© Copyright 2011 - PlastiClown - Used by permission
Storycodes: Solo-F; F/f; witch; majick; transform; rubberdoll; inflated; rainwear; insert; sex; climax; nc; X
To say that Clarice Geldmeister was happy would be to understate the case considerably. She was in ecstasy. She swept grandly into her posh apartment on the topmost floor of the Geldmeister Building, allowing the ornately decorated security door to close itself behind her. She went to stand before the wide and very expensive one-way window that looked out over the city and gloated.
Yes, it had just been too easy to outmaneuver that family of dumb hicks. Over one square mile of pristine forest that had gone untouched for centuries was now hers. Oh, how the hicks had whined and, oh, how she loved kicking them when they were down. She always thought it was especially funny when her victims whined about their rights.
Her daddy had explained the joke to her when she was still a little girl. He was a union-busting lawyer, a man who had dedicated his life to putting the little people in their place when they got too uppity. When she had asked why there are big people and little people, he had told her that a Mr. Darwin had explained it all in a scientific theory called Survival of the Fittest (That rumble you hear is the said Mr. Darwin turning over in his grave. – PC) and that was all anyone needed to know. All that stuff about rights in the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence was nothing more than a sick joke that the Founders had played on the suckers they got to fight and die for them.
But the funniest part had come when the hicks tried to warn her about the witch who lived in the forest. No one had ever seen her, of course, but she held power over the land and as long as the hicks had respected that land, the witch had prospered them. At that Clarice had simply laughed in the hicks’ stupid-looking faces. It was so Hansel and Gretel and if the hicks thought that such a fairy tale would dissuade her from taking their land, they were dumber than they looked. She had still been laughing while she was being driven back to her office, but the laughter of derision soon became laughter of delight.
Sometimes Clarice simply dazzled herself with her own brilliance. If there was a local legend of a witch, then she would exploit it. She would call the development “Enchanted Gardens”. She might even tell the bulldozer crews to leave a few trees to add to the ambience, though not so many as to diminish the number of condos that she would have crammed into the area. And if there really was some demented old woman living out in the woods,... well, accidents do happen and it would add verisimilitude to the story that her publicity department would make up. Yes, Clarice could see extra billions flowing into her offshore accounts.
But for now, though, the encounter with the rustics had left her feeling a bit soiled. What she needed was a good hot shower. She would feel much better when she had washed off whatever had wafted onto her from the hillbillies. So she went through her bedroom into her bathroom and prepared for pleasure.
She took off all of her clothes and jewelry and set them on the counter. Then she took the time to examine herself in the mirror. She saw a woman of medium height with a slightly zaftig figure with large, well-shaped breasts. The size of cantaloupes, her well-rounded breasts showed little sag. She seemed too perfect and often attracted unwelcome comments. Indeed, her spy network had once overheard a minor employee, when he thought he was alone with a friend, comment that she looked like an inflatable doll: the next day said employee had been fired, beaten severely in a street robbery, and discovered that the bank had invoked an obscure provision in his mortgage to foreclose on his house. Yes, Clarice insisted on receiving the utmost of respect at all times from everybody.
At last she came to the coronation. She lifted her shower cap from its lunette-shaped bracket above the bar that held her bath towel. She held it before her as if it were a sacred relic, even though it was really nothing more than Pert and Pretty’s™ “Queen of France” style bath beret. Clarice slipped the dark-blue rubber headband over her head as she imagined the Pope offering her the Imperial crown of the New Holy Roman Empire. Her shoulder-length raven tresses puffed out the soft, smooth, transparent cerulean-blue plastic so that the satin-like plastic sheen seemed to surround her head with a divine halo. She then adjusted the shower cap so that the tiara-like pattern of opaque-gold fleurs-de-lis was positioned correctly. At last she was ready for the royal bath.
She turned on the water in the bath and when it had warmed up she stepped into the tub. She closed the shower curtain and again admired the image of a crowd of people kowtowing to her painted on the translucent-white plastic sheet. She turned the handle that diverted the water from the spout into the shower head and, as the spray of water wet her body, she reached out with her right hand and picked up the bar of soap waiting for her. A strange, almost sexual, warmth seemed to pervade the room: she hadn’t noticed it before, but she assumed it was the afterglow of triumph, her little erotic reward for fucking over another bunch of suckers. But then she was drawn out of her pleasant reverie by a sense of something being not quite right.
She had stopped moving, leaving water to run down her body as she held the soap bar motionless over her left arm.This must be what indecision feels like, she thought idly. It was a strange thing, but she shrugged it off as an effect of overwork. She tried to get back to rubbing soap on her body, but found that she couldn’t, no matter how much she asserted her will.
