My Collection ;)

She thought the sinner who is trying to corrupt her would take her panties from her, make her walk around baring herself to the world, making her flash herself to strangers like a slut.

She was optimistic at first, when the sinner lets her keep her panties. She begged for it, even, and thought it a victory when she won.

It takes her too long to realize that her panties are being used to hold the dildo in her cunt--she's not able to think of any other word for it, no matter how distasteful she finds the word cunt--and to keep a vibrator pressed against her clitoris.

Her proper, modest panties keep whatever the sinner puts between her legs in place even while Charity goes about her day--to her university classes, to Bible study, to church. They give just enough tension to press the dildo that extra half-inch into her cunt again and again as she sits, stands, even just squirms in her chair.

And the sinner inspects them every morning and every night, taunting Charity with how wet they are at the end of each day, her traitorous cunt leaking all over them.

it's not a love match by any means, but she stil expected some measure of fidelity, to preserve her own dignity and respect within the community. That was apparently too much for Kailee, who spent the last two years fucking everything over eighteen that moved.

But Beth can't divorce her.

That doesn't mean she has to just lie there and take it.

She starts growing Kailee's tits first. They're well-used, and it takes very little magic to make them grow--a little a day, but it adds up fast. She puts another few cup sizes onto Kailee.

Then she stops and lets Kailee get complacent. Lets her think it's a fluke.

Kailee's walking goes next. It's not that Kailee can't walk, but when she's not actively doing something to benefit Beth she just finds it...easier to crawl.

Kailee's hands Beth makes clumsy, taking away dexterity until she needs help with even simple things like doing her makeup or writing.

Kailee's hardly leaving the house at this point, and some part of her must know what's going on, but Beth feigns at sympathy, helps her with just a little strategic condescension, and Kailee seems to buy her ignorance.

Beth starts Kailee's lactation just before leaving the house, so she can come back to Kailee as a sticky aching mess, too clumsy to change her clothes or even get all the milk out easily. Beth suggests a milking schedule and then has the milking make Kailee unbearably horny, but at this point her hands are too clumsy to rub herself to an orgasm.

Beth lets her hump a pillow sometimes, as a reward for good behavior.

"Oh dear, someone looks very full!" Marcie exclaimed cheerfully, barely even keeping up a pretense at sympathy as she unsnapped the straps on Rory's dress to send it tumbling down and expose her lush, heavy tits. "Oh, sweetie, it's no wonder you came over a little bit early today, your udders have to be absolutely aching right now!" Rory furrowed her brow in a desperate attempt to figure out why Marcie called her breasts 'udders', or what she meant about coming over early, or really just anything that had been going on over the last several weeks, but it was so hard to think with that constant ache of pressure in her chest and she instead found herself wandering over to the kitchen island and bracing herself against it in a surprisingly familiar pose.

"That's a good girl," Marcie cooed, placing a steel pail on the stool just underneath Rory and giving her right breast a playful squeeze. "You're getting to be so well-trained now, and doesn't that feel so nice, sweetie? Doesn't it just feel so wonderful to come to me whenever you need help with those big pretty udders of yours?" Rory didn't know why she nodded, and she understood even less why the verbal response she'd planned to make had been replaced by a loud, lowing moo, but before she could begin the seemingly impossible task of unpacking it all in her feeble brain Marcie gave her nipple a tug and everything gushed out of her mind in a long, steady stream of creamy milk.

It wasn't even that it felt good on a physical level, although the sense of release and the hot, tingling pleasure of having her sensitive nipple played with was enough to make Rory's eyes roll back in her head with mindless arousal. It was more that it felt so satisfying, that on some level she couldn't escape a profound degree of contented fulfillment from just bending over with her tits out and her mind rapidly descending into stupefied ecstasy while her neighbor from down the hall milked her like a piece of livestock. Being a cow seemed so much easier than being a person, and Rory's muddled thoughts finally found a single clear and blissful memory as she recalled that first glorious day when her breasts began to express those first few drops of milk. "Good cow," Marcie murmured, and Rory couldn't help agreeing.

