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Shattered Shards: Myshelle's Medicine

By Von Krieger

Tears leaked from Myshelle's eyes, mixing with the rivulets of stallion seed that trickled down her face. He body ached, seemingly every inch of her aroused and lustful, longing for sex.

It was disgusting, the moment Kora had mentioned what it was Myshelle had recognized the taste. Earlier in her career she'd had to do things she wasn't proud of in order to get ahead of the other models.

It was humiliating, the way she was forced to gulp down gallons of cum, from an animal no less! The perverted satyrs didn't just pleasure themselves, like the one that had splattered her, but they also jerked off the animals as well!

The experience was horrible, being strapped to a chair, the gag in her mouth. She'd had a cursed necklace hung around her neck, been groped and fondled by a five hundred pound blimp of a satyr, and now they were making her horny somehow. And they were making her fat and heavy and ugly like one of them, just because they were jealous!

And somehow they had made her like the taste of horse cum. At first Myshelle had thought it was merely the potions, but rather than feeding her different things, like they had done the first time, they kept pouring bucket after bucket of equine spooge into her feeding funnel.

Myshelle had thought that having a belly full of five gallons of ice cream had been bad, she wasn't sure how much buckets of stallion splooge she'd been forced to slurp down. It all seemed to blend together as she tried to force off her arousal.

The more that was forced into her the more food her body craved. It was the necklace, the stupid, cursed, enchanted necklace. It was doing this to her, making everything taste wonderful, making her belly swell and slosh.

The model couldn't even bring herself to look down. She could feel the rounded bulk of her belly push her breasts upward; she could feel the pressure against her thighs. She had begun to wiggle in her bonds, trying to somehow get some stimulation to her aching sex.

The feeding tube ran dry, the steady flow of delicious animal essence no longer pouring over Myshelle's tongue. She began to whimper, but her rational mind quickly took over and prevented the loud moan of protest from leaving her throat.

She felt so heavy, so disgustingly heavy. But it felt good. The stupid curse on the stupid necklace made it feel good. Myshelle wanted her arms free, not so she could escape, but so she could hug her bloated, cum-filled middle, and then to finger herself until her feeling of arousal went away.

The bubbling feeling returned, thankfully free of belches this time. Myshelle's curse-addled mind felt a little bit disappointed at the lost of her massive middle, but another part was thankful that she'd be going from maybe fifty pounds of weight added on, to maybe five or ten.

Cum wasn't that nutritious after all. Or at least she didn't think so. It was probably made up mostly of water, after all.

As her belly emptied, Myshelle found herself blushing. Unlike the last time the weight seemed to be adding itself to specific places, rather than generally all over her body. She could feel her breasts slowly expanding, becoming larger and heavier.

She felt a weird sort of fizzing feeling in her breasts as well, it seemed that as Kora had said, Myshelle's implant were dissolving, being replaced by actual breast tissue. In a few moments the sensation stopped and Myshelle found herself enjoying the weight of the larger breasts on her chest.

She hoped that once she escaped, or was rescued, that the increased bust size would stay behind once she worked off the excess poundage that the satyr had forced upon her. At least that way things wouldn't be all bad. Her larger breasts felt great, and Myshelle longed to have her hands free so she could squeeze them.

Unfortunately the addition to her bust stopped while she still had quite a ways to go before her belly was emptied. This time it was targeted on Myshelle's butt, hips, and thighs. She groaned as she felt her jeans grow tighter and tighter, her flesh expanding until the seams began to rip. It was almost torturous, but not from pain. Rather it was increased pressure on Myshelle's sex. Her thong seemed like it was almost digging into her. But it... mmm... it allowed her to finally get some sensation going on her aching, dripping pussy.

Myshelle closed her eyes and bucked her hips, enjoying the sensation, but longing mightily for something real to fill her, to scratch an itch where her thong couldn't reach.

But for all her effort, the most she could do was lightly pleasure herself, she was nowhere near bringing herself to climax. Mostly what she did was wear herself out.

