Night School: Part 7 (Patreon)

“Who the fuck does she think she is?” Makoto fumed as black, eyeliner stained tears streamed down her face leaving trails of gray where they’d run.

There was obviously something wrong with her. With BOTH of them, but for some reason Maya was the only one who couldn’t see it.

No, that was wrong too, the distressed Asian girl rationalized. No one else at school seemed to even think twice about their sudden changes in appearance. She herself had been the subject of a drastic increase in attention from both men and women as she walked the school campus between classes. Her teachers didn’t say anything, though it would have been unprofessional and likely put them in the crosshairs for a sexual harassment lawsuit. Even so, no one else in any of her classes made mention of her new attire increased curvaceousness. Only Maya could tell that she was different, but instead of being worried about what weird pornographic voodoo the haunted school was working on them, Maya was too interested in showing off her ne cleavage than getting to the bottom of how to stop the curse.

Makoto paced back and forth in her room angrily. Night had fallen and she’d not received word from Maya

“She didn’t need to treat me like that. I was only trying to help.” She rationalized out loud, ignoring the ache building in her legs from being on her feet too long. “It’s not MY fault we went on that stupid ghost hunt. And for what? Boobs? To freeze to death and be scared out of our minds, then wake up with tits and new clothes?”

Her head throbbed and her whole body felt cold from sniffling during the hours of crying she’d just pulled herself out of, but she just couldn’t take her mind off of it. She welt the new sway in her hips and the way she just standing felt ever so slightly different. Her hips were wider, and to her great disappointment, her legs were thicker too. Makoto was acutely aware of the slight heft and tug of her heavier breasts as she wandered her bedroom braless as she’d done for years. This time however, she found herself missing the support of her new bras instead of laughing at the idea of ever needing one for any reason. With the swell of her hips and chest came a sort of sensual softness to most everywhere else on her body.

Makoto’s arms had thickened slightly, as had her waist. It was nothing drastic really, she told herself, but she still couldn’t stop pinching the sides of her hips and feeling the smooth plumpness that resided there. It was the first time too that she’d ever felt self conscious about her weight. Every few minutes she would return to her mirror and scrutinize her figure, knowing and re-realizing every time that culturally speaking she was more attractive than she’d ever hoped she could be in her life. Even so, her mind drifted back to the vision of herself from the room with the floral wallpaper: Bloated and grotesquely obese, waddling through an ocean of belly fat every with every thudding step.

She compared it to the edgy, skinny version she’d run away from, regretting her choice to do so as she wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t. For some reason, the thought of lapping at the pussy of a hot, skinny version of herself didn’t seem so bad to her now, especially when juxtaposed against feeling herself become a food obsessed hog and while a 600 pound doppleganger begged to be released from the very same prison. Maybe something else would have occurred or she’d have been too distracted to run from whatever the horrible feeling of intensity was that had followed. But now she was so traumatized by the experience that it was burned into her mind like grill marks on a white carpet.

Even more strange was the fact that she could remember that particular event when the previous one was a complete haze. The older versions of herself read as warnings about who she would become if she took a certain path in life, and now Makoto saw fat everywhere. Maya had gained weight too, but didn’t seem to notice or even care. She had no fear of the ‘Freshman 40’ foretold by her evil twin and it frustrated the petite, Asian baby goth to no end. Her mind drifted to the image of herself, rail thin and smoking a cigarette.

(They keep me skinny)

(skinny)

(skinny)

The memory resounded in her head, Makoto genuinely felt that she was hearing it again. The words banged against her ears, masking the tiniest hint of what sounded like giggling beneath it. Struggling with the volume, Makoto held her ears and clenched her teeth, searching for the source of the noise until it left her crippled, crumpled onto the floor.

(Skinny)

(Skinny)

(Skinny)

Then suddenly, it stopped.

The deafening, thunderous sound that seemed to shake the entire room vanished as if it was never there. Makoto pushed herself up dizzily and got to her feet. Before she could even get her bearings, a tiny, feminine voice echoed throughout the room.

