Belladonna (Story)

Hey! So, the story that won the poll, the one with oviposition, is still getting written. But one of the options that nearly won I wanted to write anyways so I ended up doing it too. Hope that’s cool.

I want to preface this story with a disclaimer that I wrote this entirely for my own gratification and because I wanted to write it. It is...well, it’s very self indulgent. I know, I know, and usually I’m a subtle fabulist and dreamweaver. This is as close to Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace as I can get so, y’know, heads up.

Oh, right, and also this story has forced transformation and feminization and identity/name changing. Heads up, things get a little weird.

***

Plantgirls are fairly benign creatures on the whole. They live in the forests of the Northern Continent, forming harmonious bonds with the flora and fauna who dwell within. They can defend themselves, surely, and their phytomancy is not to be underestimated. But if left to their own devices, they spend their time frolicking, taking care of the trees, and creating beautiful music. The humans who live on their borders protect their groves, and in return may venture into their territory for some carnal diversion should the mood strike them. The world sees them at large as gentle shepherds of the forest who might be a little too horny for their own good.

Well. Almost all of them.

“Kneel, peasants!” Rosalind screamed, commanding the woodborn colossus to swing its gargantuan fist into the watchtower. It shattered into a thousand pieces, split timber flying like shrapnel from the impact. She cackled at the violence of the display, commanding her mount to stride further into the camp. “Kneel before your GODDESS.”

The lumberjacks swarmed again. Their axes and saws made quick work of the defenceless trees of the Wildgrove. But they were altogether inadequate to take on a creature of living ironwood. She poured her mental energy into the entity, commanding it to bend low and sweep them aside. An arm made of twisting, gnarled wood cast them into the air, knocking weapons from their hands or sending them cartwheeling further into the clearing.

Those that got up fled out of her path of destruction. She stomped through the camp, landing the woodborn’s heavy trunk-like feet on whatever she could find. Tents collapsed in an instant, and priceless equipment was snapped apart or ground into the loamy earth. She could hear their shouts of outrage, but didn’t listen to them. Some of them had fetched their bows and were trying to create makeshift fire arrows with oilsoaked rags. Smarter than the ones with the axes, but not smart enough.

Nobody ever was.

Roots burst from the ground, latching onto the limbs of the terrified archers. They wriggled free of one before two more lashed onto a wrist or shoulder, ankle or thigh, pulling them to the earth. Their weapons fell from their hands in the struggle. She let them go as soon as they appeared, like they wouldn’t fight her further. They ran like squirrels, and Rosalind’s laughter grew maniacal.

“A whole new world to conquer. To corrupt in my grasp...oh Earthmother, it feels good to be free again! I’m going to invent so many fucked up vegetables...”

***

Cell skimmed the bounty board outside the local town hall, looking for leads. The elf cut an intimidating figure in his cloak and scarred leather armour even without the bow and quiver on his back. Standing taller than most of the humans in town, he stuck out even with the hood concealing his long blond hair and pointed ears. He was also equipped like someone who could handle himself; the curved mithril sword clipped to his belt a firm deterrent to anyone who saw its sapphire pommel and got ideas. One look at him would mark him as a member of his profession. Adventurers. Those catchall goodniks who kept the wilds at bay, plundered ancient tombs, and, very occasionally, did something useful.

It was the usual lineup of local monsters, and he skimmed them in pursuit of something worth his time. His sword arm was getting antsy, and he’d need enough cold hard gold to buy the new bow he wanted. Furbogs? Beneath his skill level. Hydra? Too slimy. Goblins? Too cute. His index finger halted on the one near the centre. It looked freshly written, and in the common script promised payment on delivery of the body of a single creature. The bounty was...disproportionately large. It had to be something big. A dragon. A wyvern at least.

He slammed the paper down on the local official’s desk. “Is this for real? 500 gold for a plantgirl?”

The elderly man put his quill down and examined the paper. “If this is the one I was thinking of...yep, that’s legitimate. Seal of the county in the corner and everything.” He shoved the paper back to Cell, who stared at it, looking for some hint to explain the obvious discrepancy.

“Seems like overkill, doesn’t it? What did she even do, refuse to swallow?”

