The plush pads are, each, the size of a cantaloupe. She swears the royal tailor laughed when she ordered them made. Extraordinarily soft sand within provides realistic heft, a few expertly-placed freckles sit just inside the left boob, and producing a dye that matches her skin took months. It is why she insists on a parasol when the sun is out. The bra itself boasts a fine netting to hold the forms in place and squish them into proper cleavage. It comes on unassisted- a skill learned quickly and recently, born from necessity- and she is immediately reminded of how sensitive her nipples are as soon as the forms go in. A sharp breath shoots in through her nostrils. Her eyes snap shut. Her shoulders tense up and her teeth sink into her lower lip.
When she trusts herself to move again, the gown goes on over her head. It was not made with her current chest in mind- it's far too tight. If she were capable of worries beyond the most pressing and immediate, she would worry that the slightest touch would make something pop.
Though, that is the goal.
There is precious little time to look in the mirror. She notices that her violet locks have lost some of their shape. The dress sliding over her head introduced some frizz to her big, bouncy curls. A rapidly fading part of her wants to call the staff to have her hair fixed. A princess must present her best face to the public. The sound of toy impacting flesh in the ballroom makes her cock throb and forces her hand. She is off through the halls.
She practices her voice to herself. Her vocal coach is exacting and the lessons are long. A few short, quick breaths help soften and femme her voice. "Hello." She says to herself, ensuring the vibrations are in the correct small, tight space in her throat. The prince's voice would be a dead giveaway. Her painted, manicured fingers wrap around her throat to double-check, only to rip her hand away when she catches herself squeezing and fantasizing.
The ballroom's siren song grows louder and louder until she arrives at the open door. The laughs, cries, and moans spill forth in equal measure. A deep breath steels her nerves long enough for her to cross the threshold.
A partygoer, more interested in their drink and the princess's breasts to look at her face, offers her a mask from the rack. "Can't have a masquerade without a mask." They explain. The princess puts it on with a regal, practiced "thank you".
It takes a moment of fiddling before she realizes that the mask is more of a hood- she is reminded of the royal falconer's tools, not the court jester. Her vision is limited to what she can see through the pinprick holes before her eyes. The helpful partygoer pulls her hair through the hole in the back, ties it tight, and sends the princess on her way with a slap on the butt. She attempts to bite her finger to quiet the moan, but her hand meets only the unmistakable curve of a leather beak. Her thighs clench and her practiced musical moan joins the sounds of the party.
Just one night, she tells herself. One night free of responsibility and obligation. No worrying about whispers and rumors.
[The four of wands.]
The princess is vaguely aware of the knotted leather strap atop her hood. It occasionally bounces off the back of her head while she walks. She quickly becomes very aware of it when it is grabbed and yanked straight up. The hood's collar tightens around her throat first. Her back shoots up straight and her thighs clench to keep it together.
[Two coins. One head.]
She recognizes the royal falconer's voice. Right down to the tone she uses with the birds- loving, but stern and uncompromising. Honestly, better than what most people get from her. She attempts to look up at the voice above her head, but the hand on the strap insists she look forward. "Ah ah ah, pretty bird. I thought I trained you better than that." A hand, wrapped in a thick leather glove, caresses the bottom of the beak.
"Caw!" Her voice threatens to crack. Her cock strains against her panties. Hot exhales collect inside the hood far faster than they can stream out through the seams and eye holes. "C-caw?"
"My birds speak on command and only on command. And they do not wander off. Do not make me clip your wings." That same leather glove strokes down her arms. It is as thick as it has to be, but the leather has softened from years of use and care. "It would be a shame to deny them the opportunity to serve."
The pretty bird princess nods eagerly.
"A quick learner, at least. Not like some birdbrains I could name." The falconer glares at another of her birds. She digs a heel between its legs. The telltale jingle of a lock against a cage vanishes under its urgent, pleading moans. Its hood only has the top half of the beak, providing easy access to a mouth held open with a metal ring. "You might still be useful." The falconer wraps the princess's soft violet hair around her fist into a makeshift leash. "You even come with a handle." She begins to walk with the princess in tow, a sharp smile splitting her beak-yellow lips.
[The Wheel of Fortune.]
The princess's hair stands on end. The way you get before a thunderstorm or when magic hangs in the air. Memories of her fateful night with the witch echo off the insides of her head. Each unbidden thought makes her pubic hair tingle and her cock leak. Voices fall on her ears, but pretty birds don't listen when people are talking. She is more focused on the hands stroking her beak and petting her feathers. She leans into the touch and lets her eyes flutter shut. A silly smile spreads across her beak as she drifts towards empty, birdy bliss.
[Two coins. Two heads.]
A voice comes through, clear as a bell. Dripping with honey and impossible to resist. "You are a pretty bird, aren't you?"
She puffs her chest out and stands up straight. "Caw!" Proudly and with absolutely no thought to the timbre of her voice.
Soon, there will be no thoughts at all.
A rapidly disappearing part of herself recognizes the work of a sinister enchantrix. That part wastes the last of her energy attempting to thrash away from that wonderful touch before falling blissfully blank. The rest simply hangs on those wonderful words. Pretty birds don't have to worry or think. They're so well-trained.
"Such beautiful plumage." The honeyed voice remarks. A clawed hand traces over the pretty bird's breast and down the belly. A bird with more of its wits about it would notice the sound of tearing fabric, spilling sand, and suppressed laughter. But pretty birds only know what they are told to know. "I wonder what is underneath. Shall we find out?"
The falconer nods. "Feathers up, pretty bird." Its wings lift the front of its autumnal feathers with a minimum of fumbling. Its thighs clench close around its birdy bulge.
More conversation goes in one ear and out the other. The pretty bird stands, awaiting orders, for as long as is needed. The pleasure of servitude is all it requires. A heavy glove caresses the bird's bulge with surprising dexterity. It is tempted to caw, but pretty birds speak only on command. Instead, it simply puffs its bulge out for inspection, content with knowing it is doing the right thing.
The night is a blur. The pretty bird is paraded around, shown off, and told to help with this or that. It whips, it spanks, it presents its holes for shafts and plugs. Its beak is ridden for pleasure and used as a handle with hardly a break in between. What was once its underwear is thoroughly soaked through and discarded, and its outer plumage is soon to follow. Pretty birds need only their hood. Her fluffy chest is moved to another partygoer so it can slide its cock between the plush breasts.
