First Mike Allegretto started a short story, "A Change Of Pace", and Caitlin B. finished it. Then Tigger took the concept and ran with it, producing a novella that greatly expanded upon the themes of the original, "A Change Of Direction." (You can find the story here: http://tigger-n-brandy.net/text_stories/A_Change_of_Directio... )
Another author, J.R.D., wrote a sequel, "A Change Of Power". This was a very different story. Sequels can have quite divergent tones from the original and still be good (e.g. 'Alien' and 'Aliens'), and J.R.D.'s story was well received by many, including Tigger. Do check it out.
However, what follows here is my attempt at a sequel that hews more closely to the original 'genre'; consider it an alternative to "A Change Of Power". I always felt there were a few implications that should be drawn out. Reading "A Change of Direction" first is not strictly necessary to follow this story, but there are more than a few potential spoilers if you're concerned about that sort of thing.
Eric stepped out of the shower and began to dry off. It was going to be a quiet night - his little sister was spending a couple days at the house of one of her friends. He didn't have work tomorrow, but his friends did, or were out of town. His mother was home, as well, so he couldn't get too crazy.
At least she'd be doing one of her Wiccan rituals tonight - it was a full moon and all - so she'd be out of his hair. He was going to watch a movie, play some games on his console, and just plain chill. He wondered if maybe he should be more ambitious - there was only a month of vacation left - but heck, there'd be time to finish his summer reading later.
Wrapping his lower half in a towel, he padded to his room. He was about to get dressed when he found a note on his dresser. Slipping on his glasses and opening it up, he wasn't surprised to see it was in his mother's handwriting.
Eric -
I know you don't believe in my Magic, and I appreciate the respect you've shown me despite that. I've never forced my beliefs on you. But tonight, I have a very special 'initiation' planned.
I will give you the opportunity to find out what it means to be a Sister. Some of it, anyway. If you want more than that, it will be your choice, I promise.
I know this will be strange for you, but please don't be frightened. Try to look at it as an adventure. The changes you will soon experience don't have to be permanent. I'll tell you more once you've seen what I mean.
Love, Mom
Eric was nonplussed. He'd always humored his mother - and he had to admit her herbal remedies actually seemed to work more often than not - but real magic was not something he'd ever buy into. It looked like she might be trying to force a confrontation over that. Although he certainly didn't want to hurt her feelings, they'd always tried to be as honest as possible with each other.
Maybe he could pretend not to have seen the note? That wasn't honest, but it might give everyone a face-saving out... He continued musing as he pulled a t-shirt on. Be a "Sister"? That was a strange way to put it...
Then he stopped, puzzled. Something was weird - something was pulling at his hair. Was another shirt tangled in the one he'd just put on? He reached his hand back and got a fistful of hair.
What the fuck? he thought. He pulled, and it hurt. There were long tresses, lots of them, tucked under the shirt, and the other ends were in his head.
He raced to the bathroom and gazed searchingly into the mirror. His dark brown hair now ran down to the middle of his back and was not cut in a masculine style. He pulled again, and it hurt again. His blood ran cold. His mind raced, spinning out any number of wild theories - a super-glued wig, hallucinogens on the note - that he knew, just knew, were false.
It was fucking magic.
~~~~~
He meandered unsteadily back to his room, and re-read the note extremely carefully. Changes - more than one. That was terrifying, along with "what it means to be a Sister". The only reassuring thing was the "don't have to be permanent" - but that, of course, meant that they could be permanent. Which was terrifying.
Well, okay, the tone of the note was slightly comforting - he knew his mom loved him, and she did say he'd have a choice at some point. He trusted her - mostly. She could be astonishingly devious at times; the letter of what she said was always correct, but the spirit... Still, it didn't look like he had a choice, yet. Maybe he could - for now - treat what he suspected was happening as an 'adventure'.
His suspicions were confirmed in short order. There was no sensation he could concretely identify, but he knew something had changed. He looked at his hands - they were smaller, finer, and the nails were longer. Girl hands. She was turning him into a girl, gradually. The only question was how far, and when the choice would come.
He didn't bother putting more clothes on; he was pretty sure they wouldn't fit him, soon enough. He considered thoughtfully for a few seconds, then decided hell with it. His mom hadn't asked for permission, so he didn't need her permission to do what he wanted with what she'd 'provided'.
The feel of those small hands on his prick was bizarre but pleasant. It sort of felt like a girl was playing with him, but on the other... hand, it felt like his dick had gotten much bigger. He got hard very quickly. Indeed, he got into it fairly deeply, and only that not-quite-sensation of a change pulled him back out. It took a bit longer this time to pinpoint - most of his body hair had vanished.
This demanded a look-see. He took off the shirt, put on his seldom-used bathrobe, and strolled back down to the bathroom. Feeling a bit irrational, he locked the door. Then he dropped the robe and looked in the mirror again. No hair on his chest, a lot less on his legs. Quite a bit thinner under his arms, about the same at his crotch. And wait - his arms were slimmer, shorter now, matching the hands. He'd missed that. They looked pretty weird on his definitely male body.
He was kind of surprised at how easily he was adapting to this. If he hadn't been warned by the note - if he didn't know his mom wasn't intending any harm - he'd probably be a gibbering wreck by now. But though he felt some apprehension, he found he could look on the situation as a little exciting, too. Or at least, potentially informative.
He picked up one of Mom's hand mirrors before heading back to his room. He couldn't hear Mom chanting downstairs; it was like he had the house to himself. Once he made it back to his room, though, another note was on his bed.
Honey -
I'm sure you have a lot of questions, and I will answer some of them. These alterations will take an hour to finish, and your genitals will be the last to change. You'll have a choice then - if you don't want that to happen, everything will go back to normal.
But if you decide to go on, you'll have an hour as a girl, the girl you might have been. Try to learn as much as you can - being a girl is rather nice. At the end of that hour, though, you'll have to decide if you want to go back. But even if you decide then to stay a young woman, once you've fully adjusted, you will be able to change back if you still want to.
Have fun,
Mom
~~~~~
Eric read the note again and again. By the time he was done, he realized some other changes had happened. A quick check in the hand mirror and he had a girl's face - a cute one. Though the masculine glasses didn't suit it well. He looked at the time - the whole outrageous situation had only been going on for about half an hour.
So, before long he could be a girl - if he chose. Half an hour ago, he would have refused out of hand... but seeing his new face in the mirror had sparked an intense curiosity. What would the final outcome look like? What would it feel like? He examined his arms, the smooth skin everywhere. What if he went and took another shower? He could shave his legs and the hair in his armpits, which would improve the aesthetics...
He popped in a pair of contacts; those glasses were just wrong. His walk back to the bathroom - man, he was running in circles - was disturbed by his hips realigning along the way.
He started the water. While it warmed up, he checked himself out in the mirror. He had a seriously attractive rump now. The surroundings didn't frame it well, but on its own it was very nice. His head, too, was cute. It looked like a sister might have. It didn't look much like Haylie, but his actual little sister was adopted.
He turned and checked the water; just right. At that point he realized his legs had changed. Apparently he wasn't going to be allowed to see the 'alterations' happening. They were nice legs. He stepped into the shower, marveling for a moment how much bigger it seemed; he'd lost a couple inches in height. Then he got to work - gingerly - with Mom's razor. He figured she wouldn't mind. For a brief moment he wondered if he'd still have shaved legs when he was male again - that could be kind of awkward - but if Mom could make him a girl, she could surely grow him some hair back, right?
His torso had changed in there somewhere. He looked like a girl now, all over... except for a flat chest and an erection that stood out even more from the contrast. Maybe it was weird to be turned on by the circumstances, but he hadn't had a chance to fondle too many girls before. He'd only actually had sex for the first time a couple months ago, at the beginning of summer. He was sure he hadn't been terribly good - but here he had an unparalleled opportunity for research.
There couldn't be more than ten minutes left, he thought - and with that thought came the penultimate change. He had breasts now. Decent ones, too. Not like half the girls in the porn he pulled off the net from time to time... but these were real. They sure felt real.
They felt good. He knew, now, that he was going to take that hour as a girl.
He rubbed his breasts and stroked his prick, as the warm water rained down. He moved his altered body gently as he did so, feeling the drops running in unfamiliar directions along unfamiliar curves. Almost everything was new, in some way. He nearly lost his balance, not used to his new shape, and put his hands out to catch himself. And then reaching back, he knew the final change had happened.
Reaching lower, he found the expected - the lips, the vagina. His new flesh was as turned on, as eager for release, as the prior. His hand played with the folds and involutions. In wonder, he ran his moistened finger along the crevice between inner and outer lips, down one side and up the other. The vulva were at least as sensitive as his shaft and scrotum had been. It was tempting just to stroke them, tease them a little... but time was short, there was business to take care of.
He probed inward, trying to remember landmarks hastily noted from fumbling sessions before. There was the vagina itself... so, a bit higher up... ah, yes, the clit. Very sensitive, indeed, but just how sensitive?
Yikes! Note to self: Watch out for those nails!
With a chastened appreciation for the need for gentleness, he resumed his efforts; by now he was almost frantically horny. But his skill was not up to the task for many minutes. Things were so tender, needed such diffident care! The hot water became lukewarm. But presently he came, and it went on so long...
Shuddering a little, he turned off the shower and reached out for a towel, taking his mom's since his was still wet. He got the bulk of the water off - it was so strange seeing nothing between his legs, drying off his new anatomy. Excited, he stepped out and wiped off the steam from the mirror.
So, this was 'Erica'. Definitely cute. Not in supermodel territory, but tasty. I wouldn't kick her out of bed, he thought. Or, well, technically 'she' thought, at this point, no?
...No. Despite the body, he was definitely still Eric, a boy, inside.
He liked the way he looked, fresh out of the shower - an hour ago, he would have killed for such a sight in the flesh - but long wet hair was not a whole lot of fun running down one's own back. He worked briskly with a towel, and then found his mom's hair dryer and a brush. It was a rush job but there were things to do. He went back to his room - determined to stay there this time - and checked the time. About forty minutes left on the clock; the tail end of the shower had been lengthy.
On the bed was a box and a note.
Erica -
A little present for you. Have fun!
Love, Mom
Bemused, he noticed the name. He thought it had been a private joke, but his Mom seemed to have anticipated it. He picked up the box, and opened it.
Perfume, quick-dry nail polish, and an extremely feminine panty-and-teddy set of some kind. This whole night was deeply weird on so many levels, but getting a gift of lingerie from his mom somehow added a whole new dimension to the strangeness.
The clothes fit well. Perfume was easy, but the nail polish took a little work. He wouldn't have bothered, but... his Mom seemed to want him to try it, and he was more reluctant than ever to annoy her. Fortunately, he'd gotten pretty good at detailing from painting model cars.
Finally they were dry. A look at the clock: twenty-five minutes left. Screw the toenails, he thought. He dithered for just a moment, then did one last quick march to the bathroom. He beheld himself all girlied up.
The outfit was indeed sexy... but classy-sexy, not slutty-sexy. The appearance was spoiled by the expression, though: the girl in the mirror wasn't demure at all. She looked at least as horny as any porn star. More, really - she wasn't faking. Turning, inspecting from all angles, he was... enchanted. It was truly magical.
One last stare to burn the image into memory, then he dashed back to his room. He steeled himself not to be distracted by any more of Mother's surprises, but no new packages or notes turned up. He flopped into the middle of the bed, on his back, and got to feverish work.
His hand slipped under the waist of his panties and explored. It was still faintly bizarre, how far down the new equipment was; there was just that slight moment where his hand went right on past where he was still, subconsciously, expecting to find something. And then the sense of discovery an instant later...
In the shower, there had been nothing unusual about wetness. In bed, it was irrationally surprising. Those juices were coming from him... but they did make everything slide so easily.
Now fully caught up in a spirit of adventure, he pursued his experiments with less than scientific detachment. Rubbing the clitoris - carefully - got sparks flying, but the lips and canal were enjoyable to the touch as well. Before long he had discovered the erotic potentials of his breasts, too. These nipples provided sensations quite unlike the old ones had, and the mounds themselves filled the hand so well. His second orgasm of the evening arrived more rapidly than the first.
Gasping, shivering, he was inspired to try something. He'd read about the supposed 'G spot'. Was it really all it was cracked up to be? Allegedly you got your fingers a couple inches in... on the roof somewhere... Damn it, have to get these panties off... Hmmmm... No... Maybe... Hey, that was... Oh, wow, hey, that was different... Whoa, it felt good but kinda like he had to pee but still, it was good... and... and... a thumb rubbing his clit... the other almost clamped on a breast, nipple between two fingers... "Aaaaaaaaaaaah!"
It just kept getting better.
He'd come three times already and he was still excited. There was hardly any of the lassitude, the exhaustion that followed climax as a male. He was well on the way to number four for the evening when a firm but polite knock came at the door.
"It's time, honey! You have to make your choice now!" He could picture the smug grin on his mom's face; she couldn't have missed the screams he'd been making. He felt mortified but at the same time he was still so worked up!
"Please, Mom! Just a few more minutes!" He could hear the husky passion in his own voice, and blushed, but his new anatomy just got more excited. Oh God, he was aching now...
"You need more time?" The voice was pure sweetness.
"Yes! Just a little!"
"Of course, dear."
~~~~~
Eric lay in a limp, satisfied heap on his bed. He wasn't really sure how many orgasms he'd had - under a dozen, probably, but not much under. He was nearly certain he was more familiar with these genitals than he'd been with the old set. Certainly he'd never explored his dick and balls with the same fervor. But even he'd had enough. Next time he was with a girl, he'd be a lot better. It was time to go back, now, and... what time was it, anyway?
The warm, relaxed haze lifted like fog in a stiff breeze as he stared at his alarm clock. It was after midnight. He'd been fully female for over three hours! He knew his Mom. She wouldn't consider that a 'little more time'...
He bolted out of bed and looked around frantically for something to wear. The teddy and panties lay on the floor, but he shied away from them like they might bite. He pulled on the bathrobe instead. Jeez, his chest stuck out that much?
The house was silent. Relief and trepidation filled him as he made his way downstairs and saw a light was on in the kitchen. Stepping in, he found his mother sitting at the table, paging through one of her scrapbooks, a dreamy smile on her face. She looked up and the smile widened. "There you are, honey!" A pause. "So, what do you think?"
This was going to take every shred of diplomacy he had. "Well, uh... I owe you an apology about your magic."
"Oh, honey, you don't have to apologize! You never had any reason to think otherwise, I made sure of that." A little mischief crept into her smile now. "I was referring to your new form. Personally, I think you look even more beautiful than I'd hoped."
"Uh, well, about that..." He was sweating. "It's, well, it's beautiful, yeah, but I don't think it's, um... me."
"Oh, it's very much you, now." A lot of mischief showed in the smile.
"I mean, uh... I'd like to go back. To being a boy, I mean." Silence greeted this. "Um, please?"
Mock-seriousness, now. "But... naturally, when you asked for more time, I assumed you knew what that meant. I was very clear in my note, I thought."
His fears crystallized, but he had to press on. "I didn't mean to stay like this! I figured, well... that if you couldn't give me just a little more time, you'd say so."
"Erica, at this point, how much or little time you spend as a girl is up to you. It's out of my hands." A helpless shrug, spoiled only by the slightly upturned corners of her mouth.
Ignoring the name she'd used, Eric pressed on. "What do you mean, it's up to me? I just told you, I want to be a boy again! I want my old body back!" He was getting upset. He didn't keep his voice as level as he'd hoped.
"Honey, I can't change you back now. Only you can do it."
A long pause. He felt like he was wading through mental syrup, slow and stupid. "What?" he finally asked.
"After that first hour, the Transformation becomes permanent. Only the Transformed One can reverse it." His Mom seemed very solemn.
"But... but you said even after that hour, I could change back!"
"Certainly... once you've fully adjusted, as I said." Her mirth was unmistakable. "Do you think you've fully adjusted to being a girl?"
Eric absorbed this in silence for a few seconds. "So... how long until I can change back?"
"As I said, it's up to you, how quickly you decide to acclimate." She looked thoughtful. "I think the current record is just under two years." She smiled, then. "It usually takes quite a bit longer."
"Two years?" His voice could not be described as 'level' by any stretch of the imagination. Indeed, it rose to a squeak.
"Give or take." His Mother's voice was calm. Happy, even. "It was almost five years before I was ready to learn the Transformation spell."
"But... but... I go back to school in, like, a month!" It came out in a wail.
"I know! We've got a lot to do, to get you ready," she replied in an excited tone, as if planning a vacation.
His jaw hung low for quite a while. "I think people are gonna notice I've suddenly got, like, breasts!"
His mother chortled. "Oh, I guarantee the boys will. You are stacked, my dear!" At her progeny's mortified glare, she sighed. "Punkin, if I can give you breasts, and everything that goes with them... don't you think I can handle a few records and memories?"
That brought him up short. He stared at his Mom with wide eyes. "You know I love you, don't you, honey?" she asked, finally, genuinely serious.
He nodded, eyes still wide.
"Do you imagine I would do something like this if I didn't think you could handle it? Even enjoy it?" She stared earnestly into his now-squinting eyes.
After a moment, Eric quietly shook his head.
"Honestly, you might be surprised by the things you learn about girls. And about yourself." He just sat there, absorbing it all.
"Sweetie, come look at this." She waved her new daughter over to look at the scrapbook. He approached cautiously, and at her insistent wave he began to flip through it. Photos and report cards and memorabilia of one Mark Jardin. There was Grandma, looking young, almost his Mom's age. But Mom didn't have a brother... his head snapped up.
She met his searching gaze unflinchingly, with a smile. "Like I said, Erica, you might be amazed at what you learn about yourself."
"You were... you..." He couldn't complete the thought.
"Yes, honey. I grew up as Mark. Grandma gave me the same initiation one night, and, well, I 'needed more time,' too." She winked. "I've been Miranda Jardin ever since."
Eric sat down heavily, shaking his head. "I... I don't..."
"Honey? Honey, look at me." He slowly met her gaze. "I know this is a lot to get used to. I was in the same boat. But honestly, the important things haven't changed. I'm still your Mother, and I love you. You're still my child, whatever you decide you want to be one day. Son or daughter." He twitched a little at that. "I did not, will not lie to you. You will have that choice one day, and it will be your choice. If you choose to Transform back into Eric, I won't interfere. I wouldn't be able to, even if I wanted to go against your wishes. Which I don't."
While he processed that, she kept going. "In the meantime, as I said, try to look at this as an adventure. For now, you are Erica, and you will get to experience things no boy ever does. You can learn many things that will benefit you even if you become Eric again." Then she winked. "I promise, it'll even be fun. Obviously it was for me."
Eric - Erica? - just slumped at the table, transfixed by the scrapbook. At long last, he sighed. "Okay, Mom. I'll try."
Miranda clapped her hands together. "That's my girl!" She stood up. "I suggest you get some rest. It'll be a big day tomorrow. I'm going to my room to get to work on those records and such." She leaned over and gave Erica a big hug. "I'm so proud of you, honey."
He... no, she watched her Mom walk away, feeling dazed. She looked down at the scrapbook, not sure what to think.
As soon as she was around the corner, Miranda allowed the triumphant smile to bloom on her face. It almost always worked this way. Miranda nearly laughed aloud, remembering her own tangled emotions once she'd realized her Transformation wasn't going to end as quickly as it had started. The situation was artfully contrived; the Sisterhood had a lot of experience. It hadn't entirely been Erica's choice - so she had an excuse to explore her new femininity without quite so much male anxiety and guilt. But it hadn't exactly not been her choice, either - which limited how upset she could be at her Mother.
In time, she'd even be grateful. Very few Sisters ever Transformed back into men. After all, once you'd birthed and suckled a child - the final steps in mastering the Transformation spell - how could you want to give up being a Mother?
~~~~~
Eric woke slowly. Getting to sleep had taken a while. At first all he could do was wonder where he was. Not in his bed... he opened his eyes and looked around. Even with his glasses off, he could see it wasn't his room. And as he tried to sit up, a whole flood of odd sensations finally reminded him it wasn't his body, either.
He looked wonderingly down at his... her own shape, back in the teddy and panties. So bizarre, seeing those breasts, those slim arms. Long hair, long nails... swinging out of bed, broad hips came to the fore of her attention as she nearly fell over. This body had a quite different set of balancing requirements from the old one.
Eric... Erica woke up a touch further, and put on the pair of glasses placed on the nightstand next to the bed. They weren't his - they were girlish, rectangular framed. Still, they made everything clear.
He... she finally understood where she was. It was his... her bedroom, but with a new decor. The view through the window hadn't changed; everything on this side of the glass was weirdly different. It wasn't that things had been replaced, so much as... translated from 'boy' to 'girl'. There were correspondences everywhere. Furniture was in the same positions, mostly, but...
The windowframe had curtains instead of blinds. The walls were a pale purple instead of the dark blue he'd picked a few years back. The plain white ceiling fan was now filigreed. The bed had a bedskirt at the bottom, and the covers were a frilly pattern dominated by pastel pink instead of the plain dark maroon they'd been the night before. A few throw pillows and even stuffed animals lay at the foot of the bed, again in pastel colors.
Instead of a bookshelf next to the bed, there was an ornate dresser and a small table. The simple, utilitarian alarm clock had been replaced with a larger model that apparently played CDs. The cell phone looked almost the same, except for the new tassel hanging off it.
Models and figurines painstakingly built over many years were gone; instead little, unfamiliar knick-knacks were scattered about. Statuettes, framed pictures, dried flowers. The posters on the wall had morphed - sports teams and girls had become landscapes and celebrities. Male celebrities.
The desk on the other side of the room was now an ivory color and sported rounded corners instead of square ones. Thankfully the computer still had the glowing blue running lights and chrome detailing from before. It looked out-of-place, but apparently Mom had hesitated to mess with it. Given her ignorance of electronics, that was probably a good thing. The TV and console were still in their former place; the games were all neatly shelved, however.
The previous dresser had become much larger, and as ornate as the rest of the furniture. Cosmetics were organized on one side, a modest array of jewelry was on the other, and a large mirror hung on the wall behind it. He... she stared at it, and the girl wearing the confused expression within, for almost a minute. Thinking about how much time could have been saved if it had been there last night. Maybe enough time to prevent her from winding up stuck as a her?
As she retrieved the robe from its hook, she discovered the closet was empty save for a pair of pink fuzzy slippers on the floor. Padding over to the dresser, she drew out a drawer, finding it similarly barren. Puzzled, she went downstairs.
Her Mom sat at the table, slowly eating some toast. Though she was clearly exhausted, she didn't have her usual morning cup of tea before her. She gave Erica a wan smile and a quiet, "Good morning, dear."
"I guess you were pretty busy last night." Erica said, getting down a bowl for cereal.
"You bet your cute butt I was," Miranda sighed. "You'll find a purse in the dining room. Your new driver's license and Social Security card are in it. No one around here remembers Eric, now. To the world, you've always been Erica Jardin."
"Thanks, I guess." She hesitated before sitting down. Part of him... her craved the reassurance of closeness with Mom. Part of her - the big part that was still him - thought it would be weak, would be admitting vulnerability. But she was supposed to be a girl, now... Ultimately she sat down next to her Mom, but left a little space. Frowning, she asked, "What about my friends?"
"There had to be some changes there, I'm afraid." She shrugged apologetically. "You'll be remembered as being one of the girls, not one of the boys, now. No close friendships among girls or boys. You'll have to start over a bit, I'm sorry to say, but you won't have to remember too many conversations you never had." She smiled a little at the question in her daughter's eyes. "No, you don't have a boyfriend, either - but I suspect they'll be trying soon enough. You really are gorgeous."
"Thanks... I think." Her face had fallen a little. "No friends?"
"It'll be all right. You're still in the computer club, they know you. You don't have your baseball history, I'm afraid. However, I found you a replacement that'll give you some status and friends. I signed you up for cheerleading."
Erica almost did a spit-take. She choked a little on her orange juice. "Cheerleading?" she managed to sputter. "Jumping around waving pom-poms?"
Her Mother just grinned tiredly. "There's a bit more to it than that. But yes, it'll help get you used to your new station quickly, and it's good exercise. Give it a try, but if you decide it's not for you... just don't make the team. I only signed you up, you'll still have to do the work and qualify." A wicked shade to her grin, now. "Besides, haven't you always wanted to get up close with the cheerleaders?"
Her new daughter ignored the jibe, the enormity of it all starting to hit home. "It's like moving to a new school," she lamented quietly. "Only I don't know how to make friends as a girl."
"The same way as a boy, punkin: by being a good friend." Erica's raised eyebrows and skeptical expression - which practically screamed 'I don't know how to do that as a girl either' - forced Miranda to be a little more serious. "I'm really sorry, honey, but it's the best way. You can decide who you are, find out as you make new friends. And it won't be so hard, everything's in flux at the start of a new school year. I promise, it'll work out, you'll see."
"Was it like that for you?" she asked, searching her Mother's tired face.
"Grandma Transformed me the summer after I graduated high school," she replied. Then she smiled a little, reminiscing. "I went off to college as a girl." Her attention returned to the present. "I felt you'd do better if you started your Transition in a somewhat more familiar environment."
"Couldn't you have waited a little?" She hadn't meant for it to sound quite as whiny as it came out.
"Every Transformation is different, honey. And so is every Transition, after." She smiled with a little more animation. "Some boys need 'training wheels', little mental Suggestions." A look of pride. "But you didn't."
Erica wasn't sure how to feel about that. "It's so strange. I mean, I only just started being a man. I only just..." she trailed off, not wanting to just up and tell his... her Mom about her... well, actually, his... sex life.
But her Mother had a wise smile on her face. "I know, punkin." It was still strange hearing that endearment applied to him. Her. "I wouldn't have done this while you were still a virgin."
Erica was mortified. "You knew?" Accusation filled her tone, safer than the terrible embarrassment.
"Dear, I did not invade your privacy. Well, not much. I didn't find out - or want - details." She shrugged. "It's just, we... well, we're careful about that now. We don't Transform anyone until they've 'gone all the way'." She grinned. "Boys can be very sensitive about that stuff."
"'We'?"
"There are other Sisters, dear." She yawned hugely. "But don't worry about that for now. You'll meet some later, in due course."
Erica cocked her head. "I think I've met some already, haven't I?" she asked, thinking of a handful of her Mom's friends.
"Never mind about that now," Miranda chided, mock-annoyed. "Finish your cereal."
Erica talked around a spoonful. "What happened to all my clothes? Why didn't you 'translate' them, too?"
"'Translate'," Miranda chuckled. "That's a good one." She stretched a little, yawning once more. She had expended a lot of power last night. "I banished them, instead of transforming them, for my own selfish reasons." A big grin appeared. "We're going shopping! I can't wait to dress you up!"
Erica's face fell again.
~~~~~
After breakfast, Miranda sent Erica up to get dressed, handing her a bag with an outfit inside. It took a while - just brushing out her hair was a chore - and felt incredibly strange. She wished she had a better idea how to manage a bra. Inspecting herself in the mirror, she decided she was presentable. A simple skirt and sweater, flat pumps, and hose. She finally placed what was wrong - no makeup, no jewelry. Few girls went out this unadorned. But she was too frightened to tackle the options on the dresser.
When she came down, her Mom was on the phone. "Honey, there's someone you need to talk to. It won't take too long, I promise." She passed the phone to Erica.
"Hi, I'm Jacqui," came the voice on the other end of the line. "This is Erica, right?"
"Um, yeah," she said shyly. Hearing someone else use that name, besides her Mom, made the whole thing feel more real.
"Welcome to the Sisterhood!" There seemed to be genuine warmth in the tone.
"Uh, thanks." A pause. "I'm sorry, it's just... a lot to get used to, y'know?"
"Okay, I know this is all really strange. But I promise, you're going to be fine." Erica could hear the smile in her voice. "I talked to your Mom a little. You're already doing way better than I did, I guarantee."
Erica wasn't quite as sure that was a positive as Jacqui seemed to be. "So, uh, my Mom said I need to talk with you?"
"I'm afraid so. Our tradition has always been to let new Sisters find their own way as much as possible, with their Moms, before we formally introduce anyone to the Sisterhood. But we've had to get with the times a little. I'm sort of 'Mistress of Internet Security' for the Sisterhood now. Your Mom took care of the local stuff, school records and classmate memories and such. The problem these days is, everybody leaves a lot more traces lying around. I'm going to need all your usernames and passwords for anything you've done on the net - gamertags, handles, whatever. What websites you go to, forums you're on, etc. etc."
"Wow." She looked at her Mom, asking with her eyes if Jacqui could be trusted. Miranda nodded. "That could take a bit. I'm gonna have to go back up to my room, get on my computer."
"No prob."
Erica noticed her Mom holding up a finger. "Just a sec, Jacqui." She put her palm over the receiver.
Miranda yawned. "While you're working with Jacqui, I'm going to take a nap. Last night did me in." She smiled. "We'll head out this afternoon." The smile became a smirk. "That'll give you time to get some jewelry and makeup on, anyway. Mind you don't get any on your clothes!"
As Erica was walking up the stairs, Jacqui made conversation. "Actually, I was glad to hear you're a programmer. I could use some help, one day when you're ready. Most Sisters..." A chuckle. "...well, let's just say they aren't technically-minded."
"Um, I'm not sure I'm staying... um, as a Sister." Erica said hesitantly, sitting in front of his... her computer.
"I understand. Believe me, I know where you're coming from." Erica could practically see the knowing smirk. "Just give it a fair try, okay? It will be up to you when the time comes. Honest." Now there was an audibly impudent grin; Jacqui had such an expressive voice. "For me, at least, the benefits far outweighed the drawbacks."
"Well, it's sure been... eye-opening so far." She started typing. "Um, I'm logging on. My gamertag on XBox Live is Cyb0rg111..."
~~~~~
Jacqui was amazingly fast, yet thorough. Erica would log into a website for her, and almost before she could refresh the page "Eric's" data was gone or morphed. When in doubt, Jacqui erased. The Transformation in the real world forced an almost complete rebirth in the digital. At least her gaming Achievements made it across. A lot of forum posts and emails got scrapped.
After Jacqui said her goodbyes and hung up, Erica numbly perused "her" Facebook page. She'd gone from a hundred and eight friends to ten, and 'Liked' only a handful of pages. Most of the updates Eric had posted were gone; a few links and generic photos remained.
She stared for a long time at the profile picture. It looked so typical of a high-school-girl's headshot. A picture she'd never posed for, that had been constructed out of the bizarre blend of technology and Magic that Jacqui could apply.
But the face in the picture had some makeup on it. Remembering her Mother's admonition, she looked doubtfully over at the panoply of options on her new dresser.
~~~~~
Her Mom laughed out loud when she saw what Erica had wrought with the potions and creams and powders that had been provided. She helped the novice girl wipe it all off and start over; it was quite evident that model-painting skills only carried over so far.
Erica was dumbfounded when she beheld herself after her mother had finished applying just a few touches here and there. She was pretty, and the makeup definitely did something, but... she also looked so ordinary. 'Eric' would have given her an appreciative once-over... and moved on. At that moment she started to believe that this masquerade might actually be pulled off, though she was far from convinced.
Her Mom took her straight to a mall and Erica began her tutelage in the strange, mazelike world of women's clothing. There was so much more to it - more options, more fabrics, more styles and patterns, and far more subtle rules. Men's pants, to take just one example, were generally a solid color; they might have a stripe at most. Women's pants were cut multiple ways, had more patterns and color mixes and fabrics, and then you got to the ruffles or embroidery or piping or...
They didn't get anything like a complete wardrobe - that was flatly impossible for a girl in one day - focusing simply on getting enough outfits to make it through the first couple weeks of school.
Even within those limits, Erica was numbed by the totals on the receipts as they went from store to store. She realized her Mom must have been saving up for this for a while.
Miranda offered guidance and suggestions, but forced Erica to find her own style to a large extent. She ended up trying to remember outfits she'd seen girls wear, before, and attempting to describe them to her Mother with an inadequate vocabulary. For Erica it was laborious and draining, though it seemed to actually energize her Mom.
She still felt like an impostor, and made some silly mistakes - including almost walking into the Men's room - but it was by turns shocking and reassuring how little undue attention she drew. Undue for a pretty girl, at least. The way boys - and some men - looked at her... that was going to take getting used to. She felt like prey.
She even got her ears pierced, though the girl at the counter was rather surprised someone as old as Erica had never had it done before. She'd stared for the longest time into the mirror after, at the little dangling jewels hanging from her ears. She kept feeling them as she moved, continually reminding her of their presence.
They had dinner out, having shopped well into the evening. Even the way things tasted was slightly different - she ended up putting more butter on her roll than normal. "Do you really think I'll be ready for school?"
Her Mother swallowed quickly and said, "Punkin, you'll be fine. No need to fret."
"I don't even know how to dress myself!" Erica riposted.
"Oh, look! You're already getting the drama of a teenage girl down pat! But you really should have started with, 'Mo-ther," Miranda teased. Erica just glared. "It's not so complicated, you'll see. You did all right this morning."
Erica changed the subject slightly. "What you did with the makeup... I'll never learn that."
"Oh, honey, relax." She put her hand on her daughter's. "Surely, you know a few girls from school who are... less than geniuses?"
Erica's brow crinkled, not sure where her Mother was going with this. "Well, yeah." She hastily added, "I don't think all girls are dumb, Mom, but..."
"I never thought you did, dear. Some people - male or female - aren't very smart. But let me point out - they can handle clothes and makeup and jewelry, right?"
"Well, yeah..."
"You are still an intelligent and creative person, dear. That hasn't changed." Now talking like a sports coach, she asked, "Are you going to let them beat you?"
Both women chuckled, then. "I guess not."
They finished dinner and arrived home. After carrying many of the purchases upstairs, Erica received instructions on how to store and care for all her new things. Then she was brought down to the laundry room for further lessons. "There are more cycles than 'Regular' on the washing machine, my dear. You will definitely need to get acquainted with 'Delicate'," Miranda lectured.
Finally Miranda went to take a bath and Erica was released on her own recognizance. She went back to her room - still a little disturbed by its altered character - and sat on her bed, gazing about. It seemed like every time she turned around, some vast new unsuspected aspect or consequence of this change was in her face. Like bras, for example. She was, apparently, a smaller C cup, but that was still plenty of breast to get sweaty and itchy over the course of the day. She disrobed down to her panties and scratched where the straps had been. The sensation of her nipples hardening at the exposure to cool air sent her thoughts in a different direction.
Eric had never been a transvestite, or had any interest in girls clothes beyond how they looked on girls, and how to get girls out of them. But Erica had spent half the day in and out of changing rooms, and some of the outfits had been... interesting. Dressing up this body - that she still couldn't completely believe was hers - had an almost illicit feel. She went over to the closet and picked out a couple of items she'd noted before.
She hadn't bought any super-short skirts, but one of them could be rolled up at the waist to hike the hemline. Knee-high socks, a white blouse. Then, a couple of hairbands and a little experimentation resulted in some passable pigtails. She could only manage simple makeup - basic lipstick, a little eyeshadow - but that actually fit the image she was going for. Extracting her contacts and switching to glasses was the final touch.
A sexy schoolgirl looked back at her out of the mirror. She really was cute, Erica realized then. Again, not like a supermodel; more in a real, girl-next-door way. She did a few poses, becoming quite aroused. Enjoying this sort of thing too much was what had landed her in this situation, after all... but it couldn't do any more harm now, could it?
Miranda smiled gently as she eased herself into the warm water. Mothers of the newly Transformed had to peek occasionally at their daughters' thoughts during their Transition. Privacy was important... but the changes that Erica had to navigate over the coming weeks and months were profound, and could go wrong. Even many birth-girls managed the change into young women gracelessly, and Erica faced the challenges that were unique to new Sisters.
Let her daughter appreciate her newfound form on at least a physical, sexual level for now. That was certainly the easiest path, and anything that helped her see positives in the Transformation could be built on. Much more was involved in being a woman, needless to say, but she would have chances to learn that in time. The Sisterhood's leadership hadn't reported any dangers looming for at least the next few years, for which Miranda thanked the Goddess.
~~~~~
Erica made sure to take a shower before she came downstairs. She hoped her Mom hadn't heard the moans and cries she'd been making, but at the end she'd been so sweaty and disheveled that it would've been obvious what she'd been up to if she hadn't cleaned up.
Miranda was sipping some milk in the kitchen, reading a magazine; she gave no sign when her daughter appeared. The needs of Transformed women could be... acute, and if Erica felt too frightened or ashamed or embarrassed to express them, it would make many things much harder. "I think I'll turn in soon. I'm still a little tired from all those spells last night, and it was a long day."
"You can say that again," Erica replied, assembling the ingredients for a small sandwich. "What's on the agenda for tomorrow?" she asked, curious.
Miranda stood and stretched. "Deportment, my dear. You move with the grace of a linebacker, and talk like one too, half the time." She sighed. "If you don't want to be teased at school, you'll need to learn to behave in a more ladylike fashion."
Erica gulped. "I still have to do my summer reading."
"Well, young lady, perhaps you should start reading a little every night." She chuckled. "I doubt you'll get much chance tomorrow night, though."
"What do you mean?" Erica asked suspiciously.
"Have you forgotten your sister's coming home in the morning?" An evil smile blossomed on her face. "Wait until we tell Haylie!"
Erica's face fell yet again.
~~~~~
"You mean Eric is my sister now?" Haylie wasn't nearly as stunned as many girls would be. She'd been raised in the religion of the Goddess, and had seen her mother do real Magic before. It had been kind of fun keeping it secret from Eric, just between her and Mom. Her Mom had even taken her flying once. So the Transformation itself was impressive but not a total shock. Getting used to having a big sister was... weird, though.
"Yes, dear. At least for a while. Her name is Erica now." Haylie stared at Erica, who was looking anywhere but into her eyes. She could see the resemblance, but it was hard to connect this girl with her goofy big brother.
"Won't people be kind of upset?"
"I've taken care of that, honey. No one remembers Eric anymore, everyone thinks she's always been Erica." Erica's lips tightened. She stared down at the table.
"Wow, you can do that?" Haylie was impressed again.
"It wasn't easy, but yes." Miranda smiled. "You'll help me make her comfortable, right? Teach her about being a girl?"
"Sure!" Haylie couldn't imagine anyone wanting to be a boy anyway. But that sparked a thought, which swiftly became a worry. "Are you gonna make me a boy someday?" Erica perked up at that, also curious.
Miranda felt the intensity of the stares of both of her daughters. "No, sweetie. Men can't do the work of the Goddess. In a year or two, you'll start your period," she said comfortingly, noticing the apprehensive shadow passing across Erica's face at the mention of menstruation. "Then you can begin becoming a full Sister."
She paused, then frowned theatrically as if something had occurred to her. "Of course, once you complete the training, you could become a boy then, if you wanted." Despite her attempt, she could not suppress the chuckle when she saw the look of horror that prospect brought forth from Haylie, and the glare that drew in turn from Erica.
But she felt a hint of disquiet herself. There'd be a lot more to explain, once the girl formally entered the Sisterhood. Miranda wasn't looking forward to that conversation.
Haylie had once been Harold Rothstein, a powerful dark sorcerer in a group called the Brotherhood. There had been a major battle between the Brotherhood and Sisterhood a decade ago, and the newest Sister, a novice of history-making talent and power - Jacqui Donovan, in fact - had applied the Transformation spell in an unprecedented way, turning a few dozen evil men into baby girls.
Sisters around the world had adopted the new infants. Haylie had been Miranda's ever since. The Sisterhood had never raised girls - since before recorded human history - but she felt she'd done a pretty good job. Haylie was a dear, and Miranda had even learned things about being female from seeing how Haylie grew up. She loved her as much as she loved Eric, her own flesh and blood. Besides, you could dress up little girls in the cutest outfits!
Haylie didn't remember her previous life, really. Miranda knew she had strange dreams sometimes, and feelings of déjà vu. She occasionally showed a wisdom beyond her years. But she was happy, too - Miranda had never spared any love, and Eric had been a doting big brother, despite the usual sibling bickering. Sometimes, when boys were Transformed too soon, when they became girls too young, the power of the Goddess didn't manifest. Thankfully, there were divinations that could at least roughly assess someone's Magical potential. The signs pointed to Haylie developing more-or-less normally - for a Sister, anyway - once she became sexually mature.
It made Erica's Transition a bit more difficult, of course. There were aspects of family life in the Sisterhood that would be hard to explain to both her daughters. That was for another time, though. "Breakfast is over, ladies! Erica, clean up and put on a nice dress - the teal one, I think, and don't forget the heels - and meet me in the living room."
Of course Erica was annoyed and embarrassed by Haylie's comments... but she was surprised at how little it ended up bothering her. Haylie insisted on being part of Erica's 'deportment' lessons, and even she had trouble with some of them, which helped defuse a lot of the older sister's own tension. Mom ran the whole affair like a grande dame in charge of a finishing school: if Haylie hadn't been there giggling Erica would have been much more intimidated.
Skirts were vastly more complicated to manage than pants, and high heels were precarious deathtraps. Such were Erica's conclusions when they wrapped up the 'class' to eat.
She helped make dinner, which was nothing unusual - everybody contributed in the Jardin home. But the dynamics were slightly off, everyone negotiating new mother-daughter and 'big sister'-'little sister' relationships. And yet, what her Mom had said rang true. They were still a family, and that love helped. A lot.
After dinner, Miranda began introducing Erica to the religion of the Goddess. It would be a while before she could start learning Magic proper, but given what had happened, Erica took Miranda's beliefs a lot more seriously now. It wasn't very structured as religions went, holding life sacred, advocating love and peace and nonviolence. It struck her as almost primitive - and she wondered just how old it was.
As Miranda had predicted, Haylie didn't allow Erica much time to herself that night. Only the knowledge that Haylie's incessant questioning came from genuine curiosity, and not an intent to irritate, let Erica bear it. She tried to honestly answer her sister's queries - at least, with answers appropriate for an eleven-year-old. (According to her Mom, sex was a sacred gift from the Goddess, not something to be ashamed of, and their upbringing had reflected that. But, because sex was sacred, it was not a casual thing and had to be treated with respect - nor was it something for children.)
They ended up having a family game night, something they hadn't done in months. Again, the dynamics were just that touch off, but the familiarity of the situation helped her relax further than she'd expected. She got to sleep more easily that night... though only after getting herself off. She'd always heard that girls didn't masturbate as much as boys, but she felt at least as horny as Eric ever had.
~~~~~
The next days were spent in much the same way. Femininity classes in the morning and afternoon, and 'rec time' in the evening. Movie nights were weird; she couldn't help looking at the situations from a different point of view. 'Chick flicks' weren't inherently more interesting, but she paid more attention to them for the educational opportunities. In some ways, it was nice; the family hadn't spent so much time together in years.
Still, the unanticipated ramifications of the Transformation kept cropping up. Erica was astounded at how much more complicated feminine hygiene was - and they hadn't even gotten to periods. Those lessons were excruciatingly embarrassing, almost humiliating, but her Mother handled them with sensitivity and humor, while at the same time emphasizing how necessary they were. "Take it from me, girl, you do not want to learn first-hand what a yeast infection feels like."
She got another surprise when she showed up for work. Pretty girls like Erica weren't busboys at restaurants - they were hostesses. Luckily one of the waitresses stopped her before she went inside wearing grubby clothes. She raced home before the manager spotted her, changed into a more suitable outfit, and got back only a few minutes late.
She'd - well, technically, he'd - worked there long enough to have soaked up the system by osmosis, so she managed the job reasonably well. It did make her reflect on the different trials men and women faced in the job market, though. One of the patrons tried to cop a feel, too, which was - to her - completely out of the blue.
The ways that boys and men reacted to her now were endlessly disconcerting. Holding doors open for her, letting her ahead in line. Once even whistles from a passing car. And - seemingly always - looking at her.
Women and girls, too, behaved differently toward her, as either a fellow-traveller or - even more weirdly - competitor. In many ways it wasn't any different than how other males had reacted when she'd been Eric... except that he hadn't felt attracted to other men. Despite being female now, she still stared at girls, not boys. Concealing that was sometimes a challenge.
And then, when she went to exercise, it was shocking how much strength she'd lost, at least in the upper body. Benches, curls, presses... it was like she was thirteen again. Fourteen, maybe. Her legs were stronger, maybe eighty percent of before. Her pain threshold might have been a little lower, it was hard to tell. Her overall endurance appeared to have been enhanced by the change, at least.
~~~~~
Erica lay in her bed, vaguely frustrated. Even as Eric, she... he hadn't masturbated every night. After her new nightly routine - which now included things like applying moisturizer and checking to see if her eyebrows needed to be plucked, how weird was that - she'd intended to just go to sleep tonight without frigging herself... mostly to prove that she could.
But apparently she couldn't.
Deciding that if she had to have an orgasm, it might as well be a good one, she climbed out of bed, slipped off her nightgown, and went over to her desk. Logging on, she opened the hidden directory and began to look around. Her Mother hadn't changed the computer at all; the pictures and videos were still there.
She opened a set of photos at random and beheld the naked beauty arrayed in various positions. She felt... not conflicted, exactly, but... different. Oh, she still got horny. It manifested in a strange way in this new body, of course, but she was almost becoming used to that. At the same time, though, other thoughts occurred to her. Ones she'd never had cause to entertain: What would she look like in that pose? Was she as sexy as this girl?
Did she want to be?
She clicked to another set. The huge breasts still looked attractive, lickable even, but she now felt a pang of sympathy for what it must be like to lug them around every day, even if they were fake. Which made her think about cosmetic surgery - not wanting it for herself, but being so consumed by image that someone would choose to do that. It had only been one week, but she'd begun to think more and more about how she looked. She couldn't imagine choosing surgery - and she realized with bemusement that she had started to take a modicum of pride in her appearance. Still, she could at least see the outlines of what might push girls in that direction.
Even as these thoughts percolated, she was shifting on her chair, feeling herself getting honestly wet. A different girl on the screen now, with an impossibly tiny waist. While she stroked herself gently through her panties, she found that she was examining the girl's makeup too, trying to figure out what had been done where. What would she look like all slutted up like that?
Outside wasn't enough now. Her fingers slid under the waistband and between her lips, gently teasing. A throaty whine escaped her. That first night, she'd thought she'd become an expert on pleasing girls, but she'd learned even more since then.
A series of pictures, a woman progressively removing lingerie. She hadn't bought any such frippery on their shopping trip, unable to bear the thought of trying such things on in front of her Mom. Now she wondered if she could manage a solo trip to the mall. It would be wild to put on an outfit like that...
Her fingers moved faster now, urged on by images both electronic and mental.
A woman playing with a dildo. Erica had tried out the shower massager a few days ago and wondered intensely what a more solid toy might be capable of.
She fingered her clit deftly, squeezing her mouth shut to keep the moans from carrying. And something new - kneading her breasts, rubbing her nipples. Masturbation as a boy focused on one area, but for a girl there were so many places to benefit from attention...
Two girls playing with each other, embracing, kissing, fingering, tonguing. Oh God... Goddess, she wanted to join them. It would feel so good...
She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, muffling the scream as she came explosively, body jerking, hips bucking.
Panting, she rested for a few moments. Then she shut off the monitor and fled to her nightgown, her bed, seeking sleep. If she'd looked at any more pictures, she'd have started up again...
~~~~~
She turned the mower around at the edge of their lawn and peered out of the corner of her eye. There was no doubt about it - Mr. Kryspecki was staring at her. She put her eyes on the grass in front of her and wondered what to do.
Eric had actually never minded lawnmowing much. A chance to zone out and listen to music, mostly. But the Transformation had changed that.
The first annoyance had been just finding something to wear. She didn't have any old, worn-out clothes! A nonessential t-shirt and some sacrificial socks didn't bother her much, but she was going to need another pair of sneakers; the grass stains would never come out of these. At the time she'd considered herself clever to put on the short-shorts; grass clippings wouldn't get that high. Mr. Kryspecki was making her rethink that.
Just getting the mower started had been annoying. Her slimmer arms couldn't generate the same force. She'd finally had to pop out the sparkplug and squirt starter fluid into the engine.
She came around again, stole a glance... and he was still looking. It was creepy. She felt guilty for all the times Eric had rolled his eyes at girls complaining about 'dirty old men'. She was almost certain he was just ogling, that he wasn't going to actually attack her or anything.
But only almost certain.
She knew the odds were overwhelmingly against there being any actual danger. So she told herself, repeatedly. But a little voice in the back of her mind wondered if she might have too little experience to judge a real threat. And if he did try... something... he was in his fifties, but he was a big guy. She was so much weaker now...
Moving to the backyard gave some relief. But eventually she turned off her mp3 player and took out her headphones. Just in case she might hear something over the roar of the engine.
Finally the job was done and she went indoors. Miranda found her curled up on the couch, staring out the window. "What's wrong, honey?" she asked. "You look a little down."
Erica shrugged. "It's nothing, Mom."
"Don't give me that, young lady," Miranda ordered sternly. "Something's bothering you." She didn't need to Magically probe to see that.
"I didn't think it showed that much," Erica said as her Mother sat beside her and wrapped her in a hug. Haltingly, confused and a little sheepish, she told her story.
"Oh, Goddess," Miranda sighed when she was done, "I'm so sorry you went through that. I should have remembered what an ass Bill is." Erica took heart in the glare Miranda threw toward the Kryspecki home. Enraged Mothers could be fearsome. She hadn't been comforted in quite that way by maternal protection since she'd been a little boy.
Miranda smiled ruefully. "I could have told you that he's a lech, but the main danger he poses is at the block parties. Don't turn your back on him unless you want to get pinched."
"Oh, I'm so stupid!" Erica grumbled, upset at her overreaction.
"No, dear, you are not. I'm actually glad you're aware that men will be paying different kinds of attention to you now. And you'll learn soon enough to better tell the difference between attention that's just annoying, and attention that's really cause for concern."
"I'll have to," Erica grumbled further. "Thanks, Mom."
"Enough of that, young lady," Miranda admonished. "It's something all women have to come to terms with. Haylie will." Erica's brow furrowed as she pondered that. "Do you think it'll make her wish she wasn't a girl? Or perhaps she'll just wish men were different?"
That was clearly a perspective Erica had never considered.
~~~~~
The family had gone out to dinner the next night. Ostensibly it had been something of a test, to see how her feminine behavior held up in public, but Erica knew it was also a semi-celebration of the two-week 'anniversary' of her Transformation. It had started out fun, and she'd almost felt comfortable, but she hadn't been very hungry. Then, to top it all off, one of her former friends had been a few tables over. She'd stared at him a little too long; she was pretty sure he'd thought she was flirting with him.
On the way home she'd been fairly subdued. As soon as they got in, she went and laid on the couch; what little she'd eaten was disagreeing with her. After twenty minutes of channel-surfing, she sought out Miranda. "Mom... I don't feel so hot." She winced, holding her belly. "I think I might have some food poisoning. Maybe the salad dressing was off?"
Her Mother looked at her sympathetically. "No, dear, Haylie and I had the same things and we're fine. This is something else." At Erica's blank look, she reached out to touch her daughter's arm. "I'm afraid you're starting your period, punkin."
A lot of women would have been amused or irritated by the look of dawning comprehension and horror that blossomed on Erica's face at that news. Miranda herself got annoyed by the overblown revulsion some men claimed at the very concept of menstruation. (Especially when they seemed to pride themselves on better handling 'gross' things in general.)
But she couldn't be upset at her daughter; Erica's reaction wasn't that hysterical, and she herself had felt the same way, once. Many, many birth-girls, knowing for years that it was coming, found the onset of menses troubling... and boys just didn't get any psychological preparation for it.
"This isn't anyone's favorite part of being female, sweetie, but it'll be okay," she said comfortingly. Standing, she pulled her daughter to bathroom and commenced giving Erica the necessary instructions for dealing with what she called her 'First Flow'. There wasn't an associated ritual, but it was a sacred thing to Sisters, she explained.
"Can't I use a tampon?" Erica asked, seeing her Mother draw out some pads from the cabinet.
"Perhaps someday, dear, if you choose. But for now, we don't know how heavy your flow will be, or how long it will last. Until you're more used to your body's reactions, more experienced with your own cycle, we'll stick to these." She headed off the stubborn frown gathering on her daughter's brow with a quick question: "Have you ever heard of toxic shock syndrome?"
Erica had not. After it had been explained, she paid very close attention to her Mother's instructions. Her apprehensions were eased by their easygoing, humorous delivery, but it was somewhat embarrassing having to expose herself so intimately to her Mother once again.
She spent a quiet evening, feeling increasingly ill. It wasn't arousal that gave Erica trouble falling asleep that night. Her cramps had started in earnest.
Lying in the dark, feeling sick and weak and pained, she fought back tears for a time. But she finally gave in and wept, telling herself that crying was part of becoming a girl, that it'd speed the time when she could become Eric again and put periods behind her. And it helped. Before long she fell into an uneasy slumber.
Down the hall, Miranda's eyes were wet, too. She had peeked at her elder daughter's thoughts and was coming to understand how much restraint her own Mother must have shown, once. Healing was not her talent, but she had the training and could ease Erica's pain handily, take much of it upon herself. All she had to do was walk down the hall, lay her hands on her daughter...
But Sisters never interfered with the First Flow of the Transformed. It was a rite of passage, important for reasons both sacred and practical. Unpleasant as it could be, it was a gift of the Goddess nonetheless, a true miracle.
And it worked to bring home the reality of the Transformation in an unavoidable way. Most new Sisters maintained a certain denial for a time, or at least tried to avoid confronting the full implications of the Transformation. After all, quite a few men dressed up as women, and some of them could be - externally - very convincing. Frequently the Transformed would believe, on some level, that the change was skin-deep; an excellent costume, no more.
But only women had to deal with menses. It was hard to pretend you didn't have a uterus when the cramps were insistently telling you exactly where it was. Using Magic to smooth that road the first time would only postpone the psychological adjustments needed to become a full Sister.
So Miranda also cried herself to sleep. But saddened as she was by her daughter's pain, she wept tears of love and pride as well.
~~~~~
Five days later, Erica was doubly grateful her First Flow was over. After the initial night, the cramps and nausea had significantly abated, but she'd still felt tired and generally crappy the entire time. She was well satisfied to be past that, though her relief was shadowed by the knowledge that its return was inevitable. The other reason for gratitude was more positive - Miranda said that she could now start teaching her Magic. It would be some time before Erica could actually perform any spells, but her mother began to impart a grounding in the theory.
It wasn't like Harry Potter. The power to change reality came from within - from the Goddess, she was taught. Spells acted to focus that power, direct it most efficiently. They were like recipes, though, in that the rules were flexible and could be modified and shifted for different effects and situations. Likewise, one couldn't become a mistress of Magic overnight any more than one could become a master chef in an instant.
Culinary metaphors, Erica understood. Miranda was employed as the main cookbook editor for an independent publisher, so her hours were flexible. She mostly worked from home. And her children had grown up soaking up her enthusiasm for adventurous, homemade cuisine.
The behavior lessons were bearing more fruit than she would have believed, before. It was almost disturbing how feminine her demeanor was now, even when she wasn't thinking about it. She kept her legs together when sitting in a skirt, and usually remembered not to bend over too far in them. Indeed, it only occasionally felt strange anymore that she was wearing women's clothes. She'd gotten used to caring for long hair. She could handle heels well, at least on level ground, and she wouldn't be wearing those to school anyway.
She was still frightened of going back to school as a girl. The heart-stopping terror was gone, though, and she was beginning to think it might - just conceivably - be managed. With luck. During her period, while laying around feeling ill, she'd even gotten her school reading done early.
So her mother had added new reading requirements - fashion magazines and a pair of romance novels. And then she'd quizzed her daughter on the contents. A few days later, Miranda dropped another surprise. She took both her daughters to a beauty parlor for full makeovers. That had been an experience, especially because it had turned into another kind of quiz, with her Mother and the stylist insisting on her input.
She just stared in the mirror for the longest time when they were done, astonished. It looked like her, sort of... yet she didn't have cheekbones quite that high, did she? Or lips that full, or eyes so sultry... She was turning herself on, which was confusing enough, but imagining how the kids at school would react to someone like this... she felt a disconcerting flash of pride.
As they left, Haylie said, "Wow, sis, you look really pretty." Erica stared guardedly at her sister for a beat, and then felt guilty. So far as she could tell, Haylie's compliment had been just that - a genuine and honest compliment. Not even the 'sis' had been ironic.
"You look great, too, Haylie," she replied, smiling. And she did, with bright pink nails and a hint of glitter on her face. The very picture of a young girl, not quite ready to begin her journey into womanhood. Erica felt a connection to her sister on whole new level, a novel understanding of how she thought and felt.
Behind them, unseen, Miranda beamed.
~~~~~
The end of her first period brought one final consequence. Erica fidgeted in her waiting-room chair, unable to concentrate. "Mom, do I really have to do this?"
"Erica, we're done with this conversation." Miranda's voice bristled with annoyance. "Love of the Goddess, you didn't fuss this much about the Transformation!"
The door opened. A nurse called out, "Erica Jardin?" She nodded and stood and followed her back to a room, her Mother in tow. The nurse left, and Erica began to disrobe her lower half. "Why this one? Is she a Sister or something?" Anything to distract her from what awaited.
"No, Dr. Simmons isn't one of us. But although she doesn't know it, she has a talent for working with the newly Transformed." Erica peered narrowly at Miranda. "She's gentle and not at all condescending. Feel free to ask anything you want. She won't make you feel like your questions are strange or stupid."
Eyeing the stirrups with trepidation, Erica asked again, "Do I really have to do this?"
An exasperated sigh escaped her Mother. "You should thank the Goddess you're too young for mammograms," Miranda groused. But then the door opened and Dr. Simmons came in.
The gynecologist was indeed gentle. While the exam was uncomfortable nonetheless, it was nowhere near as bad as Erica had built up in her head. She managed to put Erica at ease almost at once with her unthreatening manner, and she took Erica's rather basic questions in stride. Upon finishing, Dr. Simmons gave suitable advice on hygiene, then discussed contraception and a course of HPV vaccine. Erica still judged it quite unlikely she'd ever do what it took to catch an STD from a boy... but after three weeks in this body, feeling its raging hormones, she couldn't deny the chances were greater than zero. She got the first round of shots and walked out clutching a prescription for birth control pills.
Afterward, her Mother took her out to lunch. As they ate, Miranda took the opportunity to discuss a consequence of Erica's Magical heritage. "Honey, before you go off to school, there's something you need to know." Her mouth twisted in wry amusement. "I know you don't intend to have anything to do with boys. That way, for now." Erica blushed a little. "But should you ever change your mind, you need to be aware. Sisters... well, birth control isn't terribly reliable for us."
"What do you mean, Mom?" Erica asked cautiously.
"If a Sister wants the baby of the man she's making love with - or even if she's not firmly opposed to the idea - she will get pregnant. No matter what chemicals or barriers or whatnot she uses." Miranda shrugged apologetically. "The heart of women's Magic is tied to giving and nurturing life."
Erica considered that for a moment, remembering her lessons in the religion of the Goddess. "And abortion's out, right?"
"Just so, honey. Anyone who deliberately ends another human life forfeits the Gift of the Goddess. Forever."
Erica was quiet for several seconds. "So, no messing around. Got it."
"Well, there are limits. Vaginal intercourse is still required." Her grin was impish. "I mean, I happen to know that sperm won't make it from your stomach to your womb," she said with a wink.
"Mo-oom!" Erica gasped, scandalized.
"Get used to it, dear. Women are much earthier among themselves than they are around men." Miranda looked smug.
Erica shivered and tried to change the subject. "So if I really don't want a baby? Can that, like, keep me from getting pregnant?"
"My, for a girl who doesn't like boys you're sure looking for loopholes," Miranda teased.
Erica glared ferociously. "I'm just... Control's a little difficult for me now, thanks to you. Once I get really turned on, I have to get off." She looked at her Mother, pleading, her expression serious. "If I get in over my head..."
Miranda relented. "It is possible to shield oneself to an extent. Enough to allow birth control to work, anyway." She shook her head sadly. "But that requires a great deal of discipline and self-knowledge. The kind that only comes from mastering the Transformation spell." Which you can't do until you've given birth, she left unspoken. "And not all Sisters can do it, even then."
Erica frowned. "So by the time I have a choice about it... I'll be Eric again."
"If that's your decision, punkin," Miranda replied gently. Erica looked away then, troubled.
Continued in Part 2
Foreword:
There's an element of the original story that squicks me on not just an aesthetic but a moral level. I came that close to retconning it out. But ultimately I decided it had to be there. I still find it rather creepy, even in a fantasy, but if I'm willing to posit magic I guess other impossibilities aren't so much of a stretch.
Just don't imagine an author condones, or enjoys, everything that happens in their stories.
The tenuous confidence she'd been feeling had nearly fled by the morning of the big day. Erica picked her way blearily through breakfast. Restful sleep had been in short supply last night, which only added to her anxiety. The low, dark clouds in the sky outside completed a portrait of foreboding.
"You look wonderful, punkin," Miranda said as she sat down at the table. "That's a beautiful outfit, good choice."
"Thanks," Erica growled, experiencing a flash of resentment at her Mother, who'd made going back to school excruciatingly tense instead of just annoyingly tedious.
"Erica. Look here." Her eyes slewed to her Mother's. "I know you're a little frightened. Anything new can be scary. But you can do this." She smiled. "It's not a crisis, just a new challenge. You've never shrunk from those, and I've always been proud of you for that."
"What's the big deal, anyway? What's wrong with being a girl?" Haylie piped in, unhelpfully trying to be helpful.
"It's not the same. You've always been a girl," Erica snapped. Haylie seemed on the verge of retorting, but quieted down with a thoughtful look instead.
Miranda broke in. "Truly, Erica, I think you'll be surprised. Not just by what's changed, but what hasn't."
Now Erica looked thoughtful, too.
~~~~~
By lunchtime, Erica had some idea what her Mom had been getting at. High school was still high school. The same people she knew were mostly doing the same things. To a very large extent, it was only her angle on it that had changed.
And yet, as with so much in life, the angle you viewed things from mattered. The same baseball game observed from the bleachers was a different experience than from behind home plate. You picked up on different things watching a play from the audience or backstage. She had a profoundly enhanced understanding of girl's behavior now, and saw many subtleties of manner she'd never noticed before. And boys... that was even stranger. She saw them from the vantage point of an outsider, now.
Much of their antics seemed somehow... immature. Big, boisterous, unrefined creatures, many of them. Swaggering, posturing, noisy. And, ultimately, simpler. Not stupid necessarily, but... more focused, less complex. As a boy, he'd considered that a mark of male superiority over the needless complications women seemed to manufacture. Erica now wondered - gingerly, tenderly - if, just perhaps, the male perspective could be... limiting.
Classes hadn't been too different so far. Maybe she wasn't called on as often as before, but since she was striving valiantly to be inconspicuous, that didn't necessarily mean anything.
Sitting herself at an unoccupied table, she got out her lunch. High school was still high school; it could be lonely at the best of times, and she didn't have any friends now. Everyone who'd known her as Eric seemed to know her still, but in an 'acquaintance' sort of way. No strong impressions for good or ill.
Many things had changed, of course. The bus ride in to school had been surreal. Boys had walked past the empty seat next to her, being polite except for the glances at her boobs, and then another girl had just nodded and sat next to her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Boys themselves might not have changed, but the way they responded to her had altered drastically. The glances and stares she'd begun to expect, but the occasional half-overheard remarks and snickers were disconcerting. And she didn't remember being 'accidentally' brushed against nearly as often when she'd been Eric.
Seeing the various public displays of affection by couples out in front of the school as she walked in produced a deeply bifurcated feeling. Eric had been single most of the time, and she still felt jealous of people with significant others. And she still checked out the girls for hotness, and tried to evaluate from their behavior how physical any relationship was. Yet she couldn't help wondering about the feelings and motivations of the girls. Eric had many times pondered those, too - but solely with an eye to manipulating them as best he could. Erica needed to comprehend their desires and thought processes for enormously more complicated reasons.
All these reflections and more whirled in her head as she ate. At least, she told herself, the day was half over. Hopefully the biggest surprises were past.
Once she'd finished eating, she threw out her trash and went to the bathroom - the correct one for her new gender, thankfully. She had to wait a moment, all the stalls were full. Girls talked more in the bathroom than boys, she'd learned. Eventually a place opened and she took care of things, making sure not to wrinkle her skirt. It was good to be shielded from view for a moment, to have a semblance of solitude... but other girls were waiting and she left the sanctuary of the stall to clean up.
Washing her hands, she checked her hair and clothes in the mirror, which was becoming a habit. Right or wrong, appearance was more important for a girl's social status than a boy's, and she needed to at least maintain what little standing she had. At first she barely noticed the girl who took the sink next to her, until recognition hit.
Erica finally caught herself staring at Ashley and jerked her eyes back to her own reflection. She'd been Eric's first, and only. It had been a weird and wonderful night, and Erica found she still felt something. A boy never forgets his first girl, they said, and apparently that held even if he became a girl later. What did Ashley remember doing that summer night? Certainly not anything to do with Erica; she had no sense that Ashley had any of that kind of interest in girls.
Would Ashley miss the memory? Eric had felt a little guilty about it, even at the time. She'd been pretty tipsy, and after... Erica cut her thoughts short.
She wrapped up swiftly and hurried away, tangled in a knot of unfathomable emotions. Making her way through the crowd to her locker she worked to calm down. The breathing exercises her Mother had begun to teach in the 'intro to Magic' lessons helped her to center a little.
As the afternoon wore on she discovered that there were advantages to lacking a penis. She wasn't glad it was gone, but in the locker room before phys ed, she found herself extremely grateful that it was no longer quite so obvious when she was turned on. All those girls, naked or half-naked... The shower after was worse. Sweaty wet girlflesh everywhere, hands sliding all over... She had to constantly rein in her wandering eyes.
Computer class was a welcome respite. Her school had an Advanced Placement programming track and she'd lapped it up. Or Eric had... Leaving that aside, it was organized into different projects, with extra-credit options and challenges, and the students formed small teams to work on them. She'd... he'd... well, whatever... been part of a tight-knit group with three other classmates, and they'd stuck together because they collaborated well.
Although Josh Wright and Scott Charboneau mostly liked graphics and sound programming, they were quite happy to do whatever plumbing was required for a project. Erica... well, Eric... and Cory Ellsworth had been more the 'architects' of the group, usually designing and planning the overall approach, and writing the more complex stretches of code. Cory had also acted as 'project manager' of sorts, being a more organized type.
She sat down next to the boys as they were talking. Immediately they dropped their conversation and turned to her. "Hey, Erica," Josh said, rather eagerly. He'd always been a big guy, but now he dwarfed her. "How was your summer? Do anything chill?" His eyes roamed as he asked, moving lower.
"Not really," she replied, wondering what they'd think of the truth. "Just, y'know, hung out at home, mostly. You guys?"
Scotty spoke up. "Did you see my Facebook album? We went to Yosemite for a week, did some rock climbing. It was tight, we saw a van that got ripped open by a bear."
"Yeah, that was sick." She turned to Cory. "How 'bout you?"
He took just a beat too long to answer her. He'd been looking at her funny since she walked in the door. "Nothing much. Couple trips with the fam, but no bears." His eyes wrinkled just a bit as he regarded her.
Erica was a little disappointed. Cory had been a friend since grade school. He'd lived one street over from her back then. They'd drifted apart when his parents moved across town, but reconnected somewhat upon meeting again in high school. They'd never been as close as when they were kids, or really bonded over much beyond their shared passion for programming, but he seemed much more distant now. Was her being a girl that unbridgeable a gulf to him?
Class began then, putting her concerns on the back burner. She was somehow gratified to confirm that she still liked computers, that there were still parts of herself that hadn't changed.
~~~~~
The wave of relief that rocked her as she stepped off the bus was frankly unbelievable. She just stood there as it pulled away, hardly able to breathe. Only when the bus had turned the corner did she find the will to move.
Walking home, the thought came that this was the first time she'd been really alone since the Transformation. Her Mother had been no more than a few rooms away since that night - usually closer - and then at school she'd been immersed in people. She took her time, sauntering, just trying to digest the whole portentous day.
All in all, it hadn't gone badly. Despite the countless worst-case scenarios she'd spun in her head, the only real mistake she could think of had been turning the wrong way to go to the showers; the layout of the girl's locker room was the reverse of the boy's. She was fairly confident nobody would deduce that she was a boy Magically Transformed into a girl from that. As if in affirmation, the overcast had gradually dissolved over the course of the day and she now walked in bright, cheery sunlight.
In a reflective mood, she pondered the Transformation itself. It really had turned out to be an adventure. And if it had been nerve-wracking at times, it had also come with upsides. The orgasms by themselves were nearly worth the price of admission. She looked forward to tonight in bed, when she'd be able to properly meditate on what she'd observed in that shower.
There were other good points, too. Fashion and makeup and jewelry were fiendishly complex. Sleeves alone had endless variants; ruffle caps, pleated caps, smooth caps... short, half-length, three-quarter length, full length... and at least a dozen different types of neckline... Still, when you found a good look, it was even more satisfying in some ways than solving a tricky math problem, and it usually had more practical effect in day-to-day life. The new closeness she'd felt to her Mother and sister of late was something to be cherished, as well; she hoped it wouldn't go away entirely when Eric walked the Earth once more.
Of course there were plenty of annoying social restrictions on dress and behavior that came with being a girl... but there were certain kinds of freedom, too. Guys weren't allowed be too outwardly emotional, except about being aggressive. Anything else was taboo; at best, you'd be called mushy. At worst, you'd get your ass kicked. She wondered if her feelings were closer to the surface these days because of female hormones... or if it were just that she felt allowed to express a wider range of them. And were they more intense because of that? Had Eric simply felt less, or was it impossible to regulate and hide emotion without deadening it to a degree?
Miranda peeked out from the curtains, watching Erica's dawdling approach. Sending her new daughter off to school that morning had probably been more nerve-wracking than when she'd sent toddler Eric off to preschool. She felt so proud as she snooped into Erica's emotions a bit, and saw that the girl was holding up well.
At last she made it through the front door. Miranda couldn't help pouncing. "So, how'd it go, honey? Everything okay?"
Erica sighed. Not sad; more amused. Miranda cheered inside. "It went okay, Mom. I don't think I did anything too stupid, and it was mostly the same. Just like you said."
"Oh, sweetie, that's great!" She swept up her daughter in a big hug. "I'm so proud of you!"
Haylie was already home from school and came to the door. "So how was it, big sis?" she teased. But it was gentle teasing. "Got a boyfriend yet?"
Erica raised her arm as if to backhand her little sister, but she was smiling. "Why, I oughta..." Though her Brooklyn accent was muddled, they'd watched enough Three Stooges as a family that the reference was conveyed.
Erica was warmly but extensively debriefed as they made dinner. She left out the part about Ashley, of course... but it really did help to talk things over with her family.
While they were setting the table, she got to computer class, and Cory's behavior. "He was so... distant. Like he didn't want anything to do with me."
"Boys hate it when you're better'n them. Or even as good as them," Haylie pronounced with authority.
Erica squinted dubiously. "I dunno. He wasn't like that before, with Mindy or Sunny. The other geek girls." At Miranda's raised eyebrow, she paused to consider. "Well, not that I ever noticed..."
Miranda just shrugged. "Would Eric have noticed?"
She was quiet for a few moments, arranging napkins. "Maybe not," she admitted. Eric had been blind to so much...
Over dinner, Haylie reported on her first day back. Erica listened to tales of grade-school alliances and intrigue sprinkled with fashion critiques, trying to put aside her own issues for a while.
Miranda seemed content to let her be with her thoughts. Not that her Mother ignored her completely. "Uh oh, our little piggie here is trying to sneak a third helping!"
Erica ignored the teasing, and focused on savoring the meal. According to Mom, most Sisters tended to put on weight in the first months of a Transition, used to feeding a teenage male appetite. Women's bodies were much more aggressive about storing away fat. Oh, well, she'd run a few more laps tomorrow in penance.
~~~~~
Cheerleading proved to be much more challenging than Erica had ever imagined. It wasn't just 'jumping around waving pom-poms'. It involved rigid timing and precise choreography, balance, and endurance - all while looking and sounding excited and enthusiastic.
At that, the standards weren't even as high as they might have been. Eavesdropping, she learned that many schools took cheerleading far more seriously, with tryouts in the spring and training camps in the summer. She would have had no chance at all in such a program.
She still wasn't sure if she wanted to be on the team... but Erica had decided it would be her choice. She'd be damned if she wasn't on the squad because she couldn't hack it.
Two different guys had already asked her out, and it'd only been a week. Flustered, she'd turned them away as gently as she could. She knew how hard it had been for Eric to approach girls, and how it felt to be rejected. It made her wonder how many girls realized the power they had in that respect. Of course, that power depended a lot on the willingness of boys to accept 'No'...
Academically, there were no real revelations. She was a good student and she could discern no changes in her native capacities on an intellectual level. The social milieu of school took up more of her attention than before, of course, but not to the point of interfering with her studies. In some ways it was even easier to be a 'brainy' girl than a boy - especially if you wanted to scare away the less ambitious boys.
In science class, she got paired with Linda Fletcher, mostly by default - they each lacked friends in class. Linda was shy, somewhat overweight and acne-ridden, and frankly didn't dress as well as Erica already did. Eric had overlooked her as much as everyone else. But Erica quickly learned she wasn't at all stupid, and she had a quirky sense of humor once you got to know her a little. They didn't have any other classes in common, but they ended up sitting together at lunch most days.
It was nice to have a friend, or at least a potential one.
~~~~~
Even just watching TV brought near-constant reminders of her new situation. It was amazing how many commercials were gender-specific. Eric had completely tuned out the pitches for cosmetics and maxi-pads, and never noticed how virtually every single household cleaning and laundry ad showed actresses using the products, not actors. Same with groceries. In commercial-land, girls never did lawn care or ran a barbecue or did auto maintenance - or anything technical, really.
The magazines at the grocery store looked different through the lens of her new gender. She'd never noticed that both men's and women's magazines usually had pretty women on the cover. And women's magazines were about guys far more than men's were about women. Or rather, women's periodicals wrote about relationships with men, their psychology. Guys magazines primarily discussed women in terms of their bodies.
She increasingly wondered if maybe guys really did tend to be that shallow. Eric hadn't been a dick, but he'd never really understood women... until he'd been forced to as Erica.
~~~~~
The post-dinner routine was in full swing. Erica was putting away the last of the dishes while Haylie sorted the silverware. Miranda wiped off the kitchen table. She spoke to Erica. "After you've got your homework done, I think we should have another look at your wardrobe. See if we can plan what else we'll need to buy."
A clang as spoons and knives clattered to the floor. Haylie was suddenly angry. "We were gonna work on my report!"
Miranda was taken aback. "We will, honey, I just need to spend some time with Erica first..."
"Everything is all about Erica now! She gets new clothes and makeup and shoes and everything. You're always showing her how to do her hair or how to dance or how to do Magic!"
"Haylie, please. It's okay. You know I love you!" Miranda was talking in soothing tones. "Erica needs a lot of support right now. She has to learn so many things you already know..."
Haylie just balled her hands into fists. "She gets everything, just like that! You use Magic and she's got that body and that face." She waved in Erica's direction. "Amy says her brother says all the boys at his school are talking about her. One month as a girl and she's a cheerleader!"
'All the boys' are after me? Erica tried to parse that. "I'm not on the squad yet," she started to say, sheepishly. But Haylie kept going.
"I don't get Magic like that. One night and she's beautiful! But I won't get Transformed! I'll never be as pretty as her!" she yelled, now crying.
Erica felt a stab of guilt. It had never occurred to her that she had things that other girls - that Haylie - really wanted, dreamed of. A lot of things had been just handed to her... and she suddenly wondered if she appreciated that as much as she should.
"No, you will be pretty like Haylie," Miranda said forcefully, reaching forward and seizing the girl in a hug. "You're already a beautiful girl, you're going to become a beautiful, Magical young woman. Sooner than you think, and sooner than I'm ready for."
Haylie was still sniffling, but she accepted Miranda's embrace. Erica stepped forward and hugged her, too.
"Haylie, don't worry, you're gonna be a knockout," she said. "It's... huh. I'm trying to figure out how to say this." She thought carefully as Haylie looked up curiously, starting to forget to cry. "Even when I was Eric I always knew you were gonna be a really pretty woman." At Haylie's sudden squint, she said quickly, "No, not in a creepy way! Eww!"
All the Jardin women had a good laugh, which cleared the air a little. "It actually made me, like, nervous when I thought about it. It's like, I was your big brother, and I thought it was my job to protect you. I mean, I knew what boys were like. I knew they'd be all over you."
Only a giggle this time, but it still was amusing. Haylie asked, "What do you think now?"
Erica stooped down and looked her sister in the eye and smiled, eyes watering a little. "Now, I'm worried you're going to be prettier than me." That got yet another giggle. "I'm still gonna have to protect you, though. Big sis is gonna have to beat the boys off with a stick."
Haylie finally returned the hugs in full measure. Erica reassured her some more. "Sorry I've been, like, monopolizing Mom so much. Honest, it's 'cause I'm scared," Erica said earnestly. "This being a girl stuff is hard." Haylie laughed again, involuntarily.
Hugs and a few tears all around, then Erica and Haylie cleaned up the silverware and went into the family room to do their homework. Miranda was relieved; she felt like she'd burst from love and pride for both her daughters. Erica was becoming such a lovely, and loving, young woman. An example for Haylie to follow.
~~~~~
Erica chugged almost half a bottle of water in one go. She'd found out yesterday, Friday, that she'd made it through the first round of cuts for cheerleading. The squad and remaining hopefuls had met this morning at a local park for an intense, weeding-out practice session. She was tired and sweaty and thirsty.
And a group of boys had parked themselves at a nearby picnic table, watching the proceedings with open - and hardly artistic - interest. The leers and occasional catcalls had been an irritant.
"Good job, everybody! See you on Monday! Make sure you know this routine!" Unlike the stereotypes, the coach of the squad was actually rather nice and encouraging.
The same could not be said of one clique of senior cheerleaders. Carrie, alpha female of the group, waited until the coach was out of earshot talking to the captain, then began complaining... in a voice pitched to carry. "Holy shit, can you believe these newbies?" Contempt saturated her words.
"Tru dat," Brianna, one of her entourage, agreed. Her eyes swept the nearest candidates, who studiously ignored them.
"Next week we can finally dump the suckiest ones." That was Nicole.
"And the wannabes," Carrie said, looking directly at Erica. "Nerds who think they matter all of a sudden."
Erica was irritated and tried hard not to let it show. This was a side of Carrie that Eric had never suspected; he'd even had a few fantasies about her. Erica, though, had long since stopped seeing anything attractive about the poisonous diva.
She gave up the struggle to hold her patience. "Lots of people think they matter when they don't, I guess," she said, looking directly into Carrie's eyes.
The girl's intensified scowl was gratifying, along with the couple of muffled snorts and giggles from bystanders. Carrie was silent for a moment, obviously searching for a comeback. Finally, she bit out, "Some of 'em need to be taught. 'I guess.'"
Erica was careful not to look Carrie's way as she and her friends left. The quip had probably been a mistake. Carrie would never have been a friend, but she'd just guaranteed the girl would now be a foe.
While she mulled over that, Erica noticed one of the current cheerleaders gazing at her thoughtfully. Trahn was a petite girl of Vietnamese descent; cute, and easy to support on one's shoulders.
Suddenly, she smiled Erica's way. "We were gonna go get some lunch. Wanna come?"
Erica pondered very briefly. Entirely aside from the fact that she could use some allies on the squad - especially if she were going to have Carrie for an enemy - she was feeling lonely. More friends were always a good thing. "Sure. Lemme pack up."
As she walked with Trahn, Shianti, and Melanie to the parking lot, she realized another good thing about their offer. It meant she was doing an adequate job concealing her wandering eyes. Apparently they didn't realize she was a 'giant lesbo'. Although that term might not be strictly accurate in her case...
At the restaurant, she followed the other three girls' lead and ordered a salad. It was really surprising just how much of their conversation was devoted to boys. Erica didn't have a great deal to contribute on that score. Or rather, she could have told them a lot about how a teenage boy thought and felt. But how could she explain how she knew?
Interestingly, though, her nascent suspicions were confirmed. Females seemed to have a better handle on males than vice versa. For boys, the motives and desires of girls were generally incomprehensible. Conversely, girls at least seemed to understand what motivated boys, even if they had a hard time grasping why boys cared about certain things so much.
Driving her Mom's car home afterward, she reflected on that. Philosophers said "the unexamined life is not worth living"; she wryly admitted that the Transformation had forced her to examine nearly everything about her life. Rubbed her nose in it, as a matter of fact.
Indeed, she felt she, as Erica, understood Eric now in ways he'd never known himself. She was faintly embarrassed about how little he'd grasped of the distaff persuasion. More, he hadn't even imagined how little he'd understood.
And the things Eric had cared about? Well, she still cared about girls, and sports, and games, and she even missed the models a little. But - except for girls - she had a hard time working up the same obsessive enthusiasm Eric had felt for those things.
~~~~~
"Figures I have two tests the day I start my period again," Erica groused, trying to eat some plain toast as she wincingly held her abdomen.
Miranda chuckled ruefully. "Get used to it, my dear. Most of the time, life doesn't wait for your cycle." She stood and came around the table. "But I think I can help you a little, this once. Stand up, honey."
Erica did so, cautiously. "What, Mom?"
"Shush. Just hold still, dear." She placed her hands on her daughter's stomach, rubbing gently, and closed her eyes. Erica gasped as the pain faded rapidly, dropping to a minor twinge far easier to deal with.
"Oh wow..." Erica realized she shouldn't have been so... flabbergasted. The Transformation had been far more dramatic and profound, after all. But that had been disconnected from her Mother in some ways; she hadn't seen her do anything. At the time, it had felt more like some impersonal, external event.
This, though, was something else. Having her Mom just... 'lay on hands' and suck the pain away... It drove home the idea of her Mother as someone powerful, in command of supernatural forces.
But then she noticed Miranda pressing her own stomach. "Mom, what's wrong?"
"Healing Magic has its price, dear. Pain has to be absorbed to be processed."
"You mean, you're going to feel like... crap all day now?" She'd almost said 'shit' but Miranda was trying hard to de-coarsen Erica's vocabulary.
"Well, most of the day. But I have more experience than you, don't I?" Miranda said brightly. "And there are some concoctions I can whip up." Her Mother had told her that most witches had a talent, a special affinity for one branch or another of the Magical arts. Miranda was an herbalist, and a skilled one. The garden behind their house had purposes Eric had never imagined.
"Mind you do well on those tests now, dear."
"Thanks, Mom," Erica said, touched and feeling a little guilty. "I will."
~~~~~
In the end, Erica made the cheerleading squad, and decided to stay on, to her Mother's undisguised delight. Pleasing her Mother wasn't the reason she'd stuck with it, though. Nor was it the respect and admiration she saw in her sister's eyes when she'd announced the news over dinner; Haylie hadn't cared like that about baseball.
No, far more motivating had been the dislike she'd developed for Carrie and her crew. The snide jibes and not-so-muffled laughter had perversely urged her on. Erica steadfastly refused to give anyone an excuse to cut her, and then signed on partly to spite them. Besides, she definitely had some budding friendships with Trahn and the others.
And she had to concede, it forced her to get much more skilled at operating and balancing this new body. Heels were no problem anymore. She was nowhere close to the most talented, naturally - a standing back tuck wasn't going to be in her repertoire for a while. Though she could pull off a cartwheel or two now, and even got lifted into a Liberty on occasion, she was mostly a "base" supporting and catching other girls. She could live with that. She still was getting comfortable doing something so stereotypically 'girly' in public, anyway.
Finally, if nothing else, there was that view in the changing room... and the showers...
Did girls do everything for complicated reasons?
~~~~~
Erica tended to be one of the last girls done getting showered and dressed after gym. She just wasn't as practiced as the other girls at managing long hair. And with only two months under her straps, so to speak, she wasn't a speed demon at putting on a bra. Part of it, too, was that she had to fight the distraction of unclothed girls all around. She usually wound up rushing by the end to make it to Spanish class.
So she was surprised to find the girl who had the next locker over was still there, still getting dressed. She was usually pretty fast. Then Erica noticed what was wrong.
Kristina was crying.
She was trying not to show it, but a few tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and she was sniffling. She turned sharply away from Erica and pretended to arrange her things on the bench.
Erica nervously got her stuff out of the locker, pretending not to notice. Then she saw the girl's shoulders tremble. Hesitantly, she said, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine!" was the barked reply. Erica flinched and turned away.
Moments later, though, an actual sob leaked out. Kristina took a deep breath and turned to face Erica. "Oh, fuck, I might as well tell you. Whole school's gonna know anyway. I'm late."
Erica frowned. "We can still make it to class."
Kristina's face wrinkled into a feral snarl. "It's not funny, you fucking bitch!"
Finally she understood. "Oh fuck, oh shit, I'm sorry, I swear, I'm just stupid, honest! I didn't realize, I was just being a total fuckhead!" She'd only had two periods in her life, after all. But she couldn't say that.
Kristina peered suspiciously at Erica, but apparently decided to believe her. "Whatever. Like getting to class matters anymore."
"Well, maybe you really are just late..."
"I've never been a week late. I'm gonna get a test tonight, but I already know. Fucking Jimmy said he'd pull out."
"Oh," Erica said. "I don't think that's supposed to work so well anyway," she added without thinking.
"Apparently fucking not!" Kristina said.
Erica shut her mouth for a minute. Then, curiosity forced her to ask. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm not getting an abortion. It's wrong."
Erica didn't contest that. She was becoming increasingly educated in the life-worshipping religion of the Goddess. "Do you think you'll keep it?"
"I don't know. I keep thinking about what my mom and dad are gonna look like when I tell them."
A sobering thought indeed. "Wow."
"And I gotta tell Jimmy."
Erica thought for a moment about how Eric would have reacted if Ashley had told him she'd gotten pregnant. Not much beyond blind panic came to mind. Mostly feeling resentful and trapped.
Suddenly, irrationally, she was irritated and ashamed of Eric for that imaginary resentment. It was hardly the girl's fault alone when pregnancy happened... but the girl got almost all the consequences.
Hopefully Jimmy would be made of sterner stuff.
~~~~~
"Mom, I have to ask you something."
"What, sweetie?"
"Did the... the Transformation do something to my brain?"
Miranda pursed her lips. "I don't quite follow. What do you mean?"
"It's just, I..." Her eyes furrowed. "It's so hard to focus now."
"Not that I've noticed. You still spend too much time working on that computer of yours."
That got a very unladylike snort in reply. "So you say." Then Erica frowned. "No, I mean... when I'm working, I can't just shut everything out. I used to be able to hold a... a whole map of a program in my head, lose myself in the problem." The frown and the way she tapped her heel in frustration were ladylike; so much so that Miranda had to hide her grin.
"Now, it's like... I kept getting..." she groped for words. "...jolted out of my flow last night. Once, I just knew Haylie was gonna come in and ask me something. And, like, a minute later she did!" She shrugged and spread her arms. Goddess, Miranda thought, she makes such a beautiful young woman. "How could I know that? I had my headphones on! These days, if I didn't, I'd hear every sound in the house. I can't ignore that stuff anymore!"
"Calm down, punkin," Miranda said, interrupting the incipient rant. "It's all right. Everything's fine."
"What do you mean? This is normal?"
"For Sisters, yes. Birth-girls find it more natural, I suspect." She cocked her head to the side. "And most Sisters aren't quite so upset about it."
"What, so girls really are ditzier than boys?"
Erica finally noticed Miranda's scowl and shut up. Her Mother spoke with deliberation. "Ditzy, no. Scatterbrained, no. But a... wider scope of awareness, yes." Erica scowled now, too, but in puzzlement.
Miranda spoke on. "Men tend to focus on things, they get obsessed. I think I read somewhere that autism is an exaggeration of male traits or something." Erica cocked her head now, thinking about what her Mother was saying. "Women aren't like that. They can't be. Women are physically weaker than men, and less physically aggressive." She held up her hand, forestalling an objection. "Yes, yes, that's only on average, that's not every woman. But as generalizations go, you've got to admit it's pretty solid."
Erica nodded, only a little grudgingly. She'd become a lot more sensitive than Eric to anything that smacked of denigrating women.
"So, you'd expect women to be more attuned to their surroundings. To have greater... what's the term? 'Situational awareness'. You recall Mr. Kryspecki?" Seeing Erica's slow nod, she continued. "Men can afford to 'shut out the world'. Really, they're under pressure to excel - concentrating on something to the exclusion of everything else can be a strength." She shrugged then. "Women, on the other hand, almost always have more than one role to play."
Erica thanked her Mother and went off to digest that. There was more that Miranda could have said; that "women's intuition" was far from a myth where Sisters were concerned, that the 'awareness' they possessed had a strong psychic component. But often it took experience to tell the difference between intuition and mere wishful thinking. Her daughter's understanding would grow with time; when she was ready to recognize those feelings, she wouldn't need Miranda to tell her.
~~~~~
"Oh crap!" Erica blurted. She made a desperate grab for the syringe but it rolled off the counter and fell to the floor.
She bent over to pick it up. The wolf whistle and chuckles suddenly reminded her that she'd worn her shortest skirt today. Bolting back upright, she turned to glare at the whistler, praying she wouldn't blush.
Before she could say anything, Mrs. Conyers, the science teacher, snapped, "Knock it off, Tyrone." Erica turned back to the lab bench and tried to maintain her composure. She handed the syringe - more attentively this time - to Linda.
"Five milliliters, right?" her friend asked. Erica grunted in confirmation. Linda dribbled out another dose into the beaker before them.
As they waited, Erica seethed in anger and chagrin. "Wish I could pop him one," she muttered sotto voce to Linda.
Linda snorted. "Hey, at least guys notice when you bend over," she muttered back.
"Oh, come on, I think you look great. I'm sure the boys check you out, too." Erica tried to make it convincing. She felt a little guilty; Eric had paid her no mind.
"Could you tell one of them to ask me out, then?" Linda retorted. The plaintiveness was almost masked by the humor. Almost.
"You know..." Erica began hesitantly. "Don't take this the wrong way, I think you look great, but... you could, well, present yourself better..."
Linda looked at her coldly. "What are you getting at, cheerleader?"
Oh Goddess, Erica thought, I stepped in it now. "Please don't be mad! I just mean... I don't think those clothes are right for you, that's all!"
Linda's frown remained for a moment; then she relaxed a little. "I know," she admitted ruefully. "My dad won't let me work, he says I need to study. But he's a cheapskate, he won't give me hardly any money for clothes!"
"Oh, wow," Erica breathed in genuine sympathy. Then she felt a moment of shock when she realized it was genuine. She'd been forced to learn how important appearance was to a girl's standing... but it was astonishing how far she'd internalized it. She suddenly had a weird appreciation for her Mother.
A few seconds of indecision, then she went for it. "What if we went to the mall after school? You know, see what's on sale?"
"I don't have a car..."
"I can borrow my Mom's, I bet." Linda's answering smile boosted Erica's courage.
~~~~~
"Oooh, he's cute!" Linda gushed.
The subject of her positive appraisal ambled across the food court, carrying a heavily-laden tray. Erica glanced and "hmmphed" noncommittally. A fairly typical boy, perhaps taller than average. Handsome enough if you went for that sort of thing, she supposed.
"Oh, come on," Linda protested. "You gotta admit he's hot!"
The girls had been bargain-hunting for a while. Erica was nervous about giving fashion advice, since she was far from an expert, but much of what she'd been saying was channeled from her Mother's tips. And she herself had been paying much closer attention to what girls wore lately...
"He's all right, I guess," Erica said. "I'm not really worrying about boys yet," she added. She'd appended the 'yet' for social cover... but she wondered if it were more true than she wanted to acknowledge. She had a disquieting hunch that appreciating boys might be part of 'adjusting' to being a girl.
"You don't have to get married just 'cause you look!" Linda laughed. One final glance at her lust object, and she returned to the cinnamon bun they were splitting. "How cute is this this top? And only five dollars!"
"It looks totally rockin' on you," Erica said, smiling. It was one of her finds, and she was inordinately proud of it. But Goddess, it had been weird being in the changing room with Linda some of the time...
"How 'bout we check out Hot Topic before we go? Look over the clearance rack?"
"Sounds good," Erica lied. Although she'd hit her shopping-enjoyment limit two stores ago, she didn't want to disappoint Linda. "But then I gotta get the car home, my Mom'll be pissed."
That was another lie. Miranda had been overjoyed to hear Erica was going out to do 'girl stuff' with a friend; she wouldn't protest if the two were to get home at midnight.
Sadly but unsurprisingly, Linda did not actually limit her attention to the discount clothes. The Transformee tried not to fidget. It didn't seem to bother girls to just look around without any particular object in mind, without even intending to buy anything. Since Erica was trying to mimic them - no, become one of them, she reminded herself - she needed to cultivate a similar attitude.
Being less focused, however, she noticed Carrie first. The leader of the clique she detested. She turned away.
But Carrie had seen them, too. "Looking for more granny-panties to flash?" she asked with doe-eyed insouciance. On cue, her 'attendant' Nicole tittered. "I would've figured you were a thong girl..."
"I didn't think you even wore panties," Erica snapped.
"Sure I do," she replied casually, "but I don't need to flash mine to get the boys to look."
"Even that wouldn't help you," Nicole sneered at Linda.
Erica froze, seething. She didn't care about attracting boys, but Linda did. There was no need to drag her into this! How did bullies always know where the weak points were?
Nicole's expression suddenly contained a little concern; Carrie squinted, too. Erica realized her hands were balled into fists. Her fingernails were digging into her palms. She was almost paralyzed with self-conflict and confusion. Of course she wanted to protect and defend her friend. Sure, Eric would've hit a boy... but Carrie and Nicole were girls. Eric would never have hit a girl. And yet some part of her didn't feel it would be quite so wrong. Why?
Because, she realized, deep down she really did think of herself as a girl. Or, at least, not a boy. On some level she saw herself on equal terms with them; no longer on the other side of an absolute barrier.
It was a revelation, in some ways disturbing. However, it also meant that getting into physical brawls wasn't something she should do. In this kind of battle, it would be an admission she'd lost.
She forced herself to think. "The boys you get, do they care five minutes after?"
That got a reaction. Nicole looked outraged. Carrie stepped in. "Good luck getting even five minutes. Come on, Nicole, we don't want their clearance-rack smell on us."
Nicole looked for a moment like she wanted to continue, but after a sharp glance from Carrie she submitted to the girl's authority and they strode away.
Erica and Linda shopped for a only a few minutes more, and didn't buy anything. Neither of their hearts were in it anymore.
~~~~~
Linda was very quiet, just gazing out the window as Erica drove her home. She didn't respond much to Erica's attempts to start a conversation.
She pulled up in front of the Fletcher home and parked. Linda stirred, got ready to get out, but Erica grabbed her arm. "Wait."
"What?" Linda asked, slightly more annoyed than apathetic.
"Don't let those, those douchebags get to you. You're better than them."
"No, I'm not," Linda said. "They're right, no boy's ever gonna want me."
"That's crap. What the fuck do they know?"
"Boys. They know boys."
Randomly, Erica pondered what people would have thought was happening in the car if Eric had been driving Linda home, if Linda had been lingering in the car with a boy.
Not the time. "Screw those bitches. Who cares what they think?"
Now Linda seemed angry, not depressed. "Easy for you to say. You're gorgeous, the boys all drool over you cheerleader types." Linda sniffled. "I'll never be pretty like you."
Erica thought frantically. How would her Mom handle this? What would she say? "No, you won't." She paused just long enough for the shock to show on Linda's face, to make sure the next words would have an impact. "You're gonna be pretty like you."
Linda looked angry. "Don't feed me that..."
Erica overrode her. "You want to change something? Then change it. You don't have to be a cheerleader to be hot." She grabbed Linda's hands. "I promise, I'll help you. You think I'm some perfect girl, you have no idea. Believe me, everything you see, I had to learn." And a lot more recently than you could ever imagine, she thought to herself.
Linda remained obstinate. "I'm fat, and I've got acne everywhere, my hair is stringy..."
Erica interrupted the litany. "You can change that, if you decide to. I know more than you think about making big changes." She ticked off on her fingers. "We just started on clothes already. I'll help you exercise, we can diet together. You're not that big anyway. My Mom knows a lot of, of herbal medicines, I'll bet we can fix that acne. Your hair's fine - a little conditioner, maybe the right style, that's all." She smiled a challenge. "What else you got? You can fix it, if you try."
Linda looked at her with wide eyes, slowly filling with hope. Erica's heart warmed to see it.
~~~~~
Three days later, Erica heard two girls gossiping in the bathroom to the effect that Kristina was "knocked up". Her heart sank.
An hour after that, in the lunch line, she saw the evidence. Kristina sat alone. Her friends were elsewhere. A glance toward the windows - Jimmy wasn't alone. He had his boys with him, and some girls too.
Erica felt irritation building. She worked to calm down. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked. Once she and Linda got their food she marched right over to Kristina's table, a puzzled Linda in tow.
Kristina gave her a resigned, sardonic once-over. "You've been talking, I see."
"I didn't say a thing. To anybody." Erica looked her right in the eye.
Kristina tilted her head to the side, appraising. "No, I guess you didn't." She seemed to deflate, as if the defiance had been keeping her going. "Didn't need you anyway." She glared in Jimmy's direction.
"Um, what's going on?" Linda asked quietly.
One look at Erica said so much. You really haven't been talking. Good. Thank you. But out loud, Kristina said, "Couple days ago I got to tell my parents I'm pregnant."
Linda gasped. "Oh, jeez..."
"Yeah, it was as fun as that. They weren't really mad, they were just so disappointed..." Her voice hitched a little, and she stopped to take a breath. When she continued, it was in a flat, emotionless tone. "They talked to the Penners." Jimmy's parents. "Check this out, they lawyered up. They want a DNA test."
Erica's jaw dropped. What an accusation, without coming out and saying it! She sat down next to the girl. Linda sat down more slowly across from them.
Kristina gave a wan smile. "They're not the only ones. That slut whore Prina always had a thing for Jimmy. Soon as she heard, she started telling everybody I just got knocked up so I could get at his money."
Erica was shaking her head, mouth still open. Kristina's family wasn't rich like the Penners. There'd be people who'd believe it. People who hadn't seen Kristina crying in a locker room, at least. She looked out the window. Prina was sitting right next to Jimmy. She glanced in their direction, such a smug look on her face...
Erica got hold of herself, turned back to Kristina. "Goddess, that sucks. Where are your friends?"
Kristina's eyes rolled. "They found other places to be today."
"That sucks," Erica repeated, genuinely angry now. "Well, guess we'll be sitting here for a while."
Linda had to think for a second, but then she sat up a little straighter. "Looks like it."
Kristina didn't actually say 'thank you', but her downcast smile carried the point.
~~~~~
Erica popped up out of the water. She sputtered for a few seconds. While she was starting to learn how to hold her head when she came up so that the hair fell away from her face, she'd forgotten this time. She brushed the strands off her nose and mouth and could breathe again.
She and Linda had come to visit Kristina at her house, and gone out for a swim in their pool. It was just a simple, above-ground, framed unit, but it felt good.
Swimming as a girl was different. She floated so easily; more fat, less dense muscle. The water flowed strangely over her breasts as she paddled, and her smaller feet didn't seem to generate as much thrust when she pumped her legs. There wasn't the same shock getting waist-deep into the water as a boy - no shrinkage to worry about. But cold water on feminine nipples could also wake you up.
She was the last one out of the pool, and she joined her friends sunning themselves on towels laid over the grass. She slipped her glasses on along the way. Kristina was actually pretty cute in a bikini, and even Linda looked all right in her one-piece. It was a shame she couldn't see them clearly when she was in the water.
Eric had never really hung out with Kristina, before. She'd just been a half-familiar face in the crowd. But they'd gotten acquainted over several lunches and she'd invited them over for a Sunday swim.
She settled onto her stomach and laid her head on crossed arms. Eyes closed, she enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her skin. The music from Kristina's iPod played in the background. She'd noticed that there was a lot of overlap in general music tastes between boys and girls, but there were differences, too. Girls tended to skew towards female artists, and away from crude or misogynistic lyrics. Mostly.
They talked for a little while. Nothing terribly heavy - the latest celebrity breakup, homework, a funny incident at the restaurant involving a tub of grease. The ACTs were coming up soon, and Linda was a little worried.
The topics were a bit different - girls tended to approach everything from a standpoint of relationships - and young women in particular tended to be rather animated. Aside from that, though, it was a lot like Eric slinging the shit with his bros.
And boy or girl, talking was thirsty work. "I'm gonna get a soda. Anybody else?" Both her friends agreed.
She stood and walked to the back door. Female fashions tended to expose more than boys; she'd gotten past the underdressed feeling long ago. Nevertheless, wearing a girls swimsuit was weird. Technically, Eric's trunks had covered up less skin than her one-piece; yet the swimsuit clung so tightly she felt almost naked. She'd shaved extra carefully last night, and even trimmed her bush back more than usual. Of course she'd tackled her pubic hair before - cheerleader skirts flipped up on a regular basis, it wouldn't do to have pubes showing. Still, she didn't shave everything off down there.
Not all of her fellow squadmates were as restrained, though. The memory made her nipples perk up. Fortunately, she could blame that on the cool, wet fabric.
Erica went into the house, and turned toward the kitchen. "Hey, Mrs. Weiss. Could we get some diets?"
"You bet!" Kristina's mom said, pulling open the refrigerator. "You want Diet Coke or Coke Zero?"
"Whatever is fine. I don't think Linda cares."
Mrs. Weiss pulled out three cans and handed them over. "Thank you so much for coming over. I know Kristina appreciates it."
The woman had a bit of a haunted look. She must have noticed that Kristina's old friends hadn't been coming by. Erica smiled as confidently as she could and said, "No problem, Mrs. Weiss. We're glad to be here."
"Come by anytime," Mrs. Weiss replied with perhaps a bit too much feeling for a simple pleasantry.
Erica felt good about that as she walked back outside. She'd learned that most girls needed the company of other girls about as much as they needed oxygen. Although, come to think of it - boys ran in packs, too. Yet for all that, boys seemed to be able to handle solitude better.
She cut her ruminations short as she passed the cans out and laid down on her towel. She couldn't spend all her time philosophizing! She resolved to chill and stop thinking about the heavy stuff for a while.
"I never noticed how many songs had 'baby' in them," Kristina said.
Erica struggled to switch gears back to 'serious'. "I guess you're right," she said, keeping her voice neutral.
"Have you thought any more... what you're gonna do?" Linda asked. "Like, the 'Juno' thing, or what?"
"I dunno. I'm thinking more and more like I might keep it." She said it casually, but Erica could see by the way her eyes searched the other girls' faces that she was intensely concerned how they'd react.
Erica waited, but Linda didn't say anything for a beat. So she stepped in. "That'd be tough..."
"I know that!" Kristina snapped.
Erica held up a hand. "Whoa, hey girlfriend, let me finish." She took a deep breath as Kristina backed down. "As I was saying, that'd be tough, but it's, like, doable. My Mom had me right after college, not high school. But, y'know... I think she did all right."
"Huh," Kristina mumbled.
"College would kinda suck with a baby, too." Linda pointed out.
Kristina bristled. "I wasn't planning to rush a sorority pushing a stroller!"
"I wasn't talking about parties!" Linda snapped back. "I mean classes and homework and feeding a baby at night!"
"Okay, everybody just chill," Erica interjected. "It's a big decision, either way." She looked at Kristina. "Would you want to maybe talk to my Mom? Get some, y'know, advice from someone who's been there?"
She looked so nervous and hopeful and guarded and scared... "Yeah. I think that might help."
They were all quiet for a few moments. Linda finally ventured to bring up an upcoming concert and they began to talk again, with relief. Erica got to give her brain a rest for a while after all.
~~~~~
The novice Sister lay in her bed, far more than vaguely frustrated. In fact, she was close to tears. It was remarkable how much fun she had cheerleading; not only was it genuinely challenging athletically and artistically, it also helped keep her in shape, plus she'd made some friends.
But that was also a trial. She didn't just like many of her squadmates... she was desperately attracted to them. And unlike most boys with a crush, she got to shower with the objects of her desire. She knew precisely what she was missing.
The pressure was becoming unbearable. Soon - very soon - she was going to make a pass at somebody. That couldn't end well... but her fingers just weren't enough anymore. Goddess, she was horny!
A knock came at the door. "Honey? Can I come in?"
"Sure, Mom," Erica called, sitting up.
Miranda walked in and sat on the bed next to Erica. "How are you doing, punkin?"
Erica sensed that the question was a little deeper than just the usual Motherly fussing - she was looking for a more in-depth status than just what the girl was feeling at the moment. Marveling that she could get so much out of a few words, a tone, she put some thought into her reply. "Mostly okay... but it's hard, Mom."
"You're tense," Miranda said knowingly.
"Well... yeah," Erica said, looking away. She didn't want to tell her Mom about the immediate reason for her tension. "I have to watch myself constantly. It's getting easier, but I still have to think about what I say or do a lot of the time."
Miranda nodded. "Lay down here, honey," she said, patting the bed. "I'll rub your back and we can talk."
Erica did as she was bid, and Miranda's hands went to work, kneading tight muscles. "If it helps, I think you're doing splendidly. I've never been more proud of you than these last few weeks." Motherly love drenched the words. "Especially how you handled things with Kristina."
Miranda had been very understanding when Erica had
discussed her new friend's situation. Kristina had been relieved, the
next day, to have someone to talk to who'd 'been there.' "Well, it does help some." Her Mother's hands were soothing.
"Here, let's take this teddy off. I can't get your shoulders properly." Erica complied, then lay back down, placing her face on her crossed forearms, turned away from her Mom. She'd have felt more uneasy about being in front of her Mother wearing just her panties if she hadn't gone through both 'Feminine Cleanliness 101' and 'Feminine Cleanliness 201 - Menstruation' so recently. The hands returned to their labors, stroking and squeezing shoulders and neck.
"I wonder if perhaps you're overthinking things a little," Miranda mused. "Part of the Transition is finding out what feels right to you." Spine and shoulderblades were rubbed now.
"But I'm supposed to adjust to being a girl," Erica objected meekly.
"Not just a girl," Miranda corrected. "Erica Jardin." She could hear the smile in her Mother's voice without looking.
She thought about that for a few moments. "So I don't have to be, y'know, just like all the other girls?"
"What girl is?" Miranda asked pointedly. Erica felt abashed. She kept quiet and focused on the hands running along her ribs.
Miranda continued. "Try out 'girlish' things, certainly. I daresay you've already found yourself enjoying things you never imagined, right?" Erica felt herself blushing a little, and was relieved Miranda couldn't see her face. "The Transition is about exploring and expressing parts of yourself that Eric may have neglected." A slight chuckle. "That he might not have had the courage to explore."
That was an interesting thought. But just then Erica discovered a new problem. She was getting turned on. There was something so sensual about a backrub!
Miranda spoke on, never pausing in her caresses. "All I ask is that you stay open to new things. If you find something is just not you, though... don't feel you need to keep doing it for my sake, or the Transition's sake. The goal is becoming someone you're comfortable with. Discovering who you are, not denying who you were."
That bore thoughtful consideration - which Erica was finding increasingly difficult to summon. However, Miranda wasn't finished. "Don't let what people expect of you drive that. You have a unique and extraordinary perspective on girlhood. Naturally you'll be a unique and extraordinary girl."
More thoughts she'd have to reflect on. Later. Despite the inappropriateness of the situation, the sensation of someone's hands on her body was definitely getting her wet. Goddess, she thought, I didn't realize I was that horny!
Unable to think what to do, she simply lay there and let her Mom continue the massage. The effect was perverse in more than one way. Her tension wasn't relieved so much as transmuted, redistributed. Entirely different kinds of aches had begun.
Suddenly Erica twitched, a sputtering laugh forced from her as her Mom tickled her side. "Sorry, honey, I couldn't resist." Miranda retreated to simple effluage. But Erica's heart rate refused to settle.
Miranda's hands slid lower, her fingers glided over her daughter's shapely, panty-clad rump. Erica almost said something then. But a lingering uncertainty held her back; maybe between women that wasn't inappropriate? They did hug more, but still...
And there was the other problem - her breath was getting hard to control. It was all she could do to breathe deeply and evenly. If she tried to talk it'd come out as a pant...
Ultimately it was that that kept her silent as Miranda took hold of the panties at both sides and drew them down and off.
Miranda was scrutinizing her daughter's emotions meticulously. If she'd sensed honest resistance or - Goddess forbid - any whiff of trauma, she'd have backed off instantly. Would never have proceeded this far to begin with. But Sisters, especially new ones, had outsized libidos...
Her Mom's hands worked one leg now. The sensation of fingers on her inner thigh was mesmerizing. Erica was deeply grateful that she was laying on her belly; her nipples were probably making dents in the mattress.
One leg was gently eased away from the other. Erica knew that her pussy - and the condition it was in - must have been visible then. She was paralyzed by lust and confusion and...
A hand settled on top of her rear. It kept her from twitching too far when the finger slid between her vulva.
A wordless, conflicted, yet passionate cry escaped her lips. Then: "M...Mom?" Erica blurted.
"Relax, honey. Everything's all right." Miranda's voice was serene and confident.
Erica was paralyzed, pierced with desires that contested with inhibitions which unexpectedly seemed inadequate. The probing digits gently stroked her clit, over the hood. Slowly, slowly... Erica let out a long, low, loud moan. It felt so good...
Then she snapped her mouth shut and froze. "Haylie..." she whispered in terror.
"Don't worry, sweetie," her Mother said back in reassurance, at a conversational volume. "No one can hear anything outside this room." A wicked chuckle. "Sisters have perfected that spell."
As it turned out, she was right.
~~~~~
Erica woke sharply. For just a moment, she was unsure if the images in her mind were dream or memory. She was alone in her bed. But the feelings in her own body, the faint odors in the room, the traces of sweat on her skin - the fact that she was naked - told her where the truth lay.
Haltingly, she pulled on a nightgown and slippers. Despite the fact that daylight filtered through the windows, she had a sense of déjà vu as she made her way downstairs, that only increased when she found her Mother seated at the kitchen table.
Erica just stood in the doorway, unsure. Unsure what to say, what to think, how she felt, how to respond.
"Good morning, honey." Miranda said gently. "How did you sleep?"
Erica stared for a few heartbeats, then shrugged slowly.
"Are you all right, dear?" Miranda asked carefully.
"I..." Erica began. She had no idea how to answer that. She shrugged again in confusion.
Her Mother sighed in understanding. After a pause, she spoke. "The Sisterhood's traditions are very old, punkin. Very, very old." She shrugged, hands spread. "And they fit. You need a sexual outlet - all new Sisters do. But you're not quite ready for a relationship with someone who doesn't understand your special situation... and who could understand better than another Sister?"
"But..." Erica couldn't even think of the words.
After a moment, Miranda spoke gently. "Erica, I would never force this on you. If it makes you feel uncomfortable, if you decide you don't want my help in that way, I will understand. It is your choice." She smiled; such maternal comfort shone on her face that Erica suddenly had to fight back tears. "Now and forever."
She looked away and swallowed hard. "I... I'll have to think about it."
"Of course. Don't feel you have to decide right now, or that you have to decide for all time." A smile with equal parts love and humor, now. "It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind, after all."
Erica found she could chuckle a little at that. Then, awkwardly, she looked down at the floor. "I have to get some breakfast. I'm supposed to meet Linda and Kristina later."
Miranda stood, came over, and hugged Erica. "Go to it, punkin!" she said. Then, as she walked to the stairs, she called back over her shoulder. "I'm going to go wake Haylie."
~~~~~
Erica sprinted madly, then did a quick reverse. Aaron, eyes on Shianti, didn't see her switch direction in time, and kept moving right. Shianti took advantage and whipped the frisbee to Erica.
She caught it and pivoted gracefully on one foot. A bullet pass to Trahn and the girls scored again.
"Yes!" Erica gloated. She hadn't played Ultimate in a while, and she was using a new body to do it. But Eric had been a killer cutter, and she was doing well enough. She'd certainly surprised the boys.
Aaron gave her a strained smile and ran to the other end of the
field. Erica loped to join the other girls. She'd met with Trahn and
her crew in the park to hang for a while before the car wash. They'd brought a group of boys who were the kind of casual semi-boyfriends so common now, and a girls-vs-boys Ultimate game broke out. The girls had just enhanced their lead.
As they were lining up, Trahn tossed the disc to Erica. It was her turn to pull. She stared intently as the boys lined up, getting ready to launch the disc into play.
"Take it easy on the guys, Erica," Melanie said under her breath.
"Yeah, they get so pissy if we win," Trahn concurred.
Erica peered narrowly at her teammates. "They're not taking it easy on us!" she protested.
"Hey, you ain't going to a movie with them later," Shianti noted.
"C'mon, Erica. You know how guys are." Melanie sounded amused and resigned.
Erica turned back to the boys. They did seem unduly irritated. She tried to picture how Eric would have felt, losing to these girls.
Kyle signaled they were ready. She deliberately threw a brick.
It was a still a close game, but the boys won. Erica thought she could
see relief lurking in everyone's faces. The girls said their goodbyes and went home to change and get ready to go to work.
On the way, she pondered her latest unexpected lesson. How frequently had Eric been coddled? How many times had a girl let him win to protect his fragile male ego?
~~~~~
"Jeez, skanky much?" Shianti said quietly as she glanced toward Nicole. The girl was waving and yelling at the passing traffic in a string bikini, holding the "Car Wash" sign with another cheerleader. As fundraisers went it was almost cliché, but it was proving remunerative.
Erica nodded in unison with Trahn. She wasn't wearing anything too slutty. A tight-ish T-shirt, shorts, flip-flops. Some of the girls were really pushing it, though. And somehow the most-exposed ones seemed to get more time on advertising duty...
Their customers were almost all men. It wasn't even close, the ratio was easily ten to one. A fraction were fellow high-school students, but most were older.
The other girls seemed to find it funny the way the way the guys stared or ogled. Some men were more subtle than others about it, but there was no doubt what was going on. Erica was faintly shocked at how pragmatically, how matter-of-factly, her teammates exploited their looks. But then, how could girls not be aware of the power they had in that regard? It wasn't like boys weren't equally calculating in applying their own advantages. And she was learning that, for women, accomplishing things frequently required convincing men to allow or assist them.
She felt an unsettling, unfamiliar mix of emotions. Annoyed, discomfited... and yet flattered at the attention of the guys as she helped wash their cars. Maybe they didn't eye her as often as, say, Sierra or Nicole, who were barely clothed and seemed to be in some kind of bending-over competition. But she still got inspected. And she brought in customers when it was her turn to wave signs.
Of course, after the first few cars, the team got wet. And Erica hadn't had the experience to anticipate how translucent a white t-shirt could get once it got damp. Her bra was clearly visible for most of the fundraiser.
There were other things she learned that day. For example, a wet bra could be exceedingly uncomfortable. And for the first time in a while, she missed something Eric had been able to do - take his shirt off on a hot day.
She avoided Carrie in her Daisy Duke cutoffs and bikini top. The other girl seemed content to ignore her. She should have felt reassured... but instead she had a strange foreboding.
~~~~~
Linda huffed as Erica ran along next to her. Exercise had been a struggle, but she was getting there. A few pounds had been shed so far.
Linda didn't get along with the cheerleaders very well. Balancing the friendships sometimes took delicate effort. Erica had skipped out on a before-practice gathering to make sure the girl got out and ran.
Very soon, they were back in front of her house. They checked her pulse and did a little cooling-off. "Tomorrow, some weights," Erica said enthusiastically.
Her excitement was clearly not shared. "Oh, God, I can't believe you. I don't want to look like a boy."
Erica rolled her eyes. "I told you, those muscle-women have to work out like crazy to look like that. And I'm pretty sure most of 'em are on steroids or something." She shook her head. "The more muscle you have, the more calories you burn." She out her arm around Linda's shoulders. "That way, you won't have to diet as much."
"I'm never gonna forgive you for this," Linda muttered. But she was joking. Erica hoped, anyway.
~~~~~
Erica came up to the fence and waved to Cory. He was captain of the track team, and the boys were milling around doing stretches and warmups before practice.
He stared at her for a moment, then finished saying something to a couple of guys. He came over to where she stood, one of the guys tagging along.
"Hey, Erica. What's up?" Cory was one of the more popular boys in school. He could be charming and self-assured, and he was far from ugly. Dark hair and eyes, though his skin didn't take a tan well. That was noticeable here in southern California.
But he wasn't turning on the charm now. Or even good humor. He was all business. Not rude, but not inviting either.
She didn't let it discourage her. "I wanted to go over the project, as a group. Think we could maybe all get lunch somewhere? I was thinking Sunday?" The latest assignment in programming had come down and there was a lot to plan out.
He squinted. "Sorry, gonna be busy Sunday. We might have to just Skype it."
"Hey, man, we could meet up later if you got something going on," the other guy said.
Cory waved to indicate him, betraying annoyance for an instant. "You've met Brandon, right?"
"Yeah, once or twice. Hey." Erica had run into this a lot. Since her Mom had blurred everyone's memories, a lot of people knew her without quite remembering how. Eric had seen Brandon plenty; he was Cory's best friend. The two hung out together a lot. Brandon had even tagged along when the programming group met a couple times.
He was long and lean, two inches taller than Cory, with brown hair and a somewhat narrow but not unhandsome face. He hadn't interacted with Eric much - he wasn't into programming like Cory - but seemed like a decent-enough guy. He wasn't staring openly at her tits, which automatically put him above the 90th percentile among high-school boys.
Cory said, just a trifle brusquely, "We gotta get practice started. I'll let you know about Sunday."
"Okay, see you later," she said, and nodded to Brandon.
"See ya," Cory said, and Brandon said "Bye." The boys walked back to the group. Cory started yelling something.
It really seemed like Cory was avoiding her. She shook her head as she walked toward the parking lot. Her Mom had let her drive to school today.
~~~~~
Some of her underwear had a bit of lace on it. Most of it had colors or patterns. None of it could be mistaken for male briefs, let alone boxers. Still and all, despite the decorative touches, her collection was predominately functional.
This newest acquisition wasn't remotely utilitarian. Stockings, an actual garter belt, panties and a corset. All of it pink, all of it very lacy, filigreed and embroidered. Combined with the tall pink heels, it was more than a little uncomfortable. It restricted her movements somewhat - especially if she wanted to keep her breasts from spilling out of the cups - and would make awkward lumps under almost all her clothes.
She didn't care. Staring enraptured into the mirror, utility was the very furthest thing from her mind.
Procuring it had been a challenge. She didn't want anyone to know. Not her friends, nor her family. She'd left work early tonight and raced to the mall. The purchase had happened right at closing time; she'd been praying it would fit. Lingerie wasn't something that could be returned, for obvious reasons.
And then she'd gone home, and had to wait until it was her normal time to go to bed. She'd dawdled going up the stairs, when she'd wanted to run.
She turned and peeked over her shoulder at her backside. Thong panties were very strange. The term 'butt-floss' was entirely appropriate; perhaps one day she might get used to the feeling, but for now she was very aware of the strip up her crack. Although it certainly would eliminate panty lines, she mused.
Stockings were a new experience, too. The sensation of naked upper thighs vividly contrasted with the sheer fabric just below. Eric had always sneered at high heels, but Erica now could directly experiment and see the manner in which they shaped the calves, and the posture, and the walk. She was suddenly able to imagine circumstances where they'd be justified.
She turned again, examining her front in detail. She could see how the cut of the panties, the little flare at the base of the corset, all acted to emphasize the hips. Women's fashion had whole ranges of technique that men never really picked up on.
The corset wasn't a Victorian torture device. It held her torso in a firm embrace instead of a chokehold. It pulled her waist in just a bit, and the cups on top produced a remarkable amount of cleavage amplification. A cloth 'rose' between her boobs drew attention to the right spot.
The makeup she'd done was a shade or two more intense than what she wore to school. Darker eyes, redder lips, heavier blush; just short of trampy. Her favorite earrings dangled at either side of her face, and her hair had been brushed up and teased just a bit.
In some ways, it was like her first trip to the salon. She looked so different. Like an older, sexier sister. She turned just a bit more, reviewing her profile. The heels and the pressure of the fabric gave her an unusual - but very sexy - posture. Legs stretched lean, hips cocked at a rakish angle, tummy pulled in by the arch of her spine and the drawn-back shoulders - which made the pushed-up breasts stand out more - I'd do me, she thought.
She thought briefly of taking some pictures. Keeping such things private was always the problem. It wasn't something Eric had been into, but there were whole websites devoted to 'amateur' photos posted by vengeful ex-boyfriends. If her computer were hacked or stolen... no, better to keep it in her memory.
Well, maybe a couple photos just before she changed back. Would it be weird for Eric to be turned on by sexy photos of Erica?
Was it weird for her to be turned on now?
Weird or not, she definitely was. She adjusted her boobs a little, let her nipples peek over the edge of the cups. It was uncomfortable but so cute. She walked around in a circle, peeking at the mirror - Goddess, how her hips moved in these shoes!
She arranged herself at the end of the bed, in view of the mirror. The contrast between the adult clothes and the innocent stuffed animals was highly alluring. She got up on her hands and knees, taking in the curve of her rump.
Beyond being horny, she wasn't sure how to feel about all this. It was daunting and intriguing all at once, that she could look this way. Her Mother had developed her musical taste in the 80's, and a line from a Kate Bush song flickered through Erica's mind; Now I've powers o'er a woman's body...
That body had powers of its own in turn - the power to be sensual, sexy. Erica could invoke that power now, if she chose. But no geek could be unfamiliar with Spider-Man's saying, "With great power comes great responsibility." And risks.
Right now, though, that power could no longer be denied. She lay on her back, closed her eyes. The presence of the lingerie was no less pressing; she could feel it everywhere. Her hands tickled her nipples; then one glided lower, rubbing along the silken confection that encased her. The panties were so narrow that she easily slid them aside and probed between her vulva. She let out a little whimper...
~~~~~
Erica took deep, centering breaths - in, out. Halftime. This was the first chance for her to perform a full routine in front of a crowd.
They'd run a handful of short cheers in the first two quarters of the game, but nothing very elaborate. The girls had been kneeling on the sidelines for quite a while, and she was just trying to work the kinks out of her legs in the few moments before the music started.
Booming came from the speakers, and it was time. She caught the beat and began to count. This kind of dancing wasn't about feeling the music at all, she'd discovered - she barely heard the notes anymore. Instead it was one, two, kick, turn, three, four, dip, left, right, left, one, two, step, turn, up, left, right...
There was no warning. A row in front of her, Nicole spun, as she was supposed to. But a cloud of something left her hand as she twirled, washing into Erica's face. It took a moment for the effects to appear; Erica had already moved into her own spin. Tears filled her eyes and her nose was burning.
Pepper, she realized in panic.
Vision smeared, gasping, praying the tears wouldn't wash out a contact, she tried to keep going. But they'd reached the point where they had to march, and she rapidly lost her way. Someone bumped into her, and she staggered, nearly falling over.
It only lasted a few seconds, really. It wasn't like actual pepper spray or anything. Frantic blinking cleared her eyes before long; her nose was stuffed but she could breathe through her mouth. It was long enough, however. She was totally out of sync; chuckles sounded from the crowd as she fought to rejoin the formation.
"Go! Go! GO!" she shouted, then held her pose for a moment, one pom-pom in the air, one on her hip. The redness in her face had nothing to do with pepper. Intense mortification was starting to yield to fury. The squad walked off the field in unison; Erica clamped her hands together in the pom-poms to keep them from trembling.
Just as they made it to the sidelines, she saw Nicole glancing at Carrie. She turned her head to Carrie... and beheld the face of her enemy. Carrie was staring back.
The look from Carrie was venomously self-satisfied. Not that Erica had needed any confirmation who was ultimately responsible - Nicole hardly dared walk without Carrie's say-so. But the look said so much. I did it, I want you to know I did it, and there isn't a single thing you can do about it.
It was true, too, she realized. She couldn't prove Nicole had done anything. There'd been a row of cheerleaders in front of her, cameras wouldn't show anything. Even if pepper dust did show up on video, Nicole would never name Carrie. The puppetmistress was totally safe.
The captain came up to her. "Are you okay, Erica? What happened?" She sounded concerned. "Your eyes are so red!"
She hesitated a moment - specifically not glancing Carrie's way - then shrugged. "Guess my allergies were acting up."
"Are you okay to go on? Want to sit out the finale?"
"No!" She said quickly. "I can just take a pill. I'll be ready."
She sat well away from Carrie's clique. Trahn took a seat next her and gave her a quick hug. "It's no big deal. I fell off of Jennifer last year. Shit happens."
Erica glowered. "It wasn't allergies. Nicole threw pepper in my face."
Trahn absorbed that for a moment. "Shit. What are you gonna do?"
"I dunno. Stay away from them for now."
"I gotta go. See you later." Her friend hurried off. Erica realized that Trahn was scared. Carrie's hold on the squad had just been reinforced.
She made it through the finale. Her performance was hampered by needing to keep a vigilant watch on her surroundings, but nothing happened. In a way, that was worse. Not knowing what else Carrie might have planned.
Once the game was over and the captain had dismissed them she went to find her Mother and sister. Miranda almost radiated sympathy. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry it didn't go right this time, but you'll..."
Erica interrupted. "I just want to go h-home, Mom." The tears tried to come but she denied them. Not here, she thought. She almost lost it when Haylie touched her arm comfortingly, but instead she just grabbed her sister's hand and took a breath.
They got in the car, and set off toward home in silence. They made it a few blocks before she started bawling.
~~~~~
"Goddess, Mom, why did they have to be so mean?" Erica sat curled up on the couch, sniffling. "I never did anything to them!"
"You're still thinking like a boy, dear," Miranda chided gently. "You challenged her position. Just by talking back to her, you undermined her influence. She almost had to respond." She shook her head. "I wish you'd told me about her before."
The story had come spilling out on the ride home. Miranda had sent Haylie off to a friend's house for a time - over her protests - and now she comforted her eldest daughter.
"But that was so..." she trailed off. Adjectives failed her.
"This is one of the less savory aspects of womanhood. Especially at this age." Miranda shook her head. "Girls can be very cliquish. And very ruthless."
She moved closer, put her arm around Erica's shoulder. The way her daughter leaned into the embrace warmed her Mother's heart. "Boys trash-talk, but usually it isn't serious. With boys, you know it's serious when they fight." She smiled, then. "I won't say violence is a boy's first resort, but it's rarely further down than number three or four. Right?"
Erica's head bobbed, thoughtfully.
"Women handle these things differently, dear," Miranda said gently. "In a way, really, girls can be far more vicious. With boys, one fight and it's settled. But for girls, violence really is the last resort. Girls wage long, subtle, intricate campaigns." She sighed. "The battles are fought socially. With alliances and betrayals and sabotage and rumors and all those nonviolent, but often even more hurtful, weapons."
Erica recalled the incident at Hot Topic, and shrank in on herself. "What a wonderful world you introduced me to, Mom," she said dolefully. "So much to look forward to."
"Oh, come off it, young lady!" Miranda scolded. "I know things seem terrible right this moment, but what would Eric have told a cheerleader that got tripped up by a rival?"
Erica laughed a little hysterically. "He'd have said, 'Get over it!'"
Miranda smiled gently. "That's right, punkin." She tapped Erica's chin in a 'buck up' gesture. "It's not so bad as all that. So you screwed up one routine. You'll blow them away next time!"
She gave her daughter a Motherly squeeze. "And the future's not that bleak. Boys get in a lot of fights at this age, but most of them grow up. Likewise, girls tend to hit their Machiavellian peak in high school."
"Not a big help today," Erica muttered. But she'd recovered some composure. Her desolate expression had become a ferocious scowl. "I'm gonna get that bitch, I swear!"
Miranda clucked disapprovingly. "Peace and love are the guiding principles of the Sisterhood, dear." And yet her smile had a hint of mischief. "You know what they say. 'Living well is the best revenge.'"
"Screw that! I wanna kill her!" Erica fumed, only half serious.
"Mastering the ways women contest with each other is part of the Transition, you know. You don't have to be like Carrie - Goddess forbid! - but you do have to learn how to cope with the Carries of the world."
Erica shrugged then, in frustration. "But how?"
"I admit, she has more experience than you." Miranda said slowly. "Still, you do have resources other girls don't." She smiled. "No Mother likes seeing her daughter hurt... but most Mothers can't do Magic."
Erica stared at her Mother for a moment, eyebrows raised. Then she clasped her hands in front of her chest, bowed, and intoned, "Teach me, sensei." The kung-fu reference was more typical of a boy... but the grin on her face was all scheming girl, and Miranda was satisfied.
~~~~~
Kristina and Linda were full of sympathy at school the next day. "Be strong, sister. It'll be okay," Linda said with feeling. Erica had commiserated with both of them by text and voice earlier, and they were up to speed on the true source of her clumsiness.
She'd heard remarks all morning, some snickers, a few taunts. She refused to give anyone the satisfaction of reacting to them outwardly. Still, it rankled.
"It wasn't so bad, anyway. It was, like, thirty seconds, right?" Kristina said philosophically.
"You were there?" Erica asked, surprised. Neither Kristina nor Linda had any significant school spirit. Football games held little appeal, and while they didn't discourage Erica's cheerleading, neither did they endorse it.
Kristina hesitated. "Well... there's some videos. You know, cell phone vids. One of them's been going around Facebook."
Erica glared down at her food.
"Nobody's gonna care anyway, in a little while." Linda labored to reassure. "Wish we could do something about that whore Carrie, though."
"Don't worry, the Goddess will provide," Erica said with somewhat more faith than she actually felt. She and her Mother had brainstormed, discarding many concepts - acute yeast infections, Magically ferreting out Carrie's secrets, and so forth. Then, once Miranda had mentioned a particular concoction, an idea had sprung full-blown in her daughter's mind. A batch was brewing on Miranda's stove even now. They would finish preparations tonight. At the end of school tomorrow, she'd strike. Hopefully, Erica would be old news very soon.
~~~~~
She walked steadily down the hall, weaving through the other students. Keeping a sharp eye on her prey, and a firm rein on her anxiety. She'd been studiously avoiding Carrie. That hadn't been easy. Now, at last, it was time to go on the offensive.
She couldn't do any serious enchanting yet herself, but her technical skills had been brought into play. Though re-sealing the plastic top of the soda bottle with a heat gun was finicky work, Eric had assembled some fairly complex models in his time. And Erica's now-smaller fingers helped.
Poor Harry. He was a geek, and even less fortunate than most geeks consigned to high school, for he was hopelessly smitten with Carrie. When she'd needed math tutoring, Harry had offered. The position, however, amounted to doing her homework for her while she sat and texted. Erica marveled for a moment at the things boys would do for even the most remote chance at a girl. It looked kind of ridiculous from this side...
If this worked, though, Harry's luck was about to change for the better.
The moment had arrived. Carrie had set her backpack down as she rummaged in her locker. Erica pretended to trip over it, scattering its contents as she sprawled onto the floor.
Carrie whirled around, startled. "Oh, it's you. How fucking clumsy are you?"
"I'm sorry! It was an accident!" Erica said hurriedly. "Let me help..." She reached for some of the spilled books and sundries.
"Keep your stupid hands off my stuff!" Carrie shouted.
Erica stood and backed off quickly. "It was just an accident, I wasn't..."
Carrie continued to pack her things back up, and warded her off with a gesture. "Just get the fuck away from me, bitch!" Erica meekly sidled off.
As she rounded the corner, Erica sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Goddess that the switch had gone so well. She clutched the soda bottle that had been in Carrie's bag. The replacement, with its special extra ingredients, would now accompany Carrie to her tutoring session.
She got outside and boarded the bus, fretting all the way home. It might not work. The potion would give Carrie a strong, temporary infatuation for the nearest male, but it wouldn't override her free will. She might choose not to act on the feeling...
~~~~~
Linda: omg gw?
Erica: wat?
Linda: tamika saw carrie mackin on harry yao!!!
Erica: gtfo!
Linda: srsly! harry n carrie!! tongue action!!! ;)
Erica: wtf?!?!
Linda: ikr? gtg cul8r gf
Erica: l8r <3
Erica snapped her phone shut with a loud whoop, startling Haylie as they did their homework at the kitchen table. Miranda called from the next room, "I take it your plan worked?"
Erica was beaming as her Mother walked in. "Yup, that takes care of her. Hooking up with Harry? She's gonna have to negotiate like hell just to keep from losing too much ground. She won't have time for vendettas."
Miranda was smiling, too. "Nicely done, dear. You even did someone a favor."
"Yeah. Who knows, maybe some of Harry'll rub off on her."
"Can I have some of that potion?" Haylie asked slyly. "Tabi Bregger could use a little."
"Haylie, if you ever get in as much trouble as Erica did, I promise to help you, too." She cocked her head. "I'm pretty sure you can handle Tabitha, though."
~~~~~
The gossip started before she even made it to school the next day. She eavesdropped on a pair of students behind her on the bus, as they marveled over Carrie's poor judgement. It was the main topic of conversation as she and Linda dished before classes started. It even had its own name; she'd committed "Harry-Carrie", social suicide.
At lunch she spotted Harry walking out to the picnic tables. Maybe it was her imagination, but she didn't think she'd ever seen him walk with such confidence, with his head held quite that high. Kristina and Linda eagerly confirmed that Erica's foibles had been quite forgotten in the wake of this new distraction.
It all came to a head in the locker room after school, as the cheerleaders got ready for practice. Titters and giggles and sidelong smirks whirled around the room, as before. For a refreshing change, it was Carrie at the center steadfastly ignoring them, not Erica. Finally Brianna said, "What are you doing with that dork?"
Carrie flushed. "He's not a dork! He's sweet, and he's smart, and..."
"Gonna join the math club now?" Brianna cut her off. "How do you say 'Do me!' in Klingon, anyway?"
"He's not like that," Carrie riposted weakly. "He's a nice guy, not a..."
Brianna wouldn't let her finish. "Remember when Louis gave him a swirly before finals? You laughed so hard."
"I didn't know him then..." she said lamely.
"What do you think, Erica?" Brianna probed. Erica finally realized what was going on. Brianna hoped to knock Carrie out of her leadership position in the clique. And she was looking for Erica's help, offering an alliance. The other girls were conspicuously quiet, listening.
She thought swiftly. Was the enemy of her enemy her friend? For just that first instant, she was tempted to really stick it to Carrie, to say something vicious. But she recalled what her Mother had said about peace and love, as clearly as if Miranda were speaking in her ear.
And that brought to mind sayings from Eric's vanished science fiction collection - "Leave your enemy a line of retreat, unless you want a fight to the death." And even more in the spirit of the Sisterhood - "Your enemy is never a villain in his own eyes. Remember this; it may offer a way to make him your friend."
Friendship with Carrie didn't seem possible, or even desirable - but maybe she didn't have to fight to the death.
"Oh, whatever," she said casually. "I always thought Harry was kinda cute, anyway." That last would have an extra effect, she calculated. The shyness she'd displayed at the start of the year, her unapologetic braininess, and especially her regular refusal of propositions from boys had given her a reputation as something of a prude.
There was another moment of surprised silence. Brianna muttered, "Whatever."
Nicole interposed herself. "I hope we can run over the new cheer again. It's a real bitch." After a moment the subject change was accepted and the tension in the room dropped noticeably.
As they went out to the gym, Carrie gave Erica a look. There was respect in her eyes. No gratitude, unfortunately. But as before, the message came across. Okay. Truce, for now.
~~~~~
Erica's digital presence waxed over time. She had more Facebook friends now than Eric ever had, and spent more time IMing and commenting on posts. She had to upgrade her texting plan. It was funny; five hundred messages per month had seemed extravagant back when she was a boy.
Her gaming had taken a nosedive. It was fun as an occasional diversion, but she found herself getting bored after an hour or two of blasting digital enemies or jumping along virtual platforms. She'd start wondering what Linda or Kristina or Trahn or Melanie or Shianti were up to, and leave off to check their status.
The way she used technology had changed in other areas. Asking programming questions on technical forums was substantially less productive with a female name than a male one. It invited - or at least, the guys took it as an invitation for - flirting, sexist insults, and general pontificating to show off how smart they were. She had new accounts - that claimed to be male - for when she just needed a straightforward answer.
Continued in Part 3
~~~~~
Erica let out an exhausted sigh as she walked out of the restaurant where she worked. Her schedule had been rearranged to make room for cheerleading; late nights on Fridays were the usual now. And she had a morning practice tomorrow.
Hostessing wasn't as physically demanding as bussing or waitressing, but was draining anyway. She had to be friendly and courteous to everyone, no matter how they treated her, and it had forced her to become a lot better at makeup. And one of the waitresses that Eric had been friendly with now treated her very coldly. Eventually she'd gathered that the girl had hoped to be made a hostess but Erica's arrival had blocked that. Well, I am prettier than her, Erica thought, a little ashamed of how bitchy that sounded. But it was true.
She considered that for a moment, the feelings that knowledge evoked. There was satisfaction in it, a little like when Eric had been bigger or tougher or more skilled than another boy. But Eric hadn't been a bully, and she didn't want to be the female equivalent. Like Carrie. She resolved to try being nicer to Gretchen, and see if she could make a friend out of this enemy, at least.
Thus occupied, she failed to notice the guy lounging on the car parked next to her Mom's until she was almost on top of him. She'd made sure to park under a light (boys didn't think about things like that) and he was clearly watching her approach. A young man, college age... but he didn't look like college material. A sleeveless "wife-beater" tee exposed several tattoos and his close-cropped hair didn't hide the piercing in his eyebrow. He'd been one of her last customers of the night, part of a posse of similar guys. Her eyes darted about, but there was no sign of any of his crew nearby.
He hopped off the hood of his car. "Hey, baby! You lookin' fine!"
I should have some mace in my purse, she thought. "Thanks." She moved to the side, heading for her car.
"Why you in a big hurry? It's Friday night, babe, you should be out dancin'!"
"I'm just really tired." She put a hand in her purse, feeling for her keys. "I've gotta get home."
He didn't get in her way, and he stayed at the front of the car as she began to open it, but he was clearly disappointed. "Come on, chica, lemme give ya my digits. Call me when you get changed, I pick you up." He flashed what he clearly intended to be a winning smile. "You look like you need some fun."
"Not tonight, thanks." She got into the car swiftly and closed the door. The locks plunged down as she started the engine, and she relaxed a little. Her disappointed would-be swain went back to his car as she pulled away.
He probably hadn't even realized that he might scare her. Boys didn't usually understand how threatening they could come across. The ones who wouldn't dream of hurting a girl were often among the worst, simply because it didn't occur to them that they could be perceived as dangerous. But even Erica wasn't a mind-reader yet. A girl had to be cautious.
Now that she was on her way home - and could see he wasn't following her - she could settle down a little. It was kinda neat that a guy would let his buddies go on ahead, and wait for her shift to be over, just to ask her out. With the perspective from 'Eric', she knew she was pretty. But it was unexpectedly nice to get some confirmation from guys besides him...
~~~~~
The first few times she'd gone outside in a cheerleader uniform, she'd been intensely self-conscious. It had felt like all eyes were on her. She'd grown accustomed to wearing it by now - comfortable, even. Strolling through a crowded waterpark in a bikini brought the sensation back in full measure. Indeed, amplified.
Trahn and the rest showed no such concern, so she worked to ignore the feeling. Really, she wasn't drawing any more attention than could be expected. Of course, a gaggle of pretty girls in tight swimsuits could expect to attract a fair amount of attention.
For example, from the four boys who were following them in line for the big raft ride. The ones who were eager to strike up a conversation.
They succeeded. The boys were from far enough south that their school didn't even play against the girls'. They claimed not to be surprised the girls were cheerleaders, and avowed that no one at their school was remotely as hot. Erica's friends seemed to eat it up.
They moved as a group from the multiperson rafts to the singles, and raced down. Then to the lazy river, where they all spent time flipping each other's tubes over. She was glad she'd brought the strap to hold her glasses on. It looked kinda dorky, but she didn't want to lose a contact.
Idly, Erica wondered what Aaron and Kyle and the rest of that crew would think of the girls' flirting. Of course, these days 'boyfriends' and 'girlfriends' were the exception rather than the norm. Very often it was hard for anyone to determine if they were in a relationship. Not that there was much chance of anything serious happening; Trahn and the rest weren't sluts or anything. On the other hand, spending some time with cute boys was just the sort of thing Trahn and Melanie and Shianti would enjoy. And the boys could always hope.
Eric would have.
Erica couldn't come off as totally uninterested. She had to play along. As the afternoon progressed, things shook themselves out. The groups sorted into informal couples. Unsurprisingly, the least ardent pursuer wound up with the least ardent pursuee. Erica was left with Silas. A blond, skinny young man.
He bought her an Icee at the concession stand, following the lead of the other guys. She thanked him and sipped her drink, making polite noises as he strove to make conversation.
They didn't have a lot in common. His sport was tennis. He wasn't a big gamer - though neither was she, anymore. They didn't go for the same kind of music. But then they hit on movies. Erica surprised him with her knowledge of obscure horror and sci-fi flicks.
Surprised - and, she suddenly grasped, intrigued. He was smiling more, going for more eye contact. Oh, Goddess, how to handle this? He seemed a decent enough boy, and not ugly. Almost gentlemanly.
She finished her drink in one long gulp. Ignoring the incipient brain-freeze, she declared to the lounging teens, "Hey, we didn't come here to talk, we came here to get wet, right?" An instant later, she realized how those words could be twisted.
It was not lost on the crowd; they all laughed. "Bite me. I meant I want to hit the rides!" Sometimes it was irritating how girls couldn't act too angry.
The group got up and moved toward the towering slides readily enough. They hit the singles this time, organizing a set of boys-vs-girls races. After the long line on the stairs, she and Silas went to separate tubes. She grabbed the bar and waited.
"One, two, three, go!" he shouted; she shoved herself down the tube, racing in mirror-image. She took a bad tumble off the end of the slide, though, bumping her hand painfully.
She popped up to the surface and swam to the edge. Silas was already climbing up from the water. As she pulled herself out, she looked at her throbbing fingers.
"Oh, fuck!" Erica cried. "I broke a nail!" Silas didn't manage to fully suppress a snort of amusement. She glared at him.
Boys laughed at how girls pampered their hands. However, they seldom forked out upwards of $30 on a manicure. How could she not bemoan the waste of time and money involved?
She wasn't really hurt, though, so they waited for Shianti and her counterpart to emerge, shouting and/or squealing, from the tubes.
After a while they'd wound up in the wave pool, which was turned off for the moment. Trahn and Melanie were wrestling with each other, atop the shoulders of a pair of boys. Presently Trahn fell into the water.
Melanie let out a triumphant cry. "Come on, Erica, bet I can take you, too!"
She looked at Silas, who shrugged and smiled. "They're going down," he said.
So Erica found herself astride Silas, approaching Mel and her steed. Some part of her was surprised at how even a not-particularly-muscular boy could carry her; a corner of her subconscious still thought she weighed as much as Eric.
It was unexpectedly unsettling, being in such close physical contact with a boy. Aside from brushing encounters in hallways, she hadn't touched a male since her Transformation. She was distractingly aware that her crotch was pressed up against the back of his neck.
It didn't mean anything that her nipples were hard. She was excited by the wresting, and her bikini was wet, that was all. It wasn't like she was actually turned on or anything.
The battle was joined. She grabbed Mel's arms, and they jerked and yanked at each other, trying to knock their opponent off-balance.
She tried a fake-out, pulling Mel one way, and then, when the girl leaned against the force, pushing hard. Mel overcorrected and fell burbling into the water.
"Whooo!" she yelled, along with Silas. He turned his head up against her belly and grinned.
She smiled back, sharing their triumph. Then, suddenly, she looked away. Guys always read more into a smile than girls meant. And she hadn't meant... anything... by that smile. It had just sort of happened.
He was nice, and might be chill to hang with. There wasn't - would never be - a spark of romance, though. So she reminded herself, firmly, as she dismounted.
Silas' smile was still there, but it had gone a bit crooked. She could see that he knew. Knew he wasn't going to get very far with her. To her mild surprise, he was taking it well enough. He sure wasn't gay - not the way his eyes moved - but she revised her estimates. Truly gentlemanly, nothing 'almost' about it.
They did another round of rides, got some food, and then it was time to head for home. Trahn's suitor followed them all the way to the door of the women's changing area, pressing for a phone number or an email.
Sheltered from the boys, they changed.
"Mike's actually pretty hot. Maybe I should let him friend me. Give Aaron something to worry about." Trahn mused.
"Did you see the way Silas was following Erica around?" Shianti glanced her way. "Yo, you should totally give him your number. He'd be your own little lapdog."
"With his tongue hanging out!" Mel giggled.
"Jeez, guys, quit it!" Erica said, pulling on her top. "Not gonna happen."
"For fuck's sake, Erica, I didn't say you were gonna blow him. But c'mon, he seemed actually nice, y'know?"
"OK, fine, he was kinda nice." At Mel's eye-roll, she added, "And cute. Happy now?"
"That's, like, only the second boy she ever called cute! Better quit, Mel, or she'll, like, have a stroke or something." Shianti was laughing.
Erica turned up her nose and looked away. It would've worked better if she hadn't been blushing a little. She turned her face away to stow her glasses and put in her contacts.
On the way out of the lockers, she suddenly realized she hadn't snuck even one peek at her friends while they'd been changing. Weird, she thought.
The boys had already changed, of course. Simpler clothes, quicker bathroom stops. Erica kind of missed that, a little. They came over and accompanied the girls out to the parking lot.
They said their goodbyes. Trahn actually did end up letting Mike friend her. As the pair bent over the Facebook apps on their phones, Silas approached Erica. "Hey, wanna check out a movie sometime?"
Erica struggled to come up with a way to let him down easy. "I... That, uh, sounds tight, but..."
He didn't leave her floundering. "Oh, well." He smiled, a shade wanly, and shrugged. "Had to try."
Before she could think herself out of the impulse, she leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "I had fun today, Silas. Thank you." Amazed at herself, she turned and walked quickly to their car and hopped in, mostly to make sure no other impulses happened.
She didn't talk much on the drive back. She was too preoccupied. For some reason, she kept thinking about that unplanned kiss.