Eventually her bucking came to an end and she could no longer keep her head up upon her neck, it kept falling down to her chest. Her position wasn't the most comfortable, but Myshelle found herself drifting off into sleep anyway.

-o-

Myshelle found herself at her photoshoot, everything all pretty and perfect. The hour or so of makeup applied to her face making it look perfect. The mascara outlining her big, beautiful blue eyes, her long red-brown hair made to look sexy and casual, but had taken a lifelong stylist to get just right. She strutted and smiled and showed off her perfect 5'10", 110 pound, gorgeously lithe frames, walking upon platformed heels, showing off the company's designer jeans and t-shirt.

She was stunning, gorgeous, and she was happy. Then all the cameras went away, the backdrops vanished, and so did the dozens of fawning attendants, and Myshelle found herself all alone in the dark.

She didn't really have any friends, it took some cutthroat tactics to get to where she was, and they would get more so in the weeks and months to come. After all there were mythic races that easily surpassed typical human beauty; nymphs and dryads and some of the elven races.

They'd already begun to creep in, and Myshelle had attended some shows with mythics, drawing all the attention away from her. If things went badly they could supplant even the most beautiful humans in mainstream fashion, leaving girls like Myshelle to model in specialty human-only magazines and such.

And she found that terribly frightening, to so easily be made obsolete. She'd put everything into her career, to be at the top, to be the best, to be regarded as one of the most beautiful women in the world.

If Myshelle lost that she wouldn't have anything. Feeling so terribly, crushingly alone and frightened, she curled up into a ball in her dream, wishing she had someone to hug.

She felt warm arms wrap embrace her, driving away the cold. Wonderful, simple human contact that sent the dream away and let Myshelle sleep easily.

She awoke to find the hug real, a softly snoring satyr holding her. Her gag and feeding tube had been removed, though she felt a great deal heavier. They must've poured something into her funnel overnight. It was a wonder she hadn't choked or drowned!

Turning her head Myshelle could see that the creature hugging her was none other than the neon-hued performer that had visited her the previous evening. Myshelle found herself reaching up and stroking the woman's hair. It seemed that the tight padded straps had been removed and replaced with bracelets on a long chain.

The two were connected through a central ring, and in order to move one up Myshelle had to move the other one down. The satyr had a smile on her face as she rested her head on the captive's shoulder, and Myshelle found herself enjoying the simple contact too much to wake her up.

Instead she leaned against her as best the chair would allow, sighing softly as she ran her fingers through the woman's soft, bright pink hair.

The pale skinned satyr was rather rounded, but she wasn't as fat as Myshelle had thought. She was built rather like a sumo wrestler, not exactly fat, but not exactly athletic either. The term 'solid' seemed to describe her build better.

Myshelle could feel muscle beneath the satyr's smooth skin. She was rather pretty, actually. Thinking back to the times she'd seen the satyr with her makeup fully done and her hair styled, she'd actually been rather stunning.

For an overweight shemale satyr, anyway; but for some reason Myshelle didn't find the thought of male parts on an otherwise female body as repugnant as she had the previous day. In fact if her arousal went like it had the previous day, she might actually enjoy having the big, thick horse cock inside of her.

The thought shocked her, not because of what it was, but of how easily it came to her. If they were going to pump her full of cum again, they might as well stop tormenting her and actually put something in her sex.

The more thought about horse cock, the more her body began to ache with need again, and there was a good deal more of it to ache than there had been previously.

Myshelle was sure she was about half again as heavy as she had been when she had gone to sleep. She looked... nice, actually. It wasn't just 60 pounds of pudge packed onto her typical 110 pound frame, but the additional muscle required to effortlessly cart around her new bulk.

Though a lot of it seemed to have been packed onto her tits and ass. But again, that weight felt strangely good, the chair was more comfortable, for one thing, and Myshelle loved the addition to the general feel of her breasts. She sighed happily and moved her hand from the satyr's cheek to her breast. It felt so nice to squeeze, not a little hard and stiff like the implants had been. Plus they seemed more sensitive, probably because of the necklace. Myshelle had always wanted bigger tits, but if she'd gotten implants any bigger they'd have looked obviously fake on her lithe body.

