Comments

@Bad Dragon
Ohh ambitious, even by length alone. If you can build a storyboard and gen appropriate images – very doable. Try making the coolest few scenes of the entire thing first and see if it is good enough to warrant progressing further. The only vid of mine where the scenes morph a lot is that one lewd anthro Sunny one >>77313 and it is a clusterfuck, but it was just a test. It is not good, but proves it can work. There’s also 12 minute long lewd Zipp video that has no cuts in it, single take. This means you can make longer scenes.

Planning is the key. Good storyboard, a dozen gens per input frame to get a really good pair to morph between. My Zipp vid is in white void (masquerading as white sheets on a bed) because backgrounds are very unstable. You can try generating in the white void as well and then photoshoping backgrounds to first-last input frames.

But this is a loooot of work. Scale down and see if you can do 30s of it first.

@JesterOfDestiny
Hmm I guess this encourages me to try to write longer prompts. Btw this is WAN 2.2, and there is WAN 2.7 already. No idea how much better it is. I know Grok does really good stuff, like that Sunny:

Haven’t tried grok myself. I guess this Zipp could be a good test. Maybe next time.

Give me your best prompt for this and I will try it on WAN 2.2 :D

@Background Pony #0B4C
The “Lollipop In the Wooden Holder”?
Sounds more like a test for The Element of Laughter than Queen, but… y’know, any of the three could be good, although two of them come with a LOT of responsibility.

Either a gift, or a test to see if she’ll become Queen of Equestria.
Either way she happy.

Content: TG/TF, nudity, weird

“Here we are, chat! Not a lot of people know this, uh, place exists. Apparently after the mall lost a lot of business and stuff, it got bought out by, you know, one of those Suspiciously Wealthy Furries or something. Yeah, they wanted to make it into like a permanent Brony Con, but it only lasted about two years before the feds shut it down. Turns out they had started, like, some kind of sex cult. But the cover story was about health issues with the building, right?” Lenny prattled through his prepared notes as he spoke into the selfie cam of his phone, hoping this would be the video that put him on the Influencer map and get those all-important sponsorship deals.

The dust was thick, and smelled dank. Not dank in the silly way, in the bad way. Like a cross between a tub of cottage cheese left out in a hot room and a pile of sweaty gym socks. But he put it out of his mind as he shot a few takes in the huge void of the former shopping center, now covered with a small hill of dirt all around. He’d been the only one to find the fissure that admitted access. He could tell because there weren’t any homeless camps inside. He was quite proud of himself for not just researching his hometown’s past claim to Internet fame, but also being the first person to set foot inside the place for a decade.

If that wasn’t enough to compete with the slick Let’s Players and overbaked makeup chicks, he didn’t know what was.

“So anyway, most people already know the government’s lying to you all the time, right? Well obviously a whole shopping mall isn’t going to sink into the ground on its own, no matter how bad the foundation is-” He sputtered and started coughing, cursing the extra time he’d have to spend editing that take out before posting the video. Time was money, and he was fast running out of both. With my luck, he thought, the roof will collapse on me before I get anything decent to post. It was unnerving enough that his cell reception had died as soon as he’d gone underground, preventing any actual live streams from taking place. But at least that meant he could practice his amazed reactions and rubble and junk for the best edit.

“Well it’s not a bruise, Mr. Swift. It’s some sort of fungal infection.”

“Fungus? Like mushrooms?” he asked, thinking of all those video games he’d played where zombified mushroom-people ambled around a post apocalyptic landscape as fodder for the player character.

“There’s all kinds of fungus, you won’t be sprouting mushrooms,” the dermatologist said. “I’m not sure what specific type this one is, it doesn’t quite match any of our tests, but a broad-spectrum fungicide will most likely help it clear up. I’m going to write you a prescription for some topical. The most important thing is to keep on top of your hygiene to keep this from spreading or coming back. Alright?”

“Okay doc, but I can’t afford a lot of medicine…” Lenny admitted sheepishly. He hadn’t been able to land a job for three months and his savings were getting really low. “So just, like, shower a lot and this shouldn’t happen again?”

He regretted allowing himself the luxury of taking a day off from the job search to do a little urban exploration. The old mall had been fascinating, but it was probably the mold and weird growths on the walls that had led to this nasty fungus boring into his skin.

“That doc was full of shit,” Lenny grumbled as he scrubbed the purple spot on his shoulder even harder. He’d been showering three times in the last two days but the weird mark was still growing, now it was starting to reach around to his back and all under his armpit. He wondered if he shouldn’t have bit the bullet and bought that medicine the doc recommended anyway, even if it would have meant asking for an extension on his rent. It seemed like cleaning wasn’t getting rid of this infection at all, maybe even making it worse. He hoped it wouldn’t show through his shirt when he went in for the interview this afternoon.

The interviewer had not seemed very impressed when Lenny explained it wasn’t a “tattoo,” just a weird fungal infection. Maybe he should have said it was a bruise from playing paintball or something. Maybe it was the sheen of sweat on his brow, too. Probably thought he was some kind of tweaker, or had some kind of catching disease. Lenny covered his face and sighed deeply as the bus pulled to another stop. Just a few more until his block of apartments, then another empty evening of trying to find work and wondering if he had enough clean clothes to get through the next interview. He’d have to dip into his dwindling funds for another round of laundry. Stress. More stress. He scratched the rash on the back of his neck without even thinking about it.

Cheese stick. That was the first thing that came to mind as he looked at the horrifying sight in the mirror: one of those mixed orange-and-white cheese sticks. Except he was tan and… purple. Somehow the weird stain had spread around him through the night and morning (and early afternoon) he’d been asleep, leaving just blotches of his original skin color showing through. And when he was able to see past that, he looked even more awful. His body was weirdly sunken in, his eyes peering out from two huge sacks of deep, dark purple bruising, and he felt like someone was taking an angle grinder to all his joints.

He needed to get that medicine, but the thought of going out like this make his stomach lurch. Actually, it might not have been the anxiety. His guts were churning nonstop ever since he woke up, so much later than usual. Painful cramps and twinges of shooting agony, but at least it wasn’t accompanied by a need to supplicate himself before the porcelain throne.

In fact, he felt completely empty, like everything in him was being burned up in a furnace and the hopper was getting low. Uneasily, he staggered into the small kitchen area and took everything out of the fridge, one by one. Unable to stop himself, he realized he was cramming all the food left in it into his face like some kind of conveyor belt sending junk to the incinerator. The milk. The leftover mac and cheese. The cold cuts. When there was enough strong-tasting food past his tongue, he followed it with three glasses of OJ and let the empty carton toppled off the counter to the floor as he reached for the frying pan to take care of the last four eggs all at once. While the scrambled contents of the now evacuated shells bubbled and congealed in the heat, he opened the cabinets and started devouring the half-loaf of bread. It was a little stale, but it went down all the same. Beer accompanied the eggs. Nacho chips formed a search party to go in after them. They in turn were to be rescued by a jar of olives. Then it was the mayo’s turn, spoon by spoon until the spoon rung hollow against the empty plastic container.

His stomach felt so heavy and full but he couldn’t stop himself. Everything vanished and yet his brain refused to signal retreat. It was only went he realized he was down to a single can of chilli that he was able to convince himself of the need for restraint. Still feeling like a car on E, he staggered back into the bedroom. His eyes were getting heavy again, and he felt so warm and achy that it was easier to pull himself away from the wreckage of the kitchen for another nap.

Everything stunk of dried sweat. He was pretty sure the mattress made a squelching sound as he rolled off it. He felt weak, and light, and dizzy. Something was wrong with his chest. Too puffy. And everything was so noisy, despite the constant ringing in his ears. He shuffled back into the bathroom like a zombie ambling away from its freshly-opened grave.

Something in the mirror looked at him. She was pretty, despite being a weird color. Purple eyes, purple hair, big purple ears poking out of the top of her head. Thin, delicate neck and tiny shoulders. Modest boobs, not even covered, with turgid nipples a deeper, fleshy purple poking outwards as if pulling the rest of her chest behind them. Thin, small waist and hips, kind of scrawny limbs. She was wearing his underwear, and it hung funnily in front with nothing to fill out the space between her legs. The contours of her bony hips were softened momentarily by the flicking of some long, silky purple hair from a pivoting point behind her butt. The eyes that were looking him over from the mirror sparkled a bright but saturated purple, like the deepest shades of a twilight sky once the sun had retreated beyond the horizon.

The unreality of it was matched only by pangs he felt at seeing her visible ribs in the sunken chest. She needed to eat more. And he felt hungry, still. There was only a single can of chilli left for them to share, and it wouldn’t be enough.

A lot of people stopped to watch him as he packed away the two bags of fast food without pausing for a break. The shade of the tree was nice and cool, but the eyes of the people passing by made him feel warm and weird. Not exactly humiliated, but definitely something he wasn’t used to feeling. Maybe they’d never seen a purple pony shaped like a human girl walking around. Maybe it was the growing pile of empty burger containers and the line-up of fries and the cardboard tray of full-sugar large drinks vanishing into her. Some teen girls were clearly looking at her from across the street and talking amongst themselves, smiling, laughing, punching each other on the shoulder over whatever silly thing they’d said. They disappeared, but replacing their attention were the men of all ages who simply watched from what they thought were private little spots scattered all over the park.

Lenny didn’t mind at all. Eating was far more important. That’s why he’d finally given in and made the expensive excursion out into the daylight to blow most of the last of his savings on the fast food. You only live once, after all, and he needed the calories… apparently. It felt like his stomach would never run out of room, like it was converting all the mashed-up beef and bread and lettuce and fried potato slivers into energy and flesh as soon as they landed.

Whatever was going on, it made him feel so much better than he had been for the last two days. It was easy to focus on eating, and the starchy and sugars were doing wonders for his mood. The beefy flavor of the patties reinforced his flagging spirits. The sodas soothed his frayed nerves. Before he realized it, he’d set the tail wagging. It had taken a couple of tries to cut a hole wide enough in the back of the sweat pants for it to fit through, but now he barely regarded it as something unusual.

Guess you can say it’s really grown on me, he chuckled to himself through a mouthful of burger. Leaves rustled behind him as the appendage flopped to and fro in amusement. A twitching ear flicked, prompting him to emit a suppressed giggle despite his mouthful of chewed food. Consuming all these calories completely took the pressure off of his mood, like things weren’t as dire as they had been when he was starving. Every inch of his body started to feel warm and tingly, like playful pinpricks were peppering his tissues along every thread-like nerve.

*I wonder if it’s something to do with the fungus,” he thought. He surprised himself with the lack of alarm that kind of question raised. There wasn’t room for anxiety or worry right now, just the joyous relief of fueling his body’s metabolism after it had almost run out.

“I need new clothes,” he said to himself as he looked in the mirror. A gorgeous purple girl with cute little ears and a nice, silky mane was looking back at him approvingly, silk tail bobbing from side to side as if to add its enthusiasm to the review. In just the twelve hours he’d slept since gorging himself, all the bony edges had been rounded off of his figure and his flesh had smoothed and filled out into a pleasing, if slender, feminine shape.

Long, sleek purple legs joined at a luscious, enticing snatch just barely adorned with a tiny patch of eggplant-shaded hairs to decorate it, set between some relatively wider hips which instantly bottlenecked into a trim, flat tummy barely as wide as his head. Perched atop his compact chest were two perky purple globes, peaked with plump plum-colored nipples that he knew, from brushing them against the bedsheets, were quite sensitive in the best kind of way. Rising above his small, delicate shoulders was a youthful, doll-like face with finely sculpted features that were bordering on inhumanly attractive. Set above two mauve blushes were stark black lashes rimming marble-white glistening eyes that caught the light and threw it back in amethyst hues from the far end of the color spectrum, shimmering and sparkling with all the magic of the night sky. Framing the amazing face was a shock of hair in riotous mystic violet with stripes of springtime-blooming pink and even something approaching lime green, punctured by two absolutely adorable little ears that twisted and flopped to assist in expressing his mood.

Right now they were at ease. Just like him. No room for fear, no access to stress, stormclouds of trouble seemed to be locked away from his grasp on a high shelf in a closet somewhere that he didn’t care to remember. It almost felt impossible to believe those were even real emotions, he thought as he watched the girl in the mirror turning and posing. A striking body like hers deserved to be clothed in something other than baggy, ill-fitting thrift store fair! She needed everyone to see her, to touch her, to breathe in her air and enchant their lives the way she had been enchanted by that dust in the tunnels.

The tunnels! The old, sunken mall! On her first trip through, she had passed many clothing stores with their fluorescent lights still dimly flickering. It was the perfect place to find some more clothing, something more appropriate to her new figure, something to make her absolutely irresistible!

“Here you go, miss!” the gig driver said with a smile as she handed her the catering box of fast food. “I like your cosplay!” she added with a slight blush.

“Thank you so much!” she replied, beaming back at the woman who had delivered her precious cargo. “Can you guess who I am?” she asked, spinning around as though she were really intending to show off some kind of special effects makeup.

“One of those My Little Ponies, isn’t it? Twilight Star or something?” the woman asked, her guess unwittingly solicited by her patron who had no knowledge of such things herself.

“Got it in one!” she said with a girlish giggle. “Thanks again!” she added, blowing a playful kiss and waving with her free hand as the charmed driver went off to make her next delivery.

