Plastic Makes Perfect

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Author’s Note: So I might have mentioned that I was going to try and knock out a light and whimsical little story with the Identity Crisis characters...this is not that story. Instead, my muse being what it is, what you’re getting today is a creepy and sexy body horror story with superheroes! Right now I’m writing a much bigger story where the evil Dr. Quasi appears as a supporting character, but I really wanted to see him strut his stuff, so this is today’s entertainment.

I also have an idea for another more layered short story which features Dr. Quasi as the main antagonist, so it’s a gambling opportunity which story pops next. But don’t worry, I promise I’ll get back to the whimsy soon enough...I’m just taking a little vacation on the dark side!


Plastic Makes Perfect

By Jenny North
Cover art by Grumpy-TG

Curador blinked woozily as he regained consciousness, fighting to get his bearings. He'd only been in the superhero game for less than a year, and he'd been injured several times—sometimes badly—but nothing had ever knocked him out for a loop like this. Obviously, whatever his attackers had hit him with had a significant kick to it, since his innate healing abilities were having trouble shrugging it off. It occurred to him that any toxin strong enough to knock him out this hard wasn't just something they'd stumbled upon by accident.

Someone had clearly gone to a lot of trouble to capture him.

He was still massively disoriented, but he was standing upright, he realized. Or more accurately, he was being held upright in some kind of X-frame that bound his wrists and ankles and kept his arms and legs spread, like he was doing an impression of da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. As his head lolled, he tried to was still too much effort to keep his head raised, so he tried to concentrate on his other senses. There was an odd metallic taste in his mouth, maybe some side effect of the drug they'd used on him. And there was a pungent chemical odor in the room, almost like a cleaning solvent. And he could hear muffled sounds of machinery close by, perhaps coming from next door.

He forced his head up and blinked heavily to see that he was imprisoned in a large dingy room, evidently a storeroom of some kind. There was a single door off to one side, and there were no windows. The room was very sparsely furnished with only a metal table and a couple chairs. Oddly, in the corner he could see what appeared to be a large standing full-length mirror on wheels, and over to one side he could see a pair of raised hospital gurneys.

"Shit," he muttered to himself. He flexed his muscles and strained against the bonds that held his wrists and ankles, but they held fast. He was athletic and in good shape, but unfortunately not much of a fighter...his abilities ran in other areas.

At the thought of "fighters," he suddenly remembered his companion, the metahuman heroine he'd been with was all still fuzzy. Now she was a fighter. Tough and capable, more than a match for most of the street scum that plagued Faraday City. Restraints like these would never hold her. But she was nowhere to be seen. Had she been captured as well? Or maybe she'd gotten away? It was all a blur.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the loud sound of the door opening, and the metal hinges screeched loudly as the heavy door slowly began to swing wide. A middle-aged man wearing a tweed jacket stepped inside, entering the room backwards as he pulled in something heavy on a metal hand truck.

At first glance the pudgy man was almost painfully unremarkable, with a round face and a broad forehead with short dark hair and a receding hairline. But on closer inspection, he seemed...odd. His clothes were strangely baggy on his frame, and he sported an incongruous stripe of short blond hair on the left side of his head. He walked with a bit of a limp, and it appeared like one of his shoes was a good deal smaller than the other. As the man turned, the right side of his face became visible, revealing a number of wicked scars. They seemed to flush more prominently as he huffed and puffed from his exertions.

Once the man had gotten the hand truck through the door, he pulled it over alongside the metal table and stood it upright with a resounding metallic clang. The hand truck had a number of bungee cords lashed to it which in turn held a clear cylindrical container that was as big around as a garbage can but about half the height. There appeared to be some kind of odd brownish liquid inside.

The nebbishy man straightened up and caught his breath as he took out a handkerchief and patted at his brow. But as he did so, his dark discerning eyes cut over to the captured hero and his face lit up as though he was seeing an old friend.

"Curador," the man said in a breathless and almost reverent tone, taking pains to trill the Rs in an affected way. "That means...healer, doesn't it? Something along those lines? You'll have to forgive me, I'm afraid I've never had much of an ear for languages."

"Lemme down from here and we'll call it even," Curador said defiantly.

The man made a low, throaty chuckle as though he found the hero's quip genuinely amusing. "Not quite yet, I'm afraid, young man. Though I confess I am delighted to meet you. I've been following your career with great interest. You see, I'm something of a physician, myself."

The young hero's eyes cut over to the hospital gurneys and then back to the man. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Doctor...?"

"You may refer to me as Doctor Quasi," the man said with a polite smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Curador's face went deathly pale.

"Ohhh, I see you've heard of me," Quasi said in a husky and ominous tone. "You must tell me what you've—oh, bother!" He stopped suddenly and fished a device out of his jacket pocket which on closer inspection seemed to be some sort of a portable audio recorder. He turned it on and placed it on the metal table before pulling out one of the two chairs and sitting himself down. Unlike the other, the chair he’d selected had a padded seat, but only on the left side.

"Pardon the interruption. I'm extremely diligent about recording my sessions, and I'm afraid I allowed myself to become distracted. I had hoped to be all set up before you awoke, but then I hadn't fully counted on that wonderful healing ability of yours. I must say, the dosage I had to give you would have been quite toxic to most people."

“Thanks,” the young hero said with a sneer. “Most people just try to shoot me in the head, it’s nice to be poisoned for a change.”

“I think so, too,” Quasi agreed pleasantly. “And I must say your powers fascinate me. Restorative or regenerative abilities are common enough, but it’s rare to encounter an empathic healer. As I understand it, you create an empathic bond with the other person and take on their injury as your own, and then heal both together, yes?”

Curador said nothing, and merely glared at the man.

Dr. Quasi gestured to the recording device on the table. “Young man, I’ll have you know this is for science. My inquiries are designed to establish a framework for my research. No? Very well, I can move on to a different line of questions, if you prefer,” he said with a dismissive look.

He pulled out a small pad of paper and a pen from his jacket and flipped through it. “You’ve been a hero for less than a year. But I find it interesting that for someone with healing powers, you’re rather a bit ungenerous when it comes to sharing your gift with others. I see that you’ve primarily been selling your services to some of Faraday City’s well-to-do.”

“You have a problem with me using my powers to make a living?”

“Not at all. It just fascinates me to encounter a hero who’s an empathic healer who is somewhat less than empathetic,” Quasi teased in a droll tone. “To say nothing of someone who consorts with vigilantes who work outside the law.”

“What are you talking about? I never—wait. Laz! What'd you do with her?"

The doctor peered at him in confusion. "’Laz?’ I don't—ah, of course. You're referring to your companion, Elasticity. I’ve had several encounters with her in the past. Most vexing. She’s been quite the detriment to my research, and her extralegal methods are quite hypocritical, in my estimation. But for all of those encounters, I never knew she had a pet name. Hmm. ‘Laz.’ You see, these are the kinds of real-life insights that make my journal entries sing."