She moaned softly as she continued to fondle herself, feeling the heat in her loins spiking. Her eyes went wide as the captive suddenly realized what she was doing. Her skin turned a deep red with an incredible blush.

It had to be the necklace, or the potions, or something. But somehow, in some way, Myshelle found parts of herself enjoying her captivity, and it terrified her. She shuddered, wondering if the strange alterations to her mind would continue until she was another fat shemale satyr, fucking horses and shaking her blubbery body on stage for weirdoes that liked that sort of thing.

She began to sob when she felt her arousal rising once more at the very thought of horse fucking and shemale satyr cocks. It wasn't fair, making her crave a cock and then not provide one.

Her soft sounds of sorrow awoke the satyr sleeping at her side. She yawned and stretched, and then hugged Myshelle all the tighter.

"Mmm... another bad dream? I came down to get a snack last night and heard you crying while you slept. You don't need to be scared of what isn't real." The satyr said, moving around and slipping her hooves through the gaps between chair and armrest, sitting in Myshelle's lap.

The captive wasn't squished like she expected to be. As the satyr's arms wrapped around her, pushing her into her plentiful, pale chest and tummy, Myshelle found herself relaxing, her tears drying up.

She hugged the satyr back as best she could, enjoying the feeling of the soft, short fur on the woman's legs and loins as they brushed up against the bare skin of Myshelle's tummy. She craved contact like this, someone to hug her when she was feeling sad or upset. But she couldn't trust anybody; they might be after her for her celebrity, or her money, or just as a trophy, rather than as a person.

The satyr coaxed Myshelle's head back, leaning down and planting a gentle kiss on her lips, "Sssh, there there. Just let Melissa kiss it and make it better." She said, giving another delicate kiss.

The kisses felt so gentle, so sweet and tender, it made Myshelle long for more. Her curse-confused mind and body longed for more.

"I... I'm Myshelle." She said softly, shyly.

Melissa giggled, "Cute name. I like it, and I like you." She said, stroking Myshelle's hair much as the model had done earlier while the satyr was sleeping.

"I can see that there's a nice, sweet person inside of you just yearning to get out. I know that if things went differently in your life you wouldn't be so grouchy and snarly. You don't like being a bitch all the time, do you?" she asked, her tone meaning it as a question, and not an insult.

Myshelle shook her head, "N-no, I don't want to be a bitch all the time. But it... it's so hard to do what I do all day, every day. I wish I wasn't alone all the time, but I... I can't really take a boyfriend who's interested in the real me, now can I?" She sighed, "If I'm not on the cover, I'm at least in the pages of at least one magazine on ever newsstand in every gas station on this side of the country. I'll never find anyone who doesn't treat me like a piece of meat, or a piggybank, or a fashion accessory."

Myshelle thought she was about to cry again, but the long tongue in her mouth, gently tickling her palate made her moan softly instead. It was unlike anything she'd every experienced before.

She wasn't sure if it was an effect of the necklace or something natural to the satyr, but Melissa's saliva tasted so sweet, so delicious, almost as good as the horse cum had.

Myshelle gleefully and hungrily suckled upon Melissa's tongue, the woman's hands petting her, stroking her, giving her gentle, loving touches meant to comfort, not to arouse. Though the warm, heavy presence in Myshelle's lap also had that effect.

The captive longed for sex, but the cuddling was nice, the cuddling dulled the ache down to a low throb. She clung to the satyr until she felt a new warmth between the two of them.

A soft moan escaped Melissa's lips as her cock stirred to morning hardness. Its presence on Myshelle's belly and breasts made cuddling rather difficult, as it moved both of them to desire something more.

With a blush the satyr pulled away, leaving Myshelle's front and lap feeling uncomfortably cool after several minutes with her sweet, warm presence.