~~~~~
She hissed through her teeth as she pulled the pants up her legs.
Eric never had occasion to learn how unwise it was to try to squeeze freshly-shaved legs into tight jeans. It felt like sandpaper on raw skin.
It was kind of funny - boys had tight bodies and wore loose clothes. Girls had soft bodies and wore tight clothes. Everything was cut to be more form-fitting, and nothing more so than jeans. There was a sweet spot; right after shaving, jeans were a torture. Once stubble started coming in, they were torture again. The window was only a few days before she'd have to shave her legs again.
But she knew Trahn and the others would be wearing jeans today, and she didn't want to stand out with a skirt or leggings. Clothing had major social implications for girls. Even Eric had noticed, sort of, how girls tended to dress like their friends. He'd never suspected just how much it was like gang colors.
Another thing Eric had somehow never learned about putting on tight jeans - the 'stretch dance'. She squatted, stood, and squatted again. She grabbed an ankle and pulled her foot up to flex her right knee, then her left. Now the denim was stretched out a little and she'd actually be able to walk down the stairs.
She checked herself out in the mirror, frowned, swapped out her blouse, evaluated, and switched back. A few minutes of makeup work and she raced down to grab her backpack and dash for the bus. Mornings were a lot more stressful as a girl sometimes. Or at least more involved.
~~~~~
One night Miranda took Haylie out to see a movie, just the two of them. When Erica went up to her room, she found a small, gift-wrapped package on the bed. Opening it apprehensively - the last time this had happened, her entire life had been turned inside out - she found a present from her Mother even more surreal than lingerie.
The vibrator was modestly-sized and bright pink. For the longest time she sat there, having no clue what to do with it. Or rather, she had plenty of ideas about what she could do with it - she was just unsure about whether she should.
Her own fingers felt amazing inside herself. Her Mother's, possibly even better. (And wasn't it strange that she took that thought almost in stride.) But this was so... phallic. Vaginas were built to accommodate that sort of shape... and that had implications she wasn't sure she wanted to consider. A flash of Silas' face came to mind; she dismissed it firmly.
She switched it on. It buzzed quietly, tingling in her hand. It felt a little like the electric razor Eric had used. Sort of. She flicked it off and sat there, conflicted, for what felt like a long time. Finally, she gathered her determination. So many other things about girlhood had proven to be more enjoyable, or at least less fearsome, than she'd anticipated. Why stop now?
Erica slipped off her skirt and panties in one motion, then unbuttoned her blouse. Eric would have tossed the clothes on the floor, she reflected, but she laid them over her chair; no sense getting them wrinkled. She unhooked her bra and set it on top of the pile. Then she laid back on the bed, picked up the toy, and with a deep breath, flicked it back on.
Familiarity hadn't bred contempt for her new body by any means, but it had taken the edge off its ability to arouse her. She still liked looking at women's bodies, but by now she wasn't usually excited simply by the thought of being one or the sight of her own form. Holding the 'personal massager', though, reawakened that sensation of the exotic. Eric simply hadn't been equipped to really enjoy this... but she was Erica now.
Curious, she brought her buzzing hand to a nipple. Her breath hissed in between her teeth, her body stiffening; it felt good, but intense. She eased off, but she could feel herself getting wet - this thing had possibilities. As she brushed her fingertips along her vulva, the hand with the toy came to rest on her belly; she almost giggled, it tickled so. After a time, she lifted it to her breast again. By now everything was more prepared and the tickling of her nipple was quite erotic.
She ran a finger between her lips: not quite ready. Patience was a virtue when dealing with female parts. She played gently with her clit and used the vibrator on her other breast. Restraint didn't need to be maintained for long; soon she brought her humming hand to replace the other at her crotch.
Cautious nonetheless, she laid the shaft lengthwise along the vulva; the shivering even there was pleasant, and fostered anticipation. Experimentally, she tried the tip against her clit, knowing what would happen. Sure enough, it made her twitch and yipe and she pulled back immediately, but as a quick tease it was delightful. Her mind flashed a picture of doing that to Miranda, but she tried to dispel the image by focusing on the moment.
One thing left to do. The tip moved down, gently parted her lips, the now-plentiful lubrication letting it slip easily in. In... deeper... she cried out, feeling as though the vibration was shaking her whole body. It was fun on the way out too, but then she could push it in again...
Goddess, it was good! She moved it out and in, faster and faster, with constantly growing enthusiasm, bucking her hips on each stroke. No need for restraint now!
Or so she thought. In that spirit, she got carried away and ended up thrusting a bit too deeply. Erica yelped in pain as the tip of the shaft impacted her cervix. She had to stop briefly to recover her composure and enthusiasm. Still, a little speedbump could hardly dissuade her for long.
As she resumed pumping the vibrator one-handed - with due diligence - she brought the fingers of her other hand to bear on her clit, rubbing furiously. At the time she was quite beyond appreciating her Mother's foresight, but looking back later she was grateful to have had the house to herself. Even with the anti-eavesdropping spell, the walls must have rattled with her screams. Repeatedly; the time just flew by.
Much panting and resting followed. Her ears were ringing... no, wait, that was the phone. She fumbled for a few seconds, coordination shot, before she got it. "Hello?" she breathed.
"Hey, honey, we're on our way home," Miranda said brightly. "How did you hold up without us?" A snigger. "Sounds like you had fun, too."
"Bite me," Erica growled, struggling to regulate her gasps.
"Don't tempt me, young lady!"
Erica didn't bring it out with her Mother the next night. She just didn't think she could deal with that yet, if ever.
Miranda wasn't worried. The Transition moved at its own pace, and she was just planting seeds.
~~~~~
Trahn, already held in the air, leaped higher. Erica and Melanie made a swift basket with their arms and caught Trahn as she descended. They flipped her forward, turned away from each other, arms out an angle, and held the pose. The bleachers erupted with applause.
The cheerleaders collected their pom-poms and marched in a line to one side of the gymnasium. The men's coach took the microphone and, after a quick thank-you to the squad, commenced his speech about the upcoming weekend's game. Erica still thought pep rallies were a little silly, but she had a lot more respect for the effort and planning they took to organize.
Once they'd taken up their position by the wall, she snuck a quick wave to Kristina and Linda, sitting together in the bleachers. They smiled and waved back. When Erica turned away, though, her nearby squadmates were frowning.
"Why do you even hang with those losers anyway?" Melanie asked bluntly, if under her breath.
Erica was shocked. After a moment, she managed, "They're not losers. They're sweet, and smart..."
Shianti snickered. "Getting preggers ain't so smart."
Trahn, as was her wont, took charge. "Mel, Shianti, chill," she hissed. "You know Erica's a brain. She's gotta have a few nerds to hang with." As diplomacy went, it was a little wanting, but Erica decided to accept it. Besides, she'd become acquainted with just how casually vicious girls could be, especially when boys weren't listening.
"You're coming to the Halloween party, right?" Trahn said, making it almost a demand.
"You bet!" Erica said back, feigning confidence she didn't feel.
~~~~~
"What the fuck am I gonna wear?" she asked herself quietly.
Not quietly enough. "Language, dear," Miranda chided, peeking past the door.
"Moooom! Don't sneak up on me!"
Miranda stepped in. "If you want privacy, close your door all the way."
But they both were smiling. Erica's smile faded first. Her Mother noticed, and asked, "Where are you going? Do you want some suggestions?"
Erica shook her head. "Not that kind of outfit. I need a costume for the team Halloween party."
"Ah. I see."
"I can't not go. It'd be a social disaster." She pouted, very naturally. "It's so much more complicated for girls. Or maybe it's just for me."
Miranda suppressed her smile at her daughter's very feminine social consciousness. Instead, she advised. "As a personal favor to me - and your Transition - please, no dressing up as a boy."
Erica flipped her hair dismissively. "I already figured that." She shrugged. "I don't wanna suggest anything, y'know, masculine."
"I... strongly doubt anyone could ever think you were a boy. Not anymore."
"Thanks, I guess. But that's not what I'm worried about." She was frowning now. "I'm more worried about people guessing I'm a lesbian. Dressing like a guy doesn't seem, y'know, super-smart."
"Hmmm." Miranda carefully didn't commit to anything in regards to Erica's sexuality. "In any case... what are you thinking of?"
"I dunno!" she wailed. "A lot of girls dress kinda... you know."
Miranda cocked her head, mock-puzzled. "'Kinda' how?"
"You know. All... uh... 'reputationally problematic'."
"Oh! You mean slutty!" Miranda smiled wickedly. "You could do that very well if you chose," she teased.
"Not gonna happen." Erica didn't elaborate, because she didn't want to elaborate. She'd fantasized about going forth in a few of the ensembles she'd played with in her bedroom, sure. Doing so in reality was a whole different concept. Indeed, the fact that it was tempting became a strong argument against it. Getting too turned on might overly challenge her self-control.
Miranda didn't press. "I suppose you could go in the other direction. Something sweet, like a princess or a fairy or whatnot."
"Mooooom! I'm a senior in high school!" Miranda felt mixed exasperation and admiration at how perfectly Erica had captured teenage girl drama.
"Well, do you have any ideas?"
"I'm thinking maybe, like, hippie chick, zombie, something funny like that. I was looking at video game characters, but, uh... most of them are kinda in the 'slutty' category." She shrugged. "I'd dress up like Chell, or maybe a FemShep, but I don't have time to make a decent portal gun or anything." She frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe Alice... nah, too much sewing."
"I... suppose I'll have to take your word for that," Miranda said, lips quirked.
~~~~~
In the end, she went for safety in numbers. She and Trahn and Melanie and Shianti joined in a theme, all portraying characters from 'Vocal Adrenaline' (the arch-rival choir on 'Glee'). She'd had her doubts, but quite a few people caught the reference.
The parents whose house was hosting the party weren't impressively watchful, and a couple bottles of liquor were smuggled in.
She passed on the alcohol. A little of her resolve was guilt. But she knew that, alone, probably wouldn't have let her resist the peer pressure. No, her reluctance stemmed almost entirely from the fear that, drunk, she'd say or do something that would reveal her sexual proclivities if not her true former nature.
Parties - at least, these sorts of parties - were different now. Eric had been to a handful; that night with Ashley had been one. Guys talked and hung out, but were ever on the alert for an opening, some way to seize the attention of some girl. Erica's main goal was to avoid getting seized upon. She worked hard to never be alone, to always have a girlfriend handy. Safety in numbers again.
Of course, her girlfriends didn't always cooperate. They worked to either hold or attract the attention of particular boys. Trahn always had one eye out for Aaron, Shianti and Isaiah slipped off to a quiet corner before long, and Melanie - being recently detached - had her eyes fixed firmly on Fredrico. Erica was perforce dragged along into his orbit. And thus, his friends'.
She wound up getting moved on by a guy named Javier. He was known as a bit of a player - charming, and handsome. Maybe he viewed her as a challenge. She wished she could let him know he was wasting his time. At least she managed to direct the conversation in non-romantic directions. Before long, they were having a friendly debate about the merits of console and PC gaming.
"Sure, a Playstation or an Xbox is easier," she said. "But a PC can be upgraded. I'm on my second video card, I'm good for two more years, easy."
Javier smiled. Erica could see why he usually managed to have a girlfriend, even with the overdone afro wig he had on. His costume was a basketball player - his shorts actually showed off his legs well. It was kind of a joke, his buddy Leon was black, and they'd traded stereotypes. Leon was wearing a Mariachi player costume.
"But it costs so much. My boy Freddy here dropped almost a grand on his." He gave him a friendly knock on the shoulder. "That's why I always gotta drive his broke ass around."
Fredrico smiled. As well he should, he was clearly having fun with Melanie. "But my games look sweet!"
Javier was unimpressed. "But I can afford gas. I got more money for games, too."
Dammit, how did he get me this worked up? she wondered. "That's not true. Have you seen a Steam sale? And there's all the old games. On PC you can play 'em, but backward compatibility's gone with the new gen."
"Gimme a controller anyway." He mimed typing and waving his hand around. "None of this mouse-and-keyboard crap." It was a dis, but somehow he made it funny instead of irritating.
She grinned. "That's skill, sucker. There's a reason shooters don't do cross-play with PC. Console jockeys would get creamed." She waved her hand dismissively. "Aim assist, ha!"
Melanie spoke up, then. "C'mon, Erica, I want another drink." She took her arm and led her away. "Back soon, boys!"
As soon as they were out of earshot, she said, "Can you maybe tone it down a little? Or go hang with Shianti for a bit? Freddy's listening more to you two than to me."
Erica blinked. "Sure. Looked like you were doing all right."
"Think so? Maybe. But I wanna see if I can get him alone for a bit." She poured Erica some soda, then filled her own cup. "Just do me a solid for a little while?"
Erica smiled and said, "Sure, no prob. I'll circulate a little." It bothered her a little to abandon an argument. Still, Eric would probably rather have died than back down. She didn't care quite so much about dominating an opponent like that. For some reason, though, she wanted to head back to banter more with Javier anyway.
Melanie started back, and Erica went to see who was hanging in the dining room. Just as she turned the cornet, she looked back one last time at Javier. Why was he so interesting?
~~~~~
"How did I get talked into this?" Erica fretted as she finished packing her bag.
Haylie was exasperated as only an eleven-year-old girl could be. "It's just a sleepover!" she barked. "What's the big deal?"
"Now, honey, remember, Erica hasn't done this as a girl before," Miranda said, amused.
"I don't know what girls do at something like this," she muttered. She almost turned to her Mother, who'd been such a font of advice... but then she remembered Miranda hadn't been a girl until college. She looked at Haylie. "What do you do?"
Haylie squinted up at her big sister for a second. Then she seemed to soften a little, taking pity on the obviously-worried teenager. "Well, we talk, and watch movies, and play games. Sometimes we dress up or do our hair or something." She thought for a second. "Mrs. Lehnert let us try some of her makeup."
"What do you talk about?" Erica asked, curiosity sharpened by the circumstances.
"Mostly boys," Haylie said in a 'no-duh' tone. "Or we talk about the other girls, or tell secrets."
Erica wasn't exactly reassured by all this, but she gave her little sister a hug. "Thanks for being honest, sis," she said. She hefted her bag and they went downstairs to the car.
They talked on the way over, but not about anything important. Sometimes women talked simply to demonstrate that the lines of communication were open; it was different from guys, who usually had a point they wanted to make. It had taken a little getting used to, but she drew comfort from it now.
At least one kind of tension didn't plague her - much, anyway. She and Miranda had made quite a bit of love the night before, once Haylie went to bed. Erica had tried to wear out her sex drive as much as she could.
Once they turned onto Linda's street, though, Erica fell silent. "Just relax and be yourself, punkin," Miranda said reassuringly. "Just have fun. They're your friends, not a test!"
At that, Erica smiled a little. "I guess I am being kinda the drama queen," she admitted.
"Ya think?!" Haylie teased.
Miranda dropped her off in front of Linda's house. She and Haylie drove to catch a movie; they were going to have a Mother-Daughter night.
Linda pulled the door open before Erica made it up onto the porch, calling out "Hey girlfriend!"
She got introduced to Mr. Fletcher, then Linda hustled her upstairs to her room, past a messy bedroom with her fifteen-year-old brother typing away at his computer. He shot a glance at the girls as they passed by.
Kristina lounged on Linda's bed, reading a magazine. "So, what do you wanna do?" Erica asked, trying to hide her nervousness as she set her pack on the floor. "I kinda haven't slept over anywhere since I was, like, Haylie's age," she added in a sudden burst of inspiration.
"I dunno, what do you want to do?" Linda asked, unconcerned.
Erica was only stumped for a moment. She got her laptop hooked up to their router and showed them a couple of funny videos. Laughter helped relax her a little. It was nice that girls didn't have to fear being silly.
She looked up, suddenly having a feeling of being watched. The door had been pushed open a little bit, and about a quarter of a face peeked through. Linda followed her glance, and shrieked ferociously, "Mike! Get out of here, you asshole!" The boy disappeared.
"Sorry about my brother," Linda apologized. "He's such a creep. I found a sock next to his bed once," she confided. "It was crusty."
"Eeeeeeeew!" Erica cried in sync with Kristina, truly repulsed. She didn't miss having to deal with that mess every time she beat off. At least Eric had been more fastidious about it, even when he'd been Mike's age.
She did wind up having fun, and she didn't have to work at it. The girls split a pizza for dinner, and then had a little ice cream and watched a teen vampire movie. It wouldn't have been Erica's choice, but Linda went for them and Erica liked seeing her happy. Besides, it wasn't all that bad. The male lead was a much better actor than she'd expected. At least, later on, that's what she told herself was the reason for her close attention to his screen time.
Kristina's presence helped bring out the subtext. Vampires were symbolic to girls, Erica finally realized. Attractive; but let them do what they wanted to you and there was no turning back - you'd be forever changed. And they wouldn't be, not anything like the same way. The stakes were so much higher for girls, no wonder they valued commitment so much more than guys.
It felt like a major insight, one Eric could never have had. She spent the rest of the movie puzzling over how much more had changed than just her habits and outward behavior... when she wasn't inwardly chuckling about how the girl mooned over her undead swain. She'd never flip like that over a boy.
Once the flick was over, they went upstairs and looked over Linda's wardrobe; Kristina had some good suggestions for some inexpensive additions that would widen the options dramatically. The did a little playing around with hairstyles. Erica kind of liked how she looked with a few braids. They painted each other's toenails - those were hard to reach yourself. And they talked.
They talked about school. They talked about jobs - Linda was trying to convince her dad to let her get one, so she'd have a little spending money. They talked about friends and told stories of when they were little kids. (Erica had to do some translation there.) They talked about movies and music and books. And, eventually, they talked about guys.
It was very strange, and not for the reasons she would have thought. She understood teenage boys well enough, having been one. But trying to frame that understanding for girlish conversation forced her to realize that she had gone a long way toward viewing guys from the outside. As an observer, not a member of the tribe.
And yet, she couldn't honestly call herself a citizen of 'Girl Nation'. She was still betwixt and between, an alien working toward residency. It was disheartening to recognize how much 'acclimating' there was still to do. Not one hour ago she'd been thinking how far she'd come.
Linda put her hand on Erica's arm. She realized she'd trailed off in the middle of a sentence. "You okay?" Linda asked.
Erica put on a smile. "Yeah, sorry. I was just... thinking."
"You know, maybe you shouldn't be so picky about guys," Linda said. "You could at least give some of 'em a chance."
"Not too much of a chance," Kristina muttered.
Linda waved it off. "You know what I meant."
"Maybe someday. It's just... not time yet."
Linda shrugged, then smiled. "Okay, but I get the feeling when you do find a guy you like, you're gonna fall hard."
Erica didn't know what to say to that.
In the end, she had a good time. They were just hanging out, after all.
She had to break off texting with Trahn when it was time to go to sleep. Not that she hadn't been talking with Linda and Kristina at the same time, either. It seemed like these days she could keep up two conversations at once. She wasn't sure if becoming a girl had given her the skill, or if Eric could have done that if he'd practiced it more. Either way, it was sorta tight.
Erica made sure she was alone in the bathroom before they laid down. She masturbated quickly and quietly, then scrupulously washed up. Kristina got Linda's bed; the other two slept on a big inflatable mattress on the floor. Laying next to Linda was strange; Eric had never just slept next to a girl before. But, strange as it was, the intimacy she'd shared earlier with her Mom helped. Before she knew it, she was asleep.
~~~~~
The sleepover preyed on her mind for a few days. She waited until Haylie had left to meet a friend and she could be alone with her Mom.
"Mom, what does it mean to 'adjust' to being a girl? To 'acclimate'?" Erica was quite somber.
Miranda looked up. She had no doubt what her daughter was referring to. "I wondered when you'd ask that. Many Sisters do, sooner or later." She sighed and thought. "The short answer is that it's different for every Sister. Like I said before, it's about exploring who you are, who you could have been." She shrugged. "And who you want to be."
Erica's lips twisted. "That sure narrows it down."
Miranda shrugged broadly. "The idea is to become comfortable in your own skin. To... to incorporate the... the perceptions and instincts of being female into yourself."
"I've done that!" Erica declared.
"Really?" Miranda asked dryly. Erica couldn't meet her gaze. "When you are happy with who you are, when being a girl is a reward instead of a challenge, then you will be 'acclimated'."
Erica's head jerked up. "What, so I can only be Eric again if I don't want to be? You don't ever want him back!"
"No!" Miranda cried. "That's not it at all!" She took a deep breath.
But Erica spoke first. "Wasn't I good enough as Eric?" The tone was sharp, bordering on an accusation. There was clearly heavy emotion behind the question. Goddess, Miranda thought, I should have spotted this.
"Oh sweetie, of course you were!" She grabbed her daughter's hands and squeezed them almost painfully. "I loved Eric so much I gave him the gift of discovering you!" Erica was silent. "Honey, I loved you so much, I gave you a choice few people ever get. A choice about who you want to be that most people can't imagine!"
Erica still didn't speak. Miranda dipped into her emotions - the girl wasn't angry so much as scared and confused. She really didn't grasp why Miranda had done this to her. Miranda's heart ached.
She tried to explain. "Look, punkin, what if Eric had decided he wanted to be a soldier? Do you think I would have stopped him, despite my devotion to the Goddess?"
Erica hadn't expected this tangent. She gave it a moment's thought. "No, I guess not."
"I would have asked him to be sure. But if that was who he was, or who he wanted to be, I would have prayed for his safety, and his happiness, and I'd have harassed him with letters and care packages and phone calls."
Erica chortled a little at that. Boys hated to appear like they needed their Mothers. She didn't have to, and didn't, feel that way. And then she did a mental double-take at how naturally she'd rejected that male point of view.
Miranda spoke on. "Honey, you - only you - can decide who you want to one day be. I admit I have my hopes," she smiled apologetically, "but I want you to be as happy as you can be. I will help you find happiness as a girl... but if you decide that, in the end, you will be happiest as Eric, if he suits you better... I will love you just as fiercely as ever."
Tears leaked from the sides of Erica's eyes, which prompted Miranda to come around the table, drag Erica to her feet, and give her a hug. "I guess I know all that, deep down, Mom," Erica said into Miranda's shoulder, hugging back. "And I have learned a lot, and some of it's been really fun." She sagged a little. "But sometimes it's so hard!"
Miranda stroked Erica's hair. "Real freedom is always hard, dear." She muttered something under her breath and suddenly they were standing in Erica's room.
Erica jerked in surprise, but Miranda's insistent kiss calmed her down. In some ways, at least. What they did after that stirred her up much more, but ultimately, when they were done, she was very relaxed.
She still thought about the issues, of course. "It's like I'm on a trip, but I don't know exactly where I'm going. How will I know when I get there?"
Her Mother smiled. "Trust me, you'll know."
Erica pouted so naturally that Miranda had to stifle a laugh. "It's just, I don't understand. I just want to know what's coming."
"Besides you?" her Mother quipped. Erica's mouth twisted in irritation... but it was a mask that was swiftly pushed aside by her grin.
Miranda relented. "Punkin, part of the Transition involves experiences I can't tell you about. If I warn you ahead of time, you won't learn what you need to from them."
Erica cocked her head and frowned at Miranda. Her Mother shrugged. "Can you trust me on this?"
At that, the girl smiled. "Okay, Mom. I've trusted you this far."
"And has it worked out badly?"
Erica gave that honest reflection. In a slightly wondering tone, she said, "No. No, it hasn't." Despite the annoyances and general weirdness... it still felt like an adventure. Even being... that way with her Mom didn't bother her like part of her felt it should. As Miranda had said before, she was in a unique situation; why shouldn't her response be unique, too?
~~~~~
While it didn't have the frantic pace of the first weeks after the Transformation, Erica found that changes kept happening nonetheless. And they weren't necessarily minor ones, either.
She'd acquired at least a modicum of feminine enthusiasm for shopping. It was enjoyable sometimes to just 'forage' around the mall with her friends, see what was available. Particularly the clothes. She even had fun taking Haylie to stores like Justice and helping her pick things out.
Fashion and cosmetics were much more opportunity than difficulty anymore. Indeed, she often had fun trying on outfits and experimenting with different looks. Lately she'd even been intrigued by jewelry and its possibilities. As an experiment, she'd gotten her belly-button pierced. It was cute.
There was an unexpected advantage to being able to draw from a male perspective: she wasn't nearly as anxious and self-critical about her body as many girls. She knew boys would like the way she looked, because she liked the way she looked. There were prettier girls at school, of course - she wasn't flawless or anything - but not many.
Most unsettling, however, was the change that had crept up on her. A week ago, she'd been channel-surfing and hit on 'Raiders of the Lost Ark'. It had always been one of her favorites, and she'd watched it for close to half an hour before realizing that she wasn't just feeling the old familiar thrill of the story and the stunts. Watching a young Harrison Ford in action was giving her an all-new kind of thrill. Off balance, she'd turned off the movie and gone for a jog.
The incident came back to mind that night in bed during her usual pre-sleep self-pleasuring, however. She had to go and pull up some lesbian porn to help focus her thoughts elsewhere. She very pointedly did not use the vibrator.
Then today, two of her squadmates had commented on how hot one of the basketball players was... and she'd caught herself mentally agreeing with them. Not in the abstract way Eric might have acknowledged strong competition, either. No, her thoughts could have been summed up as, 'yum!'
Looking back, she could see she hadn't recognized warning signs before. Silas, Javier. It had just grown to the point where she couldn't ignore it now.
She certainly hadn't lost any attraction to girls, but it was as though her sexual horizons were expanding. Broad shoulders and tight rears had aspects Eric had never recognized, or even imagined. She couldn't decide if it represented a homosexual or heterosexual tendency. That was debatable whichever gender she went for.
Of course, given what happened in her bedroom a couple times a week, homosexuality was kind of a run-of-the-mill perversion, wasn't it?
Still, what to do about boys had a certain urgency. Spencer, Trahn's boyfriend, was having a party at his house Saturday night. His parents would be out of town... and Lucas, the yummy basketball player, would be there.
~~~~~
Erica nervously pushed the doorbell. Spencer's house was set back from the road a bit, unobtrusive. Perfect for a clandestine party. She was wearing a light blouse and a denim skirt that showed off her legs, and high pumps made sure her legs got maximum benefit from the exposure. Bracelets, simple earrings. A necklace placed just so to highlight her cleavage. Her hair was in a bit of an up-do - nothing too elaborate.
She'd even tweezed her eyebrows last night, something she normally put off as long as possible.
The door opened and Spencer waved her in. "Yo, Erica. Good to see you. Trahn's in the kitchen."
"Thanks," she said, and set off the way he'd pointed. Trahn and most of her posse were milling by the counter. Estrella, Shanti, and the rest.
"Hey, Erica! Lookin' good!" Trahn said, giving her a welcoming hug. A big change Erica had needed to get used to was how frequently women touched each other. Boys shook hands and punched shoulders, but rarely embraced; girls were much more physically demonstrative with each other. Boys tended to misinterpret hugs from girls, and Erica had needed to retrain herself somewhat on that front.
"Thanks. Love that skirt!" she said honestly. While part of her mind still had the usual lusty thoughts about girls - and doubtless always would - she was also able to appreciate clothes on the level of pure fashion now. It did go with Trahn's outfit and flatter her figure.
"I know," Trahn said smugly, but with humor. "Wanna cooler? Melanie scored some."
"Nah, thanks." She still was wary of what alcohol might unleash within her. Tonight more than ever.
A little gossiping, then she went off to explore the party. She peeked into the dining room and saw that a poker game was in progress. Cory had a good pile of chips gathered; his fabled good fortune was apparently still with him.
But Harry was putting up a determined fight. And Carrie stood behind him, lending moral support.
There was a development Erica hadn't expected at all. The potion's effects only lasted for a week; two at the most. But a month and a half later, Harry and Carrie were still an item. In the politics of high-school society, they had sort of averaged their status. Carrie wasn't one of the top social players anymore - but she was also far less of a bitch. Harry's social position, conversely, had risen noticeably; he wouldn't have been at the poker table otherwise.
They seemed, miracle of miracles, happy together. And if Carrie was telling the truth (girls locker-room talk covered a wider range of topics than boys, but did include the things boys discussed) he disproved the stereotype about the size of Asians' equipment.
Erica turned away. Carrie abided by the undeclared truce, but they weren't friends. She smiled as she pondered what Carrie would think if she knew who had set up her and Harry's romance. Oh, well. She recalled another quote - "There's no limit to the good you can do if you don't care who gets the credit."
She made her way to the basement and ended up playing a few rounds of Wii Sports. She was in no mood to go easy on the boys and did well. Even so, there were boys better than her and she was finally eliminated. It felt different as a girl. Boys had to - or at least, felt compelled to - show off. Winning those competitions wasn't so vital to most girls, and it was easy for her to shrug and let it go.
Up again, and she assembled a small plate of chips and salsa. Though the queso dip beckoned, she abstained. By now she'd learned the need for counting calories. She would not risk looking too plump in her uniform. She chattered with a few other girls who were on her squad about a funny tweet they'd seen. Then she wandered out of the kitchen to the family room and ended up by the sliding door to the backyard.
She looked through the glass. Lucas sat out there, alone for the moment. She focused on her own reflection in the glass, checking her hair, looking for stains or out-of-place clothing. And then she realized she was preening before she went out to see a boy.
Sliding the glass door, she stepped out. Lucas looked up and smiled. "Hey, Erica. How's it going?"
She sat in the chair next to his, not sure exactly what she was doing, or wanted to do. But she gave him a smile and said, "That was a sweet shot you pulled off against Harris."
His answering smile showed a little animation. "Yeah, I was really in the zone." He looked askance at her. "We always seem to be luckier when you guys are cheering us on."
"I didn't think you even noticed us," she giggled. Crap, she was giggling.
"I always notice you," he said.
She looked down, smiling in nervous confusion. Why did it feel so good to hear that he'd been checking her out? "Yeah, right," she said.
They talked a bit more about sports and school. Lucas was different from boys like Josh and Scott. Oh, he bragged about himself, semi-subtly... but he did give her some chances to talk. And his self-puffery was peppered with compliments on her looks. It was strangely endearing to realize he was, in his own way, preening for her.
"I can't figure out why we never got together," he finally said. "I should have noticed you a while ago."
Because I wasn't your type before, she thought, suppressing another giggle. "Must be the cheerleader uniform."
"Yeah, those things are dead sexy," he grinned. "But you don't need it to be a little hottie."
Damn it, this shouldn't be affecting me so much, she thought. He's playing me, I know it. Don't I? "Gimme a break," she muttered.
"Seriously. Who wouldn't want some of that?"
Before she even realized what she was saying, it slipped out. "Maybe you should get a taste."
"Maybe I should." His grin widened and he stood. There was a second when she could have stopped him... but she didn't. He loomed over her, leaned forward.
He kissed her.
Yes, she concluded, males did have possibilities. However her attraction to him might be classified, it was undeniably present. It was scary, and faintly disturbing to that part of herself that still thought like Eric. But it was exciting and intriguing, too. Without quite knowing how, she found she was standing, and they were off to the side, away from the window.
His arms encircled her torso, and she hugged his back. It felt big, and firm. Girls were so much softer... His tongue entered her mouth, and it wasn't gross or off-putting in the slightest. It was... good...
He was strong, she could tell. Much stronger than her. He wasn't using that strength, wasn't being remotely threatening, of course. Erica was simply aware that he could have been a lot more forceful, if he chose. The thought was somehow... intriguing?
His hand slipped up under her skirt, and brushed her panties. A faint alarm-bell rang in the back of her mind, but it wasn't loud enough to be more than a vague distraction. She pushed closer to him, and ran a hand along his rear. Tight and muscled, that rear was. Compact. She'd studied his tush more and more often recently with her eyes. Doing so with a hand was much better.
Suddenly she noticed that he was working his fingers under the side of her panties. He'd be pulling them off in another second. With instant clarity, she realized that she might well not be able to stop herself if he pressed on.
She wanted it. As much if not more than he did. No doubt about it, not right now, whatever that said about her sexuality. But the consequences for her were potentially so much greater. Certainly if her Mother were to be believed...
She grabbed his hand through her skirt. "Wait. Hold on."
"It's okay, babe." He flashed her his totally cute smile. "Just relax..." He didn't move to let her go.
"No," she said with more force than she truly felt. "I just... Not like this."
"You've gotta chill, babe. You never let yourself have any fun." He'd let go of her panties but his fingers slid over her rear, almost making her toes curl. Desperate, she pictured herself pregnant. It helped some, but her rebellious thoughts kept trying to wander over to the getting pregnant part. Besides, she didn't have to go all the way, right?
"Let's just... take it slow, okay?" Erica said, looking up at him. She licked her lips. Oh, Goddess, his shoulders...
He tightened his grip a fraction, and leaned in for another kiss. One hand stroked the outside of her thigh, under the skirt. It wasn't quite as direct as before, but he wasn't taking it slow. Mustering her will, she pulled back a bit. "Wait..."
He eased up. Marginally. "Come on, Erica. You get me all worked up, and then..." He had a pained expression. "You don't know what it's like for a guy."
That tipped the balance. She most certainly did know what it was like for a guy. 'Blue balls' were real... but they took longer than a five-minute petting session to develop. Stuffing down the parts of her mind that were considering giving him a handjob (or even a blowjob!) she extracted herself from his grasp and took a step back. She'd jumped into this too soon. If she went any farther she'd be at his mercy. And he didn't seem to have much mercy.
"No, Lucas. Not tonight. I'm not that easy." Just almost that easy, she thought, glad the dim light helped conceal the flush warming her face. Apparently there were circumstances that could interrupt her libido.
She pulled back further, holding his hands with her own, gazing up at his frown. "Look, just... not like this. Just take it easy, okay?" His lips quirked, but he nodded. She stepped back, much of her still wanting to step forward. "See you inside."
She went back into the house and made a beeline for the nearest bathroom. Thank the Goddess, it was unoccupied. Once safe behind a locked door, she checked out her face in the mirror. Her hair was mussed, some makeup smeared. But she couldn't focus on fixing her appearance. Her libido had only been interrupted, postponed. It had not been switched off.
She snaked a hand under her panties and found her clit, slick with moisture. Quickly, quietly, she tickled it through to some relief. A few strained grunts escaped her, but she didn't think they'd carry. Her fantasies weren't lesbian in the slightest degree. She wished fervently she'd brought her vibrator.
A few minutes later, washed and re-coiffed, she came out of the bathroom and went to the kitchen for a drink.
There was Lucas, lips locked with Kaitlin.
She just stood there for a moment, stunned. They weren't being as lascivious as he and Erica had been out on the patio. It wasn't that kind of high-school party. However, there was no mistaking that the identical feelings were involved. And would doubtless be consummated later.
She spun and retreated to the living room, seething, in turmoil. Trahn, lounging next to Spencer, looked up from the couch. "Hey, what's up?" she asked, concerned.
Erica struggled for words. "I... It's nothing. I'll be okay." She found a chair and was quiet for the rest of the night. She left the party early.
~~~~~
In bed that night she lay restless, upset.
Erica rolled over and threw off the covers. She just couldn't sleep yet, she was too keyed up. She unlocked the screen of her computer and went to the special collection, and opened the folder she'd avoided since the Transformation. Eric had generally been partial to (relatively) artistic shots of women alone, or in small groups. (For an instant, she wondered if that was a result of the respect for women her Mother had always worked to instill in her. Him.)
But he'd also had one folder of more spicy fare. Pictures and video clips with a mix of genders.
Blowjobs and penetration. Titty-fucking. Even a gangbang or two.
She started with pictures. The very first one was an extreme close-up of a reverse cowgirl. Legs and lips spread, the prick enveloped halfway. She studied the image intently, visualizing her own pussy so occupied. She'd had fingers and buzzing plastic inside herself. What would something supple and blood-warm feel like?
Some lingering reluctance or uncertainty had kept her from setting the stage completely. All by itself, that one image dispelled both. She stood and moved purposefully back to the drawer by her bed, got out the vibrator, and returned to her desk. On the edge of her seat - figuratively and literally - she reactivated both the vibrator and the slideshow.
She quickly discovered an aspect of the porn portfolio that Eric had never noticed. The women were uniformly attractive; the men varied wildly from overweight to muscular, from monstrously-endowed to more normal tooling. Eric hadn't paid much attention to the guys.
She stroked the vibrator in and out of herself, playing with her nipples with the other hand. The slideshow continued.
In her mind, there was a man between her legs, thrusting. She didn't picture a face, just the body. The biceps, the shoulders, the chest, the six-pack. Her hand moved the vibrator with determination as she moaned. He was strong, the man in her mind, powerful and focused. He wanted in deep, and her flexing hips were helping him get there.
Her orgasm blossomed, and she could not help picturing the prick ejaculating inside her. It seemed right, natural, wholly desirable. He lusted for her, after all.
~~~~~
Erica finally admitted that it wasn't her imagination. Cory was avoiding her. He didn't speak to her much in class and they did almost all their communicating anymore by email or text. The group had used to meet after school, maybe once a month, at some fast-food joint to hash over whatever the current project was. The couple times she'd tried to arrange such a get-together this year, though, Cory always had an excuse to beg off.
That wasn't all bad. Josh and Scott were almost too eager to spend time with her. Yet it was tiresome how frequently she had to repeat herself - when they accepted her input at all - because they were apparently listening to some urgent message from her breasts instead of her voice. Working with them by email was just fine with her.
Cory wasn't like that. He didn't act like he was undressing her with his eyes. He simply avoided her; impeccably civil, but keeping personal interaction to a bare minimum. She had the clear impression that he would have preferred switching to a different group if it could have been arranged.
In the end, she decided Haylie's theory must be right - that he harbored some prejudice against women, that he just didn't think they could handle programming. It was unexpected, and made her sad because she'd liked Cory, even admired his confidence and charisma. She rather thought she'd proven herself all over again this year, anyway.
Too bad. He was kinda cute.
~~~~~
An unexpected and ironic outcome of refusing Lucas at the party was how it cemented her reputation. Even though she'd made the first advances, pushing him away had marked her as a little frigid, or at least exceptionally picky.
If they only knew the thoughts that went through her mind just walking down the halls of her school. About quite a few of the boys now, too, as well as girls. However immature they might be, boys definitely had their charms.
Heck, there were even teachers she had little daydreams about. Mr. Stratton might be twice her age, but girls were supposed to be attracted to maturity, right? And then there was Ms. Escuela; when she talked in Spanish, it sometimes gave Erica chills. One night she'd even had a naughty little fantasy about herself between both teachers.
She made sure it didn't interfere with her schoolwork. But she shuddered to think of what she would have done, if she hadn't been able to bleed off pressure with her Mom.
For a while, she pondered calling up Silas. Having a boyfriend would soften her reputation somewhat, and a long-distance one - or, at least, a non-local one - would be easier for a Transformed Sister to manage. In the end, however, she decided it wouldn't be fair to him.
~~~~~
Erica and Linda were hanging at Kristina's after school. It wasn't uncomfortable, exactly, but it was a little weird. Kristina had taken Miranda's advice, and struck up a friendship with a teen mother from school, a senior named Renée.
She had brought her two-month-old daughter Lucy, and that was weird, too. Especially for Erica; she'd never actually held a baby before. It was... different than she'd thought. Not like picking up a cat or something. And she had to admit, the little baby girl was totally cute.
What what really weird was when Renée breastfed Lucy, giving Kristina some pointers. She'd almost gotten used to undressed girls in the locker room and stuff, but not in a living room. Watching little Lucy suck, she was unsettlingly reminded that breasts were functional as well as decorative.
"Homecoming's in a couple weeks." Erica shrugged. As a cheerleader, attendance was practically mandatory.
"Got a boyfriend?" Renée asked.
"Nah," Erica said. "We might go together, as friends." She waved toward Linda.
Kristina and Renée exchanged a glance. "I think I'll skip it this time around," Kristina said dryly.
"Me, too," Renée concurred.
Erica felt very embarrassed.
~~~~~
Homecoming was more fun than she'd expected.
It hadn't turned out that she was going with Linda. And for a wonderful reason - a boy had asked Linda out! Erica had literally squealed when she'd read the text announcing the news, and genuinely enjoyed - even insisted on - hearing every tiny detail when they'd gotten together after school.
She felt no small amount of pride about the whole thing, though she kept it to herself. And it was hardly all her handiwork. The "herbal" acne remedy - made under her Mother's watchful supervision - had doubtless been a factor. Erica's fashion advice and encouragement had surely helped her friend, too. But Linda had stuck with the diet and exercise on her own. Erica was nowhere near being able to plant such a Suggestion, anyway. Although Linda was still decidedly on the zaftig side, she filled out her dress now, instead of overfilling it.
Linda lacking a maternal figure, Erica and Miranda had helped her select that dress. And then pressured her father to provide a reasonable budget for it, and the needed accessories. Reasonable from a female standpoint, anyway; Linda's father obviously had his own opinion on that.
Not that Erica didn't find herself overwhelmed at the prospect of assembling her own ensemble. She was comfortable handling most day-to-day fashion choices by now, but formal couture was a whole different field. The programmer in her compared it to moving from writing scripts and small apps to writing device drivers and operating systems.
She kept that analogy to herself, of course.
Miranda had helped a great deal, offering guidance and the occasional warning. The girls had been allowed to express themselves in fashion; she had simply, so to speak, made sure they didn't send any unintended messages.
At the mandatory pre-dressing salon trip, Linda had chosen to add blonde highlights to her hair, with large loose curls. The blue of her dress went well with both. It was a not-quite-floor-length ball gown in an A-line style, on a gauzy fabric just stiff enough to hold the shape.
No, Erica had helped, but Linda had earned the joy plastered on her face as she shook her booty with her date. He seemed to be having a good time, too. Erica had made some discreet inquiries, and Paul appeared to be a nice-enough boy. Not a bad kisser, too, from Linda's perhaps-biased reports. He wasn't an awesome dancer, but being in marching band seemed to at least have given him a basic sense of rhythm.
Of course, it had made Erica's own escort situation more acute, but a replacement was found soon enough. Jacob, a gangly boy from the basketball team, who genially accepted that the pairing was political rather than romantic in nature. Not that he didn't look rather dashing in a tux, for all that. Handsome, even, as he hopped and gyrated next to Erica. Dancing in heels was a challenge, but she was having too much fun to worry overmuch as she added her booty to the general shaking. Somehow dancing was more enjoyable when you had a good booty to shake, anyway.
After the days of searching, she herself had on a peach-colored, flowing gown, with shoes dyed to match. She was looking forward to seeing all the pictures her Mom had took of her and Jacob when he'd come to pick her up, corsage in hand. Holding her clutch, wearing her finery, with Jacob's arm settled gently around her, she had felt... beautiful and elegant. It was a charming sensation.
Socially, it was complicated. She'd had to strike a balance even negotiating transportation. Kristina wasn't going, obviously, and Erica didn't want to leave Linda in the lurch. Trahn and her crew wanted to do things up right, with a limo and an after-party -but even Miranda couldn't persuade Linda's dad to spring for a share of that. Erica's compromise was to ride to the dance with Linda, but go with Trahn et al to their post-dance shindig. At the actual dance, though, she could circulate.
So she danced with her friends. She even did a couple of slow dances with Jacob, and if her pulse ran a little faster than could be justified by the physical exertion, she was careful to give no sign. It was fun.
Actually, it rocked.
Jacob was off talking with some of his buddies for a minute. She stepped up to the punch bowl and recognized Cory pouring a scoopful into a cup. He glanced her way and stiffened slightly for a moment. It was almost imperceptible, he recovered so quickly. "Hey, Erica," he said. "You look nice."
"Thanks. Can you get me a cup?" she asked. Yet again she wished he could just loosen up and be friendly with her.
"Sure thing," he replied, and poured another.
"Congrats on your win," she offered. Cory was on the track team and they'd been victorious on their last outing.
"Nothing to do with me. Good thing my bro here was on his game," Cory said as another boy walked up.
"Hey, Brandon," Erica said.
"Hey," Brandon replied amiably. "But we didn't need me to win. Cory's a lucky charm. That's why we made him captain," he smiled.
"Cory's Luck again? What happened this time?" Erica asked.
"I'm fucking embarrassed, to be honest. I almost lost my leg of the relay, but the other guy tripped."
This was more social interaction than she'd had with Cory all term. "You always get lucky," she replied, shaking her head and smiling.
"Maybe even tonight," came the voice from behind them. It was Danielle, his current girlfriend. She moved close to Cory, smiling warmly as he handed her a cup of punch. The smile she gave Erica was just a shade frosty.
Erica was amused. She was perfectly certain she was in no danger of stealing Cory's affections. She tried to convey her reassurance to Danielle with her own smile as she turned away. "TMI, TMI," she laughed. Even funnier was that Cory and Brandon probably hadn't even noticed the subtle territorial messages the girls had exchanged under their noses. Boys were so out-of-touch.
She caught a glimpse of Lucas and Kaitlin out of the corner of her eye, and moved resolutely on.
~~~~~
"See you tomorrow!" Erica said as she hugged Linda.
"Love you!" Linda said, hugging back.
She left Linda with Paul, grabbed a couple handfuls of skirt to lift it over her feet, and scurried over to the waiting limo. At least she managed to sidle in onto her seat in a ladylike manner. She found a place between Jacob and Mel.
Trahn tapped on the glass behind her, and the driver set off, slowly angling around the other cars and limousines.
Melanie and Shianti had rented a suite for the afterparty. Well, technically, all the girls had chipped in, but it was in their names. Erica and Trahn's parents wouldn't let them spend the whole night there. Trahn's curfew was more generous, but secretly Erica was glad she'd have to be home by midnight; it would help her avoid all kinds of temptation.
The ride was lively, everyone excited, pumped from the dancing. Erica felt just a little intimidated at first; she'd never been in a limo before. But it wasn't that amazing, really, and conversation certainly wasn't refined. There was quite a bit of ribald banter, in fact.
The ride didn't last all that long, anyway. They arrived at the hotel and went in the side door, taking the elevator up to the room.
"Hey, a toast!" Aaron shouted seconds after the door closed, waving around a bottle of vodka that had appeared as if by Magic. Shot glasses materialized, too, and Mel started playing bartender.
"Want some?" Mel said, holding out a half-full shot glass.
I'll only be here another hour, Erica thought. I can't get in too much trouble. And it's not that big a shot...
"Well, okay," she said. Mel's eyebrows lifted but she didn't say anything as she handed it over.
Aaron lifted his glass. "To the Hillman High Seniors - especially these fine ladies! L'Chaim!"
They all downed it in unison. "Whoooo!" the girls squealed. Guess I didn't avoid all kinds of temptation after all... Erica thought, throat and belly burning.
~~~~~
The hour passed pleasantly enough, and though it was clear that the beds were going to get some use later, it wasn't too out-of-control. At the appointed time, Jacob was nice enough to give her a ride home, even though it took him from the party. They talked a little on the way. "Thanks again for being my date. I had a really good time."
"That's the idea," he said. "Too bad you couldn't stay the whole night."
"My Mom would freak," she said. Erica thought she could probably have negotiated a later curfew... but she was glad she hadn't. That one little shot was giving her a buzz; Jacob was looking better and better.
Oh, Goddess, she thought. It's a good thing we're almost home, she noticed with relief.
"That's my house, up there," she said. She glanced at Jacob again, and suddenly her relief was a trifle muted.
"Got it," he said, and pulled in, coming to a smooth stop. She started to open her door, but Jacob waved a finger - "Ah ah ah!" - and leapt out of his side, scooting around to open it for her.
She stood up - it was so much easier to stand gracefully in a skirt if you had a guy's help - and let him escort her to the porch.
"Thanks again," Erica said as they made it to the door. "It was really fun." He stood there for a second, looking down at her. She had stood up on tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss before she was even aware of what she was doing.
She didn't pull her face back much. Hardly at all. So it was easy to kiss him again. And for a bit longer. She settled back onto her heels, but he'd leaned down to match. And then his arms were around her, so it would have been rude to just pull away, and then she was tasting his tongue, and...
The porch light flicked on. They had exactly enough time to separate and turn to face the door before it opened. She was startled and embarrassed and still distracted, but she instantly decided that hadn't been an accident.
"Right on time!" Miranda said cheerfully. "Thank you so much, Jacob." She stepped aside to invite Erica in. "She didn't give you any trouble, did she?"
"No, ma'am!" he said, straightening his jacket, maybe just a hint of red on his cheeks.
"Well, say goodnight to the young man, punkin!" Miranda said to Erica.
"Goodnight, Jacob. Thanks again, for... for everything."
Miranda smiled, and put a hand on the doorknob. To Jacob, she said, "It was very nice meeting you!"
"It was nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Jardin," Jacob replied. "I really had a good time," he called to Erica as the door closed.
"How was it, honey?" Miranda instantly asked, almost bursting with curiosity.
"It was so much fun!" Erica squealed, grabbing her Mom for a hug.
"Especially just now?"
"Um..."
"I'm not opposed to you spending time with boys, dear. Or kissing them." She smirked. "I just felt that maybe when emotions are running a little high wasn't the best situation to get started."
Erica blushed, remembering one reason why she was feeling a little high. Her Mother suddenly squinted at her.
"What?" Erica asked.
Her Mother's voice and face had suddenly lost their humor. "You are too young to be drinking."
Erica's blood froze. "I... but..." Then, glaring, she snapped, "Hey, are you reading my mind?"
Miranda smiled sardonically. "Just a little, just surface thoughts. I wanted to make sure Jacob wasn't forcing himself on you." Then she frowned. "At least I'm glad you feel so guilty about that shot. I wouldn't have seen it, otherwise."
"I... I'm sorry, but..."
Miranda shook her head, torn between exasperation and amusement. "Don't bother putting a shield up now, silly girl!" A smile finally emerged - tempered with Motherly concern, but Erica felt a little relief that humor had carried the moment.
Miranda chuckled. "I hadn't gotten around to telling you - because it shouldn't have mattered yet - but alcohol makes it harder to maintain a mental shield."
Erica bit her lip.
"Well, it looks like you learned a few things tonight." The smile was entirely Motherly now. "I'm so glad you had a such a wonderful time. I hope you'll tell me all about it tomorrow?"
"You bet, Mom. I love you!" One more hug, and Erica went upstairs, slightly chastened. But her good mood couldn't be suppressed very far, or for very long. She was bubbling again before she even shut the door to her room.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Goddess, she looked good! Even after a night of dancing and sweating. Her lipstick was worn off, her hair was a little disheveled... but she looked pretty. There was a glow of simple satisfaction as she turned, taking it in from all angles. She felt a little sorry for Jacob, if this was what he'd been looking at all night, knowing he wouldn't be with her. Not that way.
She was still high from the whole experience. She'd been a little nervous at first, of course, but it had wound up being... fun. Just plain fun!
She hardly ever dwelled on the differences between her current life and Eric's anymore. This had been kind of a special night, however. What would it have been like if she were still him?
First off, he might well not have gone at all. He'd never been forward enough to get much in the way of dates. Secondly, even if he'd made it... it probably wouldn't have been as enjoyable. Eric hadn't known how to dance, and guys felt really awkward being inexpert in front of girls. While she'd never be on "So You Think You Can Dance", becoming a cheerleader had given Erica skills to draw on.
Goddess, did she really feel pity for her former self?
Well, when it came to clothes for sure. Boys wore suits to dances, and nothing else. The only self-expression they had was the choice of tie or corsage - and most of the time it was the girl who chose for them to make sure he'd match her dress. Boys' options were so limited! At least, when it came to outfits. Even day-to-day, they wore pants and shirts and... that was it. Plain, simple pants and shirts.
With a laugh, she left off considering poor Eric. She was in too good a mood to waste time cogitating and deliberating about might-have-beens. She admired herself in the mirror once more. She was pretty, and that was a wonderful thing.
She understood, much better than before, why Haylie and other young girls dreamed of being princesses.
~~~~~
Haylie wanted to hear all about it the next morning. Erica was able to put her off for a while.
She took her sister to soccer and watched from the sidelines. It was interesting; not just cheering for Haylie, but the fact that she could see more. The way the girls behaved on the sidelines told her much about the loyalties and rivalries in the group. She could see - fairly well, at least - which girls were friends, acquaintances, or enemies. It wasn't magical, it was just that she was paying more attention to such things now. Eric wouldn't have bothered to notice, but she had a newfound appreciation for social dynamics.
Afterward, over ice cream, she allowed Haylie to pump her for details about Homecoming. She sensibly left out the drinking part, but to her mild surprise was able to give a fairly complete account of what everyone had been wearing.
Haylie seemed to run out questions of fashion and music and dancing after half an hour or so. Then she paused for a last scraped spoonful of long-melted ice cream, and gave Erica a narrow look. "What was it like going with a guy?"
Erica paused to chase an imaginary trickle of sweetness and pondered that. But she didn't want to just brush Haylie off.
"I'm not sure," she finally admitted. "It wasn't like he was my boyfriend or anything. But it was kind of chill to be next to him. It kinda, I dunno..." She suddenly smiled. "...set off the outfit. Like the right shoes or a cute purse."
Haylie squinted. "Was it weird for you?" Haylie asked. "I mean you... well, used to be, y'know."
"Kinda, I guess." Erica shrugged a little helplessly. "It didn't feel wrong, y'know. Just... kinda new, kinda different."
Haylie was quiet for a bit. Then: "You gonna do more 'different'?"
"Why do you care?"
"I dunno. I just... you're my... Well, you're family, whatever happens. I love you, is all."
Erica was suddenly misty-eyed. "I love you, too!" She sniffed, getting control before she started bawling right there in the ice cream shop. She thought about Haylie's questions, including the implied ones. "I probably will do more 'different'. I'm thinking about it, anyway." More than thinking, she thought to herself, remembering Lucas and Jacob. "I dunno about forever. But no matter what, you'll be my sister!"
They got up, hugged, and went out to the car. Not talking so they wouldn't cry.
~~~~~
She opened up the 'special' folder, the one containing more 'hardcore' images. For quite some time, she browsed. Somehow, even though it was arousing, it wasn't right. Nothing suited her mood.
Unbidden, a flash of Lucas kissing Kaitlin arose in her mind. And that told her what was wrong.
She fired up her 'isolated surfing' virtual machine, designed to protect her computer from viruses while slumming in the disreputable parts of the net. Eric's porn collection just wasn't going to do it tonight. She wanted - needed - something new. Something specific. She had to use some search terms she'd never entered - indeed, actively avoided - before. It was rather unnerving how quickly they bore fruit.
A man pleasuring some other woman wasn't what she was after right now. No distractions, no... competition.
No women at all in these pictures. Just naked men. For a while, she explored, seeing what there was available. Before long, she found herself gravitating to two kinds of images.
Ones with a single man alone were fascinating. How had she lived in a body like that for so long and not appreciated its erotic potential? Shoulders and abs and biceps... and erect cocks. She remembered using one, marveling at how foreign the idea seemed now. Better than any other girl who'd never been intimate with a man, she knew what it would feel like in her hand. Much more provocative ideas flittered through her consciousness now. What would one smell like, taste like? What would it feel like inside her?
Gangbangs and orgies weren't particularly appealing. Two men together, though... that was interesting in a different way. Eric had heard vaguely of 'yaoi' fangirls, and 'slash' fiction, with dim incomprehension. How could such a thing be arousing? Erica understood it better now. She still loved girls; there was so much she wanted to try with them. But with guys, sexual arousal was so... externalized. It was right there, unmistakable. A guy couldn't fake it. Porn like this - you knew they were enjoying it.
She was looking at such a coupling when she finally came, explosively.
~~~~~
Erica sat down at the lunch table with what even she herself recognized as a flounce. "Grrr! That was so... so..."
"Infuriating?" Linda suggested, faintly amused.
"Yes!" Erica exclaimed.
"What up?" Kristina asked as she unpacked her lunch.
"Frickin' Georgio and Tyrone. We had to team up with them for an experiment. And they fucked it up, of course. We had to start over. I told 'em not to add the reagent first but..."
"Oh. Yeah." Kristina was not at all surprised.
Erica was still fuming. "I never had someone just... dismiss what I said like that! Like I was a little kid! They weren't even listening!"
Kristina rolled her eyes. "Come on, never? Be serious." She sniffed. "Wouldn't even be the first time this week for me."
Erica suddenly realized she had stumbled onto another difference between the lives of boys and girls. "Well... not never... but it's been a while."
Linda said, sardonically, "Maybe guys listen to cheerleaders more."
Erica changed the subject. But she realized she had some thinking to do, later.
~~~~~
"I'm glad I drew a summer birthday," Colleen said. "You don't have to arrange the parties around school."
The legal birthdates of the 'Brotherhood babies' had been spread throughout the year. Jacqui had insisted on it. "Bad enough there's going to be a wave of adoptions. Whatever's left of the Brotherhood couldn't miss it if they were all born on the same day," she had declared.
"Fall birthdays aren't so bad," Miranda said dismissively. Young girls ran and played and chattered in the backyard, hopped up on cake and ice cream and sugary drinks. Erica mixed among them, helping keep a rough approximation of order, shooing kids away from the garden, and the woods behind their lot. Miranda and five other ladies watched from the patio.
"She's so lovely," Laurie said, smiling. Murmurs of agreement came from the others. A minority of the women at the party were Sisters, and they'd gathered off to one side for a moment.
"She's adjusting so well. Better than I did, I think." Miranda bragged. "Practically a textbook Transition."
"Goddess grant me the same!" Bella prayed fervently.
"Fat chance!" Bronwyn laughed. The other Sisters giggled, too. Isabella's twin sons, Carlos and Juan, would be of age next summer. A double Transformation was a special challenge, of course. But identical twins had unique Magical advantages if the Transitions could be navigated... and besides, given the Sisterhood's traditions, not all the advantages would be Magical.
A short pause followed the laughter. "I didn't see Charlotte..." Laurie queried hesitantly.
"Charlotte... couldn't make it." Miranda replied softly.
The Sisters became somber.
Charlotte lived up in Oregon. She had performed the Transformation on her son Thomas months ago, in the spring... but he had panicked and demanded to become male again before the end of the first hour. Of course Charlotte had been crushed, but she'd complied. If his masculine self-image was that ingrained, he would never have managed a successful Transition, never have mastered the Power. And that would have left him trapped in a state he could neither escape nor adjust to.
No one could blame Charlotte for avoiding Erica, for not wanting her nose rubbed in Erica's far more successful Transition. What was yet more tragic was that the Gift of the Goddess, the Magic that came with the Transformation, was only given once. Even if Thomas were Transformed again, 'Tammi' would simply be an ordinary girl, without the Power.
Thankfully it was uncommon. The whole Sisterhood grieved when a Transformation was refused.
"At least she still has Samantha," Bronwyn murmured. Charlotte had adopted one of the Transformed infants, too. The gathered Sisters were subdued again, however; none quite voicing the worry that all of them felt. Being unique in Sisterhood history, nobody knew exactly how the adopted girls would respond to the truth about their origins - nor what they might choose to do with the Power when it began to manifest after their first period. They'd received the Birth Rites, and would never possess the Dark Power again... but would some choose to become men again anyway?
And if so, what might they then become?
Troubled, each Sister looked to her own special charge. Bella's Jessica was deep in discussion with Bronwyn's Lani. It was impossible to credit the notion they'd once been Dark sorcerers. Lani in particular was a picture of young femininity in the impractically frilly dress she'd insisted on wearing, pink butterfly clips in her hair. Who could imagine she'd once been the Brotherhood's 'High Leader'?
Colleen's Dara cheered with Miranda's Haylie, the birthday girl. Along with some of Haylie's normal friends, they watched Alice performing part of her gymnastics routine.
Alice was unique in a different way. Jacqui's natural-born daughter - yet another first in Sisterhood lore. When Jacqui had Transformed the attacking Brothers, she'd changed everything male in the immediate environs... including her own gestating son.
Jacqui wasn't troubled for the same reasons as the other Sisters... but she worried for her daughter just the same. Transforming a child at too early an age risked depriving them of the Power. It seemed that the special Magic empowering the Sisterhood depended in some way on the Transition. On successfully developing not just into a woman, but developing from male to female. The fear that she might have robbed her child of the Gift of the Goddess had kept her awake many a night.
She reflected on her own Transition, one so rough her Mother, Laurie, had actually contemplated dying to free Jacqui from the need to complete it. "Thank the Goddess Erica didn't go through what I did."
"Thank the Goddess," Laurie and Bronwyn echoed fervently. Then Laurie chuckled. "Those first few days..."
Jacqui shook her head, remembering. "I took it exactly the wrong way. It wasn't entirely my choice, so I was furious at you. But it had sort of been my fault, too, so I felt guilty and ashamed."
Miranda laid her hand on the young woman's shoulder. "But it worked out in the end. You had a hard road... but I hope Erica becomes like you one day."
Jacqui blushed at the compliment. "I think she will," she replied. "From what Bronwyn used to say, I always saw something of old Jack in Eric." Then she laughed. "But by the Goddess' mercy, not so much stupid stubbornness!"
All the Sisters laughed at that.
"Time for presents!" Erica announced from the patio. Squealing youngsters converged on the picnic table, their Mothers bringing up the rear.
~~~~~
Erica's progress with Magic had been steady, but slow. She could mix and enchant simple potions now. She and her Mother could exchange thoughts; well, so long as Miranda was cooperating. Reading other minds was hard; she could sometimes sense other people's general emotional tenor, but not a whole lot more effectively than just paying attention to their face and tone of voice.
This latest lesson was unusual, though. As before, they sat out on the back patio. A cool, comfortable breeze flowed; late November in southern California wasn't terribly brisk. "Erica, punkin, let's try something different today. I want you to focus, summon your power. Let me know when you're ready." Miranda sat back to wait.
Erica breathed, slowly and evenly. Working Magic required a detached, yet concentrated, frame of mind. Tension, anger, and fear could interfere terribly. After a minute or two, she nodded to indicate her readiness.
Her Mother pointed to the sky. "You see that cloud there? Looks a bit like a turtle?"
She searched the scudding forms for a moment. Again, Erica nodded.
"I want you to make it go away. Break it up, dissipate it. Banish it."
Erica was dubious. "How?"
"Focus on it, picture it fading away."
Doubtfully, she directed her attention at the unassuming cloud, gliding gently, and did as her Mother instructed.
Six minutes later, it had broken up. A few tattered remnants drifted out of sight behind the neighbor's house. Erica's shoulders slumped.
"Very good, dear. I thought you might have such a talent."
"It might've busted up on its own," Erica objected. "It took long enough. I'm not even sure I did anything."
"I am," Miranda replied serenely. "I felt the Power working, and I kept an eye on the other clouds. They didn't dissolve that way." She patted her daughter's hand. "The Goddess has given you a Gift for weather Magic. You'll get much better in time."
Erica thought that was an awful lot to conclude from one cloud. "So... I'm gonna be like Storm of the X-Men? Tossing lightning bolts from my hands?"
Her Mother smiled indulgently. "No, dear, not like that. But you'll be able to bring rain or sun, warm winds or cold. It's not as fast or flashy - or as localized - as the movies, but it's quite a powerful Gift, really."
Erica, a city-dweller since birth, was unimpressed. "At least your garden'll do great," she wryly declaimed.
Miranda frowned. "Don't knock weather spells, young lady; D-Day almost didn't happen. Three Sisters worked eighteen straight hours to break the storms." She watched her daughter's eyes widen. "And look up Washington's retreat to Manhattan sometime."
The novice's expression grew thoughtful. "Is that what Sisters use Magic for? Helping the right side win wars?"
Miranda looked startled, caught out. "Sometimes. That's a lesson for another day." She deflected her daughter's questions and drilled her on herbs.
~~~~~
The semester's final exams were on the horizon, just over a week away, but Erica wasn't too worried. She looked forward to winter vacation - her Mother had promised that all the Jardin women could go on a trip to a spa resort over the holidays.
By now, Erica had a completely different view of her school's social scene. Again, the people hadn't changed, the details weren't different. It was just that... they were in focus now. For example, Eric would probably have noticed - eventually - that Mindy and Soleil were avoiding each other. He would never have figured out that it was because Mindy and Michaela were both into Kyle, and they'd gotten in a big fight when Aaron had innocently remarked on Kyle's preference for blondes. Now they were forcing their mutual friends to pick sides. Soleil had tried to stay out of the whole thing, but Mindy had interpreted Soleil going to Michaela's birthday party as a declaration of war. And the whole thing was silly because everyone knew Kyle was hot for Sarah, who had dark brown hair anyway.
It felt as if the network of relationships she lived in were like a rug, and Eric had only ever looked at the surface pattern. Erica saw the weave underneath, the complex interconnections that held it all together. Not just the what, but the how and why.
And she noticed that the strongest weave, the tightest knots, were almost always between women. It wasn't that guys didn't ever form close relationships, but they tended to be in things like teams or organizations; comrades-in-arms. If the group stopped holding men together, they'd often - usually - drift apart.
Women maintained the long-term commitments. They planned the family get-togethers, tended the social ties. Men certainly added a lot of flash and color to the affair, but their roots were rarely very deep. The colored thread on top of the rug, not the thick strong cords that underlaid and bound it all.
Would becoming Eric again obscure that? Even if it didn't, there was much she'd miss about being a girl. What did life as Eric offer that was better than life as Erica, anyway?
The answers to that question no longer seemed quite so clear...
Continued in Part 4
~~~~~
"We should do this more often," Laurie declared happily, looking around the table at the other Sisters, who made noises of agreement around mouthfuls of food.
Bronwyn, Laurie, and Jacqui had come to meet Miranda for lunch, the official reason being reports and consultation on Erica's progress. That was almost an excuse, though, since she was doing so well. Mostly they were just catching up as friends.
"How's Rochelle?"
Bronwyn lit up at the chance to talk about her eldest daughter. "She's great. Her jewelry business is going well, and her travelling lets her keep tabs on Sisters around the world." She sighed. "I wish I saw her and little Colin more, but they're happy."
Gossip, stories, some salacious evaluation of their waiter, and even a few recipe tips were exchanged. In the end, very little Sisterhood business got done. By the time the waiter brought the check, the ladies were in a very good mood.
"Are you heading back right away?" Miranda asked.
Jacqui shook her head. "We're going to get some shopping done, I think," she replied. "No need to rush home. It's been a while since the three of us got out without Alice and Lani." A knowing exchange of smiles; children consumed so much of a Mother's time.
Miranda confirmed that with her own reply. "I have to get home and do some work. Haylie's got her last soccer game after school, and then there's a team party. I'll never get anything done tonight." The women laughed.
~~~~~
Erica had been home from school about half an hour, wrapping up her homework and looking over the schedule for finals next week, when the doorbell rang. She checked through the peephole first (reflecting that, as a boy, she probably wouldn't have been concerned) and saw Cory standing on her porch.
With some surprise, she opened the door and said, "Hey, what's up?"
He looked at her impassively. "Can I come in for a minute? I've got something I need to ask you about."
She debated a second, but despite his reticence of late Cory was fairly harmless. He and Eric had gotten into their share of trouble as kids, and then a few times later... but it had never been malicious. He just wasn't a violent guy. "Sure. Something about the project?" A milestone was due next Wednesday but things had seemed well in hand.
He came in without saying anything, just looking around. "Is your mom here?"
"No, she took my sister to soccer." As she said that, she had one of her new intuitions that something was wrong. Cory was acting... strange.
He went into the kitchen and she followed, standing back a step or two. He looked around, frowning, then put a hand in his jacket pocket and started speaking. "Something's been bothering me since school started. A few things. Y'know that time us guys snuck into Lincoln High, planted that backdoor in their computer lab?" She nodded cautiously. "We had a ladder to get on the roof, and got in through the courtyard, they don't lock the doors coming in. That was easy. But on the way back out..."
"I've heard you tell this before, you know," Erica said wryly. Actually, Eric had gone on that little expedition, too. But Cory told the story well, and enjoyed bragging about it.
Cory just peered at her. "Yeah, I know. Bear with me, I've got a point." He resumed. "We made it to the outside wall, and Scotty got down first, went around the corner. You know, to be a lookout. I dropped down, and I'm standing there waiting for the guys to hand down the ladder. Josh starts to lower it, and the security guard pops out of the door in front of me, all, "What are you doing here?"
"I give him some BS to hold his attention, 'I'm just walking, I'll leave.' That kind of stuff. And two feet over this guy's head, that ladder is hovering right there. Josh can't make a sound, or we're screwed. I got lucky again, calmed the guard down, walked away, and he goes back in, didn't see anything. No problem after that." Cory was glaring at Erica by now. "But somebody helped Josh hold that ladder up there. I know he couldn't have done it on his own. I even remember someone helping him... except I can't remember who."
His frown deepened. "I was telling this story a couple weeks back. And I got to that part... and I couldn't remember who was there. It was me, Scotty, Josh, and... who?" He shook his head jerkily, as if he were trying to jolt the memory loose. "Scotty said it was Derek. He said Derek was with us that night. But I don't remember him being there. I never even liked him much. Still, I couldn't think who it had been, and Scotty was so sure." He frowned at Erica. "I've told that story any number of times before. I even remember telling it at the beginning of the summer. Why the trouble now?"
Erica was feeling a chill. It had been Eric who'd helped Josh noiselessly suspend the ladder. Adjusting the memory had apparently not taken right. A girl wouldn't have been brought along on such a prank - not by high school boys, anyway - but four boys had to be involved. So some other boy had been substituted, evidently... but why didn't Cory remember the updated history?
"Then there's something else. Your programs in class."
Erica's chill intensified. She worked hard to keep it out of her face.
"Programmers have a style. You know it, anybody that's, like, collaborated on a program knows it." He looked her in the eye. "I always counted on you for the hairier parts of the code, but I knew I'd have to clean it up some." He shrugged. "No offense, but you always made your functions too big, and your comments were useless half the time. You could juggle a lot of things in your head; actually, you always ran too many things together in one block. But you never thought about how someone else would understand what you wrote."
Now he stared meaningfully. "Not this year. You break everything down into smaller steps, and your comments are much more... descriptive." His frown seemed permanent by now. "You're not exactly a superstar programmer anymore, not by yourself, but you're a much better team player."
Erica shrugged, noncommittally. "Thanks, I guess."
"Another thing. I looked at your Gamercard. You got three or four thousands last year. You even got two over the summer. Since school started, though, you've barely gotten any Achievements."
Erica shrugged again. "Kinda busy with cheerleading." She was starting to feel genuine nervousness.
"And there's something else. This is..." he trailed off. Then he squared his shoulders. "You're, like, attractive. At least, you should be. I remember thinking you were hot, last year." She started to reply, but he overrode her. "But this year...it's like... like the thought of kissing you is... disturbing."
Trying to defuse things, she smiled and joked, "Am I supposed to be crushed?" She couldn't keep all her unease out of her voice.
He just stared at her. Then he spoke. "Something about this is bothering you." She gasped as he pulled a gun out of his pocket and pointed it at her.
"Here's the thing. Every time I think about that night at Lincoln High, I think of you. Why is that?"
Erica, petrified, could only see the barrel aimed at her chest. "Oh, Goddess, please, just put that away. Just, just go..." She was screaming for her Mom in the back of her mind, calling for help. She couldn't send concepts yet, just emotion, but she could feel her Mom reacting to the distress she was sending.
"No." He was firm, unshakable. "None of this makes sense... unless my own memories - everyone's memories - have been tampered with." He glared at her, daring her to deny it.
"I don't... Don't you hear how crazy that sounds?"
~~~~~
Miranda sat in her folding chair at the edge of the soccer field, watching Haylie run about with the other girls. Suddenly she bolted upright at the impact of Erica's empathic scream. She reached for her eldest daughter's mind and came close to panic herself at what she saw through Erica's eyes. Fumbling, she grabbed for her cell phone as she turned and strode over to one of the other mothers nearby, pretending to receive a call.
Holding the phone up to her ear, she braced a friend. "Connie? I need to run, Erica needs me at home. Can you take Haylie to the party for me after the game?"
"That's fine," the woman replied. Seeing Miranda's pallor, she asked, "I hope it's not serious?"
"I don't think so," Miranda called over her shoulder, jogging toward her car. As soon as she was inside, even as she was starting it up, she was 'calling' her Sisters.
Jacqui was driving the car, the three Sisters chatting idly, when Miranda's telepathic cry for help reached them. They had only just started home, having spent the afternoon shopping. Within seconds Jacqui was pulling to the side of the freeway.
"Oh, Goddess, we've got to get back there." Laurie was working to make a link to see what was happening with Erica as Bronwyn 'talked' to Miranda and Jacqui navigated the car to a stop.
"We'll meet up in her garage." Bronwyn was always cool and collected in a crisis. Not for her power alone was she High Priestess of the Sisterhood.
Miranda pulled off the road into a parking lot as soon as she was away from the game, and began to chant the teleportation spell. She had to get to Erica fast.
"I've 'seen' where we're going from Miranda," Bronwyn said. "Be careful; we can't startle the boy, he'll kill Erica."
All Sisters could manage teleportation of several hundred yards. Some could do a mile or more. The witches held hands, forming an awkward 'circle' in the car to share power - and Jacqui proved her almost unprecedented ability by teleporting all three witches over fifteen miles to the Jardin home.
~~~~~
"Tell me what the fuck is going on. Now." Cory's voice was level, the hand holding the gun was steady. Erica could see his eyes darting, the sweat forming on his brow, though. He was on the edge, his control - and her position - was very precarious.
"Please, just, just put that down. I, I, I don't know what you want to hear, but..."
"I want to hear why the fuck I know what your kitchen looks like if we've only ever seen each other at school!" he roared.
Erica's heart was racing, she felt faint. For the first time in weeks, she wished for Eric's strength back. Overpowering Cory was impossible, for Erica at least, and she'd barely started to learn Magic. Her mouth worked, unable to make a sound...
Suddenly she heard her Mother's voice in her mind, had a feeling she was close by. Stall him. Say whatever you have to. Help is coming. With the message came a sense of Miranda's intense fear. But also maternal rage, the fury of a mother bear whose cub was threatened. And a certain... confidence, a sense that this problem could be dealt with. That helped immeasurably.
"O... okay." Her tone was placating, submissive. Surrendering. "Just... wait." She held out her hands, warding him off.
"Talk fast." He practically growled.
Erica didn't need much prompting. "My Mom's a witch." Cory stiffened, and she rushed on. "I know, I didn't believe it either. I used to be Eric, a boy. One of your friends. Then my Mom changed me, made me a girl. A month before school, last summer." She drew a deep breath. "She changed everybody's memories, no one was supposed to remember."
Cory just glared, giving no outward reaction.
"She wanted to let me learn what it was like to be a girl, to see life from this side..."
~~~~~
The three Sisters materialized in the garage. Miranda was already there, straining her Magical senses to keep track of the dangerously unstable situation in the kitchen. She wasn't even paying attention to the words being spoken, she was watching the emotions of both the youngsters. Jacqui worked to collect herself - teleporting that many people that far was a strain.
Bronwyn snapped curt orders. "I'm going to conjure the gun from him. Miranda, Laurie, the second I do that, you two knock him out. Everyone clear?"
The two women nodded, clasping hands.
~~~~~
"So you fucked with my mind, my memories, my self - with everyone who knew you - so that you could get a look at the inside of the girl's locker room?" There was murder in Cory's glare.
"I didn't do it. My Mom did. It was supposed to be a gift."
"A gift that involved wandering around in my head, rearranging the furniture to suit you?" He wasn't anywhere near panic now. He was coldly furious, and it was even more frightening.
"I didn't..." she began, and then she felt the power being used. The gun was gone, and a surge of Magic slammed into Cory.
He grunted, staggered... but didn't go down. Unsteadily, he struggled to focus on Erica.
In the garage, Miranda screamed. "He's fighting it! Dark Power! He's a Brother!" The other Sisters were shocked. Nothing about this situation was expected, everything was happening so fast...
Cory took a step toward Erica, who was paralyzed with shock. The assault he felt intensified; it was nearly impossible to keep his eyes open. He turned and ran - or at least stumbled - to the back door, out into the backyard. Heedless, he trampled through the garden. The further he got from the house, the lower the force ebbed. With the same strange familiarity he'd felt about Erica's home, he recalled a trail through the woods at the back of their yard...
Miranda burst through the door into the house, racing to Erica. Bronwyn came in on her heels, shouting, "We have to stop him!" Jacqui and Laurie were not far behind.
Miranda was squeezing Erica in her arms, tears running freely. "Oh, my baby, thank the Goddess you're okay..."
Bronwyn gave commands to the Donovans in a low, firm voice. "We can't let him get away. We need to know what's going on. Get past him, back me up." She paused for a second. "And keep your senses open. Something about this setup isn't right."
Cory was running hard, keeping his breathing even. He wasn't the fastest on the track team but he knew how to cover ground. Not far now, he'd be out on a street in seconds. He hoped that being in public would make him a less vulnerable target. At that moment, a dozen yards up the trail, the air shimmered and twisted. A slim, older woman was suddenly blocking his way.
Physical assaults between Magic-users were pretty much unheard of, in both the Brotherhood and Sisterhood - for much the same reason that machine-gunners didn't bother with bayonets. Cory's attack nearly succeeded simply because it was so hopeless. By the time Bronwyn understood what was going on, his left hook was flying. She only just shifted her defenses from the Magical level to the physical before it landed.
He was rebuffed backward, landing flat on his ass. For a moment he gaped up at her. Then, with the speed of the fit teenage boy he was, he rolled over and charged off through the woods, angling away from her and the Jardin house.
He reached a small clearing and stopped short. A younger, athletic woman stood on the far side. Immediately, he felt the same kind of pressure he'd felt at the house. Stronger, even. In the half-instinctive way he'd come up with then, he pushed back, as hard as he could, trying to counterattack.
The woman might have smiled, slightly. "Is that all you got?" She gestured, and the force that had repelled him from the other woman seized him, from all directions. It was like being gripped in an invisible fist.
"Who sent you?" she demanded. "Who are you working for?"
"Fuck you," Cory spat. Still wriggling, fighting... though it made no difference.
"What is the Brotherhood up to? I won't ask again," Jacqui said.
"Whatever you are, fuck you!" he screamed, lashing out on that new level as hard as he could. It didn't even dent Jacqui's shields.
At that point, the other witches appeared in the clearing. Miranda brought Erica with her. The danger was past, now, and she wanted her daughter to see that. To know that she would be safe.
"Suit yourself," Jacqui was saying to Cory. "We'll find out one way or another."
She turned to the other witches and looked straight at Bronwyn. "You're right. Something's off about this whole situation. We need answers, fast, and he doesn't want to give 'em up."
Miranda was bristling, resembling nothing so much as a furious mother cat whose kittens had been threatened. "He doesn't have to give anything. We can take what we need."
Laurie spoke up, concerned. "Let's just... take a moment, everyone..."
Miranda practically growled. "Who else is coming? What do they know?" She waved at Cory, still struggling. "He was going after Erica! We can't afford to fight through his mind, breaking shield after shield. There's no time!"
Bronwyn pursed her lips, mulling that over. Miranda focused on her. "We let Brothers get away with attacking Novices right in front of us now?"
Erica had been standing to the side, dazed and numb. At that, she stirred. "Mom, wait. He wasn't..."
"Quiet, honey. There's more going on than you know," Miranda said absently. More firmly, she looked meaningfully at Bronwyn and said, "Much more."
Bronwyn stood up straight. "True. We need intel, and quickly." She turned to Laurie, making eye contact.
Laurie paused, then nodded reluctantly. Bronwyn nodded more decisively. Both grasped Jacqui's hands. Miranda reached out too, pulling Erica forward. Her daughter should be part of this. Jacqui began to chant.
Erica joined the circle, lending her power. The communion of the circle let her see the spell, perceive the forces flowing, feel the thoughts of her Sisters somewhat. The light gathered, and crashed into Cory like a wave.
The Sisters were focused, intent. Only Miranda possessed any real enthusiasm, though. The three senior Sisters were simply carrying out an unfortunate but necessary task, eliminating a demonstrated threat.
She could see in their minds what they were doing. Overwhelming and obliterating his power, cancelling it. They would remove it permanently, blot it out, taking all aggression, all will to harm from him. He'd be gentled; a passive, quiet man with no Magic, who wouldn't hurt a fly. It was a weapon they used against evil men, she could see memories of them using it on the... the 'Brotherhood'?
Erica was horrified. Cory had threatened her, but he wasn't evil. At most, he'd overreacted... though what would she have done if she'd discovered someone had covertly altered her memories? What would Eric have done?
Cory resisted frantically, but he was simply, completely outclassed. The light was shoving inward; compressing, consuming his will to fight. Erica saw it, felt it happening. Laurie noticed the girl's distress, and began to probe for the cause. But it was too late; Erica pulled back, withdrew from the circle.
Only a Novice would make such a mistake. Abruptly breaking the link caused the built-up energies circulating among the women to discharge wildly, dispersing. The pain was excruciating for all of them, and crippling for Jacqui, who'd been the focus of the circle. She fell on the ground, dazed. Bronwyn staggered and Laurie sank to her knees. They had been to either side of her, and were only marginally less impaired.
Cory shook his head, the attack fading. He thought as quickly as he could. It was obvious he couldn't win this fight. He barely knew how to wage this fight. Running from people who could teleport was useless. But an opportunity had opened - he had no idea why. Not for victory, but to cost his assailants as dearly as possible.
Taking all his rage, all his hate, all his terror and despair, he focused everything he had in the unfamiliar manner he only half-understood and blasted every bit of it... at Erica. She screamed, agonized, as darkness crept in from all directions, extinguishing her light. It was savage and unrelenting and powered with Cory's entire soul. She blocked as much as she could, instinctively, but she too had been stunned by the collapse of the circle.
One witch remained. Miranda had been away from the focus and hadn't broken the circle herself; she was shaken but able to think. She saw what was happening to her beloved daughter and she acted with all of a Mother's resolve - and fury. Perhaps if Jacqui hadn't been there to spark the idea, the form of her counterattack would have been different... but it was in any case effective. Her power swelled and exploded from her, enveloping Cory in light.
~~~~~
"Well, this is a fine mess." Jacqui was not happy.
The Jardin kitchen was a tense place again, and now crowded as well. Miranda and Laurie and Bronwyn sat at the table, sipping coffee. Erica hugged herself by the counter and Jacqui paced about. Several major decisions had to be made quickly.
"I'm sorry," Miranda said contritely. "It was the only way I could see. He was going to kill Erica!"
Bronwyn broke in sharply. "But you didn't have to add the subspell making it permanent!"
"I'm sorry," she said again. "I wasn't thinking clearly. He was killing my Daughter! All I wanted was to make sure he'd never be able to threaten her again."
"Well, she certainly won't be doing that anytime soon," Laurie muttered. Cory - now physically a young woman, looking slightly comical in ill-fitting male clothing - lay on the couch in the living room, held asleep by Laurie's Magic. He'd been unconscious when the witches had recovered.
Erica had stayed mute all the way back to the house, but now she spoke up. "What's the 'Brotherhood'?"
The other women fell silent, staring at her. "Goddess, what a fiasco," Bronwyn sighed. "This is much too soon for you to be hearing this, but I suppose there's no sense protecting you anymore." She took a sip of coffee. "I will have to summarize, there isn't time for the whole story right now."
"The Sisterhood has existed for tens of thousands of years. There have been people using Magic since we were human, I suppose. But there are two ways to power, via Light - the way of the Goddess we follow - or via Darkness."
"The Dark Power is not inherently evil, any more than aggression and conflict are necessarily evil. But like aggression and conflict, it can easily bring out the worst in men. And when it does, terrible things happen. Long before recorded history, the followers of Darkness betrayed and nearly destroyed the followers of Light."
She sighed. "Magic itself changed in that betrayal and the following struggle. Before, Light and Dark were in harmony, and available to all. After, the Dark Power was oriented to men and the Light to women. Men can no longer use the Light, women cannot use the Dark. Perhaps some terrible mistake was made, that caused that change and led to the betrayal. Perhaps that splintering was part of the betrayal itself. We cannot know, this far removed."
She went on. "Only a few men survived the battles, former followers of the Light, stripped of their power. In hiding, they found the Goddess. She gave them the power they needed to save humanity from the Dominion of the Brotherhood, but Her price was their masculinity. The Sisterhood of the Transformed was founded, granted new powers of Light to contest the Darkness."
"After a long struggle, the Brotherhood was defeated, though not destroyed. Nor should it have been. Just as most men - even in an invading army - are not truly evil, most Brothers do not desire conquest and destruction." Another sip. "But the Sisterhood remains to guard against the times when powerful Brothers turn evil. To protect humanity from another Dominion."
She looked at Erica. "One of these conflicts, you've heard of. World War II. Even the ordinary histories record that Hitler was deeply involved in the occult, and that he survived dozens of attempts on his life."
The novice absorbed that soberly. After a few moments, she asked, "So, there's men in the Brotherhood, and Transformed men in the Sisterhood. What about women? Birth-women, I mean? Don't they have any kind of Magic?"
"Yes they do, or can. Magic of Light, and powerful, but it is not a Magic suitable for direct struggle with the Brotherhood. Subtle, defensive, nurturing. The peaceful path of the Light, Wicca and similar ways."
Erica was speechless, processing what the High Priestess had said. Miranda spoke up. "What are we going to do if the Brotherhood knows where we are?"
"Nothing about this fits," groused Laurie. "The Brotherhood is sometimes evil, but rarely this stupid." She looked around at the other Sisters. "An attack like this is too clumsy. He had no idea what he was doing. He wasn't even using proper spells, just raw power."
"I've checked everywhere around here. There's no trace of Dark Magic, no sign of Brotherhood activity," Bronwyn concurred. She looked toward the form on the couch, musing. "Magically, not even that strong. Above average, perhaps, but not remarkably so."
"Erica." Jacqui said peremptorily, getting the girl's attention. She pointedly nodded toward Cory. "A classmate of yours?" She trusted her hunches.
"Yeah," Erica replied, abstractedly. "He was a friend of mine, before, y'know, I was Transformed. We went way back." She shook her head, hardly able to believe that Cory had tried to kill her. "Somehow, he knew something was wrong. He remembered what our house looked like, even though he shouldn't." She hugged herself. "He was so scared, so angry."
"For most men, being scared means being angry," Jacqui noted wryly. She reached for her shoulderbag and pulled out a laptop. "What's your wifi password? I need to check things out."
Erica was amazed all over again at the speed Jacqui gathered and correlated information. Some of it was Magic, which allowed exploits no ordinary computer security scheme could defend against. But much of it was Jacqui's extraordinary mind - the intuitive leaps she could make were dizzying, but almost always turned out to be well-founded.
The older Sisters couldn't even follow the bulk of what Jacqui was doing; computer literacy wasn't a common trait in the Sisterhood. It had only been about fifteen minutes when Jacqui sat back and said, "I think I know what's going on. Cory was adopted."
"Yeah, that's right. So?" Erica asked.
"So, from what I can gather from hints in some of these sealed records, his father was in the Brotherhood. I'll lay odds the 'fire' his birth parents died in was the result of some intra-Brotherhood power struggle. Maybe the other Brothers didn't know about Cory, or didn't care."
She sighed. "Either way, he was adopted by perfectly normal parents, I just scanned them. He was never trained, never knew anything about Magic."
"'Cory's Luck'!" Erica blurted. At the stares of the other women, she shrugged. "He was always lucky. Just little things. The teachers never called on him if he didn't know the answer. He was killer at poker, you didn't dare call his bluffs. Things like that."
Bronwyn nodded. "That fits. Unconsciously using his power, not even knowing what he was doing." She shook her head ruefully. "He's not a Brother."
"How come I wasn't lucky like that? As Eric, I mean?" Erica asked.
Miranda said gently, "When a Sister gives birth to her son, she performs the Birth Rites. It blocks off her son's access to the Dark Power." Erica frowned. A lot of unexpected information was coming at her fast.
Bronwyn looked at Miranda. "Still, this explains why your memory spells didn't take fully."
"I did everything..." Miranda started to object.
"That was not an indictment, Sister, simply an observation," Bronwyn broke in, her tone reminding everyone that - and why - she was High Priestess. "You were changing hundreds of minds at once. No one would expect you to sense just one mind among them, passively resisting, and only partially at that."
Miranda waved in the general direction of the sleeping girl in the next room. "But how could I have missed that? Someone with the Dark Power, in my house?" She looked to the other witches. "Eric and Cory played together all the time when they were little. He slept over here a few times!"
Jacqui shook her head. "He probably never used it here. Power really develops at puberty, kids don't do Magic. Not that kind, anyway. And why would you suspect anything? I got introduced to the High Leader of the Brotherhood and didn't have any sense he was more than a creep." She dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "Water under the bridge. Right now, we have someone who is not going to accept a Transformation easily, if at all, and only she can undo it." As she said that, she stared at Miranda, who averted her eyes, abashed.
Erica sensed something being left unsaid, but Jacqui kept talking. "We have to figure out what we're going do, and fast. No matter what we do, it's going to be a very busy night, and we're already late to pick up our girls from the babysitter."
"We only have two options," Bronwyn stated flatly. "Either we somehow convince her to voluntarily join the Sisterhood, somehow get her to accept and work through her Transition - if she can - or we open her mind, change her into a girl and make her forget she was ever a boy."
Erica was more than appalled, she was dumbfounded. "You can't do that! We'd be doing exactly what he was afraid of!"
"It's not something I want to do, or even take lightly, my dear," Bronwyn said solemnly. "But the fact remains that she hates us and poses a definite threat, which we cannot ignore."
"But we struck first!" Erica protested. "How would you feel if you found out someone changed your memories?"
Jacqui cleared her throat. "Erica, listen. I've studied this more than any other Sister, I think. I had a very hard Transition." She sighed. "The sons of Sisters are raised with a positive view of women. Not disparaging of masculinity, but Sisters know in their hearts what's in store for their boys." Erica looked at her Mother, thinking about what that meant. But Jacqui put her hands on Erica's shoulders, forced her to pay attention. "Even then, and even when the Transformation is presented in the most positive and non-threatening way possible, better than one in ten boys don't go through with it. They just can't adjust."
Jacqui shook her head. "I can't even imagine a worse scenario than this. Transformed against her will - as an attack - by people she feels she has every reason to hate. People she was willing to kill - and came very close to killing." Erica shuddered involuntarily; the memory of consuming darkness was fresh. "I don't see how a successful Transition is even possible here."
She went on, inexorably. "And leaving her as she is? Stuck in a hateful body with no hope of going back? She'd be a threat to herself, and to the Sisterhood. She could expose you and your Mother, and probably us. Best case, we all go into hiding with new identities. Worst case, the Brotherhood finds us before we can." She sighed. "I have a daughter almost Haylie's age. I can't put her at hazard like that."
"I'm sorry, Erica," Bronwyn said. "It's a war. At least a cold one, and we never know when it might turn hot." She sighed. "And sometimes in war, innocent people get hurt."
"At least let me try," Erica pleaded. The witches exchanged long looks.
~~~~~
Cory woke slowly, looking groggy and sluggish to Erica. She could vaguely feel the power operating as Laurie removed her Healing sleep spell. Then, all at once he was totally awake, panicked and struggling. His arms were restrained, legs too. His eyes focused and he saw the ropes tying him to a chair. He looked up and saw Erica sitting in front of him, no one else around - and then his eyes shot back to his arms. His body. His breasts.
"What the fuck?!" he exclaimed, then a made a wordless horrified cry at his own voice.
Erica spoke urgently. "Please, wait. Please. Just listen to me."
Cory kept struggling. His desperate spasms failed to free his limbs.
"Please listen." Erica pleaded. "Just listen for a minute." Cory finally stopped thrashing around and glared balefully. For just a moment, Erica felt almost as if she were under Magical attack again, even though she knew that was impossible. The hate and anger in his expression was intense.
Halting, unsure, Erica began. "I'm sorry. This isn't anything we wanted, that anybody wanted. This is all a big misunderstanding." She trailed off.
Cory just glowered. Then he pointed his chin down at his body and snarled, "This is a 'misunderstanding'? My mind wasn't enough, you had to fuck up my body too?"
Erica spread her hands. "You were trying to kill me, and, well, my Mom did what she had to, to save me."
"You tried to kill me." His voice was terrible, soaked with hate and an undercurrent of terror. But the worst thing was the absolute lack of hope. It was obvious Cory felt he was facing his death, or worse.
"I didn't... They weren't..." Now she was wringing her hands. "Things just... got away from everybody." Pleadingly, she asked, "Look, just let me explain?"
He sat motionless, set in stone. Incongruously, Erica was struck by what a pretty girl Cory made. On the slender side, with slim hips and a modest bust. A little like Bronwyn. But she couldn't afford distractions right now, and Cory didn't need any reminders of his new status yet.
Falteringly, she began again. "I wasn't kidding about the Magic. Obviously. My Mom's really a witch. Along with a bunch of others, they call themselves the Sisterhood." She looked away. "They all started as men, becoming a girl is... sort of like an initiation. That's what my Mom did for me."
She paused. "I just found out a lot of this. There are men that they fight, men with Magic. They thought you were one of them."
"Oh, it's all just a big mistake." Goddess, he sounds bitter, Erica thought.
Eric had been, too, she realized, and with less reason.
"Unfortunately, yeah." She looked in his eyes. Despite the features, she couldn't think of Cory as a 'her'. "When you threatened me, they... well, they kinda went ballistic."
Once again he indicated his reshaped body. "This is 'ballistic'?" A faint tremor in his voice now; Erica felt a rush of sympathy, and shame. He must be so frightened!
"Mom sorta had to. Sisters can't kill."
"They were doing a good job before!" he snapped.
"No, even then, they were just going to sorta burn out your power, wipe out your aggression."
Anger was back, now, in full measure. "What? That's supposed to be better?"
"No!" she said forcefully. "Once I saw what they were doing, I stopped them."
He frowned and stared at her, exuding disbelief... but she could see he hadn't expected her to say that.
"Look, I understand why you attacked me. I think even they do, now." She sighed. "And now I'm trying to keep it from getting any worse."
"Change me back. Let me go." Suddenly he was shouting. "Leave me the fuck alone!"
"Um... we can't." She couldn't keep her hands still. "Goddess, we all wish we could, but we can't."
Resigned sarcasm now, but still shouting. "Of course. I know too much. So let me guess, you'll really fuck up my mind now?"
"Listen." She had to make him understand. "I mean we actually are not able to change you back now. Nobody can, except you."
For the first time, there was honest confusion on his face. "What?"
"The spell is permanent, unless the Transformed One undoes it."
He just scowled, trying to process that. "And how do I 'undo it'?" he spat.
"That's... um... that's the hard part. You have to learn the Transformation spell." Her eyes dropped. "But to do that, you, uh..." She squared her shoulders. No sense pussyfooting around it. "You have to acclimate. To being a girl."
She could actually watch the dumbfounded shock on his face shift to obstinate rejection. "Fix this, or I swear to God, the second I'm out of here I kill every fucking one of you or die trying!"
The other witches stepped into the room at that point. Cory's expression was poisonous. He was wriggling again, trying to work free from the ropes. Miranda held her daughter's shoulders. "Erica, this isn't going to work. She... he can't trust us."
"Why the fuck should I? Bitch?" Under other circumstances, the women might have found it amusing, how against his instincts it was to insult her like that. To use the word, despite his rage. But they had probed his mind, seen that he wasn't prone to such things... and it made the whole tangled predicament all the more tragic.
"No reason at all, from your perspective." Bronwyn was somehow authoritative even as she was apologizing. "We are all truly sorry it has come to this, but what Erica told you is the truth. It is now beyond our power to restore you to your male form."
"Bullshit!" he screamed. Then, he visibly restrained himself. In a quiet tone containing an impressive amount of menace for a soprano, he said, "Change me back now, or one of us dies."
"There is only one way to do that, as Erica told you. We can instruct you, help you, but you have to voluntarily adjust, adapt yourself to being female first." She spread her hands helplessly. "The only way out now is through."
"Buncha crap," Cory growled.
"How do you know? Are you an expert in Magic?" Jacqui asked pointedly.
Cory didn't concede the point. Instead he shifted ground. "How can I know anything? You screw with people's heads just for fun! There's no excuse for messing with somebody's mind!"
"I know it must seem that way to you, but it is a matter of survival for us." Bronwyn sighed. "I have no way to prove this to you, but..." She searched for words. "Changing merely peripheral memories, planting subtle and temporary Suggestions, is one thing. There is an unmistakable, almost tangible difference between that and fundamentally altering who someone is, damaging their free will. Once that line is crossed, it's irrevocable, they cannot be restored. We cross that line only in desperate circumstances, and I assure you, we have not done so with you."
He was unmoved. "Not yet. As you said, I've got no reason to trust you."
Jacqui piped in. "If we were the brain-eating monsters you think, why would we be talking to you?"
That stymied him for a moment.
Erica jumped in. "Honest, all my Mom did was change your memories of me." She paused, then continued thoughtfully. "It never really occurred to me, what that meant." Cory sneered, and she said, defensively, "She kinda tricked me into this whole girl thing, I've had my own stuff to deal with."
Miranda felt pierced to the heart to hear Erica say that. She hadn't been 'tricked'... well, not really. Well, not completely...
Jacqui tried to get things back on track. "If you accept our help, we can teach you the Magic you will need to Transform yourself back into a boy."
There was a brief pause. "How long would that take?" His voice had lost none of its hostility, granting nothing. It was an accusation far more than a request for information.
As an accusation, it struck home. "Ah. Unfortunately, that could take... a few years. Particularly in your case, there are... difficulties..." Jacqui's eyes weren't focused on the present, flashing back to earlier times.
"Years?" Erica remembered her own reaction to that news, how she'd squeaked. Cory delivered his line better; a hiss with clenched teeth. Her heart sank.
"I'm afraid so." Jacqui had recollected herself. "You'll need to live as a girl, learn women's Magic."
"For years." No change in his tone or delivery. The rejection was obvious.
Laurie sounded compassionate as always. "I know it doesn't sound appealing right now, but we can help. No one else would have to know. We can change memories, both now and when you become male again..."
Cory interrupted rudely. "I'm thinking my parents are going to remember adopting a boy." The sarcasm was thick, troweled on. "Can you change their whole life as parents without changing who they are?"
More exchanged glances. "No," Bronwyn conceded.
"Then fuck you. I'm not letting you turn them into zombies." He shrugged. "At least if I'm dead there's no point in screwing with their minds."
Erica looked horrified, realizing that Cory was right. Ruthlessly 'rearranging the furniture' in the minds of Cory's parents - at least - was unavoidable. Probably grandparents and other relatives, too. The other Sisters hadn't even mentioned that, just accepted it as given. The cost of doing business.
Laurie was speaking. "Sisters cannot kill. I'm afraid that, ah, reconciling you to the situation is the only available path." She spread her hands helplessly, worriedly. "But if we force you to accept being a girl, it will destroy any chance of you becoming a boy again. Only free minds can perform Magic." It was obvious to all she was troubled. Jacqui frowned herself.
Cory looked from her to glare directly at Bronwyn. "What if I just kill myself? No blood on your hands, right?"
Horrified silence reigned for long moments. Erica was dumbfounded to see the Sisters actually considering the idea...
But Bronwyn ultimately shook her head. "The Sisterhood has far more practice covering up a Transformation than a vanishing. We cannot afford to bring that kind of attention here."
Cory bunched in on himself and pointedly looked away. Clearly he had nothing more to say to them.
"We have our own families to protect. And through them, a world. You leave us no choice. I'm sorry." The witches, in silent accord, began forming a circle, though not even Miranda displayed any real enthusiasm this time. Laurie was particularly slow to join. Erica yanked her hands from her Mother's and hugged herself, face a study in distress.
"I promise, for what it's worth, you and your parents will be happy..." Bronwyn's eyes were sad as they took in the rigid statue the former boy made, saturated with hate and fear. The Magic began to gather...
And then, to everyone's surprise including her own, Erica placed herself between Cory and the Sisters, locking eyes with Miranda. "Mother, if you do this, you'd better just do it to me, too." She was suddenly shaking, not sure herself if it was in rage or fear or both. "I will do whatever I can to stop you, and I will never forgive you."
"Erica, honey, please..." Miranda's shock and grief were palpable. Bronwyn looked taken aback, and even Cory betrayed some uncertainty.
"No. You tell me the Sisterhood is meant to fight evil, to protect the innocent." She looked at everyone present, cold anger making her tremble a little. "Cory's not evil. He's the most innocent one here."
~~~~~
In the moment, Erica was surprised at how quickly the other Sisters realized she was serious. Only afterward did it occur to her that maybe the witches didn't need words to discern how she felt.
It threw things into confusion for a while. Bronwyn, Laurie, and Jacqui went off to confer alone. Miranda's few abortive attempts at persuasion were ruthlessly shot down.
In the other room, the witches spoke in low but urgent tones. "This is bad," Jacqui said.
"There has to be a way to get through this mess without permanently damaging anyone's mind..." Laurie said. It was almost a prayer.
"A false hope," said Bronwyn sadly. "We'd all love that, but there's no chance of success here. You saw Cory."
"Success might even be worse," Jacqui pointed out. "Say we talk him into going along for now. With the Goddess' blessing, say we even convince him to go through a Transition. But we'd be setting both of them up for heartbreak! To go back to being Cory, back to his parents, he - she - would have to give up her newborn son!" She shook her head. "And Erica will have been party to it."
"Are you seriously suggesting mindwiping Erica?" Laurie said.
Jacqui and Bronwyn exchanged glances. "No," Jacqui admitted.
Bronwyn spoke slowly, thinking out loud. "I don't think she understands how traumatic an unwelcome Transformation can be. She might change her mind once she sees..."
"But we'd have to deal with Cory until then. Who has every reason to expose us." Jacqui shook her head. "And the longer this spins out, the bigger the mess to clean up."
By the time the trio of Sisters returned, icy silence ruled the room.
"Erica," Bronwyn began, "you need to understand the danger we're in. Our enemies look for certain patterns, strange happenings. We've gotten much better at covering our tracks in the last few years, but we're not perfect. We already took a chance changing your records from boy to girl, instead of shifting you and your Mother to new identities." Erica's eyes widened. "We felt the risk was minimal, and that it would ease your Transition if you didn't need to uproot everything."
Jacqui's voice was clipped, clinical. "But whatever we do now, it'll be a rush job. We've never 'disappeared' someone, it's just not something we do. It'd be risky enough altering Cory's records without any prep work, but a criminal investigation into a disappearance would draw a lot of dangerous attention."
Erica looked back and forth. "Can't you set him up with a new identity?" She indicated Cory.
Jacqui shrugged. "That'd be even more risk. All the problems of both. Altered records, plus we'd still have to deal with a missing boy. We'd be scrambling to make sure it wasn't linked to you and your Mother."
"But could you do it?" Erica said intensely.
Jacqui threw her hands in the air, frustrated. "We have reserve identities we could adapt. I suppose it could be done. In theory." She took a deep breath. "Again, though..."
Cory interrupted. "You're all forgetting something. I don't want some other identity! I'm not going to be a fucking girl!"
Jacqui and Bronwyn nodded sadly, knowingly. Laurie stared at the floor, and Miranda just looked sick and frightened.
Erica wrung her hands, a few tears welling up at the corners of her eyes. She moved to Cory and begged. "Cory, please, it's not so bad. I really think they're telling the truth, eventually you can change back. I'll help you, I'll keep them honest. I won't let them mess with your head anymore. With anyone's! Please, Cory."
Cory looked taken aback, for just a moment. Then the walls slammed back down, the shields went up. "Fuck you. All of you."
"Cory, listen. Think for a second. I'll fight them if I have to, I mean it, they'll have to brainwash me. But..." She bit her lower lip, then whispered. "I can't beat them."
The witches now looked very uneasy; Miranda looked terrified. Cory squinted at her. Eager for any sign she might reach him, she rushed on.
"I'll fight, I swear it, but I'll lose. If you make them change us, they'll change your parents anyway and... and... and everybody loses." She took a deep, ragged breath, tried to control herself. "But we can make them set you up as somebody else for a while, let your mom and dad think you ran away." He twitched. "Cory can come back. Eventually. They won't need to brainwash anybody. You can protect your family, if you just try for a while."
He looked away, at the wall.
"Cory, please. Please. It's not... You can do it, I know it. You're smart and strong, you can get through it. It's not a death sentence."
She held her breath, searching the mask Cory's face had become. On a boy's face the expression would have been called 'flinty', but the unmistakably feminine features, the pale complexion - especially in contrast to the dark black hair - reminded Erica crazily of porcelain.
"Please, help me make this right," she whispered. Maybe it was his male reflexes reacting to a crying girl, but Cory turned from her and squinted searchingly at the Sisters. Then he looked at the wall.
Erica held her breath. Prayers to the Goddess she suddenly doubted poured forth in her head. He looked back at her.
The angry tone made it clear it wasn't a surrender. "What exactly would I have to do?" But Erica suddenly felt hope in her heart.
Jacqui stepped forward. "You'd need to live as a girl. Dress like one, act like one, learn how to be one. Some things we can't tell you about, you have to learn for yourself. For reasons of Magic. But we would promise to tell you everything that we can tell you."
"You leave my parents out of this." The Sisters tried not to show any signs of relief. It was a negotiation now, not a standoff.
Jacqui looked at Cory. "It would still be safer to adjust your history..."
"No fucking with my parents' heads. With anybody's," Cory snarled.
"Let her... him live here. It's our fault, we should take care of him!" Erica interjected. Cory glowered but made no comment.
It was Jacqui's turn to look away in thought. Finally she turned back, caught Cory's eyes. "If we do this, we'll need your cooperation. You'll need to help us make it look like you ran away. Even if it hurts your parents."
"So, you'll take a chance for her sake, but not some random civilian like me, huh?" Cory asked pointedly. Jacqui had the grace to look faintly embarrassed.
~~~~~
Negotiations took time, but eventually an agreement was hammered out. As reparation, and in exchange for keeping the Sisterhood's secret, Cory would receive their assistance and protection. The Sisterhood would cover basic living expenses. He'd be given the training needed to master the Transformation spell.
'Cora' would live with Erica and Miranda, and attend 'her' old school as a transfer student. Neither Jacqui nor the High Priestess - nor especially Miranda - liked the idea. Entirely aside from the security issues, they felt a clean break was best. Laurie, however, eventually agreed with Erica that the Sisterhood's new ward needed at least some familiar surroundings. And Erica was the only Sister that Cory would even provisionally trust. Or, at least, didn't mistrust quite as much.
None of this went very smoothly, of course.
"One more thing. The first thing you teach me is how to protect my mind from Magic." Cory had been unbound from the chair but there was always a Sister between him and the exits.
"That is rather advanced..." Laurie began.
"I don't give a fuck how you want to do it. I don't give a fuck how it's supposed to be done." Nothing in his body language was remotely feminine. It looked like an alien, male spirit - a furious, demonic one - had possessed a girl's body. "I have to know my mind is my own, or no fucking deal."
The witches exchanged glances, helplessly. "We can't," Jacqui said. "It'd be like... like... trying to teach you Fourier transforms before you'd learned algebra." She shook her head. "I just don't see any way to..."
Erica broke in. "Cory, they have binding oaths. I've seen it. They take them seriously. If they give you their word like that, they'll keep it." The emotionless tone wounded Miranda, but not nearly as much as the fact that her daughter had used the word 'they'; that her daughter felt a gulf between herself and the Sisterhood.
Cory stared at Erica for a time. "Shit. I guess I have to trust you on that one." He frowned, thinking furiously.
"We can swear not to observe or alter your thoughts..." Bronwyn began, reluctantly, ruing Erica's stand. This Transition would be incredibly hard as it was. If they couldn't peek at Cory's progress from time to time, perhaps even plant the occasional Suggestion, it would likely be impossible. Although - she considered - there might be ways around it. Laurie had sworn not to peek at Jacqui's journal during her Transition... so she'd had Bronwyn do it. They could bring in another Sister...
If she hadn't known Cory was Magicless right now, she'd have suspected him of reading her mind. He interrupted her. "No. You will all swear not to snoop on my thoughts and feelings, or change them, or let anyone else do it either."
Finally the Sisters swore their oaths, and Cory less-than-gracefully pledged to abide by the terms. He made it clear that if they failed to live up to their side, he would consider himself free to do as he saw fit.
Once it was done, they all fell silent for a moment. Bronwyn spoke first. "Cory, we have much to do over the next few days. We will honor our word. We all want this... imbroglio resolved as quickly as possible."
She instructed with all her considerable gravitas. "But this means you must start making adjustments, too. From now on, you must think of yourself as a girl. Your name will be 'Cora', and you must come to accept it as your own."
His hands clenched... but after a moment, 'she' nodded sharply.
Jacqui tended to pounce on problems once the strategy was clear. "We need you to write a note to your parents. Say you're going away, you can't tell them why, but you're safe and you'll call soon." Cora's clenched teeth made the witches tense up. It looked like he... she was about to scrap everything. But once again she made a single sharp nod.
~~~~~
Bronwyn, Laurie, and Jacqui were at long last on their way back home. First, Jacqui had to teleport back to the car and drive it in.
Apologies had been pouring into the phone from Laurie to their beleaguered babysitter as they'd walked out the door. Bronwyn had been on her phone with another Sister discussing legal and financial machinations. Jacqui had been awkwardly tapping at her laptop all the way to the car, juggling records. They'd been more than slightly ambivalent about leaving the Jardins alone with Cora. Still, they'd already extended their trust, at least provisionally. And they couldn't keep the girl under guard forever.
Miranda had been instructed to keep Cora out of sight, lay low, and await further orders. Haylie had been shuffled into bed as soon as she was dropped off, with her own strict instructions to remain in her room. Miranda's grim countenance had prompted a most uncharacteristic meek obedience.
The girl in question sat on the bed in the Jardin guest room, still swimming in Cory's too-large ensemble. Her legs dangled over the side; the bed was high and her feet didn't reach the floor. She didn't stir when Erica walked in.
"I, uh, got some pajamas for you," Erica said. She didn't add that they were Haylie's; Cora wasn't actually much bigger than the eleven-year-old.
The neophyte Sister didn't react. She just sat there, looking at nothing in particular. She didn't look angry, or depressed. To Erica's worried eyes, she looked dead. "Well... I guess we'll go shopping for you tomorrow," she offered.
"So I can get some dresses?" Cora quipped. But even her acid was diluted.
Erica fidgeted a little. "Well... some, maybe. But, I mean, you don't have to wear frilly stuff all the time. If you don't want to."
"I don't."
Erica suddenly realized that Cora hadn't even gotten a good look at her new body yet. It made her newly grateful for the gradual change she'd undergone. While it was happening, it had seemed bizarre and hasty. Nevertheless, it had subtly given her just enough time to adapt. Or avoid panic, at least.
Maybe the Sisterhood really was that old.
Something to think about later. Right now, she somehow had to help Cora begin coming to terms with what had happened. "C'mon, let's get you changed." She gently guided Cora to her feet and led her to the bathroom. The rookie girl offered no resistance, or indeed animation. Erica was struck again with how much tinier Cora was now. Cory had been nearly half a head taller than Erica; she was now half a head shorter, just under five feet.
They went in. Cora stared at her face in the mirror. The resemblance to Cory was clear - but the features were finer, the eyes wider, the lips fuller. "Huh. I think my eyes are lighter," she muttered.
Erica set the pajamas down, but before she could turn to leave, or even close the door, Cora was pulling her shirt off. "Hey, I don't... I mean, you can have some privacy..." she said, backing away.
Cora was looking at her reflection, no more than mild curiosity in evidence. "What does it matter?" she said almost casually. She reached up and ran her hand over a breast. There was no passion in the action; she might as well have been evaluating a swath of fabric. To Erica's eye, Cora's breasts looked to be a medium A-cup. She felt an unexpected twinge of jealousy when she noticed how symmetrical they were; Erica's own left breast was a tad larger than the right.
Erica stood paralyzed with uncertainty. Cora unbuckled her belt and the loose pants and briefs dropped to the floor. She stared for a long time at her crotch.
Just a bush, the dark hair made it hard to even see the lips. She stepped out of the pants, spread her legs slightly, and reached down to touch herself. Again she displayed no emotion as her fingers probed for a time. She turned to the side, examining her profile. Then she turned further, and looked over her shoulder at her back and derrière. Her hair was still black, but now went down to her shoulderblades; she pushed it aside and looked at her ears.
Erica could feel herself getting a little wet, and cursed her Transformed libido. Cora was very cute. Short, elfin, slender - she might well weigh half what Cory had. Yet there was enough female padding in the right places to make her gender unmistakable. The word "nubile" might have been coined to describe her.
Her wasp waist emphasized the feminine curve of her hips. She even had less leg and underarm hair than Erica did naturally. Her mind, desperate for a tangent, marveled for a moment about how accustomed she'd become to shaving her legs.
Cora looked down again at her crotch. Calmly, she asked, "How do I go to the bathroom with this thing?"
"It's, uh, not that big a deal." Erica managed to impart the requirements without having to get hands-on. Cora didn't blush or betray any outward signs of chagrin. She was utterly matter-of-fact about things. Once the situation was resolved, she simply washed her hands and donned the pajamas. Then she picked up her clothes and the girls went back to the guest bedroom. Cora resumed sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into space.
After the attack, the standoff, and the angry negotiations, Cora's lack of emotion was disconcerting. Erica wondered if she was starting to go catatonic. She couldn't let Cora just withdraw into a shell. She needed to figure a way to get the poor girl to at least acknowledge the strong feelings that must be roiling inside. If Cora didn't express them, she couldn't deal with them. Although Erica knew she hadn't completed her own Transition, she was already a firm convert to the healing power of a good cry.
But if she pushed too hard, would that be worse? She didn't know what to say. After a moment, she knelt on the floor in front of Cora and grabbed her limp hands. Although there was no outward response, at least she didn't pull away. "I'm so sorry this happened. I know you probably hate me, but I promise, I'll do what it takes to make it right."
There was a long silence. Erica came close to despair. Then, a whisper. "I still don't know if I can trust you."
She almost protested - hadn't she done enough, alienating her Mom, bucking the High Priestess? But she seized her tongue before it could lash out, wondering in the back of her mind if Eric would have been able to. If he would have recognized the need, how badly Cora was hurting. Instead, she simply asked, "Can you give me a chance to prove it?"
Cora considered that. "I guess so," she finally said.
Still holding one of Cora's hands, Erica got up and sat on the bed next to her. Although she didn't want to crowd the girl, she'd also become a firm believer in the comfort of physical contact. "What are you thinking?" she asked diffidently.
Cora considered that. For a moment, her eyes regained some wariness. Erica wasn't sure if that was progress or not. But Cora replied. "I don't know what I'm thinking. Like, five hours ago I was a computer geek on the guys track team. Now I'm a tiny little girl with a squeaky voice and I have to learn Magic! I don't even believe... I never believed in Magic."
"It was a big shocker for me, too," Erica said. "I always thought my Mom was, like, a little flaky. Then, one night..." The story of her Transformation came spilling out. She kept nothing back, even the embarrassing parts, encouraged by the interest Cora showed. Any engagement was better than those dead eyes. Besides, she'd never had anyone to talk to about it except her Mom.
She wrapped up with her Mother leaving her at the table holding the scrapbook. For an interval Cora was quiet, but - thank the Goddess - it was a thoughtful, meditative silence.
"So... what do you think about all this now?" she asked.
"I don't... Goddess, I don't know what to think either." Erica made a little squeak of frustration. When Cora cocked her head, she suddenly realized how girlishly she was acting. She couldn't remember when she'd last been so self-conscious about acting feminine.
With a little more dignity, she said, "It's just so confusing, you know?"
Cora looked away. "That's not the word I'd pick."
Erica mused that things were bad when biting sarcasm was an improvement. She put her hand on Cora's shoulder. "I know you're scared, and I don't blame you. I was terrified when I first realized I was stuck as a girl. But I'll be there to help. We can do this together." She smiled, hoping to cheer up the new girl. "And really, it's not all bad." It was her turn to look away. "Honestly? Before this... I'd almost decided to stay a girl."
She felt Cora stiffen, but the involuntary Transformee didn't pull away. "And now?" she asked quietly.
"Now I'm not so sure. I love my Mom, and I liked the other Sisters, but... seeing what they did..." She shook her head. "I don't think I want anything to do with that."
After a lull, Cora spoke. "Don't you miss being a boy?"
That stumped Erica for a bit. "I..." She searched her feelings, floundering. "Not really. Not usually. Not anymore. I mean, at first, sure. But after a while..." She shrugged. "Only once in a while, these days. Like when..." she abruptly cut herself off.
"What?" Cora asked.
"Well..." she began, reluctantly. "...when you had that gun on me. For a second I wished I was strong enough to try to grab it."
"Oh." Cora brooded for a while. Eventually, she said, "Sorry. I mean, I thought you were... I don't know what I thought. But if it really wasn't your fault..." she trailed off. "Sorry."
A conditional apology was probably all she'd get. "S'okay." She thought for a second, then asked, "Speaking of... if you knew something was up, I woulda thought you'd do something more, I dunno, subtle. You're usually pretty tricky."
Cora squinted sideways at her, then shrugged. "Game it out. I knew that somebody could change people's memories, change the internet, everything." She put up her hands. "So, something or somebody that could squash me like a bug if they knew I knew. And nobody else picked up on it. I watched for months, but nobody else seemed to think anything special about you."
Cory had been like this sometime, explaining some programming trick. "So I couldn't ask anybody for help. And even, like, investigating was risky. I couldn't even do much web searching on you, in case there were traps for people looking." She shrugged. "But I couldn't just let it go. Who'd get replaced next? Who'd already been replaced, but I didn't know to look?"
Erica felt terrible, imagining how scared and lonely Cory must have been.
"So, someone or something powerful and sneaky. I couldn't beat 'em on power, or probably on sneaky. Literally the only clue I had was you. So I picked when I hit, when you were alone. And yeah, I brought a gun. Wasn't sure it'd do any good, but... something I heard once. Some Chinese general, he said, 'On desperate ground, fight.' Maybe it won't do any good, but if you just sit there you automatically lose."
Erica tried to picture herself - or Eric - doing what Cory had. She shivered. For a while, nobody said anything.
In a calculated risk, she edged closer, pulled Cora into a gentle hug. For a moment, Cora pulled back, and Erica feared she'd made a mistake... but then the girl sagged closer.
"I don't have anything of mine anymore," Cora said despairingly. "Not even my body. I didn't know anyone could take that away."
"You've still got your mind," Erica said. "And it was always a really good one."
"And how long will I have that?" she whispered.
"I'm not some pod-person who replaced Eric, you know," Erica said with as much reassurance as she could muster. "I had to learn a lot, but I didn't die or anything."
At that, Cora began to weep, softly at first. Erica had been half aiming for this, but now that it had arrived it was unnerving. She just held her friend, stroking her hair as the tears increasingly flowed, as frightened and grieving sobs choked out. It was clear that Cora, or Cory, had little experience with crying.
Erica was hardly shocked when the grasps and gasps began to shift into strokes and moans. If her own experience was any guide, Transformed bodies were very easily aroused. She herself had felt some stirrings at their physical contact, though she never would have acted on them absent signs of reciprocation. So she let her hands move, kissed the top of the apprentice girl's head. Cora desperately needed to release some tension, and anything that would make her new form less terrifying would be a plus.
Cora tilted her head up, and their lips met. Seconds later their tongues slicked against each other. Erica sensed Cora's tears running along her own cheeks, and wondered if she'd ever have a 'first time' where she didn't feel guilty about something.
The new girl's arms pulled tight, forcing them together, clutching Erica like a life preserver. Erica sensed Cora wriggling her hips, understood the tension that drove the motions, even if Cora probably didn't yet. She ran a hand over Cora's ass, extracting a moan and some flexion.
Cora eased up on her hold and they lay back on the bed. It was strange making love to someone smaller than herself again. She snuck a hand up and started unbuttoning the pajamas Cora had just donned minutes ago.
She decided not to advance things until they were both naked. No matter how potent the hormones of her Transformed body, Cora was not remotely comfortable with being a girl. Having a pretty, nude female to look at, to touch, would likely help distract her.
Once they were properly unclothed, Erica got right to business. It would normally be madness to rush a girl's first time, but circumstances were hardly normal here. If she could get Cora to come quickly, her freshly multi-orgasmic nature would almost force her to keep going.
Her finger found Cora's clit almost instantly and provoked an involuntary yelp of shock and pleasure. Cora struggled in her embrace for a moment, until Erica realized what she was aiming for. She let go with her other arm and kept massaging Cora at her most sensitive point. The girl commenced licking and suckling at Erica's breasts.
Erica used the rapid thrumming technique that she'd found so effective on herself. For a few seconds she was unsure if it was working - she'd expected a moan or at least a whimper. Instead Cora panted faster. Erica felt moisture beading on her own pussy lips and squeezed her legs together.
Cora grunted, her breath hitched... and she started to buck. About the third pulse she finally cried out, unable to contain herself anymore. Even then she wasn't as loud as Erica had expected.
Erica held herself close, kept her finger moving between Cora's clenched legs. The orgasm and Cora's moans eventually subsided. She reclined, breathless. "Whoa," she said, stunned.
"I know," Erica said, appreciatively.
Presently they moved into a 69 with Cora on top. The girl was so slight that her weight was no problem. But Erica had to bend more than she'd have liked to get her tongue into Cora's pussy.
Even Cora's labia were beautiful. Eric's porn collection had always included fleshier pudenda that didn't quite conceal the delicate lips within, and Erica concurred. While probing between those inner lips, Erica confirmed that Cora lacked a hymen. She silently thanked the Goddess for small favors. She didn't want to think about how complicated things might have become, psychologically, if Cory had been a virgin.
There were further testimonies to Cory's carnal education. While Cora's technique on Erica's flesh understandably lacked subtlety, she was already better at cunnilingus than Eric had been. The naïveté was almost charming in a way.
They kept at it for over an hour. At the end Cora still couldn't be termed 'relaxed', but she was able to fall asleep, which was the best Erica had hoped for.
Miranda watched Erica's thoughts until the girls nestled together under the covers and dozed off. She was both incredibly proud of her daughter's compassion and courage and terribly frightened and frustrated about the situation those traits had landed them in.
~~~~~
While Miranda was rolling fretfully in an attempt at sleep, Jacqui sat in her home office, still working Magic both supernatural and technological. She had conjured the pistol back into Mr. Ellsworth's safe, and the note into Cory's old room. She had erased any traces of Cory on the Jardin's side of town, and created spurious indications of him taking a bus to San Francisco. More would need to be done, but the exact steps would depend on how the police pursued the case.
Now, Jacqui was laboring to arrange medical, academic, and custodial histories for the Sisterhood's newest member. It was frustrating how many shortcuts she'd had to take, each one a calculated risk. As a very minor consolation, the school transfer didn't need to be Magically rushed. It could proceed via normal channels and be ready in time for next semester.
She sighed, a nauseating mix of fatigue and tension swirling in her stomach, and looked at the clock. After three in the morning. She'd reached her limits for the night. If she didn't rest now she'd be useless tomorrow. She shut things down, locked her screen, and moved through the darkened house.
Every so often she had nightmares that she'd made a mistake, that the Brotherhood knew everything, that they had just been playing with her. Sometimes she was back again on that stone slab, Magically restrained, moments from being raped.
Worse, though, were the times when it was Alice there on the slab.
She crept up the stairs and silently opened a door, peeking in on Alice and Lani. (An impromptu sleepover had been called, it having been too late for Bronwyn to make the drive.) The girls lay in deep slumber, wrapped around the stuffed giraffe between them. Jacqui, tired, fought back sudden tears. The love she felt, the gratitude that their babies were safe, was overwhelming.
In the dreams, it was never Erich Lancaster threatening her; it was always some faceless dark figure. Even her subconscious saw no threat from little Lani anymore. Such a sweet girl. The Goddess' way, the way of love, was better than hate and fear. Jacqui had no doubt of that now.
She closed the door without a sound, and made her way down the hall to her Mother's room, going slowly to take a chance to compose herself.
Bronwyn and Laurie were sitting on the bed, talking in low murmurs. Jacqui stepped in and they looked up at her, questions in their eyes. Jacqui put off those queries, and said raggedly, "I don't know about you two, but I would really like to be held."
Their arms opened and Jacqui fell gratefully into a group hug. She squeezed her dear friend and mentor, and her Mother, both of whom squeezed back just as fiercely. When she kissed Laurie, she was a bit taken aback at the tongue that probed in return. Then, as she felt her body respond, the surprise faded. Naturally the Chief Healer of the Sisterhood had a sense for what people needed.
Bronwyn picked up the change in tenor and began to undress Jacqui from behind. The women, unhurried, took turns removing clothes from each other in a delightful slow dance. Bronwyn and Laurie had gotten older since they'd first played these games with Jacqui, but never lost their allure. Beautiful, both of them, in different ways. Bronwyn, slim and elegant, with an odd combination of dignified gravitas and a dirty mind. Laurie, voluptuous and so unselfishly giving. Around fifty they were now, sagging a little here and there, laugh lines on their faces. No less gorgeous for all that.
Jacqui wasn't a teenager anymore herself. Still in shape, still playing basketball - she'd come that close to trying out for the WNBA - but thirty was just a year away.
In the back of her mind she wondered; if she was going to have another child, it should be soon. Carrying babies was a young woman's game. She'd frolicked with men on occasion; Bronwyn had taught her the ways Sisters used to prevent conception. She'd never found a man whose child she wished to bear, though, and the mental reserve she had to maintain made sex with them substantially less pleasurable than it should be.
Not like with her beloved Marcus, the boy who'd given her Alice just before being killed by the Brotherhood. Goddess, that weekend with him had been so good...
She had long ago deduced that Marcus had been helped by Bronwyn and Laurie. He had been too good to be true in some ways.
What Bronwyn had said to Cora was the truth, though. Suggestions and planted dreams could only do so much. Her and Marcus' love had been tended and nurtured and encouraged, certainly. It had been no less real for that.
Could she love another man the way she'd loved Marcus? For Sisters, finding a mate was a matter of hard choices. Men who would be content with their sons being turned into girls - let alone their mates having been boys once - were practically nonexistent. The scattered exceptions in history were almost fairy tales, legends told by Sisters.
In real life, it came down to two alternatives. Many Sisters would find a lover, get pregnant, then fake their death and flee to raise the child alone. Others would use a divination to find a good man who was fated to die before long, and bear his child - Jacqui's father had been a soldier. Either way involved pain and grief.
Mind-controlling a man to accept the situation wasn't an option so much as a grim, distasteful necessity, only occasionally resorted to in their battle with the Brotherhood.
Laurie's lips between her legs, Bronwyn's hands on her breasts and tongue in her mouth, drove away all dark reflections for a time. They coaxed her into a relatively lengthy session; her fatigue had been largely mental and emotional, not physical, and lovemaking was better restorative for that than sleep. It was a rare passive interlude; Jacqui tended to be aggressive in bed.
Lounging decadently in the afterglow, gently stroking each other, did them all good. But duty called, and there were things to discuss before they could sleep. She rolled onto her belly, lifted her head, and softly filled the women in on what she'd been doing, the misdirections and refilings.
Bronwyn sighed. "After your Transformation, I thought we'd seen the worst case scenario," she lamented. "But this... Goddess, I never imagined such a debacle in my nightmares."
"No way around it, the odds are terrible here. We've got to come up with a fallback plan if Cora can't manage a Transition," Jacqui mused.
"One that doesn't cost us Erica," Laurie said with, for her, surprising sharpness. "Goddess, we could really use that kind of determination."
The other two nodded thoughtfully. "This is going to give us trouble no matter what happens," Bronwyn fretted.
Laurie sniffed. "You know, luv, we're not the only ones being inconvenienced. Miranda made a mistake, but we were about to make one just as terrible."
"How could we expect someone with the Dark Power who wasn't a Brother?" Jacqui said, defenses up.
Laurie's voice was that of Mother scolding daughter. "The point is, we didn't check, didn't ask, didn't think. We only reacted."
"Well, if he'd done something like that to the Brotherhood, they'd just have killed him," Jacqui riposted faintly.
"'Not as bad as the Brotherhood' isn't much to brag about." Laurie noted dryly. "We have wronged Cora. I hope the mistake isn't irrevocable, but we should learn from it in any case."
"No one shows the Goddess' Love more than you, Laurie. Thank you for being our conscience." Bronwyn's loving smile wasn't the least bit sarcastic.
"I have a feeling this Transformation is going to test the Sisterhood like never before. Goddess grant we're equal to the task." Jacqui hated to see Laurie's brow so troubled.
Silence reigned for a moment. Bronwyn broke it first. "What we owe her aside, I'm worried about someone who possesses the Gift of the Goddess and doesn't share our values. Cora could be very dangerous once she's got some training."
Jacqui shrugged. "We're safe for now. From that, at any rate. Women can't wield the Dark Power, and she can't manifest the power of the Goddess yet. Even after her First Flow... with her attitude, I'm not sure she can learn."
"Especially from Miranda. Cora has reason to hate all of us, but she's the one who Transformed her." Laurie hesitated. "Should we bring in another Sister?"
Jacqui and Bronwyn exchanged pained glances. Bronwyn took responsibility. "No. Not yet."
"But..." Laurie began.
Her friend, lover, and High Priestess overrode her. "For now, we still have to regard Cora as a threat. At least a potential one. The fewer Sisters she can expose, the better."
Laurie frowned. "How can she trust us if we don't trust her?"
Bronwyn shook her head. "Luv, for now we don't - can't - trust her. Not any more than we're doing right now." She sighed. "Perhaps in a few weeks..."
Troubled though they were, sleep was not long in coming once the light was switched off. It had been a long day.
~~~~~
Miranda sank into the bath, almost whimpering with exhaustion. She begrudged spending even the energy it took to keep her face above water. It had been another very rough day. Disastrous, in fact. The morning had started out rotten and things had only gotten worse from there.
Trying to explain the situation to Haylie had been draining all by itself. Deciding what her adopted daughter needed to know, versus what she had to be protected from, had taken serious thought. In the end, she told her most of the truth of who Cora had been, and that an unfortunate accident had occurred. They needed to show Cora the Love of the Goddess by keeping her secret and helping her learn Magic.
Most eleven-year-olds couldn't be trusted with such a situation. Yet Haylie had kept the Magic secret all this time, despite temptations. That was one of the few things Miranda wasn't worried about.
She'd hoped the girls' lovemaking last night would soften Cora's attitude, help turn her thoughts to fresh possibilities. Instead the new girl had woken in a venomous mood that made Miranda, half-ashamed, long for a little catatonia.
Maybe it had been having to brush out her tangled mane. She'd never had the opportunity to learn the tricks of long hair. You had to start from the ends and work in stages back to the scalp. Starting at the top - the way Cora had - was just an exercise in pain.
They had not, in fact, gone shopping at all. Aside from the issues of keeping Cora concealed for now - they were still waiting on word from the Sisterhood's leadership - by her behavior she would stand out too much. So they'd scavenged what clothing they could and started some classes on femininity. Miranda had softened her approach greatly; the haughty strictness that had served Erica so well would hardly be appropriate for an involuntary student.
Her adjustments had been in vain. Cora cooperated with the initial deportment lessons to the most minimal possible degree, hardly bothering to conceal her seething contempt and rage. That hadn't helped her performance. End-of-semester exams loomed close, but Erica had stayed home from school, attempting to act as a buffer between her Mother and her friend. With strictly limited results, unfortunately.
Things had come to a head after several hours. Everyone was wiped out, nerves frayed, and Cora had struck a pose... even now, in the tub, Miranda chortled involuntarily. Though beautiful like most Sisters, Cora was such a tiny girl. Striving to stand with ladylike dignity, wobbling on heels, scowling murderously... she'd resembled a cross between a pixie and a Valkyrie, a child playing dress up in her mother's clothes and a scorned woman.
Miranda, run as ragged as her charges, hadn't been able to stifle a chuckle. And that had set Erica off, and then Miranda had lost it, and they'd both tried to stop laughing, Goddess knew they'd tried, but...
Cora, livid, had to be physically restrained from attacking Miranda. Once she'd regained a measure of control, Cora had forcefully kicked the heels off her feet, stalked up the stairs without a word, and locked herself in her room. She hadn't come out for dinner and ignored Erica's plaintive requests to let her in. Miranda had kept her word and not intruded on Cora's mind, but several times tonight she'd felt for the girl's aura just to make sure she hadn't snuck out or hurt herself.
It didn't help that Miranda had work piled up. Planning for Erica's Transformation, she'd arranged for a couple months of light duty so she could devote herself to her daughter at the critical initial stages of her Transition. Since then, she'd been tackling the backlog, but she hadn't planned to take on another Transition so soon!
Dread in her heart, she looked at the clock. Sure enough, it was almost time for the progress report to the other Sisters. Bone weary, she heaved herself upright and began the slow climb out of the too-welcoming water.
~~~~~
Jacqui had set up a conference for the Sisters to discuss the situation. Miranda and Erica sat together in the dining room, looking at Erica's laptop. Jacqui and Laurie were visible by webcam, but Bronwyn was voice-only. Jacqui had been unable to talk her through the necessary computer setup.
Miranda was wrapping up the report. "...and I knew it was wrong, I knew it would hurt her, but we just couldn't help ourselves." Erica had nothing to add; she simply sighed, contrite and despondent.
Jacqui went over the actions she'd taken on Cora's behalf. "I'll drive down tomorrow with the paperwork. The cops aren't prioritizing the search; runaways don't get the resources kidnappings do." She shifted topics. "Erica, we need to strategize about Cora. We can't peek at her mind, so if we're going to find a workable approach we need you to tell us everything you know about who Cory was."
Erica's eyes went vague with thought. "Cory... huh. Smart, for one thing, really smart. Not just, y'know, brains. He's... was... I dunno, tricky. Sneaky. It's like he looks... looked at things from a different angle." She considered her words. "He wouldn't just take the obvious way to solve a problem. He'd come up with another way, usually a better way."
"I don't follow," Laurie admitted.
"We always had Cory check our programs for bugs. Especially security bugs. He just... saw the wrong way to do things, the case you didn't plan for." Her brow furrowed in frustration. "He could... Crap. I don't know how to say it. Sometimes programmers compete for how obscure they can be. They write a program where it's hard to figure out what it does, or that looks like it does one thing but actually does something else. Cory was awesome at that."
Jacqui looked thoughtful. "I think I get it." Bronwyn and Laurie made noncommittal noises.
She tried to think of salient points. "He wasn't religious. Kinda skeptical. He and I - well, Eric - used to make fun of 'New Age' types sometimes," she admitted. "I think finding out Magic is real was almost as big a shock as, well, you know."
Jacqui snorted. She understood that, too.
Erica thought more. "Responsible kinda guy. Mature, for a boy. He never turned in homework late that I remember. Made it to practice for track unless he was sick. Kept the rest of us on course with our group projects." She thought for a few more moments. "Was track captain. And he did debate for a while. I think until Junior year."
"What about his sexuality?" Miranda prompted. "How was he with girls?"
"Well, he wasn't gay, or even bi that I ever saw." Erica snorted. "Got more pussy than Eric did, that's for sure." The other Sisters chuckled a little. Mom had been right, girls and women were a lot less demure when guys weren't around.
"He was..." She searched for words. "Confident. Self-possessed. He knew who he was, y'know?" She cocked her head. "Maybe that's why he did well with girls." She could see how, from a girl's perspective, that might be attractive in a boy.
Miranda smiled inwardly, pleased to see her daughter growing in wisdom, to see a sign her daughter's Transition hadn't been totally derailed.
"But now she isn't that person anymore. Can't be," Bronwyn lamented. "And even if she manages to become male again, she won't be that Cory again. She'll have grown and changed too much." A pause. "Do you think she realizes that?"
"Not much got past Cory," Erica answered sadly.
There was a morose lull. Then Laurie spoke up. "What's she doing right now?"
Jacqui reached out of frame. There came a sound of keys tapping; she looked at a window they couldn't see. "She's on Miranda's netbook, looking up articles on witchcraft and psychology."
"You said you wouldn't spy on her!" Erica objected.
Jacqui rolled her eyes. "We swore we wouldn't spy on her mind, and we haven't. But Erica, come on! We need to have some insight into her thoughts and feelings! There's so much that can go wrong here. Frankly, I still doubt it can ever go right."
"Did you guys spy on my mind?" Erica suddenly asked.
The Sisters were silent. Miranda looked at her daughter, reflecting that she'd have been happier with the girl's growing intuition under other circumstances. "I have. Just a little, just to make sure you were okay."
Erica looked like she'd just bit down on a lemon. "Huh."
~~~~~
Erica knocked on Cora's door one last time. "Cora, please, let me in. I brought you a sandwich." No response. "I'm really sorry. I just... I just want to see you're okay." She waited, knocked again. "Please. I'm so sorry."
Noises, soft, on the other side of the door. Movement. "Go away."
More than she'd gotten all evening. "Cora, please. I feel terrible about... about everything. Can I come in, please?"
She almost gave up, again, when the door clicked. She reached out found the handle would turn. She opened the door and peeked in.
Cora stood at the corner of the bed, facing away. She was naked. The dress she'd been wearing, along with the panties, lay in scraps on the floor. Erica's jaw tightened, imagining the fury that must have fueled that outburst. To her relief, she saw no signs Cora had tried to take it out on her own body; that had been the dark fear haunting Erica's thoughts all evening. The netbook sat by the pillow, screen lit.
"Are you hungry?" Erica asked timidly.
She pondered that for a moment. "A little."
Cora was more than 'a little' hungry, judging from how she wolfed down the sandwich. Erica sat on the bed near her, keeping quiet. Once the meal was over, Cora seemed to be at a loss. She sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the rug on the floor, head turned slightly away.
After a while, Erica spoke. "Sorry, again."
"Why is there always something you have to apologize for?"
The words sank like a dagger into Erica's heart. "I'm sorry. We were all tired."
Cora was silent for a time. Then, quietly, "I know how I look. I hate it. Like a little fucking girl. I don't want to be cute!"
"It's not forever," Erica said, with as much conviction as she could muster.
Cora didn't say anything. She didn't have to.
Erica attempted to move on. "We can't do anything more tonight. You should just try to rest."
Cora replied - not challenging, just certain. "Not gonna happen." Erica could see how tightly Cora was wound.
It sparked an idea. "Look, lay down here. I'll give you a backrub."
Cora pursed her lips and regarded Erica with deep suspicion... but finally laid down on her belly.
Erica began with Cora's neck and shoulders. As anticipated, the muscles were knotted and stiff. Erica kneaded them slowly and gently, never taking her hands off the girl's skin. Miranda had taught her that breaking contact induced subtle tension, a subconscious confusion as to where they'd move to.
She patiently worked her thumbs and knuckles up and down along Cora's spine, then spread to the shoulderblades. Then effluage along her flanks.
It was so weird, a strange kind of inside-out déjà vu. Cora's skin was getting goosebumps, and her breath was coming faster. Goddess, she thought, are all Sisters this easy? She recalled her narrow escape from Lucas, which sharpened her own lusts. Maybe we are...
Down to her waist now, gentle pressure. Cora wriggled once, then held herself still.
Erica didn't need Magic to read Cora's mind. She slid a hand between Cora's legs, and was rewarded with a faint moan.
While she tickled and teased Cora's labia, Erica bent down and kissed Cora's rump. The girl shifted under her, groaning. She wanted to tell Cora she was beautiful. It didn't seem right that she could be so pretty, so sexy, and not appreciate it. A girl should know when she's beautiful, Erica thought.
But Cora hated the very thought of that. Probably hated her, too, for her part in it.
Erica's fingers slid deeper, tracing the new crevices. Last night she'd gotten her tongue in there, but not forcefully. She had a hunch that Cora was going to have to work up to much in the way of penetration. Still, as fingertips began to gently stimulate the clit, Erica let her thumb wander a little into Cora.
Cora was openly panting now, making little noises - they could scarcely be called moans - and she gripped handfuls of the bedspread tightly. Erica leaned down and kissed Cora's back. Cora's backside lurched and she climaxed, whining and whimpering.
Once it had passed, Cora rolled over and dragged her tormentor down beside her. In a bit of a frenzy, she almost attacked Erica with kisses and insistent fingers. Once Erica had to tell Cora to ease up, and she did so, though she remained urgent.
At last they were spent and lay beside each other. Erica knew that no problems were solved... but at least they could be put aside for a time.
They rested, intertwined. Then, "I don't really know you, y'know," said Cora out of the blue.
"Huh?" Erica asked, confused.
"I mean, I've really seen you this year at school, I guess. But what I remember from before, that never happened. It wasn't you, Erica, that I worked with on those programs. It was a guy named Eric, and I can't remember him."
"I guess that's right," Erica said, cautiously, unsure where Cora was going.
"Sometimes I feel like I can almost remember something. Like your kitchen. I must have come here before."
"A few times when we worked on assignments. And when we were kids, you used to come over here."
"Man, that's weird. We did used to live on Chesterton, didn't we?" She shook her head. "So, we were friends for a long time?"
"Well, when we were kids. Then you moved, and I didn't see you until high school."
"That's so fucked up." Cora sat, brooding. "What was Eric like?"
Erica was flummoxed. "I don't know... I mean, he was me, but..." She struggled. "Like me now, but..." A grunt. "A boy. A bit more geeky than you or Josh or Scott, kinda. Played baseball. Built models." She thought a moment. "Wore his glasses more often."
"I like the way you look with glasses," Cora said.
"Well, thanks," Erica said. She reflected a moment more, and smiled. "He thought about girls a lot. Jerked off a lot."
"TMI," Cora said, but didn't seem particularly offended. "I wish I could remember. You know, compare you now to you then."
"It's not that hard. I don't feel all that different..." she trailed off.
Cora gave her a funny look. "When I look at you, I see a girl. The way you move, act, talk. Was Eric, like... effeminate?"
"No!" Erica cried. "I don't... have I really changed that much?"
Cora frowned, staring up at the ceiling. "That's what I'd like to know."
"I guess I could see if my Mom could get your old memories back..." Erica offered.
Cora looked at her appraisingly. "Nah. Nobody's getting in my head again."
"I didn't mean..." Erica quickly began.
Cora cut her off. "Relax. I didn't think you were trying to trick me. No offense taken, or whatever." She shrugged. "If I learn Magic, maybe I'll learn enough to fix my own head. Until then... I guess if I know my head's been fucked with, then I know it hasn't been fucked with. More, I mean." She frowned. "Does that make sense?"
Erica thought about it. "As much as any of this does, I guess."
~~~~~
"Jewel Cora Pinto?" Cora cried disbelievingly. "What the fuck?" She waved the Social Security card in Jacqui's face.
The Sister shrugged. "You'll have to tell people you go by your middle name. It was the best I could do. I had to commandeer an identity that's been baking for a couple years. Altering the middle name was as far as I dared go."
The sour expression that seemed tattooed on Cora's face tightened even further as she examined the driver's licence. "So I'm from... Rochester, New York?"
"Your father got a job for a year in the Middle East. Your mother went with him, but they sent you to live with your cousins," Bronwyn waved at Erica, "so you could stay in U.S. schools."
"Right. 'Jewel'..." Cora was clearly underwhelmed.
"Well, I do have one other thing you'll probably like," Jacqui said. She pulled a wide flat box out of a plastic bag.
"A laptop!" Cora's face lit up for a moment before she remembered she was angry. "Got any spyware on it?"
Jacqui let the jibe pass. "Not unless Acer loaded it up at the factory." She prudently didn't bring up the fact that, with Magic, she could see anything she wanted on the laptop anyway.
Cora was checking the specs on the box. "I wonder..." she looked questioningly at the Sisterhood's 'Security Officer'. "Any chance you could pull some stuff from my box at home? My mp3s at least?"
Jacqui thought for a moment. "That should be safe enough. Give me a few days, though. I'm kinda busy just now." She was pulling out her own laptop. "Speaking of, I need you to record a message for your parents, let them know you're okay. We'll leave it on their voicemail. It'll take the heat off even more."
Cora frowned sullenly. "They're not gonna buy this voice."
"I can take care of that," Jacqui declared confidently.
And so it was. She cast a minor illusion spell and Cora's voice dropped at least two octaves. Once the recording program was up, she spoke into the microphone. "Mom, Dad, it's Cory. I'm sorry. Something happened and, and, I had to go. I'm safe, I promise, but... I won't be coming back soon. But I'm coming back, I promise. I... I love you. I'm sorry."
Erica fought back tears and even Jacqui swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. Bronwyn stared out the window, discomfited. The gender might be disguised, but the grief in that voice couldn't be hidden.
The chore done, Jacqui packed up to leave. "Whaddaya gonna use to get it to them? Skype? You don't want it traced," Cora asked, her new breathy soprano restored.
"Nah, I do want it traced. Disposable pay-as-you-go cell, in Seattle. We need all the false trail we can get."
Cora nodded slowly, and a bit sadly. "That'd work."
Miranda came into the dining room where the women milled. "Everything's in place for Cora," Bronwyn told her. She explained the cover story and told Miranda how to access the account Cora's 'parents' had 'set up to cover expenses'. Quick goodbyes and the two senior Sisters were on their way, saying only that they had "another stop to make".
Cora looked over her fresh bona fides once more. "What now? How can I amuse you today?" she challenged.
Miranda and Erica winced. "You need clothes, toiletries... everything, really," Miranda said in a level tone, "and now we have the funds to buy them."
"Dress-up, huh? Awesome," Cora said, with a tone that said 'so not awesome'.
Erica's phone sang. "Ergh, it's Trahn," she explained as she typed a return text. "I'm missing Saturday practice right now, she wants to know if I'm OK."
"I'm sorry your life is so disrupted," Cora sniped. Erica didn't know how to respond and just stayed bent over the phone.
~~~~~
The woman intoned softly in a tongue that predated Indo-European. The room was dark, the air heavy with incense.
Her eyes, unseeing, stared forward, gazing at nothing present. Her voice was altered, eerie and unearthly. In the language of the Sisters, her words rhymed, made several allusions to Sisterhood mythology, and had a musical lilt. In English, they might have been translated as:
darkness bound within light, deceiving shape
the hidden serpent coils, strikes to escape
power beyond memory, two souls unborn
to bridge a chasm, a chasm is formed
Her eyes closed, her head bowed, the words ceased. There was silence for a beat. Then she stirred, looked around as though she were waking from a dream. "Did it work?" she asked, curiously.
The two Sisters nodded in reassurance. "Yes, thank you, Daria," Bronwyn said.
