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ROYAL REWARD: Catastrophic Crime Spree, Part 12 (Mannequin TF, Petrification, ZZZ)
🕑 Added 2025-09-11 14:48:33 +0000 UTCAs the last of the goons turned and fled with their tails–literal or metaphorical–between their legs, Ellen Joe finally allowed herself to relax again. Stabbing her shears into the ground, she leaned on them for support and struggled to stay standing. Already, she wanted nothing more than to give in and close her eyes and fall asleep.
At last, with a massive stretch and a great effort of will, she managed to force herself back to wakefulness. Rummaging in her uniform’s pocket, she produced a small lollipop, tore off the wrapper, and slipped it into her mouth with a sigh of relief. No sooner had she given it a suck than she felt a fresh flush of energy. Breathing deep, she stood and stretched. That should give her enough to get back home, at least.
As she turned to leave, however, she heard a crunch.
With a frown, she scanned the rooftop. “What was that…?” Had one of the goons stuck around? She thought she’d seen them all off, but maybe she’d missed one…
Tightening her grip on her spear, she raised it and stepped forward, her eyes flicking side-to-side as she walked in case they tried to ambush her. Ugh, this is such a pain. Why can’t these jobs ever be easy…?
Another crunch; her head snapped in its direction. It sounded like it was coming from the water tank in the corner of the rooftop. Scowling now, she crept towards it, ready to start fighting at any second. She worked her lollipop as she walked, enjoying its strawberry sweetness.
“Alright,” she said, as she reached the water tank. “If there’s anyone hiding behind there, you’ve got ten seconds to run before I come and cut your head off. Ten… Nine…” As she counted down, she kept her eyes open, waiting for any sign of movement, just in case her cornered target decided they wanted to go down fighting. Mercifully, they didn’t.
“Two… One… Alright…” She sighed in exhaustion. Why couldn’t they just leave? “Here I come.” Raising her shears for a neck-slicing swing, she took a step around the side of the tank…
…and came to an abrupt stop, frowning in confusion, as she found it empty. “Huh?” The stick of her lollipop wiggled in her lips as she snapped her head left and right, searching for the target.
“The hell…? Did I imagine it?”
Just as she was about to lower her spear, she heard it again: there, right there, a distinct crunch of something breaking under a foot, coming from…
…the other side of the water tank.
Ellen Joe grit her teeth. “If you’re trying to screw with me…” With a snarl, she marched around it, ready to slam her spear straight into someone’s gut, and found, to her immense annoyance, that there was no-one there either. “Are you kidding me?!”
Another crunch, back on the side she’d started at. Ellen almost bit through her lollipop. “You piece of–! I don’t have time for this cartoon bullcrap!”
With a hiss, she breathed deep and forced herself to calm. Alright, Ellen, think about this rationally. If they won’t show themselves, you’ve got to make them.
Stepping back, she squinted at the stupid thing, wondering what her next move should be. Should she feint to the left, then dart to the right? Or feint to the right and dart left? Maybe she should feint twice and catch them on the third attempt, assuming they were smart enough to guess what she was doing. Or maybe…
A faint grin returned to Ellen’s face. Or maybe it was time to cut the knot. “Alright!” she said, raising her spear. “If you want to keep your head on… Duck!” And with a thin smirk, she swung her shears as hard as she could.
With a sching of sharp metal, the top half of the water tank went flying, cleanly cut from its base. Water went everywhere, spilling over the edges and lapping against her feet. Still smiling, Ellen strode confidently forward. “Now I’ve got you… There’s nowhere left to run…”
But as she approached the remains of the tank, it became clear there didn’t need to be: because there was no-one there at all. The corner of the roof it had concealed was as empty as the rest of the rooftop, if a little wetter now.
Ellen snapped backward, looking around in disbelief. “What the hell…?!” Had they slipped out of the net at the last second again?! Or was she really just imagining things? Was her blood sugar so low she was starting to experience hallucinations?
