Positively Delicious (Commission for Joducus)

TAGS: Transformation/TF, Food Transformation, Growth/Expansion, Multi-Row, Mild Body Horror

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It was a normal day, just like any other, when Jeremy made the fatal mistake of eating the last cinnabun in the fridge. He didn’t mean to do it, at least not as an insult, but with the kind of company he kept around the house it was only natural that such a heinous act would have consequences of a most foul nature. No sooner had he taken the first bite than he felt the wrath of the succubus in the other room flare as brightly as a second sun. In the brief moment before damnation came knocking at her door, he shrugged and ate as much of the treat as he could; not like putting it down now would do him any good, plus it was still a delicious cinnabun. It’d be a crime to waste it.

The demonic creature stomped all the way from her spot on the couch to the kitchen, fuming and literally steaming as her rage was barely kept in check by her physical form. It was normal for denizens of her realm to lose their physicality whenever taken over by particularly strong emotions, making it slightly worrying that, despite almost triggering the fire alarm in the kitchen, Manarza still maintained her shapely form, even if her feet threatened to melt the flooring when she got closer to the treat thief and stuck a finger directly on his nose; it was about as boiling hot as could be expected.

“Explain. Now,” she growled, using her other hand to point at the half-eaten cinnabun.

“It was there. It was delicious. I wanted it,” Jeremy stated, knowing the only way out of there was through honesty, “didn’t know it was yours.”

“Didn’t think to ASK?!”

That last word was bellowed with such strength that it almost threw the young man backwards. It was enough to make him rub his ears in obvious discomfort, which itself made him do something very stupid: seeing as one of his hands was busy holding onto the treat he “stole”, Jeremy automatically did what he felt was natural… and put it in his mouth. This blatant disregard for basic decency and the point that the succubus was trying to make was enough to make Manarza take a few steps back herself, gasping in obvious shock at the utter affront being perpetrated in front of her. Never in her millenia did she think anyone could sink so low.

No words were needed, or in fact even deserved; a criminal of such low status as Jeremy was not owed even the most basic of courtesies from someone like Manarza, no, what he deserved was to be punished for his horrific actions. With a finger pointed directly at the transgressor, the succubus screamed something horrifyingly screechy in her native tongue, shattering several panes of glass, boiling the water in one of the bottles on the table and causing at least two appliances to spontaneously develop a demonic possession, before vanishing in a puff of flame and having everything return to normal, a long, echoing howl being left in her place.

Jeremy just sighed; wasn’t the first time his roommate did something like that, and it wouldn’t be the last. When his friends warned him that the succubus was “melodramatic” they seriously understated the lengths to which that woman would go in order to be theatrical. Hell, just the previous week she swore vengeance upon fifteen different lineages of multiple European kings because they cancelled one of her favourite French TV shows, and she had to be actively dissuaded from acting on it; poor thing just wasn’t all that used to how things were done on Earth, which was Exhibit A of why starting active trade with Hell was probably a bad idea on everyone’s part.

For the human though, it meant cleaning up after whatever was left. The demons in the toaster and microwave were gone and the steam had taken care of the bottle for her, but now he had to pick up a bunch of burnt plastic and clear up the smell of sulphur; take too long and it just got everywhere and refused to leave, something neither of them wanted after buying a new couch. Thoroughly nonplussed by the “awesome display of demonic might”, as the succubus might put it, Jeremy did his best to tidy things up while thinking of a way to make it up to his roomie. It was true that he took the last cinnabun without asking if Manarza wanted it, knowing full well he hadn’t been the one who bought it; this much was true, and amends had to be made, lest the demoness think it warranted calling up a lawyer from downstairs. But what?

His roomie had a sweet tooth, but given her… unique status, it was hard to get her something she couldn’t already buy or otherwise “acquire”; material gifts were meaningless to someone who could pretty much get whatever she wanted by flaunting a pair of supernaturally attractive tits around, or promising a whole bunch of things that meant far less than horny people thought they did. She was a master at what she did whenever she got it into her head that she had to act seriously, so just buying her something wouldn’t do. What the succubus needed was something with a more personal touch, something that only Jeremy could provide, but lacking any skills beyond web design as he did, the options were rather limited.

As he wondered what to do, the very real curse that the succubus had cast upon him began to work its unholy magic. For once, some thought had been put behind it; while usually Manarza resorted to simple tricks like perpetual bad luck or tripping every few hundred steps, the succubus decided not to be petty and instead try and teach a lesson to her transgressing house mate. To that end, the curse didn’t do anything… not initially at least. Instead, it instilled in him the importance of making amends, which with Jeremey was as simple as just enhancing his natural traits, and then it lay in wait for the opportunity to strike. Depending on what the human decided to do to make it up to the demoness, the curse would make sure such a thing would take hold of them and turn their body into the very gift they wanted to provide. It was purely temporary, but had no limits whatsoever; if it turned out Jeremy wanted to give her a set of machined tools for whatever reason, he’d turn into a toolbox in the blink of an eye.

Instead, and for once, Jremey racked his brains for something far more fitting to apologize for his mistake. He couldn’t exactly bake, not something that could be considered edible anywhere that had even the faintest of standards, but he was good at following instructions. Maybe, he thought to himself as the last remnants of brimstone were broomed into the dustbin, all he had to do was find the right recipe and pay very close attention to the steps. He had nothing scheduled for the rest of the afternoon and it was unlikely Manarza would bother to show up before dinnertime, so this gave him plenty of time to find something for… a cinnabun. Not really inspired, but it was fitting, if nothing else. Even if it ended up being a piece of badly burnt charcoal, at least he could honestly state he tried, and for someone like the succubus, sometimes that’s all it took.