The woman looked troubled. "I don't remember what happens in the trance. But sometimes I get feelings, images. This one... I just picture her at the... the focus, the balance point. A lot of forces swirling around her, a... moment of decision."
Bronwyn and Jacqui exchanged uneasy glances. "If anything more comes to mind, please don't hesitate to let us know," Bronwyn implored. "We can use all the help we can get with this one." Daria promised to meditate on the matter.
The two Sisters left the unassuming tract house soon after, blinking at the midday sun. They remained pensive in the car for several minutes. Finally, Jacqui spoke. "If only it could have been a little more specific."
"Oracular pronouncements seldom are," Bronwyn lamented.
"Do you have any idea how to interpret it?"
"Not yet," Bronwyn admitted. "I'm a bit concerned about a 'hidden serpent' 'striking' and 'escaping'. Let alone 'darkness'."
"'Two souls unborn'? And how does a chasm bridge a chasm?" Jacqui fretted. Logic puzzles she enjoyed, but this was a riddle with missing elements. "I know Cora has a lot of decisions to make, but the way Daria was talking... it sounds like she might become important."
"I know. I'd much rather she have a nice quiet Transition and go back to her life from before." Bronwyn sighed. "Well, maybe Laurie will have some insight."
Jacqui nodded. "Hope the girls are behaving for her."
~~~~~
Erica had been looking forward to shopping for Cora, at least a little. She'd expected to get some fun out of trying different looks out on the girl. Cora proved to be an emotional black hole, however, sucking joy from all she came across. They had tried for the longest time to engage her in the process, get her to make suggestions. She resolutely refused to volunteer any positive preferences, however; instead acting as a font of emphatic vetoes.
Cora stepped out of the changing room wearing a tunic dress, knee-high socks, and flat pumps. She came over to where Erica and Miranda were standing. By some dark, inverted miracle she managed to lumber instead of walk, despite being so petite. "I feel like I'm wearing a long shirt and no pants!" she hissed, face a little red.
"Well, you kinda are," Erica admitted. "But it looks good on you."
"That's so comforting," she snarked back. She glanced at Miranda, clearly asking for permission to retreat to the changing room for the dubious blessing of another potential outfit. Miranda nodded and she marched into the recesses of the back room.
The Jardin women sat in quiet commiseration for a beat. "Too bad she won't let us use some brighter colors on her," Erica said. "She'd could really pull off something all-pink." On a smaller girl, lots of pink could be sweet and pretty. Erica was too developed in the bust and hips; on her it would come across as either stupid or trampy, depending on the details of the outfit. Not that she minded the occasional pink accent, of course... And then she blinked at the "of course". Cora's presence was rubbing her nose in how much she'd changed in the past... was it really only five months?
Miranda was shaking her head. "Or, Goddess would she be cute in a sundress!" Erica bobbed her head and made a "hmm" of agreement.
Cora presented herself again. She seemed marginally less uncomfortable in trousers and a blouse. Miranda had an excellent eye, and the fit was good. Erica could tell that the outfit would need some jewelry or possibly a scarf to liven it up, but felt it would be unwise to point that out to the girl at this juncture.
A couple boys walked by in the main aisle. Erica would hardly have noticed them giving her the once-over if they hadn't moved on to Cora. One said something inaudible to the other and he sniggered. As they walked on they gave each other a fist bump.
Cora glared after them. Without asking, she stalked back to the changing room again.
An hour more of clothes, and they moved onto shoes. Footgear had been a revelation to Erica. Eric had possessed three pairs of shoes - sneakers, sandals, and one black formal - and a single pair of work boots. Erica owned eight pairs of shoes, and four pairs of boots useless for manual labor. She still felt a little restricted in her choices when putting together an ensemble.
Cora was not enthused. She was dismayed at how tiny her feet were, she was irritated at how off-balance she felt from even a one-inch heel, and she was a little stunned at how she could not find any sneakers with just one color. The closest she came were some white sneakers with a butterfly pattern on the toes. Another exhausting hour passed.
"All right, that's enough," Miranda declared. "Let's get all this together and go pay."
"We're done?" Cora said, such plaintive hope in her voice.
"With this store, yes. I'm afraid we have a few more stops to make." The hope visibly died in Cora, but she followed them up front. Miranda got in line at the registers and the girls went to 'freshen up'.
Erica pulled her hair back with one hand and sipped from the drinking fountain. Cora went ahead, around the corner to the bathrooms. After a few seconds, there came a muffled shriek. Erica bolted upright and sprinted in the direction Cora had gone.
She saw the girl emerging from the Men's room, a red flush blossoming on her face, underlining the enraged scowl she wore. She stalked right past Erica and plunged into the Women's restroom without looking to either side.
Erica stood mortified. Shit, she thought, I should have gone with her, just in case. Almost did that myself the first day.
Two young men emerged from the door Cora had fled, laughing loudly. Loudly enough to carry in to Cora, no doubt.
Of course, Erica thought. Naturally it would have to be the two fist-bumpers that had irritated Cora before. The Goddess wasn't showering them with mercy lately.
"Fuck, that was hilarious. She walked right past the urinals like she didn't even see 'em!"
His buddy was just as amused as they brushed past Erica. "Did you see her face when she finally spotted us? That was fucking epic!" He mimed Cora waving her head around in horror, jaw agape.
Erica, glaring at their backs, wished the Sisterhood believed in curses.
~~~~~
"Why do they call them 'boy-shorts'? No boy would wear these!" Cora groused as she held the panties up for inspection. They were going through the day's haul, finding homes for the clothes and other supplies.
"I dunno," Erica answered. "Just what they're called, I guess."
"Stupid name," Cora muttered. She moved on to hose, stuffing them angrily into a drawer. "Stupid clothes."
Erica thought quickly for a distraction; the frippery Cora was almost literally manhandling was too delicate for such treatment. Inspiration struck. "Not necessarily," she said slyly.
Cora didn't say anything; she just looked sharply at her novice mentor.
Erica had a smile on her face. "There're a few good things about girl's clothes. At least when you've got a girl's body to put them on."
Cora's squint remained, dubious. "What do you mean?"
"I was just remembering what I did after my first shopping trip," she said easily. "How about a little game?"
The doubt and caution filled Cora's entire demeanor now. "What?"
Erica pounced. "We go over to my room, and you can look through my stuff." Cora started to interrupt, and Erica kept talking as she put up a hand to silence her. "You can pick an outfit that I have to wear. Then we come back here and I choose some clothes for you to wear."
Cora digested that for a moment. Erica saw her nipples perk up under her t-shirt, and knew that the battle was won.
~~~~~
Erica's wardrobe had undergone enormous expansion over the course of her Transition. Amazingly, though, Cora managed to pick an outfit startlingly close to that 'naughty schoolgirl' look she'd assembled that first night. The wider selection admittedly had some impact. There was a much lacier bra on underneath, and Cora had unerringly zoomed in on Erica's sole thong. The skirt she wore was legitimately quite short, as well, and didn't need to be hiked. The resemblance felt uncanny nevertheless.
Back in Cora's room, Erica made a production of searching through the new clothes. Some of that was for show, to tease the girl a little - but mostly it was to hide the difficulty she had finding anything suitably sexy to dress Cora in. The reluctant Sister had almost exclusively gone for subdued and modest clothing. Fortunately, a little mixing and matching let her assemble something appropriately inappropriate.
Dark underwear showed behind light fabrics, for example. Even a sedate blouse could become rather sexy if a few buttons were deliberately undone. And she was perfectly willing to hike Cora's shortest skirt up a great deal.
Then she moved on to makeup. First, she did herself up, Cora watching with increasing fascination. No subtlety at all - dark eyes, flushed cheeks, bright red lips. While the outfit might have been schoolgirl-ish, from the neck up she looked like a streetwalker.
Cora's fascination collapsed when she realized it was her turn. She sat hesitantly and Erica got to work. Here she did use some subtlety, but she was pretty sure it was on a level Cora wouldn't notice. With Cora, she strove for the same thing her Mother had gone for on Erica's Transformation night - classy-sexy. It fit the outfit better anyway.
Blue-black eyeshadow to bring out the green of her eyes. A little blush - her skin was so fair it didn't take much - and red lipstick only slightly muted. Too intense for school, but not at all unusual for going out at night.
As she wrapped up, she felt a little disappointed - Miranda could have done a more refined job with the cosmetics. Erica just didn't have the lengthy practice her Mother had. Still and all, though, it looked good.
Indeed, watching Cora staring at her own reflection, she decided that going for a little elegance had been the right tactic. Cora was upset enough at being a girl; seeing herself as a slut might have proven traumatic. A sexy but sophisticated image probably wouldn't be as threatening. Hopefully it'd even be enticing. Erica sure thought she looked delectable.
"Come on, stand up, let's see the whole thing," Erica urged. Cora came slowly to her feet, still looking in the mirror. She reached up, and her fingers nearly touched her face, but she seemed to stop herself. Her eyes looked down at the polish on her nails, just finished drying. She stared at her clothes, and turned before the glass, acting stunned, almost scared.
"You look amazing," Erica gushed.
To Erica's surprise, Cora seemed so distracted by the image in the mirror she didn't automatically contradict or snap back. She didn't say anything.
Erica came up behind her. "See what I mean? Girl's clothes aren't all bad..."
Cora still didn't say anything. She just turned around and kissed Erica hard.
For several minutes, the two lay on Cora's bed, kissing and grabbing. All that fresh makeup was quickly smeared and worn away.
At last, Cora spoke, glancing down her belly. "It's still so weird, being all turned on and not having a boner."
Erica didn't want Cora dwelling on what she didn't have. "Let me show you something," Erica said. "Just lay still, okay?"
Cora frowned but complied. Erica unbuttoned Cora's blouse - only a fraction slowly, not quite teasing - then spread it apart, exposing her brassiere and belly. A moment's pause - as much to admire the view as to key Cora up - then she took on the bra. It was one that undid in the front. They'd justified it to Cora as being easier to don, but Erica proved it gave easy access to the breasts as well. The cups slipped to the sides and Cora's endowments were released.
Her nipples were rock-hard, as Erica had known they would be. Neither too large nor too small, surrounded by delicate areolae. She ran a hand along one breast, not touching the nipple yet. Her own body might have lost its ability to turn her on... but the bodies of other girls were still a wonder.
She bent down, lips parting, tongue moving forward...
Cora shifted, and began to speak. "Hey, wait, I -"
Erica paused and allowed a bit of irritation to show on her face, in her voice. "Look, just go with it for a minute? Please?" Cora's mouth quirked. "I'm not going to hurt you! Jeez!"
Cora looked away for a moment. Appearing as suspicious as if she thought Erica were hiding a knife behind her back, the new girl settled back down on the bed.
Not waiting for any more objections, Erica moved straight for Cora's right nipple and began to suckle and swirl her tongue.
Cora made a sharp hiss and stiffened. "Uhhh... fuck..." she muttered.
Erica, unflagging, continued to stimulate the bud in her mouth. After a few seconds, she gently, almost covertly brought her hand up to the nipple on the other side, softly rubbing. Their play up to now had focused on the vagina - and the relatively external portions, at that. Erica was a big fan of the clitoris, but figured it was time to introduce her friend to the wider horizons available to women.
She heard Cora's legs shift, felt her hips turn. She knew just what the girl was feeling. Breasts - nipples especially - could generate very erotic sensations. Somehow, too, the sensations seemed to echo down below. Right now, Cora would be feeling that her panties and her skirt were constricting, confining.
Cora's shoulders flexed. Her breath had become ragged. Erica's hand was squeezing the left nipple a little, her tongue flicking at the right. Cora let out a quiet groan.
Erica could feel - even partially see - how Cora's legs curled, her hips twitched slightly. A (very) few women could come from just nipple play, and Erica suspected Cora might be one, based on how she was responding. But the girl didn't know her own body yet. Women's reactions were more complicated than the straightforward - in Erica's view, almost crude - directness of male arousal.
She decided it was time to go for it. She carefully bit down, and pinched with her hand, and slipped her thigh between Cora's and pressed against the girl's crotch. As if a firing pin had been struck, Cora exploded. She cried out one long "Aaaaah!" and squirmed under Erica like a frantic animal trying to escape.
It was quite a while before the earthquake settled to aftershocks.
"Holy shit," Cora managed once she'd opened her eyes again.
Erica felt happy... and totally turned on. "Let's see if you can do that to me."
Cora smiled, and rose to take up the challenge.
~~~~~
Learning how to manage a fresh, untried body was a challenge. Erica remembered how much trouble she'd had, the first few days especially. So much of one's balance resided in the pelvis - which was shaped quite differently between men and women - and then there was the issue of breast weight. Cora didn't have quite as rounded a figure as Erica, but she was so much tinier than Cory had been that the difficulties were at least as great. Add in arm and leg bones of subtly different shapes - and radically different lengths - and things got even worse. Walking on level ground, or climbing stairs, was no real problem. But jumping, running, dancing, and so forth could be a challenge at first.
Cora proved that yet again as she tripped and sprawled onto the couch. "Graah!" she exclaimed, nearly in a rage. She got back up again and tried to get back into sync, but in her anger she moved too quickly and stumbled again, barely catching herself from falling once more.
Miranda paused the DVD. "Let's take a break, I think we're getting too worked up."
Cora scowled back over her shoulder. "'Easy beat' my ass! I can't just hop around like..." She stopped herself. "Fucking Zumba," she muttered, disgusted.
"It's a simple way to learn some coordination, and it's good exercise," Erica said in placation. "I can maybe get a Tai Chi or yoga one from the library in a few days. It's just, I used this to help get ready for cheerleading." Cora's gaze landed on her. "It's good exercise," she repeated doggedly.
"'Booty circles'," Cora quoted sarcastically. Erica remained silent. She and Miranda had picked the Latin-dance-inspired exercise because it was feminine and sexy. Giving Cora some reflexes and habits in that vein was at least as important as general coordination.
The rest of the session proceeded about the same way. In the end, Cora was so tense she was almost sending off sparks. "I'm gonna go take a shower."
Miranda said, "There's something I have to mention." She didn't look happy, but she kept on. "There's the matter of shaving..."
Cora glared. "Oh, for fuck's sake! I am not shaving my legs. I don't even want boys coming at me!"
Erica spoke up. "It's not just boys. It's everybody."
"What, like girls care?"
"That's just it. They do."
Cora stared under lowered eyes.
Erica felt a little annoyed. "Hello? You think girls don't notice other girls?" She shook her head. "Not in, like, a sex way. But come on! When you were Cory, you had to size up other guys, right? For competition, at, like, the very least."
Miranda was keeping quiet. She was relieved to let Erica take the lead, and happy with how she was handling it. Cora wouldn't accept reproof from anyone else.
Her daughter kept going. "It isn't just being all pretty or anything. It's how you want to come across to people." She gave Cora a look. "What do you think when you see a girl with hairy legs and pits? Like, what's your first guess about her personality?"
Cora's expression was one of intense thoughtfulness. The anger had been pressed aside.
Miranda stepped in. "Whatever you decide, most girls shave their legs. I'm afraid you need to try it, at least for a while." She paused. "Erica can give you some pointers."
Cora frowned, but it seemed she didn't want to make a stand on this particular point. She marched off to the stairs without a word, just a 'follow me' jerk of her head toward Erica.
She followed along, and into the spare bathroom. Before her Transformation, she'd sometimes wondered why Mom had gotten a house that had two full baths. With three females around - now, four - it was less of a mystery.
Cora had stopped, looking around uncertainly. Erica came forward. "Razors are under the sink. Gel's over here."
When Cora saw Erica was closing the drain, she spoke up. "I can just take a shower."
Erica shook her head as she turned on the spout. "Trust me, you want a bath for this."
Naturally, Cora wasn't unfamiliar with the mechanics of shaving. Erica just gave her some tips on avoiding cuts. She was glad long locker-room experience helped her come off uninterested. Goddess, Cora looked sexy in the water, one leg lifted in the air!
A difficulty presented itself as the process worked its way north.
"Where do I stop?" Cora finally asked.
Erica just shrugged. "Where you want, I guess. You don't have to shave it all off!"
"So I saw," Cora said, nodding vaguely at Erica's midsection.
Her innate honesty forced Erica to continue. "You don't have to go, y'know, as, uh, tight as I do. I mean, I got the cheerleader skirt to worry about."
Cora didn't say anything. But it was clear she was mentally comparing that miniskirt to the much lower hems she'd picked.
Erica went on. "But it looks a lot neater, if you just, y'know, shape it. A little."
"What? You don't want my bush if it's a bush?" Cora said, a little indignant, a little joking.
"I don't care," Erica averred, eighty-percent truthfully. "But you're gonna be in the girls locker room in less than a month."
Cora had very mixed feelings about that, to judge by her face.
~~~~~
It was late Sunday evening. The witches spoke quietly into the phones, fearful of waking the newest, most ornery Sister. Miranda finished going over the scarce signs of progress. "She's going to stand out in school. Three and a half weeks just isn't going to be enough time to soften her habits. Not at the rate she's willing to learn. But if we wait much longer she'd have too hard a time catching up academically."
"What about maybe homeschooling?" Erica asked hesitantly.
"No." Bronwyn's voice was emphatic. "She simply must have social interaction, and as soon as possible. Even if she's awkward and uncomfortable at first, it's the lesser evil. She needs to be with other people as a girl. Letting her retreat and hide now will delay her Transition, possibly stall it completely."
"School might really suck for her if people think she's too weird," Erica pointed out.
"Hopefully we can avoid that. But even in the worst case, it's one more semester, then she graduates," Jacqui replied. "College can be managed a little more carefully. Right now our options are limited." Everyone considered that sad truth.
Into the silence, Erica dropped her own bomb. "Why can't you take away the spell that forces her to undo the Transformation herself?"
"What? How did you..." Miranda trailed to a halt. She could see in Erica's eyes that she'd just inadvertently confirmed her daughter's theory.
"It took a while, but I suddenly realized something Bronwyn said. Making a Transformation permanent was a 'subspell'. Something deliberate. Something optional." Erica's voice was nearly toneless.
For a moment, no answer came. "You're right," Jacqui finally conceded. "It's a separate spell. But it can't be undone."
"Why not?" Erica asked pointedly. There was no answer. "Why not?" she demanded again, no longer concerned about volume.
Miranda stared at her daughter. "It's sealed with my life. The spell can only be dissolved by Cora... or by my death."
Erica felt petrified. "Oh, Goddess," she breathed. "Oh, no..."
"You can see why we didn't want to tell you. Cora mustn't find out." Bronwyn spoke urgently.
Erica could see it all clearly. Just the way Cora would. Killing Miranda - something she wanted to do anyway - would give up the power. But that wouldn't matter, if she could force the Sisters to change her back into Cory...
"Oh, Goddess," she repeated. "Why do you do that? What if things go wrong? Why can't you let us have a choice?"
Bronwyn sighed. "I know it's hard to understand, but our traditions have stood the test of time. More time than you can imagine." A pause. "We do not perform the final Transformation and the binding spell, unless we have seen the signs that the boy will be able to manage a Transition."
"But why do the binding spell at all?"
Laurie's gentle voice answered. "Would you have gone through the Transition if you had the choice then? Would you have given womanhood a fair chance?"
Erica was silent, thinking of that first night. Of course she wouldn't have. She hadn't.
Bronwyn continued. "We don't take the choice away forever. What we do is require that a Sister be fully informed before she makes the choice, that she gives Sisterhood a fair shake. But we have never prevented a Sister from Transforming herself back into a man if she so chooses."
"Until now," Erica said quietly.
Continued in Part 5
~~~~~
"Did you hear about Cory?" Linda asked breathlessly as the girls sat down for their usual lunchtime conversation.
"No, what?" Erica asked, trying to appear confused. She'd been wondering when this would come up. Skipping school Friday had only postponed it; it was Monday and couldn't be avoided any longer.
"He ran away from home last week!"
"What?!" Erica and Kristina both said; Kristina with more sincerity.
"Totally! Just took off! Left a note. He didn't even take any of his stuff!" Linda looked more excited than alarmed. Of course, it was juicy gossip.
"That's really weird," Erica essayed.
"Ya think?! Syndi says his parents are saying he musta been kidnapped. That the note's a fake."
"Huh," Erica said, noncommittal. "Well, whatever it is, it's weird."
"Tru dat," Kristina agreed.
Thankfully the girls moved on to more normal gossip after that. At the end of lunch, though, came the question Erica had been dreading.
"You wanna hang out after school?" Kristina asked.
"Sure," Linda said around a mouthful of sandwich.
Erica swallowed and shook her head. "Sorry, I can't. Gotta head straight home."
"You ditched us all weekend! What's up?"
Erica had thought carefully about what to say. "I just found out, my cousin is moving in with us for a year. I kinda gotta be there for her."
"Bring her along." The other girls were giving her strange looks. This was big news; why hadn't she brought it up before?
"Not right now." Erica mentally apologized to Cora. "She's being a total drama queen about it. Won't leave the house, for now. Mom says I gotta 'stick around until she gets settled'."
"Well, fine. I guess we could come over there..."
Erica struggled to keep any signs of alarm off her face. Striving mightily to sound casual, she said, "Nah, seriously, I think that'd make it worse. I'm pretty sure she'll calm down after a while." She paused. "Call you later?"
Both her friends were frowning, but Kristina shrugged. "Whatever. What's this cousin's name, anyway?"
Another mental apology. "Jewel." They'd just been talking about 'Cory'; bringing up a name like 'Cora' now would be... unwise.
~~~~~
The subject of Cory came up again while she was waiting for the bus. A boy walked up to her; she recognized him as Brandon, Cory's teammate, just as he opened his mouth. "Hey, Erica, right? I'm Brandon, we met at Homecoming?"
"Uh, yeah?"
"You heard anything... I mean, you heard about Cory, right?"
"Well, yeah. He wasn't in class today," Erica said cautiously. Suddenly, inspiration struck. "Have you heard from him? We've got our final project due next week."
He frowned. "That's what I was gonna ask you. It's bullshit, him running away. He was talking about regionals and everything, like, that day."
"Well, I haven't seen him or anything." Erica said, praying she sounded convincing. "Will you let me know if you hear something?"
"No prob. Same with you, okay?"
~~~~~
Erica let out a very tired sigh as her head sagged onto an open book. Finals commenced tomorrow and she was behind in her studies, thanks to the Cora Situation. At least they'd have a few weeks of vacation before the girl had to present herself at school.
Goddess, it was so weird seeing Cora struggle with all the little skills and techniques and assumptions that went with being female. The unwilling Sister's fuming about cosmetics recalled her own early frustrations with them; ones she'd half-forgotten. It made Erica conscious of how far she'd come since her Transformation. So many reflexes and attitudes were now - literally - second nature to her. She really was a different person by this point.
It was time for a break. She stood, stretched, and went downstairs to find a drink. She felt an instant's jealousy, as she passed the living room on the way to the kitchen, seeing Cora watching TV. She quashed it an instant later. She knew Cora would rather take finals for a month straight, in German, than skip them for the current reason.
The fridge was well-stocked with diet soda, and she grabbed one thankfully. For a moment, she gazed longingly at the pantry. There were chips and cookies in there.
She turned away. Eric had always been perplexed at how girls counted calories. But Eric had been a boy, carrying around pounds and pounds of calorie-hungry muscle.
Her body couldn't snack like that - or if she did, her body would look out-of-place among the other cheerleaders, and sooner than Eric could ever have imagined. Erica understood the complex relationship women often developed with food, now - being thin enough to be fashionably pretty meant that both food intake and activity had to be thoughtfully balanced. She grasped much more clearly why ice cream and chocolate were 'indulgences' to women and not just a casual treat.
Forcing sweet, salty, or buttery goodness out of her mind for now, she dropped bonelessly onto the couch and stared uncomprehendingly at whatever Cora had pulled up from the DVR.
"How's it coming?" Cora asked, not without sympathy.
"Okay, I guess. Math is gonna suck."
They were quiet for a few moments. Then Cora stirred. "What are people saying at school? About me, I mean?"
Rumors had been flying once the story got out about Cory running away from home. Erica had heard some pretty lurid - and fantastically unlikely - theories. She decided not to relay specifics. "There was a lot of talk. Nobody knows anything." She paused. "Brandon asked me if I'd heard anything."
"Huh." Cora didn't say anything, but she seemed a little pleased.
After a moment, Erica said, "Nobody can think why you'd run off like that."
"Not the real reason, that's for fucking sure," Cora muttered.
"Can't be helped for now. I'm sure it'll settle down pretty fast."
Cora made a ghost of a grin. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? 'You being gone won't make much difference?'"
"I didn't mean that! You know that!"
"Yeah, I know. I just..." She shook her head. "It just sucks, that's all."
Erica laid a hand on her shoulder. "Wanna help me review math?"
Cora sniffed, and made what might charitably be called a smile. "Guess I'm not totally useless."
~~~~~
Jacqui ran off a copy of Cory's desktop drive and dropped it off. Cora spent much of that night going through the files, grabbing things she cared about - music, videos, and so forth. Miranda made one request - that she not retain any pictures of her former male condition. So far as Erica could tell, Cora complied. In fact, save for a single shot of her parents, she didn't retain much that directly related to her former life.
After she'd transferred some games and utilities and a large assortment of source code and e-books, she paused. Her mouth quirked to one side in thought.
"What?" Erica asked.
"Nothing," Cora said after a pause. She moved to shut down the computer.
"No, wait, there was more - wasn't there?" Erica said, a little breathlessly.
"No," Cora said.
Erica decided to go for it. "You didn't have any porn?"
Cora stared at her for a few seconds. Erica said, "Look, you're gonna want some, in that body. Trust me."
Cora was almost glaring. "Would you like someone seeing your porn stash?"
"Not normally, I guess. But in this case... you can look at mine if you want." Erica was reluctant. But it seemed like a good way to get some insight into Cory's - and therefore Cora's - psychology, especially with regards to sex. That kind of intel was desperately needed.
Cora regarded Erica, wearing a hard-to-interpret expression. Erica had a strong intuition that the motives for her offer were clearly understood.
"Well, what the fuck," Cora mumbled, and opened up an obscure directory.
It turned out not to be quite as substantial a collection as Erica's. And nowhere near as varied, of course. Either Cora had more hidden caches she left unrevealed, or Cory had actually been pretty vanilla in his tastes. Erica was somewhat relieved that no serious S&M or genuinely degrading images were in evidence.
Erica spoke up after a little while, noticing common features of pictures and videos that didn't make the cut. "I'm sorta picking up on a theme, here."
"So I had kind of a thing for blowjobs." Cora sounded faintly defensive. "But now... there's only one way I could be involved in a beej. And that just ain't happening."
"I know what you mean," Erica replied diplomatically. For her part, Erica couldn't quite agree anymore.
Cora brought up a few pictures from another directory. A heterosexual couple at play. "Whoops, nope." She quickly closed the window and moved it to the 'discard pile'. "I can hang onto some of the lesbian stuff, I guess."
Given Cora's aggressive filtering, the job took less time than either girl would have expected. Of course, both of them had started to have difficulty concentrating, too. "Time to pay up," Cora said, voice only a trace husky.
They went over to Erica's room and brought up her collection, whereupon she helped guide Cora through it.
"Huh. She's really hot." Cora said. "It'd be fucked up having tits that big, though."
"Don't think they're real," Erica muttered.
"Fuck this is weird," Cora suddenly exclaimed. "Two boys changed into girls and looking at each other's porn collection!"
"You wanna stop?" Erica asked.
"No," Cora said. "Let's see what you got."
Cora was shifting on her chair even more before long, and Erica's breath was getting hard to regulate. Eventually she stopped trying, and she grabbed Cora's face and kissed her. If they went much further they'd get into the gay male porn anyway, and she did not want to have to explain that to Cora tonight.
They practically tore off each other's clothes on the way to the bed, and grappled with fingers and tongues and toes for quite a while.
Later, in the afterglow, Cora squinted at Erica and asked, "So, did you learn what you wanted about me?"
"It was that obvious, huh?" Erica sighed.
"Yeah." Then she shrugged. "So go ahead and tell your Mom and them whatever you want."
Erica froze. "I'm not being a spy for them." A Cora's sardonic smile, she went on. "I'm serious! I wouldn't tell them anything unless I thought it would wind up helping you. I swear!"
"I know." Erica was oddly relieved to hear Cora say that with casual certainty. "But I figured I could learn something about you, too." She grinned. "And I did."
"Like what?"
"I think you were a lesbian even before you were a girl."
Erica propped herself up on one elbow, half-annoyed, half-puzzled. "What the fuck does that mean?"
Cora didn't exactly back down, but she clearly realized she needed to speak carefully. "Did you, like, delete a bunch after you were changed?"
Erica frowned. "No..." She kept quiet about the ones she'd added.
"Your stuff was almost all girls. Barely even any parts of guys. And it was all... I dunno. Not romantic, exactly, but it sure as shit wasn't, like, nasty."
Erica just looked at Cora for a beat. "What exactly do you think is 'nasty'?"
Cora bit her lip. "Well... you know. Like, bukkake, I think it's called. Cum on face. Or even with the lesbians. Even that one with the one girl shoving that big dildo in the other one's ass, she wasn't being, I dunno, mean about it. They were, like, both having fun."
Erica was silent for a while. "I think what you meant was, there wasn't, like, a power imbalance."
Cora weighed that for a second, and nodded. "Maybe you're right."
"Do you think a guy has to have power over a girl?"
Cora frowned. She didn't seem annoyed, just concentrating. Finally she said, "I dunno. Never thought about it like that." A brief silence. Then she looked at Erica. "You saw my porn. What do you think?"
Erica had to ponder that for a few moments. "Well... maybe you weren't as, uh, respectful as me. But you weren't into rape and shit."
Cora shrugged. "Should be fun for everybody, or what's the point?"
Erica spoke slowly. "You, uh, didn't keep any of the guy stuff. But the ones I saw, well... it did kinda look like the man was, uh, kinda taking charge." She thought about Cora's style when she went down on Erica. She hesitated... but it was important. "Was that what you were like? When you were with girls?"
Cora stiffened. But after a moment, she settled down. "Sorta." Defensively: "I didn't force anybody. Ever. I mean it."
"I didn't say that! I swear, that wasn't what I was thinking!"
Cora squinted for a second, then calmed down further. "Good." Another pause. "I guess I did like to, uh, 'take charge', like you said. It felt good to, y'know... make a girl come."
Cora seemed willing to talk; Erica couldn't waste the chance. "And blowjobs?"
Cora's jaw clamped. But she spoke. "I wasn't... Look, I wasn't, like, degrading anybody."
Erica shifted closer. "I didn't say that," she said reassuringly.
Cora looked away... but didn't pull away. After a beat, she said, "I guess, yeah, I kinda got off on, like, the... power or whatever."
Erica said, carefully, "But going down on a girl wasn't, like, submission?"
Cora kept looking away.
It was time to back off. Gently, Erica said, "Thanks for, y'know, trusting me. Letting me see that stuff."
After a beat, Cora met her eyes again and smiled, a little sardonically. "It was an easy trade. Especially when it wasn't secret anymore anyway."
"Hey, I wouldn't peek unless you said!"
"I wasn't talking about you," Cora said, as if to a child. "Jacqui made that disc image. You think she didn't make one for herself? You think she isn't going over every byte of it right now?"
"Oh," Erica said, feeling stupid.
~~~~~
At the next Skype conference, Erica told the Sisters what Cora had deduced about her computer privacy.
"Shit." The uncouth oath was a mark of just how irritated Jacqui was. "She's too smart. I was wondering why there was hardly anything personal on her new laptop."
"Did you find anything useful in the files?" Miranda asked. The hope in her voice reminded Erica of Cora asking if they were done with shopping.
"I'm not sure." Jacqui's frustration was evident in her scowl. "I was able to track down a few things from the browser histories and such." She paused. "If he'd been the child of a Sister, I'd have been worried."
"What do you mean?" Erica asked, afraid she already knew what Jacqui meant.
"Looks to me like he was a classic na-raoithloch," Jacqui said, lapsing into the language of the Sisters.
"Uh... what?" Erica said.
"Sorry, I keep forgetting you're a Novice. It's sort of an old Sisterhood slang term."
Miranda pounced on an opportunity for a pop quiz. "Can you figure out what it means, dear?"
Erica puzzled at it, thinking aloud, trying to recall her lessons. "Well, raoithloch has gotta be a masculine noun. Um... active masculine. But na- means, um, like, 'of women'. So, uh... a guy who... does something to women?"
"Very good, Erica," Laurie said. "You wouldn't have learned raoithloch in your lessons yet. It means something like 'hunter'."
"More precisely, 'tracker', so it's 'tracker of women'," Bronwyn interjected. The author in her prized correct terminology.
"Like, a serial killer?" Erica asked doubtfully.
Bronwyn sat up straight. Jacqui had finally set up the woman's webcam, so Erica could watch her shift into 'teacher mode'. "No, no, it's slang. Not meant to be literal." She paused, searching for words. "Think of hunter-gatherers. The women gather the plants, care for the children. The men go hunt. But there's still specialization. Some men become trackers. They study animals, what their tracks look like, their droppings. Where they eat, drink, sleep. So the hunters can find prey."
"That's even worse!" Erica interjected.
Bronwyn laughed. "Let me finish. For Sisters, in this context, it's not about the hunting part. It's a word like déjà vu, it doesn't translate to one word in English. I suppose you could put it as, 'The kind of guy who studies women like they're another species.'"
"Ohhhh..." Erica murmured, the lightbulb going off.
"Yeah," Jacqui agreed. "A lot of guys - especially boys - think women are so different that men can't understand them. Half the time they're a little proud they can't understand girls."
"A na-raoithloch isn't necessarily a bad man." Laurie noted, chuckling a little. "If you train them right, they can make excellent boyfriend or even husband material." Then she went on, more soberly. "But they make terrible prospects for Sisterhood. A boy who can't or won't imagine a girl's mindset is just going to have trouble taking on that mindset for themselves."
Everyone was quiet for a stretch. Then Erica tentatively spoke up. "If you've got a word for it... do you have ways of, like, dealing with it?"
Miranda looked sad. "Not... after the fact. Sisters try to make sure their boys don't grow up that way. If it looks like a problem, they make sure their sons get some experience trying to understand girls."
Erica bit her lower lip, recalling little incidents from the past. Miranda refusing to help Eric pick out presents for female classmates. That time she'd dragged Eric along when her friend's daughter had picked out her wedding dress - because she 'couldn't find a babysitter'. Eric had been regularly asked for his opinion on fabric and trains and...
Whatever, she thought, putting that aside. The problem right now was how to help Cora. "So... what do we do?"
"For now... what we've been doing." Jacqui's tone didn't reassure Erica very much. Her worried expression, even less.
~~~~~
Erica walked in the door. "I'm home!" she called out. At last, finals were over. She was a little worried about her grade in Spanish. Having to learn the language of the Sisters at the same time was stressing the language center of her brain. Nothing more to do about it now, though.
"We're in here!" Miranda called from the living room. Erica peeked in from the hall.
She immediately recognized what was going on. Skirt practice. The hem on Cora's loose, light dress was only halfway down the thigh. Wearing something like that required particular skills if you didn't want to flash your panties while sitting or standing or picking something up off the floor. Not to mention the way you had to sit to keep it from wrinkling, and getting out of a car in one was a special trick, and heels upped the degree of difficulty...
Invariably, toward the end of these sessions, the participants became rather frazzled. She could see the slow burn on Cora's face. Miranda seized the opportunity and said, "That's enough for today, I suppose. Why don't you go help Erica decompress?"
Cora sighed with relief, and the girls went upstairs together. Miranda was careful to wait until they were out of earshot before she released her own equally-sincere sigh.
The girls went into Erica's room. Cora flopped onto the bed and watched Erica disrobe. Her skirt had flipped up but Erica wisely refrained from pointing that out.
"In the movies, somebody switches bodies and they don't have any trouble. Five minutes and they can do anything they could before."
"Yeah, it took me a while to, I dunno, 'recalibrate'." She paused, but it was true: "Cheerleading practice helped a lot."
Cora ignored her. "I don't even know what this body can do. I tried to open a jar of salsa today and I just couldn't do it. I had to get your mom to help."
Erica finished changing into sweats. She liked the way she looked in tight jeans, but it still felt good to finally peel them off. "I think we've still got some exercise stuff downstairs. I guess we could, y'know, 'run some tests'."
Cora's eyes showed a little enthusiasm. "Hey, yeah, let's do that!"
Erica followed Cora into her room, where she got out a t-shirt and shorts. "I can't get used to the buttons on the wrong side," she muttered as she undid her blouse.
Once changed, they went down into the basement, and got the weight bench away from the wall. Erica spotted as they set up the bar.
Sadly, Cora was discouraged in short order. "Jesus," she moaned. "Not even fifty pounds? That's horrible!"
"Well, I mean, it's not that bad..." For a petite girl, Erica left unspoken.
"I used to could bench four times that!" At the other girl's frown, she backed off slightly. "Right around that, anyway. But still!"
"Look, that's upper body. Girls just aren't the same as boys there," Erica said. "Let's try some squats. Girls have a lot more strength in their legs."
Cora was just too tiny, however. Her leg strength was excellent... for a small female. That still was nothing like even an average-sized high-school boy, let alone one that had gone out for a sport like track.
~~~~~
Even as Erica and Cora were performing their evaluations, Miranda was giving evaluations to the leadership of the Sisterhood.
"It's so much harder than with Erica," she said. "Even accounting for the fact that she hates me, she's learning very slowly. She's smart enough, but she just doesn't want to learn."
"Well, that's not exactly a surprise," Jacqui noted.
"It's easy for you to say that! You don't have to spend all day with her... her unending hostility."
"We know it's difficult," Bronwyn said in placation. "We'll help as much as we can, but Cora isn't going to respond well to any of us for a while yet."
"Erica will be home now that school's over. That will help some. A little." Miranda couldn't keep the doubt from her tone.
"Are they getting along together?" Laurie asked. "If Cora has no one to turn to..."
"Erica's been an angel about all of this. She feels so responsible, even though it wasn't her fault. I think Cora would have killed me by now, if it weren't for her." She sighed, then. "But Erica's taken a giant step backward," Miranda lamented. "She's no longer as sure of her womanhood, and it shows in her Magic."
"That should settle out, with time," Bronwyn said. "She's had rather a large shock."
"I think she's starting to trust me again, but that's been difficult, too. I'm so worried she'll... that she won't want to be a Sister."
"Don't get worked up about that," Jacqui said. "She was doing so well before. You could see how happy she was. Even this, I don't think, can totally derail that."
"Goddess, I hope not."
~~~~~
Erica heard Cora take a deep breath as they stepped into the mall.
It was just the two of them. The ostensible goal of the trip was to get Cora that modern accessory no one - especially no girl - could live without: a cell phone.
There were at least two other purposes, however. First, Cora had been growing increasingly restive, confined to the Jardin home. Being anywhere else would help her spirits immensely. Second, it was a chance to evaluate how Cora's feminine demeanor held up in public. Erica had a clear impression that Cora was fully aware of both reasons.
She could see that Cora was having second thoughts. The girl had been desperate to get going, but over the course of the drive, she'd become increasingly quiet and nervous.
Her eyes darted wildly as they walked to the escalator and rode it up. "Feels so weird, walking around dressed like this." Miranda had insisted on a casual, floral patterned dress, primarily white and dark blue, and white stockings. Cora had put her foot down - so to speak - when it came to heels, though. Miranda, knowing how much trouble Cora had with them, yielded the point. Cora wore flat - but open-toed - pumps. "It's not just skirts. Girl's clothes are all... thin, like pajamas or something."
"You get used to it," Erica said with a shrug.
"And I feel like a clown with all this gunk on my face."
Fighting a sigh, Erica said, neutrally, "That takes time to get used to, too."
"I can't even rub my eyes. It'd get all smeared."
Erica herself - at first - had often bemoaned the inconveniences of a painted face. But she'd gotten over it, learned how to deal. "You get used to it," she repeated.
Once they actually got to the store, Cora came out of her shell a little. Comparing specifications and options was familiar ground. She looked doubtful when Erica urged her to get the unlimited texting plan, but didn't fight over it.
A sales type appeared next to them. "Hi, I'm Nick. Can I help you ladies?"
He was about their age, and Erica saw trouble brewing long before Cora did. The way he kept staring at the girl indicated he was thinking about more than a commission.
For her part, Cora wouldn't meet his eyes. "Yeah. I think I want this one."
"Good choice. Android's really hot right now." He was smiling a lot. "Looks good with you. You should be a model." He waved at a placard with a cheerful girl holding a phone. "That'd sure look better with you up there."
Erica felt very strange about it. Cora was cute, sure... but Erica herself wasn't so bad. Why didn't he even try to hit on her? Was she really jealous of the attention paid to another girl?
Cora, flustered, stammered something unintelligible and looked away.
With rather more enthusiasm than the situation warranted, he took her through the service contract. "I put my number on the slip there. Call me if you need anything, I'll hook you up." He smiled and struck. "Heck, call me if you don't. You doing anything tonight?"
Cora was stunned mute.
After an awkward pause, Erica stepped in. "Sorry, we're just looking for a phone."
"That's too bad," Nick replied. "Well, if anything comes up, hang onto that number." The girls made a hasty retreat with the new phone.
Cora took a minute to speak again. "What the fuck? I didn't go in there to get fucking hit on!" She paused, suddenly doubtful. "I didn't, like, lead him on or some shit, did I?"
"No, no, that was all him," Erica said. "Some guys just... don't care, I guess."
"Whatever," Cora said. "Let's get out of here."
"No, wait, let's at least get a smoothie or something," Erica said, trying to lead Cora toward the food court. She had a feeling that Cora shouldn't be allowed to retreat the first time something unexpected happened.
She bristled. "I just want out of here."
"Come on, that's what you were saying about my house. It's just a frickin' smoothie."
Cora sniffed, sullen. "Okay, whatever. But then we're gone, got it?"
"Deal," Erica said firmly. She'd picked the time and place carefully. She was skipping out on a mid-vacation cheerleading practice, so she wouldn't have to see that set of girls. And neither Linda nor Kristina had a car, so they probably wouldn't be around either. She was not ready to introduce Cora to anybody yet.
Aside from forcing Cora 'back on the horse', the interlude in the food court was useful. It pointed out some definite problem areas in Cora's deportment, for one. Unless she was thinking about it, she tended to drift into boyish postures. She smeared her lipstick on the straw rather more than she needed to. And her body language was all over the place - by turns timid, furious, and indifferent.
For another, Cora wasn't as newly overwhelmed as when they'd gone to start up her wardrobe. She was more able to process the different ways people reacted to her.
"God, guys never let up, do they? They keep looking." As Erica opened her mouth, she snapped, "Don't say, 'You get used to it'."
In a corner of her mind, Erica thought, You even get to like it sometimes, but held her tongue.
The smoothie finished, they walked back out to the parking lot. Erica noticed Cora gazing with dread at various clothing and jewelry stores on the way out. Anticipating battles to come.
In the car, the girls were quiet for a time. But as they pulled onto the freeway, Cora spoke up. "I still can't believe all this. I feel like... like a ghost. Looking in from outside. No connection, you know?"
"Kinda. It's a big jump."
Cora shook her head in disbelief. Then she gave Erica a glance. "I'd been thinking about joining the Marines, you know. After graduation."
Erica's eyes widened. "Seriously? What about college?"
"That was the thing. I couldn't decide if I should go to college before or after." She shrugged. "Guess it's 'before' now. Can you imagine me showing up at the recruiting office like this?" She sneered, and lowered the pitch of her voice as far as she was able. "'Run along, little girl. This is man's work.'"
"Not if he didn't want to get sued."
"But he'd be thinking it," Cora said with certainty.
Erica didn't say anything. She figured Cora was probably right.
Cora broke the silence. "I woke up this morning, and realized it's been nine days. I've been a girl for nine days."
Unsure, Erica said no more than, "Uh... yeah?"
"It just kinda hit me. Right after, I couldn't really believe it. I mean, seriously? I'm a girl all of a sudden? I sorta expected... hoped... it couldn't be real, y'know?" She shook her head. "Shit like this doesn't happen, you know. How could it?"
"I guess..." Erica shrugged helplessly. "I don't understand," she admitted.
Cora sniffed. "Maybe not," she said, sounding unsurprised. She shrugged. "I guess I couldn't... internalize what it really meant. That I'd be a girl for, y'know, the foreseeable future." She looked at Erica. "Now, I can, sort of. I mean, it's not just going away."
"And?" She felt like a psychiatrist, leading a patient on. Except she didn't have any training. Or clue.
"Not even two weeks and I've never been so fucking depressed in my life." She took a deep breath. "All these 'girl classes' and having to watch my own thoughts and be someone I'm not and... and..." She trailed off.
At last, something concrete. "Look, it doesn't stay like this, I promise! It gets easier. You know what it's like when you start a new class, or a new job." Cora didn't look convinced. "It gets better. I swear. Easier, for sure."
"Not so far."
"You've gotta learn stuff birth-girls have their whole lives to learn. But you can do it."
"There's so much! All these clothes, and which colors go with what, and all that shit."
"Stuff," Erica corrected automatically. Cora glared a bit, but she hurried on. "Look, you know Leesa, right? Leesa Bronson?"
"Yeah, so?"
"She gets her clothes right for school every day, right?"
"I guess so..."
"How much smarter than her are you?"
Cora looked pensive. "If she can do it, I can do it, huh?"
"You got it." Erica was pleased. If it took turning into her Mother to help Cora, she'd do it.
Her pleasure was short-lived. "But she was born to it," Cora persisted, stubbornly. "I mean, she's a girl, always been."
Erica frowned. "And you're not a girl?"
Cora looked down at the dashboard. "Okay, fine, I'm a girl. Now."
Erica paused a beat. It wasn't just anger that made her say, "No, you're not."
Cora's head jerked up and she stared at Erica. "What?"
"That's what you want to hear, right?"
"I don't... What do you mean?" She looked very confused.
"You don't want to be a girl, I get that. But why not?"
Cora looked puzzled, suspicious. "I... it's just not me. I was forced into this..."
"All kicking and screaming, yeah yeah yeah. I got that. So... why is it so disgusting to you?"
"It's... it's not disgusting, it's... just..."
"Are girls, like, less human than boys? Worth less? Stupider? Inferior?"
Cora's eyes were wide. "No, I never said that!"
"What's the difference, then?"
"I... I dunno. They... want different things."
"Is that it? Then being a girl isn't so bad. Different, but not inferior. You should be able to handle it for a while." She looked Cora straight in the eye. "If you really believe that. Or at least decide to try."
Neither girl spoke the rest of the way home.
~~~~~
"That should do it," Cora said, saving a file on her laptop. "Shouldn't ever get below thirty frames per second now."
"Good. I'll email it all to Scotty and Josh to look over, and then we can send it in." Erica began archiving their project, the semester final.
"It was nice of Mr. Yigal to give you an extension," Cora said. Erica's team had been given some extra time after the end of the term to finish up their last project.
"Well, with you gone, he figured it'd be fair." Erica shrugged. "I guess it's kinda cheating to have you still here to help?" she said uncertainly.
"Um... neither of us have exactly been at a hundred percent. You've been kinda busy, I know."
Erica blinked, almost stunned to get even a partial acknowledgement that the situation affected more than just Cora. "Well, thanks for the help."
"No prob. I mean, it's nice to see that project running anyway."
Cora stretched and then shut down her laptop. She got up and paced aimlessly around the room for a few minutes, waiting for Erica to finish her email. As soon as Erica had shut down her laptop, Cora was kissing her.
The girls had sex every night before bed. They hadn't really talked about it. It had just developed that way. Erica didn't mind; it was hardly unenjoyable. Cora had to release her tension somehow, and afterward, she was as close to relaxed as she ever got.
In terms of variety, what they did wasn't terribly imaginative. Lots of oral, by turns or in a 69. And Erica noticed Cora never looked at her own body. She'd focus on Erica, or close her eyes. Especially when Erica did anything to her breasts.
~~~~~
"I'm sorry, Linda," Erica said into her phone. "It's just that I've been so busy. I told you my cousin's moved in. I'm kinda trying to get her adjusted here."
She listened. "Soon. You can meet her soon. She's sorta moody right now, she didn't want to come here, and..."
Another pause. "Okay. Love you, see you later!" Erica hung up and let out a deep sigh.
She hated lying to her friends. And she missed them. She missed talking with them, laughing with them, sharing with them, hanging with them. She'd come to need 'girl time', and she certainly didn't get that with Cora.
~~~~~
The girls were in Erica's room, gaming on her console. They were aware that Miranda frowned on it, regarding it as unfeminine - particularly the military simulation they were playing. Erica had decided to do it anyway, hoping it'd help her friend blow off steam. She was beginning to think she'd made a mistake, though.
"Ahh! Fuck! I'm better than this!" Cora growled as she died for the third time that round.
"I know, just chill a little." Erica tried to reassure her. "Same thing happened to me. The reflexes are in here," and she flicked the controller to indicate her head, "but they're trying to run smaller hands. The buttons aren't where you think they are." She dodged incoming rocket fire. "Just give it a little time. It's like getting used to a new controller."
"I'm getting used to a new everything."
"It'll get better. A little practice, that's all."
Just then Cora's avatar was blown to fragments by a missile strike. In a rage, she hit the button on her mic and bellowed, "Okay, fucker, I'm coming for you now!" At least, it was apparently intended as a bellow. Her high-pitched voice didn't carry the effect well.
"Wait, don't..." Erica blurted, but the damage was done.
A babble of overlapping voices clogged the channel. "Holy shit, the newb's a girl!" "Whoa, who was that?" "Hey, Vasquez1986 is a chick!"
Erica despaired. Just having an identifiably girlish handle could bring troubles online. On Erica's advice they'd chosen neutral names and male avatars, but now Cora's cover was blown. The sharks had scented blood.
Cora was staring openmouthed at Erica. Her freshly-spawned avatar died again, unseen.
"Hey, babe, where you at?" More overlapping voices. "You got a webcam?" Little tones chimed as a set of 'friend requests' appeared in Cora's inbox.
Cora turned back to the game and resumed control, keeping silent. She fought for a while longer. It quickly proved futile, however. She was now actively targeted by several players, and seldom lasted more than a few seconds after spawning before someone or another would blow her away.
"Bitches just can't game," came over the channel.
Cora lost control again, let out another outburst. "Get your asshole friends off my back and try saying that again!" Erica's heart sank. Should she abort the game, or would that make it worse?
"Geez, PMS much?" He sounded so tickled. "Wait, are you even old enough to bleed?"
That decided her. Erica shut down the console, though it made Cora sputter incoherently for a moment. Then the girl just sat there, looking away, breathing hard, hunched over in fury.
"I'm sorry," Erica said, laying a hand on her upper arm. "You think guys on the street are bad, the real assholes are online."
Cora fumed. "I know. I saw it sometimes. But..."
"Feels different when its happening to you, huh?"
"It sucks."
~~~~~
Usually Cora would sleep in a nightshirt and shorts. Occasionally they'd set out something slinkier like the panty-and-teddy sets Erica was partial to, and she didn't fight them about it. But no matter what she slept in, when she came out of her bedroom she always wore a thick bathrobe over it, hiding her figure.
It only came off when it was time to dress for the day. And it was almost always a dress. She was only permitted jeans - skin-tight ones - once or twice a week.
They hadn't gotten as far as the dress yet, though. "Uhhhh... errrr... mmmmmph... FUCK!" Cora screamed, ripping off the bra and hurling it across the bedroom.
Erica sympathized with the general emotion, even if she'd never gotten quite that worked-up over it. Hooking a bra clasp behind your back wasn't an easy trick to master. "Hey, chill out, it's okay. I'll help," she said, walking over to retrieve the huddled cloth from the floor.
"Shit, I thought they were hard to get off," Cora muttered.
Erica stood behind Cora and reached over her shoulders with the bra. Cora slid her arms under the shoulder straps and Erica fastened the clasp in back. Then they moved on to the dress. Erica tried not to think about what was in store when they would start on makeup.
~~~~~
The house was quiet. Erica was off at a cheerleading practice - about the only time she got out of the house these days. Mom was in the library, tackling her work backlog. Cora was up in her room, probably sulking as usual.
Haylie was a little bored and lonely. Neither her Mom nor her sister had much time for her - again. She was going to see a movie with a couple friends this afternoon, but that was hours away. There wasn't much to do besides watch TV or read or play games she'd already played. Or think.
And thinking wasn't something she was sure she wanted to do right now. She was upset. Having a big sister had started out weird, but become kinda neat and fun. Things had eased up a lot for a while, and she'd been able to just hang with both Mom and Erica in the last couple months. That had stopped cold once Cora came on the scene.
Cora was, frankly, a bitch. Crabby, nasty, mean. Haylie hated the pain and stress and fear she saw her family carrying around. But she really hated the guilt she could see in her Mom's eyes, or in Erica's slumped posture, anytime they talked about her.
The guilt troubled her. Back when Erica had been Transformed, her Mom had explained it as a wonderful gift. (To the extent she'd referred to it at all - grownups always gave frustrating half-explanations to kids about anything important.) And it had seemed that way. Erica had certainly acted pretty happy before long. Haylie had hoped - carefully, not too much - that maybe Erica wouldn't change back.
Cora, though... not so much. To her, girlhood was obviously a curse. Her Mom said there had been an 'accident'. What had happened? Why did Cora hate it so much?
For that matter, in those first weeks Erica had been like a scared little bunny rabbit. Unlike Cora, she'd been willing to try; but even Erica hadn't been exactly enthusiastic at first. Why? If the Transformation was a gift... why didn't the recipients seem to welcome it, at least at first? What did they miss about being a boy?
And why did Haylie have this weird feeling that she ought to know?
Movement. Cora coming down the stairs. Even though she was so small, she sounded heavier than Erica did. Some of Haylie's friends were bigger than Cora.
The dark-haired girl appeared in the living room, and did a quick double-take at Haylie. She seemed at a loss.
"Hey," Haylie said into the awkward silence.
"Hey," Cora replied cautiously.
A few moments elapsed, and Haylie tried again. "Are you looking for something? Can I help?" Her Mom had always taught her to be gracious to guests.
Cora stared a second longer, and shrugged. "I was just looking for a snack."
"Come on, I'll show you where everything is," Haylie said, getting up and leading her into the kitchen.
Cora decided to forego the fruit and nuked a small personal pizza. Haylie didn't say anything; Miranda discouraged unhealthy snacks. Suddenly Cora looked at her. "How old are you?"
Haylie blinked. "Eleven."
Cora looked her over and pursed her lips. Haylie finally realized that Cora was upset that they were nearly eye-to-eye. "I'm a little tall for my age," she said, not quite truthfully. Cora just frowned and watched the numbers count down on the microwave.
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Haylie asked, trying to make conversation.
Cora shook her head. "Nah. My mom can't have kids, and adoption costs a lot."
"Oh." Haylie squinted back. "I was adopted, too."
Cora's eyes widened in surprise. "No shit?" She caught herself. "Sorry, I mean... uh... really?"
Haylie giggled. "Yeah. Really."
Cora looked chagrined for a beat, then smiled, too. "I guess you can tell I don't have any little sisters, huh?"
Haylie nodded solemnly. But she kept grinning.
The microwave beeped. Cora was startled. The moment was lost; Haylie saw the girl's nascent good humor evaporate. She retrieved her food and retreated toward the stairs. "Thanks," she called back.
"You're welcome," Haylie said quietly. She stood in the kitchen for several minutes afterward, thinking.
~~~~~
"Mom? I got a text from Trahn. They're going out dancing tonight, and she invited me. Think I should go?"
"Cora's not ready for anything like that."
Erica spoke carefully. "I know, but, y'know, it'd look really weird if I totally stopped doing anything social."
Miranda snickered. "Young lady, don't lie to me. I can see that's not the real reason you want to go."
Erica suddenly looked guilty.
But Miranda sighed. "However... your excuse is valid anyway. And you deserve a break from shepherding Cora every waking minute."
Erica looked, if anything, more guilty. But she didn't change her mind and stay.
~~~~~
There were some clubs that allowed the high-school set, at least earlier in the evening on weekdays. Trahn, Melanie, Shianti, and Erica were safely in one, sitting at a table and hydrating before they went out on the floor.
Erica couldn't help venting a little. She had to tone down and translate Cora's behavior somewhat, naturally. Still, she couldn't keep it all in or she'd explode! Besides, Cora would be going to school with these girls in a few weeks; some groundwork had to be laid down to help explain her quirks.
"...and, like, I've tried to help her find some nice outfits but she dresses like, like a Mormon or something."
"Sucks to be you. She sounds like a mega-bitch," Melanie said.
That brought Erica up short. "She's not really, like, a total bitch or anything. I mean, I understand why she's upset. She's been through a lot. Her parents gone, she has to move away from all her friends and go live with people she hardly met."
"I'd be pretty fuckin' depressed if I had to move away from all of you," Shianti said.
All the girls talked over each other, affirming how important they were to each other. When the outpouring of emotion settled down, Erica wrapped up. "I just wish she'd chill, y'know?" She smiled. "I think there are some pretty awesome friends around here."
"You know it, girlfriend!" Trahn exclaimed.
A pounding beat increased in volume as one song faded into another. "Ooh, I love this one!" Melanie cried. "Let's roll!" The girls jumped up and made towards the speakers.
So Erica danced. Just listening to the music, moving her body. She was pretty sure her and her friends were the cutest girls there. And even if they weren't, she felt like it - pretty, sexy, attractive. And it was a nice feeling. The boys who came to dance with them sure seemed to agree. A couple of them were real hotties, too. Flirting was fun sometimes, even if you didn't mean anything by it.
Dancing close was fun, too.
~~~~~
Erica got home before midnight. Once the club kicked out the underage patrons and started serving alcohol, there wasn't much point in staying out. She let herself in and crept quietly upstairs. She peeked in to see her Mother settling herself down for sleep. "'Night, Mom!" she called softly.
"Good night, sweetie. I hope you had fun," Miranda said.
"I did, thanks." She hesitated just a moment. "How was Cora?"
Miranda hesitated, too. Then: "Tolerable. You might check in on her."
"Okay, Mom. Sleep good!"
"You too, punkin."
Erica moved down the hall past her room. She could see faint light leaking from under Cora's door. She knocked gently.
"Come in," she heard. The voice was muffled by the door, but audible. The silence spell had been placed on Cora's room, too - but it had a loophole for sounds that were intended to carry.
She walked in, and saw Cora laying on her bed, laptop propped on her knees. When she came around, Cora was reading an article about sex hormones. Research was one of Cora's ways of coping since the Transformation.
"Didja have fun?" Cora asked, without a great deal of emotion - but at least without much rancor, either.
"Yeah," Erica said. "Getting dressed up and going out dancing can be fun, with the right attitude."
"Something wrong with my attitude?" Cora said, eyes narrowed.
Well, it was a risky thing to say, Erica admitted to herself. "No, but if you wanna Transition you gotta try to find something good about being a girl."
Cora scoffed. "What do you expect? I'm gonna sing with joy? 'California Gurlz, we're undeniable! Fine, fresh, fierce, we got it unlocked!'"
Erica was getting all too familiar with pangs of guilt. She'd been dancing to that very song earlier, thinking it fit her and her friends perfectly. She attempted a redirect. "Hey, that was pretty good. Did you, like, sing before?"
Cora shrugged. "In choir, back when my mom and dad still made me go to church. I got a couple solos."
"Do you maybe want to go out and do some karaoke sometime? We could go somewhere nobody knew us..."
Cora was shaking her head. "And get hit on by a bunch of horny guys? No thanks."
"Well, if you think of somewhere you do want to go, let me know."
Cora just rolled her eyes. Erica sat down on the bed. Before long, the laptop was shoved aside and they were kissing. At first, Erica had to pretend a little, doing it more out of duty and guilt than real passion. By the time Cora undressed her, though, she had worked up some honest enthusiasm.
~~~~~
The Jardins and Cora stood in the backyard, hand in hand, circling the fire that burned in a small stone altar. Miranda chanted the Solstice prayer in the ancient language of the Sisters. Cora listened curiously. Erica had witnessed such rituals all her life; even participated when she... er, he... had been younger. It was far more powerful and moving this time. Any religion that could produce miracles on demand was going to be pretty convincing.
The ceremony wrapped up. Cora mouthed the unfamiliar responsorial she'd learned only today, along with the other girls, and all four dropped hands.
"Cora, I know you didn't follow what I was saying there. In English, I basically thanked the Goddess for turning the sun back to us, for the coming spring, and for the Light we always have with us." Miranda was silently grateful for the Californian tolerance that let them practice their religion mostly openly. Her own Grandmother had told stories of having to spend hours at church on Sundays.
"So... what now? No dancing naked or anything, right?" Cora asked dubiously.
"No, nothing like that," Miranda said, choosing to be amused rather than insulted. "The ritual is the important thing. American Sisters usually exchange presents, but that's a bit of a local custom."
"Huh. Like Hannukah," Cora mused. "I heard it's not quite so big for most Jews. But around here it's got to compete with Christmas."
"Just so," Miranda agreed. Then, gently, "We had planned to wait to exchange presents on Christmas this year, in your honor."
Cora looked at her, nonplussed. "Well, that's a nice thought, I guess, but I didn't really believe, you know, religiously. And it's not like I got anything for anybody."
"Don't worry, we didn't expect anything."
Silence for a moment as all the women considered the unlikelihood of Cora ever buying a present for Miranda. They all made their way toward the house.
Cora was still curious, though. "It just seems so... simple. There's no more to it?"
Miranda shrugged. "I suppose male-dominated religions tend to accumulate ceremonies and traditions. But the religion of the Goddess has been mostly secret for thousands of years. There's not much room for elaborate observances in that situation." She watched Cora nod thoughtfully. "There is a tradition that the Goddess is most likely to grant prayers made on the night of a Solstice. It's not strictly part of the theology or anything, though."
"Huh. How do you pray to the Goddess?" Cora asked, waiting for Erica to slide open the glass door.
"Much like any other religion, I suppose. Silently, in your heart. Or out loud." Miranda smiled. "Of course, spells are another kind of prayer. The kind that are always answered."
"When do I start learning Magic?" Cora asked pointedly.
"Soon. We've a pretty full plate as it is, don't you think?"
Cora peered narrowly at Miranda, then muttered, "I'm going up to my room."
Erica watched to make sure Cora was on her way upstairs. Then she waited a bit longer, to be sure she wasn't coming back down. Satisfied, Erica walked quickly to the kitchen and braced her Mother, who had started washing dishes in the sink. "I just realized something. Cora was Transformed on the tenth." She paused. "I got my period two weeks after my Transformation..." Her voice trailed off.
Miranda nodded sadly. "I'm afraid you're right. Not every girl has the same cycle, but Sisters tend to be very regular. Cora is probably going to have a difficult Christmas."
"Well, crap," Erica said, shoulders sagging.
"There's something else," Miranda said softly. Erica looked her in the eyes, concerned. "By the Goddess's blessing, you've been spared any real PMS. I don't think Cora will prove to be so lucky," she almost whispered.
Erica's jaw dropped in horror. "Oh, Goddess, I figured her First Flow would be bad enough." She floundered. "Love of the Goddess, she's going to be even bitchier?"
"I have not spied on her mind, but I felt the signs in her body when we clasped hands in the ritual."
"Should we warn her? Would that help?"
Miranda shook her head. "I don't think so." She shrugged, and said with black humor, "I suggest we pray very hard she's a bit late, and hope the tradition about the Goddess granting Solstice prayers is correct."
~~~~~
The next day Cora woke in an even fouler mood than usual. She grumbled through her morning hairbrushing. She sulked through breakfast. She snarked through morning posture and grace lessons. She growled through lunch. She swore through afternoon makeup lessons.
Miranda ended classes early. Cora displayed no gratitude, however, and simply washed off her face and planted herself in front of the TV, where she remained for an hour, watching ESPN. Things came to a head when Haylie asked to watch "iCarly".
"Go watch it somewhere else," Cora snarled, not even looking her way.
"Hey, you don't own the TV! I get a turn, too!"
"Not unless you want to fight me for it."
"Hey, come on, Cora, give her a break..." Erica began.
"Fuck you."
"Hey!" Erica cried, startled. "I know this isn't fun for you, but we're all trying to help you. You could at least..."
"Fuck you."
"We all live here too, you know," Erica said deliberately, trying to remain calm. "We've made a lot of adjustments. We had plans, too."
"Yeah, because of you, we don't even get to go to the spa!" Haylie wailed.
Cora whirled on her, a predator lunging at prey. "Who gives a fuck? My whole life is screwed up! You think I give a shit about your stupid spa?"
"Stop it." It wasn't a yell, but Cora's eyes slewed to Erica, startled. She'd never heard that tone from her before. Angry, dangerous.
Erica leaned in close. Her tone stayed the same. "Be pissed at me. Be pissed at Mom. I understand that, we've got it coming. Some of it, anyway." She glared hard. "But leave Haylie the fuck out of this, got it? She didn't do shit to you, she's got nothing to do with this, and she's been pretty freakin' great about it anyway."
Cora reared back, eyes wide in shock. Her face started creeping back to its usual stubborn frown. Then it shifted, to a considering frown. Her eyes moved to stare down at the coffee table. All at once she looked back up. "You're right," she said to Erica. Turning to Haylie, she said, "I apologize. I shouldn't have taken that out on you."
She tossed the remote to Haylie. Then she stood, gave Erica a meaningful look, and said, "But I don't have to stay here with you." She marched upstairs, and they heard her door slam closed.
~~~~~
An hour should be long enough, Erica thought, gently knocking on Cora's door. After a beat, the door was pulled open a crack. "Go away."
"Come on. Let's just talk. I know you're upset, but yelling at me won't fix anything." It didn't even occur to her to press for an apology.
Another beat. "Fine. Whatever." Cora backed away. Erica pushed the door open a ways and slipped in.
"Feeling any better?" she asked diffidently.
"Yes. No. I don't know." Cora was pacing.
"What's wrong?" At Cora's pained glance, she quickly amended, "Or what's most wrong, right now?"
"It's... it's everything. I'm so tense, it feels like I'm gonna explode." She frowned. "No, it's like lightning. I've got this, this charge built up! And anything happens, out comes the lightning."
Erica said, soothingly, "I know it's been rough." But she was thinking that Cora sounded like she was describing PMS. Kristina had admitted once that she got it bad just before her period. 'It's like I need to be angry, then,' she'd said.
Add in a real reason to be mad, and it'd probably look a lot like this afternoon, she thought to herself. It made it easier to forgive Cora.
"I feel like somebody gave me a shot of adrenaline, y'know?" Cora got up and paced. "I wanna punch something. I wanna take an ax and chop something up." She stopped, facing away, fists curled. "And I can't!"
Erica got up and gently put her hands on Cora's shoulders. "Well, there's another way to let off some steam," she said slyly.
Cora didn't say anything, but she didn't shrug off Erica's hands. Erica stepped forward, pressing against Cora's back, and wrapped her in an easy hug.
~~~~~
Apparently the Goddess hadn't been in a prayer-granting mood on the Solstice.
Cora stalked down the stairs Christmas morning, arms wrapped around her belly... but not to hold the bathrobe closed. "My stomach feels funny. Kinda sick, kinda achy. I'm gonna need tampons today, am I right?"
Miranda raised her eyebrows slightly. Distracted by all the other pressing issues right after a Transformation, most new Sisters didn't put two and two together about menstruation. Of course, leave it to Cora to see any and all negatives, she thought wryly. "I suspect you are, though I would suggest pads for now. Would you like me to instruct you, or would you prefer Erica do it?"
Cora looked back and forth between them. "Erica."
They went upstairs, and Erica showed her the procedures and gave her the warnings. "Don't worry, I'll be joining you in about three days. We'll probably be pretty close, actually."
"Sharing this doesn't make it suck less," Cora grumbled.
~~~~~
Two hours later, Cora was back in her bed.
"Why does this hurt so much? What the fuck is going on in there?"
Erica sat on the bed, resting her hand on Cora's arm. "It's, well, your uterus. It's shedding its lining, and squeezing down."
Cora turned her face away, but Erica saw the grimace as another cramp started. She let out a soft grunt. "I know that, but... it feels like the frickin' thing is trying to climb out." A groan. "You'd think evolution would do something about it."
"I don't know. The first day is the worst, though. It'll get better."
Cora made a strange face all of a sudden. "What?" Erica asked, concerned.
She glared up. "I just felt a, a gush." Then she moaned as another cramp struck.
"Oh."
"Merry Christmas, I got you a bloody crotch." A snarl. "This isn't how I planned on spending today, you know."
"We were gonna have a big meal, and do our Solstice presents..."
"No, I mean, I had a great idea for what I was gonna get my mom. I was gonna get her a digital picture frame, and scan in all her old pictures and stuff." She sighed. "She would have loved it. And I was going in with her to get my dad a new cordless drill. His old one was dying, and never had much torque anyway. She gave me the money, and I was gonna buy it, but..." She waved her hand, indicating the whole situation.
Cora's head turned away. "Now they're gonna spend Christmas not knowing where I am." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "What I am."
"I'm sorry," Erica said, feeling very small.
~~~~~
Cora remained in bed the next three days, except for baths. Erica was pretty sure the girl was milking it. Periods could be bad, sure, but the first day or so was the worst. They got progressively easier after that. She couldn't be sure, though; every girl was different.
She wished her Healing training were coming along better; she could have sensed how Cora was really feeling, then. They came very close to giving her a potion to ease things, but in the end they decided to stick with the First Flow tradition of having the rookie Sister tough it out.
The girls read and watched movies and talked. Erica negotiated on behalf of their guest, and at least at night they got to watch some action and horror movies. Cora even made the occasional joke. "Too bad I'm so horny. The horny girls never survive in a slasher movie."
~~~~~
Erica's own period started the day Cora's wrapped up. She was far more used to the symptoms, and had Miranda's potions to help, so they resumed 'classes' right away. Cora was very attentive and engaged when Miranda began the girl's Magic lessons. It was a stark contrast to the tense resentment with which Cora approached the education in the ways of femininity.
In some ways it was gratifying, but in other ways it was frustrating. Cora kept wanting to jump ahead, or else question some foundational aspect of Miranda's teaching. Unlike in the lessons on feminine behavior, though, it was pure curiosity and analysis that drove her challenges. And the girl did indeed have a quick and subtle intellect.
"Can you Transform yourself into a younger woman?" Cora asked probingly.
"Yes, I could," Miranda replied, cautious. "But it's not time for..."
"And retain your power?" Cora seemed to be aiming for something.
"Yes, that's true. So long as she remains female, a Sister can become almost anything living." She shrugged. "Transforming into a male would give up the power, though. Forever, even if another Sister Transformed them back."
Cora pounced. "So why aren't you all immortal? Just turn into a younger version of yourself every few decades!"
"Ah, I see." Miranda shook her head sadly. "There are laws of Magic. You could think of it as karma or fate, I suppose. Attempting to live beyond one's natural lifespan has... consequences. Very undesirable ones."
Cora frowned skeptically. "Like what, exactly?"
Miranda sighed. "Terrible accidents befall Sisters who try to take more Earthly life than the Goddess has granted them. If not to them... then worse, to their loved ones."
Cora made another deduction. "So... I've lost years as a man. When I can finally turn back - someday - if I turn back to Cory at age seventeen, I'll just die early in an accident."
"That doesn't follow, dear." She waggled a finger. "The Goddess is a Goddess of life. No spell of a Sister can steal life from anyone. You were Transformed to the same age... and women have longer lifespans than men. In a sense, you've actually gained life." Miranda gave silent thanks to the Goddess that her little Haylie wouldn't suffer such a fate, either. Her 'clock' had been 'reset' the moment Jacqui had Transformed the elderly Harold into the infant Haylie.
It took Cora bare seconds to turn that into a new line of attack. "You can't kill, right?"
"We can't kill," Miranda said, including Cora with her eyes.
Cora ignored the implied inclusion in the Sisterhood. "What if you Transformed a Brother into, like, a hundred-year-old guy? Like, with a bad heart condition? Couldn't you take 'em out like that?"
"A Sister could... once. Deliberately ending a human life costs a Sister her power forever, as I've told you."
"But you wouldn't be killing him. It'd be old age," Cora insisted.
"It's the intent that matters. The intent to kill forms a link with the victim."
"Why? I drive over someone on purpose, or it's an accident, they're just as dead."
"This is Magic, not science. Spells are the mind directly interacting with reality. Can you not imagine reality reaching back?"
Almost a snarl: "A car isn't Magic."
Weary yet firm: "But like it or not, you are. Now."
Cora's jaw was set, but she squinted, considering Miranda's words. The Sister didn't give Cora time to regroup for another assault. "This is a distraction. Let's practice breathing and meditation again. In, out..."
~~~~~
Two days after her First Flow was over, Cora demanded a haircut.
Her inaugural trip to the salon was not like Erica's. Cosmetics irritated and confused her, the vocabulary of women's hairstyling frustrated rather than intrigued, and the stylist's conversation and even compliments only aggravated the situation.
Erica and Miranda managed to talk her out of a bob. She wound up with a style that at least brushed the top of her shoulders. They even talked her into frosting the ends, quietly selling it as a way to make her resemble Cory even less. It actually looked good on her - not that she appreciated that fact.
Furthermore, Miranda was able to use it as a negotiating ploy. In exchange for shorter hair, Cora sullenly agreed to study fashion magazines and romance novels the way Erica had, long ago. At least, it suddenly seemed long ago to Erica, watching Cora struggle with them.
~~~~~
Erica was walking back to her Mom's car after cheerleading practice when her cell rang. She didn't recognize the number, but it was local so she answered. "Hello?"
"Hi, uh, is this Erica?" A boy's voice, half-familiar but she couldn't quite place it.
"Yes," she said, neutral. She'd hoped she wouldn't get hit on over break.
"This is Brandon Metcalfe. I... just was wondering, have you heard from Cory at all?"
Erica suddenly wished Brandon had merely been hitting on her. "No," she said, trying to make it convincing. "We didn't really talk much" - at all, she thought - "outside class."
He sighed. "I figured, but, you know."
"Have you heard from him?" she asked.
"Nothing."
Erica felt guilty about the obvious frustration in his voice. But this was an opportunity for intel. "Where do you think he went?"
"I don't know. But he wouldn't just take off like that. Somebody did something to him."
Erica didn't know what to say to that.
After a short pause, he said, "Sorry to bother you. Let me know if you hear anything, okay?"
"Sure. Have a good break."
She stared at her phone for a while. She'd have to tell her Mom and the Sisters about this.
~~~~~
The nightly Cora Conference Call was in progress. As usual, only meager progress could be reported. The witches were disturbed by Erica's summary about Brandon, and agreed he would bear watching.
Once that was over, Erica posed some questions. "I hit up Wikipedia and stuff last
night," she began. "Trying to find things to help Cora. But all it did was confuse me more."
"What's bothering you, punkin?" Miranda asked.
"The Transformation... it seems like you're practically begging for what they call 'gender dysphoria', feeling like you're in the wrong kind of body. From what you all said, hardly any Sisters feel that way, but why not?"
Miranda looked at her sympathetically. "This is about more than Cora, isn't it?" It was almost a statement.
"Well... yeah." Erica twirled her fingers in her hair nervously, unconsciously. "I can understand why Cora's having such a hard time. But... why not me? Why didn't I fight this just as hard?"
"Does that bother you?" Miranda asked.
"I don't know. I didn't think much about it before, but with Cora..." She chewed her lower lip for a second. "Was Eric, like, less of a man or something?"
"Eric was very much a boy, punkin, I promise." Miranda's voice was warm with love. "There were moments as you grew up when I seriously wondered how your 'initiation' would go. Some boys do refuse, you know."
Bronwyn spoke up. "I can vouch for that. All those visits I made when you were growing up weren't just to see your Mother. I was also consulting with her about you. We both had our doubts a few times."
"Do you regret being Transformed?" Jacqui asked forthrightly, staring out of the laptop screen.
Put that baldly, Erica had to search her feelings for a moment. "I... no. Not really. I like being Erica, almost all the time. But... why? I mean, when I was Eric, I never wanted to be a girl or anything. I wondered sometimes what it was like, I guess, but I never wanted to be a girl. So why does this feel so right?"
"For one thing, your introduction to womanhood was much gentler," Laurie noted. "It wasn't a threat, it was an offer. You were given a choice." She chuckled. "Maybe all the consequences weren't spelled out for you, but you can't claim you were forced."
Erica chuckled ruefully herself. "No, I sure can't say that." Then, more soberly, "Not like Cora." She let out a sigh. "But even then... all that dysphoria stuff. They don't feel right in their bodies. It isn't just not liking girl stuff or boy stuff. It's not feeling, deep inside, like you are a boy, or a girl, or whatever." She looked at her Mom, and at the other Sister's faces on the screen. "I was a boy for seventeen years. I still like boy things, like shooters and action movies. But why don't I feel like a boy inside anymore?"
Jacqui answered first. "The Transformation isn't just a body thing. You know that, right?"
"I guess so..." she replied uncertainly.
"Oh, come on. A woman isn't just a man with tits and a pussy. You've learned that, right?" Erica blushed a little at the blunt language, but made an assenting sound.
Jacqui continued. "No, there are differences in the brain, too. They affect attitudes, aggressiveness, sexuality, and more. Everything that people call 'instinct'. It's not just socialization that makes men and women different. If little girls are only given trucks to play with, they play social games with 'mommy' and 'daddy' trucks. If little boys only get dolls, they turn them into rockets and guns."
"Not all of them," Erica protested.
"No, not all. Brains aren't all alike, and everybody has their own unique mix. But on average male and female brains are different. Gender dysphoria happens when the brain is too far out of sync with the body. Therapy usually doesn't work because rewiring brains on that level is hard."
The light dawned. "And for Sisters..."
"...the Transformation changes the brain, too. Your body feels right because your brain feels at home in it. Sisters usually find it natural to be a girl because, in their heart of hearts, they've become girls."
Erica would have to think about that. However... "But what about Cora? Why is it so hard for her, then?"
It was Jacqui's turn to sigh. "Instincts and tendencies are one thing. But habits and experience count for a lot. More than instinct, sometimes. A brand-new Sister is a lot like a girl who's been trained all her life to be a boy." Erica took in Jacqui's thoughtful frown. "People have free will, too. They can decide to fight their instincts. Heck, they have to, in some ways. If you killed everyone who annoyed you, you'd get locked up pretty fast." She made a face. "And there's a lot about being a girl in, y'know, a particular culture that isn't instinctive at all. There's a lot about gender that's performed. Expected socially. Instincts are no help there, not really."
Erica shook her head. "I still don't get it."
"You made a choice to try to be a girl. You decided to open yourself up to the possibility, and found your instincts supporting that choice. And you were willing to learn how to act like a girl's expected to act, at least some ways."
Another thing to reflect upon, later. Right now, Cora was the topic. "And you're saying Cora hasn't?"
"Not really, not at her core. She's fighting it. She's fighting her own hardware. It's tough, but doable." Jacqui sighed again. "Also painful."
Laurie sighed in agreement. Then she said, regretfully, "And in Cora's case... if she wins that battle, she loses the war."
~~~~~
Looking back, Erica wasn't honestly surprised at the blowup. She wasn't even surprised that the trigger was makeup practice.
Cora had managed, more or less, to reconcile herself to girl's clothes - though she avoided skirts unless ordered. Her movements were - slowly, so very slowly - softening, becoming more feminine. She'd even gotten used caring for her hair; the shorter style helped a lot.
But cosmetics remained a nonstarter. She showed no talent for applying makeup. She hated doing her face, abhorred re-doing her face, detested having her face done, loathed the process of removing makeup. She even reviled the names of the products.
Erica had stepped out of the guest room to call Linda; the first thing she heard was a loud crash. She raced to the door only to behold a disaster area. The dresser had been tipped over (for a moment Erica wondered where Cora had gotten the strength) and the mirror lay in fragments on the floor.
"Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this, fuck this, FUCK THIS!" The chant rose to a shriek as Cora grabbed up bottles and tubes and hurled them at the wall. Most bounced, some shattered, adding to the mess. There was blood leaking from one of her hands where she'd cut herself picking something up from the glass-strewn floor. She didn't seem to notice it, or the tears slicing trails in the despised substances on her cheeks.
Erica dashed forward and tackled Cora onto the bed, held her down as she screamed in now-wordless fury. The girl put up a vicious struggle but was simply too small to overpower Erica. She fought like a boy anyway, trying to use upper-body strength she no longer possessed.
"It's okay, it's okay, it's gonna be okay..." Erica crooned to no apparent effect. She looked about desperately and saw Haylie peeking, frightened, around the doorjamb. "Go get Mom!" she ordered, low and urgent. Haylie had barely turned to comply when Miranda appeared in the hall and brushed past her.
Her head jerked about as she took in the scene, saw Erica struggling. In great leaping strides she reached them both and took Cora's head in a firm grip. She chanted softly in the ancient tongue Erica was slowly learning in her Magic lessons. In bare seconds, Cora sagged limply and dropped into unconsciousness.
"Holy shit," Erica breathed, cautiously sitting up. For once Miranda didn't scold her for language.
~~~~~
The dresser had been stood back up, the floor cleaned, the wall washed. The mirror frame had been discreetly removed. The bedspread, which had picked up a bloodstain, was changed. Erica sat on the bed, stroking Cora's forehead; the girl's wounded hand had been Healed. Miranda was sensibly out of sight in the hall, but ready to pounce if Erica was in danger. She let the Healing sedation fade.
Cora stirred, turned her head. A few seconds later, her eyes fluttered open. She took a deep breath, started to sit up, and Erica took her in a gentle embrace.
The girl shivered in her arms for several minutes. "I'm sorry," she finally whispered. "I just... I can't do this anymore."
"It's okay," Erica almost sang. "It's okay."
Cora wasn't shouting. She sounded worn out, drained dry. "It's not okay. It's wrong, it's all wrong." She began to weep brokenly. "I can't do this. Not for years. Nothing fits. I walk around and everything feels wrong. I'm weak and small and I sound like a baby when I talk. It's not getting easier, it's getting harder."
"It's gonna be okay," Erica said, just holding her.
"How?" Cora asked. It wasn't an accusation, or even a protest. It was a soul-deep plea. "I'm not me, nothing is me anymore. I look in the mirror and it's somebody else. I can't do this." Erica gave no sign even as her hands were squeezed painfully. "I can't do makeup and dresses and periods and tomorrow I have to go to a fucking gynecologist. I can't do this."
"Please, Cora," Erica said. "Just hang on. We'll find a way. Please."
Cora didn't say anything. She just cried, something she hadn't done since her first night as a girl, not even in the throes of her period. Erica held her, feeling as lost as Cora.
~~~~~
Eventually their unwilling charge stopped sniffling. At her request, they left her alone upstairs - though Miranda kept a Magical eye on her aura, ready to intercede if she showed any sign of trying to hurt herself. Miranda and Erica had called up the Sisterhood's leadership early.
Jacqui looked very sad. "We're going to have to rethink this. It's clear our current approach isn't working."
It had to be faced. Erica put it out there. "No way is she gonna be ready for school next week."
That brought on a hush. Finally Bronwyn spoke. "I'm afraid I have to agree. Jacqui, I want you to look into alternatives. Perhaps a GED, then community college for a few terms."
Erica whimpered a little. She'd hoped the Sisters might pull a rabbit out of a hat, have some trick to help Cora along.
Laurie heard it, saw her anguish over the webcam, and rushed to reassure her. "Erica, we are by no means giving up here. But it's obvious that Cora is going to need more time. A slower, gentler learning curve." She paused. "We'd hoped that if we simply kept moving forward, didn't give her time to form a response, mount a resistance, it would... get her over the hump, I suppose. Give her momentum in the right direction."
"But that hasn't worked," Jacqui noted. "We're just going to have to give her time to come to terms with this herself." She dropped her voice into a lower register. "We can only show her the door, now. She's the one who has to walk through it." She sounded nothing like Lawrence Fishburne, but Erica got the 'Matrix' reference anyway.
"No more trying to push her through, huh?" Erica snorted. "So, what does that mean?"
"We'll have to think about it," Bronwyn admitted. "But for now, we'll just ease off. Don't push her."
~~~~~
For the first night since her period, Cora passed on sex with Erica. "I just... need to think about things," she said.
"Okay," Erica said, concealing her worries as best she could. "I'm here, y'know, if you want to talk."
"Thanks." The girl turned away, just staring out the window. Erica backed out and closed the door. She went back to her room, and it took her a long time to get to sleep that night.
~~~~~
The Jardins sat at the kitchen table, having a wordless breakfast. The sky was overcast, reflecting Erica's apprehension. Haylie played with her hair, a nervous habit; Miranda had despaired of breaking her of it, particularly when Erica seemed to be developing the same vice. Their Mother sipped tea and looked at a book. The word 'reading' didn't apply; she'd gone over the same paragraph four times now with no comprehension.
They heard steps on the stairs, and Cora came into the kitchen. The bathrobe was unexpectedly absent; all she had on were her pajamas. She gave every appearance of being calm and unruffled. "Morning," she said to the room.
"Good morning," Miranda replied carefully. "Would you like some toast?"
"Nah, just a little cereal." She had to stretch onto her toes to get a bowl down from the cabinet. The Jardins were quiet as the girl found a spoon and poured herself a bowlful.
Erica spoke up as Cora sat down at the table. "We, uh, canceled your gyno appointment. You don't really need one anyway, with the Sisterhood's Healers. It's just, it's something girls go through. They swap war stories sometimes, you know, so we figured you should..." She coughed, stopped babbling. "Well, anyway, maybe someday. But we canceled this one."
"I think I should go." The declaration startled everyone. Even Haylie looked puzzled.
"Really?" Erica asked, stumbling mentally. It was like leaning into a wind that suddenly vanished. "You sure?"
"Yeah. It would look pretty strange if I never went to one." She took a bite of her breakfast, swallowed. "Cory's totally pissed about it. But I figure, how bad can it be?"
Mother and daughter exchanged nervous glances. "I'll see if we can reschedule," Miranda said, no hint of uncertainty in her voice.
~~~~~
As it happened, the office hadn't filled the open slot so they were able to make the original appointment. Cora seemed far less nervous than they'd expected - than even Erica had been. Erica fretted about the risk of returning catatonia, unable to tell if Cora was acting withdrawn or merely subdued.
There was no sensible excuse for Erica to be there when Cora went back with the doctor - even Miranda's presence was a bit unusual - so she sat out in the waiting room, trying and failing to read a magazine.
Finally they came back out. Erica wasn't sure how to feel about Cora's expression. On the positive side there was some emotion in it; on the negative, it seemed to be suppressed agitation. She spoke only a few words on their way out, grimly agreeing to a followup visit in a year.
She didn't say anything when they got in the car. "Uh... whadja think?" Erica cautiously essayed.
Cora frowned. "Cory almost screamed when she put that, that speculum thing inside me," she noted. "But I guess it wasn't so bad. It was fucking weird, but it wasn't really painful." Miranda was startled, and didn't make a fuss about the curse word. "Except that Pap thing. That really stung. Cory was gonna punch her."
"I'm, uh, glad he didn't," Erica mumbled, uncomfortable.
"I told him no." She stared out the window. "It wasn't so bad," she repeated. Erica would have been more reassured if Cora hadn't sounded like she was trying to convince herself.
~~~~~
When they got home, Cora had - unbidden - asked for another romance novel to study. Hiding her shock, Miranda pulled a new paperback from her library, and Cora took it and went upstairs without a word.
Miranda and Erica were in the library, talking on the phone in low but urgent voices with the Sisterhood's leadership.
Erica finished her report on the latest developments. "Anyway, she talks about 'Cora' and 'Cory' like they're two different people. Like when she was getting dressed this morning. I showed her a skirt, and she said, 'I guess it's okay, but Cory thinks it's too short'. It's kinda creeping me out."
"Actually, this is not necessarily a bad thing," Jacqui said thoughtfully.
"What are you talking about?!" Erica protested. "I think she's going crazy!"
"I mentioned before that I had a really tough Transition." In the background, Erica heard Bronwyn and Laurie mutter emphatic agreement with Jacqui's words. "I don't know if I was quite as pissed as Cora, but I went pretty ballistic. Threatened to kill myself, get myself sterilized, and everything."
Erica made a low whistle. She certainly didn't want to get pregnant. That didn't mean she wanted to mutilate herself.
"Yeah, it was rough. In the first weeks and months after my Transformation, 'Jack' was a big presence in my mind. To cope, I pretended. I built some separation between who I'd been and who I needed to be. I let 'Jack' own a lot of the resentment and repulsion I felt about it all."
"So, you think her... dissociation is... healthy?" Miranda sounded rather dubious.
"I didn't say that! I just think it's... understandable, in these circumstances. Maybe unavoidable. And so long as we're really really careful, it might even be useful. As time went on, 'Jack' kind of... faded. Stopped bitching and moaning. Stopped being necessary." She paused. "I like to think I've still got his best features, but it's just Jacqueline in here now." Again, Erica could hear the smile in Jacqui's voice, almost picture her pointing at her head.
"Don't worry about 'Cory'," Jacqui continued. "Don't attack him, don't feed him attention, just ignore him. Encourage Cora to explore herself, learn what she needs to. Whatever 'Cory' might think about something, ask how Cora feels."
"I guess I can do that," Erica said, not fully convinced. "But what if she says something like that in front of other people?"
"I'm guessing that probably won't come up. It didn't at the gynecologist, right? She waited until after you left to let 'Cory' vent."
Erica and Miranda exchanged a glance. Her Mom made a 'hmph' of surprised assent.
"'Cory' is a coping mechanism," Jacqui continued confidently. "For me, 'Jack' was there in my mind, sort of, but I didn't even let 'him' write in my journal. At most, I would make notes of 'his' thoughts and feelings." Jacqui sounded faintly embarrassed - but only faintly.
"We'll keep an eye on this, but for now Jacqui's idea seems sensible," Bronwyn declared. "Over time, 'Cory' should pop up less and less. If that doesn't happen, or if - Goddess forbid - the frequency increases, we may need to take further steps." Erica suspected the High Priestess had the same worried frown she felt on her own face. "Though I'm not sure what those might be, with half our tools forbidden to us."
"And if Cora keeps asking for training?" Miranda asked.
"Give it to her." Bronwyn was firm, decisive.
"But... you just told us last night to give her a break!" Erica said, exasperated.
"We said not to force her," Jacqui noted. "If she volunteers, that's a whole 'nother story. Just maybe, Cora has decided to stop fighting things so much." She sniffed, an aborted laugh. "Whatever 'Cory' thinks about it."
~~~~~
Erica went upstairs to find Cora. As she climbed up the steps, she pondered Jacqui's words. Was 'Cory' really such a big part of Cora's mind?
Erica often thought about Eric. Sometimes with amusement, sometimes with pity, sometimes just for contrast. But she didn't really consider 'him' as separate from her; more like who she used to be. Like remembering her... himself as a little kid. She didn't think of herself now as a totally different person. Even through the Transformation, there had been a certain continuity... right?
Maybe for Cora it really was that huge a difference. Certainly her Transformation had been far more traumatic. Erica knocked on the door. "Come in!" she heard.
Upon entering, she found Cora reclining on the bed, reading the novel. She didn't seem thrilled about it. Still, she kept reading for a few seconds before marking her place and putting it down. The last one she'd dropped at any excuse, as if it were radioactive.
"What's up?" she asked.
"Well, there's something I need to tell you. About, uh, birth control." Erica gave Cora a concise summary of the 'Facts of Life (For Sisters)'.
Cora pondered for a few seconds when Erica finished. "I don't think that matters for me. No way am I having sex with a guy." Cora didn't even seem as upset as she'd expected.
Erica shrugged. "Well, I just figured you should know. If, someday, it comes up, you should know."
"Are you thinking about that?" Cora asked probingly.
Erica looked away. "I... maybe someday. It's not as impossible as I used to think."
Cora shrugged. "Well, I gotta agree with Cory about that. I'll stick with girls, thanks."
~~~~~
Remarkable progress was made over the next few days. To be sure, there was still an ample supply of bristling and fussing. Much of that got blamed on 'Cory', however. 'Cora', on the other hand, began volunteering the occasional opinion - or even suggestion - about clothing and hairstyle and so forth. She began to walk and move more like a girl, apparently not battling her own skeletal structure quite so fiercely.
'Cory' still loathed everything about the process. 'Cora' by contrast - while not exactly eager - seemed determined to force herself through the Transition. She even brought up getting her ears pierced, reasoning that she would stand out otherwise. Miranda clutched at the chance to foist some jewelry onto her new charge. After a few hours Cora decided that dangling earrings were not for her, though she made concessions for a necklace and bracelet.
One thing had not changed - both Cora and 'Cory' were unremittingly resentful of Miranda. While Cora would cooperate with, and accept directions from, her 'foster Mother'... there was never any doubt of her attitude. Sarcasm, snark, and sullen obedience remained the hallmarks of their interaction.
They had not mentioned the possibility to Cora of dropping out of school, and let the notion die.
~~~~~
"Can I come in yet?"
"Not yet! Jeez, wait a minute!"
Erica shuffled nervously outside Cora's room. Cora said she had an 'experiment' in mind, and wanted her opinion. The wait was getting unbearable.
Finally Cora called her in. Erica cracked the door and slipped through, eyes drawn to her friend.
Cora's skin was even more pale than usual, but her eyeshadow was dark and her lips were blood-red. A black ribbon encircled her neck as a choker. She wore a dark, knee-length skirt and black tights. An embroidered vest, black nails.
At first glance, she was a Goth princess. A second look found flaws - the skirt might be black, but was a bit too modern in style. The vest was a dark purple.
"Huh," Erica managed. "That's different."
Cora kept looking herself over in the mirror. "I know that. What do you think?"
"Is that the look you want to go for?" Erica asked, reflecting that maybe there were downsides to Cora experimenting with her appearance. After a moment, she went on. "You could pull it off, with a little work. We'd have to do some serious shopping, though, if that was gonna be, like, your style..."
"I just thought it might keep the boys off me some."
Erica tried not to show her relief. "Only the nicer ones, is the problem. The broody assholes would be all over you."
Cora gave herself one final once-over, and turned to Erica with a sniff. "Yeah, about what I figured. Might as well stick with a more normal look."
Erica nodded. "It'd be a hella good Halloween costume, though." She smiled. "It's dead sexy."
Cora didn't rise to the bait. She just looked in the mirror. "I kinda thought so."
Erica realized she'd just killed any chance of Cora going out in public done up that way. At least for the foreseeable future, 'sexy' wasn't an adjective Cora would seek out.
"Even 'normal' covers a lot, though," she said. "What kind of look do you want?"
Cora's brow furrowed, her eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed. The expression of fierce concentration went well with the goth makeup. Her girlish, high-pitched voice spoiled the effect when she spoke. "Something that'll ward off the boys, but doesn't make me look like a total freak." Erica thought the goals were nearly mutually exclusive - Cora was so cute she'd almost have to look mentally disturbed to scare guys off.
Erica gave it some thought. "Well, we mostly picked, um... conservative stuff. You'll already look kinda goody-goody."
"Huh. I don't really wanna hang with the Jesus freaks."
"You're not gonna be, like, a nun or something." Erica sat on Cora's bed. "I can give you some advice. Try to ignore everything you can. If they hint, just be, like, clueless." She shrugged. "Some of 'em are still gonna ask, straight up."
"I can shut that shit down." Cora radiated menace.
Erica tried not to show her alarm. "Don't, like, go nuclear, though. I mean, how are the boys supposed to know... how you feel?"
"I 'go nuclear' a couple times, they'll figure it out," Cora said with evident anticipation.
"Hey, come on," Erica protested, "think for a minute. You don't want a rep as a 'psycho bitch' or anything. It won't just be boys who avoid you, then."
Cora wouldn't meet her eyes.
"I mean, if they won't take a polite 'no', go ahead and, y'know, 'escalate'." She put her hand on Cora's shoulder. "But c'mon, boys are gonna ask. It's not, like, rude for them to just ask."
~~~~~
Cora emerged from the car. Her uncertain expression contrasted strongly with the barely-restrained energy of Haylie. Erica had a third demeanor yet, one of interest and curiosity.
Although school started in three days, Miranda had felt guilty about breaking her promise to her daughters about the spa trip. Cora's recent improvements in attitude and skills were so encouraging that she'd decided to arrange an overnight excursion.
It would give Cora some practice and experience handling a distinctly feminine environment, as well. The girl was clearly apprehensive about the prospect, staring at the entrance.
"Well, come on, let's go," Miranda chided, and they went to the front desk to check in. Prudently, Miranda had booked two rooms - one for her and Haylie, the other for Cora and Erica. They went up, found their suites, and unpacked a little.
Then they met in Miranda's room. "Cora, Erica, I've signed you up for the first massages. Haylie, you and I will get skin treatments."
Cora bit her lip. Miranda noticed, and said, "No need to fret, it's just a massage. The point is to relax!"
Cora made no reply. She silently followed Erica to the elevator. On the way down, she finally spoke. "I just... when you gave me that backrub, I got so wet I couldn't stand it. Won't the masseuse know?"
Erica shook her head. "I really don't think that'll be a problem," she said.
They changed in to robes in the locker room before going to the massage tables. This spa had separate men's and women's facilities, which was one reason Miranda had picked it. Cora nodded silently but ruefully at Erica when she saw who would be taking care of her. The thick, middle-aged asian woman proved to be no kind of lust object. While her hands were skilled, they were also efficient and businesslike.
Miranda had planned wisely. The massage drained much tension from the novice Sister, so that she didn't panic when they all met up for manicures and pedicures.
Cora was still passive and nervous through the exfoliation and painting. When they were done, she stared for a long time at the elaborate floral pattern at the ends of her fingers and toes. She refused to even consider long nails, but her hands looked completely girly anyway.
Lunch was next - a healthy salad, but delicious.
After lunch, they went up to their rooms, changed, and came back down to the pool for a while. Erica and Haylie held towels in their hands; Cora's towel was draped over her shoulders, hiding her body as they crossed the lobby and went into the women's spa area. Miranda reclined on a lounge chair while the girls made a beeline for the water.
All but Cora. She seemed to be searching the area for any male eyes, clearly uncomfortable in a bikini. Apparently satisfied that only women were allowed in this region, she stepped gingerly into the shallow end of the pool.
"Come on, Cora! You know how to swim, don't you?" Haylie called, paddling over and standing up.
"I did," Cora hissed under her breath. "Don't know if I do in this body."
Haylie rolled her eyes. "Oh, jeez, gimme a break."
Cora glared. Erica swam up, trying to defuse the situation. "Hey, this is hard enough for..."
Haylie interrupted by shoving Cora into the water.
She fell backwards with a splash and went under. The pool wasn't even three feet deep in that section, though, so she came up spluttering an instant later.
"You little - you -" she blustered, struggling to her feet. Haylie laughed in reply. Cora moved with surprising speed - bending low, grabbing Haylie's legs, and lifting. Haylie made a satisfying splash onto her back.
Erica stood up, alarmed. She squinted; you couldn't take glasses or contacts into a pool. "Take it easy, guys..." she started to say. Cora, an evil grin on her face, advanced on her. Erica put up her hands, warding her off. "Hey, I didn't..." But Cora moved again, hooking a leg behind Erica's as she pushed forward with her arms. Erica was put off-balance, and fell.
Cora lifted her arms in triumph. Then Haylie tackled her from behind.
Miranda had sat bolt upright in the lounge chair, a hairsbreadth from running forward to intervene. But when Cora came back up, she was laughing. She fought with Haylie, but it was a controlled, playful fight now. A game, not combat.
So the girls gamboled in the pool for a time, splashing and pushing and squealing. Perhaps they were a little too rambunctious, a little too loud. Certainly the squinting glares from a few of the women lounging around the deck implied as much. But Miranda made no move to interrupt. She had never seen such a simple, uncomplicated expression of enjoyment on Cora's face.
It might well be the first fun she's had since the Transformation, Miranda thought to herself. For just this moment, she's not angry or frightened. So screw you, you old crones. Her soul needs this.
It only lasted a few minutes. As soon as the fight was over, Cora's shell closed up once more, and she swam alone for a time. But Miranda found herself wishing she might see the girl happy again, eventually. And for a first, not because she feared Cora's wrath and depression, but simply because Cora had a beautiful smile.
~~~~~
Miranda stood behind Haylie, brushing the girl's hair before bed. She was trying hard to make sure her youngest daughter didn't feel neglected despite the trying times, making a point of spending some Mother-Daughter time every day. But an entire evening to themselves, if only in a hotel room, was a definite luxury.
Haylie had been quiet for a few minutes, but suddenly she spoke. "Mom - are Cora and Erica having sex?"
Miranda wasn't altogether surprised at the question. She and Erica had been exceedingly discreet, and she'd kept a Magical eye out to ensure Haylie never came across anything that might raise suspicions. Cora and Erica were understandably not as clandestine, at least at home. And the silence spell hadn't been placed on Cora's room until a couple days after her Transformation. "I rather suspect so."
Haylie's brow scrunched up. After a moment, she said, "So... they're lesbians?"
Miranda sighed. "That's a more difficult question." She cocked her head. "Would it bother you if they were?"
"I guess not," Haylie shrugged. "Erica went to Homecoming with a boy, though."
"Sexuality is more complicated than most people want to admit." She grinned. "And for boys turned into girls, it's going to be even more complicated."
Haylie didn't smile back. Miranda belatedly remembered that Haylie was a man turned into a girl, and didn't know it. How would that complicate things?
The girl asked again. "You think they're gonna stay lesbians?"
Miranda paused. "I don't know. That will depend on them... but I doubt it." She shrugged. "Many people will tell you many things about sexuality, but they are usually only telling part of the story."
Haylie was paying attention. Miranda spoke on. "It's not true that anyone chooses to be gay, or straight. There are people who hate homosexuals, who are convinced it's just a... a decision, a rebellion. That's simply not true."
"But then other people try to claim that it's all inborn, inevitable, that someone is born gay and that's that. And that's not true, either."
"So what is true?" Haylie asked, sounding frustrated.
"That everyone's different, dear." Haylie got the beginnings of a stubborn look on her face - for an instant, Miranda thought she saw an echo of Cora. "That's not just an expression! Let me finish, please!"
Haylie accepted the admonishment and sat back, allowing Miranda to brush some more as she spoke. "I'm sure there are people who are just gay, who never feel attracted to the other sex their whole lives. And other people who are simply straight, and that's all there is to it."
"But for most people, sexuality is a bit more fluid. Or can be, at least. Many young girls experiment with other girls at first, and go on to happily pursue boys. Boys often do the same thing with other boys, and become the biggest hornballs later." This was rewarded with a giggle from Haylie. "I think most people have the potential to respond to men or women, at different times and to different degrees."
Haylie considered that for a while. Miranda finished up and put down the brush. "Mom... what if I was a lesbian?"
Her brows lifted. "Is there something that makes you think that might be the case?"
"I don't... no, never mind."
Miranda sat on the room's queen-size bed and patted the spot next to her. "Get over here. Spill."
The girl almost scampered over and pressed close to her Mother. It took a few seconds before she started to talk in a faint voice.
"I've had this dream a couple times." She paused so long Miranda almost prompted her, but then she began to speak again. "I'm a guy, in the dream, y'know? And there's this girl. She's really pretty. Asian."
Miranda waited. Haylie continued, very quietly. "I was paying her. For, y'know, sex. In the dream." And I was just wondering how Haylie's past might complicate things for her, Miranda thought.
"I was... well, I had my thing. My guy-thing... in her butt. And I could tell it was hurting her, and she didn't want to do it, but she needed the money, and..."
Oh, Goddess. "Sweetie, all kinds of strange things happen in dreams..."
But Haylie wasn't calmed. "It didn't feel like a regular dream. More like something that was really happening." Haylie let out a sob. "You said dreams sometimes show the future. Mom, am I gonna turn into a guy like that?"
"Oh, dear." She thought quickly and carefully about what to say. "Dreams can be portents, certainly. Especially for Sisters. But even for Sisters, most dreams are just dreams."
"It was really scary. It was like I was watching what was going on, and I didn't like it. But... it was also me, doing those things. And that part of me... really liked it."
Miranda hugged her adopted daughter fiercely. Then she pulled back a little, looked Haylie in the eyes. "I don't think it was an omen of the future or anything like that." Goddess forbid! she thought. "I suppose the best way to take it, is as a warning."
"You mean, I might become someone like that someday?"
"That's not quite what I meant. What was wrong about what happened in the dream?"
"Well, I... he... was hurting her. He was being real rough."
Miranda smiled. "Actually, 'rough' isn't always a bad thing. Lots of girls - and plenty of boys, too - like to be treated roughly, sometimes." Miranda smiled gently. "Even - with permission - in the butt."
Haylie shook her head. "But he wasn't... he wasn't doing it 'cause she liked it. He wasn't even doing it because he liked it." She looked down at the floor. "He was doing that stuff 'cause she didn't like it."
"So there's two warnings to take from it." Haylie looked up at her. "First, don't be like that. Don't take pleasure in really hurting someone else."
"I wouldn't!" Haylie said, almost crying.
Miranda hugged her tenderly. "I know that, sweetie." She stroked the girl's hair. "That's why the second lesson is more important. Don't get involved with someone who does enjoy hurting you."
Haylie just held onto her Mother, face buried in her chest. Miranda held her back just as fiercely.
~~~~~
Erica sat on the hotel bed, half an eye on the TV, most of her attention on texting her friends. She'd insisted on getting in a shower first. Cora took long baths anymore.
She watched Cora amble out of the bathroom, rubbing at her hair with a towel. She tried to determine what was different. Something had changed; somehow Cora looked less... under siege. Her gait had become much more girlish in the last few days. Nevertheless, it hadn't become fully natural; somehow you could tell she was trying.
Even when she wasn't so self-conscious, she had a haunted air, never fully at ease. But less so tonight.
Cora came and sat next to her. Casually, they hugged, and kissed gently. It wasn't urgent like the first few times they'd done it. Cora had come to accept the greater sexual stamina that came with being a girl. "Like running a marathon instead of a sprint," she'd quipped once.
Cora leaned her head back, appreciating Erica's fingers on her back. "Mmmmmmm. I like this massage even better."
"Told you it'd be okay," Erica said, nuzzling Cora's neck.
The girl stopped rubbing a little, becoming serious for a moment. "I was actually kinda glad. I mean, this body" - Erica sadly noticed Cora still wouldn't say 'my body', but made no sign - "gets hot so easy. It was nice to know I can touch somebody without getting all wet."
"Unless you want to?" Erica said, curling one leg over the other.
Cora's kiss made clear that now, she wanted to.
Rather a while later, though, as they rested, Cora stirred. Distant stormclouds in her expression, she said, "Do you really think it's going to be okay?"
No need to guess what she was talking about. School loomed large in both their thoughts. "Yeah, I totally do," Erica said. She pulled Cora closer. "I can't promise it'll all be smiles and rainbows," - Cora snorted - "but yeah, you're gonna be okay."
"I'm still... I never get it all right. Even just walking."
"Nobody gets it all right. OK, yeah, you'll be... quirky. But you can still make friends."
"It's gonna be okay," Erica said, praying she spoke the truth.
Continued in Part 6
Cora was wearing ordinary, casual clothes - for a teenage girl. She was definitely not 'rocking the outfit', but she was clad appropriately. White sneakers with a few glittery accents. Her lightly embroidered jeans were tighter than a boy would wear, and so hugged her curves in the usual manner. Invisible for now under her hoodie were a knotted belt and a pale blouse with a modicum of ruffles on the border. Stud earrings, minimal makeup. Neither a girly-girl nor a tomboy.
She and Erica stood waiting for the bus. A few clouds scudded in the sky, products of Erica's tension. Yet if Erica was tense, Cora looked to be tied in knots.
"How you feeling?" Erica asked solicitously.
Cora took a second or two to answer. "Pissed and scared and confused. And that's just the top three."
"Just be chill. I promise, it'll be fine." Erica pulled Cora into a brief sideways hug. "It's still gonna be high school. You'll just have a different angle on it, that's all."
They stood in silence for a while. Then Cora spoke. "Feels like I'm a kid again. I haven't rode the bus in years."
"Not all of us can afford a car, you know." Erica smirked.
"Hey, I saved for mine."
"Oh? And you didn't get a deal on parts where you worked?" Erica asked with a smile.
Cora's lips pinched together, and she pointedly looked to see if the bus was coming.
~~~~~
"Everyone, I'd like to introduce Jewel Pinto. She'll be joining us for the rest of the term. I'm sure you all will help make her feel welcome, right?" Mr. Tasserant smiled around benignly.
"Actually, I go by my middle name, Cora," she corrected quickly.
"Cora, then. You can sit right over there." Introductions complete, the teacher went back to his desk and picked up the novel he'd been reading.
Jacqui had pulled some invisible strings to get Cora into Erica's homeroom. Erica waved her over and Cora uncertainly approached. "Hey, this is Melanie. She's with me on the squad."
Cora nodded, pretending she'd never seen the girl before. "Nice to meet you."
"Why do you want to be called Cora?" Melanie asked, inspecting the new student up and down.
Cora's eyes narrowed. "If your first name was 'Jewel', wouldn't you?"
"I think Jewel's a pretty name," she replied.
Cora looked nonplussed for a moment. "Whatever. I guess I just think Cora fits better."
"Hey, it's all good," Melanie said, offering a placating smile and a quizzical glance at Erica. "So you're from New York?"
"The state, not the city," Cora confirmed. "A lot closer to Canada than the Big Apple."
"Did you get snowed on a lot? I've never seen snow."
"Eh, some," Cora said evasively.
"Erica said your parents left the county?"
"Yeah. Saudi Arabia. Some year-long contract. I didn't wanna go there."
"Not as a girl, that's for sure," Melanie agreed. "So-Cal, you totally can wear better clothes."
Cora stared for just a second. "Uh, right. And drive."
They talked through homeroom, catching up. Melanie tried to give Cora some pointers about Hillman High. Cora paid polite attention but volunteered little.
Toward the end of the period, while Melanie was talking to one of her friends, Cora suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Crap. I have to adjust my fucking bra," she whispered urgently.
Erica shrugged slightly and whispered back. "What? You never had to shuffle your unit around?"
"That was under the desk!"
"Give it just a minute," Erica said, nodding toward the clock on the wall.
Shortly after that, the bell rang and the students moved to gather their things and head to their next classes. Cora managed to shift her bra as she stood. Not terribly suavely, but with acceptable discretion.
The pair of Sisters hung back slightly as the students moved out the door. Cora had English now, but Erica had science. Erica wanted to give Cora some encouragement and support before they separated. "See you at lunch. Just chill, I promise it'll be okay. No big deal, just school."
"'No big deal.' Everything's bigger. The desks, the lockers, even the pencils feel bigger."
Erica shrugged. "You'll adapt. It's gonna be fine."
"At least I don't have the same locker." Cora mused as they stepped out into the hall. "That'd be fucked up."
~~~~~
Erica fretted and worried all morning. Jacqui had made sure Erica and Cora had the same lunch period, but hadn't been able to put the girls in very many of the same classes.
She waved to Cora as the girl came out of the food line. Cora walked hesitantly over to the table where Erica sat with Linda and Kristina.
Erica had done a double-take when she'd seen Kristina. The difference between four-months-pregnant and five-months-pregnant wasn't enormous, but it was impossible to miss. The girl was starting to need maternity clothes now; Erica had a hard time imagining what Kristina would look like at nine months.
But that was a problem for another time. Once they'd all hugged, she'd immediately gotten busy abasing herself and begging forgiveness for not seeing them over the holidays.
She'd been extended a provisional pardon by the time Cora sidled up to the table. "Hey, everybody, this is my cousin, Cora," Erica announced.
A round of "Heys" followed. Erica introduced her friends.
"Did you skip a grade or something?" Linda asked once that was done, looking her over.
Cora managed to only squint instead of glare. "Nah, I'm just small."
"Where'd you move from?" Kristina asked.
"New York. Upstate."
"I bet you like SoCal better," Linda said with a smile.
Cora shrugged. "Uh... well, it's warmer than I'm used to for January."
Erica, hoping to shift the topic from Cora's past, turned to Kristina. "I can't get over how much bigger you got, in just one month! You've got, like, a real bump now!"
"Well, it looks bigger than usual, 'cause, well, I'm kinda smaller than most pregnant chicks you see." Kristina shrugged.
"Makes sense," Cora acknowledged. "Erica told me a little about it. Jimmy sounds like kind of a dick." 'Cory' had felt the same way, Erica had been informed. Even before the Transformation.
"Well, I know that now," Kristina griped. "Part of me hopes he doesn't want anything to to with Alec."
"You didn't tell me you found out what it was!" Erica exclaimed. "You're having a boy? And you picked out a name for him?"
"I tweeted it. Where have you been?" Kristina accused right back.
Cora spoke up. "Don't blame her. I... I really didn't want to be, y'know, here. I was pretty, uh, bitchy, at first."
The girls looked at her judiciously. Then Kristina snorted. "Well, it wasn't just that. She abandoned me, too." She jabbed a finger at Linda, but she had a slight smile.
"I'm sorry!" the girl exclaimed. "It's like, Paul. Boyfriends take up your time, y'know?"
Kristina nodded knowingly. "Yeah, I know. But make time for your friends, huh?"
"I will, I promise."
They talked over their meal, catching up. Cora didn't speak much, just absorbing things, looking around. Erica found herself having to split her attention between her old friends and her new duty.
"You know what really sucks about the second trimester?" Kristina said, leaning in and keeping her voice low. "I mean, besides having to pee all the time?"
"What?" Erica and Linda asked, almost in unison, leaning in. Cora followed along a beat later.
Kristina smiled, as girls did when imparting confidences. "I'm so friggin' horny I can't stand it."
"No shit?" Erica asked, surprised.
"Yeah, my hormones are going crazy. I had to 'roll the bean' last night just to get some sleep."
"Wow," Linda said, chortling. Erica and Cora kept quiet. Their nightly routine was almost always more involved than that. Erica wondered to herself if she'd get hornier were she to get pregnant. Was it even possible to be hornier than she usually was?
"Hey, you heard anything more about Cory?" Kristina asked Erica. "He really screwed you when he ran off."
"Well, we got an extension," Erica said. "And I'm sure he had a reason." She kept her eyes off Cora.
"It's so weird," Linda remarked. "You don't just take off like that unless you've got serious issues."
"What 'issues' do you think he had?" Cora asked, perhaps just a shade too sharply.
Linda didn't seem to notice. "I dunno. Drugs. Maybe he was gay." Her eyes took on a glint. "Soleil says his parents were abusing him!"
Cora was visibly restraining herself. Erica jumped in before she could lose her temper. "I met his parents once. I really doubt it." Eager for a topic change, she essayed, "So how's it going with Paul, anyway? What have you two been up to?" She leered. "Anything dirrrty?" she asked, drawling.
It worked. Linda, blushing, said, "Quit it!"
"I knew it! What did you do, you tramp?" Erica pressed. Kristina smiled, too.
"Nothing!" Linda cried. Kristina snorted. More quietly, Linda went on. "Okay, okay, I kinda let him feel me up a little last week." She paused; the other girls snickered. Then she drawled herself, though at a conspiratorial whisper. "And maybe I gave him a handjob."
"Shut up!" Kristina and Linda squealed in stereo.
Cora, unused to the pragmatic frankness of girls when boys weren't in earshot, just stared with very wide eyes.
~~~~~
Besides homeroom and lunch period, the only other slot Erica and Cora shared was AP Computers. The teacher naturally assigned Cora to Erica's group, since they were short after 'Cory' had disappeared.
"Funny. We go from Cory to Cora, huh?" Josh said.
Cora looked sour. "Maybe he'll come back."
"I hope not," Scotty remarked. "You sure look better than he did."
Cora, taken aback, didn't know what to say. Erica stepped in. "Give her a break, guys. We're here to write code."
"You even kinda look like his little sister," Scotty joked. The girls worked very hard not to react at all. The elder Sisters had warned them that having Cora attend her old school would be chancy. And this class was the most dangerous.
Josh squinted at her. "I guess. But Cory wasn't that cute."
Cora worked to change the subject. "So, what are you all working on now?"
"We wanted to do a physics simulation. But with Relativity. Don't worry," Josh said paternally. "We'll help you get up to speed."
"Huh." Cora smiled a nasty smile. "I was wondering if you could keep up with me."
Scotty laughed. "I like her!"
The teacher called the class to attention, to Erica's relief.
~~~~~
Erica didn't see Cora again until the bus ride home. The girl was rather subdued, but seemed relieved to see a familiar face. At least, a familiar face that recognized her. They didn't really talk until they got off at their bus stop.
"Man, Kristina's belly was freaking me out," Cora said as they walked home. "Yet another reason to stick with girls."
Erica made an agreeable "hmmph". No one said anything for a spell.
Cora broke the silence. "It was so fucked up. I mean, I knew everyone, but I couldn't let them know I knew, y'know? And they..." She stopped. "All the guys were checking me out. Even, like, my old friends."
"Boys do that," Erica said, amused and resigned.
"It's creepy."
"Was it creepy when Cory did it?" Erica asked pointedly.
"I... he didn't..." Cora was irritated and confused.
"Look, you'll get used to it. You're really pretty, would Cory not have looked at you?" Cora didn't say anything. "It's a compliment, really."
At that Cora snarled. "Is getting my ass rubbed a compliment?"
"What? When did that happen?" Erica probed, alarmed.
"Right after Programming, on my way to History. It was either Kyle or Louis, I couldn't tell which one did it."
"Oh, those fuckheads." Erica sighed. "Sorry about that. You're right, some boys are creepy."
Cora's "hmmph" was almost a growl. "And it was like being in the 'land of the giants'. I'm so small, half the people thought I was a freshman. Or I'd skipped some grades."
Erica was thoughtful. "You probably want to go for being a brainiac. Not so many guys will hit on you then."
"I don't want any of 'em hitting on me."
"It's gonna happen. Just, y'know, try to be gentle?"
Cora's next "hmmph" was not agreeable, either. She was quiet for a moment, then shrugged and changed the subject. "Anyway, Cory was glad to know not everyone's forgotten about him."
"What do you mean?" Erica asked cautiously.
"I heard Brandon asking a couple guys if they'd heard anything about him."
"When was that?"
"In AP Calc. I got the same seat as Cory, even." She glowered. "Right behind Danielle, and right next to Brandon."
Erica struggled to keep the apprehension off her face. The girls didn't say anything more as they turned into the driveway and headed for the door.
~~~~~
The women gathered around the table for dinner. All the girls were debriefed about their first days back, but naturally Cora needed the most coverage.
Academics didn't take too long. Just like Erica, she hadn't lost anything in that area from the Transformation. "I've got a couple of the same teachers, like Calc, but the rest are new. But it was all still, y'know, just classes."
"That's how it was for me, too." Erica said. Haylie was watching them, not saying much.
"It was weird with girls, too."
"What do you mean?" Miranda asked as diffidently as possible.
Cora chose not to ignore her question this time. "They talked to me different."
"Like, how?" Erica asked.
"More... casual? No, just..." She frowned. "Not even more relaxed, exactly, but..."
Erica thought she knew what Cora was getting at. "When a girl talks to a boy, there's things she has to watch for. Can't be too friendly, or he'll think she's hitting on him. Can't talk down to him, or she'll piss him off."
Cora nodded. "They sure weren't worried about that."
"But dealing with other girls can be complicated, too. They might be allies or neutrals or enemies, or frenemies, or... anything in between."
Cora usually forgot to be angry for a while when she was exploring a new idea. "Huh. That kinda fits. Still, well, cautious - just not about the same things."
~~~~~
"Oh, shit," Jacqui said when Erica reported that Cora was seated next to Brandon and Danielle. The Cora Situation was definitely coarsening her vocabulary at times.
Miranda looked just as appalled. "That's kind of a big thing to miss!"
"Oh, Goddess, I know," Jacqui lamented. "But do you have any idea all the things I had to do just to get her enrolled safely? There was only one AP Calc class open, I just... forgot."
"I guess it was kind of a rush job," Erica said consolingly.
Miranda apologized, too. "I'm sorry, I'm sure you did your best. I wouldn't have thought of it either."
"We'll just have to figure out how to help Cora deal with sitting next to her old girlfriend," Laurie said.
Erica nodded. "And the only one of her old friends who's still asking about Cory."
Bronwyn sounded fretful. "We may need to plant a Suggestion there, get him to let it go for a while."
"Whoa! You promised, no mind stuff!" Erica interjected.
Bronwyn was shaking her head at the webcam. "This doesn't just touch on Cora and her secret. This is a matter of the security of the Sisterhood."
Erica mentally reviewed the oaths that had been sworn. "You only swore not to mess with Cora's mind, and her parents," she said slowly. "You didn't swear not to... have you planted any other Suggestions? Like to teachers or cops?"
"No," Jacqui said immediately. "And that hasn't been easy. A couple times I was sure I'd have to push the police off the trail." She looked thoughtful. "We'll see about this Brandon."
~~~~~
Later that same night in bed, as they rested after sex, Cora admitted something else. She spoke softly, Erica had to pay close attention. "I was scared."
Erica frowned and turned. "What? When?"
"All day at school. But especially when whoever it was grabbed my ass."
"Nobody's gonna try anything. Not at school..."
"But what if they did? I mean, can you picture me trying to fight a guy like Alan?" Cora looked up into Erica's eyes. "I'm fucking tiny now." She shrugged. "A waif like Hit Girl can beat up a bunch of guys. But that's movies. Comics and shit. In real life..." She left the rest unspoken.
"We won't let that happen," Erica said with far more confidence than she suddenly felt.
~~~~~
The first week of school was a short one, only three days. Cora greeted the weekend with all-too-evident relief. Erica had returned from a morning practice, and the two girls were eating lunch on the couch, watching sports.
"Did you notice how weird Viagra commercials look from this side?" Cora asked Erica.
"Yeah, and the beer commercials."
A jangling, flashing ad for the latest shooter game blared out of the TV for fifteen seconds. Cora sighed. "I was really looking forward to that one," she said, almost wistfully. "Now I can't afford it." Cora hadn't negotiated an allowance; the Sisterhood was paying only for the necessities. What seemed to rankle her the most was that certain luxuries she didn't want - feminine luxuries like jewelry, perfume, and such - were counted as necessities, while video games were not.
Miranda had explained that, if she wanted such things, she'd have to earn some of her own money. The Sisterhood didn't have the funds to cater to Cora's every whim.
"For a secret society that's been around for thousands of years, the Sisterhood's pretty damn poor," Cora griped. It was a familiar refrain.
It was overly familiar - wearying - for Erica. But she'd thought about it. "You know, for most of that time women couldn't own property."
That gave Cora pause. Erica recalled the early days of her Transition, being forced to reinterpret so many things from a radically different vantage point. She could almost hear the gears turning in her companion's head.
As usual when Cora couldn't see a way to victory, she shifted ground. "I can't get my old job at the warehouse. Fuck, I bet I couldn't even lift half the cases now!"
"Think you could work up front? You know cars."
"I don't think most guys want to buy auto parts from a cute little chick." Her scowl deepened. "And I don't think I want to deal with the kind of guy who does."
Erica thought for a minute. "I could maybe get you a job at the restaurant."
Also as usual, it didn't take long for Cora to digest the implications. "A waitress? You're asking if I want to be a waitress?" Disdain dripped from her words.
"Calm the fuck down, okay?" Erica snapped, exasperated. It startled Cora. "You want money, so you need a job, but you don't have any references." She kept talking, overriding Cora's protests. "I know that's not your fault, but anyway, it's the truth!"
She let Cora fume for a second. No concession came, but Erica hadn't expected one. After a moment, she went on. "I think I can talk the managers into hiring you. If you can handle it," and here Erica paused again to savor Cora's annoyed expression, "in a couple months I bet you could be a hostess. You're cute enough, when you're not sulking like a fucking baby."
Now Cora was outraged. She didn't say anything, she just got up and stormed off.
Erica sat and watched TV. Maybe it had been a mistake.
But maybe they couldn't handle Cora like fragile crystal forever.
~~~~~
Cora didn't speak to Erica for most of the day - which meant she didn't speak much at all. She normally avoided Miranda as much as she possibly could. While she was now unfailingly polite to Haylie, Erica's little sister was off with her friends almost the whole day. The only friends Cora had were Erica's friends, and at this point they were, to her, little more than acquaintances.
She spent the afternoon on her laptop. At dinner, she was silent save for muttered thank-you's.
Only much later, after Haylie had gone to bed, did Cora open up again. She sat in a chair next to the loveseat Erica was draped on, and faced the TV. But she spoke. "I guess I don't have a lot of alternatives." There was no apology in the tone.
"Not that I can see," Erica said in her own flat inflection.
"I just don't... want to be... like that."
Erica couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or amused. Imagining how Eric would have responded to the same prospect settled it on the side of humor. But there was a note of irritation when she said, "It's not like I work at Hooters, you know."
"Yeah, I know," Cora said. "I'm gonna have to wear makeup, though."
Before long, they went up to bed. The sex afterward wasn't precisely make-up sex. But it helped settle more than just bodily tension.
~~~~~
Cora tried out for the soccer team. She didn't make it; she was small, and her control over her new body was still very much developing. Being determined and tireless and ruthless didn't make up for that - at least, not in the eyes of the coach.
Cora fulminated all that evening. She'd been Transformed from a fit and healthy boy, and retained an analogous level of physical conditioning. "Maybe I'm not all that great with footwork yet," she was saying. "But by the end of the game, when everyone's dragging, I'd still be running."
"I wonder if the coach thought it'd be too hard to, like, integrate you into the team," Erica said, trying to soften the blow. Or at least the blowback. "Besides, do you really want to see Danielle any more than you have to?"
It didn't work. "I'm a student, too! Even if they think I'm new, I have a right to be on the team!"
Erica shrugged helplessly. "Well, maybe you can do that in college."
Her Mother broke in. "I agree you should have some extracurricular activity." And not just for college prep. Social interaction! Miranda thought to herself. "Perhaps choir? You have a lovely singing voice. With some training, I think you could really shine."
For some reason, the idea seemed to irritate Cora more. She glowered. "Why can't I just go for track?"
Miranda had to stifle an urge to throw up her hands. "You know why. The fewer things Cora has in common with Cory, the better."
"I've gotta do something physical. I'll go crazy if I don't. I always think better on a long run."
"No one's saying you can't go out for a jog," Erica said soothingly. "But come on! A girl who looks like Cory's sister, has almost the same name, and is into computers and track?"
"Who's gonna figure it out?" Cora snapped. "Who'd even believe it?"
Miranda just looked her in the eye. She didn't say anything with Haylie in the room, but her thought was plain. You did. Enough, at least.
Cora got quiet then, though her thin lips and tensed shoulders spoke for her.
"You could play soccer with me," Haylie volunteered into the silence. "Coach says I need to practice more anyway."
Cora paused for a second, visibly restraining her habitual sarcasm. Ever since the TV argument, she was careful not to snap at Haylie. Indeed, she seemed to have developed an actual liking for the girl. "Huh. Why not?" She glared for a moment at Miranda and Erica, then said, "Wanna get started now?"
Haylie, taken aback, stammered, "Uh, well, I gotta change..."
Cora, mouth twisted, looked down at the dress she wore. "Me too. Meet you in five." She walked off without looking back.
The Jardin women exchanged helpless glances.
~~~~~
Brandon sat down at his desk. Calc wasn't his favorite thing in the world, but you needed math if you wanted to get into an engineering program in college.
He spared a glance to his right. The new girl, Cora, was looking down at her book. She was always so shy. Had barely said anything to him, or anybody else in class, since she'd been assigned here.
Danielle turned and smiled at him. "How's it going? Wasn't number four a bitch?"
"Eh, wasn't so bad." He hesitated, then asked, "Hear anything from Cory?"
Danielle looked irritated. "I already told you, no. Why do you keep asking?"
"Hey, sorry! It's just, I talked to his mom and dad last night. They got a letter from him, from Seattle." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the new girl turn away from them both and stare harder at her book.
"Why do you even care?" Danielle said. "He skipped out on you too."
"He was my bro. If he's in trouble, I want to help."
At that Cora gave him a quick look. Before he could even figure out what kind of look it was, though, she was back to her book. He wished she'd chill out a little. She was pretty decent-looking, in a buttoned-down way. So shy and quiet, like a scared little deer. You just naturally wanted to take care of her.
Then when he turned back at Danielle, she was frowning at Cora. But the next second she smiled at him. "So what did you get for four, anyway?"
Girls, he thought. Who knows what the fuck goes on in their heads?
~~~~~
"So just take it easy. No rush, y'know? Just, like, take your time."
"I'll be careful," Cora grumbled. While Erica was at cheerleading practice, Cora was going to head over to a nearby parking lot and 'calibrate her driving reflexes' for her new body.
Miranda had agreed not to come along. Had agreed to let Cora do it all by herself. No one had actually screamed, or even raised their voices. It had still been a fraught discussion. Not really because there was much concern about Cora's driving; rather, this would be the first time she would be entirely alone and unsupervised. With the means to run away, should she choose.
Erica got out of the driver's side. They were at the park again. "C'mon, I want you meet my girls."
Cora sighed but left of the car and followed her to the gathering crowd of girls. She had confessed to Erica that 'Cory' had the same mixed emotions about cheerleaders common to many boys. They admired the beauty and grace, and almost defensively looked down on their intellect. But Cora had seen Erica practicing and had rather more respect for the sport now.
A quick round of hugs ensued when she got to the milling girls, then she turned. "Hey. This is my cousin, Cora. Cora, this is Shianti, and Trahn."
"Hey," the girls all said, giving each other once-overs.
"Nice to finally meet you. Erica's said good things about you." Cora said, with all apparent sincerity.
"Were you in cheer back home?" Trahn asked.
"No!" Cora exclaimed, startled.
"Too bad. Somebody small like you, tumbling's easier. And I bet we could get you fifteen feet up!"
Cora was clearly at a loss. "That's, like, not really my thing."
"You couldn't really do much anyway for a while, I guess." Shianti grinned. "Took Erica this long just to get a forward flip down."
"You did not just say that!"
Minutes later, small talk completed, Erica stole a glance as Cora turned out onto the road. Smoothly enough. It wasn't particularly different, driving as a girl, not with power steering and such. But like game controllers, everything was in a slightly different place. Besides, Cora needed time alone. She was a Sister, not a prisoner.
She just had to trust Cora would come back to pick her up at the end of practice. Erica was positive she would.
Ninety-nine percent sure.
Well... maybe ninety-five.
~~~~~
Erica felt a little guilty for her doubts when Cora showed up a few minutes early. She hugged her friends goodbye at the end of practice and went over to the car.
Cora popped the locks on the doors and let her in. She was quiet as she pulled out onto the road for home.
"Everything chill?" Erica asked, quietly, after a minute.
Cora kept her eyes on the road. "I drove by Cory's house."
Erica didn't say anything. She swallowed, though.
"I know, I just... couldn't help it. I had to see." Her hands clenched the wheel. "I didn't slow down or anything. I just... wanted to see."
"What... did you see?"
"Just the house. It's not like Mom and Dad were sitting on the porch or anything." Then, very quietly, "I miss them."
"Oh, Goddess, Cora, I'm sorry." She put her hand on the girl's shoulder. "You'll see them again. I promise."
Cora suppressed a sniffle, blinked fast, and took on a look of determination. "Fuckin' A I will."
"That's right," Erica said, encouraging, though she was a little sad Cora bottled everything up and wouldn't cry.
And in the back of her mind, she resolved to make sure Cora never found out about Miranda's binding spell.
~~~~~
Cora and Erica were walking home from the bus stop. "Another thing that sucks. I get to see Danielle naked before and after gym. Her locker's in my row."
"That does suck," Erica said sympathetically.
"Sure didn't take her long to get over Cory," Cora observed. "He's pissed. Even I think it's kinda shitty."
"Were you..." Erica caught herself. "Was Cory in love with her?"
Cora's mouth scrunched, her brow furrowed. Erica had to suppress a grin at the involuntary cuteness of her expression. "Not really. But he did, like, care for her, y'know? She wasn't just, like, a fuckbuddy or something." She shook her head. "He kinda thought that she had some feelings for him, too. Guess not."
Erica couldn't quite get used to the 'Cory' language. "Well, it's not like we let you send her a message or anything. She probably felt kinda abandoned."
"I guess."
~~~~~
Erica looked up from her homework at Cora. "Hey." The dark-haired beauty looked up. Erica had to ask her a question, and she honestly wasn't sure whether she wanted Cora to say 'yes' or 'no'.
"We're going to the see that Melissa McCarthy movie tomorrow night. Wanna come?" She was asking partly out of duty. Cora had to get out and be social. But it would make Erica's time with her friends more stressful. But maybe it'd help Cora loosen up a little. But she'd have to make sure Cora didn't act too weird. But if she could make friends with Kristina and Linda, things would get easier for Erica. But...
Cora's lips pursed. Erica knew she didn't like rom-coms much, but she was dutifully trying to be more girlish. "Well, what the hell. At least they won't hit on me."
"Okay, tight, I'll let 'em know you're coming." She tried to appear purely happy with Cora's choice.
~~~~~
Cora didn't talk a great deal in the car on the way to the movieplex, but that couldn't suppress a bunch of teenage girls from chattering anyway. Kristina had the front passenger seat, of course. Getting into and out of a car was just starting to become more difficult for her.
There was a bit of unpleasantness while they were getting drinks and popcorn before the movie. Erica was putting a little butter on her popcorn, debating just one more high-fat squirt, when Cora's voice rang out from the counter. "Hey, douchebag, my eyes are up here!"
Erica whirled around. The guy at the register looked almost as startled as she was. Cora was facing him, back to Erica, but the hunched fury was obvious. Others were craning their heads. A quick glance showed Kristina looking at Erica with an unreadable expression.
"I'm sorry, miss," the clerk said quietly, taken aback.
"Just gimme my drink!" Cora snapped.
Kristina and Linda gave Erica highly meaningful looks as Cora stalked over to get a straw. They had neutral expressions by the time the dark-haired girl with the dark expression joined them.
"Hey, you all right?" Erica asked, just as neutral.
"Fuck it. Let's go sit down." Without waiting for a reply, or checking to see if they followed, she set off for theater number 8.
"I'm sorry," Erica said to her friends, watching Cora march away. "I think she's a little PMS-y." Doing the math in her head, she realized that was very likely the truth.
Erica would have enjoyed the movie more if she hadn't had to keep half an eye on Cora, but the girl mostly just sat in her seat and watched the screen. Cora didn't come out of her shell all that much until afterward, when they were sitting at a table at Cold Stone. And even then it began with griping.
Cora brushed her hair back from her face and winced. "Gah, I hate the way your hair gets caught in earrings."
"It's worse if they're not studs," Kristina said, shrugging lightly.
"That's why I only wear studs," Cora said glumly.
"So you're going for choir?" Linda said to Cora, trying to include her in the conversation.
"Yeah. Gotta do something to look good on a college app."
"I don't have to worry about that. It's community college for me," Kristina said, looking a little sour now herself.
Cora spoke reassuringly. "Yeah, but hey, it's a lot cheaper. And maybe you can transfer after a couple years."
"If I don't get a scholarship, I'll be right there with you," said Linda.
"Are you gonna have a baby shower?" Erica asked Kristina.
"Yeah. I was thinking May." Her lips quirked. "And then a grad party a month later." Her hand went to her belly. "He's due graduation day. I just looked it up yesterday."
"Huh," Erica said. "Well, you'll let us help with the shower, though, right?"
"Sure," she said with a warm smile.
"Is your Mom gonna rent a room? Or just do it at your house?"
"Not sure yet," Kristina mumbled around a spoonful of ice cream. "Depends on how many people we invite."
Erica nudged Cora, trying to make it look accidental. She shouldn't be allowed to tune out when the topic was 'girl stuff', and her eyes had been getting a little vague again.
Surprisingly, Cora seemed to actually take the hint. "Why wouldn't you invite everybody you can?" she asked with a smirk. "More stuff, right?"
Kristina blinked. "Not all of my family's happy I'm having a baby, y'know."
"Oh," Cora said softly, smile gone. "Right." After a moment she added, "Sorry."
Kristina shrugged. "Not your fault."
"Well, we wanna help. Let us know what the deal is, okay?" Erica said.
They chatted a bit longer. Cora still didn't talk as much much as the others, so she kept her hands busy eating.
Linda and Kristina gave Erica a look as the girl scraped the bowl. It was remarkable how much ice cream fit into Cora, despite her size. They were all splitting a 'Love It' size, but Kristina and Cora had wound up getting more than half between them.
They left shortly after that. "I dunno if I'll ever get used to having diet soda all the time," Cora said as Erica drove the two of them home, having dropped off her friends.
"You pick the calories you want, I guess. Regular soda and ice cream would be kind of a lot, though."
~~~~~
Cora would have skipped school during her period if Miranda hadn't applied some Healing to obviate that excuse. Though from how green her Mother turned after absorbing the girl's pain, Erica doubted Cora's attempted malingering was entirely unjustified.
She still griped about pads. And at dinner that night, she complained that she'd been intensely embarrassed changing for gym.
"It's no big deal, seriously," Erica said. "Girls don't care. It's just life."
"I guess, but..."
Haylie spoke up. "In my school, the girls kinda want to get their periods. Y'know, be grown up."
Cora sneered. "Ain't missing much. Just a mess."
The Jardin women exchanged glances, but none of them pointed out that periods also meant one could conceive and bear children. Cora would not appreciate the idea.
"How are you getting along in your classes? Have you made any friends yet?" Miranda had to know.
Cora grimaced in irritation. "Classes are fine, but it's kinda hard to relate."
Miranda's head tilted. "It should be easier to talk to girls, at least."
"Yeah, but... it's so boring! All they want to talk about is clothes and makeup and who's going with who, where."
"That's all?" Miranda asked, giving the girl a "be honest" look.
Cora hesitated, then chose honesty. "Ok, not all. But tons. At least with Cory they'd talk about important stuff."
"Why do men get to decide what's 'really' important?" Miranda asked sweetly.
Cora looked very silly, frozen with her mouth open, trying to come up with an answer.
~~~~~
Cora and Erica always talked on the bus to and from school, naturally. It would have looked strange if they didn't, of course, but that wasn't the reason. They simply had things to talk about - and Erica was trying to subtly encourage Cora in developing a feminine attitude toward communicating, and keeping channels open.
Nevertheless, there were topics that had to be avoided around others. Cora had shared the news of her joining the choir while they sat together, but she waited until they were walking home from the bus stop to talk about her feelings about it.
Quite often, in fact, she'd talk about Transition-related things on those walks. Erica suspected she didn't want to be eavesdropped on at the house. It was somewhat gratifying that she seemed to trust Erica to keep at least a few secrets. But they didn't have time for much deep conversation on the block or so to her home.
"I used to love girl's voices." Cora shrugged. "I mean, singing especially."
"I read that, like, the really Orthodox Jews? They don't let men hear women singing. It's supposed to be too, like, stimulating." Erica had read a lot about relations between women and men in the last six months.
"Huh," Cora said, considering. "That's kinda what I meant. Not 'too stimulating', I mean, but... a pretty voice can be really sexy. It's fucking weird that I have a voice like that now. I sound like that chick from the 'Plants vs. Zombies' song."
"You turn yourself on?" Erica half-joked.
"Not... exactly. It's just, y'know, confusing." She shrugged again. "I got used to seeing this in the mirror, finally," she waved at herself. "And hearing me talk. Guess I'll get used to singing eventually." She frowned. "But it's weird thinking about how guys'll hear it, y'know?"
"Well, that's not new. Not really." Girls had to be aware of how boys would perceive what they did and wore and said.
"No. Just more of it."
~~~~~
Two-odd weeks into the school term, Erica wasn't as worried that someone would connect 'Cora' and 'Cory'. Despite the definite similarities in appearance and even mannerisms, the distinctions were too marked. The size change alone made a big psychological difference. Clothing and makeup helped, too. The relentless drills had softened her habits and gait considerably.
But there was a single primary reason no one made the connection. Cory had been self-assured and outgoing. PMS aside, Cora was increasingly neither.
She was hesitant, mistrustful, cautious. She didn't speak up in class unless called on. Even in conversation with her peers, she became reticent to the point of shyness.
For a couple days, she'd taken to wearing headphones whenever she could. Not even playing music, just giving herself an excuse not to get involved in conversations - and to pretend not to hear catcalls. Miranda had needed to make an explicit rule forbidding them at school. She wore them only on her daily runs.
Only when she was alone with Erica, lying together in post-coital langour, did she seem willing to speak freely and openly. Only then did Erica see glimpses of Cory's old humor and determination.
From the standpoint of the Sisterhood's security, that was all to the good. For Cora personally, Erica didn't think it was so desirable.
~~~~~
Cora dropped into her chair at programming class. Erica was in no way surprised to see the girl was irritated by something. Concealing her reluctance, she asked, "What's wrong?" in a low tone.
Cora shrugged and nodded toward another table. "Whatshisname over there, Colin. He opened the door for me."
"What's so bad about that?" Erica herself had come to appreciate the little courtesies that boys gave to girls. Some of them, anyway. Sometimes.
"I can open a fucking door on my own!" Cora fumed, a little louder than she should have. She drew a look from the next table.
"Come on. He was just being nice," Erica said in placation. "Goddess forbid a boy be nice to a girl." Cora was hunched in on herself. "Hey, what's really bothering you? It wasn't just a door." Erica did some quick math; it was far too early for PMS again...
Cora shrugged. "It's not just that. It's... Nobody takes me seriously. Not with this voice, and this face. I say something, and they just think, 'Well isn't that the cutest thing!'" Cora fumed. "Even the teachers call me 'sweetie' or 'cutie' or 'missy'."
"They're not trying to hurt your feelings..."
Cora's face scrunched up. Erica could guess what she was thinking - she didn't want to make it about her feelings, 'like a girl', but she didn't want to put it that way... and it actually was about her feelings. Finally, she said, "I just want some respect, is all!"
"Like opening doors for you?"
Cora's jaw tightened. She shifted complaints slightly. "Everybody wants to, like, protect me!"
"That can come in handy, sometimes," Erica began. But they had to cut their conversation short as Scotty and Josh sat down next to them.
~~~~~
The bus made the turn towards their stop, and Erica felt great relief. Soon they'd be dropped off and Cora could spill whatever was upsetting her. She could tell right away, the moment she sat down, that Cora had something she desperately wanted to discuss... but couldn't. They'd gone over assignments, and a little gossip, all the while Cora winding herself up tighter and tighter.
Cora almost bolted for the door as it opened. She stood waiting as Erica stepped down and the bus pulled away. "What's up?" Erica asked. "Something happen?"
"Kinda," Cora said. "You know Gabriela? In the choir? She invited me to a Mary Kay party. Her big sister's."
"Ah," Erica said knowingly. 'Direct marketing' was created with women and their social networks in mind. There were probably dozens of companies that offered rewards for women to invite their friends - and anyone else they could lean on - to a sales pitch.
"I told her I'd think about it," Cora said. "I wanted to talk to you first."
"Did you tell her that?" Erica asked sharply. It would look weird if Cora came across as asking permission from her 'cousin'...
"No! I'm not stupid. I just said I had to think about it, I'd tell her tomorrow."
"Oh, okay." Erica paused. "Do you want to go?"
"Fuck no. Like, nothing against Gabriela. She's chill enough. But you know how much I like makeup. And people selling things." She shrugged. "I'm supposed to be trying to be a girl, though, so... I dunno. Maybe I'm supposed to?"
Erica's mouth quirked. "I don't think marketing parties are a requirement for the Sisterhood," she deadpanned. "Although... it wouldn't hurt to hang with the choir girls some, I guess. Away from school, I mean."
"Kinda figured," Cora said, with perceptible resignation.
"You might even make some friends," Erica pointed out.
"Maybe." Cora didn't sound very convinced. She paused a beat. "I guess I'd go. If you come with?"
"When is it? I can't miss any more cheer practice for a while..."
~~~~~
Cora and Erica asked Miranda about it after dinner. She agreed that going to the party would be a good idea.
They did have some decisions to make, though. "Should I maybe invite Linda or Kristina? I dunno if they'd want to, really, but..." She trailed off.
Miranda shook her head. "I suspect this will be a little stressful for Cora..."
Cora nodded, scowling.
"...so perhaps we should keep it to just you and Cora's friends from the choir."
Cora's scowl was now merely thoughtful, not hostile. "Well, I dunno if they're 'friends' yet. But I guess if I start doing things with 'em, they could be."
Erica received a telepathic message from Miranda. Should anything go wrong, Cora can just let those relationships go. You shouldn't have to walk away from your friends.
~~~~~
Gabriela and her friend from choir, Jacinta, did what they could to make Cora and Erica feel welcome at the party. The girls nibbled chips and made small talk.
They were the youngest four at the party, except for the kids playing and watching TV in the basement. Gabriela's sister, Lupina, was in college and had invited several of her friends. And her mother had leaned on some of her circle as well.
It being Lupina's first party, she had another woman - Carmen, her recruiter - running the show and training her. She called them all into the front room and found everyone a seat. Then she got started.
"Okay, this is gonna be a memory game. Everybody take a look at Lupina." The young woman walked around carrying a little tray with small knicknacks - makeup, silverware, dice, odds and ends. Then, a little smile on her face, she walked out of the room.
"Okay, how many of you looked at what was on the tray?" Everybody raised their hands, even Cora, though she was suddenly squinting.
"Too bad. I told you to look at Lupina." Groans and laughing protests erupted, but Carmen started asking questions. "What was she wearing? Any rings? Necklace? Earrings? What color are her shoes?"
The two Sisters did the best at that game - they'd been drilled and quizzed on fashion and jewelry and makeup so much they almost couldn't help noticing details of how other girls presented themselves. Cora wound up winning some intense scarlet lipstick, which she accepted with mumbled thanks.
They did a few more games, then Carmen began describing some of the products for sale, passing catalogs around.
"But the best way to see what Mary Kay products can do for you is to put them in action." She clapped her hands. "It's makeover time! Who's up?"
Jacinta called out, "Cora!"
Gabriela immediately agreed. "She could be gorgeous if she'd do just a little makeup sometimes!"
