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This story was written for Serling. It contains transformation related shenanigans involving a consenting adult male. :3

Restless

Normally, Serling wouldn't have minded his masseur being a little late. He understood that it happened, and it wasn't as though he had anywhere else to be. Indeed, if it meant he got to spend an extra five or ten minutes just relaxing and lying down upon a massage table, listening to pleasant music and generally relaxing at the end of a long work week, the coyote might have normally relished that additional time spent in the lap of luxury. But not today. Today, despite nothing particular bad having happened at work and nothing particularly frustrating having occurred at any point that week, Serling just couldn't settle. He couldn't get himself into the normal relaxed, pre-massage mindset that normally came to him so easily.

For almost five minutes he had lain upon the table, shuffling and squirming trying to get comfortable, rising up to try and smooth out entirely imagined creases in the material beneath him, before now finally giving up and getting off the table entirely. Blushing slightly as he wrapped a towel around the waist of his otherwise naked form, the coyote began to pace. To try and work of a little of whatever energy was filling him, hoping that when the masseur did arrive they wouldn't think that he was pacing with impatience at their lateness or anything so rude.

Even that did no good though, and after barely thirty seconds of strolling around the room in an aimless circle Serling kept on feeling his eyes and his attention wandering. He felt like a bored teenager, not a grown man. Like a kid seat-belted into the back of a car on a long dull road trip with no games console or phone battery or even a parent with whom to play I-Spy or the Yellow Car game. The kind of boredom that bred mischief amongst children, and even now was telling the coyote to do something which deep down Serling knew was completely and utterly inappropriate.

Nevertheless, the coyote soon found himself moving towards the side of the room laden with cupboards, cabinets and all the various equipment which was used for the various massage treatments carried out here. He had been coming to this parlour for years now, and yet in all that time Serling had actually never looked in one of these cupboards. He'd seen into them over the shoulders of members of staff, of course. He'd seen items withdrawn from them each and every week. But never before had he found himself with the chance to peer at all the bottles and jars and devices which he had never felt used upon him. Never, until now.

Dropping to his knees before the cupboards, Serling began to root around inside with shameless disregard for any etiquette or actual rules of the establishment he was breaking. Surely if there was anything truly forbidden about what he was doing, the staff would lock the cupboards to keep members of the public out. Or, for that matter, they could just turn up on time and remove any chance for their clients to get this interminably bored.

The coyote browsed through several cupboards of towels all neatly stacked and soft as clouds, packets of plastic gloves and sheeting to be placed over tables for heavy oil based treatments, a whole bunch of basic accessories and implements, before finally getting to the good stuff. He let slip a brief, happy yip of delight when he opened another cupboard to reveal row upon row of bottles. Many were labelled with the familiar design and wording of the unique massage oil for which this whole spa complex was famous, varied strengths and variations of the formula most of which Serling had felt used upon him at one point or another. He blushed as he turned them over in his hands, recalling the effects a few of the variants had placed upon him in the past. The coyote resisted the urge to open up any of the bottles though, and placed them all back exactly where he had found them before moving on yet again.

The next cupboard was also filled with bottles, but these ones were a thousand times more interesting than the last. Not because of what they contained, but because of what they might have contained. Each one of the three dozen or so glass bottles in this cupboard were identical in shape and size, but their contents were entirely different. Some were clear like water, while others were thick and obviously viscous, ranging in colour from amber to pale green to bright strawberry jam red.

Serling took some of them out of the cupboard, held them up to the light and shook them. He held them close to his nose and sniffed, hoping to gather some small bit of insight as to their contents by any possibly leaking scent from within. Unfortunately none of his observational analysis provided any clear or definitive results, and thus before long the coyote came to the conclusion that there was only one thing he could possibly do to resolve this situation.

He selected a pale blue liquid first, moving around in the jar with a runny honey like consistency, and twisted off the lid. Immediately the strong smell of peppermint hit the back of his nostrils, and Serling barely managed to look away in time before sneezing violently. His body jolted, tail twitching and knocking loose the towel from where it was tied around his waist, but more importantly sending the jar tilting wildly for a brief instant within his hands. Not for a moment did he think he was going to drop it, indeed he clutched tighter than ever as it lurched in his grasp, but that didn't stop the minty liquid from splashing out over the lip of the bottle and dribbling down over the fingertips clutching at its container so tightly.

The liquid was cool, and it tingled in the way that minty stuff had a tendency to tingle against his skin. Serling gasped as he re-fastened the lid of the bottle, rubbing the damp trails of its contents off his furred fingers and into the towel still resting loose upon his lap. He replaced it in the cupboard, and looked at his paw for a few moments. It was still tingling, but otherwise appeared utterly unaffected. Ten seconds passed. Twenty. He poked at his hand with the other paw, and smiled as it didn't go limp or turn to jelly, as it failed to sprout feathers or shrink down to half it's normal size. For all he knew, he'd just spilled some thick, gooey mouthwash on his fingers, and nothing more. It was fine, and thus he was fine to continue.