He jotted down a note in his notebook, and then peered back up at the hero still hanging there in his restraints. “But then of course, I never enjoyed the amorous relationship the two of you seem to have cultivated. Tell me—for science—what is it like to have intercourse with a woman who can stretch and elongate her form? That must be quite...vigorous.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Curador angrily flexed his muscles as he pulled at his bonds, but they refused to budge. He then scowled at the doctor, who merely watched the display in a detached fashion.

"Your powers won't work on me, freak. Or her.”

Dr. Quasi fixed him with a look, and his piercing eyes peered studiously at the trapped young hero. "Do tell."

"I've heard of you," Curador said. "You like turning guys into girls."

Quasi tossed his little notebook on the table and sighed heavily. "Now that...that is simply a broad generalization," he protested. "I am conducting a genuine field study with psychological and sociological context for—"

"You can transform other people, but you can't transform yourself," the hero interrupted. "But it's always guys into chicks. And then you like to do your little 'interviews,' to have them tell you what it feels like, how humiliated they are as they beg for you to change them back. Man, it must be so frustrating for you, able to change other people and then be stuck looking like that. Tell me, doctor, do you even bother to transcribe these 'sessions' of yours before you masturbate to them, or do you just get off on listening to the audio recordings?"

Dr. Quasi gave the hero a tight smile as he stood up. He took a few steps around the table and then leaned against it. "Ah, the bravado of youth."

"You don't scare me. If you could've changed me, I'd be a chick already. But my healing powers keep you from doing it, don't they?" He made a defiant little upwards chin nod towards the doctor. "You know what I can do. I bet I could heal those scars of yours. Whaddaya say, I help you, you help me?"

Quasi absently touched the scars on the right side of his face. As he reached upward, at first it seemed that his jacket's sleeve on that side was too long, but the hand that emerged to touch his cheek looked like it belonged on a woman’s body. The fingernails had been trimmed short, but the wrist and fingers were slender and delicate, totally incongruous to the doctor's male body...or his other hand, which seemed more normal. Curador peered at the man, wondering what other secrets the doctor was hiding under his baggy clothes.

"Tempting," Dr. Quasi admitted. "Although as you so crudely noted, my...inclinations...go somewhat deeper, and sadly in that regard your powers are of no use to me." He took a deep breath and let it out, but then clapped his hands together briskly. "If wishes were horses, as they say. I'm afraid I'll have to make do with some rather exciting field research which you and your companion 'Laz' are uniquely suited to assist me with. Today, my brazen young friend, we will be making medical history together!"

The hero's pulse quickened as he eyed the doctor. "Elasticity, where is she?" he demanded.

"Oh, she's quite close, I assure you."

Just then, the brown liquid in the clear container gurgled and splashed up against the inside of the sealed vat.

Quasi leaned down and spoke directly to the container. "Yes, my dear, we were just talking about you! Most exciting."

Curador blanched. "What...what is that?"

"Surely you recognize your lover? I admit she's a bit less curvaceous than when you last saw her, but—"

"What did you do to her?!"

"I discovered that Elasticity's powers rely on a form of nanotechnology she uses to transform herself. Sadly, it's of no use to me, but I was able to isolate the command processor for the control nanite, which allows me to override her abilities." He retrieved a small tablet computer from the table and began to type away at it.

"I-is she alive?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, I should imagine so. Quite aware of her situation, although one assumes that she probably doesn't much enjoy being stuck as goo."

"Change her back! Change her back right now!"

“Or what? Are you heroically offering yourself up instead of her?” Quasi interrupted. But when Curador demurred, the doctor sniffed derisively. "I thought as much. Not that it matters. As you noted, I can’t do anything to you. Although I assure you that it wasn't for lack of trying. I tried changing you while you were unconscious, and for several minutes you had a lovely vagina and an impressive set of breasts. Unfortunately, as you surmised, your regenerative abilities made short work of them. It's a pity, you made for quite a buxom young lady. And I don't get many superheroes for my might have been instructive to see if you would have continued to fight crime like that, or if that would have been too embarrassing for you. Alas."

Curador glanced down at his male body apprehensively. "That's horse shit. You don’t have the ability to change metahumans. You didn't change me into a chick, you're just saying that to rattle me."

Quasi eyed the young hero in a keen and self-satisfied way. "If you're so confident about that, then why do you keep looking down at your chest? I wonder, is that apprehension or longing that I detect?"

Curador made a face and then glared at the doctor. He retroactively reeled at the violation, even if he couldn't remember it happening. Assuming it had happened at all.

“You don’t scare me.”

“Mmm. You know, I had intended to skip this part in the name of expediency, but I confess that I do rather enjoy giving you hero types a bit of an education with regards to the gravity of your situation. Right now you’re feeling quite helpless, so I imagine you’re entertaining some improbable flight of fancy where Elasticity bursts free of her prison, frees you, and then the two of you send me off to prison so that you can run off and enjoy some post-heroic coital bliss.”

The doctor shook his head. “It must be difficult for you, being the weaker one in the relationship. The ‘damsel in distress’ needing to be saved. You must be quite jealous.”

He took the small tablet computer and slid it into his jacket pocket. From a different pocket he retrieved a small rectangular object made of what appeared to be weathered brass. It was either a container or possibly a device of some sort given that there appeared to be control buttons on one side, but whatever it was, it had obviously seen a lot of use. Quasi pushed a control, and something like a small pen emerged from the machine, not unlike a stylus. He then approached Curador.

“Now this won’t hurt a bit,” he said in a patronizing tone as he touched the stylus against the restrained hero’s upper thigh.

Curador felt as a tingling sensation started from where the doctor had touched him, a sensation that quickly spread over his entire body. He knew the feeling all too well—nanites. He didn’t know much about them, but he used them all the time. Whenever he needed to change from his civilian to his superhero identity, his Faraday-issued CosFit device used the microscopic machines to break down his civilian clothes and replace them with his hero costume, which was made of the durable nanomesh fabric. However, the nanites that Dr. Quasi had just unleashed on him seemed to have a very different mission in mind.

Slowly and inexorably, the little machines nibbled away at his superhero costume, starting from the bottom up. At first Curador thought the doctor’s intent was to simply strip him naked to embarrass him, but to his dismay, the relentless nanites weren’t just breaking down his costume, they were remaking it entirely. At first he wasn’t sure what they were doing, but the second he saw the black-and-magenta thigh-high boots forming on his legs, he realized what the doctor had in mind—he was being dressed up in Elasticity’s skimpy hero costume!

Curador swiftly realized that although Quasi’s nanites were incapable of changing his body, the industrious little machines were more than capable of changing his clothes. And in this context, “clothes” had a very broad definition. As the devices inched their way up his body, they had already dressed him in a shiny black miniskirt with Laz’s high-tech magenta pattern on it, but he winced as the little devices cinched his waist tightly in an invisible corset made to look like the skin of Elasticity’s bare midriff. The nanites then created a perfect replica of her black bustier top, pausing for a moment to fill it out with two impressively-sized prosthetic breasts that jiggled as he struggled ineffectually against his bonds. The nanites then marched over his bare shoulders and down his arms to create replicas of her long black gloves with the magenta highlights. And then, finally, Curador felt as they worked their way up past his neck, pinching and tweaking at his face as they did their work. He scrunched up his face and tried to fight it, but the machines were as efficient as they were remorseless. After they were finished, he blinked his long mascaraed eyelashes as an unruly tress of pretty magenta hair swept across his face.

