By: QueenNyanlathotep
“Welcome to the Hedheld High School Science & MagiTech Fair!” The headmistress waved her hand in greeting as Ditmas and her family approached the door. “Good to see you again, Mr. Grey,” she said, shaking Ditmas’s father’s hand. “The exhibition hall is just through here--although of course, I’m sure you know your way. Have fun! Oh, and try to be careful.” She laughed as a blast of green light lit up the doorway.
“Oh, I’m sure we will,” said Ditmas’s father, curling his exquisite moustache. Clinging to his arm, Ditmas’s mother laughed like a donkey.
Rolling her eyes, Ditmas turned back to her phone.
A second flash greeted them as they entered the hall--Ditmas’s mother and father led the way in their expensive white suit and dress, while her younger sisters skipped along behind in their exquisitely-tailored uniforms. Ditmas herself brought up the rear, her curvaceous body packed into a too-tight beige fur coat and matching pants that failed to keep her prodigious assets from jiggling with every step. At the second flash, she looked up from her phone and raised a disdainful eyebrow.
The school hall was packed with both people and exhibits. To her left, an excited young man was demonstrating a ‘miniature’ volcano the size of a small car. As she watched, it erupted with a boom, showering the watching crowd with globs of thick orange foam.
To her right, a pair of girls were showing off their plant science project. The specimens they’d grown were very strange indeed, with bell-shaped heads rimmed with something like a pair of thick lips. A clear fluid dripped from between them, landing on a pair of round, fleshy growths beneath. As she watched, the plants’ heads moved, as if tracking the scent of a passing man’s crotch.
Ahead, meanwhile, a trio of students were mixing a large pot of vivid blue chemicals. As Ditmas looked on, they poured a vial into the batch, which began to bubble and froth and make a thick blue smoke. At last, it exploded with a violent bwumphf!, turning the three students to glass in an instant. Aside from Ditmas herself, no-one even seemed to notice.
“Mmmn,” said her father. “Looks like things are as wild as ever.” In contrast to his partner, he had the deep booming laugh of a wild gorilla.
With a wave of his hands, he directed them to a nearby stand, where a device like a microwave was glowing blue and steaming. As they watched, the student running the stall shrieked and held up his hands, before freezing in place as a layer of batter coated him.
A second later, he collapsed, a giant piece of fried chicken. He lay on the ground for all of ten seconds before a wandering dog snatched him up.
Ditmas’s father laughed once more. “That’ll teach ‘im to get his wiring right. Haha.”
Ditmas herself groaned. What a joke. Why had she had to come along to this?
As if in response, she heard a giggle from below. Her younger sisters were looking between her and the chicken, laughing to themselves. Slipping away her phone, she snapped her fingers at them. “Hey. Hey! What’s so funny?”
The twins shared a glance. “We were just saying… you’d make a really big chicken breast.” Looking at Ditmas’s chest, they laughed again.
Ditmas huffed. “Whatever,” she said, pushing past them. It only made the pair laugh louder.
Father and Mother were already at the next stall: a dorky young man in glasses was proudly displaying an oddly phallic raygun. The stall’s display was plastered with pictures of condoms.
“Ah,” said Ditmas’s father. “Now this is the kind of thing I donated for!”
“Ohh,” said her mother, the epitome of stylish stupidity. “...What is it?”
“Why, if I’m not mistaken, it’s some kind of condom maker. Isn’t that right, chap?” He slapped the dorky young man on the shoulder, making him wince.
“That’s right,” the young man replied. “The, er, Rubberizer 6000 is the world’s foremost condom-making machine!”
“Good stuff!” said Ditmas’s father.
“Oh, but honey,” said Ditmas’s mother, her usual expression of confusion intensifying, “you haven’t been using a condom!”
Father’s response was carefully selected. “No,” he said, expression measured, “I certainly haven’t been using them in our lovemaking.” And before anyone could analyse his intonation, he turned back to the stallholder and clapped him on the shoulder. “Perhaps you could give us a demonstration?”