She then heard a woman’s voice say, “Finish bathing yourself.” So she finished bathing herself.
Then the woman’s voice said, “Turn of the water, get out of the shower and dry yourself, but do not take off your shower cap.” Again Clarice obeyed.
A moment later the woman’s voice said, “Come out into your bedroom and stand on the holding spot.” And again Clarice obeyed the command.
As she came into her bedroom she saw a slightly pudgy young woman about five and a half feet tall standing across the room from her. The woman’s deep red hair was cut in a pageboy style and the woman was wearing what looked like a white cashmere dress with a raincoat made of transparent-black plastic worn over it. As Clarice came closer she saw that the woman had wide blue eyes, a spray of freckles across her nose, and a sensuous mouth with the upper lip pushed out a bit by a slight overbite. More alarmingly, she held a rod the length of her forearm, one made of a translucent-blue material that seemed to shimmer, as if it did not fully exist in this world.
Then she saw between her and the witch (and she knew without being told that the red-haired woman was a witch) a strange elaborately-woven purple-and-gold pattern that seemed to float both above and below the carpet (the latter fact seeming especially strange because the carpet was opaque) in the center of the room. Somehow she knew that the pattern marked what the voice had called a holding spot, so she went and stood on it (or, rather, on the area of carpet that it marked).
“Now,” the witch said, “give me a little smile as if you are happy to see me.”
Clarice obeyed. She certainly didn’t feel like smiling, but she did it anyway.
“Get yourself totally hot,” the witch commanded, “as if the greatest lover in history has brought you to within a mere touch of climax.”
Clarice felt her nipples and clitoris swell. Her heart beat faster and harder and she trembled all over. As her nipples stiffened she felt her clitoris slide forward in its sheath as it, too, became hard.
“Puff out your belly for me,” the witch added. “I want you to make it my pillow.”
Clarice took a deep breath and puffed out her belly. It didn’t expand by much, but it became rounder and could serve as a nice pillow if Clarice were lying down.
The witch stepped forward and touched the tip of her wand to a spot on the left side of Clarice’s neck.
Clarice heard a soft whump and felt as if something had exploded inside her. She tried to move, but couldn’t. Something, a kind of rubbery-feeling something that was invisible, was keeping her hands pressed against her thighs and preventing her from moving at all. As she struggled against the weird force that had her trapped, she saw a giant black egg float into the room. It looked to be about three feet long and two feet wide and it was so deeply black that it looked more like a hole in space than a real object.
The egg emitted a soft click and a segment on top of it swung open. The witch put her wand inside the egg, the egg closed its lid, and the witch turned back to Clarice.
To Clarice’s horror the witch gave her a quick jab in the chest. As she tipped over backward she tried to windmill her arms to regain her balance, but they wouldn’t move. She braced herself to hit the floor, but then she felt the rubbery force that imprisoned her pushing against her back and the backs of her legs to tip her back up. She came back upright and the witch punched her, sending her tipping backward, almost to the floor this time. Again the invisible force bounced her back up, as if she were eager to be punched again. The witch slammed her fist into Clarice’s belly and Clarice doubled over, as if bowing to her mistress, then she sprang back up and tipped over backward again. As she bounced back up she saw the witch take several steps back and watch her bob and wobble to a stop.
“Now,” the witch said, “you are my inflated plastic prisoner, my helpless blow-up doll.”
And who in Foreclosure are you? Clarice thought angrily.
As if hearing the thought telepathically, the witch said, “I am the protector of a certain area of forested land, the heir of a promise my grandmother made when she acquired permission to occupy and bless the land from the Indians in 1747.”
Clarice let out a mental p’fft. Getting permission from a bunch of dumb Indians instead of just shoving them aside, she thought contemptuously, then, Wait... what? Seventeen forty...?! That’s over two hundred years ago. It couldn’t have been her granny.
“I know,” the witch said. “It seems outrageous. But if I can turn you into an inflatable punching bag, then certainly I can live for more than a century. In fact, in my line of maternal descent the women live for about one hundred and twenty years as young women, then begin to age. We have just enough time to give birth to one or two daughters and raise them to adulthood before we die.” She began taking off her raincoat.
Oh, my Gold! Clarice thought, this hexhag has real power! But why does she stay hidden in the woods? Power, she thought, must be displayed, used to awe the little people and keep them down in their place.
The witch went behind Clarice, lifted her right arm away from her body, and slipped the right sleeve of her raincoat over it. Then she slipped Clarice’s left arm into the left sleeve, pulled the raincoat up, and finished putting it on Clarice, maneuvering the magnetic patches down the front to close it.
