“Ha! You think that spell could…” Marianne blinked, a sudden dizziness overcoming her. The knight sent a concerned look to her squire, but Nal seemed to be unaffected by the witch’s hex. Just her luck then, there had to be something about this spell that was catered towards herself.
Still, it was hardly noble to show fear, especially before a baseborn and a witch. Marianne turned from the young man who served as her aide, gripping her sword a hair tighter. The leather guard creaked beneath her palm, and she narrowed her eyes.
Then, she charged. It was a common tactic for a Knight of Flame, and would normally leave an awestruck opponent utterly defenseless for a powerful swing of her sword. However, as Marianne lifted her sword past her right shoulder, a sudden weight overcame her.
It was like an invisible hand had gripped the tip of her blade, increasing its weight tenfold. She yelped in an undignified manner, her cheeks coloring as her feet lifted from the ground. In a mere instant, her charge had turned into a farcical fall, and one that sent her falling onto her hindquarters.
Two things struck her as odd in that moment: first, there was no clatter from her armor as she fell. Second, the impact was cushioned, as though she’d landed upon a pair of rather feathered pillows. “Wastrel! What’ve—what have you done to me?” She slurred her words, mistaking the brief speech impediment for panic.
“I wonder… I would have thought that it’s as plain as the green on your nose,” the witch crooned, a look of smug superiority on the woman’s face.
“On my nose?” Marianne grunted, clearing her throat absently. Her voice wasn’t as smooth as it normally was, there was a hint of a something coarse beneath her tones. The knight then crossed her eyes, catching a glimpse of something… Green?
“Lady Marianne!” Nal gasped, concern clear in the man’s voice. Marianne turned, finding that he’d somehow grown over the past few moments. It looked like now were she to stand, she’d be barely at crotch height to his stature.
“When’d ya get so big?” Marianne grunted, yelping in distress. Her hands clutched at her throat, and she turned towards the witch, finding the woman had grown similarly large. “What’ve ya done to me words? I’m talkin’ like some sort of… of…”
“Goblin,” whispered her squire. He looked suitably abashed as Marianne rounded on him, green nose crinkled. “N-not that you’re unbecoming for such a creature, of course.”
Marianne’s face colored as she caught his meaning immediately. She looked down to her chest, and instead of armor only found loose rags, the same kind worn by any other vermin. Of course, typical vermin didn’t happen to sport breasts large enough to stretch the loose cotton. “The hell’d ya do to my tits, you dast bitch!”
The witch didn’t even bother to hide her amusement. She cackled openly and freely, laughing until tears trickled down her cheeks. Marianne considered using the moment to ambush the woman, only to find that her proud sword was little more than a wooden toy. Helpless as she was, she had to suffer this mockery.
Eventually, the witch calmed enough to catch her breath. She wiped at her cheeks, grinning gleefully. “Oh… Oh, that was too precious. Here, boy,” she said, throwing Nal a small scroll she’d procured from within her cloak. “Catch.”
“And… This is?” Nal asked, tilting his head curiously. Marianne tried to look him in the face, but for some reason her gaze kept gliding towards his crotch. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, and only succeeded in flopping her newly-grown pointed green ears.
“A counterspell. Read from it before sundown, and your master will be restored,” the witch paused, “or not. Do as you will, it’s none of my business either way. I’m simply allowing you to have some fun, now that I’ve had mine.”
The witch turned on her heel with that, waving almost daintily over her shoulder. Marianne fumed, scrambling to her feet and running to Nal’s side. She tugged on his trousers angrily, mustering all the force her diminutive frame could manage. “Yer lettin’ her get away! C’mon, gitter!”
It was hard to believe Marianne had ever sounded educated. Her proper speech was now little more than a rough growl, barely intelligible. There was a sinusy tone to it as well, no doubt brought on by the fact that her nose was larger, in a humiliatingly silly fashion.
“Quit squeaking at me.” There was a harder tone to Nal’s voice than she’d expected, and Marianne paused. She looked up to his face, made it to his crotch, and settled for trying to read his expressions through her peripheral vision.
“The hell’re you talkin’ ‘bout! Yerbetter ‘member who’s the knight ‘ere!” Marianne yelled at his bulging trousers. “Just… Do the ready-thing and lemme at ‘er!”
“Really? ‘Ready-thing?’ That’s charming,” Nal’s expression was one of cruel, mocking amusement. Too late, Marianne realized that she’d been perhaps a mite bit too harsh on the boy. He’d just turned twenty summers, yet she’d run him harder than most decades-long veterans.
Of course, in doing so, he’d taken on a rather appealing muscle tone… Marianne colored at her treacherous thoughts, cheeks darkening to a rich olive. She focused instead on her own muscles, and how they were little more than soft fat. Perhaps worst of all was how large her breasts and butt had become, swelling to titanic levels of jiggly, tender softness.
His rough hands gripped her beneath her arms, and to her shock and horror, Marianne found herself lifted into the air. She flushed and kicked her legs pitifully, humiliated by how easily he was able to manhandle her goblin love handles.
Of course, she couldn’t help but stare at his crotch even despite this latest humiliation. Her soft breasts pressed against her chin, to the point where it looked like she was trying to nestle between them. “I…” She didn’t know what to say. “Jus, hurry an’ say dat county-speller!”
