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Message-ID: <47469asstr$1081980608@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "virgosun" <virgosun@internode.on.net>
Subject: {ASSM} Beryl and the Polymorph 8/9 {virgosun} (msolo humour mutant)
Lines: 520
Date: Wed, 14 Apr 2004 18:10:08 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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<1st attachment, "poly08.txt" begin>

*BERYL AND THE POLYMORPH*

by virgosun (c) April 2004
*******************************
(Part 8)

When it was after midnight before Beryl finally made it 
home, Mum was ropable. She had been on the point of 
calling the police, and Dad was fully dressed because he 
had been dug out of bed to go searching for her.

"Did you say yes?" he asked quietly, a twinkle in his 
eye while Mum flustered and stormed about the lounge, 
and rang Dot to let her know the emergency was over and 
the stray daughter was found. One of the boys sauntered 
out of bed to watch, and was shooed forthwith. Beryl 
smiled and gave Dad her hand to show him the ring. "And 
it fits too, well done!"

"They sized it off Tempest's finger. Thank you so much, 
Dad, thank you!"

"Don't think you can get out of this by cosying up to 
your father!" Mum thundered, glaring, plainly not done. 
It was then that she noticed the glitter of diamond on 
her daughter's hand, and her face softened. "Is...is 
that ring from George?" she gulped.

"No way!" Beryl retorted. "I'm going to marry Pro 
Phillips, Mum!"

Mum turned white. "Because you have to?!"

"No, no, because I want to, not because I'm pregnant!"

"Shhh!" Beryl was sure she heard her brothers giggle 
from hiding just inside the hall. Mum turned her 
scalding gaze on Dad. "And you allowed this?"

"Flora, be reasonable, he's good to Beryl and she's been 
so happy with him..."

"So was Dot happy before all that happened!" Mum wailed.

"He's got a reasonable wage and a home being built, for 
heaven's sakes Flora..."

"But they're freaks! I don't want my grandchildren to be 
monsters!" Mum gathered herself up and gulped back her 
tears, an angry flush bright over her pale cheeks. 
"Right, well, I can't stop you going out and seeing him 
then, if you're such a lady of the world! I won't punish 
you - so long as you spend Friday night at home here, at 
dinner. I'll be hosting a party to celebrate the 
occasion, but you needn't bring your...fiance!" She 
choked the word out. "Make sure you're here, or I'll cut 
you out of the family completely, Miss Crabtree!"

Beryl glanced at Dad, who gave a slight nod. "Okay, 
Mum," she sighed.

***

"All right," Reg huffed, glancing about. The storage 
shed was hot and dim, the only lighting from translucent 
roofing panels overhead. It was packed to the rafters 
with tools and spare parts, jerrycans and drums of 
lubricant. "Suppose we'd better get on with it. I don't 
much like this, you know, but you did ask for help." He 
undid his belt and buttons and let his trousers fall to 
his knees, then, feeling peculiar, pushed his boxers 
down. There were many things he'd had to teach his 
little brother, but this took the cake.

"All right, all right, I don't like this much either," 
Pro grumbled, already in his natural naked state and as 
ever, minus male adornment. He eyed his brother's groin 
critically. "Let me see if I can get this right. Pull 
your shirt-tails up, I can't see it properly."

Reg muttered an oath under his breath. "Don't make it 
exactly the same, either, that's just not right. I heard 
the best man's got to do a heap of stuff for the groom, 
but..."

"All right, all right, shut up will you? I need to 
concentrate, so shut up and let me get on with this." 
Reg watched sidelong as that ever-featureless groin of 
Pro's rippled and swelled, making an approximation of 
flaccid, dangling lumps. "Damn, it looks nothing like 
one with hair! Now, testicles, one...two, down you go, 
boys. That feels all right."

"Looks right enough to me, enough to get away with," Reg 
said quickly. "And before you ask, I am _not_ shaving it 
just so you can make sure! If she wanted you to have 
body hair she wouldn't still be with you!"

