Continued!

As I walked around the convention for the rest of the day, dressed like a shredded, micro-skirted version of a schoolgirl hero, between bouts of horniness and groping, I remembered very basic things about my life, but it was like trying to grab something solid through a puddle where everything was being all reflected. My own name, my job as an accountant, my desire to love and protect my children, of it settled at the bottom of the deep water, out of reach and irrelevant compared to the heavy weight of the leader's hand on my skin. The person who lived in a clean house and worried about taxes was gone. I was a fan-service object. I was a piece of meat with a face that pouted when my Masters told me to.

The blue-eyed leader kept his hand on the back of my neck, his grip tight. I walked with my knees together and my toes pointed inward because he told me to walk that way. Every step made the shredded fabric of my skirt flap against my thighs. The back of the skirt was too short to cover my rear, leaving my white cotton panties visible to everyone walking behind us. I felt the air on my skin; it was humiliating and so hot. I felt the eyes of hundreds of men on my body and I wanted them to see me. I was a grope doll for the Cloaks, and I wanted the whole convention to know it.

A part of my mind tried to rationalize the whole thing. Maybe I could be both. Maybe it was possible to be a groped doll-slut who was just posed in any way my Masters wanted—like some sort of lifelike figurine that could also be fucked and grabbed whenever—and then go do accounting and make my son lunch. But even though a part of me was clinging to that, I also knew that if my Masters ordered me to, I would likely just quit my job or maybe even never see my son or daughter again.

We entered the Dealer’s Room. This was the section designed only for patrons over eighteen years old. It was my first time in here. I had always banned my son from ever stepping near this place. “It’s a slippery slope,” I had told him. “I’m already not a big fan of you liking these animes and dedicating so much of your time to video games, but once you start sexualizing these women, it becomes easier and easier.” Stacy-Chan had been so silly.

The room was large and smelled of sweat and plastic. The noise was constant. Around me, everyone looked like a similar variation of the same theme; most of the dealers were overweight, wearing graphic T-shirts of lewd anime girls, with long greasy hair and glasses. Before, I would’ve found it disgusting, but a part of me was jealous. I hoped my Masters would ask me to pose for a picture for one of them so he could put my image on a shirt.

*Control yourself, Stacy,* a part of my subconscious whispered.

I followed the Cloaks through the narrow aisles. The dirty one stayed close to my side. He reached out and grabbed my breast, squeezing the flesh hard. I let out a high-pitched moan. I did not try to stop him; I leaned into his touch. I was a toy. Toys do not have feelings; they have functions. My function was to be touched. My function was to be a visual prize for these boys. It felt good to be a prize.

Near the end of the hallway, there was a group of men standing by an array of body pillows.

“Do you want to show off for them, slut?” one of the boys asked.

“I wanna do what I’m told, Senpai,” I said with a little giggle. “If Master wants me to be used by those men, I will. I am your doll to be used.” I made sure to strike a little anime pose at the end to encourage them to use me.

The leader laughed and nodded. I walked over to the men obediently. I turned my back to them and bent over, putting my hands on my knees. The movement pulled my skirt up to my waist. I heard the men gasp and heard the clicks of their cameras. The leader walked up behind me and slapped my rear. The sound was loud and my skin turned red. I giggled, feeling a surge of heat in my core. I tried to tell myself that I was just performing, that this was just hypnosis, but it was getting harder and harder to find the real Stacy. Was I the accountant, or was I this doll meant to be used and decorated? I knew which answer was more fun.

"Show them how obedient and poseable you are," the blue-eyed leader said.

“Oh my gosh, Master-Chan, you’re so bad, but of course big-titty Stacy-Chan will pose for you.”

I wanted to be near the Cloaks. I wanted to feel their hands on me at all times. More than that, I wanted to worship their cocks. I remembered the taste of the leader from earlier and I wanted it again. I wanted to feel all of them. For the first time since the transformation started, a thought occurred to me that felt strangely powerful: I wanted to be a drainage pipe for their cum. I imagined myself on the floor of the convention, surrounded by the Cloaks, taking every bit of them into my body. I was a fan-girl for their dicks. I imagined their cum covering me, and them ordering me to just stand there in the middle of the convention hall, completely covered in the ecstasy of their ejaculate as it got nice and sticky all over my body. I would quit my job as an accountant; I would serve only to hold their cum and be used.

I managed to take myself back from the brink. That would be going too far. What I was doing now was harmless, sticking my ass out, showing off my tits, and jerking off these barely-of-age boys. I giggled and clapped rapidly to celebrate, making sure my melons shook while I did so. I was so proud of myself for being a good girl. I took a slap on the ass to focus me up again. I could be such a stupid waifu sometimes.