“C-certainly!” said the young man, pushing up his spectacles. “The, er, Rubberizer works much as you might, er, expect. Simply point it at the object you wish to see rubberized--” Here he aimed it at a handy banana. “--squeeze the trigger, and…”
With a zap!, a beam of green light flew from the raygun and struck the banana, which rapidly compacted into a simple rubber condom, wrapped in a square of yellow plastic.
“There,” said the young man, holding it up to show them, “one condom. Flavoured, as well.”
“Oh, what flavour?” asked Ditmas’s mother.
Ditmas’s father pushed his wife aside. “Great stuff!” he said. “Mind if I have a go with the thing?” Before the stallholder could protest, Father snatched the gun and spun around, searching for something to test it on. “Let’s see,” he said, licking his lips, “how about that spare chair?”
He squeezed the trigger. A beam of green light flew from the gun’s tip.
As it sailed across the hall, however, a young teacher happened to step around the corner. The emerald beam struck her straight in her bountiful chest, and with a shriek, she shrivelled into a neat square of plastic.
“Oops,” said Father, studying the raygun. “Little hard to aim.” Hurriedly, as if it were hot, he handed it back to its owner. “Still, good stuff. Good stuff.”
Without a further word, he led them on.
As they left the Rubberizer stall behind, one of Ditmas’s sisters poked her in the butt. “I bet you’d make a great condom!” she said, all twee and faux-encouragingly. “I’m sure you’d fit a really big cock!”
“Shut the hell up,” snapped Ditmas. Her sister bounced away, giggling.
The next stall was displaying some kind of vacuum. The two girls running the stand were showing it off excitedly. One held it up, swinging the nozzle around wildly, while the other made a series of wild declarations: “That’s right! The Omnivac can suck up anything, no matter the size!”
As she spoke, her partner aimed the device’s head at a trash can on the table. In a matter of moments, it sucked up everything inside, followed by the trash can itself. The crowd gave a series of impressed ‘ooh’s.
“That’s not all!” continued the inventor. “The Omnivac doesn’t just suck up trash--it also processes it for you! With its powerful transmutation centrifuge, it can reduce anything to easily-disposed-of dust.” The vacuum’s body whirred and shook. At last, it came to a juddering stop, and with a click a hatch on its side opened and spat out a dust-filled bag. The assistant picked it up and squeezed to show there was nothing else inside.
“Ooh, how incredible!” cried Ditmas’s mother. “Oooh, it’s just what I need for cleaning the wine cellar.” Striding forward, she waved to catch the stallholders’ attention. “Excuse me! I say, excuse me! Might I take it for a test run?”
The inventor and her assistant stepped back, looking a little startled by this sudden display of enthusiasm. They recovered magnificently, however. “Go ahead!” said the inventor. “Try it out!” She gestured for her assistant to hand the Omnivac over.
“Oh my,” said Mother, taking the vacuum’s head in one hand and its body in the other, swinging it around like a toy. “It’s ever so light!”
The assistant held out another trash can for her, and with an excited smile, Mother turned the device on. In a matter of seconds, its contents vanished up the tube, and a few more later, another bag of fine grey dust popped out of the hatch. The inventor laughed. “Our patented bag-replacement tech means you can just keep sucking and sucking without having to stop!”
“Amazing!” said Mother, grinning with glee. “I do love a good suck. Darling, come and take a gander at--” Vacuum still whirring, she whirled around.
Vwip! Ditmas’s phone flew from her hand. “Hey!” she cried, as the machine swallowed it whole. “That was brand new!” Behind her, her sisters giggled.
“Oh, do calm down, dear,” replied her mother. “I’m sure you father will buy you a new one.”
“Hmm?” said Ditmas’s father, pulling his lips away from a teaching assistant’s.
As Ditmas shook with barely pressed fury, her mother knelt and inspected the Omnivac’s controls. “1… 2… 3…” she counted, with obvious difficulty. “I say, what does this, ah, dial do?”
The inventor stepped forward, expression worried. “That, ah, is the intensity dial,” she explained. “It controls how strong the, er, suction is.” A bead of sweat dripped from her forehead. “The Omnivac’s sucking power is still a little strong for its purposes, so I’d ask that you leave it on the setting it--”
“Oh pish-posh,” said Mother, waving her hand in dismissal. “If I’m going to be using this machine, I want to get the most out of it.” Without another word, she spun the dial all the way to 11.
