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Deep in the darkness of the Underground, many strange creatures reside, which are nightmares to those who live above. While many kobolds clink away to expand their territory, they know little of the horrors beneath their claws.

For instance, the exiled dark elves find their place in the hidden realms of the deep dark. Towering edifices hold up colossal caverns built over generations of slave labor. It is a mindbogglingly massive enormity to an outsider witnessing these marks of evil civilization.

Down in these deepest caverns, the world seems to sit still. The passage of time is an abstract concept, as the long-lived race that rules here appears to sit still, unphased by the passing of seasons and the changing of years. Their debauched world has been one of constancy and hierarchy.

But the one who sees the power in change seeks to bring it at whatever cost.

Sometimes, that cost is removing the old to make way for the new, and so on this day, much like any other day to the people of the deep dark, a new change is in order.

“What a ridiculous menagerie you've brought before me," the mistress scowls at the half-dozen humanoid creatures presented. Each is bound by chains, stripped of all clothing, and left to kneel before her might. She paces before each one, stopping one by one and using her crop to prod and poke at their bodies. “The Grand Caravan can't possibly think this is a good selection from the surface, can they?"

The gnoll trader growls, keeping a hand tightly clenched to the chains. “It would be wise of you not to badmouth your only connection to trade to the lands under the sun, elf."

She sneers. “Oh, where do you get off thinking you can talk to me like that, you cur?" She says this while standing tall, her hand on her hip, tapping her crop upon her thigh. “Don't you know who I am?"

“You're a washed-up old crone," the trader says, pulling from his sleeve a small stone. “And I have no more time to deal with you—goodbye."

The stone flashes a bright light, blinding the dark elf. She stumbles, falls onto a shelf of collars, and leashes, crashing against them.

Cursing her luck, she scrambles out of the predicament, hurling further curses toward the hyena man, only to realize that her voice echoes from uncaring walls.

She taps the floor with her boot, wiping the blurriness out of her vision. “What sorcery is this…?"

A clicking of heels behind her makes her whirl around, turning toward the entrance of this trader's room, gripping her crop tighter. “Who dares enter my domain!?"

The hooded figure's chuckle rises with a disdainful mirth to it. “Oh, this little pawn shop in the corner of a dead city is what's left of your great slaver empire, is it? What's the matter, you can't force your followers to fuck each other into breeding new stock for you anymore?" The figure kneels down and brushes dainty fingers along the ground. “Sad because that was your favorite part of the process, wasn't it? Aside from breaking their spirits, of course, eh, Miselda?"

Miselda narrows her gray eyes, tensing up at the voice before her. “What do you know of my business? Who are you? State your house and your station."

“Oh, I don't have anything of that sort," the figure chirps. “After all, such things are so old-fashioned. They are so pathetic. I'm my own woman now."

“So, you challenge me and don't even state your station? What a pathetic creature you are!" She swings her crop at the figure, aiming towards the face.

But the attack passes right through the fabric instead of striking flesh. Her hand sticks to the cloak, and while she attempts to flick it off her, a tiny spider crawls out from underneath, aiming its spinnerettes at her face.

She gasps, only to be hit with the white gunk. She drops her crop, clawing at her face, but trips again on the broken shelving, falling onto her back.

That's when the arachnid climbs up r, making quick work of her body and wrapping her up with such speed and precision that only a hunter trained over millions of years of evolution could muster.

Her struggles are futile, for she cannot breathe, but she can hear the chuckling from the figure. Where did they go? How did they disappear so fast? What magic must they know?

She doesn't know as she loses consciousness, a direct effect of the lack of breath.

—

When Miselda awakens, she is up against a wall, naked and spread-eagle and struggling under the thick and sticky silk that squishes up against her body. But her face is clear, and so is her vision, and before her, she sees The figure who had assaulted her.

She wears high heels and a white cape that billows from her revealing and gender-affirming outfit. Her hair is red, complete, and voluminous, billowing down to her shoulders, and her black and blood-red eyes stare like an insectoid horror, happy to find its prize.

Miselda frowns as she sees this woman, her eyes glancing down, seeing that between her legs t, here hangs a cock, accessible to the air, unashamed of its appearance. The slaver frowns, though something sparks into her eyes when she looks back at the woman.

“Who… are you…?"

“Don't recognize me?" she asks, shaking her head. “Of course you wouldn't. You don't very much care for the discarded dregs of your slave pits, do you? You just chew and spit them out when you're done, leaving them to dissolve, fester, and grow moldy."

The mysterious elf approaches the slaver, bringing a finger over her cheek and down her jaw. “But, sometimes, one spits out something delicious, completely wasting what they could have been. I must thank you—your treatment of me created the great Zozafina."

Miselda's eyes widen. “Y… you? You're the dark queen. You're--"

Zozafina silences Miselda by placing her finger on the slaver's lip. “Tut, tut, dearest Miselda. There's a stand and a place for kissing up to me. Sadly for you, that time shall never come. I require something else from you. Namely, a bit of house cleaning. Do you think someone down on your luck could bring herself to be helpful to someone like me?"

She slips her finger away.

“B..but of course, but oh great, Zozafina, I am afraid I don't recall ever meeting with you before. After all, you are such a powerful and wonderful being. Radiant and amazing!"

“Such flattery, but not from you, no, we can't have that," Zozafina says. “You couldn't have given any succor to a poor, defenseless boy who came under your employ, could you?"

The slaver's brows furrow, and she gulps and speaks up after a long pause. “Z…. Zoster…?"

A gloved hand rewards her word with a firm slap across the cheek.

“You shall address me by my true name, you cur!" Zozafina spits, the dark elf sorceress looming over the slaver, burning hate into her eyes.