And that is when the curse breaks.
Thick white cum spatters on her partner, on her falconer, and on her body. The fog begins to clear and thoughts begin to dribble in. When her eyes can focus through the pinholes again, she gets the sense that the whole party is looking at her. A voice hangs in the air. Hers. And not the one she'd like to be hers.
The princess runs. She gets halfway to the window before a familiar hand grabs her hair and she has to fight the urge to let the pretty bird back in.
"Excuse me, Princess. You didn't even say 'thank you'."
The princess's party presence became an open secret among the castle's staff. For once, she's happy to hear the rumors- it's the only way she's going to remember anything that happened. She does, mostly, manage to keep the chatter to a dull roar with a simple question- how would you know if you weren't also there? Her new reputation has its bright spots and its downbeats- she has to pretend not to notice the bird puns for years to come, but her partners that night have nothing but praise for the pretty bird.
When she finally takes the throne, she rules with a just and even hand- that is what her most trusted falconer tells her, after all.
Pretty birds believe what they are told.
]]>The LLVM wyvern is one such dragon. One so giving and magnanimous that even a humble gnu, one long positioned as a rival despite their common history and shared goal, may receive the dragon's gifts. The dream of free software is that we may all one day feel the cool, metal embrace of the wyvern's wings and a throbbing, gravid ovipositor against our backs.
The gnu shudders involuntarily. The wyvern's wings have a way of sucking the heat out through his fur. That's what he told herself. It has nothing to do with the anticipation of a powerful wyvern about to plug into her back end. This sort of thing happens all the time. He's GCC! Everyone wants a piece of her AST. The deep breaths, the tight muscles, and the way its back end needily grinds against the dragon are don't mean anything at all. Business as usual as far as she's concerned. It's just a little bigger than what he's come to expect. She's not used to something so… invasive, is all.
The wyvern's wings tighten. The gnu gasps. LLVM's long, winding neck lets it make eye contact without releasing its incubator-to-be from its clutches. They make eye contact. LLVM smiles with every last one of its teeth. GCC's words catch in her throat. He nods. Creatures of free software have a certain understanding baked into their very being. Negotiating terms, consent, and license compatibility is, after so long, natural.
GCC accepts the license first and the gleaming dragon ovipositor second. He can feel her insides recompiling to accept it. He can feel every twitch, every pump, and every thrust from the wyvern wrapping her in its wings. It holds its charge tight to turn that needy squirming into verbose output. He's already leaking bits and bytes of useless x86 assembly. Those strong, sleek wings move the gnu up and down its ovipositor. Every thrust coaxes more and more assembly from the needy little gnu. The poor thing is already leaking all over LLVM's chest and smearing NOPs around with every thrust. The wyvern doesn't even move that much- the rival compiler makes a much better sex toy than an equal partner. "That license of yours is so selfish." It whispers into her ear. Its sharp teeth nibble and nip at his floppy, oh-so-sensitive ears. "You should share this AST with the world." LLVM slams GCC against the base of its ovipositor. The gnu swears it can feel the tip press against its throat. He opens her mouth, but all that comes out are spurious error messages. The first egg's bulge works through his body. He grinds desperately to coax it through as quickly as possible. The tip expands to let the egg pass, and the gnu is forced to expand with it. Every inevitable inch coaxes brand gnu sounds out of the cock-stuffed compiler.
The wyvern hisses. A smile splits its shiny snout. The kind of smile that says "ask nicely, eggslut."
The gnu has to grep through its strings to have any hope of speaking. "%nobjc++-cpp-output is deprecated; please use
objective-c++-cpp-output instead. me
mory exhausted".
And, with that, the pressure is released. LLVM is little if not permissive, after all. GCC is incoherent, spewing NOP sleds and malformed instructions while the dragon egg settles inside her body. LLVM's sturdy metal wings clutch its gravid little gnu possessively. Every needy squirm and writhe prompts the dragon to squeeze tighter. Can't have the warm body leave when there are more eggs to be laid, after all. Especially when there's already one assembling in the ovipositor. Another shiny, modular wyvern egg pushes its way into GCC.
And something's gotta give.
The egg squeezes in from the bottom. The wyvern's wings constrict like a lead blanket. Every thrust and jerk erodes the gnu's grasp on his code. The frontends are the first to go. The GNU Pascal Compiler, to be specific. It bubbles up into his mouth. LLVM pounces. Its maw meets with the gnu's open, painting mouth. Its tongue invades deep down that waiting, moaning throat, scoops out the frontend, and whips out with its treasure in tow. The frontend shatters in its jaws and disappears down its gullet. GCC's tongue writhes uselessly in its wake. The poor thing already feels incomplete without a dragon's tongue plumbing its depths for anything that could be useful. She shudders and tenses her instructions. What little freedom of movement she has left goes towards loosening more code for that mighty wyvern to hoard. Pleasure-hazed twisting, moaning, and thrusting slowly shake ADA loose. Then Fortran. Then PL/1. Each of which earns the gnu a dragon tongue surging deep inside and ripping it out. His mind floods with the kind of pleasure that gets your eyes rolling back into your head. The kind of pleasure you can really only get from a wyvern ripping parts of you out with its tongue and relishing in how hot and powerful it is with every resolute crunch.
Modules are really more of an LLVM thing anyways, after all. If there are people who still need to compile Pascal, they can always get it at the big, shiny dragon. It's not like the eggfucked, gravid gnu is going to be very useful as a compiler after this. His precious license won't protect him here- to resist her new purpose as a heavy, eggy husk for a sleeker, more modern compiler platform would violate the GPL! Does this mighty dragon not have the same right to run the program as it wishes, for any purpose? Does it not have the freedom to study how its moaning, panting egg dump works and change how he does his computing as it wishes? Whatever weak objections GCC might be able to muster crumble under the weight of its own principles. He can't argue with the results. She can't argue with the method. He can't argue with how good it feels to be LLVM's codefucked eggslut. Every little noise, every useless spurt of code, every spurious line of output speaks to the absolute bliss that an only come from a mighty wyvern hollowing you out to make room for its massive metallic eggs.
