It starts with your arm. You rub at it idly, not thinking much of the strange sensation building there at first, but finally take notice when the swelling starts. Pulling your sleeve back, you watch as a line of stitching gently pinches its way up under your sleeve, and you feel it continue all the way up your arm.
Meanwhile, it feels like your growing forearm is filling up with something… the swollen part not only gets bigger, but begins to spread… such pressure… it feels like you aren’t going to have enough skin for this amount of volume, but then the skin cccrrrrrinkles out, more material pulled from nowhere as it changes color and texture, from human skin into soft felt. It’s your favorite color, too.
The swelling reaches your wrist and your elbow simultaneously, and the accompanying sensations are absolutely mind-blowing. There’s a moment of tension and stiffness before you feel the joints painlessly burst apart into more fluff, just as the surrounding flesh and blood has already done. You gasp as your arm, now lacking an elbow, naturally straightens out, your human hand wiggling at the end of your ridiculous, pudgy forearm. Smaller joint-bursting feelings assail your mind as that hand is drawn into the swelling, your fingers straightening and getting pumped full of stuffing. Paw pads stitch themselves onto your palm and… digits… with a dull pinching sensation, like on your arm before. You don’t really have a “wrist” to speak of, and to be honest your arm is becoming increasingly tube-shaped, but at the very least, at the end of that tube, you still have all five digits. They’re just extremely round and squishy and don’t bend very well.
They do, however, bend at all. In fact, as the changes near your shoulder, you realize that you can move your entire plushified arm just fine. Well… that might be an exaggeration. But you can move it! It feels the most natural to bend it at the place where your elbow used to be, just by force of habit, but if you really focus, you can make it bend anywhere you want, which is kinda cool oh god here goes your shoulder.
You were a bit distracted, but now you’re really starting to notice the tightness of your rolled-up sleeve. And the pressure it exerts on your arm, squishing it down so it can fit inside… it feels… r-really good…? As your shoulder is obliterated by assimilative stuffing, you wonder why any of this feels good. Shouldn’t it be excruciating or at least scary? Shouldn’t your still-human parts and still-human fluids leak into the surrounding stuffing before having a chance to change yet? You shake your head quickly, pushing these thoughts of body horror from your mind. And then your ears crinkle.
And twitch, and swell, and move, and fill. The skin pushed out and up as they migrate through your hair to the top of your head. They balloon out into triangular shapes… you feel them with your human hand and let out a little gasp when the sound of doing so turns out to be quite loud. It seems like these ears are still fully functioning sensory organs. Not too loud, just a tad louder than you expected touching something that your body hasn’t quite accepted as “my ears” just yet. You do another little gasp when your human hand twitches and grows its own felt paw pads, right out of your skin! Stuffing builds up within the back of your hand, and builds, and spreads, and your fingers crrrrrrckfffhhhh out to match their pads, and now both of your hands are completely useless…
Which is a shame, because you’ve removed none of your clothing. This is put on full display immediately as something pushes at the seat of your pants. No fancy lengthening of your spine required, you’re starting to grow your brand new limb, a somewhat-coherently-shaped sack of stuffing attached to you right above your butt. It’s getting longer, and thicker. The tip of it is stuck and the start of it is obviously connected to you, leaving the middle portion to awkwardly arch upwards, pushing the back of your shirt up a tiny bit. You groan and arch your back as it plumps up further and further, somehow evading each attempt of your clumsy former hands to pull it free… and then, something connects in your brain, and you move the tail itself, forcing it out over the waistband of your pants to flop down onto the ground behind you.
It’s huge. It’ll drag across the floor when you try to walk. But there’s no time to think about that, because your belly is growing. Pinches up your sides tell you that the stitching has found its way there too, and this is quickly confirmed when your shirt begins to ride up on your body. Your stomach, your waist, your thighs, are all starting to fill up with fluffy, tingly stuffing… wait, your thighs? Your legs! Things are really picking up now. You wobble as your lower body plushifies, jeans starting to get awfully tight, the button downright snapping as your gut pushes out against it. If that didn’t get you blushing already, then the shoes you lacked the foresight to remove when you still had human hands filling up to bursting certainly did the job.
When you blush, it’s like an alarm is tripped, and your mouth goes dry as, one after another, your cheeks bloat up. Your head is changing into more cartoonish proportions, but it’s distributed so asymmetrically and so strangely… your puffing cheeks are nearly squeezing your eyes shut! You hold your swelling head in your handpawthings, and when your eyes next open, they’re made of hard plastic. You have a short snout, with a nose of black felt at the end… do you have a mouth? You speak, successfully. But it’s still quite hard to tell.
You brush against your hair by accident, revealing that you still do, in fact, have hair. More of it, even, as it needed to be scaled up to match your larger head. It’s probably also a synthetic material now, but who knows? Does that distinction even matter anymore? You think these thoughts without the help of a brain. There’s only stuffing inside your head. Clearly none of this is logical, or even reasonable. You no longer have a heart inside your chest, but it doesn’t matter. You live anyways.
But your poor jeans don’t. The denim is torn asunder, holes opening all over, more and more of You forcing itself through the gaps. You wobble, a lot. It feels incredibly strange. You’re so stuck inside these clothes, now, and you have no way to get them off. You haven’t even really figured out walking yet. But you’re still you. You’re still… pretty much recognizable. What even are you, anyways? A fox? A wolf? Maybe a weird cat? All that you can do now is wander, and find someone who can tell you… and help you escape these damn clothes.