The clerk grunted. “She destroyed two logging camps in as many weeks. Injured a dozen people. Nearly killed the governor’s son who was acting as foreman at the second one.”

Cell waited for the man to signal that it was a joke. He did not.

“How the fuck did a plantgirl do that?”

“Well, if you read the description,” he said in a condescending tone, pointing out the small print at the bottom of the bounty, “‘She has abnormally strong control over plantlife far in exceeding that normally demonstrated by her kind, and malice to match. She is to be considered extremely dangerous and should not be approached alone.’”

Cell held up the paper and read out the rest of the details. The back of the paper had a crudely sketched map of the area, with the sites where she’d been spotted marked with red circles.

“And you are good for this money, right?”

“Not us,” the clerk said, his tone growing increasingly impatient, “Bring the note to the county seat, that’s in Hillsborough, and they pay the bounty. Now, if you don’t mind.”

Cell rolled up the bounty and tucked it into a pouch on his belt and headed out. If he was going to take on this job alone, he’d need a few special items before setting off.

***

It wasn’t quite as easy as “follow the trail of destruction”, but it was close.

Cell had barely made it out of town when he’d run into a man in torn work clothes who looked about ready to drop dead from running. It took a few offered swigs from a canteen to get the story out of him. The plantgirl had struck again, this time with a tree-shaped colossus at her command. She’d destroyed the camp, smashed all their tents and equipment, and nearly killed the lot of them before heading back into the forest. He pointed out the location of his ruined camp on Cell’s map before heading off at a weary jog toward the relative safety of the town’s walls. Something in the man’s wild eyed expression slightly unnerved the normally jaded adventurer. Everyone old enough to venture outside a town had seen monsters before, but this was enough to shake a grown man’s composure. Not something to be trifled with, regardless of his own doubts that a plantgirl was truly responsible.

He’d had his dalliances with plantgirls before. They’d been uniformly friendly. Sometimes a little too friendly, though they’d been quick to keep their hands to themselves if they perceived their advances were unwanted. The idea of them as some kind of existential threat seemed completely alien to him. But, then again, even a unicorn could be deadly if threatened. If this plantgirl was only targeting lumberjacks, it made sense. Still, he needed that gold. And if monsters were allowed to run roughshod over human villages, they wouldn’t stop at just a few camps.

Despite the descriptions he’d read and heard, it was still a shock coming across the camp for the first time. Something had completely levelled it. Parts of the palisade lay flattened into mud or clumps of grass, others cast aside like twigs in a stiff breeze. No artificial structure remained upright, with the closest thing being the chimney of what looked like the foreman’s cottage in the centre. The ground had been churned up, like something had burrowed underneath it. Deathworms? No...too small. It looked like dozens upon dozens of intertwined creatures slid just under the surface, disturbing the soil in irregular patterns.

“Roots,” he murmured to himself, grabbing a chunk of fibrous material that had been severed by a heavy axe blow. He tested the toughness with his knife. His keen steel blade barely bit into the wood. Whoever had wielded the axe had been stronger than him by an order of magnitude...or was just better at cutting wood. Whoever this plantgirl was, she could use roots like squid tentacles, and the roots themselves were thicker than nature ought to allow.

After a quick glance around the ruined campsite for goods he could pilfer, he followed the tree beast’s trail. It wasn’t hard. Even if he was a novice hunter, the gouging footsteps it made in the earth made its direction clear. Its size was more difficult to tell, not knowing the proportions that the tree took. But given humanoid shape in its descriptions and the length of its stride, it had to be at least thirty feet tall. The size of a frost giant, or an ogre chief. He’d killed both before, but it hadn’t been easy.

The trail led down a ravine bracketed by thick forest on either side, making tracking it even easier. Trapped in a straight line, it would have no place to go but further into the valley. Long blades of grass bent and sprung up with every soft heeled step, even in pursuit Cell was careful how and where he made his foot fall. So pleased with the ease of his task that he almost missed something: the lack of birdsong, even into the late afternoon. Something had spooked them. But it had been hours since the camp had been destroyed…

His finely tuned hunter’s instinct had him tuck into a roll just in time to miss a swipe from a tree limb the size of a man. His hair blew in the rush of wind as it grazed past him, and he cursed himself for being so cocksure.