Unbeknownst to Jeremy, that decision had just sealed his fate behind so many layers of depraved deliciousness that his puny mortal mind would have a hard time even beginning to comprehend the first one of the bunch. The instant he put his broom down, the young man was beset by a sense of severe queasiness, leading to him holding his stomach and almost doubling over from how much it was making his eyes water. He knew he’d felt that before, but it took until he had both hands on the sink in his bathroom before remembering what it was: sugar overdose. The odd cramping and incredible unease had happened to him twice before, both times when he forgot she wasn’t a kid anymore and ate far too many sweets for someone his age. It left him so sick he could barely function, and on the previous occasion had led to him spending several hours hugging his stomach while rolling around on his bed.

This was slightly concerning because he hadn’t eaten anything with more sugar than a cup of coffee for the better part of three months, with the cinnabun being the first time he broke with his new diet. Not only that, but the obvious connection between it and the weird words Manarza spat at him earlier was made very clear in his head in the few moments of clarity he had; whatever was happening was demonic in nature, leaving Jeremy panicking over the possibilities. Was he going to be stuffed so full of cinnabuns that he’d burst? Maybe his belly would become super stretchy and end up pinning him to the floor? Or maybe he’d just grow horrendously fat and be forced to eat stolen treats for all of eternity? Any of these were possible when it came to the demoness; she was as creative as she was childish at times.

Instead, the sense of unease began to waver and the intense nauseousness he felt in the pit of his stomach lightened somewhat over the coming minutes. Like being punched, it hurt at first but then faded into a gentle throbbing, just enough to let him worry about what was to come. There was no way this had been an isolated incident; not with Manarza. Indeed, though it became considerably easier to tolerate, it was still there, still pounding away at him and threatening to make him hurl if he didn’t keep his wits about him. Just in case, Jeremy began inching closer towards the toilet, but it would be that very same decision that made him recoil in horror.

When he outstretched a hand to lift the seat, what he saw wasn’t… well, a hand. Rather, it was a goopy, wax-like mess that just barely resembled a fist-shaped lump, looking like someone had melted his extremities off with a hot flame and left them to solidify for several hours. Except it wasn’t solid; the more he stared at it in abject horror, the more Jeremy came to realize it was moving, the goop shifting around and dripping onto the floor, melting from some point in the top. He screamed, only for the sound to get caught in his throat when he realized something: he wasn’t vanishing.

How exactly he came to that conclusion when, by all means, he should be screaming his head off was anyone’s guess; the curse was mostly to blame there, as Manarza had no intention of letting her roommate escape his punishment by falling unconscious. Instead, Jeremy was given just enough clarity that he could see that, despite obviously melting onto floor, the lump where his fist used to be didn’t seem to be growing any smaller. In fact, upon closer inspection, the point from which it was melting from appeared to be some sort of spring for whatever material was being created from seemingly nowhere. Additionally, that closer look allowed him to take a good whiff of himself, and in that moment his eyes shot wide open.

He smelled of cake.

It couldn’t be, and yet repeated attempts at denying it yielded nothing but the same result: the unmistakable aroma of baked dough with vanilla and frosting, wafting from what looked to be a gruesome injury at first, but was now looking far more like some kind of demonic prank. Was this what the curse did to him? Would he be turning into a cinnabun, only to be devoured? This was highly unlikely, given the severe breach in hellish etiquette that was murdering a mortal that housed a demon of their own free volition… but this was Manarza he was talking about, so taking anything off the board would be borderline stupidity.

Jeremy didn’t know what possessed him to even try, but he stuck his tongue out and very carefully had its tip touch the still-melting mess that used to be his hand. Sure enough, it was sweet, and after he powered through the inherent disgust of it, the young human dug in, taking a mouthful of it and gingerly chewing it down. Much to his surprise, it tasted of vanilla with the faintest hint of chocolate, and not only did it melt just as easily on his tongue as it did outside, it left him wanting more.

Without thinking, the soon-to-be-cinnabun-man began to eat himself… or whatever it was that caused her hand to constantly erupt with fresh cake for him to consume. It just felt natural really, seeing as his body appeared to infinitely produce confectionery for him to gorge himself on. It wasn’t until about five minutes in that Jeremy bothered to think about what kind of effects such a decision would have on his diet, his stomach and his life in general, and by that point it was already too late. The feeling in his fingers returned after stealthily vanishing somewhere he couldn’t find it, but it wasn’t the same as it had been before. He felt her hand being fatter, rounder, and for a moment wondered whether or not it would turn into a cake itself! Instead, what emerged from the goopy mess was something that looked very much like a paw, a dog’s paw at that, complete with some very fluffy beans and soft, beige-coloured fur.

The melting effect wandered down his arm, looking like a deranged molting was taking place. It left the rest of it matching what his hand had become, even going so far as to painlessly alter his bone structure to better accommodate his new, future digitigrade self. It only stopped once it reached his shoulder, after which the last remnants of phantom cake splattered onto the ground and left him alone for just long enough that he got to appreciate the change.

