Voluptus Ludum Ch. 07

"Hey, what did I say? Don't worry." She said, moving her head around to plant a comforting kiss on Alannah's lips. The kiss was enough to bring the redhead out of her mind.

"Thanks. Don't know what's wrong with me, never been this nervous before." She mused, pecking Stacy on the lips with a small grin. The pink haired lesbian returned the expression, leaning into the kiss.

"Well, if it weren't for someone being ridiculously horny earlier, I'd happily comfort you more, uh, intimately." Stacy joked, giving a mock thrust of her hips. Alannah groaned at that.

"Damn, too bad my cards don't affect you too." She sighed, glancing sparingly at her deck, sitting on the table in front of them, unmoved. It had seen some use, though not much. Alannah had selected yes when the letter had come, thinking it would be a rather interesting experience. That wasn't the case unfortunately. None of the cards were human, all of them being some kind of elemental creature. Some had humanoid feminine figures, with some exaggerated curves to them, but none that she wanted to use. A shame, given what she'd seen of Emily's and Bell's decks.

That said, she had plenty of equipment cards that had her interests. They're skills were designed to be evasive and work in combos with each other and her creatures, but outside of battle, they seemed perfect for sexual activity. While they didn't grant her the extravagant curves or sexual prowess that she wanted, they were perfect when it came to some of the more debasive acts she and Stacy did, it was fantastic. For whatever reason, the equipment cards granted her elasticity and some form of natural lubricant.

Alannah and Stacy had both been interested in the more extreme acts they'd seen in certain pornographic films. One thing in particular that caught the redhead's interest was anal fisting. She had tried fisting before, and succeeded with glorious triumph as she experienced her first ever squirting orgasm, dousing her partner at the time in her juices. Since then, she and Stacy had given it a few tries in the two years they've been together, and, while each time was incredible, something seemed to be lacking. An emptiness that wanted to be filled.

Then it came to light when Alannah stumbled upon a video of lesbians fisting each other's asses. Since then it had held her interest and she'd even managed to get Stacy on board, though she was more hesitant about it. They'd done some anal play before, mostly some rimming and a couple of fingers at most, but that had been a stretch for both. And then, when they thought the fantasy would remain just that, the tournament began. Anxious excitement was all they could feel for several hours after Alannah recounted the events.

Shortly after she had returned from the meeting, she found her deck changed. For a while, she had felt disappointed by the less than over the top artwork, but at the same time she was always open to trying out new things. As soon as the letter came, she began trying out each and every card to see its effects. It was during that time, that she found that granted her a body that seemed capable of stretching infinitely. That was the first time she was fisted in the ass and it was far from the last.

As they sat on the couch, Alannah couldn't help playing with her elastic body. It wasn't sexual, just idling messing around with herself; pulling her fingers to a foot long, making her nose longer, maybe even pulling on a nipple to make it seem far too big for her DD bust. She idly glanced at the time, seeing it was the early evening. Maybe she wouldn't be called on for the tournament after all, she thought.

Back in France, Clair was once again back at her computer. The same empty document stared at her. She imagined that, if it was a person, it would be tapping its foot impatiently. As if to say; 'come on, Clair, start writing that new novel. It's right here, just waiting for you to type a few short words.' And then she would try and do as it wanted, but... nothing. Her mind almost seemed adamant against her being able to write anything.

Her day had passed by uneventfully and without productivity. The sun was setting, its glow gradually fading on the horizon and casting heavy shadows over the city of Paris. Clair's apartment had a perfect view of the Eifel Tower, the monument intimidating from where she was, particularly in the dull glow from the setting sun. It almost seemed like the city itself was trying to inspire her to write, but it did nothing for her. Deciding it would be a waste to continue her fruitless attempts, she decided it would be better to entertain herself. A few moments later and she was pouring herself a glass of red wine.

Time continued to pass. Clair would freely admit that she enjoyed a drink from time to time, though never to a point that she would hinder her motor functions, except for when she felt times called for it. The key moments were always when her writer's block was as bad as it could possibly be. Some writers tend to visualise the block in some way, shape or form. For her, it was a typical brick wall, but one that seemed to stretch out in every direction. Unfortunately, it was rare that she had a bulldozer in her mind.