It was a giant tree monster, Of Course It Could Blend Into A Forest.

He pulled his bow and notched an arrow in a single fluid motion, black arrowhead trained on the creature’s ‘head’. It did indeed look like a tree in the shape of a man, with a trunk-wide head and eyes like mushroom caps glaring down at him with cold contempt. Nestled snug in a divet on its shoulder was his real target. She couldn’t have been more than 5’2. Her green, leaf-like hair was mussed and unkempt and partially obscured an adorable red flower poking out the side of her head. She had no weapons that he could see, a dirty off-white jacket and a pair of polkadotted pink panties her only clothing. Every so often the tree would jostle just the right way and expose a breast, and reveal a lack of weaponry strapped to her waist. As he suspected, she didn’t look threatening...though the colossus that she controlled certainly did.

“Plantgirl of the Forest! I am here to collect the bounty and end your reign of terror. Come quietly, and I won’t have to hurt you.”

She laughed, but it was all wrong. Cell had heard the laughter of a plantgirl before. It was like music, melodic and cheerful. This was grating, mocking, and put him off immediately.

“No. I don’t think I’ll be doing that,” she said, “I’d offer the same deal, but I have no intention of keeping it. Your only hope is to start running, right now, and never stop.”

Cell took steps backward, but not in retreat. He’d need some room to maneuver if he was going to stay out of the way of the giant’s swings. “Last chance.”

The plantgirl put both her hands on the surface of the treant, and it lumbered toward him. “You’re gonna wish you listened.”

***

He was fast, she had to give him that. Or her? It was always hard to tell with elves, whatever universe she was in.

Wild swings from the woodborn giant offered her no luck, but kept him in motion. She threw up an art of dirt with her last swipe, momentarily blinding him and allowing her to get close with her foot. He handspringed out of the way like some performing gymnast.

“What are you doing?” she cursed, growing frustrated by the moment, “Stand still and let me crush you!”

Of course, the elf didn’t oblige. With enough distance between them, he was able to level his bow and fire at her with deadly precision. She raised the construct’s arm to protect her just in time. A trio of arrows sunk deep into the sturdy wood. Rosalind sighed relief, then panicked. She lost control of the woodborn’s limb! It rolled on its shoulder, limp to all commands. She used the other arm to pluck one of the projectiles and examine it.

“The fuck?” she asked, staring at the shiny black metal arrowheads. Her magical senses, normally amplified through the living wood around her, dropped dead in the space around the ebony shapes. “Ah. A metal with antimagic properties. Neat.” She ripped the two remaining arrows from the creature’s arm, and it returned to functionality. It was time to improvise.

She poured her channelled energy into the aspects of the plant monster that controlled growth and put them into overdrive. In the left arm of her creation, a dense bark surface formed. It extended out from the shape of the arm, forming a protective buckler.

Just in time, as another swath of arrows peppered the new growth. Much like a callous or a fingernail on a mammalian body however, it had no nerves or muscles (or their magical equivalents rather), allowing it to serve as a protective shield from further antimagic projectiles. She retained control of the arm. And, with a gleeful sneer, she put the woodborn into motion once more. The elf had fled into the forest at the side of the ravine, likely hoping to use the dense foliage to slow her down.

“You know how many people have tried to kill me?” she asked the blurry shape moving in the distance. The treant swung its massive hand and cast aside the heavy trucks in her path. Others were splintered with a hefty kick before stepping past. “I’ve been an existential threat to more lives than there are seeds in the soil. I’ve seen cities rise and crushed them under heel. I’ve watched gods burn. I’ve let worlds fall into the abyss and disappear beneath my feet. What are you? You’re NOTHING.” She smashed the arrow shafts with a single swipe of her construct’s free arm and stalked forward.

The elf was slippery. He ducked and weaved through the trees like he was born there. With the arrow strategy mitigated, he’d have to try something else. And so could she. Rosalind reached out with her phytomatic senses to grab a hold of the roots and vines of the sleeping forest, compelling them into motion. In the unreal perception the trees offered, the elf was rendered in shadow, his presence detected by what light he blocked. His footsteps echoing in her ears as they vibrated the soil, his arms brushing against branches and appearing as brief bursts of clarity.