“~Maaaaakoooooooo…” It sang creepily.

“Maaakoooo-chaaaaan…..”

Makoto blinked, still stumbling around her dark room and fumbling for a light switch she just couldn’t find. Her vision began to clear slightly and the spinning silhouettes of the bedroom furniture all melded back into one steady image.

“Mako-chan.” The voice called again, causing Makoto to turn sharply towards the direction she’d heard it.

On a small stand stood a creepy looking dollhouse that Makoto had never seen before. She’d certainly never owned anything like it before, but still, it was there. In the past she had always wondered why when the monster crept out of a well or out from under the stairs in horror movies why the hapless and almost always female victim would always just stand there instead of running, screaming, or grabbing a weapon to beat the living shit out of it with. But now that it was HER in the situation, watching the lights in the dollhouse flicker on and off by the hand of a tiny person moving about the rooms one by one had been so out of place that she simply couldn’t process what was happening. Her brain refused to allow her to move anywhere but closer, trying desperately to make sense of what she was looking at.

(1)

The figure turned to look at her and smiled. The tiny woman was Asian, but Makoto didn’t recognize her as looking like herself like the previous phantoms at the school building had. Instead, her features were more cherubic and playful, with appley cheeks and cute, side-swept bangs in the center of wavey, shoulder-length black hair. Even stranger was the fact that along with a tiny top that showed off her generous, milky pale cleavage, the girl wore a matching black skirt and a gorgeous pair of fairy wings. The wings themselves however seemed to be made of wire and fabric; more a costume piece than actual, working fairy wings. They swayed back and forth slightly as the tiny woman giggled and pranced her way through the house before settling on a single door and standing by it.

(2)

“Hi Mako-chan….I have something for you. Come on inside!” The tiny, pseudo-fairy singsonged ominously as she opened the door and slipped behind it. The door closed with a tiny click and left Makoto staring in disbelief.

Fear and confusion raced through her mind at what she was staring at, only for her shock to be broken by the sudden chime if her phone alarm going off in her skirt pocket. Startled, Makoto pulled out her phone, nearly blinding herself with the bright screen and squinting to see the words on the screen as her eyes adjusted to the light. As the image became clear, she swiped off the alarm and read the prompt with hairs rising on the back of her neck and goosebumps on her arms.

“Class: 7:30”

“…No.” She whispered, the breath in front of her beginning to steam.

“No no no no….How? Why?! I’m not even…I didn’t even…HOW?!” Makoto muttered, feeling the air grow colder around her as she turned the flashlight on her phone on and backed away from the dollhouse.

She darted towards her bedroom door and tried to open it, but the knob wouldn’t budge. It felt ice cold and painful to hold onto, but the more she struggled to turn it, the more she realized that it didn’t feel locked so much as it was frozen in time and place. Every fiber of her being told her that that door was never going to open no matter how hard she tried. Instead, the shivering girl ran to her bed and crawled under the blankets in an attempt to get warm.

“Maaaakoooo-chaaaan……” The fairy’s voice echoed throughout the room.

“No! I won’t go! I’m not doing what you want! Leave me alone!” Makoto yelled back.

The voice continued to call to her, impish and ethereal as she lay under her blanket for a several minutes. She wasn’t growing warmer however. The longer she tried to hide from the voice and defy the dropping temperature of the room, the colder she became until it was simply too much. Makoto uncurled herself from the tight ball she’d made of herself and moved to lift the blanket off of herself. There was a slight crunching sound that came with a feeling of stiffness in the fabric, and when Makoto removed herself from the blanket found both it and the rest of her bedroom coated in a thin layer of frost. Were the situation not so dire, she would have found it beautiful to see everything glistening under cold, fuzzy crystal that was so pure and white that it made even her gloomy, lightless room look bright. But with every shuddering breath the cold became harder and harder to ignore. Her fingers stung and her ears burned red hot as she moved to get out of bed. The frost felt like spikes against bruised feet as she slid, barefoot onto the floor and began her loveless journey across the room towards the radiating warmth of the dollhouse.

