"Rubber Embrace of the Mascot"
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The night was sweltering and thick, the humid air curling beside the flickering streetlights. The city slumbered uneasily, every window dark as Alex ambled home, headphones snug, lost in a playlist’s cocoon. Ahead, in a puddle of dim orange light, he saw something odd: a pooltoy, one of those cutesy, brightly-colored mascots you see at theme parks. Alone, halfway across the avenue. Weird.
It was adorable—a plump, furry creature with painted whiskers, cartoon eyes, shiny purple paws. Air shimmered beneath its glossy skin. It looked at him. Or so he thought. He slowed, pulling off his headphones, wondering if a kid had lost it. He heard its rubber hide squeak as it shifted.
“Hey, little guy,” Alex called, his voice echoing down the deserted street.
That’s when it moved.
It didn’t waddle. It glided. With a hiss of expanding plastic, seams straining, the mascot’s snout parted in a toothless grin. Its paws, impossibly soft and shining, reached out in a gesture that seemed almost a hug—but for the intensity, the endless black eyes.
Alex stepped back, a chill prickling his scalp, but the thing was faster than air. The paw clapped over his arm; he cried out at the sudden cold, slick touch. Pain radiated up to his chest. The world spun—his body rippling, stretching. His limbs tingled, numbed into smooth, glistening rubber. He gasped, but the rubber muffled every noise. He sagged, watching his own arms bloat, distend, until they pressed against the glossy hide of the creature, fused where paws should be.
As the pooltoy mascot pressed its new limbs into the ground, Alex—now broad, swollen paws—felt the heat of air blown into him. He swelled, huge plump digits spreading until they blotted out the sidewalk. Each motion sent a loud, rubber groan echoing into the stillness.
But deeper in those squeaking, bending sounds were faint, desperate squeals—pain blistered into every inflated movement. Alex’s mind, fogged and stretching thin, screamed alongside them. No one would hear. Every time the paws hit asphalt, the squeals rose—human and endless, sealed inside the toy’s embrace. The mascot’s eyes twinkled, its soft surface radiating delight as it slumped, impossibly cute, waiting for its next companion on a silent, groaning street.
This story was generated by user vasya with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: A cute inflatable furry anthro creature, similar to a cute pooltoy mascot, meets a guy on the way in the middle of the street at night, the creature seems like an ordinary toy at first, but upon seeing the guy, it attacks, the cute inflatable soft creature sees itself as a strange mechanism, it turns the guy into rubber and inflates him and then merges with his body, turning the guy into new huge inflatable paws of the creature, huge and plump, that even spread out from the air that the guy pumped up, now every movement of the paws causes a groan similar to rubber, but in these groans of rubber, strangely human squeals are heard, as if someone is eternally groaning in agony
Response: The night was sweltering and thick, the humid air curling beside the flickering streetlights. The city slumbered uneasily, every window dark as Alex ambled home, headphones snug, lost in a playlist’s cocoon. Ahead, in a puddle of dim orange light, he saw something odd: a pooltoy, one of those cutesy, brightly-colored mascots you see at theme parks. Alone, halfway across the avenue. Weird. It was adorable—a plump, furry creature with painted whiskers, cartoon eyes, shiny purple paws. Air shimmered beneath its glossy skin. It looked at him. Or so he thought. He slowed, pulling off his headphones, wondering if a kid had lost it. He heard its rubber hide squeak as it shifted. “Hey, little guy,” Alex called, his voice echoing down the deserted street. That’s when it moved. It didn’t waddle. It glided. With a hiss of expanding plastic, seams straining, the mascot’s snout parted in a toothless grin. Its paws, impossibly soft and shining, reached out in a gesture that seemed almost a hug—but for the intensity, the endless black eyes. Alex stepped back, a chill prickling his scalp, but the thing was faster than air. The paw clapped over his arm; he cried out at the sudden cold, slick touch. Pain radiated up to his chest. The world spun—his body rippling, stretching. His limbs tingled, numbed into smooth, glistening rubber. He gasped, but the rubber muffled every noise. He sagged, watching his own arms bloat, distend, until they pressed against the glossy hide of the creature, fused where paws should be. As the pooltoy mascot pressed its new limbs into the ground, Alex—now broad, swollen paws—felt the heat of air blown into him. He swelled, huge plump digits spreading until they blotted out the sidewalk. Each motion sent a loud, rubber groan echoing into the stillness. But deeper in those squeaking, bending sounds were faint, desperate squeals—pain blistered into every inflated movement. Alex’s mind, fogged and stretching thin, screamed alongside them. No one would hear. Every time the paws hit asphalt, the squeals rose—human and endless, sealed inside the toy’s embrace. The mascot’s eyes twinkled, its soft surface radiating delight as it slumped, impossibly cute, waiting for its next companion on a silent, groaning street.
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