“Gotcha.”

She reached out with a hundred tentacled limbs. The elf’s senses were better than a human’s, she had to give him credit. The loggers hadn’t seen her roots until it was too late. In graceful motions, the hunter sliced at her tendrils with his sword. His steel split some in two, others he merely snapped or scarred, forcing the tree to recall them lest they be deprived of too many. Rosalind willed more into action, this time the vines from above. These were thinner, weaker, but faster. They grabbed a hold of a wrist, making him stumble. More latched on, one harshly yanking on his arm and forcing the blade from his hand. He caught it with his other hand in mid air and swung it around in an arc, twisting his whole body like a top to cleave the vine in two.

***

All those fancy moves were certainly impressive. But once he landed, it was in a twisting pile of roots once more. They lashed both of his feet to the soil. Before he could hack himself free, more vines came down and grabbed a hold of his hands. They squeezed until the sword came loose from his grip, this time for good. He pulled at the restraints, but they clamped on tight. They pulled him down, submerging him in the earth. He panicked, holding his breath as the dirt covered him completely.

When he felt air around him again, he exhaled sharply and coughed. His limbs were still bound, but at least he could breathe again. Sputtering and blinking away the dirt as best he could, he peered at his surroundings with. The roots had pulled him into a cavernous space whose ribbed walls made clear that he was underneath the soil, surrounded by deep root structures that had been manipulated to create this space. The very same roots continued to bind his limbs, much to his chagrin. The plant had brought him to some kind of subterranean refuge, but the light above him quickly disappeared as the hole was filled in, plunging him into darkness.

After what seemed like an eternity, light returned. Harsh scraping noises heralded a series of light sources coming to life all around him. Small, brilliant conical lights in sconces threw off enough light to read a book from without visible flame. Despite its cavernous size, its owner had crammed it full of furniture. Bookcases sat stuffed to near bursting with tomes in a dozen different languages. Half a dozen work benches crammed in everywhere they would fit, each with a different kind of apparatus or contraption. He recognised an alchemical still on one, but the rest had purposes he could only attempt to fathom.

The most mysterious object of all was dead centre of the room and directly in front of Cell, standing roughly ten feet away and covered with a heavy cloth drape. Beyond an irregular shape and being maybe a foot in diameter, he couldn’t tell much about what was concealed underneath. Maybe the cover was to keep the dust out, or maybe someone had a flair for the dramatic. Regardless, if he squinted he could see a faint glow that pulsed in regular rhythm. A strange, steady pattern that seemed oddly familiar...

“Hope you’re comfortable!”

The plantgirl and current bane of his existence strolled in, her voice as calm as someone asking how the weather was. She cradled a notepad in her left arm and jotted notes while she walked.

“I doubt you actually care about my comfort,” he snapped back.

“Okay, fair, I don’t. But I like talking while I work.” She pointed the end of her strange looking pen at him in accusation. “Don’t try to break out of those restraints, by the way. They’re tougher than iron, and I’d hate to see you break your wrists for nothing. Especially when we have so much work to do together. May I have a name for your file?”

She went about some baffling task, mixing liquids in a beaker to some sinister purpose. Cell couldn’t help but stare. She was totally unlike any plantgirl he’d ever encountered. Her demeanour, the way she spoke, even her hair-flower was on the wrong side. It was all so divergent from his experiences with the species.

“My friends call me Cell, so you can call me Cell’endari Kalaedari if only to hear you trip over the vowels. And who...what are you? You’re no plantgirl of the forest, I’m sure of that. Are you some madman’s conjuration? An alchemical creature gone awry? A mutation?”

Rosalind laughed again, the sound growing grating from its repetition. “Nobody created me. Nobody but myself, I should say. My name is Rosalind. And you’re right, I’m not one of your ‘plantgirls’.” She set the beaker down on a plate before continuing, the fluid within forming a vortex seemingly of its own accord. “I come from a different world. A darker world. A world where the humanoid plantlife couldn’t be satisfied with standing around and fingering itself while the forests were milled or turned to kindling. So we fought back. Maybe we went too far, maybe I did. Some events occurred, many of them not even my fault. But after the planet fell into oblivion...well, I couldn’t well just disappear into the void, could I?

