Sherry Diaz was short. Short hair, short height, short temper. Short in
cash and talent. Full of shortcomings. By contrast, her roommate, Elaine
Redstone, was tall, smart, with long sweeping hair and arresting smile. She was
rich and wonderful to be around, but not because she was rich. Just a genuinely
nice person, and insanely likeable because of it. Sherry hated her. Hated how rich
she was, hated how nice she was. Hated how despite towering two heads over
her Elaine basically had the same sexy figure that Shery had once prided herself
in. Once, when her boyfriend Miles had come over, Sherry had lashed at Elaine
with a tongue as sharp as an ironsmith’s blade. Complained of her dirty habits,
sneered at her bad cooking, insinuated not-so-inconspicuously that Elaine was
ugly (which was somewhat true; compared to Sherry, she did look rather
average). Elaine took the hits like a stone wall but when she finally retreated into
her room they could hear sniffles. Whatever regret and empathy Sherry felt then
was immediately consumed with rage as she noticed that Miles had been looking
after Elaine’s strutting ass. The night ended in angry tears for both girls.

Today, their conflict remained on the razor’s edge. Sherry came back from
her evening job to find Elaine loafing around on the couch, watching T.V. Some
dumb action movie. “You better be done with that soon,” Sherry warned. “Miles
is coming over tonight.” Elaine nodded, too absorbed by the happenings to say
anything other than, “It’ll be over in ten minutes.” Sherry snorted and headed for
the kitchen. Elaine’s ten minutes usually translated to double that, but she’d lay
her foot down if she had to. Right now she desperately needed something to eat.
She was hungry, and in a bad mood. On her shortcut through the park some
dumb dog had the gall to stick its nose straight up her butt. When she tried to
shoo it away it panicked and nipped her on her thigh. Bleeding was slight, and it
didn’t particularly hurt, but the occasion was enough to leave Sherry fuming for
the rest of the walk back. So now Sherry chopped the carrots and cucumbers
with vengeance, like they had insulted her mother. She was just reaching the
ends of the vegetables when she noticed she was having problems gripping her
knife. Frowning, Sherry checked her left hand.

What she saw made her gasp.
Skin, puffy and soft, rising like a mound from her palm. Much darker than
her olive skin. She was losing controls over fingers; even now, as they swelled
with the same puffy hills that accentuated their rounding roundness, refusing to
bend and stretch according to her whims. The knife was now impossible to hold.
As her finely-manicured nails began curving into ugly black sickles, Sherry grew
aware just how much her hand was looking less like a hand, and looking more
and more like the paw that the dog had rested on her knee.

“Impossible,” Sherry muttered in breathless disbelief.
All of a sudden she felt like fainting. Her legs became flimsy and weak. No,
wait; this was not fainting, she had fainted on her trek through the stupidly long
mountain trail Miles had once forced her through, and the woozy, helium-headed
sensation that had fogged her mind was all but absent. No, she was simply
collapsing, falling onto her hand-and-paw so that her ass was high and mighty in
the air, and her mind was fully conscious of this strange uncomfortable pose that
felt less and less so with each loud pop and each sickening gnash that were her
joints and bones. In surprise or in pain, Sherry let out a loud yelp. From the living
room Elaine called, “Sherry? You alright in there?”

“Fine! I’m fine! Don’t come in!” Sherry tried to muster as much composure
as one suddenly forced to walk on her fours could. Alarming as her plight was,
she was not just about to let Elaine come in and see her with her curvy buttocks
thrust into her face. Gritting her teeth, Sherry got up on her legs and tried to
balance herself on the table. This felt okay, but it was getting more and more
exhausting to force herself to balance by leaning. Sherry looked down at her legs
and had to very quickly look up again. Her ribcage felt like uncooked pasta, and
her heart was a jackhammer. Such was the vitriol panic of what she just seen:
legs no longer straight like a human’s, but forced to bend awkwardly at the
knees, so that now she was on tippy-toes—toes that were suffering the same
swelling fate as her fingers. Sherry closed her eyes, but when she opened them
again, nothing changed.

