Part 1: Ritual of Guilt and Delight Morning arrived softly in their shared space – A private, well-tended corner of the *Abundant Blossom's* luxurious botanical garden. Leaves rustled in a gentle breeze, and the first glow of artificial sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting the room in hues of gold and emerald. The smell of dew and flowers filled the air, making it feel like a paradise caught between worlds. In this serene, timeless place, Cherith Selithis, second floret, stood with perfect (Class-M assisted) poise balanced atop her custom dressing pedestal. A picture of delicate, restrained elegance, vines carefully cradled her limbs, holding her steady as the layered outfit gradually took shape. The xenodrugs did their job well, suppressing any errant twitches or urges to fidget as her consciousness floated in serene compliance. Each naturally delicate rise and fall of her breath sent a faint ripple through her newly filled-out chest. While her thoughts ran slow and dreamy, she couldn't deny the sensations of her body. She could *feel* herself growing, day by day – each morning she felt heavier, fuller, the swell of her bust pushing more insistently against her restraints. This morning, the tingling of her fuller bosom was more intense, the way they swayed with every subtly forced motion – each tug and nudge of her mistress's vines – making her hyper-aware of her own body beneath lace and corset. It was intoxicating, straining her dresses in ways that left her heart pounding with excitement each time she was dressed. But she kept those feelings to herself, held tightly within her perfect, motionless demeanor. "Mmm, darling, look at you," murmured her mistress, Thornathara Selithis, fourth bloom, an affini whose elegant, vine-wrapped form radiated a confident authority while gently adjusting Cherith's position on the small pedestal. "Your form is blossoming so beautifully, my dear little doll. Look at these – so full and plush." She cupped one of Cherith's breasts, which seemed to spill over the top of the corset's stuff cups in a decadent display. With a sharp exhale, Cherith's lips parted ever so slightly, the feeling of that fond caress sending a pulse of warmth straight to her sould. *Does she know?* Cherith wondered, breath hitching softly. *She must know how much I… enjoy… becoming more for her…* But Mistress Selthis only continued to lace the corset with her usual care, pulling each ribbon taught and wrapping her like a gift, drawing Cherith's waist inward until she felt the perfect balance of restriction and support. Each movement of Miss Selthis was a testament to care and precision. The soft creak of tightly pulled leather as Miss Selthis rechecked every buckle and strap of the next layer. The almost musical clinking of dozens of buttons being fastened one by one–all of it done with a loving reverence that made Cherith's heart swell in silent bliss. Standing like this, feeling the weight and restraint of another beautiful dress being layered upon her, she felt utterly cherished. Yet, beneath the tranquil surface of her mind, a tiny knot of guilt pulsed. *How could she complain? This attention, this devotion, this gift… it was everything she could ever want. Everything she deserved. But–* "Morning, sleepyhead!" came the cheerful, lifting voice of her connivent, Altha "Tomboy Extraordinaire" Silthis, First and Fastest Floret, shattered the silence and her thoughts. Cherith's eyes, wide and unblinking, remained focused straight ahead as Altha flounced into view. Her partner was a vision of movement – where Cherith was a still-life painting, Altha was a fluttering breeze made tangible in the body of a pear-shaped tank. Her flimsy gown of disposable linen barely clung to her shapely form, and as she skipped closer a particularly forceful flick of her tail caused the hem to catch on one of 'Thara's branches and tear. The fabric shredded with the barest resistance, leaving Altha practically bare save for a few tatters clinging to her pillowy hips. "Oopsie!" Altha giggled, a bright flush coloring her cheeks as she twirled around. "Mistress, my gown broke again! Oh noooo~" she put on a comically dramatic pout, with an everpresent glint of mischief in her eyes. Thornathara sighed the affectionate kind of sigh reserved only for overly playful pets. "Altha, dear, what am I to do with you" as she sauntered over with predatory grace. "Sorry, Mistress," Altha murmured sheepishly (despite the fact that absolutely no part of her was feeling even remotely sorry). "You simply can't seem to keep yourself together, can you?" she asked with another sigh, this time in mock exasperation. "N-no Mistress," Altha stammered, the shiver in her voice laced with excited anticipation. A single vine curled up and down Altha's bare spine, making her shiver, gasp and jiggle. "Now, now, stop fidgeting, petal. I'll have to put another on you." It took Thornathara all of thirty seconds to unfold a new gown from a hidden compartment and rape it loosely over Altha's shoulders. No belts, no buttons, no ribbons, no corsets. Just the barest wisp of fabric they all knew wouldn't last the day. A few flicks of her vines, a gentle pat to smooth the fabric, and the job was done. Altha, now covered only just enough to pretend to be modest, gave a satisfied wriggle, but even that small movement caused the frail linen to strain against her hefty curves. "There you are, all set. Do try to