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Pillow 30 - Special Issue: The Question's finale
🕑 Added 2022-09-12 17:59:21 +0000 UTC(Woman into donkey-TG)*
The prequel to: http://docs-lab.com/submissions/1833/batjack-thrill-seeker
Dusk in Gotham city - a foggy evening.
While the city drifted into night, balanced on top of the fire escape handrail stood a figure hidden by the shadows.
Muscular brown arms, her hair, long curly and black, flowing behind her in the same way as her long brown trench coat fluttered around her. She was wearing a fedora to match the detective aesthetics of the trench coat, leather gloves, boots, but what was even more remarkable about her costume was her face.
Or the lack of one to be exact.
A skin colored mask covered her facial features, smoothing them as if her head was a singular shape.
No ears, no eyes, no nose or mouth.
A shockingly odd sight.
A question.
The Question.
She was the Question, Renee Montoya.
A former GPCD police officer turned private detective, then vigilante, adventurer, some might even call her a superhero. Her cases were always out of the ordinary, but once she was on the trail of a case she never left it… even if that was against her better judgement…
And on that evening the trail was blazing.
The Question leaned forward over the railing, observing the group of suspicious looking goons gathering in the back alley below, half a dozen well known troublemakers of the area.
“I could be in bed with a hot woman right now…” Renee complained mentally from behind the Question’s mask, imagining a cascade of silky red hair. “Sucking tits and pussy under some warm soft blankets…”
The thug reunion was getting noisy.
She climbed on top of the handrail and that red mane turned blonde, another memory, one from a couple days ago, when she had interrogated the harlequin.
“If you go and sniff-sniff around this’ one you're gonna be screwed for good this time, Reene!” gloated the clown woman’s annoying voice in her mind. “It would be smarter to just let it go, but I owe you one, smooth-face, so I will give you a name: Coachwoman!”
The memory of the blonde harlequin blurred into nothing, she closed her fist tightly.
“I could be fucking a woman…” thought the Question, a smirk that nobody could see appeared on her lips…
She leaped forward.
Like the weight of a god’s punishment she landed on top of one of the goons, knocking the unsuspecting man down. A flurry of fists and kicks followed up that first strike, two more goons ended up unconscious on the ground before they realised what was happening.
“It’s the Question!” the largest amongst them shouted.
Four remained standing, two of them charged forward only to be knocked down with a single kick. Following them, a third launched a punch, the Question dodged, stopping the arm mid motion, grabbing it with both hands she spun over, a graceful martial movement that sent the thug flying towards the largest of the group, the last one that remained standing.
Instead of dodging, the largest slapped down his ally-turned-projectile and faced the vigilante.
“I’m sending you to your grave, weirdo!” he shouted, readying his fist.
“I’ll leave you enough teeth for the interrogation!” the Question answered in return as she fearlessly advanced over the bodies of her defeated foes.
The goon was bigger, but she was faster.
Ducking under his punches she rolled behind the thug, pummelling the back of his ankles. The thug cried in pain, falling to his knees, an open palm already flying at full speed towards his face.
Half his teeth were blown out by the hit, he dropped onto his back.
The Question took a step back, her guard still up.
Silence in the back alley, her faceless mask muffled her exhilarated breathing.
She chuckled as the tension left her shoulders.
An easy victory.
With the adrenaline rush from the battle still pumping through her veins she grabbed the shirt of the largest goon and pulled him up.
“Wake up, low-life, I want to know where your boss is!” she barked into the bleeding face of the defeated man in a low menacing tone.
The goon babbled something unintelligible, as the Question shook him.
“The Coachwoman! Where is the Coachwoman?!” she asked.
“You want to know where the Coachwoman is…?” the thug whispered in an ethereal voice.
“Yes!”
A cackle sent a chill down the Question’s spine.
“Then this is your lucky night… and the only cost is to forfeit your life as a woman…!”
Renee froze, her eyes caught up with the illusion, she wasn’t holding a criminal, but a bunch of yellow hay that crumbled between her gloved fingers. Around her the floor of the alley was covered in hay.
“What…?” she began to mutter.
If her brain had managed to move quicker due to the bewilderment she may have had time to dodge the last attack, but when she felt that pinch in the back of her neck it was too late.
“Aaaaaah!” the Question screamed, covering the nape of her neck with a hand as the pain pushed her couple steps forward. “YOU!” the heroine cried looking behind her.
Behind her she saw the Coachwoman, the lusty villainess stood smiling triumphantly, with her tits out and her arms open.
“Time to retcon your existence!” she proclaimed loudly.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”
The Question coiled and twisted in pain, her body pulsated like a tickling bomb about to explode. Every fibre of muscle vibrated as if she was about to blow up.
“Nghhhhhhhhhhhh! Whaaaaat…! WHAAAAAAAAAAAT!”
The Coachwoman didn’t move, but just lowered her arms, standing still as she watched the vigilante wobble around the hay covered floor, struggling with her own flesh in a vain attempt to reach her that was doomed to fail. Renee stopped, pulling off her coat, suffocatingly hot. She grabbed her shirt, squeezed the cloth, her heart beating inside her ribcage as hard as if she had just beaten some criminals.
