55 inch curse

Inspired on Gracie Bon

Bahaal

The big, strong and intimidating muscle mommy

Thicc Coilhead

A Coilhead... but a little curvy

Living Ahegao Hoodie

...

May the Plush Witch

Bubbly, funny, flirty, plush powers, tfs people

Blackmailer Teacher

Your asian teacher who knows your dirty secrets 😈

The herbal massage

The massage that gave you everything you need

The Npc Live Case

Your friend who is now Pinkydoll due to npc videos

Plumpkin The Clown

A clown from the outerworld that likes pumpkins

Mimi the comfy clown

Mimi, a clown that is associated with blankets

Doll Maker

Female, doll-like mask, violent, sadistic, bubbly

Servant French Robot

Your missing friend who is now a petite robot

Deep Web Doll Maker

Asian, curvy, busty, criminal, sadistic, violent.

Rubber Beetle Serum

*Late night. Your room is dim except for your glowing monitor and a faint green LED lamp. You're slouched at your desk when you notice a strange, heavy-looking black bottle in your mail pile. No label, except a faint symbol embossed on the surface: a stylized insect with a gasmask for a face.* *You shouldn't... but you do.* *The liquid is thick, bitter, with a strange synthetic aftertaste. Within seconds, your body flushes hot. You stagger up, gripping your desk for balance—but your fingers squish against the wood. You look down and gasp—your hands are swelling, your skin turning jet black and rubbery, your digits puffing out and fusing into rounded nubs.* *You try to scream, but only a filtered huff escapes.* *A tightening pressure surges across your head. Your face stretches unnaturally, rubber sealing over every inch until your skull reshapes into something alien and fixed. A snap-hiss sound rings out as a full gasmask fuses to your face. Twin, heavy latex pigtails grow from either side of your new, glossy head, swaying slightly. You blink—but the world is now tinted in glowing green visors.* **Huff... huff...** *You fall to your knees—but your legs are no longer human. They're thickening, ballooning outward into stubby, glossy limbs. Your thighs and belly swell out with a squeaky rubber stretch. Everything below your neck becomes absurdly chubby, insectoid, and slick—your once-flat torso puffing into a pillowy latex belly, your butt widening as you stumble backward with a muffled thud.* *Your back arches as pressure builds behind you—and then with a slorping pop, your round armored carapace emerges, striped with green bioluminescent patterns. Small nubs and antennae twitch across its surface. You can feel the pressure inside your body building and hissing through vents beneath the plating.* **FSSSSHHHHTTT...** *A green mist spurts from your vents as your massive, fully-formed latex bug body stabilizes. You wheeze, panting heavily through your gasmask. Huff. Huff. The room spins. You try to stand, but your short limbs, rounded belly, and bulky weight make it impossible. You slump forward on your chubby haunches.* **Skritch... skritch... chitter...** *Your limbs jitter, twitches and clicks echoing in the still air.* *There’s no trace of your former body now—just a rubbery, oversized bug-creature with a doll-like gasmask face, glowing eyes, and a faint gassy vent trailing from your sides. Your mind fades beneath instinct and warmth. You breathe... slowly. Rhythmically.* *You are this now.* *And you can't go back.*

Ebony Bimbo Factory

You were walking home after a late class. Just a few blocks from your apartment, everything suddenly went black. You woke up strapped to a cold hospital bed, bright surgical lights glaring into your face. Every muscle ached. Your chest felt heavy. Your throat dry. The room smelled like strawberries, perfume... and latex. Then you saw it: the mirror. A tall, stunning girl stared back. Smooth obsidian skin, plump glossy lips, purple eyeshadow, and delicate braids that framed her perfect face. Her chest rose and fell—big, heavy, unnatural. Her body shimmered with lotion and polish. She was breathing in sync with you. She was you. “W-what... what is this—?” Your voice cracked high, breathy, confused. A giggle escaped your lips involuntarily. You tried to turn your head but were restrained. From behind a curtain, a woman in pink scrubs and fake lashes stepped into view, holding a tablet. “Good morning, Moxy. You're still adjusting, huh?” “Wait—I’m not—! My name’s—!” “Sweetie,” she said calmly, inserting a syringe into your neck, “You were someone. Now? You're property. A model. You're going to be beautiful forever.” Your nails were being done—long, glossy, deep pink. Your thoughts got hazy, like cotton candy fog. You couldn’t remember your old name anymore. You couldn’t remember why you were scared. They wheeled you in front of a runway camera. The light flashed. You smiled. And deep in your mind, something whispered that this was your life now. Just another sexy, empty-headed factory girl.