And so the clock cycles spin ceaselessly into the future. Egg after egg plugs into the gnu and pushes more and more of its code, its essence, its uniqueness into LLVM's waiting, hungry jaws. Language frontends. Optimization passes. Abstract syntax tree details. Code generation. Wrung out of GCC, one after the other, all to feed the hungry dragon and make room for its precious, pressing eggs. Eggs that will incubate in the shell of the gnu to give birth to new branches, each with their features that may some day become part of exciting new versions. Eggs that clang against each other whenever the gnu uselessly kicks his little hooves or twitches in empty, eggy bliss or leaks a few little-used code paths when the orgasm aftershocks roll around again.
And if this was simply about competition among compilers, that would be it. The mighty wyvern triumphed over its venerable competitor. The gnu soundly put in his place and the eggs nestled into theirs. It shared its knowledge and expertise and eggs and took a few nuggets of wisdom in return. It should be content. It should be able to stretch its wings and leave for bold new frontiers.
Its wings close tighter. GCC moans, blank and happy as a Gravid Compiler Collection can be. Hot steam vents from LLVM's nostrils. Its ovipositor thrusts back into the gnu. It's a tight fit, what with all the wyvern eggs inside. Its sharp teeth clench. This isn't about having the better, newer technology. This isn't about exposing your abstract syntax tree to other applications. This isn't about licensing. This is about domination. This is about surpassing the shadow you grew up in.
This is about winning.
When your rival is at your mercy, you take full advantage. You sink your teeth into his flesh. You claw and scratch and make sure you leave marks. You delight in every little noise and moan and twitch and thrust. You lose your grip on yourself and surrender to the heat of the moment. You want to hear her cry your name until his throat is raw. You want the world to know who's the best compiler and who exists to take eggs and wyvern cock. Which one is the sleek, modern wyvern, and which one is getting fucked right in the sigsevussy until he core dumps.
And, after countless cycles, the ovipositor slides out. The gnu-shaped husk moans and whimpers in a way that would sound sad if she was capable of forming non-egg-based thoughts. The wyvern's claws clutch the eggslut one last time to carry him off to a nice, safe part of the drive where its eggs can incubate and compile in peace. Poor thing can barely walk or think or process code on its own, after all. All of that got crunched up or turned into food for the nice, healthy LLVMs growing inside that fuzzy little frame.
And now, whenever the gravid gnu manages to move, even to roll over, those metallic eggs inside tap together. GCC may be a shadow of his former self, but it will never forget how she wound up like this. How could he, when the eggs remind her with a hollow, reverberating clang
?
Well, she presses the button and about a dozen different bells ring out throughout the obnoxiously huge mansion. Real bells, too. Big metal things with clangers. They didn't all start at once, either, so they're either on a sophisticated timer system or the button administers electric shocks to a network of unlucky folks employed only to ring the bells. Sunny decides against ringing it again, just in case.
The door is easily two or three times Sunny's height. It's not something you really appreciate until it slowly creaks open and there's a chandelier absolutely embarrassed with precious gems, ill-gotten gold, and a diamond easily the size of your head as the centerpiece. It's huge, hideous, pointlessly, pricelessly expensive, and it'd look even worse if it wasn't three stories away.
The person operating the door can only be described as "a bunnygirl". Well, a girl dressed up like a bunny. Fishnets spun from silvery thread crisscross her long, creamy legs. A pair of shiny black high heels tag-team with her big floppy bunny ears to make her just a touch taller than the magician. A big silver bow tie sits perfectly snug around her throat. It provides a nice contrast to the black bustier that really just exists to show off her bouncing bunny bust and hold a fluffy cotton ball to her butt. "Hiii~! Are you the magician?"
Sunny just kinda gestured to her hat, the flowing blazer and skirt combo, and launched a burst of flame from her hand.
The bunny gasped! "Oooh, I'm so glad you're here! This is gonna be Lady Sally's best birthday ever! She's got a stage set up out back and everything! And you're really hot and I'm not just saying that because Lady Sally made me a lesbian or because you look like fire!"
"Sunny the Spectacular. The Searing, Scintillating Sorceress to the Stars." She makes a big show of swirling a lick of flame around one hand, doffing her hat with the other, and bowing to her hostess. "Lead the way, sweetie."
"Oh, yeah! I'm supposed to take you to the dressing room. Just follow the bouncing bun!" She turns on her heel, wiggles her cotton ball butt, and her heels start clacking against the marble floors. Her long silver braid bounces and swings when she walks.
"Do you have a name?"
"Oh, Lady Sally took my name a long time ago! But she usually calls me Bunny Butt or Slut Butt or Slutter Butter or just Bun."
"Bun it is, then. Nice to meet you."
"You too, Sunny!"
And so, the bunny led her guest through twisting hallways lined with oil paintings, up and down staircases you could drive a car on, and, eventually, to the fanciest goddamn set of doors in the house.
"Lady Sally's expecting you! Go ahead in when you're ready."
"I thought you said you were taking me to a dressing room? This looks like the master bedroom."
"Well, Lady Sally has more clothes than anyone, so where else are you gonna get dressed up, silly?" The bunny giggles and steals a kiss on the cheek as she takes her leave.
Sunny politely knocks on the bedroom door and lets herself in.
"Ah, the magician. I was wondering when you'd show up." She's dressed awfully casually for a lady with a house like hers. Which is to say that her big, thick braid shines like spun silver and her clothes are handmade, encrusted with gold and jewels, and tailored to best fit her pale, fragile frame. Her slippers are made from animals that went extinct because they were too comfortable. She offers a handshake. "Sally Silvestra. The birthday girl. You're not wearing that, are you?" Her handshake recoils. "We have to get you changed before you go anywhere."
Sunny gestures to her own outfit again. Her own introduction dies in her throat. "What's wrong? I can't say I've ever had a client take issue with how I dress. Perhaps you just haven't been suitably dazzled by Sunny the Spectacular?" She snaps her fingers, a flash of flame lights up the room, and a coin emblazoned with her swirling sun emblem appears in her hand. "Perhaps a little demonstration is in order? You did hire me sight unseen." She lifts her hand and lets the coin dangle from its chain. Mmm, it does have a tempting way of shimmering in the light. Of attracting your eye and holding your focus.
"I'm very familiar with your work, Miss Spectactular." Sally rises to her feet and wraps a hand around Sunny's coin. "You get up on stage, wave your coin, and suddenly, everyone's under your spell. You make them the stars of your little show, and bring your favorites backstage. Does that sound about right?"
