How about we check if Dennis is really getting pranked?

(TW: self harm. Going a bit more towards horror in this one.)

Dennis hated closing shifts. Not because they were harder or anything, but because one, if you were unlucky, you had so much to do you slipped into overtime and had to fight Miles, the head manager, to sign off on it, and two, the dimmed lights made the store that much creepier at night. The latter, however, was a reason that had only recently developed. Because of the prick who had put a radio into one of the mannequins.

That had to be the reason Dennis was hearing heavy breathing coming from it whenever he passed it during his shift, at least. No other explanation. Right?

In any case, Dennis was tidying up a display of blouses when he heard the sound of breathing behind him. Turning with a strange mixture of trepidation and anger, the former due to ancient instincts screaming at him, the latter at whoever thought this shit was funny, Dennis saw a group of mannequins standing between racks and racks of clothes. So far, so normal. But something seemed off.

"Hmm..." Dennis had set up these mannequins himself, some days ago. But... the poses... wasn't there...?

"Hey, man!"

"FUCK!" Flinching something fierce, Dennis turned to the one who had scared him so much - his colleague Gil. He was a pleasant enough sort, but he and Dennis didn't really have all that much in common, so the contact they had outside work was neglibile. "Dude, don't sneak up on me like that! I was..."

"I wasn't sneaking, dude. Just walking normally. What's with you?"

"Uh..." 'Checking if one of the mannequins moved on its own' was not a good answer. "Probably just tired. Did you finish with the jeans? 'cause I'm done here, we could lock up if you are."

"Guess why I'm here. I wanted to check if you were done."

"Neat. Time to clock out, I guess."

As the two retail workers made their way to the main doors, Dennis threw a glance back at the mannequins. They looked perfectly innocuous...

Another day, another closing shift. And once more, heavy breathing whenever Dennis moved past the group of mannequins. But rush after rush and a boss that saw to him not having a minute of free time between his breaks kept Dennis from actually checking out where that damn radio was hidden. Even worse, somehow he had the feeling that the breathing came from different spots as he worked different parts of the store.

Which obviously meant that whoever was pranking him was working at the same time as him. Or it was one of the customers... That was always a possibility. It wasn't like they considered the feelings of retail workers at the best of times. But without catching anyone in the act, Dennis had to deal with sometimes being breathed at. The problems began when the store closed and it became time to tidy everything and lock up.

"Hey, sorry, dude, I gotta head out early today." Stepping up to where Dennis was at work on some jeans display, Gil managed a facial expression somewhere between apologetic and excited. "I got a date lined up and I don't wanna be late! But don't worry, I got most of my stuff done during opening hours, just the hoodies need some attention."

"And you couldn't tell me any earlier?" Huffing, Dennis rolled his eyes before smirking at Gil. "Whatever, off with you. Tell me how it went, alright?"

"Sure! Thanks, man, I owe you one!"

And with that, he was off. Leaving Dennis alone in a store with dimmed lights. It seemed a bit childish, on a surface level, but his lizard brain was decidedly not comfortable. Lucky for him, there was a few hundred thousand years of evolution that allowed Dennis to ignore what the most primitive part of his brain was supplying - thousands of years of evolution and his smartphone. Listening music over his headphones definitely helped. So after finishing with the jeans, he made his way over to the hoodies Gil mentioned, past a group of three mannequins showing off crop tops and seriously short shorts. Spring break attire, basically.

As Dennis worked on straightening the display, he hummed along to the song that was playing, hoping to pass the time faster until he could leave the kiiiind of creepy store. Lucky for him, it didn't take all that long to get the display into a not just presentable state, but looking actually impressive. Work done for the day, all Dennis had to do was lock up, get back home, and forget about silly fears and dumb pranks over frozen pizza and a show. Waltzing past the four mannequins standing opposite to the display with the hoodies, Dennis now whistled the song he'd been humming, digging for the keys in his pocket.

Only to freeze in his tracks when he heard the breathing once more. Turning back around to the group of mannequins, Dennis counted them again. One. Two. Three. Four. One more than before he'd started work. But... he was alone in the store! No one could have moved whatever mannequin was the new one, hell, no one could have been in the store without Dennis noticing! Moving deliberately slow, as if moving too fast would break the peace, Dennis pulled the headphones from his ears. What the hell was going--

The sound of cracking porcelain broke through the whirling loop of Dennis' thoughts. Which was weird, because the mannequins in the store were made of plastic - but not as weird as the fact that the head of one of the mannequins was now looking straight at him, fine cracks on its neck. And as Dennis stared at it, more cracking sounds broke the eerie silence of the store as the mannequin began to move.