Between the lunch order and bus fare, she had spent the last of her dwindling cash. The ride had been necessary to preserve invaluable calories, and the meal of course would keep her from wasting away during the final hike to and down into the forgotten mall. She parked herself on a nearby bench and destroyed the eight pounds of food with mechanical precision, her mood elevating to even loftier altitudes as her body worked overtime converting mass and calories into mass and motivation. It was as though she could feel the contents of her stomach being siphoned away directly into tiny pipes that cobwebbed her flesh, ferrying nutrients and sugars in real time. Endorphins and dopamine flooded her nervous system in response, giving her a natural high and fuzzing away anything that wasn’t 100% positivity from her emotional slate. The old shirt felt tighter across her bust by the time she’d finished her meal, and two nubs were poking through mischievously. She felt like a flower that had been under-watered, now plumping up after a drenching rain, drawing vital fluids through its roots into stems and leaves that fattened up as they stored the extra mass.

Twilight Star, she repeated to herself. Twilight Star. I don’t know any of those ponies, but it sure seems like a fitting name! I’ll take it!

Her old clothes displaced volumes of purple dust as she shed them for the last time on the cold, dirty tile floor of the underground mall. Dust that smelled musty and patient and full of still, dreaming life yet to be. The walls, the ceiling, the overturned food court furniture was all coated by fluffy layers of dark, dull flocking. Velvety fuzz that waited with unrelenting patience to attach its lingering spawn onto anyone and anything that disturbed it. Purple, sky blue, orange, buttery yellow, she passed by clinging patches of growth in a pastel rainbow of colors as she made her way deeper in. They formed the microscopic forest that needed her help to flourish beyond this tomb.

Barefoot, she retraced her own former footsteps from the cavern-like opening that was still hot with the last bit of sunlight from outside. Her shoes had left big, wide tracks that her narrow, slender, shorter feet made a game of landing on. Her body jiggled happily in ways that it had never been able to the first time through. All she carried now was her phone, but this time she wasn’t trying to film her excursion to try and entice a streaming audience to fund a Coffee account. This time she was going to use it in lieu of mirrors to see if any outfits she found might work to set off her pleasing curves.

The air was cold, clammy, and thick with spores. They would find no fertile fields inside her lungs this time; her body held no vacancies to shelter and nurture another migration of hopeful little lives. She had already blossomed, and now she felt their gentle touch on her skin as a reminder of the solemn duty she bore to help them escape this prison and find new, warm, unsuspecting places to root and spread. And to do that, she needed a cute outfit!

The LED strip had been running so long that the white phosphors had faded and left it flickering a weird, otherworldly purple, like those street lamps with the cheap bulbs that would just go bad every once in a while. But it case enough of a glow for her to pick through the shelves of accessories. Shoes and purses, essential for the girl on the move.

She stopped in the glow and examined her selfie cam’s image, her pulse quickening as she took in the sight. She looked cute and sexy, and the little black dress she’d picked up and slunk into was doing amazing things for her figure! Especially the way it stretched over her perky, bouncy, eye-catching curves. The sleek material just screamed for hands to be run all over it, to explore her alluring contours. Nobody would be able to resist slipping their arms around her like this, holding her close, putting their face next to her cheek or her neck and breathing in. Breathing in the magical stardust she’d be shedding, unknowingly inviting it in to settle into their warm, moist, thoroughly habitable lungs where they could start to grow and change.

The very idea sent hot shivers tickling her spine and bouncing from top to bottom until they settled into a warm, cozy spot in her fluttering tummy. Her future spreading the little ones far and wide was going to be so much fun!

Having the positive pregnancy test:

Celestia: >>70195 what have i done, oh no no no
Luna: >>70191 Thats how it’s done, bitch~

Having the positive pregnancy test:

Celestia: >>70195 what have i done, oh no no no
Luna: >>70191 Thats how it’s done, bitch~

Hehe, I’ve officially marked you as mine, Rarity! And why two pregnancy tests? Is one not accurate enough and you needed a double take?

My partner and I practice BDSM, she is the sub. We did something similar to this one time, role-played that she was a psychiatrist that went mad and murdered her patients. We prefer latex and we do own a white latex straight jacket. The gag part is what reminded me of it.

We have a muzzle gag that is VERY restrictive and covers half her face with a rubber penis going into her mouth. It’s not uncomfortable, any gag worn too long hurts the jaw. Before hand we talked about trying to test her as long as we could and she made it a LOT longer than I thought she could, but boy did we have fun pushing her limits and her holes, lol.

@CappyAdams
I tried five different test prompts and couldn’t get any, but I also didn’t try very hard–I was time limited at the time. But all of my tests just gave generic anime girls. I likely just need to figure out its prompting. I’ll start with your prompt and workshop it and figure out what it can and can’t do.

Interesting… my initial tests with Anima were incapable of getting ponies, so I just immediately discarded it. Perhaps I should check it a second time.

this is a pic my friend generated (added his tag to this pic, btw) that he sent me while he was testing a lora he trained that i shared on the tanta discord because it was funny how inconsistent it was between checkpoints.

noticing the source was some 4chan thread, i got curious and attempted to read it.
i saw another pic i genned and only posted on the discord a long time back in the thread, but other than that, i only found reinforcement for my belief that everyone (and i mean everyone) who posts on 4chan regularly in this day and age is hideously deranged and would benefit from staying away from it for the rest of their lives.

My headcanon:
The Bodiless Fox was created as a pet by a rare pre-Unification deep cooperation between Unicorn nobles and Earth Pony biomage contractors. They can not survive in the wild, because, among other reasons, even a minor cold can easily suffocate them on their own mucus since their nasal passages also function as their lungs. They also hop very slowly, and expend a lot of calories per distance moved.

The concept of letting the species die out has been raised more than once throughout the centuries, but the pet-ownership side of the debate has always won out. In the modern era ownership requires a special liscense, ensuring their specialized needs are met. Usually the testing and inspections are rigorous, but the clerk knew about Fluttershy’s accomplishments with animals, and simply filled out the license and hoofed it to her without saying a word. This confused and flustered Fluttershy, but she managed to recover after only a few minutes of “Umm…“ing and hesitant questions.

Ah yes… another test of Loyalty for her to continue winning the rest of her life, and a very rewarding one at that!

I am simple man with simple likes.

Boobs.

Anyway, this was a test on a new workflow/model I found for Wan2.2, https://huggingface.co/Phr00t/WAN2.2-14B-Rapid-AllInOne/tree/main

Took about *3 minutes on a 3070 (8Gb card). Caveat is res has to be low (think half a standard SDXL output) and you best clear out everything on your system using GPU memory else prompt processing will OOM.

@Background Pony #C439
Most of these were test images from my v2 LORA, no real story.

Chemistry or micro biology course at dental school?

I shall head-canon that the cuvets (sp?) or test tubes* are enchanted to with an auto-kinetic (as opposed to telekinetic) effect to tend to remain upright, negating the need for a rack/holder.
*I don’t know the difference, just that the ones I used in high school chemistry were NOT test tubes. Too late at night to web search it up.

“Yes sir… no sir… yes, we’ll certainly be renewing the contract… no sir, I’ve been alright… thank you sir, yes, I’m very flattered sir… very funny sir… never heard that one before, sir… well, unfortunately I’m afraid I have another appointment that evening and I won’t be able to make it… I’ll try sir… yes, definitely next time if we can… you too sir…”

Ms. Smith sighed as the phone call with her client ended. She was sick of every man she talked to making “clever” remarks about her figure and trying to get her to go on dates with them. Despite everything she’d hoped, things still weren’t getting any easier. Her life as a law professional had become difficult in ways she couldn’t even have imagined before “the incident”, with things worsening still further with each passing month…

“Jack Smith” had been one of the most respected and feared powerbrokers in the game, effortlessly scoring new clients and lucrative deals for his firm – but “Jacqueline Smith” struggled to lock down half as many contracts despite putting in what felt like three times the effort. The depth of her knowledge and expertise in her field hadn’t diminished in the slightest since that fateful morning when she had woken up with the body of a woman, but in the dog-eat-dog world of corporate politics it was the ability to build certain types of relationships and navigate complex dominance hierarchies which mattered most – and Jacqueline was finding out first-hand just how sexist & unfair these male-controlled good-ol’-boy business networks and social clubs could be even towards hard-working highly-skilled professional women like her.

Everything had started last fall when Jack, stumbling out to his Lamborghini late one night in the strip club parking lot, had in his rowdy stupor apparently taken it upon himself to hurl random drunken insults at a young woman with short black hair in a purple pony T-shirt and slacks who happened to be passing by on the sidewalk. Jack mocked her rail-thin appearance, calling her a “beanpole” and a “flatsy with no ass” and other crude names. The woman seemed to ignore him and kept walking, muttering something under her breath that Jack couldn’t even hear… and yet that would determine the future course of the rest of Jack’s life…

The witch’s incantation took root in Jack’s DNA, rewriting his genetic code as he slept in a blacked-out sprawl across his big penthouse-suite bed, waking up with a hangover, a rather spotty memory of the night before, and a new, magic-altered body that was totally unfamiliar and strange – and totally female.

Staring in terror at the unfamiliar woman in the bathroom mirror, her new body at first had seemed remarkably similar in appearance to that of the young woman she had lived to regret making fun of – lean, slender, a somewhat boyish frame although on the shorter side at 5’1”, short black hair. Her hips seemed quite narrow and masculine for a grown woman, and her chest didn’t seem like anything that would require a bra, to her great relief. Still, living the rest of her life with a pussy instead of big “little Jack” filled her with dread. She felt vulnerable and fearful without her old male attributes and equipment. What the hell was her life going to become?

To her shock, nobody seemed to treat her all that differently at first – the next day at work, although her office nameplate now read “Jacqueline”, it was as if she were simply picking up where she had left off the previous week when she’d still been a man. Same clients, same job. Only her name, gender, and wardrobe had changed.

But over time, Jacqueline realized just how different things were indeed going to be for her from now on…

The small ways in which her male co-workers would ignore, belittle, or talk over her; the little negs that all the self-styled “alpha male” types she worked with would habitually slip into their word-choices when speaking to the opposite sex; the subconscious expectations of subservience that she’d started to notice being sprinkled into the power dynamics of her business meetings and directed towards her; the little hints of secret conversations she’d catch whispers of around the corners of the office halls that insinuated that she had achieved her present position solely by sleeping around or unspecific “diversity and inclusion” initiatives…

All of these things got much worse the more her body continued to change – because her body wasn’t done changing, not by a long shot…

To Jacqueline’s revulsion and horror, after a mere two weeks as a woman, she had slowly come to realize that her upper chest was starting to feel inflamed with an irritated tingling sensation more and more frequently. Her nipples felt swollen and sensitive; it was starting to become difficult for her to focus at her job. She found herself absentmindedly clutching her chest with her forearm when she walked to prevent the sensitive nerve-endings from constantly chafing at the inner material of her shirt. One evening, looking herself over in the mirror at home, she couldn’t deny it to herself any longer – her chest was no longer flat.

Getting measured for her first bra had been absolutely humiliating for her, but she really didn’t have any other options; she’d overheard one joke about the outline of her nipples being visible through the fabric of her white business-casual button-up, and that had been enough. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad, she reckoned, adjusting her bra strap the next morning, guiding the cups to cradle her still-sensitive still-swollen nipples – a B cup bra seemed to keep her new feminine woes under control well enough, and soon enough Jacqueline adapted with ease to adding the new undergarment to her daily dressing and undressing routines. And anyway, she had much more important things to think about – like by what potential strategies she might still manage to lock down that big juicy Powell contract by the end of the upcoming fiscal year…

As autumn changed to winter, “big” and “juicy” became words that entered Jacqueline’s mind in a different capacity one afternoon as she was forced to accept that her panties no longer fit comfortably over her ass. Pudgy deposits of squashed flesh strained against her underwear lewdly as she came to grips internally with the fact that her butt was definitely several sizes larger than it had been just 2 or 3 months prior. Her hips were wider now too, framing her delicate feminine waist with an alluring sexuality that was seriously unnerving. Her hair had grown too at an alarming rate, changing in color from black to violet as it inched closer to her ass with each passing day. It was starting to look rather unprofessional, so she took to bundling it up into an increasingly lengthy ponytail, the mere thought of simply cutting it somehow never crossing her mind.

By February, Jacqueline took great care to replace the entirety of her wardrobe as her body increasingly tested the limits of good workplace taste despite her best efforts to ignore what was happening to her. Even her most modest black skirt was beginning to show off the curvature of her ass quite lasciviously as it had continued to fatten itself up against her wishes, and she’d finally been forced to admit that her little B cup bra was so thoroughly overmatched by her still-burgeoning bust that it was actually getting rather difficult to breathe. Her boobs were overflowing the cups so excessively by the time she went in for her long-overdue second measurement that the assistant at the lingerie shop felt compelled to lecture Jacqueline for a several minutes about the warning signs and consequences of an improperly-fitting brassiere. After all, a girl with breasts as big as Jacqueline’s now were would need to take great care to manage her boobs properly or risk serious long-term back pain, and embarrassment. Jacqueline drove home from the mall that day with several G cup bras, feeling humiliated, and the loosest-fitting office-appropriate shirts and skirts she could find to wear without looking ridiculous.

Despite her best efforts to conceal her generous curves, one by one all of her clients and co-workers sooner or later began to occasionally drop references to her buxom, stripperesque hourglass figure into their daily conversations. Sly jokes about her boobs and butt became increasingly commonplace, the crudest of which were flung when male co-workers thought she wasn’t listening. Jacqueline got in the habit of simply ignoring them. But by the time summer rolled around, it had seemingly become the office sport to make ever-bolder passes at Jacqueline Smith – seemingly every other week she was overhearing some loud water cooler argument about which guy at the office would get to fuck the most eligible bachelorette in the business first. After all, surely she was going to discover her true place sooner or later… who ever heard of a professional in this industry who was a woman anyway – let alone a girl like that, with boobs almost as big as her head…?

