(F to Inflatable Horse)

(F to Inflatable Giraffe)

Jalter folded her arms, looking impatiently to the woman across from her. Of all of the possible ways today could have gone wrong, she certainly didn’t expect to be summoned to the “hotel manager’s” office. And she certainly didn’t think that she might end up sitting across from her Master’s self-professed mother.

“Something on my face?” Raikou smiled dangerously. Unlike Jalter, she hadn’t bothered to change into her swimsuit for this beach trip. Overall, people were unsure if this was for the better or for the worse. Her temper was much worse in her combat gear, but it was better than how she tried to ‘enforce moral standards’ in a bikini.

“Nah, but I could plant a fist there if you want,” Jalter leaned back cockily, quietly proud of how badass she sounded. She even proper her feet up on the waiting room’s table for good measure, just to look extra cool.

A whisper passed by her left ear, and she tilted her head to see a spear firmly embedded into the wall beside her.

“… Eh?” Jalter blinked, then blinked a second time to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

“Careful, dear. My darling Ritsuka might like you, but that won’t keep my hand from slipping. It’s instinct if I hear a challenge, you understand,” said Raikou, as calmly as though she was discussing the weather. She didn’t even bother to sound cocky. For her it was only natural that she’d best Jalter in a fight.

Jalter’s brain scrambled for some witty retort, only to find herself mercifully spared by the quiet click of the manager’s door. Morgan le Fay pushed the door open, a folder in her hands stuffed with papers.

“Jeanne D’Arc Alter, Minamoto-no-Raikou…” Morgan narrowed her eyes, looking at the two in turn. “I suppose I should be surprised, given my husband’s fondness for you. And yet…”

“You can’t just assume you’re Ritsuka’s husband! Certainly not without the consent of his mother!” Raikou slapped her palm on the table, and an audible crack echoed through the room.

“I was going to invite you to my office, but if you’re going to act like that… I suppose we’ll just need to get this done here and now.” With that, Morgan swept her arms out, her magical circuits flaring. A runic circle appeared behind her, and both of the women in the room stiffened.

“Kh-hey, what the hell!?” Jalter struggled, but everything below her neck no longer responded to her brain. She glanced to the legendary warrior beside her, hoping that she was having more success.

For a moment, the fallen saint’s heart leapt at the sight of Raikou’s arms lifting. But instead of grabbing a sword, she began to pose. Her hands balled up, and she bent her wrists down, as though imitating a pony.

“As long as you’re at my resort, you two are wholly under my spell. Did you forget those were the terms of the contract for attending?” Morgan glared. “More to the point, did you forget that Baobhan Sith is my daughter?”

Raikou sucked in a deep breath, ready to curse out the witch. Before she could release it, the air in her lungs bubbled up, bulging, swelling, stretching. Her eyes bulged as her chest cartoonishly swelled; then the air was sucked back into her.

Her thighs bubbled out, and the sharp pain of her outfit’s straps and sashes dug into her swelling skin. Her arms puffed up, years of honed muscle evaporating in an instant, replaced with an airy softness. Most concerning of all was her hands and feet, which twisted and squeaked as they bulged into what looked like rubbery hooves.

The woman’s outfit no longer looked like clothing—it looked like an inked print, stamped across a latex ponygirl. From the neck up, she was still human… But how much longer would that last? She didn’t know.

Morgan looked back down at her notes casually. “So, you happened to refuse Sith a ride on your horse; then you called her a fae devilspawn.”

“She’s your daughter, so that last part’s not wrong,” Jalter snipped, yelping as Morgan’s eyes cooly slid towards her.

“Back to my point… I think you’ll do much better as one of this resort’s flotation devices.”

Raikou didn’t have a reply. Her mind was torn by the humiliation of her situation, coupled with a strange rush in her chest. She’d never been restrained like this before in her life, and now that it was happening…

Suddenly she was very glad that the rubber of her changed body couldn’t blush or move the way she wanted. She could still feel her arms and legs, of course—which only made things even worse. She imagined her Master stumbling upon her like this, of his hands stroking at her bulging thighs and the squeaky faux fetlocks that adorned her wrists and ankles.

Everything was so soft…

Before she realized it, she had sucked in a quiet, little gasp. Her eyes widened in panic as more change swept across her form. Her neck stretched away from her shoulders, and a distinctly plastic squeak burst from her lips. Her long, flowing hair coalesced into a rubber approximation of her hair. Even the laurels of her helmet bulged into soft balloons.

She finally decided how she felt about this, and it brought a shiver down her spine. Somehow, she enjoyed this.

Across the room, Jalter felt much the same—though she’d never admit it. Seeing someone swell up so helplessly was a new sort of pleasure. She imagined what it might feel like for her own clothes to dig into her so embarrassingly, showing off her every feature… And what her Master would think of it.