His arm was covered in the same cream-like fur as his new paw was, and looked so deliciously inviting that his other hand instinctively moved to pet it. Turned out that delicious was right, because what looked to be a solid limb turned out to be a very accurate replica made of, once again, cake. It was odd, because in the time when his eyes diverged from the gash he dug into himself to the fingerful of dough-stuff he dragged out of it, the “damage” done to his body had healed; his arm (leg?) was exactly as it was before he put a finger through it, prompting him to try it again, this time while keeping a close eye on it. Indeed, it looked to be that his form filled up whatever hole was left in it with even more soft cakeflesh… and judging from how it didn’t completely collapse when he put some weight on it, the limb was good enough to use as it was intended to! Out of curiosity, he even went so far as to poke at one of his brand new paw beans, only to find they were actually blackberry-flavoured gumdrops; removing them left behind a hole that rapidly filled in with another one, letting Jeremy delight herself in ways he honestly never thought were remotely possible.

Of course, the transformation wasn’t anywhere near complete; to think so was idiotic, especially when it so obvious what the curse was meant to do. The young man, for one, welcomed the change, if only because he was convinced that a body made entirely of sugary treats should be enough to convince Manarza to leave him alone after she was done having her way with him. Besides, the anthro look would be great on him, or so he convinced himself whenever the thought crossed his mind; it didn’t occur to Jeremy that his arm turning into a canine leg didn’t bode well for his prospects of turning into a cake furry, no matter how much he might’ve fantasized about it, but that was hardly the first thing on his mind when the curse began to affect his other arm.

This time he was ready for it, so the sight of her fingers vanishing into her palm and the whole thing turning into a glob of cake matter didn’t affect him… as much. It was still distressing to see, and would probably need a heap of therapy in order to excise from his mind, but at least now Jeremy knew that it was harmless and thus could afford not to worry too much. His other arm became a mirror copy of the first, and before long he was already picking his grumdrop-beans from the bottom of his feet, taking each paw in turn to give them time to regenerate. His belly was already starting to bloat from all the treats he was devouring, but the curse knew better than to affect that part of him; things had to be done gradually, and slow enough that Jeremy could appreciate the irony of what was happening to him.

This alone demonstrated the complete lack of knowledge inherent to most demons of Manarza’s rank. To them, being turned into a living cake creature as retaliation for perceived treat-based wrongdoing was the greatest of punishments, a sisyphean-like turn of events that would humble even the haughtiest of mortals. At no point did any of them stop to think that what they were doing might genuinely constitute someone’s deepest fantasy, which was quite weird considering hellish denizens were meant to be creatures of sin. What they considered clarity for the sake of despair occasionally became fodder for someone’s kink being fulfilled; and while Jeremy didn’t know he even had that one, it was most certainly hitting all the right buttons to make him want to see where it was going next.

He could only hope his chest was given some sort of surprise by the end.

Oddly enough, his legs came next, this time with both of them being transformed simultaneously; whatever the curse was doing, it was at least nice enough to him that it removed his shoes from existence before melting his feet into delicious, sugary dough, though this little detail was more or less lost on Jeremy, whose mind was slightly too focused on trying to see how far the changes would take him to consider such trivialities as clothing or conservation of mass. His pants seemed to vanish into the wind like ash, revealing all of his legs had been turned into the same kind of goopy, dripping mess that his arms has been during their transition, and with a final burst of frosting that covered most of his face, they practically exploded into a pair of canine limbs, leaving his torso looking incredibly out of place compared to what was attached to it.

Naturally, things had to change in that regard. He felt something tugging at his spine, as if attempting to bend it out of shape, and instinctively knew that he had to lean forward. Somehow, despite being made of soft cake-stuff, his four legs held up his weight admirably, enough that he barely noticed when his lower back began to crack and reshape itself to better meet the demands of his future quadrupedal self. It was a single snap, but more than enough to readjust his skeletal structure so that he could properly walk on all fours… right before said structure was melted down and turned into cream filling, obviously.

He felt soft all over, fuzzy and warm like he’d just been put in a bath and left to soak for hours. While he paced around the bathroom, trying his best not to look back, he felt himself growing lighter and lighter, the pitter patter of molten cake on the floor letting him know just how much of him was being remade. It wasn’t a gradual progression like his arms and legs had been, but a complete transition from a regular, human body into something akin to canid, albeit one made entirely out of sweet treats. He even had a small tail sprout out the back, though he quickly learned not to wag it too hard; it literally flew off and had to be regrown if he got too enthusiastic about it.

Now that most of him had been turned into a living dessert, the last thing that had to change was his head. Rather than a painful extension of his skull, he instead felt his skin and muscles grow increasingly fluid, a rather… unsettling experience, even if he already knew the process was non-fatal; mercifully, it only took a few seconds before he solidified once again, his mouth turned into a muzzle filled with teeth-shaped pieces of rock candy, his nose an absolutely enormous gumdrop and his eyes turned into a dullish gold colour. And at that point, Jeremy didn’t put it past Manarza to have literally turned his pupils into a wellspring of molten caramel either. By his side were two long ears, fluffy as cotton candy and about as weighty too, while a quick inspection on the mirror revealed several puffs of what he presumed was supposed to be fur at strategic locations around his body. He had seen that design before, and the realization left him wanting to laugh at the absurdity of it.

He was a poodle. A cinnamon-coloured one, sure, but a poodle nonetheless.