She waited for a few moments, just in case it wasn’t her mind playing tricks with her. But this time, her mysterious target failed to make another sound. In the end, she all but flung her shears aside and turned to go, gritting her teeth in frustration as she walked. She couldn’t believe she’d jerked herself around so badly. She needed a nap, before–
Something stung her in the neck.
With a hiss of pain, Ellen swatted at it. Instead of the bug she was expecting, however, she found herself holding a simple glass tranquilizer dart.
Heart thudding painfully hard, she spun in the direction of its source. But even as she raised her spear, ready to deflect a second shot or thrust at whoever was targeting her, her leg slipped beneath her. She dropped, coming to rest on one knee, and when she tried to stand again, her vision swam as if she were underwater. Sucking in air, she struggled to stand. She could barely focus, let alone fight back. Sweat poured from her chin; her chest rose and fell.
Spitting out her lollipop, she drew in a deep breath of air and, mustering all the strength left to her, struggled to stand. Like I’m just gonna give up and–!
Her legs went limp. She dropped, her vision going black.
The last thing she heard was the crunch of footsteps behind her.
***
Ellen awoke to the sound of water dripping in the distance. Groaning, she opened her eyes and blinked, but her vision was too blurred to make sense of anything. In the meantime, she made to raise her hand and rub her forehead, but she’d barely even moved her arm than it slammed to a stop with a jangling of chains.
“Wh-what the…?” Her voice came out slurred, as if she hadn’t eaten anything all day. Ugh, where even was she? Ugh, thinking was too much effort. She just wanted to go back to sleep.
Despite her best efforts it proved impossible, and with every second that passed, the gears of Ellen’s brain started to spin at something a little closer to their normal rate. Sitting up, she squinted, blinking till her vision cleared and she could see again. She found herself in a dingy little cell, all moldering stone bricks and iron bars. A single lightbulb shone above, flickering intermittently.
Its faint light revealed her naked body, as exposed as it had ever been. In horror, she tried to cover herself, only to find her arms chained to the wall by harsh iron manacles. Gritting her teeth, she tugged them and tugged, jerking them till she was certain she should have made the bolts rattle a little, if nothing else, but they refused to break. In the end, she settled for shielding her sex with her tail, which was mercifully unrestrained. Now if only she could figure out how to fight her captors off with it…
Sitting there, still exhausted from her mission, she tried to run through a list of those who could be responsible and what they might have in mind for her. The raiders she’d just been fighting off were at the top of the list, but there was no way they could organize something like this… Surely? Who else…? The Exaltists? The Vision Corporation? Michael and Hoichael from the back streets? Who?!
Just as she thought she might have some idea what was going on, the lock of the door rattled, and open it swung, crushing all her theories in one single, definitive motion.
Into the room stepped a tall figure in a cloak, their face hidden beneath a bland white mask. From their arm dangled a plain metal briefcase, which swung to-and-fro as they walked, as if they were amusing themselves with the motion. Ellen got the impression they were male, though the thickness of their clothing made it impossible to tell. They might as well have been bigfoot or a trio of dwarfs. Or an Eskimo.
For all the absence of expression on their face, she got the impression they were leering at her.
Reaching the center of the little cell, the man in the mask bent down and placed the suitcase on the floor with a clunk, barely a centimeter or two from Ellen’s feet. Gritting her teeth, she tried to kick it, but the masked man snatched it out of the way with astounding speed.
“What’s the matter?” she said, trying to ignore how much it had startled her. “Afraid I’ll break all your toys?”
The masked man cocked his head, and Ellen got the strangest impression he was smirking at her.
Placing his suitcase back on the floor–out of her reach, this time–he popped the clasps and opened it, revealing an array of small glass syringes, each bearing a different colored fluid. They glimmered in their containers, slick as oil and strangely menacing, as if they might burst into flame at any second.
Ellen felt a sudden flash of fear. “H-hey,” she said, pushing herself back against the wall. “K-keep those things away from me.” What the hell was he planning to do to her? He’d already tranq’d her once–was he going to do it again?
