#mrow oc: eleanor

[jades-typurriter]

Sherry (Shaken, Stirred) & Spectre

Hiiiiii y'aaaall I have a backlog againnnnn Including!! A story inspired by some conversations with @bluebearial and also my own Spectre-related brainrot (so, nothing new) Additionally, illustrated once again by bowsiosaurus!! merry christmas bee lmao

NSFW CW: Ear penetration, TF, lil bit of personality change

Another muggy night had descended on the city streets. From above, punctured by distant, dim stars, and from below, lit by blinding, hypnotic neon; from without beset by urban smog, and from within clouded by cigar smoke and heady excitement. It was another perfect night for Ceri to watch quietly, longingly, from the bar in the back of the dining hall, the stage lights illuminating her desire reaching her like the distant smears of headlights on a highway through a rain-streaked window. Unbeknownst to the scotch-slinging Shinx, it was also the perfect kind of night for ghosts to set out on the prowl. Witching hour was the same for the drunk and the dead, the ghouls and the gamblers, the lich and the lech. From the haze of the smoky room, from between the spirits on the shelf, emerged one such spirit, looming and leering over the Luxray-in-waiting’s shoulders. She was fuzzy in both clarity and texture, Oran-blue except for a yellow glow in her eyes that would’ve put an Umbreon to shame and limelight-white teeth that could each have passed for the tip of a Grip Claw. She only noticed the hovering horror when she loosed a low, bartop-shaking growl.

A flighty girl, she nearly jumped out of her neatly-pressed purple server’s uniform, fumbling a drink shaker and a bottle of liquor high into the air. As she scrambled to catch them, she looked up at the stage, breathing heavily, first and foremost worried that she had made herself look a fool in front of the night’s actual performer, Eleanor, the Floatzel of her fantasies. She glanced back from beneath the spotlights, sending a wink across the room, through the Shinx’s heart, and all up and down her spine. She’d successfully passed the save off as a particularly flashy mixologist’s maneuver, though she assumed that Eleanor simply hadn’t noticed—not out of the ordinary for her, a voice from deep in the back of her mind needled her. More pressing was the voice emanating from the back of the bar, which she’d only just collected herself enough to remember.

“My, my~,” the apparition appraised her, “what do we have here…?” Ceri whipped around, finding her snout full of stomach and her bar flooded with blue. She’d suspected that Derrick, the more lax of the pair of Incineroar bouncers, had snuck up on her for a laugh, but as her eyes struggled to make sense of what she was seeing, she quickly realized that it wasn’t the person before her that had growled. She gulped. The ghost giggled, bringing a paw to her mouth.

“WH!! Wh-what are you doing behind the bar?” Ceri managed.

“Hmm~? I’m afuraid there’s nya-body behind the bar but you, cutie-cat,” she snickered. “Mew seem to be talking to yourself~.”

Back pressed against the edge of the counter, paws gripping the marble until the figure could see her knuckles turning white through her powder-blue fur, Ceri whipped her head around to look out at the patrons, at Eleanor, at Derrick or Rhodney, at anyone. One or two people were still eyeing her after her noisy little display with the drinks; the boys had their attention firmly set on the front door and on the entrance to the dressing room. Nobody seemed to notice the prodigious poltergeist but her.

“What d-do you w-w-want?” she whispered, desperate for this to be some kind of dream, and desperate to not seem crazy if it was. The ghost unrolled a gooey, squishy tongue from between plush, shiny black lips, faintly illuminating the two of them in the same amber light that poured from her catlike eyes. A Gastly, then, Ceri distantly recognized. Unfortunately for her, one that seemed famished. If she wasn’t asleep now, she would be any second, suffocated by the phantom’s deadly fumes. It’d be over by the time she hit the ground, and it’d just look like a fainting spell—nobody would know how bad it really was until it was far, far too late.

“Why does anybody go out to a restaurant?” the monstrous woman mused in her rumbly, sultry voice, confirming the Shinx’s worst fears. She was paralyzed with fear, so much so that she couldn’t even bring herself to shout for her coworkers. “I came looking for dinner, but it seems I’ve found meowself a show instead~!”