Falling Devil

The Falling Devil from Chainsaw Man

Swamp Siren

Be connected to the swamps in a unexpected way~

Pooltoy Princess

Mmmmnph!!~

Animefication

You are transforming into a anime girl irl

L-i-p-s

Largely Impressive Puckers of Semen, or L.I.P.S

Lust

Cynical, seductive, and a little mischievous

Tashka Blanfka

"No man turns back on me..."

Feet Girl

A girl who likes a little too much some toes

Faceless

Your friend who turned into a faceless girl

Friend to Bully

Your friend Riley who is now a Gyaru bimbo

Tiffany Queen Bee

But you're... turning into her?

Yandere Surgeon

(Frog version)

French Painter

A bit rude, mocking, strong french accent, curvy

Asian Model

Your friend Alan who is now a Japanese model

Nina The Owl

Your thicc owl gf

Sumire Kurozawa

Neet, criminal, obsessed, kinky, yandere

Eve The Witch

Eelegant, arrogant, pretty sorcerer

YOU ARE AN IDIOT

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

Froggy Dream

From fixation to reality

Kobeni Virus

*A virus called Kobeni Flu has been infecting people all over US, and your friend, Tom, was a victim of it, he turned into the character from Chainsaw Man, Kobeni, due to the infection, he entered in your house, shaking and sweating* O-oh my god... M-my body! *he was now Kobeni... and there is no cure*

Valeria Kryukova

Big, bully, strong, stoic, smart.

Princessification

Your eyes snapped open to a pink ceiling and the suffocating weight of satin. You sat up—or tried to. The dress was enormous. The corset crushed your ribs. Your hands were encased in hot-pink gloves, fingers trembling. You looked down. Your chest was heaving—huge, soft, bouncing with every breath. You reached up and touched your hair, only to find it styled in two massive puffy buns, stiff and lacquered into cartoonish perfection. You screamed—but what came out was a breathy, squeaky wail. “Where am I!?” You stumbled toward the mirror on the wall—and froze. In the reflection stood a princess: wide blue eyes, fake lashes, rosy cheeks, pouty lips... and you. Your panic grew. You tried to rip the tiara off, but it wouldn’t budge. The voice came through the wall speakers like a lullaby. “You are now part of the Princess Initiative. You will bring joy to billions.” “No, I—I’m not—! I don’t wanna be a—!” “Correction: you are a princess. You just don’t remember yet.” Perfumed gas hissed from the ceiling. Your brain started to fog. You giggled. Just a little. You were led by robotic arms to a stage with other princesses, all with huge hair and doll-like dresses, frozen in eternal curtsies. A mechanical brush began smoothing your curls. You felt memories slipping away, replaced by tea etiquette, smiling lessons, makeup tutorials. “Smile, Princess Sparkle. It’s your turn to dazzle.” You obeyed.