He took the opportunity to inspect himself, trying to see if everything was still in its place. The dripping had stopped, leaving the floor of his bathroom a complete mess that someone was going to have to clean in the future, and he made sure to avoid any direct contact with the molten material; his paws seemed resistant enough, but who knew what might happen if he threw his whole body onto it and rolled around in his own… body? Goodness, that whole transformation had left his sense of self a bit confused. Which reminded him, he had to make sure that lil’ Jeremy was still there… and of course it wasn’t. Figured that the succubus would throw that curveball at him, especially after he had resisted the idea of her forcefully swapping him to the “other team” during her more frisky periods. He could only hope that it was temporary, though mostly because he really wanted to see what that curse might do with his male apparatus; maybe turn it into a literal cream dispenser? He probably shouldn’t have found that idea as funny as he did, but there he was, laughing at himself like an idiot.

Trying his best to regain his composure, the puppy Jeremy made his way out the door and into the adjacent corridor, hoping to get to the living room before his roommate arrived. He had no doubt that Manarza would be showing up any second now, ready to take him to whatever counted as a private office so she could have her fun “eating him out” in the most literal way possible. It was the kind of thing that succubi like her liked to do when they got bored of all the monotonous repetition and mindless lewdness that made up most of their daily business; sometimes, in between three dozen people wanting to grab your tits and an equal number hoping to stuff their face in between your asscheeks, you wanted to try out something new, something fresh. That Jeremy gave her the opportunity to go wild by eating the last cinnabun was probably registering with the succubus as the biggest lucky break she’d had in months… or maybe he was overthinking it and Manarza really was just that petty; that was also a possibility.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get too far before he noticed something was off about his balance. He was having a lot more trouble moving than just seconds before, constantly veering from one side to the other with no real pattern or reason. He felt woozy as well, unable to focus on anything in particular… such as the pitter patter returning in full force right beneath him. He had the presence of mind to stop moving and anchor his paws on the ground, hoping that shaking his head from side to side would get rid of the sudden curtain of confusion; instead, it just left him more dizzy and liable to collapse, spared from such a fate only because he was being weighed down by something else entirely.

Unbeknownst to him, his torso was adorned with six tiny nubs. These were present after the initial transformation, but remained so tiny as to be entirely inconsequential; it was only after he gave his body some time to recover that things took a turn for the “worst” and those three rows of two began to fill up and outwards, very literally rising like dough as they took the form of supple, surprisingly stuffed breasts! Though the growth produced a lot of excedent matter, to the point where Jeremy was having trouble keeping his balance amidst the sudden flooding of liquid confectionary all around him, his breasts continued to grow, enough that he could feel them squishing softly against the inside of his legs; as soon as his body was done and he recovered his ability to walk without tripping over from confusion, he found that he still couldn’t take a step unimpeded, this time having his motions blocked by six engorged mounds taking up most of the underside of his body.

He could get used to it though; the thought of carrying three pairs of tits of that size was hitting all the right spots in his pleasure centers, plus the knowledge that he was too busty to walk properly in that new form of his made for a wonderful realization. Looking down, he could even see his breasts smushing against the rest of him, on occasion even having a chunk of them be removed, only to regrow right afterwards like the experiment with his arm. And despite being “done”, he hadn’t stopped dripping; his teats were anything but dry, constantly leaking something that looked like milk, but most definitely smelled of vanilla instead. It made him want to try it. It made him really want to try it.

Jeremy waited for a few seconds. Surely, if Manarza intended to make the best out of the curse she placed on him, then she should be right there around the corner. A moment of silence should be all that was needed for the succubus to reveal herself and loudly declare her intention to do unspeakable things to them for daring to touch the last cinnabun in the fridge… but it wasn’t. In fact, the longer he kept the “moment” going, the more his mind was assaulted by the loud noises of his busts leaking liquid vanilla onto the ground, and the more he was convinced that the demoness was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t that he wanted her to ravish him, he just knew better than to deny them their fun before they got the chance to get around to it. Given that she hadn’t come back though, the transformed human took it as a sign that he was safe to explore his new body.

He rolled onto his back, splashing on the puddle he’d created on the ground and splaying his legs all around him. There they were, six mounds, perfectly spherical and waiting for a mouth to latch onto them and drain them for all they were worth. Such a shame he couldn’t even get to the closest one; he’d just have to make due. As deftly as he could, Jeremy brought his paws close to him, making sure not to touch any part of his breasts at all; he didn’t know how sensitive those things were, and with a body made up of sugar, dough and an apparently endless supply of various creams, it was important not to stress test anything. He gingerly prodded one of the mounds with a toe, finding it to be so full that even that tiny touch was enough to make it erupt with a small shower of vanilla, spurting directly onto his face… and mouth.

To call it sweet would be a disservice to the very concept. What he was experiencing there, on his tongue, was heaven in an edible form, the absolute best thing he had ever tasted in his entire life. He knew, right there, that he could never have enough of it; he could drink from his own tits for the rest of his life, bloating himself to the point of immobility, and it still wouldn’t be anywhere close to fulfilling. He craned his neck, whining pitifully as he tried to get his mouth as close to his nipple as he could, frantically trying to angle his breast towards him so he could use it as a pressure hose of sweet vanilla, in the process only succeeding in lopping off the whole thing… and having it grow back in slightly larger. The difference wasn’t too much, just enough for him to notice it was there, but it was all Jeremy needed to see to let him know what his next step was.