After overhearing that last comment, the famously thick-skinned Jacqueline Smith nearly felt like crying when she got home that night. Unbuttoning her large shirt, which for several weeks now had failed ever-more distressingly to mask the contours of her still-burgeoning chest, she felt a dark shudder of shame crawl up her spine as the sturdy black nylon material of her newest JJ cup bra revealed itself. There was no denying it – she was big. Two huge mounds of bowling ball sized titflesh jiggled distractingly with her every breath, wobbling like squashed jello in their holsters. Already, she was starting to noticeably overflow her new bras, and it hadn’t even been 2 weeks. Untying her long and violet-colored hair, which now hung down lankly well past her hips, Jacqueline rotated her body to assess the state of her butt in the mirror. A deep pit formed in the depth of her stomach as she realized that her plump buttcheeks were now straining so extravagantly against the fabric of her skirt (which had been the largest and most modest size that would still fit mere months ago) that the dark outline of her panties was easily visible even in low light. Jacqueline wanted to scream. This body was a nightmare… what had she done to deserve this?

She called in sick for the rest of the week, rush-ordering several custom-fit skirts, shirts, and bras from a specialty site for extra-curvy girls and refusing to leave her home until they arrived over the weekend.

Several weeks passed. Jacqueline noticed that while she could more-or-less manage her existing clients successfully, she was having real trouble locking down new contracts, losing out at nearly every opportunity to her male competitors. She simply wasn’t being taken seriously any more as an industry professional in her field – and worse yet, she gradually became aware that nearly all of her clients and co-workers seemed to feel personally slighted by the fact that she wasn’t interested in sleeping with any of them. To her disgust, their efforts became more and more explicit. Clients began to insist on hugging her, and sometimes they would try to cop a feel. Co-workers made rude allusions to the size of their cocks whenever she walked by, and increasingly slipped transparent attempts to “meet up” in varying scenarios after hours. Jacqueline was beginning to feel deeply alienated in her former home turf. The strain was becoming so intense, putting in extra work every day for diminishing returns… Jacqueline felt exhausted.

A different form of strain and exhaustion was taking its toll as well.

Jacqueline’s breasts and ass were still greedily swallowing up seemingly every ounce of calories her body took in, blossoming extravagantly to reach truly ludicrous proportions by the time September arrived. With deep distress she examined her side profile in her mirror – her now-more-than-huge boobs were now absolutely monstrous in size, filling out and stretching even the extra-large shirt she’d ordered last month; her womanly burdens now weighed 15 pounds each and seemed to scream with heightened sensitivity to every slight brush or pressure, making it nearly impossible to focus in meetings; her new P cup bra seemed to need constant adjustments as she went about her day. Each breast was now several inches bigger than her skull, swallowing her torso and wobbling incorrigibly with her every step, no matter how carefully she tread. The constant pulling and stress on her body caused solely by her gargantuan chest was draining her energy so completely that she found herself regularly needing to sit down and massage her breasts, shoulders, and back in secret just to manage the pain.

Jacqueline’s eyes moved to review her backside.

Jacqueline’s ass had become so gigantic and overstuffed with taut lobes of sumptuous fat that it seemed to have a mind of its own, wobbling even worse than her tits when she walked. The bulging shelf it defined as it protruded obscenely against her straining skirt was breathtaking, competing so successfully with the impossibly bloated contour of her chest that she looked like she was constantly smuggling four pumpkin-sized waterballoons under her clothes – two up top and two down below.

Her waist, of course, was just as trim and taut as ever.

Her curse-molded physique was dominated by an impossibly exaggerated and cartoonishly-proportioned hourglass figure so overwhelmingly voluptuous that the words “fantasy fetish model” immediately sprung to her mind despite her attempts to suppress such thoughts. Her body, despite her wishes, was nothing short of pornographic, no matter what clothes she wore, no matter what she did.

Her lavish curves were simply impossible to conceal under any circumstances.

Harassment at her job become a daily concern. Her co-workers made no attempt whatsoever to conceal their obvious boners in Jacqueline’s presence – and, even more distressingly, her body seemed to be responding to their pheromones more and more aggressively. Walking down the office hallway one day, her head full of anxiety regarding an issue with one of her clients – her skirt constricting the huge lobes of her buttcheeks so tightly that her gait became demure and restricted by sheer necessity just to keep the damn thing from ripping open – a passing male co-worker reached out and gave the tempting quarry of her rump a mighty slap right then and there just to watch it wobble and marvel at her mortified reaction as she squealed in surprise and the sympathetic jiggling of her titanic tits and ass nearly sent her toppling over. Her arms seized her wayward curves in a bid to restrain them as her male co-worker laughed and walked away. To her horror, afterwards, her panties were soaked and a warm energy tingled in her loins.

Somehow, this awful experience had only managed to make her feel incredibly horny.

After this, Jacqueline soon found herself escaping to the restroom to masturbate more than once per week, then every day, then several times per day, as her co-workers and clients’ bold passes and crude remarks increasingly made her laugh and flirt back if she didn’t catch herself. Male confidence, boldness, cock size, and wealth – she increasingly discovered – were starting to turn her on so much that she couldn’t help but fantasize about certain exceptionally masculine men she had encountered that day – especially any who had been bold enough to somehow lay hands on her in some unsubtle way – when she went home every night.

Despite herself, Jacqueline couldn’t help but love the way that being touched by powerful men made her feel.

Soon, the big day arrived – the Powell contract dinner. Jacqueline had ordered a tall pair of high heels and a sexy evening dress especially for the occasion; Mr. Powell had made his preferences crystal clear regarding the sort of attire he expected the women in his life to wear when it counted, and Ms. Smith was not about to let him down. Mr. Powell was so incredibly wealthy and powerful that she actually caught herself masturbating to fantasies of becoming his mistress the night before their big dinner. Lying in bed fondling her huge P-cup babyfeeders as she imagined taking in Mr. Powell’s legendarily massive cock, Jacqueline knew that if any girl could bring to the table the unique attributes that could sufficiently impress such a high-status man as Mr. Powell and lock him down, it was her. Again and again, Jacqueline made herself cum that night.

The next evening, Jacqueline was tired, but she took every effort to look absolutely ravishing. Her colossal watermelon-sized funbags splayed generously from the top of her glamorous crimson dress with a deep rift of cleavage that was sure to bewitch every male she encountered; her gigantic rear-end filled out her outfit so completely that her twin lobes of bootyflesh nearly knocked over a lamp as she wobbled obscenely towards the door. Navigating her protrusive body as if she were guiding a great ship at sea, Jacqueline steered her massive chest carefully down into Mr. Powell’s waiting limousine, taking care to avoid slamming her hip-hop-dancer-sized booty into the limousine door. Her massive breasts swallowed her lap entirely as she sat down, the tips of her tits nearly reaching her knees if she leaned forward. She loved the way Mr. Powell grinned, watching her body with great interest as it bounced, jiggled, sloshed, and swayed in time with every slight motion of the vehicle. His bold hand reached under her massive caboose to fill his grip with a bulging spilling fistful of willing ass.

Jacqueline squeaked with delight.

The night would be long and the rendezvous would be successful; Ms. Smith would indeed win the business contract hands-down and ass-up. However, she would also turn in her resignation the following month – after all, if she was going to be a proper loving mother to these triplets Mr. Powell had seeded in her belly, she wasn’t going to have time for professional pursuits any longer. Even though she was going to be just one of Mr. Powell’s well-stocked harem of biologically-gifted mistresses, Jacqueline knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was most certainly going to always be his favorite, and would without a doubt receive the most lavish and preferential treatment possible from her powerful new lover.

At last, Jacqueline Smith was happy.

Content: TG/TF, mental changes, corruption, suggestive.

Day 1: The decommissioned marine research facility has successfully been retrofit with off-grid power and dark fiber connections. The seawater has been sterilized and the corals infected with my custom retrovirus jumpstarter, strain 00023. Hopefully this research leads to a better, more beautiful world.

Day 30: Assays show the coral polyps are responding as planned. Biomass has increased 30 percent while mineralization has decreased 60 percent, and the genetic barcodes are almost completely in line with predictions. The waters in the tank are clearing up as they consume the free-floating unicellular algal cells. My little biofactories are blooming!

Day 60: Having to add supplemental nutrients to all the tanks, as the modified corals have completely removed all existing phyto and zooplankton from their tanks and incorporated the nutrients into their mass. They’re beautiful! The tank’s corals are littered with living polyps whose biology is primed to accept my second round of retrovirals.

Day 65: Incredibly, the retrovirals have been completely incorporated into the polyp colonies. Every sample tests positive for the marker proteins, and I’ve ruled out contamination. Phase one of my plan is actually complete ahead of schedule. Biology is amazing!

Day 70: Half my day is spent finding nutrients for the colonies, they’re growing so quickly! A 20% increase in mass in just five days, and it would probably have been more if I’d been able to keep up with their appetites! Tests show positives for second-generation retroviral payloads 1, 3, and 4. The human DNA has been fully incorporated into their germline products. Still need to troubleshoot payloads 2, 5, and 6. Need to adjust the amplification factor.

Day 84: Slight containment breach.

Day 85: Tests confirm all six retroviral payloads are present in the modified zygotes. What’s more, the zygotes are successfully regressing and show remarkable resilience to inhospitable conditions. Not guaranteed they’ll become free-living, let alone viable inside a host against the immune system. Wish I had a test subject.

Day 87: Positive.

Day 88: Still positive. And what I thought was a seasonal allergic reaction has progressed. Not only do my blood samples show all six retroviral products, my metabolism has shifted considerably from baseline. I feel awful. But excited! I guess this is the price I pay for success. Well, I can work with this.

Day 90: Hard to function. Cramps and internal anatomical restructuring leave me feeling exhausted by the time I’m done feeding the colonies. Fever makes it hard to work for any length of time. It was dark before I finished the daily routine. Haven’t had the energy to run any tests. Tomorrow.

Day 91: Changes are outwardly visible now. My skin isn’t merely losing dark pigments, it’s actually growing new ones that reflect broad spectrum visible light. I’m not just pale, I’m actually getting white. A bony growth is apparent near the crown of my cranium. Ears seem to be higher than yesterday, which matches the feeling of tightening around my temples. I’ve doubled my caloric intake and still feel wiped. Fever is constant but low-grade. It’s the fatigue more than anything that gets me.

Colonies proceeding as anticipated by recent projection models. More later.

Day 95: It finally happened. Changes crossed a threshold. At least I know the retroviral DNA is working. I can just picture the little stars of sarcoma littered throughout my tissues, churning out packages that get picked up and carried into all my cells. Didn’t plan to be my first test subject, but at least the theory is proving sound. Should have patented this much of the process, at least. Could have been a billionaire overnight. No, not overnight: too much testing, too much red tape, too many stodgy old gatekeepers would have stood in the way. Even people who would want this treatment would have been denied “for their safety.” At least my new world will be free of such self-important bureaucrats.

Most of the volume in the tanks is polyp now. They’ve started churning the waters by siphoning in rhythmic waves. Entire careers could be spent just trying to come to grips with what I’ve accomplished on their biology alone! Maybe I’ll publish my notes after most of the world is turned. Not like anyone’s going to be able to stop it at that point.

Day 97: Difficult to concentrate. Mood definitely shifting lately. I managed to get the logistics worked out; 70% of the continent’s municipal water supplies are definitely doable. The sarcoma cells proved completely resistant to amides, ozone, and chlorination. UV still presents some difficulties. Maybe they’ll adapt. The retroviral payloads have proven generationally stable within tolerances. Hope I’m up for the road trip. This log will be supplemented with audio recordings from this point, as I can’t afford to leave a network trail across the country.

Day 102: Five treatment plants in five days! I had to return to figure out something for my appearance. The tail is giving me problems that a hat won’t solve. Also, it’s becoming increasingly unpleasant to try and waddle around in my old clothes. No reports of mass panic yet, so either I’m a total failure or the inhibitor is working to suppress changes for now.

Day 105: Ordered some new clothes. It took all day to decide. Apparently I’m still growing! Never knew there was so much to know about womens’ wardrobes, not to mention color theory. Yes, I decided to put some effort into appearances. If I’m going to be the first exemplar of this brave new world, it wouldn’t do to look like a lump!

I can feel my thoughts starting to drift into alignment with the designed parameters already. Need to work fast to devise a counter-program.

Day 110: The clothing arrived, and I look fabulous in it! It complements my new figure so well! But sadly that’s going to be a moving target: even at 50% of the target mammary volume, these new tops are starting to feel a little constricting. Or maybe I’m just not used to the way material lays across such curves? Either way, I’ll have to make more allowances for future potential. Fortunately they still look great on me!

I think the counter-programming is working to retard the effect of the neurological changes. Soon it will be time for another road trip.

Day 117: What a week! I wasn’t able to hit as many treatment facilities as I’d hoped. My appearance is simply too modified to pass well anymore. Especially with these curves drawing so much male attention! Hehehe, I’m sure they were looking past the ears and tail and even the horn; after all, men are men and I still remember what that was like.

I’ll have to consider an alternative route to dispersal. Maybe some of those lonely, disenfranchised male fans could be recruited?

Day 121: Flash a little flesh and they’ll do anything for you, really! It’s almost like magic! How do women not take advantage of this all the time? My little test simp successfully installed the polyp unit at the reservoir intake facility, documenting his crimes the whole time to make sure he was carrying out my instructions to the letter! Lucky for me the new girls are still filling out, at this rate I’ll be able to radicalize an entire network of brony cells to do by bidding!