Miselda's face remains slammed to the side, her cheek stinging, the indignity burning through her whole body. She grits her teeth, shooting her burning glare at the Dark Queen. “You're a cheater and a fraud…" she growls. “I would have never thought that such a lowly slave would ever rise to the top of our society. Let alone a male."

Zozafina's rage changes. She rolls her shoulders back, her hands behind her, tapping her heel against the ground, clicking her tongue. “That's alright. You are simply of the old guard. I cannot blame you for your ignorance. But, thank you for helping me make it to my ascension."

The sorceress's eyes glow an excellent crimson, splitting and forming into multiple orbs as her mouth opens. Large mandibles emerge from within her until her face takes on a terrifying arachnoid countenance, her fangs dripping with saliva and venom.

Miselda struggles against her bonds, but it is no use, for those fangs bury themselves deep into her throat, seizing her breath. Her eyes roll back, and her body seizes up as hot venom rushes through her.

When Zozafina pulls back, her face returns to its beautiful yet merciless humanoid countenance. She licks her lips, her gaze lingering on the twitching form before her.

But that's all Miselda remembers before she falls, falling, landing now with a thump onto the sand, naked and quite afraid but free from the webs.

She scrambles to her feet, swishing about this way and that until her vision reveals the empty area. Her room, with seats once filled with many spectators, is now empty, leaving her all alone.

With a blast of purple fire, the dread sorceress appears, sitting upon a stone throne hewn by dwarven servants many centuries ago. She leans back with one leg crossed over the other, leaning her head upon a scepter streaked with black and purple.

“Welcome, oh great slaver, Miselda," she intones, “to a place I'm sure you recognize."

Miselda shakes her fist at the gloating sorceress. “Why'd you bring me here? Is this how you plan to thank me?"

Zozafina giggles. “Oh, but of course. Why not bring you to the place where it all began? Here, where you took some elven youths and forced them into humiliation upon humiliation, mutilation upon depredation, and so many things that I need not repeat."

“So, this is you gloating over me? Well, if you're going to turn me into a servitor or kill me, do it now and get on with your life!"

Zozafina stands, leaning over her staff, her black-painted lips quirking into a sadistic grin. “Oh, but we can't end your suffering just yet. We have to finish up this little reunion."

“What are you blabbering about?" the slaver scoffs, hands wrapped under her breasts.

“A young, unawakened Zozafina, before she had learned of her true self and the might that feminity can impart about her, was not the only one thrown into your pit of shame. You recall, do you not, another servant who had joined me in these ranks?"

Miselda snorts. “Yeah, a worthless wretch. I remember how much she screamed for mercy when we had you exact your male, heh, dominance upon her. What a pathetic waste of flesh!"

Zozafina giggles gently. “Oh, but that's where you're wrong."

The sand around Miselda's feet shifts, the slaver stepping through the loosened earth as she slowly sinks, fighting against its pull. She falls onto her face, climbing, struggling to pull herself from the sinking and shaking mass.

“When you are the new Dark Mistress of Transformation," Zozafina says, hand on her hip, flicking her hair back. “Then no flesh is wasted.

A rumbling gets louder through the darkened end arena, through the edge of Miselda's vision. She sees the dark form, vast and imposing, slowly take shape. She cl desperately through the sand, slowly progressing toward Zozafina and away from the horror hidden by the shadows.

“I must admit that I feel a little bad for my former fallen servitor," Zozafina laments, lifting up her scepter and pointing down the path beyond the dark. “But I doubt she feels anything anymore except the more primal urges left to her."

The slaver claws through the sand, yelping as something sharp cuts at her side. On instinct, she grabs her side, hissing at the searing pain that comes with it.

With another rumble, a long, clawed appendage slams into the dirt behind her, grasping the sand, excavating it, and forcing her to tumble back into the newly made hole.

Next that appears is a long muzzle, covered in slime, its lips curled back, teeth either removed or never exiled. It growls through its dripping saliva, scooting on useless legs ever closer to the trapped Miselda. Its eyeless visage sniffs the air close to its target, tentacles falling off it like long strands of hair. These terminate in long feelers that slap the ground in a gross parody of thalassic life.

Miselda swims up through the sand, grabbing onto more rigid, more compacted soil and pulling herself up from the terrible trap, scrambling to her feet and clutching at her bleeding side.

“Oh, you managed to free yourself, have you? That's good. I was hoping you'd show off that superiority you claim to have. Remind me—why exactly were you so much better than the likes of me or my friend here?"

Spitting sand out of her mouth, Miselda stumbles and scrambles as much as she can before a second-hand reaches out from the darkness behind the monstrous mass and slams down right where she stands!

The dark elf jumps out of the way, glaring hate at Zozafina, her hands moving in the incantations of magic natural to her profession. As she's making the motions to cast a spell, she doesn't account for the flailing tentacles, working in tandem and lashing out at her, striking her naked flesh and sending her flying!

Miselda crashes into the wall beneath Zozafina, cracking the ancient stone with the impact. She groans as she slides off it, crumpling to the dirt.

“Behold the power of the female form. Isn't it brilliant? Isn't it much more impressive than the male?"

Zozafina hops off from her perch, floating down effortlessly, her cape and hair billowing. When she lands on the sand by Miselda's face, she glares at the broken creature before her. “I thought like that, too. Because you and your kind threw the idea at me, forced me to believe it. Made me wish I was something I wasn't. How foolish."

The slaver grabs Zozafina's boot, but the sorceress sighs and points a finger at her, shooting a ray that zaps her hand. Miselda yelps and curls up.

“My dear companion," the sorceress says, snapping her fingers. This sound turns the monster's attention back toward them. “Please deal with this creature hastily. I have a lunch date that I wish to keep, but I don't want to miss the show."

“S… show…?"

Miselda's question is answered quickly when the tentacles whip around her, wrapping around her wrists and pulling her to her knees. Another tentacle wraps around her neck, yanking her to stare face-to-face with Zozafina.