“This shouldn’t be happening.” She thought, crunching a trail of footsteps into snowy mantle covering the floor of her bedroom. “I didn’t go. I wasn’t there. How did it follow me home? Or…Did I….?” Makoto trailed off, not wanting to think about whether or not she truly escaped the school that very first night at all.

“Mako-chan! Come in here!” The fairy spoke again from behind the door.

Makoto stood before the dollhouse, basking in it’s heat while steeling herself for what was to come next. She reached into the dollhouse and put her fingers on the knob, trying with what remaining dexterity she could muster to turn it. The moment she touched it however, the dollhouse room rushed forward to meet her, growing in size and heat as her perception zoomed forward to meet it. She stood with her bare feet on the warm wood in a cozy room, looking backward into a gigantic, oversized panorama of what had become her frozen bedroom before turning back and opening the door.

The room beyond the dollhouse door was colder than the one just before it, but not freezing either. It had ruddy black walls not unlike those at the school building and was furnished with wooden cabinets containing trinkets, aristocratic baubles, and the odd porcelain doll in creepy, gothic inspired dresses. She stood at the entrance, cautiously taking it all in before remembering to breathe, her bracing exhale coming out in in a slow, stuttered sigh.

“……Here we go.”

(3)

With her feet still aching, fingers still tingling, and ears still burning, Makoto walked down the hall and turned the corner only to end up in yet another version of the school lobby. Once again candles lit the room as a busty receptionist sat idly behind a counter only to look up as Makoto entered the room.

“You are late again, Miss Suzuki.” The receptionist said in a moderately accusing tone.

This time it was a black haired woman with a sort of playful aloofness that reminded Makoto a little of Abby from NCIS in the way she carried herself. Her black, curled hair was pulled into two puffy buns on the top of her head while the rest cascaded down into a braid that fell over her shoulder.

(4)

“You will be reporting to room 40: Art Appreciation.

~Have fun….”

The woman sang the last bit like an unheeded warning, but Makoto knew better than to assume that any part of what was to come was going to be pleasant. She walked right past the receptionist and pressed on down the hallway, determined to keep her momentum going and get the night over with.

“Oh, Mako-chan?” The woman called after her. “You forgot your smokes, babe.”

Makoto swallowed back dry mouthful of thick saliva as she turned back around indignantly, snatching the tiny box and lighter from the counter before storming angrily out of the room. There was a part of her that was bound and determined not to accept anything that was offered to her here, but at the same time she knew that she couldn’t take any chances on not having a way out if something like last time began happening again. With an almost righteous fury she strode down the hall until room 40 did indeed come into view. A moment of trepidation was pushed away with an angry, determined huff and she stepped inside.

The room that she stepped into was not dissimilar to the first one she’d entered from the dollhouse except for a glaring distinction: A woman, or at least what seemed like a woman stood perfectly still in the corner of the room in a black, revealing outfit that seemed to come standard with the school ‘classrooms’. Makoto gulped and began moving quietly around the woman, approaching only as much as was necessary. She was beautiful in figure for sure, but her face was a complete mystery, seemingly blotted out into a featureless blur. Faceless and unmoving, she was creepy and worrying to the similarly dark-haired college student. Even so, there was something…sensual and alluring about her. Something sexual that Makoto couldn’t quite put her finger on. Her fear of the faceless woman however far outweighed her curiosity as Makoto was intensely worried that the moment she took her eyes off of her, she would have moved or worse, be moving towards her in some sort of disjointed Silent Hill nurse kind of locomotion and that was simply not worth indulging the possibility of.

(5)

Makoto sidled around the room as quiet as possible, spying an open hallway that led away from the almost homey confines of the well furnished room and into a sort of concrete maintenance area. Slipping into the hall, Makoto still kept a wary eye on the faceless woman still frozen in time. The moment she was forced to break her line of sight, she turned and pranced as delicately as she possibly could on her bare feet in an attempt to run without being heard. She expected the faceless woman to come barreling down the hall after her, but there were no sounds other than her own breaths and the gentle, muted slapping of the balls of her feet on the cold concrete floor. Makoto looked back as she ran, seeing that she was still safe from pursuit. It was only when she turned back around that she slammed clean into someone standing right around the corner.