“Bastard!” Curador swore as he struggled ineffectually, feeling his prosthetic bosom wobble in response. He tossed his long hair as he tried to get it out of his face even as he peered down at himself, getting an impressive view of his realistic cleavage.

"Allow me, my dear," Dr. Quasi said politely. He then pushed the wheeled full-length mirror over in front of Curador so he could see himself.

It was even worse than he’d thought. The nanites had done a flawless job of creating Elasticity’s costume on him, but their ability to make him look like a woman had been limited, and Elasticity’s tight costume was less than flattering on his male form. He was wearing her long gloves, bustier, miniskirt, and thigh-high boots, and there was plenty of “skin” from his thighs, bare midriff, and exposed “breasts” and bare shoulders, but his muscular male body was plainly obvious beneath. His broad shoulders and thick manly arms and legs made him look like a man trying very hard to dress up as Elasticity. But between his extravagant makeup and oversized prosthetic breasts, he looked like he belonged on a stage at a drag revue along with other men dressed as heroines making playful fun of Faraday City’s tough and fabulous crimefighting divas.

Dr. Quasi gave him a haughty little smirk. “My God, it’s almost like she’s here with us right now,” he said as he stepped around the container with the disgusting brown goo that was thrashing about uselessly inside. “Fascinating, though, isn’t it, the transformative power of even just clothes and makeup?”

Curador’s eyes cut over to the clear bucket of oozing slime that used to be Elasticity, feeling strangely humiliated for her to be seeing him dressed up as a crossdressed parody of her. But as his eyes cut down at himself, he started to appreciate the magnitude of the danger that they were in.

"Please, let us go," he said, the desperation creeping into his voice.

Dr. Quasi looked at him in puzzlement. "Yes, of course, my boy. Of course. I have no intention of keeping you here, what would be the point of that?"

He retrieved his tablet device and pushed a button, and the fluid contents of the container abruptly stopped jostling about. Then there was a snap-hiss as the top of the container opened, and slowly the brownish goop began to seep over the edge, forming a puddle on the floor. For a minute it resembled the sticky shapeable slime that a child might play with, but the way it oozed into a mound of goo began to suggest a controlling force other than mere gravity...perhaps even a directing intelligence.

Curador looked at the gelled mucus in horror, hardly believing that this disgusting slime could be his tough and confident lover. He'd seen her stretch to unbelievable lengths and contort her body in bizarre shapes, but she'd always at least seemed vaguely human when she did so. Not like this mass of gelatinous waste. He could scarcely imagine that she was alive like that.

He watched apprehensively as the slime slowly firmed up into more of a jellied texture and began to rise off the floor, first into something like a column of sludge, and then slowly into a shape that was vaguely humanoid. And then vaguely human. And then vaguely female.

"Laz!" Curador cried out in relief. She was a long way from resembling her normal appearance, but at least she was finally in something approximating a human form. "Elasticity, you have to fight it! Whatever he's doing! Laz!"

She stared forward and said nothing.

"I'm sorry she's not very chatty. My doing, I'm afraid," Quasi said as he tapped away at the tablet. "I imagine you'd like to exchange some heroic pablum about how it'll be all right and how you'll both get out of this, but unfortunately I'm on a bit of a schedule..."

Quasi pushed a button, and Curador watched as Elasticity looked directly up at him, still hanging immobilized on the X-frame. She then took three fast steps racing rapidly and robotically towards him before launching herself directly at him!

"Elasticity, w—!" Curador began before he found himself smothered in gelatinous slime. He practically choked as it entered his nose and mouth and felt it press against him as he was completely enveloped. He felt a strange heat across his body followed by an acrid smell and taste, and he realized that what he was feeling was his embarrassing fake “Elasticity” costume breaking down and vanishing underneath the caustic goop. But with that costume gone, he was naked and could now feel the touch of the slime as it flowed inexorably across his body. It was warm and sticky, like he imagined it might feel to be dipped in honey.

As the viscous liquid oozed across his skin, Curador flashed back to some of the times when he and Elasticity had sex together. In their more adventurous amorous moments, she’d used her elastic powers to wrap around him, which he had found both incredibly erotic and deeply disturbing. He’d also found it to be a very emasculating experience given that she was a good deal stronger than he was, and her elastic “hugs” made him feel vulnerable and weak, though he never would have admitted it. But now, the realization that the disgusting goop in which he found himself completely immersed was actually his lover turned his stomach.

Then, quite unexpectedly, he felt as his restraints on the X-frame went slack. As they did, gravity's sudden pull yanked him downwards and slammed him unceremoniously against the storeroom floor. He still couldn't see—or breathe!—but he had enough presence of mind to realize that this might be an opportunity for escape. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts he was still held fast in his makeshift prison of slime that held him with surprising strength and resiliency. But he soon felt as his body was pulled up into a standing posture. And just as he thought that he might lose consciousness, the all-encompassing slime that covered his body moved away from his face, giving him the chance to breathe. He greedily sucked in air, feeling the coolness of the room's air conditioning against his bare face.

And he saw Quasi standing directly in front of him, silently watching with wide-eyed interest.

"You sick fuck, what have you—!" Curador gasped, but he stopped short when he realized that he couldn't move a muscle, and that the goop—the goop that was Elasticity!—was holding him firmly in place. "What'd you do?!"

"Ah. Pardon me," Dr. Quasi said. He then stepped to the side so that Curador could see his reflection in the full-length mirror.

Curador braced himself to witness what the mad doctor had done, but as he looked at his reflection he saw that he looked...a lot like himself. But instead of his form-fitting superhero costume, he was instead covered with the light brown layer of what looked like shiny fitted material, like rubber or latex. He was covered from head to toe, apart from an oval-shaped hole around his face. He had to admit it was an improvement over the embarrassing Elasticity costume he’d been dressed in, but he was still totally immobilized.

"Now, then. This part might feel a bit familiar," Quasi said as he pressed a button.

"Whoof!" Curador coughed out a gasp as something crushed his midsection just below his ribs, forcing the air out of him. It was incredibly tight and wildly uncomfortable and felt like he was being squeezed in half. It was much like the nanite “corset” from before, but even more intense.

Then, slowly but very deliberately, a tickling sensation ran down towards his groin. Where he felt something grab onto his penis.

"Wait, wait, w—!" he cried just before he felt as his shaft was tucked backwards, and his testicles were shoved up into his abdominal cavity. The experience was rather like getting kicked in the crotch, and he would have doubled over if the "Elasticity suit" he wore would have let him. Instead, he just felt queasy like he might throw up.

"Now for something a touch more dramatic," Quasi teased as he swiped his finger across the screen.

Suddenly, Curador felt the weight distribution of his body shift as he felt a wiggling and jiggling sensation around his hips and ass, making him feel incredibly bottom-heavy. As he looked in the mirror he watched as his hips and backside inflated to practically comedic proportions, a huge female booty made all the more dramatic against his nipped-in waist.