"Breakfast is still a ways off." Melissa said wistfully, the thought of food making Myshelle sigh as well, "But we can have a little fun before breakfast. Would you like me to dance for you?"

"I... I... I..." Myshelle stuttered, blushing and lowering her gaze, "I think I'd like that." She said softly.

Melissa flicked her hair back behind her head and turned, the blue tips of her otherwise pink tail tickling Myshelle's face as she spun. The satyr lowered herself, putting a portion of her weight in Myshelle's lap, but keeping most of it on her hooves.

She shook her hips from side to side, bobbing her body from side to side, one arm slowly journeying up her side. Once that arm reached the top, she repeated the movement with the other, then dropped them down quickly.

Melissa placed both hands atop her breasts, running down over them, giving a light squeeze, tracing over her rounded middle and giving a squeeze there as well. Her hands spread out, going to her hips, prompting Melissa to stand and give a shake with hands on her hips, turning around.

Her hands moved down further, between her legs, cupping her balls, stroking up over her long, thick, equine member. A thick drop of precum hand formed upon it, and Myshelle leaned down to lick it, but the restraints on the chair got in the way. She found herself breathing heavily, unable to tear her eyes away from the dancing satyr.

She reversed the movements, running her hands down her shaft, over her balls, back to her hips, up her belly, and to her breasts, leaning forward with them held inches from Myshelle's face.

Melissa turned, her tush in Myshelle's lap once more, starting it all over again. It was wondrous, so beautiful and sexy to watch. She was obviously enjoying herself while she danced, and seeing her plentiful body jiggle, feeling it rubbing against her, Myshelle began to understand why people visited the Amorous Satyr.

Her breaths came faster and faster, somehow the satyr managed to pleasure her without providing anything but some small touches. Likely it was something magical, the reason why satyrs in mythology could somehow get laid despite being drunken louts, fond of baser pleasures and dancing.

Myshelle's eye widened at that thought; more magic was being used on her. She was being seduced and fucked by the spell of Melissa's dance. With a blush she realized she loved it, and if it felt like this, she would probably have eagerly paid for something like this.

The captive moaned loudly, bucking her hips in the chair, grinding against Melissa, who only grinned and pushed back a bit harder.

Myshelle felt strange as she approached climax, the lips of her sex felt puffy and swollen against the fabric of her thong and exceptionally tight jeans. With a hard thrust against Melissa's rump, the model felt herself erupt.

And erupt was indeed the word for it. It was like a blockage had broken away inside of her and a massive torrent of cum burst for from her. It made a wet, splattering sound as it encounter her jeans, but the denim wasn't enough to contain the flood, it poured through the fabric, making a huge puddle beneath Myshelle's feet.

And it wouldn't stop; the thick whiteness just kept pouring out of her, turning Myshelle's moan into a cry of purest pleasure. She gripped her chains, pulling herself up from the chair, bending her back in order to thrust as hard as she could, thick, hot, sticky cum pouring from her at an incredible rate.

It was only then that she recalled Mi... Kora's words from the previous night, about how she couldn't excrete, and that the excess would be expelled in a 'fun' way.

Myshelle couldn't judge how long her orgasm went on for, each pulse of cum seemed to spew from her with the same intense force as the first. She felt the goo rise up to the level of her toes, and she couldn't help but wiggle them, making them squelch in the mess.

Eventually Myshelle slumped back into the chair, a wet splotching sound accompanying her when she did so. She hung her head, out of breath and exhausted from the ordeal.

It was then that her gaze looked downward, seeing all the thick whiteness upon the floor. It wasn't clear like the usual fluids she expelled during sex. She looked to her groin, and spread her legs.

She saw a... bulge between her legs, something pushed several inches out of her. Her eyes widened, "Oh no! No! Fuck no!" she whimpered.

Melissa seemed to be coming down off her own orgasmic high, turning around as she heard Myshelle's cry.

"What? What is it?" she asked.

"Take my pants off, take them off now!" Myshelle demanded, "I need to see! I need to know what's happening to me!"