In a moment, she watched Brandon sleepily as he took off his clothes, revealing a long, hard cock that bounced slightly as he walked towards her. She was so high at that point that there was almost no choice but to let such a hot guy part her legs, feeling a surge of intense pleasure from the sheer heat and size of his huge dick. As she felt his eyes boring into her fat tits as the flopped around wildly with the motion of his thrusts, she could feel on an instinctual level that he didn’t love her. She was just his warm pussy for the night and if he remembered anything about her at a later date it would be that she had nice, big titties. That’s what made her special.

Makoto felt herself hit the ground and scrambled backward on her hands and feet. Another faceless statue of a woman, this time in a slightly different outfit and standing just around the corner of the hall towered over her, her deep, luscious cleavage on full display.

(6)

With ragged, terrified breaths Makoto pressed herself against a wall and pushed herself against it until she was once again on her feet. Her eyes locked onto the faceless woman’s shadowy, blurred away features in search of any sign of movement or indication of sentience. She rationalized that the vision must have occurred as a result of her running into the statue-woman, and that the feelings and sensations she’d experienced were indeed those of whoever she’d been before. It was with some level of guilt that Makoto admitted to herself mentally that she’d only put that together because of the size of the woman’s boobs.

Indecision gripped the young goth as she fought with herself on what to do next. She knew there was nothing but either more scares or a long, boring, and probably freezing wait in the room she had just come from, but the prospect of walking past the faceless woman was a daunting one.

She shook herself out of it via sheer spiteful willpower alone, mustering a sort of ignorant arrogance as a means of getting herself through the trial.

“What are you gonna do? Grope me? Suck my nipples? Please.” She grumbled cautiously. “Everything in this fucking place just wants to tell me I’m a whore, so the worst thing that can happen is I get the orgasms for it.”

With partially renewed vigor, Makoto moved quickly past the woman.

“Try it.” She said, tempting fate as she walked, still staying out of arm’s reach just in case.

Makoto wandered into what appeared to be a department store, but grayed as if all the colors in the world had been hushed, but not muted. There were racks of clothing and shoes, but virtually all of them were effectively the same: slutty black skirts and open V-neck tops that showed off lots of cleavage or frilly, lacy, black lingerie. Even stranger was the fact that all throughout the store, only the main walkway was actually lit, poorly as it was with sickly fluorescent lights that swung limply from the ceiling on chains and shone a light so pale it was almost blue. Makoto didn’t dare stray from the lights however. As she walked gingerly down the predetermined path laid out before her, she swore she could see glimpses of flitting shadows moving around behind the clothing racks. The soft jingling of chains were the only welcome sound as everything was eerily quiet save for the slightest, quietest whispers in the dark of the carpeted clothing sections or the brief sound of someone running past her when her back was turned. Trapped in the center of the creepishness was not where the unwilling student wanted to be, but she had no choice than to follow the road. She realized then that she wasn’t just being led somewhere, she was being funneled.

The path took several 90° turns, eventually ending up in a shoe section where several headless mannequins lay stashed in corners. One stood on a wheeled pedestal conspicuously in Makoto’s path. It was clad in lingerie and had a decently curvy figure, but Makoto couldn’t get past a feeling of disgust she had looking at it. Before, a curvaceous figure had been something of a fantasy for the scrawny asian girl, but looking at the mannequin then only brought resentment and irritation.

“Why does anyone need a fat mannequin?” She thought to herself.

It was a fleeting thought, and one that she immediately chastised herself for, but ever since her previous visit to the school campus she couldn’t bring herself to see even slightly overweight women as attractive. The room felt as if it was spinning as the mannequin drew her in, coaxing her toward it through some unseen force of compulsion.

(7)

(touch it)

Out of the dark came a whisper.

(touch it)

It sounded like the fairy from before, but Makoto couldn’t focus hard enough to discern whether or not it was.