"No..." he said quietly, but his protestations went unheard as he felt that same little tickle form around his nipples, followed by a growing heaviness and a very pronounced jiggle. All he could do was watch in the mirror as his bosom grew, larger and larger. He was still unable to move his head, but his eyes cut downwards as he helplessly watched the twin gelatinous monstrosities protrude outwards from his chest, a massive pair of stripper tits that jiggled with his every panicked breath and pulled heavily on his chest. He likely would have fallen on his face if he hadn't been counterbalanced by his equally outrageous bubble butt.

Dr. Quasi paused to admire his work. "Hmm. Elasticity seems to be living up to her name, doesn't she? That's going to be a lot of jiggle for you to manage. Please do let me know how that turns out. For science, of course."

He pushed another button, and Elasticity's skin changed color and shifted to a more natural flesh tone. Then Curador groaned as her grip on him tightened even further, compressing against him so that she was quite literally pressed up against him as tightly as a second skin. He watched in horror as the lips of a vagina formed at his crotch. He could still feel his own penis buried beneath, but tucked back as it was, there was no discernible bulge at all.

"Yes, it's still there," Quasi said with a discouraged sigh. "Disappointing. After all, these are merely surface changes. Although in its current orientation, you'll very probably have to sit down to urinate, so I suppose that's something."

As Curador looked at his "naked" body in the mirror, he was struck by how unusual it looked. His wildly overblown female figure was certainly eye-catching, but just as before, his underlying bone structure was still male. The shoulders, the hands, the muscular thighs all signaled a male body beneath the feminine say nothing of his man's face poking out the front. He looked like he'd scampered off to some overenthusiastic plastic surgeons and begged them to give him a buxom bimbo's body.

"Well, I suppose there's no reason we can't have a little fun with this, can we?" Quasi said waggishly.

Curador watched in the mirror as lacy and delicate white lingerie began to appear on his feminized body...frilly panties and an elegant brassiere embellished with delicate trimming and lace, along with a matching garter belt and stockings. He felt as he was pushed high up onto his tiptoes, and in the mirror he saw as a pair of glittering high heels with towering stilettos graced his feet. A lacy white corset formed and cinched his already nipped-in waist, and in the span of seconds he watched as layers upon layers of skirts and petticoats exploded from his waist and tumbled down around his legs before being topped by an elaborately extravagant princess-style wedding gown with huge puff sleeves and a daring low-cut neckline that showed off his huge breasts. On his head, a veritable cascade of blonde hair arranged itself down around his face, and he watched and felt as a long bridal veil with a jeweled tiara formed in his hair. He then saw his masculine hands grow out long elegant manicured fingernails, and his long blonde mane swept itself into an elaborate updo with pretty wisps of hair that dangled down to frame his face. Meanwhile, a glittering pendant necklace drew the eye to his huge chasm of cleavage, and a pair of twinkling chandelier earrings tugged on his ears. The final insult was the addition of a sparkling diamond ring on his left hand, a glittering engagement ring just waiting to be paired with a wedding band by his fictitious husband.

The outfit seemed determined not to miss a single detail, dressing him up as though he was a pampered bride on her wedding day. No detail, that is, apart from his angry male face that was sticking out from the middle of this overblown mockery of feminine extravagance.

"Well, aren't you lovely," Dr. Quasi gushed.

"You asshole, I'll fucking kill you for this!"

"Such a sour disposition. And on your very special day, no less! Perhaps something to set the mood." He typed on his tablet, and a melody began to play from the device, a bit of classical music with a prominent string section that quickly developed into a lively orchestral waltz.

Suddenly, Curador felt as he began to move...or more precisely, that his body was forced to move against his will. He struggled against it, but the grip that held him was too strong, and he found himself twirling his gown girlishly before dipping into a demure and obedient little curtsy as he plucked at his voluminous skirts. Then to his horror he began to twirl and dance like Cinderella at the ball, blushing furiously as he felt his huge fake tits and ass jiggle and bounce inside of his elaborate dress. He spun about the dingy storeroom like he was a gleeful young lady at her first debutante ball, vivaciously gliding along on his high heels as his billowing skirts swung prettily about him. He finished with another graceful pirouette followed by another perfect curtsy to the doctor before touching his hand to his lips like he was flirtatiously blowing a kiss, and then touched his heaving bosom coquettishly.

"God dammit, let me go," Curador swore. "I mean...let us go," he corrected himself.

"How interesting! Already you're forgetting that Elasticity is a person and not just a pretty dress. I'm sure she'd be disappointed to hear you say that."

Curador just glared at him.

Quasi's fingers danced over the tablet screen. "Hmm. What would you like to do next? A pretty cheerleader, shaking her pom-poms for her team? Or perhaps a buxom French maid? I admit this place could use a cleaning...and a woman's touch."

Curador clenched his teeth and glared at Quasi with murderous intent. "Yeah? Go ahead, laugh it up. Embarrass me, humiliate me. Send me—send us—out into the world with big fake tits and a feather duster. I don't care. Do you know why? Because anything you do, I'll find someone to undo. Or eventually Elasticity is going to shake off your control and we'll both be free. And I promise you that neither of us is going to rest until we've caught you and brought you to justice. Slowly, and painfully."

Quasi made a guttural grunt of displeasure. "Ah, yes. The bargaining, the threats, the posturing. Inevitable, I suppose. Especially from one such as yourself who is no doubt used to being listened to and respected. The life of a superhero. Vain, body-proud, righteous and self-important. Not for much longer, I'm afraid, but then of course that is the crux of my research."

Just then, Curador felt a peculiar rhythmic sensation race all over his body, like a vibration, but stronger and more insistent. But this time it wasn't the doctor's was Elasticity herself!

"Hmm," Dr. Quasi intoned neutrally as he watched Curador's big breasts and hips wobble and jiggle energetically. "It appears that she's waking up. It's a shame, I was curious to try out other looks on you." Then, looking at the hero's preoccupied expression, he added, "You needn't get your hopes up, I still have full control over her shapeshifting abilities. She might wriggle a tiny bit, but that's about all she'll ever be able to manage. Though feel free to enjoy the sensation, I imagine it's quite erotic."

The young hero's face flushed as he felt the squirming and quivering sensation against his skin. He felt as the vibration made its way down to his crotch and even despite the horror of his current situation and with his manhood tucked back as it was, he nonetheless found the feeling quite pleasurable. He took a shaky breath and tried not to let his reaction show.

"Laz, quiet," he whispered. "We're gonna get out of this, but you need to focus." He tried to sound confident, but the sight of himself in the mirror looking like a massively surgically-enhanced crossdresser gleefully modeling an ostentatious wedding gown made him question his words.

A more severe tremulous motion ran over his entire body, and he realized that Dr. Quasi had activated another change. But Curador barely had time to register it before he felt something dripping down his face that was the consistency of hot wax, but without the burning heat. In fact, if he'd been in a spa he might even have found it enjoyable, rather like a facial massage. But as it was, raw terror gripped him as he felt the gooey substance press up against every tiny little bit of exposed skin. Outside, he could feel his entire outfit changing, but his attention was fixated on his face as the living plastic seemingly threatened to smother him. But after a few interminable moments, everything stopped.