Melissa did as she was told, digging her fingers into the torn seems, ripping Myshelle's strained pants and thong away. The model gasped in horror at what she saw. Her netherlips looked swollen and puffy, but they had grown thicker, along with her clit. Her vaginal opening was smaller, scarcely half the size it was before. The whole collection was pushed out perhaps two or three inches, looking like it was beginning to transform into a thick, bestial member.

"Oh fuck!" Myshelle cried, "Oh fuck! I'm growing a dick! I'm g-g-g..."

She bent double, or tried to as she gagged, dry heaving in disgust and panick.

"Stop it! Please make it stop! Please change... hurk!" her stomach muscles tightened painfully. Her empty belly tried to expel contents that it did not have, and it hurt.

"Please change me back!" Myshelle whimpered, gulping air, tears streaking down her face.

Until this point, until seeing a part of her body altered and twisted, on the route to becoming something else, Myshelle hadn't been particularly worried. Extra weight could be exercised, dieted, or surgically removed. But this? Having the very center of her womanhood transforming into something alien to her gender and to her species?

The captive shuddered and heaved again. This was a permanent disfigurement, even if the change stopped where it was, she'd never be able to model a bikini bottom ever again. She wasn't going to escape, and despite her thoughts the previous evening, she wasn't going to be rescued.

She hadn't told anyone where she was, she didn't wear a cell phone or a beeper or anything that could be tracked down. It would be days before she was reported missing, and it would take forever for someone to find her car.

By then it would be too late, Myshelle would be transformed into whatever Kora wanted her to be.

She sobbed loudly, sucking in a deep breath that only came out with another retch. "You're making me into a monster!" Myshelle howled, trying to squirm away when Melissa hugged her tight.

"No, Myshelle, right now you're turning into one of us. You're going to see what it's like to be something that you insulted, something that Mistress Kora saw that deep down in your heart that you hated." Melissa said.

The satyr crammed two fingers into Myshelle's warped genital slit, and forced them into Myshelle's mouth.

"No food, no water, just plain 'ol you is going into this. How does it taste?" she said, softly, sadly.

Myshelle grimaced and spat, trying to clear her tongue of the foul taste. She was silent for a few moments, turning her head away, "...b-bitter..." she said, barely audible.

"What was that?" Melissa asked, moving her hand down as if to repeat the action.

"Bitter!" Myshelle howled, "I taste bitter! Horrible, disgusting, and bitter!"

The satyr knelt, looking Myshelle in the eye, her own eyes weren't full of anger or hatred, but of concern, of kindness, and of pity. "And how do I taste?" Melissa asked, her tongue trailing over the captive's lips, Myshelle's tongue following a moment later.

"Sweet. Wonderful. Delicious." Myshelle sobbed. She shuddered as she felt her lust rising again, her proto-penis-like vagina throbbing, dripping as precum flushed her system, dripping down onto the chair.

"I... I don't want to do this. I don't want to be a shemale. Please... please... you've done enough. I'll treat people better, I won't insult people, I'll do whatever you want. Please, just don't make me into something else. I don't want to be a slave here." She said, sniffling.

"Sweetie," Melissa said, stroking Myshelle's cheek, "We're not slaves. All the girls stay here because we want to. We're all like this because we love the way it feels. What are you afraid of? Being changed? Or being changed and loving it?"

The satyr ran her hands over Myshelle's chubby tummy, gripping her wider hips, "There's a big part of you that enjoys the hefty you, isn't there?" she asked, hugging the captive.

"Mmmhmm." Myshelle said softly, pressing her head against Melissa's chest.

"Then accept it. Love it. Embrace it. Enjoy being someone and something different. Mistress Kora doesn't turn people into something they hate and have them stuck that way forever just because of a few hasty words."

The sweet, beautiful satyr's closeness made Myshelle's proto-cock throb, filling her with arching desire. She couldn't help herself as she began to lick at a nipple, hoping to coax Melissa into something that would get rid of that painful ache and growing emptiness inside of her.

