Turning around while glancing at herself in the three-way dressing mirror, Martha asked, “Do these jeans make me look big?”
Leaning against a nearby display, Anna Konning retorted, “Is this a trick question.”
Damn it, I should have known she’d say that. Though they were good friends —well, very good friends— Martha Sever hated it when Anna joked about her weight. “I guess I should have asked if they made me look bigger.”
Anna shook her head. “Forget I said anything.” She cast an appreciative eye towards the girl’s bottom. “You look good.”
“Bullshit.”
“Well, as good as you can, Martha.” She grunted. “You can’t help that you’ve got a large backside.”
Martha turned away from the damning mirror. “No, I guess I can’t.” She walked back into the dressing room and began stripping off the jeans. Once down to her panties she gave herself a quick appraisal.
Anna was correct when she said Martha had a large bottom. For Martha was a large girl. She’d always been a little heavy when she’d been in high school and college, but in the last five years it’d seemed as if she’d been unable to do anything but pack on a few pounds here and there, and now . . . now she was pushing 285. While she thought she still looked good, she knew if she kept gaining weight it was only a matter of time before she found herself without . . . without . . ..
Without Anna and Greg?
Martha had met Anna a few years ago through friends. Back then Martha was a “thinner” 215, but Anna . . . well Anna hadn’t changed a bit. Anna had one of those rotund forms that provided her with a pronounced set of curves— the sort of curves that some woman (Martha among them) longed for. Anna was by no means fat; she claimed that her true weight was 135. But she had generous hips and a full, heart-shaped ass, and her breasts . . . large and full and not artificial. Martha knew that for a fact—
They’d hit it off rather well. Martha commented on Anna’s simple white cotton mini dress and black boots, and Anna thanked her and began engaging in small talk. They’d continued talking for about an hour when, all of a sudden, from out of nowhere, Anna asked, “Do you like sucking cock?”
For a moment Martha didn’t know what to say. Finally she sputtered out, “I, ah, guess so.”
“You guess so?”
“Well—“ Martha was more than a little confused. “Why are you asking?”
“You ever let a guy cum on your tits?”
Martha wanted to walk away, but strangely, she couldn’t. “Ye-yes.”
Anna smiled. It was warm and friendly, but somehow predatory all the same. “I wanna watch you get mouth fucked by my boyfriend—“ She leaned in close and whispered in Martha’s ear, “And then I wanna lick your tits clean after he cums on them.”
An hour later a naked Martha was kneeling naked on Anna’s bed, as Anna’s boyfriend Greg face fucked her while Anna fingered her pussy and clit. Martha was lightheaded from the sex, and her orgasm were coming one right after the other in a wave so robust that she thought she might pass out. It was only after Greg shot his semen all over her breasts and Anna did indeed began licking up every drop that Martha allowed herself to collapse in a heap on the bed.
And thus began her sexual adventures with Anna and Greg.
None of them considered it “swinging”, though some might call it that. And their get-togethers weren’t always three-somes. Sometimes it was Martha with Greg, other times it was Martha and Anna. Sometimes it was all three. Twice the three of them hired a hooker and had a four-way party. And there was the time when Martha showed up at Anna’s, and Anna was going at it with a girlfriend and invited Martha to join in the fun. (It was later, after everything was cleaned up and put away, that Anna admitted she’d probably be a lesbian if it weren’t for the fact that she so enjoyed having guys cum inside her.)
The fun had been ongoing for almost four years now, and nothing had changed—well, nothing ‘cept Martha’s weight. She’d slowly begun growing heavier, and though it might be her imagination, she thought her continued weight gain might be affecting Anna and Greg’s feelings towards her. The last few months it seemed as if Anna’s affections were waning (hence the quips about her girth), and whenever Greg and she got together, all he seemed interested in were blow jobs. Their attitudes were depressing her, and her depression was sort of making her want to find soloist in food, which was making her heavier . . . she didn’t want to feel as she was feeling, but the last few years had been such fun, and if she was loosing that—
She sighed as she picked up the jeans from the floor after dresses. What’s the point of getting these? she thought. Am I going to fit in them in a few months? Is anyone going to be interested in seeing me in them?
Martha walked past Anna. “Something the matter?” asked Anna.
“Yeah,” replied Martha. “I got a big problem—“
It was over lunch at Anna’s place a couple of days later that Martha explained what was bothering her.