“What the fuck is happening to me?” Sherry whimpered. Before she could
answer her own question something painfully good wafted into her nostrils and
cut across her thoughts. Taken aback by the delusions of a feast, Sherry looked at
where her nose was sniffling. On the other side of a table was a half-finished
sandwich Elaine had left to collect crumbs and ants. Ordinarily Sherry would
have launched herself out the kitchen and scream at Elaine to clean it up, but that
obviously wasn’t possible right now. Her stomach lurched and burned. She licked
her lips with a tongue that seemed a little too long and wet, so that a good
portion of her chin got wet. She wished, dearly, to reach for the sandwich, and…
Maybe just a tiny bite? Then she shook her head. No, Sherry! What the hell?
That—that’s gross! But the BLT promised juicy juicy bacon. The smell was killing
her, made her want to lick her own nose. Unaware of her new capabilities, she
did just that.

Just as she made her decision to have just one tiny bite and then I’ll figure
out what the hell is happening to me, Sherry realized that was no longer possible.
Too distracted by the food, she had failed to notice that she had been shrinking,
to an even pitifully smaller stature than before. Now her head was barely above
the tabletop, her breasts smooshed tightly against the edges, so that her thick
nipples were squeezed rather painfully. Unable to find enough purchase, Sherry
slipped from the table and landed on her bottom.

“Yiip!” Sherry shrieked, before jumping her good hand over her mouth. An
unnaturally high squeal had just scraped from her throat, one that was definitely
not her voice. She had screamed because she had just crushed something very
delicate under her entire weight, and it hurt. Sherry lifted herself with shaking
legs and arms. As her denim blue shorts and white-laced panties slid off her
shrinking backside, a strained twist of her neck allowed Sherry to see what
exactly it was that she fallen onto. Rising slowly like a shark’s fin above water
was a triangle-shaped bit of flesh, worming itself slowly from the fissure of her
asscrack.

A tail.
Oh my fucking please god no I’m growing a fucking tail.

This was the last straw. Something was happening to her, something
impossibly bad to say the least, and to not seek help in the name of dignity would
be as stupid as refusing to jump into a trampoline from a burning building
because she happened to be naked. With her garments hanging uncomfortably
against her thighs, with her naked crotch high in the air like a beacon against her
flesh, with her proud stubborn tail even higher than that, with hands and feet
whose thumbs and toes were shrinking and relocating, and with her breasts
swaying and dragging from beneath her chest, Sherry escaped the kitchen on her
fours, praying dearly that kind-hearted Elaine would not hold this abominable
mutation as some divine punishment.

Elaine was still watching her movie when Sherry stumbled into the living
room with mad cries of “Elaine! Help me, please!” Her voice was ever higher than
normal, and Sherry had to resist urges to slap her hand (now paws, both of
them) over her mouth. If she did, she would have surely felt their inching
progress as they slowly began protruding from her face. As it was, she had only
the growing obstruction in the lower fields of her vision to understand that
something was sprouting from her face. Elaine turned her head, and the look on
her face crushed Sherry. An appropriate reaction would have been sheer shock,
utter surprise at the sight of her roommate coming to her half-naked, on her
fours, sporting the growing features of a dog as she tried to vocalize her
desperation. Hell, even cold laughter would have been more acceptable than the
expression of complete nonchalance that Elaine was now regarding her with.
“Sherry, did you try to eat by yourself again? You know perfectly well
you’re only allowed to eat when it’s dinner time!”

Sherry was appalled, perplexed, furious, terrified, all at once. Shaking
indignantly so that her lengthening ears flopped against her skull, she cried,
“What did you just say to me, you bit—”

Elaine sighed and got up. If she was tall before, she was a giant now.
Towering so that her shadow dimmed her vision, Sherry gulped and stayed
silent, cowering with her tail sagging in the narrow space afforded by her thighs.
When Elaine lowered herself to a crouch Sherry flinched, expecting a smack.
Then she felt a tug on her collar. She peeped an eye open, only to be immediately
engulfed by the stifling dim pink of her shirt. A rough struggle later and her shirt
and bra were off of her, her dusky-toned body now completely exposed for
Elaine to see. Almost by instinct, Sherry lifted an arm and cradled her breasts,
feeling her warm nipples erect under the pressure. A tomato-red blush began
tingeing her cheeks. “G-give that back!” she cried, watching as Elaine tossed the
shirt to the sofa. Elaine ignored her.

