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  • Love Returned

    Chapter by smatster · 21 Oct 2025
  • Two more party goers play Beer Pong

    Magic is everywhere
  • Comment
  • The party haze thinned as Lucas, towering at six-foot-three with the broad shoulders of a college athlete but the fragile ego of a bullied high-schooler, launched his ball toward Rupert’s cup on the far table. It sailed wide, smacking instead into the frothing beer brimming in Madeline’s glass. The French exchange student, reclining naked in a pose of exquisite ennui one hand idly tracing the lines of a Nietzsche book cover against her thigh, barely had time to register the splash before the magic seized them both.

    Lucas yelped, a distinctly teenage sound escaping his muscular frame, as he was yanked off his feet. He shot towards Madeline like a missile. "No, wait—" he blurted, but it was too late. His trajectory aimed him feet-first, right at her startled gasp of a mouth. Her dark eyes widened above his descending soles, a flicker of existential boredom momentarily replaced by primal shock.

    Schllrrrp!

    His bare feet vanished between her lips, straining around her jaw. Madeline gagged as his shins, thick with dense muscle won from college weight rooms her own slender legs had never seen, forced their way down her throat. He slid deep, feet finding purchase, knees bunching in her chest cavity. Inside, Lucas felt a surge of disorientation, then power. His legs weren't just inside Madeline's torso; they were merging, reshaping. Her smooth, slim legs swelled unnaturally beneath the skin, thigh muscles inflating, calf definition carving into view. Her hips, previously narrow and model-perfect, cracked softly as they widened to anchor powerful quadriceps. Her spine straightened, adding inches to her impressive height as Lucas’s taller frame reknit her skeleton from within. Madeline’s mouth stretched impossibly wider as Lucas’s waist, then chest, then shoulders passed the velvet barrier of her throat. Her elegant neck distended monstrously.

    Her final choked breath was her own. Lucas’s head pushed past her soft palate, displacing her consciousness into a silent, internal relent. He surged upwards, his skull pressing against the base of hers. Click. Like a key in a lock, control was his.

    Lucas blinked her large, dark mascaraed eyes. He flexed her newly powerful fingers. Beneath him, his body – now a stunningly statuesque vessel six-foot-five, powerfully muscled yet unnervingly feminine – rippled. He glanced down, not at Madeline's delicate rib cage, but at broad, sculpted pecs topped by subtly enlarged, perfectly formed breasts. Lower still, something startling emerged: a thick, heavy cock swelling impossibly from where her clit and urethra had been. He gasped. "Whoa. Futa goddamn goddess."

    Before the shock could fully register, a hesitant voice broke the spell. "L-Lucas… Lucas that’s still you, right?"

    Erin stood nearby, naked, her lean runner’s body trembling. Tears shimmered in her wide eyes, her knuckles white around a beer pong ball. The athletic confidence that defined her on the track evaporated, replaced by the ghost of her high-school self – hopelessly crushing on Lucas from afar. "I… back in school," she stammered, cheeks flushing crimson, "I never told you… but I really… I really liked you." Her voice cracked. "I thought you were amazing. I still do. Seeing you get pulled into her and… change... I just panicked. I wanted you to know... Oh, fudge-nuggets!"

    Distraught, Erin flailed, her hand holding the ball jerking sideways. It smacked squarely into the overflowing cup of Marcine. The vibrantly obese Instagram queen had been preening, taking a selfie with her multiple chins, utterly unaware.

    Plunk.

    Marcine’s triple-chinned face went slack with horror. "My god what is happening, You little—!" Her screech cut off as the magic took hold. She levitated. Erin shrieked as she was torn skywards, spinning uncontrollably. The crimson blush vanished, replaced by terror. "NO! Nononono, NOT FAT! ANYTHING BUT FAT!"

    Erin plunged feet-first toward Marcine’s exposed rear entrance with the velocity of desperation.

    FWUMP!

    Her legs vanished into Marcine's gaping anus on impact. The sound was obscenely loud, wet. Marcine bellowed, a sound like a dumpster being crushed, her entire mountainous frame quaking as it tried to absorb the intrusion. "Get me out! GET ME OUTTA THIS TUB OF LARD!" Erin roared as she was being sucked deep within Marcine's vastness. Erin's head and shoulders strained against the tight ring of muscle before she was violently sucked deeper in an agonizing pop and a thunderous, rubbery SCHLORRP!

    Inside, it was an echoing world of blubber, suffocating heat, and the stench of expensive perfume fighting a losing battle against body odor. Erin writhed, punching out blindly. Her fist connected solidly with a pendulous breast that hadn’t thrilled her original owner in years. Marcine screamed. "MY IMPLANTS, YOU GYMSOCK!"