Smirking–she didn’t know how she could tell he was, but he was–the masked man studied his syringes, tracing his finger from one glass vial to the next until at last, seemingly satisfied, he plucked one from its sheath. Its minty contents sparkled as he raised it, the glass catching a beam of light as it slipped through the cell bars. Placing his thumb on the plunger, he depressed it, causing a thin bead of the stuff to squirt from the needle’s tip. The two of them watched, silent, unspeaking, as it fell to the cell floor, striking the stone with a loud splot.
Ellen experienced a sudden, terrifying certainty: that she could never, never, let that syringe touch her, no matter what the cost.
Standing now, the man in the mask smoothed down his clothes and took a step towards: a deliberate, practiced step, as much as a taunt as anything. Bending down, he raised his hand.
“G-get away from me!” cried Ellen, pulling back and kicking at him as hard as her exhaustion would allow her. “G-get away…!”
The masked man slipped through her kicks as if he could teleport, appearing to phase straight from one spot to the next. She kept kicking anyway, kicking and screaming, thrashing and squealing, harder and louder with the second, until–
A sharp stabbing pain in her arm. She stopped fighting and looked and found the needle sticking out of it. Even as she watched, the masked man depressed the plunger and sent its contents pouring through her veins, making them shine through her skin like neon signs. She’d never even seen him take his position.
As soon as he’d appeared, he was back in the center of the room again, carefully slipping his needle back into his suitcase and slamming it shut and clicking the latches. Ellen stared, uncomprehending, too confused to be scared, even as the fire in her arm spread through her nervous system. A bead of sweat dripped from her chin. Her eyes trembled.
Still grinning, the masked man rummaged in the pockets of his cloak and, after a little searching, pulled out a large key. Spinning it around his finger, he approached her again.
This time, Ellen couldn’t find the strength to fight. The farther the stuff spread through her, the harder it became to think, let alone move. She felt as if her veins were full of lava, as if her muscles were catching fire. As if her lungs were full of steam and her skull was full of smoke. She tried to breathe and found herself panting.
Ignoring her, the masked man unlocked her shackles and, grabbing her wrists himself, wrenched her limp form into the air like it was a puppet. She tried to pull away, but she might as well have been dreaming: her limbs moved like they were made of syrup.
The substance in the syringe, whether it was tranquilizer, poison, and something even worse, had spread all the way through her chest now, leaving her biting her lip and wincing as her nipples hardened like ice. To her horror, it didn’t hurt like she’d expected: in fact, the tingling sensation the stuff caused made her want to grab a breast and grope even as she thrust her fingers deep into her– Nnn~! Heart pounding, she struggled to catch her breath and focus. What the hell was happening to her…?
The man in the mask stepped back and cocked his head, examining her like a sculptor inspecting his masterpiece. Raising a hand, she tried to slug him, but with every inch her arm moved, it became slower and slower and slower, as if all the water in her body were slowly freezing. In the end, he simply strode forward and grabbed it and forced it into a new position, and when he released it, she found she could no longer move it at all. It was like she was turning to stone.
Chuckling–their laughter faint, androgynous–the man in the mask stepped behind her and grabbed her other arm, twisting it too. Pinching her wrist, he placed it on her breast, making her squeal as her fingers sank into the fat of it. Carefully, he adjusted her digits, making sure she was tweaking a nipple as well. She tried to squeal, but even that was becoming difficult.
Stepping back, he placed his own hand on her back and pushed her forward, so that she almost toppled over. At the last second, he slipped in front of her, slipped in front and spread her legs, bending them to make sure she didn’t overbalance. Satisfied, he grabbed her free hand and manoeuvred it to her sex, carefully uncurling two of her fingers and slamming them deep into her–
Ellen tried to squeal, but no sound came out of her. She could only stare blankly ahead, her eyes wide and mouth caught open.
