Tutty The Fruity
patreon
Prompt: The Shapeless Seductress (Part 9)
🕑 Added 2023-07-05 02:50:42 +0000 UTCSummary: An exotic dancer is kidnapped by an evil scientist, and is injected with foul serums, rendering her body pliable, soft, and amorphous. She struggles with her new body, sometimes claylike, sometimes gooey, always alien. Commissioned by an anonymous user.
---
Part 9
Wanda had few moments of reprieve, and it was increasingly apparent to her that she'd never have a moment to herself again... though, she mused bitterly to herself, had she ever had a moment of privacy since she had been abducted? Every wall lined with one-way glass, lab techs and scientists taking notes of her every action. She had long abandoned any modesty, often pacing in the nude.
She was directed to return to her quarters and, as if moving along an invisible track, Wanda returned to her room. As the familiar synthesized voice called her name, and as the reinforced door closed behind her, she felt the familiar sensation of her body relaxing, the spell the doctor had placed on her ebbing away. Her solid figure quivered, strength failing her as she slumped to the floor, like a puppet with their string's cut.
She shuddered, her body going slack. She was slowly losing her form all over again. Wanda had made little progress in learning how to control her own amorphous body independent of the doctor's direct control, which seemed to be a feature, and not a bug. She winced as she peeled her slack arms from the sides of her body, adjusting her posture, and raising her leg, drawing her arms along their length to try and massage the oozing streaks of her own melting body back into her form.
The best Wanda could manage was, that if she focused hard enough, she could pause her slow, melting collapse, and solidify just enough to delay the inevitable. But her body was like velvety chocolate, and the instant she relaxed she was in a heap.
Creeeeeak... Wanda moaned, feeling her arm stretch like a rubber band as she rubbed her leg, pressing her semi-liquidifying form as if she was massaging herself with essential oils. Her arm bent at the elbow oddly, like one of those noodle arms from the old cartoons... Wanda struggled to pull her body back into shape, and it seemed like every movement she made just stretched her out even further, like an itch that enveloped her entire body that she constantly twisted about to scratch.
"Agnh... no..." Wanda bit her lip as the rest of her limbs began to outstretch into piles too—any attempt at solidity was failing her. There was something wrong with her brain's wiring... she presumed, because of no longer having a brain, or any organs really. She lowered her body to the floor, her arms and legs curling into piles, her body rubbing against itself; she felt herself overheating, and melting all over again... she even felt her vulva swelling, lips parting as if aching to be filled.
Vrr! The door behind her opened on its own, and familiar, heavy footsteps echoed behind her.
As she stirred on the ground, her body writhing, her torso twisting into a neat 180 degrees, she moaned, arching her back as, atop pills of twisted limbs, she turned to face the door. Melty ooze trickled from the corner of her mouth, a silken pile of oozing flesh slowly liquifying in a puddle.
"It's always a pleasure watching you get acquainted with your new body." Blackhart sneered. Wanda wanted to protest and object, but she gurgled, ooze flooding her esophagus and mouth; she swallowed forcefully, trying to force everything back into her gut... her flat stomach rippled and bulged as more of her liquid mass shifted inside of her.
"Please... just end it..." Wanda whimpered.
"Mm?" Blackhart tilted his head. "Was that a plea for help I heard?"
"You made your point... you made me your fucktoy..." Wanda murmured, her body pulsating, writhing; she tried to keep her head on straight, even as her form lurched to the side. "Just wipe my memory... kill me... don't make me-"
"Never."
Blackhart kneeled down, grasping her by the side of her head. Her eyes widened as he stared into her dumbstruck expression. He smiled chillingly.
"You still hold onto that ego of yours, Wanda." He licked his dry lips. "I've made the rest of you so flexible, so malleable, so soft to the touch... but your sour attitude is like a walnut I have to crack."
He adjusted his grip, his thumb pressing against the corner of her mouth.
"Where's the fun in wiping that fiery personality? I'd rather break it entirely... and then rebuild it anew..."
He whispered, tilting her head back, straight up to the ceiling... if she still had a spin, her neck might've snapped. But as he rose both hands to her head, his fingers wrapped around and inside her mouth, squishing her head and stretching her mouth and jaw upwards another two feet..
She gurgled in confusion, her eyes unable to see what she was doing. She just felt her eyes slide down her head, over her shoulders, and down her back, the sensation of Blackhart rhythmically squeezing her skin.
"I consider myself an artist of sorts," he chuckled, "and the human form my canvas. You will allow me a certain curiosity as an indulgence... you certainly can't go out looking like this."
He scooped up more of her liquified form, coaxing it into shape, kneading her barely-recognizable legs into mushy bases and reconstituting her base. Her arms were pressed into her sides, her fingers melded together and curled elegantly. Wanda gurgled as her puddle form rose, curves forming.
As Blackhart pinched her distended lips, Wanda's eyes caught their reflect in a one-way mirror, and they went wide with a realization. The doctor was reshaping her into the shape of an artisanal vase, her voluptuous curves made to form the actual curves of a vase, her lips the curved top.
Wanda cried out as Blackhard leaned forward, sticking his entire arm into her pursed lips, sloshing around her wet interior, reshaping her and pressing her wider, deeper, hollowing her out. She shuddered, her eyes rolling as her body quivered... yet, she remained tensed up, not daring to slack up for a second.
"Ah... I'm not a professional artist, but I'm getting there." Blackhart chuckled, pacing around Wanda's form, now the shape of a four foot tall, two foot wide vase. He found her protruding eyes, her face twisted into a Picasso-esque mockery of itself; he wiped his hand along her face, pushing it back into the rest of the vase.
"Hold that pose," He grinned. "The client will want to appraise you later."
As if on command, Wanda could feel her body harden, the semi-liquid from changing its chemistry, growing stiff, solid... she couldn't move. Blackhard grabbed one of the handles (fashioned from her melded fingers) and rocked her form back and forth, her base producing heavy clinking sounds.
"Remarkable..." He smiled to himself. "A perfect disguise."