The sorceress licks her lips and puckers them. “Goodbye, Miselda. In a century, no one will remember your name."

With a yank, the monster pulls the dark elf up to its maw, its mouth wide and gummy, muscles wriggling and dripping with saliva. Miselda kicks and screams as she flies toward it, viewing the creature head-on as she's shoved toward that quivering gullet.

Soon, she's stuffed into that maw, halfway filled into it, her legs kicking ineffectually as she's surrounded by the darkness of the constructing throat holding her down.

The great peddler of flesh finds herself bound around the warm flesh of one of the many beings she had subjugated to the dark and terrible life she had chosen for them, trapped with no escape and only a view of a dark and depressing but short existence.

The tentacles let go of her upper body as they moved to her lower, wrapping around her thighs and pushing her in. The creature tilts its throat back, groaning in a mixture of the delight of the taste mixed with the catharsis of revenge. It pushes her down by her thighs, its giant arms sloshing up alongside her body, pressing up between her, tickling at her womanhood as it slides her further and further within.

Inside, she thrashes about, punching and squirming, but the creature's body does not yield to her despite being so tight and warm. It coats her in a layer of its digestive juices, making her slip much more quickly. Even so, the monster has to gulp and swallow multiple times, punching at her sex before she gets sloshed down within it to her knees. At that point, it is only a matter of a quick slurp before she disappears forever into the beast's gullet.

“Well, I don't know what I was expecting," Zozafina says, shrugging as she looks toward the satisfied creature. “But that was much less entertaining than I wanted."

The beast groans and grumbles, rolling onto its side.

“Oh, you want to be a good girl and be turned into something far less grotesque?" she asks. “I'm sure I can think of something for you," she says, stepping closer to her. “But we're not done quite yet." She coos, petting the beast on her belly. “My dear friend, you were and could be a beauty most deadly." She presses a kiss to its stomach, nuzzling against it, rubbing the rubbery flesh and nuzzling.

A kick hits Zozafina, sending her stepping back. “Oh my, she's still fighting! No wonder you have a tummy ache!" She claps her hands together. “Don't worry. In a few moments, she won't even know what hit her!"

The dark witch slaps her hands against the beast's sides, magical energy pouring into it. “Now, then, help your mistress make it to the surface. For today, I take what's mine in Anteronia!"

________________

The City of Anteronia is where love abounds in all its forms. To some, that is an excellent gift of openness and delight. To others, it is a wretched cesspit of the most depraved sorts of actions.

For many who aren't familiar with the everyday goings-on of the town, the eruption of a giant worm from the middle of the street would be unprecedented and terrifying. For the average Anteronian, it is just another example of the strangeness attracted to this beautiful yet sinful city.

The worm sends cobblestone and concrete this way and that as it breaks through. Carriage and cart veer out of the way as citizens screech, scream, and run toward areas of relative safety, though what safety can be had is questionable.

The massive monster rolls out its tongue, letting the muscle slap wetly upon the undisturbed pavement beyond its emergence point. Though it is not unpleasant, it bellows hot, humid air from its gullet.

The onlookers who had not run from the terror watched in awe and morbid curiosity as Zozafina stepped out from the massive monster's mouth, her shoulders draped in a white cloak, her heels no doubt poking at the creature's flesh. Despite having emerged from its moist gullet, she is untouched by digestive juices and other effluvia. She is pristine, dry, and proper.

Once outside her mode of transportation, Zozafina stomps on that tongue, ushering forth a wave of magical energy that spreads throughout the monster.

It groans, shudders, and shrinks, shriveling until it becomes nothing more than a small snake. She reaches down for the serpent, which slithers up her arm and drapes itself over her shoulders, giving her quite a regal look.

The people murmur and watch the display, each enraptured and afraid to move away. This gives the dark elf sorceress an audience to which she can proclaim.

“I'm looking for Innocence Street. Grant me the directions there, you pathetic little ants!"

As soon as she speaks, a pink light shoots out from a nearby alley. She deftly dodges it, twirling around to face the would-be assassins with practiced ease.

Standing in that alleyway is a human woman dressed in a pink jacket and skirt. The heart motif on her is apparent everywhere, even in her pink hair and heart-shaped eyes. She holds a shield before her, sharing that motif with the rest of her.

Seeing this newcomer, Zozafina can only smile and cover her lip with a polite hand. “Oh, my, if it isn't Magical Girl Purity, come to see me once more!"

Purity blinks, holding up her stance. “I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, you invader! Who are you, and what have you planned for my fair city?"

“Oh my, oh my," the sorceress tuts. “Do you have such a short memory as to forget the Tournament of Pleasure? How unfortunate you don't recognize one of your fellow champions."

Purity furrows her brow. “I don't… remember all the details," she admits."

“Well, isn't that fascinating?" Zozafina says, “But I'm not here to study your amnesia. I'm here because I have a significant date and do not want to be late. Now, run along and play hero with some gigantic beast."

Zozafina turns and slowly walks off down the road—any direction will do in this situation, of course, but stops when the magical girl calls out to her.

“Wait!"

She sighs, closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and then turns around, offering a practiced smile.

“This interruption had better be important, girl."

“You're that woman who got eaten by the Naga champion, Chanda!"

Zozafina's lip twitches. “Yes, it seems your memory is more intact than you realized. How good for you."

“Why?"

“Excuse you?"

“Why would you throw away a win like that? You basically demanded he'd devour you."

“Yes, that's right," she says, stroking the snake on her shoulder. “I had my fill with the fights and wished to experience something he was afraid to show the world. Many hesitate to show our true selves to the public, and we die masked. How unfortunate, don't you think?"

Purity lowers her shield. “I think I can understand that. So, you're really not here to cause trouble?"