With a roar, the Omnivac surged into life. In an instant, it slurped up the inventor like a strand of spaghetti, followed swiftly by her startled assistant. Next went their table, then the entire rest of their stall--and then, without pause, the second stall behind it, as well as its attendants, their items, and without pause: the crowd of people watching. Screaming and flailing, they spun through the vortex and into the Omnivac’s mouth like toys down the drain. The machine’s body shuddered, popping out bag after bag of indistinguishable grey dust.
“Oh dear!” said Mother, frozen where she stood. The Omnivac still whirred in her hands, relentlessly sucking.
In the end, a teacher ran in and pulled the plug. The vacuum’s humming died away. A final bag of dust, shaped vaguely like a butt, exited it with a sad little pop.
“Oh dear,” repeated Mother, studying the nozzle in disbelief. “Perhaps that was too high a setting.” Stooping, she turned it down to 10. “There, that should be better.”
Ditmas rolled her eyes.
“What a mess.” Ditmas’s father had returned, lipstick on his cheek. “Are you done here, honey? he asked, surveying the devastation. “You see, there are quite a lot of stalls. We can’t afford to dawdle, you know.”
“Coming, darling,” said Mother. She tossed the Omnivac aside with a second thought.
As Ditmas turned to follow, she found her sisters poking the final bag and giggling. “She came out looking just like a butt!”
One of them poked Ditmas in the thigh. “Imagine what you’d look like as a fat bag of dust, Ditmas. I bet some horny guy couldn’t resist sticking his cock in your dusty crack.”
“Oh shut up,” said Ditmas, kicking them away. This was such horse shit. Not only did she have to do attend this stupid trip, but now she’d lost her new phone as well? This was the worst.
The next stall was showcasing a new kind of shower booth. As the inventor set it up, a woman in a swimsuit stood ready to step inside. They stall had attracted quite a lot of attention, though most of it seemed focused on the assistant rather than the product.
“HyperWash 2000!” cried the inventor, waving his arms to draw the crowd’s gaze back to him. “Powerful! Effective! Clean your whole body in an instant! Oh, and it’s a self-contained system--the water used is fully recycled! No need to worry about water bills with the HyperWash 2000!” As the crowd ‘ooh’ed, he gave a broad grin. “No side-effects!” he added, somewhat preemptively.
Using her fat hips to bludgeon her way into the crowd, Ditmas watched as the booth opened with a hiss and the beautiful assistant stepped inside. As the glass closed on her, she raised a hand and waved shyly, earning a few whistles from the men in the crowd. Ditmas couldn’t help but notice the girl was sweating.
“Now,” said the inventor, inspecting the booth’s control panel. “Before we begin, let us apply the HyperWash’s high-powered sealing mechanism, to ensure that no steam escapes the chamber.” He punched a button on the console, and the booth’s door sealed shut with a hiss.
“Next,” he continued, “I will activate the shower cycle. The HyperWash’s water is, of course, pre-heated, so there is no reason to worry about getting a cold shock.” He tapped another button.
Ditmas watched the machine tremble and hum. At last, a fine spray of water spurted from its ceiling. The assistant made a fine show of letting it cover her, turning, raising her arms, and rubbing down her curves.
“As you can see,” continued the inventor, “the, er, machine is working perfectly.” He seemed to be speaking more to himself than the audience. “Now, let us proceed to the, er, next step of the shower cycle.” Pinching a dial on the control panel, he turned it up a notch.
The machine juddered. All at once, its spray doubled in intensity. The assistant jumped a little, as if shocked, but she soon went back to her provocative posing. As the water ran over her curves, several more men whistled at her. After a moment of hesitation, she blew them a little kiss.
“Now to, ah, activate the, er, soaping mechanism,” said the inventor, punching another key. Two streams of white fluid joined the spray of water, making the assistant jump once more. Soon the chamber was filled with a thick, bubbly fog. She made a show of scooping it in her hands and lathering herself up.
“As you can see,” said the inventor, “the, ah, soaping mechanism is functioning optimally.” He pushed up his glasses. “And now for the final part of our demonstration: the rinsing.” He raised a hand and punched a final button.