Curador discovered he was able to breathe once again, but it felt like his entire face was covered by a rubber mask. He found he could breathe through nose holes and could still open his mouth—at least somewhat—but even his eyelids seemed heavier. Every time he blinked, his vision was framed by something dark and...furry?

Then he saw himself in the mirror. And gasped.

The wedding dress was gone, and in its place was an iridescent sparkling violet evening gown in a figure-hugging mermaid style that showed off his preposterously overblown feminine curves to maximum effect. His huge breasts were on lavish display in the tight top, and a wide heart-shaped keyhole cutout displayed an astonishing amount of cleavage through the "boob window" of the dress. His massively compressed waist then swept outwards into his greatly overinflated hips and ass, and the dress came together so tightly at his knees that he doubted he'd even be able to walk properly. But from his knees to the floor the glittering gown exploded into a wide display of feminine ruffles that were supported beneath by a plethora of frilly petticoats, giving him the appearance of a pretty upside-down flower. He couldn't see his footwear, but based on the arch of his foot he could tell he was perched on a pair of scandalously high skyscraper heels.

The dress was absolutely stunning and showcased his voluptuous female figure in practically lewd and wanton ways. And it was all framed by a gargantuan amount of blonde hair that was piled high on his head and swept behind him like a cape all the way down to the tops of his expanded butt cheeks. The overall effect was so bombastically overdone that he might have been forgiven for not looking at his face. At least, not right away.

"Oh, my God!" he cried out in despair as he looked upwards towards his head, his voice somewhat muffled by the mask that was pressed up against his face.

The "mask," however, was that of a woman's face. Or more accurately, a drag queen's face, as it was so massively overdone that no genuine woman would choose to look that way unless she was addicted to makeup. And plastic surgery.

His eyes—the only genuine part of him still visible—now appeared to be extravagantly made up in vibrant shades of eyeshadow and topped with two pencil thin and highly-expressive eyebrows, which even now were raised in terror as he beheld his new features. However, the eye makeup took a back seat to the hugely overdone false eyelashes which framed the young man's vision and fluttered dramatically with every panicked blink. His heavily-blushed cheeks had been inflated to laughable proportions, looking like cheek implants run amok. But even they were nothing compared to his lips.

His thin male lips were gone and replaced by a giant inflated set of dick sucking lips of absurdly cartoonish proportions that were covered in a scarlet red lipstick. From a distance he looked like he was teasingly wearing a set of the "wax lips" candy, except that these were totally, shockingly, real. His mouth dropped open in stupefaction and dismay, and he watched as the drag bimbo in the mirror opened her lips in an invitingly pornographic gesture.

"What have you done to me?" he cried out from beneath the horrible mask.

Dr. Quasi admired the transformed hero with practically ravenous eyes. "You may as well get the full effect," he offered as he pushed another button.

Curador lurched heavily forward as the outfit released its paralyzing hold on him and allowed him to move on his own, although still cocooned within the preposterous body and outfit. He struggled to right himself as he stumbled on his high heels, and he felt that his legs were bound together at the knees by the restrictive gown. Meanwhile, the gelatinous mounds of his huge fake breasts and butt jiggled in response to his sudden motion, and he flushed in anger and embarrassment under his rubber mask.

In the back of his mind, Curador's instincts as a hero tried to kick in and to remind him that now that he was free to move—at least somewhat—he should take action. To try and attack the doctor, to run, to do...something. But the proud young man was still reeling from the monstrous emotional blow of what had been done to him, and his first instinct was to examine the plastic prison he found himself encased within. He peered down at himself and beheld his incredibly long manicured nails that had been painted in a pretty violet color to match his glittering dress, and he touched his massive round jutting tits, his little waist, and his incredibly wide womanly hips. His hands traced backwards, and as he felt the sweeping curve of his humongous rear end, he whimpered in disbelief.

Nothing felt real, but then he realized that was the point of it. He was trapped in a rubber suit of preposterously overblown femininity. Numbly, he looked back into the mirror at himself and was again shocked to see this plastic surgery addicted drag bimbo staring back. He was scarcely able to believe that it was still him underneath, even as he blinked and "she" blinked back at him. He looked at the two giant glittering pendant earrings that graced his ears, surprised that he hadn't even noticed the huge gaudy things, distracted as he was by his face, the mass of piled blonde hair, and his fabulous gown that practically twinkled in the dim light of the room.

Quasi sidled up behind him so that the doctor peered past Curador's shoulder into the mirror. The sight of the two of them side-by-side was bizarre. Curador was a few inches taller than the doctor, and even taller now in his high heels. Seeing Dr. Quasi there for comparison only served to reinforce the masculine details still evident under Curador's disguise, a laughing reminder that there was a man buried underneath the female burlesque. And of course the compartive normalcy of the doctor's appearance only heightened the bizarre fabricated parody of oversexed femininity the young hero had become.

The doctor's eyes roved over Curador's new body, taking in all the details.

"Unusual, no? Certainly quite eye-catching. I confess I have absolutely no idea where you would look at home, do you? Perhaps walking the runway at a drag pageant. However, it's all quite permanent, you know. What you're seeing right now is what you'll be seeing in the mirror for the rest of your life."

Despair welled up in Curador's eyes, and the doctor made a small smile. "Tell me, as you look at your reflection right now, what sort of life do you imagine for yourself? What type of career do you think you might pursue? A performer of some type? Difficult, since you can't change your outfit. Perhaps something in the sex trades? There's a burgeoning market for individuals who enjoy sexual encounters to dominate men such as yourself who have been feminized against their will...or so I've been told."

"You son of a—!"

Curador violently spun on the man. The hero didn't have a plan or even a coherent thought, only wanting to inflict pain on his mocking tormentor. But his attack was clumsy and off-balance, unused as he was to his high heels or the fact that his dress effectively bound him at the knees. The weight of his huge jiggling breasts and backside did the rest, turning what should have been a well-thrown punch into a graceless pirouette, like he was a brazen and promiscuous temptress passionately throwing herself into the doctor's manly arms.

The doctor, for his part, easily dodged the punch—which had come across as more of a petulantly girlish slap, really—and "gallantly" grabbed on to the transformed hero to steady him in his high heels.

Curador noted that the doctor took the opportunity to grab a big handful of tit flesh in the process, but the young man didn't care. It wasn't like he could feel it, after all.

What he did feel, however, was the sharp and painful sensation of being viciously stabbed with the knife that the doctor had held in his other hand.

Curador stumbled backwards, blinking in confusion as he struggled to keep his balance in his new form, even as he reeled from the wound. He looked down at the large serrated hunting knife in the doctor's hand that was still dripping with blood. His blood.

"I am sorry for that," the doctor apologized. "Unfortunately, it seemed the most expedient way to trigger the result I'm hoping to achieve."

