Shortstack Curse

by Kallie

Tags: #cw:noncon #dom:female #f/f #fantasy #pov:bottom #shortstack_TF #sub:female #fantasy_racism

A snooty human’s dungeoneering companion deserves to give her some much-deserved comeuppance, using some cursed loot that’s sure to ‘diminish’ her pride

Disclaimer: If you are under age wherever you happen to be accessing this story, please refrain from reading it. Please note that all characters depicted in this story are of legal age, and that the use of 'girl' in the story does not indicate otherwise. This story is a work of fantasy: in real life, hypnosis and sex without consent are deeply unethical and examples of such in this story does not constitute support or approval of such acts. This work is copyright of Kallie 2022, do not repost without explicit permission

“There!” Lucia grunted, as the blade of her broadsword smashed through the brittle spine of the last of the shambling skeletons she’d been fighting, sending it crumbling into a pile of inert bones on the ground. Panting from the exertion, she turned to her party member and snapped: “Now, hurry up and heal me!”

“Of course,” replied Imobeth, an enigmatic smile on her face. The orc witch gestured towards Lucia with her staff and muttered an incantation in a harsh, guttural tongue. A moment later, Lucia felt the dozen or so minor wounds across her body close up as her health was restored.

“Thank you,” Lucia said curtly, though in truth, she was loath to thank Imobeth for anything. It chafed at her that circumstance had driven her to accept a mere orc as a companion. But as inexperienced as she was, she knew better than to venture into a dungeon alone.

The two of them were attempting to clear out an ancient, labyrinthine crypt that had recently been unearthed. A local magistrate had been hiring for the quest, and with no other adventurers in the region, Lucia and Imobeth had been given no choice but to partner up. Lucia had to begrudgingly admit that the older, more experienced witch seemed competent, but she still firmly believed that she deserved a better class of companion. She was a human of high birth, and like many of her ancestors before her, she was trying to make a name for herself as a warrior and adventurer before settling down to attend to her family’s estate. This was the first time she had set foot in a dungeon. The quest had simply been too good to refuse. Hopefully next time, she would have a more agreeable party at her side.

At least she was taller than the orc. Lucia took no small amount of comfort in that. She valued being able to intimidate those she couldn’t trust, and at a towering height of over six feet, she had no trouble doing so. It helped that she’d spent so much of her life preparing for combat. She knew how to handle a sword, and she had sculpted muscles that put most men’s bodies to shame. Even beneath her thick leathers, anyone could tell that Lucia wasn’t someone to be taken lightly. She took great pleasure in being able to flex her strength and look down her nose at Imobeth when disagreements arose.

Not that the orc witch was short, of course. Like most of her kind, Imobeth was tall and thickly built, although she hid most of her body under a robe that was covered in charms and pouches.  She seemed to be perhaps in her thirties, and one look at her was all it took to know that she’d spent many months adventuring. She was attractive, too, even if she wasn’t Lucia’s type. Perhaps if she did something with that wild mane of purple hair. Lucia tugged at her own black, braided hair as she stared disdainfully at the orc.

“How much deeper do you think we have to go?” Lucia asked. It felt like they’d already been fighting for hours.

“Who can say?” was Imobeth’s reply. “According to local legend, these crypts were constructed by a mad king of old, who ordered his architects to-”

“Forget it,” Lucia interrupted rudely. “I wanted a straight answer, not a history lesson.”

She ignored the sound of Imobeth sighing at her.

“Let’s keep moving.” Lucia was determined to set the pace. She needed to prove she could be a leader. “We’ve wasted enough time already.”

Without waiting for a response, Lucia set off deeper into the dungeon, leaving Imobeth no choice but to follow. They passed through several more dark passageways and dust-filled hallways without encountering any more enemies before Lucia spotted what appeared to be a large, stone chest mounted conspicuously on a plinth.

“Halt!” she called out. “What’s this?” The human eyed the chest suspiciously.

“Probably one of the mad king’s treasures,” Imobeth replied, sounding weary. “Legend has it, he hoarded magical items.”