After a while, she was on her seventh glass. The alcohol had naturally taken its toll, her body relaxed and her inhibitions slowly releasing. Any mundane comedy show on TV was suddenly hilarious to her, even when she knew they weren't. Clair had a low tolerance to alcohol, getting tipsy from a simple pint or a glass or two of her wine. When drunk, she was a completely different person, as was often the case. Back in her university days, she had gone to many parties, as was common, and she'd been told she was a fun drunk. Although the resulting hangover wasn't worth it to her.

With her mind thoroughly relaxed by the beverage, Clair's mind turned back to the tournament. Unlike before, where she was shocked by the overtly sexual aspects of the game she'd been drafted into, now she found she enjoyed it. Her clumsy hands went through her deck, giggling and biting her bottom lip at the designs. After a while, she drank down her eighth glass and thought 'fuck it'. She pulled out her mat and laid it on the table in front, nearly knocking her glass over in the process. For a moment, her rational mind took over.

It was barely a whisper in the back of her head. A small voice telling her not to give Sors Nepellus exactly what she wanted, but it was quickly drowned out by her drunk mind shouting for her to loosen up and do something without thinking for once. Clair only heard the second voice and placed down possibly the most debauched card in her arsenal, though it was reasonably tame when compared to some of the other's she'd seen. For a moment, she hesitated, before a strange feeling came over her.

When the letter had appeared to make her choice, Clair had been half asleep and barely able to focus properly. Over the years, she had developed a near dependency on coffee to wake her up, a bad habit she knew, but one that refused to break. In her unfocused state, she thought it was a weird survey of some kind, as such she circled yes with the hope it would make them leave her alone. It wasn't until later, when she saw Rebecca and Emily fight for the first time that she realised what it was. And now she was going to use that feature for the first time.

She went to breathe in, but the breath was caught in her throat by a sudden sensation sweeping over her. It different to anything she'd felt before. Her skin tingled in a sense, the feeling eventually turning to what she would assume liposuction felt like. On some level, she knew it was her body turning into the overly sexualised, and shamefully attractive, card she had played. Clair couldn't help wondering just how she would look with its proportions.

While she wasn't unattractive by any means, she couldn't deny the envy she felt for others at times. She was fairly tall for a woman, standing around five foot nine inches, with a complementary figure. Her C cup breasts sat proud on her chest, capped by her relatively small nipples. A few years ago, back in university, she had given into her friend's urging and dyed the tips of her naturally oil black hair a cobalt blue, her bangs framing and highlighting her bright, intelligent green eyes. She had taken care of herself, despite her chosen profession and boasted lightly toned arms and legs. She was all legs with shapely thighs.

Despite her best efforts, she had eventually gained a little weight. Her stomach had a slight pouch to it, not enough to be unattractive, but visible at a glance unless she was wearing a thick sweater. Her rear had reaped some of the rewards of her abundance of fat, being large and curvaceous. Her face had a slight chubbiness to it, in the cutest way. Even though she was an adult, her parents, mother in particular, enjoyed pinching her full cheeks. Clair guessed it was because it reminded them of when she was a child.

But now, she could feel the excess weight receding from her body. Her waist slimmed down, the primary source of the sucking sensation, while her breasts, hips and rear all plumped up nicely. With every inch they gained, her figure remained as pert and alluring as ever, only becoming more so as she continued to change. As time passed, she felt her clothes stretching taut around her body, the fabric of her shirt pressing tightly against her swelling chest. Her hips were straining her pants to the point of excessive discomfort.

Regaining control of her body, Clair quickly stripped out of her clothes. It was a struggle to stand up she found to her surprise, the world spinning slightly both from her shifting body and the alcohol still muddling her mind. She reached out, steadying herself on the arm of her couch. The action brought her eyes to the limb, seeing her skin shimmering lightly, her flesh remoulding itself before her very eyes. Horror briefly flashed in her mind, before the wine once again kicked in again and she giggled at the way she was changing. If the smooth, flawless skin spreading up her arm was any indication, she'd be a bombshell.