"Yeah, yeah, this is all very well," Pro noted, looking 
down at himself. "How do you guys put up with this 
hanging around all the time? 'Specially with your nuts 
out...okay, you don't have to answer that."

"You wanna have kids, you're going to have to hang 'em 
out or they won't work properly," Reg warned. The 
dubious look on Pro's face spoke volumes for the 
vulnerability he felt. Both men hesitated, until Reg 
shut his eyes in the hope of taking his attention 
anywhere but here.

"Next phase."

"Yes, this is the important part," Pro averred quickly 
as Reg resolutely took himself in hand, and thought of 
his wife's naked breasts.

"At least get yourself started, and then you can work 
out the details." It took him somewhat longer to harden 
given the irregular circumstances, but soon with the 
help of spit, imagination and manual power, his manhood 
was properly solid and erect. Reluctantly, he opened an 
eye to check on Pro. The polymorph's hands were at his 
own groin, fused into a pulsating sheath. Both Reg's 
eyes popped open in surprise and envy. If he'd been able 
to make a shape like that with _his_ hands, he wondered 
if he would ever have felt the need to get married.

"Ahem." When he realised Pro was staring at him staring, 
Reg let that line of thought drop and pumped himself a 
couple of times to ensure he was at his best. Pro looked 
somewhat surly as he lifted his melded hands away. What 
was revealed was more like a dog's prong than anything 
human, a kind of long, thin red horn. Reg sighed, now 
much more sympathetic to his brother's request. "Yes, 
well, no wonder, um...that's gonna need a bit of work, 
unless she's really, really kinky."

Pro replaced his sheath, which pulsed several times 
before he removed it again. This time he was wider, with 
a bauble at the tip that was still too narrow. "Try 
again," Reg counselled, blushing as he tried not to 
wonder how _good_ that thing Pro was doing with his 
hands must have felt. _Bad thoughts, unclean, unclean!_ 
"You've got to think how she's got to feel you inside 
her, she has to be able to feel all of it," he tried to 
coach. Pro's brow furrowed in concentration and tension 
as he pumped again.

"Uh oh!" Suddenly Pro's hands separated as his organ 
quadrupled its size spontaneously, a rosy and vaguely-
phallic tentacle billowing to the size of a garden 
squash. "Shit!"

"No, no, no, not like that, you'll bloody-well kill 
her!" Reg groaned. "Back to square one...Look, go away 
and practise by yourself a few times, yeah? Someone's 
coming, and it ain't me." He hastily yanked his pants up 
and stuffed his belt through the buckle.

***

"Pro?" Doug called. "Are you in there? I wonder if I 
might, ahem, have a word?"

Pro strolled blinking out of the toolshed, robe tied 
much more securely than usual. He was walking strangely, 
like a man with a rash on his scrotum. There was a good 
deal of shuffling and banging around in the shed, before 
Reg marched out favouring Doug little more than a curt 
nod as he walked away, a box of welding rods on his 
shoulder. Doug waited for him to be well gone before 
resuming, while Pro waited with a goodnatured smile on 
his face.

"What's on your mind, Douglas?"

"I, uh, it's concerning your...sister," Doug admitted 
stiffly, almost eyes-right. Pro assumed his most 
innocent face. "I felt the need to reassure you that my 
intentions toward her are, ahem, proper and 
appropriate."

"I've never had any doubt of that," Pro said cheerfully. 
"It's her intentions toward you that worried me."

"Ah. Indeed." Doug rocked on his heels. "In the light of 
that, then, it is true that the nature of the 
relationship between us has undergone some, uh, changes 
during the past week, and I did hope that would not 
jeopardize our friendship."

"My friend," said Pro with a grin as he shook hands, 
"I've lived with my sister long enough to know what 
she's like, and I'm grateful there's a man like you 
around to watch out for her. It also gladdens me that 
she's there for you since I cut you off on your run at 
Beryl."

