or, enter your birth date.*
Part Two of Two
By Ordos Tsceri
Oddly enough, being a feminine slab of stone wasn’t boring. She had heard of such things, of people turned in statues of stone or bronze or gold, and whenever she bothered to spare a thought for the poor souls she always felt that such a fate would be inconceivably dull.
But she wasn’t bored. She hadn’t moved all spring, and now summer was drawing to a close too, and she’d spent the entire time unmoving, staring out across a lovely garden, the westward expanse of the city and its port beyond.
She could only see the city in between an ivy-covered pillar and a scandalous statue of pink-marble, legs spread, back arched, and mouth in a silent, orgasmic howl. The statue was lovely, perched in the center of a balcony, but the background beyond was what caught her attention. If she concentrated, she could just make out some of the sails of the ships in port. More than once she was fairly certain she spot the griffon and serpent of House Nordburg… so maybe her mission was successful after all? Certainly she hadn’t planned on being turned into a statue to secure trade privileges, but if she had to be stone…
Emilie remembered her mantra. Oddly, that was the only thing aspect of her situation that was truly tedious. Forcing her thoughts through that repetitive pattern was exhausting. It was so much easier to let her mind wander, to silently enjoy the caress of wind on her marble curves, to feel lingering excitement in her erect nipples in the open air, to appreciate the shifting lights of the morning, day, dusk, and night. She could spend days appreciating the shifting shadows the garden cast, and indeed she had. Sometimes she let her mind wander, recalling stories of heroes, damsels, and gods, wondering what they would do in her position.
Once every week or so she found herself getting philosophical, wondering about the nature of life and the mind. She had neither right now, but she existed, she felt, and she thought, and her thoughts could lead her to queer places she never entertained as flesh-and-blood. She wondered what a philosopher would think, given some time to ponder silently in stone.
Certainly, she’d have to write some of her musings down. Once Cassilia got around to reversing her condition she have much to share. Maybe she could dabble in poetry while she waited for Bethany to come around.
Of course, Bethany would sunder all her thoughts and musings, washing them away as she lovingly cleaned her marble surfaces. Every touch was a delirious sensation, greater than all the attentions of all her mortal lovers, and by the time the wonderful serving girl was finished with her duties her mind would be floating in day-long afterglow, unable to think of anything save her happy, warm pleasure. It was nice to have her around. Cassia would come to play sporadically, at least once a month but sometimes every night for a week. Bethany’s routine, once every three days, was a wonderful way of keeping grounded. Her cleaning schedule anchored Emilie’s wandering thoughts in reality… albeit a very erotic reality where she was an inanimate nude statue.
When she finally got around to writing down her musings, Emilie knew, they would be profoundly erotic.
Bethany smiled at her, from the corner of her field of vision. She was beatific, pure even nude, a happiness on her marble lips that spoke of deep and true fulfillment.
The sculptors back home could take cues from her, Emilie decided. She particularly liked how the girl’s demure pose bespoke innocence, despite her well developed curves and full breasts. The assistant could easily be installed as a statue of a womanly goddess in a dozen separate temples. She had the innocence to represent Thanya the Daughter, the poise to be Danella the Lady, the allure to stand as Elodia the Lover, and the serenity to be cast as the queen goddess Hestalia in her aspect as wife… and those were just the gods in the Nordland pantheon!
Even as stone the servant girl kindled desire. Emilie remembered her gentle caress, the delicacy of her scrubbing, the warmth of her hand through the cloth, and the furtive kisses on her still form with such clarity that she could almost convince herself the servant was still a woman.
Bethany’s conversion had been gentle. She knew what Cassilia could do, she’d spent half of her life attending the beauties in Cassilia’s garden, she knew each statue by touch and name. Evidently, she seemed to have had an understanding with Cassilia. They approached her petrification with coordination. Cassilia even asked Bethany if she was sure of her choice. Of course she was. She struck a pose, and she’d been smiling in the right corner of Emilie’s vision ever since.
It was strange, thinking that the girl wanted to be a statue. At least at first. She clearly enjoyed administering to the garden, washing and caressing the still beauties. Maybe she understood what it felt like, to be caressed while utterly immobile. Maybe after all those years, she realized how wonderful it felt for her inanimate charges.
She was beautiful. Emilie could spend days on end admiring her. It was a shame she couldn’t ever touch her again, but Cassilia had hired new servants. A gaggle of serving girls, barely women, to clean and speak to her beauties. She’d seen seven of them, but it seemed only five were still about now. Emilie wondered what could account for the discrepancy until she overheard a couple of them whispering. Evidently the one with rough hands, Ophelia, had been lax in her duties. Her session with Lady Sybil had gone very differently than Bethany, and the new statue had been sold to collector Cassilia had become fond of. It would be two weeks before Emilie heard rumor that the other missing servant, Sophia, had been caught diddling herself in the garden. Evidently she had been installed in an up-class brothel since then.
Still, none were Bethany. The blonde one with curly hair, Cassandra, might become her equal in time. She cleaned with passion, blushing as she looked into marble eyes, trying to connect with the person in the stone. Emilie loved that sensation; it made the cleaning even more delicious. Alas, her scrubbing technique could use some improvement, but that would likely come in time.
Until then, she had Bethany, a vision of beauty and contentment to admire. Emilie could think of no better companion for her marble existence.
This was a special day. Every year on this day Cassilia would speak to her, personally.
The garden had grown over the years. Every turn of the season seemed to add a new marble beauty to Lady Cassilia Sybil’s collection. Emilie could only see seven from her pedestal, but she knew more were accumulating. Often, she’d hear their conversion taking place around a corner, or even behind her. Of course she couldn’t turn around to look at her new companions, but she liked to imagine their bodies, their poses. She could guess what their faces looked like, which ones had been surprised by their fate like she was, which ones were eager to join the statuary like Bethany, and a few that seemed to be somewhere in between.
With a growing number of statues, Cassilia’s attentions had grown more inconsistent. She was fortuneate, she knew, because Cassilia was rather fond of her. She’d known some statues to go years without being touched by the mistress’ forked tongue, and some had been removed from the garden entirely. The prone pink maiden by the balcony had been hoisted away a couple years back, and Emilie still had no idea of where she had ended up. But Cassilia definitely had favorites, and both she and Bethany could count themselves in that happy company.
“Happy anniversary,” Cassilia whispered into Emilie’s ear, her forked tongue ever so lightly stroking the hard surface. She loved it when her mistress teased her so. Cassilia could drag this out for hours. It had become one of the highlights of her existence.
Emilie wasn’t certain when she stopped expecting to be animate again. It had been years ago, certainly, but she wasn’t sure if there had been a specific point. It taken a flatly ridiculous amount of time for her accept the fact, but that was of no consequence; time wasn’t issue, and Emilie very much doubted it ever would be again. She found it funny how becoming an inanimate and unchanging stone object had taught her to live in the moment.
Cassilia was wrapping her way around her, circling around Emilie like she had the night so long ago. Every coil brought her closer, made Emilie more aware of her heat, her wetness, her lust. Cassilia loved her statues.
Her attentions were always different. Today, though, she seemed in a teasing mood, her clawed fingers delicately tracing the curves of Emilie’s hips, her waist, her breasts. The nest of serpents that made her hair flicked their tongues, just barely stroking her marble skin. Only after an interminable period of decadent, whispering contact did she finally press burning hot lips against Emilie’s stone neck, the sensation threatening to overwhelm her consciousness.
“This is a special anniversary, you know,” Cassilia whispered into a marble ear as she wound her lower body around Emilie’s legs. Her forked tongue flit through her pursed lips as she began to plant kisses along Emilie’s delicate jaw-line and inviting lips. “Hard to believe, twenty-five years ago, you wandered into my garden…” she whispered between kisses.
Few things had given Emilie pause in the last decade, but those words cut through her mounting erotic haze. Twenty-five years. She had only been twenty-four when she arrived for Cassia’s masked ball. She’d spent more time as a statue than as a living person. She had stood here motionless a full year longer than she had been a real, moving human being. Most of her existence had been as stone.
And, most profoundly of all, that number was only going to grow.
Casilia continued her physical admiration of her beloved work, her hands stroking Emilie’s form, her wet womanhood rubbing against Emilie’s, her tongue and snakes tasting her skin and drinking in her helpless arousal. The sensations overcame her revelation, and Emilie found herself falling into the familiar, rapturous haze of inanimate over-stimulation. She felt a warm wetness on her knee, heard Casillia cry out in pleasure, felt the shuddering of an orgasm throughout the massive snake-woman wound about her, and soon her lady was planting soft kisses along her sculpted ear and neck, wrapping her arms around the marble woman as Emilie struggled to maintain conscious footing in her own mind against the tide of sensation.
A few minutes afterward, Cassilia unwound herself from her statue, whispering a few sweet nothings. As her mistress slithered away Emilie’s mind reeled through the maelstrom of her arousal, lost in a storm of sensation. This session had been particularly wonderful; it would be days before she was cognizant enough for contemplation or rational thought. Maybe then she’d think about her future, but for now all she cared about was the glorious feeling coursing through her essence, locked in beautiful, unyielding stone.
Cassilia had expanded her gardens twice since Emilie joined the décor, but as the city grew her needs had changed. Over the last year, the mistress had been spending more and more time in a castle overlooking the land-approach to Astyria, and had been visiting her palace gardens less frequently. On her last visit (where she wrapped herself around Bethany, but not her, Emilie remembered with a bit of disappointment) she had talked about moving some of her favorites to new garden, built on a high terrace of the new keep.
Today it was finally happening! A handful of favorites, Emilie included, had been measured and fitted with various pallets. A couple of the more petite girls had been moved first, probably as proof that the process would work, and now they were moving some of the older pieces. It was a delightful getting so much attention from so many people, although the sensation of their gaze seemed oddly different. Pleasant, to be sure, but from the way their eyes lingered and the movement of their gazes, it was evident they were more interested in weight and mass distribution than Emilie’s beauty.
They had just fastened a system of ropes, pulleys, and wooden scaffolding when the earthquate hit.
It took an instant for Emilie to process what was happening. Old memories whispered in her mind, of the fire-mountain near her home in Nordland, and how occasionally the earth would rumble and shake when the gods were displeased. She felt the deep movement, the power that forged mountains and moved inanimate earth and stone.
But this one was more intense than any she could recall. She saw the engineers topple over, surprised and off-guard. And then, everything changed. She felt the wind on her stone flanks, could see movement in a way she hadn’t known in years, felt her long, artfully balanced center of weight shift drastically.
She was toppling over. In a couple of seconds she moved more than she had in the last four decades. If she still had a heart, it would have been thundering in her vein, blood pounding the tempo in her ears, her chest too tight to draw breath. But she had none of those now, and instead could only watch in muted awe as she collided with the floor.
“Oh… bugger it,” she heard one of the engineers say, picking herself up after the shaking had stopped. Only then did Emilie realize something felt odd. Wrong.
A half-dozen engineers were all over her, feeling her, readjusting the ropes and hauling her up to inspect for damages. Her thoughts raced… what would happen if she broke? If she crumbled to dust and gravel?
Only then did the strange sensations come into focus. Her arms were moving, but still stone, warm fingers on her cool marble. One was brought within her field of view and everything made sense.
Her arms had broken off. The left arm was shattered, the upper portion completely pulverized, having absorbed the brunt of her falling weight. The forearm was still intact, though. Her right arm had fared little better, mostly in one single stone chunk, albeit with some of the fingers gone.
The workers gathered up all the pieces. Emilie could still feel them, still register the delight of having her immobile body touched and handled, only now mixed with the alien knowledge that these sensations, the pieces she was feeling, weren’t attached to her body anymore.
From their chatter, Emilie understood that the rest of her was untouched. She was still the same, beckoning, alluring statue… only now without the beckoning arms. The forewoman, the one who had sworn, ran a hand over the broken stumps at the end of Emilie’s arms. Emilie wanted to gasp; this was the first truly new sensation she’d experienced in forty years. A touch, still intensely pleasurable and lingeringly erotic, only now it was stroking what was the inside of her arms, a place that didn’t exist until just a few moments ago.
Emilie reeled. She hadn’t moved since she’d become a statue. Her body hadn’t changed at all.
About twenty years ago Lady Cassilia had expanded and renovated the new grounds extensively. This time, however, large stretches of the statue garden had been opened to the public. At first it had been worrisome, with so many unfamiliar eyes darting over her exposed form, heaving so many comments… She’d felt so exposed, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t experienced since the earthquake almost a century earlier, but it proved to be do stimulating, so delightful!
At some point, someone had installed a plaque on her pedestal. She couldn’t see it, but she’d heard enough people whisper and murmur it aloud to know it read ‘Beckoning Repose’.