Cora looked almost appalled. Erica felt adrenaline in her veins, though she kept it off her face. She could see at a glance that Corazon and Jacinta were just being sincere. But Cora would most probably regard this as an ambush.
"I'm not really..." Cora started to blurt.
Carmen was having none of it. "I'm not going to hurt you, girl! Come here." She was smiling, waving the girl urgently forward. "I can't think of a better showcase than a pretty thing like you." One more moment of hesitation, and Cora stood up.
Erica was relieved to see that Cora seemed to have herself under control as she sat down in the chair before Carmen. But she shot a quick flat glance at Erica as she did so. Promising future consequences?
"Dark hair and fair skin," Carmen muttered. "You're lucky. You can get away with just a little here and there. See, she doesn't even need foundation. I remember having skin like that." Many of the older ladies chuckled.
She kept going. "For school, we just do a little eyeliner - brown, not black, you've already got contrast between your skin and your hair..."
She matched deeds to words. Cora was quickly painted. "And here, just a tiny bit of brown shadow. And mascara."
Erica almost hissed. If there was one specific cosmetic Cora hated most, it was mascara. Even lipstick didn't bother her as much. But she submitted with no protest, if little visible enthusiasm. "Such pretty eyes. I widened them a bit, you can get away with an innocent look. Oh, my goodness, the boys'll be at your feet."
She switched to a brush. "Okay, now just a hint of peach on the cheeks. See how her cheekbones pop now?"
Finally, she selected two small tubes. "You don't want really strong colors for lipstick, especially for an everyday look. Here, this is close to your natural color. We just go for a little extra definition, like so. And once in a while, a touch of gloss."
She wrapped up and handed the girl a mirror. The crowd gave Cora much praise. Erica devoutly prayed they would mistake the pink in Cora's face for a blush of embarrassment instead of a flush of rage. But Cora did seem a little surprised as she checked her face out in the mirror.
"You see?" Cora started to rise, but Carmen put a hand to her shoulder to hold her down. "Wait! You have to see this. Picture, you come home from school, you want to get ready to go out dancing with your friends." She fished out another brush and started in again.
"You're almost there already. Just add a little bronze on the eyes." That done, she had Cora fish the lipstick she'd won out of her pocket. "Darker red, like this. And maybe just a shade darker on the blush."
"And now... Oh, Santa Maria, just look!" she gushed, and held up the mirror again.
Erica was tangled inside as the ladies whistled and laughed and made sly comments. Cora looked very sexy, even more than that night they'd played dressup. Partly Erica was impressed, even a little envious. But she was almost sick wondering how Cora would react.
Cora got a smile onto her face, but it didn't make it to her eyes. Carmen sent her off with a little bag of the shades she'd used, and one of Lupina's friends took Cora's place in the hotseat.
Cora came back to her chair with evident relief. Before she could say anything to Erica, Gabriela and Jacinta pounced.
"Ohmigod, you look amazing!" Gabriela gushed. "You could be a model!"
Jacinta backed her up. "Totally!"
"You look really good, Cora," Erica said. She managed to meet Cora's eyes, give her a quick pleading look before the girl turned to her choirmates.
Please, Cora, Erica prayed. Please see that they were trying to do something nice for you. That they were trying to be friends. That they couldn't know how you would feel about it. She wished she could have sent it telepathically, but she tried to project a flash of reassurance.
Cora took a beat too long to reply, but she mustered a wry smile. "Well, thanks, I guess." She even maintained the smile as she said, "Don't count on me using this stuff up too fast, though."
Cora kept out of the spotlight for the rest of the party. She even ordered sunblock and some eyebrow pencils. "What the fuck, the Sisterhood's paying for it," she muttered to Erica under her breath.
Erica thought, as they left, that it had gone about as well as anyone could have hoped.
~~~~~
The next day, another walking-home-from-the-bus conversation:
"Everyone always tells girls how good they look. All the time. It's always about how you look."
"Well, you're lucky. You look really good." Even in those clothes, Erica thought to herself.
"Are girls really that insecure, though? Like, they need to be told all the time?"
Erica sighed. How to explain it so Cora could understand? "You know that feeling you get when you, like, get an epic kill online? Or, like, if you're on a forum, y'know, arguing? And you totally destroy somebody's argument?"
Cora squinted. "I think so..."
"Or, better, when you got a really good time in a race? I guess I'm saying, like, when you feel kinda, y'know... badass."
"Okay, yeah." Cora cocked her head, curious where this was headed.
"Well... looking good gives girls a feeling sorta like that."
Cora's look of consternation might have been hilarious in other circumstances. But she didn't say anything.
Erica kept going. "Guys are supposed to be tough, y'know? Strong, smart... capable. But for girls, they're supposed to look good."
She gave Cora a meaningful look, daring her to dispute her next words. "That's totally what guys care about. At first, anyway. And usually second and third."
Cora had that look she got when actually applying her brain to something. "So... saying, 'nice dress' or 'I like your makeup' to a girl is kinda like saying, 'nice shot' or 'good run' to a guy?"
"Yeah, kinda."
"Sounds hard on the girls who don't look so good."
"It ain't fair, but that's the way it is." She shrugged. "Life ain't all that fair for small, skinny guys, either."
Cora nodded, still thoughtful, acknowledging the point.
"Anyway, picture how tough all this would be if you weren't so pretty. You got, like, an automatic social buff, kinda, being so gorgeous. With other girls, even, not just guys."
"Plus five to all social interactions, huh?" Cora mused, half joking but obviously thinking about the metaphor.
"Mostly. Attack and defense. Plus eight with boys. Maybe ten."
Cora was quiet as they headed up the driveway, clearly having trouble accepting the idea that there was anything about her situation she should be grateful for.
~~~~~
Cora put the last of the dishes away and smacked the cupboard closed while Erica was finishing her homework at the kitchen table. "There! Now we gotta get going."
"What's up?" Erica asked.
"You forgot? Extra choir practice tonight. You gotta drop me off on the way to your practice."
"Oh, right." She closed the book and got up.
"Jacinta'll get me home," Cora noted as they headed for the front door.
Erica stopped, and put a hand on Cora's arm. "Did you wear those clothes outside? With Haylie?"
Cora looked down, examining her slightly baggy t-shirt and sweatpants. "Yeah. Why? They stained?" She twisted to look at her rear.
"No, but... they're kinda stinky."
Cora gave Erica a look, then raised her arm and sniffed the sleeve of her t-shirt. "A little, I guess. No big deal."
Erica bit her lower lip. "Boys don't have to care so much about that, but... girls do."
Cora rolled her eyes. "Screw that. I don't want any boys after me."
Erica sighed. "It's not just boys. Girls care, too. Other girls, I mean."
Cora just stared, confused.
"Seriously, women notice how other women smell. I'm not kidding." She could see Cora wasn't being receptive to the idea. "I don't mean... well, you already know that girls care more about what other girls are wearing, right?"
Cora nodded, frowning.
"I mean, like, most of what women wear, they wear for other women, not men." Cora's lips pursed at Erica's words. You couldn't be a girl for long without learning that. "Odor's a factor, too. Honest. Not as big as clothes, maybe, but..."
"I was playing soccer!" Cora insisted.
"I know. Right after, it's no big deal. But other girls will notice if you don't clean up as soon as you can."
"Whatever," Cora muttered, but went upstairs to change.
~~~~~
Erica flicked Cora's clit back and forth with the tip of her tongue. At the same time, she pumped two fingers in and out of Cora's vagina. Cora herself was moaning softly; she'd never been as vocal as Erica. Still, she was far gone now, not guarding her reactions or suppressing her passionate exclamations.
It was time, Erica decided.
She stealthily brought the dildo up with her other hand. When she changed position - grabbing a deep lungful of air, licking pussy was breathless work if you really committed - she swapped her fingers for the toy. She didn't go very deep yet, and kept watch for any sign Cora had noticed the substitution. The girl was extremely excited and wet, though, and wasn't processing much beyond waves of sensation.
Over the next minute Erica gradually increased the amplitude of those waves, increasing how far she moved the dildo by small increments. Cora moaned more loudly than usual.
The moment had arrived. Erica sucked hard on Cora's clit, flicking her tongue in a staccato rhythm, and stroked deeply with the toy. Cora convulsed, groaning - she never shouted - fingers clutching the sheets. Her hips jerked, over and over. After the third pulse Erica's mouth was jolted loose, but she kept the shaft moving in and out.
Presently Cora came down from the high. Erica wriggled up to give her a kiss, but maintained a very slow, gentle pumping.
"Oh, man, that felt good," Cora eventually breathed as she swapped leisurely smooches with her lover. "How'd you get so d..." Her eyes suddenly shot open wide and she tried to sit up. "What the hell?"
Erica pulled the dildo out and showed it to her. "Nice, isn't it?"
"What? You... God damn it, I..."
"Didn't you like it? Sure sounded like you had a good time."
Cora had shifted away and curled up against the headboard. "You should have asked!"
"Would you have let me?
Cora glared. "No. That's the point!"
Erica was unruffled. "Did it hurt?"
Cora looked away, grimacing.
"Did it hurt?" Erica pressed. Cora made no response. Erica waited patiently.
It took almost a minute, but Cora broke first. "Fine. No, it didn't hurt. But you still should have asked!"
"It's no big deal. I mean, you actually liked the Shocker!"
"That's different," Cora insisted. "That's you, not..."
"It was still me just now, too," Erica interrupted. "How is it different from me using scarves, or feathers, or oil?"
"That's..." Cora trailed off. She was looking anywhere but Erica's face.
"Different, I know. Those aren't like a dick, am I right?"
Cora stiffened and her jaw clenched. Erica sat patiently.
It didn't take as long this time for Cora to break. "You're right. I don't like dick, okay? Even fake ones."
"It's only a fake dick if you think it is." She put her hand on Cora's leg. "I just think of it as a way to make you feel good."
Cora peered at Erica very narrowly indeed. Then her lips quirked. "You probably wouldn't feel like a boy."
"I never had a cock on my hand, even when I was Eric," Erica said.
Cora shook her head. Erica could see it was at the whole situation, not Erica's words.
"But still..."
"Look at me. Do you really think of me as a boy?"
"No."
"Then this can't be a dick." She waggled it in the air.
"But..."
"I know what the problem really is."
Cora glared.
"It fits inside you. And it feels good."
Cora opened her mouth, but didn't get to say anything. Erica kept going. "It's not so much that this is like a dick. It's that you have a pussy. And this goes nice and deep into your pussy."
Cora's stare was fixed at the wall now.
"The problem is, it makes you feel more like a girl."
Cora never admitted anything. She didn't start then. She just kept her eyes on the wall.
Erica held her silence a moment longer. "Well, tell you what. I got something else for you." Erica stepped off the bed and dug around in her nightstand briefly. What she came up with made Cora gasp.
The strap-on was fairly pedestrian as such things went. A belt, a pair of straps that went between the legs. The phallus wasn't exceptionally sizeable, and was made of some clear plastic.
"Let's get you hooked up." Erica smiled saucily. "You can get your revenge on me."
Cora looked both fascinated and frightened. Still mute, but now she just stared at the toy. When Erica approached, she knelt up on the bed and spread her legs. She made no sound as Erica adjusted the buckles, just turning her head to watch the process.
Erica moved back to check her work. It passed muster. "OK. Ready to roll."
She wasn't worried about derailing Cora's progress. Using a strap-on was like having a penis; as a Sister, Erica was in a position to speak to that definitively. But as a Sister, she also knew all the ways it was unlike having an actual male member.
This particular kind, for example, didn't have any extensions to stimulate Cora's clitoris.
It would feel good. It would probably even awaken 'Cory' a little. It would be a turn-on. But it wouldn't create that delicious friction that sex did. Not for Cora, at least.
She laid down on her back, and saw that Cora's nipples were rock-hard. She had a fleeting, amusing thought - a boy Cora's size, with a prick that big, would be almost disproportionate.
Cora got between Erica's legs, and only fumbled for a handful of seconds before she managed a fruitful alignment.
Erica moaned in genuine pleasure as it slid in. Then Cora pulled out, and came back in...
Sometimes, the disadvantages for the wearer of a strap-on were advantages for the one it got used on. There were no conflicts of interest - the whole purpose was the pleasure of the receiver. Cora used it as a tool, searching for the angles and rhythms and depths that got the biggest responses.
She stopped even considering how Cora would feel in short order. Having your pussy filled was a very pleasant sensation. It didn't directly stimulate the clit, but women had deep-rooted erectile tissue. It was better than getting a rub on the shaft of a penis.
After coming twice, she took it off Cora - who was overexcited by that point - and licked her pussy through a couple climaxes. She didn't push Cora to let her use the strap-on in return. Not tonight. In a couple days, she'd bring it up. She suspected Cora would say yes. Especially if she got to use it on Erica first.
And then... vibrators. She could hardly wait.
~~~~~
Lots of little conversations were going on. Calc class was starting late. The teacher had taken two boys down to the office for getting into a shoving match.
Brandon said to Danielle, "Cory's mom got another letter from him a couple days ago."
She just looked annoyed. "So what?"
He squinted at her. "He was your boyfriend. Don't you give a crap?"
Danielle rolled her eyes. "He just takes off, no text, no calls, nothing. Apparently I'm not important enough to even say goodbye!"
Brandon said, slowly, "That's what bugs me. I just can't see him doing that. And the letters are real fuzzy about where he is or what he's doing."
Danielle scoffed. "He still coulda called."
"Maybe he's protecting you. All of us," Brandon said insistently.
"Oh, I am so sure. Now he's going to Hogwarts and can't tell us Muggles."
He flushed. "I don't mean..." He stopped, began again. "I just want to know. If I disappeared, he'd look for me."
All of a sudden, Cora spoke up. "What are you gonna do that the cops can't, anyway?" Danielle and Brandon were actually startled.
"Huh?" he managed, unable to come up with anything better.
The girl seemed to regret speaking up. "I just mean... cops can track cell phones and stuff. You're not... well..."
He squinted at her. "What's it to you, anyway?" he snapped. He felt bad right after he said it, though. It came out a lot more angry than he'd intended. Maybe I am a little defensive, huh? he thought.
She looked down at her desk. "I'm sorry... I didn't think you..."
"Hey, no, my bad. I didn't mean to jump all over you like that. Maybe I do need to take a break."
She looked at him again. "It's fine," she said softly as she stared back down at her desk, smiling a little.
Cora's relieved smile seemed to irritate Danielle. "Whatever," she broke in, looking at Brandon. "Can we please talk about something besides that freak?"
So he talked with Danielle about homework until the teacher got back and started class. Cora had gone back into her own world again.
Brandon found himself remembering that smile, though. Yeah, she could actually be pretty cute if she'd just open up a little.
~~~~~
Erica was not happy when Cora mentioned the incident with Brandon on their walk home from the bus. "You probably should just ignore him."
Cora shrugged, rather too nonchalantly for Erica's taste. "He's right, though. I am protecting him. I don't want the Sisters 0wnz0ring his brain. And I sure as shit don't think we need a fucking 'Brandi', either."
Erica felt a little uneasy, recalling Bronwyn's speculation about Suggestions. "I can't see that happening."
They just walked quietly for a couple houses. Then Cora said, "You know what sucks? I'm not sure if I'd be looking for him. If things were switched around, if he'd gone missing, y'know?"
Erica tried to think of how to respond. She didn't come up with anything before they got home.
~~~~~
"Man, I gotta get some new stuff," Cora said, rustling through her closet.
Erica sat on Cora's bed, texting. "I had to go buy more pretty fast, too."
"How's this?" Cora asked, leaning out of the door, holding up a blouse and a skirt.
"You wore those together a couple weeks ago. That really windy day, remember?"
Cora snarled. "So what? It was good enough then!"
"Yeah, but if you wear the same thing again so soon, the other girls'll talk." Cora was learning, just as Erica had, that repeating outfits on a regular basis was a major fashion faux pas. And she only had so many things to mix and match. "Maybe we can hit the mall on Saturday," Erica said.
The small girl whirled and plunged back into the closet, rummaging. Cora paid attention to fashion now, but it was no more than an intellectual attention. She didn't invest in her clothes like most girls. Picking an outfit for school was definitely work, not an opportunity to express herself. "Fucking fine. I haven't worn these together!" She held up the same blouse but a new skirt.
Erica winced. "Those don't go together. They're both prints, anyway, but green and red... nuh uh. Maybe for a Christmas party."
"Well I don't have anything else that goes with it."
Erica took pity and got up from the bed. "Let me take a look."
She examined the options. "Huh. We really need to get you more stuff."
"No shit. That's what I said."
Erica dug around a little. "All right, ditch the blouse, until we can hit the mall. You've only worn this skirt, like, twice. It'll go with this sweater."
Cora glowered. "It's the shortest one."
"Well, it's not all that short, and we're running low on combinations here."
Cora submitted to the inevitable. "Okay, fine, whatever." She asked plaintively, "Can I maybe get some more jeans when we go?"
"I'll check with Mom, but I think maybe." Erica paused. "They're still gonna have to be tight."
"I know," Cora said with infinite resignation as she zipped the skirt up over her rear.
Erica kept flicking through the wardrobe options, planning a shopping strategy as Cora finished adjusting her blouse. "A couple accessories would help, like, freshen this up. You know, belts, bracelets. A vest, even." She paused. "Hair clips or headbands..."
"Stay the fuck away from my hair," Cora snapped. She smiled, a little, to show she wasn't seriously offended. But she had one single minimally-maintained hairstyle - two, if you counted the ponytail she wore when running - and she steadfastly resisted elaboration.
Erica let it go. "Maybe we could splurge on a couple purses. You know, like, high-end."
Cora picked up her simple denim purse. "What's the point? Even if it's not my money. I'm not looking to get attention anyway."
"Expensive clothes aren't about impressing guys. You know they don't give a shit about that stuff. If they can even tell the difference, they're probably gay." She sighed. "Prada and Gucci and all that are about impressing other women."
"I thought I wasn't supposed to stand out." The girls went to the hallway and down the stairs.
"That's what I mean. A nice purse or some bling would draw attention from the rest of your outfit. Give you more variety."
Cora just said "huh" as they made for the door. Erica knew the time had come to drop the subject and let Cora ruminate on her own. She would usually - sooner or later - accept reason if she was allowed to argue herself into it.
~~~~~
Flashing lights appeared behind them. Both girls gasped in surprise and fear. "Oh shit!" Cora squealed, looking down at the speedometer. "I was doing eighty-five!"
There had been ups and downs all day, and they were apparently in for another down.
Shopping for clothes had gone much more smoothly than that first trip. Cora didn't sulk and snap like before. It still was nowhere near as much fun as shopping with her friends.
They'd found a few sweet deals, and Erica was pleased that she'd sold Cora on some shorter skirts and lower necklines and even two pair of tights. For her part, Cora still refused to wear stockings, but she'd been happy to get new jeans and a jean jacket.
As a semi-reward, they'd gone out to see an action, sci-fi movie, and it had been good. It had certainly lifted Cora's spirits... until their status as unaccompanied females at a male-skewed event had drawn the kind of attention Cora did not want.
Two boys had sat next to them, uninvited, and kept trying to strike up a whispered conversation until Cora had dissuaded them, in forceful and explicit terms.
After the boys sulked away, they'd been able to finish the movie in peace. They got hit on again on their way out of the multiplex, but it hadn't dampened Cora's spirits unduly.
Both she and Erica agreed she'd adjusted enough to her new body to safely drive on the freeway, and - after muttering about having to slide the seat all the way forward - she'd been enjoying the ride. Until now.
"Shit shit shit," she babbled as she pulled to the side of the road.
"It's okay, take it easy," Erica said. "No big deal, worst case it's just a ticket." She was trying to reassure herself, though, too. Keeping Cora as far away from police as possible was a standing order from the senior Sisters.
The cop came to the window, and Cora rolled it down. "What's wrong, officer?" she asked, sounding believably nervous.
"License and registration, miss. Do you know how fast you were going?"
Cora bit her lip as she rummaged in her purse. Erica had noticed her start to reach for a nonexistent back pocket, but it was just a split second and she was pretty sure the cop simply figured it was a nervous tic. "I... I'm not sure. I was just keeping up with traffic, I thought."
"Well, miss, I'm afraid I clocked you at 87."
Cora gulped. "I... Please, sir. I don't have any points on my license, and my, my mom'll kill me if I screw up her insurance!"
The officer looked at her for a second, glanced at an equally-apprehensive Erica, and gave a little smile. "Well... tell you what. You don't seem like the repeat offender type. So I suppose I can let you off with a warning this time. But slow down, right, miss?"
"Oh, yes, sir! I promise!" Cora said as she took back her documents. The girls were very quiet for a few moments as she got back underway.
As she merged, Cora frowned; Erica refrained from commenting on how cute she looked. "Did he... was that..."
"Yes," Erica smiled, "what you think happened just happened. A cute girl asked him for a favor, and he let her off."
"That's... so unfair!"
Erica almost sighed. Cora nearly always looked at things from a male perspective. Like now, not taking into account all the 'unfair' advantages men got. "You said you brought out everybody's protective side." Cora kept her eyes on the road. "Comes in handy sometimes, huh?"
"Whatever," Cora said, apparently not even realizing how girlish she sounded.
~~~~~
"Pffft." Cora blew some stray hairs off her lips, and brushed them back with her fingertips. A second later they fell forward again as she studied her textbook.
She made a wordless growl and looked to Erica. "You got a fuckin' scrunchie or something?"
"Nope, sorry."
Cora huffed, stood, and paced over to her purse on the counter. "Where the fuck do they disappear to?" A moment of rummaging turned up a hairband, which she applied with sure, practiced speed. Not many of her girlish skills were so polished, but keeping hair out of her face was one of Cora's passions.
She sat back down at the kitchen table with what could only be termed a flounce. "You know what else I hate? It gets in everything. Wrapped on my soap, stuck on my clothes, even in my shoes!" She didn't quite snort, but close. "It's like I shed as much as a dog now. After I shower, I have to pull hairs outa my buttcrack!"
"You just see them more when they're longer," Erica said.
"Maybe, but if I were still a guy I'd think I was going bald."
"It's not that big a deal," Erica said, letting some of her annoyance show. "And you look good with long hair." She was just irritated enough to say what she really thought. "Actually, you'd probably look older if you let it grow past your shoulders a little."
Cora's frown showed she'd thought of that, too. But she said, "Not worth it."
"You could at least try..."
Erica wasn't the only one feeling annoyance, it turned out. Cora snarled. "I've tried a lot of fucking things the last couple months, y'know. I thought I was allowed to actually not like some stuff!"
That took Erica aback. Especially under the circumstances, Cora had made a lot of progress. She wasn't even being unreasonable. After all, most birth-girls got attached to particular hairstyles. She was allowed to prefer shorter hair.
But Cora wasn't done. "I have to try every single girly thing, at, like, 'maximum girlyness'. Maybe you never saw a frilly sparkly whatever you didn't like, but... but I'm not that kind of girl!"
She seemed to wind down at that point. Erica hesitated, licked her lips, and said, "You're right. I do kinda like doing girl stuff, it's easier for me. But even I don't love all of it."
"Name one." Cora was squinting. A test, not an indignant challenge.
That wasn't too hard. "Having to be careful how you suggest things to guys, like in class and stuff."
To Erica's relief, Cora nodded thoughtfully. "I say the same things Cory did and I'm suddenly a bitch." Then she cocked her head and said, "From what I've seen, Sisters tend to be pretty enthusiastic about being feminine."
Not quite sure if it was a tangent or not, Erica said "Yeah?"
Cora didn't seem angry anymore. "Something my dad said once at church. 'Nobody's more zealous than a convert.'" She shook her head. "You all got the sales pitch, and signed up. I dunno if I'll ever be that 'devout'."
Erica took a deep breath. "I don't think you hafta be thrilled. Just... okay with it." She took Cora's hand. "My Mom said I could change back if I wanted. I don't think she was lying. Sounds like some Sisters do change back."
Cora's dark eyes peered into her own. Erica went on. "She said I could decide I'd be happiest as a boy. So far as I can tell, you don't have to think being a girl is the bestest thing ever. You just gotta... not hate it. Be okay with it."
Cora chewed her lip, a very cute mannerism Erica studiously ignored. "I still got work to do on not hating it." She inhaled, exhaled, gave Erica's hand a squeeze, then let go and turned back to her book. "Well, I got a quiz tomorrow."
Erica knew it was time to back off and let her process. She resumed her own studying with just an occasional glance Cora's way.
~~~~~
Jacqui let out a deep breath. She was centered, ready. Her cell sat lightly in her lap. She allowed her Magical attention to focus on it, as her finger tapped an icon.
Computers were not minds. They certainly were not alive. And yet, an adept with the right inclination could use them Magically, could allow spells and technology to interact in many ways. This was an app she'd written herself, and she channeled her power into it.
Jacqui would not betray her oath even so far as to Find her target mentally... but that was unnecessary. Sympathetic Magic and cell networks resonated together, and in seconds Jacqui knew precisely where Cora's phone was.
From that base, she searched outward. Her senses brushed past Cora's aura and settled on another nearby. Young, female as well. Jacqui probed further, skating along surface thoughts, getting a sense of the situation...
Jacinta squinted. "Nah. Try these," she said, handing a new pair of shoes to Cora. She'd finagled the girl into coming shoe shopping with her after choir practice instead of taking her straight home.
At first, she'd just planned on being nice to Cora, a little out of pity. She was so pretty, and yet so awkward and shy and cautious. And she had no idea how to present herself! Suggesting Gabriela should invite her to the Mary Kay party had been almost an act of mercy.
As she'd gotten to know her, though, she'd come to appreciate the quirky sense of humor hiding behind the suspicious eyes. And Cora refused to play many of the social games other girls did, shifting alliances almost on a whim. When she'd told Cora who her crush was, Jacinta had somehow known the girl would never use that information to embarrass her later.
And Cora was really smart. Not just geek-smart, although Jacinta's phone and netbook were running better than ever since Cora had cleaned them up. She was twisty, too - she'd managed to help Gabriela figure out which of her friends was talking to Soleil about her, by having her tell each one a different minor secret and seeing which one came back. A "barium meal test", she called it. Some kind of spy thing.
For all that she liked spy novels and computers and sports, Cora wouldn't have anything to do with boys, though. Jacinta wondered if maybe she'd been abused, or assaulted, or something. It would explain her shyness, her trust issues. Why she almost seemed to wish she wasn't a girl, sometimes. But because of those trust issues, Jacinta didn't dare ask, yet. All she could do for now was be a good friend.
And maybe help her enjoy being a girl once in a while.
So, encouragement time. "Yeah, those work. They'll go sweet with that new blouse you wore yesterday."
Cora nodded but frowned, taking a few steps. "I dunno. The heels are pretty high."
Jacinta shrugged. "They give you a good walk. And they make you look taller."
That last seemed to get the girl's attention. "Huh," she muttered, eyes gauging her height as she walked over to a mirror. Jacinta suppressed a jealous sigh. Cora's gait was better than 'good' in those heels. How could such slim hips rock like that? That skinny waist must be part of it.
Jacinta let it go. "Put 'em in the cart. Maybe we should look at purses, too."
Out of nowhere, Cora gave her a sharp and suspicious glare. "Wait. Did Erica put you up to this?"
Jacinta said, quite honestly, "What? No! Put me up to what?"
Cora frowned for another second, then looked away and chewed her lip. After another second, she said, "Sorry. It's just, Erica said I needed a new purse too, last week."
It was Jacinta's turn to glare. "Like, I barely even know her! Maybe she said it 'cause you really do need a couple new fucking purses!"
Cora shrank in on herself. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry! I know I'm kinda... y'know, prickly sometimes. I'm sorry."
It was weird. Most girls would be more... emphatic about an apology. More hand movements, an 'ohmigod' or two. But Cora just looked miserable. She wasn't overselling it... and that, ironically, convinced Jacinta she meant it.
"Oh, okay." She came up and gave Cora a quick hug. "But quit spazzing out, all right?" She smiled to soften the words.
"Hey," Cora began, then hesitated. After a second, she shouldered on. "Um, thanks for, y'know, helping me. With clothes and stuff."
"No prob."
"Just... gimme time, sometimes. I'm not, like... always comfortable with that stuff."
Jacinta was right on the verge of asking why, but pulled back. If she showed she wouldn't pry, Cora might eventually trust her not to spill, too. "Let's go find you a purse."
...the vision faded, Jacqui returned to herself. She wasn't thrilled about spying on those close to Cora, but she was forbidden to peek directly on her subject. And it was useful anyway to see how others perceived the Sister, particularly when she was away from the Jardins.
Jacqui was especially grateful she'd witnessed that scene. "Thank the Goddess," she breathed. Jacinta taking an interest in Cora was a huge blessing; unlooked-for good fortune. Perhaps the first sign the Goddess was working to make the situation right.
~~~~~
It was a good opportunity. Calc class was starting late, the teacher had to go re-print some handouts. And Brandon was excused for some Track thing for the afternoon. "Wow, you look good today!" Danielle said, with just the right amount of insincerity. "You musta spent time on your makeup this morning."
Cora looked up from her book, startled. She squinted at her, obviously confused. "Same as usual."
"Oh," Danielle said. "My mistake. Don't know what it is. Not like you got new clothes or anything." She shook her head.
Cora shrugged. "Well, thanks anyway." After a beat, she said, "You look good, too." She turned back to her book.
The girl was such a lameass she didn't even know when she was being dissed. Danielle decided she'd have to escalate. "I can see why you don't bother much with new clothes. Your tits are so small, you can't really do a lot with 'em."
Cora's eyes slewed back to Danielle. She actually looked surprised. At least she finally seemed to understand what was going on. The girl needed to be put in her place, before she got any ideas. Danielle had noticed the way Brandon had looked at her a couple times.
It took her a beat to answer. "Don't need to." The other girls nearby were watching and listening now.
Danielle wasn't sure Cora had spotted that. But she played to the audience. "Well, they match that skinny little butt," she said, not bothering with subtlety now.
Cora was frowning. The problem was, it was an annoyed frown, not an insulted one. For all her bluntness, Danielle hadn't managed to get under the girl's skin yet. It was infuriating. Like cutting fog. Nothing to get hold of, it was like Cora didn't even care if she looked good or not.
Or maybe it was that she knew she looked good, even just doing the bare minimum. Fuck, she was pretty hot even though she seemed to be trying to downplay her looks.
But Cora was paying attention now. "It's easier for me. Where do you find bras with two different cup sizes like that?"
Danielle's jaw tightened. Her breasts were not lopsided!
Angered now, she stabbed hard. "I bet it's easier. Not like you want boys to look, right?"
She was gratified to see Cora's jaw tighten. But then the teacher came back in, cutting things short. It wasn't a victory, but she hadn't lost.
~~~~~
The senior Sisters met in person for lunch again. It was even at the same café as that fateful day, but the women were much more somber.
"She questions everything, and she won't accept that some things need to be taught in order," Miranda groused.
"Some of that must be her anger talking." Jacqui looked at her Mother. "Even when I was the most hurt and angry, I still loved you. Deep down, I still wanted to trust you. That's why it hurt so much, because I wasn't sure if I still could." Frustration made her shake her head. "Cora doesn't even have that. Erica's the only Sister she halfway trusts."
Miranda nodded. "They make love every night. And Erica... we haven't shared a bed since Cora's Transformation." She looked forlorn.
"The relationship between Mothers and Daughters in the Sisterhood is a precious privilege," Bronwyn lectured sharply. "It can only be justified, be earned, if it is for the Daughter's good, and as she wills."
"I know that now is not the time, I know that," Miranda insisted. "But... I miss the intimacy. I feel so far from her these days."
"I understand," Laurie said in her comforting manner. "It was almost a year before Jacqui was ready to have that kind of relationship with me." Her eyes shot unspoken gratitude to Bronwyn for helping to bring about that rapprochement. "Give it time. Both girls have a lot to process, and Erica's tending to her friend right now."
"It's not just for my sake," Miranda pointed out. "Erica... I'm worried. She had just begun showing an interest in boys!"
"Cora needs a sexual outlet, and even more, a friend she can trust." Bronwyn shrugged. "I think we have to sacrifice Erica's forward progress to allow Cora the chance to progress at all." Responding to Miranda's alarmed expression, she put her hand on the witch's shoulder. "Only in some areas, and only for a while."
"Eventually, Cora will start being interested in boys, too. She's got a Transformed body, it's unavoidable." A bit of strained laughter broke out among the Sisters; each reminiscing about the ways they'd discovered that truth. Then Jacqui sighed. "It'll probably take her longer than most Sisters, though."
"Do you think we might need to set up a 'Bonnie'?" Bronwyn asked. "She certainly helped you," she added with a small grin on her face.
"Ah, yes, she did," Jacqui chuckled. "What, do you want to get your hands on Cora's tight little body, too?"
Bronwyn laughed herself. "I admit that wouldn't be all bad; she's such a beautiful little thing," the woman chuckled. Then she continued more seriously, "But leaving aside how Cora would react to such a deception on my part, I don't think I'm the right fit. We could try to find another Sister, a younger one who doesn't have a child to care for yet..."
Laurie tsked. "Perhaps later. I think Cora's a little fixated on Erica right now. And she's already helping Cora in so many other ways, adding boys on top of that would be too much," She cocked her head. "Might we be able to get this Jacinta girl to act as a 'Bonnie' for Cora, though, do you think? With respect to boys, I mean."
They gave that some thought. "Not yet." Jacqui concluded. "It's too soon anyway. We'd better keep both ideas in reserve, though."
"We need every idea we can get," Miranda agreed, dejected.
~~~~~
"Cora? Cora, where are you?" Erica called, worried. "Mom says we need to get going!" They were all going out to dinner to celebrate Haylie's soccer team winning their last game.
No answer came. She peeked in their room, and moved down the hall. She was sure Cora had come upstairs a while ago. She knocked on the next door, and tried the handle. Unlocked. She opened the door, and there was Cora.
The girl sat on the floor of the bathroom, sniffling. Though she wasn't bawling now, the lines in her makeup showed she'd been crying a river not too long ago.
"Goddess, Cora, what's wrong?" Erica cried out.
She looked up wearily. "I just wanted to pee real quick. So I came in here..." She looked at the window. "...and I lifted the seat up."
"Oh," Erica said. "Oh, Cora, I'm sorry..." She knelt down next to her friend and hugged her.
Cora's voice shook a little, but no more tears flowed. "It just all hit me, how everything's changed. Everything I've lost."
The girls just sat for a time, hugging.
"Isn't there anything you've gained?"
Cora just sat for several seconds. "A whole lot of experience, I guess." She laughed - weakly, but it gave Erica some hope - and said, "Cory'll probably be the perfect boyfriend when this is all over."
Erica remembered Eric thinking something like that, once. "C'mon, let's get up."
The two girls stood, and held hands for a second. Then Cora said, sounding a little embarrassed, "Well, I still gotta pee."
They both laughed. Erica went to the door, saying, "I'll go tell Mom you're fixing your makeup."
Cora, who'd been hiking up her skirt, turned and looked in the mirror. "Oh, yeah, that too."
~~~~~
Cora sagged into the passenger seat of the Jardin's car and closed the door. Erica waited until she fastened her seat belt, then she pulled out onto the road.
"I hereby apologize to all waitresses everywhere. Shit, I never knew how bad they had it." Cora sounded exhausted.
"Everybody should spend some time waiting on tables. Be a lot better tips, that's for sure," Erica commiserated.
"Those fucking asshole cocksucking douchebags in ten!" Cora shouted with a flicker of energy. "I brought them everything they wanted, I took care of them just fine, and for what? A two dollar tip?" She made a wordless growl of frustration. "Not even five percent!"
"That sucks," Erica said sympathetically. Cora was intelligent and had adapted with reasonable speed to the technical details of waiting on tables; the numbering system, the protocol for communicating orders to the cooks, and so forth. Her first day, she'd overestimated her strength and tried to carry too many orders at once, and dropped the whole tray. She'd reconciled herself to multiple trips since then. In any objective sense, Cora was a competent and dutiful waitress.
Her tips lagged anyway. It was in the subjective, interpersonal areas that Cora had trouble. To be sure, she was never rude or remotely impolite. Yet her appearance and personality came across as disjoint. People expected a young girl, especially a slighter one, to be a trifle more... chipper, bubbly. Cora's manner was too matter-of-fact and businesslike for many customers' liking.
And she simply could not process flirtatious banter. Ninety percent of that stuff was just meant in fun; a good-natured smile and roll of the eyes was all the response needed. But Cora just shut down in situations like that.
Then again, some people were plain old jerks. Erica agreed completely with Cora's estimate of the crowd in booth number ten. Waiters and waitresses made almost nothing directly; much less than minimum wage, in fact. Tips were their lifeblood, and few people understood that - or cared. Cora might not have earned a huge tip, but she had definitely deserved her fifteen percent.
~~~~~
"Fucking girl shoes." Cora groused as they waited for the bus. "My feet get cold. It's like wearing sandals!"
Erica was facing forward, and had her hoodie up, so she could safely roll her eyes. For Cora's benefit she gave a whatcha-gonna-do shrug.
Cora wasn't done. "And another thing. I hate all the clacking when I walk. You just can't be quiet in these stupid things!"
Erica had nothing to say.
Cora didn't take the hint. "The only time high heels don't bug me is going up stairs. But cripes, how the fuck do you go down stairs in them?"
She couldn't keep it in any longer. "So why'd you start wearing 'em?" Erica asked. Actually, she'd been wondering.
Cora snorted. "So I look more'n five foot tall!" A moment later, she conceded, "Jacinta said I should try 'em."
"You could wear pumps with some heel. I know you've got some," Erica said.
"I've been," Cora protested. "But I can't wear the same thing all the time. You said that."
Erica was relieved for once to see the bus coming.
~~~~~
Erica sat at a bench after practice, a little ice on her knee. It was just a precaution; she didn't think it was any more serious than a twinge. Still, she almost laughed at herself for her - for Eric's - old misconceptions that cheerleading wasn't a serious athletic endeavor.
She was just talking with her friends. "Hope Cora gets here soon," she said as she checked the time on her phone.
Trahn gave her a pensive look. "Your cousin is weird. Does she, like, have autism or something?"
"Nah. She's just... Cora."
"I've caught her looking at me in the locker room." Shianti said it flatly, with certainty.
"What?" Erica said, shocked. She tried very hard to make it look like it was for a different reason. "I can't believe that. She wouldn't... she never..."
"Sure looked like it."
"She never did anything like that with me," Erica lied boldly.
Trahn shrugged, unimpressed. "Well, you're her cousin."
Shianti scoffed. "Not that that matters to some bitches."
Erica peered at Shianti, foreboding growing. "What's that s'posed to mean?"
Shianti sighed, then admitted, "Rebecca made a joke about you two being 'scissor cousins'."
Erica's jaw dropped.
Trahn interposed quickly. "It wasn't really about you. Becca's friends with Danielle. You know she doesn't like Cora."
"What a bitch!" Erica exclaimed. "But it's stupid. Nobody'd believe it anyway," she went on, praying her friends would back that up.
"Hey, we know you." She shrugged helplessly. "But other girls... y'know, they talk. About how you've never had any boyfriends."
Erica's jaw flopped open again.
Melanie rushed to support her. "Like she said, we know you."
"Thanks," Erica said sincerely. Just as sincerely, she prayed her friends would never know her too well.
~~~~~
For once, Erica brought up the serious topic when they were alone in the car.
"You're gonna need to be careful," Erica said. "I heard today some girls have seen you checking them out."
Cora stiffened, jerked her head to look at Erica. "I wasn't... I wouldn't..." After a moment, she gave up and stared forward at the road, not even trying to deny it. "Danielle said something like that a couple days ago. I thought she was just making shit up." She inhaled, exhaled. "I did check her out, the first couple times in gym."
"Hey, I know. I still look, too. But..." She paused. "Look, you know when a guy's checking you out, right?"
A little more of Cora's embarrassment melted into anger. "Fuck yeah."
"Well, girls don't expect it from other girls, but they've got good reflexes. They have to, you know."
Cora's mouth thinned, but she nodded. "Okay, I'll watch it. I mean, I won't watch it."
Erica grinned. "Not as much, anyway. Or at least, as long."
Cora actually managed to smile back at that.
~~~~~
Cora retained far more of an interest in videogames than Erica had. She didn't play online as much, but she still racked up a few hours a week on Erica's console.
Miranda and Erica wondered sometimes. Of particular concern was the fact that she picked male avatars whenever possible.
~~~~~
Haylie was at soccer practice, Cora was at choir practice, and Miranda and Erica were in the kitchen, the heart of the Jardin home. They were sharing some herbal tea.
Erica began. "Mom, I'm worried about Cora."
Miranda sighed. "Is there something new to worry about, dear? Or just the ongoing problems?"
"Not new, exactly, but... I was thinking about what you told me about acclimating. How being a girl needs to be a reward instead of a challenge." She paused. "Do you really think Cora can ever get there?"
Miranda suppressed a groan. "I've had my doubts, sometimes. Lately, though... I think so. I think it will be a long, difficult road. At least for the next few years. But with the Goddess' help..." She ran down.
"She's working to Transition. You can see it. But..." Erica ran down, for a moment, too. Then she pressed on. "But it's work. She's trying to become a girl because she has to, not because she wants to."
Miranda searched for words. As usual, cooking metaphors leapt to mind. "She's just following the recipes we give her. A half cup of skirts, a teaspoon of makeup, strain out the curse words, stir in some talking about feelings." Erica nodded thoughtfully, eyes narrowed. "You can make a good meal by following a recipe. But you can't become a great cook that way. We need her to come up with her own combinations, find her own tastes, develop her own style."
"To learn how to follow her instincts," Erica said, thinking of Jacqui's words.
"Yes. Somehow, we need to get her to find something enjoyable in her new role." Erica looked away. "Besides sex, of course."
~~~~~
It was evening, and Erica sat on her bed, finishing the last of her homework. Cora stood looking in the mirror, idly posing and playing with her hair in different positions. It might have looked like something any girl might do... but Erica knew Cora was still learning what she looked like.
She turned and pursed her lips at her profile. "I get turned into a girl and I don't even get real boobs to play with. I'm a goddamn waif!"
"Oh, get over yourself. I think your tits look great. And I wish I knew where you put all the food you eat." Erica closed her laptop and put it aside.
She understood now how Haylie had felt. Cora had so many things girls longed for, which she resolutely failed to appreciate. She had strong black hair immune to frizz, that didn't really even need conditioner. She had smooth clean skin somehow both impervious to acne and yet not needing regular moisturizer. She had piercing bright eyes and full rosy lips. Even her nails grew strong, and fairly quickly. And, unkindest cut of all, she possessed a metabolism that would apparently let her eat as much as she liked while remaining slim.
Well, okay, she runs a lot. And she does have those crappy periods, I guess. Erica wasn't sure if that made up for the rest.
Cora walked slowly back to the bed, intentions transparent even before she opened her mouth. "Well, guess I'll have to settle for your boobs."
They kissed on Erica's bed, entwined with each other. Sometimes they'd get right down to business, sometimes they'd take it slow. This time, Cora nuzzled Erica and whispered, "Man, I don't know how you made it, before. I'd probably have got arrested for sexual assault if I didn't have you play with." She smiled and tweaked Erica's nipples through her t-shirt. "Maybe Shianti. Her tits are almost as good as yours."
Erica giggled and snuggled close. "Well, I didn't get along all on my own. Mom helped."
It took a moment. Erica's guts dropped over what she'd just said a split second before she felt Cora stiffen in her arms. "Your Mom?"
Cora pushed Erica away and sat up, eyes very wide indeed. "Your Mom? What the fuck! Your Mom?!"
"It's..." Erica began. "I... You know the Sisterhood is really old. Like, 'dawn of time' old." Cora kept staring. "She just... It wasn't forced. I was, uh, surprised, but she didn't..."
Cora was squinting now. "She seduced you?"
"It wasn't..." Erica paused. "Well, kinda. But it... She didn't force me or anything. I had a choice."
"Like when she asked if you wanted to stay a girl?"
Erica didn't know what to say.
Cora was staring at the wall. "It's a classic thing. For brainwashing, I mean. Get the new recruit to do something, like, taboo. Unspeakable." Erica drew breath to interrupt, but Cora kept going. "Makes them loyal. If they leave, if they decide the group's wrong, it means they were wrong too."
"It wasn't like that! Mom wouldn't do that!"
Cora didn't even turn. "Doesn't need to be a conscious thing. It can just be a tradition, not something anybody has to, like, plan out. It just has that effect."
"Mom wasn't trying brainwash me!" Erica was near tears.
Cora shrugged. "But if she didn't have sex with you, it'd mean her Mom made a mistake."
Erica felt sick. Cora had it all wrong, but she didn't know how to put it into words. Cora hadn't gone months with only her hands to help the pressure. Mom loved her, she knew that.
"How long has it been going on?" Cora sounded only a little curious.
"It's not 'going on'. We haven't done anything. Not since you were Transformed."
"Waiting for the right time to spring it on me?"
"We wouldn't... my Mom never forced me to do anything! And I know she wouldn't do that to you!" She shook her head. "I'd never let anyone do anything like that. Not to you, not to me."
Cora just sat there for a moment. Then she stood up slowly. "I think I need to be alone for a while."
"Okay," Erica said softly.
Cora walked out without looking back.
~~~~~
Erica snuck downstairs twenty minutes later, once she'd finished crying. As briefly and unemotionally as possible, she told her Mother what Cora had learned, and how she'd responded.
Miranda's face grew very grave. She closed her eyes for a few moments. When she opened them again, she said, "Let's go to the library."
In that room, Miranda unlocked the computer. A Skype invitation from Jacqui had already arrived. Erica supposed there'd been some telepathic coordination in the last minute or two.
Once the call was set up, equally somber Sisters appeared on the screen. Briefly, they questioned Erica and got the details of the conversation. A strained pause developed. Erica didn't look Miranda's way.
Finally Bronwyn spoke. "Since when did Cora get to be a brainwashing expert?"
"She's been studying psychology a lot." Jacqui would develop worry lines at this rate. "I thought maybe she was just trying, in her own way, to understand the Transition." Her frown had turned into a scowl. "But if she wanted to fight it, the same info would be just as useful..."
Erica spoke up. "So... was Cora right at all? I mean, about why Sisters and their Mothers... you know." She still couldn't look at her Mom. She sensed her stiffen, heard her muffled gasp anyway.
"No!" Jacqui and Laurie exploded, Bronwyn scarcely a moment later, overlapping.
After a brief pause, Bronwyn spoke. "The... tradition does have a... a bonding effect. Somewhat, I suppose. But it's not what it's for." She shook her head. "It's policed carefully, and you know we Sisters can be more certain of psychological effects than anyone."
"Policed?" Erica asked softly.
Bronwyn looked at her out of the screen, assessing. "Mothers are in charge of introducing their Daughters to the Sisterhood, and given wide latitude. But there are occasional... checkups. Especially in this area."
Erica did some assessing herself for a few moments. The Sisters waited silently. "So... which one of you has been checking out my... my sexual attitudes?"
"I took that responsibility," Bronwyn said immediately. "May I point something out, before we get too far off from Cora?" At Erica's nod, she continued. "Has your Mother put any pressure on you about this since Cora's Transformation? Even hinted at it?"
Erica finally looked at Miranda. "No," she said.
As Mother and Daughter regarded each other, Bronwyn spoke on. "Trust and choice are fundamental to sex in the Sisterhood. You know this, because of how you were raised. We know - and Miranda most especially knows - that others besides Cora have had their trust shaken by all of this." She sighed. "And now Cora's trust has suffered another blow. I hope yours has not been hurt too."
Erica's eyes dropped. "I'm gonna have to think about this." She turned back to the screen and the conferencing Sisters. "But Cora's more important right now. What are we gonna do?"
Laurie spoke gently. "The only way to build trust is to be trustworthy. We keep helping her."
~~~~~
The next morning was a very quiet one. The conversation over the breakfast table was almost monosyllabic. Haylie talked a little, but grew quiet, sensing the tension but in the dark about the reasons.
That night Cora and Miranda avoided each other until it was time for deportment lessons. Those had dropped to bi-weekly affairs that covered more advanced and rarefied etiquette and body language.
Cora had gradually become almost reconciled to them since the confrontation. That night she wasn't. She was cold and remote to Miranda, just short of overtly hostile.
Her mood was not helped by the raging yeast infection she suffered. The Magical concoction that Miranda provided cleared it up in a single day, yet Cora sulked for nearly a week. Even when Erica, exasperated, explained that the non-magical medications usually made the symptoms worse before they got better.
It certainly helped reinforce the hygiene lessons, at least. She'd been getting slightly lax in that area. But the relationship between Cora and Miranda had suffered a major setback.
~~~~~
"Get in there! If you're gonna block, block!" Cora shouted, turning back around.
Haylie panted. "This ain't... hockey... it's soccer!" With the large garden out back - almost a small farm - there wasn't room for a proper soccer practice in the Jardin's yard. The subdivision had a small park that they were using. Haylie's skills - and on-field aggression - had sharpened markedly under Cora's instruction.
Cora grinned. "I didn't say 'kill', I said 'block'."
She set up for another run past the girl.
Haylie hunched down. "You still play like a boy."
Cora shrugged, smiling, eyes on Haylie's feet as she tensed. "It's soccer. Ain't no 'boy soccer' or 'girl soccer'. Especially at your age."
Haylie stopped still, and gave Cora a Look. "What about later?"
Cora paused, looking up, confused. "What do you mean?" Under the girl's stare, she squinted. "Okay, yeah, boys get bigger and stronger... after, y'know, like, puberty. Most women... well, they can't..." She trailed off.
"How about brains?"
Cora looked completely confused now. "Wait, what the f... I mean, what did I say? I don't..."
Haylie said, very slowly, "You were always avoiding Erica before. Before you were Transformed, I mean."
Cora didn't say anything, and just stared blankly at Haylie.
Haylie went on, a little carefully now. "We thought you had something against girls. Like, girls doing boy stuff. Computers and sports and stuff."
Cora frowned and peered narrowly at Haylie, obviously choosing her words carefully. "Look, your Mom asked me not to... you should probably talk to her..." Haylie kept staring.
Cora sighed. "Oh, fuck it." She shrugged. "Look, I got nothing against girls 'doing boy stuff' or anything like that. What it was, was... I didn't quite figure everything out, but I knew something seriously, uh, screwy was going on. With her."
"You remembered her as Eric?" After she said it, Haylie realized the thought of her sibling as a Sister was far more natural than as a brother anymore. Like Eric had been Erica in disguise.
"No. I just, y'know, had a feeling something was off about her. But I wasn't ducking her just 'cause she was a girl, okay?"
Haylie was feeling very strange. She didn't like the idea that her Mom's Magic couldn't take care of everything. But she had to ask. "So girls are as good as boys, right?"
"Sure."
"So..." Haylie paused, then blurted it out. "So why are you so mad about being a girl? What's so bad about it?"
Cora had frozen before Haylie was halfway through asking. Her hands had curled into fists. After a few moments she seemed to deliberately open them, consciously breathe slowly.
Cora stared off at the horizon for a while. "It's like... like trying to wear shoes that don't fit. All the time, no matter how much it hurts." She sighed. "I gotta admit, some of it was, like, prejudice. At first, I mean. I found out that Cory does kinda look down on girls, a little. But..."
After a few seconds, Haylie said, "But what?"
Cora still didn't answer for a bit. Then she said, softly, "But I've been learning." She looked at Haylie. "Being a girl isn't bad, exactly. Not, like... in an absolute sense. I guess I can kinda see how somebody could be into that. But it's just... it feels wrong for me."
Haylie struggled for something to say. "Well... Mom and Erica say you can change back once you sorta get used to it."
Cora was shaking her head. "Yeah, but by then, it'll be like my feet grew into different shoes. When I change back... will my old shoes fit? Ever again?"
Haylie chewed her lip. "Oh," she said, as softly as Cora.
Cora looked at the ground for a few moments. "Ask your Mom if you want. I don't really wanna talk about it anymore." Then she looked up. Haylie could see that she was holding back tears. Haylie's eyes were getting a little red, too. But Cora squared her shoulders. "Anyway, we still gotta work on your blocks."
They quit shortly after that, though, and didn't speak on the way home.
~~~~~
"What the fuck?" Cora mumbled, looking down at the laundry she was folding.
Miranda and Erica traded a swift glance, their own clothes in hand. Cora's swearing had diminished from the early days, but was still quite a ways from 'ladylike'. Unfortunately she'd been so hostile to Miranda lately that confronting her about it right now would probably trigger another fight.
Instead, Erica asked, "What's wrong?"
"Check it out." Cora held up some dark blue panties, showing the inside of the crotch. The color was faded in an irregular blotch. "I swear, I didn't use any bleach on the darks."
Miranda shrugged. "It's probably just discharge."
"Hey! I wipe! Just like I'm supposed to!" Cora said, indignantly.
"A little leakage is natural. The vagina cleaning itself." Miranda spread her hands helplessly, a brassiere dangling from one.
"The pH in there is kinda low, actually," Erica put in. She'd Googled such things early in her Transition. "Helps keep the wrong stuff from growing."
Cora just stared. "Wait, what?" She looked down at the faded spot and back up to Miranda. "Are you saying my, my pussy juice did this?"
"It happens." Another shrug from Miranda. "You might consider a light liner if you're going to wear dark panties all day."
Cora looked stunned. "You mean... the goddamn thing drips acid, on the regular?"
Erica couldn't help rolling her eyes. "Oh, get over yourself! You're not a frickin' Xenomorph!" After a beat, she added, "Dicks leak too, y'know. Usually leftover pee. Or was yours magic?"
Somewhat to Erica's surprise, Cora didn't return fire. She just sullenly returned to folding her clothes, muttering to herself. "Liners, even when it's not my period. Fucking awesome."
Neither of the Jardins saw any use in pursuing the conversation.
~~~~~
For once, it was Erica who waited until after the bus ride to bring up a topic. "I heard you've been talking to Brandon."
Cora looked at her sideways. "Yeah, in calc. How'd you know?"
"Melanie heard it from Erin, heard it from Sunny."
Cora just shrugged. "It's not like I'm not allowed to talk to boys. Sometimes I think your Mom wants me to spend more time with guys."
"Well, yeah, but..." Erica paused, considering her words carefully. "He's, like, still wondering about Cory. I don't think it's such a hot idea to spend too much time with him."
Cora shrugged. "What's he gonna think? Even I didn't think you were a boy turned into a girl."
"But you don't remember Eric."
Cora grunted in frustration. "I look in a mirror, and I don't recognize me. Cory sure doesn't." She caught Erica's eyes, and held them with her own. "Maybe I'm not much of a girl yet, but you gotta admit, I don't much act like Cory anymore, either."
Cora looked sour now. "And there's another thing. All the guys Cory was friends with, there's three, only three, that haven't hit on me. Brandon, Tanor, and Luis." She sighed. "Tanor's gay, and Luis looks at me. He just doesn't have the guts to ask."
Erica scoffed. "I bet Brandon checks you out sometimes."
"Yeah, but he doesn't do it all, y'know, creeptastic." Cora's head shook. "If Cory hadn't known Luis, I'd be a little scared. But I know he ain't gonna attack me, so I'm just kinda grossed out."
Cora looked earnestly in Erica's eyes. "I'll go crazy if I can't talk to a boy once in a frickin' while. And Brandon... okay, he looks sometimes, but he's not a dick about it."
Erica couldn't dispute that. "Still, I dunno. It just seems kinda risky."
"Yeah, well, there's another thing. Because he's still wondering about Cory." Erica looked at her, puzzled. Cora spoke on, with a little irritation. "Maybe I can help, y'know, put him off-track. So he doesn't end up like me. Or worse."
Erica thought about Suggestions and couldn't come up with anything to say.
~~~~~
Bronwyn and the Donovans visited one Sunday for a time, looking to evaluate the situation in person. A joint Magic training session was held. Haylie, Lani, and Alice were sent to play outside, and the older girls were quizzed a bit, asked to demonstrate their progress. Cora wasn't friendly to any of them, but Miranda, as usual, came in for particular surliness and rudeness.
When the ladies took a drink break, Cora took the opportunity to quiz back. "While I've got you all here..." she began. The women looked at her expectantly. "Something's been bugging me. You said I'm 'the girl I would have been'. But what does that mean? It's not just one gene that makes you a girl, it's a whole chromosome, with tons of genes. If I'm double-X instead of XY... where'd that other X come from?"
Miranda and Laurie shrugged helplessly.
"I'll field this one," Jacqui interceded. "I wondered about that, too, and did some checking. Magic is Magic and science is science, but there are... intersections." She thought for a moment, trying to express things accurately. "You're partly right. In the Transformation, the Sister actually does keep all the other chromosomes constant. Only the Y gets, well, 'swapped out'."
"But what gets 'swapped in'?" Cora was dubious.
"I'm getting to that. It's the father's X chromosome. You're the girl you would have been if the sperm that went into making you had held an X instead of a Y."
"My father's dead. What, you reach back in time and snag an X from the guy?"
"In effect... yes."
Cora absorbed that for a moment, but the frown remained. "Still, there's more than genes involved. There's a whole, like, developmental history..."
Jacqui sighed. "Yes, but that's all worked out in the spell. Pathways, nutrition, gene activation - it seems like the best combination gets chosen."
"'Chosen'?" Cora pounced. "The spell chooses?"
"Well, we believe the Goddess chooses. Things always seem to work out for the best." She smiled. "It does explain why Sisters all tend to be above average in looks and brains and health." Along with horniness and fertility, she thought to herself. Best not to point that out at this juncture, though. "You're not exactly the girl you would've been. You're actually the best girl you could've been."
"'The best', huh?" Cora muttered darkly. "Whose idea of 'best'?"
"I beg your pardon?" Jacqui blinked.
Cora's gaze moved among the witches as she stood. "I was just wondering. I'm so fu... freaking tiny now I'd blow away in a strong wind. It occurs to me that maybe Miranda here stacked the deck a little, to make me less of a threat." She pointed at Erica's Mother.
It was obvious that Jacqui was reining in her annoyance. "Cora, please understand. All else being equal - and that is precisely the case here - women are naturally smaller than men. Genetics is complex and everything's intertwined and unpredictable. The same genes do different things in males and females. I used to be over six feet tall with pale skin."
The five-foot-six, olive-skinned beauty got up too, and began pacing. "I know this wasn't your choice, and I understand your anger. Better than you realize. But you don't need to invent new reasons to stay angry at Miranda." She sighed. "It's not fair..." She waved down Cora before the girl could object, "...and even if you don't care about that, you should care that it's getting in the way of your restoration."
Now there was no restraint at all, in expression or in tone of voice. Jacqui could project cold fury with the best of them. "And it's making your friend miserable."
Cora had been in the middle of a slow boil, winding up for a scathing retort. But her mouth snapped shut at that, and she glanced guiltily at Erica, who met her eyes and, after a second, nodded mournfully.
The involuntary Transformee jerked her eyes to the floor and seemed to shrink in on herself. In that moment she actually looked like the poor lost waif she always complained of resembling.
Erica stood and stepped to Cora's side. She put an arm around her shoulders. "When you hurt her, you hurt me, too. And you hurt yourself." It was a tenet of the Goddess's teachings Erica had come to believe fervently.
Cora didn't look up, just chewing her lower lip.
Miranda stood. "Cora, look here," she said, gently.
When the girl finally did, Miranda spoke with quiet passion. "I can't ask you to forgive me, but... can you at least accept that I wasn't trying to hurt you? That I was only trying to protect Erica? And that I'm doing everything I can to fix my mistake?"
"I'll try," Cora choked out after a beat, fighting off tears. Then Erica gave her a squeeze, her own eyes wet, and Cora gave up the battle for lost. She sobbed into her friend's shoulder, as the other Sisters quietly slipped away.
~~~~~
Later that evening, after returning to San Bernardino, the three Sisters talked in the Donovan kitchen. Alice and Lani were safely on the computer in the family room.
Bronwyn said, "It's a little early to tell, but I think Cora's going to have a real gift for shapeshifting and illusion."
"You'd know," Laurie said warmly. Jacqui nodded, grinning. Bronwyn could look like almost anyone; it made for some fun bedroom games, on occasion. "But what makes you think that?"
"Just... her attitude. To cast a good illusion, you have to see things clearly yourself. Understand what's real and what isn't."
"That's Cora, all right." Jacqui shook her head. "She gets some Sisterly intuition feeding into that brain of hers, she's gonna be dangerous."
"I just hope she really can find a way to forgive Miranda." She shook her head. "There's no way she can Transition, holding on to all that pain and hate."
"Before today, I never had any real hope she might let it go." Jacqui smiled reassuringly at her Mother. "But if she can truly do it, she might have the strength to Transition after all."
Bronwyn was thoughtful. "We'll just have to give her time. We were kind of rushed with you, we knew the Brotherhood was up to something. But they've been quiet for years now, thank the Goddess."
"Thank the Goddess!" the Donovan women echoed, with feeling.
~~~~~
To all appearances, David was untroubled as he stepped into the understatedly elegant office and waited for the man behind the desk to acknowledge him. He couldn't help feeling a modicum of tension, however. He knew of no reason he could have drawn the ire of his superiors, but this summons was, to say the least, unusual.
In moments, the man finished typing something on his laptop and turned to face David. He was a small man, at first glance unremarkable... and yet there was an aura about him, something that hinted at his immense personal power. At his raised eyebrow, David bowed low - the Brotherhood's traditions were quite ancient - and spoke. "Brother David Cartwright, High Leader. How may I be of service?"
At this, the man gave a surprisingly warm smile, and gestured to the chairs in front of the desk. "Quite so. Please, have a seat, Brother David. If you don't mind, I think we can dispense with the formalities."
"Thank you, sir." Though not exactly formal, he made sure his tone was respectful. This situation was strange enough - freshly-confirmed Brothers didn't meet with the High Leader - without adding any danger to the mix.
As he sat, the High Leader regarded him for a moment. David felt he was being studied, though he could not sense probing on a Magical level. Suddenly the man spoke. "You've recovered from your Ordeal, I trust?"
"Yes, sir. My Liege and the Judges confirm it."
"Good, good." He paused a moment. "I knew your father, you know. We were friends, we went through training together. Our Ordeals were within days of each other."
"I'd heard that, sir." David simply had no idea what was going on here.
"He would have been very proud of you. You've trained diligently, shown much aptitude - particularly in the mental sphere - and handled yourself well in the challenges we've thrown your way."
"Thank you, sir."
The High Leader nodded, as if something had been confirmed. His eyes narrowed. "Tell me about Brother Hitler," he commanded.
"Sir?" David asked, confused.
"I don't need a full history lesson. Just an outline. What he attempted, why he failed."
"I..." He took a breath. "Please excuse me, sir. I haven't studied that era beyond the standard coverage in our lessons." He squared his shoulders. "Hitler," David refused to give the man the title of Brother, "seized the leadership of the Circle of Thunor and used Dark Power to take control of Germany, as a stepping stone to world conquest. He was initially successful, but made several key errors. Most disastrous was the invasion of the Soviet Union before he'd consolidated his hold on Europe. Even with the assistance of..." He cleared his throat. "...necromancy on an unprecedented scale, he could not sustain a two-front war. He faced too much temporal power. The entry of the United States into the war made defeat inevitable."
The High Leader nodded, apparently satisfied. "A fair summary." The probing look was back. "What can you tell me about the Sisterhood?"
David frowned. The High Leader's motives were obscure. "Not a great deal, sir. Stories, legends almost. Men who are transformed into women capable of wielding Light Magic. Apparently they never kill, but they have some defenses and powerful ones can be dangerous to individual Brothers." He paused, considering. "They're not generally regarded as more than a nuisance. But I take it the rumors about their involvement in Hitler's defeat are true?"
The High Leader's face held no expression. "What if I told you good evidence indicates that Eva Braun successfully committed suicide in 1931? That the woman who passed herself off as Eva Braun subsequently was a Sister?"
David's own face went wooden as he considered the implications. At length, he said, "She would have been perfectly situated as a spy, and in a unique position to encourage his mistakes."
The High Leader nodded, pleased. "Just so. Believe it or not, in hindsight we've come to similar conclusions regarding Eleanor Roosevelt." He allowed himself a smile for a moment at the naked shock on the young man's face, but it soon collapsed into a frown. "The discovery of the Sisterhood's role in Hitler's destruction is the true reason why we of the Circle of Set - along with the other factions of the Brotherhood - pursued such a quiet course for the latter half of the 20th century." He sighed. "We did not dare draw attention to ourselves while a largely unknown - and unexpectedly potent - enemy lurked about."
David had his own frown on display. "But why conceal this from the rest of the... oh. Of course."
The High Leader found himself nodding his approval yet again. The boy was not stupid. "Precisely. It was obvious we had grossly underestimated the Sisterhood. If the Circle of Thunor could be so utterly compromised, how could we be certain of our own security?"
The next step was also logical. There was no sense dancing around it. "Sir, why are you telling me this?"
"I can trust your discretion, I presume?" There was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes... but there was also no doubt that it was a warning.
"Of course, sir."
The High Leader actually looked away at that point, as if unsure how to proceed. Eventually, he asked gently, "What can you tell me about Erich Lancaster?"
David stiffened and inhaled sharply, poker face shattered. He'd hoped someday to broach that subject - though he hadn't expected a chance for years to come. The direction of this whole conversation was unsettling. If the Sisters were tied in to that...
He realized that he'd been silent far too long when the High Leader prompted him again. "I recognize that your interest is more than academic..."
David spoke briskly. "He was the leader of the Circle of Ares in the western U.S. What I've been told is that Lancaster had issued ultimatums to the other Circles, demanding that they submit to his authority. My father was sent as an envoy to a meeting, and managed to destroy the entire Circle of Ares at the cost of his own life."
"As you've obviously suspected, what you were told before was, at best, incomplete." Again, the warning was like iron sheathed in rubber. "What I'm about to tell you requires your discretion, as well." Taking acceptance as a given, he spoke on. "Facing a common enemy has a way of facilitating cooperation. Relations between the Circles have been much less... fractious since the 1950's."
"Brother Lancaster had volunteered to lead the research into the Sisterhood. The other Circles agreed to let him take the most active role... though I've no doubt many Circles maintained their own private efforts, as did we." He smiled. "We didn't share all the information we'd gathered. And if the Sisterhood retaliated, we calculated that the Circle of Ares would draw the lightning."
But then his eyes narrowed in irritation. "Lancaster, however, was... even more ambitious than the rest of us anticipated. He really did issue an ultimatum. He claimed a breakthrough in dealing with the Sisterhood... and that he was in a position to exploit it, faster than the other Circles." He sighed. "I sent your father to that meeting, to evaluate those claims."
"He was among the first to arrive. The meeting itself hadn't even begun when I received a telepathic warning. Women - Sisters - were assaulting the facility. Your father sent me what data he could even as he fought them, but... I felt him get cut off." His shoulders slumped, just a fraction. "It took time to organize a response. Late the next day, the most powerful collection of Brothers in twelve centuries, drawn from every Circle, arrived in force at the building where the meeting had taken place."
The High Leader looked David in the eyes. "The facility was empty, wiped clean. Records erased, weapons and equipment missing, all personnel vanished."
He paused. David sensed that the High Leader was waiting for him to say something. "That's unexpected, isn't it? The missing Brothers? According to the stories, the most the Sisterhood ever did was a kind of... psychic castration, burning out the Dark Power. Leaving a meek, timid shadow instead of a man."
"The assault itself was without precedent. Direct battles between multiple Brothers and Sisters are the stuff of ancient legends. But yes, even in those myths, the Brothers were found afterward. Ruined, as you say, but alive."
"What happened, then?" David asked, half to himself.
"Unfortunately, we believe we know." The High Leader looked uncharacteristically sympathetic.
David felt a chill. "Unfortunately?"
"The transformation that these 'women' do is... unique. The Dark Power lets us cast illusions, of course. Too, it can destroy where the Light cannot. We can even alter a person physically. But only within limits, in a manner analogous to cosmetic surgery. We cannot change the essence of things as they do, change male to female." He permitted himself a wry smile. "They could not survive, otherwise. We know very little about them, all things considered, but everything we do know indicates that their children are always male."
"I don't follow, High Leader." But David was afraid that he did follow.
"Very shortly after the incident, the two Sisters that our Circle had identified suddenly adopted infant girls."
The young Brother remained silent for a long time, pondering that, squeezing the arms of his chair tighter and tighter. When he eventually spoke, his voice was cold as an Arctic wind. "So... my father isn't dead. He's alive, out there, somewhere... holding a My Little Pony doll, deciding which skirt to wear to school, calling some Sister 'Mommy'?"
The High Leader coughed gently. David realized his own power had gathered and manifested due to his rage; an almost electric charge had coalesced in the air of the office.
He spoke quickly, at the same time damping the forces his anger had called forth. "My abject apologies, High Leader." He'd committed a massive breach of protocol, like drawing a weapon in the presence of a king. The High Leader would be well within his rights - and reputation - to kill him on the spot.
But the High Leader waved his hand, dismissing the offense. "Easily forgiven. I would have been surprised - and disappointed - if you'd reacted otherwise." He held up a finger, a teacher imparting a lesson. "Anger is useful, of course... but take care that you use it, rather than vice versa."
"Thank you, High Leader," he said with unfeigned gratitude.
The High Leader moved on. "The Lancaster incident is why the Sisterhood has been the primary concern of our Circle for the last decade. They had apparently shifted to a much more aggressive posture, and we cannot fight an unknown enemy."
He regarded David soberly as he spoke. "Fortunately, we have made significant progress in the last few years. The data your father provided - in particular, the faces of his assailants - has been invaluable." A wry smile appeared. "Although the Sisterhood has become vastly better at computer security - we believe that's also a response to whatever Lancaster attempted - they..." He broke off.
After a moment, he continued. "They lack a certain... aptitude for espionage." He paused, frowning. "That's not quite right. Certainly their efforts against Hitler were long-term, and effective - strategy in depth. Say, rather, that they seem to be most naturally reactive and defensive in their operations. Even the Lancaster assault appears to have been essentially retaliatory. Dismayingly effective as reactions go, of course, but from what we've learned in the ensuing years it was an operation planned in haste, even desperation." He raised an eyebrow meaningfully. "They're dangerous in the endgame, but note that they allowed Brother Hitler rather too much freedom - from their point of view - for too long before they organized their response."
The High Leader's countenance shone with determination. "Coldbloodedness, aggressive strategic action, does not seem to be their forté."
"I take it we do have a long-term strategy?" David asked. He was being a bit presumptuous, but clearly the High Leader had a purpose in telling him all this.
"It is not fully developed even yet, but yes." The small yet imposing man frowned again. "Needless to say, novice Brothers would not ordinarily be involved in matters at this level, not even ones of your evident talent. However, circumstances have arisen..." He seemed to search for words. "We believe there may be an opportunity that you are particularly suited to exploit. Your specific talents and strengths, your motivation... even your youth is, in this case, an advantage."
The scowl had returned. "There is grave personal risk if you accept this task, and it will almost certainly require you to do things any Brother would find... distasteful. I will not order you to do this." His smile was a grim, wintry thing now. "But it could prove invaluable."
"How may I be of service, High Leader?" David was not smiling, and his voice was if anything even colder than before.
Continued in Part 7
Cora walked in the front door and went straight for the kitchen. She opened a bottle of water and took a long gulp.
Erica was looking over her weekend homework. "How'd it go?"
"I need a bath. Cory got me sweaty out there."
Cora often went for a run shortly after school. At least three times a week; more if she could.
"Well, it's hot..."
Cora snarled. "I know. Before, I used to love going out at sunset, or in the early morning. Or even at night. Now I can't."
Erica couldn't think of anything to say to that. It was the plain truth. Girls had to be careful about when and where they went out alone.
But then Erica frowned, and asked, against her better judgement, "Cory got you sweaty?"
Cora's lips quirked to the side. "He likes to think on a run. It's, like, the only alone time we... I ever get." She shrugged. "Anyway, we were both kinda... upset today."
"I thought so. You were kinda quiet on the bus."
Cora chugged the rest of the bottle before she spoke again, gazing out the window. "You probably didn't hear yet. Looks like Danielle and Brandon hooked up."
"What? Shut up!"
"Nuh-uh. She was all over him before class today." Cora did 'quiet fuming' very well. She'd had a lot of practice.
"Whoa. Not cool."
Cora shook her head. "Well, I kinda see it now, looking back I mean. The way she talked to him. The way she even tried to get him to forget about Cory."
Erica couldn't help but think this was good news for the Sisterhood. Clearly Danielle had moved on. And how hard would Brandon look for his new girlfriend's old boyfriend?
'Relief' didn't seem to be high on Cora's list of reactions, though. "All that shit he was talking, about 'Cory's my bro' and stuff." She sounded nearly calm, but Erica could see that Cora was hurt. "See how much he really meant it."
"Hey, c'mon, it's been almost three months. That's a long time with no feedback or progress or anything."
"Yeah, but... Danielle? Sure didn't take her long to get over Cory. And then she goes after my best friend?"
Erica wondered what it meant that Cora said 'my best friend' and not 'his best friend'. Maybe Cory wasn't as past, or as separate, as she claimed. Still, although Cora's question had probably been rhetorical, she decided to answer it. The girl needed to face some facts. "Brandon's pretty cute, y'know. You must have heard him come up when the girls are talking about the hot boys."
Cora waved it off. "I usually tune that shit out." Erica glared, and she backed down. "Okay, yeah, I guess he's cute enough. And he's not a dick or anything." Then she scowled. "Except about his 'best friend's' girl."
Erica suppressed an unhelpful sigh. Cora had to let this go, for any number of reasons. "Danielle looks pretty good too, y'know."
Cora didn't say anything. Erica gave her a narrow glance, and said, "Oh, what, Cory thought she was fugly?"
Cora wouldn't meet her eyes, and looked at the ground, sullen. Eventually she broke. "Fine, okay, she's pretty hot."
Cora stood silently for a bit longer. Finally she made one grudging shrug. "And you've got a point. I mean, he is a boy. They have a hard time running when a girl chases 'em."
Though she wished it could have come from better circumstances, Erica thought the way she talked was promising. Using the word 'they', looking at boys as kind of an outsider.
It emboldened her a little to take a risk when she changed the subject. "You haven't, uh, mentioned 'Cory' in a while."
"We mostly leave each other alone anymore." Cora shrugged. "He doesn't like me much."
Erica warred with herself for a few moments. She wasn't supposed to feed the whole 'Cory' thing. She'd hoped 'he' had faded away, like Jacqui had said. And yet, he still seemed relevant to Cora... "What do you think of him?"
The question hung there. Finally, Cora spoke. "He's not a lot of fun to be around. He's all... uptight. I enjoy something, he figures I'm surrendering. Y'know, like, if I'm not miserable like him, I must be brainwashed or something."
Erica swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. "I thought you were doing better..."
Cora's smile was wan, but somehow genuine for all that. "I am. Less worse, anyway." Softly: "I don't think about killing myself all the time anymore."
Erica stood bolt upright. "Oh, Goddess, no!" Cora, startled, stepped forward and put her hand on Erica's shoulder. Erica grabbed her up in a fierce hug.
Cora put her arms around Erica, too. "I'm sorry! I really mean it! I wouldn't do that to you!" She gave Erica a squeeze. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"Don't you fucking talk like that!" Erica said through her tears. "You promise me you won't ever do that!"
Cora was crying a little now, too. "I promise. I really am doing better," she said, reassuring her friend. She started to laugh, almost hysterically, then cut herself off.
Erica didn't come close to letting Cora go, but she pulled back enough to see Cora's face. "What?"
Cora kept herself to just a chuckle, this time. "I was just thinking, that's probably why Cory's so pissed all the time."
Erica laughed, too. "Well, fuck him, then!"
Cora's smile had a bit more life now, despite the tears. "Fuck him," she agreed.
~~~~~
"Oh, Goddess, look!" Erica exclaimed. "That one with the buttons!"
The Jardins and Cora were on a Saturday morning outing to the mall, adding some touches to everyone's wardrobe. Cora didn't fuss particularly; indeed, she seemed very subdued.
Now, thanks to Erica, they were all staring through a storefront window at a display of Gucci purses.
Miranda shook her head with finality. "No. Just, no." She marched determinedly forward, Haylie in tow. Cora stayed next to the window.
"But the tassels..." Erica whined. Miranda didn't slow down.
Erica reluctantly turned to follow, but stopped. Cora still wasn't moving. Instead she frowned at something with that abstract-yet-focused look she got when she was really pondering a topic. Erica followed her gaze, but didn't see anything beyond a woman walking the other way. She was wearing an Islamic headscarf. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing," Cora said. She stared a moment longer at the woman in the hajib, then followed Erica as the hurried to catch up to Miranda and Haylie. She seemed not just subdued but distracted for the rest of the trip.
~~~~~
Mid-afternoon, Erica was off at yet another practice. Haylie was visiting a friend, so Miranda was working on Magic lessons with Cora. They were always more involved than with her Daughter. The girl wouldn't just practice a spell, she insisted on understanding the theory behind it.
But this time, Cora went in another direction. "Can I ask you something?" She was frowning again.
Mentally bracing herself, Miranda replied. "Yes, Cora?" The girl had been far less argumentative since the big confrontation, and she'd certainly been more civil. Still, Miranda knew Cora well enough by now to recognize when she thought she'd found a problem or contradiction in Miranda's teaching.
But the witch was surprised by Cora's tone when she began to speak. Gone was the accusation, the challenge, the anger - or at least it was very well hidden. Instead, she simply sounded puzzled. "Are there Sisters in other parts of the world?"
"Yes, Cora. We're far from numerous, but there are Sisters in almost every country."
Cora paused, then asked another question. "Are all Sisters alike?"
"I'm not sure what you mean," Miranda replied, now puzzled herself. "In some ways, I suppose... but I'm sure you'd agree that we're all different people, too. You've seen Jacqui and Laurie," she chuckled. Despite having reconciled herself to - even embraced - her female condition, Jacqueline definitely had her tomboy moments. Laurel, by contrast, was unfailingly ladylike.
Cora was silent for a moment, then shifted apparent topics again. "Do Sisters always..." - she searched for words - "...like... accommodate themselves to... the culture, the local conditions?"
"Once again, I'm not sure I follow."
"I mean, if this were, like, the 1800s, would I be all in petticoats and lace and stuff? If this were, I dunno, a village in Africa, would I be learning to make baskets?"
Miranda was both exasperated and amused. "Young lady, would you please just ask me what you want to know and not make me guess?" She waggled a finger. "I'm on to you, you know. You like to try to fence people in, get them to commit to things before you spring a trap on them." Cora gulped and looked guilty. "I'm not an opponent in a debate, I'm your teacher and I'm trying to help you."
"Sorry," Cora said. She took a breath, then rushed on. "It's just, why do I have to try to act so... so stereotypically feminine? I mean, lots of real girls..."
At Miranda's frown, she corrected herself. "I mean, birth-girls..." One of the things they'd tried to hammer into history's least-willing Sister was that she ought to - needed to - think of herself as a real girl. "...well, they don't have to be all-girly, all the time. And they count as girls, right?" She kept talking, barely stopping for breath. "I mean, what it means to be a girl is different in different cultures, and it's changed over time. Why can't I just, like, count as a boyish girl and be done with this?"
Miranda sighed. This was going to be a difficult conversation.
"One reason is that you don't believe you're a boyish girl. It's not about some absolute scale of femininity. To a large extent, it's what you feel about yourself."
"It's all about what I think? I'm already a lot more, more feminine than a couple girls I've known!"
Miranda raised her eyebrows. "Can you tell me you don't find yourself 'betwixt and between'? Honestly?"
Cora couldn't meet her eyes. "No," she finally admitted.
As usual, though, she wasn't stymied long. "But why do I have to be feminine by... well... 'local standards'? I mean, different cultures, they... they understand femininity in different ways, they define womanhood differently. Why do I have to learn to act like a 21st century American teenage girl?"
"Not just 'act like', dear - you have to become one."
"Fine, become one." Cora said it in the same manner so many girls said, 'What-ever'.
Miranda stifled a sharp rebuke about tone. It would not help.
She struggled for an approach, an avenue to explain it to Cora. "It's true that every girl is different... but you need to explore who Cora is. All of this is designed to help you find out what kind of girl you are, find the girl you could have been. It's unlikely she'd have been as masculine as Cory, no?"
Cora nodded, somehow managing to make it both grudging and sheepish.
"You need to explore what it means for you to be female, and that necessarily involves what the culture and time that you grew up in thinks is feminine." Miranda smiled gently. "You may well end up 'boyish' in many respects." Though I see hints it may be fewer respects than you think, if you could just let go more, Miranda thought to herself. "But you can't know what 'girly' things you will like until you try."
Cora was still frowning - but it was a frustrated frown, worrying at the problem Miranda had placed before her, not angry at anyone specifically. Miranda probed. "Surely you admit that there must be some good things about being female? I mean, billions of women have no desire to be male, right?"
Cora nodded thoughtfully.
Miranda decided to gamble big. "It may feel like we're pushing womanhood on you, but remember two things. First, you want this finished as quickly as possible, right?" Another considering nod. "And second, how much of your resistance is you actually disliking what you're learning, and how much is you thinking you should dislike it?"
The flow of expressions on the young Sister's face was rapid, almost spasmodic. The old Cora surfaced for an instant - cold, concentrated, nearly murderous anger twisted her features. But it was almost too quick to see. Immediately she seemed to catch herself, and almost visibly try to regain her composure and think about what Miranda had just said, instead of just reacting.
And then, a half-second later, it all collapsed into despair and confusion. "I don't know," she confessed.
"We are not trying to take anything from you, to make you 'less of a man'. We're trying to help you be more of a woman."
Cora was blinking fast, apparently fighting back tears. Miranda wished she wouldn't fight so hard... but decided that pushing for a good cry might not be the best approach. Honey, not vinegar this time.
"You're right that what it means to be a woman has changed over time, though." Miranda shook her head ruefully. "Womanhood has been a very tough sell at many points in history. Even today there are Sisters almost everywhere... but they tend to concentrate in the developed world. It's much easier to be a woman here."
"There isn't a single fu... friggin' thing about this that's easy," Cora sighed.
~~~~~
Cora quit the restaurant after barely a month. Even Erica had to admit that waitressing simply wasn't for her.
She quickly found a job at the local laser tag/arcade center. There wasn't a lot of heavy lifting involved, and while there were no tips, the wage was a lot better. She wound up getting assigned mostly to little kids birthdays because of her gender and size, but she didn't seem to mind.
"You know, there's one advantage to being my size. I'm a way smaller target," Cora said with a grin as they got off the bus.
Privately, Erica noted that she'd said 'my size', not 'this size'. She took it as a hopeful sign. In fact, she decided to press on a bit. "At last, one good thing!" she quipped, smiling herself to help forestall any angry retorts.
But Cora didn't snap back. In fact, she actually seemed to be seriously thinking as they walked home. "I dunno. I guess there's a few, like, compensations."
As casually as she could possibly inflect it, Erica said, "Like what?"
Cora slyly looked aside at her friend. "Multiple orgasms, for one."
Erica chuckled. "Yeah, that's a biggie." She paused. "Anything else?"
Cora shrugged, and waved at the handbag at her side. "I don't like having to haul around makeup and pads and stuff. But a purse is kinda convenient. I mean, I always have a flash drive or a charging cable on me now. I can carry a whole tablet around all the time if I want."
"Hmmm," Erica said.
Cora frowned a little. "'Course, you sorta hafta have a purse. No pockets on skirts. Shit, even when girl's clothes have pockets, half the time they're fake anyway."
She got more thoughtful then. "But, y'know, girls touch people more. Guys can't touch girls, but they can't touch other guys either."
Erica frowned. "I didn't think you wanted to touch guys."
Cora rolled her eyes. "I'm not talking sex, okay? That's actually kinda the point. For guys, touching is, like, automatically sexual." She paused, then added, "Or a fight, I guess." She sighed. "But girls can just hug or hold hands or whatever. Just to say, like, 'I'm here for you' or 'it's good to see you' or even 'I love you', but it doesn't have to mean it's about sex. Most of the time, it isn't."
She thought for a moment. "I wonder if that's, like, some of the reason guys are such hornballs. It's almost the only way they're allowed to, y'know, get some frickin' human contact."
"Huh. Maybe." Erica said. Goddess, she'd have a lot to report to Jacqui tonight! They only did full conferences about Cora a couple times a week nowadays. But she texted Jacqui when anything notable happened. This sure qualified.
~~~~~
The post-bus conversation got started as soon as Erica's feet hit the ground. "Jacinta asked me to go to a party with Gabriela and them," Cora announced.
Erica's eyes narrowed. "Another Mary Kay party, or..."
"No, a party-party," Cora said impatiently. "One of their friends. This Saturday." Her face was pinched. "They said there'd be a lot of people."
"Well, like... that's a good thing, right?"
Cora appeared rather sour. "I'm not such a big fan of crowds these days. Or strangers."
Erica decided to punt. "We should see what my Mom says. I'm pretty sure she'll say yes."
And, indeed, that was the case, the moment they got in and Cora explained the situation. "You should go." Miranda was firm. "You need to get out and interact with others."
"I'll get hit on." Cora had developed an exceptional sulk over the last months.
"All women get that. They all have to learn how to manage it. This will give you more practice." Miranda spread her hands. "Don't you think it's a good sign that Gabriela and Jacinta thought of you?"
Cora shrugged infinitesimally. "I guess. They even said I could bring Erica."
Miranda's brows rose. She wondered if Cora understood how generous her new friends were being. "Then it's settled." She paused. "Although, do you know what you're going to wear?"
Cora's eyes rolled majestically. But she didn't actually protest out loud.
~~~~~
Jacinta pounced upon them almost the moment they walked in the door. "Hey, Cora, you made it! Hi Erica!" She took up Cora in a big hug - to the small girl's briefly apparent surprise - and touched Erica on the arm. "Goodies are out back. Check it, I'm gonna go find Gabriela."
She swept away, leaving Cora at something of a loss. "Erica, help!" she whispered urgently. "I don't know what to do!"
Erica was now a mistress of the suppressed sigh. "It's a party. Have fun."
Cora seemed to be on the edge of panic, looking around. Erica knew she was feeling the eyes of several boys checking them out; it was instinctive by now. "But I don't know how to hang out with the girls. And if I try to hang with the boys, they get all... you know."
Erica's mastery didn't extend that far. She sighed, and said, more than a little testily, "Chill. The. Fuck. Out. Just be you. If guys get all 'you know' then tell them to back off." She touched Cora's shoulder. "This isn't a test, okay?"
Cora stuck close to Erica for the entire event. Jacinta and Gabriela circulated, but made sure to check in from time to time, and introduce them to several of their friends. Cora talked, but shied from the boys. Occasionally she resorted to checking her phone, once quite rudely when a particular guy kept pestering her.
They all ended up joining a karaoke game on the PS3 in the basement, and Cora kicked ass. She'd surprised her choir teacher - and herself, Erica suspected - with how far her voice had developed in just a few weeks. She even had fun, and when she pulled Erica into a duet contest with Jacinta and Gabriela, she didn't mind that they lost because of Erica's meager contributions.
They couldn't avoid boys entirely, of course. Nor did Erica want to; no reason to enhance her prudish reputation, nor - Goddess forbid - support the lesbian rumors.
But the game machine offered an option. After Singstar, some guys lobbied to fire up Call of Duty. They didn't mind Cora and Erica taking turns, and in that environment trash talking couldn't get completely out of hand. Cora had re-calibrated her gaming reflexes pretty thoroughly by now, so she did quite well.
Seeing Cora actually smile at a boy after a good round, Erica remembered what had happened with Lucas at Trahn's party. It was too early for Cora to feel that way - or at least, to acknowledge such feelings - but hopefully interacting with boys outside of school might plant seeds. The sexiness of boys had certainly snuck up on her.
~~~~~
Girls generally did post-game analyses after social events. Erica and Cora did so on the drive home, of course, though the content of theirs was fairly unique.
"I wanted to go hang with the guys, but I can't anymore. Just me being there changes everything. They stop talking and start running a game."
Erica understood, of course. She'd seen it that first day with Josh and Scotty.
"Felt like..." Cora sought the words. "Like I'm electronegative. And all these guys are around, just dying to slip me their extra electrons, y'know?"
It was a very Cora metaphor, but Erica got the idea. She couldn't help teasing her a little, though. "Hey, baby, lemme tap that sweet valence you got there. I'll get you so oxidized..."
Cora flipped her hair and scoffed, but couldn't hide a wry smile. A brief one, though. "So I hafta stay with the girls all the time now."
Not all the time, Erica thought. But out loud she said, "Well, but isn't it at least kinda interesting to see girls when they're not, y'know, hiding their valences from you?"
Erica was pleased to see Cora actually evaluate that for a moment. "Sometimes, I guess. I still have a hard time caring about who's mad at who and who said something bitchy and shit."
"Well, you better pay attention to whatever Jacinta and Gabriela have to say."
"Like, duh," Cora said, shrugging.
Maybe it hadn't been a roaring success, but Erica was glad Cora's first party hadn't been a disaster.
~~~~~
Kristina: u ok? how u doin?
Erica: ok. just crampin. :(
Kristina: dat sucks. not missin those
Erica: hard way 2 take a break :)
Kristina: :p u suck
Erica: omg! jk!
Kristina: i know! ;) gotcha!!!!
Erica: omg u bitch! :) thx 4 <3 attack!
Kristina: sorry. can't joke w/my mom
Kristina: not about getting knoked up
Erica: sorry. she'll chill sumday she luvs you
Kristina: ik.
Kristina: what u wear 2moro?
Erica: blk n red skirt mayb
Kristina: kk ill wear pink :)
Erica: kk nite. got 2 sleep.
Kristina: me 2 luv u!! <3
Erica: luv u2! <3
She muted her phone, plugged it into the charger, and laid down to rest. The cramps weren't too bad. She'd be able to get to sleep pretty quick.
She didn't feel like diddling herself. Maybe in a day or two. Even if you were bleeding you could still be horny, she had discovered. Cora never seemed to feel the same, though. Until her time was over, she acted like she didn't exist from the waist down. Denial, probably.
Erica snuggled into the covers, curled up on her side. She let herself drift, mind wandering...
Then suddenly her eyes opened and she stiffened in surprise. The hardest things to notice were those that didn't happen, but she'd just realized an absence.
It wasn't that she'd gone a whole first day of her period, when her symptoms were worst, without asking for one of her Mom's potions - she'd gotten by without them the last two months. And it wasn't that she'd had a mostly normal day of activities despite her period - that, too, had been the norm since December at least. Nor were the cramps and nausea and general tiredness any easier - they were about the same as ever.
No, what she just now noticed was a different non-event. She hadn't wished today, even once in the back of her mind, to be Eric again so she wouldn't have to deal with periods.
No longer were they a horrible curse. Annoying, yes. Unpleasant, sure. But a reason to flee into a whole other gender? Not so much. At least, not anymore.
She wasn't sure what it meant. If anything. But she suspected that another bit of acclimating might have been accomplished when she wasn't looking.
~~~~~
Valentine's Day was very low-stress. Neither Cora nor Erica had boyfriends, but their girlfriends did... except for Kristina. The Jardin's invited her over, and together the ladies had a homemade dinner, then some chocolates as they all watched romance movies.
Nobody felt much like going out anyway. Erica was in the middle of her period, and Cora's was just finishing up.
Kristina's pregnancy was going well, without complications. Not that an ordinary pregnancy didn't complicate things anyway. "I almost wish I was ralphing in the morning again. Better than having to go every twenty minutes all day. And night," she grumbled as she got up to hit the bathroom yet again. Erica paused the movie.
Haylie had been staring and asking a lot of questions. She seemed fascinated by the whole process of pregnancy. Erica noticed that Cora didn't ask any questions herself, but seemed to be paying attention to the answers. How she felt about those answers was anybody's guess.
They had time for two movies - "The Notebook", and Miranda's guilty pleasure, "Mannequin". The girls kept up a running MST3K-style commentary through the latter, helping to dispel the tears the first movie had brought on in most. (Cora hadn't even sniffled, though her face had gone rather blank at the end.)
Kristina got picked up by her mother, and the girls all went up to bed. Cora sat in Erica's room for a bit, though as she'd expected, no sexual overtures were made.
"Happy Valentine's Day," Erica said.
"Same to you." Cora didn't make any move to leave, appearing thoughtful. "Weird how girls get all cray-cray over it." She shrugged. "And they expect the guy to do something super special."
Erica spread her hands. "Girls have to care about commitment more. Kristina prob'ly should've. I know I would."
"You still thinking about boys?" Cora asked pointedly.
"Someday, maybe." She shrugged. "Gotta admit, some of those college boys are pretty hot." Then she smiled. "We got enough drama in our lives for now, though."
"Tru dat," Cora said. She gave Erica a quick kiss, and said, "Love you," as she headed off toward her own room.
"Love you, too," Erica said. She wondered about that. Girls said it more than guys. Guys only said it when it was a real commitment, with family, girlfriends and wives, and maybe close friends.
Cora didn't say it to anybody but Erica, and rarely. Did she mean friendship, or romance?
Erica cared deeply for Cora - and it wasn't because of guilt, certainly not anymore - but she wasn't going for romance anytime soon.
~~~~~
Mr. Tasserant spoke up from the front of homeroom. "Attention, everyone. We have another transfer student to welcome. This is David Burke."
Erica had far too much self-possession for her smile to become anything more than politely welcoming. But she didn't have to put any labor into smiling. David wasn't hard to look at.
Five-eleven, probably, with short dark hair and a strong face that had never even heard of razor burn, let alone acne. Broad shoulders, with a toned, athletic build. He was dressed in new jeans and a casual sweater. On some guys it would have come off as lame or uptight or metrosexual; but he had such an easy, open smile - with straight white teeth, no less - that it just seemed comfortable, confident.
"You can sit right over there, David. Dave?" The boy shook his head good-naturedly. "David, then." Duties completed, Mr. Tasserant went back to his book.
Melanie leaned in. "Whoa! Dat ass!" she whispered.
Cora didn't sound nearly as impressed with the new arrival. "Another jock. Awesome," she muttered under her breath.
"Be nice, Cora," Erica whispered back. "You know how hard it is to start over at a new school."
Melanie smiled. She said to Erica, not whispering anymore, but still quietly, "Too bad he's all the way over there."
Erica nodded, then looked away quickly as he turned to survey the room.
She and Melanie and Cora talked for a while, catching up on their weekends. After a few minutes, Mel squinted and said, barely moving her lips, "Don't look now, Erica, but I think he's checking you out!"
Despite the warning, she looked over for a second, then turned away quickly. He was staring at her. She had to fight a sudden wave of nervousness, hold her hands on the desk to keep from playing with her hair.
She worked very hard not to look his way again until homeroom was over. And then again when he turned up in her math class. At least then he sat behind her.
~~~~~
Erica was on her way to her locker to get her jacket and catch the bus home. She came around the corner and found a familiar and unpleasant tableau. Alan was a halfback on the football team, tall and huge even by high-school football standards. Ilya was almost as big, but had been cut from the team due to grades. It was pretty clear they'd been carrying on their hobby of pushing around someone smaller than themselves. Paulie was a perennial victim; effeminate and out, he didn't find high school to be a nurturing environment.
But there was a new element this time. David had a hand on Alan's arm, irritation showing in his expression.
"What the hell, man? He's, like, half your size. Why bother?" David sounded exasperated and puzzled... and not even a little bit scared.
"Oh, are you a faggot too?" Alan rumbled, glaring down at David.
"Huh?" David glanced at the cowering Paulie, comprehension dawning on his face. His head snapped back to Alan. "No, but I'm flattered you'd offer."
It took Alan a second to parse that. His grades were only just good enough to stay on the team.
"Asshole!" Alan cried. He leaped forward, going for a body-check. But David, lightning-quick, escaped to the side while leaving a leg in the way. Alan tripped and fell face-first into a locker.
Ilya, surprised, swung a haymaker toward the smaller boy. Again David was too fast. He ducked his head left, out of the way. At the same time his right hand flashed up; he grabbed Ilya's sleeve and gave a sharp tug, adding even more momentum to his assailant's arm. Ilya was jerked off-balance, and before he could recover David was behind him. In a twinkling Ilya's face was pressed against the lockers on the other wall and his left arm was locked up in the middle of his back.
Erica made a sharp inhalation. David was being stupid, Ilya had at least forty pounds on him. He could just jump back and knock David over...
Ilya started to try exactly that. But David jerked on the arm he was holding, and the bigger boy let out a pained yelp and stopped struggling. The sound joined Alan's stunned groan; the behemoth was curled up on the ground, holding an obviously-bloody nose.
David leaned in and spoke directly in Ilya's ear. "I will break this if I have to, so just shut up and listen, okay?" Ilya made one more attempt to free himself; his arm got wrenched in response and he let out a full-on yell. He became very still after that.
Erica saw David make a quick glance Alan's way, making sure he wasn't getting up. "I don't need trouble on my first fucking day here, but I don't like bullies." He shook his head. "I'm gonna let go of you in a second, and this will all be over, all right? You come after me, I'm gonna break something. I will end it."
He let go and took three fast steps back, away from both boys. Ilya glared at him for a moment, then went to help Alan up. "Gonna kill you, you little fuck!" Alan burbled, blood leaking through his hands.
David shook his head. "Be glad I don't believe you."
Ilya was pulling Alan down the hall, toward the nurse's office. "Come on, man, let's go, okay?" The hulking figures moved off into the crowd.
David turned to Paulie. "You okay?"
The slight young man nodded, wide-eyed. "Man, they're gonna be pissed at you."
David looked nonplussed, then shrugged. "Well, what the hell." He started to turn away, then stopped. "Let me know if they go after you, okay? I didn't mean to get you in worse trouble..."
Paulie smiled shyly. "Thanks, man. Will do."
David turned and walked off. Erica's wide eyes followed him down the hall.
~~~~~
As David walked briskly away, he kept his eyes front. Arranging the timing had been tricky there, but it had gone as well as could be expected. Subtle emotional pushes at the boys involved to goad them along, triggering the crisis just as Erica happened on the scene.
While his training as a field operative was far from complete, self-defense and martial arts were part of the foundations. You couldn't solve all the Brotherhood's problems with Magic.
He should look a bit heroic now, and the choice of Paulie as victim was a nice touch. A Sister would probably have some sympathy for gays, right?
Besides, he really didn't have much use for bullies.
~~~~~
She told the whole amazing story to Cora as soon as they met on the bus.
"...and Ilya actually looked scared. He was, like, dragging Alan away."
Cora let out a low whistle. "He looked like a jock, but... jeez. He took out both of 'em? They're fucking huge."
"He made it look easy," Erica marveled.
"Jeez," Cora repeated. "Well, we still gotta work on the timing problem. The physics engine isn't gonna be stable unless..."
Erica suppressed her annoyance. She couldn't expect Cora to appreciate how wicked tight David had looked, taking on two bigger guys.
And he'd looked pretty amazing to start with.
~~~~~
"You seen the new hottie?" Trahn asked breathlessly as she stretched.
"Huh?" Erica responded, coming up from her own stretch. Practice was getting ready to start and girls milled about on the grass. "You mean David?"
"So you did notice him." Trahn smiled, twisting to stretch her sides.
"He's in my homeroom," Erica replied. Even she realized she'd said it a bit too defensively.
"Uh-oh! Is there a boy who can warm the frosty maiden's... heart?"
"Tra-ahn!" Erica giggled a little, but she could feel a little color on her cheeks. David was cute. Hella cute.
"Mel says she saw him looking at you."
"What? Shut up!" She turned to look at Melanie.
"S'true," she shrugged. "Don't tell me you didn't see it. You were playing with your hair all through homeroom yesterday."
"I thought I was, like, imagining it..."
"I can picture him doing a lot more to me than just looking," Shianti breathed.
Erica caught her breath at the sudden spike of jealousy she felt. David was hot, of course girls would be into him. Had hearing that he might be interested in her suddenly turned all the other girls into rivals?
Maybe it had. She suddenly wanted to say something catty, something really mean. She only just managed to control her tongue. "I can believe it," was all she said.
The coach blew her whistle just then, and they all scrambled into formation. Erica was quiet and reflective through practice. She felt like maybe she'd just made a jump in her Transition. Up to now, she'd only witnessed the phenomenon of 'frenemies', only grasped it in the abstract. Now there was a new emotional appreciation of the idea. Like a big puzzle piece clicking into place.
~~~~~
When it was Cora's day to cook dinner, Erica usually came to the table with concealed reluctance. The girl's inexperience in the kitchen showed. Especially to the Jardins, who possessed fairly advanced culinary skills. Even Haylie was impressive for her age.
One minor issue was how meat-heavy Cora's dishes usually were. Sisters weren't necessarily vegetarian - though many were - but even the ones that ate meat tended to use it sparingly.
Tonight, however, Erica was almost salivating. She'd come home from that fraught practice to find a strange car in the driveway and the house smelling wonderful. Cora had shooed her away from the kitchen, and wouldn't let her see what she and Jacinta were up to.
Now, showered and changed, she sat at the dining room table. She glanced over the table setting - the good china, rarely used, was out. "What's going on?" she asked her Mom.
"Cora and her friend have been cooking since three!" Miranda said, grinning ear to ear. "They wouldn't let me do anything, they only let Haylie help."
"Huh," was all Erica could say.
"Come and get it!" Cora called, carrying a platter into the dining room. She and Jacinta and Haylie brought out a vegetarian tamales, rice, and salsa. Erica assembled a plate while greeting Jacinta. It all smelled heavenly, and when she took a bite she was pleasantly surprised.
"Hey, you guys, this is amazing. What'd you do?"
"You like?" Cora asked, halfway between shy and sly.
"Yeah."
"I love it, too," Miranda said. What's in it?"
The girl smiled. She tried to pass it off as a smirk... but Erica thought there was an undercurrent of genuine happiness she'd pleased them all. They'd tried to make her feel appreciated, but she was far from stupid. It was hard to miss the difference in sophistication of her meals versus the others.
"Jacinta gave me the recipe and showed me how. It's all veggies."
"She did it all herself," Jacinta declared proudly. "Haylie and I just cut things up and stirred."
Cora scoffed. "And you tasted, and kept me from burning stuff, and all the rest!"
Jacinta was shaking her head. "Nothin' much. She's a natural."
Probably everyone at the table knew that was an exaggeration. But the Sisters had been briefed on Jacinta's useful motivations, and voiced agreement.
"So what do you do when you're not singing in the choir, Jacinta?" Miranda asked.
"I help out a couple nights a week at my tia's taquería."
"Cooking?"
"Mostly waitressing. But sometimes I get to cook."
"She wants to go to culinary school," Cora piped in.
"Maybe," Jacinta said. "Either that or law school." She frowned. "My cousin Ernesto went to jail 'cause his public defender didn't do sh... um, didn't do his job." She blushed a little at her almost-slip.
Miranda nodded and smiled slightly, unperturbed. "If you do decide on the culinary arts, I could introduce you to some people."
"Well, either way I'm gonna get a couple years at the community college first."
"A good plan. And if you go the other way, I have a friend who's a lawyer."
"Well, thanks for the offer. Offers."
~~~~~
Erica shifted her book. The pen didn't fall. She moved the tome a bit more and knocked it off her desk. The excuse was ready.
As she leaned over to pick it up, she stole a glance behind her. David met her eyes for an instant, then looked sharply at the whiteboard where Mr. Stratton was going over integrals. She sat back up and put her pen away.
So. Her intuition was correct. He was watching her. It was like she could feel his eyes.
She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Actually, she'd identified about five different feelings - hope, fear, pride, curiosity, and a hint of lust. She just wasn't sure which predominated, or which she wanted to predominate. The pride was easy enough to trace - both Linda and Melanie had reported that David had been asking about her, whether she had a boyfriend. It was flattering to have someone - actually, him - interested in her. Likewise the lust was no mystery. She'd rubbed one off to his mental image last night.
The hope and curiosity she could understand, but didn't know what to do with. Fantasy was one thing, but did she want to date a boy? For real? What would that be like? She had a vision of herself on David's arm at the Prom. Going to a formal dance with a boyfriend, not just an escort. It was an intriguing notion, no denying it.
But then came the fear. There were good enough reasons for that. If she made out with him, could she keep from going all the way? Kristina helped make pregnancy a real concern. And how would Cora respond? Would she see it as a betrayal?
So, plenty of reasons to be afraid. And yet, she had a sense of some other reason to worry, something she couldn't isolate.
Trying to focus intuition, to force it to clarify itself, was futile. It wasn't a sense that there were dangers from David so much as that there was danger around him, bound up with him. She tried on different thoughts - she'd seen that he could fight. Would he hit her? Something told her no.
What was she going to do about him?
~~~~~
In terms of hands and tongues (and toes, etc.), Cora's lovemaking was playful and egalitarian. They explored each other's bodies happily, giving and receiving pleasure. Tickling, teasing, licking... the girls had few inhibitions.
But when it came to sex with a dildo or strap-on, Cora didn't seem to have a 'middle of the road' response. Introducing anything phallic induced a major shift in sexual attitudes in the girl. Paradoxically, two different shifts.
When Erica was using the tools, Cora became passive, even submissive. She even brought up the idea of restraints and seemed to come the hardest when she was tied up and Erica was pounding into her. Conversely, if Cora had a phallus in her hand or attached to her hips, she almost morphed into a dominatrix. She became quite aggressive, and seemed to particularly enjoy taking Erica doggy-style.
Tonight was one of the latter times. "Yeah, you like that, huh? You like that?" Cora thrust passionately, just shy of actual violence.
Erica panted. It sure did feel good. She arched her back into it, changing the angle.
A sudden flashing vision of her like this, on hands and knees, moaning. But it was David kneeling behind her, stroking confidently in and out, hands keeping grip on her hips. She came instantly, powerfully, in a screaming orgasm that seemed to last forever.
Cora acted very proud of herself, afterward, and Erica praised her lavishly. But inside she kept picturing David...
~~~~~
"Whatcha doin'?" Cora asked.
"Eeek!" Erica twitched and looked around. For a second, she didn't know what to say. Her first thought - 'You sound exactly like Isabella on Phineas and Ferb' - was violently suppressed as unhelpful. Cora still had, at best, mixed feelings about her high-pitched voice. Eventually, she just said, "Don't sneak up on me!"
Cora snorted. "All I did was walk in." Her eyes moved to Erica's netbook screen, as she said, "So what are you... oh." The last syllable carried a bit of contempt.
Erica felt herself start to blush. "It's not like that. I was just, y'know, curious."
David's Facebook page lay open for the girls' perusal.
"I didn't try to friend him or anything," she said quickly. "This is just his public stuff." For a moment, she wracked her brain for some kind of excuse that Jacqui would accept for breaking into his private data. It didn't take long to decide there just wasn't any.
Cora shrugged, expressing amused toleration of Erica's curiosity about boys. "Well, whatcha find out?"
Trying not to sound overly interested, she said, "Not a lot. He moved here from Virginia, near D.C. I think his dad was in the Army or something."
Cora scrolled through some pictures. "He dresses up a lot," she noted.
Erica rushed to his defense. "Not really. He mostly just wears clean clothes, and they're not saggy." After a moment's reflection, she added, "And mostly they actually match."
Cora grinned. "Maybe he's gay. Didn't you say that once, 'bout guys who know how to match clothes?"
"Cora!" she exclaimed, horrified at the thought. "He was checking me out in math!"
Cora's scowl told her she'd said too much. "Oh, reeeally?"
"Not creepster. Just, y'know, interested. Maybe."
"Don't talk to me about the 'male gaze'," Cora said. "Well, he doesn't look like a stoner, anyway."
Erica couldn't argue with that. "He even dresses up for sports, kinda. He's trying out for baseball."
Cora was apparently inclined to be philosophical. "Clothes are kinda like a language. You send messages about yourself. Guys don't pick up on most of 'em, though." She glanced aside at Erica. "So, what do his clothes say to you?"
"Um... smart. Motivated. Maybe polite? Has some money..." Hella cute, she kept to herself.
Cora shrugged, dismissing boys and their traits. "Well, you gotta drop me off for choir practice."
~~~~~
After-school cheerleading practice wasn't always fun, but it was sometimes required. Cora had taken the bus home already; Erica would get picked up after.
It had been a good day. She'd gotten scores back on a test and a quiz, and they were both over 90. Cora hadn't complained out loud about even one feminine thing all day long - not unheard of these days, but still not a treat you could count on - and Kristina had shown off some new ultrasounds of Alex at lunch.
She was bent low, stretching out her calves and thighs. She still felt a little embarrassed doing that in her uniform... but it was socially acceptable to flash your panties then. Today she was just in sweats, so it wasn't as big a deal.
"Erica. Look." Trahn suddenly whispered, quiet and intense. When she looked over at her teammate, the girl pointed with her head toward the edge of the field. So Erica straightened up and glanced that way. And there was David, standing by the chain-link fence.
He was waving. To her?
She looked around to make sure he really meant her, like some ditzy girl on a sitcom. But his eyes were actually locked on her. He was beckoning her to come over by the fence. She peeked at the captain but she was talking on her phone; there should be at least a couple more minutes before she blew the starting whistle.
So she walked over where he stood, feeling unsettlingly nervous and embarrassed. Here she was in grubby sweats, makeup worn off, hair pulled back in a messy low ponytail. So not the way she wanted anybody to see her.
Especially him?
When she got close, he spoke up. "Hey, uh, Erica? I'm David."
She nodded, not sure what to say.
"Look, uh, I know we haven't, like, talked much or anything. But, I was thinking... uh, well, hoping you and I could go out for dinner Friday night." David made the request with such directness, and yet she got the sense he was scared. That he really wanted her to say yes, that she could crush his ego with a 'no'. And yet, he had the courage to put himself out there anyway, in front of everybody. Most propositions these days were by text or Facebook.
She hadn't felt this flustered since... since Lucas. "I work Fridays," she said quietly.
"Oh," he said, some of the light going out of his face.
She couldn't be responsible for that. "But I'm off Saturday."
The light came back, just like that. "Oh. Awesome! I mean, what time... can I get your number..."
She giggled. Damn it, what was it about cute boys that made her giggle? They exchanged digits, then Erica said, "I really have to get back. Text me?"
"You bet," David said, a big grin on his face. Goddess, he was so cute...
She whirled away and walked back to the other cheerleaders. She fought with herself, denying the urge to turn and see if he looked back; she didn't want to seem too eager. It was okay, she could see Melanie and Trahn kept glancing in their direction. They'd be able to tell her.
As soon as she reached her crew, Melanie blurted, "What did he say? Dish!" Trahn and Shianti were right there backing her up.
"He asked me out," Erica said smugly.
"You said yes, right? Tell me you said yes!"
"Well duh! But I did tease him a little," she bragged. A whistle blew and they scrambled to get into formation.
All through practice, she kept catching herself smiling like a nutjob. On the way back to the lockers, she caught some of the girls frowning at her. Jealous that the new McDreamy had asked her out? That fit.
Could this day get any better?
~~~~~
As it turned out, the day could get a bit worse. And did, once she got in the car and shared the news.
"You're going out with him?" Cora said in a slow burn, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter.
"Cora, please. I kinda need to do this," Erica pleaded, keeping one cautious eye on the road.
"What's that supposed to mean?" her friend snapped.
Reluctantly: "You know people have been talking. Jokes about us being lesbians."
Cora blinked, then snarled. "Well... we pretty much are."
Erica looked away. "Even if... look, you've seen the crap Marrica goes through. We don't need that on top of all our other problems."
"Screw them. I don't care about that," Cora declared, all defiance.
"That's not all of it." Erica hesitated. "Cora, I... I think I'm bi." Then she shrugged. "Oh, fuck, I know I'm bi."
That stopped Cora cold. "What, I'm not good enough anymore? You need some dick now?"
"Cora, that's not it," she said, not sure herself if it was completely true. "You know I love you." Cora huffed. "But I... I think this is part of 'acclimating', y'know? At least, like, exploring this a little."
Cora didn't say anything. She just glared.
"Look, it's just a date. I'm not gonna fuck the guy. It'll take some heat off of both of us."
~~~~~
Miranda sensed instantly that something was up, the moment the girls came through the door. She'd come to expect some girlish chatter, but they were both silent.
Cora put down her handbag and stood with arms crossed. Erica looked... peculiar. Like she was excited, but didn't want to show it?
"How was your day, dear?" she asked neutrally.
Cora answered for her. "She's got a boyfriend now," she said... with rather more heat than most girls would have, when talking about a friend.
Miranda made sure not to sigh, grasping the difficulty immediately. Young girls often had a hard time balancing their friendships and their romances. A girl's first boyfriend frequently put a strain on her relationships with other girls.
And that held even if they weren't sleeping with those other girls. Goddess, Cora's mere existence made everything so complicated!
But still, Erica and a boy? How very interesting.
All this flashed through her head in bare moments. Erica finished putting down her own things, and began to explain. "He's not my boyfriend. He just asked me out, that's all."
Eyebrows raised, Miranda asked, "And did you say yes?"
"Well, yeah."
A very tiny part of Miranda, one she hadn't heard from in years - a part she suspected dated all the way back to Mark - woke up and protested. After all, she knew precisely how horny teenage boys were, how little self-control they sometimes - or rather, often - displayed.
But she was Erica's Mother. She also knew how girls felt about the situation. She had no illusions she could keep her Daughter innocent of boys forever. Fathers were such sentimental and impractical creatures about those things.
"There's this new guy, David. Just moved here, like, a week ago." Only a little embarrassed: "He's really cute."
Cora let out a derisive scoff.
"No doubt," Miranda drawled. "Smart and nice too, I hope?"
"He is!" Erica said with a passion Miranda found simultaneously amusing, gratifying, and slightly unsettling.
The story of David and the goliaths came bubbling out, along with David's excellent performance in (his first week of) math class, and finally a word-for-word account of how he'd propositioned Erica. It didn't take Miranda long to grasp her Daughter's attraction. The Mother in her filed away his potential for a violent streak for later investigation.
"Do I get to meet this paragon before he whisks you away?"
"Um." Erica stopped short. "I dunno exactly what we're doing. He was gonna text me..."
"Does he have a car? Will he be picking you up?"
"Um, like, I guess. I mean, he's got a car..."
"Then please include at least a 'hello' to your sweet old Mother in your plans."
"Okay."
"Maybe we could finish our homework while you keep checking your phone for texts?" Cora muttered.
"I wanna get on the web for a bit, first," Erica said.
"Oh, come on! You already checked out his Facebook stuff!"
Erica didn't deny it. "That was just a skim. I was, like, curious. Now..."
Cora interrupted. "Now you're gonna check out every single freaking album and post, right?" She shook her head. "Well, not until after we get the sound routine done, got it?"
The two girls went into the kitchen with their laptops. Miranda, watching them, shook her head.
~~~~~
"What am I gonna wear?" Erica cried, throwing a shirt to the ground.
"Panties, I hope," Cora drawled. "Maybe even a bra." She'd calmed down somewhat about the date over the past couple days. She wasn't happy about it, but the nightly sex had maybe convinced her she wasn't losing Erica entirely.
Erica, naked, tossed her head. "I gotta know what I'm wearing over, before I can pick what goes under."
Cora's mouth twisted, half amused, half bitter. "Maybe I am turning into a girl. I actually understood that." She shook her head. "'Can't wear dark under light' and all that crap."
"Not just that," Erica said, flicking through blouses, "If I wear tights, or a clingy skirt, I don't want VPLs." She turned to examine the next row. "But I might keep it cazsh, just stick with jeans." She nibbled her lip. "But maybe... I mean, we're not going, like, black tie or anything, but..."
Cora's eyes rolled. "Jeez, chill! You know he's not stressing out like this about his clothes. He prob'ly won't even notice what pants you're wearing." Again she couldn't decide between amusement or spite. "All he'll be thinking about is getting into 'em."
"Thinking's all he gets. Totes not gonna happen," Erica said with nearly perfect confidence.
"If your Mom is right about birth control, he better not get a hold of your panties. You know how worked up you get."
"We both get," Erica riposted.
Cora squinted. "Well, you better put something on or I'm gonna get 'worked up' again. And you don't have time for another shower."
~~~~~
"All right, let's have a look, dear." Miranda waved for Erica to turn and show her outfit. All the women except Haylie were in the front room waiting for David to arrive. The youngest Jardin, not finding the event that interesting, was in the den watching TV.
Looking a trifle embarrassed, Erica submitted to inspection. She had settled on dark brown tights, which set the tone for the rest of the outfit.
On top, an off-white blouse with a tan denim vest over it. Her hair was in an up-do that both Cory and Eric would probably have assumed was simple. Earrings with about an inch of dangle. Her makeup had just a hint of glitter in it. But she wore white sneakers that echoed the blouse. So, nice enough for a good restaurant, casual enough for a movieplex.
"You look very nice," Miranda said warmly. Cora kept her own counsel beyond a sniff.
The Mother in her couldn't resist a spot of teasing, though. "I will note that in my day the tradition was to make the boy wait."
"Moooom!" Erica wailed.
"Oh, get over yourself. I'm sure you don't want to waste a minute." She glanced out the window, and added, "Apparently he doesn't want to wait either. Unless I miss my guess, that's him pulling up now."
"Ohmigod!" Erica yelped. Cora's eyes rolled.
Miranda was bubbling inside to see her Daughter getting so excited over a boy. "Would you like me to greet him at the door, or will you do the honors?"
"Um..." Erica dithered. Cora and Miranda exchanged a glance.
The bell rang and she made her decision, stepping forward. She opened the door. Miranda was pleased by how the boy's eyes widened as he caught sight of Erica.
"Won't you come in?" Erica said. Cora didn't do much of a job suppressing an amused snort at her sudden ladylike formality.
He stepped in, and Miranda was not merely pleased but impressed. He was a good-looking specimen. He wore dark sneakers and blue jeans - clean, not distressed - along with a light sweater, a short turtleneck underneath. It was an unpretentious, just-classy-enough ensemble, well-suited to the occasion.
Politely, but with seemingly genuine warmth, he said, "Hi, Mrs. Jardin. My name's David Burke. I'm pleased to meet you."
Erica, to one side, suddenly looked embarrassed about her introduction fail.
"Pleased to meet you, too, David." As she shook his hand, Miranda probed David's mind quickly, judging his intentions. They were about what she'd expected. He would by no means refuse sexual activity with Erica, but he was a nice boy - he wasn't the kind to push her too hard on that front. Whatever he might hope for, all he expected from tonight was a good time with a pretty girl. And he was fine with that.
Enjoying the chance to mother her Daughter, she said, "And what sort of evening do you have planned for my Erica?"
Erica winced, and Miranda smiled inside. Teenagers were never so embarrassed at having parents as when those parents were meeting their dates.
David didn't seem the least discomfited as he said, "Nothing too fancy. Just dinner and a movie."
"You'll be back by eleven, I believe Erica said?"
"No problem, ma'am," David replied.
"Well, then, you two had best get going. Shoo, shoo! Have fun!"
Erica gave her Mom and Cora quick hugs, and stepped out with David.
The door closed with a soft click. Cora stared at it for a while, then went up to her room. Miranda gazed after her, troubled.
~~~~~
David parked the car at the restaurant and vaulted out quickly. As he was coming around to open the door for Erica, the subconscious trigger he'd arranged was flipped, and he froze for a moment. Memories and attitudes came rushing into his mind, dispelling the masking personality he'd overlaid on himself. He turned the pause into a deliberate stumble, then made it to her door and opened it up, flashing a smile.
He'd developed a grudging respect for 'Eva Braun'. Blocking mental probes was fairly straightforward; hiding from them was vastly more difficult. It really could only be done for a superficial scan. And yet she'd managed such a disguise for more than a decade, somehow never giving the Brothers any reason to probe too deeply.
Still, if she could do it, he could do it. His disguise wouldn't need to hold up that long, either. Furthermore, Erica wouldn't be able to probe him for some time yet, so for now he only needed to maintain psychic camouflage near her house. He reminded himself to keep an eye out for possible surveillance, though.
Even as he mused, Erica was taking his hand to be helped out of the car. "Are you okay? Did you trip?" she asked, sounding concerned.
"Yeah, just bumped my foot on a stupid crack. No problem," he said, smiling. "Careful, there's a step here..."
~~~~~
Sitting next to David at the movie was distracting. She kept realizing she was on a date with a guy. And she had to be honest with herself - she was enjoying it. Dinner had been fun, and informative. She'd learned a great deal about him from their conversation over dinner. It had filled out the context of a bunch of his photos and posts on Facebook.
He didn't have an identifiable accent. "East Coast" was as close as she could place it. He was an only child. Growing up, David's dad had been in the Army and his family had moved a lot. Army life helped account for his skill in self-defense, though. Now, after an honorable discharge, his dad was in software. He'd been unexpectedly transferred out here, and along came David.
Why was he so fascinating? It wasn't like she was unfamiliar with teenage boys. She'd been one not so long ago, right? But something about the way he laughed... perspective mattered, as she'd learned the first day of school.
Having your date open doors and buy popcorn for you was oddly endearing. And when his arm settled across her shoulders, halfway through the movie... he carried it off so well. Gently enough that she could easily have shrugged it off; firmly enough to show his confidence that she wouldn't. And she did not, in fact, shrug it off. She even leaned into him a little.
Erica knew what David was thinking. Or at least, what Eric would have been contemplating, in David's position. Even if David struck her as more mature than Eric had been, boys always dwelled on certain topics, especially when next to a girl they were dating.
She was nowhere near ready to indulge David's desires in that respect. Still, snuggled in the crook of his arm, she discovered she wasn't particularly far from it, either. She was already looking forward to the good-bye kiss later. And she was even speculating about what might happen on subsequent dates...
~~~~~
As they pulled up to her house, she returned to her point. "You should've let me pay for the movie, at least."
"No way. I'm old-fashioned." He said it with that charming, cocky smile. And he proved it by jumping out of the car and coming around to open the door for her again.
It gave her time to come up with a proper reply. "Am I supposed to pay you back in the old-timey way?" Erica said, eyebrows arched as she stood up. Somehow she ended up closer to him than she'd intended. Consciously intended, at least.
David didn't move to reclaim any personal space. "It's not about paying back." He paused, and gave that knee-weakening smile again. "Although..."
He leaned forward. She could have dropped her chin, stepped away... but she didn't. Their lips met.
Better than Lucas. Definitely.
~~~~~
Miranda's Magical attention was divided. She kept tabs lightly on her daughter outside, but she also had to monitor Cora in the living room downstairs. Miranda wouldn't read her thoughts, but she could make some good guesses about the girl's frame of mind.
She hadn't been irritable, but she'd been terribly distracted through dinner, and had washed dishes afterward in silence. And when she settled down with her laptop, it hadn't been upstairs in her room. Instead, she'd set up on a couch in the living room, with a view of the driveway.
And now, just from her aura, Miranda could tell Cora was watching the couple intensely. Closely enough that she could move from the window the moment the couple broke off their kissing and moved for the house. Cora was sitting down in the kitchen before they'd made it to the front porch.
Sighing, Miranda did another quick probe of David, noting with amusement that a considerable chunk of his thoughts were devoted to not betraying his budding erection.
She shifted to her Daughter, another light surface scan. Erica, too, was concealing significant arousal, though it was naturally easier.
But both of them had more than just lustful thoughts, and it was clear that a second date was only a matter of time.
One last peek at Cora. She sympathized, of course, however much she approved of Erica dating boys. The natural solution to the problem was to find the girl her own suitable suitor. Ideally, a male one. But that wasn't going to be practical for... rather a while yet.
If ever, a part of her mind warned. A discomfitingly correct part, she feared. But it was time to head down and needle her Daughter a bit.
~~~~~
A day later, there was another visit from two of the senior Sisters, Laurie and Bronwyn. It had originally been scheduled for a week hence, but Miranda had requested it be bumped up, anticipating the need for some support. And sure enough, Cora was not in the best of moods. She had barely acknowledged when Erica had come in from her date, and gone to bed by herself. In the morning she had been almost comically sulky.
First, there was a Magic appraisal. The praise Cora received there was earned; while the amount of Power she could manifest wasn't great, she applied it very shrewdly. Her power lagged because her Transition was slow, yet her grasp of theory was far ahead of many full Sisters. The good feelings were short-lived, however. As before, Cora brought up a difficult subject. "I got a lot from Erica. But I want to hear it from you. What is the Brotherhood?"
Bronwyn covered, as dispassionately as possible, almost everything she'd explained to Erica on Cora's "birthday". Once she finished, Cora had a very sour expression on her face.
"Okay, so let me get this straight. We're up against black Magic, evil Nazi sorcerers bent on world domination, and to fight them, we've got... the power of love?" The sarcasm in the girl's tone was pure acid.
Laurie tried to reassure her. "It's not quite so bad as all that. Most members of the Brotherhood aren't evil themselves, and we aren't..."
Cora scoffed. "I'm not going up against some dark wizard straight out of Castle Wolfenstein armed with nothing but a fucking Care Bear Stare!"
"No, you're not," Bronwyn pronounced with her own corrosive tone. "We are working quite hard to avoid that. At the earliest opportunity, we will help you recover your male condition. As Cory, you will not be part of the Sisterhood and will not be involved in our struggle at all."
That gave Cora a moment's pause. But, as usual, only a moment. Her eyes flicked to her fellow Novice. "But Erica still will."
"If she chooses to remain a Sister," Laurie noted.
For various reasons, everyone chose to change the subject back to Magic then.
~~~~~
"Hey," Sunny said.
Erica looked at her quizzically. "Yeah?" They were getting ready to leave AP Programming. Almost everyone had left, in fact, on their way to last period. Cora was already out the door.
She didn't really know Sunny all that well. Eric had been too shy to talk to her, and she was in the same programming team as Mindy, who was friends with Danielle.
Sunny got right to the point. "You better tell your cousin to watch her back."
"What? Why?" Erica said with alarm.
"Well, Mindy says Danielle is pissed. Doesn't like the way Cora's been talking to Brandon."
Erica squinted, puzzled. "Brandon? You mean Metcalfe? They just have Calc together. Right next to Danielle, even!"
Sunny shook her head. "Mindy says Danielle said, 'She'd better quit pulling that shy-little-flower bullshit.'"
Erica rolled her eyes. "I promise, there is no way Cora would go after Brandon."
"Hey, I'm not the one you gotta sell that to." She shook her head. "Fair warning, is all. I'm staying out of it."
Erica stared, disturbed, at the back of Sunny's head as she walked out without another word.
~~~~~
"So to sum up, we're officially boyfriend and girlfriend now, and there are no signs she or her Mother or the other ones suspect anything." David finished bringing his handler up to date.
"The surveillance team agrees. Nothing they've overheard indicates you've rung any alarms," came the reply over the phone. "Good work. Continue observation, and don't risk exposure. That's all for now."
"Thank you, my Leige," he replied, and hung up.
The Sisters were good, he reflected, but they weren't perfect. They relied too much on their covers, and on their Magic.
From what he'd gathered in his briefings, the Sisterhood had become very slick at altering records and general data security. False trails, honeypots, blinds - they used all the tricks. And they'd gotten good fast. So fast, the theory was that a single Sister was responsible for the reorganization.
If Sisters were uncovered in some other way, though, they weren't especially effective at detecting surveillance. They still relied on the traditional means, the traditional spells. Those worked well against people actively watching, and against Magical eavesdropping. But you couldn't detect eyeballs, or Dark Power, if they weren't used.
Other options existed these days. Half a mile from the Jardin home, a sophisticated - and entirely non-Magical - device sat in a church tower. It bounced an infrared laser off various windows in the Jardin home, and relayed the reflections elsewhere for processing. A bit of signal analysis on the window vibrations, and they could hear a great deal of what went on inside. Except in the two older girls' rooms; some spell protected them. Even with that gap, though, they'd learned a great deal.
And how had they found the Jardins? As a field operative, subject to potential capture, he shouldn't have been told. The High Leader had made a special, personal exception, however. David supposed it had been intended to bolster his morale - and it had.
An exhaustive image search had put names to the faces sent by his father. Bronwyn Llewellyn and Laurel Donovan were authors whose photos graced a few hardcovers.
They had never been observed or directly eavesdropped on. Distant, cautious, and completely non-Magical monitoring of their movements over the last decade had identified several probable Sisters. Some of those candidates, like the Jardins, had received more direct investigation - but still without the use of Magic.
The Circle of Set had managed, for only the third time, to catch an actual Transformation almost as it happened with Eric Jardin. And then, the entirely unexpected, apparently unprecedented - but potentially invaluable - episode with Cory Ellsworth.
It created a situation that would demand regular attention from the inner circle of the Sisterhood. Nearly ideal circumstances to place an infiltrator - since the Sisters' would be focused on 'Cora', not 'Erica'. Let alone Erica's boyfriend.
The High Leader wasn't foolishly sentimental. David didn't know any details about whatever strategic purpose his presence here was intended to further... although he could make some guesses.
The required psychic discipline made this a tough assignment. David knew, with no false modesty, that he had a genuine talent for mental Magic. It was still a significant challenge. Plus he had to pretend to be attracted to someone who was only nominally a 'girl'. Like the High Leader had warned, the job had its distasteful side.
But these bitches had stolen his Father. He'd do a lot worse to balance those scales.
He'd do whatever it took.
~~~~~
Erica was dismayed when she got on the bus to head home. Cora's jaw was set, her eyes wrinkled, back stiff. She was angry - no, furious. It had been some time since Cora had gotten that pissed.
"What's wrong?" she asked as she sat down next to her.
"Later," Cora said. Then she shut up and stared out the window.
Erica worried all the way to their stop, Cora fuming beside her. The temperature actually dropped a few degrees and the wind picked up by the time they unloaded.
"So what's going on?"
"That fucking bitch Danielle." Cora seethed. "She was talking about Cory today before class."
"What'd she say?" Erica asked carefully.
"She was telling Brandon that he was weird, and maybe gay!" Cora fulminated. "That Cory never acted, y'know, interested in her."
"What the fuck?" Erica exclaimed, shocked.
"I know, right? It's fucking bullshit." Cora glowered. "She sure didn't have any goddamn complaints after Homecoming!"
"Why would she even bring it up?" Erica wondered out loud.
Cora shrugged, apparently not considering it a conundrum. "Michaela's parents know my mom and dad. She heard them say they still get notes and messages from me sometimes, so it came up."
Erica shook her head in wonder. "I still don't see why..."
Cora interrupted. "She's trying to keep Brandon from looking for Cory. He was saying yesterday he was gonna call about the postmarks on the letters. The ones Jacqui's been forwarding."
"Well, we kinda want that." At Cora's lowered brows, she tentatively added, "Right?"
Cora took a deep breath and stopped at the end of their driveway. After a second to compose herself, she bit out, "Yeah. But not like that." She took another deep breath - an angrier one - and said, "Why does she need to badmouth Cory that way?"
Erica had been considering that. "Maybe two birds with one stone. Shianti said she heard Danielle was kinda pissed Brandon didn't come watch her last game. Think maybe he's not quite as into her lately?"
"How the fuck should I know?" Cora shook her head. "You were right. I'm glad I didn't get on the soccer team. I'd prob'ly kick her ass if I had to be with her more than two classes a day. At least I can stay away from her in gym." She marched towards the house, ending the conversation firmly.
~~~~~
Mom was downstairs, Cora was studying in her room. Haylie and Erica brushed their teeth in front of the upstairs mirror. Haylie judged she probably wouldn't get time alone with her Sister for a while, so... "Hey, sis?"
"Yeah?" Erica kept watching herself in the mirror as she brushed out her hair.
"What's it like? Having a boyfriend?"
Erica's arm sagged. "Wow, that's... complicated."
Haylie just kept brushing her teeth. Erica was forced to speak.
"It's kinda neat. I have fun with him." She fell silent for a beat.
Haylie spit, and prompted, "Why do you like him?"
"I... Lots of things. He's cute. He's smart. And he's nice. He treats people well. But he's not, like, a wimp. I saw him get in a fight, with, like, two boys who were a lot bigger than him. He destroyed 'em."
"You were a boy, though. Doesn't that make it weird?"
"Jeez, don't hold back or anything." Erica frowned and shrugged. "I guess it does, a little. But... I don't really think of myself as a boy anymore. I like being a girl."
"You and Cora, though... aren't you..."
Erica blushed and looked away. "Well... yeah." After several seconds, she began again. "Cora," Erica said, but then paused.
Erica stood thinking a moment. Then she continued, slowly. "She needs me. Someone she knows, trusts."
"Do you want to, y'know, do things with her?"
Haylie thought Erica was going to cut things off, she looked so upset. But then she spoke. "Yeah. I do."
"Is that 'cause you were a boy?"
Erica frowned. "Maybe some, yes. That probably made it easier. But... it doesn't feel wrong. I think even if I'd been born Erica, I might have been bi."
Haylie didn't have any more questions after that. She left the bathroom looking pensive, almost troubled. Which didn't make Erica feel great.
~~~~~
"Catch ya later, brah," David called as they went out the front door. Brandon waved and headed for his motorcycle in the south parking lot.
David's car was parked in the west lot. He spotted Erica waiting for him by the curb, and aimed for her.
"How do you know Brandon?" she asked after some quick 'heys' and a hug. She looked somewhat nonplussed. He'd expected that; he was sure the Sisters had told Erica to avoid Brandon. But he was another avenue to information about Cory, who the Brotherhood was still catching up on.
"We got to talking about good places to run around here. Gotta get some sprints and some distance running in." They walked hand in hand.
Erica did a little lip quirk, a tiny shrug - it added up to a nonverbal 'okay, point'. She moved on quickly. "Where are they starting you at?"
"Coach says he might try me out as shortstop. He doesn't have a good one this year."
Erica bit her lip and looked away guiltily. David had to suppress a smile; he knew that Eric had been going to play shortstop, until the Transformation left a hole in the baseball team's roster. But he wasn't supposed to know that.
"Allow me, milady," he said, holding open the passenger door of his car. He'd taken to giving Erica a ride home after school.
"We're still on for Saturday right?" he asked as soon as he got in the driver's seat.
"You know it!" she said happily. She was a very open person; he seldom had to guess at her feelings. "But this time I'm paying for the movie."
"We'll see," he teased.
~~~~~
As they walked the short way to the theater, hand in hand, a large man in torn jeans and a t-shirt leered at her. Erica averted her gaze and instinctively moved a little closer to David.
It took a few seconds before she realized that her first thought had been to shy away from the confrontation, to look to David to protect her. That would not have been Eric's response.
Eric would have tried to figure out if he could take an opponent first, and resorted to running away if he had to. For Erica now it was flight, then fight as the fallback if she were cornered.
As David bought the tickets, she pondered that. It felt so natural, so obvious. Fighting in games was still fun. She even still enjoyed action movies, to David's relief. But the thought of actual violence was disquieting, upsetting.
It wasn't until the girl was tearing their tickets that she remembered her determination to pay. "Hey! No fair! I was distracted!"
"What can I say? I'm a tricksy bastard."
Damn that grin of his, Erica thought. It's not fair. "Whatever. I get the popcorn."
The grin never wavered. "If you insist, milady."
For some reason she couldn't pin down, she remembered that 'tricksy bastard' line while they were watching the movie. She was learning that there was something attractive about a boy who was a bit dangerous, a 'bad boy'.
Even if she couldn't quite pin down why she thought he was dangerous. He was always a gentleman, even when they made out. Amazingly, she sometimes wished he'd be a little more aggressive.
~~~~~
"So the doc says Alec is doing great. She said she likes his heartbeat." Kristina looked down and put her hands on her belly, smiling dreamily. "It's the most amazing sound..."
Erica tuned Kristina's gushing out for a second and glanced across the cafeteria. It was kind of bittersweet. Cora wasn't having lunch with her and Linda and Kristina anymore.
These days she sat with Jacinta and Gabriela and a few other choir girls. Overall, Erica was glad to see Cora getting acceptance from some peers. And it was major that she felt confident enough to handle regular conversation without Erica's help.
But it was partly that Cora was still a little pissed at her for being with David. Their relationship had been born in intense circumstances, and a part of her was sad they weren't as close anymore. Cora had tapered off on the sex; these days they only made love two or three times a week.
She stole a glance at David, who was talking with Paul and a couple other boys. Though they were seated in a group, the boys tended to drift off to their own topics when the girls talked about babies.
She stifled a smile. Boys - at least, high school boys - were so scared of pregnancy. They put the whole phenomenon out of their minds as much as they could.
Her attention returned to Kristina. Girls can't afford to ignore it, though, she thought. It might bite them pretty hard if they do.
"It is so totally trippy when he moves," Kristina was saying. If she was bitten, she was smitten, too.
And getting pregnant isn't supposed to be scary forever for girls. It's supposed to happen, someday. She wondered if she would ever want to get pregnant. She couldn't really picture it. But who knew? She could surely picture herself sucking David's cock, something totally inconceivable last year.
Not just picturing. Fantasizing. Maybe even this weekend. She'd been spending a lot of nights with her vibrator lately, absent Cora. It had only enhanced her fantasies about David.
~~~~~
Miranda had mixed feelings about Cora and Haylie's relationship. Cora seemed to regard Haylie as something close to a little sister, and they were getting along well. They'd been spending a little more time together now that Erica was focusing increasing attention on David.
In some ways, it was good for Cora. It encouraged her to act a little more girlish. And Haylie knew Cora's secret, Cora could be less guarded in her presence.
But Miranda wasn't sure if she was the best influence for Haylie. They did girlish things together, but Cora had gotten Haylie more interested in videogames and science fiction and other pastimes that were a little more boyish. Nothing inappropriate, Cora had good sense in that respect, but Haylie had developed some tomboy traits.
Although, given Haylie's history, was she developing them - or rediscovering them? Miranda felt the onset of Haylie's period, and the Magical awakening that would follow, racing closer every day. It wouldn't happen sooner than fall - her Healing senses told her that - but it could happen any time after that.
~~~~~
As they snuggled and caught their breath, Erica asked, softly, "Something bothering you?"
David had given her a ride home, so there had been no post-schoolbus chance to talk. But she'd sensed something off about Cora's behavior as they did homework.
So she'd maneuvered her way into Cora's bed after Haylie went to sleep, and made a good deal of love to her friend. It was very pleasant way to pump someone for information, in any case.
Cora shrugged one shoulder. "I caught Lucas checking me out on the way to English," she said.
Erica gave a little shrug herself. "So? You're hot!"
"I know," Cora half-grinned. "And, just for a second, I felt kinda good about it. But then Cory got all mad about it, and I remembered... everything. So for a second, I was pissed. And then, I remembered that I'm trying to be a girl. So I tried to feel good about it again, but it was all mixed up with guilt, and..." She sniffled. "...and fear, and..."
Erica held her tight. "Chillax. Even guys like to look good."
"Yeah, but... not to other guys." She shook her head, embarrassed. "I know it doesn't matter. Let 'em look, what the fuck. But I guess it's better than not looking good. Social buffs and all that."
Erica smiled encouragingly. "Besides, you don't have to do anything with Lucas. He's a player. A wannabe, at least."
"I can see why he gets away with it. I guess."
Erica didn't say anything. She was just glad that Cora was able to notice that some males were good-looking, even if she didn't feel any need to do anything about it.
~~~~~
Another game of Ultimate was in progress. It was a warm day, and Erica had on only shorts and a t-shirt. (And a sports bra, of course; she was too well-endowed to run around without some support.) The boys had mostly ditched their shirts.
Watching David run, clad only in sneakers and shorts, she was struck by how beautiful he was.
It wasn't all, or even primarily, a sexual thing. Needless to say, Eric had found women's bodies, the way they walked or ran or simply stood, to be sexy. In his nobler moments, though, he'd also been able to have a more abstract appreciation of them. Even when not contemplating sex with a pretty girl - even in the most chaste frame of mind possible for a teenage male - something about their shape pleased the soul, not just the senses.
But Eric had never appreciated the male form in that abstract manner. At least, not consciously. She suspected that he'd been too afraid of anything that smacked of homosexuality to even consider it. Michelangelo's "David" was just some naked guy - right?
Erica no longer feared enjoying men's bodies on a sexual level... and that freed her to appreciate them, to acknowledge that appreciation, on the level of pure form. To see them as objets d'art as well as hot and fuckable.
If she became Eric again, would he retain either capability? As she considered that, a very strange realization came to her. Eric had been snared into becoming Erica because he'd wanted to experiment with a female body. She herself, now, found the idea of occupying a male body to be strange and exotic. If she did become Eric again, the first thing she'd like to do would be to play with his anatomy - precisely because it would feel weird and alien.
So profound was her distraction that she completely missed the disc sailing past her.
"Erica, you ditz! Quit scoping your boyfriend and play!" Trahn called. Blushing, she jumped to block Aaron from passing.
~~~~~
The sedan pulled up by the front door. Brandon leaned over and gave Danielle a kiss. "See you tomorrow, babe."
She snorted derisively. "I can't believe you're gonna run around all night going 'pew! pew!' playing soldier."
Brandon's smile was a little strained. "It's a guy thing. You wouldn't understand."
"Whatever."
Brandon hopped out and closed the door, vaguely relieved. He almost wished he dared leave his bike out overnight, so he could have gotten here by himself.
That familiar sweet-sour smell hit him as he walked in the door, bringing back memories. Back in junior high, he and Cory had been regulars here. This was probably where Cory had gotten the idea of going military. Guiltily, he realized he hadn't thought about his friend for over a week. Kind of easy to slip your mind when you're getting blowjobs from his girl, huh? his conscience accused.
Hey, she went after me! he told himself. And it's not like he's been in touch.
He just didn't understand it. He saw how hurt and scared Mr. & Mrs. Ellsworth were. All they knew was he was alive. Probably. If the letters and phone messsages weren't faked.
Brandon was a big boy, he'd get over Cory ditching him. Danielle sure as shit had. But he liked Cory's parents. He'd stayed over whole weekends at their house before, they were good people. How the fuck could Cory do that to them?
He shook off the negative vibes as he looked past the flashing arcade games, searching out his friends from the track team. The Fun Warehouse was having a 'lock-in'. For thirty-five bucks, you got some pizza, and unlimited laser tag all night long. He'd done them before, but not for a couple years.
There they were. As he walked over, Tyrone called out. "Hey, homie, you ready?"
They all exchanged high-fives. "You know it. Time to represent." Jake slipped him a paper wristband that marked him paid up for the lock-in.
It was only a short wait before they were admitted to the first match of the night. He stood in the little staging area with his crew, getting pumped. The girl with the referee vest was turned away, looking over the little control panel, getting ready to start the match. She was pretty small.
When she turned to check the crowd, he suddenly recognized her. He called out. "Oh, hey, I didn't know you worked here!"
Cora focused on him. For a second, she looked startled and embarassed and even a little fearful.
"Hey," she said.
"What's the word?" he pressed. "Any advice?"
She looked up at him for a second with a furrowed brow. Then, with just a ghost of a smile, she said. "Stay away from the first three red team guns. They're not working so good."
"Thanks," he said. "Can we be on the blue team?"
She was still giving him a doubtful look. "Just don't give me any shit tonight, okay?"
"We'll be good boys, I promise." He smiled innocently.
She shook her head, but had her own smile on her face as she turned away and called out. "Okay, everybody, listen up! Anybody hasn't played with us before, raise your hand!" Her voice was still high-pitched and sweet, but he'd never suspected she could project like that.
Once the game got going, he focused on the business at hand.
Yet he thought of Cory a little, again, as he played. They'd been a killer duo back in the day. Cory the berserker, Brandon the support and covering-fire specialist. Racked up some big points.
It was a long night. Four times, as the younger kids got tired and sat out, Cora joined a game he was in. Twice she was an opponent, and twice she was on the same team as him.
He definitely preferred fighting with her than against her.
Part of that was that she was good. She was fast and sneaky and small. Even with the lights on the vest she was somehow hard to spot until she was zapping you. There was a serious killer instinct lurking there. Like her voice, he'd never imagined that, the way she practically hid away in class.
Playing on the same team as Cora was even better. She showed little of Cory's recklessness and bravado. She was at least as clever, but much more strategic and practical - and way more willing to share points, work as part of the team. Crap. Got Cory on my mind tonight, I guess.
The other reason he preferred being on her side was, if you played with her, you had an excuse to look at her more. That ass! Especially in motion. She was... lithe. He'd always liked toned girls.
He was glad Danielle wasn't around. Thankfully, Cora didn't seem to notice. She even gave him that smile of hers a few times. Killer smile, that was.
~~~~~
At the very same moment Brandon was thinking about Cora's smile, Erica was reflecting David's. He looked like he'd opened a tiny Christmas present and found it was actually keys to a new car.
After getting dinner, they'd gone out dancing, until really late. Dancing with David was awesomesauce. He had a smooth grace, and even knew some old-school couples moves. She'd seen a few other girls staring enviously and it had been a guilty but delicious pleasure.
After, they'd parked somewhere out of the way again, and started making out. Whatever her intuition said about his general riskiness, she somehow trusted him in that regard. Somehow knew he'd respect her boundaries.
Then again, she was just about to move those boundaries a long distance. She looked down from his smiling face to his prick, standing proud and free. Part of her amazed that she was actually going to do this.
Only a small part, though. The majority of her was anxious to get started. So she did.
Slowly, teasingly - she hoped seductively - she took the tip of his cock into her mouth. It felt strange; the softness around a stiff center. It tasted musky. Really not unlike vulva, to be honest, before you got your tongue inside the vagina itself.
Eric had never gotten a blowjob himself, but he'd imagined - and online, watched - plenty. Erica had a pretty good idea what to do. Not sure herself how far she'd be able to go, she dipped her head forward.
She didn't think testing her gag reflex here was a great idea. Note to self: maybe try something with the strap-on later? So she got him to the back of her tongue, but not further. Moving slowly enough for control, fast enough to stimulate - she hoped. David was making some interesting sounds...
A little sooner than she'd expected, he started to come. A gush of fluid - salty, bitter - filled her mouth. Then another, and another. A split second to decide, but between the second and third pulse she started swallowing.
Once she figured she'd gotten most of his issue, she sat up and slid up against his side. She felt rather pumped, and her panties were distinctly damp.
After half a minute of silence, she quietly volunteered, "I never did that before."
David stared in her eyes for a second. "You're kidding."
She squinted. "What? Just how many guys do you think I've blown?" she snapped, frostily.