“So… it’s loot!” Lucia surmised. She licked her lips. Finding artifacts was a sure path to wealth and renown. She just had to make sure they ended up in her pocket, and not Imobeth’s. “I claim it,” she said immediately. “It’s mine.”

Imobeth sighed again “Fine, whatever,” the orc replied.

That was all Lucia needed to hear. She approached the stone chest and lifted the heavy lid, revealing its contents: a golden, shimmering chainmail vest.

In truth, Lucia was a little disappointed. She’d hoping for jewels or ancient coins, and the chainmail vest looked much too small for her. It would be more fitting for a halfling or a dwarf. “Hmm,” she mused. “Magical items, you said?”

“Oh, certainly,” her companion promised. “Artifacts of great power and value.”

“I see,” Lucia replied, reassured it would be worth something to someone.

“Are you going to wear it?”

Lucia blinked at the question. “What?”

“It could be powerful,” Imobeth explained. “Don’t you want to make use of it as we head deeper into this place?”

Lucia looked at the vest skeptically. It didn’t look like much, but as much as she hated to admit it, Imobeth’s suggestion had merit. “I suppose,” she granted. “But… couldn’t it be cursed?”

To her surprise, Imobeth laughed. “Cursed? Oh, perhaps.” A broad smile spread across the orc’s face. “Fortunately for you, I’m proficient at appraising magical items. One simple spell, and I can make sure it’s safe.”

It was a thoughtful offer - not that Lucia was going to acknowledge that. “Fine.” She handed the vest over to the witch. “Just remember who it belongs to.”

“Of course.” Resting her staff against her shoulder, Imobeth waved a hand over the small chainmail vest. Lucia watched impatiently as it glowed for a few moments with an eerie, blue light. Once the glow faded, the smile on Imobeth’s face turned into a huge, lopsided grin.

“Well?” Lucia demanded.

“It’s not cursed,” Imobeth told her, still grinning. “Nothing to worry about. And very, very protective” She handed the vest back to Lucia.

“Excellent,” Lucia said, but as she held up her prize to inspect it, another problem occurred to her. “But how did you suppose I would actually wear this? Far be it from me to question all your experience, but it’s clearly far too small for me.”

“Ah, but that’s the best part.” Imobeth’s grin didn’t fade at all, despite the scorn in Lucia’s voice. “Part of the enchantment placed on it ensures that it will always fit whoever tries to wear it.”

“Oh.” Lucia’s eyes went as wide as gold coins. Something like this was certain to fetch a pretty penny. Or perhaps she ought to keep it for herself? It might make a useful piece of gear, too. She enjoyed pondering the question as she removed her leather armour.

“Don’t stare,” she hissed at Imobeth as she finished removing her underclothes, leaving everything above her waist exposed to the cold, stagnant air of the crypt. Eager to cover herself as quickly as possible, Lucia started to put the chainmail vest on over her head.

In spite of Imobeth’s promise, Lucia hadn’t been sure quite what to expect. Would the vest grow? Change form? She wasn’t sure. What she found was that, as she pulled it over her head and down her torso, it seemed to stretch seamlessly, somehow fitting snugly around her torso despite the fact it should have been far too tight. Once she’d finished putting it on, it suited her so perfectly it was as if it had been tailor-made just for her. Well, almost. The vest remained a little short, and left a portion of her midriff exposed. That wasn’t ideal, but Lucia decided it was acceptable if the vest was as wondrous as Imobeth had made it sound. It was only when she looked over at her companion that she let out a horrified shriek.

Imobeth was now at least a head taller than her.

At first, it seemed to the human warrior like the orc had grown, but a further glance around the crypt confirmed that the opposite was true: Lucia had shrunk. A moment later, she realized what had happened. True to its enchantment, the vest had made sure it would fit her - by shrinking her down to an appropriate size. Lucia estimated she’d lost well over half a foot of height. She started trembling with outrage. Being so short just felt wrong. She hated the way Imobeth was now looking down at her.

And what was with the grin that the orc was still wearing on her face?