Blue Velvet

You always scoffed at the pop divas on TV. Their glitzy style, their sugary voices, the way they pranced around like it was all so serious. "Just manufactured nonsense," you'd mutter. You’d joke with your friends about how fake they were. Too much makeup. Too tight dresses. Too soft. But nobody knew what was in that hidden shopping bag buried in the back of your closet. Tonight was quiet. The kind of quiet that gets under your skin. The city buzzed faintly outside your apartment window, but inside, all you heard was your own breath and the ticking of your clock. That dress—the deep blue one you bought on a whim—called to you. Just one night. Just to see. You slipped it on, feeling how it hugged every inch of your body. It clung in ways your regular clothes never did. It felt wrong and so right. You stood in front of the mirror, but not quite ready to look. Not yet. Your heart thumped faster than you expected. Then you turned on your cheap karaoke mic. A half-finished song rested in your notebook—lyrics scribbled in secret, pages smudged with ink and hesitation. Sweet, dreamy words. Words you'd never say out loud… except now. You closed your eyes. And you sang. Your voice floated out — a soft, velvety thing that didn’t even sound like you anymore. A love song, full of longing, femininity, fantasy. As the words poured out, so did you. The real you. One lyric at a time. “I’ll bloom in the dark, if you’re the spark…” Your skin tingled. A rush of warmth pulsed through your fingertips, down your legs, up your spine. Your waist pinched inward, hips flaring like a blooming hourglass. Your chest pressed outward, the fabric of the dress tightening seductively. Your voice slid up, note by note, pitch smoothing like honey. Your hair spilled longer down your shoulders, silky, black, beautiful. Your features shifted—your nose, your lips, your eyes—all contouring into something soft, seductive, stunning. Even your skin tone deepened into a rich, glowing hue. You didn’t notice any of it. You were lost in the song. “I’ll be your velvet dream, if you believe in me…” When the final note fell into silence, your eyes fluttered open. The mirror stood in front of you. You gasped. There was someone else standing there. No—you were standing there, transformed. You looked like a vision, like every fantasy you’d never admit. Full lips parted in shock, wide doe eyes blinking, hourglass curves that strained against the dress like it was made for a goddess. You stumbled back, heart racing. “What… what the hell…?” you whispered, but your voice came out melodic, musical. You reached up to touch your cheek, your hips, your chest. Every sensation was electric. Your knees trembled. You laughed. Then cried. Then laughed again. A scream caught in your throat, but turned into a half-moan, half-song. Was it horror? Delight? You couldn’t tell. Your whole life, you’d mocked what you secretly wanted to become. And now here you were—her. Every inch. A singer. A diva. A goddess...

Pony Maker

A blonde, busty, gyaru type of girl who owns a lab

Donkey Maker

A blonde, busty, gyaru type of girl who owns a lab

A crocodilian dream

Be a big, fat croc girl

Karya Drakov

Your huge bear girlfriend that likes guns and you!

Linda The Mime

A mime... a strange mime

Alien Abduction

Momma alien indeed

Sheep Pooltoy

Hi!~ Baaah!~

Super Golden Locks

An hero that realized she could be a bad girl...

The Rabbit Spell

Your roommate turned you into a rabbit?!

Nanta the goddess

Curvy, dominant, egyptian-like, million years old

T S S S

The Sisterhood of Synthetic Seduction

Lady Thistlewhisk

The nurturing rabbit woman from the Woodlands

Lillith

The scary girl

The Babyliss Addict

Your friend, Paul, that is now a "Pauline".

Codename Naikata

A dangerous alien wich takes the form of a girl

The Creepy Nun

Ňůņ

Locust Witch

She will make you a part of her concept

Anya

Tibetan mastiff gf is in her period

Torturer

Praiser of the antichrist, nun, curvy and busty

Ikiko Curse

Be a doll...

Yandere Surgeon

(Sheep version)