"This is meant to be a punishment, so there are going to be some uncomfortable aspects. But look at it in another light; this is a chance for a vacation. A vacation from yourself. You can be someone else for awhile, just enjoy it, and when Mistress Kora feels satisfied that you've learned your lesson, she has a potion you can drink that will zap you right back to your old scrawny self the moment you take that pendant off."

Melissa ran a finger over Myshelle's chains, she felt the clamps on her ankles change, becoming shackles, rather than fastening her to the chair. The chain binding her wrists shortened, but it was also no longer connected to anything. A metal collar and chain leash appeared out of thin air, fastening around Myshelle's neck.

"Would you like to be sweet inside?" Melissa asked, standing up and giving a gentle tug on the leash, making Myshelle stand as well. Her shoes were unsteady on the cum-slicked floor, so she kicked them off, her thicker calves having broken the straps as they'd grown while she slept.

"Y-yes." Myshelle admitted, shyly.

Melissa smiled and sat down in the chair, she looked at the thick trickle of fluid down Myshelle's thighs, the expelling of the leftover fluids from the foods she'd eaten translating arousal into a slow, oozing torrent from her half-gendered sex.

"Don't listen to what Myshelle wants, she's vile, nasty, and underfed. Listen to what the new you is telling you, sweet, sexy, sensual, kind, caring, loving, eager to help others. What is the new you asking for? What does the pleasantly plump shemale satyr inside want?" Melissa asked, lifting a hoofed foot and rubbing its smooth, shiny, deep navy surface over Myshelle's hybrid folds.

Myshelle closed her eyes, picturing herself like Melissa, like Kora, like the other girls in the club. She licked her lips at the image, feeling her mouth and pussy watering at the thought of...

"Cock. She wants cock, Melissa." Myshelle admitted.

"As the newest girl, you'd call all your sisters Mistress until you got permission otherwise. Understand?"

"Yes, Mistress Melissa." Myshelle said softly, her loins tightening, giving her a twinge of pleasure as she spoke the words.

"Is there anything that your shemale satyr self would have that your skinny human self wouldn't? Something that would make the old Myshelle feel jealous?"

Myshelle thought for a moment, moaning softly as her body seemed to reward the answer she came up with before she spoke, "Love, mistress." She said, "If Mistress Kora does this to people who insult you, and if the other satyrs are as nice as you, and we're all sisters, then..."

She snuffled softly, "Then she would be loved."

Melissa smiled and hugged the transforming human, "And if your new self wanted cock and wanted pleasure and wanted to show her big sister how much she loved her, what would she do?"

Myshelle blushed and turned, without a moment's hesitation lowering herself onto all twenty-some inches of Melissa's equine shaft, crying out with delight as it entered her rump with ease.

Myshelle moaned, eyes half-lidded, "Wh-why does this feel so good?" she asked, twisting herself from side to side with small motions, wanting to work every last millimeter of Melissa's shaft into her.

"Satyrs are innately sexual beings, so sex feels good. Sex almost always feels good." Melissa explained, wrapping her arms around the model's middle, hugging her tightly.

"And sex with someone who isn't a satyr, or isn't fully a satyr, is the best sex we can have, and the best sex we can give. It's magical, literally. Think about how good I made you feel just from giving you a lapdace." The satyr said, one hand moving down, slipping two fingers into the narrowing slit in the tip, her thumb and pinkie encircling the 4 inch long base.

Myshelle leaned back against Melissa, but something felt wrong, getting in the way of her full enjoyment. She looked back to Melissa, who grinned and ran a pink-paint fingernail over the stained silk blouse that still clung to Myshelle's frame. It fell away into fragments of thread and dust.

The captive found herself crying once more, not of fear, fright, or sorrow, but simply because she felt so good. She blushed, shamed for feeling as she did. The most wonderful sex of her life was coming from a plump shemale satyr while she has bound, shackled, and held hostage.

She shouldn't be enjoying it. She'd just willingly taken the cock of one of her captors inside her, taken it with absolute glee. Yesterday Myshelle would have screamed and struggled with an equine shaft in her ass, she would've probably felt a little bit ill at the thought of being plowed by an inhumane shemale.