keep this one intact, at least until breakfast." "Yes, Mistress!" Altha said brightly, but as she turned to glance at Cherith, her gaze softened. "You look gorgeous, Cherry" she whispered, a note of something – pity perhaps? – creeping into her voice. *If only you didn't have to go through that every morning,* she thought, though she would never say it aloud. Cherith's dressing ritual was a sacred thing, after all. Altha knew that Cherith felt beautiful and complete under all those layers, the corsets making her feel held, the buckles and zippers making her feel bound in the most intimate of ways. And yet… how much time it took! And how still she had to remain! Altha couldn't imagine being forced to stay quiet and motionless for even ten minutes, let alone an hour. But Cherith, looking back at Altha from the corner of her eye, though much the same. *Look at her,* she mused with a pang of worry. *So exposed, so fragile. Those gowns practically dissolve at a touch, and Mistress doesn't even take her time with them! Doesn't Altha deserve more?* Cherith's hands, still, loved in lace and ribbon, longed to reach out and adjust the fabric for Altha, to give her a proper outfit – something to make her feel protected and adored. And yet, the thought of questioning Miss Silthis's choices, even internally, made Cherith's throat tighten. *No,* she chastised herself, *Mistress knows best. Altha is happy… and I… I am cherished.* With a deep breath, Cherith turned her attention back to Miss Silthis, her voice calm and measured as the Class-M effects began to fade. "Thank you, Mistress. I… I feel beautiful. As always." The words came out softly, reverently. Thornathara smiled down at her, her eyes filled with a love that radiated warmth. "Of course you do, my sweet doll. You are perfection itself." "Yeah! Cherry's just the prettiest!" Altha chimed in, her tone breezy and affectionate. "Meanwhile, I'm just the silly one who can't even keep her clothes on!" She gave an exaggerated shrug, the gown's straps slipping down her shoulders, fabring clinging desperately to her form, as though it might disintegrate entirely at any moment. "Though, it's not *entirely* my fault, considering that I've, uh, filled out a bit more lately." Thornathara hummed thoughtfully, eyes flickering with amusement. "Oh, I know, my playful little whirlwind. Both of my lovely pets have been blossoming so wonderfully lately, haven't you?" she murmured, drawing her florets close with tender vines. Cherith's corset creaked softly as she shifted, her bust pushed up and out like a tantalizing offering. Altha's sundress fluttered, barely containing her luscious curves as she tried to stand still, feeling exposed and delighted all at once. The affini stepped back to admire her handiwork, her "face" manifesting an expression of utter satisfaction. Both florets exchanged a glance, a flicker of guilt and shared understanding passing between theme. But there, nestled within the guilt, was a shared excitement. They were changing, and both couldn't help but love every moment of it– loving how their bodies were blossoming to fit their Mistress's design. "Now then," Thornathara said lightly, waving a vine dismissively, "no more brooding, my darlings. It's time for breakfast." She took each of them by the hand and lead them out, her towering form a beacon of confidence and authority. As the trio moved through the tranquil garden, Altha's gown whispered with each step, and Cherith's skirts swayed gracefully – all tension forgotten under the watchful eyes of their shared mistress. Part 2: Morning Inspection Like most habs, mornings in Mistress *Liathe Solania, Second Bloom's* lush, personal garden suite were always peaceful– quiet except for the soft rustling of the leaves and the occasional chirp of a mechanical bird perched in the canopy. As sunlight filtered through the hanging vines and luminescent blossoms, it revealed two starkly contrasting figures standing side-by-side: one large and imposing, the other small and delicate. The contrast was made even more apparent by their rigid posture– each waiting, body still, for the familiar and loving touch of their mistress. The larger of the two, a towering brute named *Vale Solania, first floret,* stood stock-still with his back straight, padded muscles straining to rein in his natural (or, """natural""") bulk. The Stallion Testosterone that pulsed through his veins made his body thrum with energy and need. He shifted his weight ever so slightly, feeling his thick, massive thighs brush against the gentle, soft fabric of the loose trousers he wore. They were specifically tailored by Mistress Solania herself– wide legged with an elastic waistband to accommodate his relentless growth, yet airy enough to allow his overgrown equine endowment to hang freely, still swaying with every subtle shift. Vale's flaccid cock, a thick, dark mass that reached nearly to his knees, twitched and pulsed at every hint of movement. Even soft and relaxed, it never retracted fully. A soft bead of clear liquid glistened at the tip, slowly dripping into the waiting fabric of an inner pouch, which strained to contain his size. His hefty balls, each the size of a ripe cantaloupe, churned softly below, almost audible in the serene quiet of the garden. They rested heavily between his legs, a testament to the obscene virility the Stallion T – a substance once thought lost in the Terran Equine Extinction, recovered