The next bottle was filled with a clear water-like substance, and its total lack of smell as Serling opened it up made the coyote wonder if it was perhaps just water. He didn't want to risk tasting it in case it was something else, he wasn't stupid after all, but after dropping a few droplets onto his towel and seeing no reaction whatsoever to suggest it could be acidic or harmful, the coyote poured a small quantity out into the palm of his right hand. Still, it looked just like water. Still it felt just like water. He looked at it for a few more moments, then turned his gaze back to the tingling flesh and fur upon his other hand, and began to splash the watery substance over the peppermint scented area to try and rub it off.

Instantly, the tingling stopped.

Serling beamed, placing the lid back upon the bottle of water and replacing it in the cupboard. He reached for the next bottle with his no longer tingling, no longer minty paw, and...

His eyes widened.

He gasped, and whimpered softly as before his eyes the hand he now held outstretched seemed to ripple as though underwater. The fur upon it flickered and twitched, and all of a sudden it was longer, thicker than the greyish brown fur which had covered it before. A rich golden hue with silky soft fur like that of a retriever. It rippled again, and all of a sudden that golden fur was gone, rich blue scales in its place. Again; dark, almost black fur with a rusty orange at the base of the wrists. Again. Again. It changed almost faster than Serling could blink, like a prize-wheel spinning its way rapidly through various outcomes before finally beginning to slow. Pale, golden yellow. White with black spots. And then, with a finality which the coyote could feel throughout his entire body, lush black with white upon the fingers.

All of a sudden, the minty scent was back. Not just limited to his hand this time, but seeming to emanate from all over Serling's body. Every gasp for breath filled his lungs with that intensely sweet minty aroma, and even as the male scrambled to his feet, rushing towards the door in search of someone who could help stop whatever was about to happen, he could already feel deep inside that he was too late.

Sure enough Serling soon tumbled back to his knees, utterly naked now with the towel long forgotten back beside the cupboards. About equidistant between the cupboards, the massage table and the door through which he had entered this room the coyote knelt, whimpering as the tingling grew so intense in all fours of his limbs that he couldn't stand. Couldn't move at all as this almost ticklishly unbearable sensation consumed him. He yelped, or rather, he let loose a squeaky barking call that was meant to be a yelp, before falling silent as he stared at his body while it began to ripple and quiver all over. It wasn't just the colour of his fur changing this time though. He could already see the fingers on the hand already coated in the fur of a ferret growing slimmer and more dainty, more dextrous. He could feel his bushy tail growing shorter, seeming to suck itself inward, and feel the ears upon his head growing bigger.

Shaking, blushing, whimpering at his own foolish impatience, Serling raised his trembling ferret hand to his face and felt his muzzle growing longer, pointier. He felt thick whiskers sprouting from the sides of his muzzle as his nose twitched, eyes widening as he felt their pupils shifting and their colour changing, everything seeming to snap into sharper focus all of a sudden. He looked down at himself, at his shifting, stretching, growing and changing body, and wondered how long this would last. Whether it might be over by the time his masseur finally arrived, or if, by some miracle, it might even revert him back to normal by then.

He could only hope so, because while it might have been possible to explain away a bottle in the wrong place, or even him being caught with his face buried in one of the cupboards, it would be one hell of a job to explain this to whoever was massaging him today.

***********

Dave stepped into the massage room with an apology upon his lips. He hated making clients wait, especially ones as valued by him and as long-standing in their loyalty to this establishment as Serling. The stallion never got a chance to speak that apology though. He opened his mouth to say it, but felt it continuing to open. To fall slack in shock, and for only a muffled...

"Huh?"

...of confusion to escape as he stared at the figure lying calmly face down on the massage table, awaiting his arrival.

The individual in question bore the short, twitching tail of a deer above his bare buttocks, and two legs of slightly differing length. One lithe and ending in a canid paw, the limb itself so long that it could only belong to a maned wolf, and the other just as long but ending with a cloven hoof, more giraffe-like in structure and colour. His back was patterned with tiger stripes, except for one shoulder which seemed to be covered in the fine short quills of a hedgehog. One arm was thicker and burlier than the other, covered in a bear's rich brown fur coat as far down as the wrist where a dainty ferret paw rested, and the other arm bore the rusty orange of a fox down to the elbow, where short grey fur led down to a paw which identified that section as belonging to some sort of lemur or similar primate.

"Uh... e-excuse me, Sir?"

Hoping he was at least correct about this individual's gender if not their identity, Dave called out to the creature lying upon the table. He watched, wide eyed, as their head rose up and turned towards him. A nervous smile rested upon a mouse's muzzle, while the sharp eyes of some sort of bird of prey glared almost angrily out at the equine male. Atop the head two long lopped rabbit ears twitched nervously, and two cheeks covered in snowy white fur flushed pink below, the arctic fox fur doing nothing to conceal their embarrassment.

Serling opened his muzzle, and squeaked out a greeting in a voice that he was trying his very best to keep casual and friendly, with only limited success.

"O-oh... hi, Dave."

His face grew more and more red as the masseur folded his arms over his chest, one eyebrow raised curiously towards Serling. Trembling in exquisite embarrassment, he somehow managed to continue anyway.

"So, you're never gonna believe what happened..."

By Jeeves

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