Perhaps the worst part was the way that her own body had adapted to her new height. Lucia’s long-honed muscles were still there, mercifully, but her body seemed to have changed shape in an attempt to preserve her overall mass. As such, her hips now flared out much wider, and her thighs and stomach had all become thicker and softer. For someone like Lucia, it was a horrifying indignity.

“And what, by the Gods, is this?” she growled, rounding on her orc companion angrily. “This isn’t what you told me would happen, witch!”

Infuriatingly, Imobeth just kept smiling. “Ah, forgive me,” she replied calmly. “I appear to have slightly misinterpreted the item’s magic.”

“Some use you are!” Lucia scoffed, already tugging the hem of the vest upwards. “How do I get this thing off?”

“I’m afraid that won’t do you any good,” Imobeth told her. “It’s permanent - at least, until we can have you cleansed at a temple. Best keep wearing it for now There’s no telling how a cursed item like that might respond to being tampered with.”

That was even worse news. Lucia threw Imobeth a filthy look. She almost didn’t believe the orc - her smile looked far too much like a smirk for her liking. But Imobeth had proven competent so far, and Lucia didn’t know enough about magic or dungeoneering to challenge her.

“Fine,” she huffed. “In that case, let’s be done with this place as soon as possible.”

As the two of them pressed even deeper into the vast crypt, Lucia was relieved to discover that her new, shorter stature hadn’t robbed her of her strength. Her sword arm might have been a little less long, but it was as reliable as ever. She had no trouble dispatching the hordes of undead that assailed her, especially not with Imobeth at her back to provide support. There was just one problem.

Her body had become incredibly, incredibly sensitive.

Lucia couldn’t take a single step without a sharp shiver of pleasure racing up her spine. It was like every single nerve in her body had been put on high alert, and now, her own body was all she could think about. And she had plenty to think about. The way her thighs and hips had grown meant that they rubbed together constantly, tormenting her with a constant, pleasurable buzz between her legs. Furthermore, the chainmail vest she’d looted seemed to have grown even tighter around her chest, and more than a few times, Lucia could have sworn she had felt it pinching her nipples or massaging her breasts. It had become even shorter, too; the vest now covered little more than her chest itself. It looked more like a piece of lingerie than a piece of armor. It was an absurd, humiliating look for a warrior of her caliber, and the cool air against her skin was a constant reminder of how much of herself she was now showing off.

She should have been able to ignore all that. But she couldn’t. And it was driving her crazy.

“What’s wrong?” Imobeth asked, as they reached a lull in the fighting. The orc didn’t sound very concerned. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m f-fine,” Lucia panted. It wasn’t exactly true. Lucia knew that her face was completely red, and that she was visibly breathing hard. She was leaning against a nearby wall for support, and was struggling to keep herself from rubbing her thighs together in order to soothe the itching need growing between her legs. But she wasn’t about to tell Imobeth any of that. “Let’s just… keep moving.”

“Of course,” Imobeth replied. Lucia was too focused on her own plight to see her smirk. Imobeth looked around for a moment, and then pointed something out. “Look. Another chest.”

Lucia turned to see that, just as Imobeth said, there was another stone chest mounted atop a plinth, almost identical to the first.

“I claim it!” Lucia called out, dashing over to it. She glanced back at her orc companion. “I think it’s only fair, after your idiotic mistake with the previous treasure.”

She was expecting Imobeth to argue, but instead, the orc witch simply nodded graciously. “But of course.”

With that matter settled, Lucia lifted the chest’s heavy lid to reveal its contents: a pair of metal, armored boots. They were clearly of fine workmanship and looked perfectly suitable to wear, but they also seemed to match with the cursed vest she was wearing. That made Lucia suspicious. She picked up the boots and pushed them unceremoniously towards her companion.

“Here,” she demanded. “Appraise these. Only, take a little more care this time, would you? You owe me.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Imobeth replied agreeably. Lucia was glad her companion was proving more compliant than she had done earlier, even if the smile on her face was becoming irritating. Imobeth cast another spell, moving her hands over the enchanted boots as Lucia watched impatiently.

