Christine had gotten so used to her immobility that, when she was finally restored to her normal form, she didn't even realize that she could move again. It wasn't until she recognized the feeling of her own heartbeat that she dared to hope she was human again and not just a lifeless mascot suit. Shakily, she pushed herself off the floor, brushed some dust off of the fabric that had been her body for the past day, and started taking it off piece by piece to reveal her unharmed flesh underneath. Everything in the employee locker room looked exactly as it was when her entire world suddenly changed without warning. If all of that was just a dream, she thought to herself, it was the most ridiculously fucking vivid dream I've ever had. But she didn't consider that thought for very long - as bizarre as it was, she knew that everything that had just happened to her was somehow real. She remembered every detail, and even now she couldn't stop herself from replaying the whole night in her mind.
It was a normal evening right up until the moment Christine lost all feeling in her arms. Then everything else went numb, and she was lying on the floor, unable to move a muscle. She was sure she was having a stroke or something, and she tried to cry out for help. But her lips were firmly pursed together and wouldn't budge, and she could feel that she wasn't breathing. It was like her lungs were just gone.
Christine was on the verge of panic when a person she didn't recognize came to the rescue and lifted her up. As she dangled limply and helplessly in the stranger's arms, she was sure she was being saved and was about to get medical attention. But then, with a series of quick movements that would have made an unlicensed chiropractor blush, her whole body was crushed and pressed against itself. Then she was plunged into darkness.
Christine was more confused now than she was scared. She could feel her face, her back, her chest, her knees, her feet, all pressed up tightly against one another, like a cartoon character that got flattened and turned into an accordion. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't move, she couldn't feel her own pulse - her body seemed to be completely inert and lifeless, but somehow she was still conscious. If she wasn't breathing, she should have been dead after just a few minutes. She started to think that maybe she already was dead, and for some strange reason that all the world's religions had failed to mention, the first stage of entering the afterlife was to get neatly folded up and carried off somewhere. But despite the total darkness of the confined space she was stuffed in, her senses weren't completely isolated. She could feel that her prison was being jostled around, and she could hear the muffled noises of the street. This wasn't another plane of existence - she hadn't even left the city.
Finally, the movement stopped, and Christine was dragged out into the blinding light of the outside world, which in this case turned out to be somebody's bedroom. As her face was unwrapped from underneath the rest of herself, she met the eyes of this stranger, who gazed back at her in unrestrained awe. "Oh my god," she said to herself, "it really worked. And if I'm doing this right, she won't remember a thing! Bronwyn, you're a genius!"
If it weren't for the girl's tendency to talk to herself out loud, Christine would have been completely at a loss to understand what was happening to her. But as Bronwyn read the instructions to herself, just to make sure she had everything right, Christine could silently put together the pieces of the puzzle. So this girl got her hands on some sort of magic zipper that could reduce anything, or anyone, to a mere costume, and had used it on her. But the zipper was supposed to render its victims completely unaware of their predicament until it was over, so what gives? Christine guessed it had to be the fault of a technicality in the rules: she wasn't Bronwyn's "target", she was just wearing the costume that was the target. So the costume itself wasn't experiencing any of this - what a relief for it, Christine grumbled - but she was just along for the ride. Either way, for all intents and purposes, Christine now was the costume, and she would be stuck that way until Bronwyn decided to restore her - if Bronwyn ever decided to restore her.
Nothing could have properly prepared Christine for the experience of being worn. She was like an empty vessel that was being filled, bit by bit. Being taken apart into pieces was disturbing enough, but the feeling of another person's flesh taking over all the hollow spaces that should have been occupied by her own flesh - it was a uniquely intimate experience Christine hadn't asked for and didn't want, and with a person she had never met before and wished she still hadn't. But it was intimate like nothing else could possibly be.
When Bronwyn finished putting her on and zipped herself up, Christine felt a tingling sensation across her whole body - a body that was no longer hers. She wasn't just a lifeless covering wrapped around someone else's form anymore: the two merged completely, with no trace of the distinction between them. Now Christine was just a passenger in a body that moved of its own free will, a will completely contradictory to hers (although she had long since given up trying to move a muscle, or to resist anything that was done to her).
Then Bronwyn started trying to masturbate. Even the slightest grinding against their shared featureless crotch sent waves of head-splitting pleasure through Christine, who could feel every sensation that Bronwyn created with agonizing clarity. It was something far beyond what Christine had ever been able to do to herself with a vibrator or a couple of fingers. She must have reached the strongest orgasm of her life five times in a row before she picked up on Bronwyn's sense of frustration. She wasn't feeling this too? Was all the pleasure that should have been divided between the two of them somehow hitting Christine alone? She wanted to cry out to her controller, just to say, "for the love of god, what you're doing is working! I can't take another climax!"
Christine should have been furious at Bronwyn for everything the girl was doing to her - stealing her body and her whole existence as a person away, and essentially raping her over and over without even taking a break - and as a matter of fact, she was. But at the same time, she could understand Bronwyn's perspective - and not just because she was literally seeing the bedroom around her from Bronwyn's perspective right now. The girl clearly didn't know that Christine was experiencing any of this, and she must have thought it was all a completely victimless crime. And while Christine had never even imagined that somebody would get off on being a stuffed animal before tonight, her mind had been completely and forcibly changed. After the intense pleasures of this experience, she wasn't sure she'd be able to masturbate to anything normal ever again.
After a couple exhausting hours of this, Bronwyn slumped over and fell asleep. Christine was left on the verge of yet another orgasm, hanging just below the point of climax. And she couldn't do anything about it. She was still just as inanimate as before, no matter how badly she wanted to finish herself off right now. She couldn't get herself to think about anything else, so she thought about her hopeless predicament - which, like Pavlov's dog, she'd been trained to associate with the most extreme arousal there was. Thankfully for her, stimulation is as much mental as it is physical - as evidenced by the fact that she'd felt all of this without even having a vagina - and the thought was enough to push her over the edge one more time.
The relief that washed over her was accompanied by both shame and fear - she was embarrassed to admit that she actually liked some element of this torture, and worried that this was going to be her life from now on. She didn't seem to have the ability to sleep, though, or even to close her sewn-on eyes and block out the sight of the furry posters on Bronwyn's walls. So she spent several more hours stuck in that position, debating with herself whether she should try to achieve another orgasm by thought alone just to pass the time. She may have done that more than once - it was a blur in her memory as she looked back on it with a shudder.
When the morning finally came, Christine was surprised to see Bronwyn taking her off and putting her back in the backpack she'd come here in - after a certain point, she had started to resign herself to the idea that she was going to be trapped here for a long time. The second ride inside the girl's backpack was much less terrifying than the first, now that she actually understood where she was - even if the idea that she could be folded up and stuffed inside such a small space was still unsettling. And then, all of a sudden, she was being pulled out and laid back on the floor of the zoo's back rooms, and then she could breathe again.
Christine took some deep breaths now, grateful that she was finally able to do so again. Her whole world had changed in an instant, and then it changed back. But it was obvious to her that things were not simply going back to normal. She couldn't forget that experience if she tried, and despite all the negative parts of it she wasn't sure she wanted to try. She was never going to be the same - but what did that mean for her now? With everything she had just learned - that magic actually exists, that some stranger out there was interested in her (in a very strange sort of way), that inanimate transformation can be super fucking hot - where was she going to go from here?