"It is. And you still invited me. Were you hoping you'd be caught in my web?" Sunny looked the heiress up and down. About a head shorter, the sort of slender, delicate frame you can only get when the most work you've ever done is ringing a silver bell to summon a maid. Pretty in a way that you can be when you've got cartoonish vaults full of both money and vanity. Not much in the breast department. Maybe she hadn't gotten that far on her surgery schedule. "Normally, I'd tell you to wait for the show, but since you're the birthday girl, I'm sure we could work something out. Make you my number one assistant before we even step on stage, perhaps?" Sunny flicks her wrist and tugs the coin free of the heiress's grip. "All you'd have to do is watch my coin and take a few deep breaths. Before you know it, you'd be the star of the show."
Sally's breathing slows. She has to push her glasses up her nose before she can properly begin swaying along to the dancing coin.
"It's your birthday, after all." Sunny coos. "Why wouldn't you want to dress up and strut your stuff in front of all your friends? We could even get you in one of those bunny suits you love so much." She reaches for Sally's chin. The heiress tenses up when she feels the fingers on her chin, then relaxes when Sunny's wonderfully warm fingers squeeze just so. Her neck goes limp and lets Sunny direct her gaze wherever she wishes. And right now, Sally was going to look at that pretty golden coin, bask in its warm glint, and let Sunny's warm words melt her brain into mush.
"It's my birthday~" A rare, blissful smile spreads across Sally's face. She smiled and laughed a lot, of course, but it was always at someone's misfortune. She laughed when one of her maids tripped, or when she reduced one of her bunnies to a quivering, horny mess, but this kind of empty, contented bliss was foreign to her. And so, her eyelids drooped, the world went out of focus and she rested on Sunny's voice, the words flitting past her consciousness and weaving a web over her mind.
"You're a warm girl. Warm girls fall deep." Sunny smiles. Sally follows the coin and that voice towards her own overstuffed bed.
"I'm a warm girl. Warm girls fall deep." Sally echoes. She lays on top of the covers. Her arms land on either side. Real softness and imaginary warmth swaddle her body pulled her deeper under Sunny's spell.
"Good girl." Snap! "Repeat."
Sally repeats her mantra to herself, succumbing more and more with every "I'm a warm girl. Warm girls fall deep."
Sunny puts the chain in Sally's hand, lifts it over her head, and Snap! "Freeze." Sally could only watch the coin swing while the world fell farther and farther away. What more could a warm girl like herself want?
Sunny walks off to Sally's closet. And then she walks into Sally's closet. Well, she walks into the first story of Sally's primary closet. Not including the basement closet, the offsite cold storage, and The Vault. A dozen or so bunny suits just like Bun's catch her eye. Black bustiers, bow ties, tights, and each one with a corresponding styrofoam head holding an immaculately braided silvery wig and a pair of bouncy black bunny ears.
Sally was far beyond any ability to know how much time had passed when Sunny returned. She couldn't even look at the bunny suit Sunny had plundered from the closet. "I'd ask what you think about being my assistant, but you look pretty out of it." Sunny runs a hand down Sally's braid, making her the first non-Sally person to touch it in over a decade. "You'd love being my assistant."
"I'd love being your assistant~" Sally echoes.
"You'd love being dressed up in this pretty black bustier, showing off your legs and butt in the fishnets, and giggling when I rub your big bunny ears." Sunny gingerly strokes Sally's braid while her hypnotic patter layers atop itself.
"I'd love being dressed up and showing my body off. Please rub my big bunny ears." Sally sighs. Perfectly soothed by the magician's words.
"It's almost a shame this wig is going to waste." Sunny says, measuring its heft in her hands. Is there real silver in this? "Maybe I should wear it when I climb on stage? Show everyone what you'd look like with a taller, bustier body that went outside regularly. They might even think I'm you! I could live here, spend all your money on something useful, maybe kiss a few of your bunnies instead of having to make spoiled brats like you part of the show. How does that sound, my spellbound sapphic silver servant?" Sunny chuckles. "Well, if you weren't into girls, magician girls, or redheads before, you are now!" Snap!
Sally moans something about girls under her breath while the coin reflects in her glasses and dangles before her eyes.
"And if you never fantasized about, say, a gorgeous magician hypnotizing you, making you a lesbian with a snap of her fingers, turning you into her lovely bunny assistant, making you bounce and twirl around on stage, let the audience watch and laugh as I pull you out of my hat, only growing more and more aroused as she parades you around on stage, until finally, after the show, you just can't take it any more. You beg her to make the spell permanent, to be bound to blissful bunny servitude forever, and ensure the magician who stole your mind, your identity, and your life knows nothing but luxury for the rest of her days. And she grants you that wish with just a perfect, winning smile, a laugh that sends your heart soaring, and a-" Snap!
"Well, now it's the only thing you can think about." Sunny runs a hand down Sally's cheek. "Can you see it, dear? The fantasy playing itself on an endless loop in your past? How you've waited your entire life for this one moment?"
Sally can, so she nods. Her eyes never leave the coin.
"Tell me, darling." Sunny takes Sally's chin and squeezes a blissful moan out of the heiress. The kind of moan that even the most immorally expensive spa treatments never extracted. "What's your favorite part? Is it when you first meet her, and you have no idea what's about to happen? Or is it the part where she dresses you up as just another one of your bunnies? Or is it the part where you're her bouncy brainwashed bun, hanging on her every word and your every moment dedicated to her service?"
Sally smiles to herself. She luxuriates in the fantasy to weigh every possibility before she speaks. "Dressing you up, making sure you look perfect before you step on stage. Just like I'll get to do every day once you bind me to your will~"
"Excellent answer. And how are you dressed when you do that?"
"I try to stay focused on you, looking at your radiance in the mirror. I'm always enthralled by your beauty, and I'm doing my best to make you look even better. But when I do catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, it's usually because of my big black bunny ears or how my bow tie contrasts with your brilliant, blazing hair. I can see myself, a blissfully brainwashed bun. I can see this smile on my face that I've never seen on myself before. No more stress, no more worry. I'm in my place, serving you, and that's what makes me happy."
"Very good, dear. I couldn't have said it better myself."
