"You... bashed her in the brainpan with a club? She's not useful to me if she's DEAD."
"She'll live. Look, her eyes are opening now."
You've been drifting in and out of consciousness for the last few minutes. A pair of burly men in gold-trimmed red robes are carrying your body on a stretcher in a stone building lit seemingly only by torchlight. Your head feels like it's floating in a tub of strawberry gelatin; it's difficult to tell how many turns you're taking or even how far you've been marched. Even raising your arm to reach for something is futile because the room is spinning too fast to see what you're reaching for.
"Barely alive. We'll need to revivify her just to keep her fresh for the Master. Waste of medicine..."
"Fffresh?" you mumble, half-awake. You have no idea what's going on. Are they talking about eating you or something? If they wanted to eat you, why wouldn't they just use your old adult body? You had way more meat on you as an adult... you're so out of it, you take a moment to remember that you were transformed into a child a while ago. Wait, who the hell clubs a little girl over the head like that? This place is screwed up.
A cloud of bitter medicinal smoke wafts into your nose, and you gasp as the dizziness suddenly stops! You sit up now that you can move without getting sick, taking in everything going on around you. All around you is what can only be described as a postmodern Egyptian temple. What would normally be drab sandstone walls are lavishly decorated with hieroglyphic murals depicting... a pharaoh? No, the crown is wrong and the mural shows what looks like modern buildings, even what looks like an automobile. You look up and see a ceiling mural with the same not-pharaoh at the center of concentric rings of minions, all monsters or divinity, none human. Suddenly, the theory that they want to eat you sounds valid again.
Your body shivers... now that you can move, you clap your hands over your groin when you realize that you're completely naked! Those scoundrels! Who just casually works around a naked kid like that? The feeling of your hands running over your skin is way more slick than you're used to; at first you think your new body is just smoother, but the clingy sensation on your body implies you've been oiled up. Touching your head is a shock when your lovely, wavy hair turns out to be gone, completely shaved off. There's no hair anywhere on you, not even your eyebrows, not a single speck of peach fuzz. Even your nails are trimmed as short as possible and your teeth are clean to the point of being slippery.
"Uh... hi everyone." The red-robed men stare dispassionately at you from behind shady hoods. If they're reacting to you, they're not showing it. "This has been a really creepy and traumatic couple of... hours? Days? It's not what I signed up for, so if I could go back to being an adult or heck, even just the fairy princess costume again, I'd really like that." You swing your legs to get off of whatever you've been laying on, only to find out you're on a low altar, nearly ankle-height. The surface is soft and yielding like memory foam under a sheet of slippery vinyl, leaving you rocking on your back like a turtle. "...A little help, guys?"
Your captors briefly turn to look at each other. One of them shakes their head slightly, then claps twice. The stone door behind them swings on its single vertical axle as a pair of small, dark figures pad into the room on quiet paws.
"The heck is that supposed to... uh... oh..."
Are they children? They're about your size, but that's where the similarities end. Their inky-black skin shines in the torchlight alongside their gold regalia. Each of them stands slightly taller than you thanks to their pointy canine ears, each sitting on top of a head with a long, rounded, mouthless muzzle. Short tails swing behind their bodies, subtle gray paw pads dot their hands and feet, and their unblinking, glassy red eyes are rimmed by solid gold "eyeshadow". Plain golden bands are shackled over their wrists and ankles, with heavier-looking gold rings collaring their necks. Hieroglyphic numerals are printed on their lapels in the same shade of red as their eyes- you aren't exactly a translator, but it looks like these creeps are numbered one hundred and six and one hundred and seven, respectively.
One of the robed men points at you the way one might point at a faulty car part. "#106, #107, please prepare #108 for their service. We cannot have them appear indecent before Kauket, can we?"
"Okay, that isn't necessary, I can WOAH." You attempt to stand up and leave, only for the fragrant oils on the soles of your feet to send you sliding back down to your butt with a heavy thud. #107 takes their time, walking up to you at a casual pace. By the time you regain your balance, the animalistic figure is already behind you, locking your arms in a full nelson! Their skin isn't cold or clammy, but astonishingly warm to the touch, squeaking slightly as you try to squirm your way out of the hold. You can feel hot, humid breath on the back of your neck as #107 struggles against you.
When #106 fetches a heavy-looking bundle of shiny black clothing from a nearby coffer, you start to realize what exactly you're in for.