The man in the mask had something even worse planned for it, of course. Leaning in close, so close she could smell the fish on his breath, her pinched her tongue and pulled it so it lolled, before placing his fingertips quite delicately on her eyeballs (it should have hurt, and yet–) and pushed them back, rolling them in their sockets. Forced to stare at the ceiling, Ellen squealed inside. What was he doing to her?!
Now the masked man stood back, seemingly satisfied with his work, and Ellen Joe was left to stand there and shiver, struggling to move even a toe, as her body set like a jello pudding in the freezer. With every second, the tension inside her grew tauter, as if every cell in her body was slowly turning to ice. She could practically hear it creaking and cracking as she shifted.
Through frozen eyes, she watched as her skin, already so pale, turned as hard and smooth as porcelain. Soon, it was so hard she could no longer move at all, not even by a millimeter. She could do nothing more than stand there, her legs bent and her tongue lolling outward, her fingers digging into the most sensitive parts of her body. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t make even the slightest sound.
Approaching her, the man in the mask smiled and, with absurd ease, picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. Ellen could only scream as he turned and marched out of the cell with her, carrying her out of the little room and down an equally dingy maze of corridors, until at last they came to a dusty, tool-strewn workshop. Here, he wasted no time in throwing her onto a workbench.
Lying there on her back, she stared in mortal terror as he turned his attention to the pile of tools nearby and rummaged among them, clearly searching for something in particular. What was he planning to do to her now?!
With an evil grin, the masked man turned back, holding up a large buzzsaw. Ellen could only squeak in terror.
Snapping the thing on, he took aim at her stomach. Ellen screamed, screamed and thrashed inside, but outwardly she showed not the slightest sign of protest. Stooop! Stoop! Don’t! Don’t! Please, don’t–!
The buzzsaw screamed as it cut into her belly. And as it tore through her petrified flesh, sending pale specks of dust flying everywhere, a second blade, this time of hot pleasure, cut through Ellen’s mind and left her burning all over. It shouldn’t feel so good. It shouldn’t feel so good. The fact it did was almost worse than what he was doing to her.
Having sliced neatly through her gut, the masked man swiftly moved to the next incision, slicing her lower arms from her upper, her lower legs from her thighs, and her head from her neck, like a shark-tailed Antoinette. By the time her head finally popped free, she was in too much pleasure to notice. The ecstasy was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.
Casting the buzzsaw aside, the masked man flipped over her lower half, exposing her solid fiberglass pussy, its fat lips thick and frozen, and turned to pick up a power drill.
Ellen could only squeal as he approached her.
***
Afterward, he packed her into a box. Several boxes, actually: her head and her torso went in one, and her arms and her legs went in another. Her tail got a box all of its own.
Sealed into the darkness, Ellen could only lie there in terror, pleading for someone to come and save her. Lycaon! Rina! Corin! …Anyone! Her only answer was the clacking of her pieces as they shifted in their containers and the rumble of the engine of whatever vehicle carried her. She whimpered.
An hour or two passed like this, trapped and tormented as the boxes containing her disparate parts shifted about and struck her with strange sensation after sensation. Her head slammed into her chest with a clack and a clunk, while her hands rubbed her legs all over. Her tail swung from side to side, as if she were swimming through the depths of the ocean, and each time it struck the side of the box, another blast of pleasure rolled through her. Nnnn~! How could a mannequin possibly be so erogenous? She wanted to scream.
At last, just as she thought she’d lose her mind entirely, her box opened with a terrifying rrrrip, exposing the face of a fat, sweaty man as he raised his chubby mitts and–
N-no! Stay away! Keep your hands off me!
Chuckling to himself, he wrenched her out of the box piece by piece and held her up, inspecting her with a smirk of amusement. “Wow, they gave this one a real nice body, didn’t they? What’s up with the teeth though? Someone at the factory got a biting fetish or something?” Placing her head on the table, he rummaged through the rest of her pieces and finally pulled out her tail. “The hell is this?”