He backpedaled frantically. "I didn't mean... I mean, it was just so good. I was just, like, um, it was like getting a perfect three-pointer on your first shot when you never picked up a basketball before, y'know?"
She decided to accept his amazement as a compliment. After all, she did know a lot more about what guys liked than most teenage girls should. "Well, it's not like I never imagined it," she said, more relaxed.
"Here's to visualization, then. Shee-it." He pulled her gently into a hug. Then a kiss.
After a few more kisses he said, quietly, with a little smile, "Y'know, I've kinda pictured doing something to you..."
She bit her lip, tempted, but a girl had to be cautious. "Like what?" she asked, trying to sound coy. She wasn't ready to fuck him yet. That meant getting pregnant. Way too huge a step. But, maybe, someday...
"Here, let's see if my imagination's as good as yours." David was guiding her seat back and lifting her skirt up.
Giving a blowjob in a car was easier than licking pussy in a car. Girl parts were lower down, you needed sharper angles. She reclined in the seat and tilted her hips up.
David got his head between her legs, leaning over the center console, one hand grabbing the handle on the passenger door. A very bent 69. It looked strenuous and acrobatic, but it felt so good she was losing her concern for his well-being.
What he lacked in finesse, he made up with intensity. He was actually a bit better than Cora had been, at the start. In a gratifyingly short time, she was whimpering.
~~~~~
Tuesday night was busy at Hillman High. Cora had choir practice, and Erica had cheerleading. David didn't have to stay, though, since almost the only sport that didn't have practice was baseball. So the girls borrowed Miranda's car that morning.
Erica and her cheerleader posse were coming out of the locker room after practice. "See ya later, ho-bag!" Trahn said. Naturally, Erica had confided to her close friends her recent sexual experiences. It brought on some good-natured teasing that, oddly enough, wasn't all that different from how boys handled it.
"Ciao, bitches!" Erica called back. She was already pulling out her phone. Choir practice would be done by now.
Erica: where u @?
Cora: bleachers outside
Erica: comin
She stepped outside, smiling at the fresh air. Sweaty girls didn't smell unpleasant, exactly, but she could certainly get her fill of the odor. She walked across the parking lot to the bleachers, feeling tired but happy.
A tunnel of sorts went under the bleachers themselves. She went through and came out into the sun. The track team was practicing directly in front; several boys dashed past, following the lanes on the asphalt ring.
When she turned, it didn't take long to spot Cora off by herself, looking up from her smartphone, beckoning her up. Erica waved and headed up the stairs to join her for a moment.
"Hey," she said as she sat down.
"Hey," Cora said back. "Gimme just a minute, they're almost done." She was watching the boys intently as they approached the finish line.
Erica bit her lip, unsure. Cora was supposed to avoid reminders of her old life, so far as possible. Watching the boys track team practice wasn't really in keeping with that.
Cora seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts. "Chill. I'm not gonna run down and join in. But it was my team, y'know? I kinda want 'em to do well and all."
"Yeah, okay," Erica said. After a moment, she asked, "Who's captain now?"
"Brandon."
"Huh." Struck by a sudden suspicion... "You ever talk to him about track in class?"
Cora kept her eyes on the track, avoiding Erica's. "A little. Boys wanna talk about what they do."
Erica let it go for now. She sat and watched as the boys made it over the finish line in small groups. Maybe looking at boys'll wake something up in her, she thought. Certainly she herself hadn't realized what responses she'd been having to certain males of the species. Not for quite a while.
The stragglers finished up, and the boys gathered by the coach. Cora had a little half-smile on her face, watching him gesticulate at Brandon in particular.
Erica idly glanced around the bleachers. So she noticed Danielle and Mindy looking at them both with flat, hostile stares.
Not the time for a confrontation. "Hey, c'mon, we gotta get going."
Cora sighed and gathered her stuff. "Whatever." She gathered her things, and muttered, "I dunno why they even put pockets on girls jeans. They're so tight you can't put anything in 'em anyway."
But as they were walking down the stairs, she too saw the angry glares. She stiffened and returned them with stony contempt. Erica wanted to sigh in relief when they made it under the bleachers.
She hadn't had one of their 'on the way home from the bus' talks with Cora in a while. David drove them home most days now. So she took advantage of their time in the car to remind Cora about the warning Sunny had relayed.
Cora was unimpressed. "I stopped giving a fuck what Danielle says a long time ago. What's she gonna do, anyway?"
"Girls can be nasty," Erica noted. "We already had problems with the lesbo talk."
"What's she gonna say that hasn't already gone around?"
Erica wasn't mollified. "Just... don't try to piss her off. I think she thought you were checking out Brandon."
"Well, I was. But just as a track captain, that's it!"
"I know, but Danielle doesn't know you used to be... on the team." Erica hesitated a second, then said, "And you shouldn't be thinking about track anyway."
Cora was staring fixedly out the window. "I know. It was just one fucking time! It was nice out." She fell silent for a second. "I miss it," she said, more subdued.
Erica chewed her lip, then said, "You maybe wanna go jogging with Linda and me?"
"Nah." She shrugged. "No offense, but you kinda can't keep up with me."
Erica couldn't deny that. For Cora, four miles was a typical day. Her chief complaint was that she had to stay on main, public streets now, for safety.
Cora broke the uncomfortable silence that had fallen, moving on to schoolwork. "Whatever. Did you figure out that flickering problem yet? I didn't see it on my laptop. And neither did Scotty."
"Might just be my video driver," Erica admitted.
~~~~~
Danielle turned back toward Brandon, tipping her head toward the desk up front, where Cora was talking with the teacher. "Oh, I'm so cute and shy and helpless, you should just give me a good grade!" she said in a mocking, squeaky, singsong voice.
Brandon couldn't help but notice that Danielle's voice wasn't as melodious as Cora's. "Hey, come on. She wasn't all 'shy and helpless' at the lock-in, I'll tell you that. She's a killer shot."
Danielle stiffened. "What? She was there? All night?" She was glaring.
"Whoa, hey, she just works there." He gave her a grin, trying to reassure her. "She hooked us all up with the good vests."
"I'll just bet she hooks up. With everybody," Danielle growled.
"Jeez, take it easy, okay?"
"Don't take her side!" Danielle snapped.
"I'm not. I just... what'd she ever do to you?"
Danielle glared at him for a second. "Check me out in the shower. Fucking dyke."
"Hold up, she's..."
"You didn't hear? Everybody knows." Her gaze should have burned the back of Cora's head. Indeed, she seemed to feel something and looked back at them both. "Her and her cousin, Erica. They live together, y'know."
He wanted to protest - Erica seemed to be satisfying David, from what he'd heard - but Cora was walking toward them now. She gave Brandon a quick smile, that faded when she focused on Danielle.
Man, I wish they'd just get along, Brandon thought as Cora sat down without a word. What the fuck is their problem, anyway?
Class started at that point, though, and it was a quiz day. He couldn't spend any more time thinking on girls and their unguessable purposes.
But he still found himself wondering. Is Cora really a carpet muncher? The thought made him sad. Hope not. That'd be a waste.
~~~~~
Cora, Linda, Kristina, and Erica all sat at a table in the food court at the mall. When they went out, they usually wound up splitting some sugary treat, 'sinning' together. This time it was a large Cinnabon they devoured while talking.
Kristina sounded worried. "Tomorrow's gonna suck. I already hated Mondays, Mr. Jackson had to add a social studies test."
"It'll be okay," Erica said. "His quizzes usually ain't so bad."
"Sez you, brainiac," Kristina snorted. "It wouldn't be so bad if I could just sleep through the night."
"I'll help you study later," Erica said.
"Your makeup looks really good today," Cora said to Linda. "What'd you do, change your foundation or something?"
"Yeah," Linda said, smiling happily. "I switched to a powder instead of a liquid. And I'm trying a little primer."
"It totes suits you," Erica said. She was surprised and pleased that Cora had (a) actually paid attention to makeup, and (b) managed to successfully identify something about it. "You still using Nars?"
"Nah, that costs too much. It's just MAC!"
Kristina had swallowed her bite. "Liquid's okay. All you gotta do is use a little setting powder. Sephora has a good one, no color at all."
Erica wasn't surprised to see a glaze coming over Cora's eyes. She'd reached a detente with cosmetics, but no more. Enthusiasm wasn't in the cards.
Baby steps, Erica thought. She was just happy she'd managed to steer Cora to buying a few more feminine versions of her usual clothing types. Cora wore a lot of jeans, but now she had one in pastel yellow with some rhinestone accents. It would liven up her wardrobe considerably by itself. And her new skirt was the shortest she'd ever bought.
Once they were done eating they got up and moved as a group back toward the stores. Cora was carrying the tray and went to the side to dump it in the trash.
A trio of passing boys followed her with their eyes. It was perfectly clear what they were doing. Certainly Cora didn't miss it when she turned back.
Both Linda and Kristina looked nervous for a brief moment, then put on carefully neutral expressions.
Cora noticed that too as she rejoined them, and rolled her eyes. "It's okay, chill. I'm not gonna freak, I promise." Cora actually sounded just a shade amused.
At that, the other girls smiled a little. All of them clearly remembered the first time they'd gone out to the movies with Cora.
So did she, apparently. She went on to say, "Boys're gonna look, I can deal. So long as they're not total douches about it."
"Well, anyway, let's hit Madewell," Kristina said. "I saw a top I think you'd look pretty good in."
"Thanks," Cora said, sincerely so far as Erica could tell.
~~~~~
Erica was doing homework at the kitchen table. Cora stood in the doorway, taking a call from Gabriela. They'd been talking for a while, like teenage girls did. Almost unconsciously, Erica was smiling at that.
Then, in the middle of taking a derivative, she paused. Something told her something was wrong.
She looked up. Cora's eyes were very wide.
She put her hand over the phone mic. "They wanna go scrapbooking," she hissed.
Erica struggled to keep the annoyance off her face. Cora was being a drama queen again.
Cora took her hand off the mic and went back to talking with Jacinta. "Well, it's just, I don't have a lot of pictures or anything. From home, I mean."
Erica had a flash of remorse for her snap judgement. It wasn't drama - or at least, not just drama. As usual, Cora had thought a few steps ahead. 'Jewel Cora Pinto' had little history.
"OK, I'll let you know." Cora hung up and looked at Erica, pained. "I don't have anything that's older than last December."
Erica shrugged helplessly. "You, uh, might have to skip this one."
"But... Jacinta and Gabriela have really been there for me." She looked forlorn. "I don't want 'em to think I'm blowing 'em off."
They hit Jacqui up on Skype. "...so it sounded like they really wanted me to come, and I don't wanna, like, disappoint 'em, but what am I supposeta bring, y'know?"
Jacqui frowned. It would be a good experience for Cora, and Goddess knew the friendships were important. The material problem was severe, however.
"How long do we have?" Jacqui asked.
"It's not 'til Saturday..." Cora said hesitantly.
Jacqui puffed out her cheeks. Photoshop plus Magic was a potent combination, but even so... "Four days is pretty tight."
"Please?" Cora asked, eyes wide.
The fact that Cora felt the friendships were important tipped the balance. Jacinta and Gabriela were already helping; Cora needed to be friends with other girls.
"All right. I'll get started tonight. But we're gonna have to work together on this, get our stories straight."
"You got it! Whatever you need!" They set up a time to conference, said their goodbyes, and disconnected.
Jacqui felt a little silly. She was used to applying her skills to official records and government databases. New Sisters didn't need elaborate histories. The more detailed the past, the more they'd have to keep straight.
~~~~~
Gabriela spotted Cora first, and bumped Jacinta's elbow. "She actually made it."
The girl was peering around, searching. It was a bright, sunny day outside, so it took her a few seconds for her eyes to adjust and spot them. She looked so furtive, like a trespasser hoping not to be noticed.
"Over here!" Jacinta called.
Cora squinted and came to their table. She had a small bag with her. "I had to run out and buy more photo paper and ink last night," she said.
"Well, whatcha got? Let's see!" Gabriela said. Cora flipped the bag over onto the space in front of her.
Jacinta looked over the meager collection of pictures and mementos. "We can make it work," she said reassuringly, though inside she wasn't so sure. "We can just do a mini-album."
"I got some shots on my phone we could maybe use," Gabriela added.
Cora chewed her lip. "Don't they charge to print stuff out?"
Jacinta stepped in. "It's not too bad. I only think we'll need a couple."
There was a brief, slightly uncomfortable pause. Cora blurted, "So, uh... how does this work." After a second, she added, "Scrapbooking wasn't a big thing where I was."
Jacinta and Gabriela exchanged a glance. "There isn't a, whadja call it, algorithm for it," Jacinta said. "It's about telling your story. Keeping memories."
Cora absorbed that for a few moments. "I don't wanna, like, dwell on New York and stuff," she said. "I might get too homesick."
Jacinta fought hard not to roll her eyes. "Okay, so we'll tell the story of you coming to Hillman High."
At that, Cora showed the first signs of any real interest. "Huh. Yeah, let's do that."
Picking the book and some supplies was fairly trouble-free, but Cora began to flounder as soon as the the time came to start decorating. Looking up from the first blank page, she looked every bit the helpless little girl. "I don't..." She trailed off.
Even Jacinta couldn't keep from rolling her eyes."It's about how you feel about it. Why is it important to you? What does it make you feel?"
Cora looked like no one had ever asked her what she felt before.
Over time, she got more into it, but the process was exhausting. Breaking for lunch was a relief for all three.
Although there was a little stress there too. Or at least jealousy. She wondered how Cora could possibly eat that much pizza and still have a flat panza. It just wasn't fair. Even with all the jogging she did.
~~~~~
They lay on Cora's bed. Hesitantly, almost shyly, Cora pulled her album out of the backpack. "Jacinta and Gabriela helped. I kinda had to guess how to do it, though."
Erica smiled and rubbed Cora's shoulder. "I'm sure you did fine. Let's check it out."
She was fascinated as she flipped through it. She knew the Sisters would be all over the scrapbook, looking for clues to Cora's frame of mind. But she was just plain curious, too.
The first two pages were pure fantasy. A baby picture that had been conjured from nowhere. Parents that didn't exist, a younger Cora that never was, playing in a snowdrift. A real high school on the other side of the country, that had records of Cora now - though she'd never set foot in it.
A page just of the fictional parents. One picture of a woman, another of a man, and a shot of them together in a vaguely middle-Eastern locale, sunburned but smiling.
But then, reality. An image of Cora with the Jardins. Hillman High, kids out front.
Four pages devoted to choir.
A two-page spread on the AP Programming group. Scotty and Josh looked almost respectable.
A page for just Erica. In the center, a photo of her in her cheerleader uniform, smiling and posing before a game. Other pictures - the programming team, even one from the spa trip after the salon - made a border around it.
An action shot of Haylie chasing a soccer ball.
Shots of Cora with Gabriela and Jacinta. One was taken at that Mary Kay party. Cooking those tamales. Just hanging out.
All the photos were surrounded by various decorations and trim, of course. Lace, ribbons, stickers, and so forth. If they had a level of sophistication more appropriate to a seven-year-old girl than a high school senior, they nevertheless seemed earnest.
Cora was quiet, watching Erica's face until she was done. Erica looked up. "It's really good. I love it!"
Cora smiled a fraction. "I never had to be sentimental before. I mean, like, a requirement, y'know?"
"Emotional boot camp?" Erica teased.
Cora took it surprisingly well. Just a wan smile. She turned and flipped through the early pages. "It's only been a couple months, but you can see, like... progress, kinda."
"You're smiling more, toward the end," Erica said neutrally.
"Guess so." Her smile went very crooked.. "It hasn't been... as bad, I guess. Lately." She hesitated a moment, then got serious. "I think, sometimes, I might actually make it." She sighed. "Sometimes. Without going totally crazy, I mean."
Erica gave her a hug. "I know you'll make it. Look how far you came already!" And she meant it. There was so much further to go, but Cora finally seemed to be heading in the proper direction.
"I know you're gonna need to show this to your Mom," Cora said when they separated a little. Then she smiled. "I mean, if Jacqui can't just read it from her house."
"You show it to her. She'll want to see it 'cause it's really good!"
They hugged. Before long they found another thing to do on Cora's bed.
~~~~~
Erica yawned as she came into the kitchen the next morning. Everyone was already up, eating breakfast, getting ready for the day. Haylie was almost done. Erica got some yogurt out of the fridge and joined the rest at the table.
"How did you sleep, honey?" Miranda asked.
"Pretty good." Erica suddenly realized that Cora was being unusually quiet. Her friend slumped in the chair, looking more depressed than she'd seemed in a couple months. "What's wrong?" she asked. Her period's been done for over a week...
Cora looked up from her cereal, and sighed. "I dunno. It's nothing." After a moment, she went on. "Like, the second I woke up... I got a bad feeling. Like something's gonna happen."
Out of the corner of her eye, Erica saw her Mom open her mouth, then close it. "Did you have bad dreams or something?"
Cora shook her head. "Nah, not that I remember."
"You're not worried about the concert or anything, right?" Erica asked. The first choir performance since Cora had joined was next week.
"Uh-uh. I dunno what's wrong, but it's not that. It's like... I feel like a storm is coming or something, y'know?"
"I'll try to keep it sunny," Erica joked, hoping to lighten her friend's mood.
Cora managed a wan smile.
~~~~~
The voice came from behind, insistent. "Erica."
Erica turned around from her locker. To her surprise, Kristina was there. That made no sense; she had class on the other side of the building. They only had five minutes between periods.
Kristina held out her phone. "You have to see this. Now." Her face had no expression. By the rules, phones were only supposed to be turned on in emergencies, but enforcing that was difficult in a high school.
Erica took the phone, looked at the screen... and stopped breathing. It was a picture of Cora, naked in the gym changing room after a shower. It wasn't a particularly erotic pose; she was just reaching up for her clothes. But her pubic hair and one breast was clearly visible.
"What the fuck?" she finally blurted, looking up at Kristina.
"It's going around the school," Kristina said evenly. Erica had noticed she tended to go wooden when she wanted to hide strong feelings, like shame... or anger. "Word is, Danielle or one of her friends took it."
"Oh, Goddess..." Erica felt horrified and terrified and infuriated. Cora was already negotiating incredible body issues, had barely started coming to terms with being attractive to boys. Becoming stroke material for all the boys in the school... that'd be traumatic for any girl, let alone a reluctant Sister.
She gave Kristina a quick, worried hug. "Thanks. I got programming with Cora next. We gotta scoot, talk to you later."
She made it through the door just as the bell rang. Her eyes locked with Cora's as she hustled to her seat. With a corner of her mind, she noted that Josh and Scotty weren't talking to Cora.
Cora looked up with a relieved smile. "Man, I'm glad to see you. It's been totally weird all afternoon. People keep looking at me like..."
Erica interrupted. "Cora, listen. I just found out..."
But suddenly the class got quiet as the school principal walked in. She went over to Mr. Yigal and spoke to him quietly. He looked with shock at Cora, then nodded.
Cora saw all of this. "What the fuck is going on?" she whispered.
Erica tried. "There's this picture, going around. It..."
But Mrs. Schimke came over to their desks. "Cora? Could you come with me to the office, please? You're not in trouble, but... there's a... a problem."
Cora looked wildly at Erica, and seemed disheartened by the fear and anguish she saw. But she quietly followed Mrs. Schimke out the door.
Just looking around the room, Erica could see meaningful glances and knowing smirks on about half the students. They knew what was going on, sure enough.
~~~~~
"What's this about, Mrs. Schimke?" Cora asked as she sat down.
Elena Schimke steeled herself. This had been an ordinary Tuesday with ordinary problems until twenty minutes ago. A teacher had caught two boys looking at their cell phones; as soon as he saw what was on it, he'd called the office.
The boys had broken almost immediately, turning in the friend who'd texted it to them. But it was also clear that (a) they had no idea who'd taken the picture, and (b) it had already spread beyond containment.
She felt bad for the girl. A new student, quiet, didn't cause any trouble. She wasn't in the popular cliques, but she'd been making some friends, from all reports.
And now, demonstrably, at least one nasty enemy.
But this would be bad for the school. She'd had to call the police already, and keeping it out of the evening news was only a faint hope at this point.
Right now, though, she had to break the very bad news. The girl was looking around nervously. "What's going on?" she asked again.
"I'm very sorry to have to tell you this. Just a few minutes ago, we discovered that someone has..." She cleared her throat. "...violated your privacy."
Cora just looked at her, frowning slightly.
Elena coughed. "It seems someone took a picture of you in the locker room." She held out a phone. "I'm holding this for evidence. The police are on the way, but..."
Cora took the phone in hand. She froze, and her eyes and mouth got wider and wider.
"The police are coming right now," Schimke repeated earnestly. "We'll track it down. But I'm afraid it's... spread pretty far already."
Cora tore her eyes up from the phone to look at her. "How... how far?"
Elena was mildly surprised at the anger creeping into the girl's tone. She'd expected Cora to get angry eventually - and rightfully so! But only after some wailing and tears. That had been her experience with girls facing public embarrassment.
Cora seemed to skip right past that, though. "How far?" she demanded anew, more steel creeping into her voice.
"We don't know for certain, but this came in a message that was sent to eight people. And then he... the owner forwarded it to seven more."
Cora's teeth were clenched tight now. She tapped on the phone quickly. "Kyle. Fucking perfect."
Elena tried to steer the girl to the most important question. "Can you think of anyone who'd want to do this to you?"
The girl frowned, concentrating intensely. "No, I... wait a minute." She looked up, hateful certainty all over her face. "Danielle. Danielle Oprisko. That fucking cunt."
"I... understand you're upset, but please... um, language..."
Cora didn't say anything. The whithering scowl said it all, anyway.
"Why do you think she might have done this?" Schimke asked after a moment.
"I don't think, I know. She's got this stupid fu... idea that I'm after her boyfriend. Brandon Metcalfe."
"Why does she think that?"
Cora snarled, indignant, waving the phone at her. "What, are you saying this'd be, like, justified if I was?"
"No!" Elena exclaimed. "I'm just trying to understand what happened here."
"My cousin Erica told me Sunny said she heard Mindy say that Danielle was mad for me talking to Brandon. We sit right next to each other in Calc, what am I supposed to do?"
Elena, long accustomed to high-school gossip, had no trouble following the chain. However... "Did Danielle ever say anything to you?"
"No, but she's been real snippy at me." Cora looked back down at the picture. "And her locker's in my row at gym, too!"
Elena thought quickly. None of this was proof, but clearly she needed to speak to Danielle right away. "Excuse me for a moment. I'll be right back."
She closed the door behind her. "Debra, find out where Danielle Oprisko is now and have her sent down." The secretary nodded and typed at her computer.
Elena had a fast decision to make. Interrogate Danielle alone or with Cora present? Assuming she was responsible, would being confronted by her victim increase her guilt or steel her resolve? On the other hand, Cora was clearly livid; would she be able to control herself?
Seeing a couple young men walk by the office chose for her. Cora wouldn't want to be seen by anybody in the school for a while. Having her wait in view of the hallway was out.
Danielle arrived looking nervous and confused. "What's going on, Mrs. Schimke?"
"I'll need your phone, please."
"What? Why?" Danielle said fearfully.
"Are you sure you don't know?" Sometimes that question and a stern look was all it took to prompt a confession.
Not this time, though. "No! I mean yes, I'm sure! What's going on?" The girl hesitated. "Do you really need my phone?"
"Yes. Unlock it, please." The girl handed it over.
Elena skimmed the array of icons. Android, iPhone, all the dumb phones - she wasn't a forensic technician! "Where are your IMs?" Danielle showed her, reluctantly.
A quick scan didn't turn up anything. Time for phase 2. "Come with me, please." She led Danielle to her office.
She kept an eye on Danielle as she came in and saw Cora. The young woman's eyes narrowed - yes, she didn't like Cora, that was obvious - but Elena couldn't spot any obvious gloating. Cora glared at Danielle with almost feral antipathy.
"Cora, can you hand me that phone, please?" The angry young woman handed it over with reluctance.
"Danielle, what do you know about this?" She showed her the picture.
Danielle's eyes widened a little, and Elena noted a quick flat glance at Cora. The girl said, "Whoa. What's going on?"
"That's been going around the school. I understand you have a locker in Cora's row at gym?"
"What? You think I took it?" Danielle gasped. "I don't like her, but I wouldn't do something like that!"
Elena squinted. She was half-convinced the girl was lying. But only half... and she had no solid evidence beyond the say-so of an enraged victim. Without a confession, this was going to be hard. Maybe the cops would find something on her phone.
But right now, she had to investigate herself. "Can you think of anyone else who might have done it?"
Danielle shrugged. "She doesn't exactly have a lot of friends." Then she flinched from Cora's glare as if it were causing her physical pain. Elena had seen many feuding girls, but had never felt hatred so tangibly before. It seemed to cloud the atmosphere of the room.
Just then came a knock on the door. Debra leaned in. "The police are here."
"Cora, please wait here. Danielle, you come with me." She didn't dare leave these two girls alone together.
~~~~~
Cora slipped out the back door with Erica, and the girls sprinted into Miranda's waiting car. Carefully, Erica's Mother eased away from the school - and the news vans parked out front.
As soon as she got in, Cora slumped down from the windows.
"Goddess, Cora, I'm so sorry!" Miranda said. "I can't believe anyone would do something like that!"
"Just get us home. Fast."
After they'd gone a mile or so, Cora told her story in clipped sentences. Danielle hadn't confessed, and a quick check of her phone hadn't turned up any proof. The police were taking it in to be analyzed, and contacting the cell companies for records.
"Goddess, I still can't believe it!"
"It's fucking real, all right."
Miranda didn't even consider chiding about swearing. "Well, we'll get our heads together when we get home. We'll figure this out."
"Think the Sisterhood would care about this?" Cora asked, with more cynicism than anyone her age should have been able to muster.
"Of course they care! I already contacted them. Jacqui's on the case."
"Hmph," Cora said, but let it go, and turned to a more reasonable target. "God damn that fucking cunt!"
"Good thing we believe in karma," Erica said. "She'll get hers."
"She'll 'get hers' from me. I'm gonna be the fucking karma delivery service, I swear." She looked at Erica. "Hey, I just Transitioned a bit. I am so ready to hit a girl now."
Erica didn't know how to respond to that. She recalled choosing not to attack Carrie that time, and just gave Cora's hand a squeeze.
~~~~~
The moment the Skype windows were open, Cora was talking. "We gotta get Danielle expelled for this shit," she said. Then she added, in a very dark tone, "For starters."
Jacqui shook her head sadly. "That won't be easy, not directly. Not yet."
"What do you mean, it won't be 'easy'?! You're fucking witches!"
"Please, listen." Jacqui took a deep breath. "I know who did it - Danielle, of course, and her friends Mindy and Rebecca helped. And I know exactly what they did." Her scowl rivaled Cora's. "The problem is, they were smart. They used a burner phone. Paid a homeless guy to go pay cash for it, so no video linking them to the phone. And they only ever turned it on at school, no location data to tie them to it. Even if the cops grab all the phone records, work their way back, it won't help."
Jacqui saw Cora opening her mouth, and overrode her. "Because then they actually burned it! Yanked the battery and cooked the phone in a bonfire when they were done. A big one. No fingerprints, the flash chips fried, everything."
"That sounds... rather well-thought-out for a pack of high school girls," Bronwyn mused doubtfully. Erica decided not to take offense.
"It was Mindy who came up with the plan." Jacqui frowned. "She was trying to keep her friend out of jail."
Erica clucked her tongue, then inhaled through her teeth, considering. "Mindy is pretty smart, I guess. And she knows computers."
Cora had been looking at Jacqui, appalled. "How do you know all this?"
"Magic." Her expression shifted from anger to apology. "Which isn't admissible in court. Or even to the principal."
Cora almost growled. "So use your Magic to fix this!" She waved at a startled Erica. "You changed her from boy to girl and made everybody forget. Can't you erase that fucking JPEG from, from history?"
"What happened to 'there's no excuse for messing with somebody's mind'?" Bronwyn asked pointedly. Laurie gasped and scowled at her lover. Bronwyn had the grace to look abashed. Slightly.
Cora just glared.
For her part, Jacqui sighed. "We couldn't do it anyway. Forty years ago, we could, but not today. It's on the Internet now. The story's on the five o'clock news, way beyond just one town. And it'll probably be on the late news, too. All over the place. Wiping it out would take an incredible amount of power, and we still probably couldn't pull it off." She looked at a window on her screen, presumably Bronwyn's. "And there's no chance at all our enemies could miss it. A spell like that would be like fireworks and searchlights and a marching band, singing 'here we are!'"
Cora had an inventive mind, however, undaunted by obstacles. "Conjure the phone back."
Bronwyn spoke again. "We could Magically, well, 'resurrect' the phone. Probably." Her lips pursed. "We're powerful, but as Jacqui just pointed out, there are limits."
"Conjuring DNA through time is no big deal for you!" Cora said.
"The power of the Sisters is much more oriented to life than to things and objects," Laurie interposed gently.
"And that's not even the real problem," Jacqui said quickly, before Cora could snap at her Mother. "Danielle and her friends know what happened to it." She stared out of the screen at Cora. "They'd know something was really wrong if that phone turned up again." She shook her head sadly. "And we just can not afford that, either."
Cora's face was flushed with anger. "So make 'em forget!"
Jacqui spoke. "Mindy and Rebecca, maybe. But Danielle has been planning this for a couple weeks. Obsessing over it, all day every day. It's... it's a formative memory now. Part of what makes her who she is. We can't wipe out a major chunk of it without changing her into a different person."
"Unlike me?" Cora hissed. The Sisters looked uncomfortable. She glared like a basilisk at their images, but she didn't say anything for a few seconds.
Erica had seen Cory when he was really motivated. Erica and Miranda had both seen Cora's imagination and creativity in their Magic lessons. So they weren't as surprised as the other Sisters at how quickly she invented alternatives. They were all equally dismayed at the content of the next idea, though.
"We can't get rid of that picture? Okay, fine. We give everyone something else to look at." Her eyes slewed to Jacqui's onscreen image. "How 'bout a picture of Danielle fucking a donkey or something? Or, hey, better yet - let's do three-girls-one-cup, with her and Mindy and Becca!"
Jacqui stared back, openmouthed. All the Sisters did.
Cora never stopped glaring at Jacqui. "Don't tell me you can't do it! You did all that scrapbook stuff in, like, a couple days."
Bronwyn recovered first. "We cannot afford any more attention on the students of Hillman High. Bad enough you're in the news at all. Making the situation more dramatic is much too dangerous. That's the kind of story that could go national! If it did, you'd all have to run just on general principles."
Cora's jaw was locked, her eyes pinched... but Bronwyn never wavered. Cora finally broke the silence, and spat, "She can't get away with this shit!"
"No, she can't. We will find a way to make this right." Laurie spoke with both urgency and empathy. "But our options are limited right now."
Cora sat hunched, struggling with her rage. There were a few heartbeats of anxious silence. Then she spoke, harshly. "What 'options' do you have?"
Bronwyn spoke up. "I can promise that they are going to start having nightmares. The kind that prick - no, stab - the conscience. Don't be surprised if one of them confesses, and pretty soon."
"Dreams? Fucking dreams?" Erica wanted to edge away from Cora's malevolent posture. "They send out naked pictures of me to every fuckhead pervert in the school and all you got is bad dreams?!"
Into the silence that followed, Laurie said, "You might be surprised how effective such things can be."
Cora's glare, as usual, replied for her.
Bronwyn sighed. "We can't risk security over this, or break someone's mind, even someone as loathsome as Danielle." She shook her head sadly. "I know it's no comfort right now, but ultimately this is just a vile prank. In a few months you'll graduate and never need see these people again. In fact, in a few weeks I doubt it will even be an issue."
"It's on the goddamn Internet now! It'll never go away!" She suddenly stopped. Then, slowly, she said, "Wait. If you can't erase it... what happens when I turn back to Cory?"
Jacqui answered. "Well, this incident won't have any ties to Cory. If someone investigates, the 'Jewel Cora Pinto' identity will have already been abandoned." She quirked her mouth, sheepishly. "We'll probably have to move the Jardins to new identities at that point. But there's no real connection between them and Cory, either."
Erica and Miranda traded dismayed gazes.
Cora saw them, and was quiet for a time, processing the future impact she would have on the Jardins. Then she frowned, and looked at Jacqui. "Did Brandon know about all this?"
Jacqui shook her head. "No. They kept him out of the loop."
Cora looked like she wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not.
~~~~~
After final expressions of sympathy and support - which Cora gracelessly rebuffed - the senior Sisters disconnected.
Cora just sat in her chair for half a minute before she stirred and looked at Miranda and Erica. "If we can't pin Danielle for this shit, we find some other way to get her back."
Miranda nodded, but began, "We have to be careful..."
Cora cut her off. "I don't mean with a baseball bat." Her lip curled. "Though that'd be fun." She apparently gave up the mental image and refocused on the Sisters. "The High Priestess can screw up her nights, whatever. I want her days to suck hard."
Erica touched her shoulder. "Well, Sisters try not to do harm. We believe it echoes back. Karma and all."
Miranda tried not to let show any of her joy at the fact Erica was again calling herself a 'Sister'.
Cora looked up suddenly, eyes alight. "Wait a minute. This bullshit started when she thought I was going after Brandon, right? The whole reason she pulled this shit is because she's scared of losing him! So let's fucking do it!"
"Uh... what do you mean?" Erica asked doubtfully.
"We do the same thing to her that you did to Carrie, except worse. We make Brandon fall in love with some other girl! That'd really screw her over!"
"I don't think that's quite the best way..." Miranda began.
"You did it for her!" Cora shouted, pointing at Erica. "Show me how to mix up the potion. I bet I can get him to drink it. Get him to fall for one of the other soccer girls, maybe..."
"Brandon didn't do anything to you," Miranda noted.
"He gave up on Cory! And he'd be better off without a skanky bitch like Danielle anyway!"
Miranda said, very cautiously, "It's not in keeping with the spirit of the Sisterhood."
The care was wasted; Cora exploded. "You fucking bitch! You'll use Magic to help your daughter if she gets in trouble, but for me it's 'We gotta be careful'! Fucking bullshit!"
Miranda had faced Cora's derision, her sarcasm, her sulkiness, her snarling anger - though much less over the last month. Not since that first training day had Miranda been the focus of white-hot fury. She held her hands up - wondering if she'd have to physically defend herself again - and spoke urgently. "Goddess, Cora, I don't mean we won't help, we just have to think about what's the best approach..."
"The best approach is we kill that fucking cunt bitch whore!" Cora screamed. Then she said, more quietly though with the kind of malice they hadn't seen since the day she was Transformed, "But I can't do that and change back. So I gotta stick a metaphorical knife through her fucking heart." She was practically growling now. "I am going to fuck her up."
"I think maybe we should, like, calm down, take a break for a few minutes." Erica said, interposing herself between her Mother and the novice. "Come on, let's eat something." She guided Cora toward the kitchen. "My mom said something about a way to cause major B.O., back when Carrie was after me..."
~~~~~
Jacinta debated a minute longer, then hit 'call'. Cora hadn't answered her texts. She wasn't about to leave it at that.
The phone rang four times. Just before she figured it was going to voicemail, it picked up. "Hey," Cora said quietly.
"Ohmigod, Cora, I'm so sorry!"
"I don't really want to talk about it," Cora muttered.
Jacinta pressed on. "Come on! You can't just bottle everything in all the time. I'm here for you, y'know. We all are."
"I know, but..." The girl trailed off.
"Can I come over?"
Cora was silent. Then, "I think I need to be by myself tonight."
"Come on! Please! I want to help."
"I know." Then, with more than listlessness, with a hint of real emotion, she said, "I really appreciate it."
"I'll totally bring ice cream..." Jacinta wheedled.
That got a short choked laugh. "Thanks. Honest. But I just need to be alone tonight."
"Can I see you tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Cora said, with another ghost of warmth.
"Promise?"
"I promise."
"Okay..."
"Bye."
"Bye. Love you."
Sounding surprised, Cora said, "Love you too."
~~~~~
They didn't have sex that night. When Cora finally stopped pacing and fuming, she sat down next to Erica on the bed. Almost the instant Erica put an arm on her shoulder, the girl burst into tears.
Cora sobbed and sobbed. Erica just held her friend and wished she knew how to make the pain go away.
Continued in Part 8
Erica stood in Cora's room, helping her choose an outfit for the day. She wasn't about to let her nervousness show in her mien. But Cora would probably notice that it was unusually cloudy outside for southern California.
Cora had been looking herself over in the mirror on her closet door. Then she turned to Erica. "I'm gonna need your help."
"You know I'll..."
Cora interrupted. "About Danielle."
Erica paused. "Well, sure, but..."
Again, Cora interrupted. "Your Mom's useless. But you know how to make that potion. The one you used on Carrie. We gotta give it to Brandon."
Erica bit her lip. "That won't work."
Cora's lip curled up in a snarl. "Why the fuck not? Look at Carrie!"
Erica put up her hands. "Love potions aren't, like, totally generic. I only know the one potion, and it only works one way."
Cora's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"If we give that one to Brandon, he'll get the hots for another guy."
Cora's eyes widened, staring off into the distance. Then she broke out a very evil smile at whatever internal vision she was contemplating. "Whoa. Can you imagine how that'll make Danielle feel?"
Erica took a moment to compose herself. "I guess, but imagine how Brandon'd feel. Even before it wore off!" She could hear her voice rising involuntarily. "I mean, how would Cory have handled it if he was suddenly crushing on, I dunno, Lucas?"
All of a sudden, Erica was profoundly grateful that Cora wasn't really looking at her. She couldn't keep the guilt and embarassment off her face. After being with David, she was positive now that Cora would have to eventually find guys attractive in order to Transition. Maybe even crush on one or two. Which she'd just portrayed as unacceptable to Cory...
Fortunately, Cora didn't seem to make that connection as she paused for a few seconds. "Huh." She slumped. "All right, fine, I'm not that mad at him. He's a fucking moron for being with her. But that's not a crime, I guess."
Erica was privately relieved to see that Cora would countenance at least a few limits on collateral damage. On the other hand, Erica totally agreed that revenge was called for. "Why don't we give it to Danielle?"
Cora didn't merely look upset. She appeared almost insulted. "Fuck that! I don't want her happy with someone else!"
"It wears off in, like, two weeks max. Carrie actually fell in love with Harry all on her own. Kinda grew in under the spell. Even Mom was surprised, I guess it hardly ever happens unless you pick the people involved really carefully."
Cora looked thoughtful, gaming it out in her head. "So... she suddenly starts panting after some other guy, and dumps Brandon... and then a couple weeks later 'she's lost that lovin' feeling' but Brandon's pissed at her?"
"Yup. That's about it."
Cora mulled it over for a minute. "Maybe."
"What's wrong? It's perfect!" Erica cried indignantly.
Cora held up a finger. "One, it might not work. You said yourself that Carrie could have chosen not to go after Harry."
Another finger came up, and Erica would have sworn it got darker in the room. Cora spoke quietly but with infinite malevolence. "And two - when I get her, I want her to know it. Know exactly who got her."
~~~~~
David walked up to Erica at her locker. The girl looked tired and drawn. She didn't give him the big smile he'd come to expect when she saw him, but she did stand up a little straighter.
He was doing some rapid risk estimation. His job was to be a very good boyfriend. Being an implausibly perfect boyfriend would be dangerous in its own way. So he started off with, "How's Cora doing? After that picture, I mean?"
"You saw it?" Erica asked frostily.
David shaded his expression carefully, with just the right amount of guilt and embarassment and apology. "It was, y'know, going around."
Erica glared at him for a moment, then rolled her eyes and shrugged with such a what-can-I-expect-you're-just-a-boy expression that David would have been sure she'd been born a girl if he hadn't known better.
"I deleted it," he said meekly. And truthfully. Though he left out the part about forwarding it, with a report, to his handler. "Where is she, anyway? I figured she'd be with you. If she came at all."
Erica waved down the hall distractedly. "She's talking to Gabriela and Jacinta. We'll see her in homeroom."
"Hey, y'know, anything I can do, just let me know. Was it really Danielle?"
He'd never seen Erica with an expression quite like that. Pure hatred. "Yes. But we can't prove it. Yet."
"Well, okay. Like, any support Cora needs..."
"You're fucking right we're gonna support her!" Erica snapped. Then she immediately looked apologetic. "Sorry. Just tired, and pissed."
"It's all right. I figured." He pulled her in for a quiet hug. She looked like she needed it. Plus, boyfriend points, right?
She looked up gratefully when they broke apart a second later. And she held his hand as they hurried to homeroom. Definitely boyfriend points.
~~~~~
Sitting with Linda, Kristina, David, and Paul at lunch, Erica was relieved that Danielle had a different lunch period than her and Cora. At least they'd be saved that particular drama.
Jacinta and Gabriela came over and sat with them. They usually sat just with Cora - not out of any enmity, rather because they were just mutual friends of Cora. But today Cora would need extra support.
"Is she coming?" Paul asked softly, looking around.
"Yeah," Jacinta said. "She's gotta come all the way from Mrs. Teller's class is all." That was on the far side of the school from the cafeteria. "Oh, there she is..."
Erica couldn't believe it. The sound of the cafeteria changed when Cora walked in. The whole tone of the conversations shifted. More whispers, more laughing, faster talking.
Cora stared straight ahead, rigid, ignoring everything as she went through the line. As she sat with her friends, Erica was reminder of the night of her Transformation, how her face had looked like porcelain. If Cora looked like a doll now, it was a darkly angry doll, like out of a horror movie.
They all looked at each other as Cora started eating her food. Nobody said anything for a few seconds, unsure how to deal with the elephant in the room.
Jacinta spoke up. "Did you all see that meatloaf? I swear it's the same..."
Cora interrupted. "Don't fucking bother. Pretending isn't gonna make it go away. Ain't gonna make me feel any better, either."
After a beat, Erica asked, "How you holding up?"
Cora said, "Hmph. Okay."
"Anybody giving you shit?" Gabriela asked, aggressively.
Unexpectedly, Cora smiled thinly. "Kyle and Louis, for one. Dumbfucks. I just pointed out that I knew they sent that picture out, and did they want me to press charges?"
Nobody laughed, but that got a few smiles.
Cora was shaking her head. "The guys I expected. But the girls are all looking at me, too. If they aren't totes ignoring me."
Kristina put a hand on Cora's. "Bet a lot are jealous." At Cora's start, she said quickly, "Not the picture! But you're one of the hottest girls at Hillman. And now their boyfriends know it for sure."
Erica wondered for a moment if Cora would take offense, but by her shrug she seemed to appreciate Kristina's honesty.
"It'll all blow over," Linda said. "Nobody even remembers Erica getting peppered."
Cora inhaled... but then let it out slowly. Comparing naked pictures to messing up a cheer wasn't going to go over well. Linda realized that, judging from her expression. Jacinta leapt in to help move the conversation along.
"The gym teacher was walking back and forth in the locker room, before and after. Just watching, making sure there weren't any phones." She had morning gym.
Cora sighed. "Woulda been nice a couple days ago." She shrugged. "Oh well."
"I guess there's gonna be an assembly later," David said.
Cora's eyes rolled. "Oh, that's gonna be a treat," she griped.
~~~~~
Mrs. Schimke stood at the podium in the gym, addressing the hastily-scheduled afternoon assembly. "Several recent incidents have shown that we need to go over the school policy on electronics." She paused, looking over the crowd. "Phones are permitted for emergencies only. They are to be switched off when not in use. Photos may be taken only with school equipment under supervision of faculty personnel."
Brandon kept his eyes firmly on the principal. He certainly didn't look Cora's way, where she was sitting with her friends. From the corners of his eyes he could see about half the crowd was looking at her.
The other half was looking at him, and Danielle.
The rumors about her being responsible, because of him, were everywhere. Last night, Danielle swore to him - up, down, and sideways - that she had nothing to do with the picture.
It sure didn't seem likely she'd done it. It didn't make sense that she'd do something so harsh, just to 'protect her turf'. Danielle was kinda jealous, and he knew she didn't like Cora, but that would be... fucked up.
Besides, Cora'd been kinda friendlier to him since that lock-in, but she sure as shit wasn't into him. He didn't have the secret girl codebook, but she never acted like... well, like Danielle.
Not that Danielle was acting much like Danielle today. She'd been pissy and grumbling when she met him before the assembly.
"Mrs. Schimke 'requested' that I switch my gym and calc classes." Danielle had said. "To 'defuse tension.' I told her, 'Why should I move? I didn't do anything!' But she said 'Cora'd had a shock and it wasn't fair to make her move!'"
To be honest, Brandon had to agree with Mrs. Schimke, though he couldn't tell Danielle that. He was seriously impressed Cora was there at all, really. Coming right back to school like that must have taken shitloads of guts. Whoever had taken that shot, he hoped they got what was coming to them.
He felt guilty thinking it, but if Danielle had done it to attack Cora, it had maybe backfired some. He'd deleted the picture when it came his way, and tried to get his friends to as well. But he had to admit, Cora was hot. Slim, yeah, but not skinny. Just... tight. He couldn't wipe his memories like a phone.
Calc was coming up next. It was gonna be a lot harder to ignore her when she was sitting right next to him. He hoped she didn't blame him for the whole mess. Best he just ignore her, not toss any more grief on her plate.
~~~~~
Cora hadn't backed down from going to school. But she'd asked to take a car instead of the bus. Miranda had, of course, agreed to let them borrow hers, and Erica rode with her. Cora didn't make even a token protest about Erica doing the driving home. She was too worked up to worry about incidentals.
She practically growled when she spoke. "Brandon didn't say a fucking thing. Kept ignoring me, like he was scared of me."
Erica waited to make sure she wasn't going to say anything further, then said, "I think maybe he is."
"But he didn't do anything! He doesn't even think Danielle did anything!" Cora scowled. "Fucking moron."
"Us Sisters know that, but he doesn't know that we know. You know?"
"Whatever." Cora didn't sound mollified. But Erica was pleased to note she followed the logic. Girls tended to grasp motivations, and the consequences of differential information, better than boys, and Cora was showing more awareness of such things.
Cora kept growling anyway. "He still could grow a pair and say something. 'Sorry that happened.' 'Are you okay?' Something."
"What if you thought he was acting guilty?"
"But I... He..." Cora apparently gamed it out in her head, for she finally said, "Fine. Whatever." As was her wont, it didn't take long for her to switch to another problem. "I still haven't come up with anything to destroy Danielle."
Erica wished, a little, that Cora wouldn't hold on to her hate like that. It wasn't Sisterly. On the other hand, she herself had a less-than-Sisterly attitude toward Danielle. "Karma's coming. The Goddess will provide." Somehow, she added to herself, hoping. "She looked pretty pissed to be in the same class as me."
Cora grunted contemptuously. "The Goddess got me into this fucking mess."
"Well, trust your Sisters, then. None of us are gonna give up."
Cora's eyes narrowed, but she didn't say anything for a moment. Then she shook her head and changed the subject. "A lot of girls were acting weird today. I know I heard Maya say 'slut' when I went by."
"Yeah, I figured there'd be some of that," Erica said sadly.
Confusion and anger warred for control of Cora's expression. "Hold the fuck up. Some bitch takes a picture of me and sends it all over... and that makes me a slut?"
Erica chewed her lip for a few seconds, searching for a way to explain. "You... well, you got noticed by a lot of people. In, y'know, like, a sexual context."
Cora obviously didn't follow. "What? They think I wanted this shit to happen?"
"They're not thinking at all. It's just... 'girl' plus 'sex' equals 'slut'. For a lot of people. Even girls."
"But I didn't..."
Erica waved her hand to slow Cora down. "A lot of people, they think that kind of shit doesn't happen to 'nice' girls. So if it does, it, like, automatically means she wasn't a 'nice' girl."
The dark-haired girl's hands had balled into fists. But she was paying close attention.
Erica went on. "I think some of it's... I dunno. Sort of wishful thinking. Almost like a defense mechanism." Cora just stood fuming, but didn't say anything. "If shit like that can happen even if you're careful and follow all the rules... it's scary. That would mean it could happen to them."
Understanding some new concept usually calmed Cora down, or at least distracted her. Not this time. She was icily furious as she hissed, "And that's too upsetting to think about. So if some girl gets fucked over, she must have been asking for it."
"Not everybody's that stupid," Erica hastened to say.
"Just enough to screw me over even more," Cora growled.
~~~~~
Cora said nothing at all during dinner. She'd looked at enough social media to see that Erica's words about reputation and blame were true. Cora had defenders, but they were not a clear majority.
It evolved into a very low-key evening after that. A quiet cleanup, homework, a little zoning in front of the TV. Cora seemed understandably preoccupied; no less angry, but deep in thought. Everyone gave her space but stayed close enough to let her know they were there for her.
It was while the two were getting ready for bed that Cora dropped her bombshell.
"So what does a girl do to get a boy to ask her out?"
Erica looked up, nearly in shock. After a second, she managed to speak. "Why... I mean, boys are still hitting on you, right?"
Cora sighed. "Not today. But yeah, in general. A girl just needs to exist for that." She paused. "I meant, if a girl wants a particular boy to ask her out. Like, let him know she's available."
Erica was in shock, now. She just stared, mouth open slightly.
"Goddammit, it's not like that!" Cora snarled.
Erica finally managed to speak. "What the fuck is going on?"
Cora stared at the wall for a while. "I've been trying to come up with a way to get Danielle. Really get her."
Erica had a sudden horrible suspicion.
Cora confirmed it. "I got the idea after the assembly. Danielle looked so totally pissed when Brandon went to my calc class and she had to go to gym." She glowered even more intensely. "The whole reason she went off on me was 'cause she thought I was trying to steal Brandon. Well, the absolute best way to hurt her is to make that come true."
Erica floundered. "But... but..."
"I am going to fucking get Danielle. I can't kill her, I can't even kick her ass. And the goddam Sisters won't give me any Magical help."
"Not like that. But they're..."
Cora shut her down brusquely. "If it doesn't cut Danielle's fucking heart out, I don't give a shit what help they want to give. So I'll just take Brandon away myself if that's what it takes."
Erica mulled it over for a moment. "Kinda hard on Brandon. Just using him to get back at Danielle."
"I sorta want to get back at him, too, some. Didn't take him long to hook up with her after... after Cory was gone. And he could have fucking said something yesterday."
Erica didn't know what to say. Finally, she just said, "Congratulations. That's a very girlish way to think about it."
With clenched teeth, Cora bit out, "I don't have any boyish options anymore. And besides, you said I shouldn't seem all lesbo."
"I didn't mean that!" To herself, though, Erica had to admit that going after a boy would combat those rumors pretty effectively...
But this was a bad idea every other way. "Y'know, he might not go for it."
Cora shrugged. "And if he doesn't, maybe that'll get Danielle to back the fuck off."
"Maybe," Erica said. "It might make her go all scorched earth, take no prisoners, though."
"She'd do something worse than take naked pictures of me and spread them all over school?"
Erica didn't know what to say to that either.
~~~~~
The three witches hung up their phones. They sat in silence for a time, digesting Miranda's latest report about Cora. Erica had telepathically alerted her Mother that something was up, and let her mind be read.
Then, Jacqui scowled. "What do you think?"
Bronwyn shrugged. "I don't see why you're even asking. Of course we allow it."
"Hold it. It's not that cut and dried! They were good friends before Cora's Transformation. Close enough for him to do some digging on Cory. And..."
Only Laurie could manage to interrupt so politely. "That's been true for Sisters all through history. For thousands of years, Sisters knew everyone in their village their whole lives. Everyone did." She smiled a little. "It wouldn't be the first time a Sister found herself feeling differently about a friend, after."
"That's not what's going on here." Jacqui was shaking her head. "Cora's not a typical Sister. To say the least. This isn't about feelings for him anyway. It's about how much she hates Danielle."
"Okay," Bronwyn conceded, "it's not the purest motivation in the world." Now she had her own scowl. "But any motivation at all is an improvement. What happened to Cora was horrible, but maybe the Goddess can bring some good out of it."
Jacqui was not mollified. "In the past, everyone in the village had their memories changed. What's-his-name, Brandon, still remembers Cory."
Bronwyn's lips were pursed. "It's a little risky, true..."
Jacqui got up to pace. "A little risky?! Goddess, we've cut so many corners here. Cory figured it out - and Erica was much further along than Cora is now, and Cory didn't even know her that well, and..."
Bronwyn put her hand on Jacqui's shoulder, holding her in place. "The Sisterhood has always taken refuge in audacity in this respect. It's just too unlikely. Even Cory wouldn't have noticed anything amiss if he hadn't been able to partially guard his memories."
Laurie, seeing Jacqui's obvious doubt, moved close and spoke up again. "Truly, luv, it's worked for many thousands of years. I know some things are different today, with technology. We're all grateful you understand that realm." She stood to touch Jacqui's other shoulder now. "But people haven't changed all that much. I think you know that, too."
Her daughter was silent, but the opposition was still clear. Laurie sighed. "Yes, we'd be taking a chance. But Cora's miserable. This might help her adjust, too." She tightened her grip on Jacqui's shoulder. "Consider, dear heart, that this is the first time she's shown any, any real agency since the Transformation. She's been doing what we told her, following directions. And that's all. She needs to start making choices and plans for herself."
Bronwyn spoke up. "And even if the plan itself is... questionable, you have to admit it has some useful aspects."
Jacqui nibbled her lower lip for a time, pondering. Then she looked back and forth at both witches. "I know, get her to act like a girl and her instincts should kick in. But..." She trailed off, shaking her head. The two senior Sisters waited, letting her mull it over some more.
Jacqui's frown deepened. "Okay, let's say I buy that this Brandon boy won't make any dangerous connections. So... do we help her? And in what ways?"
"Oh, there are things we can do." Bronwyn was grinning mischievously.
Jacqui pulled gently away to pace again. "You're not suggesting we encourage the boy's interest?"
"No, that is not what we mean." Laurie said sharply. "Danielle deserves every bit of this, and more. But Brandon hasn't done anything." She shook her head. "Ordinarily, I'd never consider breaking up a couple, but even I find it hard to feel much of the Goddess' Love for Danielle."
Jacqui spread her hands in placation. "I'm not thrilled about any of it! But if we go along with this at all, I have to admit I can't imagine anything else that'd get Cora on a date with a boy so soon. And apparently the reason Danielle's got it in for Cora is because Brandon's already thinking about her." Her frown came back. "At least, she thinks so. That's the first thing to check."
"No." Bronwyn was firm. "We don't use any kind of mental Magic - yet. Not just for moral reasons, either. Think! If Cora has to seduce him all on her own - read his feelings, plan out her strategy..."
Jacqui's smile suddenly matched Bronwyn's for mischief. "She'll have to develop her feminine wiles!"
"Then, if she succeeds, we might plant a few dreams and Suggestions to help guide Brandon in the most useful directions." Bronwyn said, her grin now positively dangerous.
"Ah," Jacqui breathed, enlightened. All three witches were smiling, now.
Jacqui even managed to be a little philosophical. "If this were some new boy she was actually into, I'd have to do some probing, vet him a little. But Brandon's been a 'person of interest' all along. I've seen enough of him to be pretty sure he won't assault her or anything, at least. If she succeeds." She shrugged. "It won't last, anyway."
"You're right, it probably won't last," Bronwyn agreed. "But how many high-school romances do?" An eyebrow rose. "And who knows? Sometimes lies become truth. I had to shove you at Marcus, remember?"
Laurie smiled in remembrance. "This Brandon sounds like a nice-enough specimen. I can commend his loyalty to his friend, even if it's been inconvenient for us."
"Well, I guess we'll have to pray this gives him something else to focus on."
~~~~~
"Whaddaya think?" Cora asked, as soon as Erica stepped back with her makeup brush.
Erica studied the girl's outfit carefully, from bottom to top, by the morning light leaking through Cora's bedroom window.
Pointed tan boots with a bit of heel; 'skinny jeans', tight all the way down to the calf, were tucked into them. The combination showed off her legs well.
The boots and jeans weren't unusual for Cora, though. She'd worn the tight knit shirt before, too. But she'd always worn it under something else, if only a vest. Not today.
The brown top clung to her closely, outlining her upper body. In some of the outfits Cora wore, it was hard to even gauge the shape and size of her breasts. That wouldn't be a problem today.
She'd borrowed a pair of attractive earrings from Erica - not just studs today, these dangled - which were visible because her hair was pulled back somewhat. And she had on a couple bracelets. Her cosmetics were just a shade more pronounced than usual; the tube of Mary Kay lipstick had finally been opened. Cora had even broken out the tweezers and shaped her eyebrows a bit, something she'd refused to do ever since her makeup breakdown.
It was all pretty typical, really. It wouldn't be anything special for at least half of the girls at school. For Cora, though, it was a marked step up. And she had the face and body to make such an ensemble really pop.
"If you're positive this is what you wanna do..." Erica paused and sighed. "Then I gotta admit, that totally oughta get his attention."
Cora inspected herself in the mirror, a pensive look on her face. "And all the other boys, too."
Erica shrugged. "Kinda the problem with sending out signals like that. Can't really, y'know, 'collimate the beam' much." More seriously, she continued. "I guess everybody's looking at you already."
Cora pondered for a few moments more, then squared her shoulders. "Ah, fuck it. I can pretend it's because of the clothes, and not... you know." Her lip curled up in a slight snarl. "And maybe it'll at least make Danielle sweat a little."
All the boys'll be sweating, too, for different reasons, Erica thought to herself. But there was more. "You realize a lot of girls ain't gonna be down with this. There's that whole 'slut' thing."
"They can blow me," Cora said, with more enthusiasm than strict anatomical accuracy.
They went downstairs, and Miranda looked convincingly surprised. Indeed, not all of her surprise was feigned. Cora had never done herself up so throughly outside of femininity lessons. Haylie stopped eating breakfast and just stared, openmouthed.
Erica spoke first, just as if she hadn't warned her Mother last night. "Cora's going to try to steal Brandon from Danielle."
Miranda appeared to think that over. "We'll need to run that idea past the senior Sisterhood. That might have, ah... security implications."
"Let 'em try to stop me," Cora said curtly.
Miranda's eyebrows raised, but she said, "In any case, you look beautiful, Cora."
Cora just scoffed, mouth quirked to one side.
~~~~~
Cora: check it <selfie.jpg>
Jacinta: whoa muy caliente!!!
Gabriela: hottt!
Cora: war now. makin play 4 brandon
[Jacinta private to Gabriela: bak me up]
Jacinta: omg thanks 4 telling us on way 2 school! :-( u shoulda called!
Cora: uh sorry. really
Gabriela: yeah seriously!!
Jacinta: gotta warn us. how we bak u up?
Cora: I dont no?
Jacinta: omg u can be so clueless!!! :p
Jacinta: u think just lookin fine will do it?!
Gabriela: yeah he's not a dick!!!
Cora: what could u do?
[Gabriela private to Jacinta: omg luv her but sumtimes aaaahhhhh!]
Jacinta: he aint gonna dump Dani just cuz some chica flirts w/him!
Cora: so... what?
[Jacinta private to Gabriela: ikr? grrr]
Gabriela: make Dani piss him off
Jacinta: yeah push&pull
Cora: how do i do that?
Jacinta: duh!!! u dont!! WE do!!!!!
Jacinta: start rumors B wants u say he called u last night
Cora: O.o?
Cora: but he didn't
Gabriela: will piss D off
Gabriela: she'll smother him
Cora: bitch already thinks he wants me
Jacinta: but now u dress up
Jacinta: shell wonder
Gabriela: every1 will
Gabriela: omg! we cn say Derek likes u too
Jacinta: perfect!! <3
Cora: i dont get it
Gabriela: mindys bae u ditz
Gabriela: every1 will WANT to buy it
Jacinta: right and m and d will wonder bout each other
Gabriela: u don't say shit tho
Gabriela: has to come from us
Cora: thx u guys!!
Cora: <3 u c u soon
~~~~~
Jacinta blinked when she caught sight of Cora at her locker. The girl was gorgeous.
With almost anybody else, she'd be at least a little jealous. Especially 'cause Cora knew she was gorgeous. But somehow she never acted like it made her better than anybody else. Like her beauty was something that had happened to her, a thing she had to deal with. Not a part of her.
But now she was using it. Weaponizing it. And it was some heavy artillery.
She hurried up and gave Cora a hug. "Daayum, girl!" she gushed, looking her up and down."You look amazing!"
Gabriela was right behind. "Ohmigod, you look awesome! Brandon's toast!"
Cora blushed just a little. "Thanks." Earnestly, she asked, "I was thinking. He'll know he wasn't going after me. He'll tell her."
"Doesn't matter." Gabriela's hands mimed waving away an irrelevancy. "Dani'll be worried, no matter what he says. She already is."
Cora had that million-miles-away look. She was in 'processing mode', where she was thinking about some new idea. Finally, Jacinta thought.
It was enough for now. "Shit, we gotta get to class. See you at lunch, okay? Hugs!"
"Stay strong, sister," Gabriela said, hugging her too.
~~~~~
Brandon was coming to regret his mistake. Massively.
Sitting next to Cora in math class, after the assembly yesterday, had been excruciating. He'd tried to pretend she wasn't even there, but he'd sensed how angry she was anyway. By the time the bell rang her face was all squinched and he had a good start on a headache just from being near all that tension. Like her anger was actually beaming at him.
He'd made the mistake then: rushing out of class. Only on the drive home did he realize what he should have done - gone and talked to Mr. Stratton, asked him to swap his seat somewhere away from Cora. Anywhere away from her. The hall would be fine.
There hadn't been time today before class. So here he was, right next to her again. And she was even harder to ignore.
He'd actually stared for just a second when she came in. She never wore shirts that tight. He didn't know much about clothes, but he was positive anyway... because he would have remembered seeing her shoulders, and waist, and most especially her breasts outlined like that.
And she wasn't acting mad at him! When she'd sat down, she'd casually said "Hey," and smiled that unsettling little Mona Lisa smile of hers. As if she did it every day.
He'd looked away and mumbled, feeling like a tool.
It was extremely confusing. It just confirmed his unofficial motto - 'bitches be crazy'. The reason people avoided lunatics was because you couldn't predict what they might do.
~~~~~
Erica and Cora got a ride home with David. They didn't talk much in the car - Erica was pleased he seemed to sense they needed space - so she pounced on Cora when they got up to her room.
Cora didn't have many specifics to report. "The locker room was pretty fucking quiet today, " she noted. After a beat, she said, "I think he noticed. I mean, he was even more quiet than yesterday."
Erica shrugged, in no doubt who 'he' was. "Look, I guarantee he noticed. He just doesn't know what to do about it."
Cora glowered at her mirror while she pulled out some hair clips. "How about asking me out?"
Erica managed not to sigh. "Hel-lo? You think it'd be that easy? He'd just dump his girlfriend because someone prettier started making eyes at him? I never heard he was a douchebag."
"That's what 'Cinta and Gabriela said," Cora grumbled, removing her earrings.
Erica's ears perked up. "Yeah? What else did she say?"
"They're spreading stories Brandon and Derek are hitting on me."
"Ooohh, Danielle and Mindy won't like that." Her lips pursed. "I better call her, keep our stories straight."
A knock came at the door. Miranda leaned in. "Cora, dear, the Sisters are on that Skype thing. They want to talk about your plan," she said, half-apologetically.
Cora took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Tell 'em five minutes. I gotta get this gunk off my face."
~~~~~
Cora laid out her case for Bronwyn and the others firmly. She was stating what was going to happen, not asking permission. And it was clear from her demeanor that she would not be dissuaded easily - if at all.
The Sisters were silent for a few moments. Jacqui cocked her head and said, "This is risky, you know. Brandon knew you as Cory, as well as anybody. He's already on our watch list because he's been making inquiries about what happened."
Cora was unfazed. "I can handle him."
"Perhaps," Bronwyn said, "but the potential problems are... substantial. As you know."
Laurie said, gently, "The safest thing is to have as little contact with him as possible."
"Tried that already. Didn't protect me from Danielle," Cora said, staring levelly at the screen.
The Sisters looked at each other for a few moments. Cora's gaze never wavered.
"We won't forbid it," Bronwyn finally pronounced, "but we can't provide any assistance."
"Yeah, so what else is new?" Cora muttered, perhaps a bit unfairly to Erica's mind. "So how's the Dream Police bit going?" she said with ill-concealed derision.
Bronwyn was unperturbed. "All three had a very unrestful night."
"Goody. Are we done?"
Bronwyn's eyebrows rose but her tone was level when she replied, "Yes, for now."
On her way out the door, Cora said, "Good. I gotta pick an outfit for tomorrow."
The other witches said more polite goodbyes, but everyone was definitely subdued.
~~~~~
Erica didn't precisely sneak away from Cora while they were studying that night. But she didn't announce her intentions either as she left the table. She was pretty sure Cora would need some sex to relax later and she had a call to make in private.
Jacinta got right to the point. "You gotta be in on what Cora's doing, right?"
"Yeah," Erica said, a shade cautiously.
"I gotta know. Is she at all in to him? Or is it just about Danielle?"
Erica paused. Jacqui had informed her about Jacinta's feelings about Cora, though, so she decided to trust her with as much truth as possible. "I... think it's mostly Danielle. She likes Brandon, but not, like, that way."
Jacinta processed that for a few moments. "Thought so," she said sadly. "D'ya think maybe she might get to like him, for real?"
Erica reflected on Silas, and Lucas, and Jacob. "Maybe. I kinda hope so."
There was another pause, then Jacinta asked, carefully, "Do you know why Cora's so... like... closed up all the time?"
Erica tried to decide how to answer that. "She's, um, had... tough experiences." Apologetically, "It's not my call, to tell you, I mean."
Long pauses were all over the conversation. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Erica sighed. "I dunno for sure. But Brandon's pretty cute, and he sounds like a decent guy. I think if Cora spends some time with him, she might notice that. Eventually."
Jacinta sighed herself. "So basically we try to get them together, and hope her hormones kick in?"
Thank the Goddess for Jacinta, Erica thought. "Yeah, pretty much."
"Well, okay. But if he hurts her, I'm gonna totally shred him."
Erica smiled. "If there's anything left after I'm done." She shifted to business. "So, what exactly are you saying about Brandon and Derek? I don't wanna mess that up."
Jacinta gave a summary of the salient points. Erica was glad she hadn't said anything to undermine the rumors. Both agreed that most wouldn't believe the claims, yet the story would be too juicy not to spread.
A last pause. "I'm really glad she has you and Gabriela for friends," Erica said.
"No biggie," Jacinta replied. They exchanged farewells and Erica went back to her homework with more to think about.
~~~~~
Cora had worn tights to school before. Plenty of times. But never without a skirt.
Many girls did, naturally. Hillman High's dress code classified "tight-fitting or spandex clothing" as "subject to correction", but sending students home was a headache and this was southern California, after all. Only really egregious instances were acted upon.
Cora was fairly deep into 'egregious' territory. The sheer, dark purple cloth so closely clung to her lower body that it might as well have been painted on. Every curve was on display, and no panty lines were visible. The thong betrayed its presence only by the lack of camel-toe.
The girls had calculated that she'd probably skate by. The teachers wouldn't want to single Cora out any further if they could help it. She couldn't get away with fashion murder - exposing forbidden skin like midriff or cleavage - but manslaughter should be fine if she didn't do it every day.
Below the tights were black ankle-boots with a two-inch heel. Above, she wore a bright, thin blouse under a short, black vest. There was a trick to that; the vest ended above the waist while the blouse made it to the top of the hips. The just-off-white bar of the shirt between the darker tights and vest emphasized the waistline; Cora's was quite slim and benefitted from the showcasing.
Her eyeshadow had hints of violet, as did her bracelets, complementing and accenting the color of the tights.
Erica smiled as she snapped a picture. "You look fantastic!"
Cora smiled absently, intently checking everything in the mirror on her closet door. "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself."
Erica smiled. Seeing Cora really work at appearances had pushed her to step up her own game a bit. They'd both gotten up a half hour early again to work on their hair and makeup, and Erica had on her shortest school-legal skirt and highest school-legal heels. A light top speckled with tiny silvery studs completed the look.
~~~~~
Brandon swallowed when Cora came in the door. As she approached her desk - and thus, his desk - he tried to keep his eyes down.
It didn't matter. The image from this morning was too fresh, too easy to summon up. He'd noticed and admired the ass of the girl up ahead in the hall, for a few seconds. Then his guts had dropped as he'd realized he'd seen that ass before. Maybe not as clearly outlined, but much closer. He'd been impressed with Cora's behind since the lock-in.
When she'd turned up ahead, it had been anticlimactic to see the outline of her face confirming the ID. He'd been dreading this class ever since, and now here she was.
"Hey, Brandon, how's it going?" Her voice was warm and friendly, and she wore an inviting smile. It made it a little easier to keep from looking at what she was wearing below the waist.
He kept himself to a simple "Hey." That should be safe enough.
She was pulling out a sheet of homework. "What'd ya get for the last one?" she asked.
He kept himself from swallowing nervously again. "Um. Lemme check. X cubed plus x plus c, I think." Stick to business.
"Good," Cora said brightly, "me too." She cocked her head in curiosity. "Whatcha doing this weekend?"
This is gonna be a long class.
~~~~~
David was warming up, swinging a bat with some weights on it. He saw Brandon, changed into shorts and his running shoes, hurry out of the gym and jog toward the baseball diamond. When he got close, David set the bat on his shoulder. "Hey, man, what's up?"
Brandon looked harried. "Not much. Gotta be quick, gotta get back." His head jerked toward the rest of the track team warming up for sprints, over by the lanes. He paused, then said, quietly, "You ever see Cora?"
David squinted, but answered in similar low tones. "Not a hell of a lot."
"Does Erica ever talk about her?"
David gave him a long, skeptical glance. "Dude. She oughta be the last chick on Earth you pay any attention to."
"Hey," Brandon said, seriously. "It's not like that, okay? But I have to see her every day, and she hates my girlfriend's guts. But she doesn't..." He threw up his hands. "Does she hate me, or like me, or not give two shits one way or the other?"
David shrugged unhelpfully. "How the fuck would I know?"
"Like I said - Erica. Does she tell you anything?"
David shook his head. "Brah, do you think I'm fucking retarded? I do not talk about other girls with her! Even her cousin!"
Brandon looked so sad that David felt the need to further justify himself. "Half the time I dunno what Erica's thinking, and she actually talks to me."
Brandon sighed. "Fuck."
"Sorry, brah. Just be, like, polite, I guess."
Brandon snorted, and turned away to start loping toward the track. "Thanks anyway. See you later, brah!" he called over his shoulder.
David felt uneasy. Naturally he'd noticed the way Cora had dressed the last couple days, but as he'd said, he wasn't clueless enough to mention it to Erica. It probably didn't have any relevance to his mission, but he didn't like surprises when it came to Sisters. This would bear investigation.
~~~~~
The weekend brought a welcome respite from unwanted attention.
Mostly. Cora complained about the group of three boys she'd caught sniggering and pointing at her while she was working at the Fun Warehouse.
Scheming proceeded apace, however. Erica was at work when she got a surprise text from Jacinta. Later, on break, she called as asked.
Jacinta got right to business. "David hangs out with Brandon sometimes, right?"
"Um, yeah..." Erica said, noncommittal.
"Does he say anything about how Brandon's taking all this?"
"Not really. We kinda don't talk about it. I don't wanna put him in the middle if I can help it."
"Shit," Jacinta said, but she didn't sound surprised, or even upset. "Okay. Anyway. I was thinking you could say the police have some evidence on Danielle that they haven't talked about yet. That they told Cora that."
"Huh. That'd keep her jumping, yeah. Might even scare Becca or Mindy."
"At least it might keep them from trying anything else for a while."
"Yeah, good point. Okay, I'll say something at Sunday practice.
"Awesome! Catch ya later!"
"Bye!" Erica went back to work, happier than ever at Cora's luck with friends.
~~~~~
"Cora! We gotta get going! We're gonna miss the bus!" Erica sounded like any frantic teenage girl.
"Just getting my backpack," Cora called. Monday morning had come and Cora had gone right to the wire getting her hair ready. The girls shouted their goodbyes to Miranda and bolted out the door.
She watched the young ladies as they raced away to the bus stop, talking and laughing, dressed up and made up... and felt a stab of jealousy. It was petty, she knew it, but they were so young, so beautiful. She herself didn't look like that anymore.
Part of being a woman was accepting a different relationship with aging than men. Men had to come to terms with getting older, but it was a much gentler slope for them. And the field of competition changed over time, too. A middle-aged man could have more money than the young bucks, or more education, or more experience.
For women, looks were a bigger slice of the pie. The biggest, all too often, as far as men noticed. She wasn't an old crone by any means, but gravity and California sunshine were taking their toll.
It wasn't something she dwelled on, normally. And really, she wouldn't want to be a pretty young thing again if it meant she had to give up being a Mother. It was just, when Cora really tried, the girl looked amazing. She found herself hoping that Cora would learn to appreciate her beauty before it was gone, and not just as a tool.
~~~~~
"You gotta stop hanging out with David," Danielle said.
Brandon felt his jaw tighten, and made it relax. They didn't have a lot of time between lunch and afternoon classes as it was. He didn't want to spend it arguing. "Look, I know he's Erica's boyfriend. But we don't talk about you or her," he lied.
It was only a little lie; it had just been that once. And he'd only been doing research, not scoping a potential girlfriend. But Danielle wouldn't understand that, wouldn't believe him.
Shit, I wouldn't believe me, he thought. Cora's a dime.
Danielle wasn't mollified, and cried, "But it looks bad!"
"Hey, I can hang with him 'cause you didn't take that shot. Maybe if he sees we're cool he can get Erica and Cora off your back."
"Oh, like that's ever gonna happen," Danielle growled. "And now Cora's hitting on you!"
"She's not!" he said, almost trying to convince himself too. "It's just, she's not mad at me, that's all."
"Oh, right, and you haven't noticed how she dresses like a slut for you, and smiles at you, and..."
"I don't think she's doing it for me," he protested. He wanted to object to the 'slut' thing too, but that probably wouldn't be productive. "It's a miracle she doesn't hate my guts because she's all mad at you."
"So you have been looking at her!"
"What? That's not what I said!" Frantically, he backpedaled. "She sits next to me. But I don't talk to her any more than I have to."
"And that's another thing! You should tell Mr. Stratton to move her. Or you. Or something."
"I almost did, that first day. Now it's too late, it'd look like I was running away or something."
"I don't care! She's trying to get you!"
"How do you even know?" he said, a little more irritated than he should have.
"Girls know," Danielle said darkly.
"Well, you're my girl. I'm not gonna run off just 'cause people think you're, uh..."
"A bitch?" Danielle was suddenly almost crying. "That's what they say, right?"
"Not around me," he said. He left the other part unsaid: Not when they know I'm around, anyway. He'd overheard some unpleasant exchanges.
"Well, they say it to me."
He shrugged. "Don't let it get to you. Soon as they figure out who really took that pic everybody'll be on their knees apologizing." He took her in a gentle hug.
Danielle didn't seem comforted by the image, or his arms. "I know, just... I haven't been sleeping too good. I'm sorry."
He'd been pretty sure of that - she usually looked sick or hung over these days - but this was the first time she'd said something, given him an excuse to ask. "What's wrong, babe?"
"I keep dreaming that..." She swallowed. "I don't want to talk about it," she said, very quietly. "Could you just keep hugging me, please?"
"Sure, babe," he said, and gave her a squeeze. "Want a ride home?"
Danielle made a little moue of irritation. "Not on your stupid bike. I told you, helmets mess up my hair."
"Just trying to help," he murmured, concealing his own irritation.
~~~~~
Brandon relaxed into the couch. David passed him a controller. "Zombie mode?"
Brandon nodded. "Fuckin' a." He needed a break from worrying about Danielle and Cora and all that shit. Danielle might not like him hanging with David, but the guy was all right. He was one of those rare types who got along with almost all the various high-school cliques and tribes, sort of floating above the games and sparring. He could hang with the popular crowd or the goths or the nerds and nobody minded.
So it was pretty annoying when, between rounds, he asked, "So how's Danielle doing?"
Brandon glared at him. "Fuck, man, just yesterday she wanted me to stop hanging with you." He bristled. "I told her it was cool 'cause we don't talk about this bullshit."
David looked a little annoyed himself. "Brah, I'm not, like, spying on you. Or her. I just know it's kinda rough right now."
And there was one reason why David was so popular. He could make jokes - good ones - but you knew when he was being serious, too. He actually seemed to want to listen to people. Not quite sure how or when he'd decided, Brandon talked. "She said she's having bad dreams."
David mused. "Feeling guilty, maybe?"
"Or maybe everyone's accusing her for something she didn't do!" he replied hotly.
David looked alarmed, clearly realizing he'd overstepped. "Hey, my bad. Erica's, uh, 'highly agitated'. I guess it kinda leaked. Sorry." He spread his hands. "I know Danielle's under a lot of stress."
Brandon accepted the apology, but then his face crunched up. "Doesn't help she thinks Cora's hitting on me."
David tilted his head to the side. "Is she?"
He exploded. "I don't fucking know!" He took a deep breath. "She was fucking near psycho, the day after that picture. Now she smiles at me. And she's doing herself up more, but that might just be 'cause of the picture. Not letting them shut her down."
David's eyebrows were raised, but he just said, "Maybe." Then: "So how are you doing?"
Brandon threw up his hands. "Danielle's pissed all the time, and everybody looks at me at school. I never wanted to be a big deal. Not like this!" He sighed. "And if I'm tired of it, can you even imagine what Cora's thinking?" He looked up at David. "I swear, I found out who did it, I'm gonna kick their ass."
David shrugged. "Pretty much had to be a girl."
"I don't think I care anymore." He knew David would understand he was just venting. He wouldn't really beat up a chick. But he'd totally love to hand 'em over to the cops. "Look, can we talk about something else, please?"
"Okay, fine." David gave in easily. "Maybe we can find your chill on Bus Depot?" He was already firing up the map.
~~~~~
Jacinta spotted Cora coming backstage. The choir girls were supposed to wear a red blouse, along with either a black skirt and leggings or black trousers. A month ago, Cora would have been in pants, no question. Today, she was in a knee-length pencil skirt. It looked just as good on her as everything else did - although she seemed to have a little trouble walking in it. "Hey, girlfriend! How's it goin'?"
Cora smiled. "Hey! You look great!" They hugged quickly, both careful not to smear their makeup. She said, under her breath, "Gettin' tired of waiting for him to make a move."
Jacinta had no doubt who 'him' was. "Just chill. It'll happen. I seen the way he looks at you," she said with confidence. "You're getting to him."
She changed to a happier subject. "You hear about Mindy and Michaela? Got in a big fight at lunch. Michaela said something about her purse and Mindy just went off."
"I thought they were friends again," Cora said.
"Yeah, not so much now." She grinned vindictively. "Her and Becca and Danielle have a lot less people to hang with anymore."
Cora's grin was sharp, too.
~~~~~
Naturally the Jardins were attending the concert for support. They didn't go to all of Erica's outings as a cheerleader, but those were rather more frequent than concerts.
As they moved with the crowd toward the auditorium doors, she caught Aaron's dad checking out her boobs. He turned his head quickly, embarrassed. She kept her contemptuous sniff sub-audible. It was ridonkulous how many old men couldn't control their eyes around high school girls.
They found some good seats together and sat down. Haylie chattered a bit about her school. It seemed more and more of her classmates were getting to wear makeup to school. Miranda steadfastly declined to rise to the bait.
The choir filed in and took their places on the stage risers. As they did, Erica heard two ladies behind her whispering.
"That's the one. The little dark-haired one in front."
"She's no bigger than my niece! Did she skip grades?"
"No, Piper says she's her age. She's old enough to be in high school, that's for sure. I saw the picture."
Out of the corners of her eyes, Erica could see that Haylie and her Mom were sitting up stiffly, too. None of the Jardins said anything.
"What did she do to get someone so mad at her?"
"Apparently she was making eyes at Ellen Oprisko's daughter's boyfriend."
"Huh. Well, she had to expect some kind of reaction."
"If she dresses like that, I can't think she minds the attention that much. Look at that skirt."
Erica realized she was grinding her teeth in fury. She was right on the edge of turning and blurting something when the lights dimmed. The two women stopped talking. Erica took a long, slow, calming breath and tried to just focus on the concert.
~~~~~
"It's all backwards," Cora lamented, staring at herself in the mirror.
"What do you mean?" Erica said. She was quietly relieved that Cora wasn't quite so prickly about makeup lessons anymore.
"Before, when..." She stopped. "Cory always went after a girl he wanted. You know, asked her, made the approach."
Erica reflected Eric had seldom had that kind of courage.
"A girl has to, I dunno, entice. Attract." She shrugged. "It's like... I dunno... like fishing instead of hunting. Putting out the bait and waiting." Cora's tone made 'waiting' almost an epithet.
"Hey, lots of girls ask guys out!"
Cora shook her head. "Yeah, but... I know him. Enough for that. He just, like... wouldn't take that well. A girl going right after him."
"Danielle did," Erica noted.
"And how's that working out for her?" Cora shook her head. "Anyway, that's only part of it."
"What's the other part?"
"It... it doesn't work right if I take him. I mean, like, Danielle'd be pissed, sure, but..." She trailed off, obviously struggling to put her thoughts into words. "It's better if he leaves her. If he chooses, like, all by himself." Her grin was so full of female malice that Erica was taken aback.
"He's still got a choice, like, if you ask him," Erica pointed out.
Cora frowned. "Yeah, but... then it's me making an offer, and him taking it. It works better if he comes after me." That grin was back. "That way it really sticks it to her."
Erica was silent for a few moments. Cora's grasp of the psychology of the situation was surprisingly astute.
"All right. Nothing to do but keep on, then."
Cora scoffed, clearly judging her permitted tools insufficient to the task.
~~~~~
"She keeps looking back," Cora whispered happily, leaning in. "This is so tight!"
"I think Brandon's trying real hard not to look at you," Jacinta whispered back.
Even as she said it, Danielle stole a quick, murderous glance at them. Her grip tightened on Brandon's arm.
Lincoln High was the perennial rival of Hillman's. The football game drew almost as many alumni as homecoming, and a big chunk of the students. Cory and Brandon had made it every year; Cora had known Brandon would be there. So she'd maneuvered to go with Jacinta and Gabriela. The girls had chosen seats as close as possible to him and Danielle.
As a tactic to annoy Danielle, it had obviously been successful. Even David, who was sitting with them because he couldn't be down with Erica and the cheerleaders, seemed to pick up on it. "You guys wanna move?" he asked quietly, the angle of his head indicating Danielle and her small crew.
"Let her move," Cora spat.
"OK, no worries," David said equitably.
The rest of the game passed relatively uneventfully. Hillman even won. Danielle almost dragged Brandon away once it was over, Mindy and Becca in tow.
~~~~~
"Fuck!" Cora shouted. "This seducing shit sucks!"
Cora might very well have spent more time in front of her mirror this last week testing out different looks than in all the months since the Transformation. As soon as she'd gotten back from choir practice she'd bounded up to her room to evaluate combinations.
Right now she was borrowing and testing one of Erica's belts. It was long and thin, but she'd knotted up the excess artistically. It added some style to an outfit - and emphasized how thin her waist was. Of course, it mostly sent that latter message to other girls; boys wouldn't consciously pick it up.
It secretly pleased Erica that Cora kept up a conversation while she explored fashion. Although the topic was too familiar. "Got hit on two more times today. Even fucking Lucas again, can you believe it?"
"Boys can be pretty frickin' dense." Erica sat on the bed, idly texting Kristina.
Cora absently nodded in agreement. Turning her head and holding her hair up in a ponytail, she watched herself and said, "I was hoping it wasn't gonna take this long."
It was all Erica could do not to stare in exasperation. "It's only been two weeks! Not even! You're trying to get him to dump his girlfriend, and you only get to see him in one class a day."
Cora nodded again. "I know. I got an idea, about that. But I need your help."
Erica squinted, cautious. "Whatcha thinking?"
Cora took a deep breath, then plunged on. "The girls soccer team has an away game Friday night. So Danielle'll be gone. But Brandon's got track practice right after school, and he'll still be here." She looked at Erica. "David knows Brandon, right?"
"Um... yeah, sorta. Why?" Erica said, suddenly experiencing more foreboding.
"I know you two were gonna check out that new superhero movie. Could you have David invite him along?"
Erica just stared. Her phone dinged a new text, but she didn't look down.
Cora pressed on. "You gotta help me! I need to, like, interact with him some, y'know? He won't go to a movie with just me and no Danielle. So he goes with David, and you're there, and then I just happen to come along. Like, at the last minute and all."
Erica sat there, dithering.
Cora kept pleading. "Look, even if it doesn't work with Brandon, it'll totes make Danielle lose her shit. I know, karma and good feelings and stuff..." - Cora's tone conveyed how much she cared about the Sisterhood's solicitude - "...but come the fuck on! This is Danielle!" She stared in Erica's eyes. "Are you gonna try to tell me she doesn't deserve it?"
Erica looked at her friend. She remembered telling Jacinta she didn't want to bring David into the drama. She also remembered Cora raging... and then, that night, bawling in her arms.
She squared her shoulders. "Fuck Danielle."
Cora's triumphant smile warmed Erica's heart. "Fuck yeah!"
~~~~~
"Is Cora coming?" David asked, as Erica slid into the seat next to him. She frequently rode with them to school, but she hadn't come out with Erica this morning. He was a little surprised; he'd have bet on her avoiding the bus for a while.
"No," Erica said quietly. She seemed pensive.
"Is there something going on?" David asked. He wouldn't dare do any mental probing, but he didn't need to use Dark Power to see she was troubled.
"I need to ask you something," Erica said. And then shut up.
He carefully damped his irritation. Girls. Instead he calmly asked, "What's up? Is it something with Cora?"
"You know the movie this weekend? Would it be okay if some other people came along?"
He blinked. "I guess." He blinked again. "You mean Cora?"
Erica fidgeted for a moment. "She's... there's somebody she, um, likes, but... anyway, she wants us to bring him along."
"Who?" he asked, almost certain of the answer.
Erica squared her shoulders. "Brandon."
Now he had to stay quiet for a while. It was hardly a surprise, after the football game, and the way Cora had been dressing. But it was like solving a complicated integral in his head, balancing the Brotherhood's interests against everything he knew of Erica, and Cora, and Brandon, and Danielle... He picked an approach and committed.
He spoke cautiously. "Look, I mean... fuck Danielle, y'know?" He wasn't just going on Erica's word. The Brotherhood's forensics had confirmed the identity of Cora's tormentor. But even if he'd known it had been someone else, he'd never have disputed it with Erica. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be her boyfriend anymore if he did.
He went on. "But, well, it doesn't sound like Cora's really into him. She just wants to get Danielle." Erica opened her mouth, but he held up his hand. "Like I said, fuck Danielle. But Brandon's not, y'know, just a way to get back at her. I'm positive he didn't have anything to do with that picture."
From the look in Erica's eyes, he suspected he wasn't saying anything she hadn't already thought about. He wrapped up. "I just... let's, y'know, minimize the civilian casualties?"
It was a calculated risk. He couldn't just be pussy-whipped, blindly doing anything Erica asked. It might raise suspicion, and besides, David had the feeling she didn't want a doormat. Anyway, he actually liked Brandon. He wouldn't toss him under the bus without need.
Erica bit her lower lip for a moment, not meeting his eyes. "Okay, fine. I think that's probably a lot of it." He was practiced in reading her cues, though, and he could tell she was damn sure that was a lot of it. "But... look, there's two things. One, Brandon's a big boy. He can make his own decisions. And don't you think he'd be better off without Danielle? However it happens?"
David shrugged and nodded, conceding the point but not the argument. He was pleased to see that she picked up on the nuances. She went on, "And two, I think... look, this might not make sense to you, but I think Cora kinda needs a boyfriend. And you're right, Brandon's a good guy. I think..."
She paused and looked down. "Well, okay, I hope they might make a good couple. I hope she might change her mind if they actually get together."
David stared out the windshield for a while, at the Jardins garage door, mulling it over. Then he turned back to Erica. "He doesn't... I think she scares him," he said carefully.
Again, she understood him. He was on board, but pointing out potential problems. "Maybe." She sighed. "Look, it's gonna be a little complicated," she said in warning.
He shrugged. "Hey, it's all good. I'll do what I can. That was a seriously heinous move. A little competition is the fucking least Danielle's got coming."
Erica's pleased smile showed he'd just done his cover a good turn. But somehow he was gratified more than he should be as he finally backed the car out and took her to school.
Only that night, as he lay in bed, did it occur to him that her ability to read him so clearly was at least as much a risk as an advantage.
~~~~~
"Thanks for picking me up, man," Brandon said. He would've taken his chopper to the movie but it had looked like it might rain. Which was weird, since the forecast had been clear.
"No problemo," David said, handing the two tickets over.
"Theater 5, on the left," said the ticket-taker. Brandon followed David toward the concessions.
"She texted me that she was here already," David said. "Oh, there she... um."
The 'um' sounded ominous. He saw where David was staring, followed his gaze, and found Erica... with another girl.
Cora.
He turned to David, who gave the tiniest shake of his head. I didn't know.
The girls were looking a little surprised and dismayed, too. After a ghastly pause, David started walking again. Brandon hesitated another moment, then, unable to think of anything else to do yet, followed.
"Yo," Cora said carefully to Brandon as he came up. "Didn't know you'd be here."
He didn't know what to say to that. "I thought there was gonna be more people." In faint hope, he said, "Who else is coming?"
David shrugged. "Jose and Lupe were gonna, but he got called in."
"Kristina and Linda were supposed to come, but they backed out," Erica offered.
"Yeah," Cora said, "'Cinta and Gabriela were gonna come, too. But they had to work too."
The silence grew long and uncomfortable. Especially when Brandon saw some guys from Hillman in the crowd, looking their way.
"Oh, screw it. I wanna see the movie," Cora said. "Let's just go." She and Erica started moving.
David gave him a helpless shrug, and went to follow. Brandon hesitated, praying for some miracle to deliver him. None appeared, so he started walking too.
The theater was hella full, but they managed to track down four seats in a row. He never quite figured out how it happened, but the two girls wound up in the middle, so he was sitting right next to Cora.
Well, shit, was all he could think. Of course.
The movie wasn't bad, but he couldn't really enjoy it. Her shoulder was rubbing up against his most of the time.
~~~~~
"I'm hungry," Erica said when they got to the car.
"I could go for a burger," David said thoughtfully.
"I gotta get home," Brandon said, hinting with all his might. At least he got shotgun, with the girls in the back.
David didn't pick up on it. "C'mon, we'll hit In-N-Out. It's on the way. You don't have a meet tomorrow or anything, do you?"
"No, but..." He couldn't say, but I can't be seen with Cora.
"I'm hungry, too," Cora piped up from behind him.
"There we go," David said, closing the subject. Somehow he was firm without being rude or arrogant about it. Brandon wondered how he did that.
Oh, well, I'm fucked anyway, he thought in morose resignation.
The conversation after they sat down was at least interesting. David's dad had been in the Army, and he had a lot of military stories. Brandon was surprised at the interest Cora showed in that kind of stuff. And even more by how much she already knew.
"The Barrett's sick, yeah. But the Tac-50's right up there, been deployed just as long. Anything less than tank armor, it'll ruin your day too." She took a sip of her drink with a smile.
How the fuck does she know about sniper rifles? Brandon, recalling how good a shot she was at laser tag, was obscurely relieved she didn't seem to blame him for the picture. Then again, I wouldn't want to be Danielle...
"My dad never went on the front lines or anything. He was a REMF." David raised an eyebrow, but Cora and Erica seemed familiar with that term too, so he went on. "But he talked to the snipers. They said that most of the time you don't need to shoot somebody from a mile away. Fifty-cal sniper rifles are really for taking out buildings and vehicles, not people."
From there, the topic moved to shooter games, and David put Brandon on the spot, making him tell a story about a particularly epic kill he'd pulled off a couple weeks back. Cora seemed impressed, and Brandon was impressed by the knowledgeable questions she asked about yet another surprising topic. For all that Cora had said she was hungry, she didn't seem to be eating much. She was talking... and looking at him.
And then she caught Erica's eye and stood up. "Be right back," she said. Erica gave David a quick peck on the cheek and the girls went off to the bathroom, smiling and talking too low to be overheard.
He looked at David, chagrined. "Man, what do girls do in there, anyway?"
"Make fun of us, I bet," David said glumly.
~~~~~
"I hope they don't know what we're doing in here," Cora said worriedly as she wrapped up a bloody pad in some toilet paper.
"No way," Erica said with confidence, standing outside the stall. "Guys never even think about periods and stuff. You know that."
"Tru dat," Cora acknowledged, sounding a little philosophical. "Cory must've gone on at least a couple dates where the girl had her period. He never noticed." She stood and held the 'package' over the stall door. "Pitch this for me?" You weren't supposed to flush that stuff down the toilet. Even a lot of girls didn't seem to know that, judging by how often you found clogged ones in public ladies rooms.
Once she'd readied a new necessity and they'd washed their hands, they spent a few moments checklisting their clothes and hair and makeup in the mirrors. While they fine-tuned, Cora said, "Thank the Goddess for your Mom. If she hadn't helped out, I don't think I coulda even stood up." It had taken a little pleading and bargaining, but Miranda's Healing and potions had managed to insulate Cora from the bulk of her usual first-day symptoms.
"I don't think you ever did that before," Erica noted. "Thanked the Goddess, I mean."
Cora was quiet for a moment, brushing imaginary tangles from her hair. "I don't know if I, like, really believe in Her. But I'm trying to be a Sister."
Erica was quiet in turn. Now was not the time for somberness, though. "I think it's going pretty well. With Brandon, y'know. He woulda fought more if this were, like, super against his will or whatever."
"Man, David should be in fucking Drama. He was perfect. I almost thought you really hadn't told him." Cora was smiling.
"Yeah, he was great," Erica said smugly. Then she almost frowned. Something about David being good at fooling people nagged at her. But Cora was talking.
"We better get back."
~~~~~
It was another half hour before David finally agreed to drive him home. Brandon tried not to look like he was jumping out of the car as fast as he possibly could. He waved as David and the girls rode off. "Well, that was fucked-up," he muttered to himself. Danielle was going to be apocalyptic when she found out. Thankfully, that was a problem for tomorrow.
His phone buzzed.
Danielle: Mindy sez u went on d8 w/Cora?? WTF!!!!!
Well, of course, he thought numbly.
~~~~~
The girls had already washed off their makeup and were changing into pajamas. Cora was understandably preoccupied, processing the night in her head.
Erica gave her a minute, then couldn't wait anymore. "So, whadjya think?"
"I think it went okay." A pause. "He was just so... big."
Several 'that's what she said' jokes came to mind, but Erica ruthlessly repressed them. "It's just, you're smaller, that's all. You gotta be used to that by now! You sit right next to him in math!"
"I know, but that's not, like, touching shoulders!" Cora shook her head. "I used to be the same size as him. Now he could pick me up and throw me." She looked a bit puzzled. "And I could smell him."
Erica squinted.
"Maybe girls do have more sensitive noses or something," Cora said, a touch defensive. "He didn't, like, stink. But Cory never noticed it."
Erica spread her hands. "Well, I think you did a decent job of flirting with him."
Cora made a noncommittal 'hmph'. "I thought it would be harder. Y'know, to, like, pretend."
Erica felt her head tilt. "Pretend to be into him?"
"Yeah," Cora said. Erica's hopes raised; maybe Cora was starting to get actual feelings for Brandon.
But the girl's next words dashed those hopes. "I realized I could just act the way, uh, Cory did. Girls hafta be more, like... reserved with boys, y'know? Even a smile might give the wrong idea."
Erica nodded ruefully. She hadn't thought of it quite that way.
"I just had to, like, drop the filter a little. Smile and laugh at his jokes, look him in the eye more." She paused. "I tried to mirror his moves a little, too."
"There's other flirty stuff, though. Touching his hand, or playing with your hair."
Cora shrugged, a little nonplussed. "Maybe next time." She nodded to herself, though. "He went along with it, at least. Didn't make David take him home or anything. All by itself that's gonna drive Danielle psycho."
Erica couldn't help but agree.
~~~~~
"I always used to think it was, like, cute when girls would lay on their stomachs like this. It's easier when you don't have a unit to get pressed down." Cora and Erica were side-by-side on Cora's bed, heads together as they studied one of Miranda's spellbooks.
Erica smiled a little. "But there's boobs."
Cora shrugged. "Yeah, but if you're up on an elbow they don't really rub much."
"Easy for you to say." Erica had two cup sizes on Cora.
Cora turned back to the spell they were planning to cast. "Anyway, this looks pretty straightforward."
"You sure?" Erica said, nervous. Her Mom hadn't forbidden them from reading her spellbooks. They had been moved out to the home office shortly after Erica had been Transformed, secrecy no longer being a factor. Still, the girls were supposed to be careful about Magic. The rules were: (1) they couldn't draw attention to themselves, or (2) attempt any spell they weren't utterly certain they could handle.
"Yeah." Cora sounded completely confident. "Straight Sympathy with a couple elements of Similarity and Healing. I could almost have worked it out on my own."
Erica nodded, half to herself. She was a little embarrassed, but despite having a head start she and Cora were now at least even in Magical skill. Cora was smart and had motivation Erica couldn't match.
"Fuck it. Let's do this." Cora rolled off the bed and walked around to the area of the floor they'd cleared. "I love you for this. You know that, right?" she said with deep emotion, as Erica joined her.
That made Erica feel a lot better. She still wasn't sure this was the best idea ever. But it was pretty much irresistible anyway.
The key ingredient of the yeast infection curse was menstrual blood from the target. A thousand years ago - maybe even a hundred - it had probably been easier to come by. Modern sanitation worked against it nowadays.
It had just happened anyway. She'd walked in to the girl's room right when Danielle was coming out of her stall with a bundle of toilet paper and tossing it into the trash. They'd glared and sniffed and pointedly ignored each other as Danielle washed her hands and huffed out. But then Erica had realized what Danielle must have disposed of...
She'd gotten a funny look from Michaela while rooting through the trash, but oh well. She had taken the opportunity as a sign from the Goddess.
Well, mostly. She'd told Cora, but hadn't quite had the courage to involve her Mother.
Cora wrapped up the preparations. The girls sat on the floor at the foot of Cora's bed, a lit candle and the relic of Danielle between them.
Cora frowned. "What I'd like to do is shapeshift into Danielle and hit on Derek. Brandon'd drop her, and Mindy'd kill her." Her frown had turned into a scowl. "I can still barely change my hair color, though."
Erica nodded. Illusion spells were a bitch. Cora was selling herself short, though; hair color was more than Erica could manage yet.
Cora sighed, then brightened up. "Whatevs, this'll do for now." One more look around, checking their preparations, then she said, "You ready?"
Erica nodded again, gathering her resolution. "Uh huh."
"Okay, here we go." To most observers, it would have looked like Cora wasn't doing anything, but Erica could sense the power gathering. After a few seconds, Cora reached down, picked up the relic, and held it over the candle. "Ajuna canoa rethingu gnon..." Fire to the loins, I send... Erica silently lent her energy to the spell.
Not even a minute and a half later, it was all over. The two girls sat in silence for a moment, looking doubtfully in each other's eyes.
"Felt like it did something," Cora finally muttered. Another pause, then she shook herself and blew out the candle. "Whatever. I'm gonna get rid of this," she picked up the bundle and stood, "and then we'd better get started on dinner."
~~~~~
"I told you, it wasn't a fucking date, okay? Can you let it the fuck go?"
Jacinta's eyes widened. That was Brandon's voice, coming from around the corner. She stopped short, letting other students pass around her on their way between classes.
"You know everyone's saying I took that picture. You gotta stay away from her!" Danielle sounded pissed.
Now so did Brandon. "Shit, I didn't know she was gonna be there. And I didn't have my bike. What was I supposed to do? Tell David to miss the flick and drive me home?"
"Yes! Something! You gotta stay away from that bitch!"
Jacinta heard Brandon take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I figured if we hung out it might take some heat off you. I mean, no grudges, no hard feelings, right?"
Danielle wasn't mollified. "That doesn't mean you go have dinner with her after!"
Brandon suddenly sounded a little cautious. "David had to drive them home, too. He's the one who stopped..."
Danielle interrupted. "I'll bet they set it up that way! Erica too, they're all in on it..."
She heard Brandon's snort. "Oh, sure, it's all a big conspiracy. Look, I gotta get to class."
Angry footsteps, heading away. Not exactly a loving goodbye. Jacinta couldn't help but smile.
Then Danielle marched around the corner, tears starting to smear her makeup. She was wearing a lot of makeup lately. It didn't quite hide the dark circles under her eyes. Mindy and Becca looked hung over most of the time now, too. And all three of them were falling asleep in class these days.
Danielle had it together enough to recognize Jacinta, however - and her smile. She stopped and stood there, frustration temporarily shifting towards pure fury.
Jacinta maintained her smile and walked away. She heard Danielle shriek in rage behind her, and flee down the hall.
She could not wait to tell Cora.
~~~~~
Erica sat on the side of the field, keeping her poms on her bare legs. It was exceptionally cool tonight and her uniform - girl's clothes in general, really - didn't make insulation a priority.
"Becca didn't sit with Mindy and Danielle today. Just sat in the corner, had lunch all by herself." Trahn was smiling.
"What'd she look like? I need deets!" Erica asked.
"I ain't got deets," Trahn said. "Heard it from Ayesha." Erica's cheerleader friends didn't have a stake in the whole Danielle-Cora Thing - girls had lots of overlapping loyalties like that - but gossip was gossip.
"Oh well." Erica let it drop. "Glad this's a home game." Football had a lot of downtime between plays. It was easier to notice when you had to hang by the field, in skimpy clothes, without actually playing.
"Shit, I kinda wish it was an away game. Tyrone's gonna be all over me tonight," Shianti said. "All he wants is my ass anymore."
Trahn sighed. "We win, Aaron's gonna ask for a victory beej."
"Well... they're cute," Erica noted doubtfully.
Shianti scoffed. "Cute ain't enough. Does David actually text you back? Even when it ain't a booty call?"
"Well, yeah," Erica admitted, surprised. "Tyrone doesn't?"
Melanie laughed. "You got no clue what boys are really like. Your first-ever boyfriend's a fucking dream come true." She sighed. "He'll even hold your hand or kiss you in front of his friends."
"Tru dat," Trahn said flatly. "Don't fuck it up with him. Half the girls in the school'd be on him by the end of the day." She chuckled. "Including me."
It was mostly a joke, Erica could tell. But not entirely, to her mixed disquiet and guilty pleasure.
The game finally wrapped up - not a victory for Hillman, to Aaron's probable sorrow - and she was able to text Cora to come pick her up. She had to wait by the edge of the lot in the chilly breeze. But Cora pulled up soon through the traffic and she hopped into the car, not quite shivering.
She passed on the intel about Becca right away. "Cracks in the alliance, you think?"
Cora looked thoughtful. "I dunno. But I gotta feeling something's gonna break soon."
"Your psychic powers kicking in?" said Erica, joking.
Cora gave Erica a meaningful look. "I wonder, yeah. I had a bad feeling the day Danielle took that picture, remember."
Erica chewed her lip quietly, examining the idea.
Cora shrugged. "It sure as fuck wouldn't be the weirdest thing we had to deal with."
Erica couldn't think of anything to say.
~~~~~
Danielle wanted to cry, but couldn't yet - not until she made it home from school and got up to her room.
Still, she whimpered a little as she scratched furiously at her vag. She'd only ever had a couple yeast infections before but this one was horrendous. And the fucking cream didn't seem to be doing anything! Like she needed more trouble sleeping.
She was one of the last girls out of the locker room. She'd sucked ass at soccer practice and drifted through the post-scrimmage shower, laboring to keep her eyes open. Fatigue was another symptom of yeast infections. It just wasn't fair.
Danielle plodded out the front door of school and made her way to the benches to wait for Brandon. All she wanted was for him to drive her home so she could cry and try to take a nap. If she could ignore the itching and burning.
And the dreams.
She was so out of it she almost sat down on a bench before she realized who was already perched at the other end. Her eyes flew wide and she gasped, only a second later kicking herself for reacting so visibly.
But she couldn't help it. "What the fuck are you doing here, whore?" Danielle shrieked.
Cora scoffed and tossed her hair. "None of your business. Bitch."
Danielle could feel everyone starting to look their way. She knew she was too frazzled to safely handle this situation. But it was all too much, Cora sneering at her like that... "You're waiting for Brandon! You knew he was gonna meet me here!"
Cora scoffed. "I'm getting a ride with Erica and her boyfriend."
"Quit lying!" She was freaking out, she knew she was, she could hear it in her own voice. But she was so tired; she hadn't gotten a full night's sleep in weeks. "And quit sniffing after my boyfriend, you fucking cunt!"
Danielle wished Brandon could have seen the malicious smile that appeared on Cora's face then as she stood up. So different from that I'm-so-sweet-and-shy-and-innocent-yet-just-enough-of-a-tomboy-to-be-cute disguise she always wore. It took her a second to process Cora's words, she was so flushed with anger at the smile: "He getting sick of kissing a raccoon?"
Danielle froze, hissing in rage. The bags under her eyes had gone well beyond anything that makeup could conceal. "Fuck you, you bitch!"
Everyone was staring at her, it was just like all the dreams where she was naked at school and everyone was staring at her, and judging her, and she knew they all knew everything bad she'd done to anyone ever, and they knew she knew, and if she didn't confess, all those things were going to happen to her, only worse, and...
Cora's grin gathered even more venom. "Oooh, that one hurt! How long's he gonna..."
In dreams, she couldn't fight back. But this wasn't a dream. Cora got no further, because Danielle screamed in rage and punched her right in her bitch whore face.
Danielle had never experienced such soul-deep satisfaction as she did seeing Cora fall back, face twisted in an expression of shock and pain. It still wasn't enough. She pounced down and started whaling on her. Cora curled up and held her arms to block the rain of blows.
And then she felt strong arms pulling her off Cora, a grown-up voice shouting things like 'get off her' and 'stop this instant'. Someone was holding her, yelling at her. It was Mrs. Escuela, the Language Arts teacher.
Danielle suddenly didn't feel quite as good. This was going to be tricky.
Some other girls were helping Cora up. "I'm okay, I'm okay," she was saying. But she looked shaky, and she was holding her left eye, where that first punch had landed.
"She hit me first!" Danielle blurted.
Mrs. Escuela hadn't let go of her arm. She looked Danielle right in the eye and said, "No she didn't. I saw the whole thing."
The righteous high she'd just been enjoying was completely gone now.
~~~~~
"Danielle, honey? Brandon's here." Mrs. Oprisko led him into the den. Danielle sat on the couch watching TV, clutching a pillow to her chest. She looked up with too-red eyes and gave a weak, relieved smile.
"I'll leave you two alone for a bit," Mrs. Oprisko said gently, and stepped back into the kitchen. Brandon sat down on the couch beside Danielle. She sagged into him and he put an arm around her shoulders.
"What the hell, babe? I thought we were gonna stay away from all of them." He tried to say it in a joking tone, but it came out a little harsher than he'd planned.
"I wasn't looking for her! She just showed up and started talking shit."
That wasn't the way he'd heard it. And it wasn't Cora who'd been held in the principal's office until her parents came to pick her up.
He held her for a few seconds, one hand stroking her back. Then, knowing it was inviting trouble but compelled by a need to understand, he leaned back so he could see her face and asked, "Why'd you hit her, though? No matter what she said..."
"She deserved it," Danielle hissed. "She deserved all of it."
His hand stopped moving. She didn't just look pissed, and spiteful. She looked crazy, like the killer in a slasher movie. The tone and content of her words was almost redundant.
She felt him tense up, and looked in his face. Her expression instantly became tense and guarded and apprehensive. The kind of face a person had when they were trying to figure out how badly they'd screwed up, if they'd let out a secret or not.
He pulled back, let go of her, just staring in her eyes. "Oh my fucking God. You really did it, didn't you? You took that picture!"
"I didn't," she said quickly. "I didn't, I wouldn't do that, come on baby, you know I wouldn't..." She was talking frantically, panicked.
He jumped to his feet, backing away. "Oh, fuck, I don't fucking believe this! How could you... what the fuck?!"
She pleaded, begged. "Please, baby! Please!" She grabbed at his hand, but he jerked it away. "I can't lose you, too!"
He glared for a moment, then moved for the door. "You just did."
Danielle stood, took a step after him. "Wait! Brandon, please!" He turned and didn't look back again.
Mrs. Oprisko had come from the kitchen, alarmed at the shouting. Brandon brushed past her without a word.
Before he slammed the front door, though, he heard Danielle burst into tears.
~~~~~
"Cora, honey? Brandon's here." Brandon had a flash of déjà vu at the words as Mrs. Jardin led him into their den. Cora was sitting on a couch watching TV too. She looked up in surprise, mouth opened in a little 'o' for a second.
He couldn't help wincing when he saw the bruise on her cheek. "Oh, Jesus..."
Cora self-consciously touched her face. "It's okay," she said. "Just a little sore. I've had worse." Suddenly she looked nervous, like she'd said too much, the way Danielle had. It should have been another little bit of déjà vu. Somehow, though, he didn't think she looked guilty, like Danielle. More like it was something Cora'd wanted to keep private.
But he didn't get much chance to wonder how many fights she'd been in; she wasn't stopped for more than a split second. She stood up and said, "Why are you here?" She immediately softened her tone. "I mean, it's okay, I just don't..."
He held up a hand. She stopped talking. He forced himself to speak. "I'm sorry. I was just... I went to Danielle's house. To talk to her. And she... She did take that picture. I could tell. I'm sorry, I swear I didn't know."
Cora suddenly looked cold and calculating, startlingly predatory. "Did she say that? Could you testify?"
He shook his head apologetically. "No, she didn't admit it. Not in, y'know, words." His lips thinned in anger. "She wouldn't. Her mom and stepdad are both lawyers. But I knew. I could see it."
Then he felt ashamed, and spread his hands, shoulders slumped. "Finally." He forced himself to meet her eyes. "I'm really sorry. I just didn't..."
Cora was shaking her head. "It's okay. I didn't figure out she was that much of a bitch either, until... um, until that picture."
They stood there for a second, awkwardly. Then Brandon said, "Look, um, all I wanted was to apologize in person. To your face. I'll stop bothering you."
Cora grinned impishly. "Bothering me? This is the best thing that's happened all day."
"Oh. Um." Brandon said. "Well, I'll let everyone know what she did. You can count on that."
Cora was frowning thoughtfully, a distractingly cute expression. Slowly, thinking out loud, she said, "Maybe you should be a little careful. Y'know, lawyers and all. They might sue you for, like, libel or slander or something."
"Oh. Um." For fuck's sake. Say something smarter than 'um', huh? "That... uh... that might make sense." He shook his head. "But she can't get away with this shit! Uh, sorry."
Cora's mouth was halfway between a grin and a grimace, like she couldn't decide whether to be amused or annoyed. "No worries. It is bullshit." She sighed. "I gotta look some stuff up. But I bet you could say you think she did it. That's, like, your opinion."
"Oh. Okay, I'll do that."
Again, the conversation stalled for a spell. Cora broke the silence. "Well, at least she can't give you any shit about hanging with David anymore, right?" She paused for a second, then added, "Maybe now we can all hang together sometime."
He shrugged carefully. "Maybe." Apologetically, he said, "I really gotta go. Sorry for... for believing her. I was an idiot." Hoping it didn't look as much like fleeing as it felt, he started for the door.
But Cora followed him down the hall. "Yeah, you were." She hesitated briefly, then blurted, "Better pick a better girlfriend next time, huh?" But she was smiling.
"Right," he said, opening the front door. "Um, later. Sorry again."
She still had that smile. "See you tomorrow."
On the way to his car, he shook his head. Why did girls always keep you on your toes? Although, with Danielle, it was about watching his mouth, not saying something to annoy her. Cora - she was smart. He didn't want her to think he was stupid.
Didn't help that she was fucking hot. By reflex, he started to suppress that thought... and then realized he didn't have to. He didn't have a girlfriend anymore, he didn't owe anyone any loyalty.
~~~~~
"Fuck yes!" Cora crowed, pacing - almost dancing - in circles in her room. "Not gonna look good for Danielle, Brandon dumping her. And everyone's gonna know why. He promised."
"And you don't have to keep dressing up all the time anymore," Erica pointed out. "She sure lost Brandon."
Cora was shaking her head. "No way. I ain't done yet. She doesn't just lose him. She gets to see him with me."
"So he's just, like, a means to an end?"
Cora stopped pacing and looked at Erica. "He really feels like shit about it. Name a better way to show I'm not pissed at him?"
Erica's head tipped down as her eyebrows went up. Skepticism personified. "I thought you were pissed at him. For trusting Danielle."
That took Cora aback for a moment or two. "Yeah, but... he apologized. For that. Just now." She waved a hand, dismissing all confusion. "I'll be nice enough to him. We can break up later. Either way, name something that'll piss Danielle off more?"
Erica put up a hand herself, granting the point. "So, whatcha gonna wear tomorrow?"
Cora's smile was positively wicked. "It's time for those tights again, I'm thinking."
A little modeling and clothing experimentation segued into some playful lovemaking in due course. After, as they lay curled in each other's arms, however, Cora became somber.
"It's a good thing Mrs. Escuela was there."
"Yeah. Hard to beat a teacher backing up your story."
"That's not it." Cora's fingers brushed the bruise on her face. "That first punch took me by surprise. And then she was on top of me, and I kinda curled up, got my arms up."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I was just starting to think about, y'know, a counterattack." She paused. "But I couldn't think what would work. Fat cow outweighs me by twenty pounds."
Danielle certainly wasn't 'fat', and couldn't be more than fifteen pounds more than Cora. Not for worlds would Erica correct her, though. Now was hardly the time, and she agreed with the sentiment in any case.
"I couldn't push her off, not with these arms. And I couldn't get my legs up between us." She wasn't looking into Erica's eyes. Her gaze was distant, focused on that moment. "If Mrs. Escuela hadn't been there, Danielle might've really fucked me up."
"Well, thank the Goddess she was there."
Cora didn't say anything for a while. Then, still whispering: "I hate feeling helpless." She shifted, and her words melted into sobs. "Cory's disgusted at me..."
Erica just held her, for a long time.
~~~~~
In the end, Danielle wasn't expelled. Even her lawyer parents couldn't prevent a week's suspension, however; not when a teacher was one of the eyewitnesses. They did file for a restraining order against Cora, however.
That was ultimately a mistake. The whole school had heard the story already, and Danielle didn't have many defenders left. Even the people who didn't like Cora - girls put off by her beauty, or her sometimes abrasive personality, or boys she'd rejected - couldn't picture her as a physical aggressor. It just cemented the judgement of Danielle as 'bully' and 'bitch' in most people's minds.
Especially since Brandon was true to his word. No one was in the slightest doubt that he'd broken off with Danielle... or the reason why.
The Sisterhood produced a lawyer for Cora - nobody said so, but both Cora and Erica were sure she was a Sister herself - and the order was quashed anyway. Cora didn't even have to go to court.
~~~~~
Crack!
"Whooooooooo!" Erica yelled, joined by the other girls. Brandon's "Aw yeah!" got pretty much drowned out.
David bolted around first, then second... he stopped at third, well ahead of the ball thrown in from the outfield.
"Thought that was gonna be a homer," said Cora.
"Only one out, he'll get there," Brandon replied confidently.
Erica was still beaming. David was better for the team than she - well, Eric - had been. He'd been as good a shortstop, but David could really hit, too.
She peered sideways. The sight had a measure of humor. David had invited Brandon to meet him after tonight's baseball game, knowing he'd catch at least the last few innings. So Cora had come, naturally.
And thus, so had Gabriela, Jacinta, Linda, and even Kristina. Hoping to watch a different game.
Their hopes were being rewarded, of course. For Cora, it was 'game on'. Of course he'd wound up sitting next to her, and they'd been deep in conversation ever since. "Shoulda put him on clean-up."
"He runs fast, though. Duane's too big to book like that, but he hits even harder."
"Okay, point," Cora granted with a smile. "You'd know running. When you guys got your next meet?"
"Week from Sunday."
Brandon hadn't noticed, but Erica was fighting laughter. None of the other girls were talking, all listening intently to the byplay while striving to look casual.
"Wish I had your stride. I can go a long ways, but not as fast as you guys."
"Yeah, I think I've seen you out running."
Cora looked almost sly. "I'm sick of running roads. Could you show me some trails or something?"
Brandon spread one hand, palm up. "There's the path at the park..."
"That's, like, half a mile tops. I mean some distance, y'know?"
Brandon's head tilted a bit to the side. "What kind of distance?"
"Four, five miles. Y'know, some real cardio."
"Well, up past Spicer road - y'know, off Josephson - there's a path in the woods. Some good hills, but you gotta watch for the mountain-bikers sometimes." He shrugged. "We go there to practice once in a while. Two laps and you'll get five miles easy."
"Can you show me sometime?"
Brandon paused. Erica suspected half the girls held their breath. "How about Saturday?"
"I'm in. What time?"
The details were sorted out in short order. Erica reflected that it was hardly a traditional seduction ploy. On the other hand, Cora wasn't a typical girl. And Brandon seemed a cut above the typical boy. Maybe it'd work.
~~~~~
Hillman won, and Brandon went over to the dugout to join David as the coach did some post-game analysis with the team. Erica gave David a goodbye kiss, and the girls went to the food court at the mall for their own extensive after-action breakdown. But it was Cora's game that got dissected.
Kristina was blunt. "You really think you're gonna turn him on when you're dripping sweat?"
"Well, sometimes guys like to see girls all panting and wet..." Jacinta had a sly smile.
Cora rolled her eyes at the general sniggering. "I ain't gonna be a wreck. I can handle a five mile run, no prob. I won't be a noodle at the end."
"You can't wear too much makeup. Maybe some eyeliner and lip gloss, anything else'd melt off," Gabriela warned.
Cora looked offended. "I'm a for-realz runner, guys. Five miles is no bigs, even with hills."
"Don't be too good," Linda warned. "He prob'ly won't be too happy getting beat by a girl."
Now Cora was rueful. "No chance. He's, like, a foot and a half taller'n me. Can't match a stride like that with these legs."
Erica was glad none of the girls seemed to notice how Cora had worded that. But it was time to shift to less fraught ground. "What are you gonna wear?"
That triggered a lengthy and in-depth treatment of Cora's options, but Erica was pleased to note that Cora participated fully.
~~~~~
"I've been wanting to do this trail again," Cora remarked, stretching, one leg stuck out. She was wearing athletic shorts - tight shorts - and a spaghetti-strapped cami over a sports bra. Naturally the cami ended several inches above the shorts. Her hair was pulled back into her traditional running ponytail. Her shoes had some kind of rainbow on the side, but to Brandon's mild surprise looked to be decent for running.
"Again?" Brandon said, standing up from a stretch of his own. "When did you run it before? I thought you didn't know about it."
Cora bent over, folding nearly in half. He couldn't see her face, but that meant she couldn't see his. So he stole a peek at her ass as she said, "Um, I did it once when I first got here. I didn't know it went so far from the roads." She came back up and looked him in the eye, a bit of a challenge. "A girl can't just run anywhere by herself."
He'd never thought of it like that. "Well, you ready?"
"Let's rock," Cora said, grinning. Without warning, she started down the trail.
Brandon didn't have any trouble catching up, or keeping up, not with the stride difference. She set a faster pace than he'd expected, though. While it wasn't a major workout, it definitely turned out to be a real run, not just a stroll in the park.
He let her take the lead whenever the trail narrowed. It seemed gentlemanly anyway, but he got away with some more un-gentlemanly ass-ogling, too.
They wound up doing two full laps, unquestionably hitting the five mile target. And she totally sprinted at the end!
After, they walked slowly for a minute or so, panting, cooling off and checking their heart rates. He had the feeling she was a bit more winded than she let on. He was impressed anyway.
"You should totally be on the girls track team," he said.
Cora looked away, apparently shy. "Nah, I run for fun." After a beat, she added, "I tried out for soccer, but they didn't want me."
"That was a mistake."
"Whatevs. I can still run on my own." Her eyebrows quirked up. "Know any other good spots?"
He ventured a few more suggestions and they made tentative plans. She said her thanks and goodbyes, and drove off while he was getting his helmet and jacket on. He revved the engine once and peeled out.
A solid run always made him feel good. Doing one with a girl was even more fun. And a motorcycle ride after was another bonus.
He and Cory had run that trail a few times, with the track team. At that thought, he felt guilty again. It had been close to a month since he'd done anything at all about looking for Cory. The whole picture thing with Danielle had overshadowed everything.
Weird the way things went sometimes. Cory had gone away, and a few weeks later there appeared a girl who looked like she could be his sister. She was into computers and running, too. And now that he really thought about it, they had kind of the same sense of humor. Even their names - though 'Cora' was actually her middle name...
Fuck, I'm a fucking idiot. It should have been obvious from the start! No way was it all just coincidence - Cory and Cora were too much alike. It was crazy, it was something out of a bad movie, but there was only one explanation that made any sense.
She had to be an actual blood relative. He knew Cory had been adopted. So she was at least a cousin, maybe even a half sister. He'd have guessed she was his twin sister, but they had different birthdays - hers in December, Cory's in September. Couldn't be from the same mother.
Cory had never said anything about his birth family, or shown any interest in looking them up. He'd loved his adoptive parents. It was one reason why Brandon knew he hadn't run away.
In fact, Cora just happening to show up so soon after Cory ran off was a stretch. She had kind of encouraged him to give up looking, too. Maybe Cory's birth family was Mafia or something?
He mulled that over as he buzzed down the road. Perhaps he wasn't exactly objective, but he just couldn't see Cora involved in some sinister conspiracy. She was sort of... standoffish, yeah. But it wasn't like she was hiding something from everyone. More like she was just hiding from everyone, period. He thought maybe she'd been hurt sometime. Before that fucking picture, even.
Maybe I can ask Cora about her family... he thought to himself. At least he should eliminate her having anything to do with Cory disappearing. It wasn't like he had any other leads.
And finding out more about Cora was almost its own reward.
~~~~~
Cora wrapped up her report on the not-exactly-date with a summary. "Went pretty good. I showed him I'm no wannabe, and he wants to do it again." She paused then, but before Erica could ask anything she said, half to herself, "Cory's a little pissed. I said he likes to think on a run. He sure didn't want to think about seducing Brandon."
Erica almost put her immediate concern on hold. She was supposed to report to the Sisters any mentions of Cory, but she was curious anyway. Cora's Transition was so different from her own. To her, Eric was just a memory, not a presence.
The thing was, she couldn't avoid it any longer. When it had all been just potential, certain implications could be put off. But now it looked like Cora might actually succeed. And that could be a disaster unless things went just right.
She'd thought a lot about how to bring it up. She hadn't come up with a better way to put it: "Scotty once told me about his dog," she said.
Cora squinted at her change of subject but waited to see where she was going.
"She'd always bark at the mail guy. Every day, like a psycho. She'd growl and bark at the front window, and then she'd run to the door and go nuts as the mail came through the slot. Sounded like a killer beast."
Cora was frowning. After a second, she said, "So?"
"One day she came around the corner and the front door was open." Erica gave a very wry smile. "And she was looking right at the mailman."
Erica gave Cora a Look. "She stopped barking. She just stared for a couple seconds, then ran away whining."
Cora spread her hands and shrugged. "And you're telling me this because...."
"Whatcha gonna do if you really do catch Brandon?"
Cora looked down, mouth open just slightly. Erica didn't pause. "Boyfriends like to do things with girlfriends. You remember, right?" Cora started to turn away but Erica moved over into her line of sight again. She locked her eyes on Cora. "Boy-girl things. Holding hands... hugging.... making out..."
Cora didn't say anything.
"You better decide if you wanna be his girl friend" - separating the words with an unmistakable pause - "or his girlfriend." She shook her head. "You better know what you're gonna do if he tries to kiss you. 'Cause, like, screaming and jumping back might bother him a little." She shook her head. "Have you thought about that stuff at all?"
Cora still wouldn't meet her eyes. But her voice, while quiet, didn't waver. "I've thought about it. I'm not a total dipshit."
Erica cocked her head, but didn't reply.
Cora sighed. "I can fake it for a while, okay? I mean, below the waist is gonna be a no-go zone, but I'm pretty sure I can kiss him without gagging or anything."
"Oh, he'll be so happy! 'My girlfriend didn't actually hurl when I gave her the tongue!'" Erica was more comfortable giving Cora tough love these days.
"Wouldn't be the first time a girl's faked it, y'know," Cora muttered.
Erica didn't dignify that with a reply.
~~~~~
Cora: AWWW FUCK 2 THE YEAH!
Cora: FLAWLESS MOTHERFUCKIN VICTORY!!
Erica: what up?!?
Cora: brandon officially askd me out!!
Cora: goin 2 flea market Sat!
Erica: flea market?
Cora: yup! :-)
Erica: u sure thats date?
Cora: no its for realz
Cora: he always takes girls there on 1st date
Erica: y???
Cora: cuz its cheap! ;-)
Cora: diffrent too i guess
Erica: u wud kno...
Cora: trust me. Ds gonna shit herself u watch
Erica: GTG practice starting luv u
Erica: congrats
Cora: luv u 2 thanks!
~~~~~
"So what made you pick the flea market?" Cora was wearing some sort of shorts/skirt combo, flats, and a loose red long-sleeved blouse. It was just warm enough for a motorcycle ride in an outfit like that. Especially since Brandon could see some cleavage.
"What? Not having fun?" He said with a smile.
Cora smirked. "Didn't say that. It's not exactly standard, though."
"That's the deal. It's different. You get to look at all this weird stuff, and once in a while, you find something awesome you never knew you needed." He smiled. "And we can talk. I mean, a movie's all right, but you're both just sitting there, y'know? And we're not eating. This way we can talk, without food in our mouths." Plus, it's cheaper, he thought to himself.
Cora had a funny little grin. Somehow he got the idea that she knew about the 'cheaper' part.
So they talked as they walked. He didn't get much of a handle on her family, beyond her parents. They sounded a little distant. Of course, they had left her and gone to the other side of the world.
She actually wound up learning more about his family. "My dad's in construction. I always got to go into building sites, even when I was a kid. I got to see how they made buildings and bridges and even a stadium once." He smiled. "I always wanted to know more. That's why I'm going for civil engineering."
Cora seemed honestly interested. "I never knew that."
"Well, you never asked."
She got flustered. Cora was amazingly cute when she was flustered, but he didn't want to upset her. "Hey, I didn't mean it like that! We haven't known each other too long."
Somehow that didn't help. She almost looked guilty.
A little desperately, he rushed on. "So, any big story for you? Why you're into computers and stuff?"
Cora pondered for a few moments, taking the question seriously. "It's like... you can almost make thoughts real, with programs. If you can plan it out, get it right, if you're clever enough... It's almost like magic. A whole world that does what you told it."
That reminded him a bit of Cory. "Good thing magic isn't real. I don't want the world to crash when there's a bug."
She gave him a Look, and he remembered with dismay that she was Wiccan. It was easy to forget, most of them were granola types who didn't go for computers or math. She let it slide, however.
It helped that they found the electronics section shortly after. "Oh my God! Look!"
She went up to a table with a bunch of ancient junk, so far as he could tell. But she seemed pretty excited.
"It's a Commodore 64! With floppies! And an accelerator cartridge!" Her head tilted. "And is that an ethernet hookup?" She looked at the dealer behind the table. "Why so cheap? Does it work?"
"No, a couple caps failed in the power supply. No monitor, and only one of the floppy drives spins."
Cora mulled it over. "I can solder some new capacitors, that's no prob. And I know Erica's monitor has composite..."
"Do you really want it?" Brandon asked, curious.
"Kinda," she said, sounding just a little embarrassed.
"Why?" he asked in honest confusion.
She gave him a sharp glance; it looked like it took her a second to decide he wasn't mocking her. "It's old and slow, yeah. But you could understand every part of these things. The whole system would fit in your head, y'know?" She was getting more excited. "And it was, like, incredible what some guys got it to do. I've seen demos on YouTube, music and sound and graphics. A 3D card can do it better, but it's kind of a black box. You aren't allowed to know exactly what's going on inside. But this," she touched the manual, "even has the circuit diagrams!"
Seeing her excited, not angry - passionate - was kind of a turn on.
The guy behind the table sensed a potential sale. "I got an old modem here somewhere...."
But Cora was faltering. "I don't really need it," she said, shaking her head. "I can get an emulator."
Brandon hesitated for a moment, then went with his impulse. "I'll buy it. I kinda cheaped out on you anyway, not taking you to dinner and all."
He couldn't figure out what her expression meant. She seemed surprised, pleased, and annoyed all at the same time. "You don't have to buy me stuff. I can pay for it."
"Okay, halfsies?" he offered.
She smiled her high-power smile for a second - even the vendor blinked - but then her happiness fell away. "We can't fit it on the bike!"
Both Brandon and the vendor frowned. Perhaps under the lingering influence of her disarming smile, the guy offered, "I can ship it, if you gimme an address." Recovering a little business sense, he added, "Weighs a bit, though. I gotta charge extra."
And here I wanted a cheap date. "How much?" Brandon asked.
The sale concluded, they explored and talked more, and he reconciled himself to the unanticipated expense. He was having fun, anyway.
And when they rode home, he was glad she hadn't worn jeans. He liked having her bare legs next to him. He still didn't know what to call what she was wearing, but she could spread her legs without showing anything critical.
He caught himself wondering what the critical bits looked like. They couldn't talk much while riding so he had plenty of time.
~~~~~
When they pulled into her driveway, Cora slid off the bike as soon as he'd parked. "Thanks," she said, sounding nervous. "That was really fun."
"Yeah," he said, wishing he could come up with something cooler. He decided to just go ahead. "Wanna do something next week?" He smirked. "We can go all traditional if you want. Dinner, movie..."
Even her shy, eyes-lowered smile was cute. "Sounds chill. I get off work at six." She was leading him toward the porch.
"So does this mean we set our Facebook statuses to 'in a relationship'?" he quipped. They were at the door. She was acting kinda... unsettled.
"Guess so." She darted in and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "See ya later." Almost before he realized it, she slipped away through the door. It was far from the best 'end of date' experience he'd ever had.
What, you were expecting a rimjob? a sarcastic inner voice asked. It wasn't like she owed him something, just 'cause he'd taken her out. He was courting her, not paying a hooker. How she responded was up to her. And yet... if a girl went on a date, not as just friends, it was a sign she was willing to get at least a little physical with a guy.
Well, fuck it. Danielle threw herself at me, and look how that turned out. Cora wasn't like any girl he'd been with before. Maybe she was worth cultivating a little patience.
So he told himself as he walked back and got on his bike.
~~~~~
"Fuck that was trippy," Cora breathed as soon as the door closed. She stepped over near the window and peeked out as Brandon got on his bike and rode off.
Erica waited as long as she could, but she was almost vibrating with eagerness. "So how'd it go? Did you kiss him? How'd he act? Did he..."
"Dial it back, chica," Cora broke in. Once Erica shut her mouth, she went on. "I think it went pretty good. Yeah, I kissed him, just now."
"That's good, I guess," Erica said judiciously.
Cora's eye-roll was almost audible. "You wanna watch next time?" More seriously, she gave Erica a reasonably complete account of their excursion as the girls went upstairs to Cora's room. She finished about when she was done removing her makeup.
"Sometimes I almost forgot it was a date. Like, it was just him and me, hangin' like before. It was chill." She shook her head. "And that's sayin' something 'cause I was wearing mascara and earrings and a frickin' skort. When did I get so used to all that?"
Her lips pursed. "Anyway, then he'd smile all weird or his eyes would be all over my tits and I'd remember."
"You been trying to get him to look at your tits for the last month," Erica noted.
Cora gave her a sour look. "Yeah, I know, but it's different when it's an actual, like, boyfriend." She spread her hands, searching for words. "He's kinda, y'know, allowed. Not to be an asshole about it, but, like..." She trailed off.
Erica thought about her and David. "But the line between 'whatever' and 'asshole' gets moved."
"Yeah! He gets... some kinda default permissions, I guess."
"It's not the same for every girl, though. You get to, I dunno, negotiate," Erica pointed out.
Cora shook her head slowly. "That's the thing. I don't know where the fuck to draw the line with him."
Erica pondered that for a moment. "Then I guess you got some thinking to do."
~~~~~
He was in armor, and Cora was in an old-timey dress, all the way to the floor. But it was thin and... and gauzy, almost like a nightgown or something, he could see the outlines of her body. She had a crown or something on. Not big and heavy. He thought maybe it was called a tiara. It was thin and elegant. Like her.
He had to be... honorable. Worthy of her. She was a princess, a real one. Royalty. And he was just a regular guy. She liked him, for whatever crazy reason - but what she deserved was a prince. A hero. A guy who would treat her like the amazing, beautiful, precious... everything she was.
Somehow, by some massive stroke of luck, she liked him. He sensed a chance for... something amazing with her, something he only dimly understood. Some awesome... destiny was possible; but he knew he could hurt her if he screwed up, hurt her badly. He had to play it just right, bring his "A" game, the very best he had in himself.
She drove him crazy at times, playing with him. It wasn't her fault, she didn't really understand how sexy she was. There was a fundamental innocence about her, something he felt duty-bound to protect.
If he hurt her, he'd never forgive himself.
The armor was gone, and they were holding each other, kissing. He was so careful, he'd die before he pushed her further than she was willing to go... she was so incredible, those eyes, those lips, those hips pressed against him, even through their clothes... he felt her hand brush his hardon, and...
"Uh! Uh!" Brandon woke up in the middle of an intense orgasm. He was gasping, his hips jerking, it seemed like every muscle in his body was tensing and relaxing in waves. Finally it passed, and he sat panting in bed for a minute or two, recovering.
"Well, that was fucked up," he whispered to himself. Then he got out of bed to go find a new pair of shorts, feeling very strange.
~~~~~
"Brandon's a really sweet boy." Laurie said, sipping her coffee and stifling a yawn.
"Young man," Bronwyn corrected. "More a man than a lot of 'adults' I've dated." She smiled with Motherly approval. "I'm half convinced we won't have to do anything but visit him with dreams."
It was possible to send dreams 'on a delay'; a Sister wasn't required to actively guide them at the moment their subject received them. A good thing, too, or the Sisters would have been just as exhausted as Danielle and Becca and Mindy had become over the past weeks. By now they'd worked out a schedule. One or another of the witches would cast the spells before they went to bed, leaving the nightmares to wake the girls deep in the dark.
But especially the first time, it was best to make direct contact, get a feel for the recipient and evaluate how they were responding. So they'd arranged for Lani to sleep over with Alice again, and Bronwyn had come along. The alarm had woken the two Sisters in the middle of the night and they'd set about encouraging some useful attitudes in Cora's new boyfriend.
They probably should have gone back to sleep then, but they'd spent some time in gentle lovemaking first. A little more than they'd intended, in fact. Hence the strong coffees both were nursing, and neither were on their first cup of the morning.
Their girls were at school, so the two senior Sisters were in Laurie's kitchen, going over Sisterhood business. Jacqui was at the gym and would join them later.
The Cora Situation was never far down the agenda at such times. They were both grateful there was promising news to go over.
"Jacqui's not going to be thrilled about his theories on Cora's resemblance to Cory," Laurie noted.
"Now that we know about it, we can warn Cora. We'll let Jacqui decide whether to encourage or disprove it." Bronwyn smiled. "But either way, it'll keep him from even suspecting the truth."
Laurie took another big sip of coffee, nodding. "While we're at it, what about Erica's boyfriend? David something?" she asked.
Bronwyn swallowed her own gulp and answered, "Miranda's handling him. Apparently, he's another budding Marcus! Gallant and devoted."
Both women exchanged bittersweet smiles at that. They had schemed, using all of their considerable matchmaking prowess to find a boy who'd help Jacqui through her traumatic Transition. Even they had been surprised at the depth of the romance that had blossomed between the two. Jacqui wasn't the only one who still grieved for him.
Bronwyn took a deep breath. "So. Bella's boys. Any fresh ideas?" Transformations tended to be meticulously planned affairs, and for twins it would be more than doubly so.
"Well, only in the broad outlines. It's good that they have separate bedrooms." Laurie took a breath. "How's this? They change separately, and only see each other when they're both fully female. Then we somehow get them in different rooms again before the final question."
"It'll be tough if only one of them accepts..."
~~~~~
Jacinta watched Cora as she walked into the cafeteria. Actually, 'strutted' might have been a more accurate term. She was looking pretty confident today.
As Cora got into line, the three girls in front of her sniffed and pointedly turned their heads away. The news that Brandon and Cora were officially together was all over the school. A sizeable portion of the student body took that to mean that Cora had been pursuing Brandon all along. Which somehow justified what Danielle had done, to some.
Most people seemed to remember Danielle beating her up, though.
Cora wasn't even slightly fazed. The only sign she'd even noticed them was a brief eye roll. She sauntered through the line and joined Jacinta and Gabriela at their table.
Of course, there was only one reasonable topic of conversation. "Piper says Becca's still not sitting with Mindy and Danielle at lunch. And none of 'em were smiling." Danielle's suspension was over, though of course she was under orders to stay away from Cora.
"I just wish Brandon had the same lunch period as me. He'd be sittin' here, for sure." Cora was beaming. "Can you imagine how much that'd piss 'em all off?"
"How is Brandon, anyway? Seen him since yesterday?" Jacinta still had hopes for the actual relationship.
"Yeah, we said hi right before school." Cora frowned; not unhappily, just thoughtfully. "He was acting kinda weird."
"Weird how?" Gabriela asked. She and Jacinta exchanged a quick nervous glance.
"I dunno. He was all... I dunno. He was looking at me like I was a princess or something." Cora seemed confused.
"Doesn't sound so bad," Gabriela said.
"It wasn't bad. I just... I guess I ain't used to it."
Jacinta sighed. "I'd like the chance to get used to it."
Cora snorted and smiled ruefully.
~~~~~
David was keeping a low profile. Danielle was still in his and Erica's calc class, of course.
Erica and Danielle didn't say anything to each other. But the little sniffs and glares said it all anyway. He simply tried not to attract any attention.
Class ended without major incident. But Erica didn't get up at the sound of the bell, waiting so that Danielle would have to pass. And when she did, Erica held up something for Danielle to see.
Danielle tensed and aimed a look of fury at Erica's smirking face. He looked down at what Erica had drawn in thick marker on the back of her folder.
"Brandon + Cora" it said, surrounded by a large, elaborately-bordered heart. He didn't quite manage to keep the laugh down; a guffaw escaped. Danielle's snarl at him was scarcely less venomous. She rushed out into the hall as David gave Erica a golf clap.
~~~~~
Even when Trahn was dropping Erica off after practice, Cora was a topic. More precisely, the gossip about her.
Trahn was bemused. "Can't believe Carrie was actually human about it."
"Yeah, that was pretty funny."
A clique of girls had been digging at Erica a little right after practice, as they were all heading for the lockers. Nobody could accuse Erica of being a lesbian anymore, not when she was dating one of the hottest boys in the whole school. Even Cora was no longer vulnerable to such accusations now that she was with Brandon.
So, naturally, she was now the direct opposite - a cockhound, a slut. The climax came when the clique's alpha, Monet, said, "She probably framed Danielle. Took that pic herself and sent it to him."
Erica didn't quite have time to lose her cool. Carrie had broken in. "You'd know. Dashawn told me about all those shots of your twat you kept sending him."
That got a big reaction - squeals and giggles and catcalls. Cut off at the metaphorical knees, Monet and her friends had sullenly kept to themselves as everyone changed.
Erica had quietly acknowledged Carrie with a brief nod. Friends they'd never be, but thanks to the Goddess' ways they didn't have to be enemies.
Trahn pulled in to Erica's driveway. She gave Trahn a quick hug and popped out of the car, waving at the other girls. "See ya tomorrow!"
She came in and put down her purse. Cora sat at the kitchen table, tackling her homework, looking pensive. Erica put her hand on Cora's, and said, "Something wrong? What'cha working on, French?"
"Nah, it's not the homework. Something else." She sat up and stretched. "Today, coming back from the bus stop? There was this guy, maybe thirty or something, coming up the sidewalk toward me." At the sudden alarm in Erica's expression, she held up a reassuring hand. "No, no, it wasn't a problem. Kinda the opposite. He just saw me, like five houses away, and he crossed the street."
Erica nodded. Guys - at least, the ones who had any awareness that women had minds, too - did that. Gave strange women extra space, so as not to needlessly alarm them. But Cora was speaking. "I - well, Cory, anyway - did that before. Especially at night." Then she fell silent.
"So... no problem?"
The girl sighed. "It's just... I was, like, glad that he did it. I wasn't really worried or anything, y'know. But it was nice to see. I was almost grateful."
Erica thought she understood. "But you wouldn't have been, before."
"Cory... he'd be mad. Like it was, I dunno, condescending or something. Implying he couldn't take care of himself."
Erica nodded judiciously. She could see Eric feeling that way.
Cora sighed. "Thing is, I really can't take care of myself like that. I'm so small. I mean, there are ten-year-old boys who could probably take me."
Then she gave a little smile. "Good thing I have a boyfriend to run with now, I guess."
Erica smiled too. "Does kinda work out."
~~~~~
"I gotta get some new clothes," Cora said, rustling through her closet. She and Brandon were going on a more traditional dinner-and-a-movie date tomorrow night and the girls were planning her look.
Erica lay on Cora's bed, texting. She had a sense of déjà vu, remembering Cora saying nearly the same thing two months ago. The tone was totally different now, though.
Cora actually sighed. "We can't even trade pants or shoes or anything." She shook her head, looking herself over in the mirror as she draped a dress across her front. "Like, this would look totally sweet with those buckle-boots you've got, but they won't fit me. I've only got some ankle-boots, and they're fur."
A part of Erica was wondering if Cora was putting her on. The words - and the motivation behind them - were so feminine it was hard to believe they came from Cora. She'd come a long way in three months.
"We'll just have to hit the mall again this weekend," Erica said.
"Maybe we can go tonight. Maybe get a couple new skirts or something. It's getting embarrassing."
Erica marveled in her head. A long way. She even knew what those little hooks on some hangers were for.
"Plus, girls stuff is so thin! I ripped that gray sweater yesterday on my locker."
Okay, that sounded more like Cora.
~~~~~
Brandon thought the night had gone pretty well. Cora had enjoyed dinner - she ate more than any girlfriend he'd ever had, even though she was smaller than any of them. More than she had that night with David and Erica, come to think of it.
The conversation had been chill, too. She was smart and funny, and had an almost tomboyish knowledge of sports and video games and movies. And she'd seemed just as happy as him to take in an action movie instead of some romantic comedy.
He'd tried to find out more about her family, just with general questions. Nothing she said sounded like organized crime or anything. Pretty ordinary, really. Well, he'd keep his eyes open. He wasn't stupid enough to bring up Cory, not on their second date.
So he was pretty satisfied as he pulled into the Jardin's driveway. Now it was time to test her level of satisfaction.
They got out of the car together; she never waited for him to open the door or stuff like that. But he could still walk her to the door.
"That was chill," he said as they got to her porch.
"I had a good time, too," she said a touch formally. But she waited at the door, looking up at him.
He sensed a little hesitation as he leaned in. Or maybe it was shyness. Either way, a kiss on the second date shouldn't be a big deal, so he still went for it. Just carefully. She didn't seem surprised or shy away.
Their lips met. After a moment, he darted his tongue to press against her lips, just a quick probe.
She didn't break off immediately; but after a second she pulled her head back off a bit, swallowed, and looked at him with very wide eyes.
He smiled with a little more confidence than he actually felt. Her answering smile was small and less confident. But she leaned in and gave him another quick peck.
She stayed close, but said softly, "Just... take it easy with me. For a while. I... I'm not used to this."
"S' cool. We're still, like, getting to know each other." He had to front some; it was annoying, a little. Or at least confusing. She'd been sending messages like she was interested in him, before. He couldn't quite figure her out.
She squeezed close for a full-body hug, and said, "See you tomorrow." Then she slipped away into the house.
He strolled back to his dad's car, walking normally just in case anybody was watching. He shifted his pants after he got in the car. Maybe she hadn't meant it that way, who the fuck knew. But that hug, her whole body up against his, had been dead sexy.
~~~~~
Cora was simultaneously debriefed by both Erica and Jacinta - the former in person, the latter by text.
Erica noted to herself that Cora seemed to have developed some proficiency in maintaining two conversations at once. She wasn't unduly distracted by typing. Nor did Erica worry about finding out what Cora might be sending; she felt sure Jacqui would have that line tapped.
"What'd you guys talk about, anyway?"
"Just stuff. Movies and class and games and stuff," Cora said. "I like talking with him. It's nice to talk like a boy again, mostly."
Erica squinted. "What do you mean?"
"Talking with girls is, like, work. A lot of the time, anyway."
Erica sat down at the table while Cora sent something to Jacinta. Her frown invited elaboration, which Cora provided.
"It's not what they talk about. Well, okay, most of the time." That was said with a rueful half-grin. Cora could talk confidently about things like clothes and makeup now, but seldom chose to. "More like... girls are never just talking about what they're talking about, y'know?"
Erica thought she did understand, but she tilted her head in an invitation for Cora to clarify. Silence seemed to work best on Cora; it didn't feed energy into her verbal judo. She couldn't twist words if you didn't say them.
"I mean, if Brandon tells me 'bout what some guy did at his last meet, I don't have to worry that he's trying to send me a hidden message or shit."
Erica half-shrugged. "Okay, but you gotta talk about feelings sometimes too, right?"
"I bet I can wait another couple dates for that. He's a boy." Cora's smile let on that she was mostly joking. "Don't worry, I'm, like, 'tending the relationship' and shit."
She spread her hands. "And I'm getting better at the girl stuff. Sometimes it's actually kinda cool. Saying one thing and sending three different messages to two different people, or, like, decrypting a message like that." She sighed. "I'm mostly up to the challenge now. I think. But sometimes it's nice not to have to handle a challenge, y'know?"
Erica made a brushing motion with her hand, dismissing that topic. "Didja kiss him?"
Cora looked to the heavens. "Yeah, just now outside. And a hug, too."
"Wow, a hug, too! Did he jizz right there?" Erica said, laying the sarcasm on with a trowel.