Day 126: I hope the counter-programming is still effective, but I fear it may be losing potency. It’s so easy to get distracted when flirting with my recruits and forget about the mission. It helps to picture them all as adorable, beautiful, sexy winches in technicolor complections and as busty as moi! If any of them suspect they too shall be reconfigured, none of them has said anything about it in the chats yet. They’re so thoroughly wrapped around my little finger! I almost wish one of them would have the confidence to do the same thing to me.

I’ve just re-read that last line and have decided to redouble my counter-programming regimen.

Day 137: Well, I’m afraid it finally happened! One of my simp agents has successfully turned the tables on me. Three days ago I finally read some of my recent DMs, and oh my! The things he said to me, pouring himself into those keystrokes! Somehow I just couldn’t resist. My counter-programming must have been losing effectiveness for some time now if I’m far gone enough to give in like that, but I tell you my dear laboratory log, his words simply sank their fangs into me and pulled me in! And it was amazing to just say ‘yes’ and give him a location for a meet-up.

Well, I’m quite ashamed to say that all friction melted away after that initial submissive act and once we found each other there was no stopping myself. It was pure bliss to let go and give this poor, deprived young man complete control! Oh the things he had me do! It was

It was quite as predicted at the start of this project. Yes, I’ve regained some composure now and it’s more possible to type this entry. Relevant to the project, I did manage to retain enough wherewithal to slip a sarcoma sample into one of his drinks. So he may enjoy his control while it lasts, but soon enough he’ll know the exultant joy of being the one who submits. I wonder which template he’ll take on; a nice, bosomy Fluttershy would be most welcome.

Day 140: We’ve had daily trysts and I can say he’s showing the early stages of successful integration. Infection, one might put it. Only a few more days remain where he’ll be able to leverage his masculine physique and I quite intend to enjoy them.

My other simps have dutifully uploaded evidence in the chat of receiving and installing the polyps at eight out of ten locations so far. I may have to settle for less than expected dispersal. It’s simply not possible to retain all the information necessary to broaden the scope of operations to match my initial plans. Global saturation will have to happen at a slower pace as the sarcomas spread from person to person instead of all at once through the water supplies.

Day 150: My dearest ‘Rainbow Dash’ is moving in with me now. She’s so cute and perky at this stage, I’m easily able to turn the tables on her and take back control. Especially since she won’t have the benefit of any counter-programming! Though I’ll miss my darling brony master and his irresistibly commanding presence, I’ve been so eager to watch her develop. The chance to shape her to my whims has all the allure I need for now. And soon the inhibitor chemicals will lose potency, and the first phases of the national epidemic will begin. We’ll be able to watch it all unfold from the safety of our little love nest by the sea. I wonder how I’ll explain her to the other simps in the chat? Truthfully I doubt they’ll care as long as we give them a good show!

Day 152: My darling Dashie continues to fill out nicely even as I have apparently reached my utmost. I don’t envy her the soreness and tenderness, but then again it’s a little disappointing to see my limits every time I look down. It is, however, inordinately fun to play dress-up with her! Oh she looks so flustered but she always complies and it’s just so precious! Of course I’m careful to reward her obedience in the end.

Day ?: That little blue minx! I must have left my laptop unlocked at some point, allowing her access to my channel! She disclosed the location of this facility to my legions of simps, and they began arriving oh I don’t know how long ago! It’s been such a blur, such a confusing bacchanalia of passion and depravity! At least two weeks. Three? Long enough for some of them to start showing signs of transformation themselves. A few are down and out with the initial fever and aches, which is how I was able to gather myself up for this log entry. I’ll update later once I figure out how long I was preoccupied with our unannounced guests.
Ms. Dash was, I believe, expecting to be on the giving end and have the tables turned on me when they arrived. She seemed quite surprised when they were interested in sharing their attentions, and even moreso by the nearly instantaneous collapse of her own resistance. I saw in her face a mirror of my own wanton lust before the first day ended, I can tell you that much!

Update: I calculate it has been sixteen days since my previous log entry. How time flies when one is having fun!

Day 172: With all of our guests preoccupied with their own metamorphoses, I have a little more time to log my findings. Ms. Dash and I have been making the utmost of our guests’ remaining virility. I can already tell we have one Luna, one Starlight Glimmer, no less than three budding Pinkies, two Fluttershies, two Applejacks, four more each of Rainbow Dash and Rarity, and no less than six Twilight Sparkles among our developing coterie. And news is starting to spread of a mysterious infectious disease taking hold across the country. The authorities haven’t yet suspected the water supplies, nor the delivery mechanism. I quite expect by the time they can hypothesize something resembling the facts of my plan, it will be well and truly too late. If my little love nest among the polyp tanks is any indication, the future is looking very colorful and very distracted indeed!

Day 200: All of my lovely girls are almost fully sprouted, and it has been a hassle keeping up with their measurements! Talk about a handful, darling! They think I don’t hear them whispering among themselves, thinking to reveal our and turn all of us over to the remaining men of town. As enticing as that sounds, I am attempting to organize another wave of infrastructure breaches, this time internationally. So for the time being, I must keep my darling sluts from exposing us entirely. As I suspected, my early use of counter-programming has given me some advantage over them and I find them more docile and easily controlled while I am able to keep my wits about me at most times and only rarely succumb to the temptation of submission. My work is not yet done, but I may no longer maintain this log as my attention is being pulled in a dozen directions at once. Truthfully, I fear my head is also no longer quite fit for cutting-edge bio engineering, being filled with other lovely things as often as I can swing it.

So whether I ultimately succeed or fail, dear log, this is where we must part ways. May you be of interest to any future archeologists plucking through the decadents ruins, for if all goes well we shall be too busy to continue as we have and our old world of corruptions and exploitations swept away like chalk from the slate, enabling a clean start for a new hand’s work. Tah, darling!

Content: TG/TF, personality change, orientation change, submissiveness, mild age regression (still adult), nudity, vulgar.

“Trust me, I’m lookin’,” Thom said with a smile. The way his eyes fixed on Chris’s butt… it did things. Chris’s body wanted to giggle, but she wouldn’t let it. Why give Thom that satisfaction?

“All my clothes look just like this, too,” Chris said, trying to move past the subject. “It’s ridiculous!”

“Well if you don’t like the clothes, feel free to go without,” Thom said with a wink from the sofa.

Chris blushed harder, a warm feeling fluttering up from her stomach and tickling like fizzy soda was running through her veins. He really is incorrigible! she thought, mildly annoyed yet flattered. Wait, why flattered? And why mildly annoyed? She wasn’t here to be a piece of meat for him to drool over! She was… she was a he, dammit! A man, more of one than Thom in fact! Being about five years older than her college-aged roommate, who was only 21 while she was 19… no, wasn’t she 26? Wasn’t he, Chris, 26? Something didn’t seem right. Her birthday was January, two-thousand and- no wait, it was supposed to start with nineteen ninety-something! She distinctly remembered being teased by some kids for being born “last century,” yet…

Chis had to check something. She turned and made for her bedroom once again, prompting a sweet little wolf-whistle from Thom on the sofa. This time, caught off-guard, she couldn’t help but giggle at his enthusiastic obsession with her butt. Not before catching herself and getting angry about it again. What was that wish doing to him?

The spot on his nightstand where he usually kept his wallet was blank, empty. Chris looked around for a moment before realizing it might be in the hot-pink purse beside the bed. He bent over, fat tits pulling harder and faster than he was prepared for. He toppled face-first into the mattress like an idiot, flicking his tail angrily and grunting into the bedsheets before hoisting himself up on his stick-thin arms and bending his knees to kneel down safely.

Dumb boobs! It’s a good thing Thom likes them this big, or… Wait, why was it a good thing that Thom liked them? Chris put the question out of his head before allowing the implications to settle in and picked through the purse, withdrawing a wallet. She didn’t recognize it as the one she was looking for, but how many wallets can a person have?

Flipping it open, she pulled out her driver’s license. The picture had changed to show her current marshmallow unicorn girl with pride flag-colored main, even the horn. The name was no longer Christopher Harper, but instead Crystal Heartthrob! And the date of birth had changed, erasing seven years from her age! Sex F, that checked out, weight… a much larger number than she thought possible, until she remembered how much fat was packed into her around two certain bodily features.

“What’s up?” Thom asked from the bedroom doorway. Crys twisted and looked up at him from the floor, brushing a huge mass of multi-colored hair out of her eye.

“My ID is different,” she said. “The name is wrong, and so’s the age.”

“What’s it say?” Thom asked.

“It says I’m Crystal Heartthrob, age 19,” she replied, replacing the card in her wallet and the wallet in her pink purse.

“Yeah, that checks out,” Thom said. “You got turned into my OC, after all. And the age is juuuuuuuust right!”

“Why?”

“Because freshmen chicks are the best. Old enough to make mistakes on their own, young enough that they need someone to buy them booze!” Thom smirked. “A lot of porn stars do their best stuff at that age, too!”

“Gross,” Crys said, shuddering a little at the raw perversion Thom was stating openly. He really does have just one thing on his mind, she thought. It’s kind of cute how simple he is. Where did that last thought come from?

“Anyway, I thought I heard you fall so I came to check on you. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just… leaned over too fast,” Crys said, flattered that Thom was so concerned for her.

“Oh yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah, these stupid boobs,” she said, putting her hands on either side and giving them a demonstrative shake.

“Ah, balance issues, ey?” Thom asked with an almost audible leer.

“Yes,” Crys said with an edge to her voice. “Damn things pulled me right over into a faceplant on the bed. And it’s all your fault, you know.”

“Oh yeah? Show me how it happened,” Thom chuckled.

Crys found herself shooting back to her feet, wobbling slightly as she fought for equilibrium on the points of her absurd stiletto heels. “Okay, so, I was looking for my wallet, and I thought it might be in the purse,” she explained. “And I leaned forward to get it, like this,” she demonstrated, carefully thrusting her backside and tail out to the maximum extent to counterweigh her dangling shirt full of titflesh. “And then I just…” she let herself fall forward as before, shoving her face into the mattress. “-fuff oaffer lyg thiff,” she mumbled through the thick materials before lifting her face up for fresh air.

“Oh no, what a dis- ASS -ter,” Thom said sarcastically.

Laughter boiled over and erupted from Crys’s mouth like steam shooting out of a released valve. Genuine, mirthful, raucus laughter that took her by surprise. As did the involuntary wagging of her horse-like tail in orbit around her butt, which she realized only too late that she was presenting prominently to her roommate. Whose stupid joke she was laughing at for some reason. In fact, why did she even show him how she fell over? As the peels of inappropriate comedic relief subsided, she as left wondering what had just happened. “Hahaha-heheh… heh… what the hell am I doing?” she asked out loud.

“Good thing you didn’t get turned into a cat girl, otherwise this would have been a total CAT ASS -trophy!” Thom remarked.

Again the storm of guffaws and giggles exploded from deep within Crys’s body to escape from her wide-open mouth, which had pulled into a full-on smile so large it felt like her head might split open. These dumb puns were somehow the funniest things she’d ever heard in her life, and her body was paralyzed by paroxysms of ecstatic laughing as she half-lay-have-stood on the bed, butt swaying side to side with the rocking of her body. Her breasts were aching from the weight of her upper half squishing them down into the mattress, her chest shaking into them as it spasmed to move air in and out as fast and loudly as possible.

“Instead of my big, sexy pony-ass trophy!” Thom said simultaneously with the groping of Crys’s butt from behind.

Crys giggled and blushed, overcome with a happy, giddy feeling all over as her hilarious roommate took advantage of her semi-prone position to grab her ass and begin kneading its plump cheeks as if he owned them. “Hahahah-he-hey! What are you doing?” she asked, suddenly realizing what was going on and feeling very conflicted.

“Just call me BUTT -erfingers!” Thom said as he continued squeezing and massaging her rump. This triggered another irresistible fit of laughter that saturated Crys’s brain with joy and happiness like a night at the comedy club, filling in any rough spots she might have had in her mood from the day’s terrible events. Even the way her roommate was groping her seemed to be less “horrifying” and more… fun? Her giggling slowed to a trickle and then stopped.

“But seriously-” she started.

“I agree! BUTT seriously!” Thom interrupted, squeezing and shaking her behind even more vigorously. Her body once again quaked from a geyser of loud, braying laughs reflexively inspired by his, admittedly lame but somehow hilarious, joke. And she was starting to feel more relaxed as her mood was buoyed by all the gratuitous humor. With the easing of her tension came a new sensation, one that was at once both familiar in its unmistakable nature and yet oddly different in details. She was getting turned on by all this. The way he’d somehow talked her into presenting for him, the way he’d confidently claimed her butt while she was unknowingly vulnerable, the way he was disarming her with stupid jokes. It was, for some reason she couldn’t quite understand, incredibly exciting.

“Gawd,” she mumbled when her latest giggle-fit died down, “why do I like this?”

“Maybe you like being man-handled,” Thom suggested, sliding his fingers underneath the tight second-skin of her athletic shorts and triggering another episode of uncontrollable horse-laughter combined with some happy squeals projected into the bed. He saw the tips of her pointed ears turning cherry red from his vantage point. “Anyway, what boyfriend doesn’t love a girl who laughs at all his dumb jokes?”

“Awwwwww!” Crys cooed, unable to help herself from feeling happy and warm and tingly from the implied expression of affection as Thom continued massaging her butt vigorously. Her nipples were trying to burrow into the mattress beneath her heavy tits as they pressed into the bedding. She’d never known Thom could be so sweet. Suddenly his strong, warm hands were removed from her pants and one of them gave her a sharp slap on the right butt cheek, causing her to squeak in surprise. The quick, gentle sting faded into a heat that spread all over her body with unnerving rapidity, warming her from toe to ears.