"Hey! HEY! I didn't agree to be some weird king's slave! Stop! Help! Human traffickers!" #107 drags you backwards and forces you into a sitting position as #106 peels open the back seam on your new uniform. Common sense dictates that you should start wildly kicking your legs to stop the whole ritual in its tracks, and it actually works for a while. #106 reacts in a very human way as they are repeatedly booted in the face and gut, bowled over on the floor while you reach your arms up at #107's head. Your captor actually lets go... only to switch to a firm chokehold around your neck! Your vision goes fuzzy as the hold tightens, and your legs go limp- just in time for your uniform to go on.
As soon as the rubber suit begins to slide over your legs, your first thought is how much it doesn't hurt. In fact, the suit's material feels sort of springy and spongy on the inside. You press your tingling, air-deprived fingertips into #107's body and feel the same squishy padding, causing the manhandling minion to tilt their head like a confused dog. After their lock on your neck loosens, the sensation returns to your feet just in time to feel them halt at the sharp angle of the suit's ankles, only to POP through with a little more force. Each of your toes is capped by a hard, black-painted metallic claw and padded by a gray paw-bean on the bottom. The balls and ankles of your feet have equal paw pads, each of which has a surprising amount of friction to it.
"What? But why?" you say in between desperate gasps of air. "Why are you doing this?" The black animal remains silent and unblinking. "Explain yourself! WHY?" You tuck in your chin to protect your throat and attempt to stand up. A small, short grunt escapes #107's muzzle, immediately followed by a sudden flinch. They seem to take this as a sign to let you stand on your own two feet- or at least a pair of black canine feet. This appears to be what the two beasts wanted, since it makes it much easier for them to pull the suit up over your legs. Smooth, stretchy, clingy feelings encase your shins as the costume rises up your body; when it covers up your shins, you can tell there are much tougher pads on your kneecaps. When the suit reaches your thighs, the rubbery material gradually becomes thicker and softer...
"YIKES!"
A firm prod at your anus disrupts your train of thought. You very reasonably attempt to walk away from whatever is jabbing you down there, only for #106 to sweep you off your feet while #107 rests your back on their squeaky black knee. Ear-splitting yelps fill the room as a soft-skinned plug with a hard core enters your butt, facing more and more resistance until the plug narrows near the end and your anus clenches around it. Attempting to shake the intruder out of your body is futile, only causing your new canine tail to swish as if it were alive. The whippy little tail feels solid on the inside as well, as if it had an articulated skeleton. "Hey," you say to the pair, "how does thaaaAAAHN~"
Because you're already looking down to protect your neck, you get a premium view of the cherry-red dildo brushing up on the rim of your delicate female parts. Like the plug you are now very aware of, the godly rod is solid on the inside but elastic and slightly yielding on the outside. #106 lowers their head in concentration as they deliberately rub the tip of the dildo over your rim, filling your body with a strange, almost electric sensation you've never felt in your previous life as an adult male. Your muscles tense up for a moment and then relax, leaving your legs limp and unresisting. Unlike the last hole, #106 seems intent on easing you into this one slowly. Your sex widens as the dildo pushes inside you; your flesh clenches around the intruder by instinct, but that only lets you feel every single soft-sculpted ridge on the damned thing.
In, out, in, out... with each pump #106 pushes deeper into you, leaving you feeling more full by the moment. Eventually you feel a bump on your groin as the dildo reaches its full length. To nobody's surprise, the outside of the suit around your groin is a round, soft null bulge; what's more curious is the subtle logo embossed over the... over your bulge, which appears to be some sort of... lettuce leaf? You don't have much time to think about that, because #106 gives the bulge a squeeze, inflating and thrusting the dildo as if it were alive!
"A-aaahn... oh wow, I... aah..." Thoughts of escape don't really occur to you at the moment. Your knees automatically raise into the air as you welcome the phantom mate. If it were those bathrobe-wearing perverts you'd still be terrified, but something about the red-eyed canines attending you feels more authentic, almost respectful. #106 lifts your legs and pins your ankles under their rubbery arms as they drop to one knee and continue giving your bulge some firm, rhythmic squeezes. As a blush washes over your face, so does the suit climb over your torso as #107 takes over the fitting. The extra softness and padding over your costumed butt-cheeks gives way to a tight and unyielding pair of bands framing the cross of your legs, followed by a tight waistband which cinches you into an hourglass figure.