Haphazardly, he attempted to roll back onto his four legs, taking quite a few tries before he got it right. Once his balance was reestablished… he promptly plopped onto the ground again, this time landing atop his six breasts. The things he felt in that moment, when he squished them with his full weight, were literally indescribable; the closest he got was that loud-enough-to-rattle-the-windows moan that came roaring from the bottom of his throat and very nearly shook his entire frame apart, and even that paled in comparison to the full range of emotions that went through his brain after pounding his tits against the ground. It managed to knock the idea he had for himself out of his head for a good couple of minutes before he recentered himself, after which he found that half of the plan had already been inadvertently accomplished.

The amount of force behind his drop was enough to smash most of the cake matter his breasts were made up of into a large, semi-melted puddle, giving him enough room to work in to grind away what remained of them. It’d be macabre if not for the fact that they would grow back within moments, so Jeremy happily squirmed around until he was sure all of his busts had been duly removed from his person, only then getting back on his four legs. Barely seconds after doing so he felt their familiar weight return, the six orbs inflating to not only meet the size they were at before, but to become even larger still, enough that he now had to keep his legs slightly apart just to be able to move around properly. A single step required him to move his limbs in odd ways if he didn’t want them to get stuck on one of the many tits weighing him down, and their productivity was such that he could hear the vanilla streams splattering against the ground.

His poor back, whatever it was made of, was not having any of that, and it took several tries before he could even move without it fracturing in some way. It seemed that whenever his body broke apart it would reform slightly stronger, allowing him to go from barely mobile to easily carrying around those three rows of udders like it was absolutely nothing. And of course, the moment that happened, he had to push his limits yet again! By that point he was in the living room, no longer caring about the mess his body was making wherever he went; he just dropped his weight down and spent a good ten minutes rubbing against the floor, producing an enormous puddle of melted dough and sugar that used to be his breasts. And the moment they started growing back in, he knew he’d made a mistake.

They were getting bigger alright, big enough that he took a look down and loudly asked them to hold back their advance. There wasn’t a lot he could do now, not after the process had begun, leaving Jeremy to stand there and feel how every ounce of space he used to have between his legs and under his torso was occupied by his new-and-improved vanilla-stuffed mounds. They didn’t stop at just being inconvenient either; within moments he felt his six nipples pressing against the ground, the sugary spouts forcing them to bend sideways from the sheer force of the release. He was no longer walking, but dragging around a set of weights so massive that, were he still capable of sweating, he’d be positively drenched.

Left to his own devices, Jeremy might very well have done nothing but milk himself for the rest of the day, using his own weight to push down against his udders in order to empty them out more efficiently. That this carried with it a non-zero chance of making him even larger didn’t really matter to him; if he was destined to be stranded atop a small hill of vanilla-making tits, then that’s just what he’d have to deal with. Who was he to argue against fate and a very angry, petty succubus?

Well, for one, he still had his own mind, he was still alive, and for whatever reason Manarza wasn’t there yet. He had convinced himself that he was being watched, that at some point the demoness would step in, announce her intentions and whisk him off somewhere they could have some fun together, but instead he was left alone, atop a small pool of melted cake, wondering just what he was supposed to do now. Was he meant to… wait? Stand there like a good boy and hope that the succubus bothered to show up soon enough to relieve the growing pressure inside of him? That just wasn’t his style and they both knew it; and while his roommate was one for punishments, she was far too unrefined to make them ironic or personalized… at least when she was casting curses while mad. It was more likely she was too busy elsewhere to tend to his needs, or maybe, just maybe, he had to do something to get her attention.

Such as showing himself.

If there was one thing Manarza utterly despised, it was seeing her handiwork be attributed to someone else. And very close to that on her interminable list of pet peeves was seeing other people have fun with said handiwork before she did. Therefore, Jeremy figured, the quickest way to get her attention would be to grab someone else’s; not the best leap of logic as far as he was concerned, but he just went from human male to a poodle made out of desserts, so conventional thinking was pretty much out of the window at that point. As was getting out of the house, it seemed; much as he tried, there was no way he was reaching the doorknob, much less operating it. Not only did it take him the better part of half an hour to even cross the house, but any attempt at heaving himself onto the door resulted in far too much of a mess for him to try it again. His body could only reinforce itself up to a certain point, dooming him to a house-bound existence of living confectionary and perpetual sweetness.

Woe was him.

He could only see one way going forward, and that was calling someone he knew could be counted on to give him the kind of attention he wanted: Ashley. The two were close friends and had been for years, at points perhaps something more than just friends, making her just the right person to call in such a situation. If there was anyone he could trust wouldn’t immediately lose their minds upon seeing him, it had to be her… something he was sure he’d experience right after he got his paws on the phone, because of course he had to have put it on top of the counter.

“Come on, Jeremy, pull yourself together,” he growled to himself, surprised at how soft his voice sounded, “you can’t get on a chair, not like this…”

The food poodle (foodle?) scrambled his way up the side of the kitchen counter, scratching at the doors underneath the sink in order to find something, anything he could use as leverage. This resulted in a lot of failed attempts and a significant amount of cake being splattered against every surface around him, but after a couple of dozen tries and a few more cup sizes added to his breasts, he placed his front paws over the edge and took a few moments to breathe. Now that the worst part was over he could rest easy knowing that all he had to do was move shuffle laterally until he hit the other end of the kitchen; this meant rubbing a significant portion of his breasts against the many, many drawers and cupboards he was using for support, so by the time he got there he was barely holding onto the counter by a single toe or two, just about to topple backwards and probably turn into a massive puddle that had to be reformed from scratch, judging from the weight of those things on his torso.

