Shark Island, Part 2 (Men to Anthro-Shark Girls TFTG) (Patreon)

By FoxFaceStories

A Commission for BobbyBoi105

When a group of four college men on holiday end up stranded on a deserted island because of a freak storm, rescue seems hopeless. Thankfully, there is plentiful fruit on the island for them to eat, but the more they eat, the more they start to change: first becoming women, and then becoming a lot more suitable for the water. Will these new sharkgirls embrace their new forms or try to escape them?

First Part

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Part 2: Feminine Changes

Rescue failed to come the next day, which meant that the college-aged men - the conscious and fit among them, at least - were forced to adapt. Peter and Lachlan worked to build a shelter, and Tyson gave them instructions; apparently his family had a beach house with a lot of forest behind it, and he was used to building little play shelters when he was younger. He established the same principle but bigger, and it gave him something to take his mind off of his paralysed lower half.

“I can feel my toes!” he said excitedly by the time the afternoon rolled around. “I can wriggle them, see!”

Lachlan laughed. “Ha! Told you it wasn’t paraplegia. You just strained your back or something.”

“Or that delicious fruit actually does have the power to heal,” Tyson said. “Give me another one, will you? I’m parched and starving!”

Diego was likewise showing signs of recovery. He had started to murmur, and the swollen injury on his temple had lost much of its swell. Peter, meanwhile, was shocked to find that his body was pushing out the glass shards that had stuck inside of him slowly but surely; he could finally grip them and pull them out, and while there was blood, the cuts were healing rapidly.

“Maybe you’re right, Tyson,” he said, marvelling at the rapid recovery. “My feet are getting better, and much faster than they should be.”

Lachlan furrowed his brow. “If true, this could be a big find, everyone. This could make everything worth it. We could be rich!”

“You’re already rich, dude,” Tyson said, slowly shifting his ankles and grinning madly with relief. “You’re the son of a millionaire.”

Lachlan coughed. “Billionaire, actually.”

“See!”

“But we could be trillionaires! World-renowned, beloved and famous! Fruit that can heal! Just look at Diego - can you hear us, amigo?”

Diego groaned slowly. “I hate it . . . when you call me . . . amigo.”

At this, the group actually chuckled a little, and Peter patted the man’s shoulder. “Rest, Diego. Rest and eat when we give you food.”

The shelter was crude, but the next day they worked together to improve upon it. Tyson was recovering, and his back had stopped hurting. He could now shuffle on his legs, and was gradually restoring strength to them. Diego was finally awake, and while he still needed his rest, he was certainly able to give Lachlan a major chewing out.

“You fucking pendejo! What the hell were you thinking, chucking a bottle at my head when I wasn’t looking!? You could have killed me! You would have if Peter didn’t save me twice, the second time with this fruit! You caused the whole capsize and ruined your father’s yacht and-”

“Dude, I know I stuffed up! I’m just glad you’re here. I mean, I feel like we all made some mistakes and-”

But Diego held up a finger to silence him. “Don’t, just don’t. This was your fault, and no one else’s. Now just let me hate you for a day or two before we are friends.”

“And give you a massive raise when we get back.”

“And a bonus!”

With that said, and Tyson’s miraculous recovery, something like a sense of quiet confidence had come over them. They knew that it would only be a matter of time until they were rescued, and so they were able to explore the small island on the third day and see what it had to offer. There was indeed a stream where they could drink fresh water, though the strange purple fruit was so juicy that it effectively had all the water they truly needed. But apart from that, there was no other source of nourishment on the island as far as they could tell, and no other life either, besides the various flora. There weren’t even birds despite the abundant treelife, which gave the place an eerie vibe. 

“How did people live here?” Peter said after bathing himself in the stream alongside the others. “There’s nothing to do!”

“Maybe that’s why they left,” Diego said, lying back in the stream. “Healing fruit means nothing if your life is boring. Ahhh, but my head feels so much better since I ate that fruit for lunch.”

“You need a haircut, dude,” Lachlan teased. “You’re starting to look like a girl.”