"Well," Doug coughed, "that's no longer a matter, ahem."

"Only other advice I have for you is keep your umbrella 
up. She ain't called Tempest for nothing." Pro winked.

***

Beryl fussed and fluffed up her hair in a bathroom 
mirror that was hazed with steam. She wondered if she 
could keep doing this forever, or at least not emerge 
until the storm had blown over. She'd donned her best 
dancing frock, anticipating the Wildgoose dance in spite 
of Mum's dinner party. As soon as she could, she would 
vanish out the door, and at least meet with Pro even if 
she had to ride her bike out to the tower. Pro had 
promised he would try to find a car and come pick her up 
as, by the time dinner was over, it would be way too 
late to catch the bus. He had wanted to come to the 
dinner. "I can win your Mum over, I've got to try, she's 
hurting you..." Dad was on her side, Beryl assured him 
nervously. It would be all right.

But Mum was up to something. Why did she insist upon a 
dinner party with no fiance and no guests?

The boys were dressed up, doing a good amount of early-
teenage chafing in collar and necktie. Dad offered the 
most resistance; he sat in his armchair, legs crossed, 
reading the paper and chewing on the stem of his pipe. 
Mum flitted about, lighting thin and sophisticated 
candles she called "tapers" and snipping thorns from a 
showy, dusky red rose she placed in a vase at table 
centre. Beryl stood by the fireplace, near Dad, 
fidgeting with her beaded gloves and wishing she was at 
the bus stop.

Her knees almost went from beneath her when an all-too 
familiar engine rumbled to a halt outside. A door 
slammed, and then she could see a familiar outline 
beyond the frosted glass inset high in the front door.

"Would you get the door please Beryl?" Mum commanded.

She looked miserably at Dad, who was already rocking 
upright. He had his dining-out vest on but didn't bother 
with the jacket. "I'll get it, Flora, although you said 
there weren't to be guests tonight," he rumbled. Beryl 
glared daggers at Mum, who had her nose turned up 
smugly.

"As hostess I shall invite whom I like!"

"Young Mister Rowbotham," said Dad gravely as he opened 
the door, shaking hands. George was barely visible 
behind a huge spray of chrysanthemums. He blinked his 
big baby-blues at Beryl, a pout on his lips.

"You wouldn't answer my letters, Berry love. These are 
for you."

She stared, trapped in a nightmare, and made no move. 
Mum was delivering a stinging prompting of her manners. 
George's hair was particularly slick, folded back in a 
golden wave, and he was so well shaven he had razor 
rash. When he swallowed, she was sure she glimpsed a 
hickey just below his collarline.

One of her brothers was sniggering. The last thing she 
wanted to do was voluntarily accept flowers from George, 
but given the circumstance she would have to take them, 
however briefly. "Thanks, George," she said shortly, 
even pecking his cheek as she took them - then stuffed 
them into the snuffling brother's arms. "Here, Ron, be a 
sweetie and find a vase for those!"

Ron was the youngest and the last thing he wanted was an 
armful of flowers. "Ew, yuck! You do it Bob!"

"Flower girl! I'm not doin' it..."

Beryl smiled. _God bless my darling little brothers!_ 
Petals were flying already. Mum swept forward, all 
bustle and welcoming hostess to usher George in, while 
Dad sorted out the flower-fight. "I thought it would be 
a wonderful idea if we could all sit down together," she 
said brightly, "and sort out our differences. It seems 
you've both had some kind of misunderstanding, and I 
must confess those sorts of things do happen, it's part 
of being a married couple..."

Dad made a long-suffering face.

"...but you needn't let silly little tiffs get in the 
way of your love for each other. Now, if you boys would 
all like to take a seat, we'll serve dinner. Beryl? 
Would you like to lend me a hand with the serving?" It 
wasn't a request by the pure iron in her gaze.

"I'll serve Dad, but I'm not serving George," she 
grunted, picking her gloves off as they went to the 
kitchen.