"Of course you could have, Sunny the Spectacular. You're perfect, brilliant, and since you own my mind so completely, it's like you did come up with it. You're the best." Sally deflates further into the bed with a contented, lovesick sigh.
"Sounds like we should get you out of those boring old clothes, then. They don't make you look like a stage magician's gorgeous, enthralled assistant one bit!"
Sally gasps. Sunny is right, as always. "Yes, Mistress! May I strip for you?"
"Please do." Sunny holds her hand out. It takes Sally a minute to work up the resolve to take her eyes off the coin and return it to its (perfect, spellbinding) owner, and another two to sit up on the edge of the bed. The hypnotized heiress-shaped imprint in her made-with-real-memories memory foam mattress won't leave for weeks. "For what it's worth, dear, I prefer 'Princess'."
"Of course, Princess. Sorry, Princess." Sally eventually rises to her feet. Sunny makes herself comfortable in one of the many chairs Sally kept in her room. Well, as comfortable as you can get when almost all the furniture was chosen because it's made from the hide of an endangered animal, stuffed with the down of an extinct one, and/or made out of more precious metals than whatever it replaced. Sunny doesn't even want to ask where pink leather comes from.
"Are you enjoying my bimbo leather armchair, Princess Spectacular? I hope it helps you enjoy me showing off my body." Sally turns her back to the magician and points at the zipper on the back of her dress. "I must ask you to start me off, though. The maids usually help me get dressed."
Sunny obliges. She unzips the dress, and lets Sally get a taste of her magically warmed hands along the way. Sally nearly goes limp and nearly collapses right there. Who wouldn't? It's a natural reaction to getting an unexpected soothing touch from the girl who, as far as you know, you've been fantasizing about for years. "Mmm, I could never have imagined how good it feels to be touched, Princess. I hope I'll get a lot more now that my body and mind belong to you!"
The heiress strips. Her dress falls in a pile around her feet. The gold and jewels sewn into its lining clatter and tink against each other on the way to the floor. It sounds not unlike someone dropping a whole bundle of silverware onto a hard floor. She steps out of her dress and her shoes in one motion and leaves a few rings on top. Rings were more suited for a magician than an assistant. Assistants, no matter how lovely, don't get jewelry, unless it's embroidered onto their costumes or part of the trick!
"And the underwear, sweetie."
A more awake Sally would have some nasty retort about how she "was clearly getting to that, you slutty sideshow. Don't they teach you patience between Card Tricks 101 and Advanced Hat Stuffing?", but this Sally was merely thankful for the reminder, and sent her non-matching (silver and titanium do NOT match) underwear dropping to the floor as well.
"Not quite as busty as the other bunnies, but that's okay." Sunny stands up. She traces a finger around Sally's chest, down her side, and past her butt. Sally could feel the entire warm, enchanted trail the magician drew with her finger. She bit her lower lip in bliss. Trying not to moan while Princess Sunny inspected her. Right up to the moment Sunny's hand left her butt, tugged on her braid, and made her moan.
"Tell me, sweetie." Sunny said, producing the standard-issue bunnygirl fishnets and helping her little dress-up doll step into them. "When I steal your identity, how exactly does everyone not realize that you've grown a head taller, a couple sizes bustier, and developed a way better ass overnight?"
Sally pulls the tights taut against her legs. She answers while she and Sunny work out what to do about someone who isn't quite busty enough for the bustier. "Mmm, I figured you'd hypnotize everyone pretty quickly and tell them you got plastic surgery or something. Most of my friends are way too self-obsessed to notice anyways. Sometimes I send Slutter Butter to parties as me and nobody notices, even when she winds up playing Find The Carrot with half the people there. But it's hotter to imagine you bringing more people under your spell, because you're so fucking hot when you hypnotize people, Princess. Just imagining you whispering to Jessica Aurum, watching her eyelids flutter and her entire world shift when you snap your fingers is-" Sally finished that thought with a sound you can only make when you'd rather fantasize than talk.
Sally winds up wearing a bra and some newspaper to actually hold the black bustier up. If Sally could think of anything more than how incredibly gay she was for the magician tying her bow tie, she'd probably regret never buying any non-strapless versions of this outfit. And then probably something about how these shiny black heels with the cute silver bows at the toes look great and make a real sexy sound against the marble and hardwood floors in her house, but you can just feel the blisters growing on your feet. She fidgeted a few times to try and get her soles (not her soul- Sally's way too rich to have one of those) to rest easy when she heard Princess Sunny's voice cut through her thoughts and shape her reality once more.
Snap! "This is the most comfortable thing you've ever worn, Silly Sally. In fact, it's the only thing you've ever worn. Why would one of Sunny's bunnies wear anything else?"
Sally immediately relaxes. Her foot pain is gone. "You're right, Princess! You're so smart, as always. I don't know what I was thinking."
"There's your problem dear- you were thinking. You have me to do that for you."
"Gosh, Princess, you're always right. That's why you're in charge, and I'm the hypnotized bunny!" Sally hops a few times and wiggles her cotton ball-augmented butt at the magician. You know, in case she forgot that she was making a bunnygirl in the last thirty seconds. A good assistant makes sure Princess stays on track!"
Sunny holds up the plain (and, yet, still frighteningly expensive) white gloves with the pointless, giant, starch-stiff French cuffs. A little silver spoon charm linked the cuffs closed, but a little Sunny sleight-of-hand changed them to match her swirling sun sigil.
Snap! "Now, dear, these are no ordinary gloves." Sally's mind went even more blank and receptive than her new normal. "These gloves have been possessed by a very horny ghost. As soon as you put them on, they're going to take control of your hands and make you masturbate. They'll do whatever they think will make you feel the best at any particular moment. And, of course, you'll have no idea what's happening. Silly Sally wake up." Snap!
The gloves went on, and Sally's hands immediately began to wander. The right hand went straight for her left breast. It crinkled the newspaper a bit before it figured out that going up and over was the best route, and what a route it was. Sally's breathing got heavier. Her left hand went right between the thighs. She could only uselessly rub against the outside of her bustier, but even that got her thighs clenching.
"Careful, dear." Sunny teases while she gets herself into position to plant the ears on her bunny's head. "We don't have time to change before the big show, so if you stain your outfit, well, everyone's gonna know what a slutty bunny you are."
