Being a temporary teammate to the monster-eating crew, you decided to venture deeper into the dungeon — just one more floor to maximize your profits before parting ways. But then came the bad news: the flora on the next level was highly poisonous. Direct contact could cause swelling, rashes, even unconsciousness.

To survive it, the group had to hunt and skin a species of giant frogs, whose slick, naturally resistant hides offered perfect protection. Everyone had to wear a makeshift suit stitched from froghide. Fortunately for you, you didn’t need one — a strange hereditary immunity, something from your father’s side, kept you safe.

But not everyone was so lucky.

Marcille, the team’s half-elf, half-Tallman sorceress, had a much harder time.

She never talked about her heritage. To the world, she presented herself as an elf — composed, elegant, proud. But there was no hiding the truth: her human bloodline gifted her a godlike, impossibly exaggerated figure, one no pure-blooded elf could ever develop. She was tall, curvy in ways that seemed almost mythic, and despite her attempts to blend in, her body was a silent confession of her mixed lineage.

To conceal it, Marcille layered herself in heavy robes and cloaks, always insisting she felt too cold without them — even when others wore much less. With careful tailoring and clever excuses, she kept her true form hidden from past parties… and the current one.

Until now.

Switching into the thin, skin-tight frog suit was nothing short of a nightmare for her.

The material clung to every curve, every impossible swell, every inch of her enchanted, overdeveloped lower body. Her thighs pressed against the fabric like coiled springs. Her hips stretched it taut. And her massive, impossibly full rear looked... divine. Ridiculously so.

She tried to pull a cloak over it. Tried tying her belt lower. Even tried staying quiet and walking behind the group. But every step sent her enormous cheeks clapping softly together, their weight shifting no matter how cautiously she moved. Her hips swayed with magical rhythm, as if the sheer mass refused to be still.

She walked in silence, trailing behind, doing everything she could to seem composed.

Marcille (thoughts): “Oh no... it’s really that noticeable, isn’t it...? I hope this stupid suit doesn’t make my ass look fat…”

Her face was pink with embarrassment. Her heart raced. She didn’t want anyone to find out. Didn’t want to be judged. Not again.