Diego turned and frowned at his friend, who was also relaxing in the warm waters further upstream. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying, I had no idea that your hair was getting super long.”

“Speak for yourself, blondie. You’re the one with the girly hair.”

At this point, Tyson ran his hands through his hair and grunted in surprise. “Wait, hang on guys, my hair is longer too. Look, I’ve got longer curls.”

“Weird,” Peter said. “I’m the same. Hang on, I just realised I don’t have a beard.”

Lachlan chuckled. “You’ve never had a beard.”

“But I should have one by now! It’s been three days, but my face is smooth. It doesn’t even feel like I’ve got any hair here.”

“My moustache!” Diego shouted suddenly. “It’s gone! Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“We thought you shaved it,” Lachlan said.

“With what!? The supplies we recovered from the flotsam didn’t have any shavers! Great, what could be causing this?”

But the answer was obvious. None of the boys were stupid. Sure, Tyson could go a little too nuts for sports over anything else, and Lachlan had his head in the clouds of wealth, but none of them were actually dumb. The common factor was the fruit, but it was the only source of sustenance on the island, and so they simply had to put up with consuming more of it that night, and accept that it would temporarily mean some odd hair growth in some places and not in others.

Still, Peter tossed and turned that night. Despite the warmth of the air and the fact that they’d managed to make some decently comfortable shelters for each of them, his body felt strange and uncomfortable. His nipples throbbed, and they were distended for some reason. His hips were likewise quite strange, and he kept smacking his lips, pouting them by some odd instinct. He tossed and he turned, hearing the others do the same in their own little makeshift shelters, and tried to push away the bodily sensations until he could finally sleep. When unconsciousness finally came, he dreamed of the imagery in those stones, and of dancing women consuming the fruit and leaping into the water, never to return.

***

By the fifth day, a pattern was emerging, one that none of them could ignore. The fruit had healed them: Peter’s feet were back to normal, Tyson was up and running and swimming eagerly, and Diego was likewise conscious and without any evidence of a concussion whatsoever. Their situation, while still without any sign of rescue, was at least stable: the fruit supply of the island was immense, and the trees seemed to grow the fruit impressively quickly. Their shelters were getting less crude now that they’d found a saw among the wreckage of the yacht that had washed up on shore, and they were able to start making stronger coverage in case of storms. Their clothing situation was still pretty dire, but Lachlan had numerous pairs of underpants in his luggage, and one of them had thankfully washed up, so there were lots of jokes as they shared his size, with Tyson in particular teasing his friend for having a “big everything, except where it counts!”

But there were growing side effects. The young men were already feeling awkward about the hair growth and loss of their five o’clock shadows, but the rest of their body hair had slowly shed as well. When Peter bathed, he tried to hide the fact that his pubic hair appeared to be inverted now; an upside-down triangular patch that reminded him of his girlfriend’s downstairs. If these were the only side effects, it would have just been a source of amusement and teasing, but the more they ate the fruit, the more far-reaching the changes were. Peter’s nipples had swollen up and his areolas expanded. His chest had started becoming puffy around them, as if the flesh was growing there. At the same time, his waistline was withdrawing, becoming even thinner, while his hips were spreading out. This change was matched by his other friends, and because their clothing was falling apart and they could only rotate one or two articles at a time, it was easy that they were all being affected similarly. Tyson’s muscular body was shrinking down, his shoulders thinner, his eight-pack slimming to become a tone’s stomach. His ass was blowing up, and he was doing his best to hide it.

“Nice culo!” Diego said at one point, his voice cracking a little.

“Dude! Don’t fucking talk about my ass!” Tyson squeaked in response.

Lachlan laughed, only to suddenly go red; that was because his chest was growing the largest of all, to the point where it was difficult to think of the developments there as anything other than rather prominent breasts. When Peter mentioned this, pointing out all of them were growing fatty deposits there, Lachlan was beside himself.

“No, no way! This is just, like, some side effect! Sure, it means my father’s company probably won’t want to monetise it. I mean, it’s not really his specialty anyway. But they’re not real breasts. Just like that’s not Tyson’s real ass or Diego’s real hips!”