Morgan noticed the slight reddening of the French girl’s face, and smirked. “As for you… What do you think might have been your crime?”

As she asked the question, Morgan circled behind Raikou, stroking the helpless woman’s chest, trailing her fingers up and down her belly. She rubbed her cheek against Raikou’s horselike neck, leaving a kiss that stained Raikou’s body with her blue lipstick.

Raikou trembled—at least, with the part of her that could still move. She felt her face press out into a squeaky snout, her look of slight panic forever frozen on her features. To think that she could make such a face! To think that everyone would see her like this, in her greatest moment of weakness!

No sound of protest left her sealed lips, nor would any again. She was stuck in a degrading pose, showing off her new squeaky curves for all to see—until someone else decided to move her body for her.

Jalter stared, transfixed. Her mouth hung open, and even if she could move her body, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

“Well?” Morgan asked. “Perhaps I should take that as a no.”

“I. Um. That is. You know. Uh.” Jalter was rambling. Why couldn’t she stop rambling? Was it going to happen to her too? She started to quietly pant, wondering just how it felt to have her skin turn into something so wonderful as latex.

To her delight, she felt her body respond. Each breath was leaving her hollower, in a wonderfully hungry, empty way. At the same time, she felt fuller—stretched from the inside out, despite the aching void inside her body.

It was so much different than she’d expected—she’d imagined that her body might lose some of its feeling, or become cool. Instead, everything was so sensitive and warm, to the point where she feared she might lose her mind just from a touch.

“Aside for general surliness and melancholy,” Morgan slipped off the Raikou horse, whose eyes quietly begged for her return, “you happened to call my daughter a gangly-limbed giraffe.”

Jalter blinked, shocked. “Huh? W-wait, you mean…” She looked up, realizing why she was in such a tall-ceilinged room.

Morgan pressed one hand against the Frenchwoman’s latex chest and the other under her jaw. Then she pushed the two apart.

For Jalter, it was like being choked and massaged in the same breath, a surge of panic followed by a rush of bliss. She didn’t even notice as her concerned features froze on her face, or as her head bulged into a curvy snout.

“Someone liked that, didn’t she?” Morgan purred, trailing her fingers down a neck that was now as long as her new toy’s torso. Jalter didn’t move, but Morgan could feel the heat just beneath the surface of her squeaky skin. “Perhaps I should take that as a yes, too.”

Jalter couldn’t even beg Morgan with her eyes. She was stuck, her head dipped slightly towards the rest of her body so she could see her slender form swell and stretch.

Every slow stroke of Morgan’s hands was forever imprinted on her brain. Long, slow strokes to her arms tugged her hoof-like hands well past her waist. Her hands… They were so large and glossy, and completely useless. Even if she was able to move, she’d have to rely on others to hold things for her like this.

That thought alone was enough to send a rush through her body, so the feeling of her thighs thickening tipped her past her edge.

The stocking she sported over her right leg clung to her swollen calf like a lover, while the belt she’d lopped around her left snared her, dimpling her inflatable form and exaggerating her new swollen curve. Morgan only made it worse by stroking a finger gently along where her latex skin met the leather of her belt.

“And to think you used to be such a fiery troublemaker,” purred Morgan. She looked up, up, up to meet contact with Jalter’s frozen eyes.

There wasn’t a trace of resistance left in her being. In just minutes, Jalter had been broken from a free-spirited fighter to a submissive, desperate inflatable giraffe. Every second of her existence was a haze of tightness gripping her like a vise, coupled with the desperate hollow ache to be held, to be touched, and to be felt.

“That’s that, then.” Morgan chuckled, pulling back from the two and admiring them. She wondered, was it driving them mad? Did they want her pressed against them, using them, playing with them like the toys they were? She hoped so.

The two dared to hope, as she took a step back towards them. But instead of pressing against them, she pressed them against each other. She took Raikou’s fat, squeaky thighs and clamped them against Jalter’s glossy hips. She entwined Jalter’s spindly limbs around Raikou’s back, mashing their breasts together. She pushed their long, stretched necks against each other, so that neither could see the look on the other’s face.

It was so pleasurable that neither of them noticed her step away. Their bodies weren’t their own anymore, and they were trapped in this world of sensation until Morgan decided otherwise. Worse yet, anyone who’d stumble by would see them like this, tangled shamefully with one another.

“Perfect. I’ll check up on you later today. For now, try not to lose yourselves in there. You might end up stuck,” Morgan laughed. “Though I suppose my resort could always use some longer-term attractions.”

She clicked the lights off as she left, and the click of her heels faded into the distance. Soon, there was only silence and stillness. Only the women’s crumbling willpower would determine if there was anything left to turn back… Or if they’d surrender to an existence of ecstasy.