(touch it)

She reached out and put a hand on the mannequin’s plastic leg.

(plop, plop, plop, plop)

“Yeahhh, take that dick bitch!”

Darren wasn’t a guy that was into intellectual conversation. That much was clear. No matter how she tried, she simply couldn’t get him to bond with her over anything but sex. Even then, she’d tried to dress up for him or take up exercising to better suit him, but that only made him more distant.

“You like that, fatass? Tell me you love it, bitch.”

Yeah, she was fat. She knew it. He knew it. Everyone knew it. But in this case she knew this was going to be the last time they fucked like this. Ever since she’d managed to drop a few pounds, Darren was visibly more aloof, as if punishing her for not being as big as he secretly liked.

She should have known. That’s how all of his exes looked. Or rather, other exes if she didn’t manage to put on some weight and soon. He’d already been eyeing her sister for months. Apparently it was her size that mattered, not her personality. The only time she felt truly adored by him was when his cock was making her fat jiggle for his pleasure.

The idea of not only being so overweight nearly caused Makoto to retch. How terrible it must have been, she thought, to have your whole relationship revolve solely around your figure. Still, it wasn’t a horribly uncommon idea. Makoto reasoned that *she* would never date a man who had rotten teeth or a flabby gut, so she really didn’t have room to chastise that guy for liking a fat girl.

With a quiet buzz like a dragonfly’s wings, the lights came on over another section of walkway. As per last time, Makoto followed it to another room where two mannequins were on display. These two were both headless and legless, but only one of them sported a large facsimile of a pregnant belly. Believing herself to be understanding the assignment and more than a little curious what it would be like to be so gravid, she reached out and pressed her hand onto the dome of the mannequin’s stomach.

(8)

The pleasure was unreal. She knew she should have stayed away but the way he spoke to her, degraded her like a piece of meat was too much. She’d changed everything about herself to please him, and he repaid her by dumping load after load of cum into her womb. Where a short, blue pixie cut once was flowed grabbable, pullable blonde hair. Where tattoos of demons and edgy, macabre images once decorated her flesh, now only fading scars from the laser removal treatment remained.

Sometimes she wondered how this man had done this to her. A man that she by rights should have hated. But when he whispered into her ear that she was gonna be a good, Christian mommy while her pussy exploded in shuddering, mind numbing pleasure, she knew she would be having as many babies as he told her to. Hell, she’d already changed her voting registration to Republican for him. She’d changed her looks and went off birth control for him. He was a misogynist pig, but that’s what made succumbing to him so pleasurable. Helping him vote away her rights as she stayed barefoot and pregnant for as long as she was useful to him. She knew her kids would be raised to be proud supporters of the patriarchy as well. He’d make sure of that.

But as long as the dick and humiliation stayed this good, she didn’t mind becoming little more than a womb to grow his kids in.

That’s when it hit her. She wasn’t important. No girl was. She was cattle. He’d turned an alternative feminist tattoo artist into right wing breeding stock. He’d reduced her to just a belly and tits.

…And she was happy being that way.

It was only with shaking hands and wet panties that Makoto felt her hand slip from the mannequin to the front of her skirt, desperate to suppress the surge of horniness that had overtaken her. Even worse was the fact that it was cold. Makoto’s nipples stood on end and hardened to a painful degree both from the temperature and arousal while the extra moisture between her thighs caught the temperature with unpleasant efficiency. Her heart was still pounding from the vision when the lights to the next area clicked on, flickering and ticking dully as if they’d needed replacing years ago.

Her feet had nearly adjusted to the cold surface of the floor and the texture of the laminate tile was a significant improvement over the rugged concrete, but they still ached and pulsed with every footfall. The path that she was confined to was needlessly complicated and wound around the massive, likely endless store in sharp angles past all a manner of clothing items that would make the journey just a little more comfortable. On several occasions she had thought to snag a pair of shoes from the wall or nick a coat that was just out of reach of the light, but her better sense told her that attempting to leave the charted path was very likely a bad idea and would end with her being dragged into a clothes rack by some slutty spirit or shrieking banshee with E cups on full display. The thought of ghosts being dressed for sex amused her a bit, and distracted her from the perilous situation she was still in.