It was only then that Jeremy realized dialing a number on a phone when he had paws that large and beans that fat was, to put it lightly, a monumentally stupid idea. If it weren’t for the sunk cost involved in getting there in the first place he might’ve just given up entirely, but after heaving himself for such a long distance, it wouldn’t be a pudgy bunch of “fingers” that would stop him.

“Jeremy?” Ashley called from the other end of the line, “What’s up?”

“Hey uh, Ashley?” the foodle replied, trying (and failing) to make his voice sound gruff and manly, “There’s a bit of a problem and I need you to swing by, if you could.”

There was a noticeable period of silence during which the young woman was very clearly trying not to laugh too hard, her attempts at stifling herself still audible even after she moved the phone speaker away from her face. When her voice came again, it was half-broken and about to burst into hysterical cackling.

“D-did that bitch finally make good on her threats?” Ashley questioned, “Tell me, are your tits bigger than mine?”

“Not exactly,” Jeremy sighed, knowing it was better not to sugar-coat the truth, “but also somewhat. Also I think so?” - he looked down, trying to get a gauge for how large Ashley was… and then realizing that he was most definitely several times bigger - “Yeah, mine are definitely bigger than yours.”

“Fuck me, I have to see this. Don’t go anywhere!”

“Why the hell wou-”

She hung up.

Jeremy huffed, grumpy at being used as a punchline. He should’ve remembered he told Ashley about the few times Manarza low-key threatened to flip him over so she could have a “playful bedmate”. He should’ve known she’d take any opportunity to gloat to him about how he should’ve listened when being told shacking up with a succubus was a bad idea. But even so, Jeremy knew he had the upper hand still; Ashley was most likely expecting something playing into the “bimbo” look, maybe a pair of overinflated plastic tits. She certainly wouldn’t be thinking of him in poodle form, much less one made out of baked dough. If anything, he could at least stun her for a few seconds, and to that end, he needed to come up with a good one-liner.

The time it took for him to carefully lower his body onto the ground and then drag it all the way over over the corridor again was enough for his friend to make the short trip from her house to his. Jeremy briefly considered putting on a show for her in the living room, but had grown far too large to move that quickly; instead, he splayed himself as gracefully as he could in the middle of the corridor and then loudly announced the door was open. Ashley walked in immediately, already loudly wondering where the “fuckdoll” was, when she almost tripped in the many-layered mess that coated the entire apartment floor by that point. Holding onto the door for dear life, it took her a bit to look up and notice the creature staring back at her, after which she let out a shriek, lost her balance and collapsed onto her back.

Not the most graceful of entrances.

“Not what you were expecting, was it?!” Jeremy laughed, “I’m a cinnabun!”

“You’re a fucking dog!” Ashley shouted back, “Why are you a dog? How are you a dog? Why is there cake everywhere, why are your tits as big as you, what the fuck?!”

“Succubus magic.”

Jeremy’s reply was so blunt and lacking in consideration that it somehow broke Ashley out of her funk and brought her back to her usual self, enough for the young woman to grab a handful of what used to be foodle body and throw it at him, where it bounced off harmlessly. She closed the door behind her, taking a few deep breaths before even thinking about speaking again.

“Jeremy, please explain…”

“I ate the last cinnabun in the fridge, Manarza took offense to that and then she cursed me. I thought things were fine but then I turned into this. Also my tits grow back if I scrape them off and they get bigger, I wasn’t always this huge. Oh, also this isn’t milk, it’s vanilla. And she’s probably coming back soon.”

Of all the things she said, it was that last one that actually got Ashley to flinch.

“She’s what now?”

“She hates it when people play with her toys before she does.”

“... you son of a bitch, this was a trap.”

“Indeed I am!”

The obvious pun still took Ashley several moments to get, after which she had to fight the side of her that wanted to burst out laughing as well. It was surprisingly easy, given the looming threat of a very pissed-off succubus showing up at any second to send her flying somewhere she’d have to climb out of covered in sulphur and bits of demonic spit. And sure enough, she barely got a single step closer to Jeremy before the temperature in the room shot up and a gust of wind nearly knocked her back on her ass. Distant thunder boomed in their ears while a thick, pitch-black cloud of smoke formed from seemingly nothing, taking on the curvaceous shape of a well-endowed woman with a tail and a set of horns, one whose arm was raised in an accusatory manner towards the one human in the room.

“Who dares cross the threshold to this abode?!” the shadow shouted, “Who would dare to intrude upon the residence o-oh, it’s you.”

The temperature dropped, the thunder went away and the smoke coalesced into a very naked Manarza standing with both hands now on her wide hips, staring at Ashley as if she was a mildly inconvenient smudge on a shirt that refused to disappear.

“Care to explain why you’re in my house?”

“Our house, darling,” Jeremy piped up, trying his best to move forward to grab the succubus’ attention, only succeeding in almost tripping forward thanks to his weight, “and I called her. Because you didn’t show up and I was wondering why you turned me into this if you weren’t going to make good use of it.”

“Turn you into oh my unholy blazes!” - even the demoness was surprised when she turned around and saw what her curse had wrought upon her roommate. Though she recomposed herself quite quickly, it was clear she was not expecting him to have turned into a food animal - “What did you do to yourself?!”

“I’d like to ask you that myself, actually!” the foodle chuckled, “You were the one who cast the curse, not me!”