The chamber beeped. At once, all its sprays stopped. They resumed an instant later, all together and with some force. The assistant squealed at their intensity.
“Mmn,” said the inventor, scratching his chin. “It seems the, ah, rinsing has been perhaps a little over-tuned. Perhaps we should, ah, pause the demonstration here…” He raised a finger, ready to punch the stop key, and frowned as he failed to find it. “...Ah… One moment…”
In the chamber, the assistant’s expression was looking more and more worried. The booth was filling with steam, making it difficult to see her. Eyes wide, she tapped on the glass. When no-one came to help her, she pounded for escape.
Slowly, she started turning translucent.
Ditmas watched with a frown as, with a silent scream of panic, the woman’s body turned as see-through as the showerdrops and sweat that lacquered her, until at last she stood in the chamber like a watery ghost. Then her arm dripped, she shivered, and her legs gave away. With a final wail, she melted into a puddle on the floor of the chamber--the last things to go were her arms, still grasping for the door.
With a sad gurgle, the puddle drained away.
“Ah, here we go,” said the inventor, tapping a button on his console. With a hiss, the chamber opened, releasing a blast of steam. The man’s eyes widened as he saw it was empty. “Oh dear,” he said, “not again. ...I really have to fix the recycling system.”
At Ditmas’s side, her sisters laughed. “Wow, that was great!” they said in unison. “Mom, mom, can we get one?”
“Oh? But you two hate showering…”
“We want it for Ditmas!” said the girls. “She stinks!”
Ditmas kicked them in the shins.
The man running the next stall they visited looked like a twin of the Rubberizer’s owner, down to the pimples and glasses. “Er, welcome,” he said, as the family approached. “I take it you’ve come to see the amazing Self-Inflating Sexdoll!”
Ditmas’s father laughed. “I like the sound of that! Come on, sport--” He clapped the poor man’s shoulder, making him buckle. “--let’s see what you’ve got.”
“Er, just let me…” Mumbling, the man reached beneath his counter and retrieved a flesh-coloured square of plastic about the size of a folded t-shirt. As he lifted it up, Ditmas made out the little lumps of its nipples.
“This, ah, here is the clever part,” he said, pointing to the tiny fan that filled with the doll’s belly button. “All I have to do is push the button on this remote, and…”
With a whirr, the fan started. Slowly, the doll began to puff up. As it gained size, the process seemed to speed up, focusing especially on its bust and its butt. The doll was posed as if sitting, its arms and legs spread, so that as its ass inflated, it seemed to rise on its seat.
“Wow,” said one of the Twins, once it was finished. “It looks just like you, Ditmas.” The pair broke into giggles.
Ditmas threw her shoe at them.
“Remarkable,” said Ditmas’s father. Looking around, he made sure his wife was out of earshot, before turning back and leaning in close. “I’ll take two of them.” He thrust a wad of hundreds into the man’s clammy hand.
“Dad!” said the Ditmas.
“Now now, dear, don’t be so quick to judge. This is a brilliant invention with a lot of potential for profit--I’d be foolish not to invest in it. Why, just look at how puffy its vagina is. Any man would be dying to get his cock inside it.” He was practically salivating.
With a groan of disgust, Ditmas turned away.
“Now then, what do we have here?” asked Father. Twirling his moustache, he turned the family’s attention to a small stall tucked away into a corner. Its countertop was covered in what seemed to be colourful bottles of air freshener.
The stallholder was a freckled young redhead. “Hello!” she said, perhaps a little over-cheerily.
Ditmas’s father sized her up and licked her lips. “Hello, young lady. And what kind of invention are you exhibiting?”
“Oh!” said the woman, as if she’d forgotten where she was. Dropping down, she rummaged beneath her counter, before reappearing with something like a handheld vacuum. “This,” she said, looking up as she consulted her script, “is the Winds of Change Self-Contained Scent Making Kit!”
Ditmas raised an eyebrow. The Winds of Change what?
“Allow me to explain,” said the stallholder. “Have you ever wanted your house to smell of something in particular, but you just can’t find the right air freshener?”