"Fuck you," Cora said, without much heat. "I'm getting there. He seemed cool enough, he wasn't pushy." She frowned. "Besides, the way some girls talk I already sucked him off with a finger up my ass."
Erica covered Cora's hand with her own. "Don't worry about the haters. Just make sure you know how Brandon feels."
~~~~~
David pulled up to where Erica was standing. Giving her rides home from school was a regular thing now. Boyfriend points, of course; but frequently Cora would come along, too, and gathering data on her was a sub-priority of his mission. Not that she talked a lot.
Today, though, Erica was alone. She slid gracefully into the passenger seat and gave him a quick smooch. "Should I wait for Cora?" he asked.
Erica beamed. "Nope! Check it, Brandon gave her a ride home on his bike!"
Eyebrows raised, he pulled forward, toward the lot exit. "Gotta admit, I wasn't sure if getting them together was all that good an idea, but it seems to be working out."
"Yeah," Erica said, almost in a sigh. After a second, she gave him a Look. "What's Brandon say about her?"
David took a few beats to answer her. "He likes her. But he, um, finds her a maybe a little confusing." He held up a hand as Erica opened her mouth to say something. "Don't even. She doesn't act like other girls. You know it."
Erica paused herself. "Yeah, okay, she's a little... quirky. But she likes him. Honest."
You are so easy to read, David thought with amusement. She hoped Cora liked him. Or would like him. Erica's guilelessness made his mission a lot simpler at times, and it was actually kind of charming.
But he didn't want her to know just how transparent she could be. "Okay, if you say so." He paused, then, as if the idea had just occurred to him, said, "How 'bout we all get together sometime? Maybe some COD or Halo or something at my place?" He put on a sly grin. "I never have seen the mistress at work..."
Erica hit his shoulder playfully. "Sounds tight. We'll show you some girl power. I'll bring my controllers."
~~~~~
The gaming session took place Saturday around lunchtime - Cora had to work in the evening, and Erica would be with the squad at a game that night.
The girls didn't want to play online, and the boys had silently agreed they didn't want to go up against the girls directly, at least not at first. So the foursome wound up spending some quality time with GOW's Horde mode.
Eventually they all took a break. The girls went to the kitchen to assemble some snacks, and David took the chance to talk to Brandon. "They're pretty good, huh?"
"Hell yeah," Brandon said quietly. "They ain't pros, but neither are we. They sure as shit ain't posers!" He shook his head. "Cora, I've seen her at laser tag. Shooters ain't a stretch." Then he looked at David. "But Erica... she's so, y'know, girly. When did she put in the hours?"
"I dunno," he lied.
When the girls came back the group moved on to more casual games. They settled on Geometry Wars, and took turns playing co-op mode and competing for score. The boys made sure they got teamed up with their girlfriends. Brandon and Cora got the highest score; she proved to be an adept shooter, while Brandon piloted the ship to evade the waves of enemies.
Brandon left for work - Cora gave him a reasonably enthusiastic goodbye kiss, in David's estimation - and the girls went home shortly thereafter. David reflected on what he'd observed, mentally composing a report. Cora was definitely more tomboyish than Erica, but still made a surprisingly convincing girl. It was hard to tell how much of her affection for Brandon was residual friendship, or actual romantic feeling.
~~~~~
"Hey, girlfriend, bet your cousin's happy, right?" Melanie's voice rose above the hubbub of the locker room.
Erica, just pulling off her shirt for gym, turned to look at her friend. "Huh?" she managed, perplexed.
Trahn appeared behind Melanie. "You didn't hear?" Trahn said. "Rebecca cracked! She went in and confessed!"
Erica's eyes widened. "Wait, what? It was Danielle that..."
Trahn interrupted. "She shopped Danielle out! And Mindy! Word is they're all gonna get expelled!"
Erica wished she could send actual thoughts to Cora. She'd have to wait until Programming to tell her.
~~~~~
Brandon had never been so nervous about math class, not even for a final. His buddy Savion had passed on the dirt about Rebecca just a couple minutes ago. And now he had to face Cora.
No one was talking to her, though it was pretty clear almost everyone was whispering about her. She looked... triumphant, so happy she was almost glowing. When she saw him coming, her smile became dazzling.
She'd heard, obviously. He couldn't look her in the eye. "I still can't believe I didn't... I just never realized she..."
Cora cut him off. "Sure, you were a complete tool." Incredibly, she was still smiling. "You need me to keep you out of trouble."
He shrugged, not disputing her. "I checked my phone in my locker. There was a voicemail from her." He licked his lips. "She was crying, and she wanted me to call her back."
Cora's smile transformed into something unsettlingly malevolent. "Save it. I wanna hear it."
Class started up, so they couldn't talk more then, but Brandon found himself dwelling on both smiles. Remember not to piss her off. On the other hand, he wouldn't mind seeing her more pleasant smile again.
By the time the bell rang, though, she didn't look quite so happy. When they got up, she seemed to have trouble meeting his eyes. "Call me later?"
"Sure. Can I give you a ride home with me again?"
She sure had a lot of different smiles. This one was strained. "No, I...I'm just gonna take the bus."
Then, nervous, he said, "Everything chill? You okay?"
Her smile got a little more genuine, but only for a second. "Yeah, I just... gotta think about stuff."
She gave him a quick hug before walking out the door, at least.
Continued in Part 9
Erica was a little surprised to see Cora on the bus home. She'd expected her to get another ride home with Brandon. For that matter, it was unusual for Erica to be on the bus, too, but David had baseball practice so she couldn't go in his car.
They chattered on the drive, as usual, but something was very off. She would have expected Cora to be bouncing off the walls, to be ecstatic. Instead she seemed preoccupied. So Erica braced her as soon as they were out and on foot. "What's wrong?"
Cora didn't dissemble. She walked slowly for several seconds, staring at the ground. "I was gonna break up with him. Once Danielle got hers, I mean." After another pause, she continued. "I wanted to get him back, too, for being so fucking stupid."
Erica waited as long as she could, then probed. "You were gonna?"
Cora took a while to speak again. "If I break up with him now, he'll think I just went after him to get at Danielle."
"Uh... you did."
Cora flinched. "Okay, yeah, but he apologized. And he feels bad about it." She was talking fast. "I don't hafta make it any worse, y'know? He's not a bad guy. I don't wanna, like, mess him up for later. Y'know, when he finds a real girlfriend." Her voice had run down somewhat. More quietly, she said, "He should be able to trust somebody, someday."
Erica wobbled, uncertain. She had been ordered not to pay any attention to Cory. But the poor girl looked so troubled...
She couldn't help herself. "What does Cory think?"
Cora's voice was very soft, now, almost inaudible. "He's decided Brandon deserves to be tricked."
Erica pondered that for a moment. "Is that what you think? That you're tricking him?"
"I dunno," Cora replied, sounding haunted.
~~~~~
The evening was a busy one. The police were talking to the lawyers that Danielle and Mindy's families had retained. Becca was willing to testify, and hadn't even pressed for immunity.
Jacqui had managed to supernaturally procure copies of Becca's confession, and drove down with Bronwyn to confer; Laurie stayed home with the girls. Cora cackled all through the transcript, reading aloud her favorite bits. But she paused with rising eyebrows when she came to:
Detective: So, why are you telling us this now? Why change your story?
Rebecca: I just wanna sleep through the night again. And Brandon's with Cora anyway.
Jacqui met the girl's eyes steadily, with a confident smile. "My Mom said dreams could do the job."
"Huh," Cora had said, not disagreeing. The discussion moved on to legal strategy. The lawyer who'd helped with the restraining order was there, a woman named Adelle. She was young for a lawyer, only in her mid-twenties, but seemed very competent. Again no one actually admitted she was a Sister, but the girls weren't stupid. She'd been allowed to see the confession.
While Adelle covered a fine point of evidence law, Erica took Jacqui aside, into the kitchen. "Um, like... how long did... how long was, uh, y'know, 'Jack' like... hanging around? "
Jacqui nodded, a wry little half-grin twisting her lips. "Right," she said knowingly, stealing a glance through the door at Cora. The girl was focused on what Adelle was saying, with all the sharp intensity she was capable of.
Jacqui turned back to Erica, but her eyes were distant, remembering. "With me, it was at least a year. I don't remember exactly when 'he' left. One day I just realized I hadn't heard from him for a while." She smiled, back in the present. "I won't be worried about 'Cory' - well, more worried - until maybe early next year."
That made Erica feel a lot better. The pair came back into the den, where Cora was learning about testimony.
~~~~~
Danielle, Mindy, and Rebecca didn't show up at school the next day. Rumors were flying even more frantically and Cora was a center of attention again, naturally; even more than after dating Brandon. She was far less disconcerted this time, though. Erica would have sworn the girl's smile hadn't faltered once since she woke up this morning.
Maybe she'd decided to ignore 'Cory'. In any case, Cora's friends were just as excited and immediately pounced on her for details.
To Jacinta and the rest, they couldn't share everything. But the public information was juicy enough. "Our lawyer says it probably won't go to trial. It'll be a plea bargain."
"Why?" Gabriela asked, looking confused.
Erica jumped in. "She says you never know what might happen in court, so most of the time it's better not to take the chance."
Cora shrugged agreement. "It's still my and Becca and Brandon's word against theirs," she pointed out. "The phone's gone. A jury might not buy it."
Jacinta was almost sulking. "So that puta gets away with it?"
"Nobody said that," Cora said with a feline grin. "Danielle's parents are almost pissing themselves thinking what could happen if she did get convicted on the full charges." She caught the meaning of Erica's sudden sharp glance, and backtracked. No need to reveal telepathic surveillance. "That's what our lawyer thinks, anyway. Probably jail, and she might even go on the sex offender list. And that means she'd have to move out of her neighborhood, and a lot of schools wouldn't accept her."
Jacinta now had a smile scarcely less satisfied than Cora's own. "That's more like it!"
"She fucking deserves it, yeah, but... I don't really wanna have to testify, anyway," Cora admitted, looking somber for the first time that day. "So they'll probably settle for criminal harassment. Only probation and community service, but a record." Her smile was back. "Which still makes it harder for her to get a job or get into a good college."
"What about Mindy? What happens to her?"
"Accessory. Maybe just community service." Before Jacinta could ask, Cora went on. "I'm not pressing charges on Becca. Getting expelled is enough. She didn't really do anything but keep quiet anyways."
Gabriela broke in. "They gonna get expelled? Like, for sure?"
"Oh, yeah. Mrs. Schimke called me last night. She's already suspended them. And she's, like, starting the expulsion process first thing today. Doesn't need charges for that."
"Told you the Goddess would provide," Erica said, smug.
"Hey, we were praying for you too!" Jacinta noted. But she was smiling too.
The warning bell rang, cutting short any religious debate. The girls hugged and said their until-lunch goodbyes, heading off to class.
~~~~~
Cora came out of the door and headed toward him. Seeing her from a distance, next to other girls, Brandon was struck by how she walked. Some girls strutted, some bounced, some even sashayed. Prancing, almost, like they were on a runway.
Cora just... walked. Covered the ground.
She didn't walk like a boy, of course. Her hips swung and all that; she was unmistakably female. But there was nothing practiced or exaggerated or stylized about it. It was all her. Just how her body was put together.
It was put together very nicely, too. He liked her gait.
"Hey," she said as she stepped up to the bike. "Give a girl a ride?" She'd worn jeans again today. The first time he'd invited her, she'd had to explain that skirts didn't really work on the back of a bike with all the wind. He'd felt pretty stupid. Thankfully, she'd seemed more amused than annoyed. And the next day she'd worn jeans.
"Certainly, milady! Allow me to present your riding bonnet," he said, grinning as he pulled out his spare helmet. She'd seemed so preoccupied when she'd begged off riding home with him yesterday. But today in calc class she'd asked him. He still couldn't quite figure her out sometimes. Of course, I never had that good a handle on any girls before.
She scoffed and punched his arm, but she grinned, too, as she swept her hair back with a hand and slipped the helmet on.
Danielle had only ridden with him a couple times. A helmet screwed up her hair, she said. Cora didn't seem to give a fuck. She jumped up behind him and pulled in close.
Oh, well, they can't predict the weather that great either. Just gotta enjoy it when it's sunny. He gunned the engine a little more than he had to and aimed for the street, still smiling.
~~~~~
Jacinta concentrated, determined to focus and write down the customer's order correctly. She couldn't afford to turn and stare, no matter how much she wanted to.
Only when she was sure she had it right did she glance at Cora and Brandon. Cora had brought him to the taquería for dinner. Cora smiled and gave a little wave, and she smiled back.
She turned and navigated around tables to the kitchen. They made such a cute couple. And Cora seemed to have gotten more comfortable with him. If Jacinta was right and the girl had been assaulted or maybe even raped, that was no small thing. She still worried that Brandon might not have the patience to let Cora come around at her own pace, though.
She handed in the order and peeked at them past the door. She couldn't hear anything of what they were saying from across the room. All she could see was body language.
Cora smiled and laughed at something Brandon had said. She had a killer smile, but she didn't seem to know just how powerful it was. Or she'd use it more. Brandon gave her hand a quick squeeze, then stood and headed towards the restrooms in back.
Cora watched him as he walked away, a relaxed grin on her face. And Jacinta was ninety percent sure she saw Cora's eyes track that tight runner butt for a couple seconds.
Jacinta felt her mouth curving into a sly grin. Brandon was hella cute. And maybe Cora was finally noticing it.
~~~~~
"So, an extra-large meat-lovers and a small veggie," David told the waitress.
"You got it," she said, and went to place the order.
"I get one of your slices," Cora told Brandon. Erica sighed.
It wasn't quite a double date, but close. A bunch of guys from the baseball team had gone to play Whirlyball and needed to fill out the field. So friends and girlfriends could come, too. They'd had fun with the group, and that weird cross of polo and basketball and bumper cars, then the four of them went out for pizza.
Brandon said, "I don't owe you anything. Miss an easy pass like that, you don't deserve meat lovers."
Cora scoffed and threw in an eye-roll. "We ain't all six foot one, y'know. I don't exactly have your reach."
They went over a little more post-game analysis, bit then the conversation lulled for a moment.
"Good thing that whole cluster with the movie went down, or we might not have hooked up," Brandon mused. "It totally pissed Danielle off."
"The Goddess provides," Cora said with a haughty grin. "Wish it coulda been a better movie, though. Usually they save the sequel hook for after the credits," she went on, not missing a beat. David couldn't show it, but he was a little impressed. She'd wrangled that redirection like a pro, no hint in her face or tone she was avoiding anything.
Erica didn't handle it quite as gracefully. She was sounding a little too bright and cheerful as she seized on the topic change. "At least they aren't rebooting the whole franchise again!" David suppressed a smirk; Erica was fundamentally honest, a terrible liar.
Brandon didn't pick up on it, though. "Gonna be enough of those. You see that timeline Savion posted? Ten superhero movies a year, for the next five years!"
"Of course they're gonna make super flicks. They can finally do the special effects, that's all," David said. "You ever check out the first Superman? That's the only half-decent one. All the others look totally fake."
"Man of Steel had good effects, but the story sucked. That Justice League thing ain't gonna work."
Cora swallowed a sip of diet. "DC's been doing OK on TV. Those animated movies are pretty decent. And Flash and Arrow."
David spoke up. "Haven't done much of anything good besides the Batman stuff."
Erica backed him up. "Green Lantern." They smiled at each other. "Marvel's the opposite. They do the movies right but Agents of Shield got old fast." She frowned. "'Cept now, on Netflix. Those shows were good."
"I dunno if they can keep it up, with the movies I mean. Only so many guys work for a movie. I mean, Ant-Man was barely hooked into anything else," Brandon said, shaking his head.
"Can't fuckin' believe there was an Ant-Man movie before a Wonder Woman movie," Cora said darkly. "Howard the fucking Duck has been in more movies than her."
David shrugged. "Well, only one of them was good..."
Cora was on a rant, though. "There's only ever been one female super hero that got any attention outside us comic geeks," Cora said. "Wonder Woman. She's more famous than frickin' Iron Man or Thor, that's for sure. Or Green Lantern. But they all got movies, and none for her."
"Just a couple more years," Brandon said soothingly. Erica was astonished to see Cora smile, instead of snarl at him.
"Superman, Batman, Spider-Man - they can be superheroes, but they don't have to represent all men, everywhere," Erica pointed out. "But no matter how they make her, somebody's gonna be pissed."
"Well, looks like she's gonna be the first one in the Justice League after Batman and Superman. A founding member, like in the comics."
"Founding member," Cora muttered. "In the comics, when she joined, she was the secretary."
"Well, anyway, at least Marvel's doing good. Jessica Jones was bangin'. And the Wasp is coming." Brandon gave her a smile, and that seemed to calm Cora down a little. Shortly after, the girls went off on one of their joint trips to the bathroom. The boys sat and ate, bemused.
"What's Cora like, anyway?" David asked. "She's always so quiet at school." Brandon was a necessary intel channel.
"She's a little, I dunno, shy sometimes I guess." Brandon spread his hands, palms up. "But how many hot girls actually know anything about comics? And like action movies, and play shooters?"
David reflected that Brandon was the only one of the four who was entirely who he appeared to be. I guess what he doesn't know won't hurt him. And David really hoped he was the only one who knew who everyone really was. "They're a rare breed," he agreed.
"Yeah, Wiccan chicks are usually so fucking granola they don't even shave their pits."
The girls came back and Cora managed not to give any more speeches. It was actually a lot of fun, and the only thing remotely resembling conflict came when it was time to pay. The boys insisted on buying the food.
"Fine, but we'll get the tip," Cora said. She and Erica were already pulling out their purses. They left a generous gratuity; David wasn't surprised since both of them had experienced the restaurant world.
~~~~~
He'd been steeling himself the whole ride home from school, but he almost wimped out at the last second. He forced himself to speak up right when Cora handed him the spare helmet.
"Um, I was wondering..." Brandon said, then fell silent. "I know you're, like, Wiccan and all, but..."
Cora just looked at him, expectantly. Finally she said, "Yeah, what?"
He gathered his courage. "For Easter, my church... well, we take shifts over the weekend, making big meals for homeless shelters." He shrugged. "We're supposed to invite someone who hasn't come before. And, um..."
She tilted her head and squinted. "And you want me to come?"
"Well, yeah." He spoke quickly. "It's not a hard sell or anything. Our pastor's actually big on that. You're not supposed to even talk religion unless they ask. 'Show you're Christian by what you do, not what you say,' and all."
"Trying to save the pagans?" But she was joking. He was almost positive.
"We're Episcopalian. Super liberal. Talk to the Catholics or the Baptists, they'll tell you we're pretty much pagan too."
Cora smiled but didn't say anything.
"I'd just... like you there. I think you'd have fun. You know I'm not super-religious." He waved a hand. "I believe in God, but I think God cares more about trying to do good than which church you go to." He looked in her eye. "And you're a good person. So's Erica and her mom."
She looked down and actually blushed a little. "Even if we dance naked in the woods for the Spring Solstice?"
"Okay, that's a dealbreaker." Her head popped up and she looked at him, startled. "You didn't invite me?"
She laughed. Thank God. Then she pursed her lips, considering. "What time are we talking about?"
"Saturday. Um. Pretty early, we're doing breakfast."
~~~~~
Saturday afternoon, when Brandon dropped Cora off at home, Miranda was out doing the grocery shopping with Haylie. So Erica was the only one home. This was not entirely an accident; she was eager to know how Cora had gotten on.
"So. How'd it go?" she asked as she followed Cora upstairs to change.
Cora's head canted as she considered the question. "Brandon really enjoyed it. I mean, you could see it. Just... helping people."
"What about you?" Erica probed.
Cora waved a hand. "I did too, mostly. After a while."
Erica peered at Cora uncertainly, inviting elaboration.
Cora shrugged. "I was a little scared, at first. Strangers, maybe crazy. And I'm pretty small." She saw Erica nod slowly, and went on. "I mostly stuck close to Brandon. It was weird. I finally realized that, like, if, y'know, any shit started... I was counting on him to protect me."
Erica nodded again, remembering that night at the movies with David.
"Cory wouldn't'a even thought about it. But he was a foot taller and had, oh, at least sixty more pounds of muscle and bone." She shrugged. "But nothing happened except some creepy looks."
The two girls sat down on Cora's bed. She continued. "Anyway, that was later. The ride down was okay. It was a little weird. I mean, I met his parents already, for a minute. But it was, like, an hour with just me, him, and them. Cory met parents before, but I never had to figure out how to act like a girl that won't scare her boyfriend's parents."
Erica was suddenly glad that David's parents seemed pretty hands-off. She'd only met them a couple times, checking in or out for dates. But Cora was still talking.
"So I just tried to act, like, totally non-sexy." She grinned. "I can still do that."
Erica smiled too. "You got a lot of practice," she teased.
Cora shook her head and mock-glared. "Anyway we got there and carried a bunch of stuff in and started cooking." It warmed Erica's heart to see Cora's smile when she said, "Brandon and I got put on the waffle maker. Spent about an hour making a big pile." It was the smile of a girl happy to spend time with her boyfriend.
"And it actually was sorta chill when we served the food. It wasn't all street crazies, like I'd kinda been imagining. It was just... people, y'know? They were just unlucky, most of 'em."
Cora looked somewhat pensive. "Cory's sorta, like, Libertarian. But it's easier to believe in 'level playing fields' when you're a guy. Especially a straight white guy." She touched Erica's hand. "Did you see that thing I linked to on Facebook? How if life was an RPG, 'straight white male' would be the easiest setting?"
Cora half-shrugged. "Anyways. Brandon looked 'em all right in the eye, and smiled. A real smile. A couple older people, he carried their food for 'em."
Erica had seldom seen Cora gush before. "Even the kids liked him! Have you noticed how little kids trust strange girls more than boys, mostly?" Erica nodded firmly. That was hard to miss. "There was this one little girl." Cora's eyes got vague - almost dreamy - as she reminisced. "We were out serving, and it was almost over. This one family came up, and she asked for another cookie, but her mom said no. But she came over by herself just a minute or two later, and she asked again."
"And Brandon got this grin, like he was six years old too. And he slipped her three cookies and said 'I won't tell if you don't.'"
"She giggled and ran off to the corner. And I saw her looking at him a couple times while she was eating them."
Oddly, Cora turned somber. Then she began to speak, and Erica understood. "He invited Cory once. When they were both freshmen. Cory blew it off, and he never asked again." She gently shook her head. "Cory never thought about it after that. I only remembered 'cause he asked me now." She looked at Erica. "Was Cory a dick? Or does he just look that way to me anymore 'cause he hates me so much?"
Erica took Cora in a hug, responding to the pain she saw in those eyes. "Oh, Cora, you weren't a dick. He wasn't a dick." She swallowed a lump in her throat, holding back tears.
Cora didn't cry either. But she didn't say anything.
"I liked Cory. I was sad when he was avoiding me." She gave Cora a squeeze. "So he wasn't perfect. He could be a little... arrogant, I guess. And maybe he focused a little too much on his own goals. But I never saw him go out of his way to hurt anyone."
"But he never went out of his way to help anybody. Not like Brandon."
"That's not true!" Erica said, pulling back and taking Cora by the shoulders. "I saw him help Josh and Derek and Sunny with programming stuff. And he was good with the track team, from what I heard."
Cora seemed to feel a little better then. "Okay, yeah, that's true." Her smile after that was wan and wry, but genuine. "So he never went out of his way to help a stranger. Brandon's got him on that one."
"Brandon's a good guy," Erica agreed.
They talked a bit more, and then, Erica being half naked, they wound up releasing some tension in their accustomed way. Cora seemed a lot more at ease when she went to her room.
~~~~~
Linda and Kristina were over at Erica's house for a little visit and study session. Cora was hanging with them; Erica had a moment of pleased reflection on how Cora didn't mind female conversation so much anymore.
"Paul's stepdad has a cabin way up north, near Redding. They go, like, one weekend a month. And he said he could invite me in April."
"Sounds tight," Cora offered. "Supposed to be good hiking up around there."
"Maybe for you!" Linda laughed. "I don't run miles and miles every day! Paul marches around all the time. He'll think I'm a flabby cow."
Cora scoffed, but smiled. "If you can run a mile with Erica, you can walk a bunch more."
"Maybe we can go for some walks next week instead of jogging," Erica said. She was glad Cora picked up on how Linda was partly fishing for encouragement. "David's got an away game Thursday night."
"Brandon and I were gonna go run that trail again that night. You two could walk it."
"Huh," Linda said. She and Erica negotiated schedules for a few seconds.
Then Cora's foot brushed Erica's. She glanced over, and Cora nodded subtly toward Kristina. Erica realized her friend had been quiet for a while now. And she was looking down at the table sadly.
"Hey, what's wrong?" she asked.
"'s nothing," Kristina said. Her face had gone wooden again.
"Oh, come on," Linda said, reaching for Kristina's hand. "Something's bugging you."
The girl's reserve was cracking a little, but she pulled her hands away. "It doesn't matter. Just leave me alone, okay?"
Cora was clearly unsure what, if anything, to say. Erica shifted a little closer and said, "Come on, we're your friends. Let us help."
"Nobody can 'help'!" It came out in a rush. Kristina had real tears flowing now. "You've all got boyfriends and I'm never gonna have one again!" she wailed.
Cora looked to be at a complete loss. Erica was dismayed, too, but couldn't afford to be silent. She moved to hug Kristina and said, "That's not true!"
Linda was moving in, too. "Look at Natasha's sister! She's got two baby daddies and she's getting married in September!"
Cora spoke up from the other side of the table. "Lots of girls with kids get boyfriends," she said. "Especially these days. I knew, like, three back in New York." Her tone was perhaps a shade too practical - Erica thought about guys who tried to solve problems rather than just be supportive - but there was no doubt she was sincerely trying to help.
"And there's some good bits," Erica volunteered. "At least you won't waste any time with the immature assholes."
"Yeah, you'll just get a better class of guy," Linda agreed. "Only guys who can handle it will stick around."
Kristina snorted her derision. "And how many really good guys are there?"
Cora seemed taken aback, thinking about it.
"They're out there," Erica insisted. She looked around the table, and realized the other two were thinking about the same thing she was - Could my guy handle it? It gave her pause. What if she got pregnant? Would David skip out like Jimmy had? She'd have to reflect on it later - now was not the time, not when her friend was hurting. "Maybe not in high school, but there's college and work. It'll happen."
They managed to calm Kristina down, after a while, and made plans to spend some more time with her. Once Linda and Kristina went home, Erica said, "Whew!" She looked at Cora. "Sorry, she's not usually so high-maintenance."
Cora shrugged. "She's got a fuck of a lot to deal with. I'd be a total basket case if I got preggers."
"Thanks for understanding," Erica said, with feeling.
They went to the kitchen to start dinner. "Least I don't have to worry about it," Cora mused. "Brandon ain't gettin' where Jimmy got."
Erica shouldn't have doubted that. For the most part, she didn't - she knew Cora wasn't into guys. And yet, somehow... some tiny corner of her mind stubbornly, against all reason, kept its own counsel. Erica didn't even bother arguing with herself. If anyone was going to get pregnant, it'd be her. Sometimes, next to David... if Kristina hadn't been her friend, she might have gone all the way already.
~~~~~
Erica was in the middle of two texting conversations at once, with Kristina and Trahn, enjoying a rare Friday night off. Cora came through the door, a bit earlier than she'd been expecting. She and Brandon had gone off on his bike after school for a longer ride.
She looked up and said, "So, how'd it..." But she got no further. Cora's teeth were grinding and her eyebrows were practically touching, so pinched were her features. The girl seemed to radiate anger... and confusion. It was not a mix often seen on that face. Cora usually knew exactly what she was angry about.
Erica bolted up out of her chair and rushed to her friend. "Oh, Goddess, what happened?! Are you okay?! What did he -"
But Cora just threw a hand up. "It's not him. Get your Mom into the library. Now. I'm calling the Sisters."
By the time Erica rounded up Miranda and met Cora, the girl had fired up the desktop and initiated a Skype conference. Jacqui and Laurie were just appearing. "What's up, Cora?" Jacqui asked, concerned.
Cora didn't answer for a second, giving the Mother and Daughter a very considering glance. Then she just said, "Not until Bronwyn's on."
That took only a couple more minutes, which passed in uncomfortable silence. Goddess, what happened? Erica wondered. She hasn't been this tense in forever. Suddenly, with a horrible sinking feeling, she wondered if somehow Cora knew about the binding spell.
Finally, Bronwyn's image appeared in a new window. "Yes, Cora, what's wrong?" she said quickly.
Cora breathed very deeply. "I think you know," she said. It should have sounded flat and solid. But she wasn't pulling off cold anger as well as usual. Erica sensed a certain hesitation lurking as an undertone.
At that, the Sisters rapidly exchanged glances. "I assure you, we don't," Bronwyn said. Her tone suggested caution with a hint of controlled irritation.
"Fine," Cora said. "Let me set the scene. Brandon took me for a ride on his bike. We stopped by the park, and sat on a bench. And..." She paused for a second, then soldiered on. "And he got his arms around me."
Her lip had curled up in a snarl. "We were kissing. Frenching. And he was moving his hands on my back, and he kinda rubbed my ass, just, like, testing." She was almost growling, hard to do with her high-pitched voice. "And I didn't want him to stop!"
The Sisters absorbed this, with some puzzlement, a dash of amusement, and a marked lack of surprise. Cora just glared, her hands clenching to fists. Finally, Jacqui said, "So?"
The dark-haired girl seemed to explode, standing and screaming at the webcam. "SO YOU'VE BEEN FUCKING WITH MY HEAD!"
All the women flinched, even the ones watching remotely. Cora kept right on going, shouting instead of roaring. "I've been reading those spellbooks," she waved at Miranda's bookshelf, eyes still locked on the screen and the senior Sisters, "and I know what a motherfucking Suggestion is! I can't do 'em or defend against 'em yet, but I know how they work!"
Every Sister but Cora had equally dumbfounded expressions, Erica noted to herself. She was sure she looked the same.
Jacqui was the first to recover. "You weren't raised in the faith of the Goddess, so I'm going to assume you don't understand exactly how serious an insult you just handed us." Cora started to say something, but it turned out Jacqui could yell, too. "Nor how stupid you sound! When we swear that level of oath, it's Magically binding! You have no idea what the cost of breaking such a covenant is!" She might have kept going, but Laurie placed a hand on her arm.
Bronwyn looked exasperated rather than angry, now, and her face showed maybe a trace of amusement, too. "Young lady, we have not touched your mind at all. Or let anyone do a thing to it. Our vow is unbroken."
It was Cora's turn to look disbelieving. Bronwyn shrugged. "If you liked what he was doing... I'm afraid you liked it all on your own."
Though there was a brief pause, Cora was seldom stymied for long. "Bullshit! I'm not gay!" Yet her voice was hoarse. And were her eyes getting wet?
Bronwyn was unfazed, though her eyebrows lifted. "No one said you were. Of course, you have a female body now, and a female brain. They have been known to respond to males in particular ways..." She shrugged.
Cora looked deeply horrified. "But I... I've been checking out girls! Ask Erica! They caught me once!" She took a shuddering breath. "I never..."
Jacqui wasn't quite as matter-of-fact as Bronwyn. There were clear signs of amusement as she said, "Never what? Never got right up close to a boy like that, for very long?"
Laurie stepped in. "Jacqui, hush." She looked earnestly at Cora out of the screen. "I'm afraid this is an occupational hazard of being a girlfriend. Sometimes you wind up actually liking the boy. Especially if he's cute."
None of them could recall Cora ever looking so thoroughly stunned. She just sat there, mouth slightly open, eyes darting from face to face. For a few seconds Erica was sure she really would burst into tears. But then she stiffened. "You set this up! You knew this was gonna happen, you pushed me -"
It was the first time Erica had ever heard Laurie interrupt anybody. "Actually, if you recall, we advised you not to interact with him any more than you had to."
Cora had finally run out of things to say. She stood, looking from Sister to Sister, shaking with emotion, normally pale face flushed with rage and embarrassment... and then she fled from the library. Erica stood, but she heard Cora running upstairs instead of out the door. She would have sworn she heard at least one sob, too.
Miranda sighed behind her. "I think this is going to be a difficult few days. At least."
~~~~~
The Sisters talked for a little while after that, but no one would dare predict Cora's responses any more precisely than Miranda had.
After they signed off, Erica steeled herself and went upstairs, her footsteps slowed by trepidation. All too soon she came to Cora's door and knocked gently.
"Go away!" The voice was hoarse.
"It's me," Erica said. "Just me."
No response. That was better than another shout, actually.
She waited nervously. She was just on the verge of knocking again when the lock gave a click and the door opened.
She stepped in and closed the door behind her. Cora wouldn't meet her eyes; she went and sat dejectedly on the bed, sniffling. After a moment, Erica sat at her side and put an arm around her shoulder.
She didn't say anything, making a snap decision to try outwaiting Cora again. It just felt like the right thing to do.
Still, she almost broke first, holding Cora as she wept. But the tears slowed, and Cora started talking."I'm sorry about... downstairs. Losing my shit." Cora sounded miserable. Erica managed to keep from showing her shock. Cora didn't back down like that. Not that soon, anyway.
"I wanted it to be a Suggestion. I almost convinced myself. But I couldn't."
She sighed. "It's just, I really haven't been checking out boys." It wasn't a defiant declaration; she sounded defeated, almost.
Erica held her tongue but gave Cora a little hug. Cora's arm snaked around her and squeezed back.
Cora sighed. "Right after I got Transformed, I kinda... checked. In my head. I thought about guys and, like, kept an eye on how I felt about 'em. And there was nothing. Not even that; dicks were, like, totally yuck!"
She hunched in on herself. "But now, today, with Brandon? It's like that thing about frogs getting boiled slow. I think it's been going on for a while."
Erica couldn't hold herself back anymore from comforting her friend. "It kinda snuck up on me, too." Though I wasn't so scared when I realized it. "Feels weird, huh?"
Cora made no response for a while, but she didn't pull away or anything. She was looking at the floor. "Suggestions... they're planted. Makes a thought or a feeling pop up, in some particular condition." She inhaled, exhaled. "Later, though, you might wonder, 'What the fuck was I thinking?' You'll see that it was strange. Heck, if it's too out of line, you'll notice it right then. 'I should do so-and-so. Wait, what?'"
After a thoughtful pause, she said, "And that's how I knew it wasn't a Suggestion. Like, intellectually, in my head, I think liking guys should be weird and wrong. I remember it being gross."
Her arm pulled Erica close again. "But today with Brandon... it didn't feel weird. Or wrong." She shook her head slowly. "It's like... not liking guys, that feels weird. Unnatural."
Erica's eyebrows went up. That drew a genuine, if strained, smile from Cora.
"No shit. It's like, now that... now that I really noticed how cute Brandon is, I can't unsee it, y'know?" She sighed. "It's like those pictures. Y'know, a bunch of blotches, and you squint, and suddenly it's an outline of a dog or a boat or a face. And you think, 'How did I miss that?'"
Erica nodded slowly, understanding. "Good way to put it."
"And it's not just Brandon, now. It's Lucas. Javier. Or that guy who works at Cinnabon." A sly, careful look at Erica. "David." She couldn't completely stifle a strained giggle. "Fuck, all of a sudden I'm replaying Thor in my head and I'm getting a lady-boner!"
Erica giggled too, and gave another squeeze. "I think for me it was Harrison Ford."
Cora stared in doubt. "Seriously?"
"Not, like, now! Eeew!" she protested. "Like, young Harrison Ford! Raiders Ford."
"Ohhhhhh," Cora said, and then they both burst out laughing. It went on a little too long, and Cora sounded borderline hysterical at first... but by the end she seemed to have recovered a little.
"Jacqui was right. Him getting all up in my business, that's what did it. I was all, 'Wait, why am I getting wet?' And then I looked in his eyes and I knew."
Erica remembered wrestling with Silas at the waterpark, gave Cora a firm hug, and said, "Well, Brandon's a hottie. Hard to miss."
Cora wasn't laughing anymore. "Cory missed it. He never thought about kissing Brandon." She shook her head. "God, he's pissed right now," she whispered.
Erica had no clue what to say to that. But she'd fallen silent several times now, so she hoped it wouldn't show.
Cora didn't elaborate. She just shook herself and changed the subject. "And now I gotta be careful around Brandon." She waved one hand, dismissing some mental image. "I mean, he's a good guy. I can't see him, like, forcing me. To do... anything." She paused at whatever mental image she was picturing, then shook herself and forged on. "But you know how hot we get. Now I gotta worry about me attacking him. And I don't wanna end up like Kristina."
Erica smiled, and changed how she was rubbing Cora's back. "Guess I'll just have to get you so sprung all the time, you're too tired for him."
It was Cora's turn to get wide eyes. Then her hands shifted too, and she said, a little sly, "Yeah, that might work."
Erica was forcibly undressed shortly after that. No sooner had her panties been ripped off but Cora was licking furiously, almost desperately, at her pussy.
That was okay. Cora had gotten very good at that stuff.
~~~~~
"Can I talk to you for a minute?"
Miranda looked up from her work, surprised. Cora usually was on her laptop or on the phone with one of her girlfriends this time of night. She could hear Erica doing exactly that, chatting on her cell in the family room.
Cora looked as anxious as she'd been in the first weeks of the Transformation, or the first weeks of school. Miranda said, "Of course," and put down her notes. Cora shut the door behind her and sat on the couch.
But she didn't say anything, she just sat there looking miserable. The silence stretched out, until Miranda said, gently, "How can I help?"
Her voice was very quiet, nearly a whisper. "If I... y'know, like boys now... I mean, now, as Cora..." She paused. "Does that mean when I change back, I..."
Miranda's expression didn't change; the topic was hardly a surprise, though the fact that Cora would talk to her about it was a shock. She realized just how carefully, how delicately, she'd have to handle this. Normally, Sisters would quietly ignore or gently downplay talk from novices of 'turning back one day'. But that simply wouldn't do here. "It's possible, yes. But that is something you'll have to decide for yourself, when the time comes."
"Cory wants to kill me for even thinking about it," she confessed.
Miranda decided not to confront that directly. Still, she thought she saw a possible avenue to address the girl's tension.
"Is there something wrong with gay people?" she probed.
Cora looked away, thinking. "Uh... no, I don't have a problem like that. Cory had a friend who's gay." She chuckled, her laughter lightly sprinkled with hysteria. "And I sure understand what lesbians go through now!"
"So you haven't stopped liking girls, correct?"
A wry grin lingered, which lifted Miranda's hopes considerably. "Not even a tiny bit!"
"As I'm willing to bet you proved with Erica last night." Cora looked a little embarrassed, and Miranda smiled, grateful the girl would allow occasional teasing. But it was time to be serious. "Would it be such a problem if you did turn out to like boys as well as girls when you're male again?" It almost killed Miranda to say 'when' again instead of 'if'; it went against all her training, millenia of Sisterhood tradition. In Cora's case, though, the hope of becoming Cory again was the only handle they had to motivate her. Seeding any doubt it might happen would almost certainly prove catastrophic.
Cora's nascent hilarity had vanished. She didn't answer for a while. "Thing is... Cory's straight. All the way straight."
"So, Cory knew everything about himself already? Life all planned out?"
Cora bit her lip, a heartwarmingly girlish sight. "No, but... he knows that for sure. A bisexual Cory isn't a Cory at all."
Miranda almost laughed. Sisters were more familiar with the unexpected ways life could turn than most. Blithe teenage certainty could be difficult to dislodge, however. "Do you really think Cory would never have changed, grown in surprising - unimaginable - ways? Even if the Transformation had never happened?"
Cora was showing signs of her wonted obstinance. "In math - topology - you can take a shape and twist and turn it, grow it and shrink it. But there are invariants. You can stretch a sphere into a cube, but you can't turn it into a torus. Uh, donut." Her mulish frown had definitely resurfaced now. "Not without cutting it."
Miranda was silent for a few moments, digesting the idea. Mathematical metaphors weren't her forté. Eventually, she said, "I think I see. But I think... perhaps you're holding onto some things that aren't necessarily 'invariants'?"
"I... didn't think so," Cora said, with less surety than before. "Cory's sure. About that, at least."
An idea occurred to Miranda. "If someone lived in the desert all their lives, they might never see ice. They might not believe that water could freeze." She smiled. "But water doesn't stop being water when it's cold."
Cora got the focused, concentrated expression she displayed when absorbing a new concept, examining it from all angles. "Huh. A phase change."
"If that's the term, yes."
Cora stared at nothing, teasing out implications. "The same substance behaving totally differently, depending on the conditions."
Miranda spread her hands. "And you certainly find yourself in new conditions, now."
"So when I'm a boy again..."
"Your conditions will have changed. Again. And if you're right about Cory... well, water can melt, and then freeze later."
Cora sat in silence for a while. Miranda let her ponder. Eventually the girl looked up. "I guess I'll hafta think about it." She stood, turned for the door... but then turned back. She reached out and squeezed Miranda's hand for a second, and said, "Thanks."
Cora wasn't smiling when she left. She didn't even look less troubled. But she didn't look quite as... lost, either. Miranda said, "You're welcome, dear," as Cora opened the door and left.
Miranda turned back to her work, but just for a moment she rubbed her hand where Cora had touched her, feeling more hopeful than she had in many weeks.
~~~~~
Cora wandered into Erica's room as she was changing out of her hostess clothes. Erica, curious, asked, "So what'd he think?"
Cora didn't quite manage to stifle a laugh. "It had the desired effect."
"You mean, to make you desired?" Erica drawled as she wriggled off her slacks. Cora had gone out on a ride with Brandon, and had dressed to impress. Dark leather boots - a very recent purchase - exceedingly tight denim jeans, a white strap shirt under a denim jacket. Hair teased some, dark sunglasses, red lips. The only way she could have looked more like a biker chick stereotype would have been actual chaps, an investment she hadn't quite dared broach to Miranda.
Cora didn't even try to suppress her laughter this time. "I thought he was gonna howl like a wolf in an old-timey cartoon. It was stupid funny, I wish you coulda seen."
Erica had helped with the clothes, but had to leave for work before Brandon arrived. "I saw the selfie he put up on Facebook." He had, indeed, looked proud to have Cora perched behind him on the bike.
"Probably made him feel like a stud. You know, riding around with a hot girl wrapped around him."
"'Hot', huh? Getting a big head there?"
Cora punched her on the shoulder, playfully. "Shut up! You know we look good. We both know exactly what guys are looking for."
Erica couldn't dispute that. For that matter, she wanted to make out with 'biker Cora' herself. But... "Did you have fun?"
Cora sighed. "It felt... good. I mean, I like him. I was kinda, like, eye candy... but I was sorta okay with it."
"Seriously?" Erica blurted in surprise. Then she realized that questioning Cora's feelings might be taken amiss.
But Cora's lips just curled up a fraction. "Seriously. Fuck, I was even wondering what I'd look like in leathers."
The notion was appealing... and Erica noticed she was pondering some additions to her own wardrobe. "I bet if we both asked, we might pull some money out of Mom."
Cora shrugged, taking it under advisement. She seemed to be in a philosophical mood. "It used to bug me a little that the Sisterhood isn't gonna erase me - y'know, Cora - after Cory's back." She sighed "I didn't, like, want there to be any trace this shit ever happened."
Erica was pulling on some forgiving sweats. This made her pause. "But not now?"
"Not so much, the last couple weeks. I mean, I started wanting Danielle to know for the rest of her life how totally she got fucked, and who by." For a moment, the smug malice was so evident that Erica was inwardly grateful that Cora had accepted the Sisterhood's words on the inadvisability of homicide.
And just a moment later, Cora's expression wasn't malicious at all. Rather, it was simply happy. "But today, Brandon was smiling at me. And I got to thinking... I was glad. That he'd still remember me, I mean, more than just in a dream every so often." She shrugged in confusion. "I make him happy, sometimes. You can see it. He deserves to remember riding around like a boss with that crazy chick he dated while Cory was gone away."
Erica wasn't sure what to think about all that. It was certainly something to reflect on, and possibly to report. For now, she would just be glad Cora had a good time enjoying being an attractive girl.
~~~~~
The senior Sisters and Miranda were having a little afternoon Skype conclave while their children were at school. Overall, the news was good.
"So Cora's become quite the little gamine!" Bronwyn marveled.
"If I hadn't done all that training with her myself, I'd be frightened," Miranda said. "I'm still surprised. The way she fought me every step of the way, it's amazing how much she actually retained."
Bronwyn nodded. "And now that she's making such progress in womanhood, it shows in her Magic. She definitely has a Gift for illusion. Frankly, Jacqui, in that one area she's actually learning faster than you did."
"It won't do to underestimate her," Laurie said quietly. "She doesn't have anything like your sheer power, Jacqui, but she's dangerously clever." The other witches were frowning with her now. "The more she accepts being female, the stronger her intuition will become." Miranda and Bronwyn saw her turn to Jacqui. "You figured out the binding spell on intuition alone. What if Cora does, too?"
A shadow had definitely been cast on all the women's moods. Miranda said, hesitantly, "We have a much better relationship now. I don't think she'd be, er, murderous at this point..."
"We can hope," Bronwyn said. After a moment she took a deep breath. "Well, all we can do for now is keep monitoring the situation." She looked up.. "Speaking of which... Miranda, how's Erica doing?"
"As well as can be expected, given how much she's had to deal with." Miranda said, Motherly concern showing. "No Novice should have to confront every aspect of Sisterhood at once. And caring for Cora, too..."
"She's okay, though, right?" Jacqui asked quickly.
"Oh, yes, I just worry." Miranda brightened. "She's quite happy being a girlfriend, now."
"What's his name? David?" Bronwyn said, smiling herself.
"He's such a nice young man. Almost gallant. I wish there'd been one like him around when I was Transformed." Miranda grinned impishly. "And they are so cute together!"
"You checked him out, I hope?" Laurie's own Motherly instincts were aroused.
"Of course." She sniffed in amusement. "I think Erica suspects that I've peeked in his mind, but she hasn't asked." She spread her hands. "Anyway, he's not going to force himself on Erica, if that's what you're worried about."
"What if Erica forces herself on him?" Jacqui asked, only half joking.
Miranda didn't look worried. "She understands what that entails. I think we can trust her that far." She chuckled. "She's certainly explored a few other outlets with her beau."
"Outlets? Is that what the kids are calling them now?" Bronwyn drawled. The ladies shared some ribald laughter.
Miranda sighed. "So long as she waits to use her main inlet. Even if she got pregnant now, I think she could probably finish her training in time, Goddess be praised. But I'd like to wait just a bit longer to be a Grandmother."
"I thought so too," Laurie said, smiling at a sheepish Jacqui, "but it's not all bad."
~~~~~
One of the upsides of macking with a small girl was you could both fit in the back seat of a car, even his dad's sedan. Well, nearly. Brandon's neck was cricked and one leg had to be kinda curled up in the footwell, but they could get a lot of contact. He could taste a little lip gloss or something as they kissed. Cora barely used any perfume, unlike other girls he'd made out with. She just smelled like... girl.
The time had come for an experiment. He rubbed a couple fingers on the outside of her panties. She wasn't a screamer like in the pornos, but she made a soft, low moan. It was almost reassuring now to see how quiet she was even when she got into it. He'd been wondering if she really was a lesbo. Especially the first couple times, she hadn't exactly seemed all that enthusiastic. So he hadn't dared try much.
Lately, though, she'd been acting a bit more into him. Touching him more, not shying away or stiffening up if he put an arm on her shoulder or leaned in for a kiss.
He didn't like to think about it, but he was more and more sure that she'd been abused or something. If so, she was giving him a shitload of trust. He resolved - again - not to hurt her. But fuck it was hard sometimes. Particularly when they got close. That tight little body...
Her hips adjusted under his fingers. He pulled back, cautious.
But she looked in his eye for a second and whispered, "No, it's... it's okay." Apparently sensing his doubt, her lips curved up at the corners and she reached for her waist. In a single sinuous movement, her panties were yanked down past her knees. Her legs opened again.
She settled back onto her side and gently grasped his wrist. Then she pulled his hand toward her exposed pussy. She didn't shave it clean, another difference from the porn girls.
But then, Cora wasn't quite like any girl he'd ever known.
He hesitated, even still. But she scoffed - almost snorted - and moved his hand up and down. Trying to be gentle, he started using his fingers.
Her breath caught, her hips flexed a bit, her eyes closed. But that half-smile hadn't gone away, so he kept at it.
The smile did go away after a bit. Since it was replaced by a lick of her lips and faster breathing, he didn't worry overmuch. He added a touch more force to his movement.
Another quiet moan for reward. He'd take it. Plenty of juices; didn't seem likely she was faking.
Soon after that, she put one hand over his. He froze, but she quickly pushed on it again and got him moving. Gently guiding, she made him move faster. Her eyes never opened, but she bit her lip.
Still no screams. Just an "Uhhhhhhhhhhh..." and some shudders. Then she took a deep breath and gave him a look.
A strange look. Like she was amazed that he could make her come. Maybe even disturbed.
He ventured a grin and leaned in to kiss her. That, she accepted, even returned. Her hand brushed his crotch, in passing, and he couldn't keep his breath from hitching a little. He'd been pretty damn hard for a while now.
Cora's hand pulled back for a moment, her eyebrows went up. They both kind of froze; he wasn't sure, after, how long. He had a sense that she was at a cusp, trying to decide...
And then her hand moved again. Rubbing his pants, deliberately.
He groaned. She swallowed but her fingers moved to his belt. "Fair's fair," she said in a low voice. Her light tone didn't quite mask apprehension. But she wasn't stopping.
Getting his pants down wound up being a team effort, in the cramped space. And during the rearrangement, he noticed her panties wound up back in their starting position. Then she had him dig through her bag for some tissues.
He didn't get limp at all, though. And then her hand wrapped around his cock and got to work.
Some part of him had room to be impressed. A couple previous girlfriends had given him handjobs before. One had been decent, one had been frightening. Girls didn't always understand how much pressure to use, or when.
Cora seemed to know.
It was a little embarrassing how quickly he shot off. She anticipated it, though, and caught all of his cum in the tissues without spilling a drop.
She acted kinda embarrassed, after. Still willing to mack for a few minutes more, though. They composed their clothes and he drove her home. The final kiss by her door was long and lingering, at least. He thought about it all the way home. She was such a weird mix of bold and shy, confident and skittish. Just when he thought he had some idea what to expect, she surprised him.
Which wasn't all bad, though. And he didn't think she was jerking him around on purpose. It was simply that... well, Cora was special.
~~~~~
The Cora Conferences had become weekly affairs now. Bronwyn dropped a bomb right at the start. "Cora gave Brandon a handjob last night." At Erica's gasp, she said, "She didn't tell you about it?"
Erica nibbled her lip. "Well, she never wanted to hear about what I did with David. And later when she started with Brandon, I... I never knew how..." She stopped. Started over. "We don't really talk about, um, sexy stuff. Not with boys."
Jacqui let out a little shriek of frustration. "I think I'd cut out my own left ovary, with a rusty scalpel, for just five minutes looking around in her head!"
Bronwyn sighed. "Well, I suppose it's confirmed that dating a boy has had an impact..."
"But without being able to check, we can't be sure how she's taking it. Not really!" Jacqui looked from one window to another on her screen. "She's still studying psychology. She could practically get a degree in it by now. How much of what we see is just an act? And how do we tell?"
She took a deep breath to calm down. "Sorry, I'm gonna get my Flow soon. It's not helping."
"We don't know exactly what she's thinking, but she's making quite an impression on Brandon," Bronwyn said, changing the subject slightly. "He's almost falling in love with her."
Erica squinted, interrupting. "You sound pretty sure."
In the window on the screen, Jacqui's image shrugged. "We've been keeping an eye on things."
"On his mind, you mean," Erica said flatly.
Jacqui was unrepentant. "We haven't made any changes, if that's what you're worried about. Just observing, looking out for potential problems." At Erica's continued frown, Jacqui's own brow furrowed. "Look, can you imagine what it'd do to Cora if she got assaulted?"
That took Erica aback. "Okay, yeah, I guess I see what you mean." She squinted quickly. "You mucking with David's head?"
The senior Sisters were briefly silent. Then Jacqui said, carefully not looking at Miranda, "Just a little light surveillance. We haven't messed with his mind either."
Erica had a pretty sour look on her face, but didn't argue the point.
Laurie changed the subject back. "Overall, it seems a positive sign. I'd never have imagined she'd do something like that so soon." She sounded hopeful.
"That's for sure," Miranda said with feeling.
Bronwyn had an expression of concentration that rivaled the ones Cora had at times. "Well, Erica. Keep us appraised, please, whatever you do hear."
"Will do." The Sisters went over a few other things, then Erica and Miranda said their goodbyes and signed off.
The senior witches kept Skyping. "We have to put in some failsafes now. Tonight." Laurie was intent, even as she shook her head in astonishment.
Bronwyn and Jacqui nodded. "Absolutely. You wanna do it, or should I?" Jacqui said.
Bronwyn held up a hand. "I'll do it." The High Priestess sighed. "We did that with Marcus, you know."
"I figured, later." Jacqui said, smiling. "Thanks. A couple times there, we came that close..."
Laurie shivered. "Can you imagine trying to explain to Cora that she got pregnant too soon? And that she'd have to do it again, later, after she'd Transitioned some more?"
Bronwyn and Jacqui shivered, too. Then Bronwyn spoke. "Well, if they decide to go all the way, and Brandon becomes impotent, it would be hard on both of them..."
"Or, more to the point, not hard," Jacqui quipped with forced humor.
Bronwyn's chuckle was just as forced. "...but Cora isn't ready to carry a child yet." There was a pause, as all three Sisters made a voiceless prayer to the Goddess that she would someday be ready.
The trio said their own goodbyes and logged out. Bronwyn went off to the altar in her den to cast spells on Brandon. It was tricky to ensure that he would still be able to perform every way but vaginally...
~~~~~
Jacinta rolled over the speed bump and pulled out onto the road. Gabriela, sitting next to her, winced and breathed, "Unh. Take it easy."
Cora, from the back seat, said, "What's wrong? You okay?" They were all heading home from school after choir practice, enjoying some girl time together.
Gabriela, with a little regret, said, "Ricardo got a little too excited last night."
It took Cora a second to get it. When she did, she looked away uncomfortably. Gabriela had to fight not to roll her eyes.
All three girls were at least technical virgins. Jacinta and Gabriela had been raised Catholic, in a Latino subculture that was less accepting of teen pregnancy than the general run of Americans. Vaginal sex was going to wait until later. College at least.
Gabriela was sometimes willing to use a different hole, though. For special occasions. She had gone out with her boyfriend last night; but only to dinner, not a movie after as she'd told her parents. Ricardo's mom was out for the evening, so they'd gone back to his place and taken advantage of the empty apartment. The occasion had become intensely special, as she related it to her friends.
Jacinta hadn't gone that far herself, but she understood. Cora... Cora might as well have been still in middle school, so far as they could tell. Barely past holding hands. Indeed, frank discussion of sexual details, even among friends, seemed to embarrass Cora. Her eyes were downcast for the whole story, though she listened carefully. And she was getting better - as she proved by turning back when Gabriela was done and asking, "Does that really feel good?"
Gabriela scoffed, but she had a grin. "Most times, yeah." She shrugged. "I guess not for everybody."
Jacinta snorted. Cora shrugged, and said, "I guess."
"Forget about anal. You ever gonna do more than kiss Brandon?" Gabriela asked pointedly.
Jacinta kept her eyes on the road but Gabriela saw them widen at her bluntness. Gabriela liked Cora, but they'd been pretty fucking gentle with her for a while now. Maybe it was time to push some.
Cora looked startled, too... but, thank God, only a little upset. Maybe even a contrite. "I jerked him off last week," she admitted. Was there a hint of defiance in her tone, too?
"No shit?" Gabriela said, surprised. "You've been holding out on us!"
Jacinta looked into the rearview mirror. "Deets, sister. Now." But she was smiling.
With her pale skin, it was obvious when Cora was blushing. But she told them the story with reasonable detail. It came out that she'd let him get an actual hand on her pussy, too.
"You slut!" Jacinta laughed. She exchanged a glance with Gabriela - whether or not Cora had been assaulted, which they both suspected, this was major progress. "Didja come?"
Her face burning, she said, very quietly, "Yeah."
Gabriela squealed, and Jacinta joined her. Cora seemed to accept the teasing that followed in the spirit of fun, thankfully.
~~~~~
Snuggled up against Erica after some lovemaking, Cora told Erica about the conversation with her friends. Erica couldn't help but notice that she avoided most specifics, and part of her actually felt a little hurt. She was almost jealous that Cora would talk more frankly about sex - well, boy sex - with her friends than with Erica.
But Jacinta and Gabriela doubtless put more pressure on her in that regard. And
there were enough particulars that she got the gist. Some background part of Erica's mind wondered about letting David imitate Ricardo. But that was an idle thought. Cora was more important right now. "Sharing secrets is, y'know, a bonding thing with girls. It shows you trust them." She frowned. Partly it was because of the implication that Cora didn't trust her fully. But mostly it was because she had to put out a warning. "Though you gotta be careful. Passing on secrets is almost like... like social currency. If you piss somebody off..."
Cora was thoughtfully nodding, recognizing what Erica was talking about. "Is that why they..." She paused, and embarrassedly changed pronouns, "we trade secrets so much? Like, 'mutually assured destruction', kinda?"
"Partly. I think grown-up women are a little more careful than girls our age." She shrugged. "I think. Remember, I'm only a few months ahead of you on this whole girl thing."
~~~~~
David changed his clothes slowly. By chance track practice and baseball practice had ended at the same time, so the locker room was crowded. And he was trying to monitor what was going on the next lane over.
He had to balance things. He was supposed to gather intel about Cora when possible, but do nothing to jeopardize his relationship with Erica. And especially nothing to risk exposure.
He wished he could just put Brandon in a trance and suck the information out of him. It wouldn't do him any actual harm. That was completely off-limits, however. Subtle emotional pushes were the very most he could hazard. Anything beyond that might leave traces the Sisterhood could pick up on. Just passively, he'd sensed indications that they'd sent Brandon some dreams. Probably not Suggestions... though either way, Brandon's mind was too conspicuous to dare manipulate.
He couldn't hear everything with his ears, but with his mental talents ears weren't necessary. He could hear and see through their senses... and he could pick up surface thoughts and emotions clearly.
Few of those emotions were positive right now. Some idiot sprinter named Carter was annoyed at Brandon - David could see memories of a recent, well-deserved chewing out - and had chosen this venue to retaliate.
The guys had been discussing girls - parts of girls, at least. Who had the best ass, or face, or legs, or whatever. Then Carter'd brought Cora into it.
"Hey," he'd said loudly, catching Brandon's eye, "which one's got the better tits, Danielle or Cora? We've all seen Cora's, but..." He trailed off with a smirk.
Brandon had stiffened for a second, then snorted and turned away, just shaking his head.
Carter was undeterred. "C'mon, she's got a sweet little body. I like 'em shaved, though. She started doing that?"
Brandon's anger was so clear and close to the surface that David was amazed it didn't show in his voice when he said, "A gentleman never tells." He even sounded a little amused. "And you sure as shit ain't gonna find out."
Carter wasn't happy with that response. So he escalated. "Did you? Or is she really a dyke?"
David was impressed again. Brandon was even more pissed now. But there were undertones... he felt protective of Cora. He wasn't worried about his own rep much at all. Damn, I think that boy might actually be falling for her...
He blew off what Carter had just said, with his own contemptuous smirk. "You'll never find out 'cause you couldn't catch her. Like, physically." Then he just sounded bored. "You better start showing up for practice if you ever want to outrun her." Brandon gathered up his bag and walked out, leaving Carter to hear a few chuckles from the crowd.
David had mixed feelings about the whole incident. On the one hand, that had been fairly smooth. Brandon'd served Carter, while reminding everyone of the real reason he was sniping at the team captain.
But David knew who and what Cora really was, and he couldn't be happy about Brandon getting so attached. Of course, how would I feel about Erica if I didn't know what I knew?
Then a little voice inside asked, And how do you feel now? He didn't answer.
~~~~~
Cora put her lunch tray down and sat at the table next to Jacinta. Gabriela spoke up immediately. "Didja hear about Brandon after track yesterday?"
Cora looked very surprised. "No, what?"
Jacinta took Cora's nearer hand. "Carter was being an asshole. Talking about your tits and stuff. That picture again."
Cora inhaled sharply but didn't look horribly shocked. "In front of Brandon?"
"Right in his face," Gabriela said, clearly annoyed. "Trying to piss him off."
"Who says?" Cora asked. Evaluating the reliability of the reports, no doubt.
Jacinta piped in. "Gavin told Cheyenne about it. And Trinity got it from Mason."
That was reasonable confirmation. Cora frowned. "He didn't say anything last night when he called." Her scowl deepened and added some concern. "Maybe he sounded a little weird..."
"He didn't lose it," Gabriela assured her. She went over the confrontation, repeating the slightly different versions she'd been told; the reports were fairly congruent.
"That's bullshit about me running faster than Carter," Cora said, though she didn't sound unhappy about Brandon's spirited defense. "But fuck him." She was noticeably less happy when she went on. "Brandon doesn't need any more shit 'cause of me."
"It's okay, he's not gonna ditch you 'cause some asshole throws him shade." Jacinta said, squeezing Cora's hand. "He really is a fucking gentleman."
"We're gonna hook up tomorrow night," Cora mused. She looked a little abashed. "Not, like, hook up hook up, but we didn't make any plans."
Jacinta and Gabriela exchanged a glance. "You might wanna think about some," Jacinta said.
~~~~~
They were parked in the lot of the community college. It was late and there weren't any cars within a hundred yards.
Brandon was really happy Cora had insisted on borrowing Erica's mom's car. A motorcycle was fine and all, but it didn't hide your lower body. Right now, somebody would have been able to see they were kissing. But nobody could see his pants were down around his ankles, or that Cora was stroking his dick.
She was so tiny, she fit in front of him even in the front seat, if it was all the way back. She was straddling his left knee, humping it almost. Her left hand moved smoothly up and down, her right held his shoulder for balance. Her mouth and tongue frolicked with his.
Fuck she was doing a number on his cock.
And then she pulled her face away, and stared in his eyes. She looked so serious all of a sudden, and he had just a moment to get concerned.
Then she looked down at her hand, still gliding on his prick. And she moved to get off his leg.
"Is everything cool?" he asked, voice husky.
She had a look of intense concentration on her face as she shifted over to the passenger seat. Still holding him with her hand. "Yeah. Just chill. Stay there."
~~~~~
The only thing Erica liked about the end of a date with David was the goodbye kiss. Kisses. As many as she could get.
"See you tomorrow," she said, giving him one last hug. If she kissed him again it would just start another round and she was all stirred up as it was.
"See you," he said, stepping away slowly, letting her fingers slip from his hand.
She leaned back on the door as it closed, sighing and smiling. She'd long ago gotten used to feeling like a girl. She was becoming accustomed to feeling like a girlfriend. But David completely disarmed her every time he made her feel like a lady.
He had taken her to a very expensive restaurant, and then to an actual live play, on stage. Just community theater, but still. The play was 'Arcadia', sophisticated and fascinating. She was pretty sure they had been the youngest people there.
Hot, smart, funny, and a gentleman, too, she thought smugly. And he's mine. Almost too good to be true.
At that, her thoughts seemed to trip a little. She remembered her early intuitions and misgivings. Danger alongside him, attached to him. There was something she was missing.
Although, the Sisters had gone poking around in his head and cleared him. How bad could it be, really? Besides, she still didn't have a real handle on this intuition thing anyway.
She saw the light in the study, and swung by. Her Mother didn't always stay up to make sure she or Cora got home at the appointed time. So Erica made sure to check in when she did.
"Hey, Mom," she said. Miranda was working on some kind of recipe layout on the desktop.
"Hello, dear. Did you have a good time?" A little knowing Motherly smile crinkled the corners of her mouth and eyes.
"Yeah, it was great. He spent a lot of money."
Her Mother's voice had definite sardonic overtones. "And that's the measure of a good boyfriend."
Erica smiled. "Moooom, gimme a break. It's just, like, nice that he thinks I'm, y'know, worth the investment."
Miranda's smile showed she was mostly teasing. "Just be careful what dividends you pay out."
"For sure," she said. Then, after a beat, "Well, I'm gonna head up to bed." She'd meditate on David in private. Her intuition was so vague - and somehow she still couldn't picture him harming her voluntarily. Indeed, she could visualize him making her feel very good, too... it was just a niggling little concern, almost buried in the contentment she felt from the evening.
Miranda said, "Cora got in a few minutes ago. You might want to stop by her room. She seemed a little... distracted."
Erica squinted. "Something wrong?" She couldn't help but think of Cora's blowup almost a month ago... but she refused to let go of her good mood without a fight.
Miranda shook her head slowly. "I don't think so. I just got the sense that something was on her mind."
"Okay. I'll check on her. Good night," she said, giving her Mom's arm a squeeze.
"Good night," Miranda replied, turning back to her computer. "I'll be up in just a few."
Erica made her way up the stairs, savoring thoughts of the date and the kisses at the end. She'd never gotten any indication that David was bi. It was almost a crime that he couldn't see how sexy he was.
She tapped lightly on Cora's door. "Can I come in?"
"Sure," came Cora's voice from inside. Erica stepped in and closed the door.
She saw immediately what Miranda had been on about. Cora was distracted, in 'deep think' mode.
She came over and sat on the bed. Cora was laying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She laid a hand companionably on hers and said, "Did you guys have fun? What did you do?"
Cora shrugged just slightly. "I sucked his dick."
Erica felt her mouth open in a little 'o'. She could tell her eyes were open very wide.
And here I told Bronwyn we don't talk about that stuff. Until now, apparently. After only a brief pause, Erica got her expression under control and said, "Shut up! Seriously?"
"For real," Cora said. "I swallowed and everything."
"Wow," Erica said. She had a hard time coming up with something to say beyond that. "What... um... what'd'ja think?"
Cora licked her lips, still examining the ceiling. "It got me wet," she whispered.
"Oh," was all Erica could manage.
"It was so fucked up. I... Cory used to love getting blowjobs. Half the time he jerked off, he was imagining getting sucked by some girl."
Erica stayed quiet, just holding her arm, being there.
After a pause, Cora spoke again, still in a quiet voice. "But he never wanted to suck another guy's dick. I mean, not ever."
She sat up, now staring at the foot of the bed. "Thing is, Brandon... he left Danielle for me. He's been getting by with just sucking my tits and handjobs and me letting him rub me off. And now he's getting shit from other guys about me. He's been... he's been a fucking prince. And I... I..." She paused, then rushed on, "I can't let him fuck me. I think I might actually get pregnant."
Erica couldn't have said anything if she'd wanted to. If she'd been able to think of anything to say.
Cora was shaking her head gently, and swallowed hard. "It's not fair. This isn't just 'girl meets cute guy' or anything. Cory was friends with him for years. But now I have to look at him in a totally different way. Every day. With this body and its stupid hormones."
She took a deep breath, let it out. "So I can't totally say I'd hate to have his baby. Well, I mean, I would. It's just..." Another deep breath, then she talked faster. "It's like, if I got knocked up, and I totally don't want to and it'd suck epically, but if it happened... I'd want it to be his." She swallowed again, close to unaccustomed tears. "'Cause I couldn't get an abortion and he'd do the right thing and be a totes amazing dad. He could actually handle it. How many guys around here could? Look at Kristina."
Her breath hitched, but stabilized quickly. "So is that enough to get pregnant? I dunno."
Cora's voice had become eerily calm, but the tears were leaking now. "This all scares the fucking shit out of me, bee tee dub. And if you think I'm scared, Cory's ready to..."
She fell silent for a while, then. Erica fought not to swallow the lump in her own throat. This was huge; she sensed she was swimming in deep waters indeed, with dangerous undercurrents. She was on the verge of saying something when Cora started up again.
"Anyway, a blowjob's the best I can do for him." She shook her head again, wonderingly. "I'd thought about it a couple times, but I couldn't... I was scared. But it was right there, and I just started in." Even as the tears kept slipping down her cheeks, she smiled and made a brief sound that might have been a laugh. "Would you believe he actually tried to stop me? Said I 'didn't have to'."
Erica was still too frightened to say anything, but her eyes were wide again.
Cora saw, and gave an honest laugh. "He sure didn't try very hard! I told him to shut the fuck up and he got real quiet."
She wasn't laughing anymore. She sounded faintly amazed. "I was all determined to do it right. I was psyching myself up, trying to remember all the slutty tricks from all those videos Cory used to watch. And then, like, a minute in it suddenly hit me."
Erica dared a quizzical look.
"It wasn't disgusting! It was sorta weird, I guess. But..." She paused, searching for words. After a second, she found them. "I was working at it, but I didn't have to work through it, y'know?"
Erica nodded in understanding.
"Yeah, you slut, I just bet you know!" She gave Erica a quick hug, finally, astonishingly, smiling. "We gotta start comparing notes sometime." But she got serious again quickly.
"And pretty soon it wasn't work at all, y'know? Like, it was totally hot." She shook her head. "Remember back when we were looking at all of Cory's porn? You said something about power dynamics and shit."
Erica knew she looked embarrassed, and opened her mouth to say something, but Cora didn't let her start. "No, you were right! Cory really does look at a beej as... not degrading the girl, I guess, but dominating her."
"But there I was, gobbling his crank like a goddamn ho, and I just felt... proud, and glad I could do something nice for him!" She shifted her hips and smiled her own embarrassed smile. "And fucking horny. I'm getting all wet now just thinking about it."
She kept going. "And when he came, I didn't care! I swallowed it all, and I almost creamed too!" She snorted. "It was actually kinda awesome. Not like he could fake it. Pretty direct feedback, y'know?"
Erica recalled her own similar thoughts about gay porn. She summoned her courage and tried a joke. "Achievement Unlocked?"
To her intense relief, Cora laughed with her. The tears had stopped. "He looked like he got kicked in the head. Just all... amazed. He started to thank me and I said he deserved it, for putting up with all my shit. Something like that."
Erica pulled Cora into a hug. She suspected she was nearly as amazed as Brandon had been.
Cora was still analyzing like always, even as she hugged back. "I think if he had been like Cory it wouldn't have worked. But to him, it wasn't... it was a present. Not something he was making me do." She didn't let go of Erica as she pulled back. "He's a better guy than Cory. More grown up, sorta."
Erica didn't know what to say to that. She just shrugged in Cora's arms. The girl smiled a little and Erica realized that Cora had some idea how 'Cory' talk was received. But she didn't push it. "So how was the play?" she asked, as brightly as any gossipy girlfriend.
Erica laughed then, and Cora joined her. When they'd settled some, she said, "Well, I didn't blow him after. But it was actually really boss. There was this girl math prodigy..."
They just talked. They didn't make love, just dishing together. Later, Erica went to her own bed, thoughts of David completely forgotten for the moment.
~~~~~
Erica called for a full conference the next night, the earliest moment she dared. Which turned out to be while Cora was at choir practice.
When she told them what Cora had said, the senior Sisters were surprised, and that surprised her. Laurie noticed, and said, with mixed rue and amusement, "I think both you girls have rather lofty ideas about our surveillance. We don't watch Cora all the time."
Bronwyn nodded. "We'd have found out next time we checked in on Brandon. But we do try to respect their privacy as much as possible."
The conversation lulled, then, as the witches processed her news. Erica had the distinct impression at least a couple of them were reminiscing, too. At last Erica prompted them with, "So... whatcha think?"
Miranda spoke first. "I hardly know what to think. I'd almost despaired of her ever getting this far."
Jacqui was nodding. "Though I'm still waiting for Brandon to figure out who she was. Or at least, what she was."
"She's still, er, tomboyish, but she's softened a lot. Around him, especially," Bronwyn noted, eyes narrowed in thought.
Erica spoke in defense of her friend. "Don't forget, she's smart. We taught her a lot in the past few months. You all thought she wasn't really listening, learning. Even I kinda wondered, but... I used to see Cory in class. He never forgot much, even when you thought he wasn't paying attention."
Jacqui said, slowly, "Usually, sexual activity with a guy is... kind of a milestone in a Transition." The screen showed her squinting. "Erica, we wouldn't normally talk about these kind of details with a Novice, but..."
Erica squared her shoulders and waved a hand dismissingly. "I just want to help Cora." She shrugged, slightly embarrassed, and said, "It's, um... a milestone I passed a while back anyway."
That didn't seem to take anyone by surprise, not even her Mom. And, well, so what? It wasn't like she was hiding her relationship with David, and she hadn't been kidding about wanting to help Cora either.
With only a brief hint of a grin, Jacqui kept going. "Normally it's a sign the Novice has really started to come to terms with being a girl. Or at least that she's not holding on to old male attitudes." She tossed her head. "Doesn't mean she's done Transitioning or anything, but... well, I think you understand."
Erica did. Even if she hadn't had quite as much anxiety as Cora - and the process had been more gradual - she'd had to adjust to wanting to be sexual with boys. She'd had to decide how she felt about such feelings, and what to do about them. It had been a significant accommodation.
Jacqui went on. "The thing is, almost all the time, they think about it a lot before doing anything about it. Very few Sisters wind up getting physical with a guy before they've, y'know, decided they want to."
Erica bit her lip.
Jacqui noticed. "Yeah, right. Cora got that backwards. Sometimes it can... Well, once in a while there's a backlash. Or backslide, maybe."
"She already has a tendency to fight her new instincts." Laurie sounded both sad and concerned.
Their worry was contagious. Nevertheless... "She didn't act, like, traumatized or anything."
Bronwyn stepped in. "We'll watch, but I don't think we should borrow trouble. She already exploded over this once. If she were going to break up with Brandon and retreat from the Transition, I think she'd have done it then."
That made Erica feel a lot better.
Her Mom wasn't entirely convinced. "Very little about her Transition has been typical. I hope you're right."
That made Erica feel less better.
~~~~~
Erica walked into Cora's room, grateful for a Saturday where she only had a practice. "Hey, can I borrow that scarf with the..." She trailed to a halt. Cora had slammed down the cover of her laptop before Erica could glimpse the screen.
"Can't you friggin' knock?" she wailed.
"What?" Erica said, laughing. "You playing a boys-love eroge or something?"
Cora glared. "It's not that!" Grudgingly: "I'm working on something."
Erica tilted her head dubiously. "Extra credit?" she hazarded.
"It's a surprise," Cora said defensively. "For Brandon."
Possessed by curiosity, Erica switched immediately to 'wheedle' mode. "Oh, c'mon, let me see!"
Cora's hand pressed down on the laptop. "No. He sees it first."
Reminded of the conclave the night before, Erica backed off and went on a tangent. "You're really getting into the whole girlfriend experience."
She'd expected Cora to look away, to evade. Instead she held Erica's gaze and said, "Fuck it. I gotta become a girl, right? This's gotta be part of it. Exploring it." Cora shook her head in wonder. "I like being his girlfriend. I make him happy, you can see it. I like that."
She actually smiled. "So if I gotta do it anyway, might as well have fun with it."
Erica resolved to pass this hopeful tidbit on to her Mother tonight.
~~~~~
It was Wednesday night, and Erica was out with David yet again. On a school night, they couldn't go far, but that was no problem. They wound up playing minigolf.
Erica was doing surprisingly well. She wasn't even sure why; she didn't remember Eric having any special putting talent. Nevertheless, for some reason she was getting par or close to it on most of the holes.
David, on the other hand, proved unexpectedly inept. The easy grace with which he'd taken to Ultimate was nowhere in evidence when a golf club was in his hands.
She sighted, swung, and connected. Her yellow ball rolled smoothly into a pipe and emerged one level down, coming to rest less than two feet from the hole. She stepped back. David took his place, peered back and forth a few times, swung... and the green ball pocked off the cement edge and rolled back to him.
He snorted and smiled self-deprecatingly, glancing in her eyes for a moment. His face hardened the moment he lowered it, however, losing its humor. He made a second attempt on the ball. Again it rebounded, off to the side this time. He tacked on an unconvincing wry smile and stalked over for another try.
For the first five holes or so it had been kind of funny. By now she could tell David was getting frustrated. She had a strong intuition that he wanted to impress her, that he wanted to show his competence. She wished she could tell him that his golf skills didn't matter to her, though she didn't actually do so. Boys didn't react well to perceived condescension from girls. She could just imagine how Eric would have felt if his date took pity on him like that.
It was pretty silly. She didn't expect David to be some ultracompetent James Bond type! She didn't even want a guy like that. For some reason she couldn't quite fathom, though, she found it was hard to shake the idea of David trying to be a spy. Perhaps it was the definitely-intriguing mental image of him in a tux.
So she held her tongue while, after two more tries, David finally got his ball down to the section with the hole... and it rolled off into an awkward corner.
What could she do? Could she throw the game without being obvious about it? Not now, she reluctantly decided, not when she'd been doing so well already. David might be acting a little stupid about his ego, but he wasn't generally stupid.
So, if she couldn't mute her own competence, and she couldn't gracefully abort the game, there was only one other avenue open to her.
She dithered about taking that avenue for another hole. David needed eight swings to finish that one, however, and she decided to go for it. They went to the next hole. She let David go first.
"You should take my keys, come back and get me tomorrow," he said, trying to joke. She could sense the tension and anger anyway as he set up.
She focused and relaxed, summoning her power. It was harder when you couldn't vocalize, gesture - when you had to do it all in your mind - but not impossible. David swung, and she let the energy flow.
The ball took a strange curve. Unerringly it looped over the ridge, bounced off an edge, missed the concrete obstacles, and rolled straight into the hole. David stared, mouth open slightly.
"Dang. You really put some spin on that one!" Erica gushed.
For just a moment - less than a second - David frowned suspiciously. It was so fast Erica couldn't be certain she'd seen it. In any case, the very next instant he was smiling. "All in the wrist," he said, shrugging modestly.
She helped him a few more times, and flubbed two of her own shots. They joked about 'trading luck'. He actually got a few shots on his own, now that he'd calmed down. David seemed to be in a much better mood as they turned in their clubs.
And he didn't seem even the slightest bit angry as they kissed rather hungrily in his car before she went in that night. Possibly a little frustrated - which made her grin as she closed the door, blowing him a final kiss - but not angry.
~~~~~
Later, in bed, David wrestled with two dilemmas.
He wasn't supposed to call his handler every night. That was a general security protocol - the fewer traceable contacts, the better. Still, he was supposed to promptly report anything significant.
Now he just had to figure out if the fact that Erica had used Magic to help him win at minigolf was 'significant'. The first time, he hadn't been sure, and he could hardly engage in Magical forensics right in front of her. Two holes later, though, he'd summoned just enough power to passively sense the Light working. The moment he'd been certain, he'd shut down all Magical operations and put all his efforts into a plausible front of satisfied machismo.
It bothered him. In some ways, it was embarrassing. He had allowed his anger to get the better of him. His assignment was to be her boyfriend, and she wasn't into boys who acted like spoiled brats.
On the other hand, she hadn't dumped him or otherwise expressed displeasure. No, she'd gone to some trouble to make him feel better and build up his ego. That implied some emotional investment, that she cared about him, right? If so, that was a good sign.
He decided he'd report it. While it might not show him in his best light, you never knew what nuggets of data would prove crucial.
He wouldn't report the other dilemma, a problem that was common to teenaged boys everywhere. He was horny and having a difficult time falling asleep. The petting session in front of her house kept coming to mind. He had to remind himself - repeatedly - that Erica wasn't really a girl. A few months ago she'd had the same equipment he had.
His body - his equipment in particular - didn't seem to entirely believe that. Those breasts sure felt real...
~~~~~
Brandon walked with Cora toward his bike, a pleasant burn in his lungs and legs. It had been a good run, at another spot he knew. Cora had enjoyed it, too.
As they stepped up to the bike, he went with a whim. "Wanna drive a bit?"
Cora looked startled. "You mean, your bike?"
What else would I mean? he thought, but kept to himself. "Give it a try. Sit right up here."
"I dunno," she said. "I'm kinda small, I don't think I can reach." But he thought she sounded like she wanted to be persuaded.
It actually worked out pretty well. Sitting behind her, he could reach around and guide her without much stretching. A bonus to be pressed right up against her back, distraction though it was. For a few minutes they tooled around the parking lot.
She didn't feel up to taking the road, but when they switched places he saw her smile, and the excited look in her eyes. Yes, it had been a good idea.
They stopped by a Sonic on the way and got slushes. Of course they'd worked up a thirst.
She kinda snuggled into him as they sat on a bench and talked. He was a little surprised. She really wasn't shy anymore in private, but she tended to be standoffish in public, except for a couple of memorable macking sessions in the park.
~~~~~
Erica walked into her bedroom and almost tripped over herself. Scarlett Johansen, model and actress and fantasy of millions of boys, stood there regarding herself in the full-length mirror. She was clad in the iconic 'Black Widow' skintight catsuit from "The Avengers". A poster of that image had graced this room, back when it had been Eric's.
She turned to look Erica's way, and said - in Cora's voice - "Whaddaya think? Not bad, huh?"
"Cora?" Erica gasped, trying to pierce the illusion.
The vision rolled her eyes. "No, Scarlett Johansen drove up from Hollywood to surprise you in your bedroom. Of course it's me." She passed her hands in front of her face and down her front, and the illusion faded. The catsuit became black leggings and a tight, thin, long-sleeved sweater. The utility belt morphed into a regular belt - one of Erica's, which explained why Cora was in her bedroom. The boots seemed to slide down her calves, becoming much shorter.
"Wow, that was trippy," Erica breathed. "You looked just like her."
"It helps my hair's right around the same length. And the clothes weren't super hard. Was hella rough getting my boobs looking that big, though." She turned and looked at herself sideways in the mirror. "My hips didn't need as much," she said, sounding a little surprised.
Erica had to shake her head. "I can't believe you've gotten so good! And in only five months!"
"Bronwyn says that's my special talent, my 'Gift'. Glamours and tricks and illusions." She looked pensively out the window. "Real Transformations are harder."
Erica didn't want her friend to dwell on the negatives, so she sidled closer. "Can you do that for me?" she asked.
"What, you mean shapeshift you?" She frowned, considering. "Maybe. Other people can be harder. Why?"
"Obviously you memorized what Miss Johansen looks like." Her grin was quite saucy. "How'd you like to fuck her?"
Cora's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Well, you've got the tits for it, at least..." she drawled.
"You little bitch!" Erica cried, not quite hiding her smile.
~~~~~
"Sucks Brandon's on the other lunch hour." Cora actually sounded a little wistful.
Overall Jacinta felt very satisfied. She and Gabriela had finally gotten more than just a précis of Cora's momentous parking-lot date with Brandon. She had at last been persuaded to part with details. Juicy details.
They'd both noticed Cora being more openly affectionate around him in the last week or two. And this morning, before school, she'd given him what they could only see as a heartfelt kiss.
Indeed, Cora was much more willing to discuss her boyfriend with her girlfriends now. Almost to the point of tedium, but she'd listened to them do the same thing so allowances had to be made. "Y'know what he said, right before the first bell? He said he likes it when I don't wear makeup."
All three girls rolled their eyes. Cora had on eyeliner, lipstick, and blush. Not much of any, of course - Cora very seldom went all-out. Still, no girl would fail to see the extra definition.
"Guys just don't get it, do they?" Gabriela muttered.
Cora nodded firmly. "Word."
~~~~~
"Be careful," Cora said uncertainly.
"It'll be okay," Erica said, trying to sound chill and unconcerned. "He's a good guy."
Cora's lips quirked as she gave her a quick hug. "I mean make sure you don't stuff it in yourself!"
Erica groaned, but didn't otherwise protest. She took a deep breath and did one last check to make sure Haylie was still watching a show in the den. Then she flashed Cora a nervous, excited smile, picked up her purse and a small overnight bag, and stepped out the door.
Her hair was in an up-do. It included a ponytail, along with braids and other elaborations. She'd dropped a good chunk of change at the hairdresser. She wore a khaki dress that went with the pink stockings and heels she wore. Her makeup was applied in 'night on the town' style and quantity.
David waited in the driveway, leaning against his car. A collared shirt, slacks, combed hair, loafers. Boys 'night on the town' attire was far less trouble - and expense - than for girls. She couldn't hold that against him, though.
He stood up and opened the door for her. "Hey, babe," he said as she gave him a quick kiss and slid in. He closed the door, came around, jumped in, and backed out onto the road. "Everything still chill?"
She smiled, suppressing the butterflies in her stomach. "All good!" Circumstances had aligned. Miranda did most of her work from home, but once or twice a year she had to fly to New York for meetings at the publisher's headquarters. In years past she'd taken the girls and they'd stayed at hotels, or she'd left them with a babysitter. Now Erica was old enough to watch Haylie, for a few days at least. So Miranda had set off during the day Friday, and would be back Tuesday.
She had planned on having David visit, but then he'd said his parents would be gone the same weekend. And Cora was available to watch Haylie...
Miranda and Haylie believed - or at least, had been told - that Erica was going to sleep over at Kristina's. Instead she and David were going to get an entire night together. An overnight.
~~~~~
All evening she'd been waiting for and wondering about this moment. They had gone to dinner first, as upscale as high school students could manage, then come to his house. They'd hung out for a while in the living room, playing games. And now they were at the door of his bedroom. She'd never actually seen it except in the background of Skype chats.
He opened the door and led her in. She immediately deduced that he'd straightened up a bunch. However mature he was in some ways, she refused to believe that any teenage boy kept his room that neat.
Two steps in, she felt something very strange, a feeling she didn't have a word for. It was like... the opposite of déjà vu. Something that should be familiar somehow wasn't.
It was the smell, she realized. The smell of a teen boy's room. It was perfectly recognizable; Eric knew it well, had slept in it every night for years. Not overpowering here - David wasn't a slob - but even daily showers and weekly laundry couldn't eradicate it.
Yet it was peculiar at the same time. She hadn't whiffed it in months, but that was only part of the strangeness. A small part. The really strange thing was her own reaction to it. Eric would probably not even have noticed it. If he had, he might have found it mildly unpleasant at most. To Erica, though, it was... not unpleasant. Maybe even... interesting.
The walls were blue and gray, with a few action-movie and game posters on the wall. She noticed Black Widow on the Avengers one, with mixed feelings. A computer occupied a desk by the window - it didn't look as powerful as hers, actually. A bookshelf against one wall; she'd definitely have to look that over in detail sometime. A dresser, closet, hamper. And the bed - queen-sized, she judged, with a navy blue comforter.
"So, uh, welcome to my boudoir," he said, waving a hand to indicate his domain.
She grinned. "That actually means a woman's bedroom."
"Oh." He gave a little discomfited shrug. "Well, uh, 'be it ever so humble' and all." Erica suddenly realized that he was nervous, too. Confident, unflappable David was worried about how she thought of him. It threw her back to that first day when he'd asked her out.
She couldn't resist teasing him a little. "So is this your bed?" she said, archly.
That wrung an ever-so-slightly pained smile from him. But he soldiered on. "Yeah, this is where the magic happens."
She smiled. "Promises, promises." She was too excited - and, by now, too uncomfortable - to draw things out much longer. "Well, let me show you a magic trick then." She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him toward the bed. "Sit down and close your eyes."
He squinted in sudden doubt, but let himself be pushed down. After a moment, he said, "All right," and his lids came down.
Erica stepped back, tracking his eyes carefully. "No peeking! I mean it!" She unzipped the back and carefully pulled the dress up and over, going slow to make sure she didn't mess up her hair or her face. Underneath she was wearing her fancy, sexy lingerie. Anticipation for this moment had been building all day long. The undergarments had proven quite as impractical and uncomfortable as she'd expected... but she had hopes they'd prove worth it. She struck what she hoped was a sultry pose and said, "Okay, now you can look."
He opened his eyes and stared. Unexpectedly, out of nowhere, she felt shy and uncertain and very vulnerable. She didn't have the body-image issues of a lot of girls; she knew she looked good, thanks to the perspective lent by her former life as Eric. But looking good in general is different from being attractive to a particular individual. It was suddenly very important that David would find her sexy...
He was just staring. Staring. She bit her lower lip slightly, unbearably tense. She remembered how her breasts were slightly different sizes, and wondered if he'd noticed. She'd only been undressed with him in cars, all bent over and cramped...
David shook himself. "Oh my God, you're beautiful, Erica," he exclaimed in evident wonder.
She smiled a goofy smile. She knew it was goofy, could feel how silly and undignified it was.
She didn't care.
He stood up, leaned in, and kissed the smile off her face. It moved into her heart instead.
~~~~~
Cora and Haylie were lounging on the couch, eating popcorn and watching Toy Story 2, still in their sweats from kicking around a soccer ball earlier.
They were almost out of popcorn when they got to the scene of Emily growing up and abandoning Jessie. Haylie watched the compressed, sped-up version of a girl maturing into a young woman. She recognized it, felt it coming soon. For the most part she was excited to grow up. And yet... and yet...
This opportunity would not come again soon. She paused the movie. "What's it like? Being a boy?" she asked Cora.
Cora blinked. She took a few seconds to answer. Haylie was relieved she took the question seriously.
"I... look, I can't tell you what it's like for every boy. Just me. Or, what it was like for Cory."
"No, I get that," Haylie said.
Cora frowned. "Well... fish don't think about water. There's a whole lot guys don't have to think about. They really don't have a clue what girls do or think or go through a lot of the time. Guys are kinda... kinda the 'default', y'know? Socially."
Haylie nodded. She'd seen some of that already. People took what boys said more seriously than girls a lot of the time.
"Girls hormones go crazy around their period, right? You'll find out about that pretty soon," she said with a rueful grimace. "But, like, looking back... guys ain't so different." She paused. "When puberty kicks in, guys go just as crazy as girls do around their period. But it's all the time."
"What do you mean?"
"Like, you've seen me or Erica or your Mom. Getting weepy or angry or whatever." She spread her hands. "Boys get horny."
Haylie giggled, a little nervously.
Cora shrugged, grinning herself. "It's true. You can't even imagine how much guys think about, about girls." Her brow furrowed. "I... well, I kinda researched, like, transsexual stuff after I got Transformed."
Haylie wasn't surprised. She gestured for Cora to continue.
Cora did, carefully. "I remember this thing I found on NPR, a woman who became a man. When she... he started taking hormones he was totally shocked at how horny he got. Couldn't stop staring at chicks." She chuckled. "Said it gave him more sympathy for teenage boys."
Cora cocked her head, her hair shifting. "I guess it's supposed to settle down some, eventually. But Cory sure as heck had plenty of, like, testosterone and stuff."
Haylie hesitated, then said, "So it's different for you now? As Cora?"
Cora thought about it for several seconds, looking around the room as if she'd find the right words hiding somewhere. "I don't wanna... I mean, I dunno how much your Mom wants me talking to you about that kinda stuff." She squared her shoulders. "For me, it's not so different, I guess. The, um, level. But I don't think Transformees are, y'know, typical." She put up a hand. "And that's all I'll say about that."
"No prob," Haylie said, ready to give up that topic herself. "What else?"
"They're not as... I dunno... like, 'socially aware', I guess." She was frowning. "Not all of 'em, but... girls have BFFs and all, but they know more people. Boys mostly are tight with their bros, and don't really, like... bond with anyone else." She shrugged. "I'm not explaining this so great. Boys just don't notice or care so much about how other people feel. Except for some."
She looked at Haylie. "I bet there are girls in your class that you don't hang with, barely even talk to. Right?"
"Yeah..." Haylie said, not sure where Cora was going.
"But you know something about them, right? Just from talking? What they're like, who they're friends with, who they hate. Maybe a story about something funny they did or said. Right?"
"Well, yeah."
"Boys... if someone's not in one of their, y'know, circles, they don't care. They don't pay any attention." She sighed. "I can't remember where I saw it, but somebody said that stories for guys are about bodies in motion, what people do. Stories for girls are about how people feel, what they think about stuff."
"I guess I see. I think." Haylie shook her head. "What else?"
Cora was looking up at the ceiling. "I think... well, a lot of things are easier for guys. But it's not like they don't have their own problems. There's a lot of pressure on 'em. They've gotta be strong and smart. They're supposed to be important. Better than anybody at something." She shook her head, still not looking at anything in the room. "And they can't cry. Most of the time they can't even admit something hurts."
The girls sat in silence for a while. Then Haylie asked the main question. "So why do you want to go back?"
Cora, eyes wide, just sat there.
She pressed on. "Erica wanted to be Eric again, for a while. I think sometimes she still does. You can't freakin' wait to be Cory again." She shook her head, uncomprehending. "Why? What's so great about being a boy?"
Cora breathed in through her teeth. "It's... hard to explain." Then she fell silent again.
Haylie shook her head. "You know what the weird thing is? I feel like I do know, somehow."
Cora looked more focused. "Huh. Really?"
Haylie shrugged. "Sometimes. I guess."
Cora pondered that. "Maybe you should talk to your Mom about it."
"Maybe." Haylie couldn't explain why that made her feel uncomfortable, almost scared.
On that ambiguous note, Cora started the movie back up. They didn't speak to each other until it was over. Then they had a little ice cream and didn't talk about anything important before going to bed.
~~~~~
It was morning. Waking up next to David was an amazing thing. For just a little while she wondered if she were still dreaming. But his big strong sleeping body was too real. Even if the view was fuzzy without glasses or contacts.
So was her arousal. It was a very near thing; she almost woke him up. But she had something she needed to do while he was still sleeping, something she hadn't even told Cora about. Therefore, gently and covertly, she rubbed herself to a quick orgasm to take the edge off. Keeping quiet and still was difficult, but David barely stirred.
Now able to think a bit more clearly, she used her rudimentary Healing training to shift him into a deeper slumber. It was harder than it should have been, even accounting for her novice skill. She decided that she must be even more tense about what she'd planned than she thought. Finally satisfied, she crept out of bed.
Purses were amazingly useful. A boy's wallet wouldn't have stored extra contacts and her glasses. Plus, there were hairbands. Erica pulled her hair back away from her face and tucked it up behind her head. She peeked in the mirror; it didn't look like she had short hair, exactly, but it'd do. She began a search of his closet and dresser. Before long she'd assembled a reasonable outfit.
Wearing boys clothes once more was completely different from what she'd expected.
She had hoped to catch a glimpse of Eric again in her reflection. Goddess, it was so confusing! She'd seesawed back and forth over whether she'd Transform back one day. By now, though, it was hard to even remember what she'd been like before. Miranda had saved a few pictures of Eric for a special scrapbook, she knew, but wouldn't let Erica see them. It would "interfere with her progress."
Cora made it look easy, but shapeshifting spells were tricky. It was taking her so long to learn them! Right now she could barely manage to alter her skin tone or shift the color of her hair. She'd thought that maybe, dressed up as a boy, it might help her remember what it was like. Or at least what Eric had looked like.
It just didn't work, though. The clothes didn't make her feel masculine in the least; all they did was emphasize how womanly she was now. She was too small for them to fit - where she didn't stick out too much. Her face, her shape was too obviously girly. The 'cute librarian' glasses didn't help. She looked exactly like what she was: a teenage girl trying on her boyfriend's clothes. Sexy, even, from a certain perspective... but utterly female.
Confused, she slowly disrobed and, with exacting care, placed the clothes back precisely where she'd found them. She slipped her t-shirt back on, then slipped into bed next to David, and withdrew the Healing push that held him asleep.
Sooner than she'd expected, almost at once, he was awake. He jerked and sat up, acting startled. I must be clumsier than I thought. He shouldn't have sensed anything.
For just a couple heartbeats he seemed confused, and then frightened-slash-angry. She had one instant to be scared before he suddenly was calming down. He even smiled. "Sorry. Not used to waking up with anybody." His smile got wider. "Especially a cute half-naked girl."
Her own heartbeat slowing - David had looked very scary there, she could see how he'd intimidated Alan and Illya - she teased him a little. "Only 'cute'? Not 'gorgeous'? Or 'stunning'? Or 'incredible'?"
He snorted. "You want, like... eloquence, you're gonna have to wait til my brain finishes booting up."
Her hands moved under the covers. "Feels like some of you is initialized..."
She'd played wake-up games in bed before, but only with girls. David turned out to be pretty good at them.
~~~~~
David turned onto the main avenue, and the masking personality dropped away. It was like storm clouds suddenly blowing in over a sunny day. The real David was far more troubled than the false one.
He was returning to 'his' house, having dropped off Erica after their little overnight tryst. He truly didn't know what to make of her. She was so much the teenage girl. The way she moved, talked, thought about things - so very feminine. It was hard to remember she was really a boy.
Or was she? That was a question that bothered him a great deal. More and more, as time went on.
One could easily argue that a typical transsexual wasn't 'really' female. Surgery and supplementary hormones weren't enough to change sex, as far as David was concerned. The problem was, the Transformation these witches did was far more fundamental.
He knew that better than he should have. Even as he'd done it, he'd known it was a mistake, known that it could expose his cover. But he'd needed to do it, needed to know. It hadn't been necessary to fake attraction to Erica for weeks now. His attitude toward her reluctance to 'go all the way' was far more like that of typical boys to their girlfriends. He had to take care to behave more chivalrously than he actually felt, many times.
So he had Magically probed her last night. It had been carefully timed, when he was as sure as a male can be that his girl wasn't faking an orgasm. It had worked - of that he was certain. She was far too distracted at the time to notice the scan; her pleasure had been real.
It had been unnerving, partly for what it revealed but mostly for what it had not. Aside from the wellspring of Light within her, Erica was an entirely normal girl. He sensed nothing whatsoever indicating she had ever been anything else. The Transformation wasn't an ongoing spell; it really did change the essence. This form was now her natural form, on a physical and Magical level.
More surprising, there was a spell on her... but it wasn't maintaining the Transformation. So far as he could tell - and he couldn't be sure, Light Magic was strange - it actually prevented further Transformation. It was tied to the life of another, and - again, if he guessed right - it could be broken only from within.
He was also a little disturbed by the fact that she'd used Magic on him. Not much, and not for long... but he'd review the recordings from the concealed cameras as soon as he got back, to find out what she'd been doing while he'd been subdued.
That wasn't the main worry, though. The real problem was that central question: was Erica 'really' a girl, or not?
It was a philosophical question, true. The thing was, philosophical questions could have uncomfortably pragmatic and real-world consequences for practitioners of Magic.
Adding to his conflicts, he suspected that the existence of the binding spell represented important intelligence. And he could hardly report it to his handler without revealing that he had done something stupid, and against explicit orders, to uncover it. Certain levels of initiative and independence were encouraged in field operatives. Lapses in judgement were not.
~~~~~
Erica felt a little frustrated most of Saturday.
She and David had ended up having quite the leisurely morning. Almost too languorous; he'd dropped her off at home right when Cora had to head to work. The girl had barely enough time for a good-natured snarky remark about the disheveled condition of Erica's expensive hairstyle.
She couldn't talk to Haylie about the experience. She couldn't even talk in front of Haylie about it, to keep her Mom from finding out. So she spent a good deal of time texting with her friends.
And then when Cora came home from the arcade, it was time for Erica to head in to the restaurant for her shift. So they really didn't get a chance to dish until Sunday morning.
She didn't bring up her little cross-dressing experiment with her friends or Cora, for differing reasons. Cora acted gratifyingly interested in the sleepover, though, and probed for details. In the afternoon, they took Haylie out to a movie, then came home and cooked a big dinner together. It was really fun.
Erica wouldn't have dreamed that life could be going so well, back when Cora had first appeared. What a difference a few months made.
~~~~~
Brandon made a gentle turn off the main road into a subdivision.
"Hey, what..." Cora yelled in his ear, gripping him tighter and leaning forward. She sounded confused. Almost alarmed.
"Just wanna swing by Cory's place for a second. Just real quick, see if his parents heard anything," he called out, turning the bike left again.
Cora's grip around his chest tensed up. But she didn't say anything.
"It's on the way," he yelled, a little defensive.
"Whatever," Cora said. But he barely heard her.
He pulled up in the Ellsworth driveway, dropped the stand and started pulling off his helmet. "You don't hafta come in. I'll only be a minute."
Cora paused, then carefully slid to the ground, unclipping her helmet too. "No, I'll come in."
She acted almost skittish as they went up and rang the doorbell. It wasn't long before a tall man opened the front door.
"Hello, Brandon. Good to see you."
"Hey, Mr. Ellsworth." He put a hand on Cora's shoulder. "This is my girlfriend, Cora."
"Well, aren't you the lucky one," the man said. "Very nice to meet you," he said to her, smiling.
"Nice to meet you, too," she said, very softly. Abruptly she looked away.
A woman's voice from inside, approaching. "Who's that, hon?"
"Brandon came by," the man called. He moved to the side to allow her to see.
Her eyes lit up when she got to the door and saw Cora. "Oh, is this Cora?" she cooed.
Cora was staring. Brandon stepped in quickly. "Yup, this is her."
"She's just as pretty as you said!" said Mrs. Ellsworth. "Come on in for a minute," she urged.
"Well, okay," he said. Cora followed him in, looking around. She was acting shy and nervous again. He could never quite predict how she'd respond to something new. Girls, he thought ruefully to himself. Why even try?
If she was uncomfortable, though, he'd better get through it quickly. "I just wanted to check, heard anything from Cory?"
"No, nothing since that letter. We should get another one next week." Her shoulders slumped. "Maybe a phone call. It's almost like he knows when we're out, so he can leave a message."
"I'm sure he wants to talk to you," Cora blurted. Then, she looked down at the floor.
"I hope so," Mrs. Ellsworth said. Her husband laid a comforting hand on her arm, but he looked troubled too.
Mrs. Ellsworth changed the subject slightly. "Did Brandon ever show you a picture of him?" she said to Cora, leading the girl into the front room. On the wall was a large, framed picture of Cory - his school photo from last year.
"No," Cora said, inspecting it intently. "I saw a couple shots on Facebook..."
Mrs. Ellsworth waited a bit while Cora stared. "Cora's not a common name. Like Cory, I guess," she mused, examining Cora almost as sharply. Brandon saw her flash him an approving smile.
"It's my middle name," Cora said quietly. "My first name is Jewel." She finally turned from examining the photo and looked at Mrs. Ellsworth. Intent still, almost searching for something.
"Now that's a pretty name. It suits you," Mrs. Ellsworth said, turning to meet Cora's eyes.
Cora bit her lip and stared at the floor again.
Brandon watched all this curiously. He compared Cora to the picture of Cory. There sure looked like some kind of family resemblance. He naturally hadn't said anything to the Ellsworths, of course, and they didn't seem to pick up on it, though.
Cora's eyes darted between the two adults. "Why... why do you think he left?" she asked.
Now it was the Ellsworths who weren't looking anyone in the eye. Mr. Ellsworth said, "I don't know. I just... don't know."
"It wasn't drugs," Mrs. Ellsworth said, insistently. "We searched his room, his locker. Nothing. His grades were great."
Cora swallowed.
Mr. Ellsworth was shaking his head. "It doesn't make any sense. We wouldn't have cared if he had been on drugs. Or gay. Or... or anything."
"I didn't... I don't think he..." Cora stammered, then trailed off.
There was silence for a moment. Suddenly Mrs. Ellsworth said, "For a while I wondered if maybe... I don't know. If he'd converted to Islam and gone off to be a terrorist or something. But those letters... Maybe he is gay. But we wouldn't care. We just want him home."
Cora looked devastated. She stepped forward and took Mrs. Ellsworth into a hug. "I hope he can come back soon," she said, on the verge of tears.
Mrs. Ellsworth had actual tears in the corners of her eyes, and hugged back. "Well, you really are a precious jewel." She looked at Brandon. "You treat her right, now. Don't let this one get away!"
He smiled, a little uncomfortable. He had a little lump in his throat. Women always got so emotional. Mr. Ellsworth looked uncomfortable too. "No worries. I know how lucky I am," he said.
They said their goodbyes and left. As he got back on the bike, he said, "Sorry 'bout that. I didn't know it was gonna be a scene."
Cora gave him a sharp, irritated look. "They're hurting," she declared, and then got on the bike without another word. He sensed he'd just make some kind of mistake, though he didn't know what. Girls. Dammit.
~~~~~
Miranda checked the screen on her phone, then answered. "Hello, Jacqui. What's up?"
"Brandon took Cora by her old house. She saw her parents, saw a picture of herself as a boy."
"Oh... dear." So far as possible, the Sisterhood tried to keep novices from reminders of their former state and life.
"Right. She was pretty upset, from what I saw."
Miranda's eyes pinched shut. "How did you find out?"
"After that incident with driving practice, I put a simple alarm spell on their house. Just in case. Honestly, I'd forgotten about it." She paused. "I got to remote viewing almost immediately. It really wasn't her idea. Brandon was checking for Cory news and brought her along."
"Goddess, I can't imagine... what happened?"
"She handled herself as well as could be expected. But she got to see how much her parents miss their son. And I think... picture talking to your own parents and they don't even recognize you."
"Goddess," Miranda repeated, appalled.
"She stared at that old headshot for quite a while. I think it all rubbed her nose in how much she's changed already."
Miranda sighed. "Exactly what we always try to avoid. Especially with her."
Jacqui sighed too. "I just wanted to give you a heads-up. I've got no idea how she'll be when she gets home."
Miranda thought for a moment. "Maybe I'll take all the girls out for surprise ice cream tonight."
"And hope she's girly enough to respond to ice cream therapy," Jacqui said.
"Heh," Miranda said, with limited mirth.
"How's Erica doing?" Jacqui asked.
"Heh," Miranda said again, much more sincerely. "She hasn't even alluded to her little sleepover. But I noticed her Magic was quite a bit stronger during our latest lesson." She smiled. "I think her Transition is entirely back on track."
"I'm very glad for her, and you," Jacqui said with feeling.
~~~~~
Erica was glad her Mom had taken them out for a treat that night. Cora was acting down when Brandon dropped her off and it had helped cheer her up a little.
She stayed introspective though. Haylie made up for it, when she dropped a bomb into the conversation. "I think I wanna get my hair cut short."
Their Mom betrayed some alarm. "Haylie, no! Not your pretty hair!"
"I was talking to Georgia. She says she's glad she got hers chopped."
Miranda was definitely upset. "Oh, Haylie, not that short! Please!"
Erica wasn't sure what to think. Haylie's friend rocked a pixie cut pretty well, but it was hard to picture how it'd look on Haylie. Maybe that was just 'cause her little sister had always had long hair. She squinted, trying to visualize it.
"What, you think anyone's gonna think I'm a boy?" Haylie said.
Erica kept squinting. It had been a joke, but there was some kind of undertone... well, gender identity would be more on Haylie's mind than other girls her age.
Maybe Mom picked up on it, too. She looked worried. "I just don't think it'd be the best look for you, honey. And if you didn't like it, it would take forever to grow back..."
Cora spoke up. "We could try it out. We get home, I bet I could Glamour up some looks to test. Hair's pretty easy for me now."
Haylie squealed. "OMG, yes! Please!"
Miranda hesitated. She looked really upset. Erica couldn't grasp why it was such a big deal. But then she said, "Well, we'll see when we get home."
~~~~~
Cora stared at herself in the mirror, dubiously.
"You look awesome! Goddess, chillax!" Erica said.
Cora turned to the side, looking even more doubtful. "I got underwear covers more than this."
Erica gave her a quick side-hug. "First time I went out in a bikini was weird for me, too. But it's cool. Totally. Socially, I mean." She saw Cora steal a glance at her bed, and moved to block her view. "Nuh-uh! I shouldn'ta even let you buy that stupid one-piece!"
"Not sure I can do this," Cora muttered. The navy blue of the material set well against her fair skin, and there was actually a decent amount of it. Rump and crotch and breasts were covered, there was no risk of any critical exposure. But it was tied with strings, not straps, so her back and the sides of her hips were effectively bare.
"It'll be fine. Wear a t-shirt until we actually go in the water." She smirked. "And poor Brandon'll be drooling. He'll get a boner at some point, you watch."
Cora snorted and went to grab her flip-flops. The idea didn't seem to be particularly uncomfortable.
A whole pack of kids were going on a Sunday roadtrip to the beach. The nucleus was a subset of the girls from the cheer squad and their boyfriends, but acquaintances were coming, as well. It was an all day thing; Moreno Valley was sixty miles from the ocean. Sixty California highway miles.
Cora had a long t-shirt on as they went downstairs, hanging so low it was pretty much a miniskirt. Erica thought it wound up being more titillating than the plain bathing suit, but wasn't about to let Cora know.
~~~~~
The ride down was indeed long, but chill. She and Cora and David and Brandon rode with Shianti and her boyfriend Tyrone in her dad's minivan. The boys had come to the Jardin house and all four were picked up from there.
Trahn and Melanie were with their guys in another vehicle. Tyrone drove, with David next to him and Brandon behind him. Shianti was in the middle passenger seat, with Cora and Erica in the back. As happened frequently, the boys and girls had parallel conversations, with only occasionally overlapping subjects. Erica caught Cora glancing at the boys on occasion, when the topic turned to things like gossip or clothes, as if pining to talk about sports. But she didn't make a fuss. She even had a few pertinent comments.
As soon as the convoy arrived, the girls got together for a group picture. Cora used to join in such things reluctantly, but these days she seemed fine with them, posing and smiling. She'd talked it over once with Erica, and they'd both concluded that they served a social, bonding function - visibly signifying friendship, while also a certain amount of (mostly) friendly competition.
Anyway, Cora had reconciled herself to the necessity. She never did 'duck face', though. Ever. With her smile, it was unnecessary anyway.
The weather was fine, and the beach wasn't crowded enough to be a problem. A couple dozen high schoolers could still find room to spread out. As they got ready to go in the water, Erica kept one eye on Cora. After a brief hesitation, she shed the t-shirt. And then cheekily asked Brandon to help her with the sunscreen. Of course, with her fair skin she actually needed a thick coating.
They splashed and swam. A few of the girls only waded, not wanting to get their hair wet.
"Ffffft." Cora blew hairs out of her mouth. "I hate windy days."
Trahn scoffed. "Ever get your hair caught in a car door? That's super fun."
They had a big picnic lunch, supplemented with icy drinks from a vending stand. After that, everyone laid around, digesting and relaxing through the hottest part of the afternoon. Several couples paired off on their own towels. Erica noticed Brandon and Cora engaged in some fairly flagrant cuddling, but she paid more attention to her own cuddling with David.
Before long, though, a beach volleyball game got going. Cora and Erica sat out, sending their gentlemen in to be their champions. Erica took another opportunity to enjoy the male form in motion.
Although, she also noticed a couple of women walk by, glad she had sunglasses on so she could do it without being obvious. They were very attractive, which pleased her in a way that survived intact from her days as Eric. But they were older, mature - at least twenty-five. They had a few tattoos. Women, not girls. It made her feel weird; lots of complex emotions.
They projected a confidence that high-school girls just couldn't match. Not even a Transformed boy who knew she looked good. Part of her wanted to be like that - but that would also mean growing in womanhood. If she became a woman like that - one who knew who she was and what she wanted - wouldn't that mean she wouldn't want to be Eric again? And honestly - did she ever want to be male again now? Or was she only keeping that option alive for Cora's sake, to give the girl a sense of solidarity she seemed to need desperately?
Speaking of Cora... her eyes slewed right, and she caught Cora looking at them, too. What was she thinking? How did she feel about them? Erica understood Jacqui's frustration at not being able to peek.
But the volleyball game was over now, and the boys were headed their way. It was time to go back into the water.
~~~~~
Seeing Cora snuggle up next to Brandon on the drive back had been humorous. To keep the seat from getting wet, she had her t-shirt under her, and Brandon had a hard time keeping his eyes off her body. Pretty sure he's having a hard time in more than one way, she thought with a smile. Her prediction about boners had come true. Maybe it was a little mean, but it could sometimes be fun to tease boys a little.
They got dropped off and gave their respective boyfriends goodby smooches, then went in to clean off and change.
"Fuck," Cora swore as she walked into Erica's room wrapped in a towel after her shower. "Remember that one photoset on the beach I showed you that one time? The naked redhead all in the sand?"
"Yeah?" Erica said, not sure where she was going. They'd only compared porn that once.
"I'm gonna delete 'em. I never want to even think about sand down there ever again. I finally understand that phrase." They both laughed in agreement.
Cora sat on the bed, watching Erica dress. She slipped the towel off and took another pass at drying her hair. Erica didn't completely ignore a naked girl in her room, but it was clear that Cora wasn't flirting; they were just comfortable together.
Cora had turned thoughtful. "Girl hormones are weird. Like, did you see when Ramilah was talking to Brandon?"
"No. When was that?"
"After the Slurpees. I don't think she knew I was back. And she was all smiling at him."
"So, she's got working glands. Brandon's cute." Then her eyes narrowed. "Hey, Brandon wouldn't..."
Cora laughed and waved her hand. "I know, he's not a dog. Took me long enough to pry him away from Danielle." Then she shrugged. "I wasn't talking about her hormones."
"What do you mean?"
"For just a second... I mean, like, I know I can trust Brandon. She wasn't gonna get anywhere. But even so. I was so pissed I was gonna Glamour giant zits all over her face." She squinted at nothing, going into 'thinking mode'. "I wonder if you could make it so only guys saw it? She'd be running around with her face like bacon, but none of her friends could warn her..."
~~~~~
The Wednesday morning alarm came all too soon. Erica got up and took a quick shower. The water no longer felt too warm on her back and face; the mild sunburn from the beach trip had healed. Still, that wasn't good for the skin. Aloe and other moisturizers were called into play before she got dressed. She was mildly surprised to find Cora already at the breakfast table when she came down.
Haylie and Miranda were bustling about, eating breakfast and putting together lunch for school. Miranda nodded quietly toward Cora. Erica looked and saw that the girl was extremely subdued. Almost haunted. She casually got a bowl for cereal, sat down next to her, and said, "Hey, how ya doing?"
Cora didn't turn to her. "Eh. Tired." After a moment, she added, "Didn't sleep good."
"Everything okay?"
"'s fine," Cora muttered. Well, if she wasn't ready to talk, there was no point in pushing her. She poured some milk on her granola and ate.
Cora's phone beeped. She looked at it and sighed.
"What's up?" Erica asked as unpressingly as she could manage.
"Canceled with Brandon. Gonna ride the bus."
Her eyebrows lifted, but she said, "David could take us both."
"Nah, you go ahead. Thanks," Cora murmured, still not looking at anyone.
"Oh. Okay," Erica said, shooting an inquiring glance at her Mom. Miranda shook her head unobtrusively, just as puzzled.
~~~~~
Erica checked her phone on the way to lunch; there was a text from Jacinta: u kno why C is freaking out? The moment she got into the lunchroom, she could see Cora was still upset. Standing in line for food, she looked like a dazed refugee.
Erica sidled up to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, can we talk? Like, outside?"
"I don't..." Cora began.
Erica cut her off. "We need to talk. No drama, just let's talk, okay?"
Cora hesitated, then nodded and stepped out of line. As they headed for the doors, over Cora's shoulder, Erica gave the table a look. It conveyed a great deal - Sorry, gotta deal with Cora alone, tell you about it later - but only Kristina and Linda seemed to get it. David and Paul just looked confused. Goddess, boys can be dense, she thought absently.
Once they'd gotten a little ways from the crowd, Erica said, low and intense, "You're not fine. What's going on? What's wrong?"
"It's... I don't wanna talk about..."
"Fuck that. I love you and you're hurting and I want to help. Spill it."
Cora just shook her head. "It's not like that. Nothing you can do."
"You know how far I'll go for my friends," Erica said flatly.
"That's the thing," Cora sighed. "It's no big deal. I just had a bad dream."
"Oh." Even leaving aside the possibility of a prophetic dream, Cora was clearly more upset than even a nightmare could explain.
Waiting out Cory probably wouldn't have worked. Cora, though, seemed to have some of the female need to talk. "Me and Brandon were making out. I mean, really going to town. We were, like, all over each other."
She shivered. "I could feel his cock through his pants. That's what did it. It was, like, time. I was a hundred and ten percent dee tee eff. I was gonna 'eff' the living shit outta him."
Erica was silent, trying to absorb everything. On the one hand, it might be progress. Erica didn't know details herself, but they'd both intuited that being attracted to boys had to be part of the Transition. Yet that had to be especially hard for Cora.
"So he helped me undo my pants and get 'em down." She paused for a second. "Huh. I don't think I was wearing pants before. Yeah, I remember, he had a hand up my skirt before." A pause. "Anyway. We got my pants off."
She'd curled in on herself, back hunched, arms wrapped around her torso, looking down at the ground as they walked.
"Suddenly he was yelling at me. And I looked down and I had a dick and balls again. And I felt so ashamed, I was saying I was sorry over and over but he kept, like screaming at me. I can't even remember what he was saying, but he was so totally, like, disgusted. And then Cory was there too, and he was all pissed at me too. And he was all, 'What the fuck are you doing?'"
"Oh, Goddess," Erica breathed. She grabbed Cora and squeezed her, trying to express all the support and comfort she couldn't put into words. Cora broke down then, crying onto Erica's chest.
"It's not fair. I didn't ask for this. And I never should have gone after Brandon. He really would feel that way, if he knew." She let out a huge sob. "I really did betray him!"
Erica held her for several heartbeats. Then she spoke gently into Cora's ear. "Look, the whole point of this is for you to be a girl, right? So if you are a girl, then you are okay for him."
"And when I turn back? What then?" Her breath hitched. "Cory can't be friends with a guy that I sucked off! He won't be able to look at Brandon! He'll push him away!" She looked miserable. "I don't want him hurt like that. After he tried to find Cory."
"It's gonna be okay," Erica crooned, hoping she was telling the truth. "We'll figure it out."
"I thought it was getting better, but I just keep making things worse. I should have left him alone. I'm even worse for him than Danielle!"
"Oh, now fuck that!" Erica exclaimed. "He's happy with you. I see the way he looks at you. Not just at your booty." She held Cora's shoulders at arms length. "And Cory's just as mature as you are. By definition. If you can handle getting busy with Brandon now, you can figure it out as Cory."
It was hard to tell what Cora was thinking. She wasn't sure she was getting through. She wasn't supposed to talk about Cory anyway. So she pivoted. "Anyway, let the future take care of itself. Nobody knows what'll happen. He could break up with you tomorrow."
She saw two distinct emotions in Cora's mien; an amused dismissal of the very concept of Brandon dumping her somehow combined with pain at contemplating that very idea. Erica stopped talking and just hugged her friend.
It felt like a while, but was probably less than a minute before Cora spoke again. "The thing is, I was freaked out and ashamed and pissed and upset. I mean, I was, like, inside out, y'know? I still kinda am." She made a sound that might have been history's least joyful laugh. "But you know what else?"
"What?"
"I was frustrated, too. 'Cause I really did want to fuck him. Like, majorly." Her eyes were tearing up again. "I wanted his cock in my pussy as much as Cory ever wanted inside a girl. More, maybe. I can't even think about that first part of it without getting wet."
For a few moments she just shook in Erica's arms. They'd drawn attention from several of the students in the area. Finally, Cora whispered, "I still totally do. Goddess, it'd almost be worth getting knocked up."
Erica reflected on all it would take to make Cora feel that, much less say it out loud. "Are you, like... in love with him?"
"I dunno." She was shaking her head, still trembling. "But what scares me the most is, I'm not sure I don't love him."
After that, Erica just held Cora for a few more minutes. Then they made their silent way back inside, equally subdued now.
~~~~~
Erica usually felt very conflicted, talking to the senior Sisters about things Cora had told her. She knew the Sisters wanted the best for Cora - at least by their lights. She even knew that Cora knew she was making reports. It felt like betraying a confidence anyway.
Cora's dream, and reaction, were too important to elide; maybe even vital. She still felt guilty that night as she relayed their conversation.
"Oh, Goddess," Laurie said, very softly, when Erica was done. All the witches looked very pensive, especially Jacqui.
"Jacqui, you... you have the best hope of... of seeing into this," Bronwyn said. "What do you think?"
Jacqui still was focused inward, going over things in her mind. "It bothered me to make out with boys. It really bothered me to enjoy it. But... my introduction was gentler." She finally looked up, with a crooked grin toward Bronwyn. "I was pushed into it, like Cora." The grin dissolved. "I didn't do it out of anger, though, and it wasn't as calculated. On my part, anyway."
She sighed. "And I didn't know the guy before. Cora had a really unfair head start on knowing Brandon. Unfair for both of them." She looked very grim now. "Cora says she doesn't know if she loves Brandon. The thing is, Brandon does love her. The way a teenage boy loves a girl, anyway."
Erica clamped down on a sudden intense desire for intel on David's feelings toward her. That wasn't important right now. To anyone else at least. "Do you think... Cory really would push Brandon away? When she changes back?"
Jacqui was staring at the floor again. "I... maybe. I remember thinking something similar about 'Jack' at one point."
Bronwyn was speculative now. "Cora's coming along. I think this dream shows she's on the path to complete her Transition, eventually."
Erica sensed something going unsaid. It was very like that intuition she'd had shortly after Cora's Transformation, that had led her to deduce the binding spell. Something about vaginal sex was important to the Transition.
Her Mom and the other Sisters had said that there were things they couldn't tell Novices, because it would disrupt, maybe even derail their progress. Cora was still a little skeptical about that, but Erica had more trust. She hoped. She decided to let that go for now.
The High Priestess was still talking. "Ordinarily, worries about adjustments after changing back aren't so important. In this case... a reversal is pretty much inevitable. Even if Cora wanted to stay a girl, there's her parents. She wouldn't deprive them of their son any longer than she had to."
"Yes," Laurie said, concerned. "That's not a problem Novices have to face."
Jacqui shook her head, slowly. "All we can do is hope she doesn't do anything... rash."
~~~~~
Brandon pulled his bike up to the curb. Cora was waiting there. He was a little worried; it was like she'd been avoiding him the last couple days. She'd taken the bus Thursday, and this morning, and she wasn't answering most of his texts. At least she'd agreed to meet him now. He could give her a ride home from school, find out what was going on.
Yet now he was even more worried, because she looked seriously depressed. "Hey, babe, what's wrong?" he called as he dropped the kickstand.
Cora licked her lips, then said loudly over the motor, "Can you shut it off? I need to tell you something!"
He shut off the engine and pulled off his helmet. "What's wrong?" he asked again.
She took a deep breath, and said, "I think you should see other people."
He stiffened in surprise. "Are you kidding? What... what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
She swallowed. She wasn't meeting his eyes, she just stared at the asphalt under her feet. "What I said. You should find another girl."
He frowned. "Wait. You think I should? What about you?"
She still just watched the pavement not move. "I'm... taking a break from boys for a while."
Confused, he said, "I don't want 'another girl'. I want you. I thought we were doing pretty good..."
Not moving, she said, "I'm... not who you think I am. I'm no good for you. You deserve... someone else." He almost didn't hear her whispered addendum. "Someone real."
"What the shit is this? You think you're 'not worthy' or something? Of me?"
She was curled up on herself. "Come on. You can find somebody better. I'm weird and moody and I barely let you touch me."
He was really getting angry. People were starting to pay attention; nobody close enough to hear. "I figure a blowjob probably counts for three bases easy." He started to reach for her shoulders, but stopped. He didn't want to scare her - or worse, hurt her - and she was tiny and he was fairly strong. "Look at me, dammit." Her head came up, and there were tears on her cheeks. "Believe it or not, some boys can think with more than one head." He waved at his crotch and his face. "You think I only want your body?"
"Oh, Goddess. I'm fifty thousand shades of fucked up." She sounded creepily calm, for all the wetness of her face. "I'm really not what you want. Just... You don't know..."
He did take hold of her then, firmly controlled. "I'm not a fucking moron, y'know. I figured something happened to you, sometime. I don't know what, and I don't care. I care about you." He realized he was about to say 'I love you'. His shock made him hesitate for a second, which gave Cora the chance to step back out of his grip.
She was shaking her head, slowly, still leaking tears. "I'm sorry. It's over."
He sat up straight, set his shoulders. "Well, I'm not going away. Not until you convince me you really don't want me around."
"I don't. I really don't." As declarations went, it lacked conviction. She was firmer with the next line: "I gotta catch the bus."
Brandon just sat there, and watched her walk away.
"Well, fuck." Pussy. You should have said you loved her.
Continued in part 10
~~~~~
She leapt out of the car, yelling, "Bye! Text you later!" She sprinted to her front door.
Trahn understood. Erica's phone had blown up at practice, texts from all kinds of people. Messages telling her that Cora had ditched Brandon, or that he'd gotten her pregnant, or that he was abusing her. And other messages asking her to confirm or deny the rumors. By the end of practice, girls were asking her about it in person. And Cora wouldn't answer texts or pick up her phone. Both Jacinta and Gabriela had called her on the ride home; she wasn't talking to them either.
A call to her Mom had at least established that Cora was home in her room.
She got in and raced up the stairs two at a time. At Cora's door, she paused to catch her breath, then knocked. "Hey. C'mon in," she heard.
She opened the door and surveyed the situation. Cora lay on her side on her bed, laptop open beside her.
"What happened?" she wailed.
Cora just looked at her and said, "I broke up with him."
"But why?" she wailed again. "One bad dream doesn't..."
Cora looked obstinate. "I'm not good for him. He deserves a girlfriend who's really a girl."
Erica, angered, bit out, "So you think I'm conning David?"
Cora, alarmed, backpedaled. "That's... different. David asked you out. You weren't using him. And you're... further along than me."
Erica shook her head. "Right after Danielle got caught, I remember this whole big spiel about how you didn't want to hurt him. 'He should be able to trust somebody someday,' you said."
Cora shrank in on herself. "I made a mistake. I shouldn't have even started all this. I should have stopped it then." She looked Erica in the face, begging almost. "I just don't want it to get any worse. Let him get too attached."
"You trying to tell me it didn't hurt him? Just dumping him out of nowhere?"
"It's better this way. He can get over it, go off to college and find a real girl." She was up on her knees, wringing her hands. "It's hurt him now or hurt him more later."
Erica was shaking her head now. "You know what I think? That it's all bullshit. I think you're scared about how you feel about him."
Clearly that stung. After a beat, Cora replied, "Fuck yeah, I'm scared!" She swallowed. "That's why I had to push him away. I want him too much. These stupid hormones. Sometimes I feel like I want to be with him forever. And I can't!"
She was looking at the wall. "Remember Valentines Day? Watching 'Mannequin'?" She didn't wait to see if Erica nodded or anything. "There was that scene where they take that motorcycle ride. And there's just this cheesy music, no words, and she's holding onto him, and you see her smile. And you can tell she's all in love."
Her hands were curled up again. "Back then, it was funny. Now, like, a week ago, I caught myself doing the same fucking thing on a ride with Brandon." She swallowed, clearly fighting tears. "I want him to love me. But if he loves me it'll break his heart someday!"
Erica's own emotions were a lot more tangled now. After all, she wanted David that way, too.
Her next words hurt them both. But they were true and necessary. "Um, look, we're in high school. No matter how we feel... let's face it. High school kids don't get married. Except if somebody gets pregnant. And if they do, it ain't 'happily ever after'."
She could see in Cora's eyes what she wanted to say - Sometimes it is! Her own heart wanted to raise that objection. But they were both practical enough to recognize the odds. Even when Magical complications were left out.
Erica finished. "I think you're worried about you getting hurt, not him."
Cora was perceptibly on the defensive. "Okay, look, I wanna be over him before I turn back. I need to be over him before." Erica, unwilling, had to nod. She could understand that. "That's not why I did it, though."
Erica threw up her hands. "Well, either way, I think it was a mistake." She sighed. "But I guess it's done now."
"I guess." Cora sounded oddly tentative about that.
Erica peered at her friend. "What's going on?" Even as she said it, Cora's phone pinged. "Hey, that's his ringtone!"
Cora shrugged, sadly. "He keeps texting me. And sending Skype invites. Even emails."
"Oh."
~~~~~
Saturday was quiet. Cora had told her friends to give her space, despite their pleas - and, eventually, demands. She even called in sick to work.
Erica went in to hostess and had to fend off questions from everyone, including Gretchen. She was able to deny the most lurid rumors - pregnancy, drugs, violence, etc. However, since she couldn't exactly reveal Cora's true motives, and didn't agree with them anyway, she feared her objections fell a little flat.
David swung by on her break, and offered to help. "He's really down about it. He can't figure out why she dumped him." He shrugged. "Gotta say, neither can I."
She could only repeat what she'd been saying to everyone else. "Brandon didn't do anything wrong. It's all about her, not him. Honest. She's... dealing with some stuff." Honesty forced her to add, "Not very well."
David obviously wasn't any happier with that than she was. He gave her a hug and a kiss and they parted on an unsatisfying note.
When she got home, Cora was still up, on the couch in the family room. She was playing with her phone, acting bemused.
"How's it going?" Erica asked diffidently.
Cora looked up from the screen. "He posted a YouTube playlist on my feed. A bunch of songs." No need to guess who 'he' was. She handed the phone over.
One was already queued up; Erica started it. A One Direction song, "She's Not Afraid". She'd heard it before; Haylie was a fan. The message was pretty clear, especially since it was a lyrics video:
She's not afraid of all the attention
She's not afraid of running wild
How come she's so afraid
Of falling in love
She skipped ahead, and recognized the next one in line, too: "Cold Inside" by B Story. She didn't have to let it play through, she knew the chorus of that one:
Up inside the sky I see a shooting star,
And I wish, I wish you'd let me love you.
She stopped playback and passed it back to Cora. "Huh," she said neutrally. "Looks like he, um, isn't just going away."
"He'll get over it," Cora said. "Better now than later."
"You sure that..."
"Yeah," Cora declared, "I'm sure." Erica felt it wasn't delivered with quite as much conviction as might be expected. But she gave Cora a little squeeze on her arm and left her looking at her phone.
If there was a Cora Conference that night, she wasn't invited.
~~~~~
Sunday was very, very quiet. Cora wasn't in the mood to go anywhere, and despite her exasperation Erica didn't want to leave her hurting alone. Jacinta and Gabriela had stopped begging to come over. Even David was busy; he'd been called in to work. She texted with Linda and Kristina for a while, which helped with sharing feelings at least. Again, the problem was she couldn't fully explain Cora's motives to them, so they remained confused. Only partly sympathetic, and confused. They reported that Cora and Brandon were major subjects of gossip, again.
That night, the girls made love, wordlessly. After, Cora sheltered in Erica's arms and wept softly. Then she went off to sleep in her room.
~~~~~
Erica gave Cora a side-hug before they got on the bus. It was just as well that David had texted he couldn't give her a ride to school. Cora wouldn't be riding with Brandon, so she wanted to go along on the bus and give her friend what moral support she could.
Cora was as somber as she'd anticipated. The girls didn't say much, but she did hold Erica's hand. Erica couldn't help noticing that people were looking at them and whispering. She wasn't sure if Cora picked up on it; she was in her own world.
As they were turning in to the school driveway, a little commotion started up front - people talking, pointing at something ahead. Erica craned her neck to see, but couldn't tell what was going on; they were sitting in the back half of the bus.
But then people started looking back again. Back at her.
No - they were staring at Cora. She definitely hadn't noticed them yet, lost in her thoughts.
Oh, Goddess, what now? Erica prayed in despair. Please, just a little mercy! Don't let Cora be hurt anymore, I'm begging you...
But then they stopped in front of the school, and it was crystal clear why everyone on the bus was looking at Cora, waiting for her reaction. Erica turned to watch, too.
That reaction was pure, dumbfounded surprise.
Brandon had on high-top sneakers, black pants, a white t-shirt, and a tan trench coat. He was holding a big antique boom box over his head. and it was cranked, loudly playing "In Your Eyes", by Peter Gabriel. That moment from the movie "Say Anything" had become a pop-culture riff; everyone knew what he was imitating.
People were giving him some space, but he was the center of attention, with at least five cell phones taking pictures and video. Everyone was looking. Everyone who wasn't on the bus with Cora, at least.
Cora just sat there, mouth slightly open, blinking stupidly. She stood up when Erica rose, pulling on her arm. The walk down the aisle to the door seemed to take forever.
The moment Cora stepped off the bus, Brandon put the boom box down. He immediately unbuttoned the coat and shrugged it off. Then he bent down and began to pull off his shoes.
Erica wasn't quite as focused on Brandon, so she noticed David appearing from around the 'Hillman High School' sign carrying a duffel bag. He gave her a quick smile, and then looked behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, and saw Jacinta and Gabriela carrying their own bundles.
By the time she turned back, David was yanking things out of the bag. First, a white shirt, formal and starched. Brandon smoothly slipped it on and worked on buttoning it as David extracted the next surprise, polished black men's shoes. Erica suddenly realized the black pants weren't just casual slacks, they had dark piping along the seam.
Cora was finally looking around, noticing people besides Brandon. "'Cinta? What..."
But Jacinta just held up a hand, forestalling conversation. She and Gabriela took up a place behind the boys, smiling like crazy.
David produced a tie and cummerbund from the package. Brandon worked the tie as David clipped on the cummerbund, so slick and coordinated they had to have practiced.
And, lastly, the jacket. Now Brandon was in a tux, and it had taken less than a minute. Jacinta pulled out a bouquet of roses, and flipped it underhand to Brandon. He nearly flubbed the catch, but got hold of the stems after one bounce between his hands.
He turned and dropped to one knee, facing Cora, holding out the flowers. Behind him, Gabriela and Jacinta unrolled a large, colorful banner. It had one word on it.
Which was, of course, "Prom?"
Erica had figured it out at least thirty seconds ago, but Cora's eyes were so wide she practically looked like an anime character. They were pinned on Brandon.
She opened her mouth, closed it and swallowed hard, opened it again, but didn't make a sound. Finally she just nodded, drops starting to appear at the corners of those too-wide eyes.
Brandon hopped to his feet with a big grin and swept her up in a hug. A few cheers arose from the onlookers. Jacinta and Gabriela exchanged a high-five, giggling.
David ambled over to Erica, admiring the two lovebirds as Cora whispered something to Brandon that she couldn't quite hear.
Erica couldn't make her glower as ferocious as she wanted; she was too happy. But she managed an accusing tone when she said to David, "You were in on this? And you didn't tell me?"
David summoned his cocky smile. "Security, babe. You weren't on the need-to-know list, and we couldn't risk you spilling something by accident." He gave her a little squeeze, and said, "You're not all that good at hiding your feelings, y'know."
Erica didn't argue. Being free to express her emotions was one of the perks of girlhood she'd come to treasure. She just shook her head for a moment as she looked at Cora. The girl appeared dazed... but happy. Goddess, thank you! Thank you! Erica prayed.
But she didn't think David should be allowed to get away clean. She gave him a sidelong smirk, and said, "I can't wait to see how you're gonna ask me to prom!"
That knocked the grin right off his face. His eyes got almost as big as Cora's. She had to laugh.
~~~~~
Cora backed in through the front door, waving goodbye to Brandon, just barely in time for dinner.
"So I hear something happened this morning?" Miranda drawled as the door closed. She and Erica were smiling.
Cora nodded, only slightly abashed. "Yeah. He asked me to Prom."
"I want to hear all about it. Over dinner." The ladies made it into the dining room.
Cora told the story, more animated than they'd seen in a long time. "He rented the tux for a whole day!" she marveled. "And he's probably gonna have to give up the deposit, 'cause he wore it all day. Even at lunch!"
"I don't think Brandon would care all that much," Erica said, compelled by honesty.
Miranda said, diffidently, "I assume this means the breakup is off, right?"
Cora blushed a little, but nodded.
"It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind," Miranda noted dryly.
Yet Cora wasn't amused; she suddenly was acting both troubled and resigned: "Whatever. Erica was right. I'm gonna have to be a girl for at least a couple years, right? I figure it'll take care of itself. If he won't quit me cold turkey, I'll just taper him off." She shrugged. "He'll get tired of me eventually. If we even make it past graduation, he'll go to a real school, and I'll just go to community college. We'll 'try' the long-distance thing and 'grow apart'." She shook her head sadly. "I'm too crazy. And I can't go all the way with him." She shuddered. "Can you imagine? I get pregnant, have a baby... and disappear, leaving him on the hook?" She spread her hands, despairing. "And Cory wouldn't have any legal way to have anything to do with the kid, either."
Erica was just as disturbed by the vision. But she had an unnerving hunch that Miranda's disturbed expression had some other cause.
Miranda's next words, changing the subject, somehow reinforced Erica's feeling. "Well, this is a lovely bonus for me, anyway." Cora looked her way, puzzled. Miranda clarified quickly. "I expected to be helping one girl get ready for prom. Now I get two! I assume you haven't yet picked out a dress?"
Cora obviously wasn't thinking about babies anymore. Her mouth hung open in entirely new horror.
Into the silence, Erica said, quietly, "David hasn't technically asked me yet..."
~~~~~
Shopping for Prom could have been much more painful than it turned out to be. Erica had thought back on that first shopping trip with Cora, months ago, however, and she'd had a brilliant idea...
"How about these?" Linda asked, holding up a pair of pumps.
"Maybe," Erica said, leaning in to examine the prospects.
Cora's eyes were already glazing over while they'd started looking in the first shoe store. When Miranda explained that today was only a scouting expedition, that they couldn't possibly buy shoes until a dress had been selected, she groaned out loud. With Linda present, however, she had to moderate her behavior and complaints to a large degree.
So when they moved on to dress shops, she plowed gamely on. "If I realized it was gonna take all this, I woulda told him 'no'!" Cora grumbled at one point. Yet she didn't stop looking at fabrics.
Erica had gone through the process once before, prepping herself and guiding Linda for Homecoming, so she knew what to expect and tried to steer Cora through some of the pitfalls.
On the ride back, the girls chattered away. "Paul was so cute when he asked me," Linda said. "He didn't do a big production like Brandon or anything, But he did dress up and take me out to dinner."
"That's what David did, too," Erica said. "Said he didn't want to make it a competition." She grinned. "I bet he just couldn't think of anything."
"Maybe try breaking up with a guy first," Cora suggested, deadpan. "Gets them all turnt."
Everybody laughed. When that settled down, Linda asked Erica, "When did Haylie get her hair cut?"
"'Bout a week and a half back," she said. "She's still getting used to it."
Linda nodded. "Looks good on her."
"Yes, it does," Miranda sighed.
Erica agreed. She still wondered why it seemed to bother her Mom some. And wondered if Eric would have been sensitive enough to notice.
"I just wish I knew what I could wear," Linda was now lamenting. "You guys are gonna look awesome no matter what, but I'm gonna look like a whale."
"Oh, please, you looked totes adorbs at Homecoming!" Erica said, amused. "And you're even thinner now!"
"Oh, please, yourself," Linda sulked. "What do I got to match either of you two?"
"Boobs," Cora said, without hesitation.
Erica laughed. "Got us both beat there."
Linda couldn't dispute that.
~~~~~
Cora broke off the kiss, gently, and leaned her head on Brandon's shoulder. They were on a bench in the park, middle of the day. Just some basic PDA.
He still wasn't totally clear on why she'd tried to dump him. Maybe she'd just been testing him, wanting him to prove he really did want her. At this point, though, he was quite sure it was behind them. The last few days she just seemed... more relaxed. Less guarded.
Case in point; she snuggled up against his flank and sighed, sounding remarkably content. "I've been thinking."
"Yeah?" He settled his arm around her, holding her close.
"That thing Mrs. Ellsworth said. About my name."
He tried to remember. "Yeah?" he repeated, feeling behind the curve again.
"I think I'm gonna go by 'Jewel' now." She turned her head to look up in his face. "You okay dating a 'Jewel'?"
He hesitated only a second. "Hey, you're precious to me."
She groaned, but smiled a little anyway. She even gave him another kiss. Apparently that was an acceptable response.
Don't think I'll ever get her figured out, Brandon thought. But at least most of her surprises are good ones.
"Did you call about the limo yet?"
"Uh... not yet." Yeah - most of her surprises. She hadn't said anything about it before he'd asked, but since then she'd been very invested in Prom - almost obsessively so. He'd never got the idea that she cared about that stuff.
~~~~~
'Jewel' notified the Jardins of her decision at dinner that night. Of course they'd all gone along with it, despite their natural surprise.
And of course they'd arranged a Cora Conference that night.
Erica had never seen the Sisters at such a loss. There was complete silence for many seconds after she and her Mom finished their report.
She couldn't stand it. "So is it good news or bad news or what?"
Jacqui had been nibbling her lower lip. "'Or what', I think. Probably?"
Bronwyn was nodding slowly. "It sounds like she's embracing a more feminine self-image. But..."
Laurie, with a worried frown, completed the thought. "But it's more of a break from herself as she used to be, as Cory."
"Is that... bad?" Erica asked softly, turning a glance at her Mother.
Miranda looked concerned, too. "Sisters pick names for their boys with feminine equivalents." A trace of humor curled her mouth a touch. "Or usually, the other way around. I always liked the name Erica, so..."
The worry was contagious. Erica put her hand over her Mom's, as much for her own comfort as for Miranda. "I like Erica, too."
The Sisters all laughed softly, briefly. It helped.
Laurie spoke. "It's a pretty name. But..." She paused, marshaling thoughts. Her smile faded. "But the idea is to... make a link to the past. A female version of the name they grew up with. The same in a lot of ways, just a new gender."
Erica pondered for a moment what it would have been like if she had suddenly had to answer to Susan or Britney or something. It would have made the Transition that much harder. Especially those rough early days. Like nothing was left of who she'd been.
"I guess." She looked up at the screen, the witches looking back. "But, like, it's her choice here, right? To be 'Jewel'?"
The senior Sisters paused again. "Some Sisters do change their names like that," Jacqui admitted. "Only after they decide to stay as girls, though. Kind of a, a declaration of a whole new identity, y'know?"
Bronwyn's jaw looked tight. "Cora... or Jewel... there's already a serious dissociation between her now and Cory, her old self." She sighed heavily. "It could make going back that much harder. Normally that's no problem. Just the reverse. In her case, though..."
Erica tried to picture her friend ultimately staying as a girl. Even with all the changes Cora/Jewel had undergone, she couldn't quite do it. And when she imagined her changing back...
It was going to be hard. So hard. Because of all the changes she'd gone through, even if being male was what she really wanted. And what Mr. and Mrs. Ellsworth - and the Sisterhood - needed.
Then something else struck Erica, and the distress must have shown on her face, because Laurie and her Mother asked, almost simultaneously, what was wrong.
"We're gonna have to disappear after Cory comes back. You said so. But that means Cory's gonna have to face that reverse Transition alone. With no one she... he can even talk about it with. Oh, Goddess!"
From the expressions she saw, it wasn't a totally unanticipated problem. Jacqui didn't look too hopeful when she said, "Maybe we can do some kinda encrypted chat. Sometimes."
Bronwyn waved her hand. "Right now I'm more worried about dealing with the problems we already have."
"And is this name change a problem?" Miranda asked, being practical.
Bronwyn looked unusually uncertain. Laurie spoke up. "We can't know yet. And I don't think we could forbid it without causing worse problems." She shrugged and said, "I'm going to pray that it's a hopeful sign."
"It's one less security headache, at least. One less reminder of Cory," Jacqui noted philosophically.
~~~~~
The lunch conversation was in full swing. Both conversations, actually.
The girls had gotten onto Prom, and the boys had very quickly found other things to talk about among themselves. Erica suspected Cora... Jewel might have joined them if she'd been sitting a little closer, but she was on the other side of Erica.
Still, she held her own. "I found a clutch that'll go with my dress, so I don't have to use Brandon's pockets to carry everything."
"I'll probably hafta carry a bag," Gabriela sighed.
"Just leave it in the limo," Jacinta said. Like Homecoming, the group had gone in together on transportation for the evening.
"Well, duh."
Kristina hadn't said much. Now she spoke up. "I was always gonna wear a long, cream double-faced gown to Prom." Her face was guarded. "Been thinking 'bout it since the fifth grade. Saw my neighbor heading out to prom in one."
"You still could go stag, hang with us," Erica said. "It'd sure piss Prina off." Jimmy had asked the usurper to Prom.
Kristina waved the idea away. "Can't dance all swelled up like this. Especially my feet. Without a boy, why bother?"
None of the girls quite knew what to say to that. Finally Jacinta reached out and took Kristina's hand. "I'm sorry Jimmy turned out to be such an asshole."
Kristina said "Hmpf," with a trace of smile. She looked over to another corner of the cafeteria, at another girl, though. "Fuck him. I do miss Skylar, though."
Jewel said, "Fuck her, too. She was your friend."
Kristina shook her head sadly. "I don't hate her. I understand why. We were both poor. She's all set on going to college and making it. Making it out." She shrugged. "She doesn't even wanna think about getting preggers. Not 'til she's, like, got an executive suite or something."
"You can do that, too," Erica said, encouraging.
Kristina's sardonic, jaded expression spoke volumes. "Gonna take me a leetle longer, though."
That was hard to deny. Erica just said, "You'll make it. We'll all help."
~~~~~
Erica turned the knob, pushed in the door to Cora's... Jewel's room, and was momentarily stunned. Music was playing, cranked up, but the spell had concealed that until the door was opened. Erica rushed in and slammed it behind her, hoping the noise hadn't disturbed her Mom or Haylie. It was nighttime, and they were getting ready for bed.
The view was only a little less stunning. Jewel was dancing, in heels and a longish skirt. And no top. She was watching some kind of dance-instruction YouTube video, following along with the moves.
"I like the red dress better!" she called out over the music. Jewel whirled and shrieked, then smiled sheepishly as she paused the video.
She didn't seem too abashed. "I just don't wanna be, like, embarrassing when we dance. I can walk in heels, but dancing's a whole 'nother level, y'know?"
"Yeah, girls can be kinda bitchy about stuff like that."
But Jewel shrugged. "I could give a fuck." She said it with a flat finality that convinced Erica she meant it. Then her eyes took on a soft and distant look. "It's Brandon I care about. He went to all this trouble. For me." She focused on Erica. "I'm gonna make sure he has a good time. The best."
Erica leaned in for a quick hug. "Well, you looked good." When she pulled back, she grinned and said, "But I still think the red dress'll work better."
Jewel looked down at her bare chest ruefully. "Hey, he likes looking at my boobs. What there is of 'em, anyway." She returned Erica's grin. "But that's for after. He'll just hafta wait."
"You still sure about after?"
The girls had a plan. While staying out overnight was still out of the question, they'd extracted a very late curfew from Miranda by exceptional begging. Then they'd reserved two hotel rooms. The plan was to surprise their beaus with some private time before they had to go home.