    Erin kicked wildly. "Take that, you… you… JELLOTRON!" Her bare foot slammed hard between Marcine's thick thighs, impacting her neglected outer labia with a thick slap. Marcine shrieked and jiggled violently, staggering back.

    Enraged, Erin stopped fighting against the fat. She fought through it. Her legs, strong from countless miles, tried to find purchase. Her mind screamed: Slice through this blubber! Become the knife! Determination solidified within the rolling sea of adipose. Erin pushed her legs forward within Marcine’s, feeling the shocking sensation of soft columns of fat shifting aside, resisting, then yielding to the lean, ropey muscle of her sculpted thighs and calves forcing their way into place, replacing layers of jiggle with iron sinew. Her transformation wasn’t passive; it was conquest. Marcine's body groaned and creaked as limbs reshaped. Her rolls smoothed, pulled taut as Erin's stronger frame demanded space.

    Erin drove upward. Her control seized Marcine's chubby arms, firming them, defining biceps and triceps beneath the dimpling skin, her fingers gaining runner’s knuckles and scraped palms. Marcine’s terrified howls morphed into choked gags as Erin’s head tunneled up her gullet, tasting bile and concealer.

    The bulging face beneath Marcine's wobbling chins surged upwards. Her neck elongated obscenely, the multiple folds stretching into a smooth, elegant column, her jawline snapping into Erin's heart-shaped structure. Her contorted features melted away beneath the stretching skin and remolded bone. With a final, psychic snap, Erin’s consciousness settled into the rebuilt skull. Marcine’s self-obsession was crushed under Erin’s fierce, determined spirit.

    The transformation stopped. Where Marcine had stood: a breathtaking Maxim model of perfection – lean, muscled like a dancer, with volleyball-sized breasts that sat high, a tiny, sculpted waist, and wide, powerful hips merging into thunderous twin globes for an ass. But the face… was Erin’s. Flushed and fearful only moments ago, now it was hardened with triumph and a dawning, electric desire. Her hands traced the hard mounds of the new breasts. "Holy… concrete."

    She spun, the magnificent new body moving with surprising grace, and sprinted towards Lucas. The voluptuous yet muscular form moved with power, the enormous cock swinging heavily between her sculpted thighs. "Lucas! Sorry, sorry for the interruption! I just—"

    Her sentence dissolved as she reached him. The sheer presence of Madeline’s transformed, statuesque body and Erin’s own supermodel physique radiated raw, unfiltered sexuality. The tension from the years of unspoken longing, the terror of the transformations, snapped. Lucas grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her into a deep, crushing kiss. Still stumbling backward, he fell heavily onto the worn velvet loveseat, pulling Erin astride him. Their tongues clashed, a battle of hunger reclaimed.

    Lucas growled, a primal sound deeper than his voice had ever managed. He grabbed her thick waist, the sensation new and overwhelming, guiding the velvet heat of her slippery pussy down onto his monstrous new cock. Erin gasped, eyes flying wide as she sank inch by impossibly thick inch, stretching deliciously, impossibly full. Her new muscles clenched instinctively, thighs trembling as she braced herself on his shoulders.

    "Oh, God, Lucas... yes... just like I dreamed... longer than I dreamed!" she moaned, beginning to ride him with powerful thrusts of her hips, massaging that incredible length inside her. Her head rolled back, perfectly renovated features contorted in ecstasy as she gripped her own huge breasts, pinching the nipples.

    Lucas grunted, thrusting upwards to meet her plunges, his hands worshipping the new expanse of muscle and femininity atop him. "Erin... fuck... you're everywhere..." They moved faster, hips slapping wetly, the swollen head of his cock sparking something deep within her with every stroke. The wet, rhythmic slap of his skin against her ass echoed through the room with every powerful thrust. Erin cried out, pushing her face into the velvet. Each deep stroke filled her more completely than anything physics should allow, grinding against her G-spot relentlessly. His massive hands gripped her tiny waist, bruisingly tight, anchoring her for each pounding descent. They exploded together.

    Overwhelmed by the sensations radiating through his borrowed body, Lucas pushed her off his lap. He lays Erin back over an armrest. Lucas enters her waiting vagina, as he lays over her and licks and rubs her nipples.

    Erin crawls onto her hands and knees over the arm of the loveseat, presenting the breathtaking amplitude of her remodeled backside. He spat thickly onto his cock, slicking himself further before driving back into her soaked, greedy hole. His new musculature allowed powerful, piston-like thrusts, hips slamming her perfect cheeks hard enough to make them ripple like tidal waves. Erin cried out, pushing her face into the velvet. Each deep stroke filled her more completely than anything physics should allow, grinding against her G-spot relentlessly. His massive hands gripped her tiny waist, bruisingly tight, anchoring her for each pounding descent.