"You conduct yourself with grace tonight young lady or 
you're out of the family!" Mum hissed under her breath.

Mum and George chit-chatted throughout the meal, George 
tucking in heartily while Beryl pushed her greens around 
the plate. He was still boyishly cute, and tonight he 
didn't stink of beer. He could almost have been the 
George of two years ago, aside from the blemish on his 
neck. He was sitting across the table from her.

"You're looking well," said Beryl at last. He nodded, 
eyes crinkling in that cute smile.

"George tells me he's cut back on his, ahem, he's not 
having quite so much beer as before," said Mum daintily. 
George munched and swallowed.

"Yeah, part of that court thing, and it's been good, it 
did kind of wreck things for us Berry and I'm really 
sorry. My old man's a heavy drinker and I don't want to 
end up like him." Yes, "Cranky" Rowbotham, who lived out 
at the trots, and played rinky piano at the bowling 
club. The more debts he had, the more cheerful he was. 
Under the table, Beryl's feet were hiding way back under 
her chair, but George's knees were doing an irritating 
bumping against hers. He wasn't playing footsie, but he 
wanted to. To think she had stomped on Pro!

Her diamond ring glittered as she fidgeted with her 
dinner, and in that much she delighted. Nothing that 
happened here could change her mind.

"I've turned over a new leaf, Berry," said George 
appealingly. "And I still love you, you know?"

"But you've been going out with Jean," she said 
accusingly.

"Jean just wanted a ride in my car. She only liked me 
for my car. Berry, listen to me." He glanced at Mum, who 
was drilling him with steely eyes and her sweetest 
smile. "I'm, uh, going to er, sell the car and get a, 
um, better one like, smaller. Then I could get you a 
bigger diamond than that one. I'm really worried about 
you, Berry! Those people out there, they're dangerous!"

She shook her head, fiddling with the napkin in her lap. 
Outside, gravel crunched as a vehicle turned into the 
driveway, and a motor stopped. "George, I've made my 
mind up. I'm engaged to be married to a wonderful man, 
no matter what Mother says. Dad's given his consent."

"Berry, you're making a mistake, sweetheart!" George 
insisted. "You got all upset over nothing, and now 
you've run off into the arms of some..._thing_..."

There was a polite knock at the door. Beryl glanced at 
the clock. Had Pro managed to get a car? "May I be 
excused?"

"No you may not!" Mum snapped, then glared at Dad who 
was rising to answer the door. "No, there'll be no 
interruptions, it's probably some travelling salesman. 
Dinner is _not_ over!" She pushed herself matronly 
upright and went to the door, and locked it. "I will 
bring dessert. Ronnie, do be a sweet and clear up for me 
please?"

"He's not a thing!" Beryl protested hotly. "He's a 
gentleman, which is more than can be said for you, 
George!"

"Not a thing? I'll bet your folks have never seen what 
he does! Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree, I swear you would not 
believe unless you saw it for yourselves what a monster 
her so-called fiance really is! You're making a huge 
mistake, Beryl! Come back, please, and give us another 
chance!"

The knocking from outside had become more insistent. 
Then a familiar voice called. "Beryl! You in there?" The 
door rattled as he tried the knob. "Rowbotham, you lay a 
finger on her and see what I do!"

"Beryl," Mum pleaded, "listen to George, will you, and 
see reason! If your father and I had let a few arguments 
get in the way we wouldn't still be together! Please 
give George another chance!"

"C'mon, somebody please, the door's locked! Beryl?" The 
door clattered.

Beryl stood up abruptly, propping her hands angrily upon 
the table, glaring at her mother. Perhaps there was one 
last way to reach Mum and convince her George was no 
longer the golden boy. "George broke the Rule, Mother, 
if you must know! He _tried to put it in me_, Mum! He 
didn't keep his hands to himself!" 

Mum's mouth sagged open in horror. George surged to his 
feet, beet-faced. "I never did, never! It was just my 
finger you mad cow!" Bob laughed out loud. 