Turning back, he examined her with a frown. “Well, whatever. It’ll go great in our new bikini display all the same. Minus the tail, of course.” He laughed to himself as he picked her up and carried her into the store’s window.
Reassembly was almost as awful as being cut apart: each time her pieces slammed together, Ellen found herself struck by an intense bolt of pleasure, each more intense than the last, till her head crashed into her neck and she practically came with the ecstasy of the contact. The worst was yet to come though.
Having correctly reassembled her, the man disappeared for a second. When he returned, he was carrying a bikini, a skimpy blue bikini, the kind that would have made Ellen melt if she’d been seen in it before. Even as she screamed a furious, silent protest, he took the top and wrapped it around her chest, making her shiver as it cups caressed her breasts. It was a size too small, she realized instinctively–if her body had still been made of flesh, her boobs would have been spilling over the sides. As it was, the top merely stretched to conceal them, but the pressure it put on her body was just as appalling. Feeling its straps digging into her, she wanted to cry.
Adjusting the bra’s cups, he gave her a smile of satisfaction and turned back to grab the other half of her new outfit. As he stretched its straps around her feet, drawing the tiny, skimpy little blue thing up her legs, Ellen whimpered at the feeling of it squeezing her– Nnn~! Slipping between her thighs, the bikini bottoms sliced into her pussy and her anus like a piece of cheesewire, ripping through her mind with the pressure of their presence. She felt as if they were going to cut her in half.
Pinching their edge, the assistant pulled them taut, making her whine even harder inside as they sliced into her groin. When he finally released them, it produced an emphatic snap–the bikini bottoms were just as tight as the top, and she wanted nothing more than to get out of them. She felt like a watermelon wrapped into a ring of rubberbands, as if her body would burst with a squelch at any second.
Finally, satisfied with her appearance, he produced a terrifying item comprising a large circular base and a thick metal rod as wide as Ellen’s arm. And as he hauled this monstrosity of a stand towards her, Ellen realized to her horror what he intended to do.
W-wait a second! Don’t you dare! Grabbing her, he lifted her into the air. Don’t you–!
Schlup!
Slamming her onto the rod like a condom onto a cock, he tightened his grip on her arms and grunted as he wiggled her down the shaft. Inside, Ellen screamed, her mind alight with desire, as the thick iron rod slipped deeper and deeper into her anus–her fiberglass rectum couldn’t stretch any more than any other part of her, but as the stand filled it, she felt as if she were being strained to her limits. An awful, searing pleasure shot through her, intense as pain and threatening to rip apart her mind, and still the stand continued to slide deeper, raising the ecstasy of its presence to mind-wrecking new heights.
By the time it finally came to a stop, there must have been twelve thick inches of the awful thing wedged in her gut, and the feeling of it left her wanting to scream and wail in delight. Nnnn~! Take it out! Take it out! She couldn’t stand to have it inside her a second longer. Now she finally knew how her lollipops felt.
Stepping back, the shop assistant examined her with a smile. “There,” he said. “Our customers are just going to love you. …Especially their husbands.” With a smug chuckle, he turned and marched away.
Ellen could only stand there, burning up inside, and plead for him to come back.
*
Time passed with glacial slowness, like a great sheet of ice floating over the sea. Ellen, trapped in several layers of torment at this point–her inanimate new body, the embarrassing blue bikini, the giant rod in her ass, and the humiliation of suffering all of this in public–wanted to catch fire and die. If she’d had a choice, she would have never left her house again.
This first hour though, this time before the store actually opened, was a mercy compared to what happened when the doors were finally unlocked and the first of the customers poured into the shop, their eyes alight with greed and their bags swinging from their arms. Seeing their approach, Ellen practically recoiled. It was like a feeding frenzy!
In a swarm, women flooded the store. It wasn’t long before Ellen found herself surrounded.
“Oh my Gosh, this top looks so cute!”
“Do you think it’ll go with my hair?”