“None at all," the sorceress says, reaching under her cape and tossing a bag of coins. “I can pay for the damages, so you don't have to worry your pretty little head over it."

Purity frowns, her feet shifting.

Zozafina's smile widens, scooping up her serpentine companion. “You know, if you're so curious what it's like… maybe you should have a little fun yourself."

“I… what?"

The sorceress tosses the snake, which flies through the air, growing and shifting. It doesn't reach the towering heights of its previous worm form. It becomes massive for a member of its species, taking on a size that dwarfs the magical girl standing before it. Its upper half loses its scales, flaking off until a soft, alabaster skin remains beneath. Arms emerge, unfurling from large breasts. Its hair is slick and sticking to its head, covering one eye. The other is predatory, gleaming in Purity's direction. It's smooth, open, and wide, with a hungry and sadistic grin.

“You came here looking for a monster to fight. Then go ahead. My pet needs a little exercise to work off her previous meal. Dealing with you should be a great way to burn off those extra calories from earlier."

The snake woman lunges at Purity, grabbing the magical girl by the shoulders and pinning her to the ground. Her breasts smush against Purity's face, keeping her from seeing her surroundings. The defender kicks and squirms underneath that massive body.

“That's a good girl," the mistress of transformation coos, turning back toward the crowd and scanning over all the people there. “So, who will tell me how to get to Innocense Street?"

One of the bystanders bows his head before her and asks, “Oh, powerful Zozafina—what use do you have for that road?"

“Why, my good sir," she coos. “I must head there, for I have an appointment at Baker's Bakery."

Purity did not see her day ending up like this. The disorientation of being asked questions about the Tournament let the magical girl put her guard down. Something about that event is so fuzzy to her—as if it were nothing more than a dream, yet some talk about it with such clarity.

For a hero who has so much to think about, putting that into her mind is just too much to handle. But being forced to confront the reality of this anomalous set of recollections has gotten her pinned down under a massive pair of tits.

The snake woman looms over her, rolling out a long tongue, sliding that forked thing over her head and hair, lapping at her brow in an animalistic taste.

The magical girl squirms and pops her head free from those massive melons, her chin resting on the snake woman's flesh. “You'd better let go of me, or you'll have to pay!"

The creature looks at her with a wide eye and a wider mouth. She blinks and then hisses, leaning toward the magical girl's ear. “Why would I let you go. You look so scrumptious."

“So, you can talk! I can reason with you then."

“Think what you want, treat," the lamia says, stroking the woman's cheek with the palm of her hand. “My mistress left me here to have fun, which I shall have."

“Not at anyone else's expense!" Purity barks back.

“Oh, but we aren't," says the Lamia, picking herself up, freeing the hero a moment to sit up, only to gasp when the Lamia grabs at her coat and tears it asunder, freeing her impressive chest for all the world to see.

“I heard all that my mistress said to you. You are a woman trapped by your desires. Let me show you what it's like…"

She opened her mouth wide—more expansive than any humanoid creature had any right to be. Her glaring, gleeful gaze focused on Purity's face.

Purity, who had crossed her arms over her chest, yelped as that face barreled down over her head, covering her eyes. She shrieks and kicks and throws a punch at the monster's stomach.

The lamia groans, the hit going deep against her tummy, but this doesn't deter her. Instead, she grabs the human by the sides, digging her fingers against her soft flesh, and lifts her up, throwing her head back to leave the magical girl dangling with her legs up in the air, kicking around with nowhere to plant them.

The creature's body expands as more and more purity sinks down into her, leaving her a strange and distorted shape compared to the once hauntingly beautiful form she had. She slurps the human woman down with little issue, her mouth and her, throat and her stomach, and even her hands helping to shove Purity down deeper and deeper into her gullet, her body gurgling in delight as she shoves the magical girl deep down inside her.

By the time she's finished with the process, Purity's shield clatters to the ground beside the two, and the lamia yawns, falling flat on her back in the middle of the street, stretched out, naked, and with a belly so full and round.

The people all around just watched in horror, amazement, and strange arousal at the sight—their great hero had just become a snack for some dark creature!

But is this really the end for Purity?

Inside the lamia, Purity's body is fondled and squished by the muscles contracting, sending her sliding down through the tight and wet walls until she finds herself stuck inside what must be the end of the line. She curls up, kicks, and squirms, reaching to punch at the walls, but none of the attacks go through.

She hisses a large gulping breath and shudders, tears welling up in her eyes. Is this really how the story of Purity ends? Does she get digested, thrown out by some monster, and forgotten—never again to see the light of day? Never again will she bask in the sun. Never again will she save someone from such a similar fate.

She could have stopped this. She could have fought back harder, but seeing the dark sorceress in the tournament gulped and devoured by the other champion filled her with such curiosity and morbid fascination. Of course, she would want to try it, but there are no gods to rescue her. There are no rules to free her. It's up to her and her alone to fight her way free from inside this monster. It's eaten or broken out.

She closes her eyes, and in the palm of her hand, magical energy gathers, forming pink motes of light that shimmer all around her, filling up her being, giving her that barrier power that would protect her from any harm. Even as the digestive juices drip onto her, the barrier protects her from the hissing, burning powers. The fluids immediately fade into nothingness when touching the magical barrier.

Purity has to chuckle as she pulls herself inward, taking on a fetal position deep inside the monster's stomach. “Figure out how you're going to digest this, ya snake!" she snickers, but as she lays in there, a strange sort of comfort takes her. She curls up and lies in there, not having to worry about herself, and closes her eyes.

Escape, then, can be a problem for another time.

For now, she can enjoy the ride and drift off into the line of nod for some good old-fashioned R&R.

All in all, it's not so bad a day for the dark sorceress, but as she walks along the sidewalk, her stomach growls. She pats it tenderly, sighing. “Soon, very soon, I shall have my fill." She says this, licking her lips, a wonderful treat surely ready for her.

