Countcap: Rubberized (2nd Person, TG, Inanimate) (Patreon)

(I've decided to start uploading some of the Discord-only countcaps here too, especially since I've written a lot of longer, imageless ones recently. You'll still need to join the Discord for the rest though!)

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Your heart pounds as the Bakeneko approaches you, the syringe of bright pink liquid in her hand sparkling in the lights of her laboratory. “Stop! Get away!” you cry as she approaches, fighting against your restraints.

The Bakeneko comes to a stop in front of you and giggles. “What’s the matter, nya? Afraid of a little nyeedle?” She taps the panel beneath you with her foot, and it swishes aside to reveal a large drain. She giggles. “Ready, nya? One… two… aaaaaand–”

She jabs the needle into your arm and laughs as she depresses the syringe.

Fire shoots through your veins and sets your mind aflame. You scream and shake, shuddering against your restraints. It feels as though every cell inside you is bubbling.

This might not be far from the truth. Opening your eyes, you find your flesh simmering like a broth on the stove. Bubbles of flesh, black as boils, rise and pop, rise and pop, while a glossy darkness steadily coats your form, leaving you looking as if you’ve been skinny-dipping in an ink pot.

As the blackness washes over you, a strange emptiness forms in your core, as if all your internal organs have gotten into a fight and decided to go their separate ways. Your bones, too, seem to be joining in on the action. You squeal as your shoulders and ribs snap in tight, as your skull threatens to crush your brain and your pelvis decides it could do with a little more weight. Your penis melts away entirely, leaving only a plump little hole.

Whatever mass you’re losing internally, you make up on the outside. Your bubbling black flesh blossoms fecundly: your hips flare and your thighs thicken, while your chest pulses before exploding into a pair of enormous black breasts, like a couple of witch’s cauldrons. Your face assumes more feminine proportions too, while your hair becomes thick and black and drippy.

As you finish changing in size and texture and coloration, a ripple passes through you, as if your new body is nothing more than the surface of a lake. All of a sudden, your restraints can no longer hold you–this would be great… if gravity didn’t still exist. With a scream, you slide down, down, down through the drain on the floor, which your altered body passes through with the ease of chicken soup. You land with a splat in a little vestibule, when you find yourself swimming in yourself folded over a thousand times. The pressure is enormous, enough to make you scream.

Through the glass, you see the Bakeneko approaching. Snatching you up, she gives you an experimental shape and carries you across this little sub-basement to what looks like an iron maiden. Opening it reveals it as a mold, an unusually feminine one: its hollow is the shape of a Bakeneko, complete with fluffy ears and a tail.

Satisfied you’ve seen what’s coming, she slams the mold shut and attaches a pump to your vessel. “Enjoy nyour nyew shape, nya~.” She laughs as she flicks it on.

The pressure on you changes, sucking you up, up, out of the little tank and through the tight confines of the tube and into the mold of the catgirl. You pool in the hollow of her feet, face planted in her soles.

“Hmm,” says the Bakeneko, voice muffled. “Looks like I need to add a little more man-made latex.” The pump starts up again, and you feel something pouring into you. Buoyed, you rise till your face strikes the mold’s empty one. Still the pump keeps on pumping, raising the pressure till you want to scream again.

Flowing and flowing, the incoming latex forces you deep into every nook and cranny of the mold: deep into the catgirl’s toes and fingers and nipples and ears and nose. A long stretch of you even flows to fill her tail.

Soon you are trapped in a skintight cage in the shape of a woman’s body, and still the pump continues to pump, raising the pressure higher and higher and higher, till it feels as if you’re being crushed beneath several thousand miles of ocean. You want to scream, but you can’t even move your lips–the mold is so tight around them you can’t even move.

Finally, the pump switches off, leaving you to stew in the high if no longer growing pleasure. Trapped, you moan inside in lust. How could this experience get any worse for you?

…Is it just you, or is it getting warmer?

You’re not imagining it, you realize moments later: the mold is actually heating up, and rapidly. An awful heat washes through your body, as if you’ve been transported from the depths of the ocean to the middle of a desert. The heat ignites every cell in your new form, raising a fire in your groin that leaves you wishing you could scream in lust. You wail inside instead, wail and moan and strain against your restraints as the pressure and the heat bring you to orgasm.

It isn’t just making you hotter though: with every passing second, you find yourself a little harder, a little more rigid, your body less like goo and more like a lump of rubber. You beg desperately to know what is happening, but before you have a chance to figure it out–

Nnn~! Pleasure rips through you, hotter even than the heat, as you pass over the line into orgasm and cum, silently and unmoving. Nn-nnn!

Finally, the heat dies steadily, as if reflecting your afterglow, and the mold swings open to reveal your steaming form. The Bakeneko has prepared a mirror, which reveals you in your full and ridiculous glory: a solid, black rubber model of a Bakeneko, complete with enormous, swinging breasts and a massive, jiggling butt. You take an experimental step forward, moaning inside yourself–it feels as though you’re fighting against a hundred rubber bands.

The Bakeneko herself, of course, bursts into laughter. “Aw, just look as nyou, nya. Nyou’re so cute! Come on, let’s get nyou painted! Then it’s off to the store to start the rest of nyour life as their special nyew mannequin!”

You try to run. It doesn’t work.