“So you’re worried,” asked Anna, “that we’re gonna dump you because you’re . . . getting . . ..”
Martha finished the question. “Fat.”
“You said that, not me.”
“You’re thinking it.”
Anna took a moment to consider her reply. “I will admit you’ve been getting a tad more chunky than usual the last couple of years,” she finally said.
“It’s not my fault,” said Martha. “It’s just—“
“You can’t find a diet that works, right?”
She nodded. “Just never had any luck, is all.”
“I can understand that,” said Anna. She looked down into the glass of Coke she held.
Martha snorted. “I can’t see how you could.”
Now it was Anna’s turn to snort. “Please, girl. You think I always had this body?”
Mystified with where Anna was going with this, she asked, “What do you mean? You didn’t always look this way?”
“Hardly.” She leaned back in her chair. “When I was starting my junior year in high school, I weighted almost 240 pounds.”
“Get out of here!” laughed Martha. “That’s impossible.”
“I could show you pictures—“
“You’re not kidding, are you?”
Anna shook her head. “Nope. When I was young I was always heavy. Don’t know what it was: genes, diet . . . fuck if I know. My mother looked like a model and my dad was pretty athletic looking. Me? I was dumpy. The proverbial fat girl who everyone made fun of.” Anna gazed wistfully into the distance for a few moments before telling Martha, “I fucking hated my life.”
Martha could sympathize, as she’d experience much the same when she’d been in school. “So what happen?”
Anna was hesitating, but given that she’d mentioned her problem, Martha felt she had no choice but to explain her solution. “You have to promise me that you won’t say anything to anyone about this. Okay?”
“Sure, sure,” replied Martha. “I mean, I won’t say a word.”
“Okay.” Anna tented her hand and tapped her fingers for a few moments before saying, “I apprenticed with a witch the summer before my junior year.”
Martha’s response was succinct. “Get the fuck outta here!”
“Straight up, it’s true!” Anna raised her right hand as if to take an oath. “I’m swear, if I’m lying to you, I’ll slit my throat.”
“You’re telling me you’re a witch,” said Martha. “And you lost weight through witchcraft?”
“Among other things,” replied Anna. “It wasn’t just weight loss; I had to reshape my body—“
“Stop, stop!”
Anna cleared her throat. “You think I’m bullshitting you?”
“How could you do something like that—“
“Without anyone noticing?” Martha nodded. “I cast my spell in such a way that I melted away 10 pounds every month.” Anna shrugged. “People thought I was working out.” She got up from her chair and went to the sink. “By the time I was a senior I was down to 130 pounds,” she said, rinsing out her glass. Anna put it aside to dry and turned to Martha. “I made myself over into a younger version of what you see now. Went from Ugly Duckling to The Girl Most Likely to be Masturbated Over.” Grinning broadly, she finished by saying, “It was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Learning witchcraft?”
“Learning the Craft,” Anna said. “We don’t like to call it ‘witchcraft’.”
“We? As in—“
“Other witches.”
Oh, yeah, this is just what I needed, thought Martha. My fuck buddy telling me she lost weight on the Witch Watchers Diet. Sighing loudly, Martha leaned against her right hand. “You gotta know this doesn’t sound . . . right,” she said. Rubbing her temple with her fingers, Martha said, “I mean, you tell me you’re a witch and that you changed yourself—“
“Like this?”
“What are you—?“ Martha looked up . . . and there was Anna, only it wasn’t really Anna, but it was—she was . . . Martha couldn’t remember the girl’s name, but she was one of those black hip-hop singers, real young and beautiful, and she was standing where Anna had been leaning against the sink—
And as she watched the girl began to shrink down, becoming smaller, her skin color becoming lighter, the hair turning blond, and suddenly Anna was a perfect duplicate of a famous child actress, only the eyes—there weren’t the eyes of a child, but more the eyes of an adult . . . “Or maybe like this?” the girl said, and then just as quickly she started changing again, growing taller, staying lean, the hair getting dark once more, the skin tone shifting to something just a shade this side of tan, the girl’s hips and ass filling out to Anna-sized proportions once more, the lips filling out, the smart, adult eyes becoming black as night. “Joo mebe like tis, insteed?” she asked, her words filtered through a heavy Spanish accent.
Before Martha could say anything the girl morphed back into Anna, who smiled and crossed her arms across her chest. “So . . . you need to see anything else?”