But Melissa felt so soft, so cuddly against her. Her bulk was comforting, it made Myshelle feel safe and secure. She had no idea if the choice had been her own, or if the necklace had something to do with it.

She knew that she should be trying to escape, to fight back, to flee. Not embracing the changes, not enjoying what they were doing to her, not even a little bit.

But what Melissa said made sense. There would be some things that she didn't like, that she found repulsive or disgusting, things that were sickening and illegal, but... they seemed like so much fun.

She'd enjoyed guzzling horse cum; she liked the heavy, bulky feeling of her two hundred pound frame, she absolutely loved her large, implant-free breasts, she loved the feeling of a nice fat stallion cock in her ass, and...

Myshelle moaned as Melissa pulled her fingers from the slit in what was rapidly becoming an equine cock; the opening had grown too narrow to comfortably accommodate them. She replaced them with a single finger. The sensation of having her proto-cock fingered and jerked off was tremendous. The lapdace had been nothing compared to this.

She was starting to like the idea of being a shemale as well. The four inch long, three inches thick organ between her legs felt wonderful as it was fingered and stroked. Myshelle wondered what it would feel like fully grown, two feet of sweet stallion length between her legs, and those heavy, delicious balls.

The captive found herself nearly drooling at the thought. It was a ghastly, hideous perversion, a human woman craving animal cock, and the wrongness of it, the strangeness of it, the humiliation, the shame; it all excited her even more. She shouldn't be turned on by the thought of becoming a fat, cocked, mythical creature, but she was turned on, oh fuck was she ever turned on.

The sound of the door hinges squeaking made Myshelle open her eyes just in time to see the nude form of Kora striding into the room. The satyr leader with her hair and tail already groomed and makeup applied, but the latex corset, skirt, gloves, and boots Myshelle had seen her in the previous evening were gone, exposing every inch of corpulent frame.

She smiled at the sight of Myshelle being fucked, "Mmm... I see you're making new friends, my pet." She said, her purple nailed hand reaching down, beginning to stroke her member.

Myshelle blushed, turning away, only to have Kora gently take hold of her chin, turning the captive to face her, "Having fun?" Kora asked, her puffy, purple tinted lips tantalizingly close.

The captive couldn't help it, rather than give an answer she leaned forward, and hungrily kissed her captor, the cause of her alteration. The satyr returned the kiss with equal hunger, lust blazing in her eyes.

"You love it, don't you?" Kora taunted, gripping Myshelle's hair in her hand, not hard, meant more to coax than to force. She tugged the model's head downward, bringing it down to her cock.

"Suck it, pet," she panted, still stroking the equine length. It was bigger than Melissa's, noticeably wider, and perhaps a few inches longer. Myshelle's mouth watered and without hesitation her lips parted, somehow managing to get them around the five and a half inch flair of Kora's fat horsecock.

The lead satyr pushed Myshelle's head down, letting inch after inch of her impressive, bestial length slide between her pet's lips and down her throat. Myshelle kept waiting to gag, to choke, to find it difficult to breathe. But somehow, be it the necklace or the natural ability of the satyr to fit within any lover, she managed to take half the length into her, her tongue meeting the medial ring around her mistress's shaft.

The thought entered her mind and Myshelle did nothing to shoo it away. Though she was bound and though she had been taken against her will she wasn't really a captive anymore. She wanted to stay, for a little while at least, to accept her punishment and take what delights she could out of it.

She'd loved being fed, she loved feeling weight on her formally frail frame, she loved the feeling of her growing cock, and above all she loved the feeling of huge equine shafts stuffed into her wherever they would fit.

The feeling of being sandwiched between two bulky shemale satyrs was also delightful. They were so soft and squishy, fun to cuddle. Myshelle wondered if they slept with several in a bed, to snuggle up to one another in the night, to have someone to help deal with your morning wood when you awoke.