“Arceus, please—” she squeaked, shaking so hard it was a wonder the glasses weren’t rattling. “P-p-please don’t eat me! I h—I never got to… I don’t wanna…” She sunk slightly down the side of the bar, her legs turning to jelly beneath her. “I’m never gonna get to tell Eleanor…”

The hungry haunt crept closer and closer, until her triangle nose was nearly pressed up against Ceri’s, sharp grin growing and growing with every inch the gap closed. The laughter in her throat rose from a purr, to a menacing chuckle, to a full-on cackle—before suddenly pulling away. She floated in the air above the Shinx, sprawled out like she rested atop an invisible tree branch. Her paw rose to her chin again as the evil laughter rattling in Ceri’s oversized ears turned into a catty, girlish giggling; Ceri herself looked up in confusion and shock.

“Oh, don’t be silly! I could never eat a purrecious thing like you~,” the ghost reassured her. “Though I think I was right on the meowney about my entertainment fur the night…” She rolled over in the air, her flowing hair cascading nearly to the floor as she made upside-down Electric-Type eye contact. “Why don’t you tell me all about this ‘Eleanor’, hmm?”

Ceri’s ears reflexively flicked toward the stage, worried that the Floatzel’s safety was now in question. She watched her would-be predator’s eyes follow the motion and saw the ghostly gears turning in her head; that was all she needed to put the pieces together.

“Ohhhh, I see~,” she purred, righting herself and sinking to be face-to-face with Ceri once again. “Mew have a little crush! And mew haven’t been able to speak up about it, seems like.” The crestfallen expression on the bartender’s face was clearer confirmation than any response she could’ve mustered, terrified or otherwise. Blood finally returned the color to her face, but especially to her cheeks; as they burned, she straightened herself up a bit.

“Wh-who,” she stammered, “who even are you?! You’ve got a lotta nerve, you know!” Her huffiness only elicited more amused chuckling from the bigger, bluer cat.

“I’m Spectre,” she began, “but mew can call me your lucky charm~.”

“Oh, really? I sure feel lucky.”

“Well, meow often do you get the chance for the boost you need to finally speak your mind?” At this, Ceri paused. After a moment’s hesitation, she crossed her arms.

“Yeah?”

“I specialize in this sort of thing,” Spectre hummed, turning over one of her paws to nonchalantly inspect her claw tips.

“Oh, that’s a shame. You’d make a killing as a haunted house actor.”

“A killing, hmm~?” She was uncomfortably close to the Shinx again, who swatted her paws around like she was shooing away an unpleasant smell.

“Alright, alright, just… what's the tip?”

“Tip? It’s mewsually a little more in-depth than that. I’m nyat a mewracle worker!” Ceri rolled her eyes. “Why don’t we go somewhere a little more purrivate and have a longer chat a-meow-t this, hm~?”

“I could take my bathroom break,” she said, flatly.

“Do mew really want someone to walk in on mew having a confursation with the wall of the stall? There’s got to be somewhere we can really have all to ourselves.”

“...We could go backstage.”

“Oh, purrfect~! Then we’ll be ready for your little lady furiend anyway.”

Heaving her shoulders with a sigh, the bartender looked around one more time to make sure nobody had been listening in on her seemingly one-sided conversation. As she walked toward the side of the dining room, she could feel Spectre’s presence weighing practically right on top of her. She approached Rhodney, the stricter of the two bouncers, who raised one eyebrow over his pair of sunglasses.

“What’s the matter, Ceri? Your paws seemed a bit shaky earlier.” She winced—seems he did see her little “save” earlier, or at least saw her having what felt like a panic attack.

“Oh, I’m fine now, but… thanks.”

“‘Course. We’re always here for you, you know.”

“Can I ask a favor then, actually?”

“Be my guest.”

“I gotta get past you real quick.”

His eyebrow shot up again, even further this time.

“‘Employees Only’ only really applies to Eleanor here, you know.”

“Yeah, but… I’m gonna, um. Try to talk to her, tonight.”

Both eyebrows were fully clear of the darkened lenses, now. Rhodney whistled a quick, sharp whistle, getting Derrick’s attention from where he stood at the entrance, and made a brief, unintelligible gesture with one paw. Derrick lowered his shades, leaning fully forward, mouth agape in surprise and excitement; he shot Ceri two thumbs up and set off in the direction of another of their coworkers. Blushing once again, Ceri glanced at Spectre (laughing to herself, nyaturally~) and back up at Rhodney, who looked through her as though she wasn’t there at all.

