the group for a laugh, and got a little chuckle. I did think they were porn-sick anime nerds, but I laughed the hardest of them all.

“How long?” Mark piped up.

“I’d-” I started but Dave interrupted: “A week.”

“No,” I clarified, “I’ll go for two days. It’s Friday and I only have one class this afternoon, so very little explaining, and-”

Dave cut in again, “What are you going to do, sit around all day on the weekend, wasting whatever body I design for you? Put it for a month and I'll turn you back when we're done, c’mon man.”

He had a point about it being near-worthless to do only two days, and Jesus Christ, would I love to be a girl for a week. With the potential for longer, if I can come up with the right excuse. “Ok, fine, but you have to Venn me extra clothes for the rest of the time.”

Dave’s mock seriously developed into mock outrage. “Do you think we would let a fine young woman such as yourself go without proper clothes?” It took everything in me to stop myself from blushing; nobody had ever called me a young woman before, let alone a fine one. Dave took my silence to mean that I was expecting him to continue, so he went on: “We’ll make sure you have a maid outfit in every color.”

That got another chuckle, a little louder, from the rest.

“No, c’mon, that’s no fun,” I said, putting on my own faux-scowl to match Dave’s, “I’m gonna want some variety. Get me all the shit: dresses, skirts, corsets, shoes, whatever.” The group was looking a little suspicious of my decreasingly-joking attitude, so I was quick to add, “Whatever you Venn with me, I’ll get to model for you.”

This was very encouraging, and quickly they got to the business of designing outfits for me.

Once everyone had finished their food, we marched out of the school’s back gate, on the way to the Venn machine. Dave shouted at the security guard who let us out: “Tommy’s coming back as a girl, don’t be worried!” The older man looked puzzled for a moment, then figured out what Dave meant, and laughed.

Dave quickly returned everyone to the serious matters of fashion design.

“So, we’ve got the maid outfit, the sundress, the cheerleader outfit, the crop top, the blouse, the skater skirt, the hoop skirt, what else?”

“Don’t forget the TWO sets of headphones, for the side of the head and the ears on top!” Greg chimed in.

“Yes, of course,” Dave continued, appearing utterly confident he would remember all of these things, “and the corset.”

“Maybe do one of those 50’s dresses?” Alex, who was usually pretty quiet, added. “Those are always hot.”

“Yeah, ok,” Dave continued, seemingly trying to go over it all again in his head.

“Don’t forget to do like, 10 bras and underwear,” I reminded him for what felt like the 12th time. “And socks, and shoes.”

“Oh my God we gotta do those long socks,” Greg added with a huge grin, “and tights.”

Dave smiled in return. “And leggings, and short shorts. Ooh, and a skin tight jumpsuit!”

This was met with general approval.

I was beginning to doubt my initial confidence in this plan. I figured this would be a great way to get turned into a catgirl, but it seemed like all of my new acquaintances were thinking of the best ways to ensure they could jack off to me for a long, long time, instead of the best ways to…

Well, this really was to be expected.

The Venn machine was in sight now. It was in the early afternoon, after most people’s lunch but before school or work ended, so we were only the second group in line.

“What about giving her paws?”

The group quieted to consider this proposal, and turned to look at its author, Mark.

Dave turned to me. “What say you, our new catgirl princess?”

That damn tingle again. They might expect me to revel in it while it was happening, but before? I needed to control myself for these last few minutes.

“I mean, on the feet? Sure, fine, if I can walk with them,” I said, with an eye towards the rest of my life I would still be doing during this Venn, “and I could do retractable claws on the hands, but make sure I have thumbs and good enough fingers to type and grab things?”

Dave nodded and briefly closed his eyes. For all he was a horny anime nerd, he had a reputation as an honest Venner. There wasn’t any discussion over who would get the honors: it was him.

“What about fur on her body?” Mark was full of suggestions today. He was other days as well, but today too.