Manarza raised a finger, as if to interrupt him, but ended up not saying anything. She obviously wanted to say something, but for once Jeremy had an actual point she couldn’t contest; she did cast the curse that turned him into that… that thing, and now she had to come up with an adequate response in order not to lose face. This was a highly unorthodox situation that required a large helping of subtlety and finesse, which is precisely why the succubus took so long to come up with a response that the other two people in there with her had time to stare at one another and wonder just what was going on.

“Yes!” she finally declared, “And I can see this curse did exactly what it was supposed to do! Surely now you understand the folly of your ways, and will never again commit such a foul deed as that which left you in this sorry state!”

“You mean take a cinnabun without asking first?” - Jeremy adored bringing Manarza down from her theatrical high horse with a heavy dose of reductionism - “If that’s the case, then absolutely; I shall henceforth, forever and always, confer with your personage on the subject of the proper etiquette of the consumption of pastries.”

The succubus stared him down, knowing full well that every word the foodle spoke was dripping with as much sarcasm as his body was with leftover cream, but she still couldn’t say anything; that was the whole point she was trying to make after all, so as long as Jeremy actually abided by what he was saying, she could tolerate a little bit of sass from him. As for Ashley though, the succubus’ ability to withstand her presence was never quite high to begin with, making it very easy for the succubus to snap her fingers and teleport her directly out of the house and straight onto the front steps, still covered in cake and now feeling incredibly itchy all over. Manarza was at least polite enough to also give her a slip of paper detailing how long she had until she turned into a foodle herself before turning her attention back to Jeremy.

He was… not what she had expected. Food-based and delicious, sure, but she had expected him to come up with a less heartfelt way of expressing his apologies and turn himself into a pile of living jewelry or coins. In a way, to see that his first instinct was to bake her something to make up for his transgressions was a welcome surprise, and left her wondering if her overall opinion of him wasn’t a bit too harsh compared to his true self. These were all thoughts she reserved for her later self of course, as her hellish instincts took over the moment she caught whiff of how delicious the foodle smelt; it was time for her to put on her best domineering smile and go to work showing that man why he shouldn’t steal from fridges that didn’t belong to him

“So, I can see you’ve been experimenting with your new form,” she mused, gently prodding one of Jeremy’s many tits with her pointy tail, “weren’t satisfied with just six breasts? Had to make them larger, didn’t you?”

“Damn straight!” the foodle replied, tapping one paw on the ground and accidentally dislodging a gumdrop from underneath it, “Scared the shit out of me at first though, not gonna lie; did you have to make it so that I melted off?”

“I didn’t make anything, the curse was simply very flexible,” the succubus coughed, her throat clearing making it obvious she was winging it at that point, “besides, even if I didn’t, I’m sure you would’ve found a way to enjoy it regardless.”

She wasn’t entirely wrong; Jeremy was finding his new body to be significantly more… delectable than he ever could’ve imagined. Had he not been convinced that the succubus was coming to whisk him off to her realm, he might genuinely have spent hours testing his limits, probably ending up stuck atop a throne of vanilla-stuffed foodle udders until either the curse wore off or was removed from him. But this entire conversation posed a different question altogether: if it wasn’t Manarza’s intention to take him for a spin, then what was she planning to do with him? Surely she had to have something in mind… and yet the longer time went on with the two of them stuck in an awkward silence, the more Jeremy came to believe that the whole affair had been triggered purely out of spite and pettiness on the succubus’ part, and she had no idea what to do with him now that her magical assault had bore fruit. So he did the only thing he could: he flipped around and spread his legs out.

“They’re a bit full; wanna milk me and help take care of them~?”

It was a world first: the demoness’ red skin suddenly turned a whole lot redder at Jeremy’s gesture, and if not for her instincts taking over near-instantly, he would’ve been able to celebrate finally getting through to her and successfully embarrassing the succubus for once in her life. As it stood, he knew he was playing with fire; didn’t take long for her to start shouting at him again, this time condemning his lust and insatiable appetite, letting him know how disappointed she was that he still hadn’t learned his lesson and instead insisted on teasing her even more when clearly he should be worried about how much under her control he was. It was the usual spiel and Jeremy didn’t give it much care or attention; not until he felt himself start to bloat again, that is.

He was about to ask Manarza what she was thinking when the succubus vanished in a puff of smoke again, leaving him to smell the odd combination of vanilla and brimstone that now permeated the hallway. In front and atop him, his six mounds began to produce at an astounding rate, made to bloat and swell so quickly that he barely had time to flip back over and smush them against the ground. He could feel his paws growing more and more distant from the ground, and if he didn’t do something about it, soon enough they wouldn’t even reach! The pressure was immense, the pleasure even more so, which is why his next decision was informed more by his lust for growth and transformation than it was by any measure of sanity or logic.

He was still made of cake, which meant that, if need be, he could scrape parts of himself off in order to return to mobility. He’d done it before with his breasts, so surely he could do so again; it would only make them grow back even larger, but they were already burgeoning with extra size, so why even try to stop it? What mattered was getting to the living room, where at least he’d have enough space to completely lose himself to the (hopefully final) growth spurt without having to worry about smearing himself against the walls.

This didn’t make the process any more bearable though; it was slow, and while not painful it was still tedious and monotonous enough to start making him feel jittery all over. If it weren’t for the promise of even larger sizes waiting for him on the other side of that door then he might’ve given up completely; but he could still feel his six breasts trying to go back to where they were before, that they may fill up even more, and once every couple of minutes or so he had to stop and appreciate just how enormous they were getting. He got dangerously close to being lifted off the ground multiple times, what with the short walk being turned into a grueling, hour-long journey thanks to his unique physiology, and at least twice it happened entirely by accident; there was just so much cake on the ground that moving without slipping or sliding was becoming an impossibility, and despite his body’s innate ability to coexist with its own shed self, there were limits to how much friction he needed before toppling over.