“Break a leg,” he mumbled discreetly, sliding his key into the doorknob without so much as turning around. She quietly thanked him and ducked past his arm into the dim dressing room, lit only by the faint orange glow of the incandescent bulbs studding Eleanor’s makeup mirror.

“Nyaaaaaalri~ight!” Spectre warbled, pushing Ceri straight to the folding canvas chair, complete with a star on the back of it, that stood in front of the mirror. With her half-corporeal paws squeezing Ceri’s shoulders, she looked at her in the mirror, eyes like another pair of bulbs, adding an uncanny glare to the usually-soft modeling lighting. “Why don’t mew fill me in on nyaaaaaalllll the little details?”

“Well,” the Shinx began, “I started working here about two years ago—”

She trailed off as she watched Spectre cringe.

“What?”

“Two years?”

“Yes???”

“And mew haven’t said a word to her about the fact that you’re attracted to her.”

“I don’t see the problem with that! It’s normal to know each other for a while before you start up a relationship,” Ceri huffed.

“She was the last thing mew saw when your life flashed before your eyes.”

“...”

“She was going to be your finyal regret.”

“Man.”

“And all that with friends as supportive as that hunk outside? It just seems like—”

“Alright! Alright. Maybe I’ve been dragging my feet about it. What do mew—ugh, what do YOU suggest?” She glowered at Spectre, who could barely contain her smile at that.

“Well,” she began, “I don’t think my mewsual methods are going to work here. Much too slow.”

“I think you’ve established that I don’t mind taking things slow.”

“Nyes, but mew did make a purromise to that friend of yours that mew’d be making a move tonight…” The Shinx’s eyes took on a distant (ironically, haunted) look in the mirror.

“Fuck,” she spat, burying her face in her paws.

“Seems like mew don’t have a choice but to let me work my magic~.”

“Just do it. Do whatever you gotta do!”

“I’m going to hold mew to that,” she cooed, somewhat ominously. “Just to be totally clear: I have purr-meow-ssion to take nyastic meowsures?”

“For the love of Arceus, will you cut to the chase?! I don’t wanna get their hopes up again just to chicken out. Do what you gotta do.”

“If mew say so~!”

Spectre rose so that her belly was roughly face-height with Ceri again, and with a snap of her paw, a cloud of ethereal smoke began pooling at her waist. Or, maybe, the smoke had been there the whole time, and was just now dissipating…? Either way, once it had cleared enough for Ceri to see again, her cheek was brushing up against a cock as long as her arm; its bright-blue tip, big as a fist, peeked out from beneath Spectre’s fuzzy foreskin. It was already rock-hard (or as hard as a ghost could be…), throbbing and leaking some kind of ectoplasm. She was shocked at the mess she was already making, but it was frankly no surprise when she looked past it and at the head-sized balls bouncing beneath it as Spectre bobbed in the air next to her.

“What the hell is this?!”

“Call it my secret weapon~.”

“No,” she hissed, recoiling away hard enough for the chair to scooch with her, “I mean why is it out?! Were you going to ‘trade’ me for your help?!”

“This is the help, cutie-cat. Just consider it purractice for being intimate with a lady, hm~?” Ceri squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her temples with her paws. She was nearly shaking with frustration, having had it up to her neck with baits-and-switches. She shot up from her chair, sliding it back with the force of the outburst, clenched paws raised in kitten rage.

“GGGRRRRRRRRRGGRRHRHRGHGRGHRGRGGGGET ON WITH IT!” the Shinx roared.

Once more, that was all Spectre needed. She adjusted the height she was floating at, grazing Ceri’s face once again with her tip, leaving a glob of sticky ghost-goo in her fur. To her surprise, the phantom’s phallus passed right by her mouth (which was a bit of a relief; she had no idea how she was going to handle that thing). Instead, she started aligning herself with one of the Shinx’s radar-dish ears (which was quite the opposite! She had even LESS of an idea what she was doing!).

“I—Okay, I know I said you could do whatever you needed to do, but I don’t really understand—”

“I’m getting in there directly, sweetheart.” In an instant, Spectre had swooped down to whisper right into the Shinx’s sensitive ear, her lower lip just barely making contact with its thin, furry edge. Her voice made Ceri shudder again, this time not from fear, but from the sheer smoothness of the sound; it didn’t help that her breath steamed not with warmth, but with an unnatural chill. She could hear the saliva in her mouth, she was so close. Every little movement of her oversized, squishy tongue, every last flexing vocal cord… she practically melted into the chair when the spirit swallowed before speaking again. “Just relax and enjoy the nyadjustments~!”