“Well, it would let you all see me naked,” I replied, automatically, with other parts of my brain ringing a thousand million alarm bells. With somehow even more eyes on me, I felt obliged to continue: “If you seal up my behind and my front then I won’t have to piss or anything, and all you have to do then is cover up my nipples and my fur is practically clothes.”

Everyone looked deep in consideration, so I added, “and I’m not letting any of you all fuck me anyway.” A couple looked disappointed; the rest had the wherewithal to keep their poker faces.

Dave came out of his trance. “But you’ll cuddle us, is what you’re saying,” he said, looking at me, brow furrowed.

“Yeah, of course,” I said, smiling and sticking out my head as if talking to a child. “Anything for the homies. And with velvety fur all over me, nobody will be able to tear themselves away.”

This seemed to settle it, and there were nods all around.

Our turn had arrived, and Dave and I stepped into opposite sides of the machine, setting it for a month.

“Anything you’d like, Dave?” I called over to the other side once the doors had closed.

“Not particularly. Wait, could you do some gills? I’m going to a pool party this weekend.”

“Sure,” I replied, and suddenly the Dave on the screen in front of me had gills on his neck.

There was silence while I waited for Dave to be done creating me. “Oh man, you are gonna be sooooo hot,” he commented to me and nobody in particular. “I’m giving you the cutest little whiskers, and absolutely beautiful breasts, and an amazing figure.” Gilled Dave frowned in my picture. “Hmm, you know this whole ‘fur everywhere’ thing is weird, because you look more like an anthropomorphic cat than a catgirl.”

“Just do it around my breasts and butt,” I replied. “I’ll be neuter and can go naked but still look like a human.”

Dave muttered the commands under his breath and his mood lightened. “Ok, that works. You ready?”

“Yeah,” I called back, and hit the confirm button.

Presumably Dave did the same, because suddenly I felt my body changing dramatically. I lost at least 7 inches of height, and I was probably 5’2 now. I could see the whiskers in front of my face, and even from this perspective, they did look pretty cute. I looked down at myself and saw my breasts - my breasts, holy shit - resting on my chest. He hadn’t clothed me to begin with: where nipples should have been were large spots of fur. I reached down and bent over, and yep, the little fucker down there was finally gone, replaced with a smooth patch of fur which went all the way down under and to my back side. No orifices for anything, or anyone.

And, of course, the ears. I twitched them for fun. And the tail, which I swished back and forth and rubbed playfully up and down my right side.

Dave had definitely kept his word. My breasts weren’t ridiculously large, though they were certainly noticeable. My waist was substantially accentuated, but not to any greater degree than most of the other girls at school. Other girls. I was a girl now, of a sort. I wanted to squeal in excitement, but I remembered where I was, and instead started thinking practically.

To my left was a huge basket full of clothes. I was conscious of each article overlapping with each other, and it was very disorienting. I finally realized that I was those clothes, in addition to this catgirl, so in a way it was like I would always be naked. Regardless, before the door slid open, I speed-walked over to the basket - noticing my cat paws for feet - and pulled out some clothes - noticing my mildly-furred and definitely-clawed hands. I grabbed some panties from the bottom which I spotted through one of the cut-outs on the side, and a black skater skirt from the top and a crop top which hugged my chest tightly. Just as I got them all on, the door slid open, and everyone peered in.

“Giw a giwl some pwivacy,” I said, and covered my mouth in horror. Dave suddenly appeared, having come from the other side, and the whole group burst out laughing.

“Yeah, I improvised that one,” Dave said. “You can still talk normally, you just have to consciously think about it. That took a lot of tries to get right with the voice command.”

I could feel my cheeks burning red and the eyes of all the guys on me. I suddenly felt more exposed than I ever had in my entire life. I desperately wanted to put on some more covering clothes, but the lunch period was going to end soon, and we all had to get back to classes. Besides, they were watching me.

I tried to talk normally. “That’s pretty fun, actually,” I managed to get out. My voice was high-pitched, but not comically so - Dave’s reputation again proven justified. For once in my life, I didn’t cringe internally when I expressed myself vocally. What an odd feeling.

“It’ll be great having you play maid later,” Dave added nonchalantly.