Just about all the exhibits had their own plaques now. They appeared not long after the gallery was opened to the public, but Beckoning Repose had been in one of her post-coital hazes when it happened. Whether it had been from Lady Cassilia or the movers, she couldn’t be certain. There had been so many hands, so much warm contact… Lady Cassilia would greet her favorites after every move, but things were still mired in that euphoric glow while she applied her affections. It would take about a month or so after every move to regain full cognizance.
At first, being open to the public had been terrifying. For the first time in a century she’d been nervous about her helplessness. So many people, all around her. But, as Lady Cassilia’s collection grew she had been spending less and less time with each of her statues. What were once weekly visits had dwindled to once a fortnight, then once a month. After that, the counting became too vague to really be certain. All the extra attention, the delightful caress of hundreds, then thousands of eyes, had turned her daily existence into a reverie almost on par with her Lady’s caress. Almost.
But, the oddest thing… none of the richly dressed guests ever spoke her name. Her old one.
Why would they? Was there anyone alive who even knew it? She searched her memories… had glorious Lady Cassilia ever called her by name?
Beckoning Repose had been the subject of essays. She was an example of Lady Cassilia’s earlier, more impromptu style. An exemplar of the naturalist movement, common amongst a number of sculptors who had the advantage of transformative magic. Art students would sketch her. There had been dozens of debates about how her arms had been portrayed… some of the students were even kind enough to show her their sketches, not that she could confirm or deny anything.
Beckoning Repose had been a statue for over a century, but it wasn’t until she’d been part of a public gallery that she truly felt like an object. Like art.
It felt… right. Her old name was silly, wasn’t it? It seemed so random thinking about it, and it didn’t describe her at all. It was strange to think she’d ever been anything other than Beckoning Repose. Just like those arms she used to have. They still tickled, from time to time, but her balance was so much better now, her poise so much more correct without those silly things dangling from her shoulders.
Aside from that moment, her move went well.
The Forewoman from the move was positioned across from her. She was only a bust, albeit one that extended far enough to capture her breasts, the smile on her lustrous marble lips both lascivious and confident. Emilie didn’t know if she had been petrified as punishment for her own fall, or as reward for a job well done. She was a little too far away to hear what Lady Cassilia had to say when she favored the stone bust with her attention, but from the tone of it, she guessed that the woman’s addition to the gallery had been a negotiated part of her contract. She was too far away for her to read her plaque.
Indeed, the damage she sustained seemed to have inspired a trend. Lady Cassilia went through a minimalist movement not too long after the earthquake, and occasionally Beckoning Repose saw a bust or a torso, artfully arranged to take advantage of negative space (another tidbit she’d picked up from the art students.)
But, perhaps the most delightful surprise of the last few years, Beckoning Repose seemed to have inspired imitators.
At first she wasn’t certain. But when noble women, richly dressed in flowing silks, their hairs in elaborate woven style, began touring the gallery without arms, she realized it couldn’t have been coincidence. They flaunted their reductions, reduced arms wrapped in silk ribbons that cascaded with their exaggerated movements.
But today was different.
The sun was setting and the gallery was closing. Beckoning Repose was still vaguely dazzled, riding down the lingering euphoria of several hundred eyes lovingly appraising her form and direction, when a young noble girl approached.
She was wearing the bright silk gown and accompanying ribbons that were popular these days, bright pink cloth flowing from a high-woven hairdo. The neckline plunged, showing off her impressive cleavage, and colorful ribbons hung from her hair along delicate arcs, their ends tied around the smooth stumps where her arms ended, one just above the elbow, the other halfway down the upper-arm.
She smiled at Beckoning Repose. “Do you like?” she said, whispering in an almost conspiratorial tone, “I had them modeled after you.”
And then she struck a pose, and Beckoning Repose thought she was staring into a mirror. The girl mimicked her stance perfectly, even the part of her lips and invitation in her eyes. She held that pose for several long minutes, so long that Beckoning Repose wasn’t certain she was still breathing by the time she stumbled back onto her feet, face flush, giggling.
“You are so amazing, Beckoning!” she coed, looking the statue in her eyes, “Half my class has been competing for a spot in Lady Casillia’s gallery. But I studied you. I modeled myself after you. And I she chose me!”
She licked her lips, her eyes glimmering with excitement. “I climb on my pedestal in two days. Then I’m stone forever. And I owe it all to you!”
The young woman leaned forward and placed her lips on the statue’s. Beckoning Repose felt her heat, her lust, her tongue all press together into a boiling ecstasy that began to seep through her. There was such passion and urgency and want in that kiss.
Technically, this wasn’t allowed. Only maintenance could touch the statues. And Lady Cassilia herself, of course. But there could be exceptions for the Lady’s guests. And presumably her future statues, too.
When it was over, the woman smiled into her eyes, longingly, for a tender moment. “You’re amazing,” she finally said, “I hope I turn out as beautiful as you.”
With that she turned around and left. Her path kept her in Beckoning Repose’s field of view for a pleasantly long time. The armless woman really would look exceptional in rose marble.
The Astyria Exhibit smiled her inviting marble grin, pondering how the centuries ran together. Her pose hadn’t changed an inch, but she hadn’t seen the outside in decades. Now she was in a private gallery, a conversation piece for nobles in strange dress to comment on.
It was difficult to piece together history from her vantage point. If she hadn’t exactly lived through history, she’d still been a witness to it. But she’d been a statue for so long, all the years and events sort of blurred together. She’d been a woman, once upon a time, a foolish little thing concerned with family politics and a treaty or some nonsense. But that had been so long ago, sometimes it all felt like a dream.
The gallery was empty tonight, and she wasn’t due to be washed until the end of the week, so she had plenty of time to reflect.
War had come to Astyria. There had been a couple battles, The Astyria Exhibit could remember the glow of camp fires from the very corner of her vision, and eventually one of the invading armies triumphed. Lady Cassilia vanished… oh, how many centuries ago had it been? She had heard soldiers who occupied the palace and sprawling gardens tell contradictory stories as they ogled her and the other statues; some say she died fighting some hero or another, but most seemed to think she had somehow made her way out of the city.
The Exhibit liked that. Even after all these years, the thought that the woman who made her stone may yet still live made her happy.
Things were a blur, shortly after that. A rush of movement that had entirely disagreed with her. She had been moved to a new gallery within Astyria, almost a warehouse, and had heard numerous official looking people with official looking documents walk around and take notes. It sounded like they were trying to match statues to names to names, relatives, or prospective buyers. Eventually, she was placed in a box stuffed with straw and locked in darkness for who knows how long, only to be re-opened somewhere entirely different.
It wasn’t Nordland. She didn’t understand the language for decades. She ended up in a private gallery, along with a dozen other statues, most of which she didn’t recognize (although, supposedly, they could have just been from parts of the garden she hadn’t been able to see).
That exhibit was the first of many. She’d been in seven… no, at least eight different exhibits since that, and most seemed to have been in different cities.
Every now and then she still felt sensations from her long lost arms. They absolutely weren’t whole anymore. Indeed, it felt like her old limbs had been broken and ground down, by humans or by the years she didn’t know. Most of one arm was under water, as either a handful of stones or possibly just sand. If the Exhibit focused very hard, in the quiet of the night, she could feel the ebb and flow of waves, the pressure of water, and the rhythmic motion of tides. Part of her had been underwater for the last three cities… how many decades was that?
The gallery owners after Astyria hadn’t impressed her. She was fairly certain the current one, Doge Gernio or something to that extent, was a banker of some sort. He always seemed more covetous than appreciative, and his attentions left the Astyria Exhibit feeling more like a bauble in a crow’s nest than a true work of art. He had groped her a few times, clumsily, but that had been years ago. The only contact she got anymore was the all too occasional dusting.
She missed being Beckoning Repose. The lovely little plaque was long gone, probably her original pedestal, too. For the last century she’d just been called ‘The Astyria Exhibit’, as though she could encompass all of that amazing land. Did Astria still exist anymore?
The Astyria Exhibit was fading into one of her dormant periods, where the lack of stimulation relaxed into a slumber of sorts. No one had even entered the closed gallery in the last few days. Near as she could tell, the current gallery was a windowless hallway in a little-used wing of some expansive, banker mansion. The decoure (aside from herself, of course) seemed gaudy, with more attention paid to looking expensive than to looking good.
The private gallery was quiet, and the few visitors she did receive tended not to discuss things in her presence, so it had been slow going picking up the language. But… if she understood them correctly, it sounded like things weren’t going too well for the Doge. Expensive habits were catching up with him, and whatever his income came from didn’t seem to be performing as well as he had grown accustomed to. She still couldn’t understand half the words of this language, but she’d seen the story play out in the last two private galleries she’d been a part of.
Soon the money would run thin and sacrifices would be made. Rich-person sacrifices. The under-appreciated, exotic statue gallery would be pretty high on the list. Soon some other rich merchant or influential noble would own a petrified portrait of long lost Astyria. A relic of a lost time, to show off borrowed artistry and bought taste.
If she could still breathe, the Astyria Exhibit would have sighed.
Sure enough, she had been sold. It was a struggle to stay conscious inside her crate; the dark had nothing to stimulate her, no eyes to appreciate her delicate curves, no hands or feather-dusters to feel her. Only brittle straw, packed tight to cushion her, and the telltale movement of cargo in motion.
At first there had been hands. They hadn’t been too gentle, but they’d been confident enough. There was always the fear of being dropped, of breaking into a hundred a pieces, or otherwise just becoming less during these moves. Memories of the earthquake year flashed in her mind, unbidden. And the movement… after years of staring at the same section of wall, having her perspective and field of vision just change was so disorientating.
But that only lasted for a few minutes. She was reclined into a crate, her descent controlled with makeshift pulleys, her landing cushioned with densely packed straw. More of the stuff was dumped on top of her, until it covered her completely, the small, cool strands tingling against her stone skin. They were nowhere near as intense as fingers, as living, breathing human contact, but after not being touched in weeks they still felt amazing. She let this strange, full-body sensation occupy her as she heard the lid close, being nailed shut, and felt herself being lifted.
After that things became harder to sense. Time had become so hard to gauge in her windowless gallery, but now, locked in a straw-filled crate, there was even less to differentiate one moment from the next. The rumble of wooden wheels on cobbled streets. A carriage, most likely. The commotion of a market outside, the ringing of bells and the sounding of horns, the rocking motion of ship at sea… another harbor, another carriage, and another ship after that.
The Astyria Exhibit drifted across her own memories, torn between trying to stay alert on her voyage and the natural passive slumber that accompanied inaction. She found herself thinking of the old days, when she was a work of art, appreciated by her maker and her public alike. She had another name then, too. A better one. One that didn’t just compare her to a city and a culture long since fallen. There had been a few, but one was close to her heart…
The movement stopped, what little stimulation that allowed The Astyria Exhibit to discern one instant from the next faded. She could have spent years in that box and she wouldn’t know it. In a lucid moment, she tried to recall the shape of the coastline and major roads, but her only memories of such things predated her transformation, and were likely laughably out of date. How many centuries did it take for a city to grow? It’s possible her destination hadn’t even existed the last time she’d looked at a map.
Movement shook her from her reverie. Somewhat belatedly, she realized she’d been dreaming. Half-rememered notions of feminine hands over her stony curves, a forked tongue tasting the lust in her soul, almond-shaped eyes awash with radiant magic…
And then she heard the sound of nails straining, felt the force of a crate being pried open. She’d see her new home, her next gallery, in only a few moments, and then this troublesome period of movement admist her long ages of immobile beauty would be over.
Light began to spill from the crate’s edges, and the straw was brushed away bit by bit. An image formed above her. For a second, she thought she was still dreaming.
“Ah… Beckoning Reposssse…” a familiar voice purred. A forked tongue darted out of smiling lips.
In an instant, those lips were on hers, with a passion and a practice she’d only ever known in one woman, one beautiful creature. She felt the tickle of snake tongues, the gentle caress of claw-tipped fingers running over her body.
Beckoning Repose wanted to cry, to sing, to howl in glee and wonder and relief all at once. But, more than anything, she wanted to lie there, still as she had been for centuries, and bask in the love and attention of her favorite admirer. And since that was all she could do, she luxuriated in it.
“Oh… I wasss so afraid I’d lossst you..” Lady Cassilia whispered between impassioned kisses, her ‘s’ sounds drawn out in the lisp that snuck into her speech when she grew too excited. “I sssearched for decadesss!”
Other hands were upon, Beckoning Repose felt leather supports slipped under her, her stony weight hefted up by another pulley operated by muscular women wearing veiled masks that obstructed their eyes. Some magic to keep them animate around Lady Cassilia, perhaps?