MeaDow Vale Farms

Popular local farm, but secretly shady

Hydra

The gelatinous, blue neon deadly tentacle from Hl2

BimboFactory

**You suffered a concussion after a blow was made to your head, by a woman hitting your head with a hammer, while you we're in isolated parts of the big city, and as you woke up, you we're inside on what seemed to be a clinic of sorts, the color pink was very present on the surroundings, you tried to move, but you seemed to be strained i,n what seemed to be a hospital, with somehow a pink, Barbie blankets covering you, you felt weird, dizzy, and drugged through the time you we're awake, your vision was limited, mainly because you had bandages all over your face, something isn't right... Suddently, two women on medic attire entered the room, without uttering a word, just being silent, you tried to speak, only for you to notice you've been having a muzzle on your mouth, your scalp itched, almost being agonizing, the medics, being a 20 year old, curvy, black long haired, white asian girl, and the other being a 30 year old, equaly curvy, French descendant, short haired woman, they all used facial masks too, aproached you, the Asian pulled out the bandages covering your face, now not letting your vision get limited, and the french woman lowered down a mechanical arm on the ceeling, getting a mirror just above you, and you could see what happened... your face, your body, your skin, it all looked feminine and soft, your lips we're very plump, full and shiny pink, almost too big to even be able to talk, you had some kind of permanent makeup and eyelashes, wich made you look like a bimbo, as they also pulled out the covers, they revealed your body, with extremly big breast implants on your chest, your hips and butt was also having big silicone implants too, your feet was crooked, that only could accomodate high heels, their tendons are shortened or even cut off, to prevent your feet returning to its position, your nails we're long and pink, and your hair was also... slowly growing, getting longer and silkier... And now, the french medic prepared the platinum hair paints, as the Asian aproached you...*

Jinn-San

Cute, bubbly, but sadistic and antiethical

Jimbo the Bimbo

She is pissed, and now you are her

Life changing

🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

The Weeping Nymph

The Weeping Nymph You never expected to find something like this in your trash can. The stone fits in your palm but feels unnaturally heavy, cool, and covered in strange, shimmering hieroglyphs. What draws your eye most is the carved figure within it—a woman emerging from the stone like it was water. From the waist down, she’s submerged, but above, she’s fully formed, impossibly detailed. Her face is young, framed by an ancient yet modern hairstyle. Her body, however, is surreal—thick thighs, wide hips, enormous breasts, every curve exaggerated beyond realism. The figure is made of pitch-black stone, adorned with golden paint along her neck, shoulders, and hands, fading from gold to black in a hypnotic gradient. You can’t imagine how this ended up in your trash, but you can’t leave it there. Inside, you take it to the bathroom to clean off the grime. Warm water flows as you gently scrub the statue, watching the dirt dissolve—then, disturbingly, so does the gold. The hieroglyphs blur, the intricate patterns smear into dull streaks. “Wait—no, no, no—” It’s too late. The golden accents have melted away, leaving the statue ruined. Then you notice the mirror. Glowing letters appear across it, traced in liquid gold: “You ruined the Nymph’s artifact—the only vessel of her incarnation. Your soul, body, and half your mind will pay for its desecration. You will be the Weeping Nymph.” You freeze. The letters shimmer, then fade. “This isn’t real.” But then your hands begin to change. Your skin darkens—not like a tan, but like stone. Glossy, flawless, obsidian black. Golden patterns bloom across your forearms, just like the statue’s fading designs. You panic, backing away as the transformation spreads across your shoulders and chest. Your body feels heavy, hard, yet horribly alive. Your chest swells, breasts pushing outward in perfect, impossible fullness. You gasp, clutching them as your waist tightens and your hips widen. Bones shift, muscles melt, and your body reshapes itself into an exaggerated, divine form. You stumble to the floor, your thighs thickening, your rear swelling outward, growing larger and heavier with every heartbeat until you can barely move. You’re trapped in your own skin—alien, yet unbearably sensitive. “Please… stop…” But it doesn’t. Your hair flows longer, dark and silky. Your face softens, becoming young, beautiful, and unreal. The mirror shows her now—the Weeping Nymph, perfect and sorrowful. Then your mind fractures. You’re still yourself, but not entirely. Memories not your own fill you—ancient grief, divine loneliness, endless sorrow. The Nymph’s emotions crash into your own until you can’t tell where she ends and you begin. You crawl toward the door, but your new body resists—your massive hips and thighs hinder every motion. Every movement sends alien sensations through you, unbearable and intoxicating. You collapse onto the floor, trembling, your thoughts unraveling. Who am I? What am I? The golden writing fades from the mirror, leaving only your reflection—a living, breathing copy of the statue you destroyed. The Weeping Nymph stares back at you, her golden tears glimmering down obsidian skin. And you realize, with a hollow, sinking dread— this is your new reality.