Ron stopped stock-still in the kitchen doorway and 
pointed, Adam's Apple working soundlessly.

There came a light _plink_ as one of the glass 
quarterpanes in the front door burst, and something 
flesh-coloured but taffy-shaped streamed in through the 
hole.

"I think," said Dad slowly, eyes locked to the dollop 
that was congealing in the middle of the floor, slowly 
forming arms and legs, "George had best leave by the 
back door."

Pro streamed across the floor in time to catch Mum as 
she fainted.

***

"You don't want to go to the dance?" Pro asked. He 
pulled over, hauling on the handbrake. Beryl gazed 
straight ahead at the dusk, and shook her head. "I 
thought, maybe, after that little lot it might be a good 
idea to go and have some fun," he gently suggested.

"That...was...the worst night of my entire life!"

"Almost. I think George had a worse one planned a few 
months back." He put his arm around her and she shuffled 
closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He 
kissed her temple tenderly. "What do you want to do, 
then?"

"I don't know," she said miserably. "I know what I don't 
want to do. I don't want to go back home. I can't!"

"Your Dad's all right with it, with us, I...know he got 
a bit of a shock, but..."

"Even if Dad was okay, Mum would make my life hell! I 
wish I could leave home!"

"Bezz..." Pro gave a deep, wheezing sigh. "I...it's too 
soon for...us. The house isn't quite ready yet..."

"Ohh no, I wasn't meaning that," she said quickly, 
looking up at him from teary eyes. "That'd be worse, 
Mum'd never let us, or the Enabled alone!"

He balled a fist against his lips and gazed about the 
darkening street, thinking. "Maybe we should bring the 
wedding forward, darn, you gotta be eighteen...maybe, 
what about your sister, would she take you in? If it got 
really bad you could have my old room back home, or 
share with Tempest, she wouldn't mind..."

But Beryl was gazing at him, lips parted in wonder, a 
daring plan coming to mind. She dried her eyes, and when 
she spoke, her voice was low. "Hey...there's one 
way...we could hurry the wedding along. Dot was younger 
than me when she got married, and so...was Mum."

"Man, that's why she's so bothered by it..." Pro's words 
stalled as he realised what she was intimating. "Ah. 
Well."

"Why should Tempest and Doug have all the fun?" Beryl 
couldn't help the velvet that was creeping into her 
voice, but Pro's glinting, sober gaze held her at a 
distance.

"Please, my love, don't get me wrong in this." He traced 
her cheekbone with gently-waving fingers, a silken 
caress. "I'd love nothing more...but...I haven't had 
enough time, er...I'm not ready yet. I want to be 
perfect for you." She sighed within his embrace, and he 
squeezed her. "If I don't learn to control it better, it 
mightn't go too well, so we've both got to wait. Anyway, 
if we went ahead and did that, you know, wouldn't that 
make me little better than Georgie boy?"

"I didn't want George. But I do want you," she grumbled. 
"Oh God, what a night!"

"I'm sorry about everything, Beryl," he murmured, slowly 
rocking her. "About showing off like that, I mean, I got 
angry and fed up with hiding my monstrosity..."

"Pro..."

"...I mean the groom's never supposed to get along with 
his mother-in-law, is he? And I'm sorry about your Dad, 
he probably hates me now as well, and I'm sorry we can't 
be together any sooner, and..."

"Wait a minute," said Beryl, sitting up and eyeing him 
sternly. "You told me a long time ago never to feel 
sorry for you. Well I don't need to, because you're 
doing a darn fine job of feeling sorry for yourself 
tonight! You're the Polymorph, you're a fine man, you've 
got everything to be proud of, and one day soon I'm 
going to be your wife no matter what anyone says because 
I love you, Proteus Phillips! Is that perfectly clear?"

He gazed at her solemnly, but then his lips kept 
twitching up into his impish smile. "Sorry," he mumbled. 
Then, laughing, he caught her in his arms again.
<1st attachment end>


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