Her legs suddenly went weak. A shocked yelp escaped her lips as she almost fell to the floor, but her arm was fortunately able to keep her standing, despite her quivering knees. She looked down, seeing the shimmering light crawling up her body, making her tingle all over. The sucking sensation was back again, taking her body fat and redirecting around her body to emphasise her sexual aspects. As it continued, her body gradually becoming more and more akin to the ideal blonde bimbo's, she began to think of how she would write such a transformation. The words flowed freely within her mind.

With a gasp, she moved to her computer. Maybe it was the alcohol, or her still changing body, or both, but she was calling herself an idiot. She had been so fixed on writing family friendly stuff, for the most part at least, that she had neglected an entire world outside of it. As a writer, she was already well established, so a bold move like this could potentially ruin her career, or, though very unlikely, could bring her to new levels. As she furiously typed out the rough synopsis for her new story, Clair's body completed its magical changes.

After some time, she finally managed to stop her fingers from typing long enough to look it over. Without realising it, she had been writing about all that she had seen in the tournament, though omitting a few details such as Emily's futanari status and how outlandish the sexual acts were. Even inebriated, she was still able to hold onto some common sense. However, despite knowing that keeping it relatively vanilla would be less risky, she knew that if she was going to do something of this genre, she may as well go 'balls to the walls' so to speak. Well, she thought, no time like the present.

A deep breath in brought her attention to her enlarged chest. To her surprise, it was barely an inch away from her desk, breathing in pressing her bust into the neatly furbished wood. Before she could take in her body, a part of her reminded herself to write while she was in the correct frame of mind. She didn't have a sense of time as she wrote, her fingers moving across the keys faster than she'd seen them move in months. By the time Clair felt she had run out of steam for the day, she was looking at the first fifteen pages of a rough draft. The grammar was a mess and words were missing occasionally.

That said, she had written it in just a few hours. The sun had long since set, the moon risen and eerily shining behind the clouds that rolled in front of it. Sounds of people out having fun occasionally found their way into Clair's apartment, alongside those of the night club's playing their music obnoxiously loud. However, beyond all of that, what registered to her was the distinct sound of a bed rocking, the head of it banging against the wall. One of her neighbours was having sex.

To her surprise, she began to tune everything else out. Her eyes closed, letting her mind wander to the room, where someone was spreading their legs with glee for their partner to penetrate them, or was it partners? She frowned, her focus slowly revealing what sounded to be more than just a couple in the opposite room. They were talking in rushed, husky tones, the words muffled by the door and their lust, but Clair caught the number '8' from among them. There was a gangbang going on next door.

She shouldn't be listening to this. She told herself, even as she continued to imagine what was happening: a woman on her knees, sucking off eight different men while they commented on how hot she was, how good at sucking their cocks she was. The scene would then move to her straddling one, his prick deep inside of her, while another squatted down behind her to thrust into her rear, all while another was attempting to fuck her throat. She would gag and cough on it, but they wouldn't stop. It wasn't long before Clair felt her panties grow moist.

Even then, she couldn't stop the thoughts if she tried. With her mind preoccupied, her hands moved of their own accord. Her roving fingers first groped at her enhanced chest, hefting the weighty mounds, which were barely covered by her strained shirt. They were far more sensitive than before, eliciting a small moan from her from a single touch. As she felt herself, the nipples atop her breasts grew erect, their shape jutting out against her clothes. Clair rarely wore a bra when alone.

Her mind continued to wander. The girl was now on all fours, taking a ramming from behind, her arms strained from keeping herself up, even as her undertrained throat was used repeatedly. Clair's hands slipped under her shirt, pulling it up and away from her bust, allowing her fingers to dig in and massage the soft mounds. It was even better without the fabric to dull the sensations, causing her to release a low moan of lust. A single hand began to make its way across her taut stomach, aiming for her barely protected pussy.