“Hey!” the pair of them said, though it was impossible to ignore that Tyson really was developing quite a pronounced rear, and Diego the kind of hips that would belong on a beautiful chica. They were all in denial except for Peter. He’d been kicked around enough in life, however, that he knew when to expect the worst. By the time the sixth day had rolled around he was ready to confront his friends. All of them now had softer faces and smoother skin. Their hair was starting to reach past their chins, and their facial features were becoming almost . . . pretty. The fact that Peter’s member was shrinking and that he was having a hard time getting it, well, hard when he had erotic thoughts at night only made his conclusions more obvious.

“Alright, group meeting,” he said.

“Hey, I’m the leader here,” Lachlan replied. “I call the group meetings.”

“We don’t have a leader.” “I’m the one who brought the yacht!”

“The one you destroyed,” Diego snarked.

“Look, just listen,” Peter said. “We can’t ignore this anymore. All the inscriptions on this island - and there are lots of them - are all of women. All of them. Not one man in them. And they all are shown with the fruit. Don’t you see it? The fruit is turning us into women?”

“No way, man,” Tyson said. “I’m not turning into a chick. No fucking way.”

“Just look at yourself, Tyson!” Peter declared. “You're barely six feet tall now! Your hips are wide like a woman’s. Any day now and you’ll have an hourglass figure that an attractive chick would envy! Look at us, even our voices sound higher! Does anyone here even still have an Adam’s apple?”

Each man felt his neck, and for some reason this was the thing that seemed to convince them. Diego spoke for the group.

“Mierda,” he spat, though his voice was high and lilting, his accent making it oddly attractive. “He’s right.”

“No fucking way!”

“He’s right, Tyson. Look at us. I’ve got the wide hips, you’ve got the big boobies. And Lachlan here is getting the real ripe tetas.”

The rich man cupped his breasts, which must have been B-cups by that point, and he winced. Peter recognised the sensation he was feeling; the ache of future growth. His own chest wasn’t far behind Lachlan’s at this rate.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit!” Lachlan said. “Tyson’s right. We can’t turn into chicks. I’m not going to become some woman. I’m the heir to Dad’s fortune. He’s got a whole thing about sons! Besides, I’ve slept with so many chicks!”

“Me too,” Diego said. “And probably more than you.”

“Yes, brag about it another time.”

“And I’ve got my girl,” Tyson said, referring to his girlfriend Gabriella back home. “She ain’t exactly gonna keep dating me if I’ve got a pussy. No fucking way am I gonna be a woman. Shit, Peter, what do we do?”

Lachlan looked at Peter with annoyance; he was clearly used to being the one people looked to for authority, but Peter knew he had the level head right now.

“We get serious about getting rescued. We make bigger signs for SOS, and on each side of the island now. We lash together what we’ve got and use that emergency saw to start making our own yacht. And we ration out the fruit. It’s the only food, but we can go longer without it, right?”

“Fucking A we can,” Tyson said. “I’m not eating one more slice! No way this island is gonna take my dick!”

The group gave a “hear, hear!” to that, and it was settled. But the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry, particularly on deserted islands with only one source of nourishment . . . 

***

It was a race against time, and time was winning. Each day, Peter could feel himself slowly becoming more feminine, and not just in body either; his dreams were starting to take on an erotic bent, featuring attractive men instead of women, and it left him touching his sensitive breasts, which were now ample C-cups. Embarrassingly, he found that he could get off on touching his nipples in the right ways, but he had to suppress his own girlish moans, or he’d sound like Diego, who being the most lustful of the group had clearly given in the first, and the most frequently. 

There was no avoiding the purple fruit. Only Tyson was trying to avoid eating it entirely, but his stomach was constantly growling after a day and a half, and the man was miserable. Meanwhile, the rest of them continued to change. Peter would often stop working on their new yacht attempt just so he could lean against a tree and groan. Just after a meal, he could literally feel his penis start to slide back into his body.

“Ohhhhh,” he groaned. “F-fuck. It’s getting faster.”

“We know!” Lachlan said, rubbing his crotch and wincing. “Stop reminding me how baggy my own damn underwear is getting! Fuck, I’ve got, like, D-cups now. They won’t stop bouncing!”