“Power,” the witch mused as she stroked the raincoat’s plastic where Clarice’s breasts bulged against it. “It’s a poor sort of power that only aggrandizes the one who wields it,” she said. “Real power benefits others, lifts them up. And it only grows when it’s shared.”
Oh, for the love of Money, Clarice thought, she’s a damned religious nut. She tried to imagine what it would be like to have the kind of power the witch had. She did it in order to avoid thinking about Jennifer. If the witch could read her mind, then she did not want to think about the six-foot Amazon who served as her personal assistant. She would be arriving soon and would take down the witch, if only the witch didn’t get a warning from Clarice’s thoughts. Well, Clarice had learned long ago how to keep her mouth shut: she could certainly keep her mind shut (Wow, a closed mind! Imagine that! – PC).
“Now there’s something I want to share with you,” the witch said as she took off her dress and tossed it onto the chair at Clarice’s dressing table. “Are you enjoying the feel of my raincoat?” She took off her bra, half slip, and panties and tossed them onto her dress. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it even more when I rub it against you.” She stood facing Clarice with her legs slightly spread.
And suddenly Clarice saw something else to keep her mind off Jennifer. The area around the entrance to the witch’s vagina was bulging. In horrified fascination, Clarice watched the witch’s vagina evert into an erect penis the size of a foot-long knockwurst.
Oh, no, Clarice thought. Oh, for Equity’s sake, she’s in love with me!
The witch opened the front of her raincoat over Clarice’s crotch, then slid her hands inside the raincoat and gripped Clarice’s waist. Stepping forward, she poked her penis into Clarice’s crotch, probed for a few seconds, and then pushed it into Clarice’s vagina.
Clarice felt the witch’s penis poke rubbery-stiff and hot against her vulva and then penetrate her. She felt a swelling deep inside her lower abdomen and saw a dreamy-eyed look come over the witch’s face.
Moving them one at a time, the witch took her hands off Clarice’s waist, pulled them out of her raincoat, and pressed them against Clarice’s buttocks. Panting heavily, she pulled her penis partway out of Clarice and shoved it back in. Then she did it again. And again.
As the witch thrust her penis in and out of her, Clarice bobbed slightly to and fro. Clarice tilted back a little bit when the witch thrust her hips forward and up to push her penis deeper into Clarice’s vagina and she tilted forward again as the witch pulled her hips back to pull her penis partway out of Clarice in preparation for another thrust. Clarice heard the witch huffing and puffing over her, saw the witch staring into her eyes, felt the witch’s hot belly pressing rhythmically against hers, and felt the witch’s hands kneading her buttocks. For the first time in her life Clarice was getting well and truly fucked.
The witch’s panting had become a series of desperate-sounding grunts and then segued into quavery squeals. Suddenly the witch caught her breath and held it as she pumped Clarice even faster and Clarice felt something hot blossom deep inside her in rapid spurts. A few seconds later the witch resumed breathing, slid her hands up Clarice’s back and took Clarice in an embrace, and stood panting as she slowly rubbed herself against her prisoner.
“There,” the witch gasped. “Now you’re pregnant.”
What? Clarice thought. No, that’s impossible! I’m just a blow-up doll!
“You have a copy of my raincoat inside you,” the witch panted. “Every time I squirt into you, it will get a little bigger and you will grow a little fatter. It’s going to be fun to see how much your belly bulges before you give me a new raincoat.”
Clarice noticed that the heat inside her wasn’t fading. If the witch could turn her into a living plastic doll, she understood, then that same witch could probably knock her up with a plastic raincoat, too.
“Oh, I love holding you, my soft, warm plastic bride,” the witch said softly. Still panting slightly, she added, “It will give you a chance to absorb all of my squirty-goo so that we won’t make a mess when I pull out of you.”
Clarice thought she could feel something happening in her lower belly, as if something were oozing around inside of her. Oh, dear Gold Almighty ,Clarice thought, I really am pregnant! Over the course of a minute that sensation faded away, but the heat remained. Then she noticed the sensations of the witch kissing her neck and seemed to feel the sensations of the witch’s lips caressing what felt like something protruding from her neck. Those caresses made sexual heat flare up inside Clarice, made Clarice want the witch to take her to bed and play with her.
But the witch was finished. She slid her hands up to grip Clarice’s biceps and pulled back from her. Clarice felt the swelling inside her diminish as the witch’s penis, limp and dry, slid out of her. The witch took a step back and Clarice saw her penis re-invert into her vagina. The witch took a deep breath and heaved a sigh, then she took her raincoat off Clarice and tossed it onto the chair with her other clothes.