As she makes it onto the street, that is when the wafting smells of coffee and sweet treats make their way to her nose, and before her, just across the street from the Statuary Park, is the object of her desire—a quaint little shop nestled in an old building, with people sitting outside, supping and snacking on all sorts of delectable goods.

“I've finally found you," says the sorceress, stepping up to the doorway, her hands outstretched. “The greatest Bakery in the land! Come forth!"

The door opens, and a cloud of sugar and spice billows out from within. Standing on the threshold is the owner, Baker, his arms crossed over his chest, his sugary eye fluttering. “So, Zozafina, darling… You ready for your appointment?"

Zozafina chuckles and steps forward, face-to-face with the pastry chef. “More than ready, you sweet son of a bitch."

________________

In the back room of Baker's Bakery, Zozafina sits on a soft and comfortable chair, crossing one leg over the other and sipping a sweet tea prepared by the pastry chef.

Sitting across from her is Baker himself. Before them is a table set with various decadent sweets, and at the center is a cloche. The femboy gestures to the cover and tells his guest, “Whenever you are ready to begin, let me know. I hope the presentation is to your liking."

“Oh, it'd better be," Zozafina responds, placing the drink down and licking her lips. “I paid good money for the experience.

She slips her hand to the cover and nods at him.

Baker sits back, sighs, and closes his eyes. A moment later, his body collapses against the seat like a lifeless puppet, and his experience disappears into darkness.

The darkness is replaced with a great light as he looks upward, seeing the cloche removed and the now massive woman sitting before him. He stands up in a miniature recreation of the chamber, complete with minuscule versions of the treats he had prepared for his guest.

“My, my," Zozafina's voice rumbles. “I heard that your ability to switch bodies was superb, but this is amazing beyond compare.

Baker places a hand on his chest and nods, taking off his tiny toque. “Oh, it is a pleasure to be able to delight the eyes, as well as the nose and tongue.

“And the ears, too. You sound simply adorable," she says.

“And what shall I do for you now, miss Zozafina, to continue the cuteness.

“I wonder," the dark elf says, bringing her hand over to a pitcher, pouring from it cold and referring milk into a small glass. “Do you have time for a bath?"

The baker giggles, unbuttoning his coat. “But of course," he says, stepping forward and tossing off the jacket, showing off his chest peppered with glittering sugar. He shimmies out of his pants and undoes his shoes, leaving them strewn aside on the miniature room and climbing onto the edge of the glass, sitting with his legs dangling over the outer side.

Zozafina lifts the drink, the white and foamy substance sloshing about in the vessel. She slides her finger along the edge, pressing against his side and slipping up and down him.

Giggling, he shifts and puts one leg over the edge, dipping into the milk and flicking his hair back. “I hope you enjoy a little chocolate milk," he says, fluttering his eyes.

“Oh, indeed," she responds, bringing him up close to her face.

He slips inside, submerging the drink and then springing out of it, gasping and running his hands through his candy hair. Already, some of it begins to dissolve.

Zozafina gasps.

“Oh, don't worry, honey," he assures her, even as rings of brown reverberate from around him, “I won't dissolve entirely until you're done with me."

“I'd rather not waste yourself on just the drink," the sorceress sighs, bringing the glass to her lips and taking a gentle sip. “Aah…"

He swims up to the edge beside her lips, holding onto the side. “Do you enjoy it? It's quite exotic, taken from the farms from Blair Garten."

Sitting back, Zozafina swirls the drink. This causes Baker to fall from the edge and flail around in the new whirlpool that formed. “Ah, yes, so many people from the Tournament have made connections. It's quite a change in the world when the gods interfere with mortal affairs.

Clinging onto the opposite edge, Baker wipes some milk from his eyes and says, “If you want more sweetness and something you aren't familiar with, try the honey from my very own employees. It doesn't get fresher than that!"

Zozafina pinches the honey dipper between two fingers, pulling it up from the small pot. The amber liquid drizzles into a sumptuous slime as she lifts it from the container. She lets the delicate delight drip down from its holder, waving over the milk like a magic wand. She lets it draw out swishing sways of motion, slipping through and up to the femboy, drenching it over his head.

Baker squeaks and pulls himself from the edge, wiping the honey from his eyes, giggling as it slides over his cheeks and to his shoulders. “Hey, aren't I sweet enough?"

“Oh, I'm sure," responds Zozafina, but she brings the drained dipper to her lips, wrapping those plump things around it and popping the head inside. She sucks it like a lollipop and pulls it out, revealing that she has cleaned the whole thing with her tongue. “But I like to torture my victims before I play with them."

He leans back against the rim of the cup, giggling slightly as he drapes his arms over the edge, floating to his nipples. “Well, torture this body all you want, you fiend. I'll be fine and dandy after the fact.

“Oh, I know," Zozafina says, licking her lips. “But sometimes I need someone willing to sacrifice my sin."

“Willing and ready, oh newest dark queen. Make it as slow or as quick as you desire."

She glances up toward the life-size version of the Baker for a moment, that inanimate form so uncanny.

“And once I transfer, I'll give you whatever you want with that body, too," the chocolate man says, winking. Now, hurry up, my dear, before I melt away."

“Telling me what to do… lesser men would die for such a thing."

“You're going to 'kill' me anyway. Why not be bold?"

“Touche."

She lifts the cup up, both hands holding it steady, and she presses her lips to the edge, sucking gently.

The milk, honey, and chocolate begin to flow into her from the suction. Losing his grip on gravity, Baker falls into that flow, pressing against the soft and pillowy things.

And that's when she opens her mouth ever-so-slightly and slurps the femboy into her.

________________

The inside of Zozafina's mouth is warm, and Baker sloshes around within it, curling up inside as the milk and the spit envelop his form. That massive muscle that holds him in flicks over his body, tasting his chocolate flesh.