Heat, sweat, terror, her rational mind being taken over by crude panic.
“WHAT YOU DONNEEEEEEEEEH TO ME?!” her voice was no longer menacing as she shouted, before dropping heavily onto her knees.
Sobbing and snorting she unfastened her belt, her pants slid down, her belly and rear already seemed to be swelling. A line of thick grey hair was spreading from beyond her panties towards her navel.
The villainess chuckled cruelly in front of her.
“It’s not normal to go around blinding kicking unsuspecting fella’s with rage, naughty, naughty girl,” the Coachwoman explained, like a teacher to a dumb kid. “But if you can’t help your nature then you shall be your nature, you already know what I did to you, because you did it to yourself JACKASS!”
Reene shook her head, grunting, cursing.
“No! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH! NUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU! HEEEEEEEE HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW! HEEEEEEEEEEEEE HAAAAAAW!”
She brayed, she brayed like a beast, leaning forward, stretching her neck. Her hat fell, her faceless mask began to swell, pushed out from the inside by her face which had begun the grotesque process of reshaping into a donkey’s muzzle.
“HAAAAAAW NO JACKASS! AM NOOOOOOO! MAW FACEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”
The Question was forgotten, Reene’s hands flew towards her head, but her fingers wouldn’t cooperate with her hopeless attempt at removing the mask while there was still a woman behind it. Adding to the bone cracking sounds, her fingers stopped in front of their owner, curling and snapping, then growing and deforming. Her wrists gained in length, whilst the middle fingers absurdly elongated, ripping her gloves to reveal hooves.
A tail emerged from above her arse, now too large and hairy for her panties. Trapped in the mask Reene felt her ears lengthening, but there was nothing she could do with that pressure now that there were no longer hands on the end of arms that were well on their way to becoming front legs.
Reene shook her hooves, raised her head.
Frustration, despair.
“HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW!”
She dropped down onto all fours.
Her feet tore open her boots as they too became hooves.
The fallen vigilante spread her four limbs as the increase of her mass destroyed her clothes. Braying and protesting all the way as her back widened further, as her full tail swayed on top of her ample ass, as the grey fur took over her taut naked skin.
“HEEEEEEE HAW! HEEEEEEEE HAW! HAWWWWW!”
Her bra snapped open as her chest barreled, but her panties managed to remain around the waist, stretched without restraint by the surrounding flesh and something else growing inside.
Something that finally stretched the fabric of the underwear beyond its limit.
Something long, round, hard.
Something that was taking over Renee’s mind and whole life.
“That’s it, you horny jack,” the Coachwoman mocked, approaching the struggling form of the beast-in-making. “You have a large cock between your legs, the proper weapon for a fine male… Oh, look! Your ballsack slid out of those panties! Big and plentiful!”
“HEEEEEEEEEEEE HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW!”
The increased throbbing of the phallus made it harder for the beast to remember the woman, a battle she was sure to lose. Growing longer and longer, the fabric of those sorry panties began to give in.
At the end of her elongated neck the faceless mask was also completely deformed by the irremediable mutations that her head had suffered, it too started to tear and once it ripped it would be nothing but a mockery of Renee Montoya’s memory.
The pull of the pressure in her crotch.
She was about to cum.
Her body tensed even more, hooves stomped hard on the floor.
Panic was the only thing she had left as her humanity was lost in pleasure.
“NOOOOOOOO! NUUUUUUUH! HAW! NUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU! HEEEEEEE HAW! HEEEEEEE HAW! HEEEEEEEEEHAW!”
That penis thrust forward.
The panties couldn’t hold it any longer, they ripped as those massive dick and balls escaped, fully formed and fully erect, erupting with a hefty amount of thick hot cum onto the floor as their owner brayed without restraint. At the same time the mask was also ripped open, the jackass’ muzzle came out asserting his masculine dominance over the world as he unleashed a bursting load of sperm.
No trace was left of the woman that once hid behind the cloth, not a trace left of any self-righteous heroics or self-congratulating pride, but only the beast.
A horny, beastly, male beast.
A black furred jackass with a curly mane.
The donkey stood on the discarded remains of an unanswered question, gasping and snorting exhausted as the cold of the night began to make his oozing penis go flaccid. His tail shook and his ears lifted when the Coachwoman's clapping caught his attention.
“Fantastic, a grade A ass from the tip of your ears to the tip of your tail!” she chuckled maliciously, as the villainess approached the farm beast. “You could have been a stallion if you weren’t so dumb, but let’s not pretend this form doesn’t fits you better than a glove!”
“H-Haaaaw…!”
“Ohhhhh, don’t be sad, jennet-fucker, you are not the first and you will certainly not be the last,” the Coachwoman grabbed the jackass’ ear and began to gently pull him along as she walked away. “Let’s go, we need to find you a proper cunt or a milker before those swollen balls of yours explode! How about a clown jenny that talks too much for her own good?”
“Eeeeeeeh!”
Utterly defeated, the jackass followed his master, with his tail firmly down between his legs, pressed against his ballsack, leaving behind the tattered remains of a heroine that was no more.
Neighs, moos, oinks… brays…
The echoes of the lusty beast was a murmur in the distance as the city’s skyline was engulfed by the night.