She went to the closet and took Clarice’s raincoat off its padded hanger. The silk-soft, skin-smooth, slightly rubbery-feeling, transparent-white plastic warmed instantly where she touched it and the parts of the raincoat that slid over each other emitted a soft swishing sound. A thin dispersion of thumbnail-sized thin-line starbursts were printed on the paper-thin plastic in opaque white: those were what led Clarice to think of the garment as her Celestial Empress raincoat. Now the witch slipped it on Clarice and guided the magnetic patches down its front into closing before she took the doubled-plastic sash belt and half tied it around Clarice’s waist. Finally she pulled the hood up over Clarice’s shower cap.
“My plastic princess,” the witch gloated. She stood on Clarice’s right, put her left arm around Clarice’s shoulders, and patted and stroked Clarice’s belly with her right hand. “I just know that I’m going to enjoy fattening you up in bed.” She slid her right hand around Clarice’s waist to hold her and leaned forward to kiss Clarice on the lips.
The hot, passionate kiss evaporated the last of Clarice’s self-control. Dear Gold, she screamed in her thoughts, where in Poverty is Jennifer?!
The witch broke off the kiss and gazed deep into Clarice’s eyes. “I am so hot for you!” she said. Then she let go of Clarice, stepped away from her, and left the bedroom.
Several minutes later Clarice saw Jennifer come hobbling into her bedroom with the witch right behind her, prodding her forward when she balked. Jennifer had her head bowed and Clarice could she that she was wearing only her shower cap and her transparent-red plastic raincoat. Her wrists and ankles were bound with what looked like slave shackles made from plastic apron ties. Jennifer was wearing her raincoat with the hood draped across her back, so Clarice saw, jutting from the left side of Jennifer’s neck, the stubby, translucent-white plastic tube that served as the valve stem of the one-way valve through which Jennifer could be inflated and deflated. Jennifer, Clarice’s only hope for rescue, had been turned into an inflated plastic doll. Suddenly Clarice felt an uncontrollable urge to scream.
The witch nudged Jennifer to the bed and then simply picked her up and laid her down on the bed. She then slid the skirt of Jennifer’s raincoat up over Jennifer’s chest and belly so that she would not kneel on it and tear the plastic. Lying on her back, Jennifer could only watch helplessly as the witch aroused herself and made her penis come out and come erect. The witch took the shackles off Jennifer and tossed them aside. Jennifer tried to get up to flee, but the witch pushed her back down and held her down with one hand while she knelt on the bed between Jennifer’s legs and laid herself down on her prisoner.
Jennifer struggled futilely as the witch penetrated her and took her in a full sexual embrace. Huffing and puffing, the witch began to move, rocking to and fro on her victim. She panted, moaned, and grunted as she strove to pump herself up with sexual heat.
Helplessly Clarice watched the witch bouncing on top of Jennifer and a deep sense of despair swept through her as she saw her only chance of escape being ravished. But subtly that despair began to turn into a subtle jealousy, a wish that it was her lying under the witch. She heard the witch squealing and saw her thrusting more vigorously as she climaxed into Jennifer and made her pregnant with a copy of her own raincoat. Then the witch went limp. A few moments later the witch whispered something into Jennifer’s ear and Jennifer began flailing about in a desperate yet futile attempt to get away from the witch. Clarice had a fair idea of what the witch had told Jennifer. Then she saw Jennifer, as if surrendering to her fate, go limp. She watched the witch pull out of Jennifer, get up off the bed, and go across the room.
From her floating black egg the witch took what looked like a short drinking straw that had a flange around its middle. She took it to the bed. Jennifer panicked and tried to get up, but the witch pushed her down with her left hand and used her right hand to slide the straw into the valve in Jennifer’s neck. She pushed the straw into the valve until the flange hit the valve stem. Clarice heard a soft poof followed by a quiet whoosh and saw Jennifer’s struggles fade away as Jennifer deflated.
The witch turned her attention back to Clarice. She approached the trembling plastic woman and took her in a full embrace. Clarice felt the witch’s warmth heat up the plastic of her raincoat where the witch’s body pressed against hers. The witch’s lips pressed against Clarice’s in a pulsing, passionate kiss that made Clarice start to feel hot again. Breaking off the kiss, the witch rested her head on Clarice’s shoulder, tightened her embrace, and stroked Clarice’s back.
“It’s too late to leave,” the witch said. “I dislike flying in the dark. So I’ll spend the night here... playing Wedding Night with my pretty plastic bride.”
Clarice was crying inside. She knew now that she would spend one last night in her own bed before being deflated and taken to her new owner’s home deep in the forest. And she would spend that last night in her own bed as a sex doll, the witch’s inflated plastic pleasure slave.