Battle Royale with Cheese! Turn 3.3 - Bulma and 18 (Wetshirt Waterpark) (Patreon)

> MAKE POLITE CONVERSATION WITH NOMI (BULMA) [DRINK TF, BAD END]

Collar beeping, Bulma took an unwilling step forward. “So,” she said, giving the catgirl a pleasant smile. “What’s your favorite breed of dog?” It took her a second to realize what she’d said.

Beside her, 18 frowned. “Bulma, what are–?”

“Just making polite conversation,” said Bulma, struggling to do anything but. “Have you ever been to prison? Where’s your nearest trauma center? Have you or any of your relatives ever met an Albanian?”

As question after inane question spilled out of Bulma’s lips, the red-eyed catgirl glared and stepped forward.

“What’s your opinion on the state of Lake Eri–?” Before Bulma could finish, the catgirl grabbed her by the shirt and wrenched her close.

“I see what’s happening here,” said Nomi, turning her gaze to the cat’s eye floating covertly above the three of them. “Nyou think that because I’m bound by the rules, nyou can use these flesh-puppets to screw with me, don’t nyou?”

She threw Bulma aside and reached into her cleavage. “Well, let’s see how much fun nyour toy is once I break it.”

As Bulma struggled to stand, the catgirl pulled out a slim wand, its color a bloody crimson. Raising it like a conductor, she aimed it at Bulma's crotch. Pink light shone from its tip.

“Wait!” cried Bulma, finding she could speak again. “Wait, don’t–!”

Zzzap! Pink lightning coursed through her flesh.

Throwing back her head, Bulma screamed as her clothes melted. As she moaned, she flew into the air and flipped, spreading her legs to aim her naked sex at the ceiling. Coursing with energy, it puckered and poured and twitched. She screamed.

Her molten bikini and shirt flowed above her and contoured, fusing into a single mass and solidifying into a thin white cylinder. Before she had a chance to react, it fell, slamming into her. She moaned, eyes rolling back, at the feeling of it inside her.

As Bulma’s screams of horror and pleasure filled the changing rooms, her body twitched and compacted, arms forced to hug her chest, legs slammed against her ass. Like a piece of paper, she crumpled, crushed, compacted like junk in the crusher into a little fleshy cuboid twice as tall as it was wide. The pressure only heightened her pleasure. What was already orgasmic became a thousand times more intense. Only her smushed-up lips kept her from screaming.

Finally, her flesh shimmered and changed texture, from supple skin with lots of curves to rough cardboard with hard edges. Glistening again, she changed color: from blank to that of her hair. A picture of her face appeared to adorn her, and with that, her change came to an end. The lightning faded.

As Bulma’s pleasure died and she fell, a giant hand snatched her out of the air. She squealed, half in horror, half in delight, as it raised her to its lips. No! No! Please don’t–! Please–

Sluuuurp!

*

18 stared, frozen in terror, as the catgirl slurped hungrily at the juice carton. Tearing away the straw, she planted her lips against its hole and slipped her bat-like tongue inside it to lap up every last drop, squeezing the carton tight to ensure nothing remained inside it.

Finally, seeming satisfied, she licked her lips and cast it aside without a word. Only as it struck the wall did she click her tongue in dissatisfaction.

“Ah. I see,” said Nomi, eyes tight. “Nyou wanted me to do that, didn’t nyou?” She snapped her claws, and the cat’s eye exploded. “Damn little queens.” Her eyes turned to 18. “Hmm. What should I do with nyou?”

Beep!