“Ugh, there’s no way I can wear something like this to the beach–not after all that ice cream.”
Circling her, they poked at and picked at her, pinching her bikini and pulling it and releasing it with a snap, leaving her whimpering at each fresh strike of sensation. Nnnn~! Stay away from me! Stay away…! Naturally, they couldn’t hear her.
This terrible experience continued for another hour and a half, at which point something happened that catapulted it into an entirely new realm of awfulness:
“Oh my Gosh! Look! This one looks just like Ellen!”
The voice pierced her ears and froze her thoughts like an icicle to the brain. If Ellen could still have moved, she would have turned, slowly, creakingly, in the direction of the sound, but as it was she could only stand there, waiting in terror for what she already knew to confirm itself.
“Oh my God, you’re right! It does look like Ellen. Holy crap.”
Two faces appeared before her, both familiar: one blonde haired with a bow, and the other brunette with horns.
Inside, Ellen practically ignited. Ruby! Monna! Being seen like this was bad enough, but when it was her best friends doing the looking…? Nnn~! She wanted to explode.
Even as a fresh wave of humiliation washed through her, however, she realized something. If Ruby and Monna recognized her, maybe they’d realize it was actually her! Maybe they could do something about it! Maybe they could find a way to turn her back. It was a slim thread of hope, but it was just about the only one she had available to her now, so she decided to grab it and tug on it like a rope. Please, you have to help me!
“Wow,” said Ruby, leaning in close. “It’s kinda, like, uncanny, right?”
“I know,” said Monna. “Look, it even has her teeth.” Slipping a finger into Ellen’s mouth, she poked at them, making Ellen squeal with every prod. “Do mannequins normally have tongues?”
“Do you think it’s modelled on her?” asked Ruby. “Like, maybe she was doing it on the side?”
“Modeling for mannequins?” said Monna. “Is that actually a thing?”
“I don’t know. How else would they make them though?”
“Hmm…” Turning back, Monna raised a hand and prodded Ellen’s breast. Ellen squealed inside, wishing she could catch fire. “If it is based on her… she’s a lot bustier than I was expecting.”
“I know, right?” cried Ruby. “I was just about to say. “Like, there’s no way Ellen was hiding a bust like this, right? Look at them! They’re enormous!”
“And they’re so perfectly shaped too…” said Monna, grabbing and squeezing. Ellen’s boobs were as solid as the rest of her, of course, but it didn’t seem to matter: she still felt as if Monna were digging her fingers into her tits.
Nnnn~! Stop touching me!
Finally, just as Ellen thought she might cum, Monna released her.
“What do you think?” said Ruby, pulling out her phone. “Should we send her a pic?”
“I’m waaaaay ahead of you,” said Monna, who’d already sent one. “Hmm… She’s not responding.”
“She’s probably on the can.”
Ellen squirmed in frustration. Of course I’m not responding! I’m right here!
“You know, if it is based on Ellen, isn’t it kinda missing something?” said Ruby.
“Like what?”
“Er, her tail?” said Ruby, rolling her eyes as if it were obvious.
Moona took a peek at Ellen’s butt. “Huh, it is missing her tail. If you were gonna model a mannequin on a shark Theran, why wouldn’t you keep the tail though?”
“That’s what I’m saying!” said Ruby. “Maybe it’s not based on her at all. Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”
“I guess it could be,” said Monna, frowning. “Eh, whatever. Let’s get out of here, anyway. I’m so sick of this place. We can always ask Ellen later.”
“Yeah, okay. I wanna grab something to eat anyway.”
As the two of them turned to go, Ellen’s thin thread of hope pulled taut and broke with a resounding snap.
No! she cried. No, please! Come back! Come back!
*
The rest of the day went without incident. In ones and twos and threes, shoppers shuttled into the shop and swarmed her, eyes roaming all over her, followed sometimes by their fingers. Ruby and Monna never returned, and if they drew any connection between her absence and the mannequin that looked like her, nothing ever came of it.