There was still no sign of rescue for any of them. No helicopters, no rescue planes, no nothing. Work on their own yacht was slow; Diego had to teach them proper rope ties and lashings, and explained that they had to map the tides to find the best time to leave, or it would all be hopeless.

“What’s hopeless is our bodies!” Tyson groaned, grabbing a purple fruit and devouring it. “I couldn’t go longer than two days without this shit! It’s like a full blown addiction!”

His hair was now a loose afro that went down to his shoulders, and his lips were full and beautiful. Tyson’s cheekbones were now raised and delicate, while his figure was no taller than 5’8 now, with a gorgeously thick figure with a very prominent rear. Meanwhile, Lachlan looked like a blonde bombshell, complete with large breasts topped by pink nipples and straight hair that went all the way down below his shoulders. He was even starting to sway his hips as he walked thanks to the changes to his pelvis. Diego looked like a very pretty Hispanic chick, his dark curls framing a very seductive face, a fact that he hated since it reminded him of his various female ‘conquests.’ He had the most impressive ‘babymakers’ of the group; wide hips that sashayed with every movement, though his chest was at least slimmer. That left Peter, who now had hair that went down past his shoulder blades and had actually gained height. His scrawniness was gone, replaced by lovely curves and a pair of D-cup breasts that were only just behind Lachlan’s in the races. They felt all wrong; a pair of fatty lumps that jiggled and wobbled with his movements, and cleavage when he pushed them together or wore a top. They were sensitive too, and his entire body felt more aroused. He suspected this was true of all of them now.

“We just have to hold on a little longer,” he told the demoralised group. I’m sure once we are rescued, we can show the proof of the fruit and reveal what’s going on and they can - they can - they can . . .”

His friends looked at him as they were gathered around their campfire (thankfully, Diego always had a lighter on his person and a second for good luck). 

“Dude, you okay?” Tyson asked in his husky voice. “I mean, none of us are okay, but you know what I mean.”

Peter moaned again. “Ohhhh, I can f-feel it!”

“Feel what, man?” Lachlan asked. 

“M-my dick! It’s speeding up! Ohhh, I can feel it going into me! Fuck, it’s going into me!”

Diego stood to try and help - though what he could do Peter had no idea - only to double over himself. “Dios mio! I can f-feel it, too! Mierda, I’m l-losing my cock! FUCK!”

Soon they were all screeching and crying out, the men losing the final male part of themselves. Tyson swore and cursed and screamed at the heavens. He’d been the manliest of all of them, and he literally sobbed as his dick withdrew into his body, leaving a wet passage behind. The others followed suit with their despair, Lachlan moaning loudly as his breasts grew as well. The same was true of Peter, who couldn’t help but gasp and cry out like a woman in heat. A pleasure rose in his body even as it turned to ultimate womanhood.

“Ohhhh! I can’t h-help it! I’m sorry guys, I think I’m going to c-cum!”

“Me t-too!”

“Me three!”

“Four! NGHH!!”

With a shared eruption, the four friends underwent the final change together. The foul fruit finished its dreaded work upon them, and the femininity was complete. One by one they collapsed upon the ground beneath the brilliantly starry night. Each clutching their bodies, their breasts, and slowly but surely daring to explore the new vaginas they had just developed. Tyson let out another sob. Diego cursed under his breath. Lachlan moaned a little, clearly exploring just a little further. Peter, on the other hand, pulled his - no, her now - hand back, retreating from the sensitive folds she had just touched.

“This doesn’t change a thing,” the gorgeous brunette told herself. “We’re still getting out of here.”

She looked over at the runic stone near their camp, the one that displayed the pretty female dancers holding the fruit above their heads.

“I won’t end up like you,” he muttered. “I’ve been fighting all my life. I’ll beat this. I won’t become some dancing beach lady.”

If only he had looked a little further south on the engraving, and paid just a little more attention to the mythical shark women. They too were holding the fruit, and had the same hairstyles as each of the dancing women directly above them.

To Be Continued . . .