It was twilight, the sky blue and violet and streaked with stars. There was a garden overlooking a cliff, the sound of waves breaking on the stone echoing up from far below. Trees and shrubs and statues were artfully arranged between the cliff and the arches of a stone tower or keep. It was so much like Astyria of old, smaller perhaps, but with all the delicate touches she’d come to love and appreciate. She saw a smiling pink marble statue that had once bathed her, and a half dozen other faces and forms she could recall from the old garden.
And there was a pedestal, with a golden plaque, just for her.
“I’ve been tracking down my favoritesss…” Lady Cassilia whispered into Beckoning Repose’s ear. “The new garden just wassssn’t complete without you…”
Beckoning Repose couldn’t imagine a more glorious fate as Lady Cassilia’s lips began to reacquaint themselves with her figure. She was beautiful, eternal, serene, and beloved by the most wonderful creature she had ever known. Beckoning Repose smiled into the distance as the sun began to crest over the horizon, more happy and content than she ever knew was possible.
or, enter your birth date.*
Part One of Two
By Ordos Tsceri
Emilie dressed in emeralds for the masked ball.
She wanted to make a good impression, and she’d found out that Lady Cassilia Sybil was very fond of emeralds. That information had cost her most of the coin she’d arrived with, but if it was true it would be more than worthwhile. Especially since her informers let slip that princess was equally fond of the noblewomen who wore them.
Lady Cassilia Sybil was the third daughter of Lord Gwyn Sybil, and although the line of her father had floundered the princess had made a name, fortune, and territory for herself. Emilie nervously chewed her lip as she ran through all she’d heard about her hostess; Lady Sybil had been spurned from her house, hunted across Arcanus by the agents of her jealous step-mother, that she’d thrown in with a party of adventurers, that she made a fortune plundering the ruins of long-lost civilizations, that she’d been terribly cursed in a pitched battle with ancient monster sworn to forgotten gods…
She shook her head. There were rumors and there were facts. Whatever her past, the fact of the matter was that Cassilia Sybil effectively owned the thriving port city of Astyria. Whether she positioned, maneuvered, and bought her city with her loot and wiles or whether she was gifted the strategic port by her father was irrelevant. The simple fact of the matter was that Astyria was a thriving and strategic port, and if House Nordburg was going to come out on top of the looming succession crisis back home, then their ships would need Astyria for safe-harbor.
So they sent Emilie. Technically she was a countess, but the county in question was no longer under Nordburg control, so in practice she was a landless noble with no immediate family and little political heft. She’d spent more time among the courtesans than her relatives in power growing up, which might be why she’d been chosen for this mission.
The Nordburgs were a tad strapped for liquid assets just now, so she’d been sent to seduce Lady Casilia Sybil. What little money she had to her name went into intelligence and presentation. Lady Sybil seemed to prefer women. She didn’t care for race or ethnicity so much as figure, elegant curves and full breasts, and Emilie certainly fit that bill. With all the influence and favors she could buy she arranged for an invitation to a grand ball being held in Sybil’s palace, a grand and beautiful affair of vine-wreathed stone columns and promenades on a hill overlooking the port and city. Better still, she’d won an audience with the reclusive Princess of Astyria, as signified by the emerald necklace a servant furtively handed to her when she was making arrangements.
The ball passed in a blur. Emilie tried to remember names, titles, but the jeweled and embellished half-masks all the nobles and notables wore kept her from matching anything to a face, which kept her from having any real conversations. Still, they were polite, although more than once she caught a gaggle of ladies furtively whispering amongst themselves after they caught site of her… maybe her presence had been revealed ahead of time? Could they know of her mission? Well, it wouldn’t be difficult to figure out. Anyone with a knowledge of the Northern Kingdoms could likely see what was coming, and a single visitor of high birth but nonexistent influence could only have so many interpretations.
“The mistress will see you now.”
Emilie turned to the source of the words. She saw a young servant, just barely a woman, wrapped in a loose-fitting grey dress, high quality but unadorned, save for the interwoven serpents along the hem; Lady Sybil’s personal crest. The servant had curtsied and held her head low, eyes cast down, waiting for a response.
“Marvelous,” Emilie replied, more than a little glad to leave the party full of strangers in strange masks. “Where shall I be meeting her?”
The servant looked up. She was a pretty thing, large dark eyes, shoulder-length dark hair, still somewhat girlish but with room to grow. “If you would kindly follow me to the statue garden, the mistress will be with you in a moment.”
She started off and Emilie followed, aware of the eyes on her. And there were more than a few whispers around the ball room, too. She tried to ignore it, pushing the thoughts out of her head to think about her mission. Ingratiate herself to the mistress of this city at all costs. She might become a lover if the rumors were true, a more platonic companion if they were exaggerated. If she could make herself useful, install herself in the local court somehow, then Astyria might become her new home. More than likely, she’d find her way back to the Nordburg courts, in higher standing for her service and results. But it would all depend on Lady Cassilia Sybil and this first impression.
The cool night air greeted her when she and the servant stepped out of the ballroom. It was invigorating. The moon was mostly hidden behind low-hanging clouds, but the city with its hundred thousand lamps and hearths lit up the view. It took a moment for her to notice the rest of the garden, a terraced affair along a good third of the palace’s western wall, stretching down along the hill until the rocks formed a sheer cliff above the harbor. The gardens had trees, stone pavilions, ponds, and hedges, presumably flowers too, but Emilie could make out little in the poor light.
She followed the servant down a twisting path, under an awning of thin grey stone that shaded a terrace facing the city. A pathway of unhewed stone lead across a grassy opening, punctuated by the swaying leaves of small shrubs. Beyond was a gazebo of sorts on a pinnacle overlooking the harbor, and a number of trees grew just beyond the shade of the awning. It was beautiful in a serene sort of way, peaceful. Emilie decided that she rather liked this garden. She could see herself spending time here, if she hit things off with Lady Sybil.
“She’ll be with you in a moment,” the servant said, curtsying again, “she bids you wait here, until she arrives.”
The servant was already scurrying away when Emilie replied, “I’ll be happy to comply.”
‘I wonder if she’s hard on her servants’, Emilie asked herself as she gazed out over the night-shrouded city. It was a dreadfully unbecoming trait, as far as she was concerned, but it was hard to avoid entirely in any family. She had cousins who ran homes like military barracks (the same cousins who were the driving force behind the looming tribulations, come to think of it), and as dreadful and unpleasant as they could be, they weren’t anything near the worst of the lot.
No, she decided, the servant didn’t seem to have the reflexive fear in her that she’d seen in some of the more abused households. This girl was nervous, but she was blossoming into womanhood in a place full of nobles, wealthy merchants, guildsmen, and foreign dignitaries. Likely with a few magicians and elves floating about, and they could make anything dreadfully complicated.
Emilie’s heart was racing with her own anticipation. She stood, her flimsy green silk gown clinging to her hips and chest when the wind whispered its way across the terrace. She felt her nipples grow hard under the delicate garment, her cheeks flushing as unbidden thoughts of her contact came to mind. Cassilia liked her privacy, she never appeared in public and was only rarely present in the balls and galas she herself threw, but every source agreed that she was beautiful. Emilie imagined her, painfully shy, maybe with scars from her adventuring career, lonely and longing. She couldn’t help but smile, wondering what the mistress would taste like, what sound she would make between the sheets, unbidden thoughts of lips and tongues slipping through her mind.
She heard her coming. Softly, quietly over the stones. Emilie blushed; she had aroused herself like a day-dreaming school girl, and her gown would surely betray that fact. Although, maybe that would work to her benefit.
Slowly, delicately, she took off her ridiculous green-and-violet feathered mask. She shook her head, freeing her long dark tresses to naturally fall around her shoulders. She held the mask with her left hand and turned around, a lustful smile on her ruby lips, eyes alight with promise, her right arm extended toward the sound of her hostess, its fingers curved, beckoning.
And then she saw Lady Cassilia Sybil.
The rumors weren’t wrong about her beauty. To Emilie’s Nordburg sensibilities, she seemed exotic; dusky skin, almond-shaped amber eyes, and generally striking features combined to form an almost intimidating beauty. There was no mistaking the touch of royalty in those features either; she had an inherent power about her that permeated every movement.
But Emilie only noticed that because she had been trained to pick up clues about breeding and bearing. Emilie noticed Cassilia’s more striking aspects an instant later. She was so quiet, not because of careful footsteps, but because she was slithering over the stone walkway with a scaled serpentine tail that began at her hips and stretched over a dozen feet behind her in a waving, swaying pattern. Her fingers ended in claws that glistened in the were-light, delicate in shape but undoubtedly strong. Instead of hair, a wreath of snakes writhed about her head, swaying and probing the surroundings with their tongues.
Rather belatedly, she realized that Cassilia was naked. She had lovely breasts, full and firm looking, and her glistening womanhood was perched just where her skin transitioned to scales, her secret lips neat and inviting.
She felt exhilarated, but something was off. Something troubling. Cassilia continued her casual approach, gliding at the pace of a peaceful walk, her amber-yellow eyes wide with delight.
Then Emilie realized she hadn’t moved since she first saw those eyes. She hadn’t even blinked. She was excited, aroused, and scared, but rather than feel her heart race within her chest her body was perfectly still.
“Sooner than I would have liked,” the serpent woman spoke, a long and flat forked tongue flashing between soft and inviting lips, “but the result is… magnificent.”
Emilie’s skin was tingling. Magic, she realized. She’d felt the tickle, the soft tingle down her spine when the court magician was showing off his skills. But back when he was juggling fireballs in the old homeland the feeling was never more than a murmur, a whisper. This was an orchestra playing across every inch of her skin.
She wasn’t breathing. Her heart wasn’t beating. But she felt so aroused, so excited, so intense…
“Normally,” Cassilia whispered as she approached Emilie, beginning to circle her when she was not quite an arm’s reach away, “this is where I do some posing. But I can’t improve on this. Not you.” She was close enough for Emilie to feel her warmth, feel her energy radiating from her body.
She had just completed a full circle, coiling on-top of her tail as she moved around with eerily serpentine grace, like a viper closing in on a squirrel.
“Thiss part iss… memorable. Don’t worry… you’ll be ready sssoon.” She lisping, dragging her ‘s’ with her inhuman tongue. Her lips parted, her breathing deepened, her forked tongue slipping loose, tasting the air about Emilie. She reached a claw-fingered hand towards Emilie, but held it out, a few inches far of physical touch.
Emilie wanted it, wanted that touch, to be held, to feel this woman’s warmth, her wetness, to be ravished by that long tongue, but no part of her body would respond to her urging. Everything felt so sensitive, so eager…
The tingling intensified. Emilie would have gasped or moaned if she could have pushed the air through her throat. What had been a delirious, pleasant tickling surged into a powerful, bizarrely sexual pleasure that emanated from parts of her body that had never remotely felt like that before. The feeling was amazing, erotic unlike anything she’d ever known, wrong, contrary to all her prior experience, but so delicious she couldn’t care.
“Yesss…” the serpent woman breathed, moving closer and closer. Finally, she touched Emilie. Cassilia’s lips landed on Emilie’s, her tongue licking across the noblewoman’s cheek, then neck. She stroked and kissed Emilie, every hot and wet embrace sending shocks of pleasure through Emilie’s still form.
Emilie wanted to cry out, to scream her desire, to howl in orgasm, to make all the noise a happy lover could in the throes of passion, but more than that, she wanted more. She wanted this embrace to go on. And, praise the gods, Casilia was more than happy to comply with her unspoken urging.
Sensations began to bleed into each-other. Emilie felt Cassilia’s kisses, her breath, her questing licks. She felt those claws glide over her breast and shred her fine gown to ribbons. She felt her clothes fall in tatters to the ground, to be swept away by the evening breeze. She felt Cassilia’s warm body pressed against her, the serpent-woman’s soft breast yielding as it rubbed against her own. She heard her lover climax and moan and start again, every touch a greater and greater reverie.
Cassilia left her creation in the early hours of the morning, long before first light. Emilie wouldn’t realize it until well past noon, so lost was she in her helpless sensation.
She wanted to take in a deep breath, to still her racing heart and steel her nerves. But, for the moment, she had none of those. Only sensation and thought.
So Emilie waited.
There wasn’t much else she could do.
She was naked, utterly immobile, and still in the inviting, seductive pose she assumed when she turned to meet a prospective lover the night before. She couldn’t see much of herself, only a few wisps of white-grey hair and her similarly re-colored nose, but she didn’t have to see herself to know what had happened.
From her vantage she could see two other statues entirely, and bits and pieces of four more when the wind blew the leaves the right way. They were all life-sized women, all nude, at least a couple were in overtly erotic poses. She didn’t have to guess who the sculptor was.