“Ooh!” said Ditmas’s mother. “I have!”
The inventor smiled. “Well, the Winds of Change makes making any scent you want easy.” Taking a blank bottle from the table, she snapped it into place under the device’s handle. “Simply insert an empty canister, point the WoC at whatever you want to smell, and… suck!”
Aiming the device at a conveniently placed rose, she hit a button and vacuumed it up. For several seconds, the WoC whirred and hummed. Ditmas heard a slight hiss as it worked.
At last, it made a ding, and with a smile, the inventor snapped the canister free “...And there you have it,” she said, holding it up, “one bottle of rose-scented air freshener.” She blew a cloud of the stuff in their faces, making Ditmas cough.
“Why, that’s incredible!” said Ditmas’s mother. “Might I have a try?”
The inventor handed the device to Mother, who promptly tested it on a piece of discarded styrofoam. “Mmm,” she said, testing the scent. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted my house to smell more like styrofoam, but you just can’t find the right spray…”
“Mom! Let us try!” Ditmas’s sisters were practically bouncing.
“Oh, very well.” Before the inventor could protest, Mother slipped the WoC into their hands.
Holding the device between them, Ditmas’s sisters grinned a pair of evil grins.
Giggling like a pair of imps, she ran over to a nearby trashcan and sucked it up in an instant. Snapping the can off, they sprayed its contents wildly, filling the air with a cloud of trasch-scented mist.
“Ex-excuse me,” said the stallholder. “Er, could you--could you please hand it back? The Winds of Change is still very delicate, I--”
Ignoring her, the Twins ran on.
Turning the Winds of Change on a composting exhibit, they sucked the entire pile of stinking mulch up, before spraying around the hall in a foul-scent fog. Next, they tried it on a chemistry exhibit, sucking up a batch of colourful chemicals and releasing them as a prismatic spray.
“P-please!” said the inventor, sounding increasingly panicked. “Please, you can’t use it on multiple objects that quickly! There might be side-effects!”
Ignoring her, still chuckling, the Twins ran back to their family.
And as they caught sight of Ditmas, their mischievous eyes lit up.
“What the hell are you--?” Before she finished, the WoC caught her toes. “Hey!” She shrieked as it sucked her off her feet.
Landing with an ‘oof’ on her well-padded asscheeks, she could only watch as the WoC vacuumed up her shoes. She stared, horrorstruck, as she vanished up to her ankles--screamed as the machine slurped up her lower legs before moving swiftly onto her thighs.
As her prodigious hips wedged in the WoC’s mouth, Ditmas scrambled to get a grip on the floor, but the varnished wood simply under her fingers. “Turn it off!” she cried. “Let me go, you fuckers!”
Her sisters only giggled.
As they looked down at her, Ditmas’s hips and buttocks passed the WoC’s maw. In an instant, she was up to her equally swollen boobs, which slapped into and stuck against the voracious vacuum’s rim. With her arms trapped inside it as well, there was little she could do but beg as the device struggled to overcome the blockage of her breasts.
“Let me go!”
The Twins, looking down at her, turned to one another and laughed.
“Fuck you!” she cried. “I’ll get you back for this, you pieces of sh--!”
With an almighty pop, the Winds of Change did its job. Her boobs slipped through, and the rest of her shot after them.
Ditmas screamed as the world went dark and she flew into a cacophonous metal chamber, whirling and whirring with the noise of the device. Floating suspended in the air, she struggled to orient herself. Just as she managed to get herself upright, a flash of pink light lit up the room, suffused her, and left her skin tingling.
Raising a hand, Ditmas watched her fingers turn translucent, before wafting away like smoke on the currents of the air.
Shit! Shit! Sh--!
Before she could react, her entire arm had gone, reduced to a cloud of flesh-coloured gas. She stared as it floated to the heights of the chamber, mingling with plumes of every colour to form something distinctively brown.
Back below, Ditmas shrieked as her feet began fading as well, her expensive boots turning to nothing more than mist. Her lower legs followed them in a cloud of gaseous flesh. She kicked them in panic until there was almost nothing, and by that time her arms had vanished as well.