Curador was only faintly aware of the doctor's words as he tried to get his bearings. He pressed his hands against the wound and tried to look down at where he'd been stabbed, but he couldn't see past his huge fake tits. All he could see was his blonde hair framing a view of his extensive cleft of cleavage in his sparkling violet gown. But something was wrong. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he'd been stabbed and even shot several times in his short career as a superhero, but he'd never felt a reaction like this. He sluggishly turned in bewilderment to look at the doctor, and felt as his huge earrings tugged heavily on his earlobes. He blinked twice at the doctor as the room began to spin, fluttering his huge eyelashes at the man.

Dr. Quasi's dark eyes practically sparkled with anticipation as he beheld the young hero with a maddeningly smug demeanor.

"Ah, beautiful lady, it seems you've overdone it and become rather tipsy!" he purred with a smirk. "Fortunately for you, I'm too much the gentleman to take advantage, but you'll need to be careful about such things in the future...this city is filled with licentious young men who might try to force themselves upon a woman such as yourself. I'm afraid with that figure and outfit you're putting out some rather immodest signals to the boys."

The doctor pulled one of the chairs over and offered it in a chivalrous fashion, and Curador was so unsteady that he took advantage of the gesture, not caring that he probably looked like a drunk girl at a costume party. He plopped himself down and felt as the corpulent masses of flesh on his chest wobbled energetically from the impact, even as his huge padded rear end overflowed the seat like he was sitting on two big squishy pillows.

"I f-feel w-w-weird..." Curador stammered.

Quasi cleared his throat. "Indeed. I have a bit of a confession, my dear boy. I'm afraid I haven't been entirely forthcoming with you. You see, I've long had my eye on Elasticity for this little 'experiment,' as the nature of her powers made her an ideal candidate for this sort of programmable 'woman suit.' As you may have surmised, I've been planning this for a very long time.”

The doctor brushed Curador’s long blonde hair back over his shoulder, idly running the slender feminine fingers of his own right hand along the edge of the huge glittering earring that hung suspended from the young man’s earlobe.

“You've no idea how many evenings I've spent perfecting your new look, turning it into a veritable cornucopia of wanton and oversexed femininity, a hyperbolic caricature of womanhood so preposterous and over-the-top that only a man could have come up with it. It is fascinating to me that for all of your overblown feminine attributes, it is obvious to even the most cursory viewer that you are not a real woman. You are a drag queen taken to a ludicrously surgically-enhanced extreme."

Quasi’s gaze drifted downward at the hero’s transformed body. "I must say, to finally see you here 'in the flesh' as it were is quite intoxicating. To hear a man's voice come out of those ridiculously overinflated lips and watch as you stumble about truly underscores the performative aspects of gender. I mean no offense, but you look ridiculous clinging on to those last vestiges of masculinity. It will be interesting to see in the coming months if you willingly choose to adopt a more feminine demeanor to match your outer shell. Perhaps you might affect a breathy voice and a more limp-wristed way of walking. It would come across as fabricated, but it would go with your new look. And it's not like anyone is going to mistake you for a genuine woman."

"F-f-fuck y-y-y..."

"Oh, no need for such coarse language, my lovely young lad. Err, lady," he said with a husky chortle. "But you're missing the point. You see, I could have trapped anyone in there, and in fact on several occasions I very nearly went through with it. I had several excellent candidates—athletes, captains of industry, politicians—all proud men, and I'm sure any of them would have been entertaining, but there was always something missing. But when you appeared on the scene last year, you presented a far more tantalizing opportunity. Tell me, how are you feeling? It looks like your injury has healed."

Curador looked down at himself, but once again his attempt to see his wound was stymied by his enormous bosom. He'd been pressing his hands against the laceration, so he slowly raised them to look at them and was surprised to see that they weren't covered in blood. In fact, the tiny lingering bits of redness that still existed vanished before his eyes, leaving no indication. All that remained were his thick man's hands adorned with gaudy sparkling rings and bracelets, and beautifully tipped with the long and wildly impractical elegant painted fingernails.

The doctor wagged a finger at the young man. "I needed you, my boy. You were a gift, the missing piece of the puzzle. Not merely a healer, but an empathic healer. Able to restore not only yourself, but curing any injured person with whom you come into contact, and doing so as an involuntary and unconscious reflex action."

Even woozy, Curador's eyes went wide as the realization settled in. His breathing became fast and shallow, causing his huge bosom to heave prettily. He looked down at himself in a panic.

"C-can't...get...out..." he whispered, horrified.

"Yes, yes," Quasi said with an impatient wave of his hand, as though the fact that the young hero was now trapped forever in a self-healing prison was of no consequence. "You're still missing the point. You now have a deep empathic connection, one that I've now kick-started as both of your wounds healed together. Tell me, how do you feel?"

The young hero blinked in confusion, again fluttering his huge eyelashes prettily. But his head felt clearer, he realized. Though he still felt...disoriented. Off-kilter. He unthinkingly licked his lips, and he felt as his tongue brushed across his freakishly overinflated swollen pout.

He froze. "Wait..." he said in alarm.

The doctor said nothing, but merely watched with interest.

"Wait..." the hero repeated. He shifted his position on his seat, feeling as his massive inflated buttocks brushed against the seat of the chair. The cold seat of the chair.

"Oh, God!" Curador cried. He forced himself up out of his seat—no small task in his bulbous and ungainly body—and took hurried mincing little steps on his high heels over to the full-length mirror, bouncing and wobbling about in an animated fashion as he did so. In the back of his mind, he knew he should do something, to attack the doctor or try and somehow gain the upper hand, but such concerns were displaced by a more immediate concern.

He had to know. He had to see.

His reflection in the mirror was exactly the same horrifying drag queen bimbo as before. But as the plump flesh of his tits and ass swayed to a halt, he realized the difference.

His hands darted to grab at his breasts, and he gave them a desperate squeeze.

"My boobs..."

"Yes? What about them?"

"I can feel them."

Dr. Quasi clapped his hands together. "Wonderful! I had hoped that would be a side effect, but in science one never knows, does one?" He walked briskly over to the metal table and retrieved his notepad and pen. "And listen to yourself: 'my boobs.' What a delightful colloquialism to apply to your new anatomy. And no acknowledgment at all of Elasticity as a separate entity. A true symbiotic meshing. Very, very exciting."

Curador barely listened, he was so lost in the sensations he was experiencing. As he incredulously stared at himself in the mirror, his hands tentatively reached upwards to touch the outlandishly oversexed female mask. It was a ludicrous burlesque of overblown femininity, but as his fingers traced over the unfamiliar contours, it felt like he was touching his own face. He blinked, and as his giant sweeping eyelashes swept downwards he could feel their soft feathery touch against his big chubby cheeks. His breathing became fast and ragged, but he no longer felt like he was muffled under a mask...because, he realized, he was the mask. He swallowed hard and pressed his lips together, reeling from the alien sensation of his monstrously overinflated lips as they pressed together into a comically freakish pout.

If he concentrated he could feel himself—his male self, buried under all of...whatever he now was. But even more vibrantly he could feel what he was quickly coming to perceive as his second body. His outside body. His more real body, if he was being honest with himself. He ran his fingers across the flesh of his massive jutting bosom and felt the touch from both his finger and his breast as his long pretty fingernails sparkled against the creamy skin. His skin.