“Okay bitch, roll over!” Thom said eagerly. Seemingly without any oversight from her, Crys’s body responded by turning and twisting until it was pulling her heavy tits out from the bed. As she adjusted her legs so that her feet were supporting them on the floor where they rose from the ledge of the bed, exposing her bare inner thighs to Thom, those massive growths rolled over her, impressing her with their weight, and settled onto her in a way that pinned her upper arms down but left her free from the elbows. She had just enough time to begin thinking how lewdly her posture was making her body available before Thom’s hands sought out the stiffened peaks of her fleshy burdens. Their touch sparked electric thrills that frantically signaled their excitation, reaching her brain and her twat approximately simultaneously. Even the hard, bony horn that projected from her forehead seemed to react to the stimulus by energizing itself like a live wire. It was overwhelming Crys to the point that she couldn’t speak, just gasp and moan.

“Sorry if my voice sounds rough,” Thom said suddenly, interrupting her attempt to process her response to his fondling. “I guess you could say I’m FEELING a LITTLE HORSE!”

His words dumped their power into her flesh as though he’d flipped a switch. Crys’s tremendous breasts were caught between Thom’s groping hands above and the thudding hammer of her own body below as his word-play triggered a magnitude 6.0 mirth-quake, leaving her helplessly seizing beneath their constricting masses. There was no control she could exert to bring her lungs back into line, her stomach vaguely aching from the work of pumping them in and out so frantically and so suddenly, so many times already.

It didn’t help that she realized she was a ‘little horse,’ most of her body having shrunk from the amulet’s wish granting power into a form that was overall quite petite compared to Thom’s as he leaned over her, large and tall and so warm and sweet and cuter by the minute. She didn’t wait for her laughter to subside before lifting her thighs up to surround Thom’s hips, so much narrower than hers now, and housing a throbbing organ that she could very nearly feel despite the inches between their respective counterparts in her. It was right there, so close, so pitifully trapped inside Thom’s pants, calling to her own excited snatch in silent proximity as she let the last of her giggles find their way out of her.

“Please don’t make me laugh,” she asked while Thom administered some delicious manipulations to her overstuffed chest.

“Can’t help it, babe,” Thom replied, leaning in even closer. “It’s part of the deal, I guess. Like I said, I love a girl who laughs at all my jokes.”

“Fuuuuuuck,” she moaned, trying to restrain herself as much as her breasts were. “What else did you saddle me with?”

“Heh, saddle,” Thom pointed out, earning another riot of guffaws and chuckles that left Crys feeling a little dizzy, especially in concert with the way her body reacted to the erogenous stimulation by somehow seeming to speed up her pulse yet slow down her muscles, a strange combination of energetic and relaxed she had never felt as a guy. “Anyway, did you know I liked subby girls?”

“Subby?” she asked, luxuriating in the entrancing distraction of his continual fondling of her giant breasts.

“Yeah, like, when I told you to show me how you fell over? Or when I said to roll over just now? Did you stop yourself from doing it?”

“Hnnnnng, no,” she replied languidly.

“That’s how you’re wired now, I think. Your instinct is to just do as I say without question, and you, uh, kinda get a kick from it.”

“You mean I’m your stepford sex slave?” she asked, wondering if he wasn’t right about that. The very idea didn’t seem to land as revolting and degrading the way she thought it probably should.

“Eh, not quite that dramatic,” Thom said as he sank to his knees. “Let’s test it out.”

“… and Thom said if we rent out each of my holes every day, we’ll be able to afford to move to a new place in no time,” Crys said, struggling to heft her naked breasts up to her chin but still smiling as instructed. “So don’t worry about me, mom and dad! I love you guys!”

“Aaaaaaand cut,” Thom said, flipping the phone around to turn off the video recording. “Okay babe, let’s review it before we send,” he said, sitting on the bed and patting his leg. Crys got up from the floor and walked over, easing her naked butt onto Thom’s lap and noting with satisfaction how hard he was after watching her recite the message. He wrapped his arms below hers and brought the phone up above her tits so that she could see it, then hit the playback button on the screen.

“Hey mom, hey dad,” the pretty white-coated, pink-eyed unicorn girl beamed up at them. “I don’t know how much the wish has changed, so maybe you don’t recognize your son because he’s your daughter now, and a horny horse besides.” Crys giggled again at the play on words Thom wrote for her, which had stopped filming twice when he couldn’t contain her laughter. What they were seeing was take three. “Well don’t worry, your daughter is happy and healthy and a big girl now,” the video said while lifting up her shirt for emphasis, spilling her soft breasts out into the open for the first time since confronting Thom with the effects of his wish. She was blushing a little, but still smiling. “And a nudist!” her video-self announced, pulling the shirt all the way up over her face and letting her multi-colored hair spill out. The video switched to an upwards shot where Thom had knelt down to film from a low angle, framing her face in the valley between her gigantic breasts. “Pretty hot, don’t you think?” she asked the viewers while untying the knot in the drawstring waist of her exercise shorts and slipping them down over her outsized hips.

“All this belongs to my roommate and boyfriend, Thom,” she continued to recite from the recording while looping her thumbs under the strings of her thong panties and wriggling to free herself from them as the camera watched. A patch of very short, naturally triangular hairs with the same green-blue-pink-purple pattern as her mane and tail was revealed when the underwear disappeared from the frame, leaving her naked and exposed. She blushed deeper, but also smiled a little more broadly before biting her lip, clearly enjoying the recording session. “He says we’ll probably wait a few years before pumping out grandchildren for you out of this,” she said, running her fingers lightly over her bare snatch and shifting her hips, “because we’ll need a lot of practice first.”

Back in real life, Crys hugged Thom’s arms and snuggled in closer, leaning her head against his cheek as they watched together. His hair was tickling the inside of her ear, which twitched all on its own until she shifted its position. It really was hot seeing herself on video, happily going along with whatever Thom had told her to do. She could tell in the viewing that she really had enjoyed it as much as she thought at the time; even if the situation would have been humiliating, something about letting Thom take control and direct her had been so much fun! He told her to do things with her body that she wouldn’t have dreamed of doing on her own, taking possession of her sexuality and guiding her along. It was so easy for her, and really hot. Seeing Thom smiling and looking at her from behind the phone as she showed herself off and said what he’d asked her to say had been surprisingly gratifying, and now seeing it from his point of view on the phone added an extra layer of intimacy that thrilled her like discovering a brand new favorite anime.

Or a really great new hentai, she thought with a wicked smile as she shifted her seat on Thom’s lap and felt his shaft straining to escape its confines. Thom was loving her cuddling as much as he was loving the video, and that was extra nice for Crys. She knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer.

“With funbags like these, he’s not gonna leave me any time soon,” Video-Crys assured her parents with some demonstrative jiggles of her heavy bust. “And Thom said if we rent out each of my holes every day, we’ll be able to afford to move to a new place in no time! So don’t worry about me, mom and dad! I love you guys,” her recorded self told them. The video suddenly cut off, leaving Crys surprised at how much she wanted it to continue. She really enjoyed seeing Thom’s directorial debut, maybe even as much as acting it out for him.

“Did it turn out good?” she asked.

“Oh yeah, and it proved a point, didn’t it?” Thom asked. “Looks like you’re a perfect little subby, slutty pony babe after all.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot!” she giggled, remembering why the made the recording in the first place. “Wow, that didn’t feel like slavery or anything. It was just fun! Um, so are we really going to send that to my parents?”

“Do you want to?” Thom asked, nuzzling her fluffy head affectionately with his cheek.

“I… I don’t know. I guess I’m fine with it if you are,” she admitted. She wondered if that was a normal thing to say. It was hard to tell, and anyway what mattered more to her was whether Thom wanted it to happen or not.

“Well that’s a subby little answer,” Thom chuckled, kissing her affectionately near the base of her horn. She giggled happily. If going around naked or renting “each of my holes” out was what Thom wanted from her, she realized, it was worth it for kisses like that. “But,” Thom said, interrupting her moment of self-reflection. “I have a better idea. Let’s spend the next couple of hours breaking in that pony pussy of yours, you guzzle my dick a few times, then we hit the showers, and finally fall asleep with my head between your dirty pillows while watching My Little Pony on the couch. Normal boyfriend-girlfriend stuff.”

“That sounds wonderful!” she said enthusiastically. Having a plan to follow, no matter how lewd, seemed incredibly enticing to her! And to finally get Thom out of his pants was something to look forward to. She squealed happily and nuzzled her boyfriend’s neck, overjoyed at how well his off-the-cuff wish had turned out for the both of them.

Content: TG/TF, mind stuff, suggestive.

“Darling?” one of the two asked, looking around the alley as her hair finished curling into the pre-programmed shape.
“Darling darling,” the other replied, grabbing her counterpart by the shoulder and drawing her attention to their assailant.
Actually, he preferred to think of himself as their new caretaker. They wouldn’t need to scrounge for food anymore, and his nanite gas had already eliminated any existing substance addictions either of them might have had when it was rewiring their neurology. They should definitely be grateful he found them and was about to give them a new life!
They didn’t look all that grateful, though. Kind of scared, really.
“Don’t worry, I’m here to help,” he said, tucking the gas dispenser into his waistband and holding up his empty hands as he approached the two transformed beauties. He let his eyes wander up their shapely white legs, noted appreciatively how his randomization routine had given their clothing different but compatible patterns, deemed his figure-alteration routine a success when he saw that their frames were mostly rail-thin except in exactly the right places, and judged their height to be dead-on at a mere five feet to the tips of their ears. And this was just the first field test! He couldn’t wait to start “mass producing” more of these gorgeous babes and live with his fantasy pony harem.
Well, he had the physical details all hammered now. Now it was time to test the mental changes and make sure everything had worked. “My name’s Steve, what are your names?”
“D-darling darling Rarity,” the busty unicorn with the more colorful sweater-dress said. “Darling dar- …” she was about to introduce her counterpart when she suddenly looked confused. “Darling? Darlingdarlingdarling!”
‘Dar-ling Rarity?” the one in the two-tone sweater-dress asked before realizing she too was just saying ‘darling’ and her counterpart’s name. “Darling! Darlingdarling! Darling?” She looked down at herself for the first time and her cute face took on an expression of abject shock. “D-d-d-darling!?”
“Hey hey, don’t worry about it,” Steve said as he closed in, papering over the excitement in his voice with a soothing demeanor. “So you’re both named Rarity, eh? And all you can say is your name and ‘darling?’ Okay, how about family? Friends? You two live around here?” he asked, knowing what their reply would be.
“Darling,” the rainbow-sherbet sweater-clad unicorn said sharply. “Darling darling,” she pointed at her face, then pointed at the other girl’s, “darling DARLING darling, darling darling!” Her compatriot just watched the two of them face off bashfully from the sideline.
“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Steve said dismissively. “Ahem. You have lovely eyes.”
The inarticulate woman’s mouth hung slack in surprise. “… darling?”
“Oh yes, quite. And your hair is so beautiful.” That staggered her, robbing her of any trace of anger from before. She blinked and felt her cheek with the palm of one hand, then looked to her side at her double in the yellow and purple striped sweater dress.
“Oh, both of you are just gorgeous,” Steve said, laying it on thick just for fun. “A couple of cuties for sure. So adorable… and attractive!” He watched the two of them react to his compliments in what, to anyone else, would have been a completely unexpected way. They swayed as if physically rocked by his words, eyes fluttering and blush spreading from cheek to shoulder, their bodies relaxing and tensions melting away under the barrage of praise. His programming took flattery, no matter how sincere or superficial, and used it to fuel arousal. He decided to stoke their furnaces a little more.
“Why, you two are certainly lookers, but I can tell you’re more than just a couple of pretty faces,” he said, stepping between them and meeting no resistance as he lifted each one by the chin to look from eye to eye. “Why, you two are masterpieces! Such grace, such delicate comeliness,” he said, enjoying how their faces looked intoxicated with the effects of his words. “From your cute little ears to your come-hither eyes to your invitingly kissable lips,” he continued, rewarded with little smiles as he made them putty in his hands. Speaking of which…
“Not to mention your fantastic racks,” he said without any veneer of civility, “and your sexy wasp-waists, and your big, bountiful butts!” He emphasized the last point by slapping a hand onto the outermost barely-clad rump cheek of the girls on either side and squeezing enthusiastically while hugging them in close. As expected, even these vulgar compliments elicited the desired effect. The two identically-shaped Rarities gasped excitedly and giggled as they leaned into him, letting their faces rest on his chest. “Mmm, these asses are first-class, ladies!” he chortled, kneading their backsides greedily.
They mewled in his groping grip, bubbly giggles and aroused coos forming a symphony for his delighted ears. Even the crudest flattery only served as coal for their fireboxes and loosened them up more than the finest wine. Tails wagging lazily behind them, they wrapped their arms around their new best friend as he continued to manhandle their posteriors. They seemed to be completely under the spell of his words at this point. The one in the fruit-stripe sweater dress turned to face him head-on, taking her turn to grab his butt and pulling her body close in all over.
“Mmmm, you two want to come and class up my joint?” he asked, already confident of the answer he’d receive.
“Darling!”
Instead of a kiss he felt the alarming sensation of the gas dispenser slip out of his waistband and disappear behind him. Sherbet-dress shoved him hard, causing him to lose balance and nearly topple backwards. A hiss, a puff of something against his clothes from behind, a spreading warmth as his vision was taken by a swirling multicolored haze. He tried not to breathe and failed, some of the vapors were already burning in his lungs. He coughed, but his hacking only served to draw in more and more of the nanite swarm. Through the bright fog of his own design, he saw nothing, but the sounds of two sets of high-heeled shoes running for the opening of the alleyway echoed in his ears until he lost his grip on consciousness. Nanites had diffused quickly past his blood-brain barrier and were unraveling his mind to rebuild it according to their pre-programmed blueprints.