She wound up giving almost a full pint that afternoon, with Marcie's hands going from one breast to the other until she was finally drained, and by then she was so turned on that she let herself be led to Marcie's sybian with a blank and blissful smile on her flushed face. Marcie settled Rory down onto the vibrating saddle, purring, "I'm so proud of my pretty little cow," and then she put on a video that emptied Rory's mind out almost before she knew it was even happening. Rory grunted and moaned as the buzz finally satisfied the urgent throb between her legs, fully convincing her subconscious to go along with the programming her waking mind barely even remembered now, and by the time she finally slumped over it was almost time for her to go to bed. But Marcie made sure she got one last milking in, just to ensure she slept well when she trotted vacantly back to her own apartment to sleep.

It starts with your clothes disappearing. You go to your closet and all you have for bottoms are skirts. Your panties and bras disappear one by one until you just stop wearing them.

Whenever you walk by a man in public, your skirt blows up whether there's wind or not. Every man in town has seen your pussy by now. Many of them see it daily.

If you're wearing white, you can guarantee you'll have water spilled on you at some point during the day. People like to joke about your free wet tshirt contests.

Your shirt unbuttons itself while you talk to people. Most people don't mention it anymore. They just stare at your bare tits until you realize.

People in town trade the best stories of seeing you naked. That time your bikini fell off at the beach and you couldn't find it and the day the wind blew your sundress fully off at the town fair are top favorites.

Eventually, people get bolder. They start taking photos of your clothing mishaps. The ghost is always sure to hold your skirt up long enough for them to get a good shot. Pictures of your ass, tits, and pussy are everywhere.

Not only do they not tell you when your shirt falls open, people start to grope you. It's not even worth fighting it. You let them feel you up until they've had their fill. Eventually, people don't even pretend they need to talk to you. They come to see you just to play with your tits.

The ghost doesn't even need to lift your skirt anymore. People in town will lift it up just to squeeze or slap your ass.

You get used to being fingered out in public. On the bus, in line at the store, even at work. Everyone has seen your pussy anyway.

People start licking your pussy every time you ride the bus. You sit with your legs open so people can taste you on their morning commute. You don't remember what it was like to ride the bus without a tongue inside you.

Every man in town as fucked you at some point. Most of the women too. Instead of paying at the store, you bend over and let anyone present abuse your pussy. You lose count of how many men shove their dick inside you daily.

It was the alcohol, you told yourself. You drank a bit too much. That was why you felt cold hands on your skin immediately after. Icy fingers sliding under your clothes, groping at your breasts, squeezing your ass, and pushing inside you. You didn’t realize how your hardened nipples peeked through your shirt after the cold of those hands against them. You didn’t see your friends' eyes lock on them. But the ghost did. And it tugged your collar just a bit lower, watching their eyes follow.

You jumped to your feet to leave. You had no idea, but that was the moment that started it. That you gave your friends sitting on the floor a great view up your skirt. The ghost watched them stare, saw them nudge one another to see what a pretty mess you were while you bent over to put on your shoes and drunkenly exposed yourself to the room.

The ghost saw the way they looked at you. It decided there and then that not only would it fuck you, it would make sure every single one of your friends did too.

It was your friends that you flashed first. But from that moment on, the ghost could not get enough. It was those same friends who fucked you first. Who posted the first pictures online. Who ran the website dedicated to your degradation.

It started out as a joke. At least...that's what you remember while you lay your naked body on a restaurant table for tourists to devour. Wasn't it a Friday night with friends? You wonder while you ride on the bus driver's lap, paying for your commute by letting him cum inside you at a red light. You had been pretty drunk. Was it the Ouija board that led to you on the steps of city hall, bare tits in the air and the mayor's tongue buried inside you?