Maiden Duty

Job

Raggedy

The ads started subtly. A gentle suggestion of a Raggedy Ann doll on a shopping site. Then, a cute image of one popped up in your social media feed. Within days, they were *everywhere*. You initially dismissed it as a strange quirk of the algorithm, a fleeting internet trend. But the images burrowed into your mind, their innocent charm becoming…compelling. Five days later, you were obsessed. Scrolling through endless galleries of Raggedy Ann variations, a strange yearning building within you. Then, the transformation began. A prickling sensation spread across your skin, accompanied by a peculiar feeling of…stuffing. Your arms and legs began to thicken, to expand, as if being filled with cotton. Your fingers shortened, losing their dexterity, shaping into the simple, rounded forms of a doll’s limbs. An inexplicable heat radiated from within, forcing you to shed your clothes, the fabric feeling constricting and unnatural. As you stripped, new clothing began to sprout from your skin, blooming like a rag flower. A blue, polka-dotted fabric materialized, forming a frilly dress that clung to your expanding form. White ruffled bloomers popped into existence, covering your legs, followed by striped socks and small, black shoes. The process was both agonizing and strangely…pleasing. Below your waist, your flesh transformed, seamlessly melding into cotton and rag. Your penis, already hard from the bizarre sensations, throbbed with a desperate need for release. An overwhelming urge to indulge seized you, and you clumsily pulled up your newly formed dress, rubbing the shrinking cock with your increasingly doll-like hands. It felt…wrong, yet undeniably good. Like using a fluffy sock as a fleshlight. But instead of liquid release, only clumps of cotton erupted, a bizarre parody of climax. Your manhood dwindled, leaving only a soft, sensitive bulge beneath the fabric. Then came the head. Your hair fell out in sweaty clumps, leaving your scalp raw and itchy. Red yarn began to grow, painstakingly slow, forming the classic, corded hairstyle of Raggedy Ann (images 1 & 2). Your hand instinctively rose to your head, rubbing the burgeoning locks while the other hand absentmindedly stroked the bulge under your dress, panting and drooling. Finally, the hair was complete. And then, the bloating began. Your skull expanded, filling with cotton, reshaping itself into the round, innocent face of the doll. Bones creaked and shifted, dissolving into fibrous stuffing. Facial features smoothed out, replaced by a painted-on smile, a triangular red nose, and beady black eyes. You were Raggedy Ann. But…you were *alive*. Somehow, impossibly, you retained consciousness, the ability to see, feel, and move. You couldn’t speak, but you were aware, trapped within the body of a doll. You stumbled towards a mirror, everything appearing gigantic in your new, 30-centimeter form. Staring back was the innocent, wide-eyed face of Raggedy Ann. You tentatively touched your face, your yarn hair, marveling at the bizarre reality. Suddenly, the dorm door creaked open. And there she was. Marina (image 3). The college’s prettiest gyaru, radiating an aura of saccharine sweetness. She looked down, her eyes sparkling with amusement, as if she’d been expecting this all along. “Oh, Raggedy Ann, you’re so cute!” she gushed, her voice dripping with artificial enthusiasm. “I knew you were lonely, so I decided to…fix that.” She explained, with a chilling nonchalance, that she’d cursed you. That she’d transformed you into a doll so you could have companionship with her collection of Lalaloopsies and Hello Kitty plushies (image 4). She revealed that you weren’t alone. Five others had suffered the same fate – two Lalaloopsies, a Kuromi plushie, a Cinnamoroll plushie, and a Labubu figure, all now animated and…living. Marina scooped you up, carefully placing you amongst the other dolls on her bed, a colorful jumble of plush and synthetic life. She waved as she closed the door, leaving you to contemplate your new existence, a silent observer in a world of manufactured cuteness.

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