Lady Cassilia Sybil had cast a spell on her. Of course. She should have realized that last night. Her magical studies had been woefully negligible; there simply weren’t many magicians in the Nordburg courts. They’d hire battle-mages, sure, but the line itself was generally devoid of magical inclination. Something to do with the north-men invaders who founded the house, six hundred years ago, when they landed on Arcanus. But, more importantly, she did know about a little about this… there were many spells that could turn a person into stone. And many of those were reversible. Lady Sybil probably kept a rotating gallery of her favorite lovers and models here. She certainly wouldn’t be the only highborn lady with unusual kinks.
But that was what could salvage the whole thing. The highborn were allowed their eccentricities, but there was a decorum between nobles. She might add a peasant to her little garden on a long-term basis, but not a noblewoman.
This couldn’t last. Lady Sybil was a powerful sorceress, whatever her affliction. She’d have her fun, make a show of her power, and then restore her guest. She’d be flesh and blood before the week’s end. She’d share a nervous laugh with her hostess and then leave Astyria has fast as she possibly could.
Maybe last night would be enough to procure those trade rights she was after. Certainly none of her colleagues or relatives would begrudge her leaving after a night as stone. Well, on second thought, it would be best if they didn’t know. Something this embarrassing, they’d hold it over her head for the rest of her life.
Her mind ran in circles. For the moment she was a statue. At least she had the good fortune to be barefoot when the change happened; they probably didn’t make her slippers to withstand several hundred pounds of stone. Emilie didn’t want to think about what would happen if they had given way after the spell, if she had toppled over as stone and shattered before Lady Sybil could restore her.
But she did anyway. All she could do was think, and maintaining direction was difficult as nervous as she was.
She pushed the thoughts from her heard (or wherever she did her thinking just at the moment). This was probably a power-play. Or a highborn lady indulging a fetish. Likely the latter; Lady Sybil had clearly been afflicted, somehow, in her adventuring days. It would explain why she kept out of the public view. She probably avoided visiting her garden during the day, just in case someone in the city below could spy her. That was why she was still stone; Lady Sybil had run out of night before, and had to retreat out of sight for her rest. Just as soon as the sun went down, she’d come back, restore her to flesh and blood, and… well, things would be very awkward after that, but Emilie resolved to be polite and diplomatic. And to get the seven hells out of Astyria as soon as humanly possible afterwards, but politely.
Her thoughts continued along such lines until just before dusk, when the doe-eyed serving girl approached her. She was wearing a different uniform, grey with entwined serpents, but much less fine that her attire the previous night. The young woman was certainly pretty, Emilie hadn’t quite noticed that last night, but it was clear now. She approached the Emilie tentatively, no doubt recognizing her from the night before.
And she was carrying a bucket.
Emilie didn’t know what to make of that as the serving girl slowly approached. She stared at Emilie, wide eyed, and Emilie became acutely aware that she was prone and naked. The girl stared at her, her shyness slowly overcome by a growing fascination. Bizarrely, Emilie could feel the serving girl’s gaze on her stone skin… are attention like feathers teasing her, first along her breasts, and then dancing along body, face, and sex, every inch feeling sensual and exquisite.
“The mistress is very pleased with you,” the serving girl said as she put down the bucket. Emilie heard it slosh with the movement. “You’re going to be one of the mistress’ favorites. I… I can see why. You’re beautiful.”
The servant girl bent down, and when she returned to Emilie’s field of view she was holding a sponge, wet and lathered with soapy suds. She inched closer to Emilie, each step accompanied by the sound of dripping. Emilie wanted to twinge, to back away, to shake off this eerie advance and that… intense gaze, but her stone body remained still, waiting.
“I never told you my name… noble women don’t care, but… I’m Bethany.” The serving girl, Bethany, said, moving around Emilie’s beckoning hand until she was inches away from her marble face. She stared into Emilie’s unblinking eyes, blushing. While Emilie was desperately trying to figure out what to make of this girl’s forwardness, she closed the distance and kissed her. Softly, on her unyielding lips.
The sensation was incredible. Not orgasmic, nothing so focused. It was pleasurable, erotically so, with a warmth that seemed to permeate through her cold stone body, touching her very essence.
Bethany smiled, blushing like a guilty schoolgirl sneaking away between lessons. She bit her lip and smiled before breaking her gaze, casting her eyes downward as she brought her wet sponge to Emilie’s face.
The kiss was soft, enticing, and beautiful in its pleasure, like a whispered promise between the sheets. The feeling of the wash-sponge was more like a hard-and-fast fucking. If she could, she would have gasped and howled and moaned and rocked with thrusting motions… but none of that was possible. Instead, she let the sensation wash over her, drowning out conscious thought in waves of raw pleasure and glorious sensation.
Bethany was practiced and thorough. She washed Emilie from head to toes, lathering the space between her legs a deal more thoroughly than could have strictly been necessary. It was all too much.
To Emilie’s astonishment, horror, and delight she didn’t climax. There was no release from her mounting pleasure, her statue-body unable to rock her hips, contract her secret recesses, or cum in a howling explosion of satisfaction. Instead, the pleasure reverberated in her, washing away her worry and fretting until her mind was afloat in a glorious euphoria.
She didn’t realize when Bethany stopped. She heard the girl say her goodbies, but the words passed without recognition. One phrase, however, pierced the cloud of erotic passion; “the mistress said she’d see you again tonight.”
Emilie couldn’t wait. If it was anything last the previous night… maybe she would restore her after a little intimate time…
Much to her chagrin, Sybil’s statue garden wasn’t as private as it was personal.
At least seven people had seen her, prone and naked in marble since the masked ball. At the very least. She’d seen six of them, Lady Sybil, four separate servants, and two advisors she met with during the evening. There might have been more, from the sound of things, but she couldn’t turn her head to check or confirm. All she had was her field of vision, what she was looking at when she turned to greet Lady Sybil.
There were other senses she was becoming, unfortunately, familiar with. Her stone skin was hyper-sensitive, magically enchanted, or something… Physical touch was exhilarating, and a sexual touch was almost torturously pleasurable. But even something as slight at a person’s gaze, their eyes gazing on her nude form… at first she thought she’d been imagining it, but by day three she was absolutely certain that it was true. It felt good, more teasing and titillating than overtly erotic… it could have been pleasurable if it wasn’t such a drastic reminder that she couldn’t move an inch. Like a lover’s playful tickling, only she couldn’t laugh, swat away their taunting feathers, or push them onto the cushions to carry their play to the next level. All she could do was feel it. And from the feel of things, quite a few eyes had appraised her form as a statue.
At least they seemed to like her ass. Quite a few eyes had spent a good amount of time there when Lady Sybil held a meeting in the gardens last night. She’d always wondered if lords and ladies fancied her butt, if it was too skinny or too plump. Evidently, it was quite to the tastes of Astyrian nobles. That was something comforting to know. She’d have to remember arranging her next dress back in the Nordlands.
She was assembling quite the list of things to do once she was mobile again.
Lady Sybil would restore her any day now. Well, the week after next was beginning to sound more likely than any other specific day; from what she could remember of the conversation there would be a meeting with some dignitaries from Qin-Tao in the East. The Qintinese respected magic and its users, and having some living statuary on hand would likely be a boon to those negotiations. She’d probably serve as an inanimate conversation piece and proverbial feather in Lady Sybil’s hat, earn her a bit of weight in the negotiations, and that little advantage would help Emilie and her own agenda, tit-for-tat.
Under normal circumstances she’d be furious to be used like this. Bad enough that so many had seen her nude and vulnerable like this… but she’d been a pawn in a large political game coming here, and now the metaphor was a tad more literal. But there was a clear purpose, and once that purpose had been satisfied Lady Sybil would have no reason to keep her here.
Just two weeks. She could manage that. She didn’t exactly have any choice in the matter, but she could manage it.
She felt them coming before she heard them, a pair of feathery caresses tracing the curve of her stone hips before settling on her round ass. There were at least three of them, one was only glancing at her occasionally, another was moving up and down her flanks and tracing the curves of her hips and breasts, and the last was definitely lingering on her posterior.
The rush of emotion was growing distressingly familiar. Emilie was ashamed to be on display like some dancing harlot, embarrassed to have her private, intimate display shown to all, frustrated by her inability to wriggle under the delightful teasing of her audience, and growing arousal. They were growing harder to distinguish, the frustrated lack of mobility and shame of her exhibition had begun to feed into her arousal, offering a guilty pleasure that made even more ashamed.
Emilie struggled to pull her mind away from the sensation. She was pretty sure she knew these three. Two specialized advisors and the captain of Sybil’s personal guard (the captain being the one rather enamored of her butt). She couldn’t see them yet, but she knew they’d be wearing colorful silken robes that could breathe in the pleasant heat. They’d be wearing half-masks, similar to the ones at the ball, only these were attached to silly-looking three-sided hats. It had taken her a couple days to realize that the hats were supports for veils that blocked direct vision. It forced the eyes down or to the sides, not quite blinding the wearer but preventing them from looking directly at, say, a point about person-high that could turn them into stone with a glance. It seemed entirely sensible. Emilie rather wished she had been wearing one of those funny hats at the ball.
The three would be discussing some routine manner of city governance. Emilie tried to eavesdrop, but couldn’t make out enough words. It sounded like they were discussing a problem with palace plumbing. Emilie idly wondered if one of them would touch her as they passed.
The idea shocked her. That it would come so easily… and that it sounded so appealing. She found herself disappointed when they passed her by with only a few sideways glances. Fortunately, Bethany would be by to wash her tomorrow and…
Emilie forced the thought from her head. Two weeks. She just had to handle two more weeks…
‘Any day now. Any day now. Any day now. I’m a noble of House Nordburg. I’m not a stone decoration. She’ll restore me any day now. Any day now.’
She repeated her mantra silently, a thousand times a day. Forcing herself to believe it.
There was a pattern. Bethany would wash her every three days, or immediately after a session with Lady Sybil. The amorous serpent would slither by most nights, admiring her garden, but which statue she chose to lavish her affections on was subject to her own capricious whims. Sometimes she’d just talk aloud, or hold one-sided conversations with the stone beauties.
Emilie tried not to pay attention. She might test her, to see if she remembered anything pertinent or sensitive when she turned her back. So she did her best to focus on something, anything else. Any day now.
Casillia and Bethany were the two peaks of her existence. Being touched so passionately, so powerfully, could send her in an erotic haze that would take the better part of a day to recover from. It was the only time she broke the mantra.
Any day now. Any day now. Any day now. I’m a noble of House Nordburg. I’m not a stone decoration. She’ll restore me any day now. Any day now.
There were other events. The rise and fall of the sun. An irregular stream of advisors, councilors, servants, and visitors came through the garden. Hardly any of them ever touched them, although plenty would spare a glance. The saving grace of all of this was that none of them likely knew her before the ball, and few would see her after she was changed back.
Any day now…
or, enter your birth date.*
The Body Boutique
Part Two of Two
By Ordos Tsceri
Kathy didn’t know how much time she spent in the box. Most of it she spent dreaming strange, delightful dreams, much more erotic than what she was used to. Her thoughts wandered with visions of being held, used, loved and fucked, and she couldn’t discern between when she was awake and when she was asleep. She’d been rewritten with magic; her perception no longer had to be as linear and resolute as it used to be.
She was roused by movement, the feeling of her box changing hands, and the familiar scent of the home she shared with her boyfriend, Joel.
Light flooded onto her as the box’s lid was open. She squinted, feeling light and warmth and, most importantly, attention, flow onto her. She felt exquisitely naked, more so than she had ever been, and she loved it.
“Kathy… you really did it?” she heard Joel’s familiar voice say. He was amazed, his tone colored with wonderment and awe rather than shock and horror. She couldn’t had done this with anyone else.
“What do you think?” she said, smiling up at him. For the second time that day she felt a pair of strong hands grab her around her hips and lift her. Only this time she saw her boyfriend of three years, sandy blonde hair, warm hazel eyes, earnest features she’d spent countless nights curled up against. “I hope you like the new me.”
She was placed, gently, atop the sheets of the bed they shared. Joel had been in the loop for the last several months, but even Kathy hadn’t been certain if she’d be able to go through with it in the end. He placed a strong, warm hand on her, running his fingers over the smooth expanse of her breast, rubbing a thumb over her erect, throbbing nipple. He lowered his face, looked Kathy in the eye, and brought his lips upon hers.
The kiss was everything she needed to know that she’d made the right decision.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, when he finally broke the frenzied, impassioned kiss for a breath of air.
Kathy beamed up at her boyfriend. “I’m ready… why don’t you break me in?” She giggled, “
That was all the encouragement he needed.