Finally, the day drew to an end, and the doors were locked, and the staff shuffled off, and the lights at last snapped off. Ellen, of course, was promptly left alone in the dark, unable to do anything but stand there and endure her loneliness.
Please… Please… Someone help me…
The next day went much like the first, but without the arrival of Ruby and Monna to renew her hope. It went slow, painfully slow, and by the time her second night in the store arrived, she was practically grateful for the relief from it. It wasn’t long before the silence and the dark got to her, of course, and before long she was pleading for the start of Day No. 3. The opening of the store’s doors came with an immense burst of relief, but it soon faded as the cycle started all over again.
As time passed, it seemed to pick up speed, a stone rolling steadily down a hill, turning faster and faster as it went till it reached the bottom and was going so fast it could no longer stop. It wasn’t long before a week had passed. And it felt like even less before four had. Speeding through her second month as an inanimate object, Ellen sank farther and farther into despair.
Please…
Just as she started to think this cycle would repeat for the rest of time, something happened that left her realising things could still get infinitely worse:
It was early in the morning, and the store had yet to open. Ellen was stood in her normal place in the window, the same place she’d been standing for the last six weeks, expecting nothing more than another day of humiliating torture, when the same assistant who’d set her in the first place appeared, his eyes hungry, and his fingers flexing. Coming to a stop in front of her, he sized her up with a frown.
What the hell do you want?! thought Ellen, though she couldn’t keep herself from trembling a little in terror. What did he want with her now?!
“Hmmm, I guess yours will do,” he said.
And before she could process what that meant, he reached out, grabbed her hair, and wrenched it off her head as if it were a wig. With that, he turned to go, her short black locks swinging from his hand as he walked.
Ellen could only stare, her mind whirling in shock. He’d taken her hair. He’d taken her hair. He couldn’t do that! He–!
Standing there, her newly-smooth dome glinting in the morning sunlight as it seeped through the window, she felt crushed by despair. First they’d taken her ability to move, then her tail, and now her hair. What were they going to take next? And how long would it be before there was nothing left of her original self whatsoever?
*
They came for her arms next.
Summer had passed by this point, and the bikini display was no longer relevant. Dragging her out of the window, the chubby assistant hauled her into the lingerie section, where he wasted no time in stripping her down to the skin (or fiberglass, by this point).
Tossing her bikini onto the floor, he rummaged in his box and pulled out a bra, though from Ellen’s perspective it seemed more like a spiderweb, a complex arrangement of threads that barely covered anything at all. It looked like it would fall apart in a sharp breeze. Y-you can’t be serious…
Wrapping it around her breasts, he clasped it tight and stepped back, leaving her squirming in a mix of pleasure and embarrassment. It would have been less humiliating for her to go naked.
“Hmm,” he said, frowning in thought. “You know, I guess you don’t need your arms for this position, do you?”
And without waiting for her response, he simply reached forward and popped one off. It made a clunk as it landed in his box.
A terrible sense of dislocation struck her. It wasn’t the first time her arm had been removed of course, but before now she’d at least had reason to believe they’d be reattached again. Now– W-w-wait! Don’t you–!
Clunk! Her other arm popped off and landed in the box. Ellen could only stare at it.
“There,” said the assistant, standing back and folding his arms smugly. “These’ll go to much better use in the four-arms display.” And with that, he turned and left her alone.
Ellen could only stare, agape, wishing she had the power to slug him.
*
Afterward–a month and a half afterward, actually–they moved her to the extra, extra large display. The mannequins here looked like they’d leapt out of a hentai, with figures unlike anything she’d ever seen. Also, one of them had her arms, she was pretty certain.
Impressive as Ellen’s bust was, it wasn’t remotely comparable to the beachballs on display here, and as the assistant ploncked her by the shelf, the main thought running through her head was: What am I even doing here?