The chamber jostles in glee, the taste of his confectionary goodness evidently having an impressive effect on his predator. So he swims up and rubs himself against her appendage, his smooth and sweet form bumping up against each of her taste buds, giving her a sensation of pleasure as they taste the complex notes that only a master pastry chef can provide.

Zozafina hums in delight and places her glass down. Closing her eyes, she tilts her head back ever-so-gently, her chest rising in falling in slow and steady movements.

This, of course, is the purest bliss of control, where the fat of another living being is in her hands or, instead, in her mouth.

She chuckles at the thought, sloshing around the mixture of fluids all over the tiny femboy within her. The longer she lets him languish within her, the more he melts inside her, revealing more nuanced tastes, but she can feel that he is still alive inside her, still rubbing, still clinging.

Her tongue lifts up, pressing Baker to the roof of her mouth, his back squishing against her, the pressure so much to break through the shell layer of his design. Now, the gooey cream filling inside his form bursts out as he squeals in a feeling that one might consider pain. More surprise. Not unpleasant.

Zozafina gasps, lowering her tongue, the sensation of his body sliding down her tongue and to the back of her throat enough to finally issue a gulping response.

Baker sloshes past her throat and into the warm, compressing muscles of her throat. Her laughs and her hums are only intensified as he slips down her esophagus, his body hardly able to move, but would he even want to at this point? There is no need to harm those he serves; he just enjoys the sensation of their innermost feelings taking him for a ride that he will not soon forget.

For most, of course, this would be the last ride that they ever would have.

With a plunk, he lands inside her stomach, the acid churning and whirling around inside him. Here, his body pops and fizzes as the chemical reaction within activates. The tiny crystals of carbon dioxide he had embedded into small crystals within his core mixed with the insides, popping and fizzing within her.

Outside, Zozafina grabs her stomach, sighs, and massages herself, her eyes closed, her delight evident in the way that her nipples rub at her top and her member rises in appreciation.

As she fondles her belly, another hand reaches out, brushing at the head of her member.

She gasps, opening her eyes, matching with Baker's gaze.

“I hope that was to your liking?" Baker asks, now stripped down to his undergarments—pretty pink boxers, wrapping his fingers around her shaft.

“You escaped from me much quicker than I anticipated," the dark elf says, licking her lips, reaching from her tummy to place a halting hand upon Baker's. “I was hoping to enjoy the struggle a little bit more."

“Ah, my apologies, lady Zozafina," the Baker says, slipping his hand away. “I wish to give you what you desire, after all."

“Oh, but I doubt you could fulfill my desires quite the way I want," Zozafina says, standing taller than Baker. She places her hands on his shoulders and pushes him back.

Baker falls against the table, clattering against the display and other treats, yelping and looking up at her with a wince.

The dark elf lifts a leg, her boot-clad foot pressing against his bulge, her hands on her hips. She leans in a sadistic glow in her eye. “There are so many people who would bow before me and my power, and yet, there are still so many more who would try to fight against me and force me to do all sorts of things I don't want."

She places a hand upon her breast, leaning in, applying pressure to the bakery femboy. “But I am my own woman, liberated by all constraints imposed upon me by my birth. You and I are kindred spirits in that way, are we not? You chose to become as you are now and reinvent yourself however you wish daily, isn't that right?"

Baker pants, hands over his head, gripping the table, his legs dangling on the side. He whimpers as her foot grinds against his undies.

“You're taking this much more in stride than I could imagine. Have you had more sadistic individuals than me cross your doors? Despite your wholesome image, you must be quite the slut for debauchery—a degenerate, through and through!"

She picks up a knife beside him, flicking it up so it points to his chin. “No one will be able to end you, but you would welcome the experience of a thousand deaths at the hands of people like me, wouldn't you?"

“I…"

“Tell me the truth, oh-so-great Baker. How much of the digestion of the death do you feel when your bodies are destroyed?

Baker gulps. “A… all of it."

“That's a good boy," the dark elf says, and then she pushes hard, her boot crushing the femboy under her as the knife buries itself into his chocolatey skin.

Baker whimpers under her, sauce and cream oozing from both points as the dark elf removes her foot from him, grabbing his boxers and pulling down. “Now, for my dessert," she says, shuddering.

________________

Baker sprawls out on the table, chocolate and cream oozing out of the femboy's chin and between his legs. He breathes quickly, his chest rising and falling, glistening with a sugary glaze of sweat designed perfectly to encapsulate the feeling of great exertion or great fear.

Zozafina licked her lips, the dark elf sorceress pulling down his undergarments, made sticky with the brutal crushing she had done to him just moments before. When he is revealed, his chocolate cock is covered in the oozy sauce she had made with her violent actions.

“Ah, there we are," she coos to herself. “All of the sensations in the world you can give yourself, right? What a foolish boy you are." She wraps her fingers around the pole, stroking slowly and up and down it.

The baker closes his eyes, tilting his head back, letting out a gurgling groan.

“Oh, you can only let out the sounds of pain and not delight, can you? My, you really do cater to your clients, don't you? But you're enjoying this, are you not?"

Baker lifts his arm up slowly, giving her the thumbs-up.

“Oh, but of course," she sighs, leaning in, pressing her lips against the tip of his shaft, slowly suckling on the head and its creamy goodness before pulling back slowly, ever-so-slowly, with a loud and lewd “smack."

Laughing, she slides a hand up his thigh, letting nails dig into that skin, cutting through the layer of chocolate, passing through the crust, and revealing the creamy deliciousness within. She pulls her mouth from his cock and lowers it down to his thigh, pressing her lips against the wound she created and sucking up the facsimile of lifeblood that he had prepared just for her.