"Awha--ack!" The incoherent sound Dennis produced would have embarassed him, if there wasn't a mannequin moving towards him with jerky motions, almost like a badly made stop motion animation. And that wasn't the only reason Dennis began to stumble backwards. "The--the--the..."

The mannequin had begun to weep a dark, viscous fluid from her eyes, movements becoming faster and more frantic as it followed Dennis past its unmoving counterparts and the clothing display, more cracks appearing in the mannequins limbs as it moved. The same blackish fluid oozed from them, staining the mannequin's white surface. Dennis turned and ran, hearing the tinkling cracks of porcelain behind him as his pursuer sped up, effortlessly keeping pace.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

Dennis wasn't even concerning himself with the impossibility of the situation. Fight or flight was in full effect, and his body had chosen flight - the issue with that was that to properly flee, Dennis had to make it past the front door. Unlocked as it was, that wasn't that much of a problem. The proximity of his pursuer, however, was.

"Fu--ack!" Hand already on the door, Dennis felt a hard, cold hand on his arm, gripping him with surprising strength and pulling him around to face the mannequins face. It was riddled with cracks, weeping black goop - the mouth wide open in a soundless scream. "Let... go!"

Putting all his strength in a shove that made the mannequin stumble backwards and fall on its back with a loud crash, giving Dennis enough time to open the door and dash out. Slamming it closed again, Dennis frantically stabbed at the keyhole to lock the door, glancing at the slowly rising mannequin, its movements unsteady and it's skin still cracking and oozing black liquid.

"Come on, c'mon!"

Finally hitting the keyhole, Dennis jammed the key in and turned it, once, twice, just before the mannequin slammed both arms against the glass door, hitting it with her forehead repeatedly. Lucky for Dennis, the only cracks spreading were on the mannequins head.

He still ran.

Even once he had made it home, Dennis heart still raced, cold sweat covering his face. Making his way straight to the bathroom, he stared into the mirror, face pale and haunted by what he had just gotten away from. Small splatters of the black fluid the mannequin had wept were spread over Dennis' face, and when he raised his hand to wipe them away, he realized that his hands were covered in the stuff.

"Fuck!"

Frantically washing his hands and face, Dennis winced as he realized his pointer finger had been cut on the porcelain-like material the mannequin had been made of, a little cut that didn't even really bleed, but still hurt when touched. At least the black goop sluiced off pretty easily, leaving Dennis' hands clean and smooth, and he splashed some more water into his face to get rid of the clammy feeling of cold sweat and the goop before putting his hands on the sink with a barely audible 'tink', staring at his exhausted face once more. For a rather short while, until the sound filtered into his brain.

"Wait. What..."

Dennis wasn't wearing and rings or bracelets that could have produced that kind of sound. Lifting his hand in front of his face, stomach sinking more and more the closer it got, and dropping entirely when Dennis saw his pointer. The tiny cut was gone. Instead, a tiny patch of pure white contrasted starkly with his tan skin, and as Dennis watched... it began to spread.

"No! No, no, nono!"

Trying to scratch it off didn't work. It only pulled at Dennis' skin, hurting as if he was trying to rip off a fingernail, which meant that Dennis could only curse and stare as his entire pointer finger became smooth and white and rigid - and the effect began to spread over Dennis' palm. And as it did, Dennis could see his hand actually slim down, become almost dainty, the fingers cramping and twitching as they turned white, taking on an elegant pose... one that looked at home on a mannequin.

"Oh fuck. Fuck no!" Panting, Dennis stumbled out of the bathroom and into the living room, holding on to his wrist as if he could stop the changes. "What do I do, wh-what do I do?!"

Cool, smooth material - either hard plastic or porcelain - spread under his palm, slowly consuming his arm, making the limb feel cold, but curiously not numb. In fact, it throbbed with a strange, twisted sensation that only grew stronger the further the white material spread, hard to identify in Dennis' growing panic. Staggering over to the kitchen unit, he let go of his arm as the transfiguration of his flesh reached halfway to his elbow, opening the cutlery drawer and pulling out a steak knife.

"Okay. O-Okay." Laying his arm onto the counter with a quiet tink that revealed that the material was more likely porcelain than plastic, Dennis put the knife to his arm and pressed down, feeling the serrated edge prick his skin - but no blood welled up. "Oh god..."

Instead, black goop seeped from the shallow cut as Dennis stared, dumbfounded and slack jawed. Until the smooth material reached the injury, washing over it and leaving nothing but a stain on perfect white, as if Dennis had never been injured. His arm twisted as the elbow was consumed, jerking into a dainty position Dennis saw in multiple variations of every day at work - and finally, with the changes moving up his biceps, Dennis felt his emotional state begin to shift, the sensations in his arm becoming more pronounced.