Before she could protest any further, Spectre was floating above her, lined up once again and beginning to press forward with her hips, the tip of her cock squeezing in with much less resistance than made any sense. Ceri felt a tingling in a fairly straight line through the side of her head toward the center, like Spectre was simply phasing through her the way she’d floated straight through the walls before, but at the same time she felt an unsettling, slimy, squishy sensation. It had certainly looked solid enough when she was face-to-face with it before, but now she felt it molding to the cramped spaces inside her ear, squishing like it was no more substantial than jelly�� The Shinx could only offer a whimper and a shudder, overwhelmed by the conflicting signals her brain was receiving.

Progress quickly halted, though, as it poked and prodded up against something that felt relatively solid on the inside of the bartender’s head. Was it the ear drum? The skull itself? Spectre didn’t seem to care what it was; she was starting to pant, moaning and muttering curses under breath the deeper she managed to force herself. Her foreskin rolled back and forth over her tip as she gave exploratory little thrusts, testing the obstruction, tickling Ceri’s sensitive inner ear all the while. Soon enough, apparently satisfied that she had loosened things up enough, she pressed forward with one slow, unrelenting movement of her hips. Something gave with a POP; Ceri’s eyes rolled back, her legs giving out from under her, as Spectre’s cock jutted deeper into her in one smooth, final motion. Weightless as she was, Spectre’s rhythm didn’t seem at all perturbed as Ceri sank back into the chair beneath her; she simply floated with down with her, pulled like a balloon on a string, her wispy lower body fully wrapped around Ceri’s torso as she clung to her, pumping in and out of her ear with increasing desperation. She may have been incorporeal, but her hips—her nuts—certainly still made an impact with each thrust, her fuzzy sack meeting Ceri’s cheek like she was on the losing side of a brutal pillow fight, whap, whap, WHAP.

Slick, squelching noises assaulted the Shinx’s senses as more and more of Spectre’s ethereal precum coated the inside of her ear, of her skull. Every pump, every gush, every SCHLCK rearranged her very brain, leaving more and more of the ghost’s musky, steamy scent on her body and more and more of her mark on her mind. Ceri began to faintly glow just like her current partner, brilliant white instead of eerie blue; something about her felt more malleable, all the way through her body, and Spectre wasted no time in taking advantage of how accommodating her ear canal had become.

Ceri’s fur began to thicken, to darken, a new clump somewhere on her body cropping up every time the spirit bucked her hips, filling out into a wild, bestial mane. One by one, in time with Spectre’s movements, her claws elongated, bursting from the tips of her paws, which themselves had become stronger, larger, more intimidating, more imposing. Her feet dragged across the floor as they grew, her legs stretching farther and farther away from her in the low seat; her arms, limp at her sides, followed suit as she twitched and writhed (her ears flicked, twitched, practically clenched around Spectre’s cock—if she had any room in her head for a stray thought, she’d be surprised that they could even do that).

Slowly, her three-piece suit began to tighten around her thighs, and the buttons of her dress shirt began to strain around her bust. The sounds of tearing fabric mixed with the wet shlorps reverberating through her head, exposing her once-perky, now-sloshing breasts, separated by a dense tuft of black fur, bright-yellow nipples buried among sky blue. As her growing body shredded its way through her slacks, her panties strained against her own, suddenly much larger, cock. They were already soaked through with pre at her tip, the smooth, tapering swoop of her kittycock pitching a neat little tent in the girly little article. Every time Spectre rammed her ear, a new soft barb budded along the surface of Ceri’s cock, making it throb wildly, sending a shock all the way down her spine (and a literal shock into Spectre, only egging her on further).

As Ceri’s hips bounced, trying to fuck the empty air, Spectre continued pushing deeper and deeper into her mind, inching closer and closer to putting a “finishing touch” on her protege’s attitude; pleasure wasn’t the only thing that’d be flooding her mind, soon enough. There was a good chance the room would be flooded, too—after ramming and ramming against another wall on the opposite side of Ceri’s skull, Spectre finally pushed through a second time, her half-tangible cock jutting clean through the Electric-Type’s other ear, drooling phantasmal precum down her other cheek and all over her now-bare shoulder.