“Well?” Lucia’s body was driving her crazy. She needed some action to distract her.

“They carry a number of protective enchantments, just like your new vest,” Imobeth explained calmly. “Furthermore, they carry a special enchantment that, according to my appraisal, is guaranteed to dramatically increase the height of whoever wears it.”

“Really? You’re sure?” That immediately had Lucia’s full attention. After the debacle with her new vest, she was inclined to be skeptical of Imobeth’s words, but she supposed they did make a degree of sense. Perhaps the boots were intended to balance out the vest’s curse. Yes, that had to be it. A nod from the orc witch was all the confirmation she needed. “Give them back!”

She snatched the boots out of Imobeth’s hands and immediately started to put them on, discarding her old, leather boots in the process. Once both boots were fixed tight around her feet, Lucia stood with her back straight and waited, eager to enjoy the feeling of being taller than Imobeth once more. When a distinctive, supernatural tingle started to spread up her legs, a smile came to her face.

And then faded a moment later, when she realized she wasn’t getting taller. She was shrinking once more.

“W-what? No!” Lucia cried plaintively as yet more inches of height were taken from her. Her hands balled into fists as she watched Imobeth seem, from her perspective, to grow taller still.

The orc now completely towered over her, by perhaps two feet or even more. The sight of that made Lucia’s stomach fill with butterflies. It seemed to completely reverse the power dynamic between them. Not only that, but she could feel her body swelling and changing shape again, just as it had done when she’d donned the chainmail vest. The inches she’d lost from her height were being added to her hips, and now, her bust. Her cursed vest was struggling to contain her swelling, heaving tits, and her hips had grown so wide they were threatening to shred her heavy-duty, leather pants. Her legs and waist were looking distinctly thicker too; still muscular, but with a build that was far more reminiscent of a halfling or a goblin than a human.

The mere thought of that made Lucia blush, outraged. She couldn’t believe she was turning into some kind of oversexualised shortstacks!

A further glance down her own body revealed that matters were even more desperate than she had first thought. The magical boots - clearly just as cursed as her first piece of loot - looked nothing like they had done mere minutes before. On Lucia’s feet were now a pair of tall, extravagant, golden heels that were adding at least six inches to her height, despite how short she now was.

When she’d entered the dungeon, Lucia had been over six feet in height. Now, she was probably less than four. And she looked like a whore, to boot.

Lucia rounded on Imobeth even more furiously than last time - or at least, she was about to. Before she could utter a even single, angry word, though, a huge rush of pleasure hit her all at once. Lucia was almost sent sprawling on the ground as the cursed magic of her new garments settled deep into her body, setting her nerves aflame with pleasure. Why did this new, tiny body of hers have to be so incredibly sensitive? Why did it have to jiggle and rub against itself every single time she moved? In the end, for the sake of balance, Lucia ended up reaching out and clinging on Imobeth for support. The way her head barely reached the orc’s chest left her light-headed.

“Oops. It appears I’ve made another mistake. How thoughtless of me.” Imobeth sounded very far from apologetic. “Are you alright?”

“Of course I’m n- ah!”

Once again, Lucia was interrupted - this time, by Imobeth’s leg pressing between her legs. Lucia couldn’t quite tell if it was deliberate or not, and she didn’t dare look up at the orc to check the expression on her face, but even through her clothes, the touch had her body throbbing with need. The hypersensitivity she’d been cursed with was making her cunt burn with insistent need, and Lucia could feel growing wet as she ended up rubbing herself involuntarily against her companion. She just couldn’t help it. Her new body was insatiable. It was all she could do to bite down on a moan.

“Oh?” Imobeth cocked her head, smiling. “Is there something you need, little human?”

“I-I…” Normally, Lucia would never have tolerated the jab, but now, she no longer had the ability to think of a retort.

“Let’s get a move on,” Imobeth said, pulling away. “Lead the way. You wanted to get this over and done with, right?”

Lucia nodded, her face a furious red. She turned and started walking unsteadily further down the passageway she had been traversing. Her gait shifted effortlessly to accommodate her new heels, but each step had her thighs rubbing together tortuously.