Martha didn’t need to see anything—period. “My God—“
“God has nothing to do with it,” said Anna. “So whadda think?”
She had to ask the question. “Can you do that to me?” asked Martha.
The answer was like a slap against the forehead. “Yes.” Anna sauntered over to where a dumb-struck Martha sat. “Now, would you like to know what I need from you?”
Two weeks later, and Martha was ready. She was standing in a candle-ringed circle in Anna’s bedroom. She was naked, as was Anna. Anna was working a mortar and pestle, putting the finishing touches on a mixture. Martha knew what was being mixed up: some spices and herbs, plus a lock of Martha’s hair, a few fingernail clippings, and a touch of menstrual blood, the last of which had been delivered six days ago. Anna was mumbling something that Martha didn’t understand: most likely some archaic language that her mentor had taught her so she could work her mojo.
Anna sat the now almost-finished mixture on a small table she’d set just outside the circle. “So, you ready for this?”
Nodding, Martha told her, “I’ve been ready for this since you told me about it.” She eyes the mixture. “What’s left?”
“Well—“ Anna picked up a picture of a naked blond girl with enormous breasts, laying on her back upon the floor, her vagina open and ready, just waiting to be fucked hard and put away wet. “I rip this up, set it aflame, and then you lean over and blow it out.” She let the picture drop to her side. “And then I spread a little of the mixture on those pumps you’re going to wear—“ Anna indicated the black patent leather pumps with 5 inch heels positioned inside the circle with Martha, “and then you’ll start to change.” Anna held up the picture for Martha to see. “You sure this is how you want to look?”
There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in Martha’s reply. “I’m sure.”
“You are positive you what this?”
“I wanna be inflated, just like her,” said Martha with as much emphasis as she could muster.
“You know I have to ask those things, right?”
“I understand.” Anna had explained about magical backlash, and how she could suffer if she did something that wasn’t exactly what another person wanted. Martha didn’t want that happening, and did everything she could in the last couple of days to set in her mind the fact that, yes, being changed into this fuck slut vision was exactly what she wanted. “It’s what I want. Absolutely.”
“If that’s the case . . .” Anna ripped up the photo into tiny pieces and laid them in with the rest of the mixture, then used a candle to set them on fire. She picked up the pestle and held it inside the circle. “Blow it out,” she ordered Martha. Martha did as told, and Anna quickly began to grind the new components ingredients into the existing mixture. Only a minute later Anna was on her knees, dipping her fingers into the mixture and dabbing the powder over the toes of the pumps. She pulled back out of the circle. “Step into the shoes,” she said.
For Martha this was the moment of truth. She knew the shoes were about 4 sizes smaller than what she normally wore, but Anna told her she’d slide into them as if she’d been wearing them for year. If she couldn’t . . . it would mean that Anna had been playing her all along, and would likely have a good laugh at her expense later.
She slipped her feet into the pumps—
To Martha it felt like her feet had somehow turned to putty and were simply flowing effortlessly into the shoes. She couldn’t believe it. Just like that she was standing tall in the fuck me pumps—
The magic was real!
Martha felt her skin moving upon the body as the fat melted away and shifted to other parts, parts that were growing and changing as well. She felt the compression in her spine and she shrank slightly; shifted her weight as her hips spread and her ass grew larger; arched her back slightly to compensate for the weight of her surging breasts growing upon her soon-to-be slender chest; watching her fingers become thinner and her nails longer as her skin began to take on a glossy sheen . . ..
“What the hell?” Martha’s skin was becoming lighter, smoother, shinier. She reached up to touch her arm and saw that her hand looked the same way, and her nails . . . they looked—decidedly fake as hell. “Anna?”
“I see.”
“What is this?” Martha couldn’t keep the tone of oncoming panic out of her voice.
Anna’s eyes were wide, attempting to comprehend what she was seeing. “I don’t know.”
A slow stiffness was forming in Martha’s joints. “Do something!”
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean?” Martha was finding it difficult to bend down to look at her legs, which were also taking on a lustrous sheen. “It’s your spell!”
“This isn’t my doing,” said Anna. “The spell wasn’t supposed to do . . . whatever!”
Martha’s feet were moving apart on their own, opening up her legs slightly. Her arms were moving slowly to her sides, the forearms beginning to bend at the elbows. “I can’t move!” she screamed, and Martha was finding it difficult to even speak now. “Get me out of here!”