"Yeah. Can't wait. Be nice to have a bed instead of a frickin' car seat." Then she walked over to her nightstand and rummaged in a lower drawer. The one Erica knew was special. "And I got an idea about 'after'."
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
Jewel pulled out the strap-on she'd ordered off the net two months ago, the one she'd nicknamed the Jolly Roger. Both of them had been 'Rogered' with some regularity since.
Jewel had a very somber expression as she turned to Erica. "I need your help," she said, softly. "I wanna try anal."
Erica was serious now, too. They hadn't done much butt play. Fingers a couple times, beads once. It wasn't a huge turn-on for either of them. "Are you sure?" she asked softly.
"No," Jewel said, then immediately shook her head. "I mean yeah, about trying. Gabriela's done it." She shrugged. "I dunno if I can do it for real, though. With him. That's why I wanna try now."
Erica bit her lip. "You mean... right now?"
"Yeah," Jewel said. She took a little breath. "I wanna do something special for him. Something we haven't done before. And I need to know if I can do this. 'Cause if not, I gotta start thinking about maybe bondage or something."
Erica squared her shoulders and said, "Okay." She pulled her t-shirt over her head.
Jewel snorted and said, "You don't gotta sound like you're getting executed." But she'd already ditched her shoes and was sliding off her skirt.
There was always an element of foreplay in donning a strapon. It had a specific purpose, after all. If someone helped you, it was even more erotic.
Nervousness tended to dampen the amorous feelings of most girls. Sisters weren't entirely typical girls, though, especially when it came to amorous pursuits. Plenty of birth-girls shared their tastes, of course, but the Transformed did tend to cluster at one end of the spectrum.
So while Erica was a little apprehensive, she was also pretty wet by the time they'd gotten on top of the bed. Not as wet as the unit itself - Jewel was quite liberal with the lube - but aroused.
Jewel settled onto hands and knees, and looked over her shoulder at Erica. "I'm, uh... clear back there, if you know what I mean," she muttered.
Erica scooted forward on her knees, positioning herself. It was hardly an unfamiliar view of her friend, but the situation made it somehow new.
Using hands and hips, she lined up, tip touching the target. Jewel looked forward. Erica rocked her pelvis forward, gingerly, and entered an inch.
"It's okay," Jewel said, though her voice was tense. "Keep going."
She did, a few more inches. Then back, then forth, still careful. Jewel was breathing deeply, but didn't object. In fact, she said, "You can go a little harder."
Over the course of the next few minutes, they experimented. Jewel determined acceptable angles and depths and rhythms - and a handful of unacceptable ones. Although it wasn't dispassionate experimentation, neither of them came.
Eric would have worried about that, but Erica had learned that females could genuinely enjoy a sexual escapade without necessarily requiring an orgasm. Climaxes were welcome - of course - but tended to require more time and effort for females than males. Besides, female parts didn't get aches from unfinished excitement the same way.
Eventually, Jewel was satisfied with the data they'd generated, and they disengaged with caution. Erica paused as Jewel gingerly turned and experimentally sat on the bed. After a moment, she said, "Well, it wasn't bad. Just kinda... weird."
"I don't think you need to do anything extra special for Brandon, y'know," Erica said as she worked on undoing the straps.
"Yeah, I know." Jewel shrugged. "I want to."
Erica divested herself of the instrument. She licked her lips. Jewel's mouth quirked, and she laid back invitingly. Erica moved in for a kiss.
Eventually, they both managed to come.
~~~~~
Erica ran a dark pencil along the edge of her eyelid, moving toward her nose. Then, easing back the other way, she smeared it out. Laying it back on the dresser, she picked up a grey pencil and carefully worked it on the rest of the lids. Finally, she applied mascara, not even noticing how confidently she went about it.
She inserted the brush back into the bottle, and evaluated her eyes. Just what she was aiming for - smoky, mysterious. David wouldn't stand a chance. The other girls would be impressed, too. She watched in the mirror as Jewel put on some lipstick. They had gotten home from the salon with barely enough time to get dressed and put on their faces. Manis, pedis, and hair took time to do right. "Your girls are looking good," she remarked.
Jewel gave her cleavage a glance. "Push-up bra is almost as good as a Glamour," she said, not without some satisfaction. She regarded them both in the mirror, then put an arm around Erica's shoulder - or at least a hand, she had to reach up - and said, "Better than mortal man deserves."
Erica snorted. Not many girls would make - or catch - a Terminator reference like that. Then she checked her phone laying on the counter. "Omigod, it's almost time!" The pair set to completing their makeup with wordless efficiency. Erica finished right when Linda came in, and she moved aside so her friend could take her place in front of the mirror.
Again the Jardin women had had to pressure Linda's father for a proper clothing-and-makeup budget. They hadn't quite had to resort to Suggestion, but Miranda was glad there were no more major upcoming Events beyond graduation. Linda had come early in the morning to start getting ready.
The doorbell rang. "Ooh, they're here!" Jewel called, and dashed to the door, barely slowed anymore by heels. Erica heard the cries of Jacinta and Gabriela.
Erica followed more sedately. Jewel's friends had arrived in the limo with their dates. She took a moment to examine the sartorial choices displayed.
Both Jewel and Erica had curves, but it was undeniable that Erica's were more pronounced. So the dresses they had settled on were different.
Jewel's upper bodice was decorated with ruffles, to enhance her bust, and the hips sported a peplum that helped them appear broader. Erica's dress was simpler and smoother, outlining her figure without elaborating on it.
Both dresses had pronounced décolletage, though Erica's was asymmetric, her right shoulder covered and left exposed. Jewel would likely have gone strapless if not for her decision to employ breast-enhancing undergarments. She'd settled for a sleeveless outer garment, though she wore evening gloves.
Linda's fuller figure called for a different approach still. A halter dress, with an empire waist and a narrow pleated ruching along the center line, helped to lengthen her frame.
And yet, to any girl's eye it was obvious they had coordinated somewhat. All three dresses were in the red color family, though of course different shades to complement their different natural coloring. The base satin fabrics were nearly identical. And each girl sported very similar strappy heels.
They looked good individually, and standing together formed a definite theme. Nor was that the only coordination that had gone on. Jewel's hairdo involved gentle curls and a few ribbons - and bore a marked resemblance to that of Jacinta and Gabriela. As did the shared choice of evening gloves, though the two Hispanic girls had gone for peach coloring for their ensembles.
And the boys won't even notice, Erica thought ruefully. All they know is their cummerbund matches the girl's dress.
David arrived within a few minutes, looking quite yummy. It was strangely moving when he offered her the corsage. As a boy, she'd - he'd - found the idea funny. Giving a girl a plant's sex organs, how symbolic could you get? Now, though, even though she understood the semantics, she appreciated the gesture.
Brandon was the last to show, though not by much. Jewel seemed just as touched as she helped him pin an orchid on her dress.
Pictures galore were taken, of course. The girls together, the boys together, selfies, couples, the whole group. Entire albums posted before they got into the limo.
Which cast a faint shadow on Erica's mood as she peeked at her phone. Kristina had 'liked' a bunch of the images. Erica wished she would have come. Like Homecoming night, she was having a sleepover with Renée. And little Lucy.
Dinner reservations were at a nice place, of course. Although it wasn't their first preference; other Promgoers had been faster and filled up the best choice. (Both she and Jewel had debated asking Jacqui to Magically shuffle some reservations, but neither had quite dared.)
Jewel and Brandon sat at a table with Jacinta, Gabriela, and their dates. Erica and David had a table with Linda and Paul.
Again Erica was struck by how easily David put people at ease, drew them out. Despite the fact that Paul usually wasn't very talkative (one of the few things Linda acknowledged annoyed her about him) he managed to draw Paul into an extended telling of tales about marching band. Stories of his biggest mistakes brought up Erica's own public, Carrie-engineered fail. She could laugh with them at it now, and David - who'd talked with Harry plenty of times - admitted he was surprised that Carrie had done such a thing. Of course, the girl had changed a lot since then, for the better. Erica was pleased when she reflected on that.
Her weird little feeling came back, though. The one she'd started calling - to herself - 'female intuition'. Something was coming into focus. People trusted David - like Paul. Even if they'd just met him. Even if they had no real reason to. Erica felt she did have reason to trust him - over the past months he'd proven to be an attentive and reliable boyfriend. And yet... and yet. That feeling of danger had never quite vanished...
It colored her mood for a while. David seemed to sense it, and - though apparently puzzled - worked to cheer her up. He succeeded, though not until the end of the meal did she recover all her former good spirits. The intuition was still too diffuse to make any decisions on, anyway.
Before leaving for the Prom proper, the girls repaired to the ladies room to make whatever repairs to their appearance were necessary. Linda pursed her lips and checked her lipstick. "The steak was really good."
Jewel grinned as she smoothed a little blush on one cheek. "I like the spaghetti carbonara here better. But no way was I taking that chance." Erica nodded in understanding. Steak could be cut into small, controllable pieces. Noodles and sauce were a far greater threat to clothes and makeup. None of the girls had suffered any clothing damage, thankfully. So they went out to meet their waiting beaus and head to the banquet hall.
They arrived at the hall entrance in at least as much style as the other students. Well, except for Carrie, Harry, and her crew, who had sprung for the Humvee limo. Erica suppressed various snarky thoughts about Carrie and hummers and let it go. She swept into the banquet hall with her friends and began the rounds. As a girl, Prom wasn't just a place to go and dance. Seeing, and being seen, was a duty, not an option. Erica made sure to head over to check in with Trahn and the rest. After the most essential interactions, they let their boys go off to fetch drinks and called on other necessary stops.
Before long, the music started, and dancing commenced in earnest. The DJ was pretty good, mixing in just a few old standards with the contemporary stuff. It was a blast. During a slow dance, with the attention she could spare from David's smiling face and firm lead, she checked on Jewel.
The tiny little brunette and Brandon danced together. Brandon's smile reminded her of David's; one might almost call it 'loving'. And Jewel, head tilted up to look in his eyes...
If Linda had looked at Paul like that, Erica would have been purely happy for her. On Jewel's face, that radiant smile provoked decidedly mixed emotions. Because if Jewel fell in love with Brandon - really in love - the potential complications didn't bear thinking about.
For that matter, she suspected her own smile was a little radiant, too. She hadn't entirely decided to stay a girl; right after Cory's Transformation, she'd almost decided not. But she'd been steadily warming up to the idea again. What was she going to do about David?
Well, for now, I'm just gonna dance with him, she decided. So she did.
Trahn and Shianti and Melanie found her a bit later and gathered her up. The cheerleaders took over a big chunk of the dance floor for a group picture. And held onto it for a while after, using it for its intended purpose.
The whole night was a delight. Even the end, as they were leaving, had its charms.
The girls and Brandon stood at the door, waiting for David to summon a ride. Jimmy and his crew, along with their girls, came by. Prina glanced and them and scoffed. Friends of Kristina were her enemies. Jimmy noticed and caught Brandon's attention. Then he nodded at Jewel. "Hey, man, have fun tonight! She's got a nice bod!" There were general snickers. One guy took up Jewel's pose in the picture Danielle took.
Brandon stood straighter - but Jewel just looked right in the eyes of Jimmy's date, and said, sweetly, "I'm so sorry, Prina."
"For what?" she spat.
Jewel was sympathy incarnate. "Even on a special night like this, Jimmy's thinking about me instead of you."
Erica could not help feeling schadenfreude at Prina's expression. For a moment, the girl looked like she'd been knifed in the belly. And Jimmy was suddenly, thoroughly discomfited. He started to say something - but Prina, evidently deciding to cut their losses, just shook her head and led their group away.
~~~~~
David had let himself enjoy Prom. The less acting required, the better, right? Except when he got near Jewel. Then he had to stay deliberately casual. In the Uber on the way to the hotel, at least he had Erica between them.
It was creepy to contemplate. Cory had been a very definite male, and certainly the alpha of at least his social circle. Subtle investigation - by the Brotherhood, not just David himself - had turned up zero hints of prior homosexuality, or cross-dressing, or anything of that nature. Yet 'Jewel'...
Even when he'd first arrived on the scene, David had found it hard to think of Jewel - well, 'Cora', then - as a Transformed boy. He would have bought her as lesbian, definitely as a tomboy... but not a male playing a part. Now, as 'Jewel'... she was quite enthusiastic about getting physical with Brandon. He was nearly certain he could have seen through an act anyway, but he had Magical empathic resources, too. Not that he had to be particularly sensitive to pick up that signal. Especially right now, the way she was looking at Brandon...
David wondered - if he'd been Transformed, would he have succumbed the same way? Of course, he'd already determined the Sisterhood's Magic was powerful and thorough. In many senses, it was as if the subjects were re-born as girls. Philosophy, again. If he'd been born a girl - difficult as that was to imagine - 'Davina' or whatever most likely wouldn't have been a lesbian. Could he blame, say, Linda, for kissing Paul the way she had when they left the Prom?
In fact, in what sense could he say that Jewel - or Erica - weren't actually girls? Surely there had to be one. His whole mission hinged on it, right? But it was getting very difficult indeed to find it.
~~~~~
Brandon watched the girls hug in the hallway. "See ya later!" Erica said. David didn't hug him, of course, but gave him a sort of nod and grin. Then Brandon went with Jewel to their room and opened the door for her.
As he closed the door, he consciously worked to manage his own expectations. They'd never been alone with a bed and a couple hours to themselves. He warned himself, yet again, not to anticipate - and especially not to push for - anything more than they'd already done.
He didn't even really have a problem with that. It wasn't like Jewel owed him anything, and she was pretty fucking good at what she was willing to do. It was just hormones talking. Jewel had no idea how sexy she could be.
Like right now, setting her strapless purse thing down and looking back at him with those half-lidded eyes. She unzipped the bag and rummaged around in it for a second.
"I got a little something for you. For us." She pulled out a tube of... toothpaste? She held it up, and he saw it was lube. And then some condoms.
His confusion must have been obvious. She smiled, and said, gently, "Let's try a little back-door action."
He felt like his brain had locked up. He'd never have bet on her saying that in a million years. And so fast. Just walk in, and bam, she was proposing anal. He just stared, feeling the stupid look on his own face but not able to do anything about it. His internal sarcasm module commented, Oh, yeah, she's a total rug-muncher.
She looked puzzled, and maybe just starting to get worried. He forced himself to talk. Or, at least, gabble. "I... uh, whoa, that's... I mean, it's, like, whoa! But you don't have to... I mean, if you haven't... Have you? Oh, jeez, not that I care! But if, you're, like..."
She started to talk fast, too. "If you don't want to, it's okay, I just..."
He put both hands up; she stopped. "I'm, um, I'm down with it. But only if you really, like... I mean, if you're, I dunno, like... saving yourself or something..."
Jewel had been looking more and more bemused, but at that she burst into peals of laughter. He shut up again.
She got control of herself, enough to talk. But she was still fighting off giggles. "I don't care about being a virgin." She paused there, mouth open, then seemed to reconsider whatever she'd been about to say. She shook her head, then said, looking him right in the eye, "I want this. I want to be with you." She only half-stifled another laugh. "Seriously, even I can't believe how much."
She stepped closer, still holding his eyes with hers, now just a little more somber. "It's just, I can't get pregnant. I can't take any chances. Birth control doesn't work so great with my family." She was right in front of him, now, and put a hand on his chest. He was looking down into those adorable eyes. "So if this is the only way I can have you inside me, I'll take it."
He licked his lips. "Okay." He took a deep breath, and put all the confidence he could muster into a smile. He'd never done anal either. "But first..."
He took her in his arms, and kissed her. His dick was about four steps ahead already, but he was not going to rush this. So it took several minutes for them to gradually get their clothes off and get onto the bed. She kept her heels and stockings on; he'd admitted once that he liked the way her legs looked in tights.
She reached for his prick, but he blocked her hand. Then he guided her onto her back and began to play with her nipples. He'd discovered they were quite sensitive; his fingers and tongue could induce the most entertaining wriggles and squeaks. He couldn't be certain, but he thought he'd maybe actually got her to come like that, once.
After a while, he got his face between her legs.
It had been mortifying, excruciatingly uncomfortable at the time, but now he was grudgingly glad his bachelor uncle had drunkenly taken him aside once at a party and given him... tips. Not specific ones, just general guidelines. "You're not gonna have any trouble finishing. She might. So make it a rule. Her first, whatever it takes."
So he'd payed attention to Jewel, these past weeks, and he was pretty sure he got her to finish twice before he relented. She still wasn't a screamer, but he'd come to cherish the small moans and gasps she did make. The whole time he was hard, anticipation lurking in the back of his mind.
He got up on his knees, and Jewel slithered around and took a few moments to apply her own oral skills. He had slightly mixed emotions when she stopped and looked up at him. It wasn't like a blowjob was unpleasant, especially not the way she did it - and here they had space to spread out so he could look at her body. And he was a little worried he would hurt her. He was inexperienced in this mode. Not that he'd racked up a huge score in the standard one, of course...
Jewel, though, seemed unafraid as she applied a condom and plentiful lubrication to his cock. And he couldn't pick up any hesitation as she positioned herself on the bed, legs spread, rear facing him, tilted up just a bit. Looking back over her shoulder at him. With those stockings and shoes, it was almost like a porn shot.
She trusted him. He wasn't sure he deserved it, but he'd fucking well do his best not to let her down.
He advanced on his knees, got himself lined up. Still not quite believing this was really happening. Slowly, he pushed in. Her eyes closed as her head turned away.
He was so hard, and it was so tight. He was grateful for the condom; if it hadn't been there he'd probably have already gone off.
"Uhhhhhh..." she moaned. He froze. "No! Don't stop!" She took a breath and said, almost wonderingly, "It's good..."
He started moving back and forth. Gently, gently. Jewel moved her hips a little, but she wasn't pulling away. After a few seconds, Jewel lowered herself onto one elbow, and reached back for her crotch with the other hand.
It didn't take too long for him to come. He wasn't trying to last, scared he might do damage if he kept going. He even pulled out carefully.
She was breathing hard, too. Maybe she'd come, maybe she hadn't. Either way she didn't act unhappy. She made him lay on his back and she personally got the condom off and thrown out. She told him not to get up. Then she walked over to the bathroom - quite a sight in the stockings and heels - came back with a wet washcloth, and cleaned his unit and her hands.
After, they curled up together. Another new thing, being basically naked together. "Mmmmm. Nice," she said, after some cuddling.
He sighed. "Like a dream. But I never dreamed us doing that."
Jewel squinted at him. "I'm in your dreams, huh?"
He snorted a little. Could she doubt it? "Sure I dream about you."
It seemed that actually bothered her. She looked suspicious. In fact, she actually looked almost mad.
He spoke up, nervous. "I didn't mean, like... Nothing sicko, honest!" He shrugged. "Actually, they're more like... romantic."
Somehow, she seemed even angrier. "Romantic, huh?" She had a full-on scowl now. But she wasn't looking at him. She was pissed at something, but he didn't think it was him anymore.
Totally confused, he floundered. "I can't control what I dream!"
At that, her eyes focused on him. "No, you can't," she said. He couldn't be sure, but he thought maybe she'd emphasized that 'you'. Was she a lucid dreamer or something? In any case, she smiled now, and moved closer.
She gave him a long, slow kiss. And to his surprise, he felt her hand on his dick, stroking gently.
She pulled back, a quite feline expression curving up her lips and lowering her eyelids. "So I'll just have to do better than your dreams." She pushed him onto his back and wriggled down the bed.
He wasn't sure how much she knew about male equipment. Especially the whole recovery period deal. When she started nuzzling his balls, though, she didn't seem to be in a hurry.
In fact, she took quite a while getting him into her mouth. Plenty of time to get stiff. Even then, she teased him some, slow and gentle.
Yet to his surprise, she didn't finish him off. Instead she got up and looked in his eyes. Never breaking her gaze, she threw a leg over his waist and straddled him.
For just a second he thought she was going to do it. Put his dick inside her pussy. Then a second later there was pressure, and wetness, but...
He finally understood what she was doing - rubbing her slit, her clit, on his prick. She must have been dripping; everything was slippery down there.
Only his shaft was getting friction. Her hips weren't going far enough forward to cover the head. Yet somehow it was enough. He loved her hips and waist, their shape, and seeing them in motion like that, legs spread wide - in stockings no less - was dead sexy.
Besides, something more than just her appearance was going on. Her eyes drilled into his, concentrated, nearly urgent. The little hitches and gasps she made - she never moaned wildly, like in pornos - announced how turned on she was. He could tell - she wanted him inside her. She really did, she meant what she'd just said. This was as close as she could get, for now.
And if she wanted that... wanted it that much... it wasn't just a physical thing. She had issues about being with boys. For whatever reason. She wouldn't get so... invested in a guy just for his looks. It might be love.
Real love. Not just high-school love.
That was scary. Some sober and realistic part of him knew he wasn't a man yet. Getting there, but not yet. What if he fucked this up? Did he even want in on something this heavy?
Watching her move, panting, staring at his face, he thought maybe he did. And then her eyes closed, her back arched, and she let out a moan. Soft, but a veritable moan.
She was coming. And suddenly, so was he.
~~~~~
It was David's duty to make Erica happy, for now. But it was disturbing how easy his duty was becoming. His emotions were mixed, as he and Erica moved into a 69.
There was embarrassment. No, call it what it was - shame. And there was lust. And the shame was there because there was so much lust. It shouldn't be this easy for her to turn him on.
There was nothing the least bit wrong about the pussy he was licking. Tasted great. And the little squeaks she made when he pressed his tongue like... so... were very cute. Plus, she'd gotten even better at blowjobs, and she'd started from 'damn good'. On every instinctive level - not just physical, but sensual and behavioral - Erica was a sexual delight.
But shouldn't his intellect have more power over his instincts? By the Dark One, Erica was a boy! Yet he really wanted to get his dick inside her... him.
It was getting harder and harder to distinguish duty from desire anymore.
~~~~~
Miranda smiled happily as she peeked out the front window. It was just a minute shy of 2 a.m. The girls were kissing their beaus goodbye with the appropriate and heartening mixture of enthusiasm and regret.
Finally they came to the door, and waved one last time as Miranda let them in.
"Well, you two look happy," she said.
"Oh, Mom, it was epic!" Erica gushed.
"We need to talk about something," Jewel said, somberly, erstwhile smug grin fading.
Miranda had seen the whole spectrum of Jewel's displeasure, from mild annoyance to berserk fury. This was irritation and some anger, but not rage. Yet.
Steeling herself, she said, as neutrally as possible, "What's the problem?"
Jewel looked determined. "Have you Sisters been mucking with Brandon's mind?"
Oh. Oh dear. "We've kept him under surveillance, certainly. You can't deny there are security concerns."
Jewel waved that off, grudgingly. "Spying is one thing. Have you planted stuff?"
Erica had been glancing nervously between her Mother and her Sister. Jewel gave her a sidelong glance and sniffed. Erica flushed; Jewel obviously had deduced her knowledge of the spying on Brandon.
Miranda spoke carefully. "I haven't..."
Jewel was not to be evaded. She didn't let Miranda finish. "What about the others? Jacqui, anybody?" She squinted. "Some dreams, say?"
No sense lying. Jewel's trust was strained as it was. Miranda wouldn't have chosen to have this conversation in the middle of the night, especially this night, but... "I believe the senior Sisters have sent an occasional dream, yes." She braced herself for an outburst.
It didn't come. In an angry but surprisingly controlled tone, Jewel asked, "How about Suggestions?"
Miranda was firm. "That, no. I would have been told."
Jewel's head tilted to the side, gauging. She apparently decided to accept Miranda's word. Still, she seemed tense, annoyed. "And they said they wouldn't help me get him."
Miranda shook her head. "I am reliably informed they didn't send anything until after you and Brandon were together. That was all you." She shrugged gently. "At that point they wanted to, um... encourage him to be... patient with you."
Jewel frowned, and Miranda braced herself for the explosion. It was already overdue.
But when Jewel spoke, she merely sounded irritated. And while her voice was intense, she didn't shout. "Well, tell them to leave his brain alone from now on. He hasn't done anything to deserve that." Her frown acquired some sorrow. "And I lined him up for it..." For once, Jewel's anger seemed partly directed at herself.
Miranda said, gently, "I will. But I do recall Bronwyn saying she didn't have to do much."
Jewel actually managed a grin, if a very wry one. "Well, there's that, I guess." Her smile grew much more sunny as her eyes went vague. "He's a really good guy. Always was, even before this whole... mess."
After a pause, Miranda decided to be diplomatic. "Well, I'm sure everyone's tired, so perhaps we should all get some sleep. I look forward to hearing all about your big night... in the morning."
The girls readily agreed, and they all went up to their beds in reasonably good humor. Miranda shook her head as she laid down, wondering if she'd ever be able to predict Jewel's reactions.
~~~~~
Of course Miranda didn't get - or want - to hear all about their night, but the girls were extensively debriefed on the family-friendly parts, with Haylie's rapt participation.
Fashion, social interactions, decorations, food and drink - all were covered in detail. Jewel was perhaps not as voluble as Erica, but neither did she stint in her reporting.
Finally even Haylie was satisfied. She wandered off, clearly entertaining visions of her own future.
Erica stood up, gathering dishes and silverware from the breakfast she'd finished over an hour ago. "I gotta call Kristina, now I can think about something besides Prom," she said. "I kinda feel bad about her missing both Homecoming and Prom. So I'm gonna make sure she gets the best baby shower ever."
"Have fun with that," Jewel said, almost visibly washing her hands of the subject as she picked up her own place setting.
"Oh, you'll be helping," Miranda said, firmly and pointedly.
Jewel looked shocked. "What?! She's not even my friend, really..."
"I think it's best for your Transition." She gave Jewel a piercing glance. "Do you imagine the topic of babies isn't a central facet of womanhood?"
"Hey, I ain't gonna be getting knocked up! I'm being super careful!"
Erica started to speak up, probably to come to Kristina's defense, but Miranda waved her down.
"No one's insisting you get pregnant," she replied, mentally crossing her fingers. It was technically true. Pregnancy was just the only way she'd ever become male again. "But you need to at least get comfortable with the subject of babies." Jewel started to say something, but Miranda spoke over her. "Every girl gets a monthly reminder of the topic, at the very minimum. Boys can ignore it a little more easily."
Jewel couldn't meet her eyes. "Ain't gonna change my mind," she muttered. It was a capitulation, and everyone knew it.
"Then at least your rejection will be much better informed," Miranda said tartly.
~~~~~
Erica and Jewel didn't get a chance to debrief on the sexy stuff until that night. They had changed into short pajamas and they were sitting on Erica's bed, talking. Erica had already described her tryst with David in deservedly glowing terms, and Jewel was going over her exploits.
"I was scared I wouldn't be able to sit down today. I was only a little sore this morning, though." She waved a hand. "Felt worse after period constipation, actually."
Erica nodded. A woman's cycle could upset her whole system. Especially Jewel's. "But how did it feel?"
"It was like... I dunno." She thought for a second, laying down on her elbow. "Usually, getting with him is like... Well, not like being a boy again, but like... having access to a boy's, a boy's power again."
Erica squinted, and said, "Okay, I'm not following."
Jewel blew some hair out of her face and frowned, searching for words. "When you're a girl, right up against a guy, sometimes you really get a feeling of how much bigger and stronger he is. I mean, Brandon's gotta weigh twice what I do. And he ain't fat." She looked in Erica's eyes. "Know what I mean? It's the same with you and David."
"Yeaahh..." Erica said slowly, cautiously. She wasn't as small as Jewel, but Brandon was a distance runner, much more wiry than David.
"Sometimes, when we're really going at it... it's like, there's all this power, and I'm kinda in control of it. He does what I want. Even when he's the one doing something, usually he's trying to make me feel good, he's focused on me, y'know?" At Erica's nod, she went on, smiling impishly. "Maybe that's why girls like horses so much. Something big and strong, but takes orders."
Erica snorted and half-smiled. Conceding understanding if not necessarily agreement.
"And I like that feeling of being in charge. Making him cum." She shrugged. "Cory always dug pushing a girl over the edge." She smiled. "Though now I wonder if maybe a couple of 'em faked it just to get him to stop."
Erica had to smile at that, too. Eric had been so ignorant.
"So that's not so different." She shifted her weight and got an abstracted expression. "But last night... with him in my ass... it was like I wasn't in control at all. Like, he was on the edge and... all that muscle... He coulda just... took what he wanted, and I couldn'ta stopped it."
Erica, slightly alarmed, started to say, "You don't think he..." But Jewel was shaking her head.
"No, I don't think he'd do that for real! He's not a dick. He wasn't even pushing that hard." Jewel's face had developed a little blush. "But I... almost wished he would. Just go crazy on me." Softly: "Not rape. Just... wild. Out of control."
Erica had noticed Jewel's nipples perking up while she'd spoken. She had seen her get wet plenty of times before and knew the signs. In truth, she understood the feeling. Sometimes when David got really excited...
Jewel was still speaking very softly. "I wanted him to make me cum. I wanted him to... take me."
After a beat, Erica said, "Okay, that I understand."
Jewel remained silent for a few moments, then said, "Cory's all..." - she sprouted a wicked smile - "...butthurt about it. Says I'm just being a 'weak little female'." She looked in Erica's eyes. "But I've been thinking. Lots of guys like, y'know, dominatrixes - dominatrices? - however you say it."
"Tru dat."
"So it's not like guys can't, y'know, 'surrender'." Jewel shrugged. "And I still like 'forcing myself' on Brandon. It's just, I think I found something new I like, too. Why can't I enjoy both? Would that be too much of a good thing or what?"
Erica's eyebrows lifted. "Sounds like you been thinking about it a lot."
Jewel scoffed. "Cory wouldn't fucking shut up about it for a while there." She tossed her head in contempt. "He was hiding most of last night."
Erica, cautiously, just said, "Not really his scene, I guess."
"For sure."
The girls lay companionably for a spell. But Erica's Transformed body had gotten aroused, and needed release. So finally Erica said, "You wanna give or take tonight?"
Jewel grinned in appreciation. "I'm thinking... some of both."
~~~~~
Erica looked around the table in the Weiss's dining room. Kristina and Mrs. Weiss were there, of course. Linda and Jewel rounded out the group. It'll be enough, Erica prayed.
Kristina had opted for a small baby shower. A few relatives and family friends. That helped.
"Okay, so, Mrs. Weiss, you get the room at the restaurant. Linda and me will do invitations. Kristina's gonna pick out the favors."
She turned. "Jewel, you're in charge of entertainment. Come up with, like, two or three games we can play."
Jewel's lips pursed, but she didn't dare glare or protest. Erica could tell she thought she was being forced to engage, to think about how the other girls and women would approach a baby shower.
Nor was she wrong. Erica was doing this to help Kristina, but there was no reason she couldn't use it to help Jewel grow a little in womanhood.
Maybe Kristina sensed some of that, or at least the girl's annoyance. "Thanks for coming," she said, squeezing Jewel's hand.
At that, Jewel shrugged, slightly embarrassed. But she said, with apparent sincerity, "No prob. Glad to help."
"So anyway, is this the final list?" Erica asked brightly.
"Yeah," Kristina said.
"All right, good. We'll get the invites out by Monday. "
~~~~~
Jewel was pensive for a while on the drive back home. "Never even thought about how... unfair the whole thing is for girls. Like, being pregnant and all."
"Can be pretty rough sometimes."
Jewel was frowning her 'concept assimilation' frown. "Fuck 'rough'. I mean... you can die in labor and shit."
Erica chewed her lip, picturing Kristina bleeding out. "Not so much nowadays. Like, in a hospital and all." She almost convinced herself.
Jewel was still grimacing. "And all Jimmy has to do is write a check once a month. Fuck, not even him, his parents."
Erica remembered her thoughts on vampires months ago. "Tru dat."
Jewel was being very introspective. "For guys... their fun bits are just that. Fun. They either pee out of 'em, or use 'em to feel good. And that's it. Totally, like, recreational."
Jewel looked almost too abstracted to be driving. "But girls... I think I kinda understand what your Mom was driving at. Our parts have this whole other purpose. Not just fun, but literally life-and-death shit."
After that, there was just silence for a while. There didn't seem to be much else to say - though she filed away how Jewel had said "our parts". So she tried for some support. "Sorry you couldn't just rest tonight. I know your periods really suck."
Jewel shrugged. "Ah, fuck, I'll live. I'm just glad it waited until after Prom. And your Mom has better stuff than Midol." She said, thoughtfully, "It's almost not fair. Lotsa girls gotta have 'em as bad as me, and they don't get real-life Magic potions."
Erica shrugged. "Well, like, the Sisterhood can't exactly market the stuff."
"Yeah, I know. The 'Brotherhood'. Plus, like, every government on Earth, I guess." She shook her head. "Sucks. I mean, speaking of not fair, there are guys out there who'd give anything to be turned into a girl. But if the Sisterhood started doing that..."
Jewel trailed off. She didn't have to finish the thought, Erica's own brain did it for her: ...they'd be targets for the Brotherhood. Without any Magic to protect themselves.
After a beat, Jewel asked, voice conspicuously neutral, "Did you ever check out all those websites? The 'TG' ones?"
"Once," Erica admitted, after another pause. "Early on." She shook her head. "It was just too weird."
"Yeah," Jewel breathed with firm agreement. "I couldn't fucking believe it. All those stories. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands." She was shaking her head too. After a few seconds, she said, more quietly, "I read some. Tried to. It was so fucked up. It was all fantasies anyway. Nothing real." She glowered. "Even the ones that talked about babies didn't say shit about stretch marks or dying in labor."
Erica almost blushed. She'd looked up some of those stories, too. One or two had been rather like that first night. Before reality set in, anyway. Apparently there were some that were more realistic, but she'd been afraid to look too deeply.
Jewel didn't seem to notice her hesitation, thank the Goddess. She was still talking. "But they wanted it." Very softly: "I just wanted to go back. More than anything."
"At least you can get back. Eventually," she said in reassurance. And she believed it now, too. At first, she'd despaired that Cora could ever make the journey. But that the girl now went by 'Jewel' said volumes.
Jewel smiled, with a touch of irony. "Yeah. I think now can tough it out, even another couple years. It's not so bad, being a girl. Even with shitty periods." She shook her head ruefully. "You know what bugs me the most about 'em anymore? How you never quite know when they're gonna start or end. I mean, you can feel it coming, but..." She rolled her eyes. "I wore a pad all day yesterday, just in case, for nothing. When I woke up this morning and found some blood, I actually felt kinda relieved. At least I was done waiting."
The irony dominated the smile, now. "And yeah, there are a few advantages to being a girl."
But the smile faded quickly. "Getting preggers, though... no fucking way."
For some reason Erica couldn't pin down, that troubled her. It's not like she wanted to get pregnant either, but... something about Jewel saying that made her nervous. And somehow she wasn't sure she wanted to think too hard about it.
~~~~~
They spent an evening making favors for the shower. Linda had found tiny spice jars at the dollar store and the girls whiled a few hours filling them with blue candies and tying on little banners with ribbon.
And talking, of course.
Jewel hadn't heard the story of Linda's hiking trip with Paul's family. It had mostly been fun, and she hadn't shamed herself being too unfit to handle the exertion. Indeed, she'd surprised herself with her own conditioning.
No, Linda had embarrassed herself in an entirely different way. She'd had to relieve herself on the trail, which was a little uncomfortable but had been managed with reasonable aplomb. A couple hours later she discovered that her choice of venue had been unfortunate. She developed a rash on her behind - whether from poison ivy or just a plant allergy was never determined.
It hadn't required intervention beyond a fraught, stiff drive to a pharmacy for some appropriate cream to treat it. In a strange way it had even broken the ice with Paul's family somewhat, so she could laugh at the whole thing now, along with her friends.
The conversation moved to Kristina and became rather obstetrical for a while. Erica covertly gauged Jewel's attention level throughout. Her interest seemed more academic than impassioned, but she did ask polite questions. It was about as good as could be hoped for.
College was a pressing subject for any high school seniors with graduation looming.
"I'm still psyched you got into Berkeley!" Kristina gushed enviously at Erica.
"Me too," Erica said, blushing. "We could never have swung Caltech. But Mom says we can afford Berkeley, with some loans. And there might be a scholarship." Jacqui had let her know the Sisterhood would occasionally subsidize promising Sisters, especially in fields where Witches were underrepresented, like computers.
"I'll either go to Valley or Crafton," Jewel said, shrugging. "My family moved too much for me to do much extracurriculars. I get a year or two of good grades, I'll transfer to a better school."
"Your mom and dad won't move you again, will they?" Linda asked.
"Nah. They didn't care so much about high school, but now they see me only getting into a community college, all of a sudden they wanna give me some 'stability'." Jewel delivered the lie perfectly, even including 'air quotes'. If Erica hadn't know she was making it up on the spot, she'd have believed it.
Linda glanced at Kristina. "You gonna do a gap year?"
She touched her swollen belly and said, "The plan is to go in the fall. Alec'll be a few months old then. I can pump at school and my grandma can watch him while I'm gone." She shrugged, the only sign of uncertainty. "Might do, like, a 'gap semester'. Maybe. Depends on how fussy Alec turns out to be."
Erica wanted to offer to help... but she'd be away, living in a dorm. "Maybe I can come back a couple weekends and give you a break."
Kristina smiled. "Don't worry. We'll be okay."
The conversation lightened up after that. Soon they were all smiling and laughing again, until the knickknacks were finished.
~~~~~
On the way home from making the favors, Jewel looked thoughtful. "Y'know what? Thanks. Thanks for being a good friend."
Erica, taken by surprise, blinked and said, "Hey, no big deal..."
"No, like, seriously." Jewel was quite somber. "You're a really good person. You go out of your way to help people. Like Linda and Kristina. You saw they needed a friend and you stepped up. Look at Kristina. She hasn't been able to do much for you, and you didn't care."
She felt embarrassed. "Hey, like, it's not some awesome thing. I kinda needed friends too..."
"No, listen, I'm serious. You've been good for practically everybody. Even Carrie." She shook her head. "And especially me. You give and give, and I just take."
"Whoa, hey, it's not like that. You've had, like, a shitload to deal with..."
"So did you. And you handled it a lot better."
"But for me... I mean, I chose it. Mostly. You got attacked, almost brainwashed..."
"Yeah, fine. I've had my shit to deal with. Cory agrees with you, but... I finally realized I'm not the only one. Y'know, affected by all this." She shrugged. "I can get my shit fixed. Eventually. Okay, not as fast as I want. But Kristina's gonna be dealing with Alec the rest of her life."
"Okay, point. I guess. But I think you're being too hard on yourself. You managed pretty well after a while. I mean, for fucks sake, it's a lot to deal with. A lotta people woulda gone crazy."
"Yeah, come down with a split personality or something," Jewel deadpanned.
"Hey, c'mon, it's not like that..." Erica said.
Jewel just smiled grimly. "Anyway, thanks for being awesome."
"Whatever," she said, self-conscious.
~~~~~
Jewel gave Erica a quick hug. "Chill. It's all gonna be fine."
Erica smiled wanly. "I know. I just really want Kristina to have a good time, is all."
They surveyed the venue, the back room of a local restaurant. Linda was adjusting favors on the tables. It wasn't a large space but they'd decorated it as best they could.
Kristina and her mom walked in just then. Erica rushed over and took her in a big hug.
The very pregnant girl looked around, smiling, as she sat down. "Ohmigod, Erica, this looks so amazing!"
Erica's tension relaxed a bit. "Thanks."
Guests began arriving shortly after. Almost all family, except for Renée. Kristina didn't have any close friends anymore, besides the ones actually running the shower. Renée had brought Lucy, naturally, and the baby girl was passed around the ladies for cooing and pampering and admiration.
Presents began piling up on a table in the corner as the volume level rose, women chattering. Everything was going smoothly until a middle-aged woman and a teenage girl came in.
"Cecily, Tina. So glad you could come," said Mrs. Weiss. Erica kept herself from frowning, but she sensed an undertone...
"Oh, I wouldn't miss this," Cecily purred. She turned to Kristina. "My goodness, you're about to pop, aren't you! You're so young, though. Always looks bigger."
"Thanks, Aunt Cecily," Kristina said with a notable lack of emotion. "Hey, Heather," she said to the girl, obviously Cecily's daughter, with more warmth.
"Hey, how you doing?" she said back, seeming friendly enough. She glanced at Erica and Jewel. "Can you guys give me a hand? The present's pretty heavy..."
"Sure," Erica said, stepping forward. "I'm Erica, this is Jewel."
"Nice to meetcha." She motioned toward the door. "We can team up."
The present in the van outside was not just heavy but bulky as well. They called Linda out too, and together the four of them got the box into the venue.
Mrs. Weiss saw it, and said, "Oh my, I hope you didn't spend too much!" Erica couldn't be sure, but she thought maybe there was a veiled dig in that. Cecily and Heather's clothes weren't particularly expensive.
Cecily smiled, only a slight crinkling around her eyes indicating any discomfort. "I put some thought into what to get. Planning ahead, not acting on impulse, you know."
Erica kept her face blank, a match for Kristina's wooden expression. Her mom had a sour look. "Why, thank you so much."
Another guest arrived, helping to change the subject. Two guests, technically; Sonia was an older cousin of Kristina's, and she'd brought her four-month-old son, Jayden. He joined the appreciation circuit, getting cuddled and passed around.
In the course of that, however, Jayden filled his diaper. Kristina was recruited to get some practical experience changing one. A relatively safe location was arranged, with a waterproof surface. The whole crowd was watching with some amusement as Kristina opened up the diaper and began to wipe.
"Eww," Kristina exclaimed. "He got poop all over his... thing."
Cecily laughed and offered some barbed encouragement, waving at Kristina's belly. "We know you got your hands on a guy's 'thing' before! Probably cleaned it off, too!" There was a brief, appalled lull.
Renée stepped in, with a glance at Kristina's aunt. "It's no biggie. Lots easier than girls. Here, can I..."
The atmosphere recovered some festivity after Jayden was changed. Erica noticed that many of the guests gave Cecily plenty of space. Including her daughter Heather. Kristina's grandmother came in and gave someone for Cecily and Mrs. Weiss to talk to.
Erica was going over the shower's schedule with a guest when the next uncomfortable incident happened. "We're gonna play some games, then have lunch, then open presents."
"Can't wait for lunch," Kristina said. "I love the lasagna here!" She smiled. "I only ever came once in a while, 'cause I'd always finish a giant piece."
Cecily, passing by, struck again. "Self control control just takes practice. If you don't have it before you have a baby, you sure learn it after!"
Erica managed to control her flinch, but saw Jewel's dismay out of the corner of her eye. And Mrs. Weiss'. And their mother's. There was such an edge to Cecily's tone. Kristina's faint smile came nowhere near her eyes.
It wasn't long before the girls found an excuse to meet on the other side of the room from Cecily. Erica could see the elder Weiss remonstrating with her youngest daughter.
Heather sighed. "Kristina, I'm sorry about my mom. She's being such a bitch."
"It's cool," Kristina declared, perhaps a shade too casually.
"What's up her ass?" Jewel said bluntly.
Eyebrows raised at the directness, Heather replied a bit reluctantly. "Mom's always kinda, y'know... sibling rivalry and stuff. With her mom," she said, indicating Kristina.
The focus of the shower nodded stiffly.
Jewel's head tilted. "But... why pick on Kristina?"
Both Heather and Kristina looked uncomfortable. After a second, Heather said, coldly, "I wasn't gonna be on the honor roll at my school this year. Never was." A finger flicked at Kristina. "Not like her."
Erica and Linda exchanged looks of understanding. But Jewel was still clearly lost.
It was certainly clear to Heather. "So my mom's always figured Aunt Karen won the kid competition." She flashed a really bitter smile. "She's just loving that the 'perfect' daughter got knocked up, but hers didn't."
Jewel looked very nervous now, matching Linda. Erica was feeling hella awkward too, but a tiny part of her appreciated that Jewel at least recognized how badly she'd screwed up, socially. Forcing all this bluntly into the open.
Maybe the Goddess took some mercy on them all, because Sonia and Jayden came to the rescue again. The new mother appeared to take Kristina aside with Renée for some tips and encouragement. She allowed herself to be led away with evident relief.
There was silence for a moment at the table, Jewel fidgeting. Then she stood and said, "I should get the games going. I think everyone's here." She rushed off to gather supplies from under a table in the corner.
Jewel had done a reasonable job of organizing games for the guests. She'd printed up some word games for placemats - a word search and a scramble - 'seenio' for 'onesie', etc. There was a 'guess the flavor of baby food contest', and - the biggest hit - a relay race where the ladies had to carry a cantaloupe between their legs, mimicking the waddle of late pregnancy.
Then came lunch, and thankfully Cecily wasn't seated anywhere near Kristina. Finally came the time for opening the presents. Kristina's thanks for Aunt Cecily's expensive crib were entirely civil, though perhaps a bit muted. Perhaps Grandmother Weiss's presence kept Cecily from anything more than an edged "You're welcome."
As things wound down, the girls were organizing the gifts for transport while the guests chattered. Jewel was looking a little dazed. "I didn't think babies needed all this stuff," she muttered.
Erica whispered back, "How much did you think it took?"
She was a little surprised that didn't shut Jewel up. She was even more surprised by what Jewel said: "Never thought about it at all, I guess." The girl even managed a half-grin.
A quick dessert of cake was distributed, eaten, and plates were collected. But the ladies unsurprisingly kept socializing. Jewel looked like a trapped animal, eyeing the exits.
Sonia came by the girls, holding little Jayden. "I have to run to the bathroom. Can one of you watch him?"
Inspiration and action were simultaneous. "Jewel can. She's just sitting there," Erica said quickly.
Jewel's eyes got big and her mouth opened. Not in time to save her, though. Jayden was dropped into her lap and his mother made a beeline for the restrooms.
Jewel looked so flummoxed Erica whispered some quick tips. "Support the head. Keep him close to your body. Maybe rock back and forth a little."
The little one, pacifier pulsing, stared up at Jewel's face. Despite Jewel's obvious consternation, he didn't do much else, seemingly happy just to be held.
"I think he likes you," Linda said with a smile.
Jewel seemed paralyzed, as if Jayden was a predator staring at her. Still, she endured until Sonia returned to reclaim her offspring. She passed the infant on with semi-concealed relief, to the amusement of Sonia and some of the other ladies.
Finally things started winding down, as guests began to take their leave. Jewel took charge, compelling Linda and Heather to help her carry gifts out to the cars. She was glad for Heather's help with the wrap-up, but the downside was Cecily remained. Erica stayed with Kristina, trying to run interference - she recruited Kristina's aunt to help with cleaning up wrapping paper and other discards. Cecily made pointed remarks about messy habits, but few were in earshot of Kristina or her mom. The pregnant girl and Mrs. Weiss handled the goodbyes and accepted some congratulations for "such a nice shower".
Cecily drove off with Heather, naturally the very last guest to do so. Linda rode with Kristina and her mom, while Erica and Jewel rode in Miranda's car, transporting loot to the Weiss house.
Erica hadn't even gotten her seat belt on before Jewel snapped at her. "Nice trick, making me hold Jayden. I was scared to get up!"
Erica's sympathy was extremely limited. "You both lived."
Completely unmollified, Jewel glared. "What, did you think it would 'awaken my maternal instincts' or some... thing?"
"No. I just... admit it. You were scared, weren't you?"
Jewel looked out the window for a few seconds. "Okay, fine, yeah. I didn't want to drop him or anything." Then she spat, "But even if I wasn't scared, it doesn't mean I want one! Lots of birth-girls don't, y'know!"
Erica sighed. "I don't want you to go out and get knocked up, okay? But most girls are at least, y'know, interested." Before Jewel could interrupt, she pressed on. "Even if they don't want to have a baby, they're not scared of holding one." She paused a second, just enough for Jewel to open her mouth again, and she wrapped up. "Like boys."
Jewel's mouth shut. She frowned for a few seconds, then shifted ground.
"Goddess, I wanted to punch her aunt. Women can be so mean."
"Guys can be pretty nasty too."
"Yeah, but they're not so... I dunno... passive-aggressive about it. Pretending to be nice and all." She paused. "Not usually, anyway. A guy insults you, he just does it."
"Ok, yeah," Erica said. Then, thoughtfully: "I think some of it is that guys don't pay attention as much. And girls are more, like, verbal. So they can say something that really cuts."
Jewel made a little half-shrug. "Why'd she even come, if she was just gonna be a bitch about it?" she mused.
"Probably war with her sister. Girls - women - do whole campaigns. You know about that."
Jewel sighed. "Yeah." She snorted. "I sure won't miss that when I'm a boy again."
Erica, eyes on the road, reflected a bit. She'd almost decided - again - to stay a girl. There were definitely unpleasant aspects to being female... but most of the time anymore, she felt the good outweighed the bad.
Today, though... having her nose rubbed in the sheer viciousness women could descend to... she was closer than she'd been in months to agreeing with Jewel.
They pulled into Kristina's driveway. There was a lot to unload. She'd scored a crib, a stroller, a rocking glider, all kinds of bottles, a breast pump, a diaper bag, dressers-full of clothes, and much, much more.
~~~~~
Jewel walked into Erica's room - the door had been cracked - and searched around the items on the dresser. She was wearing a loose, flowing white shirt with slit sleeves, and soft black cotton pants, but no makeup yet. "You know what I miss?" she said.
"What?" Erica asked, laying on her bed, busy squirming into some paisley jeans. They didn't have to leave for school for another fifteen minutes, but she didn't have her makeup on either.
"Just slamming on some clothes and heading out the door." Jewel lifted a lipstick tube with satisfaction and showed it to Erica. "Here it is. Can I borrow your Strawberry Lemonade?"
"Sure thing." She slipped one arm into a yellow blouse. "You probably don't have to do yourself up quite so much anymore. Like, I think it's safe to say you got a lock on Brandon now."
Jewel snorted, not unhappily. "Yeah, but I don't need the shit from the other girls." She held up a hand to forestall comment from her friend. "I'm not bitching. Well, mostly. I know it's the cost of doing business as a high school girl." She was already heading back out to her room. "I just miss being able to roll out of bed and head out."
Erica started her own makeup search. She was struck by Jewel's tone. Not even resentful, just resigned.
~~~~~
Erica took one more glance in the mirror. David would be impressed, she was sure.
Especially with the clothes: knee-high stiletto-heeled boots, tights, a light sweater-dress, and a thin belt.
They were going dancing, and maybe out for a bite after. Finals were coming up soon and there wouldn't be time for such things.
Jewel popped her head in the door. "Looking good! David's here."
"You sure you don't wanna come along?"
"Nah, dancing's not really my thing. Or Brandon's. We're just gonna go for a run."
"How romantic!" Erica teased. "But hey, you do you."
"Maybe I'll just do him," Jewel said, with a wicked glint in her eye. "Depends on how crowded the trail is." The girls laughed and Erica headed downstairs.
~~~~~
David sat at a table at a coney island, flicking through Instagram on his phone. Erica had gone to the bathroom.
Dancing had been fun enough, and it made Erica happy, which was always good. For the mission, of course - but he had to admit he took pleasure in making her happy. And that was a painful admission.
Since, of course, his mission was unlikely to make her happy, long-term.
He still hated the Sisterhood - in the abstract. He was finding it hard to hold onto his anger when it came to Erica, however. She wasn't a heartless, calculating bitch. She was kind, generous... good. He couldn't imagine her attacking and mindwiping a Brother. Not without good reason, anyway.
And Haylie... he knew that she had to be a former Brother. He thought that maybe, once or twice, he'd seen signs of it. But only hints. She didn't seem a brainwashed Brother, though. Simply... a girl. Well-cared-for and loved, for that matter.
They were only novices, though, he reminded himself. Haylie, not even that. How could they know, or be responsible for, what the higher levels of the Sisterhood did or planned? The thought comforted him for a moment.
But then the logical correspondence inevitably arose - how much could he claim to know about the High Leader's intentions, or methods? After all, Hitler had been a 'Brother'...
His unpleasant musings were cut short by Erica reappearing. He smiled. "Food should be here soon."
"You okay?" she asked. "You looked kinda... I dunno." She frowned in concern.
"Eh, just hungry," he said. Damn it, she's getting to be able to read me too well.
"Oh," she said... but she didn't sound entirely convinced. "Anyway, we need to figure out grad parties. My Mom wants to do ours on a Sunday."
Erica's phone jingled, then. She pulled it out of her purse. "Sorry, just a sec."
David took a sip of water. Suddenly she squealed and bolted to her feet, an alarmed expression on her face. "Oh, Goddess, we have to move. You have to drive me! Kristina's having her baby!"
Concluded in Part 11
~~~~~
They shot into the hospital at a dead run, Erica calling Kristina's cell. After a few rings, Kristina's mother answered. "Hello?" She sounded harried and distracted. Erica heard Kristina moan in the background.
"It's Erica, I'm here, I'm right outside! Please come get me!"
A few minutes later, Mrs. Bell leaned out through the security doors and waved Erica forward. She turned and gave David a quick hug and smooch, then left him behind without looking back.
He couldn't come. He was a boy.
She jogged forward with Mrs. Bell, past the security doors, into the birthing center, toward Kristina's room. Even down the hall she could hear the girl's pained cries.
She got into the room; Kristina's bed was up on an angle, her legs spread with stirrups, and the obstetrician was bent forward, saying, "Seven centimeters, now. It's going to happen soon." Her voice dripped with encouragement.
It was an up-to-date facility; the room resembled a large hotel suite, with a table and built-in couch by the window. Decorative wallpaper, a TV, a few other distractions from the large high-tech bed in the center of the room, the medical supplies in cabinets along one wall.
Kristina looked up when Erica got to her side. "Oh, thank God, you made it." She looked tired and drained and, as another contraction started, agonized. But somehow, to Erica, she also seemed to glow. Any Sister could see the Goddess' Light in this.
While "soon" turned out to be a relative term, Kristina's labor was actually rather fast. Only about three hours, and Erica had missed the first hour. It was nevertheless harrowing and frightening and profound and moving and disturbing and fascinating and too many other things to be processed.
The modern setting melted away in Erica's mind. It was only a backdrop, peripheral. The scene could as easily be taking place in a cave by firelight. The central elements were just as they'd been for a hundred thousand years or more. The woman in labor, her mother, the midwife, a girlfriend or two. In the last few years, in a few places, a few men had been allowed to observe... but ultimately this was women's domain. Women's miracle, bringing new life into the world. It was messy and painful and glorious and painfully sacred.
If there had been a problem, she might have used her Healing power to take some of Kristina's pain. But the drugs were helping, and Kristina was in no real danger - she owned this moment. Absent a real need, Erica would be stealing the pain, appropriating some of the experience in a selfish bid to share the triumph.
The baby crowned - an awesome, terrifying sight - and almost before Erica could see it happen, he was out. There were procedures that followed, cleaning and weighing and measuring and delivering the afterbirth, but all she could do was listen to his cries - so small, so plaintive, so heartbreakingly glorious. At long last, he was presented, swaddled and cleaned, to his mother. Kristina wept, exhausted and exhilarated, and cradled him in her arms. Erica understood how the phrase 'bundle of joy' had become a cliché.
"Alec. Hello, little Alec." Kristina looked up at her mom. "Oh, mom, he's so beautiful. Isn't he beautiful?" Mrs. Bell and Erica nodded in unison.
Erica cried in helpless relief and joy and love. Watching Kristina hold her newborn baby, she felt exalted, taken out of herself. Unspeakably privileged to be present.
Sooner than she would have believed, she received an even greater privilege. She sat in a rocker and carefully, oh so carefully, held little Alec in her own arms. He made little movements sometimes, uttered little noises. His little tongue stuck out between his little lips. He was magnificent. "Hi, Alec. I'm Aunt Erica."
Men were so detached from the whole process, she reflected. Even if they felt a sense of responsibility, women carried babies, gave birth to them, nursed them. It was like that old joke about a breakfast of bacon and eggs: The chicken was involved, but the pig was committed. Women were committed to children in a way men could never be. Cradling Alec, she suddenly felt unbearably sorry for males. They could never know this, never be more than an adjunct to it.
But Erica could. She knew now, without the slightest doubt. One day, she too would perform this miracle. Not now, not soon... but one day, she would be ready. She had to become ready. She could not go through life without ever experiencing this.
~~~~~
Erica waved goodbye to David in his car and walked into the house. Miranda was coming from the family room. Erica didn't stop, didn't give Miranda a chance to say anything, she just seized her Mother in a bear hug and squeezed her for all she was worth.
"Thank you," she said. "Thank you for going through that for me, for being my Mother."
Miranda had difficulty speaking for a while, her throat tight and eyes wet. "Oh, sweetie, you're welcome. Thank you for being my Daughter."
~~~~~
"We sent a letter to the Penners. It was all legal BS, but it basically said, 'Here's your fucking DNA test. Get out your checkbook, and keep 'em coming!'" Kristina's smile was very satisfied.
Erica laughed happily. Kristina was home with her parents, and Alec, after a couple nights stay in the hospital. Linda had been cradling Alec for rather a long time, and Erica was getting a little itchy to get hold of some baby. "You still planning to go to college in the fall?"
The new mother shrugged. "Might take a year off, might not. We'll see. Right now I'm so tired I dunno how I'm gonna get through finals."
Erica was alarmed. "I'm sure you could get an extension."
Kristina's face was all stolid, grim determination. "Nope. I'm gonna march across that stage with everyone else. Right in front of Jimmy and Prina. One way or another." She got a bit of a smile, and sniffed. "My grades are gonna be great this term. Besides you guys, I've had nothing to do but study."
Erica felt a little guilty, and wished she'd done more with Kristina. Before she could say anything, though, Linda spoke up. "I hope you find a guy someday who sees how awesome you are, and can be a good dad for Alec," she said, sniffling a little.
Kristina looked like she might cry, too. "Well, until then I'll just have to love him enough for two."
Erica smiled, though she was on the verge of bawling too. "That won't be hard. Goddess, what a cutie!"
Prodded, Linda gave up Alec for Erica to hold. Contemplating the baby banished the threat of tears, for all the girls. How could anyone not smile at those cheeks? Erica thought.
~~~~~
Jewel stood on the stage, in the center of the group. If not for her vow, Miranda would have peeked at the girl's emotions; she knew Jewel had been nervous about this performance. She wished she could send some Magical comfort and reassurance the girl's way, but the oath didn't have any 'good intentions' clauses.
She began to sing. "Short steps, deep breath, everything is alright..." Miranda didn't know the song - apparently it was from some video game - but Jewel handled her solo intro beautifully. The choir joined in at the chorus.
Miranda looked around, surreptitiously. Erica and Haylie and David and Brandon all watched Jewel with admiration. There was something about a live performance no recording could ever capture. She hoped her children would remember that, in this world of digital everything. That the human touch was something precious, something irreplaceable.
When the song was over, the applause was loud. Boisterous, even, from their section. "All right, baby! Wooo-eee!" Brandon shouted. Jewel blushed. With her fair skin, it was probably obvious to the back row of the audience.
But her smile glowed.
~~~~~
"So... why here?"
Jewel was smiling, leading him upstairs to her room. "I finally finished something I was working on. And I can't carry it around." She opened her door and waved him inside.
He looked around the room. Mostly it was decorated neutrally - it had clearly been a guest room before Jewel had arrived. There were few Jewel-specific touches, though. The clothes, for example, and the dresser had makeup and jewelry. But the desk had a lot of computer stuff. Including that old Commodore he'd helped her buy on their first date. It was hooked up to a flat-panel monitor; otherwise it looked as retro as ever. A real contrast to the high-end laptop right beside it.
And the room smelled like her. It was a bit distracting. It was a good thing the door had been left open; otherwise he'd have been tempted to do something foolish. His parents had that rule too. For the same reason.
"Sit here," she said, guiding him to a corner of her bed. She switched on the monitor and the ancient computer.
"What's up?" he asked.
"Shush," she commanded. "Just watch." She typed an incomprehensible command: "LOAD" and some numbers. Something chugged and buzzed as she sat down next to him on the bed. They waited; she seemed nervous, almost embarrassed. Then, a blocky rendition of an old floppy disc appeared on the screen and spun. Retro-style music began to play, tinny in the cheap speakers built into the monitor.
Grainy, pixellated pictures scrolled and twirled. Shots of him, of her... of them. They were pasted onto the surfaces of 3D objects like cubes and pyramids. Colorized, chromed text flashed by - messages like "Jewel + Brandon". A circle slid along, magnifying and distorting what was underneath.
He finally recognized the music. It was 8-bit bleeps and bloops, but it was a passable version of "She's Not Afraid". The graphics were roughly in sync.
In the end, a couple stick figures - a taller one with brown hair, a small one with long black hair - got onto a motorcycle and drove of the screen. The music faded out.
Jewel looked at him. Girls were always hard to understand. And Jewel in particular was almost always... reserved. Not like her cousin Erica; you always knew how she felt. No, Jewel was more closed, cautious. But he was getting better at reading her.
And, maybe, she was trusting him more.
So he could tell that she was proud of what she'd done, and embarrassed about how proud she was, and worried about whether he'd appreciate what had gone into that little display.
He acted to dispel that worry right off. "That was awesome!" And it was true. Although he wasn't as into computers as her, he had at least a small clue that getting anything like that out of a machine that old had to have taken a lot of work.
She was definitely blushing. "There's lots better stuff out there. I only had a little time, when I wasn't doing homework or running or..."
He leaned close, cutting off the self-deprecation. "It was awesome," he repeated. He couldn't help kissing the smile that produced.
The door stayed open. They didn't get totally crazy. Still, they both were glad no one wandered by to check up on what they were doing. A few moments would have been difficult to justify.
~~~~~
Jewel came into the kitchen where Erica was working on dinner. They'd gotten rides home with their respective boyfriends, but Erica had expected Jewel to be later today. "Hey, sister! How's Brandon? Division champs, he must be stoked!"
"Yeah, he's pumped," Jewel said, not nearly as enthusiastically as Erica had expected.
Erica stopped cutting lettuce and put the knife aside. "What's wrong?" she asked, concerned.
"It's no biggie," Jewel said with a wan smile. "I just... wish I coulda been part of it."
Erica had been wiping her hands. She dropped the towel and took Jewel in a hug. "Oh, Jewel, I'm sorry!"
Jewel returned the hug quickly, then let go. "It's okay. They earned it. Brandon really worked his ass off getting them ready. I'm only a little bummed, honest."
Erica suspected Jewel was more than "a little bummed". Directly addressing that was perhaps not the best option, but she couldn't help probing. "Is... something else wrong?"
Jewel didn't say anything for a bit. Then she said, quietly, "I wonder about Brandon. I think I was... holding him back. Cory was, I mean."
Erica protested. "You guys were good friends. I never saw you, like, put him down or anything."
"But he was, like, almost a sidekick, y'know? 'Cory and Brandon'. Never 'Brandon and Cory'." Jewel was quiet for a few moments. Then, softly, "He's better off with Cory gone."
"That's not..." Erica began.
Jewel spoke over her, distracted, almost like she didn't even hear her. "He wouldn't have been captain if Cory was still around. Bet Cory's Luck woulda stopped him." She shook her head. "But he's real good at it. Maybe better than Cory."
"I know you been giving him advice on coaching. If he's better than Cory, it's because Cory's helped him!"
Jewel didn't seem convinced. "Nah, Cory doesn't want anything to do with him anymore."
"You know what I mean," Erica snapped. "Far as I'm concerned, you're the best parts of Cory anyway. Point is, Brandon didn't get there on his own. You make a good team."
"Great. And someday we'll have to break up." Jewel looked haunted.
Erica put her hands on Jewel's shoulders. "Hey. Campsite rule. Even if that's true, you're gonna leave him in better shape than you found him." She grinned. "If nothing else, he's gotten way better at oral, right?"
Jewel couldn't stifle a giggle at that.
~~~~~
That weekend there was a big party at the home of one of the track team, celebrating the championship. It wasn't a giant "Project X" crowd, but friends and girlfriends were of course welcome, so Erica was there with Jewel, and Shianti, whose current boyfriend Parker was a sprinter. David would have come if he hadn't had an away game.
There were parents around, so it wasn't a raucous blowout, just a mellow good time. Brandon, arm around Jewel, gave a brief speech congratulating everyone on, and thanking them for, their hard work. After, everyone ate and drank and circulated.
Erica mostly hung with Shianti and Parker, until she realized she hadn't seen Jewel in a while. She went off, ostensibly for a refill, and caught Jewel hanging inconspicuously at the side of the house. She appeared to be using her phone, but she was in sight of the pick-up basketball game on the driveway out front.
"You already got a hottie," Erica joked. "Why you scoping them?" The players were, expectedly, all boys.
Jewel's lip curled in irritation. "It ain't that." She pushed her hair back with one hand. "I wouldn't mind shooting some hoops. But if I join their game, they'll act different. Can't take a chance on losing to a girl." She rolled her eyes, nodding at some girlfriends standing on the lawn, talking and keeping half an eye on the game. "They're already changing it up some 'cause they know girls are watching."
She waved a hand toward the backyard. "And there ain't enough girls who'd wanna play a girls-only game." She scoffed. "And they'd play different 'cause there's boys around."
Erica was surprised. Nothing Jewel was saying was untrue - though she was being overly melodramatic about it. It was just that the girl had seemed to be reconciled to such things more lately. Or, at least, hadn't been explicitly complaining about them.
Jewel's period wasn't due; this funk didn't have a biological component. (Erica felt a little guilty thinking about that; it felt like buying into a stereotype. But for some women, PMS wasn't a punchline, it was a lived reality.) "You okay?" she asked, with eyes and a tone that showed it was more than polite filler.
Jewel paused for a moment... then slumped a little. "Alright, I'm kinda bummed I'm not really with them. In, y'know, their 'hour of glory' or whatever. Even if Brandon's a better coach than Cory, I still think we... they woulda had a shot with him in charge." She stared at Erica, almost daring her to say something. "And I worked my ass off for that team, for three and a half years. But now..."
Erica took Jewel's hand and said, "Well, okay, that kinda sucks. But you can get on a track team in college. You might even be captain." She squeezed and said, "I know waiting's no fun, but..."
"Can we get out of here?" Jewel interrupted. "I think I just wanna go home. I'll tell Brandon I'm not feeling good."
Erica swallowed. "Okay. Maybe I can get Shianti to drive us."
"Fuck that," Jewel said. "I'm sick of being scared. I want to walk around at night like Cory used to, just once." She stared at Erica. "All we do is walk home, cut through the park. It's, what, a mile and half?"
Erica bit her lower lip. A walk at night did sound good. Eric had enjoyed that sometimes, too. But Eric and Cory had been boys. Girls had a different relationship to the world...
"Come on, we'll be together," Jewel wheedled. "Nothing's gonna happen!"
Erica relented. "Okay, fine, what the hell." With a cheer she didn't quite feel, she smiled and said, "It's a nice night anyway."
The girls split up to say their respective goodbyes.
~~~~~
Rick hunched in the bushes, boredom warring with patience. He'd been on the hunt before, though, so patience had a commanding lead. It didn't always come together the first night.
He had tortured and killed nine women so far, in the four years since he'd started. He tried to be smart about it, varying his methods and territory. The police hadn't even connected most of them.
Usually he'd pick runaways, they were easy and unmissed. A few times he'd managed to force some slut into her car and drive them to a secluded location. This was only the third time he'd tried an ambush like this. It was riskier, but the payoff was so intense...
And lookee here, two high-school chicks coming around the bend in the trail. He quickly judged odds, studied the potential prey. Going for a twofer upped the risks. Still, if things went badly he could just kill one and take the other. Having two would allow games you couldn't do with one.
He was very sensitive to women's fear. They were chattering to each other, trying to sound casual, and it was all a front. They were having second thoughts about walking the park at night. A taste of terror to come. Soon, he knew, they'd regret it far more.
The taller one slowed, peering around, as if she sensed something wrong. The wind picked up a little. In the end, though, things went just about as planned. As they passed by his 'blind', he jumped out, knocking the little one off her feet. Before the taller girl could finish turning around, he'd smashed the butt of his knife handle into her temple.
She fell, unconscious, sprawled in an awkward heap. Rick turned to see the other girl sitting on her ass, hands thrown behind her. He started to smile, but something was wrong. The fear wasn't in her face, yet. Instead there was only anger.
Anger was okay. It'd keep her from screaming until he got his hands on her, and the ones who started out angry often got the most scared later. But somehow this was the wrong kind of anger...
~~~~~
Officer Nate Baldwin hopped out of his car and ran to the south corner of the park, a flashlight in one hand and a gun in the other. From what the dispatcher had told him, 911 had gotten a cell call from a nearly hysterical young woman. She hadn't been very coherent, but the words 'bastard hurt my friend' and 'she's hurt' had been used. An ambulance and another patrol car were inbound.
Suddenly he heard someone screaming for help; she'd evidently seen his flashlight. He followed the sound and discovered two teenage girls. The little one was sitting on the ground, crying as she cradled the head of the other in her lap, who seemed to be stirring a bit. She called out, "Help me! She got knocked out, she needs a doctor!"
"Calm down, it's okay." He glanced over them quickly. "Are you all right? How is she?"
"I'm fine, but he hit her so hard! I don't know enough... enough first aid to really help her!" The tears kept flowing.
"An ambulance should be here any second. It's okay." Insistently: "Who attacked you? Where is he?"
"He's... over there." She nodded toward some bushes. She seemed reluctant to take her hands off the other girl's head. "I don't know who he is. I never saw him before."
Baldwin pointed the flashlight in the direction indicated. About ten feet away, he could see two legs sticking out from the foliage. They were not moving. He approached carefully, gun at the ready. But it was immediately clear that the suspect posed no further danger, despite the Bowie knife still clutched in one hand.
"Holy shit..." he breathed. The corpse lay on its side, an impressively large hole in the center of the back. Blood was scattered around in droplets, spreading outward in a cone, away from the trail. A dum-dum round might do that... but there was no apparent entry wound on the chest side. He wondered if somehow a shaped charge had gone off inside the perp. It had not been a peaceful death; the face was contorted in agony, jaw agape in a silent scream. "What the hell happened to him?" he asked himself.
"I don't know!" the girl wailed, the tears flowing even harder.
~~~~~
The police had left. The girls were up in Jewel's bed, shaken but no worse for wear. Laurie, the Chief Healer of the Sisterhood, had confirmed that Erica would not even have a headache tomorrow. The pair probably wouldn't have been able to sleep without a Healing push, but they rested now.
Downstairs four very upset witches worried at, and about, the latest problem. Miranda had called the High Priestess on her way to the park after the police had called. Bronwyn had summoned the Donovans and the three had driven down at more-than-legal speeds.
"He died of Magic. Dark power killed that asshole." Jacqui paced, as was her wont when agitated, stalking like a tigress. "They didn't even try to hide it. The signs were all over him."
"But that means a Brother was there, and ended that beast's life." Miranda sat clenching her hands. "I'd be grateful, except that means they're watching the girls. They'd have to know."
"Does it?" Jacqui mused.
"Of course it does!" Laurie cried. "I know you couldn't Find any sign of him, or them. But powerful as you are, Finding isn't your strongest gift."
"It'd help if we knew exactly what had happened," Jacqui muttered in frustration.
Bronwyn shrugged. "We promised not to look at her mind, but I refuse to believe she's that good an actress. If Jewel says she doesn't remember anything, I'm inclined to believe her."
"It's just... I've got one of my hunches. We're missing something."
"What are you suggesting? That Jewel killed him?" asked Miranda, sensitive to any threat to her daughter.
"No, it was Dark Power. Jewel's not a male anymore. It's impossible," Bronwyn said authoritatively.
Jacqui's scowl was stubborn. "'Impossible' is a strong word to use when Magic is involved. I realized that a long time ago, 'Bonnie'."
"Honey, women can't use the Dark Power." Laurie said it gently, trying to defuse the conflict. Her head ached so; life-threatening wounds were hazardous to both Healer and healed, but thankfully Erica had only received a mild concussion. It still hurt.
Jacqui wasn't mollified. "I know. It's just, 'the hidden serpent'..." Bronwyn started a reply, but Jacqui overrode her. "Hear me out. In a way, Jewel is truly unique. The Birth Rites were obviously never performed, and she was Transformed from, and into, a teenager. As far back as our records go - which is longer than anybody's - that's never happened. Ever. Before Lani and Haylie and the rest, only the sons of Sisters were Transformed. Even then, I Transformed them into newborns, and they got the Birth Rites then."
Bronwyn scowled. "I see what you're saying. If any female could wield the Dark Power, it'd be Jewel." She shook her head forcefully, hating the idea. "But, to have any chance of that, she'd have to still be 'Cory', still think of herself as male."
Miranda backed her up. "And in that case, she couldn't have learned even as much of the Goddess' Magic as she has. She's made great strides. There's a long, long way to go, but no male could do what she can already do."
It was Laurie who applied the coup de grace. "Maybe she could summon the Dark Power. That's a huge 'maybe'. But she didn't tonight." She touched Jacqui's arm. "She still has the Gift of the Goddess, she still has the woman-power. I felt it when I examined her. She'd even helped Erica a little, managed some Healing." Jacqui's shoulders slumped in defeat. "That's right. No one who kills can ever call on that power again. It doesn't matter how they kill." Laurie spread her hands. "That really is impossible."
"And as Doyle wrote in the Sherlock Holmes stories, 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'" Bronwyn made her living as a romance novelist notable for her realistic male characters, and devoured books at a prodigious rate. "It's much easier to believe that the Brotherhood has a new and powerful cloaking spell than that Jewel killed their attacker, using Dark Power, while still retaining the Gift of the Goddess." She shrugged, the case made.
It was Jacqui's turn to shake her head. "I was so sure..."
"Honey, your hunches aren't always right. Just nearly always." Laurie's joke drew chuckles from all the witches, Jacqui included. They became somber before long, however.
Jacqui voiced the obvious. "If the Brotherhood is really on to them, we have to assume they're onto us, too."
"But if that's true... why save the girls?" Bronwyn was almost growling in frustration. "A surprise attack would make sense. A surprise rescue, though? It's... it's..." She trailed off, at a very rare loss for words.
Jacqui sprang into action holding out her hands, inviting - demanding - a circle. "Oh, Goddess," she breathed, barely-suppressed panic as an undertone. "I just realized... it brought us all down here. Away from our Daughters."
The Sisters had already been reaching for her hands, instinctively. They froze for a moment, then frantically grasped each other. The circle closed almost instantly, and Jacqui pulled them all into a powerful divination, focused on Alice and Lani, in the care of another Sister.
For long minutes, the energies surged, their Magical senses probed and searched. Then the spells ebbed, their attention returned to the well-appointed kitchen.
"They're fine," Laurie sighed in shaken relief. "Thank the Goddess."
"Thank the Goddess," the other Sisters echoed.
"Nothing," Jacqui said, almost shuddering, staring at the floor. "No attackers, no watchers, nothing. There or here. Cloaking spell or not, no way they could hide from that." She looked up. "But why?"
"If it wasn't a direct attack, it has to be a diversion." Bronwyn's self-control had clamped down. "A diversion from what, though?"
"If they knew we weren't looking at Jewel's mind..." Miranda said worriedly.
Laurie spoke up. "Jewel still has her Magic. They couldn't have done much beyond put her in a trance so she wouldn't see what they did. Only free minds can use the power."
"Was it some kind of message, then?" Bronwyn mused.
"If so, I don't have the key, beyond, 'We know you're there'." Jacqui's eyes swept over them all, frowning with intense concentration. "Every second we dither gives the Brotherhood more time to do whatever it is they're planning."
Miranda bit her lip. "So we run? Tonight?" Her voice quavered, but everyone understood why. Sisters were supposed to be ever-ready to vanish. That didn't make it easy.
Laurie spoke slowly, tentatively. "Wait. We know the Brotherhood is... not as tightly-knit as us. What if it's a, a splinter group?"
Bronwyn squinted. "What do you mean?"
"If a Brother ever did want to talk to us, they'd have a pretty hard time getting us to calm down and listen, wouldn't they?" Laurie looked each witch in the eye, in turn, as she spoke. "Granted, we thought Cory was a Brother, actually attacking Erica - but we didn't give him much chance to correct that impression."
"You think this might be a... a diplomatic overture?" Bronwyn was tasting the idea.
Laurie shook her head helplessly. "I don't know what to think." But then she glanced meaningfully at the ceiling, toward the room where the two novices slept. "I just remember the last time we saw Dark Magic and reacted before thinking."
"If it's anything besides a message, we're too exposed. If anyone even knows where to send a message, we're too exposed." Jacqui was thinking furiously. "Honestly, I think we should rabbit now. If anybody wants to talk, they can leave a frickin' voicemail."
"That's a big step," Miranda protested, picturing trying to explain to Haylie that they had to go into hiding. "And we don't know anything."
"We know enough." Jacqui took her security responsibilities seriously. Even as she spoke she kept a Magical eye out for anyone - or thing - approaching the house.
"Abandoning our current identities is irrevocable. And Miranda has a point - all we know right now is that a Brother killed that psychopath before he could kill the girls." Bronwyn thought a moment more, but she was decisive when needed. "Jewel and Erica shouldn't be moved tonight. We stand guard until morning, and have our Sisters increase the watch over Alice and Lani. Then, tomorrow, we'll move everyone to your house, Laurie, and... see what develops."
Jacqui hesitated for a moment, then nodded her acceptance. "Together, we should be able to defend ourselves from an assault long enough to escape. And we can disappear from there as easy as here." She shook her head. "I'm gonna warm up our backup IDs and escape routes, though. We've got to worry about our Daughters, too."
~~~~~
A small group of men sat before a desk. The chairs were well-upholstered and comfortable, the room was elegantly appointed and warmed by the fire burning merrily in the fireplace. But none of them were relaxed. The High Leader did not appreciate surprises.
His whole demeanor was irritable. "The attack in the park will force us to accelerate our schedule. The 'women' may go to ground at any point. I don't want to waste time finding them again."
"You don't really need them," one of his lieutenants protested. "We can strike any time now. And once we act, it won't matter what they do. If they even survive."
The High Leader's scornful gaze caused the man to fall silent. "It does matter what they do. Long ago, the Sisters toppled the Dominion. And have you noticed that we have never managed to establish it again?"
The man didn't dare meet the High Leader's gaze. He desperately wished to be anywhere else.
"We have underestimated them for thousands of years. That is a tradition I will not continue."
He turned his attention to another, a tall blond man whose clothes were oddly practical despite being obviously expensive. "I want assault teams ready at dawn. That means you have..." - a glance at the clock - "...four hours." Gratefully taking the implicit dismissal, the man left the room quickly.
The High Leader then eyed a short, thick man with a dark beard. "Appraise David now. He's to contact the Jardin 'girl' as soon as he plausibly can, get any intelligence possible." That subordinate stood and stepped out to the foyer, already pulling out his cell.
The first lieutenant fought not to cringe as the High Leader refocused on him. "You claim we're ready. Pray to the Dark One that it's so. I will join you downstairs in one hour. We will cast the final spells then." He held the man's eyes for a moment. "There is a customary price for incompetence. I do not intend to dispose of all of our traditions." The lieutenant could feel the blood draining from his face.
The High Leader finished. "One hour. Or you will be the initial sacrifice. My catalyst."
The others had hurried from the room with some measure of dignity. The last scampered away like a startled rabbit.
~~~~~
"Jacinta? It's Jewel."
Jacinta squeezed her phone tighter. "Ohmigod! Did you see the news? Some girls got assaulted in the park! They killed the guy, is what they said..."
"'Cinta, listen," Jewel interrupted. "In the park? That was us. Erica and me."
Her heart actually seemed to skip a beat. "Shut up! Are you kidding? Oh, Dios mio, tell me you're kidding!"
"Nope." Jewel sounded very tired.
After a second, the words flooded out from her, despite how strangled her throat felt. "Maddonna, Jewel, ohmigod, are you okay? You're okay, right? He didn't... Is Erica..."
"We're fine. Everybody's fine. Except for that asshole. He's dead. Fucker."
"What happened?" Jacinta practically screamed.
"We don't know exactly. We were taking the trail in the park..."
"At night?! Jewel, you can't... that was..." She stopped herself.
Jewel sighed. "Okay, it was a bad idea. No shit."
Jacinta backpedaled. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."
Jewel cut her off... but she didn't really sound angry. "It's fine, I get it." She paused, then started up again. "Anyway, we got jumped. This guy, he wasn't even that big, but he knocked out Erica just like that. And then..."
Jacinta waited, and finally prodded, "Then what?"
"That's the thing. I don't know. Last thing I remember was Erica, laying on the ground. And I was gonna scream, but..."
The girl sighed. "It was like I passed out, almost. Except when I kinda woke up, I was standing up, staring down at that motherfucker. He was dead on the ground. Looked like he took both barrels from a shotgun. And then I turned and Erica was still just laying there and I ran over and held her and she wouldn't wake up and I guess I called 911 but..."
"It's okay!" Jacinta said, unnerved by the rising hysteria in Jewel's voice. "You're okay." Then a new thought occurred to her and she blurted, "How's Erica? Like, she's okay, right?"
Thankfully, that seemed to help Jewel regain some control. "Yeah, she's fine now. We're both okay." Her slightly-shaky voice indicated that 'okay' might be an overstatement.
"Oh, thank God!" Jacinta said anyway. "Can I come over? You sound like you really need a hug."
"No, I'm sorry. We're all going away for a couple days. We're gonna stay with some of Mrs. Jardin's friends."
"You're going away!? When will you be back?"
"I dunno for sure. I hope not for more than a couple days." She paused. "But either way, I think I do kinda want some time to just, y'know, process."
"Well, okay." Jacinta shook her head. "Can you call me when you get there?"
"Maybe," Jewel said. "Can you call Gabriela for me, let her know? We gotta get going in just a couple minutes. I'm barely gonna have time to call Brandon."
~~~~~
In the next room over, a similar conversation was being held.
"We're going away for a bit. Give Jewel a chance to rest." Then, Erica admitted, "Me, too, really."
David sounded really worried. "Can I just come see you? Please? I just wanna see you're okay. I've been flipping out all morning!"
"I'm sorry, we're leaving right now," Erica said, touched by his concern. "I promise, I'm fine. Totally!" Although... something tickled the back of her mind...
"Okay," David said, not sounding happy about it. "Can you at least call me when you get to wherever you're going?"
"Okay, I will."
"Promise?" he insisted.
"I promise," Erica said, touched at how worried he was. "Look, I really gotta go. Bye!"
"Bye. Be careful!"
She hung up and finished throwing clothes and such into a backpack. It made sense to reassure him. So why did it feel like a mistake to promise she'd call him later?
~~~~~
A lot of women were packed in the Dononvan home.
Bronwyn put away her cell and made eye contact with Jacqui and Miranda. The Sisters detached from the crowded family room and followed her to the kitchen. Haylie had met Alice and Lani many times before, but hadn't seen them since her birthday party. Miranda was talking with another Sister, Adelle. Erica and Jewel sat together, subdued, in one corner, talking quietly to each other as they texted friends and boyfriends.
"What's wrong?" Jacqui asked once they were out of earshot.
Bronwyn had a very serious mien. "That was Daria. Something's changed. Divinations that showed no threat from the Brotherhood - well, no unusual threat - are suddenly warning that something major is underway." She said, very seriously, "She sounded worried. No, she sounded terrified."
Jacqui had tensed up progressively as Bronwyn spoke. She began to pace. "The attack was the first step. In... something." She shook her head furiously, a lioness shaking off irritating flies. "But we should have had some kind of hint. We knew something was up with the Brotherhood before we ever found Lancaster." She threw up her hands, exasperated, though she kept her voice down. "That's why you Transformed me when you did!"
Laurie spoke up softly, wearing a worried expression. "We hurt them badly last time. More, we hurt them openly." She looked urgently at Bronwyn. "They understand divinations, too. What if they masked their intentions? Plans only. Kept their preparations abstract, took no concrete actions..."
"That..." Bronwyn began confidently. Then she paused - and continued more uncertainly, "...would be new."
Laurie simply shrugged.
Jacqui's mind moved quickly once it got started. She explored the implications out loud. "They'd have to be doing it deliberately. You gotta plan something like that. Which would mean... they're taking us seriously."
The young woman looked very worried, now. "They always had a hard time doing that. And we always tried to, like, encourage that. Hit 'em covertly, indirectly." She looked at Bronwyn. "But Hitler - Lancaster knew we had a part in that. And he... he wasn't gonna use armies. We didn't have time to undermine him, cut out his power base. He was gonna do Magic infowar! He was gonna collapse civilization."
Bronwyn had gone icy cold, in full High Priestess mode. "We revealed some of our true power there. As Laurie said, hurt them badly and openly." She took a deep breath. "They've had their blind spots. But I think we may have had some, too. They've been predictable so long, we may have forgotten they can be clever as well."
She looked at Jacqui. "Alert the Sisterhood, quietly. Call a council of the local Sisters. Then start finding out what you can about the Brotherhood's actions and movements. Carefully. We're moving to a war footing. I'll contact all the Oracles, see what kind of intel we can get on that level."
She looked at Miranda. "And you talk to the Healers. I'm very afraid we may need them, soon." She sighed. "Then pack up. We can't stay here much longer."
The Sisters split up, to their appointed tasks.
~~~~~
Erica was positive something was wrong. Mrs. Donovan - Laurie - had taken Miranda and Adelle aside; when they came back from the kitchen they'd both looked pale and drawn. Jacqui was upstairs on the computer, and didn't come down for lunch.
No one else had time for Jewel, so she was busy hanging with her and keeping her occupied. Midafternoon, they packed everyone up again.
"You girls will stay at Adelle's condo. We have to go to a meeting." She paused. "I'd appreciate it if you'd keep inside until we get back. Just... a low profile, for now."
Erica nodded, trying to act casual. Something was definitely wrong. One glance at Jewel showed she sensed it, too. They didn't say anything, though, in front of the youngsters. Before long they were packed into a minivan, and Miranda and the other Sisters were taking a couple cars in another direction.
~~~~~
Eight tense Sisters were gathered in an unassuming apartment, talking. The council hadn't officially started yet; but, while they waited for the last Sister to arrive, they were worrying over the problem Bronwyn had set them - how could they discover, and head off, whatever the Brotherhood planned?
Suddenly one Sister - a blonde, matronly sort - yelped and leaped to her feet. "Daria's under attack! Gunmen shooting at her car! She's protecting herself for the moment."
"Oh Goddess!" Laurie exclaimed. "Alice! Lani! All of them!"
Bronwyn had gone icy again. Jacqui, Steffie, Brianna, Debbie - get to Daria as fast as you can. We'll head to reinforce Adelle.
Can't get there in one shot Jacqui thought-spoke to the Sisters. I'll take us in a couple jumps. You all be ready to fight until I recover.
In seconds, the apartment was empty.
~~~~~
Adelle pushed the buttons to slide open the minivan side doors. "Everyone out! I think I have some popsicles in the freezer."
The teenagers and youngsters trooped up to the front door. Erica could see a nicely-apportioned living room through the picture window. Adelle got the door open and waved them in.
She started to follow them in... and then she screamed. A black clot of energy was digging into her back. She twisted and pulled the door closed even as she collapsed.
Lani and Haylie were screaming. Jewel yelled, fast. "Get upstairs, now. Hide. Lock doors if you can." The girls stared at her for a second. "Go!" she shrieked, and they darted up the stairs.
Erica had moved back. Jewel swept the hall with her eyes, then darted toward what appeared to be the kitchen. "Get down," she called over her shoulder. "Hide!"
Erica moved into the family room, looking for somewhere to hide. She was calling a telepathic alarm to her Mother. She peered out the front window, and saw shapes moving up the drive. Dressed in black.
Jewel appeared, holding a carving knife. "Wait, Jacqui, if you kill..." Erica began.
The young woman seemed very cold and grim. "I ain't letting them at Haylie and them without a fight."
Erica moved to slide the curtains closed on the front window, for whatever delaying effect it might have. Her Mother's presence in her mind wasn't as reassuring as it had been when Cory had attacked her. Miranda seemed to be in as much anguish and panic as she herself was.
She'd got the curtains halfway pulled when something happened. It felt like an electric shock... but cold. And yet it was somehow familiar.
She collapsed, her whole body pins and needles, her brain fuzzy. On the way to the floor, she absently figured out what it felt like. It reminded her a little of what Cory had done to her, just before he'd been Transformed.
Jewel shrieked. "Oh, no, Erica!" She was low to the ground, out of sight of the window, shaking Erica. But she couldn't move.
Jewel looked around frantically. "Fuck. Fuck. Shit..."
"Just go," she tried to say. It came out all slurred, like she'd had a stroke. "Dus nuh," maybe.
Jewel seemed to have had an idea. Full of adrenaline, she dropped the knife, and got the loveseat pulled away from the wall. She dragged Erica's limp body behind it, grunting with effort. Then she pushed it back into place so the legs were almost crushing her friend.
Erica could look up at the thin ribbon of light coming over the top edge of the loveseat. Jewel's face appeared there. "Just stay quiet. I'm gonna, like, cloak you." She chanted quickly in the language of the Sisters. Erica felt an illusion of some kind take shape over her.
"Don't move. Just be quiet," Jewel said urgently. Then she disappeared.
Erica could turn her eyes. She looked out under the loveseat, saw Jewel's feet and hand as she picked up the knife. A crash came from the side doorway; it sounded like someone had smashed open the door. Maybe more than one.
Heavy bootsteps thudded in the tiny foyer. "Please... please..." Jewel begged. She'd fallen on her knees to the floor. Erica saw Jewel's hand down by her side, hidden, squeezing the knife handle. Dark boots walked up to where she kneeled. Guys have such weirdly big feet, she thought dreamily.
A rough voice barked. "Just stay still and we won't... Gaaah!" The man suddenly screamed and fell, the knife deep in his thigh. He was dressed for combat, black clothes and a flak vest.
Erica saw Jewel's feet as she jumped up and made for the hallway on the far side of the room, but a guttural word and an eerie sound rang out. Erica almost whimpered as Jewel fell limply to the floor.
"Fucking bitch!" the downed man yelled. He was up on one arm. Suddenly new feet sprang into view, clad in sneakers. There was burst of gunfire, painfully loud. She heard falling glass, felt a breeze as the front window shattered.
The wounded man was shouting. "Let go, you asshole! That cunt stabbed me!"
"I just saved your life." The new voice sounded completely unintimidated and more than a little pissed. And it made Erica's blood freeze. "This is a capture mission. She's a target. If you'd killed her, the High Leader would've shredded your soul."
Erica's heart was pounding so hard she feared it would shake the loveseat pressed against her. That's David! Oh Goddess help me, that's David! Shock was supposed to make you feel numb. Why didn't she feel numb?
A new voice, coming into the room. "Kid's right, Kalanick. Shut the fuck up or I'll kill you myself."
The new voice took command. "Hardesty, first aid on Kalanick. White, secure her." More boots came into view. Someone picked up Jewel. Erica prayed she understood them right and Jewel was just unconscious. "The three kids are upstairs. We need to breach. This taking too long."
"Let me try," David said quickly. "The little sister knows me. She'll let me in, minimal risk of injury."
They moved away, the commander still talking. "Douglas, sweep. We're missing one of the Novices."
Erica never knew quite how she kept silent when a man peeked over the top of the loveseat and looked right at her. Whatever he saw, he moved on quickly. Jewel's illusion held.
~~~~~
"Haylie, are you in there? It's me, David. Open up. We've got to get out of here, right now." David said, low and urgent.
Come on, he thought impatiently. If they bust in, you might get hurt. Who knows how many other trigger-happy dickwads they have?
The door clicked. "David?" Haylie said in a shaky whisper. "What's going on? Where's Erica?"
He pushed in. "Later. We've got to move. You can see her in a minute." I hope. Though you might not want to.
"Wait, why are you even here?" Haylie suddenly asked. "Was that guns downstairs?"
David didn't answer right away. Haylie had always struck him as pretty smart. Then he shook his head. "Shit. Sorry about this..."
Haylie and Lani and Alice looked at each other, very scared. They heard David muttering something. It sounded a little like the language of the Sisters, but wasn't. All three girls drew in breath to scream... then slumped, almost deflating, as the Dark Power stunned them unconscious.
David made a quick check as two assault team members rushed in and gathered up the limp girls. They were out but not hurt. As safe as they might be.
For now. He tried not to think about how safe they might be when they got where they were going.
"Fuck." He was glad he hadn't had to take Erica down. Attacking helpless girls wasn't anything he'd ever wanted to add to his resumé.
~~~~~
Four Sisters appeared in the living room with a flash of light. A ward sprang up in an instant, while Jacqui regathered her strength. She took in the scene with quick glances. The destroyed front window, bullet casings on the floor. Traces of Dark Magic hung in the air.
And then a low, panicked moan from somewhere. Her life-sense sought quickly; only one living being. Behind that small couch.
The other Sisters were startled when she crossed out of the ward, but Jacqui could tell whatever had happened was past. She yanked the loveseat out of the way, to behold... a rolled-up rug.
An instant later her senses, on high alert, picked up on the Magic. A glamour. A sharp gesture and a brief word brushed it away like a truck plowing through tissue paper.
"Oh, Goddess..." Jacqui cried, dropping to her knees. Erica lay there, tears rolling from her eyes.
~~~~~
David was having trouble keeping his breakfast down.
Jewel and Adelle had their arms restrained behind their backs with coils of Dark energy, one acolyte close and another two steps behind. Haylie and the other girls were simply guarded, arms held at the biceps by firm hands. The females were outnumbered two to one. And that didn't count the strike team, all but the wounded Kalanick, following along behind.
Once during this march, while rounding a corner, Adelle had made as if to summon her power. The Magical bands had clamped tight. One of the Brothers watching her said, calmly, "Don't. Or we kill the girls first." The woman had settled down after that.
It was getting very hard to ignore what was going to happen to them all. True, David didn't know what the High Leader had planned. But they were on their way to meet him... and he knew enough.
All too soon, they arrived at the office, scented with smoke from the fireplace. It was spacious enough to hold the whole group, though some of the strike team had to stand in the doorway. "So... these are our new guests?" The High Leader looked over the woman, teenager, and three girls with amused contempt. "Excellent work. A pity one escaped, but we have the key targets." He nodded at the younger three. "I..." Abruptly he paused, and squinted at one of the girls, she with the longest hair, in the frock. After a moment, he barked, "What is your name? What do they call you?"
The terrified young lady shivered and stood mute, staring at the floor. The man holding her jerked her arm up painfully. She yelped and began to cry.
"Your name, girl," the High Leader demanded again, coldly angry.
Another twist, another yelp. "Lani," she cried, weeping. "Lani Llewellyn."
An extremely malicious smile took root and blossomed across the man's face; David was crazily reminded of the Grinch. The High Leader threw his head back and laughed uproariously.
After a few seconds, he recovered some control, though his eyes glinted as he looked her up and down. "Ah, Erich Lancaster, how the proud and mighty have fallen." He couldn't repress one more gleeful chuckle. "You, who dreamed to place yourself above me. Now you wear a dress and put bows in your pretty hair."
Lani blinked in frightened confusion. Adelle looked horrified and ill. David noticed Jewel's guarded, controlled expression; he had a sense she was thinking furiously. That didn't make him feel better.
"You didn't know, did you?" the High Leader gloated. "I well imagine they wouldn't want you to know." He leaned in, savoring how the girl flinched. "Once, you were a Brother like us. A... rival of mine. You attacked the Sisterhood. So they made you a member."
Lani's dismay was complete, she was petrified, mouth working soundlessly. The High Leader seemed to drink it in. "You know it, don't you? You've had strange dreams, memories you could not explain, am I not correct?"
He stepped back. "Well, Erich, now all you are is a hostage. And if the Sisters don't value you enough, not even that." He glanced at the others. Alice was grimly defiant, but Haylie was clearly disturbed and frightened. Adelle just looked miserable. He focused carefully on Jewel for a handful of seconds; her face showed nothing but controlled anger.
The High Leader nodded sharply. "Secure them. Put these two," he indicated Adelle and Jewel, "in private cells. Explain what will happen to the children should they try anything."
The Sisters were led away. The High Leader dismissed the strike team. "David, a moment, please."
Steeling himself, keeping his face impassive, he approached. The High Leader stood up and came around his desk, holding a hand out. When David took it, his grip was firm. "Excellent work. I am genuinely impressed."
"Thank you, sir." He didn't want to think about why that compliment felt... galling.
"You have advanced our plans considerably. Our central plan in particular. Do not think this will go unrewarded."
"I appreciate that, sir." Then, hesitating only a moment, he went on. "Sir, if I may... what is our plan?" If he was in such good graces with the High Leader, he might as well make use of it.
The High Leader smiled almost paternally. "I envy you, you know. I have spent my whole life in the shadows. Hiding from the ordinary cattle. And then even worse, from the Sisterhood." His smile broadened. "You have a lifetime ahead of you. A lifetime to enjoy the victory you helped to bring about, the victory denied us for millennia. A lifetime as a leader of the New Dominion."
David frowned, uncertain.
The High Leader laughed. There was nothing in particular David could point to, yet it raised goose pimples on his skin. It cost him a great deal to keep his face neutral.
The man was in an expansive mood. "There is no chance now of your capture, so I can finally tell you our full strategy." He waved towards David's pocket. "You have a cell phone, yes?"
"Of course," the young Brother replied, mystified.
"So do most adults on the planet. Even - especially - in the Third World, cell phones reach where almost no other technology does." The smile had lost its paternal aspect. Malice had come to the forefront. "You know, of course, the techniques for manipulating computers with Magic."
"Certainly, sir." David's confusion only increased.
"Imagine a virus that spread among cell networks, one with Magical enhancements to overcome merely technological resistance. One that spread over the entire Earth, in minutes."
David thought a moment. "Theoretically, I guess. But to reach every cell phone, everywhere... all the Circles together couldn't manifest that much Dark Power." He shrugged. "Better to just target the critical systems. You could..."
The High Leader seemed undaunted. He interrupted. "There are other ways to generate Dark Power." At David's blank look, he frowned with irritation. "Come, come. It's no mystery. Brother Hitler grasped the concept, even if his implementation was inefficient."
David gaped, horrible understanding dawning. Necromancy.
Death Magic. Hitler had used it to buy protection for his circle, and luck for his troops in battle. For a time.
"But... even killing a million people wouldn't..." He trailed off, seeing the glee in the High Leader's face.
"Death spells don't take all that much power. Not at close range, certainly."
David, floundering, just shook his head.
The High Leader's frown chilled him. "You disappoint me, boy. Don't you see?" His eyes looked up and away, beholding a grand vision. "The initial wave of the virus spreads, and our Circle feeds it the Dark Power needed to kill those near the first phones. But the virus captures their death-power, and uses it to spread again, and kill again."
David, terrified, shared the vision now too. "By the Dark One... It'd spread faster and faster. Exponentially. Anyone near a cell phone, who didn't have Dark Power to protect them - " It was entirely possible, he saw with sick despair. Chain reactions like that couldn't be sustained, normally. But guided by computers - and cell phones were very sophisticated now - carried by networks... new deaths before the echoes of the old had subsided...
The High Leader still wasn't looking at David's face, transported by the elegance of his plan. "We estimate at least four billion deaths, in less than five minutes. A grand sacrifice to the Dark One." He shrugged. "Concentrated in the developed world, of course. But the remnants of humanity will be scattered, shocked, disorganized. Ready for conquest by an energized Brotherhood."
David groped numbly for a flaw. "The Sisterhood..."
"Even better. There is... 'fallout', you might say, from four gigadeaths, from so much Dark Power sweeping the world at once. We expect it to kill most of the Sisterhood outright. Quite possibly all of them." He savored the image for a moment.
David only just managed to school his expression before the High Leader returned his gaze. His paternal smile had returned, which only sickened David more. "But I mean to make certain. We have the children of the Sisterhood's leaders, now, thanks to you. We will use that leverage to extract the locations of all of the abominations. I will see these bitches exterminated."
The High Leader reached up and put a hand on David's shoulder. "I'm afraid I'm going to be rather busy for the next few hours. Go find your Liege, and report. When I am less pressed for time, we will discuss your reward."
"Thank you, sir. Just doing my job." Just following orders...
"No, my boy, this is above and beyond." Then he turned back to his desk, a clear dismissal. David left, holding his face blank with iron control.
~~~~~
Miranda hugged Erica, tears burning. She was so grateful for one Daughter's life, and so very afraid for the other's. When Erica had sent her telepathic cry, and they were only halfway to Adelle's... it had been, by far, the worst moment of her life. And then, Jacqui had returned with only Erica...
They were in a nearly-unfurnished house, up in the foothills of the mountains. Even Bronwyn and Laurie had never seen it. Jacqui explained that she'd set up this safe house off the books and off the grid, almost entirely by snail-mail and in-person, cash bribes. She had set it up as an ultimate failsafe, if the Sisterhood suffered a major security breach. As they apparently had.
As if there weren't enough reasons for Miranda to feel horrible, they kept piling on. "David was with them?!"
"He was a Brother, Mom. He knocked Jewel out himself, with Magic." Erica hadn't stopped crying. "Mom, didn't you guys check him?"
Everyone was appalled - and several looked at her with reproach. It couldn't compare to the agony she felt inside. "I did, punkin. But... I didn't want to pry. I... wanted to respect your privacy."
Bronwyn's jaw was tight. "A masking personality, enough to throw you off."
"We were so focused on Jewel... and you seemed to be doing so well..." Laurie was near tears.
Jacqui's eyes hadn't left her laptop since they'd arrived. There was some kind of 'fiber' connection run to the house that she was using. Apparently the hookup wasn't exactly legal, or at least authorized by the Internet company. Miranda wasn't clear on that. She spoke up, still typing. "They played our own game on us. Just like Eleanor and Eva."
"They've been three steps ahead of us the whole time." Bronwyn's rage was icy and clear. "That ends now. Jacqui, are you finished alerting everyone?"
"Yup." It would have seemed rude, under other circumstances, how focused Jacqui was. Right now, it was the only source of hope Miranda had.
"How can we figure out what they're doing from here?" one Sister - Brianna - fretted.
"I don't know, but we'd better think of something," Laurie said, determined even if shaken.
Jacqui froze, then actually looked up at Bronwyn. "You're not gonna believe this."
Miranda joined the Sisters gathered around her laptop. And then she looked at Erica. They all did.
She watched her Daughter step up and look at the screen. A brief email was displayed.
David. Have critical intel. Must meet. Reply ASAP.
~~~~~
David stared at his laptop, waiting. Every so often he looked around the coffeeshop, maintaining situational awareness. Maybe the Sisters would send an email reply. Possibly they'd send a hit squad. Most likely, though, they'd ignore his message.
The Circle of Set wouldn't ignore it. He'd shielded his connection as best he could, but he'd had to use a known address to contact the Sisters. Eventually the message would be processed by the surveillance crew. With luck, the report might not make it up through channels until tomorrow. Without luck... every passing minute, the odds mounted of a Brotherhood hit squad arriving to eliminate him.
It was just a matter of who got to him first, now. Being in public, near a wifi hotspot, wouldn't save him. Either way.
Of course, neither would running. David felt very alone.
He took a sip of coffee, and almost choked when his laptop chimed. An email. Blank subject. Meaningless return address.
He opened it. GPS coordinates, nothing more.
He stood up and left, acutely aware that the message might just as easily be from the Brotherhood, summoning him to a trap. And even if it did come from the Sisters, they would not be inclined to be merciful.
~~~~~
It took nearly an hour to drive to the indicated town. David made his way along a shallow arroyo. The actual coordinates were well away from the road, down in the gully. Sensible; no line-of-sight for snipers, especially with the small trees growing along it.
He was still a couple hundred meters from the rendezvous when he felt the Magic gather around him. He wasn't maintaining any wards - no point - but even so he was startled at the speed and force with which he was snatched away. He had just enough time to recognize it was Light Magic. Dark Power would have been bad, but Light very likely wasn't any better.
Then he was in a room. No windows, cement block walls; an unfinished basement, maybe. Four Sisters were spaced evenly around him; the instant he appeared, a powerful ward closed down, trapping him with oppressive force. He wouldn't be leaving, or even communicating, until - unless - they chose.
He recognized the Sister directly in front of him. Jacqui Donovan. Quick glances at the other three showed no one he could recall being briefed on. But he didn't spend any effort searching his memories. The fifth occupant, off to one side, took all his attention.
Erica.
She still didn't have much of a poker face. He could see at a glance that she was hurting badly, sick that he'd tricked and used her. But there was a new and deadly rage he'd never encountered before. Hell hath no fury indeed...
He opened his mouth, not even sure what he was going to say, but Erica pounced. "Where's Haylie? Where's Jewel?"
"They were okay the last time I saw them, maybe six hours ago," he said quickly, answering her unspoken question first. "They're all at a base in the mountains, an old hunting lodge." He paused, then admitted, "If they haven't been moved."
Jacqui's gaze was penetrating, direct, and - he had to admit to himself - intimidating as fuck. Even through the ward he could sense her energy, roiling off her in slow waves. "What is the 'critical intel' you were talking about?" she demanded.
"Um... what do you guys... uh, women... know about necromancy? Death magic?"
~~~~~
Erica asked herself again why she'd insisted on being here at David's interrogation.
She was such a tangled knot of emotion she could barely think. She was furious at him, wracked with guilt that her gullibility had put Jewel and Haylie and the other girls in danger, starkly terrified of what might happen to them... and horribly pained at his betrayal. And even more guilty because of that heartbreak, that wish that he could have been what he seemed.
Jacqui answered him. "No. This isn't about what we know. We are interrogating you. You talk. If we aren't clear on anything, you'll find out really quick."
Erica watched David swallow hard, and felt a little of the satisfaction she'd been hoping for. "Okay. Um, I just found out... I mean, I didn't..." Jacqui started to frown, and he untied his tongue. "Look, when somebody dies, energy is released. If it's deliberate, if they're murdered, it comes out as Dark Power. Sort of 'tuned' to the killer."
Beyond a slight nod, Jacqui might as well have been a statue, holding his eyes with hers. But Erica heard the Sister's voice in her mind, helping her keep up. Sisters can't shield themselves from that backlash, they way they can from other forms of Dark Power. That's what burns out the Gift of the Goddess.
David went on. "A Dark sorcerer can capture that energy, use it to power his spells. That's what they're gonna do. But hooked up with computers."
Whatever satisfaction she'd felt was washed away in a tide of numbing horror as David went on, explaining what this 'High Leader' had told him.
"...so, as soon as I could, I slipped out, found a hotspot, and messaged you people."
Jacqui's impassive visage had long ago collapsed into ashen shock. But she didn't hesitate to press him. "Why? You're betraying the Brotherhood. Don't you want a new Dominion?"
David's teeth clenched. "Look, I know I'm not your favorite person right now. But I'm not a fucking mass murderer, okay? I don't give a shit about ruling the world! Most of my Brothers don't!"
"So the Brotherhood is just a social club?"
David inhaled and exhaled once, controlling his temper. "I had my reasons. One of them is protection from the other Circles. And you ladies."
Jacqui cocked her head, considering. "Why come to us? Surely your Brothers are better-placed to deal with it."
"Not in the High Leader's west coast HQ, they ain't. Most of the ones I could count on are back east anyway, and they're almost all junior Brothers." He shrugged. "You're not my first choice in allies either, but I figure at least you're on this side of the continent. You have a chance."
Jacqui's head tilted, considering.
~~~~~
Erica listened as the witches conferred. Several Sisters she'd only barely been introduced to, along with the High Priestess, Chief Healer, and Jacqui, were strategizing. There had been some analysis of David's story on a Magical level, much more technical than Erica could follow. The witches had reluctantly concluded that the virus was, unfortunately, feasible.
One of the unfamiliar Sisters was speaking, Rita. "Can we, I don't know, protect the phone network? Or crash it, block anyone from using it?"
The group looked to Jacqui, who was pacing with an air of intense concentration. "Protect it? Maybe. With a year to research and prep, maybe. But not fast enough." She shook her head. "Crashing it's easier." A bitter chuckled. "Relatively, anyway."
She shook her head sadly at Rita. "There's multiple networks, redundant links... We could do it, but not all at once. It's still not fast enough. As soon as we moved on any one network, they could just hit the others. Best case, they only kill two billion people." She started pacing once more.
Bronwyn surveyed the other Sisters. "So we must cut the virus off at the source. We need to strike at their lair. As soon as possible. Tonight."
Everyone was crowded in the family room of one of the Sisters; even their 'guest' had been brought up from the basement. David was sitting in a chair, keeping very still and unthreatening, under the mistrustful eyes of two Sisters. But suddenly he spoke up. "You want my help getting in, getting around."
He flinched a little from all the hostile female regard he drew, but he didn't back down. "I've been there. I know most of the complex. I know a fair number of the guys there. I can help."
"We know that, now, too," Jacqui said. "Everything you know." She'd gone rummaging through his mind, after the initial interrogation, with his reluctant - and, it had been clear, entirely unnecessary - permission.
He didn't look cowed, which surprised Erica a little. He just kept pushing. "None of you know Dark Magic, or can use Dark Power. If they really are prepping that virus, you may need somebody on your side who can help with that."
The women's reluctance was obvious. David didn't back down. "Look, yeah, you know what I know. That means you also know I want this shit stopped as much as you do."
Jacqui squinted him. She didn't nod, but somehow it was clear she granted his point to some extent. Not to the extent of actual trust, however. Then she glanced at Erica, but the meaning of that look was inscrutable.
More hesitation. He threw up his hands, frustrated, nearly provoking a response from his guards. "Fine, whatever, kill me as soon as we're done. But it's stupid not to take me along, and you gotta know that on some level."
Erica looked around, and could see that the Sisters were going to cave. She decided to strike then, too. "I'm going too."
As if they were charged with lighting, and she was grounded metal, the exasperation of the Sisters found a path to follow. "What?!" "Not a chance." "No!" "Erica!" Overlapping denials.
Bronwyn, not surprisingly, waved the others down and took charge. "This is a combat mission. You are an untrained novice. I'm sorry, but you bring no benefit and will be a distracting liability."
"I can help with Haylie and Alice and Lani, and Jewel. They..."
Miranda cut her off. "This isn't babysitting. I want you as far from there as possible."
Jacqui had developed a frown. "Right now, I don't know where we could put her that'd be safe. They've been tracking our movements for years. I'm not even a hundred percent sure about this house. " She chewed her lip. "Any Sisters who aren't going on this raid are already on the run."
Erica shrugged. "They set off that virus, sounds like there won't be a 'minimum safe distance'."
The Sisters weren't pleased about choking down another bitter pill. But they were too practical - and frightened - to waste time. Erica kept her face neutral, but inwardly savored her victory.
~~~~~
Two hours later, crouching behind a bush in pitch darkness, Erica was feeling significantly less victorious. She and two Sisters were staged half a mile from the lodge; the rest of the women, and David, had gone ahead.
They were the rearguard. Bronwyn had said they were to wait and provide backup if called, or cover a retreat. Erica wasn't fooled. Eric had read enough military fiction to know the other historic purpose of a rearguard.
To get word out to the rest of the army, in case a detachment suffered crushing defeat.
If the main group's infiltration failed, the three of them wouldn't be riding in for any glorious rescue. They'd escape and hide, and try to maintain the Sisterhood through the probable apocalypse. It was hard to believe the world might literally end soon, taken over by a monstrous evil. And yet, if the Sisterhood's legends could be believed, it had happened once, long ago...
On top of that, there was another little problem. Just over twenty-four hours ago, she'd been attacked in the woods by a serial killer. This was not an environment she felt emotionally ready to confront just yet. It was a measure of how bad things were that that was a lesser issue.
Well suck it up, buttercup, she told herself. If she was going to be more aware of her own emotions, she was going to have to learn to manage them, too. She would not let down people who were counting on her. Especially when practically everything was at stake.
She had plenty of time to reflect. Enduring - doing the long thankless work to build the future - it was a very womanly thing. Sacrificing for the future of others, more often than not; frequently not even ensuring a better future, just making sure there'd be any future at all. It wasn't as flashy or dramatic as men's big gaudy wars.
But it was more important. Without the work women did - and bearing children was the least of it - all the 'important' things men liked to do, the stuff written in the history books, wouldn't be possible.
Erica had already decided to stay a girl, ever since Alec had been born. She suddenly realized she had truly decided to be a Sister.
There was no moon. Starlight, and the faint haze of city glow on the western horizon, provided the only illumination. They had no light of their own. The battery had been yanked from her cell phone, of course. Leaving aside the threat of the virus, nothing trackable would be taken on a raid. She strained her ears, not even sure what she hoped to hear.
The two Sisters were vague shapes on either side. Erica had only caught a glimpse of them before the raiding party had left with the sole flashlight. It had been disconcerting... but reassuring in a way, too. Both women had Transformed themselves slightly. Now they rather looked like anime catgirls - large eyes with slit pupils, high and pointed and mobile ears. Even if Erica couldn't see much, she knew their night vision and hearing would be far better than human. She was beginning to see how the Sisterhood had survived all this time - and even won - against such ruthless opponents as the Brotherhood.
~~~~~
Haylie sat curled up against the wall in a bare cement room. A pad lay on the ground, sheathed in gray vinyl, barely enough to sleep on. There was a drain hole in the center of the floor. The whole place looked like it could just be hosed off if they needed to clean up. Wash away bloodstains, for example...
Lani had finally stopped sniffling, and sat dejectedly silent next to Alice. They were against the other wall. There wasn't room for them all to sit next to each other.
None of them had talked much. They all realized there were almost certainly listeners. There was an almost palpable feel of Magic around them. Weird, alien Magic, dark and threatening. Nothing like the spells her Mom cast. Until she got her period, she couldn't really do more than sense it... and right now, she wished she couldn't. The light from the ceiling was bright; even though she was sure it was the middle of the night, nobody could sleep. So Haylie had plenty of time to stew in her own thoughts.
The stuff that creepy little guy had said was really scary. If Lani's an adopted Brother... then what about me?
She wanted it to be a lie. She really wanted it to be a lie. And she had no trouble imagining a guy like that lying his head off - if he had reason.
But what reason could he have to lie about that? And he was right about strange dreams and weird half-memories. It would explain things...
Goddess, if it were true... then what did she really know about anything? The story they'd given about her birth mother... 'story'. She realized she believed, deep down. She'd been a guy, once.
Haylie looked Lani in the eyes - and she knew Lani believed, too. And it was tearing her up inside. Alice... she didn't see the same kind of despair in Alice's face. But they all had enough to be upset about, locked in this room, waiting for...
Her mind shied away from thoughts of the future.
She pondered the past. What kind of guy had she been? A lot like these Brothers? She remembered that dream she'd told her Mom about - and others she hadn't mentioned - and shivered.
Oh, Goddess, her Mom...
Did she know? Of course she knew, she had to know! And she'd never told!
What about Erica? She didn't think so. Erica hadn't even known about the Magic before she'd been Transformed. But now Erica was a Sister - at least a Novice - maybe she'd been told after?
No, probably not. She wasn't sure how Erica would respond to news like that, but she was sure it'd change how she acted toward Haylie somehow. And Erica had sure changed since she'd stopped being Eric, but not like that.
But... Mom. Had it all been a lie? Was she really a Daughter? Or an enemy in a soft prison?
All those hugs and snuggles and the way Mom would smile when she brushed out Haylie's hair. Acting? Lies?
Hair. No wonder Mom'd fussed like that about cutting her hair short!
She thought about that for a minute. She hadn't gotten it cut because she thought it made her look like a guy! She just liked the way it looked. And it was easier to wash.
Did she want to be a guy? Again? she thought, experimentally.
No. Not like these... these assholes. She was maybe curious about what it would feel like, but she didn't want to be one. Was that because of a spell, though?
Suddenly there was noise from behind the metal door. A muffled but loud voice, then a thump... then silence. The girls looked at each other, but kept quiet. Attention was the last thing any of them wanted. Haylie hoped that wasn't Jewel or Adelle getting tortured.
There was a... a hard-to-describe sensation, a kind of tingle she associated with Magic. All of a sudden the oppressive dark aura seemed to fade from the room. Leaving just the non-Magical horror.
The door went thunk; the lock turned. The girls backed up against the far wall, for all the good it would do. Let's find out if kicking them in the balls really works, Haylie thought. A shadow of a ghost of a memory told her maybe it did.
The door swung open... and there stood Mrs. Llewellyn.
Lani shot forward into her arms, even faster than Mrs. Llewellyn moved. But not so fast that Jacqui Donovan wasn't already sprinting to Alice.
Last, but hardly least from Haylie's point of view, was Miranda. Mom. She snatched Haylie up in an almost crushing grip. "Oh, thank the Goddess, thank the Goddess, I was so worried, thank the Goddess you're all right..." Dimly she could hear the other Sisters murmuring similar things to their own Daughters. The room was awfully crowded now.
This. This Haylie trusted, this wasn't an act. Mom's trembling arms, the tears, the choked relieved sobs... she could not believe this was anything but a Mother's love. Whatever had been concealed - whatever reasons there had been to conceal - love was at the core. Haylie was still confused and hurt... but forgiveness was possible.
Alice was kinda like Jacqui - bold, even blunt sometimes. Even as she kept a firm grip on her Mom's arms, she was looking at Jacqui, and said, "Mom, this guy said Lani used to be a guy! One of them!"
Lots of glances were exchanged in seconds - between Sisters, between the girls, between the Sisters and the girls. Haylie saw the dismay in the eyes of all the grown-ups. Her Mom's lips thinned.
"We'll discuss that later," Mrs. Llewellyn said, "once we're safely out of here." She held Lani's hands. "I promise."
That, the girls could accept. One thing the religion of the Goddess held sacred was keeping promises.
The Sisters led the group out of their cell. Haylie saw a man - one of the guys who had locked them up - laying sprawled on the floor in a disjointed heap. She felt a little bad for being sad that he was alive... but only a little.
She felt much better about seeing Jewel and Adelle coming out of their cells, apparently unharmed. The Senior Sisters were talking. "Jewel, please stay with the girls. Adelle, stick with Natalie and Miranda and keep watch. Start moving up to the ground floor. We're searching for something, Miranda can explain."
Haylie was not at all pleased to see the most powerful witches moving away, but she took comfort that her Mother was there. She knew that the Brothers would harm her only over Miranda's dead body. Alice and Lani looked more nervous, but followed orders.
Jewel touched Miranda's shoulder. "What are they going after? More hostages?"
All the former prisoners were shocked and horrified by what her Mom told them. By the time they made it up the stairs - passing a couple more unconscious men - everyone was being very quiet. Haylie held hands with her Mom. Very tentatively, looking troubled, Jewel took her other hand as they waited.
~~~~~
Erica almost yelped when the telepathic message sounded in her head. Come on in. We've cleared the place. The hostages are safe, but the virus seed isn't here. We need to find what clues we can and then bug out.
Erica couldn't help but feel overjoyed at the news about Haylie and Jewel and the rest, even if the missing virus was worrying. One of the other Sisters replied, thoughtfully including Erica. What if it's a trap? We split up for a reason.
Jacqui's mental 'voice' sounded confident. I did a Finding. There isn't a Brother within miles of this place, I guarantee. No way they could get here before we got warning.
Flanked by the two Sisters, they made their way to the lodge in just a few minutes. A Sister stood guard out front, and waved them in. It looked like a wealthy man's vacation home; through a wide front window she saw a spacious living room with several couches and a fireplace. Once they got to the back stairs, though, it had taken on a more utilitarian air.
A group was waiting for them. Erica let out a glad cry and hugged Haylie, and then Jewel, and then her Mom. And then all three at once.
Just then the rest of the Sisters came up from below. They looked grim. At the questioning expressions everyone wore, Bronwyn said, "We didn't find it."
Jacqui grimaced. "We found where they made it, though. They..." She looked at the youngsters and stopped.
Laurie said, quietly, "It was Dark Magic, let's leave it at that." David looked uncomfortable.
Jewel spoke up. "They gotta know we're here. We gotta get outta here now."
Bronwyn nodded. "I concur. We'll decamp to a safe house, regroup, and..."
Erica gasped; almost everyone did. Something like a mental scream had rung out, then quickly cut off.
"That was Steffie!" Laurie exclaimed, horrified.
"Multiple Brothers!" Bronwyn barked. "How..." She cut herself off. "Set up defenses. We need to punch our way out, fast. We can't afford to be trapped here."
Erica stole a glance at David. He seemed just as shocked as the other Sisters.
Jacqui waved up the hall, already moving. "We meet them in the big living room. Space enough for a proper ward. Can cut their numbers fast, then push through the rest."
Bronwyn nodded. The group rushed down the hall. Sounds of windows and doors being smashed in came from all around.
Jacqui looked almost murderously angry and chagrined. "How the fuck did they hide from my Finding? They must really have a cloaking spell..."
"Aw, shit," David said, eyes widening as they got into the living room.
Jacqui glanced sharply his way. "What?"
David shook his head. "HALO jump, I think. They were probably in a plane, circling forty thousand feet up, maybe more. Miles away. Out of your sensing range. Takes less than three minutes to drop that far." He shook his head sourly. "A lot less if you use a flying spell to push it."
Jacqui glared at him. So did a couple other Sisters.
He shrugged defensively. "Portable oxygen supplies really opened up a lot of new techniques..." He flinched at Bronwyn's accusing scowl. "Look, I'm a junior Brother. I never saw it. I just heard about it once."
And then the picture window exploded inward; three men jumped in over the sill. Simultaneously, Brothers came in through the two doors. The fighting began at once. There were at least as many attackers as Sisters.
The strike force had a strategy so straightforward even a Novice like Erica could deduce it. The hostages were helpless, literally Powerless to defend themselves; thus many of the Brothers sent bolts and clots of Dark Power at the girls, while others focused on the adults. The logic was obvious. The Sisters would have to choose between protecting their daughters, thus handicapping themselves - or else devote their efforts fully to fighting the Brothers, and risk losing their beloved children.
The Sisters might be able to protect everyone for a time, but Erica realized it would quickly become a war of attrition, with her side at the disadvantage. She felt the beginnings of despair.
The first and only time Jacqui had been in a battle with the Brotherhood, she'd been a prodigiously talented but inexperienced novice. Not expecting her to ever become a full Sister, Bronwyn and Laurie hadn't taught her any of the Sisterhood's spells that related to combat, offense or defense. Ultimately that proved fortunate. She managed to use a spell she had learned - backed by her enormous power - to end the fight decisively.
That had been a decade ago. Jacqui was no longer a novice. She was a full Sister at the peak of training and power, and she was great and terrible.
After two of their number were swiftly flooded with Light in a handful of seconds, the attackers realized that, and were forced to focus on her. Just as quickly, Bronwyn and the others concentrated their efforts on defense, creating a Great Ward around themselves and the girls.
Though she drew the bulk of the fire, Jacqui never seemed in serious danger. Her hands and body moved fluidly, her voice rang clear and firm. The power she summoned was awesome in the purest sense of the term. She even had enough spare concentration to relay some telepathic intelligence back to her Sisters: They've got some new kind of Dark Ward. I can't Transform them. Erica sensed overtones of grim amusement in the next thought: So I'm gonna get old-school on them.
Jewel and Erica were novices. They lacked context or training to really follow the details. So they both were reminded of the martial arts movies they'd watched as teenage boys - about warriors so fast and strong and skilled that they needed to fight multiple opponents just to find a challenge.
"Holy fuck," Erica heard David say beside her, softly but quite distinctly. He had been summoning his power... but now he stared, wide-eyed and shocked, at Jacqui crushing the defenses of another combatant.
Suddenly, harsh syllables rang out; orders in a language Erica didn't know. Immediately - though a few appeared surprised - the remaining Brothers fell back, and shifted to pure collective defense.
The High Leader stepped into the room. "I am disgusted with myself." The voice was calm and quiet, and yet it cut through the chaos.
He was shaking his head. "Alexander underestimated you. Ghengis Khan underestimated you. Xerxes, Napoleon, Hitler, Lancaster - they all underestimated you. I was determined not to repeat that mistake." He smiled, self-deprecatingly. "And yet, I so very nearly did. I thought I had gathered overwhelming force, was certain this team would outmatch any possible group of Sisters. But you, my dear..." he nodded to Jacqui, "...you are truly special. A phenomenon. You exceed even myself."
"Thanks," Jacqui spat, arms up, eyes darting. Raw power, light that was more than illumination, curled the air around her hands.
"I certainly underestimated you. But unlike my predecessors, I did not forego caution because of that. You Sisters and my assault team are indeed evenly matched... but I am here, as well." His smile now displayed the full malevolence that lurked within. "And you cannot defeat me."
Jacqui glared. "You ain't so tough." Coming from her, it was a brute fact.
Yet he was unperturbed. "Let me clarify: you must not defeat me." He smiled in triumph, enjoying the uncertainty that crept into the Sister's eyes.
He kept talking, conversationally. "I assume David has explained our plans? You are much too late. Our masterstroke is poised and ready, far from here - but close to a cell tower. Held in check by a simple spell. My spell. I can dissolve it at will, naturally. But if my power fails - should I die, or the Dark Power be burned out of me, say - it will likewise be released." The Sisters gasped. "Strike me down, and you will kill billions - and yourselves as well, of course. Much of the energy will dissipate from me, right here in this room, no matter what." He shrugged. "True, I'd regret not being there to see my Brothers hunt down the remnants of the Sisterhood - if there are any. But the New Dominion will last forever, and I shall be its Father. Either way."
He laughed out loud at the horror filling the women's faces. Even some of the Brothers looked queasy.
His expression became serious. "Surrender now. I might delay the launch of the virus if I were busy extracting intelligence from you." His lips quirked in what might have been a grin. "But probably not."
He kept the pressure up. "Come, don't delude yourselves. Your position is hopeless." His smile dripped satisfaction. "And by now you've learned that while we cannot duplicate your Transformation, we can defend against it." He nodded toward the Sister's ward. "Young David's intelligence turned out to be most useful on that score."
David, jaw set, shoulders squared, stepped out of the group, past the boundaries of the ward. But his words were more hesitant, pleading. "Sir, please. There's no need... Think about all those people. It's not worth..."
The High Leader cut him off. "I cannot express how disappointed I was when you slipped away." He sighed. "But not, fortunately, altogether surprised." His hand came up. "Your utility has now reached an end."
"Watch him, he's..." David began, working to construct a defense. He got no further; a bolt of power, lightning-quick, flicked out from the High Leader. David collapsed without even a scream. Erica did scream, and moved toward him. Only her Mother's quick grasp of her shoulder stopped her, kept her from leaving the ward the High Priestess and the others maintained.
The small man mused, "Fast? Powerful? Dangerous? I wonder what he would have said?" He glanced at Erica, amused. "He still lives, girl. He's dying, but it will take a few painful minutes." He could not help but chuckle at the confusion on her face. "You really do want to Heal him, don't you? A boy who's betrayed us both." He shook his head in mock wonder. "You certainly have female weaknesses."
"You knew he'd tell us! You set him up!" Erica shouted at the Dark wizard. Her fury at David had transmuted to fury about him, for now.
The High Leader shrugged. "I planned for the possibility. It was a test - and his failure brought you into my trap a bit sooner than otherwise." He smiled. "His loyalty would serve one purpose, his betrayal another. The best strategies are like that."
All the attention was on the Sisters, the Brothers, the High Leader - and, for the moment, Erica. No one was paying any mind to the youngsters. So everyone was surprised when Jewel suddenly slipped past the ward.
The closest Sister gasped, but didn't dare shift her power or attention away from the defenses they maintained. Erica froze as Jewel walked toward the High Leader, then choked, "Jewel! Get back!"
She felt something wasn't right. She could almost hear her intuition screaming something to her, something about how Jewel moved.
The High Leader smiled. "Ah, the littlest Sister. Poor dear, what do you imagine..." But suddenly a bolt of power streaked at him from Jewel's hands.
Dark power.
The High Leader's eyes widened in surprise, and he grunted in pain. But one instant later his shields were properly tuned, and a blistering counterattack drove Jewel to her knees. Her own ward of Dark energy was shattered, almost totally dispelled.
"Fascinating," he mused aloud. "I suspected something like this after I saw the reports on the park incident, but still... who could have thought?"
The incomprehensible display ceased for a moment. Jewel stood up shakily, but still looked... wrong. Erica was reminded of the night Cory had been Transformed. The fury in those eyes, the body language... it was purely male.
The High Leader looked thoughtful now, not amused. "So. Cory Ellsworth is still with us after all. Is he not?"
Erica's jaw dropped. Peripherally, from gross body language, she sensed the consternation and confusion in her Mother, and Bronwyn, and Jacqui... but she just stared at the dark-haired, pale girl who had taken up such a masculine posture. Fighting her own body...
The way the eyebrows drew together, the clamp of the jaw, the clenched fists - and the sharp nod. They all screamed 'Cory'. Not 'Jewel'. Not even 'Cora'.
"I feel badly for you, actually. These 'women'..." The High Leader made a dismissive wave of a finger. "They chose to be what they are. You were forced, and you have obviously struggled against it. I will offer you your body back. An opportunity to join the Brotherhood. To become one of the new Lords of the Earth."
"You just got done saying you can't Transform anyone. Even they can't fix me." Jewel's... Cory's hand waved at the Sisters, equally contemptuous.
"Ah, but I know something they did not wish you to know." He grinned at Cory's immediate suspicious glare.
"Which is?"
"The Transformation is one spell. The binding that prevents anyone but you from undoing it is a separate spell entirely." Cory's eyes widened, but the High Leader kept speaking. "Ms. Jardin here bound it with her life. If she dies, any Sister could restore you."
Cory's eyes flickered at the Sisters in turn. Miranda, Bronwyn, Jacqui... and finally Erica. No words were needed; their expressions were confirmation enough. The fists trembled now, with rage. Darkness seemed to gather around... him.
The High Leader smiled, avuncular for the moment. "As I said, I have some sympathy for your plight. Swear allegiance to me, here and now, and I promise that Miranda Jardin will die first. I will force the others to Transform you back, before I decide how best to dispose of them."
Erica felt sick. How could he not?
Despair filled her as Cory stared witheringly at her and the other Sisters. "I hate them. I hate them so much." The voice was twisted in anger and pain. He turned to look the High Leader in the face. "But they aren't planning to kill billions." He shook his head. "Jewel's right. Fuck you. If I have to side with them to stop you, then fine. If I have to die with them, then fine."
"How disappointing." Whatever human feeling the High Leader's voice had held was gone. There was now simply arrogance. "Then death it shall be." Dark energy began to gather around his hands. "But I think I shall let my men use you first." A ghost of a smile. "Yes, you should learn how helpless you are. In that body, you can't possibly muster enough power to be a threat."
Cory stiffened. A moment later, a slow cruel smile spread across his face. "You're right," Cory snarled, still smiling. "In this body."
Something happened then. It was hard to recognize, to process. Cory's eyes closed, and power gathered. Some softness returned to... his? her? ...posture, but it was hard to tell if they were looking at Cory or Jewel. The eyes opened and a strange energy, light and darkness simultaneously, filled them.
Male and female bodies, working together, can create life - something neither can do separately. Just so, the male and female Magic, working together, did something impossible for either alone.
It wasn't a matter of sheer force. On an absolute scale, far more powerful energies were already contesting in that room. But it was utterly unique, Dark and Light intertwined. Had it been one or the other, the High Leader could have handled the attack effortlessly... but he could not effectively defend against both at once. A shield against the Dark was eroded by Light; shifting to battle the Light gave up ground to the Dark. It was a tribute to his skill and power that he managed to last a handful of seconds.
One of the Brothers started to raise his hands - then flinched as Jacqui's hands brightened. They didn't just glow now, they were shining.
The surreal energy made contact. The High Leader wailed; a sound full of abject, primal terror. The cry of a damned soul.
"Jewel... Cory, no!" Laurel screamed. "Don't kill him!"
But suddenly, in a single instant, the coruscating pyrotechnics vanished. The High Leader sagged, but was still standing.
Cory wobbled... No, Erica could tell somehow that it was Jewel's body language again.
Jacqui took a step toward her, then paused, uncertain, as the Dark sorcerers milled in confusion. She froze, squinting at the High Leader.
The man's head came up, and stared for a moment at his own hands. Then he looked around. "I really wasn't sure that'd work," he said quietly, eyes fixed on Jewel. She was gazing at him, transfixed, mouth hanging open.
"Cory?" Jacqui blurted, eyes wide.
It was a marvel how different the smile on that face could be, while still containing such ill-will. "Yup." He flexed his hands, and chuckled mirthlessly. "In the flesh. Finally."
Erica was amazed, later, that she wasn't paralyzed in shock. But David was laying there, and she couldn't even be sure he was breathing now. She ran to him. Everyone else crossed the ward, why not me?
She felt for his life-force. It was weak, so weak, and fading. Desperate, she tried for a Healing link... but it was blocked.
Erica had never heard Laurie curse before. It was under her breath, true... The woman knelt and said, urgently, "Let me do this. You're not ready for it." At Erica's dismayed expression, she said, "Hold my hand. You can help."
She clenched it, and was pulled into a very odd state of mind. It was like there was a wall between her panic and the rest of her. That was a good thing, because she sensed through Laurie's power just how close to death David was. Light flowed into him, and she whimpered involuntarily. She experienced a fraction of the enormous pain Laurie was taking onto herself. The Chief Healer hadn't been lying; no Novice could have survived the link alone.
It took surprisingly little actual time. In only a handful of seconds, she had attention to spare for what was going on in the rest of the room. Jacqui had turned to face the Brothers. "On your knees, hands behind your head!" she said, voice full of authority.
"Hold on just a sec," Cory said, distantly amused.
"What? Cory, you..."
Cory was looking at Bronwyn. "This guy, this 'High Leader' had a point. These 'Brothers'... they could hurt you a lot, kill some of you. Especially if I sided with them. I may not have a lot of skill yet, but I've got a lot of 'Dark power' now. His and mine."
"You... what...." Bronwyn seemed, for the first time Erica had ever seen, totally at a loss.
He shrugged. "Or... we could wipe them out fast, if I worked with you." The Brothers tensed, looking scared or brave.
Bronwyn recovered. "What do you want?" she demanded.
"First let me tell you what I can offer. I can... feel where the virus is. I'm holding it back, even now. I show you where it is, and then you do something for me."
Bronwyn's head tilted curiously. "What do you want?" she repeated.
Cory almost seemed to explode. "I want my life back!" he bellowed. "This body doesn't have any fucking binding spell on it. You make me be me again, and I go home!"
Jewel gasped.
Erica stood up, feeling drained and aching. Laurel clearly couldn't stand yet. David seemed to be in the same boat. "But what about... Jewel?" she wailed.
"Fuck her," Cory spat. "I made her, I hid inside of her, I had to wade through all that shit and I am fucking done!"
All this time, Jewel had just been standing there, staring at what the High Leader had become. Shocked and numb. Now she stepped towards Cory, and said, "You can't... Mom and dad..."
"Don't push me," he snapped, glaring directly back at Jewel.
Erica finally had time to really think, and actually absorbed that Jacqui had been very, very wrong. 'Cory' hadn't been a 'coping mechanism' - he'd been a real presence. A split personality. Who'd just abandoned ship...
Bronwyn and Jacqui looked unaccustomedly nervous, unsure just how serious Cory's threat was. Jewel saw their faces. Erica held her breath, not sure herself what was the right thing to do.
Jewel turned back to Cory. He glowered; bristling, aggressive, challenging. For a moment, she just stood silent. Erica felt like everyone held their breath; she certainly did.
Then Jewel said, gently. "Okay. Let him go. Do it."
Cory blinked, and seemed almost suspicious... but he nodded once at her.
Bronwyn, after a moment to be sure the situation with Cory was stable, turned to the Brothers. A haze of Dark Power still hovered about them, but they were making no threatening moves. One of them, a tall blond man, seemed to have assumed the lead of the group. He met her gaze carefully.
She said, "We would prefer to end this without further harm to anyone."
The man considered this a second, glanced at Jacqui, and nodded cautiously. "We'd prefer that, too."
Bronwyn's tone was harsh. "We need assurances that no other viruses will be produced."
"We can swear an Oath to that right now," the man said. "A new Dominion was his goal." He waved to Cory, or at least the body he wore. "Personally, I could give a shit."
"You coulda fought him! David did!" Erica yelled.
The man didn't seem impressed. "And end up like him?" David's eyes were open, but he wasn't moving.
After a pause, the witches pushed forward. "You know rather too much about us for us to be comfortable," Jacqui pointed out dangerously.
The blond man shrugged. "An Oath of nonaggression then. Magically binding. A... peace treaty." He glanced at the others. "Anybody got a problem with that?"
The men exchanged glances; some of them still seemed very spooked by Jacqui. "No problem, High Leader," one of them - a stocky guy with a dark beard - said with a very faint grin.
David was slowly levering himself up to a sitting position. In a faint, thready voice, he said, "Make sure he commits the whole Circle to it."
The new High Leader shrugged. "They'll swear. Or they'll answer to me."
~~~~~
It was dawn when a set of exhausted witches teleported back to their cars and started driving home. Miranda, Erica, Haylie, and Jewel were in one car. Bronwyn, Laurie and Jacqui followed them. Lani and Alice slept in the back seat.
"I should have figured it out," Jacqui lamented as she drove. "I'd had 'Jack' in my mind, I had a better idea than anyone what Jewel was going through. I should have seen the possibility."
She looked over at Bronwyn, and in the rearview mirror at Laurie. "But I had a better support system than Jewel." Then, she shook her head. "No, I take that back. Miranda and Erica were at least as good as you were, and under worse circumstances. But I had people I really did love and trust." She pursed her lips. "Jewel didn't have that, not at first. We all had to earn her trust."
Laurie, not surprisingly, sounded very tired. "How could you have imagined it?"
"All that stress? When it's natural to... to distinguish between two different ways of thinking and being?" Jacqui shook her head. "And all that psychology study. A split personality isn't that big a stretch."
"Each of us missed a lot," Bronwyn sighed. "Don't beat yourself up too much."
Laurie shrugged. "Well, at least it explains the prophecy pretty well."
"Yeah. Cory was the hidden serpent inside Jewel. And he and Jewel used the 'power beyond memory' to allow him to strike and escape."
Bronwyn nodded. "The chasm they formed between themselves bridged the chasm between Dark and Light. And possibly between the Sisterhood and the Brotherhood."
"That's gonna be weird," Jacqui mused.
None of the Sisters could disagree. "I think we'll keep the girls home from school today," Laurie said quietly. It was hard to believe the attack on the girls in the park had been Saturday night, and it was only Monday morning.
~~~~~
Haylie had fallen asleep on the way home, of course, and was only half-awake as she stumbled along the hallway, blinking. Miranda, leading her to bed, couldn't help but smile in relief so intense it hurt.
She got out pajamas and let the girl change, then got her in bed and pulled the covers up. But Haylie seemed a little more focused as she looked in her Mom's eyes. "Mom? Was I a guy once? For real?"
Miranda nodded gravely. "Yes, punkin."
Haylie, eyes wide but surprisingly calm, said, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"We were going to, luv. When you joined the Sisterhood. We were going to tell you everything." She swallowed, tears gathering. "We just... wanted to wait until you were ready."
"Really? You were gonna tell me?" Haylie looked even younger than her ten years. Just looking for Motherly comfort.
"Cross my heart, punkin. I swear."
Haylie thought about it for a moment. "That's okay, then. That's better." She leaned up and gave Miranda a kiss. "I love you, Mom."
"Oh, baby, I love you so much," Miranda managed. She hugged her Daughter - her Daughter in truth, even if she hadn't carried and borne her herself - and left the room. She cried herself to sleep, of course, but they were hopeful tears. Whatever the future brought, she still had her girls, and their love.
~~~~~
Late afternoon, after a nap that had been nowhere near long enough, Erica sat at the table on the patio back of her house. With David. Unlike times gone by, neither was doing much looking into each other's eyes.
She wouldn't even be here at all, except that Jacqui had brought him over and advised her to talk to him. "Listen to what he has to say," she'd said. "That's all."
"Why should I?" Erica had demanded, coldly.
"I've been in his head. And he did help us." She'd sighed. "Just... talk with him."
But no one was talking now. The moment drew out, excruciatingly uncomfortable. Finally he broke the silence. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what the High Leader had planned."
"You kidnapped my little sister. My friend. You tried to kidnap me." She was mildly pleased with how little accusation was in the tone. It was barely any more than a statement of fact.
He flinched anyway. "I'm sorry about that, too. There was a lot I didn't know."
She didn't manage the job so well the second time. "You didn't know abducting little girls was wrong?"
He didn't just flinch, he shrank back. "I... I didn't..." He stopped, braced himself. "At the time, I didn't think that they were girls. Not really."
"Just what the hell did you think they were?" Her tone kept getting more vicious despite herself. She hadn't wanted it to go like this, for him to see how much he'd hurt her.
He finally looked her in the eye. "Erica, one of your 'Brotherhood Babies' is my Father."
She felt like a punctured balloon, her righteousness leaking out, replaced by confusion and a hint of uneasy guilt.
"Goddess," she breathed. Then she stiffened, and blurted, "Oh, Goddess, is it Haylie?"
He shook his head. "I don't think so. Their names seem to come from their former lives, and it'd be kind of hard to get 'Haylie' from 'Scott Cartwright'." He frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "Though I'm not sure what the feminine version of Scott would be."
She digested that for a moment. "But. Somewhere, out there..."
"Yeah."
"That's..." horrible, was her first thought. But could Haylie be 'horrible'? "...a lot to think about," she managed after a second.
"Exactly." He looked down at the table. But he wasn't avoiding eye contact, he was thinking. "I had a lot invested in thinking of them as my Brothers, under a curse."
"Do you still?"
He brooded for a while. "I don't know. I dunno if 'curse' would even be the right word."
Erica thought of Haylie. They both weren't talking again. Eventually she asked, tentatively, "Do you... want to find out which one of them is your dad?"
He was silent so long she almost moved on. Then, very quietly, he said, "I don't... I don't think so." He shook his head. "Whoever he was... he's someone different now. In a way, he died in the Transformation."
Erica, from her perspective, couldn't quite agree. Of course, she hadn't been turned into a baby girl. Still... but David spoke on.
"Maybe, whichever one... well, they'll be, y'know... they'll be Sisters, eventually, right?"
Erica confirmed that, making a point of what he wouldn't say. "When they get their periods, yeah."
"Maybe, then..." He shrugged. "She might choose to turn back. I'm not even sure that would be my Father, either. But... whoever..." He waved his hands vaguely. "She's a real person. She should choose."
They were both quiet again for a time. Then Erica, compelled, said, "You lied about everything. I don't even know who you really are."
He chewed his lip for a second. "The David you knew... he was me, y'know. Not all of me, but... well. I didn't add; I just, y'know, subtracted. Hid things." He smiled wryly. "It wouldn't have worked, otherwise. Faked mental constructs are the easiest to spot."
The idea of a "Director's Cut" David was uncomfortably fascinating, threatening to derail her. Girls liked deep boys, and David had depths undreamed of by normal guys. Dammit, he'd hurt her! And her family, and her friends! To the heart! Why was it so hard to hold onto that?
"So what are you gonna do now that your mission's over?" She'd wanted to sound cold, sarcastic. Instead she sounded bitter and hurt.
"I'm not gonna join the Sisterhood. And not just 'cause I won't pony up the initiation fee." He flashed that heart-melting grin for a second. "But I'm pretty sure now the Brotherhood could learn a few things from you ladies. And so's my Circle."
"Like what?" she challenged.
He spread his hands, not smiling anymore. "For one thing, there are other Circles out there. Some of 'em might have guys as crazy as the High Leader was. We wanna put our heads together with the Sisterhood and figure out ways to change the cell networks, protect 'em from chain reactions."
"Oh," she said.
"And obviously, after what Jewel and Cory did... there's power in combining Light and Dark magic. Incredible power. We and the Sisterhood both stand to benefit from researching, um, 'joint operations'. And we have to stay on good terms to do that."
He eyed her cautiously. "They want me to be a sort of go-between. Liaison. Since I have... um... direct experience. With Sisters."
The hurt was back. "Really direct," she said, with an edge.
He winced. "I know, I tricked you. Seduced you. Deliberately shaped how I acted to get you to fall in love with me. Lied my way into a physical and emotional relationship."
Every word was like a blunt stake shoved into her heart.
He paused. "And I'm really sorry about it." At her indrawn breath, he spoke quickly. "And not because the High Leader was psycho and I was basically working for the bad guys. It's because I fell in love with you."
That shut her up. She had no clue what to say.
He shrugged. "You turned me. You're so amazing, you're... you're good. 'Good' and 'evil' weren't... really part of my worldview, before. You showed me, just by being yourself, that the Sisterhood wasn't what I'd been led to believe. The High Leader used me. Set me up like a shaped charge and aimed me right for the Sisterhood, through you. But you turned me inside out."
She knew she just looked shocked. She couldn't do anything else, though.
"I know it's all ruined now. If I'd manned up before, when they told me to capture you all... if I'd turned on them then, maybe you could trust me. But I... didn't." He started to stand up. "I just wanted to say, I'm sorry. I might have to work with the High Priestess and them, but I won't bother you if I can help it."
He knew her past, and still, somehow, seemed interested. Actually, if he hadn't been 'adding things', he was very interested. Is he lying again? He's supposed to be the 'liason'...
And then she remembered why they were having this conversation. "Listen to what he has to say," Jacqui had told her. And she'd dug all through his mind...
"Wait," she said. "Maybe... maybe we can start over." At his widening eyes, she said, "With some ground rules. Like, no more lying."
He sat down again, carefully. "Yes, ma'am," he said. His grin was quite muted, not as dazzling as it might have been... but it was still pretty cute. Hopeful.
~~~~~
Jacqui took David away, but in the evening, all three senior Sisters came over, and held a meeting. Jewel had done little but sleep and stay in her room - she'd barely eaten or spoken at dinner - but they insisted she come down and join them.
They requested her permission to examine her mind. Without much emotion, she agreed. For perhaps five minutes, the Sisters held a circle, eyes closed. Then they stirred. And smiled. Erica was crying, but smiling with the rest.
Bronwyn looked thoroughly impressed. "You're a very brave girl, to have gone through all that. Braver even than we imagined."
Jewel shrugged, unmoved. "I'm just half a person. Just a mask Cory wore." Her voice cracked.
"No!" Five witches cried out at once.
