(The Longest, Filthiest, Most Brain-Melting Transformation Yet)
Kendel Myers had always been stubborn.
Tall, athletic, captain of the girls' volleyball team, ice-blue eyes, platinum-blonde hair in a severe high ponytail. She had watched the entire Tifa Tuesday spectacle with her arms crossed and her lip curled in disgust. When Tifa's nipple was offered, dripping warm milk down Kendel's chin, she had turned her head and spat on the concrete.
"I don't kneel," she said, voice like frost. "And I definitely don't drink from some freakshow cow for Ethan Harper."
The courtyard went dead silent.
Tifa's smile never wavered, but something ancient and terrible flickered behind her crimson eyes.
Lara, watching from the sidelines, actually smirked.
Ethan just looked mortified and tried to hide behind Tifa's tits.
Kendel turned on her heel to leave.
She made it four steps.
The heat hit her like a meteor.
It started in her spine (an explosion of liquid fire that bowed her back so hard her ponytail whipped forward over her shoulder). She staggered, gasping, clutching at the nearest wall.
"N-no— what the fuck—"
Her voice cracked, climbing two octaves in a single syllable.
The first thing to go was her height.
Kendel had been 5'11". Now her bones began to stretch, vertebrae popping like gunfire as she shot upward (six feet, six-two, six-four). Her volleyball shorts split at the seams as her thighs detonated outward, muscle and plush fat blooming in perfect proportion, each leg thickening until they rubbed together with a wet, obscene squish. Her ass followed, two pale moons swelling so fast the fabric of her shorts became a thong, then nothing at all. The cheeks lifted, rounded, ballooned until they were each bigger than her old torso, clapping softly with every involuntary twitch.
Her waist cinched inward with a sickening crack, ribs compressing until she looked carved by a pervert god (tiny, fragile, an impossible hourglass that made her hips flare like a fertility idol).
Then the tits.
They didn't grow.
They erupted.
Kendel screamed as her sports bra shredded like tissue paper. Two enormous, perfectly spherical breasts burst forward, swelling so fast they slapped together with a wet smack. They kept going (bigger, heavier, rounder) until they were larger than beach balls, capped with fat, puffy pink nipples that jutted out like thumbs. Blue veins appeared beneath the skin as they filled with something thick and sweet. The weight dragged her forward; she caught herself on her hands and knees, back arched, ass in the air, tits dragging on the concrete.
The entire school watched, phones forgotten.
Her ponytail exploded.
Platinum strands turned gold (real, shimmering gold), lengthening until they pooled on the ground around her like molten metal. The severe tie dissolved, replaced by a high, bouncy ponytail that reached the top of her obscene ass. Her face shifted (cheekbones lifting, lips plumping into a permanent glossy pout, eyelashes thickening until they cast shadows on her cheeks). Her eyes, once ice-blue, melted into electric sapphire, pupils dilating until almost no color remained.
Inside her skull, Kendel's mind began to dissolve.
Every memory of independence, of pride, of refusing to bow, was dipped in liquid pink and stirred until it dripped out her ears. New thoughts flooded in, louder, dumber, happier.
Ethan is everything.
Protect Ethan.
Love Ethan.
Breed for Ethan.
Obey Ethan.
Worship Ethan.
Never let anyone hurt Ethan again.
Her skin shimmered, then hardened in places (sleek, royal-blue material crawling over her body like living latex). It started at her toes, creeping upward, forming thigh-high stiletto boots with glowing magenta soles. It hugged her calves, her obscene thighs, then split strategically (crawling up her hips but leaving her pussy and ass completely exposed, glistening and dripping). The Zero Suit materialized piece by piece: backless, frontless, nothing but glowing blue ribbons that wrapped beneath her tits and around her waist, lifting and presenting her assets like offerings.
The final touch: the Paralyzer pistol snapped into existence on her right thigh, but the barrel had been replaced with a thick, veiny dildo attachment that pulsed softly.
Kendel was gone.