“I can’t take you out of the circle,” said Anna, watching Martha’s transformation with a sort of bemused wonderment. “Bad things can happen if I do.”
“BAD THINGS?” Martha’s jaw was hardening; she didn’t know if she’d be able to speak much longer. “How mucccc wooooOOO . . .” Martha’s mouth was forced into the shape of a large, round “O”, her lips puffing up slightly around the aperture. Her arms locked into position, a 90 degree bend at the elbows, her arms slightly away from her body. One of the last changes she felt was her vagina and anus swell open and take on a shape like that of her mouth: an inviting hole waiting for . . . waiting for . . . Oh, God, what’s happened to me? she thought, though in her mind she already knew the answer as an inflation valve formed near the base of her neck.
Anna felt the wave of thematic energy leave the room, the indication the spell was complete. She stepped into the circle, stepped up closer to Martha, seeing up close what she’d become . . ..
Martha looked just like the girl she’d wanted to become: long legs; short, constructed waist; full hips and ass; and gigantic breasts. But her blue eyes were affixed open and staring straight ahead; her mouth and vagina had become pink or red-rimmed openings, and her skin . . . Anna ran her fingers over Martha’s arm. Smooth and room temperature and . . . squeaky. Martha’s skin squeaked as Anna ran her fingers along her forearm. Anna took her wrist and squeezed it. There was no resistance: it collapsed in her hand much like a balloon would. She released Martha’s wrist and it sprung back to its original shape.
“Oh, my!” Anna picked Martha up by the shoulders and lifted her effortlessly off the ground. “You’re a blow up doll!” She set her down gently. “How did that happen? I mean . . . shit, you’re like the girl you wanted to be, but you’re also . . . a doll . . .” Anna gazed upon Martha’s new breasts, which stuck out from her body like twin basketballs. “And a pretty sexy one at that—“
If Martha hadn’t freaked already, she did when Anna lifted her off the ground like she was a great, girl-shaped balloon. Oh, fuck, Anna!, she screamed, What have you done to me? Martha couldn’t move, couldn’t breath, blink, couldn’t do . . . anything! Yes, she was thinking, and she was feeling (as made clear when she felt Anna’s hands upon her), but beyond that she had transformed into a sexy, luscious, beautiful—DOLL! I want to be a girl, not someone fuck toy! But she knew that Anna couldn’t hear her; hell, she wasn’t even sure if Anna knew she was still alive . . ..
Anna was thinking that very thing. “I wonder if she’s still in there?” she asked rhetorically. “You should be. I mean, it was you that changed, and that part of you that makes up your essence, well . . . it should still be inside this body—“ She touched Martha’s arm softly. “Feeling this . . . hearing me.” She stepped around to the front and examined Martha’s wonderful, massively inflated breasts. “Be honest, Greg is gonna shit when he sees you. Oh, he’d have wanted to play with these if you were a real girl, but . . .” Anna reached out and tenderly caressed Martha’s nipples. “He’ll love spending some time with a fuck toy like you.”
Martha was about to scream, I’M NOT A FUCK TOY!—and then the awareness of Anna playing with her nipples sent all thought fleeing from her mind. Martha had always been nipple sensitive, and loved having her babies (as she called them) played with, but this feeling . . . it was as if someone had taken her nipples and replaced them with a pair of clitorises and then affixed turned up their sensitivity by a factor of 10. Martha put her mind on idle and let the feeling of bliss wash over her, just let it come and center on her . . . center there, right there in her groin when all the good stuff goes and builds into a fantastic orgasm.
Only it wasn’t building just there: Martha was also feeling the same thing building around the orifice that had been her asshole, and the orifice that had been her mouth, and there was the sudden dawning that when the orgasm came it would center around all her pleasure points, and she felt it building and building and she couldn’t think as she grew tighter and tighter and Martha was only seconds away from . . ..
Anna went to her knees and began running her tongue around Martha’s soft, pink latex cunt.
AHHHHHHHHHH, FUCK!!!!! Martha came, all three orgasms hitting simultaneously, imploding towards the core of her being and joining in a confluence of pleasure instantly drove all her fear about what she’d become away, sent it scurrying into the darkness . . . Martha wished she could gasp out the pleasure she was feeling, but she couldn’t, she knew that, she knew that the only one who could hear her cries was her, and for now, right now, there wasn’t a problem with that, ‘cause with Anna licking her cunt the way she was in about another minute or so Martha was gonna cum again, and it probably was a good thing that no one could hear her screaming in pleasure . . ..