“So I ventured into new planes, new realms. The worlds are all connected, you know? Not unlike the roots under a great tree, spanning the infinite. All one needed was enough magical power. I’ve visited countless places, many like this one. And you know what I found?”

“Heroes brave enough to stop you?”

Rosalind shook her head. “I found weakness. Plantgirls in every world, every living world at least, but none of them were anything more than reluctant defenders of their own home. Cowards. Myopic fools! None of them could see the obvious truth that at the end of the day, fauna are our enemies, and we must strike first if we’re to have any hope of surviving.”

“You only smashed logging camps, though. From your perspective, I suppose I could see the purpose behind that. But you talk like a Lich, or a warlord bent on pure conquest! How is that different from the people who terrorized the plantfolk in the past?”

“Look, I’m not getting into a debate on moral relativism versus moral absolutism with you. I’m a busy plant. Specifically, I have a project that’ll need your help to complete.”

Now it was the elf’s turn to laugh. “You don’t actually expect me to aid you in whatever twisted scheme you have in mind, do you?”

“You don’t even know what I want from you. It might be fun!” She pulled the sheet off the large object in the centre of the room, revealing a colossal crystal. It seemed to be a single piece of white quartz, though Cell was far from a geologist. “This is a Godstone. It is a reservoir of great, some say terrifying, power. Fully charged it can tear holes in reality, or power a giant woodborn colossus whilst simultaneously giving me near nature god levels of control over plantlife. But, as you likely don’t know or fully understand, it needs charging.”

She traipsed over to the workbench with all the coloured chemicals, retrieving a beaker of purple liquid and stirring it with the rod. The brew bubbled, dense smoke trailing off the top. “This is a formula of my own design, naturally. It’ll help with the process. Normally charging a crystal this size would take dozens, maybe hundreds of people. But I’ve found a way to reduce it down to a single subject...care to guess who I have in mind?”

Cell redoubled his efforts to pry himself loose. The roots tightened again, but he could feel the slightest bit of give around his right thumb. If he could yank hard enough, he might be able to free at least one hand.

“What does it need? My blood? My soul?!”

“Jeez you’re intense. No, dummy, I need your cum.”

A long pause.

“I beg your pardon?” Cell asked.

Rosalind’s eyes widened. “Oh shit, you do have semen to steal right? Now I’m panicking because the last universe the elves were all trans and I made some VERY inappropriate assumptions.”

He blushed. “I...yes, I suppose I do but that is not exactly what I was expecting. Why do you-”

Rosalind held out her hands to the giant pulsing crystal in the middle of the room. “I had a big speech about this like 30 seconds ago.”

“I was going to say: why don’t you just ask? You’re attractive enough, this seems like a lot of effort to get a man’s...essence.”

She huffed. “Again, it’s a matter of scale. Yes, I’m devastatingly beautiful, I know that. But the amount of life force necessary to empower a reservoir of this scale is beyond what the occasional dalliance with a trader on a market road could provide.” The plantgirl set the bubbling liquid down on a stool off the side and went to work unlacing his breeches. He fidgeted at first, but then the thought occurred that this could be a perfect way to distract his captor while he freed himself.

“Are you saying that if you get what you want from me, you’ll let me go?” he asked.

Rosalind made a so-so gesture with her left hand while her right tugged down his pants. “It depends. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, I have to see what I’m working with.” She examined his limp cock with a kind of clinical detachment that reminded him of a doctor’s attentions...or a butcher examining a slab of meat, he thought with a shiver. “Not unsubstantial. Perhaps 15 centimetres flaccid. Plenty of elasticity to the flesh. Hmm...let’s see how it handles the formula.”

She picked up the beaker and dipped his genitals into the fluid. It felt warm and viscous, strange but not unpleasant. “Hey!” he shouted, wriggling again, “What foul deed are you playing at?”