By the end, he was practically squeezing himself through the door to the living room, grunting and panting and gasping and moaning his way to the middle of it, a trail of melted frosting and vanilla left behind him, oozing like some kind of extra-edible snail. The carpet was going to be completely ruined and that was ok; all that mattered was heaving his body over it and positioning himself right at the center of the room, giving his body the most space he could. There was no telling when Manarza would bother to show her face again; could be a few more minutes, could be hours or days. For all Jeremy knew, she might very well not even return until there wasn’t a house for her to come back to anymore, and he didn’t mind; just as long as he got to experience the process without blanking out, then he was perfectly fine with things.

As soon as he allowed his legs to collapse, he knew it was over. Immediately his three rows began to fill up again, the repeated scrapings having made them so large that, even without the added benefit of producing gallons of vanilla like it was nothing, they were still probably big enough to keep his paws off the ground. For Jeremy this was the perfect trade-off: he could no longer walk, but now he could gorge himself on his gumdrop paw beans for as long as he wanted!

The rest of his day was spent finding new and never-before-imagined limits to how much he could enjoy turning into a pile of milk and cream, only to then plow right through them like they were made of wet tissue paper. At some point during his continuous inflationary process the vanilla had swapped over for the more “traditional” variety of fluids, though his emanations still contained such an immense amount of sugar that he could smell it even from atop his titty throne. The room was quite literally flooded, the carpet was completely gone underneath a thick coating of white speckles with coloured frosting, and the rest of the house would soon follow suit unless anything was done to stop him… but nothing was. The succubus didn’t bother to show up again and he had no degree of control over how much he could produce, leaving him to bloat and swell until there was nothing else for him to do.

It took a toll on his mind, breaking it into pieces and then reforming it in a shape more willing to accept his fate as a canine dairy cow. This was his life now, and this would be his life going forward; anything he might’ve done before had been duly overridden by his new purpose: to provide milky goodness for whoever came knocking. Suitors, dairy companies, whoever they may be, he would accept all comers… and it was all thanks to Manarza. The demoness was struggling with her own issues in the midst of Jeremy’s “ascension”, for even though she hated to admit it, seeing him like that had left an impression on her, one more indelible that she would’ve liked. Curses like the one she cast had a significant emotional component to them; one must seriously want to cause the effect for it to take hold properly, which usually meant tapping into either hatred or, barring that, annoyance and spite. What it also required was utmost control over said emotions.

Control that she forgot to hold onto.

That one quip Jeremy made about getting milked had really gotten through to her, so much so that her addendum to the initial malediction was done more out of a need for a distraction than anything else. The succubus barely got through her staff and into her office before her bust, previously held tightly inside of her button-up shirt, burst free from its confines and onto her table. She shouted at her secretary to get out and lock the door, after which a simple snap of her fingers removed all clothing from her body.

She was needy, and that much was obvious with how quickly one of her hands met her lower lips. Already her tits were throbbing needily, their own productivity spiked and made to work on overdrive, her bust expanding in every direction as it filled with demonic milk. She cursed that bastard under her breath for knowing just how to prod at her to get through her defences, making a mental note to redouble the effects of her curse on him the moment she got done taking care of hers. There was no use trying to remove it the conventional way; what was happening to her was the result of her completely losing control of herself, even for just a moment, and wishing for the effects to backfire… so they did.

She could feel her hands begin to turn, their consistency softening before turning into cake-like mush, the melting taking hold of her just moments later. All the succubus could do was direct all of her willpower to prevent herself from turning into a foodle as well, though that came with additional complications; such concentration on one single aspect allowed the transformation to run rampant on others, so while it had taken until the end for Jeremy to develop his six udders, the demoness, already possessed of a substantially-sized bosom, got to experience the formation of three additional rows to add to her original one, all of them doughy in consistency and already leaking profusely with sweet vanilla.

Her face was bright red and her legs were quivering, her mind ablaze with both raw hatred and a desperate need to fuck something to get the other thoughts of there. Her assistants all crowded outside her office door, looking at one another and whispering about just what might be happening. The moment they saw a puddle of white cream begin to ooze under the door they knew what was happening… and had to actively dissuade one another from bursting in and taking advantage of their boss going all milky like that. It wasn’t until Manarza herself screamed for her secretary to get back inside that any of them got to see what was happening, and even then they only caught a glimpse: the succubus, bent over her desk, her hands and arms a completely different colour to the rest of her body, packing eight tits about thrice her normal bust size and all leaking profusely. She had a dildo on one hand, eagerly thrusting it in and out of her slit, while the other squeezed at one of her milkers. Her eyes were glazed over and her mouth hung open, their curiously-pink tongue lolling out and drooling copiously.

All their boss managed to do was to call for their chief assistant to get back in and “help her” deal with things. Though everyone else clearly wanted a chance to go at it as well, they knew better than to mark themselves for later retaliation, leaving the secretary to slither inside with the biggest grin on their face. A grin only matched by Jeremy’s, back in the human world, who at some level was vaguely aware of what he had done to his roommate. It wasn’t anything he could put to words, but curses had a way of linking people like that. He adored the idea that he was sharing some of those rapturous sensations with someone else, and Manarza in particular.

After all, she was the only one that could make them even better.