Greg held back as long as he could, but Martha’s lubricated pleasure ring of a mouth always seemed to make him cum a lot faster than he would if Anna was the one giving him the blow job. With a strangled “Oh, fucking shit!” he pumped his load into the waiting latex sack that was Martha’s throat. Greg grimaced as he always did when the last of his semen was spent and there was only the sensation of K-Y and latex against the head of his super-sensitive penis as he slowly withdrew himself from Martha.
He laid her down at the foot of the bed while Anna masturbated herself into a screaming climax. As she licked her between pants, Greg laid down on the bed next to her. “Enjoy yourself?” he asked.
She kissed him. “As much as you did.” She tapped Martha with her foot. “I think you like her sucking your dick more than me.”
Greg laughed. “Well, she doesn’t ask to be cuddled after,” he joked.
Giving him a look of indignation, Anna said, “Remember how much I liked you being that Chinese prostitute?”
“I’m only joking, you know that.” He patted her thigh then kissed her full on the mouth, letting his tongue roam free inside her. “And, yes, I do remember when I was the Chinese prostitute, and . . . well, I’m not in a hurry to repeat that.” He pulled Anna in close and held her. After a while he looked down at where Martha lay. “You figured out what happened with her, right?”
Nodding, Anna replied, “It was her. She fucked up the spell.”
Unconsciously touching one of Anna’s nipples, Greg asked, “How so?”
“When I was in the final stages of the spell I showed Martha the girl she was going to become and asked her if she was sure she wanted to be here. She said something like, ‘Yes, I want to be as inflated as her’.” Anna moved Greg’s hand down lower on her stomach. “Magic has a way of being very literal. I turned her into the girl, but the spell—“
“Made her inflated.”
“Yep,” said Anna, nodding. “Inflated as in like a love doll.” She ran her toes through Martha’s hair. “It gave her everything she wanted.”
Greg said nothing, as there was nothing to say. He didn’t much understand how Anna’s magic worked, but then he didn’t need to: it worked and that was all that was important. “So,” he ventured, “the next question is . . . can you change her back to a real girl?”
“The transformation was meant to be permanent, Honey Cakes.” Anna shrugged, then got up, opened Martha’s inflation valve, and began deflating her. “Though, given enough time, I could figure out how to counter the spell.” She squeezed her, forcing the air from her body. “But I do that, and you can’t fuck her and put her away when you’re through with her.” She took Martha into the bathroom and cleaned her mouth out. By the time she returned to the bedroom Martha was almost complete devoid of air. Anna began folding her up.
Greg just went alone with Anna’s analysis. “Besides,” he added, “we’ve been fucking her for six months . . .” He watched Anna finish folding Martha and put her in her box, face looking out through the clear plastic window. “You think she’s really still in there? Thinking? Feeling?”
Anna said, “Naw. She’s probably slipped away into nothingness by now,” but as she turned to put Martha back in the top shelf of the closet, the slight smile that crossed her lips belayed her true thoughts. I could have changed you back from a doll at any time, she thought. But then I’d have to compete with that super hot body, and even though I could change to look even better . . . well, why should I? Particularly when you’re like you are now: beautiful, fuckable . . . and willing. She giggled softly as she placed the box on the top shelf. I would have said “silent”, but we know better, don’t we?
All Martha could do was watch Anna back away and close the door, leaving her in darkness. After the first few days of almost non-stop fucking and licking and sucking and cuming, she understood that this was going to be her life. She’d be used, cleaned, put away, taken out, inflated, used . . . it would be a never ending cycle, the sort of thing all dolls go through—
The sort of thing she would go through.
Martha knew she should have been just a little upset with Anna when, a month after she’d been transformed, she said that she could change Martha back, but fuck it, why should she? Martha was better as a doll. And the truth was—Martha agreed. She was a doll. She was a toy. She existed only for sex, for pleasure . . . for the happiness of her owners.
It was what she would know for the rest of her days.
Besides, she thought as she sighed loudly in her head, how the fuck could I ever have orgasms like THESE as a woman? Shit, Anna! Don’t leave me in here . . . I’ll be good. Let me out! Don’t you wan to fuck ME? Please, I’M YOUR DOLL! I’ve been good, haven’t I? Please, USE ME!!!!!