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by Yote Author IconMail Icon
Rated: 18+ · Interactive · Erotica · #1630274
What if you could become anyone at the touch of a (expensive, dangerously untested) button
This choice: Take the jar of sex dolls  •  Go Back...
Chapter #7

Take the jar of sex dolls

    by: Yote Author IconMail Icon
You lift the jar of compressed, dessicated sex dolls from the workbench, examining the multicoloured rubber balls inside. 'Just Add Water' the label says. Well, you've always tried to do what your dad told you, you grin to yourself.

Carefully placing one of the springy balls on the floor, you pour a dribble of water over it from the watering can. There is a pause then... *pop - shhhhhh* the blue bouncy ball swiftly inflates before your eyes into a doll. "Hah, that's awesome," you laugh, taking one of the two remaining balls, a yellow one, and dropping it into the watering can.

*Bang!* You must have used too much water. The yellow sphere inflates with sudden, explosive force, splitting open the watering can, knocking you back off your feet. The jar flies out of your hands, the last remaining ball soaring high into the air. You hit the ground hard, gasping as the air is knocked out of your lungs, and the vivid fuchsia ball lands perfectly between your lips, lodging itself in the back of your throat... Your moist throat. Gagging, you desperately try to cough it up and spit it out before-

*pop-shhhh* With a hiss of compressed gas, the ball inflates in an instant, filling your mouth, spilling out from between your lips to encase your skin in tight, cold plastic, expanding so explosively that your clothes are shredded into a mist of confetti. The plastic seems to hug you unbearably tight all over at once, building to a sharp pain as your waist is crushed beneath it. Tendrils of plastic worm down your throat, filling up your insides. Your shocked expression freezes into a love doll's vacant, open-mouth stare.

Your movements are hampered by the material solidifying over your limbs, becoming more difficult and tiring with each passing moment. You grip the worktop for support as the molten plastic of your fingers fuses together and your knees lock up. It takes a concerted effort to move anything.
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