Chapter Three

“What’s happening to me?” Heather croaked, her voice hoarse and throat parched. “More water… I’m burning up!”

A red solo cup was pressed into her hands, and she chugged it in three long pulls. Tepid water ran from the sides of her dry lips and down her neck to soak into the decolletage of her designer club dress. The shimmering emerald fabric was a horrendously expensive silk blend that could only be dry-cleaned by high-end laundry services, and she was ruining it with water from a bathroom tap.

Heather didn’t care.

It felt like the slim-fitting number was shrinking, squishing her small chest until she could hardly breathe. She fumbled for the zipper at the back but couldn’t find it in her panic.

“Here, Miss President. Let me help.” Prilla said. Then the strangling pressure eased, and oxygen returned. “Better?”

Heather didn’t reply as the strapless sheath-like dress slid down to her waist, transfixed in horror at the reflection in the basin mirror.

They were in an ensuite bathroom in the living quarters on the second floor. It was surprisingly clean and spacious for a Frat house. Had Heather been in a calmer frame of mind, she would have guessed it belonged to one of the senior members of Beta Theta Fi. The white tiles were spotless, and the fixtures gleamed. A toilet, glass-enclosed shower, and basin took up most of the space, and fluffy towels were folded neatly over a steel, wall-mounted rack.

None of that mattered to Heather as she stared down at her breasts.

She had always been proud of the perky, dignified B-cups on her slight ballerina frame. They were a mark of her defiant humanity. Fae strumpets like Prilla paraded about with hefty udders, and plenty of mortal women had magically enhanced themselves into balloon-titted bimbos to compete for male attention. Heather wished them all an eternity of back pain and worked hard to refine her brand of beauty on the opposite end of the spectrum.

No one would even mistake her whip-thin, tight young body for anything other than human.

Not until now.

Her nubile little mounds were rising like bread dough in her small bandeau bralette. They bubbled up from the painfully pinching underwear, overflowing the undersized cups until her pretty pink nipples sprung free, feeling terribly stiff, pointy, and sensitive.

Her expression was aghast, skin a tomato shade of red, and her silver-blonde hair a frightful mess of tangles around her slim shoulders with a hint of darker color beginning to show at the roots.

“Noooo… nothing’s better. Everything is wrong!” She managed to gasp. The spiraling heat in her middle made it hard to remain calm. “What’s happening to me? Do something, you worthless sprite!”

Prilla chewed on her bottom lip, violet eyes darting about as though seeking inspiration. The exceptionally endowed moron was clearly clueless. Heather would have slapped her silly, if not for the weakness leadening her limbs. It took all her effort to clutch onto the basin and not collapse.

“Okay. Okay. We’re dealing with a rare and external source of magic. Maybe a thaumaturgical spell or alchemical potion.” The azure-haired changeling sniffed the air as she spoke. “Definitely Fae in origin, though I can’t begin to counteract the effects without more information, and they’ll kick me out of the party without you there, Miss President. What should I do?”

Heather just groaned. The churning in her guts was spreading to other, more intimate regions. A pulsating need that brought guilty moistness along with it.

Tonight wasn’t supposed to go this way. She had big plans on snaring Dale–that rich, handsome lug–into her web of influence and manipulation. Still, all she could think of was how good his lean, athletic body might feel, shoving her into a mattress and claiming her priceless virginity.

Heather’s achingly empty pussy juiced at the thought of him, drenching her frilly lace panties, and a shudder of humiliating desire raced up her spine.

“Dale… Dale can never know.” She guttered through thickening lips. They felt like plump sausages dangling from her gorgeous face. “Water… I need more water. Thirsty. Too hot…”

“Gotcha. Leave everything to me, Miss President.” Prilla snapped off a smart salute, then started yanking Heather’s glittery dress down hips that were significantly wider than earlier. “I’ll need this, but don’t worry. You can have my skirt and blouse. It looks like they’ll fit you properly soon, anyway.”

“Wait.. what?” Heather mumbled before the sound of running water drew her attention like a man dying of thirst in the desert.

The fairy bitch had turned on the basin faucet. Thank goodness! At least she had enough brain cells to follow basic instructions.

Lowering her head to drink like a horse at the trough, Heather didn’t see the shimmer of magic when Prilla inhaled profoundly and began lacing her fingers above her head in a slow, almost dancelike fashion.

Humming a lilting melody, she twisted and spun on pointed toes, bringing her palms down her voluptuous figure in a technicolored cascade of dazzling lights. The sensual movements transformed her pale flesh, shrinking in the pin-up proportions and height, the azure hue leaving her hair as she morphed into a trim, silver-haired blonde with a fine-featured face.

“You can count on me, Miss President.” She exclaimed, wriggling into the form-fitting emerald dress. “I’ll prove myself tonight!”

Heather didn’t recognize her own voice speaking from identical lips as she vainly attempted to slake her bottomless thirst.

Dale staggered through the halls of Beta Theta Fi with a sloshing brewski in hand and a raging hard-on tenting his slacks. Muffled moans, grunts, and the creaking of tortured bed frames came from closed bedroom doors. Socks, or more often, damp women’s underwear, hung from every doorknob to signal privacy for the athletically engaged participants within.

And those were just the lucky few who managed to claim a room.

More party-goers simply found a quiet corner to get busy or openly fornicated on the furniture. The music was still pumping, as was the puddle of mostly naked young flesh that had once been the dancefloor.

The dancers' firm bodies still moved with the beat. Stroking and sucking, licking and thrusting. Dexterous fingers, moist tongues, and hard pricks keeping time with the fast tempo in a writhing carpet of carnal exhibitionism.