Makoto was wary of her own decreasing apprehension didn’t want to lose her fear of the place. She knew she was in a supernatural nightmare that was trying to either corrupt or control her but still she felt more confident with every mannequin-induced vision. Or immersion, more like. Whenever she touched one, she could feel that she as living a life. Not just some twisted sex fantasy but the real, genuine life of the person that it once belonged to. In that state, she had access to all the memories and feelings of that person, but as such could only live the experience the way they did. What happened to them? Who were they? Why did they turn into mannequins and faceless statues? And most pressing of all, would that become HER fate too if she succumbed to the urge to take the clothes that surrounded her on all sides?

The path of lights had led her to a curtained room were inside stood another headless mannequin, though this one had no arms either. Makoto looked at it, taking in it’s form and noting how unique each mannequin really was when she’d stopped to pay attention to them. There were other mannequins lying around or stashed in corners as well, but the ones that she’d touched were more prominently displayed. Featured even, she thought. Like works of art.

This one was by far her favorite, though she had to stop and remind herself that she couldn’t afford to HAVE a favorite. Still, her eyes glossed over it, admiring how thin it’s legs were despite it’s wideset hips. It’s pale, shining body displayed a proud and perky set of abnormally large breasts and a clearly defined rib line, giving it a visibly concave stomach that made her heart begin to flutter. Makoto couldn’t help but think about how each mannequin displayed was sexualized in different ways, but each one was less and less human and more of just an increasingly limbless torso.

(9)

“Just something to fuck…” She said, biting her lip in anticipation of her next slutty quantum leap.

She reached out her hand and caressed the mannequin’s plastic hipbones.

There was something special about giving herself to him completely. Where everyone else had shamed her for dieting and her devotion to being thin, he nurtured it and helped facilitate her reaching a slender 95 pounds. She loved him for it, but that wasn’t enough for him. The blonde hair was next, followed by the fake tits. She’d already sized up twice at that point and joked that they were the heaviest part of her body.

Carter had begun as such a nice guy, easing her into her new bimbo life, weaponizing her obsession with her weight and beauty to turn her into….whatever this was. A slave to her reflection in the mirror and her blazing libido. Even as he fucked her senseless she pondered what her next upgrade should be. Lips maybe? Laser hair removal? ….Maybe she could finally get the nosejob she had been wanting.

She spread her legs wider, easing onto his cock as much as the arm restraints would allow. He’d been pressuring her to get butt implants too, but she wasn’t interested. She liked being skinny. A part of her was worried that he was going to be upset that she didn’t want the surgery and leave, but she knew better. He was never going to find another bimbo like her. As her pussy clenched, she felt an orgasm welling up from his fervent ministrations. She was about to cum again.

“Fffffuck!” Makoto gasped as she came where she stood.

Her legs shook and went weak, barely leaving her standing as a rush of ecstasy flooded her brain. She stood for a moment, panting while her eyed uncrossed and refocused on the world around her. That was yummy, she thought. And she wouldn’t say no to more.

Makoto reached up to grab the mannequin again. Even if it was the exact same scene again, she wanted to have the experience of being whoever that was one more time. Alas, her fingers pressed against the unusually warm plastic, but no delirious fever dreams came to her. There was only the clacking and buzzing of the lights turning on to lead her to the next area.

She walked quickly this time and with far less concern for where she was going or the whispering around her. If anything, it seemed to have become more intense as several voices could be whispering over each other. Even as she was surrounded by hushed voices, Makoto couldn’t bring herself to care too much. She knew that she was safe as long as she stayed in the light so whatever was happening outside of it wasn’t really her concern. Thoughts crept in about what her mannequin would look like if she were to get taken and changed like those other girls did, but she didn’t have a hot enough sexual encounter for someone to relive. Frustrated and eager to get to the next experience, Makoto pushed it from her mind and kept walking.