The clenching of your body around the dildo intensifies, but instead of speeding up #106 decides to slow down. It's frustrating, but it's obvious that they don't want you burning out early. One by one, your arms are pushed into the sleeves of the canine costume, each tug and pull and smoothing out of kinks timed with a gentle grope of your bulge. Like your ankles, your wrists pass a narrow gap before your hands POP into the pair of gloves waiting for them. As you gaze at the claws and paw pads of your new hands, all you can manage to say is "Ohh... aaah... mmm..."
There is a certain extra weight over your chest. Feeling at yourself confirms it; you now have a pair of tiny, squishy, wonderfully sculpted rubber breasts with moulded nipples and the Egyptian numerals for one hundred and eight printed in red over your lapel. The added femininity is strangely gratifying, both to look at and to hold. A sudden spike of warmth travels up your back from the tailbone to the scruff of your neck as #107 uses a long ceramic tool to seal the seam of the suit, trapping you inside! Neither of them is holding you down at the moment, but with how distracted you are by your beautiful body they barely need to.
Clasp... click. Clasp... click. While you aren't paying attention, #106 and #107 attach a pair of golden shackles to your ankles, both of which fit into a pair of subtle divots sculpted into the rubber suit. There is a flash and a hiss below you as the scent of heated metal hits your nose. In mere seconds, the soft, heavy metal has permanently welded itself shut! #107 rests a finger on your chin and mimes for you to hold still while #106 uses a file to smooth out the weld spots until they're barely visible. The two canines then repeat this with a pair of gold shackles for your wrists- you've barely paid attention to the robed creeps in the background, but they've been setting up an anachronistic-looking fan to suck the smoke out of the room while this was happening.
"This is cool and everything, but..." You're interrupted by #107 handing you a mask. The same style of mask they wear, naturally; a tall eared canine with gold trim where the ear fluff would be on a mortal dog, subtle perforations at the corners of its non-existing mouth for you to breathe through, and a neck gasket which looks like it fits snug over your collarbone."What," you ask, "am I supposed to-" You are interrupted by #106 pressing close to your back, one hand on your soft buttocks and another on your padded breast. The feeling of their own bulge squishing up against your body is oddly cute, especially as they sharply inhale and look up. They all have the same attachments inside them, don't they?
"G-go ahead." You give the two beasts a nod, and they intensify their groping. #106 reaches under your arms and balances you on their knee while #107 finally gets a chance to squeeze your bulge, nuzzling their blank muzzle into your neck in an affectionate way. The pressure of breasts against breasts and bulge against buttocks... warm, smooth latex quietly squeaking as two bellies rub together... your body both melting into soft putty and squeezing around a hard phallus... it's overwhelming! Your tongue lolls out like a dog as you take ragged, hurried breaths, moaning gratuitously the whole way. Firework sensations pulse across your body, focusing on a single point until
A dam breaks
A flood escapes
Surges of pleasure wash through your female form
It's nearly a minute before you can have a coherent thought again. Sweat drips down your forehead; the air is filled with steamy breath which is siphoned away by the industrial fan. You look down at the shadowy hole in the costume's mask, shrug to yourself, and start pulling it over your head.
Probably the most unexpected thing about this mask is that it doesn't have a ballgag built into it. It's barely got enough room for your head, sure, and there are no openings other than the mesh of pinpricks at the corners of your mouth, but you can breathe just fine. You'd take a look at the golden collar being welded to your neck, but your new muzzle is getting in the way- not to mention the red tint on your new glass eyes is hard to get used to. You inhale deeply and huff, steam escaping out the sides of your face. You can barely see or hear in this state, but at least it's nice and quiet in here. Ready to thank your captors, you attempt to speak... and make it no more than two syllables before you feel an electric shock from your collar! Looks like your silence is expected regardless.
When the robed bastards point and order you to be taken away, nobody even has to grab you. You're too busy marveling at your glorious, shadowy form, how the latex creases around your knees and elbows and thighs, how you can forget you're wearing anything at all after a while. It's only natural to follow #106 and #107 over to the antique wooden elevator. Not even a few minutes later, the only shaft out of this tomb is barred shut, leaving you among hundreds of servants who look just like you. Just like... is that Anubis or Set? Is a female Anubis "Anput"?
All you know is, whatever grand plan this Kauket has, you have them to thank for this glorious new body. Time to get to work.