At which point the assistant removed her head, and, as she sat there on the shelf, blinking in shock, pulled her chest off the lower half of her torso as well. As Ellen gaped, he rummaged in his box of spare parts and proceeded to pull out the most well-endowed bust she’d ever seen. It looked like someone had stapled a pair of balloons to it and spray painted them skin-color.
As she watched in growing horror, the assistant fitted this bloated bust to her torso and, grabbing her head by the ear, plopped her back on top of it. As her neck connected to it, a sudden surge of strange new sensation shot through her form: all of a sudden, she could no longer feel her own chest, lying sad and pathetic in the box of spare parts. Instead, she felt the pair of monstrosities dangling beneath her chin. Nnnn~! What the hell is happening now? Even though they were solid fibreglass, she felt their weight as if they were flesh, and it made her want to collapse.
Looking her up and down, the assistant snorted as if he’d seen something funny. Internally, she flushed, red with embarrassment. D-don’t look at me like that!
Ignoring her silent complaints, he grabbed an extra, extra large bra and, with all the respect one treats a normal, inanimate mannequin, wrapped it around her new chest. Ellen squealed as the cups tightened against her bust and rubbed against her nipples, driving her to even higher heights of insanity. Nnn~! Nnnnah! Ah! How are these too small as well?! They’re supposed to be XXL! Nnnn~!
Stepping back, the assistant cocked his head and frowned as he examined her, clearly thinking there was something he’d missed.
At last, he snapped his finger. “Ah! I guess you don’t really need legs just to show off a bra, do you? And besides, we need them way more over at the centaur display.
And just like that, he planted his hands on her thighs, making her squeal in sudden terror, tightened his grip and– Pop!
As he tossed them both into the box, Ellen could only whimper.
*
Two months later, some divinity took pity on her, and one of the assistants arrived to drag her off the shop floor and out back, away from the humiliating gazes of the public. There, he stood her against the wall with several other half-assembled and otherwise mismatched mannequins–many of which had parts of her in them–and stood back looking at them all with a frown. “Ugh, how am I ever going to get you all back together again?” Grumbling, he approached Ellen’s neighbor and popped off her arm, turning it around in his hands as it might reveal some secrets.
Over the course of the next half an hour, he took them all apart, breaking off their limbs and their heads and spreading their pieces across the floor in a vain attempt to sort them all by skin color. When this failed, he threw up his hands and started snapping them together almost at random, slamming the first limb he saw onto the first torso he found and then, when it was obvious they were completely out of proportion, throwing up his arms with a groan of despair.
Ellen’s hopes had already sunk into a pit of utter despair, so she wasn't as badly affected as she might have been several months ago. Nonetheless, her removal from the floor had fanned a small flame of hope that she might be put back together, and seeing the assistant struggling with her pieces extinguished it utterly. She didn’t even see her original pieces.
Finally, he grabbed her head, making the room fly around her as she shot from the floor and up onto the neck of the mannequin he was working on. Snapping her into place, he snatched a curly blonde wig from the desk and plopped it into her head.
“There,” he said, stepping back. “That’s good enough, right? Who the hell is going to know otherwise, anyway?” With a huff, he turned and stomped off.
Ellen could only moan in despair.
—
Incident Report: Case 69-412
Name and Details: Unknown, Female
Personal Circumstances: Victim is a young woman whose identity has yet to be determined. She is believed to be in her early twenties, with blonde hair, 36M breasts, and nine incredibly fluffy foxtails.
Discovery: The victim was discovered as a mannequin at the Kasōfuku Boutique, where she had been posed in a bikini as part of their latest sale. Employees of the store, when interviewed, confirmed that she had been delivered to the shop almost a year ago, and had been used in multiple displays since. As part of this, the victim had been repeatedly dis- and reassembled, with her parts mixed with those of several other mannequins, both transformed and mundane. This caused some difficulty for the agents of Operation Thousand Strokes tasked with retrieving her, but after extensive consultation of the store’s CCTV footage, officers were able to restore her to the correct configuration.
Current Location: In the storehouse of Akihabara Station.