Content: TG/TF, mental alterations, sexual themes, BE.

“Why the costume?” Mark asked as he looked down onto the body of a young woman in a fetishy Japanese school girl outfit. He was starting to have second thoughts about letting his friend try the app first. Especially since his voice came out squeaky and, he had to admit, very cute-sounding. He brushed a hand up the back of his head in a causal gesture, mostly to see if his hair was any longer. Tankfully it wasn’t, and Mark tried to picture himself as a young Japanese woman with a close-cut boyish hairdo.
“You know, for flavor,” Greg replied, still tapping away at the app. “See if you can do ten push-ups as a chick and I’ll let you pick the next game.”
“No problem,” Mark bragged, spitting into his hands (which were now somewhat smaller targets, but he managed) and rubbing his palms together before lowering himself to the floor, sticking both feet out, spreading his hands out to the width of his shoulders, and taking a deep breath. He felt a little exposed with the front of the skirt hanging down and away from his body, but at least whatever was down there was hidden from view.
“One,” he said with ease as he crested the first rep. “Easy, this body’s way lighter,” he said as he lowered his face back down to the floor, keeping his legs straight. It was weird not feeling his sack squishing between his thighs, but he didn’t let it stop him. Bobbing back up easily, he counted off another. “Two.”
“Feeling tired yet, Marcy?” Greg asked after discreetly adjusting the name field for his friend.
“You wish. Three down, seven to go,” Marcy replied, sinking back to the floor for a fourth. He was su-
(Tap tap)
-she was sure this would be over quickly, and just hoped Greg wasn’t taking this chance to stare at her butt. That’d be weird. They’d been friends since school and she appreciated that Greg just treated her like one of the guys. “Four.”
“Nice butt, by the way,” Greg said immediately after making some more subtle adjustments with the app.
“Thanks,” she said, blushing a little. It’s true she’d hoped he’d appreciate her figure while the contest was going on. In fact she mostly agreed to it so she could give him a nice view and hopefully give him some ideas. The thought of him leering at her was a fun motivator. She was getting a little tired of him not trying to make a move on her. “Five.”
Greg dragged a few sliders as ‘Marcy’ bottomed out to start another rep.
“Sex,” she said, stopping at full height and hoping Greg heard her wrong.
“What number was that?” Greg asked casually.
“S-six,” she replied, holding her face down to keep him from seeing how red it was. Talk about a Freudian slip! But she couldn’t help it, really. Every time she was around Greg she just felt so… libidinous. It was a minor miracle she hadn’t jumped his bones in all the years they’d been friends. But just like now, he seemed more interested in whatever he was tapping on the screen than tapping her -
“Ah!” she squealed as two overly-sensitive nubs of erogenous flesh briefly touched the floor below her on the descent. Stupid! How could she have let her hair-trigger nipples brush up against something like that? She was losing focus on the task at hand.
“Something wrong?” Greg asked with something she swore was a hint of a smirk, though she didn’t look up to see him. As if that jerk didn’t know about her hyper-charged nips.
“Just mashed a couple of buttons,” she said. Pushing herself up, she declared the seventh rep completed.
Greg decided to try one of the free skins and selected one that kind of looked like Fluttershy. Obviously not a perfect match for copyright reasons, but it seemed close enough. He dragged the skin from the point shop over to his friend’s avatar and watched the transformation unfold.
“Eight,” Marcy announced. She lifted her face, which now had extremely cartoonish proportions, and shook her head to get some pink and yellow hair out of her unnaturally bright eyes. Her whole body had turned a slightly yellow color, and oddly enough she now had three fingers and a thumb like a cartoon character. The whole effect was actually kind of off-putting, but Greg decided he could fix it later. Marcy lowered herself down to the floor again, this time being careful not to brush her nips on the wood surface before hefting her caldestinely-altered body back up. “Nine. Ready to lose the bet?” she asked, glancing at Greg and pulling her stubby muzzle into a lopsided smirk of her own.
“Oh, you want a challenge, eh?” Greg asked, unticking the option to keep changes hidden from the target. “Alright, let’s see you do that last one then,” he said with his thumb hovering over a particular slider. “Alright, go for that last one and see what happens.”
“Heh, gimme your best shot,” she dared him.
Marcy bent her elbows and shoulders to bring her face closer to the floor again. But suddenly a weird feeling erupted on her chest. Before she could even gasp, a strange kind of force began flowing directly into her modest breasts and sort of pressurizing them. She froze in place as her tits tingled and heated up, quickly beginning to swell. Somehow she knew exactly what was going on as her body reshaped itself, with muscles and connective tissues knitting firmer supports while fat cells multiplied and plumped up, nerves branched and grew like cracks in a windshield, and gravity became much more noticeable directly below her chest. Her flesh stretched and bloated down, two round mounds rapidly fattening and pushing out. Both of her sensitive nipples were crushed against the floor and still the mammary tissue behind them spread and flowed around them. forcing urgent signals directly into her pleasure center. She choked back what was sure to have been a lew moan while her body squished her expanding breasts hard to the floor, amazed at how much they were pushing back up against her weight.
“I knew you’d try something like this eventually,” she said, apparently unaware of all the other changes that had happened. “But cheaters never prosper!” Grunting with both effort and in reaction to the unrelenting sensual barrage from her chest, she pushed up and up, taking pressure off her breasts, then starting to lift more of their weight, and finally pulling far enough up that her overloaded nipples drifted off the floor. At the peak of her rep the two bulbous boobs fought for room between her arms, jostling a little as she steadied herself. Her tits hung down almsot to her elbows, ehe realized, and that was with her stuffed-tight blouse holding them back somewhat.
“Ten!” she said proudly before relaxing her core and slumping somewhat into a prone position on her hands and knees. Marcy looked up at Greg flirtatiously. “I win, despite your cheating!” she giggled.
“Cheating? Moi? Why, never!” Greg said with a smiling sarcasm.
“Uh-huh, right,” Marcy said, wobbling side to side to shake her captive breasts against her arms. “You gonna turn the girls back to normal, or what?”
“Hm, you mean shrink them back down to the size they were before?” Greg asked, wanting to confirm that this was the only change she noticed.
“Uh-huh,” Marcy said, this time in a tone of playful affirmation rather than calling out Greg’s blatant lies.
“Hmmmm… ‘or-what,’ I say!” Greg replied, setting the phone on the end table as he plopped onto the couch behind her.
“Oooo, it’s gonna be that way, huh?” Marcy cooed with a seductive smile. She turned around and crawled the few feet across the floor to Greg’s legs, grabbing both knees and using them to hoist herslf up to a kneeling position. “Well I get to pick our next game, remember?” she asked while pushing his knees apart.
“I do vaguely recall something along those lines,” he teased. “So what did you have in mind?”
“Well, you tested my endurace,” she said coyly. “So now I get to test yours.”

The speech was well-rehearsed, and she sounded thoroughly bored through the entire thing.

“Please read the entire waiver, print your full legal name, and then sign and date it before returning to the counter. I will go over some but not all of the terms and conditions with you here. Customers are allowed up to three dives for not longer than sixty seconds per dive, or until they retrieve one mystery item from Sludgey’s Slime Pit LLC’s Slime Dive Treasure Hunt Adventure pit, whichever transpires first.”

He looked past the cashier’s rainbow dye job to scope out the retina-burningly bright pool of neon-colored slime, and the unmarked boxes and containers that bobbed in the thick, viscous liquid. It seemed simple enough to him, wade in and grab something, then get out and see what you won. He didn’t know why this place had such a nefarious reputation.

“Please pay attention to the disclaimer of liability for any undesired side-effects which may include but are not limited to surprising or alarming biological, psychological, emotional, or theological alterations and challenges,” the cashier continued in a droning monotone. “By signing this waiver you agree that Smudgey’s Slime Pit, LLC is not responsible for the customer’s personal safety or security except where required by state and federal laws. By signing this waiver you agree to resolution of any disputes that may arise through binding arbitration presided over by Smudgey’s Judgey Services, LLC, a wholly-owned subsidiary of Smudgey’s Slime Pit, LLC. Please make sure to fill the form out where applicable in its entirety, paying special attention to the emergency contact information and next of kin. Once again, these are not the full terms and conditions to which you must agree before proceeding with Sludgey’s Slime Pit LLC’s Slime Dive Treasure Hunt Adventure, which may only be found in the current and up-to-date waiver form you have been given. Do you have any questions?”

“Can I keep the pen?” he asked with a cocky smile. “I’ll need something to write down your number.”

Without missing a beat or batting an eye, the unicorn girl behind the counter brushed him off. “I apologize sir but I’m not allowed to fraternize with customers of Sludgey’s Slime Pit, LLC nor any of its subsidiaries as this may present a conflict of interests. Also,” she added, going off-script but without any particularly emotional energy, “I used to be a pick-up artist like you.”

“… until you took an arrow to the knee?” he asked, trying to keep things light.

“Until I fell into the pit. Now please have a seat and fill out the form if you care to test your luck in search of fame and fortune at Sludgey’s Slime Pit LLC’s Slime Dive Treasure Hunt Adventure.”

Content: TG/TF, mind control, love spell, rated T for Teen.

Texas Collingsworth wasn’t a place on a map, and he hated being called “Tex,” so he went by T instead. Today, T was headed to the house of Josh, brother to his best bud Brian, to hang out and play retro games. Josh had some hand-me-down authentic hardware and had agreed to let Brian and T use it, provided they babysat Brian’s niece while Josh and the missus were taking their second ever cruise trip. T was an only child, but how hard could it be? Just lock the brat in her room and chill out on the couch putting their emulator experience to good use. Besides, Brian would be the one with the most responsibility. It was his niece, after all.

T’s GPS told him this was the right place, and he saw Brian’s car in the driveway to confirm it. After pulling beside the old Charger, he texted his friend to let him know he was here and wait for the okay to come inside. It was a warm spring day, the property’s bushes and trees were starting to bud with red and white flowers, and birds were chirping. But a minute went by without the invite, and the car was getting a little too warm in the sun to wait outside.

Nobody answered the knock, either, though he thought he heard some voices and someone going up some stairs. He waited until he felt awkward, then decided to throw caution to the wind and let himself in.

“Hello? Brian?” he asked in a loud voice to announce his presence.

“In here!” answered a voice that definitely wasn’t his bud’s. Certainly a girl’s. Was that his niece? It sounded too old to T, like a young woman instead of an 8-year old. T walked out of the foyer towards the direction it came from, finding a living room with a modern 80-inch flatscreen TV and media center on one side, surrounded by the usual living room furniture, and across from it in the far corner a retro gaming setup in its own hutch. A “big” 32-inch Trinitron, a cabinet full of game consoles, some of them older than T himself, and… a woman on the floor.

No, not a woman exactly. She had gray skin, dark blue hair punctuated with big animal ears that twitched convincingly, blue eyes, a kind of snout for a nose and mouth, and… hooves for hands? And she was wearing one of Brian’s favorite shirts, the one T always teased him about looking like a rent-a-cop whenever he wore it. She was laying flat on her stomach, propped upon elbows, and hooves holding open a book about game design, the kind Brian used to buy.

“H-hey T! Um, it’s a long story,” she said nervously. “Sorry I couldn’t answer your texts,” she looked down meaningfully at her misshapen forelimbs.

“What’s going on?” T asked, trying to figure out all the weird things he didn’t have the context to put together, not in a way that made sense at least. “I thought Brian was looking after his niece today?”

“I am,” the hoofed woman replied, cheeks turning bright pink. “But things took a turn, and then another, and, well, uh, this,” she said, looking back over her shoulder towards her high-heeled feet that kicked girlishly over her mostly bare legs. And a really nice butt, T couldn’t help but notice. The whole effect was kind of adorable, but surreal.

“Okay… start from the top,” T said, crossing his arms skeptically. “Where’s Brian?”

“Right here,” she replied. “Um, it turns out my niece somehow got hold of a magic wand, and the first I knew about it I was growing hooves and crawling around on all fours giving horseback rides. I didn’t want to, honest! But she can make you do things. With the wand. Like, also I have to call myself Brianna now. I literally can’t say my old name.”

“She turned you into a horse girl and made you give her rides?” T said incredulously.

“Well just the horse part first,” the girl claiming to be his best bud said. “I told her I had to stop because you’d be here soon and we were going to hang out, and she said ‘well if you like him so much, why don’t you marry him?’ you know? And I told her I wasn’t going to marry some guy, and I guess that’s what did it. She jumped off my back but then she got this look, and she wiggled the wand at me and… well, uh, here I am! Eheheh…” she trailed off.

“Riiiiight. So let’s see if I follow. You’re Brian, but you’re Brianna now, and you’re half horse, and your niece has a for-real magic wand that did all this?” T asked.

“Yeah, that’s about the size of it,” Brianna replied, biting her lip and blushing deeper.

“Why do you think I would believe any of that?” T asked.

“Well, I didn’t think you would, honestly. It sounds crazy, right? I was hoping you’d help me turn back,” she said, casting her eyes down to the books spread out around her.

“And how would that even work?” T asked.

“TRUE LOVE’S KISS!” shouted a little girl with no indoor voice behind T. He spun around and saw a kid with chocolate crumbs and pink frosting smeared over her mouth, one hand holding a piece of chocolate cake with the same frosting and sprinkles, and the other holding a metal baton or something. “Ya gotta kiss her to break the spell!”