For an instant, she was nothing more than a floating, limbless torso and head, ninety-percent of her bulk accounted for by the titanic buttocks and breasts. A second later, they blew away along with the rest of her torso, leaving her head to float decapitated and alone. She drew in a breath, ready to scream, and her jaw flew away before she could release it. Eyes wide in horror, she blinked one final time, before the last of her disintegrated utterly.
Slowly, inexorably, the gaseous strands of Ditmas coiled towards the chamber’s spinning walls, coiling as they travelled with the soft white plumes that had been her clothes. Ditmas herself could do nothing as her viewpoint was dragged upward by the current, until it thrust her into the muddy brown mixture of gases above.
For what felt like an eternity, she mingled in this stew, tasting and scenting its awful, acrid flavour. It tasted like garbage--no, worse than that: it tasted like shit. It made her want to puke, though of course she had no mouth to do so with.
Eventually, after an eternity in the shit cloud, Ditmas found herself sucked down. There was an opening below, and she was being drawn into it…
“Honestly,” said Ditmas’s mother, “did you have to test it on your sister? I’d just bought her a new car!” She was holding the Winds of Change out of reach.
The Twins shared a glance, and giggled.
Mother sighed. “Oh well,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “I suppose I can always have another daughter…” Sighing again, she turned away, tossing the WoC aside as she did. One of the Twins leapt and caught it, holding the little vacuum up triumphantly.
As the device’s whirring slowed to a halt, the Twin giggled and snapped off the attached canister. Shaking it about, she put her finger on the trigger. “I bet she stinks!” she said to her sister.
From behind them came a cough.
“Excuse me,” said the redheaded inventor. “Could I, er, have my machine back?” She smiled pleadingly.
Twin One and her sister shared a glance. With a mischievous smile, she raised the canister and sprayed.
Ditmas wanted to scream. What had those shitty twins done to her? She was trapped in a metal canister, reduced to nothing more than gas. She couldn’t move, couldn’t see anything but the mud brown fog around her. And the stuff stank of something awful, like a freshly-used toilet.
Just as she started another mental rant, there was a click, a hiss, and she found herself sucked upward. Before she could even process what was happening, she flew through a needle thin hole, out of the can, and straight into the face of the redheaded inventor.
“Uurgh!”
As the Twins watched, the cloud of brown gas smothered the inventor’s head. The woman gasped in disgust, covering her nose and coughing to get the stuff out of her mouth. “Urgh! She shouldn’t smell this bad… I told you there’d be side effects!”
The Twins shared a look, and shrugged. Twin One squeezed the can’s trigger harder.
“Uurgh!” In an instant, the redhead was shrouded in gas.
As the Twins watched and laughed, however, something strange began happening: the inventor’s hands, wrapped over her mouth, started changing to a deep shade of brown. She squealed as the colour washed up her arms--screamed as they started dripping, falling in little clumps to the floor.
Plop. Plop plop.
Stepping back, the Twins watched as the redhead’s whole body--even her freckled face and hair and clothes--turned the same shade of deep, muddy brown and dripped to the floor in a series of ‘plops’. As it covered her mouth, her screaming cut off, replaced by gurgle like a well-blocked toilet. Flailing, flicking drops of brown stuff everywhere, she sank into a puddle on the ground and collapsed with a despairing gurgle into a giant, steaming pile of a shit.
For several seconds, the Twins stared, open-mouthed. Then, as one, they turned and shared a grin. Twin One lifted the can and shook it, her finger on the trigger.
Ditmas could do little more than flail as the air currents whipped her about. Drawn up, above the exhibitions, she could only watch as the redheaded inventor collapsed into a puddle of poop.
What the fuck...?
From elsewhere in the hall came a series of disgusted groans. Looking down like some sort of strange goddess, Ditmas watched as the Twins ran about, spraying anyone in reach with what remained of her in the canister. Hacking and coughing and grimacing at the smell, their victims turned brown, before collapsing like the redhead before them into stinking piles of sludge.
Ditmas watched as a busty brunette’s skin turned as dark as her hair, before she thinned and fell twirling into a swirly pile of poop.
Nearby, a family of beautiful women shrieked and huddled together, before melting into a single colossal dump.