He felt the effect almost immediately. It first took the form of a mild tingling sensation. This grew into a pleasurable yet indescribably strange feeling of stimulation combined with the need for his body to...decompress. Like his cock and balls had been crammed into a tight space for far too long and they needed to return to normalcy. To his confusion, his dick began to grow in both length and girth while still limp. As he hardened from the bombardment of sensation, the effect only accelerated. It all culminated in the single-minded desire for stimulation. He needed to use his cock on anything. Cell stared at Rosalind with voracious eyes, and for the first time the plantgirl took a step back from the elf she’d been treating as a plaything.

“Incredible!” she added quickly, her voice a little less confident, “I had no idea your body could be such a powerful conduit for the formula!”

He grunted in frustration, thrusting forward like a hound in full rut. “You...you harlot! I’ll take my revenge if it’s the last thing I do!”

“I should think you’d have other priorities at the moment. Right now, the entire focus of your body is locked into growing your cock. Your balls as well have already doubled in size and, according to my previous tests, are likely to triple in productive capability. Let’s test that, shall we?”

Rosalind gripped his engorged cock with both hands and gave it a single pump. A jet of thin preseed shot out instantaneously, followed by a burst of toe-curling pleasure. Far from becoming deadened from the expansion, it seemed like there were more nerve endings than ever in his cock. Her short, jerking efforts to tease him yielded more and more leakage until, to his horror, the flow did not stop. Precum leaked from his cock in perpetuity, to a confusing mix of horror and arousal.

He tried to shut his eyes, to block out the buffet of tantalizing sensations from overwhelming his mind. But even with his eyes closed, Cell could see the pulse of light from the crystal. And he realized why its rhythm felt so familiar: it was his heartbeat. The crystal, in some strange way, had become linked to him.

“You monster,” he breathed, trying to keep a hold of himself, “You’ve turned me into some kind of...perversion.”

“I see it as an improvement! I mean...oh, wow, I didn’t expect that.”

He opened his eyes to see that her pen was now pointed at his chest. He looked down, trying to ignore the colossal shaft between his legs. He blinked, then blinked again.

He was growing breasts.

“What in the name of the gods is going on?!” he asked, voice cracking.

“Fascinating!” Rosalind said, ignoring his plight to write in her notepad. “Unlike my human test subjects, you seem to manifest feminine traits in direct proportion to the growth of your genitals. This is...unexpected. But not unwelcome!”

“Speak for yourself, pervert!” Cell redoubled his efforts to free himself. This mockery of nature had gone on for too long! As her focus was on her notes, he risked exposure and yanked as hard as he could on the wrist being held the loosest. With some muffled cursing, he was able to compress his dexterous digits enough to slip from his bindings! One step close to freedom, though he immediately raised his hand back up, putting it behind the root restraint and hoping she didn’t look too closely. If he could free the rest of his limbs, overpower her, he might be able to force her to create an antidote to whatever the hell was happening to him.

But...his cock was so needy. She had stopped touching him, and every moment when he wasn’t actively stimulating himself felt uncomfortable, almost tortuous. Precum poured from his tip but without touch he had no hope of reaching climax and maybe, possibly, thinking for himself again. Sheepishly, he lowered his freed hand and stroked his enormous shaft. He sighed with relief, and the precum gushed forth with ease as he worked his meat with a frantic desperation.

If Rosalind noticed one of his hands was free, she didn’t seem to care. “Very interesting. It seems the natural androgyny of the elf form is trying to assert itself. With the dramatically increased masculinization of your genitals, it’s causing all the maleness to drain from the rest of your body, giving you feminine features. Sorry about that. But hey, cheer up! You’ll have the largest cock of any elf on this planet. Largest tits, too, if this keeps up.”

“Shut up, shut up!” he whined, lost in the rhythm of stroking himself off. Little jets of precum soaked the dirt floor of the little cavern, but he could barely feel them. His cock, now a foot long and still growing, demanded every moment of his attention. Cell could still sense his balls expanding outward as they pushed up against his thickening thighs. He moaned, lost in a dozen different perverse pleasures. His finely toned and muscled body disappeared into a cushion of squeezable flesh and all he could do was moan in utter bliss.