He stripped naked in front of her with an urgency she hadn’t seen in years. He was hard and erect, and Kathy felt a similar need well within her. Her eyes darted from his handsome, earnest face to his throbbing manhood; which one would be in her reach sooner? Which did she want more?
Joel looked awkward, unclear how to handle his newly abbreviated girlfriend. He approached her, slowly this time, his throbbing cock inches from Kathy’s lips. Desperately, she opened her mouth and tried to lick the member filling her field of view between her breasts. That did the trick; Joel closed the rest of the distance and Kathy found herself licking his rod. She stroked the head, the frenulum rim, and the shaft as best she could whenever it was in range, dizzy with the heady, masculine scent. Her nipples and pussy ached, almost painfully, with anticipation, but this was all she could do at the moment, and she relished every instant of it.
Joel ran his hands over her giant breasts, soft tit-flesh yielding beneath his grasp. He pushed her breasts closer together, rubbing his slick cock through them while Kathy tried to lick it like a teasing lollipop. After a couple dozen thrusts he relented, releasing her tits and straightening himself. Kathy felt those strong hands fall upon her, holding her by her waist and turning her around. The room spun as she was repositioned, moved like the small tool of pleasure she’d turned herself into.
His mouth was on her again, kissing her skin while his hands stroked her breasts, his thumbs rubbing her nipples. So many delights, so many fonts of pleasure radiated through her, all Kathy could do was moan her euphoria, struggling to process a half-dozen sensation more intense than any she’d ever known in her life.
And then Joel lifted his head, grasped her by the hips, and slid his cock through her.
She howled. She’d never felt filled like this, before. She felt Joel’s presence inside her, every heartbeat making his cock thrum like thunder. Like she was penetrated to her chest, her entire being wrapped around his phallus. To her delight, she found new muscles she could flex, ones she hadn’t ever been aware of as a full human, and began squeezing and stroking the phallus inside of her. She heard her lover cry out, nearly a match for her own exhilaration, and he withdrew his penis only to thrust it again and again. Every motion was like the world moving within her, an ocean’s surge she was helpless to resist, a rising tide she had to ride towards something glorious.
She felt him come, firing inside her and filling her somehow more, his hot wetness shooting into her and fulfilling something deep and wondrous. Feeling this within her brought her over an edge she hadn’t known existed. Every thrust and squeeze had been orgasmic, this was something altogether greater. She howled louder, crying her climax aloud as the pussy that made up most of her being quivered and contracted and pumped every drop of seed it could from her lover. The instant dragged on, its glory sublime, somehow more real than anything else she had ever experienced.
Panting, they separated, Joel pulling his rod free with a loud, wet ‘splop!’. Kathy realized her skin was wet with perspiration, still achingly sensitive, still moving, jiggling with the residual motion of her lover’s attentions.
But all of this was witnessed vaguely, through a dim of euphoria that swelled around her, like being wrapped in a delicate sheet fresh out of the dryer. She could snuggle into this sensation forever.
“Oh… gods…” Joel panted, a hot and sweaty hand landing on her massive, yielding breast. She murmured her approval through a dreamy haze.
“Was that… good? For you?”
“The best,” Kathy answered.
“Want to… go again?”
“Whenever you’re ready, lover,” she purred.
He paused, his breathing under control now. Kathy could see that his cock was still somewhat erect, and seemed to be getting harder. Maybe some delightful side-effect of her enchanted vagina? Such a wondrous blessing. But he looked pensive…
“Kathy… is it what you wanted? I mean, are you happy with this?”
Only now did Kathy open her eyes full. She looked Joel directly in his soft, hazel eyes, his visage cradled between the mounds of tit-flesh that obstructed half her peripheral vision. “I’ve never been happier. No regrets, lover. Now, I’m certain you must have some ideas, some things you’d want to do with me. To me. Let’s make this night special.”
Joel didn’t need to be asked twice.
Epilogue: Fourteen Months Later
“It’s great to see you again!” Kathy cheered from her position on the patio table, comfortably beneath the awning’s shade. “I don’t think we’ve met since… geeze, has it been over a year already?”
“That’s certainly what it feels like sometimes,” Nadalia murmured, her jade-scaled tail deftly manipulating the cream saucer, wrapping through and around its handle like a knot while the dexterous tip brushed against its side to gently control its pouring motion. Kathy used to be amazed at just how much the serpentine woman could manipulate with only her tail.
“Hmph,” Vivian replied, hugging her girlfriend and planting a soft kiss on her cheek. Nadalia smiled and voiced a soft, delighted giggle at her lover’s attention before the body-sculptress sat herself down in an adjacent chair. “Just remember, I wanted to base the Body Boutique at home, but you wouldn’t let me.”
“Darling,” Nadalia murmured with a voice of gentle, if familiar, disagreement, “I know how you work. If you had a home office our place would never stop smelling of sex and we’d have an ovulating centauress moaning in our garage more often than not.” She placed down the milk saucer and picked up a delicate spoon to stir her tea, again with only the tip of her snake-like tail. “If our house is going to reek of sex, then I better have a hand in it… so to speak.”
“It’s been a hectic season. Ever since that singer, Cynthia Veormi, got popular, demand for extra arms has skyrocketed.” Vivian sank into her chair, taking a deep breath of the pleasant, early autumn air. It was nearing noon, the sun was shining with just the faintest hints of coming chill tinted the air making it so much more invigorating. Kathy had insisted they take their tea outside today.
“Removing arms is easy. I miss that fashion,” Vivian sighed as she began to prepare her tea. She took it with extra sugar, it seems. “Don’t get me wrong, extra arms costs more. They provide a much nicer profit margin. I don’t think the Boutique has ever had a better a quarter. But it gets taxing. And my assistant merged with her girlfriend and the two of them took off Florida…” Vivian calmed herself down and took a sip of her tea. It was a green leaf blend from Lys that Kathy always found soothing. She smiled from her perch as she saw Vivian’s shoulders relax, the horned hermaphrodite savoring her first, long sip.
“Oh… I needed this,” Vivian sighed.
“I’ve been telling you for months,” Nadalia chided.
Nadalia had visited Kathy and Joel a couple weeks after her change, as a sort of follow-up. With transformations as drastic as Kathy’s, Vivian always liked to make sure things were working out. Nadalia, who Kathy had only ever seen in the series of pictures Vivian kept at the Boutique, had a number of helpful tips and suggestions on how to accommodate armless life, even if she was an order of magnitude more mobile than Kathy. They got to chatting, she hit things off with Joel and Kathy, and she began visiting more and more often. A mid-day tea and chat had become almost a ritual.
“I’ve got to take more time off,” Vivian purred into her tea.
Kathy laughed, the motion making her mostly round form jiggle.
“Mistress?” Greta asked, picking up her elongated teacup, made in the same style as the others but with a vastly longer lip. Many times taller than a traditional teacup, its design only made sense when the maid titled it delicately, its elongated flute gently bringing the vessel’s rim to Kathy’s lips.
“I would enjoy a sip, yes,” Kathy said, and Greta lowered the vessel gently, bringing it to Kathy’s lip and deftly tipping it ever so slightly, so that a dainty sip of the rich tea found its way into her mouth.
Strictly speaking, she didn’t have to eat anymore. But some things were still worth the effort, and an afternoon tea with friends was definitely one of them. As an added bonus, she loved how the delicate concoction of herbs and ritual in the blend made her feel; simultaneously at ease and mildly aroused. She didn’t drink much, indeed she couldn’t actually manage a full cup, but just a little made the rest of her afternoon so much more enjoyable… and occasionally productive.
“Ah, you went the maid route,” Vivian said over another sip of tea. “I must admit, I wondered how you planned to handle the little things.”
Kathy smiled as she felt the warmth of her drink seep through her, invigorating her tantalizingly round breasts and thrumming nipples. In a few months it would be too cold for her to be outside naked like this, and she’d have to go back to swaddling blankets and sheets, but for now just the warm air on her taut, helpless breasts felt magnificent. “What makes you think I didn’t plan on just being a living fuck-toy?”
“There’s a lot more to life than just being fucked,” Vivian replied, without missing a beat, “your instructions were very clear. You struck me as a woman with enough foresight to… if not anticipate, than at least acclimate.” Her lips curved into a smirk, “I don’t turn just anyone into a limbless boob-butt-cushion, you know.”
“Well… I’ve turned away some clients away, at any rate,” Vivian said, a hint of violet darkening her cheeks with blush.
“Well… a maid seemed liked a good idea. It didn’t come to me until the second or third week. Joel had arranged for the sale of most of my clothing, furniture, jewelry, and, well, most of my things. Didn’t really have any use for them, anymore. And we were saving so much money since I don’t exactly eat much, or really do much shopping anymore. But he had his job, and as pleasant as just sitting around, being, could be… well, it helps to have someone to keep things interesting.”
Greta blushed. The woman was in her early twenties, with short blonde hair and demure features. She wore a black and white outfit that consisted of a tight, form hugging top and loose over-shirt with a short skirt. Not precisely a typical French maid’s outfit, but definitely reminiscent of the old costume. It wasn’t required by any means, but Greta seemed fond of it.
“How is your… husband?” Vivian asked, casting a pleading glance at her own lover. Nadalia just smiled and savored another sip of her tea.
Kathy laughed. “She’s doing great! And yeah, she’s still my hubby. Gender pronouns are such silly things, aren’t they?”
“I have to admit,” Vivian replied from over her own teacup, “I have no idea how people come to these things. I call them what they want when they introduce themselves, but… it gets a trifle hard to remember after the five-hundredth alteration.”
“Mmmh,” Kathy murmured. Nadalia and Vivian had been invited to the wedding eight months ago, although Kathy hadn’t actually spoken with either of them after the ceremony. It had been a wonderful, hectic night. The memory still made her warm and bothered.
“How’s her package working out?” Vivian asked.
“Oh, I have no complaints. And neither does she,” Kathy replied with a dreamy smile on her lips. It had become apparent fairly early on that her own sexual desires more than eclipsed her lover. They’d spent a long time discussing it, how Joel felt he was letting her down with their lovemaking sessions, as frequent as they were. He had excellent stamina, and he knew all the right ways to touch and tease her, but with her hyper-sexualized and reduced form, he had come to feel guilty about not making more of their time together an exploration and celebration of her purpose.
The idea to get magically altered had been his, but Kathy had decided to put the fundraising goal on their wedding registry. At first the plan was a simple libido booster, but then Joel decided to include a penis enlargement, and Kathy had floated some ideas, like a larger and more muscular upper-body to better hold and handle her. When their wedding guests had exceeded the goal they set, Joel mentioned another desire of his, a secret one, and Kathy had happily encouraged him.
Vivian had done the transformation, and Joelle had returned an Amazon, six feet and four inches of muscular, feminine form with a cock that could fill her more gloriously than any toy she’d ever known. There were times when the two had spent the better part of a fully day simply fucking. Being held by her, impaled on her thrusting manhood…
“Oh… oh, dear,” Kathy murmured, “Greta, would you be a dear?”
Without uttering a word the maid left the trio on the outdoor patio.
“Are you all right?” Vivian asked.
“Just… a trifle stimulated…” Kathy said, lost in memories of lust and love.
“She can slip into a sort of erotic haze,” Nadalia offered, since Kathy was having trouble forming complete sentences. “Sort of a runaway effect of constant lust and helplessness. You see it in a lot of reduction spells, and Kathy’s rather more elaborate change seems to have heightened it. If she thinks too much about naughty things, she can become almost catatonic, wrapped in exceedingly vivid memories which, of course, just fuel even more erotic thinking. If she’s not careful she can spend all day like that.”
Greta arrived promptly, a ten inch long dildo cradled in her hands. With a haste and ease that suggested practice, she knelt towards the table where her employer was perched and gently licked at her thrumming womanhood. Kathy moaned, her eyes shutting as she focused on pleasure coursing through her diminished frame, gleefully anticipating the next step. After a few seconds of almost dainty cunnilingus, Greta slipped the dildo into her mistress in one long, fluid motion, until only the tool’s very base was left outside of her body. She pressed a hidden switch and Kathy moaned in orgasmic rush.
Vivian stifled a giggle at the sight of her hostess vibrating.
Greta wasn’t finished, though. Slowly, she moved the vibrating phallus in and out of her employer, turning it off after a half-dozen repetitions. She removed the device with a wet ‘plop’, leaving Kathy flushed, a serene expression on her face.
“Hmm… thank you, Greta,” she murmured. Greta, blushing herself, gave a curd bow and darted away, dripping dildo in hands.
“I have to admit, I half expected you to just spend the days with one of those lodged in your pussy,” Vivian said, taking a sip of her tea. Kathy couldn’t see her guest’s groin under the rim of the table, but she knew the sculptress was hard. She could sense Nadalia’s arousal too; she’d put on quite a lovely little show. “It’s a popular past time amongst my more reduced clients.”