by an intrepid Affini explorer from a remote colony world – had granted him. Next to him, the smaller of the two – *Rin Solania, second floret* – stood on the tips of his toes, looking up at this giant of a connivent with a smile that was half appreciation, half commiseration. Rin's petite frame, with its soft, slender limbs and a slight, enticing curve to his waist, made him the very picture of delicacy. His modest, flowing garment, a simple and slightly translucent robe that clung lightly to his skin, fluttered gently around his legs. It was a stark contrast to Vale's bulkier attire, draping softly over Rin's dainty shoulders and hips, then flaring out at the thighs just enough to accentuate the plump roundness of his bottom. Despite his small stature, Rin was deceptively sturdy. What his lean body lacked in raw power, it made up for in endurance and surprising strength. But seeing his connivent seem to struggle under the sheer weight of his own body, Rin couldn't help but feel a pang of concern– Concern that maybe Vale's size and strength were more burden than blessing. "Vale, sweetheart," came Mistress Liathe's voice, light and affectionate, cutting through the stillness. She stood nearby, her towering form draped in a cascade of vibrant vines and petals. Her presence commanded the space effortlessly, and as her six soft, glowing eyes took in the sight of her two boys, she let out a pleased hum. "Good morning, Mistress," Vale rumbled, his deep voice resonating through the garden like a gentle thunderclap. He tensed as her vines brushed his shoulders, gliding down the swell of his chest, before descending over his well-padded gut. "Good morning indeed, my beautiful stallion," Loathe cooed, one vine dipping teasingly lower to graze his shaft, which twitched eagerly beneath his pants. Vale's entire body seemed to vibrate at the delicate touch, and his cock bobbed slightly, a new bead of pre leaking from the tip. He let out a soft, strangled breath, trying desperately to keep hiss composure. "You're looking… fuller today," she remarked, her voice filled with smug amusement as she leaned in, close enough for Vale to feel the warmth of her presence against his skin. "How are you feeling, dear petal?" "F-full," Vale admitted with a soft groan, his gaze flickering down to his bulging endowment, and then over to Rin, who watched him with wide, curious eyes. "B-but good, Mistress. Really good. Just… heavy." "I'm sure you are, darling," Lathe murmured, trailing her vines down to cup his hefty, overburdened balls. They were taut with seed, and the slightest touch made Vale shiver all over. "So big and strong, and yet still needing me to keep you in check, hmm?" Vale swallowed hard, the flush of pride and embarrassment darkening his chiseled cheeks. "Yes, Mistress. Thank you Mistress." "Good boy," Loathe purred, letting her touch linger for a moment longer before withdrawing and turning her attention to Rin, who stood by patiently. "And you, my delicate little blossom. How are you this morning?" "Perfect, Mistress," Rin replied softly, stepping forward. Despite his slight frame, he moved with surprising confidence, his small chest puffed out just a bit. "But I'm worried about vale. He looks so–" "Don't fuss over him, sweetheart," Loathe interrupted gently, reaching down to ruffle Rin's soft hair. Vale is exactly as he should be. Just as you are." Rin bit his lip, his gaze flickering back to Vale's straining muscles and the sheer, overwhelming size of his endowment. "I just… I mean, he's carrying so much, Mistress. Is it not difficult?" Vale chuckled lowly, his voice warm and deep. "I'm fine, Rin. Really. You're the one I worry about. You're so small. Soft and fragile. I don't want you to get hurt." It was Rin's turn to flush deep pink. "I'm tougher than I look! Just because I'm not…" His eye wandered to the bulging pouch between Vale's legs, which throbbed faintly with pent-up need, "...not like *that,* doesn't mean I'm weak." "Of course not, darling," Liathe agreed, vines twining around Rin's waist and lifting him effortlessly into her arms. "You're my brave, resilient little flower. And Vale is my big, sturdy workhorse, even if there's no *work* to be done." She chuckled softly at that, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "You both make me so proud, you know that? My precious boys, always worrying about each other." "M-Mistress," Vale rumbled, his voice low and apologetic, "I-I just wanted to make sure Rin's okay…" "And I just want Vale to be comfortable…" Rin added softly, his gaze earnest as Laithe set him down. Liathe's smile widened, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Of course, but none of those things are either of your concern." she leaned forward, her vines brushing against their cheeks. "I'm responsible for all of the worrying for the three of us, so I won't hear any more concerns from you two about each other." They both nodded, chests swelling with pride and relief. Their mistress was right. She always was. "Now," she murmured, guiding them both forward with a graceful sweep of her vines, "it's time for breakfast. No more fretting about who has it better. You're both here to make *me* happy, and you both do just by being exactly who I've made you." With that, the trio moved through the lush, blooming space, each step a testament to the love, care and meticulous attention that only an Affini could provide her beloved, perfect pets.