When she pulls back, some of his cream dribbles down her chin, and she licks it up with decadent delight. “Oh, how many people come here, playing pretend at such acts of total hedonistic freedom, afraid to do the real thing? How weak they must be to not be able to indulge in their darker desires."

Baker frowns, shifting slightly, pushing himself up.

She responds by squeezing his thigh. This jerks him back down, gritting his teeth, gurgling, and groaning.

“Oh, no, you don't! We paid for the full experience, and I will get it!"

She climbs up onto him, her own dick tracing up along his, flicking against it playfully as she sits on his injured lap. “You deny no service that you agreed upon before. Do you deny me now?"

Baker coughs up, shaking his head.

“Then, what's the matter, hm?" she asks, rubbing her stained hands over his chest, marking him with cream and chocolate over his glazed goodness. “Do you feel I am a monster who would consume other creatures?"

He locks eyes with her, opening his mouth, but only the gurgling response leaves his lips.

“But then, you'd be right," Zozafina says, leaning in, her chest pressed against his, her hands caressing his cheeks. “I am a monster. I was made that way by decades of meticulous preparation. I just choose to have a much less monstrous form present itself to the masses."

She presses her lips against his. Her tongue slides down, much too long for her mouth, into his, slipping and swirling around, tasting the bowl of his confectionary blood that she had created. When she pulls back, her tongue is coated in the sugary substance, and she enters, letting him watch and feel as it drips down off of her and onto his face and chest.

She slurps the tongue back up, sliding up his body a bit, letting his cock head trace down over her member and her balls and slipping down past her hole.

“Us Dark Elves are taught from a very young age that to be the tool is to be weak. It is the one who receives the magic of creation, who is the most powerful."

She lowers herself down, biting her lip as his cock pushes against her hole, spreading her out, but lubricated with the spit and the fluids of his form.

“A… a long time ago… f-for you," she huffs as she slides down along his pole. “But it was a short time for me…" she continues. “I realized I didn't need to be… ah… born… with the power to… to receive… but also I… I… could… mgnh..!"

She lowers herself down just enough for that big dick to hit her right in her p-spot. She throws her head back, panting delightfully as she rolls her body over him, sliding and rubbing herself with the stimulation of his fantastic rod.

“I could do, ah… b… boooth!" She pushes her chest out, gripping tightly to Baker's shoulders, not listening anymore to the gurgles and the draining of his fluids, but instead just enjoying the ride of her life on his cock, bouncing on it, moaning as she stimulates herself, using him like a sleeve, having her way and only her way on this object of a man.

“The… the old guard… were, mmnm… too closed-minded! Ha… they couldn't, gods, couldn't realize, yes, that they were limiting themselves to the haaa… binary of the time!"

She lowers herself, plodding and plopping, her cock bouncing, her chest heaving, her moans rising up higher and higher and higher. She pants and gasps and groans, overwhelming herself with pleasure as delight perls up on her cock, dripping down as precum onto the still stomach of Baker.

And he is pretty still. The light of his vision is gone. His body is limp, and his breathing is gone. That means only one thing…

The door bursts open, and standing on the other side is a mannequin dressed in Baker's traditional outfit. Though he has no face, he tilts his head down, and a disapproving growl rises up magically from his form. “What did you do to Purity?"

Zozafina doesn't stop riding the cock, looking over her shoulder toward Baker, a manic grin on her face. “What, you won't even let me finish my dessert? I'm going to give you a terrible review for that."

________________

The door to the special guest room bursts open. Stepping in from the opposite side is a mannequin dressed in a chef's hat and a pink apron. He folds his wooden arms over his chest, tapping his wooden foot. “You are not a very willing client," says the mannequin. I ask you to clean up and leave my store."

Zozafina rises up from the husk of Baker's former body, her body coated in the chocolate discharge of the confectionary corpse before her. “Oh, is that you, Baker, dear? You hardly look scrumptious in that form. Why don't you whip up something new and delightful for me to dine upon? Besides… this is what I've paid for."

“I'm not kicking you out because of your terrible table manners, darling," Baker retorts. He steps aside, and standing behind him, drenched and dripping and wearing only a towel wrapped around her body, is Purity.

“Oh, ho!" The dark elf says, pulling herself up to stand. “And did you enjoy your little trip, protector of the innocent?"

“Not particularly," the magical girl grumbles, clinging her towel tight to her chest.

The sorceress snaps her fingers, and the former Baker Body shifts and rises, coalescing into her staff. “Now then, what did you do to my fine-scaled friend? You didn't hurt her, I hope?"

“What do you care, you witch!?" Purity snaps, her face turning red. “That thing fuckin' ate me!"

“And what an experience it must have been, hm?" She lifts the staff, pointing it toward Purity. “But that 'thing' is actually important to me, so if you've done anything to hurt her…"

Her eyes glow a bright red, and energy erupts from the tip of the staff, firing off and heading straight at the magical girl.

Purity places her hands together, a shield of purple energy dissipating the blast. It sends shockwaves around, knocking back Baker and a few plates and cups, sending things clattering to the floor.

Despite the sloppy mess covering her body and outfit, Zozafina steps forward, becoming more concentrated on Purity.

Purity steps back, gritting her teeth, groaning as the power radiates out of her body and into her shield. She can't hold her towel up, so it slips off of her body, revealing herself before the disturbed and scattering customers.

“Be a good girl, and let me enchant you!" Zozafina spits. “Maybe you'll make a fine enough replacement for my departed pet!"

Purity slips, her arm buckling under the pressure of the blast, the shield slipping out of the way. She's struck by the energy, sent flying, lifted up into the air, and warping with such speed and power until finally, she lands on the ground, a bunny with a heart stamped on her breast, her nose and whiskers wriggling.

“Now, that is just adorable," the sorceress cackles. She looks over her shoulder at the downed Baker. “Perhaps if I can pick up my snake, I can turn your superhero back to normal, and we can forget all this unpleasantness."