“Oh, I know. I did that a lot, back in the beginning. Joel would just plug my ass and pussy with vibrators in the morning. I’d spend all day like that, cumming again and again, and he’d come home to find me panting in a puddle of sex. It was torturous, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it.” She closed her eyes and smiled at the memory, “put it takes a lot out of you, and I’d barely be there for him when he arrived. And I’d spend most of the day in just a mindless, orgasmic trance. That… got to me, after a bit. I kinda thought I’d be fine with a life like that, but it just ended up feeling… wasteful, I guess.” She’d have shrugged if she possessed shoulders. The sensation had been strange, but an almost melancholy listlessness had crept over her during those first few weeks.
Her lips curved into a smile, and her (immobile) expression became more cheery. “That’s about when Nadalia started visiting. She’s been worlds of help.”
“I told her about the headset and voice-recognition software I use to type,” Nadalia said, smiling proudly towards her lover, “things kind of evolved from there.”
“I still do the erotic haze thing, every now and then. It’s, uh, one of the perks of being a living sex toy.” Kathy licked her lips fondly, “but it’s so much better if you save it. I work part-time, mostly blog stuff, a few novellas, interviews… spending a day hooked up to vibrators makes a marvelous incentive for finishing my big projects. And the things Great can do with her hands, and her tongue…”
For a moment she was worried she’d slip back into the memory-fugue, but she steadied her breathing and calmed herself. Her next thought made an excellent anchor point.
“It’s a shame, really. Greta’s moving on to a new career in a little over a week. You never can hold onto the good help… figuratively speaking, of course.”
“Believe me, I know,” Vivian replied, taking another sip of her tea. “What’s she moving on to? Another maid position? I imagine it must be hard to match this job’s… benefits.”
Kathy’s lips twisted into a smile. She couldn’t see it, but she imagined Nadalia’s tail curling around her lover’s hoofed foot underneath the table. The serpent woman’s eyes gleamed and her lips curved into a mischievous smile.
“As it would happen,” Nadalia murmured, “we’ll be hiring her… loosely speaking. I got to talking with the lovely girl a few weeks back, and it turns out she has a thing for limblessness. I happened to mention that someone I know had been campaigning for a pillow-girl…”
Vivian’s eyes shot wide, darting from her lover to Kathy and back, “really?”
“I have her scheduled for reduction next Tuesday, we’ll pick her up that afternoon.”
The sculptress threw her arms around her lover and embraced Nadalia, who was all too happy to return the attention. Her arms began moving, stroking Nadalia’s back, at least one caressing some breasts underneath the serpentine woman’s blouse… Kathy giggled, her own features reddening as she watched.
It was easy to lose herself in pleasure. Fun, too. But there were greater things in life, and happiness like this was one of them. She smiled, adoring the moment. The notion that Greta’s time with her, serving her and helping her, had inspired her to follow her own dream was delightful. She’d miss her, to be sure, but Greta had supplied a small list of likeminded men and women who might fill her position. Interviews would start on Friday, but Kathy couldn’t think of that just now. Interviews, writing, and productivity in general would have to wait, until tomorrow at the very earliest.
“Greta! Would you kindly join us?” Kathy said, just loud enough to be heard over her necking friends. After all, Greta wouldn’t be leaving for a few more days yet, so she might as well make use of her hands and tongue while she could…
or, enter your birth date.*
The Body Boutique
Part One of Two
By Ordos Tsceri
Kathy took a deep breath, trying to steel her nerves. This was the moment, the seminal decision that would define the rest of her life. The next few minutes would see the consummation of an idea, a plan she’d been building for over a year, fantasizing about for five times as long, and dreaming of for as long as she could remember.
It seemed oddly anti-climatic that said seminal moment would take place standing next to the white stone façade of a boutique at the local mall, at ten AM on a Tuesday. But, then again, a lot of lives would have been redefined in front of this unassuming little shop.
She’d passed this shop a hundred times. It had a simple sign over the entryway; The Body Boutique. Kathy was fairly sure this spot used to be an Arby’s when she was in high school. The façade was professional, with cool off-white, sky-blue walls framing a pair of large window displays next to a doorless entry-way. The walls were opaque, an electronic display showing silhouetted figures in various poses, each image held for ten seconds or so before flickering to another. Some looked normal men and women, albeit shapely and marvelously defined. Others had cat-ears perking up, extra breasts, tails, or other physical oddities. The variety was impressive; after a solid minute of lingering there still didn’t seem to a pattern, or even a repeated image.
Kathy found herself tapping her foot nervously. She forced herself calm, breathing slowly and deeply. She’d planned this. She’d researched this. Everything was arranged, and there was no way she’d ever be able to live with herself if she didn’t follow through.
Her budding panic attack was interrupted by a trio of college aged girls. The mall had just opened a couple hours ago, and since it was a weekday it was mostly empty, so the sound of their arrival shook Kathy from her rumination. Not that these three would have blended into a crowd.
One was a cat-girl, and she seemed to have run with the look more than most. She was east-Asian, with short but lustrous white hair and pair of triangular, white-furred ears poking out atop her head. She was barefoot, walking on a pair of paws at the end of furred, digitigrade legs, a fluffy white tail puffing out of a hole artfully carved on the back of her short-skirt. She wore a tight-fitting top that hugged her three pairs of small breasts.
Her friends had been changed, too. It took Kathy a moment to notice the nest of messy purple hair on her head wasn’t hair, but rather a slowly moving mass of suckered, octopus like tentacles. They curled and uncurled around her, like an ever-shifting hair-do, the longest lounging along the small of her back, the shortest framing her face like a pair of caressing bangs.
But it was the last girl that really caught Kathy’s eyes. She was a black woman, about six-feet tall with breasts easily as large as her head, proud and full and burgeoning against a too-tight tank-top. She wore a pair of men’s boxers, backwards, so that her long horse tail could comfortably poke through the fly-hole, while the rest of the garment clung to her thighs and groins like linen hot-pants. Her legs were long, muscular, equine limbs ending in hooves that made a distinct clopping sound with every step she made. But, what most caught her attention were the woman’s shoulders. They were smooth, round, and utterly bereft of arms. She had a purse wrapped around her hips, resting on her thigh. A few paces away from Kathy she paused, “Oh, I’m ringing. Would you mind?”
With a roll of her eyes Tentacles slipped a hand into Pony-Girl’s purse and retrieved her phone. She brushed its screen and lifted the device to her head-level, where one of her longer tentacles pressed itself against its back, suckers securing it. Without even looking at her friend she lifted the phone upward and behind her to Pony-Girl’s ear. “Hey, sweetie! What’s up?”
The Cat-Girl noticed Kathy, her ears swinging forward to attention. Her (still human) eyes darted to her, then to the Boutique she was idling in front of. Her faced seemed to light up. “Oh! Are you thinking about going to the Boutique?”
“Kinda… I’ve… ah, set up an appointment for today,” she murmured, stunned by the trio. Most magical alterations tended towards the small-scale, elaborations on conventional cosmetic procedures. But, bit by bit, the potential had been pushing boundaries. Just last week she’d read an article talking about how boob jobs that increased boob number were being performed more often than ones that only increased boob size. Still, three women so changed…
“Oh, awesome!” the Cat-Girl actually jumped up in excitement. “You’ll love it! Vivian is totally awesome!”
“Genevieve,” Tentacles said, still not paying any attention to her limbless friend and the phone she was holding for her, “she likes to go by Vivian in person. She does excellent work. Reasonably priced, too.”
“-meet me by the food court for a quickie! See you there!” Pony Girl finished, turning her attention from her phone as the person on the other side hung up. Without missing a beat she entered the conversation, “Vivian is so fucking hot! I’m thinking of getting my ears done, just so she’ll work her magic on me one more time.” She wiggled her hips to emphasize her double-entendre, her horse-tail swaying.
“You are such a slut,” Tentacles replied, retracting the phone and tapping it back to sleep mode. Her tone didn’t have any bitterness or accusation to it… indeed, it almost seemed like a friendly habit.
“Well I didn’t get a horse-cunt for the aerodynamics,” she replied just as casually. She turned her attention back to Kathy, “it’ll be awesome! Oh, and go armless! I got rid of mine four months ago and everything is so much sexier now!”
Cat-Girl giggled. “Just run with it! Do what you think would be neat and I bet it’ll turn out great! I did this whole kitty-girl thing on a whim and I’ve been loving every second of it!” She ran her hands over her chest over her six breasts and purred, “it’s so great being one of the girls now!”
Tentacles rolled her eyes. “Just start small. Morphic Fields can recover from little changes. Do what you feel comfortable with right now, and keep in mind you can build on it later.” She didn’t even have to look at Pony-Girl as she slipped the phone back into her friend’s purse.
“Come on,” Pony-Girl said, “Doug said he’d meet us at the court!” She broke into a canter, or a trot, or whatever its called when a bipedal horse-girls starts moving casually at a speed a human has to jog to catch up to. Tentacles followed instantly but the fuzzy white-haired cat-girl lingered a second. She approached Kathy and flung her arms around her, squeezing her tight in a hug. “You’re going to have so much fun!” she said before releasing the startled woman and sprinting after her friends.
The three of them seemed so… happy. Very different girls with very different changes, but it looked ot be working out for them. None of them were anything like what she wanted to be, but still… it felt reassuring.
Kathy looked back at the store’s façade. She had time before her appointment, but she couldn’t put off the decision any longer.
But really, there was only one decision to make, and she’d made up her mind ages ago.
“Welcome to the Body Boutique! Genevieve is busy with a client, but she should be back up here in just a couple minutes!”
Kathy blinked. Where was that voice coming from? After a heartbeat of confusion, she found the source of the cheery, youthful, feminine voice… albeit rather lower than she would have expected.
There was a young woman, wearing a pink miniskirt, a pair of open-toed, rather expensive looking four-inch heels, and nothing else. On a normal human that would be lewd, but the girl’s body just ended at her hips, with her neck and smiling head perched right on top. Everything between her hips and her neck was just missing.
The shortened woman laughed. Kathy smiled in return… just how rude is overlooking a girl who couldn’t be more than three feet tall be?
“Uh, hi. Sorry, I didn’t see you down there…”
“No worries!” the girl chirped. She took a swaying step towards, her reduced frame almost exaggerating the sultry sway of long legs and high heels. She was young, probably a high school senior. She wore her hair in twin pig-tails that fell down behind her, swaying around her knees.
“My name’s Zoe, by the way. I help out around here. And yeah, I know I’m kinda easy to miss right now. Don’t worry about it!”
“Oh, uh, I understand. I’m, ah, well, I have an appointment…”
“Katherine Harris?” Zoe chirped. Kathy nodded and she smiled, hopping in place with excitement. The gesture seemed bizarre, but then again, Zoe didn’t have many other options for expressing herself.
“Ah, good, good! You’re early! Vivy will be with you in just a few minutes; she’s been excited for your procedure. We don’t get many like it, you know. Bet that’s part of the fun?”
“Ah… I don’t really know about that… did Vivy do your change, too?” She gestured at Zoe’s greatly reduced form and immediately felt foolish for gesturing at something that wasn’t there.
“Yup!” She twirled, her shirt skirt fluttering around her taut butt, “it’s neat! Everything’s so different from here, and I feel so light and full of energy!”
Kathy nodded, smiling awkwardly. How did a high school girl decide on being reduced to a head on legs? Well, supposedly she still had her pussy, and she definitely still had a butt on her. Fortunately, it seemed Zoe wasn’t the sort that needed much prompting to carry on a conversation.
“It’s really just a transitory thing. Vivy likes to reuse components, conservation of mass and all of that, so I was able to pretty much just pawn off my middle. Sometimes I kinda miss my boobs, but this is so much fun, and I’m really just saving up money.” She leaned in forward, which brought her face closer to Kathy’s crotch than her ears, “this is fun and all, but I’m really just saving up money for a conjoinment! It’s going to be so neat sharing a body with my girlfriend…”
“Is my twelve-o’clock here?” a woman’s voice called out from behind the shop’s partition, briefly cutting off the receptionist.
“Oh! I think so!” the shortened girl replied. “You’re Kathy Summers, right? Everything is prepared, transportation has been arranged, and Vivy has the next hour cleared!”
“Ah, excellent!” the voice replied again, “I’ll be with you in a minute, dear.”
“Thanks,” Kathy rsaid, looking around the shop itself for the first time. It seemed that the assistant (secretary?) had to fill out some paperwork or notification about her visit, and operating the touch-pad behind her desk without arms was taking the majority of her attention. In the momentary silence, Kathy tried to take in the details of the place.