Eventually she came to another dimly lit room with a single mannequin on display. Unlike the previous rooms however, there was no clearly defined exit or dark, unlit hallway on the other side of the room. It was a dead end, and very likely the last stop on her little field trip.

Makoto barely paid any attention to the room at all, instead marveling at the sculpture that could only loosely be called a mannequin at that point, stunned by it’s appearance.

“That’s…fucking gorgeous…” She said, the world beginning to spin with the rising whispers that chattered like a flock of invisible birds all around her.

The plastic figure was a curvaceous pair of feminine legs attached to a woman’s torso draped in a cute, but shear and see-through skirt. The arms were in black sleeves that wrapped delicately around the thumb, but that was where the normalcy stopped. The arms connected not to shoulders but a forward leaning second pair of legs that met on both sides to form an ass as plump and alluring as the one below it. As Makoto walked around, she felt her arousal rise at the sight of a clearly defined plastic pussy beneath the upper body’s thong-clad ass. It was bizarre, certainly, but something about the depraved inhumanity of it spoke to her. The knowledge that once upon a time and still somewhere within, this monument to fucking and objectification of the female body was an actual person. Her mind reeled with thoughts of what this previously regular, normal woman must have done and gone through to be remade into something like the eldritch fuck idol before her. Unable to wait longer, Makoto planted her hand firmly onto one of the sculpture’s plump asscheeks.

(10)

She was in heaven. A cock in her pussy, a cock in her ass. A cock in her mouth. A cock in each hand. Everything she felt, heard, tasted, saw, and heard had to do with pleasuring a penis. She hadn’t always been that way, but the more her dom encouraged her addiction, the more depraved her fantasies became.

She could barely remember the days when she had jobs to do that didn’t involve sex but it no longer mattered. She was a good girl. And good girls were for fucking. Over time she’d learned how to simply turn her brain off and drown in the pleasure, then once she’d gotten used to doing it, it had become automatic.

No thoughts. Only tits and ass and pussy and sex and fucking and COCK.

~Cooooock~

They pounded in and out of her every orifice, melting her brain. She existed to make them cum. It was her life, her purpose, her everything. When she wasn’t fucking, she was eating, sleeping, or gooning her life away to porn. More sex. More tits. More cock. Cock. Cock. Cock  Cock.

Nothing would ever matter more than cock.

“Mmmmm…..Cooock……” Makoto moaned, her fingers buried in her sopping wet pussy.

Her vision only marginally cleared as she caught her breath. She was no longer a part of the other woman’s orgy, but she still felt manic and sexually hypercharged, even lying on the floor.

She stood up and looked around. The room was smaller. The mannequin was gone. She was still hungry. She wanted to cum. She wanted more cock.

Makoto tried to breathe through the feeling as she fumbled her way around what appeared to be a dressing room, complete with a little bench and a full length mirror.

Her thoughts felt…shallow. Like no matter how she tried, she could only think in short bursts and half thoughts. There were clothes on the bench with a tag that simply read “For Mako-chan.” She tore off the tags and ripped her other clothes off, reveling in the chilly nakedness for a moment before dizzily shoving her plush ass into a red and black skirt. The bra had come several cup sizes too large, but she still made it work, feeling her nipples brush up against the lacy fabric as her fat boobs filled the cups better and better.

Cock, dick, sex, cum, tits, fuck, cock, cock, cock, cock, COCK was all she could think about. She needed it more than anything. Makoto tore open the door to the dressing room without even throwing the rest of the clothes on, her face flushed with furious horniness.

(11)

But then, nothing.

No whispers or shadows. No mannequins or sex dreams. Just the kind-of chilly air of her dark bedroom, entered as always through the door.

The floor creaked slightly and she crashed onto her bed, completely exhausted. Lingering horniness swirled around in her head, but in her dizzy, weakened state Makoto was in no position to do anything about it. Her breath slowed as she crawled around, desperately searching for her pillow. As Makoto drifted off to sleep, she felt her mouth and tongue still looking for the word if not the taste of her singular, sex addled desire.