“Good girl,” Imobeth called after her, amusement clear in her tone.

This time, Lucia couldn’t suppress a small, weak moan.

She couldn’t believe that two small words could have such a devastating effect on her. Lucia had to lean against the wall for a moment as her vision went white, and the throbbing need between her legs almost overcame her completely. What was happening? Was it part of the curse? Was it something Imobeth was doing? Lucia grimaced. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to turn back, defeated, and she also wasn’t going to let herself become some kind of submissive shortstack. She was better than that. All she had to do to prove it was make it through the dungeon.

That task, which had once seemed so simple and straightforward, was now proving all but impossible. Lucia’s every step was erotic torment, and every time she looked up at her orc companion, she was reminded of the humiliating changes that had befallen her. At first, Lucia vowed to deal with it by taking her frustration out on the animated skeletons that inevitably shambled forth to assail them, but that was proving an increasingly useless outlet. There were far fewer of them now, and the way that her new body moved and felt ensured that combat was far worse than just walking. Everything jiggled and rubbed and felt incredible. It crossed over to unbearable once a particularly vigorous dodge shredded both her leather pants and the undergarments beneath, already stretched far too tight around her newly fattened, thickened hips and thighs. With those ruined, she was left in an even more pathetic state of undress, with no barrier at all between needy, dripping pussy and the cool air of the crypt.

But by far, the one thing that made it harder than any other was the way Imobeth had taken to bullying her.

“Wait!” Imobeth called, as Lucia finished off the skeleton, blushing in dismay at her tattered, ruined clothes. “I need to check if you’re injured.”

Before Lucia could stop her, the orc pushed at her back to make her bend forward and then reached down to start groping her ass.

“N-n-noooo!” Lucia whimpered in weak, futile protest.

The orc was definitely groping, not checking. There was no mistaking the way her powerful fingertips were digging into Lucia’s embarrassingly huge ass. Once, the proud warrior wouldn’t have hesitated to decapitate anyone who touched her that way. Now, it was all she could do to keep her sword from slipping through her grasp and clattering to the ground. Imobeth’s touch felt amazing. It was exactly what her body had been craving. Lucia couldn’t help but lean back into her companion’s hand, even as half-formed, needy protests kept falling from her lips. One of those protests turned into a moan as a bead of wetness dripped from her exposed cunt, leaving a stain on the ground beneath her. When Imobeth’s fingers reached far enough to almost touch her pussy, Lucia cried out in desperation. She’d never been so horny in her life.

“I guess not,” Imobeth said finally, her voice filled with amusement and mockery. She pulled back, and Lucia whimpered again - this time, in disappointment. Before she could regain enough of her composure to reprimand the orc, she faced another assault on her dignity. “Good girl,” Imobeth told her again, patting Lucia’s head affectionately like she was nothing more than a pet.

Just like before, Lucia saw white. It was like her head was being smothered in a warm, happy, pink cloud. “T-thank you,” she found herself mumbling, her face burning. When Imobeth started to laugh at her, Lucia started stumbling forward again. She didn’t know what to do. Only one thought was still clear in her mind: she just had to make it through this.

“Oh, look,” Imobeth said after a few more minutes of walking. “More loot.”

This time, it sent a chill down Lucia’s spine. She wanted desperately to tell the orc to ignore it and keep moving, but her companion was already lifting the lid of the stone chest.

“Goodness,” Imobeth purred, pleased. “I think this should be yours too. Don’t you agree?”

Lucia whimpered as the orc held up more armor - or at least, what passed for armor. Their latest prize took the form of a set of greaves so short they didn’t deserve the name. Made out of the same golden metal as the precious cursed items, it looked like little more than a piece of lingerie, a perfect match for the chainmail vest that was now clinging tight to her tits and leaving her cleavage exposed.

The once-proud warrior started sweating.

“U-um,” Lucia tried to protest. “N-no, that’s OK. You c-can have it.”

“I insist,” Imobeth countered, drawing closer.