Even before she had dipped a finger past the waistband of her pants, she could feel the heat of her desire. It was almost frightening, as she had rarely felt this way before, even during her teenage years when her hormones had been out of control. But her body refused to stop, seeking to experience the pleasure she imaged her neighbour was going through. As she continued to imagine what was happening, Clair found she had force her mind to make the distinction between a faceless stranger getting fucked, and herself. Despite the effort, a voice in the back of her mind whispered that she wanted it.

Unable to resist the onslaught of lust in her mind, her hand reached into her pants. Just as her fingers came into contact with her wet heat, the image she had of her neighbour changed dramatically. While she was no longer able to distinguish herself from the neighbour, though it wasn't nearly so distressing due to her mind inserting her current body into the situation, however she was no longer in the midst of an orgy. Instead, she was on her hands and knees, looking back at an indistinguishable figure behind her, their cock ramming into her pussy over and over again. As her fingers pressed against her pussy, the figure came into full view; it was Emily Ralia.

The shock was enough to force her hand away from herself. Clair looked around in a wild flurry, as if seeking out Emily. She was nowhere to be seen, no one was. She was alone, just like always. A heavy sigh passed through her lips as she slumped back into her chair.

"This is getting out of hand." She muttered and looked at her deck, "Maybe..." Gulping, she took hold of it, "Maybe I can burn it, that'll take care of this whole mess." There was a pack of matches in the kitchen, each stick ready and waiting to burn whatever she set them on. She stood, no longer shaking from the alcohol, but rather from the strange sense of trepidation that came with what she was planning to do. As she stood in the doorway of her kitchen, the world suddenly spun and turned to black.

Alannah sighed happily against her lover's body. After another session of love making, they were both exhausted, their bodies and minds happy to drift off into sleep. The natural redhead knew she was tired and that, ordinarily, she would've fallen asleep in minutes, but she remained awake. Before she could further question this, the world went black, as if she had fallen asleep. However, rather than to a dream, she opened her eyes to a vaguely familiar field.

"Oh crap." She groaned, knowing where she was; it was her turn. The main question on her mind now was who her opponent would be. For a second, she feared it would be Yami, but that worry was soon alleviated as she saw the slightly familiar figure in the distance. Squinting a bit, she recognised it as Clair, the French champion. Alannah sighed in relief, though not all the tension left her body. She was still in a battle that could determine her future.

"Goddammit. Shit, shit, shit..." Clair repeated under her breath, staring down at her deck with an expression of mixed hate, fear and anxious excitement. Her eyes went wide when she recognised the last emotion, confused as to why she felt it. There was no way she wanted to do this, she thought in disbelief, but it was there all the same. Before she could fully process her emotions, fear took the lead as she thought about who her opponent might be. Not Yami, she thought in panic. Summoning her will, she looked at her opponent and heaved a great sigh of relief.

Both competitors looked at each other. They didn't know what to say. What could they say? 'Good luck', or 'I'm gonna win and make you my sex slave'. Nothing would seem appropriate considering their situation, even a simple hello seemed out of place. For a while, they waited in silence, knowing someone would eventually show up to observe the battle. Eventually, Alannah broke the quiet.

"So, guess we lucked out, huh?" She asked, having noticed Clair's relief when she realised who she was playing. The French beauty almost jumped at the sound of her foe speaking, but was able to maintain her outer composure.

"Yeah, guess so." She replied simply, not making eye contact. Alannah frowned for a moment, but didn't further the conversation. Fortunately, Puer appeared up in the air between them, imposing with a cloak around her body and keeping her face hidden from sight. Silently, she raised a hand. In front of Alannah and Clair, the ground began to warp before a podium rose up. Soon enough it had taken the shape of a roughly carved table. As soon as it had formed, their mats appeared with their decks in the centre.

"You may begin shuffling your decks." Sors Nepellus' representative said. Her voice was more daunting than they remembered, but neither competitor brought it as they began shuffling. Once finished, they placed them down and looked to Puer, "Begin." With that, the two drew their cards and prepared for the tense battle.