Squeezing through both earholes was like fucking a toy made up of tight rings, or being stroked in the firm grip of two strong hands; the near ear massaged the base of Spectre’s dick, and the far ear bore down around her sensitive tip with each pass. At this point, every stroke forced a rope of cum out of Ceri’s cock, drenching her panties further. Some of her mini-orgasms were powerful enough to shoot through the fabric, pooling into a musky mess between her paws on the floor below.

The whites of Ceri’s eyes turned a pale red, still practically staring at the back of her skull; Spectre’s paws clutched at her pet project’s head, petting her, slamming into her, hunched over so far that her tummy smushed around Ceri’s snout. They were both about to finish, Ceri with her makeover and Spectre with, well, you know. When she finally blew her load, she didn’t stop pounding—half of it squirted out her far ear, splattering an ocean of cum on the floor alongside Ceri’s comparative lake, and half of it sloshed around the remaining slurry of Ceri’s thoughts, mixing in a potent dose of Spectre’s signature sexual confidence, her hunger, her lust. They nyowled in unison, tongues hanging out (Spectre’s dangling much further than Ceri’s, and making much more of a sticky mess); as they both rode out their climaxes, they settled into each other and began purring in unison.

The poltergeist eventually pulled out, the sensation sending spasms through Ceri’s body (and a little more cum onto the floor). After a few moments, consciousness returned to her, her eyes refocusing just in time to see Spectre making that monster of hers magically disappear with nothing more than a wave of her paw. She blinked hard, once, twice, then turned her attention from the manifestation to the mirror, appraising herself. She was… she was a Luxray!

“So, kitten?” Spectre purred, placing her paws back on Ceri’s shoulders like a hairstylist admiring her own handiwork.

“I feel… fantastic!” Her voice was a solid octave deeper than it was before. It was huskier, raspier, though she couldn’t tell whether the second part was because of all the screaming she must’ve gotten up to. She thanked her lucky stars—or, she supposed, her good luck charm—that the dressing room was soundproofed so Eleanor could warm up her voice before each show. Usually, she would’ve been mortified at the thought of being heard by all those people, but instead of clamming up and fixating on the worst… some part of her was… proud? At the notion. Like she wouldn’t mind being seen by all those people. “Hell, I feel like I could walk onstage right now and sweep Eleanor off her feet!”

“Wrowww~,” Spectre mused, “I really have rubbed off on mew then, hm?” Her eyes trailed down to Ceri’s bare chest, and further to where her dick was still halfway flopped out of her panties. Okay. Right. She at least retained the good sense to stop herself from running around naked.

“Maybe I’ll have a look around for some spare clothes in here first, ahah. I mean, It’s a dressing room, right?” She turned to look over her shoulder at the armoire in the corner of the room, and at the standing rack of a few pre-prepared outfits. “How hard could it be to find something that fits?”

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll just see myself meowt,” came Spectre’s voice from her other side. I’ve never been a purrponent of putting more clothes on.”

“Pssh, yeah, I could’ve guessed,” Ceri shot back, twisting around again. “How do you even manage to hide that massive—”

When she turned back, Spectre was already missing from the reflection, leaving nothing but a puff of sky-blue smoke and a faintly echoing, distinctly feline laugh.

“Well,” she said, directed at nothing in particular. “Thanks.”

With that, she started rummaging through the stage outfits. She found a larger size of her work uniform, but for some reason, she felt much less inclined to dress formal. She settled for a vest (worn open, so as to be less restrictive in both the literal and metaphorical sense), a pair of dress pants that was a size or two too big (because it was the closest thing she could find to a nice, loose pair of jeans), and a pair of glossy boots that reached up to her calves. She’d have to work on it—maybe take some pointers from the boys, given her larger frame—but it was a start.

Behind her, a poster on the wall was subtly different, featuring a certain cat instead of the star of a previous show at the lounge. She may have had at least one kind of hunger satisfied for the night, but Spectre still expected a show! All that was left now was to sit back and gloat about what a stellar wing-wraith she was.

Well, Eleanor was still singing out on the stage… she was sure she had time to clean out the kitchen first.

Hi!! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! If you want to see more of my work, you can check it out here and here!