My cheeks burned even deeper. I went to pick up the clothes, then stopped myself.

“If I have to be the catgirl, you all have to do my shwepping,” I said, slipping again into the uwu-voice at the very end. This engendered a laugh in the crowd.

They were all staring at me. Staring at my chest and my waist. Their eyes diverted for seconds, for momentary distractions, but they always returned to me. It felt like more than just my cheeks were burning.

Dave and Greg swapped looks and trundled over to where I was to get the enormous basket. They heaved, and eventually got it up in the air. As I watched on with what I was trying to make into an air of authority and displeasure, Greg backed into me by accident, and I fell over.

Immediately the others stormed about me. “Do you need any help?” Mark asked, and extended a hand.

“Give her a carry, why don’t you,” Dave suggested. “After all, our duchess shouldn’t have to walk on hard ground!” He flashed a grin. The hairs on my arm stood on end at the word “duchess.” I smiled at them all. Dave finagled his way into possession of a free hand, which he promptly used to root around in the basket and pull out an extremely frilly and poofy pink dress.

“Another thing I improvised,” Dave clarified. “A dress fit for a proper woman such as yourself,” he said, switching into an accent which might be called, in some circles, British.

Woman. My blush deepened. I was going to need to find a way for this to continue, indefinitely.

I quickly took off my hastily-applied skirt and crop top, and replaced the latter with a bra with lightning speed. Somehow my blush deepened even more as the group watched my every move. A few - Mark and Daniel and Alex - had the decency to look away, but on our trek to the Venn machine we had vacuumed up a few more who I knew less well, and they stared ravenously. Their eyes focused in my direction, but they didn’t see me. And none paid any attention to the look of deep embarrassment and shame on my face.

Those were some of the longest moments of my life, even though I made sure they were a scant few seconds as I threw on the bra - which fit perfectly - and had Mark help me pull the dress over my head.

I could already tell it was going to be a stunning dress as it flew through the air when Dave threw it. It fit me perfectly, accentuating my new curves wonderfully. Its skirt was huge and billowing, giving the appearance of a thousand ribbons all collected together in one item of clothing. The torso was much simpler, clinging to my skin tightly but with enough fabric so you didn’t get a look at each individual muscle. The neck dipped to show a small amount of cleavage. Two bows matched each other in the front and back where the skirt part met the top part - the front one much smaller to allow space for the neck dip. The shoulders had sheer poof-things, which stuck up about an inch on top and to the sides.

“Well come on, are you all gonna let a lady such as our Duchess, uh, Emily over here walk on such dirty ground as a public street?” Dave’s joke was getting old, and the chuckles were thin, but I had a terrible feeling the rest of the group wasn’t Dave’s primary target. I was getting shivers down my spine and smiling like a maniac every time he said “lady” and “duchess” and “Emily.”

Emily, I thought. I would have to be her for a while. Goodness knows I wanted to be someone pretty damn close to her for years. Had I? There was that one time-.

Thinking for too long gave everyone the opportunity to spring into action. Pretty soon I was being paraded down the street six feet in the air, with seven or eight sets of hands supporting me. Three or four sets were doing questionable “support” and unquestionable feeling-up. Nobody grabs someone’s butt for that long to keep them in the air, particularly when they had to root around through 10 layers of dress in order to find the butt in the first place. I tried to tell off and look cross at the culprits, but without effect.

As we made our victory march, Dave cooled it with the jokes about my royalty and femininity and got down to the evidently more exciting business of how to make me as hot as possible and in what order I should be dressed up.

“I say we go for the classic first: the maid outfit,” Dave said, restating his position for what felt like the 5th time. “Oldie but a goldie.”

“C’mon, that’s no fun. There’s a million pictures of catgirl maids already. Do the crop top and the skirt, what she had on at the start. Now that was something.” Greg had led the charge against even including the maid outfit in the first place. At first I was grateful as I wouldn’t have to do any cleaning, even if it would probably only be mock cleaning, before I realized that his intentions had nothing to do with my wellbeing.