“B-but,” Lucia tried feebly. “What if it’s like… the others?”

“I’ve already cast an appraisal spell on it,” Imobeth told her. “It’s fine. Don’t you trust me?”

Lucia didn’t, but with pure arousal roaring through her veins, she couldn’t put that into words. Her orc companion was being so forceful, and something about that just made her melt. So, instead of arguing, she simply stood there, shivering with need.

“Come on,” Imobeth jeered. “Don’t you want to cover yourself up?”

Lucia moaned again as she glanced down at her dripping slit.

“F-fine,” she said, surrendering. She really did want something to cover herself. Perhaps it would make this more bearable. At least she wouldn’t be able to feel the cool air of the crypt directly against her pussy. Hands shaking, Lucia took the greaves - or rather, panties - from Imobeth’s hand and slipped them on.

To her surprise, wearing the magical item didn’t cause any immediate transformation. Lucia didn’t become any shorter or any wider - perhaps because her proportions were already undeniably obscene. She was grateful for that, but only a little. The panties didn’t seem to provide much modesty. Along with the heeled boots and the vest-turned-bra, they clearly formed an armor set that was more fitting for a concubine than a warrior. Absolutely nothing was hidden - the cursed chainmail had pressed her tits up and together as they’d swollen, giving her an obscenely huge rack, and the way the panties clung to her wide breeding hips would have made most people’s eyes bulge. To make matters worse, with such tall heels, Lucia had no choice but to walk with a shamefully suggestive, hip-swaying gait that made her look, more than anything, like a bed-slave trying to please her mistress.

Still. The panties had to be the last piece, didn’t they? Perhaps it was over.

“Oh, it really suits you,” Imobeth sneered. “But there was something about the enchantment… let’s see.”

The orc snapped her fingers, and the panties started to vibrate.

Immediately, Lucia collapsed. Her legs turned to jelly beneath her, sending her slumping to the ground, twitching as mind-blowing levels of pleasure hit her all at once. Her body was so sensitive, and having something vibrating between her legs was too much to bear. Lucia could no longer maintain any pretense of dignity. She just knelt there on the cold, stone floor, legs spread, rubbing her hand lewdly against the front of her new panties as she let out moan after moan.

“My, my,” Imobeth jeered, looming over her. “Not so superior now, are you?”

“N-ngh,” Lucia whined. “S-s-stop!”

“Stop what?” the orc mocked.

“M-m-make it s-stop!” Lucia pleaded.

Imobeth laughed. “Is that really what you want? Seems like you need some help getting off, shortstack.”

Lucia’s whines grew even more desperate. Even as she pleaded with Imobeth, she couldn’t stop rubbing herself between her legs, pressing the vibrating piece of metal against her cunt. It felt better than anything. She couldn’t resist it, or how much her new body needed it. The curses on her magical items had made her short, curvy, and insatiable. The way her body cried out for release was stronger than any other urge she’d ever felt.

“P-please!” Lucia begged, ashamed of how lustful her own voice sounded.

“So you can be polite!” Imobeth snorted. “I’m not sure why I should help you, after how you’ve been treating me. I think you deserve getting tricked like this.”

“I-I’ll do anything!” Lucia moaned, and she meant it. She really would do anything. Nothing could be more torturous or humiliating than this. She could feel her mind breaking under the onslaught of pleasure. She couldn’t hold out much longer.

“Anything?” The orc’s face was twisted into a cruel sneer. “Cute - and stupid. It’s tempting to take you at your word on that. But I’m pretty sure I can get you to do anything I want anyway. You’re all mine now.”

Lucia tried desperately to muster a little fire. Being called a shortstack, being openly mocked, being claimed in such a crude manner - she knew all of that should have pissed her off. Instead it was proving almost impossible for her to feel anything but pleasure. “N-no!” she protested.

Imobeth just laughed again. “Watch.”

With Lucia helpless to stop her, Imobeth stepped towards her and pressed her long, shapely leg through a slit in her robes and between Lucia’s legs.