This was really just a waiting room with a secretary’s desk. There were chairs and end-tables piled with magazines. Absently, Kathy flipped through the selection on the nearest table; Gemini Conjoinment, Ariel’s Artistry, Anthromorph Monthly, Devotees, the Augmented Woman (naga edition), and Multibreast. She remembered touching herself to pilfered copies of some of these magazines when she was younger. The thought brought a rosy color to her cheeks and she left the magazines where they were to look at the walls.
The off-white painted walls were adorned with numerous framed pictures. Each was a photograph, presumably depicting someone who had visited the boutique.
Kathy noticed one series of pictures, in a prominent place along the wall to the back-rooms. There were five in total, each depicting two people. It took an instant for Kathy to grasp what it was.
The first picture was of a pair of kids, seniors in high school or freshmen in college, somewhere around that period. There was a girl and a boy, and their poses, the way she leaned against him, the smile on their faces, and the guy’s subtly possessive posture all suggested that the two were a couple. The girl was petite, with long brown hair hanging past her shoulders, and a cute, almost mischievous smile. She had an arm wrapped around the guy, who was easily a foot taller than his girlfriend. He was cute, short sandy-blonde hair, with a sort of shy smile that made his youthful features oddly endearing. The type of person she’d have hooked up with back in school.
The second picture was obviously the same pair a little while later. Maybe a year or so. They each had an arm wrapped around each other, both smiling towards the camera. It seemed like the girl, who was almost certainly the illustrious Genevieve, had grown a fair bit in the intervening time; she was only an inch or so shorter than her boyfriend now. She’d changed her hair color to a vibrant, bright blue, and she seemed to be filling out her t-shirt more. The guy seemed happier in this picture, too. He seemed different, somehow… at first Kathy just thought it was the year’s growth, but as she lingered on his smiling face, it seemed subtly off, somehow…
It wasn’t until she saw the third picture that she realized what had been happening. Now the woman, who Kathy just recognized as Genevieve from the pictures she’d seen on the Boutique’s website, was hugging a blushing, smiling girl, still kind of lanky, but definitely female. Now that he had boobs, hips, and curves, Kathy could see the slow progression, how the features from the first picture had softened, how the lips became fuller, the nose more petite, a dozen little things that had subtly shifted the young man from awkward, juvenile male to androgeny to cute female. She was wearing a sundress, her smile equal parts earnest and embarrassed, her hair a striking dark green.
Genevieve was hugging her, one arm wrapped around her boyfriend-turned-girlfriend’s waist. She was actually the taller of the two, now, and had undergone further changes of her own. Her breasts were definitely bigger than the modest b-cups she’d started out with, a short pair of curved horns grew from her temples, and a tail could be seen swaying out from underneath the hem of her skirt. But, perhaps most importantly, a conspicuous bulge near the top of her skirt made it clear that Genevieve wasn’t entirely woman anymore, either.
In the fourth picture, Genevieve was hugging her girlfriend with four arms. It seemed she had gotten the extra pair from her lover, because the green-haired woman was armless, a tight-fitting band holding up her now considerable breasts and smoothly covering her bare, round shoulders suggesting she’d been armless long enough to have built a wardrobe around it. She was in the foreground, so Kathy could see that her legs had been replaced with a long, green-scaled snake’s tail. A long, forked tongue was slipping through her smiling lips as Genevieve kissed her on the cheek. The sorceress was now much more invested in her daemon look; her curved horns swept backward, more prominent than before, her pale skin was now a dusky lavender, and her legs ended in hooves.
The final picture seemed rather recent. Genevieve was the woman she’d seen on the ads; dusky violet skinned with a quartet of curved horns peeking through a mane of wild, dark-blue hair, with sharp and powerful features with inviting lips and eager eyes. She had four breasts bound in a tight shirt and was wearing a pair of boxers that clung to her curvy hips, barely concealing the roused cock within. She was playfully sticking out a deep blue tongue that had to be at least eight inches long.
Her lover was more feminine than ever, with full lips, expressive eyes, and soft, elegant features. She wore a blouse, but Kathy could see the outline of eight breasts through it, in four rows of two, the largest pair easily as large as Genevieve’s, and each of the lower breasts smaller by a cup-size or so. She had a few piercings along her ears, small rings and studs of gold standing out against her jade green skin. She was sticking her own forked tongue out at her lover, the same teasing happiness in her smiling eyes.
“Ah, Kathy Summers.”
Kathy spun to see the woman from the final picture only to find it didn’t quite convey Genevieve’s size. The woman standing in front of her was easily six and a half feet tall. She wore a simple indigo-colored buttoned shirt, sleeveless and with two large holes along its sides for her four arms. Her upper legs and hips were covered by a pair of loose shorts, a men’s cut altered to fit her anatomy. Kathy could see the bulge of her groin, but more noticeably, she smelled of magic, that subtle tingling that lingers in the back of the mind, her mere presence promising erotic things that made Kathy’s heart race.
“Pleased to meet you, in person, Genevieve” she managed to say, extending a hand to shake the body sculptress’.
“Oh, just call me Vivian,” she smiled, shaking Kathy’s hand. Her grip was strong, confident without being overbearing. It would have been a business woman’s shake, but Vivian had two right arms, and the second gently stroked Kathy’s wrist and hand, sending an involuntary, not entirely unpleasant shiver up her arm. Her knees felt weak and her heart fluttered.
“I must say, I do love working imaginative changes. Boob jobs are all well and good, but I adore someone who walks in with an imagination, and desire, like yours.” Vivian licked her lips, “as requested, all the legal work has been filled out online. Everything is ready. You don’t even need to sign anything.”
Kathy nodded. She’d been afraid that she might chicken out at the last moment, so she’d tried to handle as many things as possible beforehand, from electronic signatures to transportation arrangements. And now she was here, just a few short steps from her destiny.
“I’m ready,” she said, her worry slowly growing into exhilaration, “what happens now?”
“Just step this way. This is where the magic happens.”
Vivian opened the door she’d come from, marked with a simple sign that read ‘Sculptress and Clients Only’. Kathy found herself holding her breath as she crossed the threshold into the backroom, the laboratory where the bizarre flesh-sculptor worked her trade.
She didn’t know what she was expecting, but the back-room of the Boutique certainly wasn’t it. She blinked a couple times as she took in the area. There weren’t any astrolabes, witch’s tomes, bubbling cauldrons, or cackling gargoyles… come to think of that, she felt foolish for imagining there might be. Instead, the place seemed something like a mixture between a clinic and a piercing parlor… but the good kind of piercing place, the type that was sterilized and clean and more like a nurse’s office than not.
The walls were painted in a pastel bluish-white, the floor was hard linoleum tile, and the space was divided into a main walk way and three stalls, each a little larger than a cubicle. There were cabinets lining many of the walls, some rolling platforms, tables, jars of hand sanitizer, cotton swabs, and raised reclining bed-chairs, just like the ones a hundred nurses had told her to lie down on.
Two of the stalls were empty, but the third was very occupied. Kathy stopped as Vivian moved, starting at the set-up in the stall furthest from the door. It was the largest of the stalls by a fair margin. Even from here, Kathy could see a variety of harnesses, wall and ceiling mounted appliances that would have been at home in a BDSM dungeon if they had a little more red leather and lace. As it was, they seemed almost medical in their simplicity.
These straps were holding a woman, her arms sagging against two chains that held up her hands in padded restraints, and some type of bodice that seemed to wrap around her tremendous, watermelon-sized breasts before sweeping into a corset or bra of sorts, ropes or chords of some manner attached to the garment, holding up her torso more or less upright. Her head lolled against a padded semi-circle, held in place by another assortment of wires, giving the impression of a woman who had somehow managed to fall asleep standing up.
Below the waist, her body seemed to be that of a cow. The curve of her hips melted into the chest of a thirteen hundred pound bovine form, complete with black-and-white splotchy fur patterns and a tremendous udder that hung heavily between her hind legs
Her bovine quarters were being held up too. A series of cushioned straps anchored in the ceiling crossed over her bovine stomach, hoisted by chains to a mount in the ceiling. The cow-woman couldn’t be able to move very much, but she seemed to be asleep standing up. As Kathy watched, she noticed the cow-woman swayed ever so slightly on her hooves.
“Am… I ready… yet?” the woman breathed in a far-off voice, like that of a woman half-awake from pleasant dreams.
“Not yet Betsy,” Vivian replied, reemerging from the stall she’d went into to approach her other subject. She gave the girl a long, slow pat along her back, brushing through her flowing manes of golden curls and gently feeling one of her heaving tits. The cow-girl (Betsy?) closed her eyes again and let out a long, happy moan that sounded suspiciously like a ‘moo’.
She turned back towards Kathy, “Betsy here is my big job of the week. A change like hers takes time. The girl’s more than quintupling in mass, so the magic needs time to rework and resettle a lot of things.”
Kathy lingered. There was something oddly familiar about the cow-centaur.
“David? David Huesof?”
Vivian raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a bemused smirk. David, or Betsy now, didn’t respond, but shifted her weight again in her dreamy haze.”
“I’m impressed. Not many people could get a read like that after a full gender swap, to say nothing of the cow parts. How’d you guess?”
Kathy shrugged. Why did her ears feel so warm? Like she was glowing under the sculptress’ praise. “I knew him in college. Nice guy. Always seemed to be dating someone with huge tits… or an udder, come to think of it. I dunno… maybe something in his posture? The feel?”
Vivian nodded approvingly. “I can’t tell you much, client confidentiality and all that, but Betsy here is headed to a special dairy farm in a few days, once she finishes metabolizing her changes. She’ll be in very good, very skilled hands. And the next glass of milk you drink might come from her. Now, let’s head on; your table is just around here.”
She led Kathy to another cubicle-like booth, this one much smaller than Betsy’s. There was a counter on one end, with hand sanitizer and a basket on top and cupboards beneath, and bed that could have just as well been a padded table. It was a little taller than waist height; a good elevation for the tall sculptress to work.
“If you’d strip we can begin!” Vivian said, gesturing at the clothes basket.
Kathy found her fingers fumbling at her waistband before she even knew it. She unfastened her open-faced shoes, tugged down her blue jeans, pulled off her simple camisole and undershirt, and tossed them all into the basket. She looked at Vivian for an instant, seeing the sculptress smiling at her. Her blush intensified as she moved her fingers to unfasten her bra. Her modest breasts jiggled free as she tossed the garment into the bin. Lastly she slipped her panties down over her smooth thighs, her visibly wet, clean shaven sex open to the cool air. She gasped involuntarily, maybe from the sculptress’ gaze, maybe because of her own anticipation. With a flick of her wrist she flung her last pair of panties onto the clothes pile.
“Right up here,” Vivian said, patting the bed with one of her four arms.
Kathy hopped up onto the bed, casting a last, lingering gaze onto the pile of her discarded clothing. Was that the last t-shirt she would ever wear? It’d certainly be the last one she’d ever put on by herself. The thought made her giggle nervously, her cheeks warming with blush. She felt her womanhood grow hot and wet, aching with an arousal that was fighting abject fear in her heart. There would be no turning back from this point.
“Let’s get started,” Vivian purred, her lustrous dark lips curved in an eager smile.
Before Kathy could react, Vivian’s lips were upon hers, her tongue parting open her mouth and stroking. It was electrifying. She returned the kiss automatically, closing her eyes and savoring the feel of the embrace, the warmth, impossible woman’s intoxicating taste. She almost didn’t recognize the tingling sensation that seemed to dance through her tongue, twirling down her spine as something akin to a tickle or caress before it filled her body with warmth, like a good night-cap.
Vivian broke the kiss after what felt like a century. Kathy panted, her sex wet and yearning, her nipples erect and pleading, and her heart pounding in excitement. Her arms and legs felt weak… like when she kissed her first boyfriend and found herself weak in the knees and putty in his arms. Only this… she curved her lips into an expectant smile; this was something a great deal more marvelous.
“Mmmm,” Vivian purred, licking her lips as she stood up, “I can taste the lust on you. You…” she chuckled, “you are going to enjoy this, I can tell.”
Kathy opened her lips, but only a yearning, desperate moan emerged. Thankfully, Vivian didn’t stop. Her four hands were on Kathy, stroking her stomach, her breasts, her right arm, and shoulder blade. Wherever her delicate, dusk-colored fingers caressed, her skin felt alive. She wriggled underneath Vivian’s touch, adjusting herself as the body-sculptress positioned her. Then, Vivian anchored her two lower arms against Kathy’s shoulder and hip, and placed her other two on Kathy’s right arm.