“Well what does the little kitten think?” Daniel said, putting on a very mild baby voice.

“Whatever you guys want - I’m gonna do them all anyway,” is what I wanted to say, but instead I made a series of meows.

Everybody laughed, most heartily Dave, who held up what appeared to be a small plastic remote. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. This is another thing I improvised - it can control your speech and stop you from moving.” Dave jostled through the crowd, passing off his end of the clothes basket to one of the kids we had assimilated along the way. When he was a foot away from my head, he said in a lower, more serious tone, “If you don’t ever want me to use it, just say.”

I had a reputation to think about, so I said in what came out as a normal voice, “Go ahead, unless I, I don’t know, extend and retract my claws three times. Then you have to reset it to normal.” I wasn’t going to give him total control.

“Got it,” he said, and moved to the front of the crowd.

“Anyway, someone was asking what I’d like to- meow mew marw meow.”

Dave started giggling like a madman. I tried to yell at him, but instead a huge hiss came out, and everyone started to laugh.

Once Dave exhausted the hilarity of his joke, he said to everyone, “even though she may be our princess, she’s still our maid, and I don’t think maids are supposed to talk back.” That got a few chuckles. I was confined to meowing the rest of the walk. I started to claw once, then, twice, then Dave commented: “Aw, does our little kitty-poo wanna say something? If she’s having second thoughts about being a proper catgirl, I’m sure we can go back to the Venn machine and find a form much more suitable.” I didn’t flex my claws a third time.

After a while it was like people forgot I was a person. Everyone was talking about me - my body and my clothes and how I looked - as if I was their collective fuck toy. Or jack-off toy, since in my brief moment of lucidity I had had the foresight to preclude the possibility of actual sexual intercourse.

“I mean, look at those breasts,” Greg was saying. “It would be a crime to hide them under a maid outfit. I want to savor them as soon as possible, and the crop top enables that.”

Dave was still fighting back. “If you spoil her too early, you’ll be bored by the end of the week. Remember, we have a whole seven days to use her to our pleasure.”

“I still think we should do one with the tights or the leggings, first,” added Daniel. “I mean, Dave, you did an amazing job with its butt. I mean, we’re carrying her and you can practically see it through all twelve bazillion layers of this thing! Just feel that.” He pushed through my skirt and grabbed my butt and squeezed, hard. I wiggled and tried to get out of his way but this just seemed to encourage him, and he laughed. “She’s like, trying to play hide and seek, guys.” This got a chuckle out of everyone. I hissed at him, and then everyone really laughed.

It was slow moving getting back to school, seeing as everyone had to carry a atgirl and the twenty-pound dress she, or it, or I was wearing, and also being. And the clothes box, which was also me. Some of the others who had gotten tired of feeling up my actual body were now proceeding to take dresses and skirts and shirts and bras out of the basket and look at them, press them against my body to imagine how I would look.

Eventually, the conversation died down a little as we neared the school back door. The gentle rocking of the boys below me was… comforting, in a way. Like the rocking of a ship. I closed my eyes for a moment. Suddenly I noticed what little conversation was left had fully dropped away, and all eyes were on me. I bent at my waist a little and also silenced myself, which is when I realized what had happened: I was purring. Very loudly.

One of the guys near the front reached up and tickled my neck and oh, my God, it was like heaven. I couldn’t help myself. I started purring and closing my eyes and rubbing my legs back and forth. Pretty soon more hands, which weren’t being used to keep up my legs and torso, were flocking to my head, to pet my ears, my nose, my cheeks, my neck. It was sensational overload. I don’t know how long it went on or whatever else happened in that time, but I was living in euphoria in that moment, and when it ended we were on the campus quad with a crowd of probably a third of the grade there watching me.

I jolted myself upwards, and quickly my supporters put me down and cleared out in front of me. Dave took the opportunity of the fleeting silence to step in front of me and to my side, and gesture to everyone else to clear an area.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you all: the catgirl Duchess Emily! Formerly known as Tommy Peterson.”

Thus began the first week of the rest of my life.