“Trisha, where did you get that cake?” Brianna asked scoldingly.

“MAGIC!” the girl replied, “Duh? And is that any way to talk to your princess?” She pointed the baton at the woman on the floor and waved it in a circular motion. “Horses don’t tell princesses what to do!”

“You’re not a princess you spoiled little brat! Change me ba- I- I mean, forgive me Your Highness. I only meant that you shouldn’t spoil your appetite.”

T was a little creeped out when the woman’s voice suddenly switched gears from righteous fury to calm, servile tones. He didn’t know what kind of game the two were playing or why they were trying to convince him any of this was real, but it was getting old fast. He pulled out his phone and shot Brian another text to ask where he was. Approximately three seconds after he hit Send, Brian’s phone started buzzing from the notification. It was on the love seat behind the weird horse-woman.

“See, Your Highness?” Brianna said glumly as she watched T try to decipher the meaning of the phone. “I told you he wouldn’t believe it.”

“Well it’s no fun unless he plays along too!” the cake-faced girl said. “I guess a little luuuuuuuuuuuuv spell is in order!” she announced, waving the wand in circles as big as her short little arm could trace before flinging it in T’s direction.

T rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. But his rolling eyes settled on Brianna, and suddenly he really didn’t care what kind of weird game they were playing. He just knew she was beautiful. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. His breath caught in his throat, his heart started hammering, and all he could think about was how glorious it would be if he could hold her… hug her tightly… maybe even kiss her. Snoot or no snoot. No, actually the snoot was really endearing somehow! And those big ears were so cute, the way they flopped and flicked with her mood. Powerful emotions hit him like a freight train, railroading him into a headspace where he wanted to scoop her up and keep her safe and secure and do whatever it took to hear her laughter and see her smile forever.

“Uhm, h-hey, Brianna?” he said, scratching the back of his neck anxiously. “You know what she said about breaking the spell?”

“TRUE LOVE’S KIIIIII-IIIIIISS!” the little girl shouted tauntingly, pirouetting in place and almost dropping her piece of cake.

“Yeah, well… maybe we should give it a try? Y’know, to see if it works?” he stammered, blushing hard.

“YAY!” the brat shouted with genuine elation. “Brian and Texas, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” she chanted, doing a little shake and spinning around again, flinging chocolate crumbs onto the floor.

Brianna bit her lip and looked up at T pleadingly. He knelt down and put out his hand, she hesitated before putting one of her hooves into it. He gently lifted her up and guided her over to the love seat, putting his other hand on top of the hoof he was still holding. He was pleased to see her blush almost as hard as he was, giving him coy glances. It was clear she wanted this too, he realized. He didn’t really believe this ‘magic wand’ stuff, and wondered if her lips would be stiff and smear makeup over him… but that didn’t dissuade him. He leaned in and gave her a peck on the cheek, must to the elated gasp of their adolescent audience. It felt warm and soft to him, and he didn’t see any-

“ON THE LIPS! YOU GOTS TA KISS ON THE LIPS, DUMMY!” Trisha shouted, ruining the moment and causing both of them to wince awkwardly. Brianna was about to say something when T interrupted by taking the initiative and planting a kiss full on her lips. They lingered there for a second, then pulled apart, expecting something to happen. Nothing did, other than the realization that they were both surprised by how easy and gratifying it had felt. T looked into Brianna’s eyes, and thought he saw something… sadness? At not turning back, or at having tricked him into the kiss?

“Why didn’t it work! No fair!” Trisha whined, just as disappointed as the two of them.

“You said you cast a love spell, right?” T asked, voicing an idea. “Maybe that means it’s not ‘true love’s kiss’ after all.”

“Awww, that stinks!” the little girl groaned.

“Hey, I have an idea. Can I see the wand? I want to try something to fix it,” T asked, reaching his hand out.

Trisha eyed him suspiciously. “You promise you’re gonna fix it and then give the wand back?” she asked.

“I promise, cross my heart and hope to cry,” T assured her.

“Well, okay. But no funny stuff, mister!” the child relented, thrusting the baton into his outstretched grasp.

As soon as his fingers closed around the thin metal rod, T pointed the wand at Trisha and hoped he was doing this right. “Stand still and listen to me. You are very sleepy, you’re going to throw that cake away and clean up, then go to bed and not wake up until tomorrow morning. You will think everything that happened today was just a dream, and you will never try to get a magic wand again, or mess with anything magical, or … whatever. Now do as you’re told, young lady, and follow your family’s directions from now on,” he said, waggling the wand at the stunned girl.

She stood there, dumbfounded, staring at T. Three seconds passed, and he was starting to feel stupid for buying into this magic nonsense. Then, without any preamble, Trisha yawned. She looked at the lump of cake in her hand, wrinkled her nose, and wandered off in the direction of the kitchen. T and Brianna sat quietly as they listened to her little feet march across the tiled floor, open a cabinet, dump something into a bag-lined bin, then close the cabinet. They heard the tiny terror walking through the hall and make for the stairs in the foyer, then trundle up them rapidly. A door closed, and T heard water running through plumbing.

“Hey, good job,” Brianna said, patting T on the thigh with one of her tough, fingerless white hooves. “I think you won.”

“Is this all for real?” T asked, looking at the wand in his hand.

“Yeah,” she sighed, slumping slightly and withdrawing into herself on the love seat beside him. “Sorry to say it, but I’m really… Brianna, minus the -na. Um, thanks for saving me,” she said anxiously.

“Heh, no problem bro,” T said, finally beginning to accept all the impossible things that just happened. “Um, so… you wanna go back, right?” He waited for a response, but all he got was another heavy sigh from the horse-girl. “That is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asked, taking one of her hooves in his hand and stroking the back of it with his thumb.

“Well… I definitely want my hands back, but… I mean…” She took a final, bracing breath and let it out slowly. “I’m not under a love spell. In fact, I’ve had a crush on you since we were in school together,” she confessed.

“Wait, back when you were a guy?” T asked. Of all the things he’d heard today, this was the hardest to process.

“Yeah, heh, funny huh? I wanted to say something for years, but I didn’t want to… scare you off,” she said, hugging her arms to her body and rocking forward slightly. “She turned me into a ‘horsey’ and then she made me tell her who I had a crush on!” Brianna said, unable to stop her confession now that it’d started. “And I didn’t say I wouldn’t marry some guy, I said you wouldn’t marry me because I’m a guy! And that’s when she turned me into a girl, and …. I’m sorry about the kiss, I didn’t thing I’d ever get another chance and I just… the way you were looking at me is something I always wanted, and… I just took advantage of you!” she said, on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry, T! I’m sorry!”

“Hey, hey,” T said softly, putting his free hand on her shoulder. “Don’t apologize, okay? I never knew, and… none of this is your fault anyway. Besides, um…” he fumbled for the right thing to say for a moment, until she glanced at him curiously. “Maybe it’s the love spell, but maybe it’s not, I mean… I really enjoyed it. The kiss, um, I mean,” T said at last. “And… I’m willing to give this a chance, if you want to.”

“Yeah, that’s the love spell talking,” Brianna grumbled dismissively. “Hurry up and break the curses that little monster put on us, okay?”

“Well hold up, hear me out,” T said, rubbing her shoulder lightly. “Spell or not, does it matter now? I really want to be with you, and I lo- I like the way you are, honest! Um, how about this?” T waved the wand in the air and Brianna’s hooves shrank down, creased, and separated, softening into slender fingers. Slender, gray fingers with delicate nails, on hands that were so small and feminine she didn’t recognize them. She turned her palms up and flexed her knuckles, testing to see if they still worked the way she remembered.

“It’s a start, what about the rest of me?” she asked, giving T a probing look.

“Like I said, I like you just the way you are, Brianna.” He slid off the couch and knelt down, looking up at her from beside her knees, setting the wand on the table and taking both of her now human-shaped hands in his. “Can we try this out and see where it goes? Please?”

She fidgeted in place, she looked away, she looked back, she started to say something, stopped, and this time it was her who took T’s hands in her grasp. “Texas Collingsworth, I don’t want to be with you just because some kid put a fairy-tale spell on you that makes you feel things for me. I’d rather just be friends. Really,” she said. “And besides, what am I going to do about being livestock?” she added with a weak chuckle.

“Well, I guess you have a point there,” T said. He freed one hand and picked up the wand. “Okay, let me know if this feels weird,” he said.

“Everything about this is weird, T,” she pointed out.

“Touché,” he said. He raised the wand, circled it above them a couple of times, then brought it down and gently tapped her on the forehead.

Brianna blinked. She waited. Nothing seemed to happen. She held up impossibly light-gray, feminine hands and reached up to feel her fuzzy gray ears. “It didn’t work?” she asked, a note of concern in her voice.

“I think it worked,” T said. “All I did was cast a spell so that only you and me notice anything different about you. Everyone else will just believe you’re supposed to be this way. That way nobody will even raise an eyebrow, or say anything about how you look. Except me, when I tell you how beautiful you are,” he said with a corny grin.

“Teeeeeeee,” Brianna whimpered. “I’m serious! What are you even doing?”

“I’m serious too, Bri,” he insisted. “However we got here, I don’t want you to have to deny your feelings about me again. It must have been awful, wasn’t it? Well now you don’t have to! We can be together like this! For the first time we both want the same thing, each other…” he trailed off, his courage faltering in a moment of doubt. “Right?”

“Dammit, T, stop giving me that look,” she fussed. “Alright, alright. We’ll try it for a little bit. But you’ve got to promise me: if either one of us has a change of mind by next week, you’ll let me use the wand.”

“Sounds good,” T smiled apprehensively. “But what, uh, what would you do with it?”

“Undo absolutely everything you and Trisha just did today, and set us back to where we were before. Those are my terms, and if you love me, or even care for me as a friend, you’ll respect them. Deal?”

“Deal!” T beamed, leaping up and pulling Briana to her high-heeled feet before sweeping her into a crushing hug. “Best deal ever! Oh thank you, Bri! I’ll make you so happy, I swear! You and me against the world, better than ever! You won’t regret it!” he was nearly weeping into her shoulder as he rocked them both back and forth.

“Okay, big guy!” Brianna said, patting him on the back. “Need to breathe!”

“Right, right,” T said and relaxed his grip, letting his arms slide down her shoulders and pulling back enough to gaze into her sapphire-blue eyes. “At least I can take your breath away, though.”

“Just for that,” she groaned while rolling her eyes, “You’re responsible for buying me some girl clothes. And no wand-ing up wads of cash or anything!”

“It would be an honor,” T said cheerily. He leaned in closer again and bent his head down to touch foreheads. “For you, anything.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked wryly. “How about we make you a horse-boy?”

“Technically, I think you’re a pony,” he teased.

“Fine, Pony Boy! Make us both a couple of cute stallions and see how you like me then,” she giggled.

“I… think I’ll pass for now.”

“Uh-huh, that’s what I thought. Where’s that wand?”

“Whoops, tripping!” T laughed as he leaned back and pulled Brianna down with him onto the long couch.

“Hey, cut it out!” Briana said, chuckling as she landed on top of him. “My little niece is upstairs, remember?”

“Yeah,” T said as he gave her a smooch on the cheek, in the same spot as the first time. “But she won’t wake up until tomorrow morning, remember?”

@Background Pony #9266
Here goes nothing. Part 2: Mental transformation/new memories/personality shifting, submissive, masochism, vulgarity.

“How the hell is this a ‘ten-inch dick’ you stupid rock?” he asked the cartoonishly busty girl in the mirror, without looking over to the floor where he’d dropped his sister’s so-called wishing stone.

From behind the two naked breasts that utterly dominated his contours, his arms appeared and tried to pull the floral shirt with the enormous neckline up to cover them. But it wouldn’t fit, and the jostling of the heavy flesh induced more of the annoying, almost painful tingling all throughout their mass. “Jeez these things are sensitive,” he snarled with his newly-minted girlish voice. Taking a different tack, he pulled the shirt off his one shoulder and bunched it up around his broad hips. He shimmied the shirt down past his unfamiliar tail and the heavy mass of the extraordinarily wide hips, butt, and thighs that provided at least a little physical counterbalance to his top-heavy frame. The shirt passed the widest part of his legs and slid down around his ankles to the floor. Looking down, he couldn’t see it past his tremendous globes of breast-flesh.
Massive. Two massive shapes hanging dependent in front of his torso, completely obscuring his stomach and hiding his shrunken waist from the front. Everything about his body was girlish and feminine, except his tits and ass which were pornographic and feminine. Crouching down, he picked up the shirt and guided it over his head, catching it on the horn a couple of times, before stretching it over the expansive breasts and tucking it around his hips snugly into the waistband of his shorts. The stretched neckline exposed cleavage by the foot rather than by the inch.
His reflection looked like someone’s hentai waifu, a unicorn monster musume. His new face blushed deeply at the idea and an unwelcome thrill zipped up and down his spine, causing his tail to shudder slightly. He didn’t want to process that, so he looked around the unfamiliar room for something that might explain how his wish had gone awry.
There was a notebook on the bed sheets, with a pen that bore a cartoon unicorn topper at the end. He wobbled awkwardly over and picked it up, examining the latched cover. Jordan Almond’s Private Diary: DO NOT READ. The name, Jordan Almond, seared itself into his neurons, overwriting the shorter single first name and replacing it with this two-word version that bore so many sugary, candy-associated thoughts. Jordan Almond unsnapped the latch and started flipping through the diary.