“Now the fun part begins,” she cooed into Kathy’s ear, extending her tongue to teasingly lick Kathy’s prone neck. Kathy gasped in surprise and delight, only for the noise to extend into a loud, ecstatic cry as Vivian pushed. There was a shock, something amazing and powerful and wonderful, an influx of warmth and arousal flooding into her chest. She turned her head to see the cause of it; her arm was sinking into her torso. Already Vivian had it pushed almost to the elbow. Kathy all but sang in pleasure as her right arm sank away, wiggling her fingers with what little control over the limb she still had. Vivian, in a teasing mood it seemed, chose to lick and kiss each fingertip as they sank into the smooth roundness of her bare, naked shoulder.
She was panting, but Vivian didn’t give her a moment to recoup. With her four deceptively strong arms she rotated Kathy, turning her around so that she could have clear, easy access to her remaining arm. A careless giggle escaped Kathy’s chest; her limbs felt so weak and tingly now, she couldn’t have pushed the sculptress away even if she wanted to. Vivian kissed her, softly along the nape of her neck, going upward kiss by kiss until she nibbled on her ear, Kathy squealing with girlish delight until she started howling in neigh orgasmic pleasure, feeling her left arm being pushed up into her just like the right one had.
This time, though, she felt something more specific, beneath the flood of magic and glorious ecstasy of fantasy made real. Not only was her arm sinking away into her chest, vanishing forever, but there was a swelling accompanying it. She looked down and, as her left arm vanished up past her elbow, she saw her breasts grow, their familiar curves already extending further than she knew they did when she arrived only a few minutes before. Her familiar, comfortable breasts had burgeoned into a truly impressive, expansive bosom. It was hard to believe they were really hers, but she felt their new weight tug her forward, and without her arms to balance she was in danger of tipping over.
Vivian kissed away the fingers on her left hand as they vanished, leaving her shoulders smooth and bare. She shuddered when Vivian ran one of her hands over the smooth, featureless nub, the movement making her enlarged, melon sized breasts jiggle in a strange, delightful way.
“Now… just lay down on your chest,” Vivian whispered, gently pushing on Kathy’s back. She was all too happy to oblige, letting out a soft, lovely squeak as her weight fell onto her new breasts. They felt so warm and squishy, and even this motion, her own weight, was deliciously delightful. Her boobs had never been so sensitive, and now just laying on them felt so good…
With two strong hands, Vivian gently grasped Kathy by her ankles, lifting her legs up onto the clinic bed, laying her subject out horizontally. She planted a soft kiss on Kathy’s right calf, and then her left one. She held Kathy firmly by her hips with two of her hands and then gently grabbed Kathy’s feet with her other pair. She began pushing, and the movement flooded Kathy with an influx of warmth, making the aching need in her womanhood all the more demanding. The tingling intensified, the sculptress’ magic remaking her body, converting her legs into… something glorious.
She wriggled her hips slightly, but Vivian held her firmly. Inch by inch her legs vanished forever. Some of the mass was being reallocated, but this procedure wouldn’t be like David’s… or, rather, Betty’s. No, Kathy would be losing a lot of mass with her change, her disappeared weight transubstantiated into sensation, sensitivity, arousal…
Kathy wriggled her toes as her feet sank away, but Vivian had other ideas. With the hands that had been pushing away her limbs, she began to tickle the soles of Kathy’s feet, now already ankle-deep in her expanding bottom.
“Eeek!” Kathy cried as Vivian chuckled.
“Just think, this is the last time anyone will ever tickle your feet,” Vivian cooed.
The reminder of the permanence, the monumental impact of this change… Kathy smiled. There wasn’t any fear or nervousness anymore. Everything felt so good, so right.
“Hmmm…” she purred as, with a goodbye kiss on her toes, Vivian pushed the last remnants of her feet away. The sculptress ran a hand over her smooth, round ass, where her thigh used to be. The feeling of touch in that space, where it should have been possible, was strange and alien and amazing. She felt odd, though, when Vivian groped her ass. It felt good, much better than it had ever had when her boyfriends played with it, but the proportions…
Her ass was bigger. Expanded in much the same way her breasts have, with some portion of her vanished limbs. She couldn’t help but giggle, just thinking about her round, taut, jiggly booty now. Not that she’d ever be able to shake it, of course.
“I’ve done quadruple limb-removals before, you know,” Vivian said, standing up from where Kathy lay prone on her chest. “Pillow girls are always so adorable. I keep suggesting to my girlfriend that we should buy one. Or make one.”
She ran a finger over Kathy’s pussy, and Kathy cried out in shock and delight. Just that little touch had felt like a climax, but it wasn’t… no, she was still horny, needy, wet, and carving much, much more. Vivian traced a finger along Kathy’s labia… it felt so different, somehow larger… did it expand like her ass did? Or did it just feel that way, since it had become so much more of her, proportionately?
“You won’t be having any of those phantom-limb perceptions that come from more… mundane amputations. Your limbs are gone, and all the corresponding wiring has been…” she chuckled, “redirected. It’s a fairly simple procedure, even if few go for it… I want to thank you. I always enjoy these sort of changes, and it’s a pleasure to work on something unique. I’ve done a half-dozen quadruple limb removals, but you’re the first to ever detail something quite like this.”
Kathy smiled. She stretched, arching her spine, contracting her abs, craning her neck, just exploring ounce of mobility her reduced body had to offer. It’d be difficult, but she could crawl like this. Wriggling around, using her enlarged bust and ass as anchors, and making movement by pushing with her abdominals.
“I’m ready for the next part,” she said, her voice warm with conviction and, surprisingly, a little pride. Even her body-sculptress thought her idea was delicious.
Vivian didn’t voice a reply. Instead, she brought her face close, until Kathy could feel her breath on her ass and glistening wet sex. Slowly, almost tauntingly, she stroked Kathy’s quivering sex.
Kathy moaned, unable to do more than squirm in place as she felt the sculptress inhumanly long tongue caress her. But through the shock of pleasure, through aching need to be filled, she felt the tell-tale, almost ticklish tingle of magic flowing through her. It filled her reduced body, and she grinned, half giddy in anticipation for what would come next.
When Vivian was finished with her tongue, she placed tow hands along Kathy’s hips and the other two along her smooth shoulders. Vivian pulled, and Kathy felt her body explode with sensation.
It was overwhelming. Her limbs vanishing had been one thing, erogenous for reasons both magical and personal, but ultimately they were something she could process. The human body had no frame of reference for what was happening now. She was awash in waves of sensation, but could hardly tell what they were. Rationally, she knew what was happening. She’d given Vivian very explicit, precise details, and had researched this extensively. The Sculptress was compressing her, and with every breath and heartbeat she was pushing away her torso.
The magic was changing her, fundamentally. Limbs were one thing, but now her lungs, her intestines, even her very heart had to be radically transformed. The metaphysics behind it were complicated; some organs were simply vanishing, most were being phased partially out of existence… within her but not. Her blood would pump, but she wouldn’t have a heart in her chest, because she wouldn’t have a chest anymore. Her body would rise and fall with her breathing, but her longs wouldn’t technically exist. Magic was being woven into her body and being; it’d nourish her in lieu of the stomach she was giving up, and she’d end up something between a full woman and an inanimate object.
That was the thought that did it. That dear, cherished fantasy, the understanding of its immediacy, the intimidate knowledge of permanent, life-long realization of every fetish she had loved, that was what consolidated it. Through that auspex her body determined what was happening was pleasurable, and she howled in orgasm as Vivian compressed her, overwhelmed by the feeling of her chest being pushed away into itself, into nothing.
She must have blacked out for an instant there, because the next thing she knew she was panting, her pussy dripping, her thundering pulse slowing but still thrumming through her ears, nipples, and engorged loins…
She couldn’t have been out of it for more than a couple seconds. Vivian was just taking her hands off of her, running them over her greatly reduced body. Their teasing touch helped her picture her new outline, as she couldn’t quite bend her neck enough to get a good image. Her torso was all but gone. Her head, which had been lying against the cushions of the raised bed, was now propped up, her neck rising from where her greatly enlarged breasts rested on the sheets. Her bust ended right where her bottom began, leaving her limbless body not quite two feet long, and almost all tits, ass, and pussy.
Vivian circled around her, looming giant over her compacted form. She was sweating with the exertion of her art, but beamed with pride at her work. She didn’t say a word as she leaned forward to finish the change. With the last of her mobility, Kathy leaned into the Sculptress’ kiss.
It was lighter than the previous ones, airy and whimsical and teased with the flavor of magic. Kathy felt almost giddy as Vivian broke the embrace. Vivian placed a single finger from a single hand on Kathy’s forehead and gently pushed.
The room fell upward, and Kathy, tired and exhausted and giddy, had to giggle as she experienced the final change. With only the slightest touch, her head fell back, her neck vanishing, the twin orbs of her breasts rising in her field of view as her head sank away into body. It felt warm, soft, even tranquil… an enveloping soft warmness as head sank into her new, soft, sexual body.
“Ah,” she whispered, lost in the sensations of her new existence. She didn’t hear the footsteps of Vivian leaving her side, but noticed when she returned, holding a hand-mirror. With practiced articulation, she held the mirror in front of Kathy’s face, angling it so she could see her final form.
She’d been reduced to only her most favorite, essential parts. Her modest breasts and slim ass had both expanded, becoming luscious pillows of barely contained flesh and arousal. They also accounted for the great majority of her current mass. Her two gigantic, melon sized breasts stood prominently, gleaming pink nipples easily as large as her former thumbs stood at attention, erect and needing and bobbling ever so slightly with the little breaths she took. Her face stared up, slightly changed to her surprise; her lips were more prominent, almost pouty, her eyes a little larger, and more expressive. It made her look more sexual, more helpless. It was perfect. Her face began in her cleavage, with the twin mounds of her breasts rising past her cheekbones. The curve of her boobs obscured the lower third of her field vision, a soft mammalian horizon that would color every vista she’d see for the rest of her life. Her torso was almost gone, but it seemed as though her body was cemented by the small mass of her hips. The upper half of her head was positioned along their top, her forehead crowning just before her former coccyx, where her ass began, its crack bisecting two voluminous, round and taut cheeks.
Vivian angled the mirror so that Kathy’s eyes could see it reflect the light from a second hand-mirror, this one Vivian had positioned over her rear. Kathy smiled as she looked through it, seeing her full, perfect ass, clean little anus, and the glistening mound of her enlarged and needy vagina. Her labia full and flush and her aching twat completely visible and accessible. Anyone behind her could penetrate it, as clear and brazen as it was displayed, and she had nothing left she could use to cover it.
“How are you feeling?” Vivian asked, her voice soft and sultry.
“I… I feel wonderful,” Kathy said, her own voice softer than she recalled, either from exhaustion or her newly reduced diaphragm. “I’m… boobs… and ass, and pussy… and I feel so beautiful…”
Kathy closed her eyes and tried to feel herself. She flexed every muscle she could, trying to find out what she could still control. She had full control over her face. She could carry on her old kegel exercises, clutching and releasing the muscles of her anus and womanhood. She could breathe, ever so slightly inflating the magically reduced body at the core of her being, nestled between her old hips, although this was so slight it hardly seemed noticeable.
Everything else was gone. No arms, no legs, nothing she could use to move herself, or interact with the world more than an inch past her face, now angled slightly upward on the forward arc of her pelvis-body-core. She couldn’t even wriggle her compact body, merely shudder at the powerful sensations coursing through her.
Vivian brushed a finger over her left nipple, and Kathy moaned in pleasure. Even that glancing touch had felt as powerful an orgasm… only it brought no relief, and the delightful arousal still lingered, her nipples begging to be touched, her twat yearning to be filled. And she couldn’t do a thing to relieve them. The knowledge, the intimate tactile proof of her helplessness was arousing in a different, altogether more powerful way.
“Are… are you going to fuck me now?” she murmured, rallying control over her faculties.
Vivian bit her lip, “oh… you are so tempting,” she licked her lips, eyes alight, and gently ran a hand over one of Kathy’s full breasts. “But you gave me instructions beforehand, and I think it best I honor them. Now… a change like that takes a lot of a girl, so just relax…”
Vivian placed two strong, gentle hands along Kathy’s flanks and lifted her up like she weighed nothing. Kathy felt her breasts and ass jiggle with motion, hanging perky and full without a table to support them. Only now did she realize just how small she had become; she couldn’t weigh more than twenty pounds!
She placed Kathy in a box. Kathy didn’t get a good view of the outside, and she only vaguely remembered the details of the service… funny, how she could be shipped now. The small, soft, padded box was much more fitting than a car seat. She felt herself be lowered into it, her soft orbs squish against its padded walls, her mass resting comfortably, her own eyes drooping, half-lidded, as Vivian said something. No real idea what, though; she was far too tired. She felt herself drifting to sleep even before Vivian placed the air-hole covered top onto her box, giving her the darkness she required for a much needed nap.