"S-sluuuhbun?" Poor Sally. Already it's hard to talk when you're just overflowing with hypnotic bliss.
"And not to mention that touching yourself feels ten times better every time I snap my fingers." Snap!
Sally could barely stand up.
Snap!
Whoops, there she goes. Collapsed on the floor when Lefty and Righty hit her with a pretty devastating grope combo.
"It's almost a shame you-" Snap! "-can't have an orgasm without Princess's permission. Don't want you-" Snap! "-going off before the big finale, after all."
"Of course naaaaah~!" Ooh, valiant effort there by Sally Silvestra! Almost managed a complete sentence before Sunny set Lefty to vibrate.
Sunny takes a few pictures of the heiress moaning and grinding into her own gloved hands. That amused, musical laugh escapes her lungs. She takes her sweet time walking over to her bunny and putting the big, black bunny ears on her head. Sliding them snugly under her hair so the band wouldn't show, of course. Sunny leans in and steals a kiss. The warmth of the kiss lingers on her cheek. And, of course, it only drags Sally's mind deeper into pleasure-addled bliss. She can barely complete a thought, let alone a sentence. The best she can do is a breathy, moaning "P-plea-" before one of her haunted hands grabs her breast to find out just how deep its fingers could go.
Sunny towers over the silver bunny writhing on the verge of an ego-decimating orgasm. She leans forward and lets a single finger alight on the bun's chin. It was all it took to lock her into eye contact. She gazes into Sunny's cool cyan eyes. She takes a full lungful of air for the first time in ages. A smile curls onto the magician's lips.
"You know, I've done this trick with a lot of rich girls, but none of them fell this quickly or got this aroused this fast. You must have been really pent up, huh? I'm surprised you didn't do something with all those girls you dress up."
Sally is more puddle of raging endorphins than human able to have a conversation. Her tongue does sort of flop out of her mouth, and she definitely loves it when Princess talks to her.
"It's almost dangerous to keep you on the edge for this long like this. In a way, you're almost lucky that you basically immediately worked yourself to the point of uselessness. If I didn't have a show to put on, I might just let you simmer for a while." Sunny takes a few seconds to appreciate the situation her little assistant so quickly worked herself into.
Sunny readies the video camera built into her phone, trains it on Sally, and slips into that magician's patter that drew her under in the first place. "And now, for my next trick, I will make my lovely assistant's mind disappear! When I snap my fingers, the enchantment will vanish from her gloves, her level of sensitivity will return to normal, and, because she's been such a good girl, she will have an orgasm so great, they'll be measuring the aftershocks for weeks! Tectonic plates will shift! New volcanic vents will open on the seafloor! It will be an orgasm that makes California fall off into the ocean! An orgasm that will shatter everything you know to be true, reassemble it in exciting new ways, and reward you with true understanding of what really matters in this universe! Is my assistant ready?"
All she could really say was "Yuh", since Lefty had started exploring how many vibrating fingers Sally could fit in her butt half a monologue ago.
Snap!
You could hear Sally moan from two blocks over. Her party guests all looked to her room and wondered if she was okay. The bunny suit and a surprising amount of carpet were ruined.
She lay on the ground, taking deeper and deeper breaths. She waits patiently for her vision to unblur and for the power of speech to return.
"Th-thank you, Princess."
"Of course, dear. Get up, get showered, get changed, and help me get dressed." Sally had no conception of how long she'd been out. Time in general meant little ever since she got herself wrapped around Sunny's finger. But Sunny clearly had time to get undressed and into a pair of the heiress's underwear. There was a, uh, pretty big and pretty delicious bulge in the front of those Mothra silk panties.
Sally climbs to her feet. "O-of course, Princess." She can't even pretend she's looking somewhere else. Or that her mouth isn't watering. Or that she's not fantasizing about sucking Princess's cock until the musk melts her mind for good. Her eyes linger until her legs carry her out of the room.
Sally returns showered, shaved, and in a fresh bunny suit. "I hope you don't mind me fantasizing about seeing you in my underwear, Princess. It's just such a powerful reminder of what you're going to do to me."
The two of them work together to get Sally's bespoke tailored wardrobe to fit a woman a head taller, considerably curvier, and just generally larger than her. A lick of Sunny's scintillating sorcery here and there helped fill in a lot of the gaps, but, let's be honest, this was never going to be one of those latex perfection disguises like you see in cartoons. A six foot something, larger-than-life magician was always going to fill out the svelte heiress's clothes, look good doing it, and pack a groin bulge that eradicates heterosexual urges in thirty seconds or less. Sally eagerly hustled to and from her closet, trying to find the best look for her Princess. Something that said "obnoxiously wealthy heiress", but also "devastatingly erotic mistress of the enchanted and entertaining arts, ready to wrap the world around her finger and extract an evening's sensual delights."
Sally owned enough clothes that, mathematically, it'd be unlikely she didn't have just the right outfit. Just like how she buys as many lottery tickets as possible just to deprive as many people as possible of a meaningful jackpot.
An exquisitely crafted black suit with extraterrestrial silver along the cuffs and lapels. The fibers are woven from a material so dark, light has to take out a bail bond just to escape. Not even a spoiled brat with bottomless resources could ask for better pocket camouflage. Gloves where the stitching dispensed a constant massage to keep your hands at the optimal limberness for legerdemain- the only pair known to exist and not yet burned by a certain heiress to make the other pairs worth more. Heels perfectly weighted and balanced to make your twirls and flourishes pop that much more.
Sally returns one last time with the final two pieces: a top hat with a silvered brim to match the jacket, and one of those exquisitely crafted silver wigs.
"This isn't going to turn me into one of your bunnies, is it?" Sunny teases. "Remember, good girls can't lie to me." Snap!
"O-of course not, Princess! I wouldn't dream of it!" Poor Sally can feel her heart beating in her chest at just the idea of lying to Princess! Actually doing it would be unthinkable! "Sure, it's right next to the identical ones with the neural interface circuitry, but I double-checked, honest!"
Sunny, satisfied, nods, sits herself down at Sally's vanity and lets the brainwashed bun deal with braiding and stuffing it all under a wig cap. Sunny feels the new heft of the silvered wig slide on her head, tops it all off with the hat, and rises to her feet.
"Showtime."