The DJ was like some mad maestro, working his turntables and calling the tune. At the same time, two busty caramel-skinned coeds, all but bursting out of their frippy floral sundresses, hunkered down at his feet, taking turns in gagging themselves on his impressively oversized dick.

Things had quickly devolved less than an hour after the food was served and the kegs were tapped. The usual boisterous bravado and fun flirting had escalated into something more driven. More hungry. As though someone had cranked up the thermostat in the climate-controlled manor house, leaving everyone sweating in the steamy atmosphere.

Some girls had complained that their clothing felt too tight–as though they hadn’t chosen their tiny, revealing outfits for that very reason! Many decided to ditch the restrictive attire entirely after the buttons started exploding off skimpy blouses, and short skirts shrank even shorter.

Bitches were crazy, Dale reckoned, high-fiving a burly pledge who had two naked, thick-bodies coeds bent over the second-floor banister, hammering one sopping snatch while he vigorously finger-banged the other. Their swinging, overripe knockers and ecstatic screams filled the air above the crowded atrium below.

His hand came away sticky, but that hardly mattered. Another swig of gold-tinted suds washed away any lingering concerns. His heavy cock lurched, straining against his trousers, and precum streamed down the inseam.

“Jesus, this shit was worth every penny.” He said conversationally to nobody in particular. “What was that skinny guy’s name again?”

“Make me cum, Baby. I’ve never been fucked like this before!” Howled a mega-stacked blonde in a torn cheerleading uniform getting slam-fucked against the wall less than six feet away. Her shapely, tanned legs were locked around a hulking black linebacker’s hips. “Yes! Oh god, YEEESSSS!!”

“It’ll come back to me later, I’m sure.” Dale waved his tacky hand dismissively before patting the grunting football player’s bunched shoulder. “Give ‘er hell, Jethro.”

His bleary eyes searched through the heat haze of **** and lust, passing over several pretty young faces, shooting longing looks and promising gazes at the sandy-haired chapter president. He ignored them all.

Why had they invited so many fat-chested, bootylicious tramps to this high-brow mixer? Had that meathead Jay been in charge of the guest list again? Dale wasn’t interested in some dime-a-dozen bimbos. He knew he was striking–dashing even–and his tastes were far more rarified.

Anyone could score with a supernaturally curvaceous, inhumanly beautiful, and sexually voracious Fae slut. They populated every strip club and seedy street corner, begging to be fucked rough and knocked up.

No. His sights were set on a more delicate fruit—the most precious flower of Madison U’s elites. An exquisitely thin, perfectly toned, and aching gorgeous blossom of youth with silky platinum hair and a dick-hardening, haughty attitude.

Heather. That was the imperious cunt he yearned to break in tonight.

“Has anyone seen Heather?!” Dale shouted, trying to be heard over the orgiastic din and deafening music.

Then he saw the prize he sought slipping quietly out of a senior brother’s bedroom with a nervous expression and furtively darting eyes.

Heather panted with searing arousal, labored breaths misting the mirror as she bent over the porcelain basin and trimmed her butterbean under the tartan midi skirt Prilla had left behind.

“Heavens, I can’t stop… Hnnnrr~! Need to-to stop… but can’t…”

This wasn’t like her. Not at all.

The undisputed Queen of the most exclusive sorority on campus wasn’t supposed to diddle herself through climax after toe-curling climax until her fingers withered into shriveled prunes. Neither could she allow herself to be caught doing so in a random guy's bathroom at a Frat party.

It would shatter her spotless reputation forever.

But the door was closed–hopefully locked–and Heather couldn’t help the moan that bubbled from her plumped-up lips as another crash of panty-soaked ecstasy threatened to drown her in shameful euphoria.

“Oh, Lord–Hyaaaa!”

When the fireworks cleared from her vision, Heather blinked at her reflection and let out a strangled sob of despair. The darkness in her blonde roots was actually a deep azure blue seeping into her platinum locks like a spreading ink stain.

Her perky handfuls were rapidly swelling into enormous honkers that stretched Prilla’s white schoolgirl blouse so taut, the top few buttons only held on by literal threads and pillowy tit-flesh pushed out from the yawning gaps between them.

And her nipples–oh god, her nipples were two fat and prominent peaks of heinous tingling pleasure drilling through the sheer cotton top. Each time Heather lowered her head to gulp down more water, they pancaked against the sink, sending shockwaves of cunt-clenching heat through her ballooning breasts, triggering another bone-quaking cum.

It was a real problem, given the powerful thirst driving her to drink. A thirst that intensified with each pussy-juicing climax, creating a vicious cycle of humiliating gratification.

The soft solarium bed tan of her skin drained away, leaving a shiny porcelain glow, and the eyes staring back at Heather sparkled like rich amethysts. She could feel her thickening thighs rubbing together around the nimble fingers buried in her squirting twat and the pleated skirt riding up the meaty hemispheres of a horrifyingly large butt that was once delectably small and tight.

There was no denying it any longer. Even as magma boiled in her core and ignited her nerve endings like a natural disaster. Even though the storm clouds of head-spinning endorphins and brain-blitzing bliss…

Heather was taking on the all-to-familiar features of a certain changeling she delighted in tormenting.

“Nooo… anything but that!” She rasped. Her parched tongue was a strip of coarse sandpaper. “Not her. Pleeeease…”

The splashing sounds of the running faucet dragged Heather’s mouth back down to the basin to drink once again. Slobbering and slurping down the life-giving aqua, slick fingers twisting and teasing inside her sodden depths to quell the onrush of lustful need that flooded her virgin loins.

She only registered the moment when the overtaxed blouse burst apart by the feel of blessedly cool water flowing into the deepening valley of her inflating cleavage.

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