"F-Fuuugh..." It was pleasure. Subdued, sexual pleasure that slowly grew stronger with every inch of flesh replaced by porcelain, making Dennis shaft throb and pulse as it began to stiffen. "Wh-whuh...?"

Dennis' shoulder grew slender and stiff, posing his arm elegantly, and his cock did the same in his pants, tenting the fabric as it grew rock hard, straining and lurching. Panting for a different reason now, cold sweat replaced by the hot kind, Dennis dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the ground. Putting his left over his mouth in shock, but partially to keep from moaning, Dennis stared down at his right arm with wide eyes, feeling it tingle with lust, rigid and unable to move as it was.

The material kept spreading relentlessly, not caring about confusion or panic, turning the side of Dennis' neck and his right pectoral muscle white, hard, and cold - but that wasn't the only thing it did with the latter. Where everything else touched by the white porcelain had shrank, Dennis felt his pectoral grow, bulge outwards, forming a distinct mound, rigid and unmoving as the his arm, his neck, parts of his jaw.

"Bh-brrgh?!" Breasts was what Dennis had wanted to say, but half his neck and too much of his jaw had turned to porcelain, making it impossible to speak. "Hgh--"

And as Dennis felt the cold, unfeeling porcelain consume the entirety of his neck, turning it slender and elegant, his voice was silenced forever. Only his breathing remained. His new breast, on the other hand, had gained a twin on Dennis' left pectoral muscle, slowly catching up to the right porcelain tit, both completely devoid of nipple. Their size, while impressive, was nothing outrageous, tenting the fabric of Dennis' shirt as they lifted the band logo on the front.

Slow, unsteady steps carried Dennis towards the sofa, cock throbbing in his pants as the last of his rib cage changed. Breathing heavily through a mouth with pouty porcelain lips, the sound eerily familiar, Dennis brought his left arm to his crotch, fumbling to open the fly and unbutton his pants, letting them drop to the floor and stopping a few steps away from the sofa, unable to walk any further. His cock was painfully hard, swollen and red - with almost his entire torso consumed by the changes, the arousal coursing through Dennis had reached levels he had never known before.

Hand wrapped around his throbbing cock, Dennis began to pump, slowly, jerkily, the movements more and more impacted by the porcelain spreading over his left shoulder, frustration growing within the partial porcelain mannequin at his inability to satisfy the growing urge to cum, to spill his seed all over the floor and sofa, but Dennis could only move his elbow and wrist by now, which meant that any strokes he managed were vastly inadequate to satisfy his need.

And as the porcelain continued to spread, inching down his stomach and towards his crotch, it took Dennis' elbow at the same time, forcing the arm to fold upwards, raising the still flesh-and-blood hand to about the height of his shoulder, as if the crook of his elbow was meant to display a purse hanging from it. Dennis couldn't even stare down at his unbearably hard shaft, neck stiff as his nose grew smaller and smoother, his eyes consumed by porcelain next - but even though Dennis was no longer able to move them, he could still see, staring ahead unblinking, panting in unfulfilled lust as his hair was replaced by a smooth facsimile of a sideswept bob hairdo.

The barely tenable situation changed again when Dennis' hand turned to porcelain, taking on a shape and pose befitting a high-class store mannequin - and his crotch began to change at the same time. Arousal spiking, his knees almost buckling, Dennis felt his massively engorged cock begin to shrink, pull back into his porcelain body as the material spread down his thighs, the pleasure in his rod growing ever more focused as it turned white inch by inch, even as those inches diminished. The quality of this pleasure began to change as well - no less urgent, maybe even more so, but there was a growing emptiness inside Dennis that needed to be filled, an itch that needed to be scratched, a twitching that yearned to clamp down on something.

Thighs swelled thicker as Dennis's hips widened, giving him a beautiful hourglass shape that would display any dress or skirt perfectly, and soon, his knees were taken over by the porcelain, forcing him into a stance befitting his new purpose of showing off clothes. But that was obviously not Dennis' only purpose, maybe not even his main purpose.

That was made clear by the fact that when the whiteness reached the tip of his member, it was not much of a member anymore. It was a tiny little nub, erect and buzzing with pleasure in the hood sitting in front of a perfectly white slit - which was continuously dripping strings of clear, feminine honey that rolled down Dennis' smooth legs, his feet and toes now fitting his perfectly white, perfectly smooth, perfectly shaped body.

And inside this body, behind the beautiful, heartshaped face, Dennis was beginning to lose his mind. Maddening arousal eroded his sanity, and he was unable to move even one finger to satisfy his need, let alone go find someone to aid him, to fuck him. He could not move, he could not look around, he couldn't even cry out or moan.

All he could do was breathe.