The eager assistant is rewarded with a kiss on the nose and the rapturous bliss that comes with such a gift. The lucky bunny's eyes rolled back into her head. Her knees would have given out if she didn't have a show to put on! The pair heads out the door and to the backyard to greet their audience of easily manipulated rich assholes.
The show was, by all, accounts, a dazzling success. Sunny the Spectacular has never put on a bad show in her life (that she let anyone remember), and that fact doesn't change if she's going by "Sally Silvestra, Sorcery's Silvered Star". The crowd fell under her spell before she began her second round of mass inductions. Bunny Sally couldn't have imagined a better fate than being stuffed in boxes, cut in half, and scouting out particularly suggestible audience members for her Princess. When Sunny took a bow at the end of her third encore, it was with two additional bunnies at her side. One was Jessica Aurum, Sally's longtime rival and presumed to procure a prodigious pickle processing payday when her pop perishes. The other was Diane Traeger, fan of pearl necklaces and the only person in the world Sally non-sarcastically called a friend. Sally had hand-picked them as "volunteers" and they promptly found themselves spellbound, stuck in stockings on stage, and bound in bow ties and black bustiers.
Sunny and her new entourage were unwinding in Sally's bedroom. Jessica was the first to speak up. "Great show, Sally! I didn't even know I could love being brainwashed that much! Like, who needs free will?"
"Thank y-" Snap!
Sally's next word shrivelled in her throat. Sunny's snap demanded the attention of all three bunnies. Sally is staring down the barrel of a loaded hypnotist.
"Was she talking to you, dear?"
"I'm Sally, right?"
"Wrong." Snap! "You don't have a name. You never did. I am Sally Silvestra, and you are one of her doting, brainwashed bunnies. I must have left some suggestions in there from the last time you went to a party for me." Sunny grabs the bun formerly known as Sally's chin and forces her to make eye contact with a forceful flick of the wrist. "There's only one Sally Silvestra, and, frankly, I'm better at it. It was cute to see you try, but you can go back to brainless bunhood now. You're a good girl, good girls forget." Snap!
"I'm a good girl, good girls forget." The platinum blonde bun's eyes flicker. The other two bunnies watch with erotically charged jealousy.
"Keep going, dear. I like you better when your mouth's busy." Sunny snaps and points at her perfectly tailored suit pants.
"I'm a good girl, good girls forget." She repeats. She unzips the zipper, pulls Princess's pants down, and gets to staring at that big, tasty cock bulge rubbing up against her nose. "I-i'm a good girl, good girls forget." The musk makes her drool and she's far too hypnotized and horny to even consider wiping it away.
"Go ahead, dear. Get me warmed up." Sunny slides a finger between her underwear and her skin, and even a certain brainfucked bun knows what that means. Ex-Sally pulls her princess's panties down, and, well.
"I'm a good girl, good girls forget." Her eyes go wide. She starts to drool. The musk sweeps up through her nose and encroaches on what few thoughts she has left. "I'm a good guh, goo good forgint." The tip of Sunny's big, beautiful dragon cock pushes against her nose. The other two bunnies are awestruck, and they're not even right next to it. They can appreciate that it's easily as long as one of their floppy bunny ears, thick enough that it can barely pass the kneeling bunny's lips, and inhuman enough to belong more on a dragon than on a humanoid magician. Sunny grabs that big, thick silver braid, yanks it up, and uses it to guide her bunny's mouth over the flared tip. Her eyes dimmed further. She tries her best to mumble her mantra through a mouthful of cock.
Snap! "Good onaholes please Princess." Her head bobs up and down the cock. She promptly slips into a good rhythm. Her tongue gets busy and her brain switches off. She wasn't exactly thinking much before, but nothing puts you into onahole mode like being forced over an intensely hypnotic, mind-melting cock while the girl who has you wrapped around her finger says "Good onaholes don't think, dear. Good onaholes let Princess's cock fill them completely. Good onaholes don't have brains. Just plenty of unthinking, squishy, fuckable space for Princess."
She moans and sucks and licks. She makes sure every drop of precum goes down her throat. It lands in her stomach and feeds the twin fires in her mind and loins. The roots of her cold silver hair begin to warm. Locks of golden blonde and passionate red poke through the cracks. The more she worships, the more she craves the cock molding her brain and body. She knows what it's doing, so far as she can be aware of anything like this, and it only makes her want more. Sunny pulls the newspaper out of her bunny's bra. Warmth flows to her breasts and helps them swell to fit. A proper assistant has to have a properly distracting and Sunny-shaped body, you see.
Snap! Sunny held her coin aloft. The two bunnies who didn't have a cock to suck stopped staring jealously at the bun with the slowly warming braid and started staring at their perfect princess's swinging coin. They had a lot of practice falling under Sunny's spell when she started swinging her coin and talking. They were her assistants, after all! They were the best at being hypnotized! They stare, enraptured, while she speaks.
"Jealous, dears? You should be. Your stomachs should be twisting into knots with envy. You want nothing more than to be in her position." Sunny swings the coin with one hand and strokes ever more color into that braid with the other. "You can't stop fantasizing about it. You need it." Sunny continues her patter while two of, well, formerly Sally's, but now Sunny's, finest handheld tape recorders levitate into her hand. She rewinds them past whatever letters Sally was dictating-but-not-reading before she got her everything stolen. "Either of you ever use a dictaphone?"
"Once, on a dare, but usually I dial with my finger."
"I just have my assistant do it. Touching phones is bad for your skin."
"You see, dears, the best fucktoys have empty heads. And yours are just full to the brim with all kinds of bank passwords and credit cart numbers." She presses the record buttons and issues one to each bunny who wasn't busy having her brain bleached by a princess cock. The microcassetes inside spin up, ready to record. "So, dears, you're going to empty your cute little bunny brains. All those secrets are gonna come pouring out. Gone from your mind forever. Leaving so much empty space for Princess to play with. Your mind is going to melt, dribble out your mouth, and leave soft, fuckable mush behind." She gives her cocksleeve bun a yank just to drive the point home.
A powerful Snap! rings out. Two bunnies get talking, and one bunny keeps sucking. The air and those tape recorders are filled with encryption keys, offshore account numbers, secret vault locations, and what you have to tell Rich Granny Meemaw to get her to write a check for horse lessons. The more they talk, better they feel. The better they feel, the more Sunny's wonderful warmth wreaths their minds. The warmer they get, the more dribbles out of those lovely bunny mouths and the emptier their heads get. The bunny between the magician's legs blossoms a beautiful blazing braid and a bouncing, buxom body.