Elsewhere, the Twins caught a whole crowd of guests, who hacked and groaned before shrivelling en masse, leaving the hall looking as if a whole herd of cows had stormed through and done their business.
And so on.
Laughing like a pair of imps, the Twins ran from stall to stall, finger held on the trigger of the can, trailing the stinking gas in their wake like a pair of landbound crop dusters. As they passed, people breathed it in, coughed, hacked, and finally crumpled, leaving only piles of steaming faeces.
As they reached the end of the hall, the two girls skidded to a stop. Twin One shook the can--it was a lot lighter than when they’d started, but there was still a little left.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Now it’s my turn,” said Twin Two, trying to grab the can.
“Hey!” Twin One backed away, holding the canister out of reach. “I’m the one who made it! Why should you get to use it?”
Her sister snatched at the bottle. “You’ve already used most of it!” she whined. “Come on, let me try!” She leapt forward, grabbing the bottom half of the canister. But even as she pulled hard, her twin held tight.
For several moments, they struggled in silence, hands wrapped tight around the can. It creaked in this grip, moving back and forth and back…
And then, with a final crack, it exploded.
Bwoomphf!
The Twins shrieked as the cloud of noxious gas hit them, before they burst into a fit of disgusted groans and coughs.
Ditmas watched, silent and smug, as her younger sisters turned into a pair of shitty sculptures, before crumpling into a pair of swirly piles on the floor. Her mother approached them, shaking her head and tutting sadly.
Hah, she thought, as they silently steamed, serves you shitty brats right! It was cold comfort, really.
Dismally, she wondered what had happened to her father.
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she found her gaseous new form being drawn through the air, into a vent in the wall, onward and downward…
...towards a little spinning fan.
She almost screamed as she realised what she was looking at: it was one of those stupid, self-inflating sexdolls the dork in the specs had been peddling. Her father was standing behind her, unbuckling his belt and slipping off his trousers as he waited for the doll to inflate. Even as she watched, he dropped his briefs and exposed his cock. It was long and hard and veined and erect, its awful tip glistening with pre-cum. The sight made her want to gag.
But before she had a chance, she found herself sucked onward, drawn into the belly of the doll and whirled around before being thrust inside.
As her gaseous form filled the doll’s empty insides, Ditmas found herself looking out through the cheap, porous plastic of its eyes. She was in a little office, sitting on a desk. Books lined the shelves. The room’s curtains had been drawn, throwing it into shadow.
Her father was standing before her, fully undressed. Taking his naked cock in hand, he lifted it and dropped it on the table with an audible thud.
“My,” he said, stroking the sexdoll’s face. “What a beautiful doll you are.” Ditmas felt his hand through the plastic--it felt as though he were stroking her own cheek.
“You know,” he continued, taking her by the waist and guiding his pulsing cock towards her, “the Twins were right. You really do resemble my daughter.”
Ditmas squealed as he entered her.
“Unf,” said her father, “little tight.” He squeezed her plastic thighs, lifting her up.
And then, with a deep breath, he thrust.
As he bucked, in and out, in and out, Ditmas tried vainly to struggle and squirm. She could feel his fat cock through the thin plastic of the doll’s pussy. It felt exactly as if he were thrusting it into her.
After several minutes of vigorous, noisy pumping, Father came with a grunt, filling the doll with his cum and making Ditmas feel like vomiting.
***
The hall was a mess. Piles of poop littered the room, while exhibitions lay knocked over and discarded. Several other inventions had gone off in the chaos, including a miniature volcano that melted everyone in its presence. In the end, a professional MagMat team had to be called in to clean up the mess, packaging away the broken devices and sucking up the many piles of faeces for transport to the local sewage plant.
Overall, however, the Hedheld High School Science & MagiTech Fair was a grand success. Despite widespread calls for its cancellation, many of its exhibits received wide support from local entrepreneurs. The Self-Inflating Sexdoll received particular attention from local trillionaire Mr. Grey, who ordered several dolls for his personal collection and made a great show of fucking one in a video seminar intended to encourage other would-be-investors.
Mrs. Grey had no further children. She did, however, order an Omnivac.