“I think ‘Marianne’ might be too regal a name for a little gobbo like you, hm?” Nal mused, chuckling. “Let alone that ‘Lady’ nonsense. I’ve never heard of a ‘Lady’ who’s fluent in Gutterspeak. No, I think that you’d best be called something… Fitting. ‘Imply?’ ‘Jigglegreen?’ Or… ‘Loony’, because only a moron would consider that you were ever anything more than a goblin.”
Marianne kicked even fiercer, flailing her arms wildly. The motion only served to bounce her breasts up and down, as though the green melons were nodding in approval. “Das nahmy name! My name’s Mmm… Mmmmllluuh…” She trailed off, eyes widening. The more she tried to form an ‘M’, the more it wanted to turn to an ‘L’ in her mouth.
“Yes? I’m waiting,” Nal chuckled. He saw the jiggling of her breasts, followed her gaze, and smirked. “Come on, use your words. Who’s a silly little goblin? Is it you? Is it you?” He spoke to her like he’d speak to one of the royal hounds—if not worse. At least those received some respect.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. That honor fell to his devilish idea, one born from an ingenuity that Marianne hadn’t fully been able to suppress in her training. Nal began to move his hips back and forth, and Marianne was helpless but to follow his groin and nod along.
“Mmmuh! Muhluh! LooOOny!” Marianne’s voice broke as she wailed her new name aloud, unable to refer to herself as anything but Loony, the crazed little imp who dreamed of being a knight. She sobbed in distress, looking back to Nal’s crotch with a whimper. “Please just gitton wif sayin’ my sorries’r okay! That humie forvgivy-thing!”
Her apology was forced, as though it was dragged out of her by a torturer. Her terse tone was utterly at odds with the little submissive creature she’d become, and no matter how she tried to sound demanding she could only manage at best a simper. Nal roared with laughter, a deep and rich sound.
Marianne whimpered, but noticed Nal was suitably distracted. In that instant, she saw a chance. She saw a golden opportunity. The scroll was nestled in his tunic, the perfect distance for her to grip. Despite her instincts’ assertions this was a mistake, she snatched the scroll up, opening it and staring at… Lines.
The paper was covered in all sorts of lines, some straight and some curved. The shapes were all familiar to her, but when put together they turned into a meaningless jumble. “I… I… I can’t doowitttt!” She wailed, her voice petulant, utterly unbecoming of a knight. “Dis’s‘n sum kinda bad-wordsy talkin’!”
Nail laughed harder, even as he dropped the goblin onto her fat little rump. He yanked the scroll from her weak fingers, as easy as thieving from a child. Then he looked to the paper, before rolling it up once more. “Really? Because it looks like common to me. Don’t tell me you’re too stupid to read, Loony. Or… On second thought, do.”
Marianne bit her lower lip, her wide pink eyes tearing up with distress. Then an impulse came over her, and she realized there’d been a grave consequence for trying to steal the scroll. She fell onto her hands, and wiggled her fat butt. Her eyes crossed slightly, and she chirped. “Loony sorrysorrs! Loony’s such a dummy, Loony can’t do ‘ne ready-fings!”
“My, such a pouting little thing! You’d better shape up,” Nal cautioned her. “After all, nobody wants a misbehaving. Little. Imp. Do they?”
He punctuated each word with a sway of his hips, moving from side to side. Marianne couldn’t help but shake her head in a dimwitted negative, glued as she was to his crotch. Her pointy ears tingled from the young man’s laughter, and her jiggly boobs and butt shook from the force of her head-shaking.
“That’s what I thought,” smirked the man. He turned back towards town, motioning for her to follow. “Now, come along. I hear there’s an opening for a new Knight of Flame, and I fully intend to claim it.”
Marianne looked to him miserably, and for a moment considered running—or waddling, for that was the best she could manage with her thick thighs and fat ass. Then she realized that without Nal, she was utterly worthless, less than even many of the city’s subhumans.
Unfortunately, her musings took a hair too long. “Did I say come along?” Nal called, from further in the road. “I meant: ‘Hop along’, you stupid jiggly imp.”
“L-Loony isn’t some dumdum—whooOOAAH!” Marianne let out a nasally squeal as her body began to move of its own accord. Her hands tucked under her chin, squishing her breasts against her arms. She took jiggling, devastatingly humiliating hops jumps towards him.
Though he wasn’t that far from her, the weight of her own diminutive body held her back—for a moment. However, with each jump, her fat goblin tits jiggled more and more, until their momentum carried her forwards. She crashed into his ankle, and the tips of her ears rubbed at his crotch.
“You’ll certainly never ride again… Heh, unless we find the world’s smallest pony with the world’s strongest back,” Nal smirked. “Then again, I think riding is a hair too dignified for you, Loony.” He snorted with amusement as her ears drooped, conveying her sadness.
Marianne was nothing more than a bouncy little joke, at the beck and call of her own squire. The sky darkened to a rich orange, and the changed knight was able to tear her gaze from Nal’s crotch to see her last hope fade. The time for reversal had passed. She was nothing more than a bouncy little joke, and would remain one forevermore.