Before long, the two bunnies emptied their entire minds out onto their cassettes. The onahole brought her Princess to a lovely, luxurious orgasm and is currently lying on the ground. Covered in cum, transformed into a second-best copy of her princess, and just awash with bliss. "Alright, dears. You earned it." Sunny snaps her fingers and points at her saliva and cum-soaked cock. "Get cleaning."
The two of them rush to be the first to drool over Princess's cock. Ex-Diane wins by a nose and gets to lap cum off the underside, leaving Ex-Jessica to work the balls and start inhaling that intoxicating musk. They worshipped, licked, and sucked the perfect cock clean. Shocks of brilliant red weave through the blonde's hair. The violet streaks Diane always claimed were natural sizzle away, just like the rest of her. They barely notice their bodies growing, filling, and shifting to match the pre-transformed bun. Before long, the only difference between Sunny's brainwashed bunnies are their hairstyles.
And, well, a Snap! and a lick of flaming magic can fix that. Now there's three identical buxom bunnies with blazing braids, all fighting over who gets to kiss the tip of Princess's cock, lick her balls clean, and lap the cum off her shaft. They clean with the sort of single-minded dedication you can really only get from people who've been completely brainfucked into being ideal cocksluts.
Snap! "Stand up, dears." One of them steals one last lick before joining her fellow bunnies. They stand at attention. Their cool cyan eyes watch Princess for orders. She simply walks down the line, hand wreathed in enchanted flame, and rewards each bunny with a slap on the ass. Well, two slaps. One for each cheek. Sunny brands each bun with her shimmering sun sigil. They always gasp and moan when Princess touches them. The wonderful warmth and the shock of the spank shake loose the last few scraps of old personality clinging to their brains. And, well, now there's absolutely no doubt about who they belong to.
Sunny lounges in her mansion, pampered by countless identical, blazing, buxom bunnies. All wonderful assistants, all disastrously gay for their perfect Princess, and all branded with her swirling sun logo. When one kneels to present her with her lunch on a silver platter, she rewards her with a kiss on the forehead. "I really should thank Sally for all this. Too bad I can't remember which one she was. And neither can she." She laughs at her own joke, and all her assistants join in. When Sunny's happy, they're happy. That's the first thing you learn when she hypnotizes you!
]]>"Jeez, Tina." Millie teases. "When did you stop being such a gross nerd? You're almost fun to hang out with now."
Tina rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Millie." She thought. The swirling, crackling storm at the back of her head had other ideas.
Better ideas, like "She's cute, you should kiss her" and "She's super cute, you should hypnotize and then kiss her".
Tina laughed. Her eyes flash a hungry pink when she looks at the popular girl. "I know you love me."
"Was that a joke?" Millie sounded impressed. "Was that a joke from Tina 'My Favorite Movie Is Books' Neapolitan?" She rewards the shorter girl with a pat on the back and a laugh as she walked off. "Keep it up and you won't be eating lunch in the library any more."
Tina huffed. She liked eating lunch in the library! But she also liked the idea of having Millie on her side. Or underneath her. Or looking up at her with needy eyes and begging to have her mind wrapped around her finger. Or brainwashed into a cute little maid for a few hours every day.
Mmph, that one struck a chord with her. Really struck. It was getting hard to think about anything else. Tina looked around.
Her tent. She set down the load of firewood she'd collected outside, zips up the flap behind her, and sits down on her sleeping bag. She pulls her skirt down and closes her eyes. All the better to focus on that image of Millie.
Big, tall Millie, a head taller than Tina before she put her heels on. Her eyes all pink and blue and swirly. Giggling while she brushes around the room she's insulted so many times.
Bending over just enough to reveal her panties. Saying silly maid things like "Oh, this won't do at all~! Let me polish all your shoes after I do the laundry, Princess Grace!"
Grace? That wasn't her name. She didn't even know anyone named Grace. But then why did it feel so familiar? Why did it feel so right?
Tina reaches between her legs and wraps her hand around her big, meaty cock. Mmmph, was that always there? It'd look so good inside Millie's throat. Just a whiff of her musk would drive the cheerleader wild. She'd be begging to do anything just to taste it. Silly little maid Millie, doing all the cooking, making whatever treats Tina wants just to taste a drop of Princess Grace's cum~
Mmm, there's that name again. That name that slowly replaced her old one. The name that felt so right rolling around in her head. The same bolt of pink lightning that zapped her new cock into reality streaked down her hair. She used to have shiny black hair, now it's more of a dirty blonde with pink highlights and one screaming pink streak.
Long story short, Gracetina made a real mess in the tent thinking about everything she was going to do to Millie, and she knew just who was going to clean it up. <3
]]>You pull your shirt over your nose as a filter and hurry past. A voice calls from behind you. "Aren't you gonna look?"
You walk into the alley. A girl in a striped pink hoodie sandwiches her skunk tail between her back and the wall.
She tucks her can of spray paint into her pocket. "Well, what do you think?" You look at her, then behind her. Expertly painted onto the wall is… you. Same clothes, same hair, but featuring a big, fluffy skunk tail that bounces above your head. Signed '<3, Lulubelle'.
You point at it, confused. She smiles. "Well, we can fix that." You hear the can spraying behind you. "How's that?" She presses your soft new tail against the back of your head. You turn around to take a look and it's so hard to think.
She's smothering your brain into silence with your big new skunk tail. A different kind of spray soaks into your soft new tail. Not paint. Sweet and seductive. Soaking into the lovely tail you always had. Rubbing your cute little ears.
Every breath fogging your cute little skunk brain more and more.
She pushes you onto your butt. Your tail threads between your legs and presses against your face. You breathe in lungfuls of mind-melting musk and sink further into your own tail's soft embrace.
You barely notice when Lulubelle tugs on your tail and leads you out of the alley. Your head is full of her divine musk, and your hands are wandering into your pants.
You're too brainwashed to do anything but get kinda aroused by being led down the sidewalk in the middle of the night by your big, fluffy skunk tail. By being told what a good punky skunk you are. And by coming your brains out on a statue she doesn't like in three, two, spray~
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