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Bunyip Ascension Massage (Bunyip TF)
🕑 Added 2025-06-30 21:00:03 +0000 UTCYou’re not sure when the forest began.
You don’t remember walking into it. One moment, there was a world and the next, you were standing in a clearing bathed in golden mist. The air was quiet. Not silent, just… hushed. Like the trees were holding their breath for you.
The leaves shimmer faintly above, light filtering through them in soft, impossible colors. The ground is mossy and springy beneath your feet, cool in a comforting way. It smells like flowers you can’t name and water you can’t hear. You should feel disoriented, maybe afraid. But you don’t. Not at all.
Then you notice them.
Three shapes emerge from the woods, one from ahead, two from either side. They don’t walk. They glide, serpentine and elegant, furred tails as thick as your torso brushing over moss and root like drifting silk. Their eyes glint with fox-like curiosity, and the massive paws where hands should be flex gently, playfully. Their movements are smooth, fluid, familiar in a way that doesn’t make sense.
They circle you. Not like predators, but more like they’re evaluating a gift. Or admiring a guest.
And then the center figure steps forward, and the others part like petals for her.
She is radiant.
Long fur the color of autumn fire flows from her lower half, each motion sending glowing strands rippling down her plush, impossibly long tail. Her arms, while human-shaped, end in the same oversized, elegant paws. Each movement is precise, graceful. Her fox ears twitch high above her head, and her vivid blue eyes seem to look straight through you, yet never unkindly.
A crown of crystal and wood rests on her brow. Somehow it seems ancient and perfect.
When she speaks, her voice carries an energy you have never felt before. It fills the space around you like wind through leaves.
“You’ve arrived.”
You don’t answer. You’re not sure you’re supposed to.
“I am Nagisa,” she continues, with a warmth that settles in your chest. “Queen of the Bunyips. Keeper of the Deepwood. And you… are exactly as I hoped you’d be.”
You blink.
Her smile deepens. “We’ve watched for a long time. We knew you'd come, when you were ready. And now you are. Do you feel it?”
You open your mouth to respond, but words don’t feel useful here. Only feelings do. You nod… just a little. Just enough.
Nagisa slides closer. You feel your breath still as she raises one large paw and gently presses it to your chest, not hard, just enough to feel. It’s warm. Thicker than fur should be. Soft beyond softness.
“I’ve waited many seasons for a new princess,” she says. “One who can guide, who can rule, who can be loved as deeply as the forest itself. One worthy to inherit this softness… this magic.”
Her paw rises, then lowers slowly, making a small, graceful gesture.
The two bunyips beside you straighten.
“You are the one I’ve chosen,” she whispers.
And as her words melt into the quiet, the two beside you begin to move.
They come closer. Closer than before. Their tails slide around your legs. Their massive, plush paws brush gently at your arms. Their eyes are gentle but glinting, playful.
“Let them show you,” Nagisa says, her voice like a lullaby. “Let them make you into what you were always meant to be.”
You’re not sure when they truly surrounded you.
One moment, they were close. The next, they were everywhere. Barely any spot they were not touching.
Warm fur brushes against your sides, plush and pliant, pressing softly into your skin like living velvet. Their tails wind around your legs, not to trap, but to hold. The pressure is light at first, barely more than a hug. Then slowly, so slowly, it begins to build.
One of them moves behind you, her wide, silken tail coiling around your thighs and curling beneath your backside. Her paws… her enormous, padded, and impossibly gentle paws settle on your hips. Not gripping, not squeezing. Just there, grounding you. Claiming you.
And then they begin.
The paws at your hips move in small, steady circles. Heat blooms under them, radiating inward like you're standing in a warm bath. You feel something deep in your bones… No, deeper than that… but it was responding, relaxing. The flesh beneath those paws begins to yield. You don’t tense. You don’t resist. You just feel.
Every slow kneading motion coaxes your hips wider, broader, curvier. Like your body is blossoming under their touch. Your balance shifts, slightly at first, then more. You sway as you stand, your center of gravity pulling lower, outward. It feels… natural. Right. Like this is how your body was always meant to move. Meant to be.
Behind you, the bunyip nuzzles gently into the curve of your lower back, her soft breath warm against your skin. Her tail pulses beneath you, and your rear begins to change too, softening and swelling like bread in an oven. You feel each push and press of plush fur against your backside, shaping it with a slow, hypnotic rhythm.
Plump. Full. Plush. Every word that once just meant “soft” now means you.
You let out a breath, maybe a sigh, maybe something more, and feel your waist cinch in response. The other bunyip’s paws have slid upward, now gently pressing along your sides, smoothing them in long, sweeping motions. You feel tension draining from your midsection, replaced by the gentlest, firmest pressure. She pushes inward with care, as if molding clay… no, sculpting you. Lovingly. Patiently.
You’re being narrowed there, between your blooming hips and your growing backside. Your waist is being whispered into a perfect shape, not compressed nor forced. Just persuaded.