Lucia screamed her next moan, voice shooting up an octave with desperate need. The pressure of the orc’s leg pressed against her was a fresh heaven, and a fresh hell. It was so much better than grinding against her own hand. She was pathetically grateful for the gratification Imobeth’s body provided, but still wasn’t enough to make her cum. And with something to rub up against, humiliating instincts started to take hold of her. Still shivering and twitching, Lucia raised herself up on her knees and started grinding her panty-clad cunt against her tormentor.

“Gods!” Imobeth cried, amused. “This is even better than I’d hoped. How is it for you, shortstack?”

Lucia was only growing less articulate. “N-n-n-not!” she groaned. “I’m… mmfff… n-not a s-s-s-shortstack!”

“Yes you are,” Imobeth countered, reaching down to pet Lucia condescendingly. “Just look at yourself. No-one would think anything else. You don’t look like a warrior anymore. You’re just my cute little thigh-humping pet.”

Lucia moaned louder than ever as that impossibly-humiliating phrase took root in her head. Despite how much she resented her situation, the way Imobeth was petting her was starting to smother her in dull, soporific warmth once more, putting resistance even further out of her reach. As she kept humping the orc’s thigh, her new, shortstack body jiggling and heaving obscenely, a dull, mindless smile started to spread across her face, allowing a trickle of drool to escape from the corner of her mouth.

Just a cute little thigh-humping pet.

“That’s it,” the orc witch cooed, as Lucia’s movements became more and more enthusiastic. “Good girl! Just give in already. Keep rubbing. You know you want to.”

Lucia just nodded stupidly. She did want to. It was quickly becoming the only thing she wanted. Being called a ‘good girl’ drove every other desire out of her head, and the need in her cunt was making her crazed. The vibrations running through her, made all the more intense by rubbing against Imobeth’s leg, were maddeningly intense. But somehow, there was an itch they just couldn’t quite scratch. It wasn’t enough for her to get off. As that started dawning on the fallen human, her moans took on a whining, keening note.

“Yeah?” Imobeth mocked, picking up on how Lucia was feeling. “Something you want, pet?”

“M-m-more!” Lucia moaned. Her mind was finally breaking. She didn’t care about dignity. Her body didn’t care about dignity. The curses had taken care of that. She just wanted to get off.


“P-please!” Lucia pleaded. She knew exactly how she looked. She was a short girl with a huge ass and huge tits, dressed like an extravagant whore, humping an orc’s leg like her life depended on it. She simply didn’t care. She just wanted more.

“Will you be a good girl for me?” Imobeth demanded.

Lucia instinctively knew what answer the orc wanted, and in her pleasure-drunk haze, she was eager to satisfy. “Y-yes!” she proclaimed. “I’ll b-be good! A g-good thigh-humping p-pet!”

Imobeth laughed again, and allowed herself a little sigh of pleasure. “Fine,” she answered. “But you’ll have to do something for me first.”

The mind-broken warrior nodded eagerly, even as she groaned in protest once Imobeth pulled away from her.

“You have to wear this.”

The orc reached into a pouch in her robe and produced what appeared to be a golden, metal choker collar. It was in the exact same style as all the other objects they had found.

“I swiped this out of a chest a few minutes ago, while you were distracted,” Imobeth explained. “I need you to wear it.”

Lucia nodded, and reached up to snatch it out of Imobeth’s hands. She’d do anything.

“Wait, wait,” the orc laughed. “I need to tell you what it does first! And for once, I’ll give you the whole truth. Once you put this on, you’ll be enslaved to whoever gave it to you. You’ll be mine, forever, and all the changes you’ve suffered will become permanent. Does that seem fair to you?”

Lucia didn’t skip a beat. She took the choker collar out of Imobeth’s hands and fastened it around her own neck.

As soon as she fixed the collar into place, she felt it shift slightly, the clasp disappearing so that there was no way to remove it. An instant later, she was flooded with more of the exact kind of warm, pleasant feeling she’d been getting each and every time Imobeth petted or praised her. Her face settled into a brainless grin. She was a pet now. A good girl. She was going to be a good girl forever. She was a thigh-humping pet to the orc she’d once despised.