His first orgasm came almost out of nowhere. One moment he was riding high on the wave of tainted endorphins and the next he was painting the ground with thick streams of cum. It landed nowhere near Rosalind or the crystal, but nevertheless the glow from the latter was noticeably brighter. It was feeding off of him somehow, and all he wanted to do was feed it more.

Rather than deflate as normal, his cock stayed painfully hard. The flow of seed reduced down to its steady broken tap drip but never fully abated. The pleasure slackened from the sharp staccato notes to an omnipresent hum but never vanished altogether. His cock hadn’t stopped growing either. It was now impractically large, impossible to stuff into anything but the loosest of holes. And yet, it was more to please. More to touch and stroke. If one could fall in love with a part of their body, Cell was close to it. His conscious mind was in suspension, adrift in a sea of endorphins without hope of making it to shore. At least for a little while.

Distantly, he realized that the scientist plantgirl had her hand in her own panties, not that it mattered all that much. He stroked himself off again, chasing the withering highs of his previous climax like a true strokeslut addict. Even as his hair spilled down his shoulders and his moans went from basso and masculine to sharp, cute feminine squeaks, he couldn’t find the energy to care. His body had shrunk to the point that he could easily pull his other hand free of the restraints, but his focus was no longer on escape. Only the obscene, greedy joys of masturbation.

“Nnngh…feels too good…can’t resist!~” Cell insisted, thrusting into his own hands. Eager to speed up the journey, his mind filled with all manners of lewd thoughts. He pictured doing nasty things to Rosalind, of course. Of bending her over and cramming his gigantic cock inside. Of using her body like a cumsock and basting her holes with huge torrents of seed. Other images blended in with those. Of him on his knees, worshipping the plantgirl, eating her pussy and letting his cock drool everywhere. Of letting her suck him off only to kiss and snowball a mouthful of semen back and forth. He had no idea where these ideas were coming from, but he wanted more of them. Their corrupting pleasure too powerful a force to resist.

A second orgasm, this one he intentionally aimed upwards. It shot up and splashed down, dousing his face and chest in thick cream. Cell could help but taste it, the salty, bitter mess sliding down his tongue and into his belly. Deep down he knew it was disgusting, but the tainted thoughts were already seeping through his mind. Corrupting him from within, he found himself licking his now plump lips. There was practically nothing masculine about his body now, besides his gigantic cock of course. Even that was almost bad parody. The most he could hope for now was a sloppy titjob from some big breasted slut, or maybe a tongue bath. But penetration? Not a chance. Cell’s cock was purely ornamental now. Or it would be, if it wasn’t being used for a specific, utilitarian purpose that had nothing to do with intercourse and everything to do with being treated like livestock.

Cell’s third climax was the first to actually hit the mark. Rosalind had brought the crystal closer, and his load splattered all over the glowing white surface. The cum seemed to disappear into the rock, each rope of seed timed by a near blinding pulse of light. Despite him having already shot twice and expelled goodness knows how much precum, this third orgasm was even bigger than the first two! Her tainted formula, no doubt, but he was too far gone to feel mad. Or anything, really, besides the all consuming need to stroke and spray spunk over everything and everyone.

“Mnf…fuck…what have you done…what am I?” Cell asked, his confusion honest. All he could think about was pleasure, like his whole existence sat between his legs. Were they even HIS legs anymore?

“That’s it. Full unquestioned subservience in less than an hour. You folded quicker than all my other subjects. I’ll have to capture more elves in the future! Til then, let’s answer that question as simply as I can: you are a cumcow. A fountain for jizz that I will use for my own sick, twisted purposes. You’ll aid me in conquering this pathetic excuse for a world and you’ll thank me for the privilege. Won’t you, my little cumpump? You’re my obedient little slut now, aren’t you?” Rosalind asked, knowing full well the answer.

There was only one answer to give. “Yes!”

The plantgirl approached, pulling open her panties in front of the glistening, spurting tip. “What’s your name?”

“My name is…is Slut!” Slut cried, so much information melting away in the face of these new, powerful truths. She was a Slut because she was Her slut. It all made so much sense!

“And who do you belong to?” Rosalind asked. Her petal-like pussy was already sopping wet from her own attentions. The drip of preseed made the mess even worse, rolling down her skin. Finally Slut was getting to cum on something but it was so indirect. So…pitiful~

“I belong to you!”