“I won't serve an ungrateful guest like you," Baker begins, his wooden faceless head turning up to look at her with a blank expression, his voice tinged with hate. “Not for someone so full of contempt for other people."

Zozafina pouts. “Well, my dear Baker, whatever is this place but a testament to the devotion of decadent and deplorable delights? Perhaps you should have thought about the types of clients you thought you would have before you established your business model?"

The door rings with the arrival of a newcomer, a snake plopping on the floor and slithering in languid movements towards past customers, leaping out of its way, shrieking in confusion and terror.

Zozafina steps up to it, scooping her piece and letting it crawl along her arm. “Yes, I think we are quite through with this place. I think I shall bathe in my own chambers, thank you very much."

As she walks past the terrified customers, she points her staff at the purity bunny, who has decided to hide under a chair. A moment later and her humanity is restored, sitting crouched underneath with wide eyes and her butt up in the air.

“Let this be a lesson to all of Anteronia!" Proclaims Zozafina. “I am the queen of transformation, and no one shall be able to stop me from doing as I please!"

With a prolonged and practiced laugh, she steps out the door, tossing her snake before her, making it grow into that monstrous worm that burrows its way into the ground. When it disappears entirely, a platoon of guards stands poised with mancatchers in front of her, shouting orders and commands. She only smirked and gave off a flourishing bow as the worm emerged from its hole and gulped her whole.

Deep in the mouth of her worry companion, the dark sorceress divests herself of her clothing, laying back as the tongue lashes upon her, caressing her naked flesh and soaking the garments in the pools of saliva within. It does this all while sinking down deeper into the darkness, back to the domain of Zozafina, and back to the world where everything makes sense for the dark elf because everything there listens to her and knows how to respect her.

Maybe one day, the fools up above will respect her, as people like Miselda have come to learn, but that day is not today.

Not today… but someday soon… yes, very, very soon.

________________

Deep in the dark pits of her home, Zozafina arrives, riding in the monstrous steed of her worm-like familiar. The monstrous mount breaks through the cavern's walls, wretching and spitting up the slick-bodied sorceress onto the stone floor.

She lays there a moment, luxuriating in the slime, rubbing her hands over her body, sliding over her breasts and down over her thighs.

“Ah… such wonder… such delight," she groans. “My love, take me now!"

She removes her hand from her chest and wiggles her fingers, and the creature before her shrinks down, becoming humanoid in size and vaguely such in shape.

It is expressionless androgynous, with its arms fused to its chest in a crossed pattern. It falls to its knees, groaning through where its mouth should be.

As soon as its bulk disappeared from the wall, an army of servants scurried to the opening, filling it in with a coordinated attack of magic and masonry, leaving Zozafina with the one before her.

She places her hand on its faceless cheek, sighing as she strokes it over where its mouth would be. “Did you enjoy consuming me again, my dear? Did you enjoy feasting upon the filth that was Miselda?"

“Ggggnnnn…."

“Oh, you are so precious…" Zozafina coos, pushing herself up, pressing her lips to the spot where her creature's lips would be. When she pulls back, a soft coating of slime bridges between them.

“There is nothing in this world I won't do for myself and my delight, and I" 'm so glad I get to share it with you. After all, we've been through—after the horror that the slavemasters had us do. You wish to take me, don't you, to have this cock of mine, hm? Is that right?"

“MMMmghh!"

Zozafina strokes herself, taking in a hiss of breath. “Oh yes, but you're stuck like this useless form until I tell you otherwise. How does that make you feel? Powerless, maybe? Or that you're raging inside and want to burst free!?"

The nameless creature groans louder, its arms bulging and twisting under its flesh prison. It sets out those muffled screams, spreading its jaws wide, trying to break free.

“That's right… fight it… tear yourself apart. Show me how much you are willing to harm yourself to get at me, my beloved!"

Flesh tears and pops through this nameless thing, strands of skin breaking apart as the screams get louder and louder, the air finally escaping as various openings find their way through. The pain of breaking through one's own body—it's nothing compared to the years, no, decades that the two of them had to endure.

Zozafina knows all about it… pain… control… she watches her pet as it rips its arms free, breaking bloody fingertips apart from mittens of meat and tearing open the hole in its face just so it could free its mouth from the confines of its cartilage cage.

That's when the groaning servant crawls over the slimy body of Zozafina, lowering its maw against her, its tongue rolling out, sliding up and down her pole as that magical shaft finds its way deep inside its throat.

“Oooh, fuck yeah…" Zozafina groans, gripping her beast's butt, squeezing it, and filling it with magic once again. This time, it transforms once more, its form becoming the same dusk colors as Zozafina, taking on a primarily masculine shape, but between his legs is a puffy and dripping vagina.

He groans, pulling his mouth free from his mistress's cock and whimpers. “L… Lady Zozafina…?"

“That's enough foreplay for now," Zozafina says, slapping her servant on the butt. “We've done so much today, but you deserve a reward, right? Get over her and do what you do best.

The servant whimpers and pushes himself up, turning to face her, straddling her cock. “Yes, my lady…" he groans, rubbing his pussy up against her cock.

“That's a good boy," she coos. “You've been through so much pain and torment today. But you really only could take so much."

She snaps her fingers, and the male elf's scars all over his body glow a dark purple as he slips his pussy upward and slices it back down over her head.

“Y.. .yes mistress…" he sighs.

Zozafina slips her hands up to his hips, thrusting upward, groaning as her cock pushes deep into her manservant's wanting need.

No matter what perverse or dark desires the mistress of transformation has, she is merely a being seeking what all other beings seek in this cold and lonely world—the intimacy of companionship and knowing that she is not alone and useless.

But if she has to burn down the world for this fulfillment, then so be it. That shit's just fun, anyway!