Epilogue...An Adorable Accessory.

You couldn't be happier to be the unofficial mascot of The Donnas, even if you wanted to. You learned pretty quickly that it didn't matter what you wanted as long as your heart owners were happy. You never learned anything beyond that, but that's all you need to know anyway. Your mistresses do all your thinking for you now.

It's a little strange being in love with three bitchin' beauties at once, but if anything, being shared just makes you feel that much more sinfully, subslimely slutty. Of course, it helps that none of your heart's desires are particularly good at sharing and that the few techniques they demanded you master was the ability to change shape at will, swell to any size without losing mass, and split into multiple copies of yourself all able to act independently of each other. The rest they deemed useless, and so far as you can tell, they were right.

After all, what more do you need to master than the ability to make a body bursting with bouncy bimbo breasts with luscious lips and talented tongues for nipples and a wet, warm pussy or perhaps a pucker asshole if they're feeling adventurous? Most of the time they are satsified with your slime slut form, with your gooey G cup breasts, curves that could cause a traffic accident, and ass like two watermelons so ripe they look like they could burst. All with whatever pornstar's face they have been gooning to lately, or comely classmate, or even ravishing rival like Karin and her snobby sorority. It's gotten to the point that you can't remember your old face, but why worry about the past when the present is so perfectly plastic and pleasurable and the future is filled with filthy, formerly forbidden fantasies?

The best part is, you get to live out the squishiest, splorpiest fantasies that were previously too fucked up for you to consider, and you don't even have to feel guilty, because you physically cannot refuse an order from your heart's owners nor love them any less no matter how they **** you. So when Dopps insists you make her money by renting you out in the restrooms to anyone that wants to mold you into their dream girl, then grudge fuck you for not being real as the needy nerd behind them hits their inhaler extra hard, you can't help but feel filled with purpose, not to mention fists, tongues, toys, and a surprising amount of girl cock. When you've finished a full day of being smacked, spit on, squeezed, suckled, and showered with sticky spurts, it's worth it to be able to hand Dopps the shiny quarters she's determined you're worth per 'pop'.

It's not all gangbangs and grime though, Fangs has a surprisingly soft side. She prefers to kiss you for hours and hours rather than rough fuck you doggy style the way Dopps does. You always feel yourself melt alway when she does, as if she's draining your energy and getting off on sharing the sensation of 'sucking herself off', but you can't be sure exactly, since The Donnas decided you weren't worthy of seeing them in their monster forms. You have some guesses based on their nicknames and attitudes, but you aren't really that curious since they are so cute in their gothy punky schoolslut with something eXXXtra disguises, and because you don't care what is kissing you or why as long as it starts as sweetly as it always does with Fangs.

Sure, you'd probably prefer it ends as sticky soft as it started, and not with Fangs getting flustered and fucking you while calling you a 'fag' or 'freak' or 'fake fuck doll booger bitch', but you understand she only lashes out because she knows you can take it, and she is really only talking to herself, the poor thing. If you can be her self hatred sponge and get a few dozen orgasms pounded into you at the same time, then you think it's worth the ****.

At least Drag always treats you well, delicately even. Like you are a perfect little doll made to serve her. She's not wrong either. Whether it's eating her ass for hours on end, massaging her feet with your breasts, or stroking her shaft so she edges until time stops and the world melts around her and all that exists is her pleasure and the porn she worships, or often all three at once, you are just happy to serve. You feel so connected to her when she gets on an bate bender, using you as a literal support as she sits on your face, a source of pleasure as she fucks what every perfect piece of you she's molded, and even the porn she loses herself in as she watches you literally fuck yourself in every position imaginable, and a lot that aren't. You suspect you would be even if she didn't hold a piece of your heart, just for the soft smirk she gives you along with a little head pat when she's satisfied.

You feel like you get the best side of this arrangement, even if it is awkward that your owners seem to prefer wearing you like a jacket, or scarf, or ruby adorned jewelry now that your near constant hum of horny humiliation has lent you a permanent red hue. That along with the jagged jade pieces of your heart make for dazzling accessories, and you suppose you're proud that they want to show off their prize jewel so prominently. You may never be a 'real' girl, but you are happy as you can be as a fantasy one, and you know The Donnas will display you as their prized possession for eons to come.

As long as they do, you'll live...