    "YES! YES! RIGHT THERE!" Erin screamed. "DON'T STOP! CLAIM ME!" Her new body convulsed around him, clenching in wave after wave of devastating pleasure that began deep in her transformed core and radiated outwards, shaking her magnificent frame. The contraction triggered his own release. Lucas roared, slamming home one final time, erupting deep into her receptive channel, a torrent that seemed endless.

    He collapsed sideways onto the seat, pulling Erin after him. They landed in a heap, panting, still joined, sweat-slicked skin gleaming. Erin curled into him, her face nuzzling the sculpted chest of Lucas’s body, her transformed hand splayed possessively over his toned abdominals. His softened cock remained buried deep inside the life-changing warmth she now possessed.

    As their combined gasps subsided and their heartbeats slowed, a soft, golden light began to emanate from the worn velvet beneath them. It pulsed gently, warmly, spreading outwards like ripples in a pond. The wood beneath the velvet frame creaked softly, a sound like a contented sigh. The air around the loveseat hummed with an unseen energy. Tiny sparks flickered playfully around its well-loved arms.

    Within the touch-starved souls seeking sanctuary on its cushions, within the frantic lust that finally found its release on its springs, the loveseat found its purpose. It absorbed the sheer fertile power of the moment – desires realized, bodies merged and reborn, lives violently transformed and ecstatically joined. It amplified the essence: creation. Not just life, but potential, burgeoning possibilities radiating from its form. From the deep shadows under its seat to the plush comfort of its back, consciousness awakened. Purpose solidified. The universe, vast and ancient, breathed its true name into the very fabric of the space around it:
    It started as a soft, pervasive light, golden as ripened grain, seeping up through the fabric itself. It pulsed rhythmically, warmly, radiating outwards in slow-motion waves that kissed the surrounding air. The old wooden frame beneath groaned softly, a sound like the earth shifting after a long sleep, not of strain, but of settled comfort. The very atmosphere above the cushions crackled faintly, tiny sparks of white-gold energy leaping playfully across the arms and dangling fringe.

    This was no mere piece of furniture. Within its very fibers, the loveseat absorbed. It drank in the raw power thrumming from the entwined forms upon it – the torrent of long-denied desire violently realized, the cataclysmic merging and rebirth of two souls within borrowed vessels, the desperate seeking for connection that had finally found its shattering release within its weathered springs. It concentrated the pure, undiluted essence radiating from them: Fertility. Not merely life, but its inevitable force. Potential so dense it hummed, burgeoning possibilities spinning off the loveseat like pollen on a hot wind. From the dust motes dancing in its shadow to the deepest cushions embracing sweat-slick skin, consciousness flared. Purpose became iron-clad.

    The universe, ancient and vast, exhaled. Not a sound, but a fundamental vibration that resonated within the bones of the room, within the soul of the velvet itself. It spoke a name forged in the first wild unions of sea and shore, a name belonging to the nurturing goddess whose laughter echoed in orchards heavy with fruit, guardian of wombs and newborn seeds, whose very essence was the life-giving warmth radiating from fertile soil: Demetra.

    And she awoke, her purpose crystalline: to witness every union born from the party's chaos—the desperate couplings, violent fusions, and ecstatic rebirths. She pulsed with divine gifts: the power to shift her wooden bones and velvet skin into any form of furnishing, to amplify the fertile potential of those who rested upon her, and to rise as a woman whose curves rivaled the ripest harvest.

    The party raged on, unaware of the goddess now cradling the spent lovers. Erin groaned, peeling sweat-slicked skin from Lucas's sculpted chest as they disentangled themselves. "Water," she rasped, her voice raw from screaming. Lucas grunted in agreement, his monstrous cock glistening as he rose unsteadily. They stumbled toward the kitchen, legs trembling in their stolen bodies, arms slung around each other’s waists for balance—Erin’s voluptuous hips swaying, Lucas’s statuesque frame uncoordinated. Empty cups lay forgotten; their thirst was primal, urgent.

    Behind them, the loveseat sighed. Velvet dissolved like dusk into dawn, wood groaning into sinew and softness. Cushions swelled into heavy, milk-white breasts and hips that curved like riverbanks. Auburn hair cascaded over plump shoulders, framing a face of benevolent mischief. Demetra stood—seven feet of lush divinity, skin glowing like moonlit honey.

    She flowed forward, footsteps silent on the sticky floor. Twin gasps tore from Erin and Lucas as Demetra slid between them, her movements fluid as a river. Strong, warm arms slipped beneath theirs—one supporting Erin’s trembling dancer’s frame, the other cradling Lucas’s muscular torso. Pillowy softness pressed against their sides, Demetra’s full breasts brushing their ribs as she anchored them. "Rest, little vessels," she chuckled, her voice resonating with ancient orchards. "You sowed yourselves deeply. Let me steady your harvest."