“ … already bigger than my classmates … boys are talking about me on the playground … Ms. Gwen giving me sympathetic looks …” A new narrative flooded his brain, memories of late elementary school, of his body changing early, earlier than the other girls’. Other girls? Yes, her friends were being pouty and not treating her fair anymore. They were envious, but she hadn’t done it on purpose. It’s not like she wanted to stand out like this.

“… at least now other girls are feeling the cramps like I did, small measure of revenge … Kenny was the last boy to talk to me like a normal person, and he’s GAY! OMG can u believe it??? … coach won’t let me sit out gym even with doctor’s note, mom and dad going to straighten him out. Bastard. … the other girls are so mean I don’t want to change clothes anymore. … Everyone calls me Tits McGee behind my back … “ Junior high, struggling with her growing body and all the social ills brought about as her peers began dealing with their own puberty, all the girls regarding her as an enemy and all the boys eyeing her like a fatty piece of prime meat. The awful way her teacher didn’t want to make an exception for her in gym class.

She continued reading and remembering, each page turning her recollection inside out.

“Finally get to sit this year out but still have to change into gym clothes… Can’t believe it took a lawyer to say I have a handicap… Mom said when I’m old enough, I can talk to a surgeon, but she just doesn’t want to do something that’ll permanently hurt me right now. … I saw old Mr. Burdette staring at me from his window when I was getting changed this afternoon. Maybe I’m as bad as the other girls say, but it was so wrong and still a little hot. Don’t tell anyone! … The other girls are such bullies! Today in the locker room they surrounded me and started tossing their panties at my horn, like a game. Bunch of bitches. And then they laughed when Tanisha pointed out that I was getting wet. That sure didn’t help! They called me a fat dyke but they still warned me from even looking at their boyfriends! It was so unfair and humiliating. So of course my horrible body decided that it just had to get turned on right in front of everyone. God I’m such a slutty little whore. Why am I like this? It’s not like they’d give me the time of day except to abuse me…”
The memory was equally painful and erotic. She couldn’t help it, something about feeling powerless and belittled, it just… stoked her flames like nothing else. High school offered plenty of humiliation, being a toxic cesspit of hormones and cliques as all the teens tried to establish their own identities by tearing down their peers. Instead of growing up as a quiet and invisible nerdish boy, her history now traced the life of a young woman with multiple physical deformities that stood out and marked her as an object of ridicule by the other students. First it was her horn and tail, then her breasts and butt. They’d never stopped growing, robbing her more and more of any identity beyond themselves. She was a magnet for unwanted attention by the boys and a threatening rival to the girls, who acted like a pit of vipers around her. Was the arousal some kind of coping mechanism? She didn’t know, all she knew was that at some point her misery fetish became a dirty little secret she tried to keep to herself. How all the bullying and negative attention was becoming more and more of a turn-on, an inspiration for her growing masturbation habit in private. How she’d advanced beyond simply recalling her abuse from the day, and ventured into imagining new scenarios of humiliation and embarrassment to get herself off. She remembered every detail in the diary, and every detail she’d left out of it.

The last entry so far was from a week ago. “Still haven’t heard back from the coffee shop. Gottta keep filling out applications. Wish I could go to college but dad said they only have enough to pay for school or the surgery, not both… Krissy brought home a new boy today, I gotta say he was super cute! Drives a nice car, too! Must be nice having rich parents. And now I know why she’s been watching MLP lately, after years of making fun of me for doing it: her boyfriend’s a brony! If I wanted to get on her bad side, I might ask him about his favorite ships. But I wouldn’t do that to her, dear Diary… not unless she pisses me off, anyway.”
She looked over at the stuffed unicorns on her bed and the statuettes on the shelf, and suddenly had names and personalities for all of them. Twilight Sparkle, the bookish librarian princess. She identified with her social awdwardness and nerdy habits. Rarity, the fashionista: well-kept beauty and generous with her talents, a hard working business owner who was ultra-femme, the ultimate lipstick lesbian mistress. Trixie, the con artist with a heard of … maybe not gold, but Jordan Almond still put her on a pedestal because there were days where she didn’t feel pretty or talented but still wanted to feel like a 100-percent girl boss anyway, and that’s when Trixie was her spirit animal! Sunset Shimmer, the hot GF archetype who also struggled with her image at school… and finally Starlight Glimmer, the talented but anxious bundle of nerves who kept trying to do the right thing but kept messing up. She saw a bit of herself in all of them, or who she wanted to be, or who she wanted to be with, and had spent years obsessing over an imagined polyamorous relationship between the five of them. She’d amassed a huge virtual bookshelf on a fanfic site catering to her personal fantasy about their polyamorous relationship-

“That’s her sister?” someone said from the hallway. Jordan Almond dropped the diary and tried to spin around quickly, but her breasts slowed down her movement and she was only able to catch the last second of two boys falling through her doorway and into a pile in the floor. They stared up at her, and she stared down at them, both speechless for endless seconds.
“Uh… hi. We were just looking for the breastroom,” said the one on top.
“Rest room! Get off me, dude,” the one on the bottom corrected him. She recognized that face: it was Kirssy’s boyfriend, Brad! He pushed the other boy off his back and they both stood up. When did they start making high schoolers so tall, she wondered as they both put five inches over her, horn included.
Then she corrected herself: school was out now, Krissy was going to college this fall, and Brad had graduated the previous year, putting him about two years behind herself. Still, she wasn’t used to being so short… was she? Somehow the odd feeling that she had been taller seemed to recede into the background, and her memory filled instead with a lifetime of having to look upwards at almost everyone. Her classmates had kept growing up while she was busy growing out. But her focus returned to the present, and the two boys in her bedroom; her inner sanctum, her sacred retreat from the outside world. She felt vulnerable and self-conscious. How long had they been here?
“Um… were you two spying on me?” she asked nervously.
“No! Just looking for the john,” said the friend.
“Actually, yeah kinda,” said Brad. “I was watching you from the doorway. Liked what I saw, too.”
While his friend stared at him slack-jawed at the audacious admission, Jordan Almond’s stomach did backflips and her skin lit up like a space heater. “O-oh?” was all she could stammer out.
“Yeah, I saw you pulling your shirt down over those great big milkers,” Brad said, boring a hole in her cleavage with his dark brown eyes. “But Zack here missed the show,” he continued, tapping his friend on the arm. “That’s not fair, is it?”
“Um… I guess not?” Jordan Almond agreed, distracted by her own surge of erotic panic. The shame of her privacy invasion stoked a hot flame in her womanhood that used her embarrassment as fuel. Tendrils of lust climbed up her body like a trellis, sprouting vines of sensual pleasure in defiance of her discomfort. The sudden intrusion of two men into her privacy, the shameless admission of watching her dress, putting her on the spot like this… it was incredibly hot!
“I mean, I was showing him some older pictures,” Brad said nonchalantly. “My ex girlfriend had some that they were passing around in the locker room, back when you were at school.” With these provocative words he pulled out his phone and brought up the photo gallery, tapped the display, and turned the screen towards her. It showed her half-naked body, bosom exposed as she was leaning against a tile wall… no, not leaning, being held in place! She remembered this. It was her senior year. Some of the meaner girls had pinned her while she was getting changed… and one of them had a marker. Sure enough, the old photos showed black shaprie letters scrawled over the white curve of her naked breasts. “HAG” said one, and “BAGS” finished the other. Hag-Bags, the name they’d started giving her when Tits McGee had lost its charm. Her face was bowed in the picture, and she knew it was because she had been trying to hide how turned on she was at her mistreatment.
“But that was back when your hag-bags were smaller,” Brad said with a smirk. He handed the phone to his buddy, who took it and looked at Brad questioningly. He mouthed “trust me” quietly, and his buddy held the phone up to compare it to the figure standing before him.
“Um, yeah. Definitely… put on some weight since then,” he said, unsure how far to take his belittling talk. He and she were both surprised when a small moan escaped her mouth. Jordan Almond covered her lips, eyes wide. The understanding of what she’d just done in front of these two almost-strangers who were sharing old pictures of her from the locker room sizzled through her nerves like electricity through a wire. The friend glanced back at Brad with a smile. “But I think I want a better view to compare?” he suggested, emboldened by her sensual slip-up.
“Here, let me help you out buddy,” Brad said, looming closer to Jordan and reaching out towards her hips. She offered no resistance as his fingers probed into the waistline of her shorts and dug into her shirt. He closed in and moved behind her, pants brushing her tail and both arms closing around her waist from behind. Slowly he inched her shirt up from its confinement, drawing it over the skin of her hips and back. He leaned in closer, his hot breath on the back of her shoulders as he lifted the loose top up enough to reveal the bottom of her breasts. His friend’s eyes widened at the slow reveal, and Jordan Almond felt her heart hammering away deep inside her. She leaned back slightly and felt Brad’s hot, stiff cock against her butt, separated only by a few layers of fabric.

Some part of her was still Jordan, 22 year old college boy who had come home for spring break of senior year to spend summer with his family. That part of her was shocked at this body’s quick, excited reaction to these goons making every inappropriate advance and treated her like some kind of sex doll. His lived experiences offered up all kinds of parallels that had turned him on the same way; the time he paid for his first lap dance, the time he drunkenly made out with the homecoming queen who was so buzzed she thought he was her date, the time he helped two classmates “experiment” with their sexuality to see if they were lesbians or not. All the sexual encounters of his young life, and the ones where he’d been in control of the situation. Those were the empowering, validating encounters that he’d relished and kept close to hand when he needed to supplement his porn of the moment and get himself off.

Another part was Jordan Almond, a mutant freak with an out of control body that others teased and bullied her over her entire life. She offered instead a memory of the time Chantrelle stole her clothes in the gym locker room and made her swear in front of all the other girls to stay home on prom night. She remembered the time during a physical exam when her body decided to have a spontaneous orgasm right at the moment her doctor was checking her heart beat with a stethoscope, surprising them both. She recalled the way her unsympathetic coach berated her for being “lazy” during physical education and how she hoped he would make her suck him off for a passing grade… and her guilty disappointment when he didn’t.
Her elder neighbor watching her change clothes through the window. The way boys kept “accidentally” swimming into her at the pool. How her dentist made a point of always using the old “look a gift horse in the mouth” joke and resting his hand right on top of her tits during her check-ups, pretending not to realize it, as if daring her to confront him and smiling when she didn’t. Her life had been one of unbearable duality; shame and arousal frustrated by the perpetrators either ignorant of how they were affecting her, or testing her but not following through, leaving her to sort out the guilt and lust by herself. One tease after another, ad nauseum, never amounting to more.

This moment was all of those at once and even more. The long-awaited culmination of Jordan Almond’s fantasies, the concentrated instant of awkward memories and vulnerability being actively exploited against her, going further than anyone else before. All the way, she hoped. She was excited and a little scared, but more than anything she was thrilled to find a boy who seemed willing to go the distance and do to her just what she wanted done to her, no questions asked, no permission needed. There was a kind of power in knowing at last that someone needed her complete submission and humiliation just as much as she wanted to submit and be humiliated, a symmetry she hoped wouldn’t falter at the finish line. She was ready if he was. This was truly the opportunity of a lifetime for both of them… even if he was technically her little sister’s date instead of hers. If anything, that element of taboo transgression made it even hotter! Besides, her bratty sister would never debase herself for him. Not like she was about to. She was already feeling weak in the knees, her tummy fluttering and her underwear clinging damply against her meticulously trimmed snatch.

Brad’s hands slid up and around her breasts and took their concealment away with them, exposing her pale flesh to the nameless boy in front of her and leaving her totally at the mercy of the near-stranger behind. She wore a mask of awkward embarrassment that rested on a squirming core of illicit arousal, struggling not to moan like a whore and only succeeding in tamping it down to a muffled, meek whimper.
“Gawd… damn!” the friend said, staring in open awe at the two massive tits that entirely hid her torso behind their bulbous curvature. She kept her eyes fixed on his face, delighting in how shamelessly he stared down at her chest, which was now tinging red all over from the involuntary blush that lit up her otherwise pallid skin. The pressure of Brad’s clenched fists squeezing into their sides brought back the aggressive, almost painful tingling sensation to her over-sensitive mammaries, but this time it felt… pleasant somehow. Like muscle soreness after a good workout, a pain that was welcome rather than intrusive.
“Hey, can I try?” the nameless friend asked, looking past Jordan Almond’s face and instead seeking permission from Brad.
“You seeing anyone right now, sugar sacks?” Brad asked, shifting his hips to grind against her plump butt deliberately. She bit her lip to keep from giggling and ruining the mood, and simply shook her head slightly. “Knock yourself out,” he replied from over her shoulder. “Unclaimed tits are public property,” he said, resting his cheek on the top of her head. Jordan Almond could only respond with a sensual sigh as the friend closed in and reached out with his free hand. He seemed unsure, searching her face for signs of disapproval and, finding none, tentatively placed his fingertips on the underside of her right breast. He tried lifting it, but hadn’t counted on the sheer weight. He spread his fingers out to cup as much as he could and tried again, hefting the bosom up a few inches and giving it a jostle from beneath.
Her breast’s drum-tight skin stretched where it flowed around the groping hand. More sharp tingling, but with a warm, sweet edge. She was loving the hard fondling from these two boys, and the naughty context turned her overdeveloped chest’s extreme tenderness into erogenous delight. She couldn’t help but coo softly, which betraying her enthusiastic complicity in the deed just as much as the slight rising of the two blunt lumps in the middle of her smeared-out areolas.
A cool face tickled the red-hot, pointed tip of her left ear as Krissy’s boyfriend leaned closer and said to both of them, “Hey, get me some video while I put this horny bitch through her paces.”

You can say no, the Jordan part of her thought.
Why? the Jordan Almond part of her replied.