They don’t speak, these bunyips. They don’t need to. Their fluff says everything.
That you’re safe. That you’re beautiful. That this is right.
They take their time. Their paws wander, returning to hips, then butt, then waist again. Back and forth. Repeating. Reinforcing. Shaping you layer by layer until you can feel the femininity settling into place. Not foreign, but familiar. A truth uncovered, not imposed.
You’re already swaying to their rhythm now, not out of balance but because it feels good. The softness, the warmth, the attention. Like being cradled by living pillows that adore you.
And they do.
You can feel it in every touch. They’re not just changing you.
They’re welcoming you.
At some point, they split. Without words, without cues. Just an unspoken agreement, a rhythm shared between them.
One moves lower, her long, furred body curling down toward your legs with elegant purpose. You barely notice the shift at first. After all, there’s too much to feel already. But then her tail winds around your thighs with a practiced, effortless grace. You feel the warmth of it immediately: thick, plush, and deep. It doesn’t squeeze. It enfolds. A slow, steady pressure that pulses gently against your skin in a rhythm that matches your heartbeat. Or maybe it’s hers. Or maybe… both.
She makes a soft sound, like a coo muffled in velvet, and the pulsing begins to deepen. With each squeeze of her tail, you feel something fundamental changing.
Your legs no longer move independently. They’re being guided toward each other, pressed into a singular shape. Not trapped or bound, but merged. Your thighs soften together, smooth and warm, the line between them blurring as fur begins to grow in waves, like moss spreading across stone. The sensation is soothing, a warmth rolling up from your calves to your hips like gentle waves of sleepy contentment.
Her paws never stop moving. They roam freely, kneading your hips and rear again, this time, not to mold, but to blend. To connect. Your new tail begins to emerge, and the curve between it and your hips becomes seamless, plush, like a living cushion designed only for softness, for beauty, for grace.
And while all that is happening, while your lower half is being reshaped into something other, something right, the other bunyip lifts herself to your front.
She’s closer now than anyone has ever been. You can feel her breath on your collarbone, her chest rising and falling gently against yours, her wide paws settling with near reverence at your sides.
Then, slowly, she leans in.
At first, it’s her cheek brushing against your chest. Then her forehead. Then her paws press inward, tracing your ribs, your sternum, higher. You gasp, not from shock, but from the sensation. It’s like every nerve has softened, grown deeper, more open to touch.
She begins to massage. Gentle, circling motions. Her palms so wide, so padded, that they cover more than just your chest, they envelope it. You feel her body press against yours, the smooth fur of her own bosom pushing against your skin in a quiet, affectionate hug.
And then… it happens.
A quiet shift.
Your chest responds.
With every press, every motion of her paws and fur and warmth, your breasts grow just a little more. At first, it’s subtle. A faint heaviness, a tug against gravity. Then a fullness. A bounce. A sway. Your chest becomes lush, your skin glowing with warmth and softness as it fills her embrace.
She doesn’t rush. No part of her hurries. She breathes with you, her every exhale matched to your inhale, your shared rhythm tying your transformation to her presence. You feel the weight settle in your chest, the new shape becoming real, right, yours.
And with every motion, a new wave of satisfaction blooms across your body. Not just physical… something deeper. Like the missing pieces are falling into place. Silky, fuzzy, perfect pieces.
All the while, the bunyip below continues her work, and the transition between hips and tail grows more seamless by the moment. You are becoming a creature of softness and grace. No more legs, only tail. No more hesitation, only comfort.
Their fur rubs against you in pulses, like you're being breathed into existence. You feel invited.
You feel full. You feel warm. You feel adored.
And still… they keep going.
You don’t know how long it’s been.
Time here isn’t measured in minutes, but in touches, in soft pulses, in the gentle flow of becoming. You feel yourself cradled in warmth, in fur, in slow, deliberate affection. The world outside the forest, the world you knew, is already slipping from your thoughts like a half-remembered dream.
The bunyip at your tail hasn’t stopped.
You feel her curl closer now, her body pressing along yours, her massive, fox furred lamia tail still coiled around your own. Your tail. It’s strange to think of it like that, but it fits. Like it’s always belonged to you. Plush, warm, thick with fur, flowing from the swell of your hips down behind you like a luxurious scarf of living softness.
And now it grows.
The two of them wrap their own tails tighter around yours, layered like warm blankets. You feel the rhythm begin again, a slow, undulating motion, back and forth, pressing and drawing out, pressing and drawing out. With every movement, your tail lengthens. You feel it unfurling behind you, foot by gentle foot, each new inch added with reverent care.
It doesn’t just grow. It expands into its identity. It becomes you, just as much as your voice or your thoughts. You flick it slightly, testing it, and it moves, sluggishly, sensually, like it's just waking up along with you.
Then their paws find your hands.