    Erin leaned into the goddess’s impossibly soft waist, Lucas gaping at the divine cleavage swelling beside him. Demetra guided their shaky steps, her touch radiating fertile warmth that seeped into their exhausted muscles. Together, they moved toward the kitchen—a trembling pair upheld by divine grace, each shuddering breath syncing with Demetra’s nurturing pulse.

    "Rest, little vessels," Demetra chuckled, her voice resonating with ancient orchards as she braced Lucas's carved shoulder and Erin's newly curved waist. Her touch radiated a deep, fertile warmth that seeped into their exhausted muscles like summer rain into dry soil. "You poured your potent seed straight onto my velvet loam. This very couch drank your sweat, your cries, the very fury of your coupling. And I amplified it. That’s my nature." Her eyes, glowing like harvest moons, swept over their stunned faces. "My wood remembers the forest primeval. My stitches resonate with the warp and weft of destiny. Did you truly think me mere velvet and horsehair?"

    She guided their trembling steps firmly to the kitchen counter flush with spilled beer. Erin sagged against the Formica as if her magnificent legs might buckle. Lucas groaned, steadying himself beside her.

    "Behold," Demetra murmured, her voice a rumble from the earth's deep root cellar. She brushed her fingers along the sticky laminate countertop. Instantly, visible warmth bloomed beneath her touch—the cheap laminate grain shifted and deepened into swirling patterns of fine-grained oak. The entire surface seemed to strengthen, becoming solid and immovable beneath Erin's supporting hand. "Oak and cedar remember. Wicker, mahogany—I am the focus where all furnishing finds its perfection. I become what the union demands: A high bed for deep thrusts? Strong arms to cradle tender seed? Or perhaps," a lusty grin curved her lips, "a corn crib stacked high for bountiful harvests? My grain welcomes the plow."

    Erin gazed, dazed, at the transformed counter beneath her palm – now unyielding oak infused with impossible warmth. "Anything solid," she rasped again.

    "Consider every surface offered," Demetra declared, her voice rich with honeyed permanence. "For where union spills, where life takes root? There Demetra is." She snatched two sticky cups, plunged them under the tap water briefly, and pressed one into each of their hands. "Drink. Deeply. Strength follows seed." Her luminous eyes lingered on them, heavy with understanding. "Water for she who needs it... fire for he who just burned so brightly..." She nudged Lucas upright and Erin swallowed greedily, the cool water a balm on her ragged throat. Lucas gulped his back, droplets catching on his newly sculpted jaw. Demetra noted the vital flow within them both, her satisfaction palpable.

    Demetra watched Erin drink with a benevolent smile, her eyes lingering on Erin’s subtly altered profile – the glow transcending sweat. "Ah, yes," she murmured, almost to herself, her capable hands finding the tap and filling a cleaner glass for Lucas. She pressed the cool glass into Erin's newly strong, shaky hand for a refill. "Drink this too, little sprout. Thirst like that... quite natural." Demetra’s gaze drifted maternally over Erin's still-heaving bust and flat abdominal planes. "Water feeds the river, doesn't it? The one newly carving its channel inside you."

    Erin froze, the cup halfway to her lips, water sloshing. "...What?"

    Demetra chuckled, the sound rich with the inevitability of seasons turning. "The tiny spark you and this strapping young tree ignited upon my earth. Oh, don't look so shocked, vessel! Life answers life's fervent call." She patted Erin’s taut stomach with such casual certainty it felt like a prophecy carved in stone. "Water that. It blooms within you as we speak."

    Erin stared, the fragile color draining from her cheeks before surging back in a crimson tide of pure, flustered panic, climbing her neck and flooding the sculpted features that had been claimed from Marcine only moments before. The cheap plastic cup slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers, hitting the floor with a hollow thunk. "B-b-bloom? Inside... me? P-... PREGNANT?" Her hand instinctively flew to the flat muscle of her stomach, as if she could feel a seismic shift.

    Lucas nearly choked on his own water, eyes bulging as he looked from the goddess to Erin's expression of paralyzed horror. He reached out a stabilizing hand. "Whoa, whoa, back up—"

    But Demetra simply tilted her head, amused curiosity replacing benevolence as she watched the shock ripple through her 'vessel'. She hadn't expected such mortal dread from fertile ground so recently, abundantly sown. Erin swayed, her runner's legs momentarily unsteady beneath the weight of Olympian revelation, Lucas's grip the only thing grounding him as he leaned back dizzily against his strange, goddess-braced form, his fascinated horror mirroring her own.
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anon_8b75e4110691 ∙ 07 Dec 2025