He had been cocooned within this fleshy prison, a jiggling jail from which there was no escape because now the prison was him. A man literally trapped inside the body of a woman...or at least a grotesquely overblown parody of one.

But it was more than that. He wasn't just a woman in a costume, he was the costume itself. His heavy earrings, his soft petticoats...he could feel them like they were part of him. He turned his head, and his long cascade of hair brushed his cheek, even as he could feel the softness of being the hair. He felt the cool air conditioning and it made him feel like he was running around naked because his dress was his new skin. Even as the sensations threatened to sweep him away, he accidentally brushed one of his big protruding nipples that poked out the front of his dress, and the erotic sensation sent him tumbling into a feeling of ecstasy. A little squeak of pleasure passed his lips.

Dr. Quasi looked up at the noise and smiled knowingly as the transformed hero played with his nipples, pinching and squeezing them.

"Ahh, yes. Pain can be quite painful, but pleasure can be quite pleasurable, can't it? I'd wondered if your symbiotic connection would be this intense. Perhaps this is something for you to explore as you decide on your new career."

"M-my new c-career?" Curador whispered as he fondled himself, swept away by the intense feelings of pleasure. He looked up at himself—himselves? herselves?—in the mirror and couldn't believe what his eyes were telling him, watching this hyper-sexualized creature gaze back at him. Her mask-like features precluded any nuanced expressions of horror or shame or humiliation, but her eyes—the only thing left of the imprisoned hero—were a portrait of both unbridled rapture and unmitigated despair. But as her massive dick-sucking lips opened into a pornographic "O" of delight, there was little question what she craved...or what men would gladly give to her.

From inside his plastic prison, Curador felt the tears trickle down his hugely enhanced cheeks, tracing over his preposterously heavy drag queen makeup that would never smudge, never run, never need touching up.

"I can't...I c-can't..." he whimpered.

Dr. Quasi nodded knowingly as he closed his notebook and stood up to retrieve something from a small metal case on the table.

"I know, I'm sure it all must seem so overwhelming at first. It's fair to say your superheroing days are behind you, but I imagine you'll soon discover other ways to service the people of Faraday City, or at least its men. You seem like a smart girl, I'm sure you'll figure something out."

Curador's eyes cut angrily over at the man, fully ready to lash out. But then over on the table he saw the computer tablet that the doctor had carelessly set down.

Curador's heart skipped a beat as he rushed over to grab the device, looking utterly ridiculous as he did so. With his legs effectively bound at the knees by his confining dress and still unsteady on his high heels, the best he could manage was a bouncing little scamper that caused his whole body to wobble and jounce about in lively and animated ways. He tried desperately to ignore the flood of sensations he was experiencing and focused on keeping his balance even as his ungainly body parts threatened to send him sprawling to the floor in a mortifying disarray of blonde hair, sequins, and jiggling silicone.

"Ha!" he cried out as he grabbed at the pad, fumbling at the display with his long fingernails. The device was still activated and not even locked, so he quickly floundered at the controls as he struggled to make sense of the complicated technical readout, frantically searching for something, some control, that would release him from this hell.

Dr. Quasi peered at him dispassionately. "There's no need for such theatrics, my dear. I would have handed it to you if you'd simply asked. You're going to need to rely on men for help from now on. Lucky girl."

The doctor tilted his head as he looked down at the feminized hero's feet, with Curador's sparkling and towering stiletto heels just barely visible under the froth of petticoats beneath his fanned-out mermaid-style skirt. "Hmm. You know, it didn't occur to me as I designed that outfit, but now that I see you in person, with your knees effectively restrained by the dress like that, I have no idea how you're going to even walk down a flight of stairs in those shoes. Perhaps you can find a man to carry you."

He picked up his notepad and wrote in it. "'Like a bride being swept across the threshold, carried by her adoring new husband,'" he said to himself with a guttural little chuckle.

Curador was furious and about ready to throw the tablet at the man's head, but he didn't want to lose a precious second with the device as he frantically looked for something that could help.

"Nanite control is what you're looking for. Third tab," the doctor offered helpfully as he edged closer. "Just there, you see? Locked and non-responsive. I'm afraid that this luscious and titillating form will be the last transformation that Elasticity ever makes. Even I can't change her at this point. Still, how terribly exciting for the both of you. Just imagine all the new adventures that await."

Curador felt as the flesh of his new body started to wobble and spasm as the helpless Elasticity tried in vain to change shape, but she was only able to quiver and tremble ineffectually. The little convulsions reached his huge round butt, and as he felt it jiggle shamefully he was again reminded how huge it now was. His mind went into meltdown as the doctor's words sunk in.

"Please. Please, don't leave me like this. Change me back!"

Quasi stopped in front of the young hero and gently tilted up Curador's chin and caressed his cheek. The two made for a wildly unlikely pair, the nebbishy middle-aged man in the tweed coat, and the glamorous and glitzy buxom drag queen in her ridiculously overdone glittering outfit. They looked each other in the eyes and Curador's massively overinflated lips quivered as he looked the scarred man in the face. For the first time, Curador noticed that the doctor's eyes were two different colors.

"Mmm," Quasi murmured as his eyes drifted over the transformed hero. As he did so, his hand drifted up to his own head to touch the stripe of golden blonde hair that streaked incongruously through his receding hairline of dark hair. Even the texture of the blonde hair looked different. "I have to admit, I'm quite jealous. Seeing how you look, knowing what you must be feeling. Ah, perhaps someday," he sighed wistfully.

Then, suddenly, his demeanor changed and became much more crisp and businesslike, almost clinical. "Still, very well. Pearls before swine, and all that. Unfortunately there's nothing I can do for Ms. Elasticity. She's stuck permanently in that form, a 'woman suit' as it were. But of course you're still alive and well inside there, Curador."

"Please, I'm begging you. I can't live like this."

Dr. Quasi sighed heavily. "I suppose perhaps I did go a bit overboard. Though the mental image of you as a swivel-hipped queen trying to go grocery shopping does entertain." He made a low chortle as he pictured the scene. Then he looked up at the feminized young man. "Very well. What if I told you I could get you out?"

"You could?" Curador asked hopefully. "Oh, God, yes! Please! Please you have to—!"

Quasi held up a hand. It was his right, the one that looked incongruously like a woman’s hand. "You understand there would be consequences. I meant what I said when I told you that Elasticity is stuck permanently in this form, but I may be able to cut you out of there. However, it's unlikely that she would survive the procedure, and regardless it would be excruciating for her.”

The doctor paused to consider that. “In point of fact, it might be more merciful if she didn't survive, given that her alternative is to spend the rest of her life as an empty shell of a female costume. Left to spend her existence hanging in a musty closet somewhere, or stuffed into some random box on a shelf like some bawdy old forgotten Halloween costume."

Curador looked desperately at the man. "Please, I am begging you, I don't care. Get me out of here! Do whatever it takes!"

As he said the words, he felt the costume and his female skin quiver and shimmy. His breasts began to jiggle, which quickly turned into a very prominent bouncing.

"I'm sorry, I can't help you!" he said, looking down at himself. Then he turned to the doctor. "Please, get me out of this...thing!"