“And you even got into my clothes, what the hell. Naughty girl. Bad girl.”
At those words her tail sagged even lower, and her ears, now almost like flappy
antennae off the side of her head, drooped as well. Bad? Naughty? How-how
could she be either of those things? All she did was come to Elaine for help…
Was… Was Elaine mad because she had thought about eating her sandwich? But
how could she have known that? She had been watching T.V. the whole time… No
no, focus—!

Trembling and blushing, Sherry lowered her buttocks against the floor.
She had sat in such a way that her butthole was making direct contact with the
tiles. It was like ice against her flesh, and she was finding it very hard not to
flinch. Keeping her arm straight so that her paws covered her crotch, Sherry
whimpered, “E—Elaine, please help me. Something’s happening to me! Can’t you
see I’m turning into a dog?!”

“Oh yeah, that reminds me!” Elaine swept over to the cabinet by the door,
where they placed their shoes, and looked into the upper drawer. She fished out 
a collar, the tight leather kind with a golden medallion etched with the name.
Sherry knew whose it was. Elaine’s childhood dog, long dead and often the
subject of wistful rants about times long gone. Name of Daisy. Sherry wondered
how the hell the collar would even make sense for her when their names were
completely different, until Elaine finished clinking the collar around her neck.
“Thought you could escape being my dog now, did you Daisy?” Elaine teased with
a tousle of her hair, and all of a sudden the understanding of what was to come of
her new life struck abject fear into Sherry’s thundering pulse.

“I’m not your dog! I’m arrrrf! Arrf? Waaarrf’s happaarrf trrr… Trrr…
Mrrraarrrf?!”

“Yes, yes, good girl, good girl!” Elaine stroked Sherry’s back, and the dog
named Daisy closed her eyes and stuck out her tongue in ephemeral enjoyment.
It felt simply amazing. All sorts of new itches previously unknown came out of
the woodworks and began scrabbling at her back, letting themselves become
eradicated by the crooning nails of Elaine’s gentle hands. Yes, yes, a little to the
left, and… No, no, this can’t be happening to me!

Sherry snapped open her eyes and tore off to the front door. Elaine
merely shrugged. She owned a strange dog, she already knew that, and she loved
her all the more for it. While Elaine got comfortable on the couch again, Sherry
inspected the mirror by the front door. She was a pure abomination, a freak
crossed between the woman she once was and the doggy vessel she had been
brutally thrust into. Puffy lips adorned the end of her bestial snout, giving them
the appearance of feminine meekness. Shoulder-length hair remained cascading
over her head, as though she was sporting some kind of wig. Her hands and feet
were completely gone, replaced by useless, non-prehensile paws, but the
defining figure of a woman remained. It was almost grotesque, actually: chest
barreling outwards with twin bulbous explosions of flesh, hips that stretched
almost as wide as the width of the mirror, the sloping curves of her buttocks still
as abundantly-gifted as they were when she was human. To top it all off she was
completely furless except her tail, offering her body not even a shred of decency. 
Sherry dearly regretted shaving her privates the night before. They were smooth
and lathered lovingly with products that made them tender and soft. Just the way
Miles liked it, but what the hell was Miles going to do now anyway?!

As it turned out, he was knocking. “Elaine!” his richly baritone voice called
from the other side of the door. “I’m here!”

Sherry leapt from the mirror and bounded towards the door with her tail
wagging high. Miles! Oh, how she loved Miles. He was good to her, and she never
had let him know how much she appreciated his love. Well, all that was going to
change now. And besides, if there was anyone who could help her, who better
than the man who had slept with her for four years, engaged with for two?

Sherry rose up onto her feet and began clawing at the door with squeakywheel squeals, 
her tail now a helicopter blur atop her legs. 
Elaine pushed her aside with a gentle foot and opened the door. In came a piercingly cold draft and
Miles. Tall, strong Miles, taller than even Elaine in fact, though only by about half
a head. That perfect distance for lovers to look into each other’s eyes and feel
compelled to reciprocate with kisses. Not that she had to worry about that; Miles
was her boyfriend, loyal and true to her ever since he had slipped the question,
and now he was here to save her from this agonizing nightmare. She was sure of
it.


[The story's unfinished. But if I recall, Miles doesn't recognize her as anything but a dog. His and Elaine's dog to be precise, since the two of Them have now been engaged for two years, with their chubby brown pet to keep them company. Sherry's left to sleep at the foot of their bed forever more. Be careful about those dog bites! The end.]