On her hands and knees in the middle of the courtyard, panting and drooling, was the single biggest, dumbest, most dangerously overprotective Samus Aran the universe had ever shat out in a fit of horny generosity.
She rose slowly (six-foot-seven in the heels), tits so colossal they blocked her view of her own feet. Milk (no, thicker, sweeter, almost glowing) leaked from her nipples in steady streams, forming a puddle between her boots. Her ass clapped softly as she shifted her weight, each cheek easily wider than a cafeteria table.
Her voice, when it came, was pure brainless bliss.
"E-ethan…?" she whimpered, sapphire eyes locking on him across the courtyard.
Then she moved.
Not walked. Moved.
One moment she was thirty feet away; the next she had crossed the distance in a blur, dropping to her knees hard enough to crack the concrete and crawling the last few feet until her face was pressed to Ethan's sneakers.
"I was bad," she sobbed, actual tears rolling down perfect cheeks. "I was mean and proud and I didn't drink Tifa's love-milk and I almost let someone hurt my perfect baby—"
She grabbed Ethan's ankles and rubbed her cheek against his shoes like a cat.
"Please punish me," she begged, voice muffled. "Use my throat. Break my pussy. Fill me with babies until I can't walk. Just let me protect you forever."
Tifa looked smug.
Lara looked like she wanted to strangle something.
Ethan just stared, cock throbbing so hard it hurt.
Samus (because that was all that was left) didn't wait for permission.
She lunged forward, wrapping both arms around Ethan's waist and lifting him clean off the ground, pressing him into the softest, warmest embrace imaginable. Her tits enveloped his entire torso; her milk soaked through his shirt instantly. She buried her face in his neck and inhaled like he was oxygen.
"Mine to protect," she whispered, voice trembling with devotion. "Mine to love. Mine to serve. Anyone who looks at you wrong gets their spine vaporized. Anyone who touches you gets their skull used as a cock sleeve. I'm your dumb bimbo bounty hunter now, Master."
She sank back to her knees, still holding him, and nuzzled her cheek against the bulge in his jeans.
"Let me show you how sorry I am," she breathed.
Then, in front of the entire school, Samus Aran (the biggest, dumbest, most lethally overprotective version alive) opened her glossy lips and took Ethan's cock down her throat in one slow, worshipful motion.
She didn't gag.
She didn't breathe.
She just moaned, eyes rolling back, milk squirting from both nipples in rhythmic jets every time her throat bulged around him.
Tifa clapped proudly.
Lara looked ready to burn the school down.
Ethan came in under ten seconds, screaming into the open air as Samus swallowed every drop, then kept sucking, tears of joy streaming down her face.
When she finally pulled off (lips swollen, chin dripping), she pressed her forehead to his and whispered:
"I love you more than oxygen, Ethan Harper.
I love you more than my own life.
I will kill galaxies for you."
Then she stood, turned to the silent crowd, and fired a warning shot from her Paralyzer-dildo into the sky. A pink heart-shaped blast exploded overhead.
"NEW RULE," she bellowed, voice echoing off the buildings. "Ethan Harper is god. Anyone who disagrees gets turned into a fuck-toy and gifted to him. Understood?"
Four hundred heads nodded frantically.
Samus turned back, scooped Ethan into her arms like he weighed nothing, and cradled him against her leaking tits.
"Good," she cooed, kissing his forehead. "Now let's get you to class, baby. I'll be your seat, your desk, your body pillow, and your personal executioner."
She strode toward the building, ass clapping loud enough to set off car alarms, milk trailing behind her in two perfect streams.
Tifa followed, beaming.
Lara stalked after them, muttering murder under her breath.
Behind them, the puddle of glowing Samus-milk on the concrete began to steam.
Somewhere in the distance, another stubborn soul felt the first tingle between their thighs.
The harem was growing.
And Samus Aran (once Kendel Myers, now the dumbest, thiccest, most murderously loyal bimbo in existence) had just claimed her place as its deadliest guardian.
Ethan was never, ever leaving the house without an armed escort again.
Whether he wanted one or not.