Dr. Quasi nodded. Then without warning he calmly pulled out a syringe and injected it into Curador's arm, deep enough to go through both Elasticity's skin and his own.

"W-what was that?" Curador asked. A moment later, the room started to spin.

"Just a little something to help you sleep, dear girl. When you wake up, you'll be in the care of some men of my acquaintance who are most eager to meet a woman such as yourself. A former man, a former'd be surprised what some men would pay to be the first to sample your forbidden fruit."

"But you said—!"

"I lied. I'm afraid the two of you will never be free of each other. Believe me, I've more than adequately seen to that." He snorted. "Cutting you free, what a ridiculously simplistic notion. Within a few days your empathic link will be so strong I doubt you'll even know where you end and she begins.”

His lips curled into a knowing smile, which when combined with his piercing dark remorseless eyes created a chilling visage. “However, my dear girl, you have a more pressing concern. Unfortunately for you, Elasticity now knows exactly how quickly you were willing to painfully sacrifice her life in order to ‘save your own skin,’ if you'll pardon the expression. She'll never shapeshift again, and she has only limited control over her body, but I imagine she may come up with some creative ways to torment you in there. It's not like she has anything better to do with her time."

Curador's consciousness was fading rapidly, but he cried out in pain as a sudden jolting impact punched him in the crotch as Elasticity vented her ire, and he felt his nipples being squeezed painfully. He wasn't even sure if they were his male nipples, his female nipples, or both. A few seconds later, he felt something fumbling around and creeping up against his backside, like an angry finger probing for his ass hole. He knew it wouldn't be long before it found its target.

There was a small flash that came from Dr. Quasi’s phone as he took a picture of the defeated pair. As he checked the picture on his phone, a small smile graced his lips. "Delightful. Just look at the two of you getting along. An empathic healer without empathy trapped inside of an elastic vigilante shapeshifter who will never shapeshift again, but whose jiggling days have only just begun. I don’t believe you’ll be giving me any more trouble after today.”

"Asshole...I'll blow my brains out rather like this..."

"Yes, I can see why you might feel that way. But after that performance, I rather doubt that Elasticity would allow you to pull the trigger and permit you to escape your fate while she gets folded up and put away in a box for eternity. Being trapped forever as your drag queen body may not seem like much of a life for her, but from now on it's the best she can hope for. And if she ever feels frustrated by that, she'll always have you to torment. I suspect she'll be only too happy to open up a small hole in your gown to give your gentlemen paramours, ah, 'access.' Isn't that right, Elasticity?"

Curador felt as his huge breasts jiggled and shook, at first only slightly but then much more energetically. They started to hurt as they pulled roughly on his chest. He wasn't sure if Elasticity's angry display was an attempt to punish him for his treachery, or to express her caged fury at Dr. Quasi. He wasn't sure that it mattered.

Quasi watched the display with barely-constrained delight. "Although in candor, the two of you needn't worry about injuring yourselves, either accidentally or deliberately. Between her near-invulnerability and your healing abilities, now that you've achieved symbiosis I'm not even certain you can die. I suppose that will have to be a research topic for future generations."


"Now normally I would say we'll be seeing each other soon—because I would dearly love to hear your account of how the next few months of your lives unfold—but unfortunately I suspect that you're going to be a little 'high profile' for me. As you can imagine, the work that I'm doing here benefits from a modicum of discretion to avoid entanglements with law enforcement, or superheroes such as yourselves.” He checked himself. “Pardon me, former superheroes. After all, I don't imagine you'll be mincing and jiggling to anyone's rescue anytime soon.”

He held up his phone and took another picture. “Exquisite. I eagerly look forward to following your exploits online on whatever pornographic web sites on which you decide to showcase your talents. I'll be watching. All in the name of science, of course."

As the drug in Curador’s body took full effect, he swooned and then collapsed onto the hard bare floor of the storeroom, feeling his new body parts squish underneath his weight. His final conscious awareness was the painful sensation of Elasticity's elastic "finger" roughly and angrily penetrating his anus, but mercifully he then slipped into quiet oblivion.

As consciousness fled, Curador began to dream about his future. A future that all too recently had seemed full of the promise of wealth and fame, brushing elbows with the movers and shakers of Faraday City...but now he would be the one who would be doing all the shaking and the shimmying with his every horrified high-heeled step. The looks of envy and desire he had once received, now to be replaced by what-the-fuck looks of amusement and disgust as people beheld the man jiggling through life as an oversexed parody of womanhood, a painted and pornographic plastic fuck doll. His perfect life now a perfect nightmare.

Not a moment’s thought was given to the plight of his companion who was bound to him and trapped in her own hell.

Dr. Quasi stood over the pair and watched as Elasticity continued to twitch and jiggle angrily, the tiny little stretches being the most shapeshifting she’d ever again manage. But she stopped as the doctor took out a scalpel and without prelude or hesitation bent down and proceeded to run the blade deep into their exposed skin on their arm. This time it didn’t even leave a mark as the cut immediately healed the instant it was made, and as he withdrew the blade, there wasn’t so much as a drop of blood on it. The doctor made a quiet little ‘hm’ of approval.

Curador would appreciate the horror and permanence of their situation when he awoke, but Elasticity could only make little wobbles of her jiggly bits in tightly restrained fury at the doctor. But soon, even that came to a halt as she too slipped into unconsciousness, her own nightmare only just beginning. To be forever seen and mocked, but never acknowledged. Helpless to control the body except in tiny little ways, and forced to be worn wherever Curador decided to take them for the rest of their accursed existence together.

Dr. Quasi quietly smiled at the display and paused to scribble something in his little notebook. He then tucked it into his jacket and turned off the recording device.

They never saw him again.

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Oh my! The incredible evil!

Well Jenny, looks like your story codes are being read. I was dutifully warned but read this through to the end because it IS a Jenny North story and quite entertaining despite the horror. It simply disappoints me however that there are only 34 kudos and no comments until now after several days of posting. You are so skilled, it made my skin crawl, but at least you're promising something more later. I do understand how muses work, they are SO irritating at times, making thoughts go someplace other than one's own choosing. Looking forward to your next exciting adventure.

>>> Kay

Thank you!

Jenny North's picture

Thanks, Kay, I appreciate the kind words. Yeah, I may have been a little overcautious with adding the "Caution" story code on there, because this lack of response is pretty shocking. I've just removed the tag because I can only assume that people are thinking there's like rape or dismemberment or something, which obviously this story doesn't have.

I'm trying not to make this sound like sour grapes, but in the spirit of openness, I'm going to give BigCloset one or two more tries before I stop posting here. I knew that a horror story was a reach, but I've tried comedy and other genres and honestly the response to my recent efforts has made it pretty clear that most readers here just aren't interested in what I'm offering. I'm not angry or anything, but I won't say that it's not disappointing.

That said, I've no intention of giving up writing, but I'll just keep posting over on Fictionmania where my efforts seem to mesh better with the audience. And I definitely appreciate the support and encouragement that you and others have offered here...I very much value it!

A dark and icky tale indeed.

A dark and icky tale indeed. Ideal for the Halloween season. Quite unlike the usual stories to be found on BC, but strangely compelling.