“Our convention time is almost up,” the chubby one said, “but we don’t wanna let you go without saying goodbye to your son.”

We found Aaron near the food court. He was sitting at a table, looking small and tired. When he saw me, his face turned red and he looked at the ground. Before regret could start to form, the blue-eyed Cloak snapped his fingers. When I awoke, everything felt clear. I did not feel any love for Aaron. In fact, I felt a desire to show him how much of a whore his mother had become. I wanted him to see the fingerprints on my skin and the wet spot on my panties.

I hopped over to him, my breasts bouncing violently under the thin fabric of my top. I grabbed his chin and forced him to look at me.

"Hi, Aaron!" I chirped, my voice high and breathy. "Are you having fun at the convention? I am having so much fun. The Masters are taking such good care of me."

The dirty Cloak walked up behind me. He reached around and shoved his hands into my top, grabbing my breasts and pulling them upward until they spilled out over the fabric. Aaron turned his head away like he was going to cry.

"Look at me, Aaron," I said, grabbing his hair to pull his head back. "Look at what a good doll I am. These boys are so much better than you. They know how to use me. They know that I'm just a big-titted toy for them to play with."

The leader stepped forward and unzipped his pants right in front of Aaron’s face. He didn't say anything; he just looked at me. I dropped to my knees instantly. My knees hit the hard floor, but I didn't care about the pain. I reached out and pulled his cock out. It was hot and hard. I looked at Aaron while I wrapped my lips around it. I wanted him to see the spit on my chin and hear the wet sounds I made. The rest of the Cloaks once again formed their human barrier.

Aaron stood up and ran away. I laughed around the leader's dick. He was a loser—a little boy who couldn't handle the reality of his mom being a mindless service-animal for his peers. Even though the show was over, I couldn’t resist going back to work. I used my hands and my mouth with a rhythmic, desperate energy, like a tool being used for its intended purpose.

After I finished with the leader, the other Cloaks took me to a hallway behind some curtains. It was dark. I was on my hands and knees with my face pressed against a stack of boxes. I felt them behind me, their hands on my hips, my hair, and my throat. I was a grope doll that belonged to the group.

*Only for the convention,* I reminded myself. *Stacy-Chan is just having fun at the convention.*

"Her ass is so soft," one said.

"She's a perfect little whore," another said.

The day continued this way. I was paraded through the Artist Alley again. I leaned over tables to show my cleavage to artists and let anyone touch my stomach and my thighs. I was a prop for the Cloaks' status. Having me on a leash made them look powerful. It made them the kings of the nerds, and I loved it. I was their biggest fan.

The longer we went, the clearer my mind became of everything except the present moment. The numbers from my accounting job were gone. The memory of my daughter’s face was gone. The only thing that remained was the sensation of being handled. I was a collection of parts: breasts, ass, mouth, and pussy. I was an object. I was a toy. I was a grope doll. I was a worshiper of the Cloaks.

As the sun began to set and the lights of the convention hall grew brighter, I looked up at the blue-eyed leader. I was covered in sweat and fingerprints. My costume was a ruin. I was a mess, and I was happy.

"What's next, Master?" I asked, wagging my rear at him.

“It’s time for you to go home, my anime slut,” he said, caressing my cheek while I whimpered like a puppy. “But the group and I talked, and we think you did such a good job today that you deserve an extra special prize.”

They pushed me down to my knees and I complied. I knew the drill by now; I stuck my tongue out, a blush instantly coming to my face as my eyes took on a horny glaze.

“Good slut, but not there this time. We’re going to paint your face white.”

They all took their cocks out and started jacking off until, one by one, I was splattered in their sticky, warm juices. I lathered it onto myself like a good girl.

“Is this okay for your doll, Master?” I asked.

“Just one more finishing touch,” the blue-eyed one said. He took out a Sharpie and wrote something in big letters on my forehead. I was curious, but it isn't a slut's place to ask. He whispered one last command into my ear as I walked off toward the car where my son was waiting.

“Mom, what the hell is on your face?”

“Oh my God, you’re so lame. It’s just my Masters' cum. Get over it.”

He didn’t even know what to say as we both entered the car. I took out my phone and texted my daughter to make sure she was coming tomorrow and I sent a selfie to my Master. The word ‘MINDLESS’ was etched across my forehead

Endtag: Hi reader! This is the latest chapter of Cosplay Mom and this story is up for adoption right now since the person who commissioned it is gone for an indeterminate amount of time, so if you’d like to pick it up or have something similar please reach out to ask about commissions! :[email protected] or through PM’s on Patreon or Discord

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