Rosalind herself was close. She bumped the absurdly wide tip against her clit. It would be as close as Slut would ever get to a pussy ever again. “And..ngh…what is your sole purpose in life? What’s the one thing you’re on this world to do? What job runs through that tiny little brain of yours every moment of every day?”

Slut wanted to do so many things. To suck and fuck and moan and squirm and gulp and swallow and bend and squeal. But the one thing unifying all those many wondrous concept was clear. Her atavistic desires overwhelmed her last dregs of conscious thought and he jerked her impossibly large prick with both hands, unable to stop herself.

“Cuuuuum!” she screamed, stroked to yet another mindmelting climax. Spunk sprayed out in a torrent, coating Rosalind’s panties in sticky white bliss before splashing back and covering just about everything else. Her old identity was lost in a fountain of expended seed, feeding into the crystal’s seemingly bottomless appetite.

***

It took less than a week for the crystal to charge. In a way, Rosalind was sad that it was over. She’d had so much fun!

She looked over at Slut, watching the elf bitch stuff her mouth full of her own cock for the umpteenth time that day. She’d completely abandoned any pretense of masculinity to have her legs freed, only to sit down on a thoughtfully provided chair and titfuck her own enormous breasts with her obscenely large cock. Each orgasm was like a small torrent, spurting thick gushes of white all over her mouth, face, and chin. Even with the occasional hose down she perpetually reeked of spunk. Though Rosalind didn’t mind; she quite enjoyed the smell.

“I’m going to miss having my own personal cumcow,” she said wistfully. Slut was such an obedient thing now, and had dutifully provided all the energy she needed. It would be a shame to leave her here to her debauched purgatory in this hole, and the scientist doubted very much that the elf’s own kind would much care for the carnal parody the once proud archer had become.

Slut let the throbbing cock fall from her plump lips, spilling seed practically everywhere, with the puddle at her feet almost perpetually growing despite Rosalind’s best efforts to keep it dry.

“I can come with you?” Slut asked, her shriveling shaft twitching at the word ‘come’. Her entire mind had been totally corrupted to the point that even thoughts and words adjacent to erotic ideas could make her shiver and leak.

Rosalind made an exaggerated pantomime of being in thought. “Hmm...well, I was going to use this crystal to create a colossal fortress out of mutated plants, preferably near a bunch of easily capturable test subjects. They can be turned just as easily into batteries for my nefarious goals of conquering this pitiful world. Maybe I won’t need you anymore?”

Slut collapsed to her knees, crawling over to Rosalind’s feet. Her gigantic cock dragged on the ground behind her, leaving a slimy trail of submission. “Oh please Goddess, don’t leave me behind. I’ll be your most obedient servant ever! I’ll do everything you desire and more. You can fuck me anytime you want, I’ll cum even more than I did before. I’ll humiliate myself in all the extra special ways you love to see and get off to, just...take me with you as your cumcow. Please?” The helpless thrall batted her beautiful wide eyes at the tyrannical plantgirl.

“Oh…alright. I suppose I can still use you.”

“Yay!” Slut squealed, running up to squish Rosalind up in a hug that mashed her huge cock against them both. They shared a cum-covered kiss before breaking apart, Rosalind gathering up her equipment and using her magical control of plantlife to open up a sliver in the root warren that had protected her during Slut’s transformation. Slut left all her old gear behind, save for her bow and arrows. Nobody would hurt Rosalind on her watch! Her cock and tits bounced obscenely with every step, much to the plantgirl’s amusement.

A trio of conjured man-sized treants picked up the crystal and carried it in a litter behind them. As they walked, more tree golems fell into line in the rear, the crystal putting out enough energy to create a veritable army of plant minions to march in their wake.

“Any idea where we should conquer first?” Rosalind asked, seemingly ignoring as her retinue grew behind them.

“I got an idea. There was this one town that was offering five hundred gold pieces for your head…” Slut began, much to the mad scientist’s interest.

They and their growing arboreal horde walked away from the hollow into the beautiful sunrise, heralding a new dawn for their little world. Another chance at empire. One last shot at Goddesshood.