It would be fun being a satyr, living a carefree live of love and lust, not merely for sex but for food, for drink, for affection. The lifestyle of the girls at the Amorous Satyr was a seductive parallel to her own career. In the end both the satyrs and Myshelle showed off their bodies for a living, but while the girls didn't have fame, they had lives filled with more pleasures than Myshelle had ever imagined.

She felt so strange, so confused, each moment she spent inside the club, the more she wanted to stay forever. Her two forced meals had been delicious, the feeling of Melissa's cock in her ass was better than any mundane masculine lover she'd ever had, she couldn't even imagine what it would feel like to perform the act on someone else. A cute human girl dressed in a schoolgirl uniform, bending down to pick something up, showing her panties, just a quick tug and a thrust and... and...

Myshelle's cries of pleasure were muffled by Kora's cock as her body seemed transformed into a geyser for a moment; it felt like everything from tits to thighs was one big erogenous zone. As hot, sweet satyr seed poured into her ass and down her throat Myshelle found herself not only cumming with the long, plentiful, powerful gushes from her proto-cock, but also with streams of milk from her tits.

The warmth within her seemed to vanish almost immediately as it came, and Myshelle found the torrent of cum narrowing, becoming a stream, the steady flow instead becoming jets. Melissa's hand wrapped around the pet's growing length, which became a little bit larger with each jet of cum that spewed from the tip.

The satyr-in-training had a proper cock now, though short and squat. Six inches of length, though just as thick as Melissa's, even with a proper equine flare. As the neon-goth satyr stroked her, Myshelle's manhood continued to grow, longer and longer, doubling its former length in a few minutes.

Kora withdrew her cock from Myshelle, an audible pop heard as the new satyr's hungry lips were reluctantly parted from her mistress's member. Kora grinned, snapping her fingers, making everything but Myshelle's collar and leash disappear.

"I don't think you need those anymore, hun." Kora said, planting a kiss atop Myshelle's head as she continued to gush cum and milk. The satyr didn't mind the mess upon her fur and hooves at all. If the pet had been able to pull herself up, she would've hugged Kora.

"Once you two are done in here, wash up before breakfast. You especially, Melissa; you have a bad habit of showing up to eat absolutely filthy." Kora scolded.

Melissa only grinned, "Motzenger's Syndrome, Mistress Kora, you know that."

The lead satyr laughed and left the two to cuddle as Myshelle continued to rid herself of the unused portions of the meals she'd consumed.

She finally managed to sit up, leaning back against Melissa, the neon satyr helping to coax milk and seed from the rapidly-becoming-not-human. Myshelle couldn't make herself form words, only soft, bestial sounds of pleasure. She found herself crying once more as Melissa planted a kiss upon her neck, her chubby fingers no longer stroking, but rubbing the smooth skin at the base of Myshelle's penis, it was strangely sensitive and malleable, and as her lover caressed it, Myshelle found it altering and changing.

It seemed to ooze up her shaft several inches, wrapping her increasingly sensitive member in loose skin, providing it with a place to go inside her body, keeping her cock warm and protected.

But what prompted her eyes to join in the expulsion of fluid, though to a lesser degree, was the growing weight she felt at he base of her shaft, the skin puffing outward as Myshelle grew real testicles. Melissa giggled and gave her lover's growing balls a gentle squeeze, making Myshelle cry out with delight, making the jets of cum surge from her all the stronger.

Myshelle wasn't quite a woman anymore, like all the other satyrs in the club she was now a sexy shemale. As the flow of fluids, and the accompanying pleasure, slowed she found herself able to think clearly again.

She reached down with her fingertips, gathering a few spoonfuls of seed, bringing it to her lips. She smiled as the sweet taste spread across her tongue, nowhere near as sweet and delicious as Melissa or Kora were, but much better than the horrible, bitter tang of her earlier juices.

With a playful giggle Melissa gave Myshelle a shove, sending her sprawling into the mess on the floor. The pet responded in kind, scooping up a handful of the milk-seed mixture and tossing it at her lover.

The two were absolutely saturated by the time they headed for the showers.