You don’t even realize how tightly you’ve been holding yourself until they touch you there, one on each side. They cradle your fingers in theirs, as if holding something fragile and precious.
And they are so gentle.
They rub in long, steady motions, their padded thumbs brushing over each knuckle, coaxing something new to the surface. You can feel it happening, not sharp, not jarring, but like honey warming over a fire. Your fingers grow heavier, thicker, and slowly lose their shape, not into numbness, but into plushness.
You stare, dazed, as your fingers soften, shorten, then swell into paws. Wide, soft, thick with fur and cushion. Not clumsy—no, never that. Just… powerful in their softness. They flex a little, and you feel new muscles move inside you, as if the forest has whispered into your skin and made you more.
You reach up instinctively, paws now, to touch your head, but one of them beats you to it.
The final bunyip slides behind you. You feel her presence before she even touches you, warm, slow breath along your neck, the rustle of fur against fur. Her paws rise carefully, delicately, and rest on either side of your head. You lean back without thinking. You trust her.
Her padded thumbs find your ears. Small. Human.
She starts to massage.
Your eyes flutter shut as her paws begin slow, upward strokes, coaxing the shape of something new into being. You feel a tickling warmth at first, then pressure, soft, like clay being pushed from within. Your ears begin to shift beneath her touch. They stretch, lift, pull toward the top of your head. The sensitivity grows exponentially. Each brush of her fur against your new ears feels like music, like silk and song and sky.
Then they twitch, and you gasp softly.
They’re not human ears anymore. They’re fox ears, tall and keen and velvet-soft. Every whisper of the wind, every breath, every pulse of fur around you becomes a part of you. You hear the forest now so much clearer than you ever did before.
And just as you begin to drift, eyes lidded, lost in warmth and comfort—
You feel her.
Nagisa.
She returns like the setting sun. Just as inevitable, radiant, and calm. Her presence parts the air, and the two bunyips draw back, their work done. You barely manage to lift your heavy-lidded eyes to her.
She smiles, tenderly.
“There you are,” she says.
She raises a paw, and from it glimmers a delicate crown of silver and wood, crystal and moonlight. You feel its presence before it touches you.
“My new daughter. My new heir. My new princess.”
She places it on your head.
And in that moment, something unfolds within you. A light. A warmth. A rush of soft, white bliss that floods your body and washes everything else away.
You don’t fall. You don’t sleep. You simply drift… Into whiteness. Into softness. Into belonging.
—
You’re not sure when you began thinking again.
Not drifting. Not floating. Thinking.
The whiteness has faded, but the warmth remains. Like the hush after a long, perfect dream.
You're seated now, though you don’t recall sitting. Something plush cradles your coiled tail. You feel tall, graceful, content. Your crown rests lightly on your head, and you can still feel the way it hummed when Nagisa placed it there. Like a heartbeat made of starlight.
To your left: the queen herself. Regal. Serene. Watching you with quiet pride.
To your right: the two bunyip servants… your servants now. Their great tails sway gently behind them, their eyes shining with gentle anticipation.
Before you: a human.
They look lost. Confused. Standing barefoot on the moss-covered clearing where you once stood. Where you were chosen. Their eyes flick between the others, trying to understand, to anchor themselves in something real. But there’s nothing real left here. Only softness. Only magic.
Only you.
You tilt your head slightly, curious, your oversized paw rising to adjust the crown. It sits just right. Naturally.
“Well, my future Queen?” Nagisa’s voice comes like distant bells, warm and slow. “What shall we do with this one?”
You don’t hesitate.
“I could use another servant.”
The words come easily, simply. Like saying you're thirsty, or that the sun feels good on your fur.
Nagisa nods. She does not need to speak. The servants already understand.
They move forward.
One presses close to the human’s side, nuzzling gently under their arm. The other circles behind, her tail sweeping out and curling around the human’s legs. Their paws rise, familiar motions, practiced and perfect. You watch as they begin to press, to knead, to reshape.
The human gasps softly, then sighs.
You know that sound. Somewhere, deep in your chest, you remember it. That moment of first surrender. That first soft press that makes the world melt.
You think… maybe you felt it once. Maybe not long ago.
But the memory is like a whisper in fog. You can almost touch it… how it felt to be touched, changed, adored… but it slips through your paws before it ever takes shape.
And truthfully?
It doesn’t matter.
Because now, you have everything you could want.
Warmth at your sides. Fur against your skin. Eyes that gleam only for you. You can have soft paws stroking your tail, your shoulders, your chest, whenever you wish. You can be wrapped in tails, nuzzled by velvet muzzles, carried off into bliss as often as you like.
And now… soon… there will be three.
You watch as the human’s expression shifts, their confusion falling away, replaced by bliss. Their body begins to soften, to change. The servants know exactly where to press. Where to pull. Where to soothe.
You rest your paws in your lap, your tail flicking once behind you in contentment.
The forest is quiet again.
All is as it should be.