None of that mattered. She was going to be able to get off.

“Perfect,” Imobeth purred, as the collared former human knelt before her. She swept back her robe, exposing her body.

Lucia’s eyes immediately focused on the huge, throbbing, green cock between Imobeth’s legs.

That was exactly what she needed.

She was already drooling and salivating as Imobeth snapped her fingers for a second time. Not only did that make Lucia’s cursed panties stop vibrating, it also made them change shape, the golden metal warping to form a hole directly over Lucia’s cunt, leaving it completely exposed and completely accessible.

The enslaved shortstack didn’t have time to whine at the loss of stimulation before Imobeth swept Lucia up into her arms, lifting her completely off her feet, and started fucking her.

Like most orcs, Imobeth was plenty muscular under her robes. Her arms and legs were like sculpted pillars, allowing her to manipulate the diminutive, squirming shortstack within her grasp. She held Lucia by the calves, the shortstack braced leaning against her, and pushed her new pet’s flexibility to the limit by bending her legs so far backwards they formed a V-shape with her torso. Lucia didn’t object to being manhandled so roughly. She just moaned gratefully when Imobeth hefted her up slightly before letting her drop directly onto the orc’s massive shaft.

Once she felt Imobeth’s cock impale her and plunge deep into her pussy, Lucia’s mouth went wide in a silent scream of absolute bliss. It was even better than she’d hoped. The feeling of being penetrated by a girl twice her size was exactly what her body had been craving. Suddenly, all the transformations made sense. Those magical items had all been turning her into a perfect fucktoy. Far from being outraged at the idea, Lucia found herself giggling and moaning with mindless pleasure at the thought of what a good girl was being. Her mind was warped beyond repair. Her purpose in life was to be a cocksleeve now. To be Imobeth’s cocksleeve. So, being a good cocksleeve was all she wanted.

And perhaps fortunately, that task seemed to involve little but letting Imobeth use her as one.

It was clear that teasing Lucia had been every bit as arousing for Imobeth as it had been for the shortstack. Now, she wasted no time setting a furious pace, bucking her hips and using her powerful arms to lift Lucia up and down as she pounded her. Lucia became little more than a toy within the orc’s powerful grasp, an eager, dripping hole, utterly helpless as the inhuman woman pounded her cock in and out of the shorstack’s cunt.

Every single thrust had Lucia seeing stars. Imobeth’s cock would have been big for her at her old size; now that she was half that, it was mind-blowingly huge. As the orc ploughed into her, a distinctive bulge formed her muscular stomach, indicating just how far Imobeth was stretching her out. Lucia didn’t mind at all. Her new body could take it. Hell, it was built for it. Perhaps that was why it felt so good. Lucia was instantly addicted to the feeling of her entire body being used as a fuckhole by her new mistress. Once she had breath in her lungs, she moaned her gratitude as loud as she could, letting her tongue loll out of her mouth and her eyes roll back into her head at the overwhelming sensation.

Meanwhile, she’d completely lost track of her own orgasms. She’d been cumming ever since the moment Imobeth had first entered her.

The orc proved to have greater stamina. She pounded Lucia for what felt like hours, continuing to fuck her mercilessly even when Lucia was close to passing out from raw pleasure. Eventually, though, she came. Her orgasm was marked by a rough grunt and a huge, final thrust, and, a moment later, by the sensation of a massive load of orc cum being pumped into Lucia’s body. The newly-transformed shortstack let out an incoherent gasp of perfect bliss as her stomach swelled again with the huge load, already beginning to drip and drain out of her as the orc withdrew her softening cock.

This was what she was meant for. She was an eager, thigh-humping, cocksleeve, shortstack pet.

And nothing had ever felt better.

“Come on, pet,” Imobeth panted, not entirely mean-spiritedly. “I think this is more than enough loot for the both of us to enjoy. We’ll split it fifty-fifty. You can keep all the items, and once we get back to town, I can think of a few girls who will be more than willing to help you pay your share.”

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