"You're not half anything!" Erica declared, grabbing the girl in a bear hug. A large, reassuring clot gathered swiftly around her, almost smothering her with acceptance and comfort.
"It's true. Now that you've released us from our oath, we've seen your mind. You're a whole person, never doubt it." Jacqui's eyes, like the rest of the Sisters now, were misting up a bit.
"You're no disguise. Cory may have meant for you to be, but you got away from him." Laurie said, gently as ever. "You are..." She searched for the words for a moment. "You are what he never gave himself permission to become."
"You were faced with an impossible choice. Impossible for you as you were, at least. Two horrible alternatives, to be trapped in a life you hated and could not cope with, or be forced to grow in ways and directions that terrified you." Bronwyn, too, could be gentle when needed.
"But that's the point! Cory was, not me!"
"No." Jacqui's voice was implacable. "You're Cory, too."
Jewel's face showed incomprehension... along with just a flicker of hope.
"It's true. Faced with the choice, you tried to find a third way." She smiled. "Like always." She put her hand top of the girl's. "You thought you had. But what you really ended up doing was taking both ways."
Erica found the slight frown on her friend's face a hopeful sign. A sign that she was thinking about what they were saying.
Jacqui continued. "Cory couldn't face the Transition. He saw it as death, not growth in a new direction. So the split personality developed, yes. But you, Jewel - you're not a fiction. You couldn't be, to hide what he was - what you were - doing."
"A mask of a woman cannot wield the Light," Miranda said definitively. "Only a woman can."
Bronwyn went on. "You're everything Cory was at the time of his Transformation... allowed to grow and develop through a Transition. The 'Cory' that's in the High Leader's body now is the part of you that hid himself away, and cut himself from that development. From almost all development that didn't relate to survival."
"What you did... we didn't know it was possible. You divided yourself. Not just your mind, like in a split personality case. You split your soul." Jacqui sounded awed.
At Jewel's concerned expression, she went on. "Not violently. More like... a cell dividing." She shook her head, marveling. "A little Magic goes into every conception. Male Dark and female Light, joining to make a new soul from the parents. You did something like that, without even realizing." She chuckled. "Spiritual parthenogenesis."
Erica was relieved to see Jewel really concentrating on absorbing a new concept. After a while, though, she shuddered. "He hated me so much. He still hates me."
Laurie sounded very sad. "He needed that hate and anger, so he could exist. He couldn't allow himself to forgive, to make peace with what happened." She sighed. "I hope that, now that he's escaped, he can find some peace, find a way to grow again."
"Being back with Mom and Dad should help," Jewel mused.
Erica stole a glance at her Mom. She couldn't imagine not being able to see her, not being able to talk with her. "You're gonna stay away?"
Jewel shrugged sadly. "He needs them more than me. He can't be with Brandon, or his other friends. They're all graduating and going off to college anyway."
"Will you miss them?" Erica asked, concerned.
Her wan smile and downcast eyes answered for her. "I think... maybe in a few months, I can talk Cory into letting me visit sometimes. As one of his friends. Eventually." She looked around then, shyly, at the circle of women. "But I'm not their son anymore. And... I hope I have a new family?"
Again, there was barely enough room for everyone to hug her at once. And there was not a dry eye in the place.
~~~~~
Brandon walked into the Ellsworth's living room. Cory had been home for a week, and this was the first time he'd agreed to see him. Or anybody. His friend sat stiffly on a couch. He took a deep breath when he saw Brandon.
Before he could even say anything, Cory blurted, "Don't sit down. This is gonna have to be quick." He fidgeted. "I'm... sorry, but we can't be friends anymore."
Brandon was stunned. "But... why?" He spread his hands, confused. "Is this about Danielle?"
Cory scoffed. "No. Fuck her." He still wouldn't look at his face. "It's just... I can't." Another deep breath. "I appreciate that you helped mom and dad while... I was gone. Really. But..." His hands balled into fists. "What I've been through, you can't imagine."
"Talk to me. I want to help. If you just tell me, I won't have to imagine." He tried to get Cory to meet his eyes. "Whatever's going on, I know you. There's gotta be a reason."
Cory's jaw clenched. Then he bit out, "Ask Jewel. She can explain it. Talk to her, then you'll know why I can't... can't be around you anymore."
Brandon's blood chilled. He'd suspected it, but... "What does she got to do with this? With you?"
"She knows all about it." Cory glanced at him. Then he looked away, but said, slowly, "It wasn't her fault. She... did what she thought she had to do." His hands curled again. "She really cares about you."
"What the fuck is going on?" he yelled.
"Talk to her. Hear her out." He put up a hand. "You're a good guy, and you deserve the truth. But..." A deep breath. Cory was really worked up. "But it can't come from me. I just... can't."
He stood up. "Thanks for everything you did for mom, dad, and me. But I can't be your friend anymore. Go see Jewel. Then you'll understand."
"Goodbye." Cory walked out and up the stairs. Brandon stood there, stunned, for a while before he went and said goodbye to Cory's parents. They were very subdued, too, but at least his dad shook his hand and his mom gave him a hug. They looked troubled, too.
~~~~~
Jewel opened the door and, just for a second, gave him that killer smile. But then she saw his expression and it died. "Are... you okay?" she said as she let him in. Erica came in from the kitchen and tensed up, too.
He looked Jewel in the eye for a moment, then said, "Cory told me to come talk to you. Said you could explain why he can't be around me anymore."
Erica appeared stricken, her face pale. Jewel didn't seem surprised at all, though. Disappointed, maybe, but not surprised.
"Come on upstairs. We can talk in my room." He followed her up. They sat on her bed. He'd only been up here a few times, and never alone with the door closed. He wished he could appreciate it.
Jewel licked her lips and said, "This is gonna be... hard. And weird." She paused. "And it's gonna sound fucking crazy." She stared into his eyes and asked, almost begged, "Will you just listen and let me finish? Then you can ask me anything you want. But just let me finish. Okay?"
Brandon nodded. "Okay."
Jewel was quiet for a moment, obviously wondering where to start. Finally she said, "Remember, like, a week or two after school started last fall? Cory asked you what you thought of Erica?"
He tilted his head to the side. "I dunno. Maybe."
Jewel sighed. "Well, turns out he had a reason..."
Brandon kept his promise and just listened, at first. It wasn't easy. The feeling of sheer horror kept growing. He'd known that Jewel had... issues. Mostly about guys and sex and trust - and probably from some kind of molestation or assault. But he'd thought things had been getting much better. As she talked, he swiftly realized that the girl he'd fallen in love with had instead developed major mental disorders. Witches? Magic? Transformation?
And then, Cory became Cora; he couldn't stop himself from trying to point out holes, bring her to her senses. "Wait, but I just saw him! If you were him..."
She had a hand up. "I know, it's even more fucked up than you'd believe. Just... just hold on for a bit."
He shut up, grudgingly. She went on, describing the negotiations, the initial cover up, the lessons, the endless adjustments. Cory's torment, and struggles. What made it worse was how seriously she spoke. It wasn't a joke. She believed it.
His dismay was crushing. And he came to a horrible understanding - Jewel must be Cory's sister, and he blamed Brandon for this... madness. That's why he had pushed him away.
And then, she got to the night it had - supposedly - come to the crisis point.
"Cory was... strung out. He'd made it three weeks but he just couldn't take it anymore." Now she was gazing off into the distance, thoughtful. Almost philosophical. "He'd been studying psychology and Magic and... he tried to make a split personality." She shook her head, marveling. "And he kinda did."
She described the birth and development of Cora. Of herself. "We wound up pulling apart. Making it - making me - real. Using Dark and Light Magic without even knowing what we were doing."
Jewel went over the past semester, and Danielle. And her own efforts to steal him from her. She made no attempt to put herself in a particularly attractive or sympathetic light. The events themselves were mostly familiar, albeit from a radically different - crazy - perspective.
It was very disturbing to hear about 'Sisters' sending dreams, however. For the first time, a tiny part of himself wondered...
The story of the attack in the park was unsettling in a different way. She described how Cory had sort of 'taken control' and savagely killed the psycho with 'Dark power'.
He couldn't help but speculate that Jewel had suffered her mental break then; that getting assaulted - again? - explained the demented story she was telling. He didn't say anything, yet he could see in her eyes that she picked up on his suspicions. And his grief.
As if in confirmation, after that things went completely off the rails. The 'Brotherhood', David a secret agent and infiltrator. Magical, genocidal, world-ending phone viruses?!
She described the bizarre reconstitution/escape behind the return of Cory, and wrapped up with the current détente between the Magical factions. Brandon absorbed it all for a few moments. "You know I'm gonna need... some kind of proof." He was trying to figure out who he could call about a psych eval. Somehow he couldn't be scared of her, even though she had suffered a psychotic break... but he felt very sorry and scared for her.
Jewel smiled, a little sad. "Oh, absolutely. You'd be fucked in the head if you didn't." She breathed in deep, and let it out slow. "Gimme just a sec..."
She closed her eyes, took one more breath, and muttered something. Then she passed her hands in front of her face and down her body.
And she inflated like a balloon and was him. "Holy shit!" he yelped, involuntarily, and fell off the bed onto the floor. His own smiling face grinned down at him.
"Pretty fucked up, huh?" the duplicate said. In his voice.
Another handwave made the image blur, shrink, and become Jewel again. The voice rose in pitch, blending from male to female as he/she said, "Yeah, that's about how Cory felt too. And Erica."
He got up off the ground and stood away from the bed. "Holy shit." He stared, adrift, for long seconds. His whole universe spinning wildly on some axis he'd never imagined. "Can you... do that one more time?"
She nodded knowingly. "How 'bout something else?" She raised her hands, and paused. "I promise, I won't hurt you."
Another vocalization, a gesture, and the floor dropped away. "Whoa, whah!?" He realized it wasn't an earthquake, he wasn't falling, the house hadn't collapsed; instead he was just floating in the air, rotating very slowly.
He knew too much about physics not to recognize zero gravity. This wasn't some visual hallucination; his lunch was trying to crawl up from his stomach. Everything else in the room was in the correct place, yet here he was, levitating. Which was fucking impossible.
"Okay, I'm gonna let you down," Jewel warned. An incantation restored his weight over a few seconds. Plenty of time for him to settle safely.
He licked his lips. He felt like he'd been kicked in the head. By an elephant. "Well, fuck." He looked at her face - carefully neutral, he couldn't help noting - and said, "I, uh, guess you're not crazy..."
She shrugged. "No, I'm just a splinter of the soul of your best friend, turned into a girl, who tricked you into dating her." A scoff. "Nothing crazy about that."
He swallowed, unable to ignore the obvious pain in her words... but he was still in shock. Unsure how to respond, or even how he wanted to respond. Her story couldn't be true - and yet, how could he doubt it now?
Implications were occurring to him. "Wait... I'm a civilian who knows about a whole secret war." He chewed his lip. "Somebody gonna blank my mind after this? Like they wanted with Cory's parents?"
Jewel was looking out the window. "Sisters aren't supposed to ever talk about this stuff with anybody. Even the fathers of their kids." A quick glance in his eyes, then away. "I got a sort of dispensation from the head Sisters. Since you know me and Cory and everybody. I mean, he got to tell his parents." She shrugged. "They're kinda making it up as they go, I think. This kinda stuff hasn't happened since, like, before the last Ice Age."
That was too much to process right now. He sat back down on the bed... but not as close as before. "So... are you Cory or not? I still don't understand..."
She stared at the bedspread, not him, fingers working absently, and tried to relay what the Sisters had said about the apparently unprecedented situation. It didn't make a lot of sense.
He took some time to absorb it, anyway. Then: "So you're kinda like... Corys from parallel worlds? Corys who took different paths?"
Jewel brightened up a bit. "Yeah, kinda." Then her face clouded. "Neither one of us is exactly the guy you knew last year, though. We both changed." A very small, joyless grin. "Maybe me a little more."
There didn't seem to be much to say about that. "Why didn't Cory tell me this? He's got magic powers, too, right? He could have convinced me."
Jewel's fingers still worked. "He's kind of a coward. About some things." A stifled, half-hysterical chuckle. "After that first period he was ready to slit his wrists." She looked up. "Imagine if you were totally against turning into a girl. Enough to actually split your own mind apart. But then you had to ride around in a girl's head for months, hiding from everyone else. Feeling what she felt. Like, for example... for your best friend."
Her breath hitched, just slightly. "Watching her start to like him in whole new ways. Start to want to be a girl, because of him." She drove on, unrelenting. "Feeling her kiss him. Suck him off. Take him up the ass." Her fingers were in knots. "Feeling her like it. All of it."
There really wasn't anything to say about that. "Oh."
"He knows it's not your fault." That decaying corpse of a smile again. "I can be sure about that." No smile now: "But you... remind him of things he... needs to put behind him. To stay sane."
If what she was saying was true - and those spells sure bolstered her case - she'd be the authority on what Cory felt. So what does that say about what Cory knows about her? he thought. He said she cares about me a lot... And he always understates things like that...
Her hand was sitting beside her on the bedspread. Close enough to touch. Did he want to?
He sat still, flailing inside, and said, "I'm gonna have to think about this."
Her face was utterly blank now. Almost dead. "I understand."
He missed her smile. A lot. He didn't want to hurt her. But...
Not meeting his eyes, she went on. "I'll leave you alone now. If you want." She shrugged. "I just... owed you the truth."
"Thanks." And what did he owe her? "I'm... gonna have to think about this."
As he stood up, she mentioned, not quite casually, "You could talk to David about it."
He blinked. "He's... he's sticking around?" With Erica?
Jewel shrugged. "Looks that way."
"I'll... do that." Half an hour ago, he'd have hugged and kissed her goodbye. Instead, he just said, "See you later."
"See you," she said. Voice gray, colorless.
Erica was hanging out - hovering - downstairs, and watched him intently as he came down. He avoided looking at her as he walked out the door.
~~~~~
Jewel adjusted her cap. It was hot under the robe. At least the girls get to wear white ones, she thought. Brandon looks like he's gonna melt. The boys were stuck with dark blue, which soaked up the bright California sun.
She felt he looked hot in another way, so she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. To her delight - and lingering amazement - he kissed back. It had only taken him a couple days to come around.
Talking to David had probably been the biggest help. Erica's boyfriend could give a third-party perspective on the Transformation. And he obviously accepted it.
She broke off with Brandon and elbowed Erica. "Time to quit macking. They're finally getting ready to start."
Erica blushed a little, but gave up smooching David. Sure enough, the teachers started getting everyone seated in alphabetical order moments later. She had just enough time to wipe lipstick off his mouth. Jewel waved as she passed Kristina, who smiled happily back as she found her seat.
The junior Brother had been useful in building another bridge as well. The foundations of one, anyway. Cory would talk to him, so there was a channel of sorts between her and the Ellsworths. In time, maybe there could be a relationship of some kind. Maybe they'd like having a daughter, too, one day.
Baby steps, she thought as she moved to her seat. Perhaps it was a little self-flattering, but she figured Cory had what it took to grow and adapt. He was a guy, admittedly, but even so it shouldn't take more than six months or so for him to get his head out of his ass.
She still wasn't quite used to having his ass out of her head. A whole skull to herself, no Cory looking over her mental shoulders all the time. Judging her, more often than not.
It was a good feeling, though. Like she'd been carrying someone on her back for months, weighing down every step. And now she could finally stand up straight. She could breathe, stretch out. Maybe even run.
She was enjoying the chance to look at things from a fresh perspective.
But it had been disorienting, too. She'd pushed through the Transition for two reasons - to restore Cory, and restore Cory to her parents. Now, both were accomplished... yet she was still here. Surplus to requirements. No one - not even she herself - had pictured a time when there would be both a Cory and a Jewel. She'd expected to slowly fade away, be absorbed back into him. To protect her mom and dad, she'd accepted it.
Was there a place in the world for her?
She'd done a lot of thinking about that in the past week and a half. She kept doing so, sitting in a folding chair, sweltering in the crowd of graduates, as the commencement speeches commenced. Now that the central purpose of her existence was accomplished - an existence that had never supposed to become quite real - who was she? What did she want?
She'd identified a few things. Her feelings for Brandon... her love for him, that was real. And for Jacinta and Gabriela. And Erica, and Haylie.
Even for Miranda and the other Sisters. Yes, they had misled her, and concealed many important things. On the other hand... after seeing the Brotherhood at its worst, she could understand the necessity, the desperation that had driven them to it. Under the circumstances, she was impressed with how far they'd gone, how much they'd risked, to help her.
In a way, she now was free as few others could be. The Transition no longer seemed quite so daunting, without Cory's lurking distaste poisoning things. And at the end, once she'd mastered the Transformation spell... she could be anyone she chose, boy or girl. Make whatever role she chose for herself, no limitations at all. Jacqui figured that if Jewel became male, she'd even still have Dark magic. How many people ever had opportunities like that?
No, life didn't appear so bad from this vantage point. In fact, she had a place for herself in mind. There was a lot to learn, and she was looking forward to it. Magic, computers... and the new mixed power she and Cory had rediscovered. Important work, that she was uniquely qualified to do. She had taken a crucial role in literally saving the world, after all. Now she had something of a proprietary interest in keeping it saved.
All that, and a guy she loved, who loved her back? And friends and mentors who loved her? She didn't think she'd become a guy, even if things didn't work out with Brandon. Let Cory do life as a guy. That position was filled. She'd make her own.
"Jacinta Acosta!"
The first alphabetically in the whole school. The march had begun. She cheered and waved to her friend enthusiastically. There was someone Cory would never have hung with. But now she and Gabriela were BFFs, and she wasn't the least bit embarrassed to put it like that. Cory had had one best friend - Brandon - and with guys, 'forever' was never all that sure. A few other names, and then...
"David Burke!"
He responded to his cover name, taking the stage with his accustomed confidence... and cheers from a wide variety of people. Jewel definitely thought he was cute - she had no trouble understanding Erica's attraction - but he was just a little too perfect, just a little... too much. A friend, sure, but not a boyfriend. No way.
"Erica Jardin!"
She took the stage with a bright smile and a wave to her cheering friends and family. Jewel made sure she was heard in the mix, which wasn't easy since David was so loud, and Haylie was as high-pitched.
She was practically a stereotypical Sister - regarding the Transformation, almost from the start, as a grand adventure rather than a curse. Jewel thought she understood why, now: the way she - well, he - had been raised. Pre-conditioning him in a way. And then, all the encouragement in the world to go along with the new brain that came with it, rather than fighting it. All in all, Jewel wished she could have had that more typical Transition... but things hadn't worked out so badly in the end.
And she thought Erica was going to be an excellent Sister, in time. And, as far as Jewel was concerned, her sister, too.
"Gabriela Jimenez!"
Loud cheers again; her other BFF could have no doubt Jewel approved. All three of them were going to the same school, at least for the next couple years, and she couldn't be happier about it. She was trying to encourage Gabriela to pursue a science track, and she thought she might have succeeded. They had helped her so much; more than they even realized. She was determined to pay them back, any way she could.
"Brandon Metcalfe!"
"Yeaaaah! Shake it, baby!" she called. He didn't blush, but his smile took on a tinge of embarrassment as he accepted his diploma. Still a genuine smile as he looked at her, though.
Yes, Brandon was definitely more her type. Real. Grounded. Reliable. Totally cute. And no ulterior motives. She knew what she was getting with him. And now, vice versa. It felt awesome not to have to lie to him anymore.
Although, actually, he didn't know everything he was getting. There wouldn't be a chance tonight, but before long she was going to prove to him it had been a good idea to stay with her. She'd discovered a potion in Miranda's spellbooks that could give a man nearly as much sexual stamina as a woman, for a few hours. He was going to have a long happy night as soon as she could manage it.
"Jewel Pinto!"
She strode across the stage, took her diploma, and held it high. Her friends, her boyfriend, her Sisters - they all were shouting and waving and celebrating. There was a lot to celebrate, present and future...
~~~~~
As he carried in his carry-out dinner, he immediately noticed the glow coming into the darkened kitchen from the living room of his condominium. Many people would not have been sure if they had left a light on, but his career demanded meticulous attention to detail. The fact that the alarm showed no signs of tampering was another bad omen.
Silently placing the boxes of Chinese food on the counter, he glanced at the phone. The line appeared to still be live; it hadn't been cut. As expected, the message light wasn't blinking. He had little contact with his family and the nature of his work discouraged socializing.
All this had taken scant seconds. He drew the gun from his shoulder holster and advanced to the doorway. Flashy home ambushes were vastly more common in fiction than reality, and any operative sent for assassination would be unlikely to be clumsy enough to make his presence so obvious... but that was no reason not to be careful. He hadn't been in this kind of situation in years, but it was like riding a bicycle. The muscles remembered.
He quickly peeked around the corner, and jerked back to review what he'd glimpsed. One man, sitting casually in the recliner, a book held open on his lap. No obvious weapons or backup.
"I am unarmed, Mr. Harper," came the voice from the living room. "Please, come in. I am anxious to finally meet you." A rich, cultured baritone with a faint accent; Portuguese, or maybe Spanish. Latin American, certainly. But it had been close to a decade since he'd been stationed in South America...
He stepped in cautiously, eyes roving, gun at the ready. After a rapid survey of the room, he moved to a secure point with a view of all entrances and adopted a classic two-handed Weaver stance, targeting the intruder's chest. "All right, you have sixty seconds to explain why you should live."
A slight, Mona-Lisa smile had appeared on the man's face. He was middle-aged; probably in his late forties but in excellent shape. Dark hair, slim mustache, a Latin cast to the skin; the suit he wore was impeccably styled. He seemed entirely at ease; either he was running an impressive bluff or else he was supremely confident. "My business will take rather longer than that, I fear."
"So far, you're not convincing me. Fifty seconds."
"I suppose introductions are in order. You, of course, are Stephen William Harper, former field operative and current intelligence analyst at the CIA. My name is Vinicius Filinto Henriques Ferreira. Does the name remind you of anything?"
"Nothing in particular. Thirty seconds."
"Perhaps you recall my niece, Juilia Carmina Melo Ferreira?"
A split second to look up the name in his memory, then he squeezed the trigger - the muscles never forgot. But nothing happened. It dawned on him that his hands were empty. The gun was gone. No... he grabbed for the weight at his shoulder, and found the gun back in its holster. The handle felt cool as he yanked it out again, as if he hadn't been holding it at all. Alarmed, he re-targeted the man one-handed and tried to fire.
Again, his hand was empty. Thoroughly confused, he saw the gun, holster and all, sitting on the end table next to Vinicius. He began to feel actual nervousness. Whatever else was going on, Ferreira was clearly an amateur; professionals avoided such drama. A frightened operative was dangerous.
"I see you do remember. Excellent reflexes, by the way." The smile was full and condescending now. "They are, however, quite useless against me, as you can see."
Steve was understandably unnerved, but a former Army Ranger didn't give up easily, whatever the situation. He stalled for time. "What exactly is your game here?" he asked as he shifted his weight.
"My 'game' is perfectly..." He stopped short as Steve made his move, leaping forward and swinging the base of his hand in a short arc calculated to snap the man's neck. It failed to connect and he struggled to keep his balance. He numbly registered that he was back on the other side of the room, and Ferreira was well out of reach.
There was a pause as the two men regarded each other, displaying equally startled expressions. Then Ferreira burst out laughing.
Steve felt a flicker of panic this time, but he clamped down on the emotion with long-practiced surety and maintained control. Clearly there was something going on here he didn't understand. Until he could sort things out, he'd allow Ferreira to think he was in charge.
Cooly, he bit out, "That's a neat trick. How's it work?"
Ferreira, too, had regained his composure - though his eyes still twinkled. "Magic, of course," he stated matter-of-factly.
Hearing, out loud, the word that had been rattling in the back of his mind was oddly calming. Now Steve was sure it was an angle, a con. An impressive effect, to be sure, and he was definitely in trouble... but that would make it even more valuable after he'd turned the tables, somehow. "Riiiiight..." he drawled.
"Your disbelief is quite understandable, even under the circumstances. Most 'mystics' are fools or madmen or charlatans. Only a few, a very few, know how to contact the... entities that lie beyond this plane, and fewer still dare to face the terrible risks and costs of such contact. I myself would not have attempted it..." he trailed off, and favored Steve with an icy stare. Steve had been a ruthless handler for over seven years, and a soldier and 'wet-work' field operative for nine years before that. He still felt a thrill of anxiety at that stare.
"...but you and your people... inspired me."
Again, stalling for time was called for. "It was nothing personal. I wasn't even..." Steve began.
"Spare me," Ferreira interrupted. "I know she meant nothing to you. But I am here to make it personal."
It had been a minor incident midway in Steve's career with the agency. He doubted he'd even thought of the operation three times since then, but now he wracked his brain for details. He'd been acting as station chief in Brazil at the time; he'd assigned one of his operatives to seduce and turn a young secretary at the then-newly-formed ABIN (Brazil's current intelligence service). They'd been able to intercept and cut off a mole from an allied country with the information she'd turned over. There had been no way to hide where the tip had come from, however, so he'd transferred his agent to another country and cut the secretary - Julia Ferreira - loose.
"Do you know what happened to her after you monsters played with her heart? No, you never bothered to check. She fell into despair, still pining for your snake of an agent. Then she took to drugs, and came apart quickly. She was killed on the street by her pimp, less than a year after your little triumph." The bitterness and venom in his voice confirmed that Ferreira was definitely not going to be professional about this.
He paused for a moment, reflecting, sadness and regret writ large on his expressive face. "Julia had been very dear to me. I could not have loved her more had she been my own. When I returned from my travels she was gone, and my brother, her father, was a broken man."
His attention returned to the present, as he looked up at Steve. "I swore vengeance that day. It has taken years to prepare, years full of dark deeds and fearsome bargains. But I gained the power to find those who had wronged my blood, and give to them my wrath."
"I know you're angry," Steve said, placatingly. "But as I said, I wasn't personally involved. I never even met..."
Ferreira cut him off. "What is the phrase? 'The buck stops here?' You approved it, oversaw it. You are responsible."
"I'd think you'd be a lot more pissed off at the guy who actually carried out the..."
Another brusque interruption: "He has already been dealt with. Simply to get the attention of what are commonly called 'demons' requires... certain sacrifices." He radiated grim satisfaction. Steve had always been good at reading people; it was a vital part of his job, and indeed a survival skill in his profession. Very few people, even pros, could lie to his face. Ferreira was not a pro; obviously a passionate man, he wore his heart on his sleeve.
Steve knew now that he wasn't lying. This man really believed what he was saying. Given what had already happened in the past few minutes, he couldn't be sure the stranger was actually insane. Of course, if he weren't, it might be worse...
Ferreira was speaking. "I give to you now my curse. You shall know what Julia knew, feel all she felt. You, too, shall betray your country for love." He smiled. "And I shall be the instrument of your downfall. The beings I have bargained with are far beyond the human. They do not fit in our little categories of 'good' or 'evil', they are truly incomprehensible. But I have met their price, and they are not without a sense of humor. Together we determined a punishment exactly tailored to your crime."
He gestured, and Steve felt a fleeting moment of dizziness; his vision blurred for an instant, then resharpened. It was almost too short to recognize. He stood for a few heartbeats, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but nothing else happened. He exhaled, only then realizing he'd been holding his breath.
"Fuck, you almost had me..." the rest of the words died in his throat as he focused on Vinicius. The stranger with the jet-black hair and fiery eyes suddenly seemed larger, more powerful, more threatening, more compelling. He wanted to look away, and yet he found himself staring, fascinated and frightened, as Vinicius laughed out loud. The sound seemed undefinably different, confusing and absorbing in some new way...
As Vinicius spoke, Steve was transfixed by stirring overtones in that deep voice that he had missed before. "You do not even yet realize your fate. Go, examine yourself. Your manhood." He chuckled again.
Steve turned away slightly, still furtively glancing at the disturbingly striking intruder. His manhood? What did that... In a flash, his hand was at the crotch of his trousers. For several seconds he probed, terror mounting. Something was wrong. Where was it? His hand plunged under his waistband, reaching down. He didn't find what should have been there... but further down, he found something else, something his brain refused to process for what seemed a very long time.
There was a pussy there. He had a pussy. The thought floated on the surface of his mind, unmoored and alien, refusing to sink in. He fled Vinicius's mocking laughter, racing to the bathroom. He knocked the door closed and tore his pants down.
Sight did what touch alone could not, driving understanding home. There in the mirror was a slit between his legs, partly concealed by his bushy pubic hair... and nothing else. His form seemed otherwise unchanged; the same clean-shaven, chiseled face, the same toned arms and legs. But the one difference outweighed the others. He was a man with a vagina. The world wobbled. He recognized the sensation from when he'd been shot early in his career... he was going into shock.
After a while - he wasn't sure how long - he tentatively reached down to feel it. His fingers reported the usual sensations he recognized from countless sessions with women in the past. But the data coming directly from his crotch was impossible to integrate, nonsensical at first.
Vinicius pushed open the door, his cruel amusement unmistakable. Again Steve was struck by something newly unsettling about his tormentor, something gripping that further strained his already barely-held composure. He mustered his courage and barked out, "What the fuck is going on? What kind of bullshit trick is this?" But he couldn't keep all the hysteria he felt out of his voice, spoiling the effect.
"It is all real, I assure you. All that and more. As I shall now demonstrate." He stepped forward and stood behind Steve, so they were both facing the mirror. He took hold of Steve's face, turning it forward. Steve saw Vinicius's reflected eyes boring into his own, and could not look away. Some part of himself wondered why he wasn't even trying to attack Vinicius, but the idea was somehow... impossible. He could no longer make himself believe he could ever overpower the commanding gentleman, even without the protective magic. Vinicius reached around and began unbuttoning Steve's shirt, unhurried. He slipped it off and dropped it onto the floor. Then he pulled the t-shirt up and over Steve's head; he unthinkingly lifted his arms to help. Resistance never even occurred to him.
Another change was apparent now; his nipples were larger, and the areolas around them had greatly expanded. It was bizarre seeing those erect feminine nipples on his hairy, muscled chest. Dread filled him as Vinicius's hand reached up and approached one. He gasped involuntarily as his strange tormentor began to gently stroke and tweak the rapidly-stiffening nubs.
It felt incredible, amazing. He looked at Vinicius in the mirror and was again captured by those striking, arresting eyes. He could not even think of looking away, though the contempt he saw in them made him feel small and helpless. His knees trembled. His breath came faster now, and when Vinicius pinched a nipple it pushed a low moan from deep in his throat.
Vinicius's other hand reached around at waist level, its target unmistakable. A wild mix of terror and anticipation shot through Steve's heart, which was hammering in his chest. The world slowed to a crawl as Steve realized what was about to happen... and realized how powerless he was to prevent it... and realized how darkly exciting he found it to be so utterly at the mercy of this cruel, powerful man.
Then fingers grazed teasingly across his vulva, and he inhaled sharply, hissing. He could sense how wet he was, how his newly-traitorous body ached to be touched there, and much more forcefully. His hips bucked forward slightly, involuntarily, but he couldn't bring himself to move more than that. He wondered how he could feel so weak and so frozen in place at the same time.
A digit glided along his moistened slit and he openly whimpered. He wished he could push it away but he simply leaned back into the firm arms of his captor, and allowed himself to be felt up. The well-lubricated finger slid over his clit and he yelped with pleasure, his head rocking back and his eyes closing unconsciously. His world narrowed, centered on the new chasm at his groin. His nipples sent random sparks of pleasure as he opened his legs as wide as they could go, limited by the pants around his ankles.
He could hear himself moaning and whining like a bitch in heat, though he was not truly conscious of anything but the ecstasy being forced on him, growing exponentially. But then he felt a mustached face rub against his ear and his eyes snapped open. He saw himself draped across Vinicius, as his iron hands mercilessly roamed across Steve's strangely mixed new flesh. He saw himself writhing, excited... wanton. The musk of an aroused female filled the air, and the understanding that it came from him somehow added to the excitement. He felt so naked, so exposed. But most of all, he saw Vinicius watching, dominating him in every way, making him into his plaything. It was Vinicius' proud face that triggered his orgasm.
It was far more intense than any he'd had before. It swept him away utterly, carrying him in wave after irresistible wave until they receded enough for him to be aware of his surroundings again. He discovered himself collapsed, panting desperately, bent over the counter in front of the mirror, legs wobbling, barely managing to remain upright. His pussy (there could be no denying its reality now) was still quivering in erratic little spasms, forcing hitching gasps each time, as the fingers withdrew. They slid around his hips, leaving a wet trail of his own juices.
He raised his head with effort. Vinicius was there in the mirror, triumphant, gloating. Steve felt utterly humiliated, conquered. Before, the few times he'd made a mistake or been outmaneuvered, it had filled him with rage. Anger would not come, now; only despair, and - doubly hateful - a strange and confusing acceptance, even satisfaction.
All these emotions flashed through his mind in a whirl, before Vinicius' had fully stood up. Steve watched his violator survey his victim, clearly enjoying the helpless expression he could not suppress on his face. He felt himself blushing - blushing - but he could not look away from those enthralling eyes.
Alarm filled him as Vinicius ran a hand down his ass and began exploring his lips once more, now from behind. "No, please, no more..." he pleaded, hating the submissive, supplicating tone in his voice - but unable to sound, or even feel, more assertive.
A stern look from Vinicius and he no longer dared even beg. Firm digits teased and probed anew; more swiftly than he would have believed possible - faster than any man could ever recover - he was groaning uncontrollably. He'd seen women have multiple orgasms before (or, at least, he was as sure as a man can be that they weren't faked), but experiencing one was entirely different. His second orgasm was as devastating as the first. He wasn't able to remain upright this time, and he fell to the floor on hands and knees.
As he knelt there, panting, he felt the tears come. He hadn't cried since childhood but everything was racing out of control. He looked up wildly at Vinicius and was no longer able to deny what was so upsetting about him - he was gorgeous, breathtakingly handsome. Steve was observing everything about the man in an entirely new light. The proud, aristocratic features; broad shoulders; strong hands (his new nether anatomy twitched at the sight, almost yearningly); trim waist and belly without a hint of paunch; long legs...
He let out a sob, despair mixed with unwanted but undeniable longing.
Vinicius watched him cry for a time, an appreciative grin on his face. "Now I think you see. At least, a little." His voice sent chills up Steve's spine. It was beautiful, mesmerizing. Sexy.
"Ate amanha," Vinicius said, mockingly. He walked out of the room without a backward glance, but Steve's eyes were riveted on his firm, tight rear. Moments later, he heard the front door open and close.
Steve lay on the cold bathroom floor, weeping quietly, for a long time.
~~~~~
Eventually he recovered enough self-possession to get up and pull on his clothes; he didn't look in the mirror. He robotically checked the house. Everything seemed secure - though he wondered if he'd ever feel secure again. All that he'd ever believed about reality, about himself, seemed to be crumbling. He found his dinner sitting in the kitchen where he'd left it, a lifetime ago. He sat down heavily on a stool and began mechanically eating the cold noodles, trying to think.
He'd gone through training to resist many forms of torture. He'd been in combat several times, and he hadn't cracked then. Sure, he'd been rattled and off-balance by the gun disappearing and... such, but he would never have just surrendered like that, not for anything. Obviously the changes were more than physical.
The physical was bad enough. He didn't need to touch himself to notice that things were... off. His shirt rubbed his new nipples in an odd way. Even as he thought about it he could see points rising, visible under the cloth. And his briefs were disturbingly loose. Just walking around pointed out a conspicuous absence.
But when he thought about what had happened in the bathroom... the shock was immediately mixed with a resurgence of excitement, of lust. Some new part of him had liked it, had fed on the delicious helplessness. And thoughts of Vinicius himself sparked an even more chaotic flurry of emotion.
As long as he thought in the abstract... if he thought about someone stealing his dick, and toying with his mind, and finger-fucking him, he could be properly indignant, even outraged. But if he thought specifically that Vinicius had done so, his fury collapsed.
Remembering the man's hands, so surely and confidently reducing him to jelly, caused his skin to flush and his breath to come more rapidly. He was scared to be angry at Vinicius. (Steve finally, absently noticed that he wasn't using the man's surname anymore, even in his thoughts.) He was commanding, intimidating, and alluring... and each fed into the others. He knew that it was wrong, but it didn't feel wrong to be aroused by, and attracted to, his sheer animal power.
Steve finished eating and made his way to the living room, intending to sit on the couch. Before he'd arrived there he'd changed his mind. He had to understand his situation, figure out what was going on. Unknowns were dangerous, and his own body was now a critical unknown. He went upstairs, closed the blinds, and took off his clothes. There was a mirror over the dresser.
Aside from the nipples and his crotch, things seemed the same. He was a bizarre mix - a fit, lean man with women's genitals. He walked about in a small circle and confirmed a suspicion he'd developed - his gait had changed slightly, his hips were subtly reconfigured - not wider, just shaped differently. A quick, experimental snap-kick revealed unexpected flexibility, it reached inches higher than his previous limit. He wasn't unusually hairy for a man, but his legs looked strange beneath that clearly feminine groin.
Reluctantly he examined the... vagina between his legs. The task proved to be more difficult than he'd anticipated; he ended up laying on the bed with a hand mirror. Aside from its terrifying location, it proved to be a disquietingly normal example of the type. Pert, symmetrical lips; a cute clitoris demurely hiding beneath its hood. A short distance within there was even what had to be a hymen. He would have found it attractive, placed in other surroundings.
The attention of his hands, however, was causing it to stir alarmingly. He bolted off the bed with alacrity and wiped off his fingers. He moved to the mirror, shifting attention to his nipples. Again, except for their placement, they were entirely typical out to the edge of the areolas: at that point his normal chest hair reappeared. They were by now erect and firm, and sensitive to his exploratory contact. Somehow they seemed connected to the awakening flesh below, bestirring his arousal further.
It felt so good. In his imagination, Vinicius' magnetic eyes watched him as one hand descended and began to rub his new lips and clit. His back arched, almost involuntarily. He began to picture himself putting on a show, displaying his submission, affirming what Vinicius had made of him... his toy, his pet, his... his slut. Steve's sighs waxed into moans and then shrieks as he came again, almost as violently as before.
As the pleasure faded he came to a sick realization of how thoroughly the hooks had sunk into his very being. Gathering the scraps of his willpower, he pulled his hands away from his still-eager, throbbing flesh and fought to calm down. It took time, much time, but eventually he'd restored some sense of equilibrium.
As noted, Steve was not one for surrendering. He assailed the problem from many angles as the evening wore on, but it was like there were now trapdoors scattered across his mind. Considering certain aspects or specifics of his situation would drop him down a slippery ramp toward shuddering lust, and only immediate and frantic effort would keep him from entertaining dangerous fantasies... and succumbing to them. His pussy's appetite and aptitude for pleasure displayed no apparent limits as the night wore on. It took a firm and careful rein on his own thoughts, consideration of the issues only in the most general terms, to retain his self-control.
He went to bed, very late, demoralized and without even a vague idea how he could proceed. Even that was disquieting; normally he slept naked, but he found that he needed a shirt to protect his... chest from unwanted stimulation. He feared what tomorrow would bring... but the despised new parts of his psyche felt a cloudy anticipation, too.
~~~~~
Steve woke at the sound of his alarm and sat up. There was no confusion about his circumstances; it had been a restless, fitful night, and from the few snippets he could recall it was perhaps a mercy that he didn't clearly remember his dreams. But the bed was wet where his crotch had lain.
He showered, briefly and unthinkingly; he could not risk devoting too much attention to his altered body... but he also couldn't go to work smelling like he did. He pondered calling in sick but he didn't want to stay home where it was clear he could be easily gotten to. He chose a stiff, thick shirt, hoping it would hide the nubs on his chest if they awoke. The rest of his morning ritual was comforting in a way, but tension underlaid the whole proceedings. He wrestled with the decision he had to make all along his drive to work. Presenting his credentials as usual, he was admitted to the secured areas and he sat down to go over his morning briefings and case reports.
In the end, he couldn't do it. He came close, several times, to alerting his boss that he'd been compromised. But he never quite made it to Edwards' office. It wasn't just that it was career suicide; he had a strong sense of duty and patriotism, and was willing to put that over his own ambitions... if only barely. But acknowledging what had happened... exposing his complete humiliation to others... it was just too much. Telling his superiors that he'd been magically castrated - telling anyone - well, no man could face that without pause. He'd be probed, studied, examined. Treated like a lab animal. And snickered at...
Work, too, was reassuring. He was incredibly relieved to confirm that he wasn't looking at other men in a sexual way. Thoughts of Vinicius' appearance had to be quickly stifled for the shivers they brought, but his co-workers were just other guys. Just as happily, he still found women attractive... though if he went too far in that vein, he started to feel his fantasies and desires warp in unfamiliar directions. Still, he could function on a business level. In many ways his day went entirely normally.
But he felt like an imposter going into the men's room, walking past the urinals and sitting at a toilet to pee. Wiping was emotionally but not physically excruciating.
He took a chance and did some digging on Vinicius, striving to adopt a mindset of abstract research, though it was hard to maintain; his interest was more than academic, after all. Still, there was little to discover; mostly travel records. He'd apparently never attracted much official attention. A Brazilian citizen from a well-off family. Studied anthropology and history abroad in several countries. Well-traveled since then, too - he'd been on every continent, including Antarctica. It wasn't clear where his money came from, but Steve didn't dare initiate a more thorough search that might be noticed. No known ties to any organizations of interest.
He stayed later than usual, putting off the inevitable. Deviating from routine too much might draw attention from the internal agency watchdogs, however, which he could not afford in his current predicament. He ate dinner out, dread and excitement mounting simultaneously. When he pulled into his garage, his stomach was churning with the volatile mix of desire and fear. He was mentally rehearsing what he'd say and how he'd react if Vinicius was there... but he had little confidence that he'd actually be able to follow through.
He entered the kitchen gingerly, and when he saw that the living room was dark he was pierced to the heart with relief... and disappointment. He recognized that he was psyching himself out, but the rigid grasp he'd always kept on his emotions was getting rather frayed.
A quick tour showed that the ground floor was as he'd left it. He felt more reassured still as he went up the stairs and saw that the lights were off. Again, a survey cleared the area. He stood in the bedroom, glad to be spared a confrontation... or mostly glad, at least.
He almost screamed when the voice came from behind. "Good evening, Mr. Harper." Displaying the reflexes he'd been complimented on last night, he whirled around in a flash.
Vinicius sat in the chair in the corner, casual and relaxed. Once again Steve was transfixed by the man's handsome appearance, even as his mind frantically tried to account for his sudden presence. The Brazilian had not been there when he'd swept the room seconds ago.
"You... I don't... Please, leave me alone..." It was hard to talk, to think; he just wanted to drink in that amazing face, that lean body. He knew that he should be shouting, cursing, but he suddenly felt so confused. All of the strong words he'd planned had dissolved, vanished. His nipples were perking up, so hard and sharp that his shirt couldn't conceal them. It was embarrassing, but part of him wanted Vinicius to know how turned on he was becoming.
"Hush." At the word Steve's feeble protests ended and he fell silent, abashed. "I promised I would come today, and I am, as they say, a man of my word." The white, even teeth flashed by his grin were captivating. "Are you truly so sad to see me?"
Given leave to speak, he cried "Yes!", his voice breaking. He remembered the root of the term 'hysteria' and almost despaired. "You... changed me... attacked me..." He could feel himself flushing, lubricating, at the images in his mind.
A mock frown wrinkled his brow. "Indeed? I don't recall spirited opposition." He almost leered then, but somehow even that was... sophisticated, coming from him. "It must have been terrible."
The warmth he felt on his face... he must be bright red. "I didn't... You... I wouldn't have..." He didn't know what to do with his hands.
"What did I do that was so upsetting?"
"You... touched me, held me... felt me..."
"That doesn't sound so fearsome." The feigned puzzlement gave way to a serious expression. "Show me. What did I do that offended you so?"
"Please, don't make me..."
"Show me," he ordered, in a tone like steel.
Steve collapsed inside. He could not stand up to Vinicius, he was like a physical force. Where had his willpower gone? Yesterday he had been a cold-blooded killer. Now he was timid and bashful... and his blood was anything but cold.
With trembling fingers he reached up to his chest and pinched his nipples through the shirt. "First, you squeezed my... my chest..."
Sternly: "No."
It took him a second. He quailed within, but he felt his still-alien clitoris swell when he understood what Vinicius meant. The holster slipped off and was cast away; slowly, he began to unbutton his shirt. "You... you took off my shirt, like this." It fell to the floor.
"And then?"
He looked away shyly. "You took off my undershirt." Slowly he pulled it over his head and dropped it softly to the ground.
"Did I? What did I do after that?"
"You squeezed my nipples." He began to play with the strange, stiff nubs on his chest, marveling at the sensations they evoked. It was like an erection, but more concentrated, and there were two of them, and they seemed to be connected to everywhere. His pussy was flushed, straining...
Vinicius allowed this to go on for some time. Steve was moaning softly; he'd never made much noise during sex before, but the feelings swamping him demanded expression. Eventually, his audience queried, "You find this unpleasant, then?"
Lying was out of the question. "No," he whispered.
"What was that?"
Compelled, he spoke in a loud, husky voice. "No."
"How does it feel?"
The delay was brief, barely perceptible. "Good, oh God, so good," he panted. "I like it." Why had he added that? It was true, but it felt so... naughty to admit it.
Vinicius' frown had returned. "We must explore further, then, and find what upset you so." He seemed so casual, and yet Steve couldn't imagine refusing him. "What happened next?"
"You... you touched me. Down there."
"Where?" Like a schoolteacher, eliciting the proper answer.
"On my... my pussy." Oh, God, why did it feel so good to say it?
"How could I?" The accent was so charming... "You are still wearing pants."
He was suffused with embarrassment; he hadn't been reenacting things properly... and then, as he became aware of that thought, he was embarrassed by how thoroughly involved he'd become in Vinicius' game. But it couldn't shake him loose of the control; indeed, his breath came faster as he began to unbuckle his belt. "I'm sorry, sir." The honorific just slipped out, naturally, without a conscious decision.
He kicked off his shoes, one by one, and eased the pants down; slowly, flirtatiously. He realized he was doing a striptease for the man who'd stolen his maleness. Where resentment, where rage should have been, there was only shame... and a growing, dazed wonder at how erotic it all was.
He stepped out of the pants and turned slightly as he began to slide off his briefs, gradually. It was indescribably exciting, so sexy. His reservations meant nothing anymore, they hardly registered; he was in another world now, where other rules applied. The only anxiety he felt was fear that Vinicius wouldn't find him attractive.
His audience simply regarded him, infinitely superior, a lord surveying a peasant. Steve kicked the briefs away with a flair and ran a hand down his belly toward his...his snatch, his twat. It was on fire, he was on fire. It didn't feel alien now; it was too powerful, too deeply rooted to be anything but part of his being.
He fell to his knees, legs spread. He plumbed the strange and wonderful new convolutions of his crotch, feeling the delicious slippery friction, hearing the slurping wetness, smelling his own new musk. All for Vinicius, who had ignited this glorious conflagration within him. He gave voice to passionate moans and whines; he had no control, it was was if his pussy was crying out directly.
It was so much like his fantasy of the night before that he wondered if Vinicius could read his mind. As he raised his head and gazed into those oh-so-compelling eyes, he felt as if they were peering into his very soul, that every secret within him was laid bare before this irresistible presence. He felt tiny and humble... and unbelievably hot.
A hint of a smile on that face; he knew, he must know. "Oh, oh God, oh please, oh my Gooood!" Again his climax was intense and cataclysmic and unmanned him, completely and literally.
As a man an orgasm had been a final thing; once he had come, arousal dropped precipitously, and didn't return for a time. His new parts didn't have that limitation; arousal receded somewhat, but came nowhere near zero. He was still hungry, starving for more.
It was enough for him to remember how degrading this all was, though... or at least, how degrading it should have felt. There was barely a flicker of resentment, however. He was ashamed... but eager.
Vinicius was smiling broadly. "That didn't appear so upsetting. Tell me, how do you feel?"
He didn't even want to lie. "Hot," he panted. "Sexy."
"You enjoyed that, did you?"
"Yes," he admitted coquettishly. He was flirting!
"Do you wish me to leave now?"
"No!" he anxiously and unthinkingly exclaimed.
"Well, then, I appear to have done you a favor. It is only right that you repay my kindness," Vinicius admonished sternly.
Steve suffered a thrill of terror. He thought he knew where this was headed, but he realized that he was too worked up, too far gone, to refuse Vinicius now. He'd do practically anything... and understanding that, he felt himself become even wetter.
The man stood up from his chair. "Come, approach me."
Steve began to stand, but the words came sharply. "On your knees."
He crawled forward, face burning, but whimpering with lust. To Steve, Vinicius looked... magnificent from down on the floor. His submission was total. He reached Vinicius' feet and stopped, trembling. Unbidden, he bowed his head. He could feel juices running into his pubic hair, onto his belly...
The moment stretched... and then he called down. "Remove my shoes."
He reached forward. "Yes..."
Viciously: "Yes, what?" Steve paused. It was appalling how little resistance he could mount, how the words were squeezed out of him.
"Yes, Master." He shivered. The cool air running over his naked skin, perking his nipples... it did nothing, he was still so hot...
The shoes came off, one by one. The pungent smell should have been off-putting... but it was arousing instead. It was his Master's smell.
"Now, the pants."
He reached up, fumbling for a moment, unhooking the belt, pulling it free. His hands grew surer. The pants had a single button, easily undone. The sound of the zipper descending made him shiver again. He wanted this. It didn't feel like the desires were being imposed from without. It was like he was awakening to parts of himself that had always been there, latent, waiting for the proper time to stir and bloom. It felt natural, right, and wonderful.
He pulled the pants down. Vinicius wore boxers. That struck Steve as more manly than briefs... and that was somehow more sexy. He was gratified to see that, despite Vinicius' affected detachment, he was sporting a prominent erection, stretching the sleek fabric. Steve wanted desperately to please him.
There was something else he wanted desperately, too. He leaned forward and took hold of the boxers with his teeth. The smell was intoxicating, the feel of the smooth cloth against his cheek was delicious. It had to be real silk. Slowly he descended, slipping the undergarment to Vinicius' ankles to join the pants. He sat up again and regarded his Master's cock.
Intellectually, he knew he should have been disgusted, repulsed; that awareness was purely abstract, however. In reality, it was concretely fascinating. It was somehow more immediate, more impressive, more real than any he'd seen before. He'd never inspected any prick so closely or intently in his life, not even his own. It was... not beautiful, exactly, but... enticing. Stimulating. Suggestive. It was uncircumcised and the head glistened slightly, extending out past the retracted foreskin. Master's pubic hair reminded him of nothing so much as the mane of a proud lion. The balls hung low in the scrotum, too masculine for words.
"Touch it." Was Vinicius' voice just a bit throaty, a fraction strained? Steve hoped so. He needed no further encouragement, and gently took hold of the member. It felt amazing, strong, powerful. It might as well have been electrified for the tingling that ranged through his whole body at the contact. He stroked it gently for a time, marveling at the feeling, and at his own enthusiasm. Admiring the naked lower half before him, he wondered what an entirely unclothed Vinicius would look like, and hoped to find out soon. He was ready to do more, much more, but despite his straining anticipation, he could not dream of proceeding without permission.
Permission was not long in coming. "Suck it," Vinicius instructed. There was no doubt the voice was husky now, despite the authority in the inflection. Quickly but deferentially, Steve took the head into his mouth and began to gently suck and lick. He wracked his brains for tricks that women had used on him before. Odd, he hadn't thought of his own erstwhile member until now... it seemed absurd, silly, to miss it when he had this spectacular penis to play with now.
The tastes and smells were delightful, ambrosial. The feel as he took in more and more was... fulfilling, in a way he'd never imagined before. No tongue had ever reached so deeply, had ever stimulated so many senses at once. Everything simply... fit. Clicked. He wondered why he'd never wanted to do this before. It was sexy, and fun!
He could feel it get harder as he worked, and he heard Master breathing deeply. He opened his eyes and was presented with a view of a blowjob he'd never expected to see, but which was profoundly erotic. He realized he was gasping and moaning himself as he slurped with unabashed pleasure. He ran his hands up Master's legs and placed his hands on the ass he found, pulling himself as close as he could, trying to get that majestic prick as deep in his throat as possible. Master let out a gasp, and then he began to come.
Steve had heard that some women could orgasm without direct stimulation, by emotion and fantasy alone. Tasting Vinicius' cum, feeling his cock pulse in his mouth, knowing that he had succeeded, drove Steve wild. He drew as much joy from the knowledge that he had made his Master come as he did from the waves of heat and pleasure radiating across his body as he wriggled his hips. He greedily swallowed every last drop, and for the longest time felt nothing but a glow of satisfaction and perverse pride.
Vinicius, for his part, was silent - apart from heavy breathing - for almost a minute. He watched mutely as Steve tenderly licked and milked his wilting penis, ensuring that not a drop of semen spilled. Steve couldn't tell what he might be thinking. His normal sensitivity was overwhelmed by his powerful emotions, his ardor to please and to submit. He took the lack of countermanding orders as tacit permission to keep kissing and enjoying his Master's delightful cock.
Unexpectedly, without warning, Vinicius shoved him down. Steve, taken by surprise, fell onto his side. He looked up, shocked. He'd been trying so hard to make Master happy...
Vinicius glared for a moment, then turned away, reaching down to pull on his clothes. He didn't look at his victim for what seemed a long time. Steve simply lay where he had fallen, unsure. Eventually Vinicius sat back in the chair and regarded him coldly.
The game was over, clearly. Steve was disappointed - he was still very aroused - and confused. But he was far too intimidated to do more than collect himself off the floor and wait - kneeling, head bowed - for Vinicius to say something.
Finally, he spoke. "How does it feel? To be so humiliated? To be a cocksucker?" The word could have been wickedly sexy, but the tone robbed it of any pleasure. His voice was spiteful, poisonous. He glared; hateful, furious. Steve quailed inside.
"Please, I'm sorry, I don't... I didn't mean to..." He felt the tears welling up in his eyes. He was so frightened; what could he have done to upset Vinicius so?
"Enough!" his tormentor barked. He was silent a few seconds more, and then he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Having regained his composure somewhat, he spoke again. His voice was more controlled, but still cold. "It would appear your reluctance was more feigned than real."
With his lust dwindling, Steve found himself able to think a bit more like his usual self. He had recovered a tiny amount of indignation. "It's magic making me do this. What's your excuse?" He wished he could sound accusatory instead of merely petulant.
Vinicius smiled indulgently, his good humor apparently restored for the present. "True, those of us driven to explore the limits of reality often go beyond conventional strictures in other areas. I freely admit that my sexual tastes are unusual, but the beings I... 'contracted with' care nothing for what humans consider 'normal'. They took my proclivities into account when crafting my revenge."
He reached forward and ran his fingernails up Steve's chest. The former man arched into the caress, letting out a soft "mmmmmm," almost a purr. "I see your own objections are fading," Vinicius teased.
"No!" Steve cried. "I don't want this!" But even as he said that he could feel his nipples crinkle anew. "What do you want from me?" he cried out, frustrated and confused by the man's whipsawing moods and his own helpless reactions to them.
Vinicius was positively beaming now as he stroked Steve gently. "I want exactly what I said. I want you to betray your country. I made certain contacts when I was searching for particular texts and sites in China: they were necessary if I wanted to secure permissions for my journeys there." He smiled vindictively as he pulled on his shoes. "I care nothing for the affairs of nations, but it will amuse me when you select the most damaging nuggets of information for me to relay to the PLA's Second Department."
Steve was horrified. He'd never hand over state secrets! But then, he'd done so many things in the past few minutes he'd never imagined doing...
"That is enough for tonight." He stood and nodded his satisfaction at Steve and the gaping expression on his face. "Adieu, for now." Steve looked away, but couldn't help listening intently as Vinicius strode from the room and down the stairs.
For the second time in as many days, Steve wept uncontrollably.
~~~~~
The next morning was much as the previous one had been, only filled with even more despair. He tried to lose himself in his work during the day, and mostly succeeded. But leaving his office that night, he impulsively decided to at least try to do something about his situation. It was Friday; he always kept a small 'escape kit' in the trunk with cash, a change of clothes, and other useful items. Instead of going home, he went to a random hotel and checked in. He had dinner in the hotel restaurant and went back up to his simple twin-bed room.
He was almost surprised that Vinicius wasn't waiting for him. He ignored the flash of disappointment and sat down at the desk to think. He forced himself to remember what had happened last night, to consider everything as dispassionately as he could. He told himself it was a problem to solve. Steve was very good at puzzles, at finding answers with incomplete information. At determining the why from the what. At understanding people's weaknesses...
A few pieces clicked into place, all at once. Vinicius had been furious immediately after the blowjob. (Steve wrenched his thoughts from dwelling too fondly on that subject.) He had been enjoying things up until then... as he should, since the situation was designed to appeal to his 'proclivities'. Steve had been doing everything to please him...
It had gotten to Vinicius! He had forgotten his drive for vengeance for a moment, because of Steve's sincere enthusiasm. Vinicius was not truly ruthless, not professional. He was sophisticated and intelligent, but also firey, passionate - he let his emotions get in the way. Revenge itself was unprofessional. Steve didn't think Vinicius was instinctively cruel. He had become angry because he had - if only for a moment - stopped thinking of Steve as a victim and had thought of him as... not a lover, perhaps, but at least a person. Vinicius might enjoy
domination during sex, but that was not the same thing as
cruelty.
It was an interesting theory. He thought it held together, but he was also aware of how little objectivity he possessed regarding the man. He was obsessively attracted to the dashing Latin adventurer. He wanted it to be true, he wanted Vinicius to care for him. It also pointed out, to his agent side, a way that Steve might gain some power over Vinicius... but only by becoming a more perfect sex slave. He blushed at how tempting that prospect was.
No further revelations came that night. He ended up watching the cable news shows for a few hours, half-expecting Vinicius to appear each time he turned around. (He always kept up on current events; sometimes the most surprising connections could be made.) Eventually, around eleven, he decided to sleep on it. He was both relieved and somehow vaguely saddened that the warlock had been evaded so easily.
Unfortunately, slumber proved difficult to capture. Tossing and turning in the dark, he finally admitted to himself that he was quite horny. Here away from home, though, perhaps he would be safe in exploring himself a little...
His fingers ranged along the unfamiliar geography of his loins. He tried to distance himself, pretend he was feeling up some woman and not his own anatomy, but it was no use. The idea just didn't have the charge it should. He knew what would get him off, and in a mortifyingly short time he was applying that knowledge.
Picturing Vinicius' face and form brought immediate results. In his fantasy, Vinicius was there, naked and glorious, running his hands along skin that ached for his caress. Moisture gathered swiftly between his lips, and he could feel blood rushing there, swelling his pussy and making it ready... for him, for that gorgeous, irresistible man.
"Oh, Vinicius... oh please... mmmmm... oh, god..." He could not remain silent. The tension climbed by degrees. What would it feel like, to kiss him with that moustache? Would it taste as good as his cock? He drew forth and pictured every moment of last night's oral service, now wishing to do it again, all that and more. His nipples were so hard, his pussy so wet...
"Oh god, oh Master, oh... oh fuck me, please, oh god Vinicius, fuck me! Oh fuck oooooohhhhhhh!" Picturing that superb prick inside his eager vagina was the last straw. He screamed, heedless that others in nearby rooms might hear. His hips bucked as he climaxed triumphantly. It lasted much longer than any he'd had as a man, fading gradually, leaving him panting but almost at peace. Perhaps he could actually sleep now.
"That sounded rewarding." The voice was unmistakable, the tone was playful. For several seconds Steve fumbled clumsily for the light switch, and finally got it. He and Vinicius blinked at each other, eyes adjusting. In his dazed state, halfway between excited and befuddled, Steve wondered if he was dreaming. He was very quickly coming to not care, however.
Vinicius was nude and semi-erect; he sat casually at the near edge of the other bed. No discarded clothes presented themselves to Steve's quick inspection of the room. Part of the reason that inspection was quick was that he was an experienced operative whose life had depended on rapidly sizing up a situation. Mostly, however, Steve's eyes were magnetically drawn to Vinicius' stunning body.
He was, as Steve had already concluded in an entirely different context, in excellent shape. Not fat-free like a bodybuilder, not polished and artificial like a model, just... fit, healthy. His body looked lived-in, with several interesting scars here and there, adding character like beauty marks. Steve's heart was pounding as he drank in his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, his legs, his arms... everything he saw was thoroughly sexy. He'd believed he was wet and excited before, but he was reaching new peaks in just the few moments since the light had come on.
He could not speak, he was dumbfounded. The surprise, the embarassment of being caught masturbating like that, the sudden rush of lust... it was too much. He could only stare, helpless. Vinicius' lazy smile told Steve that his confusion was obvious. He realized with some corner of his mind that he'd instinctively pulled up the sheets to cover his chest.
"I would apologize for intruding, but it seems I am invited," he drawled. Steve blushed and looked down, but he could not deny it. Longing filled his soul. It wasn't fair, him appearing now, when he was so worked up... Vinicius continued, "Please, don't stop. Now that the light is on, I'm curious to see."
Steve had thought he'd been mortified earlier... "Yes, Master." Tentatively yet ineluctably he pushed the covers away, exposing his nakedness. He'd never been exhibitionistic before, but now the idea of playing with himself under Master's supervision was irresistably sexy. Despite himself, he still felt flattered to see Vinicius' erection rising. He moved, changing position, making sure that Master would have a good view.
His new hips were indeed more flexible than the old. He was grateful the changes had been so thorough; his legs would never have been able to spread so wide before. He snaked a hand down to the exceedingly moist flesh below while the other gently rubbed and pulled his nipples. It seemed natural and obvious to pleasure himself that way, as if he'd always done so.
Having Master watch was indeed electric, exciting. It was unspeakably hot, being so naughty, and him seeing it all. He was so wet now, so inflamed, as he moaned deep in his throat, animal, bestial. He was an animal - but tamed, desperate to please his Master. Vinicius' erection was at full mast now; the image was sexy by itself, but the fact that he was the reason for it stirred the new blazes within Steve that much higher. It was like he could feel Master's eyes on him.
He was rubbing his clit with his middle and index fingers, hard and fast; it was smaller than a penis but so concentrated, purified; it was for nothing but pleasure and it was very good at its job. He wriggled and writhed, muscles tensing, until at last he looked into his Master's eyes and release arrived. As ever now, he was uncontrollably vocal, screaming his ecstasy. It was as if the pleasure was coming straight from Vinicius' beautiful brown eyes.
As he lay there panting, Vinicius stretched out on the bed and gestured, beckoning Steve forward. Eagerly he leapt up and settled over his Master. He knelt on the edge of the bed, to Vinicius' right, and bent forward, taking the inviting hardness into his mouth and beginning earnest worship. In seconds he was deep-throating, and idly reflecting that he'd never enjoyed pubic hair in his face quite so much. For that matter, the hair on Master's legs was somehow exciting to touch...
He jerked with surprise when he felt the hand begin probing the folds of his pussy, but he caught himself quickly and resumed fellatio with scarcely a pause. As time passed he found it increasingly difficult to focus, however; his attention kept switching between the delights in front and behind. It was a wonderful dilemma to have, though; and it was touching that Master should devote some attention to Steve's pleasure, too.
Perhaps it was the magic, or Vinicius' skill, but his next orgasm arrived simultaneously with his Master's. It was a remarkable experience, climaxing while so many senses were being stimulated at once. He'd never been religious, but his novel submissive impulses and emotional state made swallowing cum almost like a communion.
It was in that frame of mind that Steve turned and laid himself next to a panting Vinicius, wanting nothing more than to be close to him. Tentatively, timidly, he leaned forward but no rejection was forthcoming. Kissing him was at least as good as he'd fantasized. The strong, agressive tongue explored the inside of his mouth, driving him wild. He reached forward, pulling his Master close, losing himself in the wonderful intimate contact, the smell and taste and feel. He groaned and squeezed, needy, surrendering completely to the moment.
Just humping Vinicius' leg, he came one more time. Then they lay next to each other, Steve running his hand up and down Vinicius' returning erection. After a time, Vinicius reared up and laid Steve out on his back, and deliberately parted Steve's legs with his knee. He moved his prick close to the opening there, and gave a meaningful look in Steve's eyes.
Steve qualied inside. If Vinicius pushed, even a little, he would acquiesce. He knew it, and Vinicius knew it - Steve could see it in his eyes. It scared him how much he wanted it. He stared at that cock, and knew it would split him open, take him over. He would ride it to his ruin, but oh God, it would feel so good...
Some small part of him that was still Steve held back. Somehow he intuited that that, at least, was still his choice... but if he freely gave himself in that way, it would seal Vinicius' ultimate victory.
He was not willing to concede that defeat... yet. Gazing at that lordly shaft, however, he was not sure he could hold out forever. He was seriously wondering if he'd last the night. He wasn't quite able to say "no"... but he didn't say "yes." Vinicius hovered there a moment longer, then smiled and laid back down on the bed. "Not tonight? Well, all in good time." His confidence was frustrating, maddening... but totally sexy, too.
"Still, what shall we do with this?" he mused, indicating his prick. Steve, with a mix of relief and regret and returning arousal, rose to the task and brought his hands forward, intending something different this time. Somehow he felt guilty about not letting Vinicius fuck him, and he wanted to try to make it up to him. He began to massage and stroke the beautiful member, only occasionally using his mouth for brief licks and kisses. It took time, but Steve was in no hurry. He watched at close range, with unabashed fascination, as the cum emerged from the meatus; everything about sex with Vinicius was compelling. By now he felt no trace of reluctance as he licked up the spilled semen.
They lay together again in the afterglow, still in contact but without quite the same urgency. Eventually Steve whispered, "I hoped you'd come." It just slipped out. Part of him was ashamed that he'd admitted it, ashamed it was true. But there it was.
Vinicius smiled complacently. "And so I did. There is nowhere you can hide from me." It should have sounded terrible, threatening, but it was somehow... comforting, and heartwarming, and thrilling all at once. A new feeling, one he couldn't think of the word for...
Vinicius continued, smiling. "Still, this place is amply suited for an assignation. I commend your choice." Steve looked away shyly; he knew he was being teased, and he'd never liked that before, but from Vinicius it was cute.
"How do you do that? How did you get in here?" He wanted to deflect conversation from himself, both in defense of what little self-respect he maintained and out of curiosity about Vinicius - professional and personal.
"With the power I have purchased, it was trivial." A bit of Latin machismo showed, then, as he hastened to add, "Not that I haven't made my way into some difficult places on my own, of course."
"Like where?" Steve asked coyly, his turn to tease a little.
"Well, I do recall a wealthy collector who was churlishly unwilling to grant access to certain stone tablets..."
Fortunately, the Brazilian seemed to be in a talkative mood. Steve was glad, partly for the gratification of his curiosity... but more importantly, he never wanted him to leave, he wanted only to lay next to this amazing man and bask in his presence. Steve had been a good interrogator once, and he applied that skill adeptly to keep Vinicius rambling. He was a charming storyteller, full of anecdotes and tales from his many and varied adventures.
"...so I worked my way around behind them until I was literally a foot behind their mounts."
"But what did you do? You didn't have a gun or anything!" He felt like one of the adoring girls in Indiana Jones' classes. But then, the word 'dreamy' applied to Vinicius on so many levels...
"It was no trouble. I shouted and struck both horses on their flanks. The beasts startled, threw their riders, and galloped off. Once I'd snatched their rifles away they were much more polite."
Steve listened, entranced, until it was quite late. When Vinicius discreetly yawned, Steve immediately moved to lay him back and make him comfortable. The bed should have felt crowded but Steve relished the closeness as they drifted off to sleep.
~~~~~
Waking the next morning, Steve was confused for a moment. It was the first time he'd slept so deeply since Vinicius had appeared in his life. The man was gone. He knew what had happened last night should have bothered him deeply, and yet he could not but remember it with fondness.
His incongruous happiness did not fade for quite a while. He showered and packed, then went down to the restaurant for a hearty breakfast. It was only when he arrived at home that his normal personality managed to start reasserting itself.
It was a bit like waking from a dream. Actions and circumstances that had seemed perfectly reasonable and rational were suddenly, obviously bizarre. He had been an exhibitionistic cocksucker and had drawn nothing but pleasure from it! His previous contentment melted into a queasy horror.
He needed to clear his head, to feel like a man again. His first attempt failed badly, however. He didn't make it to the end of the street before turning his motorcycle around and fleeing back to his garage. His new anatomy responded very differently to the thrumming bike between his legs.
Instead he got in his car, drove to the firing range, and ran a couple hundred rounds through his pistol. Cleaning the gun afterward at his kitchen table was familiar and reassuring. Then, he went down to his basement and got his old free weights out of storage (he knew he wasn't going to be using the agency gym for a while). He fired up the 'workout' playlist on his iPod and wore himself out exercising to the metal and grunge. He went for a jog as the sun set.
By the time he returned home, he was feeling more like himself than he had in days. The whole situation was just a problem to work out. He'd been in tough scrapes before and pulled through, he'd managed to salvage some botched operations when others would have given up. Admittedly, this was a very tough problem, but there was always a way.
All these thoughts were running through his mind as he walked in through his front door. They all vanished instantly as he caught sight of the flowers in the living room.
He scampered over at once to see. A dozen long-stemmed red roses in a beautiful crystal vase. Leaning against the base was a small envelope. He opened it excitedly and found a brief handwitten note:
I enjoyed last night very much.
Thank you, V.
The script was elegant and sophisticated, as he'd known it would be. He felt the goofy grin spreading across his face and didn't care in the slightest. It was so sweet of Vinicius to do this! Last night had been wonderful indeed; not just the sex - though that alone had been mind-blowing. It was laying in bed afterward with him, talking; the cuddling, the intimacy...
The intelligence analyst inside him finally made a another connection, one he should have made days ago. He wasn't just reacting to Vinicius like a girl, physically and emotionally. He was reacting like a specific type of girl; a young woman, shy and perhaps who'd been a little sheltered, but with a flowering sexual curiosity and a romantic streak. Such women were prime candidates for subversion in the proper circumstances. Julia had been one...
He tried several times that evening to throw the flowers away, but every time he got near them, he fell under their spell anew. No matter how strong his initial resolve, he'd end up admiring the blooms, and smelling them, and thinking how thoughtful and endearing it was of Vinicius to bring them. He couldn't bear the thought of parting with them! Each time he'd find himself deciding to dry and preserve the roses once they started to wilt.
He started avoiding the living room, and sat in his bed upstairs, despondent and fearful of every noise in the house... and at the same time eager, avid. His earlier confidence was gone.
~~~~~
He awoke, bleary and not at all rested, early the next morning. It took a few moments for him to realize that he had not been visited - at least in person - at all the day before. He tried to ignore the part of him that was unhappy about that and worried about what it might mean all through breakfast. He came to no conclusions, however. He just didn't have enough data.
He noted, not without significant distress, that his psychological changes were ongoing. Any time he thought of Vinicius, or got even a little bit horny, he turned into a giddy, swooning teenage girl. He was falling in love with him! In truth Vinicius was a remarkable, even admirable, man. In other circumstances, had he been assigned to assassinate the man, he'd have felt a bit of regret. But the girl inside him was tripping head over heels. The emotions were incredibly difficult to fight.
Trying to watch the news was useless; he simply couldn't concentrate. He flipped around the channels, ending up watching a series of mindless action movies. He went up to bed early, listening for any signs he was not alone. His breath caught when he saw his bedroom light was on... and it was eagerness that sped his pulse. Just like that, his feet were light and his heart was soaring. He suddenly recognized the feeling he'd been unable, unwilling to name last night - the whole situation was romantic.
At the door he paused, dumbstruck. Vinicius reclined in the bed, the covers up to his waist but no clothing covering that manly chest... "Good evening," he smirked.
Steve rushed to his side without a second thought.
~~~~~
Eating a toasted bagel and wracking his brain, Steve sat at the kichen table. Memories of last night danced across his mind, maddeningly difficult to dismiss. Again he'd managed to avoid actual penetration, but only by the narrowest of margins. Vinicius never brought it up, but Steve had been so tempted...
He realized he had to do something. The entire situation was completely out of control. But he could not imagine what action he could possibly take that would be of any use... except one. He could alert his superiors. The problem was, it might already be too late. He didn't want to betray his country... but he didn't want to betray Vinicius, either! He was helpless when Vinicius was present, and even thinking about him was dangerous.
In the end, he dealt with it the way so many others who'd been afflicted with unwanted sexual obsessions had - by rigidly compartmentalizing his mind and life. At work, he made himself be Mr. Harper, intelligence analyst: reserved, efficient, and cold. At home, he was Steve, the complaisant, loving toy of Vinicius.
There were variations over the next several days, of course. Once, Vinicius was waiting for him as he arrived home, and they quickly pleasured each other before he disappeared. Other times he popped up later, and twice he did not appear at all. The upredictability was at once frustrating and thrilling.
He found himself enjoying the chase. Being prey instead of predator, pursued instead of pursuer. He worked to be seductive when his Master appeared. There was a strange power in being the object of desire; the power to arouse the delightful beast, to be enticing.
Ocasionally, however, these considerations intruded onto his workday. If something reminded Steve of his dashing paramour - and he was terrifyingly easy to recall - well, he discovered that it was easy for a woman to masturbate anywhere. But he had trouble keeping quiet.
One day, driving in to work, he learned he could no longer listen to the radio. It was too dangerous. Pop music was impossible - almost every song was about love or infatuation and seemed to have something to say directly to his now-girlish heart. The classic rock station worked for a couple of songs, but then Heart's "Magic Man" came on and he got so hot and bothered that he had to pull off the road and calm down. Heavy metal was about all he could safely hear anymore.
~~~~~
His skin blazed where the moustached lips grazed and suckled. He opened himself, offering his secret heart to its rightful owner. Vinicius' manhood began to part the lips there, the gates to his very soul...
"Steve? Uh, Steve?"
He snapped out of the daydream. With a chill he realized that he was in the middle of a meeting. Everyone was staring at him, waiting for a reply to a question he hadn't heard.
Quickly he improvised. "I'm sorry, I was still thinking about the situation in Pakistan. Somehow it bothers me. I've got this feeling we've missed something."
"Well, worry about it later. The rest of us were hoping you might have the figures on Taiwan troop levels?"
He recited the numbers he'd prepared with minimal attention, focusing covertly but intently on the reactions around the table. He couldn't be positive - the 'poker face' was so necessary among his colleagues that it was second nature - but he thought his gambit had been successful. His secret was safe for another day. More than than that, however...
The 'compartmentalization' was breaking down; it was increasingly difficult to keep the two worlds separate. And the encroachment was entirely in one direction. He never felt like a detached intelligence analyst with Vinicius... but more and more often in his normal life he was thinking and behaving like a young woman in love. The trapdoors in his mind were becoming sinkholes, expanding their reach.
That very morning, he had gone to take a shower but was overcome by a naughty impulse. He drew a bath instead, and luxuriated in the warmth. When he shaved his face, it felt so smooth that he had to keep going. The next thing he knew, he'd shaved every inch of skin he could reach, even standing in front of the mirror and getting the hair at the small of his back. He was so slippery in the soapy water! He imagined how it would feel against Vinicius' hairy chest and legs. Then he had to try something he'd heard of girls doing - he started the water flowing, and positioned himself in the tub on his back, with his pussy directly under the faucet.
It was divine. He experienced three spectacular orgasms before he finally realized just how late it was. He dressed frantically and rushed off to the agency.
It had been a stupid thing to do. Coming in late would stand out, and if his recent behavior changes hadn't attracted attention yet, they soon would. The smooth skin under his clothes kept reminding him all day of what he really was now. Concentration was immensely difficult, and by the time he arrived home he was wet and inflamed and halfway to a sexual frenzy, but his lover was nowhere to be seen.
He ate alone, frustrated. He needed Vinicius! But the man kept his own schedule, and Steve couldn't influence or even predict it. He went upstairs right after he'd cleaned the dishes and stripped off his clothes. Standing in the bathroom, his body hairless but for a neat patch around his pussy, he put himself through different poses, trying to look as sexy as possible, trying to be ready should Vinicius manifest himself.
"Come here, mi chula. I have a present for you." The voice came from the bedroom. Heart pounding, Steve dashed down the hall. Vinicius was clothed this time, sitting in the chair as before. An ornate and old-fashioned full-length mirror now stood in the corner of the room. Steve beheld himself, panting, nipples peaked, and blushed at how eager he looked.
"What were you doing in there, my sweet?" he asked, teasing as usual.
The heat in his face intensified... but so did the heat everywhere else. "I was... looking at myself. Posing." He glanced away, fidgeting.
"I must say, I'm certainly struck by your... much less hirsute appearance." Steve was pierced with sudden anxiety. What if Vinicius didn't like him shaved? He'd only said he was 'struck' by it...
Vinicius let the moment linger, obviously enjoying Steve's tension. Again he wondered just how much the wizard could tell about what he was thinking - not that he would even need magic now. Steve had no facility for hiding his feelings anymore, not around Vinicius.
Then, a lazy smile. "Well, perhaps I should get the whole effect. Please, continue." He gestured toward the mirror. Steve stepped forward, shyly. He stood before the glass, not at all surprised that he could see Vinicius as well as himself from where it was placed, and commenced to 'vogue' again. It looked odd - a fit, muscled man with female genitals and smooth skin, positioning himself for display like a pinup girl. But it felt erotic, and he thought he saw Vinicius shift once in his seat, adjusting himself like a man with a rising erection. He felt a burst of satisfaction from that, renewed confidence in his attractiveness.
He was leaning forward, his rear pushed out; a pouting mouth and lazy eyes. Vinicius had watched attentively for some time, but now he stood and motioned Steve to him. He leaped forward with excitement of his own, almost pouncing onto Vinicius. He wrapped his arms around the man who had reshaped his flesh and mind, kissing him passionately, pressing close.
Hands voyaged across his naked body, meeting a joyful welcome everywhere. Fingers played with a nipple, and Steve moaned unselfconsciously and leaned his head back. A kiss on his neck made him shiver, and then strong arms clasped and pulled him near again. He felt almost drunk on the sheer sensual input as their lips met; the musk, the taste, the texture of his clothes and skin...
Vinicius broke the embrace gently, and commenced removing his clothes. Steve rushed to help; it was like unwrapping a present, the way his majestic body was sequentially revealed. Vinicius was at full mast and Steve was filled with pride that he could inspire such a response. As insistently as he dared, Steve pressed his skin against his Master's and found that his hairless flesh indeed felt marvelous contacting Vinicius'.
A strong hand probed his pussy, asking no permission, claiming territory by right, and Steve's knees grew weak. His breath hitched and his body shuddered at Vinicius' skill, but truly, after the day of frustrated lust he'd undergone, almost any erotic stimulus would have set him off. The dextrous actions upon his sopping twat pulled forth a gargantuan orgasm. He was limp after the spasms had eased, and Vinicus almost tenderly guided him to the bed.
Steve lay back like a rag doll, able to do nothing but work to catch his breath. He knew it was wrong to feel so happy, so content with the situation, but that was an abstract, academic thought. It was quite outclassed by the emotions themselves, undeniably present and self-sufficient. Even Vinicius' amused examination of his subject felt only right and proper. There was pride in his eyes, and he seemed in fine humor as he waited patiently for the transformee to regain some strength.
Steve was momentarily very glad for his new tastes as Vinicius bent over and retrieved his pants; he would never have appreciated how sexy Vinicius' rear was, before. Vinicius pulled a small bottle of lubricant out of the pocket. "I would not dream of inducing you to do something you are not willing to do," he declaimed ironically, "so I thought perhaps you would be open to an alternative." At Steve's widening eyes, he grinned and said, "I can assure you that many, many Catholic girls do not consider it to threaten their virginity."
Steve had no doubt what was being proposed. Though it caused a certain amount of trepidation, it was far less fearsome a prospect than it should have been. And it would please Vinicius so, while not forming the ultimate surrender still feared by the dwindling part of himself that was still Stephen Harper...
Hardly able to believe he was being so brazen - impulsive spies had short careers - he rolled over onto his belly and, placing his feet on the floor, lifted his rump up into the air. Looking over his shoulder, he smiled sweetly at his Master and said "Okay!" as casually as if he were agreeing where to go out for dinner.
Apparently even Vinicus hadn't expected such ready capitulation, judging by his faintly shocked, quizzical expression. He hesitated a moment, then smiled and began to open the tube. As he annointed his tool, Steve impishly remarked, "It's nice to know I can still surprise you."
"You do so more than you know, querida." Vinicius was smiling, which pleased Steve greatly. "You can never harm me, but pleasant surprises are still within your grasp." The moment had arrived as he dropped his hand from his prick. It glistened with oil, looking magical, as if it glowed. "Now relax, my pet, and hold still..." Steve turned away and closed his eyes, but in fact found it unexpectedly easy to relax. He wasn't sure he'd ever trusted anyone so completely as he trusted Vinicius.
A hand settled on the side of his hips, and another gently parted his cheeks. Then he detected the tip at his rear gate. He took a deep breath as it began pushing inward, but then it came out in a sigh; Vinicius was indeed being gentle. He felt Vinicius's hips contact his own as the full length entered him; then he pulled carefully back. With due care, the rythym commenced.
The physical sensations of anal penetration weren't directly sexy, though neither were they particulary unpleasant. The very idea of it though, and the thoughts and emotions it sparked - those were sexy as hell. Caresses or kisses could be delicious even if they weren't on an erogenous zone, after all. And being so intimately and unavoidably aware of how hard he was, and how big, and how powerful... it was fantastic. Steve couldn't help but wonder; if this was so good, how much better would that cock feel in the receptacle designed for it?
With that thought, he opened his eyes and beheld the mirror on the far side of the room. He could see them both in reflection. Even in a world as strange as his had become, the image stood out. Himself bent over the bed, a slight sheen of sweat on the smooth skin he still wasn't used to. Panting, moaning, nipples erect, arching his back in ardent acceptance. And Vinicius behind; thrusting, carefully but inexorably, a king taking pleasure from his willing subject.
It was so raw, so sensual, and so deliriously erotic that Steve was dazed. He felt so hot he suspected he might faint. Vinicus' balls gently rubbed against his inflamed vulva with each thrust... Steve's juices were leaking freely. He wasn't sure if his cries were words or inarticulate moans, but silence was impossible. When Vinicius came, Steve knew it, and he screamed in a heady mix of pleasure and triumph and loving submission.
They both rested for almost a minute, as Vinicius slowly wilted before he withdrew. He sat on the bed; Steve, impassioned, almost tackled him onto the mattress and showered him with kisses, which were indulgently returned.
It wasn't terribly long before Vinicius' member showed signs of stirring anew: they retired to the bathroom for a shower. Steve took great pleasure in kneeling before him and washing it gently as it firmed up, and then tenderly sucking him off. After they had playfully toweled each other dry, Vinicius laid Steve down again on the bed and exhausted him with masterful cunnilingus. They fell asleep together in the bed, tired but very happy.
~~~~~
Mornings were a dark time these days. The enchantment of playing with Vinicius would generally have faded, and Vinicius himself always vanished before Steve awoke. He was most himself then. But that only emphasized the contrast between that self and the one being relentlessly imposed onto him.
He had happily cooperated with being butt-fucked last night. And even now, the only horrifying thing about it was how little horror he felt. It didn't seem like the humiliating degradation his intellect told him it should have been. Instead he remembered the whole session with distinct fondness. His ass felt... used, but not abused. He wasn't especially sore. Vinicius had been so sweet and gentle...
He shivered at how completely his whole sexuality had been warped, molded like clay. But that fear didn't make dallying with Vinicius any less seductive and alluring.
He was marginally more focused at work that day, by dint of supreme effort. The novelty of his shaved skin hadn't worn off much but he resoutely avoided reminiscing about the previous night... at least, insofar as possible. He was startled out of a naughty fantasy when a colleague knocked on the door and leaned into his office.
"Hey, Steve, good call on that Pakistan thing. They dug into some bank records and found one of the contacts was skimming our 'contributions' and sending a bunch to some Baloch insurgents."
"Oh, uh, I knew something was fishy there." He hoped he wasn't blushing.
"Edwards wanted me to tell you he'd like to hear more of your hunches. Just not in the middle of the daily briefing." Eric grinned to indicate that was only half-serious, then walked off. Steve felt a flash of relief. This was a lucky break - it might forestall suspicion a few more days. He'd take it; good news had been scarce lately. He returned to work with new resolve, and was actually productive until the end of the day, when thoughts of Vinicius crept back to the forefront.
By the time he had driven home, he was warm and moist and consumed with thoughts quite unrelated to intelligence and espionage. He ran into the house, hoping against hope that Vinicius would be there. To his surprise and delight, his Master stood at the door to the living room, nude and sporting an excellent boner.
With the same speed and grace that he'd once employed for inflicting harm, he bolted across the room to Vinicius, who seized him summarily and attacked with fierce kisses and grasping hands. Steve was swept away by the storm of Vinicius' ferocius need. Roughly, his clothes were torn away and his flesh was manhandled. It was just shy of actual violence; brusque and insistent and masculine. The new parts of Steve's psyche responded in a completely feminine style, drawing pleasure from being the focus of such desire.
They bumped and fumbled clumsily into the living room, minimally aware of their surroundings, absorbed in each other. They came to rest on the floor, nibbling and kneading and stroking and squeezing in a concentrated expression of lust.
Vinicius reared up and yanked a pillow off the couch, shoving it under Steve's ass, lifting it into the air. He interposed himself between Steve's legs and moved close. Steve wondered exactly what was in the offing, and, searching his feelings, discovered that no matter what Vinicius planned to do he was far more excited than reluctant about it.
The tip of that cock was right there, at his labia. It was an incredibly close call - had Vinicius hesitated even a moment, Steve would have been begging to be deflowered. But Vinicius thrust forward, heedless, and Steve felt a moment of shock.
Vinicius had laid his erection into Steve's slit. Rubbing up and down, the clitoral stimulation was so intense it was almost painful, despite the copius lubrication that eased the way. He stared, mesmerized, as it slid along the groove. The head disappeared and reappeared, over and over. The friction felt like it set his whole body to vibrating, like he was a stringed instrument and Vinicius's amazing cock was the bow. And the music was rising to a crescendo...
Steve moved his legs together in front of Vinicius' chest, enclosing as much of that prick as possible, giving him all the friction he could bear. An orgasm exploded through him, his white-hot clit radiating incandescent pleasure. It never really stopped, though it peaked again when Vinicus let out a throaty groan and Steve felt sticky cum fall onto his belly.
They rested for a time as the hurricane passed and the frenzy receeded. Steve breathed a sigh of pure contented peace. His lust was satiated for the moment, but Stephen Harper made no appearance. There was only Steve, worshipful servant, basking in the afterglow. Presently Vinicus kissed him, then stood, nodded his goodbye, and walked out of sight in to the kitchen. It could have seemed callous and rude, but no words were necessary. It had been a stolen moment, an 'afternoon delight'; it was sufficient unto itself. Steve drifted langourously for a time, smiling to himself, content and self-assured. Finally hunger came and convinced him to stand and go to make dinner.
Sudden, horrifying realizations were becoming such a common part of his life now that they were losing their ability to shock. He was almost numb as he noticed he hadn't closed the drapes in the front window. There wasn't a huge amount of foot traffic in his subdivision, but anyone passing by would have been able to see them in the throes of passion. He wasn't surprised that part of him didn't even want to hide their relationship...
But, the enchantment shattered, he quickly drew the shades and ran to the bathroom to wash himself off. Then, clad in a robe, he glumly ate a microwave dinner in front of the TV and moped, defeated.
In the business, love was regarded like any other addictive drug: as a threat and a tool. It made people vulnerable. Professionals avoided love for that very reason. But he was being forced to mainline on the pure, uncut stuff... and it was working. He was vulnerable now, in ways he couldn't remember ever being.
That night he stayed in front of the TV just to avoid thinking. Channel-surfing, he became engrossed in a romance on the Lifetime channel, a tale of star-crossed lovers. He didn't realize what he'd been enjoying until the credits were scrolling up the screen.
He wiped the mist from his eyes, terrified. The story had been so sweet, and the way they had kissed at the end had brought those tears forth. He knew that he would have been bored and annoyed at such a movie before, but he just couldn't feel that way anymore. He almost ran up to bed and didn't even try to catalogue his emotions as he laid down, hoping only for sleep that seemed far away.
~~~~~
She looked in the mirror. Her mom squeezed her shoulders, and said, encouragingly, "You look beautiful, honey." It felt good to hear her say that; she'd always had her doubts, before. She was narrow-hipped and flat-chested, and needed more hair-remover than any woman should. But Vinicius said she was beautiful, and his opinion was the only one that mattered. Looking at her reflection, wearing the simple white dress, she felt as pretty as Vinicius always said she was.
It was a small wedding. She had very little family and only some of Vinicius' relatives could make the trip. They had found a small, stately church outside of Langley and she was in a side room getting ready. She was giddy and nervous. She had no doubts at all about marrying Vinicius, but part of her still couldn't believe he would marry such an unworthy girl as herself.
A rap at the door. "It's time, honey." Her mother guided her to the door, handing over the bouquet, then went to be seated. Her daddy waited outside. He was beaming; Vinicius had throughly impressed him. He didn't need to say a word as he took her arm and they waited, just out of sight. The music swelled... and it was time.
As she walked down the aisle, hearing the wedding march, she was grateful for the strong arm of her daddy for support. Vinicius was so beautiful in his tuxedo that she thought she might faint. She could feel that her nipples were visible even through the thick fabric of her dress, but she didn't care. Who could blame her for wanting him in every possible way?
The lightheaded, dreamy feeling didn't fade; she felt as if she were floating through the ceremony, buoyed up by pure undiluted joy. "I, Stephanie, take you, Vinicius, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and obey till death us do part..." She meant every single word with every part of her being. She had specifically requested the traditional vows that included 'obey', and she had no reservations as she pledged herself totally - body, mind, and soul.
Vinicius's face seemed to glow as he recited his vows. "I, Vinicius, take you, Stephanie, to be my wife..." The blood rushing in her ears drowned out the rest of his words but the smile on his face made everything right. Then he leaned forward to kiss her; their lips met as husband and wife. It was sublime.
They proceeded back down the aisle past the smiling faces, and then there were pictures to be taken and other such trivia which barely registered through her happiness. She simply clung to her husband - her husband - and did as she was directed. Eventually they retired to the limo and she snuggled up to Vinicius, blissfully complete.
The reception was beautiful, and nothing about it was more wonderful than being introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Vinicius Ferreira. Everyone was so happy for them, and she tried to make sure Vinicius' family knew that she understood how lucky she was and that she would move Heaven and Earth to make him happy.
Their first dance was magical and romantic and she felt like a queen, almost good enough for him. The love in his eyes, his kisses, was all she'd ever need.
In due course they left the reception for a night in a hotel before they would embark on their honeymoon. Butterflies filled her stomach as the busboy closed the door to their suite. Vinicius looked to her and she trembled, weak with her need.
He stepped toward her, then grabbed her and yanked her into a ferocious kiss. It lasted several seconds, and then she was seated on the bed as he worked at the buttons on the back of her dress. Many tore, but she didn't care in the slightest. She shared his urgency as she fumbled with his pants, trying to get them down, off. Something tore and Vinicius was pulling the top of her dress away. She helped; a girl's wedding gown was supposed to be precious, and perhaps someday it would be, but right now it was in the way. She stood and wriggled it down off her hips. His pants and boxers were down too, now, and he tossed her onto the bed. Her white lace panties slipped past the garter - blue for luck - and she was exposed.
He wasted no time. Her legs were speedily knocked apart, and he was there, pushing in. It wasn't brutal, but it was forceful and ineluctable and only her copious lubrication kept it from being painful. There was some discomfort as he claimed her virginity, but it was nothing, insignificant compared to the joyous, triumphant orgasm as he claimed her. She screamed his name, giving herself over to him willingly and completely.
As the bliss finally began to recede, she opened her eyes... to darkness. Vinicius' weight was gone. The shapes in the room were at once familiar and alien. Groping, she managed to turn on the lamp and beheld her own bedroom in the condo. Confusion reigned for almost a minute. Where was her husband, and her dress? The hotel room... it had been so real. When she understood that it had only been a dream, when she recalled the true situation, and how thoroughly impossible such a scenario was, she wept brokenly into her pillow, wracked with sobs. It took hours to fall back to sleep.
~~~~~
Steve was more frightened that morning than he'd been even since the beginning of his ordeal. Stephanie wasn't just a dream self, he'd been her for quite a while after he awoke. Part of him was still her. He wanted to be the bride in a wedding, he wanted that dress, and he wanted his daddy to walk him down the aisle to Vinicius. (This despite the fact that he hadn't uttered the word 'daddy' for three decades, minimum.)
He zoned through breakfast and the drive to the office in his now-customary autopilot, trying to think as little as possible. Work brought only faint distraction, and barely diverted him from reflecting on the dream. Moreover, a new problem was starting to arise - he was reacting to his job the way a young woman would instead of a grizzled veteran. The bleak, vicious, and horrible aspects of tradecraft had never really affected him, even when he'd been starting out. His girlish side, though, was not so detatched, and recoiled at many of the things he reported on or, even worse, ordered. And he was having trouble interacting with his co-workers. They were ruthless, heartless, cold, paranoid. They were scary. And he was hiding something from them.
He had to take breaks from funding insurgencies and buying off useful dictators or he suspected he might cry. It chilled his soul. He was faintly surprised that he had a soul.... assuming it was really his. The only thing that helped his mood was thinking of Vinicius. But that only exacerbated the situation in other ways, as he soon discovered.
The alarm on his watch beeped; the ten-minute respite he'd allowed himself was over. He sighed ruefully, clinging for a moment to the memory of yesterday's torrid session on the floor. It wasn't really a sexual daydream; it was more about how Vinicius had seemed to sense how much she - no he, he told himself - had wanted him to appear... But now he worked to shift gears, to be Stephen Harper again.
The good feeling died utterly as he looked down at his desk. To his horror, he realized that he had been doodling. Little hearts with arrows festooned the cover of the classified briefing he was supposed to be reviewing. Inside many of them, "Vinicius + Stephanie" or "Mrs. Vinicius Ferreira" were written in his own handwriting. Based on how many there were, he must have been drawing for a while.
No, on closer inspection it wasn't quite his handwriting. It was very similar, but a touch neater, more fastidious. He felt sick when he noticed the other difference.
Instead of dots over the "i's", there were little hearts.
~~~~~
After work, on the drive home, he passed by a bridal shop that he had never before remarked upon. Abruptly, however, it brought back the dream. The feeling of wearing a beautiful dress... it was a powerful desire, almost a compulsion now. He stayed in the car, at war with himself, driving well past his condo. Eventually he realized why he was driving so far, where he was going. He came to a lingerie store that was well outside his usual territory, where the odds of being recognized were low. He parked in the lot, and sat for a few seconds, but he lost that final battle, too.
His knew his face was red as he walked into the store, but ironically, he was able to draw on his agent's experience to help. He had quite a lot of practice getting through unpleasant times with efficiency. It was humiliating, especially how a pair of other customers had stared and snickered, but he eventually arrived home with a few stockings and bras and lacy panties.
Altough he was starving, he fled upstairs to the mirror Vinicius had provided, and was naked in moments. He started to pull out some of his purchases, but then he remembered the stubble that tended to develop in the evening despite his morning shaving ritual. He went off to the bathroom and drew a hot bath; after a leisurely soaking his skin was soft enough to get a truly close shave. He masturbated once, thinking of his new apparel, but it barely took the edge off the tension.
Toweling himself off thoroughly, he returned to his bedroom, smooth and silky, worthy of the garments he'd bought. The red ensemble seemed to call out to him, and he slipped them on, feeling daring, naughty. Long net stockings, red thong panties with a heart motif, almost a bustier for the chest. He looked like a harlot, a walking invitation. He felt decorated, embellished, and emphasized. Revealed for what she... no, he... really was.
It was so easy to get himself off in that getup.
That night, Vinicius didn't appear. Steve fretted and paced and accomplished nothing whatsoever. What little self-possession he'd recovered was no comfort, since he dreaded sleep for what it might bring. He lay awake for a long time.
~~~~~
Going to the bathroom was always a trial now. More and more each day he felt like an intruder there. And each trip was a step closer to being discovered. Soon somebody was going to pick up on how he never used the urinals anymore; he worked in a field where people noticed details. It didn't help that he was wearing sexy lingerie under his clothes, of course. He'd opened up his underwear drawer that morning and taken out a pair of briefs... but he just could not bring himself pull on the drab things, not after he'd shaved all over, as was his morning habit now. Today he was by turns disgusted with himself and enjoying the delicious, sexy secret. Whenever they came to mind in the course of his day, he felt so feminine! And though there was shame, it was somehow weirdly empowering...
He forced himself to triple-check his clothes before leaving the stall. A mistake would be disastrous, and he knew his own concentration was frayed. He was feeling Vinicius' absence almost like physical withdrawl.
Getting back to his desk should have been a relief, a refuge from being confronted with his own transformation. Yet he dreaded the list of payments and weapons and drugs, more chilling for the antiseptic language they were described in. He felt a growing sense of oppression in his daily life, forced to be something he increasingly wasn't. With Vinicius he was free to explore himself and his feelings in ways he couldn't - wouldn't dare to - otherwise. The fact that those feelings might not actually be his didn't seem terribly important anymore.
He stepped into his office... and there it was, an envelope on top of the keyboard. It hadn't been there when he'd left. It couldn't be anything official - the paper was fine and white and was embossed with a delicate filigree. He closed the door and shot over to his desk. On the front was an elegant cursive S, in handwriting he would recognize anywhere.
Unable to stop himself, he held it up to his face and sniffed. He thought he could sense a trace of Vinicius's smell; earthy, manly. His heart swelled at the memories that aroma evoked. He opened the envelope carefully, knowing already that he would be keeping the note as a souvenir.
S - I hope you may forgive my presumption, and my
imposition on your schedule, but I request the pleasure of your
company at your residence at 7:30pm this evening. I shall understand,
of course, if you cannot accommodate my wishes, though I should be
saddened if so.
Hopefully,
V
The message brought forth a tangle of overlapping emotions. He was literally of two minds about it. Stephen was resentful, furious at the condescension and sarcasm. Stephanie was excited and deeply moved by Vinicius' consideration and tact. Yet he was both sides at once - the conflict was paralyzing.
The familiar surroundings of his office helped the 'Stephen' aspects of his personality regain ascendancy for a time. He struggled mightily. He did not want to give in, to leap at Vinicius's whims like a schoolgirl with her first crush. But he couldn't concentrate on his work; the note still worried at the back of his mind, its influence growing. Vinicius had never given warning before. Why now? What did it mean? Was he simply trying to demonstrate his power over Steve? Or was it a sign that he was softening a bit toward his victim, that he might be showing some honest consideration...
Finally he glanced at the clock and was stunned to discover that it had been less than fifteen minutes since he'd opened the note. It had felt like hours. He gave up in despair; there was no chance he would get anything done today. It was only Tuesday morning anyway... He shut down his computer and went into Edwards office. He was in the middle of a conversation with another analyst; Steve was glad, it would give him an excuse to make his excuses brief.
"Hey, I'm really not feeling right. I was hoping I'd be better after some coffee but I think I need to go home. Eric can handle the Thailand briefing and the Kazakhstan report isn't due until Thursday..."
His boss thought a moment, then replied, "Okay, but let me know if you'll be out tomorrow." Steve thought the odds were about even that he was suspicious, given the behavior changes lately, but he was too excited to be overly worried. He had enough sense to act a bit sick until he was in his car and on the road, of course.
Then he brightened considerably. Vinicius was coming for a date! They wouldn't be going out, but still... dinner! Of course! And Steve had been to Brazil, he could make a few dishes... He went straight to a grocery store and began shopping for the ingredients he would need. He passed by the magazine aisle, though, and was arrested by the cover of a bridal magazine. His dream from the night before came back with full force. And then she noticed another women's magazine, promising "Makeup Tips For Your Face!" Impulsively she grabbed a copy, plans already coming together in her mind.
Nearby was a specialty liquor store where she picked up another critical element. By then the day ahead had crystallized for her, and the logical next step was the mall. She chose one a good distance from both work and home, begrudging the extra driving time but recognizing the need for some semblance of security.
She found a few necessary sundries but then moved to the larger department stores, heading unerringly for the women's department. Just before she stepped up to a display counter, however, she had a sudden moment of clarity. She realized that she was thinking of herself as a girl, that 'Stephanie' had taken over. He tried to gain some control over himself... and then she decided she was being silly. She wasn't a he - she had a pussy, for goodness sake! That was the definition of female!
She confidently approached the girl at the makeup counter. It was the knowledge that she really was a girl too that let her ignore the amusement or disgust of the saleswomen that helped her. Besides, she simply couldn't bear the thought of disappointing Vinicius. She kept shopping until she had appropriate makeup, three complete outfits, and nearly a dozen varying sets of lingerie.
She rushed home; time was short. In, and then she dove into a frantic cleaning of the condo. It was almost 3:00 when she reluctantly concluded that things were as clean as they'd get. She rushed through a shower and another shave (she'd bought some hair remover for general use, spending razor time only on important areas), then began making dinner. Some parts of the meal would take a few hours to cook.
At six she left some pots simmering and went up to her bedroom. She had the magazine to refer to (Stephanie was a fast reader) and some tips from the salesgirls, but makeup was clearly a skill she'd need to practice. She stared wistfully at her eyebrows, wishing she could safely pluck them. Mascara, at least, lived up to her hopes, and some subtle eyeshadow and tasteful lipstick softened the hard lines of her face. Press-on nails made her hands look much more feminine. She hadn't had time to pick up a good wig; the ones at the mall looked too fake. All this took as long as she'd feared, though, and she had to race into her outfit and dash madly about the house for the last-minute touches.
She sat down at 7:28; there was more she could have done, but it would have to do. She didn't want to be flushed and out of breath when Vinicius arrived. Plenty of time for that later, she thought wickedly to herself. The doorbell rang at precisely 7:30 - he was perfectly punctual, as she'd known he would be.
She opened the door with a genuine smile and warm eyes, heedless of who else might be about. Vinicius stood on the small porch, impeccably clad and well-groomed as always. He too wore a smile at first, but it froze on his face as he fully absorbed Stephanie's appearance. "Won't you please come in?" she asked invitingly. She was suddenly terrified that he didn't like the changes she'd made in her look. She'd pinned her hopes on his remark about 'pleasant surprises' - if this was who she was now, and he'd chosen the form of the 'curse', why would she disappoint? But he looked so bemused... "I've so been looking forward to tonight."
"Clearly, you have indeed," Vinicius noted dryly as he entered. He glanced about, apparently recognizing the cleaning that had been done. As she closed the door, he paused, sniffing the air. "Is that... no, how could you..."
"I hope you haven't eaten. I made some caldeirada for us." Steve had developed a taste for the traditional seafood stew when he'd been living in Brazil. She led him into the dining room. The table was set for an intimate dinner for two; candles lent a touch of ambiance and fresh flowers in a vase made an attractive centerpiece. Vinicius studied the room for a moment, and then gazed searchingly at Stephanie.
"Please, sit down," she stammered. "I'll be right back with dinner." As Vinicius took the seat she'd indicated, she fled to the kitchen and began pouring pots into serving dishes. She was near tears; he wasn't responding at all the way she'd hoped. She suddenly felt huge and clumsy and ugly, a brute trying to pretend to be a lady. She almost dropped the toasted bread as she removed it from the oven and she had to stop for a second and collect herself. If this wasn't what Vinicius wanted, then she would simply have to find out what he did want, and give him that. For now, there was nothing to do but press onward.
As she came into the dining room bearing the dishes on a tray, she called out "Dinner is served!" with false cheer, hoping her eyes weren't turning red. She set the tray down - perhaps a bit too forcefully - and took up a piece of bread, reaching for Vinicius' bowl. "Here, let me help you..." But he put up his hand, motioning for silence. Her heart climbed into her throat.
His tone was gentle, however. "Excuse me, I must beg your forgiveness. I fear I did not behave as a gentleman should upon my arrival." Stephanie started to protest, but he waved her down. "No, no, I was quite unprepared for such a vision as yourself, and I failed to express how lovely you look tonight." She froze, not sure she'd really heard him correctly. "And I must say, this smells delicious as well. I did not intend to put you to such trouble, Steve."
"It was my pleasure. And please... call me Stephanie." She looked shyly down at the table, knowing he would think she was being silly.
There was a barely-perceptible pause, and then he replied fluidly. "Stephanie, of course. I beg your pardon." She looked up to see him shake his head ruefully. "Those I dealt with certainly do enjoy their little jokes." He must have seen some hint of alarm on her face, as he hastened to add, "Please don't think I am in any way disappointed. No, my chagrin stems from such a surfeit of my wishes being fulfilled at once."
She found she could breathe again, but not speak. Once more Vinicius must have picked up on her situation - was she truly so easy to read? - as he smoothly placed some bread in his bowl and brought it forward, saying charmingly, "I really must sample this. If I may?" She served him and poured some into her bowl as well, then fetched some wine. She'd never been much of a wine drinker, but the web had claimed that red would go well with the meal and she'd purchased an expensive bottle. Vinicius seemed not displeased.
For a while there was only the sound of clinking silverware and slurping. She hadn't seen him eat before, but he went about his meal with all the elegance and sophistication she'd come to expect. His manners were impeccable; he might as well have been dining with a queen. She almost felt shamed at her own lack of grace, and yet he took such pains to put her at ease. When she spilled some soup on the table, his grin was mischievous and conspiratorial, not condescending. He finally commented on the dinner. "If anything, it tastes even better than it smells," Vinicius smiled. "My own mother could not have made a finer caldeirada." Stephanie was briefly speechless, cheeks flushing; she looked away shyly. But the conversation quickly became lively though they discussed nothing of import - mostly their favorite foods, stories of memorable meals. Vinicius seemed to be honestly, and not maliciously, enjoying himself.
As the meal drew to a close, she brought out her next surprise - caipirinhas, a cocktail made with the local Brazilian liquor, cachaça. "Perhaps a bit too sweet," Vinicius commented, "but considering who prepared them, I should not be surprised." She blinked when she recognized the compliment. For the first time that evening, she didn't feel at all silly and self-conscious. She felt like a girl on a date with a man she truly wanted to impress... who was succeeding.
Vinicius overrode her protests and helped clear the table when they were finished. It felt so... domestic that she fantasized for a moment that they were living together, husband and wife, that they did this every night.
They moved to the living room (shades sensibly drawn) and talked for a time, digesting their meal. Stephanie didn't want to bring up work or politics, but Vinicius, charming and pleasant as ever, led them into a fascinating discussion of music and art; she learned a great deal but somehow it never felt like a lecture, or that he was condescending to her.
As the fullness in her stomach faded, the need in her loins grew; it was not merely the drink that made her blush. The conversation grew harder to follow as she paid less and less attention to Vinicius' words, and more and more to his lips, his hands, his body.
Finally, impulsively, she simply leaned forward and kissed him. His eyes widened sightly as his words were muffled, but her kiss was promptly returned with aplomb.
"Forgive my pedantry; I do tend to warm to my subject," Vinicius quipped as they paused for breath. His eyes danced and his mouth crooked with humor.
"No, Master, your subject has warmed to you." She wriggled forward, wrapping herself around him greedily. "Let me
show you how warm." Stephanie stroked his face and body
as she resumed kissing him. For his part, Vinicius' hands explored
her body in return, stoking her fires even higher.
At length, Vinicius broke away again, stating, "If we are to go much further, I think we should retire upstairs. I would prefer a trifle more room to stretch out." A nod indicated the couch they sat on.
"Whatever my Master commands," Stephanie slyly declared.
"So that is how it is to be?" He pushed her to her feet and stood himself. One hand turned her around, and the other swatted her behind to get her moving toward the the stairs. She yelped gleefully and dashed upstairs, Vinicius in leisurely pursuit.
She had arrayed herself on the bed with arch casualness as Vinicius entered the room. "Whatever shall we do now?" she asked.
Vinicius' smile made her heart soar. "I think you should show me the full particulars of that outfit you wear."
"Don't you like it?" She stood and twirled. "I saw it and just fell in love with it. The fit isn't perfect," she continued as she turned and beckoned for Vinicius to unzip her, "but, well..."
She felt a delicious thrill as his hands opened the back of her dress. She stepped forward, turning to face him as she worked the cloth down her body. The lacy brassiere wasn't necessary - she wished she had real boobs - but made her feel much more feminine. Equally embroidered, girlish panties and garters and stockings were exposed next. The shoes weren't a good match for the rest but finding any high heels that would fit feet the size of hers, in a short timeframe, had been a formidable challenge.
"White... how appropriate." Vinicius' appraising eyes moved up and down her body. Then he moved himself, coming forward. She soon discovered what countless girls before her had learned - taking off frilly underthings could be even more fun than putting them on, if you had the right kind of help.
He left her nude save for her stockings. She was breathing quickly, pulse elevated, thoroughly wet. Deliriously turned on. It wasn't exactly ordered, but Vinicius made no objection as she began to reverentially disrobe him. He was ramrod straight, at full mast when she gently eased the waistband of his boxers over the tip and slid them down and away.
Kneeling there, teasing her lips and tongue all over his prick and balls, everything was right with the world.
He came close, she could sense how close he was, but he reached down and pulled her away. Unlike the first blowjob two weeks ago, though, this was done gently. He guided her to her feet and then to the bed. It was as if she floated down onto her back. Vinicius lay beside her and kissed her deeply.
He played her expertly; his capable hands roamed Stephanie's responsive flesh possessively, coaxing unprecedented levels of frenzied excitement in the transformed agent. She could feel the erection rubbing against her belly like a promise. When Vinicius rolled her onto her back and positioned himself between her legs, she cooperated with suppliant enthusiasm.
Vinicius spent a minute or two suckling and nibbling at her chest, driving her to distraction. Eventually, however, he reared back and adjusted his hips in an unmistakable manner. By now, Stephanie felt no fear or reluctance at all - quite the opposite, in fact. There was a moment, a tiny slice of time, when Steve appeared... but even he found that he couldn't muster up sincere opposition. He receded, dissolved, and there was only Stephanie.
Vinicius looked at her, one eyebrow and the corners of his mouth raised. The question was obvious, and she replied with a nod and an inviting wriggle. But Vinicius did not proceed. Stephanie moaned, desperate. It was there, at her entrance; she could feel the stiff prick hovering, taunting. She groaned, "Please, oh please, I need it, please..."
It moved forward; there was a stretching, a tearing. Pain, colored with the realization that she had given up her virginity. It was true that Steve had done so long ago, years ago when he'd been a teenager, but that seemed remote and unimportant. It had happened to someone else, only what was happening now was real. Deeper and deeper it plunged - impudent, arrogant, overwhelming. Their hips met, it was fully enveloped, and she was overjoyed. Then it pulled back, and shot forward again...
It was filling her up, it felt huge, like her whole body was molding around it, being shaped by it into a perfect receptacle, her whole being felt lit from within, Vinicius was inside her body and soul, and she could do nothing, could want nothing but to yield and accept... there was pain still, but it was necessary, worth it for the pleasure, for the joy...
It was debatable if there were actually separate orgasms or if it was one long climax with several peaks. Either way it was phenomenal and ecstatic. When she felt Vinicius come inside her pussy, she experienced it like a worshiper infused with the divine. She was breathless and blissful when Vinicius finally withdrew.
They lay together for a time, neither speaking. Then Stephanie shyly kissed her Master, who did not pull away. She felt relaxed and happy. It crossed her mind that the situation ought to feel weird, but the thought was of no interest to her and she banished it disdainfully. Nothing could be more proper and right than responding to Vinicius' handsome good looks and charming style. She gently made out with the man who had so thoroughly conquered her, enjoying every instant. Finally she couldn't keep her feelings inside anymore.
She broke off their kiss but continued to stroke Vinicius' back. "That was awesome." She was gushing like a teenager, but she meant it in the richest sense of the word. "Thank you." Her eyes were starting to mist up. She'd never cried from happiness before.
Vinicius gazed at her impassively for a moment, then smiled. "Your gratitude is noted." It could have sounded mean, but the delivery was amused, playful. She actually giggled, which made Vinicius smile more.
"I must admit, even I found it... unique," he mused.
She laid her head on his shoulder. "We'll have to fix that, as soon as you're ready."
"I beg your pardon?"
"If we do it again, it can't be unique anymore, right?"
~~~~~
It was a slow awakening from the deepest, most restful slumber since the fateful evening weeks ago. It wasn't clear if last night had been a dream, until he found the mess between his legs; blood and semen intermixed, clear evidence that he'd been deflowered. He knew it should have bothered him more, but he simply could not regard it as anything but heartwarming.
He recognized that last night had been a tipping point. Before, it had been Stephanie being gradually imposed onto Steve. But letting Vinicius take him - her - them? - last night had altered something central, essential. He could feel the difference; Steve was now more the intruder onto Stephanie's turf.
He went through his morning in what was now the typical depressed fog, until he suddenly was frozen by a new thought. Could he get pregnant? (Absently he noted that the idea of bearing Vinicius' child was daunting, but not immediately abhorrent.) The changes had been so thorough in other respects; he could not come up with a good reason why he'd be infertile. He hadn't even considered any kind of birth control... and he knew he wouldn't have worried about it last night, even if it had occurred to him. He suddenly had a great deal more sympathy for teenage mothers.
A frantic session on the web gave him nothing to go on. There was no way to tell if he was fertile or not without submitting to a medical exam, which was obviously out of the question. It would be at least a few days before any pregnancy test could work... but even then, were the hormones in his system anywhere close to normal?
A pitched battle was fought as he got dressed. Steve couldn't pretend that his survival wasn't at stake now, and he pressed at Stephanie with all his considerable will. It should have been no contest - he had been a vicious and unfeeling killer, she was a girl, and a submissive one at that. But Stephanie was in love, and knew exactly what she wanted.
Blushing, humiliated, Steve pulled on some stockings.
~~~~~
Work was hell. He hid out in his office, pretending to be recovering from his 'illness'. He labored mightily just to get the minimum done, terrified that he'd miss some obvious connection in the data he analyzed, make some mistake that would reveal how compromised he was. Discovery couldn't be more than days away, even so.
Stephanie was utterly besotted. She was always there now in the back of Steve's mind no matter what he was doing, loving Vinicius, coloring his own thoughts and moods. She hoped that she and Vinicius might run away together, that she might convince him to abandon his plan of revenge and accept her as a lover, or slave, or whatever she could be to him.
In his more self-possessed moments, he understood how foolish those ideas were. Intellectually it was clear that the spell itself made him want to believe that there was hope... but his intellect no longer had any control over his emotions, and they made it impossible to believe that Vinicius felt nothing for him.
Steve evaporated on the way home, pressed aside by Stephanie and her feverish anticipation of seeing Vinicius. She felt the disappointment keenly when he was nowhere to be found as she came into the condo. She warmed up some leftovers from the night before, letting the smell, at least, keep the memories fresh.
Then she went upstairs, freshly disappointed that her Master was nowhere to be seen. She took off the tie and shirt and pants with relief, and selected a blouse and skirt. They were so much more comfortable. Restless, she did make-work, cleaning the kitchen, watering the flowers, and so forth. She had just finished changing the sheets on the bed, reminiscing dreamily, when the stairs creaked.
She whirled to behold Vinicius appearing at the door. She just stood, beaming, as he came towards her, around the bed. He seized her, pressed his lips to hers hungrily, urgently. Instantly she was swept away in the current of his need, wrapping herself around him, wanting only as much contact as possible.
He eased his hold, slipping around behind her, then pulling her close, running his arms across her front. He played with her nipples (she wished she could call them breasts) briefly. She could feel his erection on her behind as she pressed into him. Skirts were wonderful, they didn't get in the way! Vinicius shortly demonstrated this, as he bent her forward onto the bed and lifted up her skirt from behind. She waited breathlessly, watching in the mirror as he unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants. Her panties were eased down, and then he slipped into her.
She stared again at herself being taken from behind, but it was so much better. She looked more like a woman in the dress, and having his cock in her pussy... he was indeed taking her, claiming her, and she loved it, would have it no other way.
~~~~~
The next day crawled slowly by. He daydreamed constantly about Vinicius now. There was almost no distinction between Steve and Stephanie anymore; it was like 'Steve' was just a name for when Stephanie was feeling contrary, striving to imagine herself as a man.
So at first he thought he was imagining things when he rounded the corner of a rack of computers in the server room and saw Vinicius standing there with his customary smirk. Stephanie couldn't be contrary in such a situation. Her heart skipped a beat.
"Oh, Vinicius, how did... you can't... if they catch you, they'll..."
"Have no fear, querida. We shall not be disturbed here for some time." She leaped forward into his embrace, kissing him deeply, pressing close. After a few moments, she came up for air, and he asked, "What shall we do with these moments?"
"I want you ride me, high and hard!" she whispered wickedly. She pulled back and went to work on her belt, her pants, as she kicked off her shoes. The slacks fell to expose black lace panties and thigh-high stockings. She yanked off the dark men's socks and, from the waist down, was the woman she knew herself to be.
Vinicius moved in, possessively, and slipped off her tie, undid her shirt. A few more moments and the brassiere was exposed, her nipples prominent even through the thicker material. He pushed her back, against the wall, and slipped a hand down the front of her panties as his lips voyaged across her face, her neck. She gasped softly as his strong digits probed her lips.
He undid the garters one-handed, and pulled down the panties as his other arm imprisoned her. Only later did she wonder at his skill, at the time she was too busy kissing and caressing him to even think. He lifted her up bodily and set her on a waist-high server of some kind. He had dropped his pants somehow and was inside her in moments, driving and thrusting and pounding... high and hard, just as she'd pleaded.
She bit his shoulder, muffling her shrieks, the pleasure driving her insane. Vinicius came, forcefully, groaning. A handful of thrusts, and he sighed, pulling out. He found her panties on the floor and used them to clean himself off as Stephanie sat there, panting, recollecting herself. He smiled as he set the undergarment down next to her, pulled up his pants, and walked away around the server rack, blowing her a kiss.
Once she'd caught her breath, she began dressing again as rapidly as possible. The panties were wet and sticky but she didn't care, it was his cum and she wanted it in her, on her. Just because it would upset 'Steve', she licked a little off her fingers. In a few minutes her disguise was in place again, and she'd cleaned off the server case well enough. Just in time, too, as the secure door opened and a pair of analysts came in. Stephanie waved casually and stepped out past them, barely able to contain her smirk.
~~~~~
Once again, all pretense of Steve had vanished by the time she had hurried home after work. She ate a simple meal, but was more patient, more peaceful than the night before. Vinicius would show, or not, at his pleasure. It was out of her hands, nor did she want it in her hands. Vinicius knew what he wanted, and she simply wanted to give whatever he asked for, when he needed it.
The same calm followed her to the couch as she watched some TV. She picked the cooking channel; perhaps she'd make another dinner for her Master soon.
As always, his arrival was unexpected and unheralded. He simply walked around the corner from the dining room and sat beside her. She didn't attack him, but merely leaned close, laying her head on his shoulder. His expression was thoughtful, pensive.
At a commercial break, he stirred. She sat back up, waiting. He definitely had something on his mind, but she couldn't see what it might be.
"Stephanie, I must ask..." he hesitated. "How do you feel?"
She cocked her head to the side, puzzled. "Happy that you're here."
"No, I..." He shook his head. "I mean to say, about all this. The... situation."
She gazed searchingly at Vinicius, trying to divine his intent, to understand what was behind the question. In some ways, it sounded like he was having second thoughts... But she could not read him at all. She had no idea what was going on behind those gorgeous eyes. Her emotions got in the way; objectivity with respect to Vinicius was impossible. In the end, she could do no more than answer honestly.
"Sometimes I'm scared. Or I guess you could say that 'Steve' was scared. But I, Stephanie..." She smiled. "I'm glad," she whispered.
"So, you feel no regret over losing Steve? Being so changed, remade, molded against your will?"
Suddenly she was almost shouting, putting her emotions into words. "I don't care! I was dead inside, before. I never felt anything, I never let myself feel anything." She was crying a little, even through her smile. "Now I feel, now things matter to me, now I'm alive. You didn't kill Steve, he was never alive. You brought me to life!"
She buried her face in his chest then, and he held her, comforting her as she calmed down. Ages later, when she looked up, he had the same unreadable, brooding countenance. He stood, lifting her to her feet, and led her upstairs.
When they reached the bed, he slowly undressed her, taking his time with every item, every motion. Once he was done, he guided her onto her back on the bed. She started to get up, to help him as he undressed, but he indicated with his hand that she should be still. With equal deliberation, he disrobed.
He knelt on the bed and dipped his head, kissing her new lips. His mustache tickled like a feather, and his breath both cooled and warmed at the same time. Then his tongue probed, tasting her excitement. She moaned softly, gathering handfuls of comforter, struggling not to move. He was so good... somehow his tongue could probe inside her as his lip glided across her clit... he must be drowning, how wet she was...
There was no 'climax', really. The pleasure simply climbed, gradually, smoothly, and plateaued. Duration was impossible to estimate, it simply was, forever, and then he was carrying her down, gently, until she was at peace and he sat up.
She wanted to get up, to return his gift as best she could, but motion was impossible. Soon enough he was above her, entering her, caressing her - there was no other word for it - inside and out.
She had never made love before. Steve had fucked, at best. It was gentle and tender and at the end she was crying softly into her pillow, overcome. Vinicius held her and, for a time, nothing else could matter.
~~~~~
Friday, she woke up from a wonderful dream; she and Vinicius had been walking hand-in-hand by a river. Only that, but the feelings... the aura of uncomplicated love that had suffused the whole scene... there was no fight left in her. She knew that she was Stephanie, and Stephanie loved Vinicius, utterly and completely, whether or not he returned her love. Right or wrong, she would do anything he asked, simply because it was him asking.
Ironically, being Steve at work that day was easy. Now that she knew he was simply a part she was playing, not an identity she wanted to preserve, it was simplicity itself to put on a masculine front. She didn't feel intimidated anymore by her co-workers. None of the guys she worked with were a tenth of the man Vinicius was.
She gathered a huge amount of critical information about U.S. submarine operations in the Asian theater. It was the kind of intel the Chinese military would drool over. She stored it on a flash drive; the automatic activity scans would pick up the transfer and, by midnight, there would be questions for Steve Harper... but either way, Steve Harper wouldn't be coming back.
She still had some hope. Maybe Vinicius wouldn't really give it over. He was doing this to hurt Steve, not to hurt America. And if Stephanie could prove that Steve was gone, vanquished... if she could show how deeply she loved Vinicius... if she could show the fierce devotion and passion she felt... maybe Vinicius would bend, would come to appreciate and value that love.
She slipped away from the facility without incident, and raced home. Vinicius was there, in the kitchen, sipping coffee. She loosened her tie, unbuttoned her shirt, and removed the flash drive from under her bra, which had struck her as the perfect place to hide it. Wordlessly, she held it out to him.
Vinicius took the device gravely, somberly. He looked at her, then back at the tiny block of plastic and metal and silicon. "Thank you, Stephanie," he said at length. "This could not have been easy for you." He seemed... depressed.
She wasn't sure what reaction she'd expected, but this wasn't it. "I... hoped it would make you happy," she said. "It's all you asked for. You defeated Steve completely, he's gone."
"Indeed. I, too, thought it would make me happy... before."
"What's wrong? Please, tell me, I..." but his fingers brushed her face, silencing her.
"Hush, mor." He said nothing else as he led her to the bed, as he undressed her, as he loved her if anything more tenderly than the last time.
And when it was over, he stood and dressed. As she stared from the bed, her disappointment obvious, he looked at her again, as if trying to memorize her. "I am sorry, querida mor. There is something I must do now." At her widened eyes, he looked away. "I have no choice. Less, even, than did you."
"Will you... come back?" Her voice broke, her soul on the ragged edge of despair.
"Yes, mor." But there was something in his eyes... He turned and walked out the door. She heard him on the stairs, she heard the front door close, as tears leaked onto the pillow.
~~~~~
Stephanie had cleaned herself and put on a dress. Whatever happened, from now on, she would never wear male clothing again. She sat in the living room, TV off, waiting. The smart thing would have been to run. Every second she waited was a risk that a team would arrive to 'contain' Steve. But Vinicius had said he would return, and she would wait for him forever if necessary.
It had been perhaps an hour when the front door opened and Vinicius stepped in. She leapt to her feet but halted upon seeing his face. He was still somber, almost grieving in his manner.
"It is done. I have relayed the information to my contact."
She had known, but she still felt a pang of... not regret, but... regret that it had been necessary. She had an entirely new perspective on what Steve had done. She could not say that Vinicius was not justified in his revenge. But now that it was done...
"I understand," she said, putting forgiveness in her tone. "But now... I had hoped..." Tears again, unashamed. "I love you. I want to be with you. Even if you can't love me, I... I love you."
He looked at her, pain and regret in his eyes, his face, his whole posture. "But I have come to love you... or at least, what you have come to be. Their sense of humor was at my expense, also."
She was dizzy with joy to hear him declare his love, but his dark mood filled her with apprehension, too. "Please, we can run away, we can be together! With you I feel like I can do anything!"
"Ah, Stephanie, querida mor, if only that could be so. But there is a price yet to be paid for my vengeance."
Her eyes widened and she gasped in horror. Without knowing how, she was suddenly across the room, embracing him. "No, please, there must be a way..." She was weeping, holding him with a death grip.
"My life - my soul - is theirs now. They gave me the power, but now I must make the final payment."
"Please, no! Please!" she screamed. "Let them take me instead!"
Vinicius looked so sad... "No, mor, in a sense they have already taken you. And further, they never go back on their... agreements." He sighed. "I have all I wished for, bargained for. My revenge is complete. I have destroyed the man who wronged my niece... and it is ashes, for in so doing I have destroyed another girl, whom I also love."
"No... no..." Her whole body was shaking.
Gentle, but determined, he extracted himself from her grasp. He stepped back, holding her arms, looking her up and down. "I am truly sorry. Where I go, you cannot - must not - follow. I could wish for you to be happy... but the price of wishes is always too great."
Numbly she watched him walk out the door. He looked back one final time, then it gently latched shut.
She felt dizzy for a moment, but the sensation faded almost at once. As before, it took several seconds for the change to register, and it was just as blood-curdling the second time... but it was far easier to confirm. She hiked up her skirt and beheld the horrendous bulge at the front of her panties. She yanked them down and almost threw up to see a penis and scrotum dangling from her crotch. She could not have been more horrified and disgusted if she'd found a tentacle there.
She'd been a man trapped in a woman's body, and now she was a woman imprisoned in a man's body. That horrid alien dick was the only thing left of Steve; inside, in her heart, Stephanie was all that remained.
But no one would ever believe that. There was now no proof that anything supernatural had ever happened. Vinicius himself was gone; there were no pictures, no recordings, no proofs he'd ever been there. His notes - if they even existed anymore - would mean nothing, easily forged. And the most convincing evidence, her transformed body, was likewise gone. All that remained was Stephanie herself, inhabiting this alien, hateful body... but she could only ever be thought of as Steve's psychosis.
She had nothing, now. Steve would soon be a wanted felon, a traitor - if her crime had not already been detected - and Vinicius was beyond hope of rescue. She had only memories of their love, which could be nothing but a torture for its reminder of what would never, could never be. As the tears flowed, she knew that Julia must have cried the same way. Stephanie could see at last that her fate would be the same as Julia's. The only cover where they'd never look for Steve would be as a gay prostitute... and soon she, too, would be taking drugs to dull her sorrow.
Without really knowing why she bothered, tears leaking down her cheeks, she began to pack a few clothes and other sundries for her new, and doubtless short, life as a fugitive.
Chris stopped next to the vending machine as Zack fed in some money. "Too bad she dumped you."
"She didn't dump me," Zack replied defensively, punching the Mountain Dew button. "We're just... taking a break." There was an odd buzzing sound as the button lit and the bottle fell, not really noticed by either man.
"Right. That's good." Chris said sarcastically as Zack took a swig from the bottle. He was always teasing, something he demonstrated as they walked back to Zack's car.
"I can't believe you lock this thing, man." In truth, Chris had a point. The vehicle was old, worn, and only marginally 'running'. The only reliable part was, ironically, the alarm.
The chirp of Zack's remote rang out. Both men stopped short as a rumbling noise began. Suddenly the car seemed to explode and rearrange itself. It was too quick to follow - a fraction of a second - but now a shining, detailed sports car lay before them, a giant spoiler mounted on the back.
"Whoa..." they both exhaled, exchanging swift, stunned glances. Another chirp, and a second transformation; a muscle car settled onto its shocks.
In disbelief, Zack hit the button again. Chirp, rumble; a giant monster truck. Chirp, rumble; a tiny Shriner parade car, complete with Shriner, waving at them.
Chris looked dubiously at Zack, whose face was blank with shock; he was waving back timidly. Zack snapped himself out of it and used the remote. Chirp.
A gold-toned, pimped-out pickup, stereo bumping. Even the mag wheels were gold-tinted.
"Sweet! Let's roll!" Chris called out, stepping forward, high on the absurdity of the situation.
There was an odd smile on Zack's face. "Wait!", he said.
"What?" Chris asked, not quite understanding as Zack pointed the remote his way and turned his head like a gunslinger pulling off a trick shot.
Chirp. Chris frowned, puzzled, as brown hair fell just past his shoulders. He glanced up to see a strangled look on his friend's face. Convulsively Zack squeezed the button again.
Chirp. Chris's horror and confusion grew in direct proportion to the breasts that pushed his shirt out. Frightened, he locked eyes with Zack. "Not cool!" he half exclaimed, half pleaded.
Chirp. It took less than a second. His clothes and body flowed like water, the former becoming feminine and the latter becoming female. Only the styrofoam cup remained unchanged.
The new girl gasped as the change completed, then smiled Zack's way.
"How about a Dew?" she asked flirtatiously. Zack mutely chirped the remote at her drink. It wriggled in her hand to become a twin of the one he held.
"Thanks." She watched as Zack, dumbfounded, kissed the remote and mumbled his own gratitude.
~~~~~
She laughed, feeling flattered. "Now let's roll?" she grinned.
Zack moved toward the front of the truck. "Aren't you going to open the door for a lady?" she teasingly asked. He stopped, almost stumbling, then came back and gingerly opened the passenger door, holding it for her. Crissy thought the mixture of confusion, caution, and hope on his face was just about the most adorable thing she'd ever seen.
She brushed past him, running her hand down his arm, and squeezed his hand as she slid into the seat. She made sure her long legs were stretched out, and held herself so her chest was subtly but prominently displayed.
This was rewarded with a wondering glance as Zack took the sight in. Pride and satisfaction filled her; her smile widened. "Come on, loverboy. Don't you want to see what this baby can do?" she asked, leaving open exactly what she was referring to.
Zack hurried around to the driver's side and hopped in, sparing another disbelieving glance toward her. The inside of the truck was lavishly appointed, and the boom of the stereo made the seats vibrate a little, even though it was clearly nowhere near the highest volume.
"Jesus," Zack breathed, surveying the dashboard. GPS navigation, DVD player, satellite radio, OnStar. Neon-blue running lights. Gold accents on everything; even gold thread in the leather upholstery.
Crissy giggled, watching his awed exploration. His head jerked in her direction at the sound, and though he was clearly even more awed at her, he almost visibly decided to postpone consideration of what she represented.
{That's okay, baby,} she thought. {Take your time. When you're ready, I'll be ready.} She gazed at him lovingly, and not a little lustfully.
Something about the seatback attracted his attention. He fumbled for a moment, then found the catch. A panel opened between them.
"A refrigerator?" Zack was incredulous. The chilled compartment was stocked with (what else?) Mountain Dew.
Crissy was laughing again. "It's so cute! You were just like this when you won it!"
"When I 'won it'? Wha... what do you mean?"
"Here." She rummaged in the glove compartment for a moment. "Look." The registration said 'Zachariah Joseph Lee'.
"Oh."
"You won it in a Pepsi contest about a month ago. You were so happy then, too." Crissy liked it when Zack was happy. "Did you notice how nobody even looked at us while you were changing the car?" Zack nodded slowly. Nobody was paying any special attention as they idled in the parking lot. "Memories were changed, too. Everything's, you know, consistent."
After a few moments, Zack looked her way one more time, a bit nervously. "Um, do you... I mean, are you... er, who..."
She laughed brightly. "Relax. I know what happened to me, and it's all okay."
"Are you sure? I mean..." he trailed to a halt.
"I've never been so happy. I get to start all over with you! I remember Christopher Michael Parker, but I'm not him. I'm Christina Michelle Parker, but everyone calls me Crissy, including you."
"You don't... uh, mind, uh..."
"Why should I? I'm me, Crissy. I'm as real as you are, and I like who I am. And I am desperately in love with you," she said earnestly. "What, do you mind?"
"Uh, no, not at all. It's just, um, a lot to take in."
"I sure hope so, stud!" Crissy teased. Zack looked puzzled for a second, then did a double-take at her double-entendre. He shook his head as if to clear it.
She continued, "But like I said, I remember Chris, too. I think that's so I can help you, be your guide to what's changed." She felt an odd certainty about that.
"Why is this happening? Why me?"
"I don't know. But it couldn't have happened to a greater guy." She positively beamed at him. "God, I love you."
Zack shifted uncomfortably. "You 'remember' Chris?"
"It's like... like I watched a DVD of his life, with a commentary. I know what he did and felt, but it didn't happen to me. I'm not him." Again Zack looked nonplussed.
"This is for the best, it's so right. You'll see!" She paused. "Look, let's go for a ride. You always said you loved the way this sucker handled."
She watched Zack consider that for a moment. Then he put the truck in gear, and pulled out onto the road. After a few moments, he asked, "So, you're my girlfriend?"
"No, just your housemate. We've been friends since college, like you were with Chris, and we shared apartments back then, too. But we were just friends. You had all the same girlfriends at the same times; not so much has changed. Even Karen."
"And they all were okay with me living with you?" Zack asked doubtfully. He had to tap on the brakes; it was Sunday but the noon traffic was still thick.
"Sure, they accepted I wasn't any competition when they met my girlfriends."
"Wait, you're a lesbian?" he cried out. {No, I was wrong,} Crissy thought. {That disappointment on his face - that's the most adorable thing I've ever seen. And the most gratifying.} She wanted him to want her.
"I always thought so, but as it turns out, I'm bi. I just never could admit to myself how attracted I was to you, until a few months ago. Just before you started dating Karen. It's been awful; I've been so jealous of her." She remembered nights crying into her pillow. "Now that she broke up with you, that idiot, I've been steeling myself up all day to tell you. It feels so good to stop hiding it!"
"But... you weren't... none of that really happened!"
"Maybe not to you, but it sure did to me." Zack frowned, but she kept going. "Even if you were right, you're the only one in the world that thinks so," she replied firmly. "Nobody but me and you even remember anything else, and I don't want it any other way."
Zack changed the subject. "I wish this damn traffic would clear."
"Why not do something about it?" Crissy suggested, smirking.
He stopped short. "Why not?" He reached out the window and pointed ahead. Chirp. Half the cars were whisked away, and the light in the distance flipped from red to green. Nobody noticed.
For a while, they drove aimlessly, neither talking, just listening to the radio. Crissy danced a little in the seat, partly enjoying the music but also to draw attention to her body. {Zack, I know you need time to adjust to this, but maybe I can speed it up a little,} she thought wickedly.
She wanted to think, too. It wasn't that she needed to adjust; from the moment Zack had used the remote on her, she'd felt utterly certain of so many things. But the situation did call for reflection.
Crissy had never really been attracted to a man before Zack. Oh, she'd been horny enough, but in high school the boys were all stupid jocks, or dweebs, or whatever, and hopelessly immature. Her fantasies and experiences had always revolved around girls.
It had been reassuring for her straitlaced, traditional parents that she had never seemed to get in trouble with boys. When Crissy had introduced them to her date for the senior prom, they'd been horrified to find out why.
She could see now that her reaction to that had been to cement her self-image as a capital-L Lesbian, and a sexually adventurous one. A twinkle came to her eyes as she recalled the one time her mother had visited the apartment she shared with Zack; the wide-eyed stare at the toys on display in Crissy's bedroom had given her great satisfaction.
Looking at the 'Chris' memories helped. His family had made a similar mistake; he'd rebelled against his mother and father and their ironclad insistence that he go into medicine by becoming a slacker. Despite his intelligence, he'd graduated with mediocre grades and had been working for a pool-service company. (In her history, her old-fashioned parents hadn't put that kind of career pressure on a girl.)
Chris hadn't been happy about how his life was turning out, but was too proud to admit anything of the kind to anyone, especially his estranged parents. Crissy could see, looking at it from the 'outside', that his sarcasm and teasing had been a defense mechanism.
Crissy's rebellion, on the other hand, had cost her Zack. She'd felt a connection to him when they had first met in college, but she had sublimated that to friendship, not willing then to confront the truth, too caught up with her anger at her family. He had accepted her on those terms, and they had become very close - as friends.
Eight months ago, she had a dream. She was being ravished by a masked woman with a strap-on, and she was thoroughly enjoying it. Suddenly she realized it wasn't a girl, it was Zack, and she awoke in a vocal orgasm. The strange mood of the dream had stuck with her for days afterward. She'd avoided both Zack and her then-current girlfriend, confused and upset. Maureen had moved on before too long.
Eventually she'd admitted to herself that she was looking at Zack differently. Or rather, she was now conscious of what she felt when she looked at him. But she feared his response if she told him - did he even really see her as a girl anymore? Or just a buddy who happened to have long hair and good advice about women?
After a month, she'd been unable to hold it in any longer. She'd had a nice meal ready for when he got home from work, planning to pour out her heart over dinner. (She'd discovered that she had absorbed some traditional ideas about male-female relationships from her parents after all.) But he hadn't come home, and she ate alone. The next morning he'd arrived with a hangover, Karen in tow...
Pretending she was happy for them had curdled her soul.
All winter Crissy's sorrow had grown. She put on a brave front, but Karen was wrong for him, she knew it. Not that she could be at all objective, but Karen didn't seem to respect Zack all that much, and she was awfully controlling; Crissy felt Zack's sweet nature was being taken advantage of.
She didn't sabotage their relationship. Partly because she didn't want to hurt Zack, but mostly because of her anxieties about how he would respond to her overtures.
She still wished for them to break up and vowed not to miss her chance if that happened. Hope and dread had mixed in the spring, when she'd seen signs of Karen growing increasingly distant.
And then, Saturday night. She'd come home from a movie (seen alone; she hadn't had any interest in a girlfriend, resorting to brief, meaningless sexual encounters when the pressure got too strong) and been surprised to find Zack home, in a blue funk. Tentative questions set her heart pounding - Karen had told him she 'needed some space'.
Then, this morning. She remembered picking out her outfit so carefully. Cute; sexy but not slutty, nice but not dressy. Casually proposing a trip out for an early lunch.
Over the meal, Crissy had started to tell Zack about her feelings, but her worst fears had been confirmed. He had shut her down. He was 'still hoping to get back with Karen'. It was 'too weird', she was 'like a sister'. He'd stopped thinking of her 'that way'.
She had been fighting back tears as they stopped for gas, and Zack went to get a Dew. Despairingly wishing she'd pursued him when they'd first met. Then, the car had gone through its changes. And then he'd pointed the remote at her...
'Chris' remembered it differently, of course, up until the change. They'd gone out to lunch, but he certainly hadn't confessed his nonexistent love for Zack. She could remember, if not really relate to, his fear as his hair got long, as breasts sprouted from his chest.
From her point of view, when Zack had turned the remote on her, there had been no confusion, not even a real sense of transition. Just a rapid flood of odd memories and certainties in her mind. She had gasped at the realization that her wish had, in a way, come true. In front of her was a Zack that didn't remember her; she really could start over... and this Zack would find her attractive!
{I'll make you love me this time, Zack! I'll make you happy, I can be everything you ever wanted in a girl, you'll see!}
Suddenly another idea struck her. She dug her phone out of her purse, and turned to Zack. "Hey gorgeous, how about giving me an upgrade?"
He blinked, and chirped the remote; the cheap phone ballooned, sprouting a keypad. She felt her memories shift; a girlfriend who'd gotten a replacement unit, then the old one started working again; she'd given it to Crissy... "Thanks," she said, blowing him a kiss. In a few moments she was on the web.
"Okay, turn in here," she said presently.
"What? Why?" he asked, but turned into another convenience store parking lot.
"It's a surprise!" she teased as he parked. "Wait here, I'll be back in a sec." She put the phone down; then, unable to help herself, leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before slipping out of the truck.
As she walked into the store, she put an extra waggle in her hips. Knowing he was staring after her was an incredible turn on.
She returned a few minutes later, a small slip of paper in her hand. Zack was sitting in the truck, surfing the web with her phone. He looked up as she climbed in.
"Are you going to tell me what this is about?"
Wordlessly, she held out her hand; Zack, bewildered, passed her the phone again. She quickly went back to the page she'd been on, then showed it to him, handing him the slip of paper.
"The $72 million Mega Millions jackpot was claimed yesterday by a Virginia woman..."
Zack looked at the ticket she'd bought. "Wait," he said, "These are the..." He trailed off. She plucked the phone out of his hand.
"...winning numbers, that's right. All you need to do is change the date." She smiled teasingly. "Aren't you glad you don't prefer dumb blondes?"
Zack silently brought up the remote. Crissy looked at the screen of the phone as the chirp sounded. The letters of the web page scuttled about, rearranging themselves. She grinned and showed him the phone.
"Friday's $181 million Mega Millions jackpot is still unclaimed, but lottery officials confirmed the winning ticket was purchased in a San Francisco-area convenience store on Thursday..."
~~~~~
Zack was driving on autopilot, like a zombie, every so often sipping his Dew. He'd accepted her gentle suggestion that they head towards home. Crissy was talking animatedly, telling him about the world she remembered, her feelings for him.
They pulled up in front of the apartment building where they lived; after a moment, Zack used the remote. A few cars seemed to disassemble and put themselves together in distant spaces. He parked directly in front of their door. Crissy laughed and applauded.
Zack took a last big swig of his Dew and finished it off. He squared his shoulders and turned to her, speaking slowly. "Look... Crissy. I gather how you feel, but I'm not sure... I mean, I don't think you would..."
{Oh, no!} "Don't worry, Zack, it's okay!" she said as reassuringly as she could.
"No, wait, I can't... I mean, look, you're, like, seriously hot." Even as scared as she suddenly was, Crissy still felt a thrill to hear Zack say that. "But you're not really... I mean, you just think you're..."
"I don't think, I know. I'm a real person. Besides, what did you think you were doing when you used the remote on Chris?"
"I... don't know. I mostly figured I was dreaming or something. I was just kinda mad 'cause he... because you were ragging on me about Karen. But I didn't expect this. And now, I guess... I mean, I wouldn't want someone changing me into a girl, and..."
"It didn't change me, I'm Crissy! I don't know what happened to Chris, but..."
"I'm sorry. Look, you'll thank me for this in a second..." He pointed the remote at her. She closed her eyes in terror and despair... chirp.
She heard a thunk. She trembled. After a few seconds she opened her eyes and beheld a very confused-looking Zack, remote still pointed her way. He pressed the button again. Chirp.
Another thunk as the door locks opened and the engine started up. She remained unchanged.
Zack pointed the remote at their apartment building. Chirp. The engine died and the locks thunked down again. The building stood still, the way buildings usually do, even in San Francisco.
"It's, uh, not working anymore," he said quietly. Crissy felt a huge surge of relief. Her eyes darted to his other hand.
"The Dew! It was the drink that did it!" she cried out in realization. "It all started when you got that bottle, and now you just polished it off!"
"That's crazy!" He paused sheepishly. "I mean, it's all crazy, but..." He floundered for a moment. "Do you really think so?"
"Call it... feminine intuition."
"This is just nuts. A magic drink. How the hell... Why..."
"Maybe the god of Mountain Dew rewarded you for a lifetime of faithful worship," Crissy suggested playfully. "You've always been crazy about it." That was true; nobody loved that soda more than he did. He even preferred it in his mixed drinks. Crissy liked it almost as much. {Chris hadn't...}
Zack put the remote down, totally flustered. Crissy slid across the seat toward him. "Looks like you're stuck with me, baby," she smirked.
He stiffened as she settled next to him. "Uh, look, uh..."
She pouted. "Don't be that way, Zack. It's okay, really!" She looked pleadingly into his eyes. "I love you so much. Please, let me show you." She leaned in to kiss him, but he put up his hand.
"Wait, I..."
"Come on," she interrupted. "I'm a fantasy come to life. Your fantasy! I'm a horny bisexual superfreak, but I'm kind of a virgin, too - I've never been with a man." She flashed him her trademark wicked grin. "I'm eager to get started, though."
"It's just... weird." He avoided her gaze. "I mean, you're, y'know, my buddy. I guess I... put a spell or something on you, but..."
"I am not Chris!" she cried in frustration. Swiftly Crissy rolled over onto his lap, straddling him. She grabbed the sides of his face and pressed her lips against his. He resisted for a moment, and then his hesitant tongue joined with hers.
The kiss lasted for several seconds; finally she pulled back and looked directly into his eyes. "Did that feel like a guy?"
"...no..." he said after a moment, almost inaudibly.
She grabbed his hands and pulled them onto her breasts. "Do these feel like a guy?"
"No," Zack said a little more confidently as he kneaded them carefully but firmly through her clothing. Crissy refused to be distracted by the delightful sensations - her nipples were like twin spikes - and literally pressed on.
She ground her crotch down onto his; in this position her skirt was bunched up around her waist. She could feel his erection through his pants, and nothing else was between them but her thong. In the close quarters of the truck's cab, she was sure he could smell how excited she was. "Does this feel like a guy?"
"God, no..." Zack breathed.
She smiled and passionately kissed him again, thrilled that he was, at last, beginning to accept the situation, and delighting in his increasingly enthusiastic responses.
Eventually she tore herself away.
"I'm going in. Give me two minutes, just wait two minutes before you come in, okay?" she asked, breathlessly.
"Uh, okay..." Zack said, confused and worked up.
{Poor guy, things are moving awfully fast for him!} she thought with sympathy. {But I don't want him changing his mind!} One quick smooch, and she bolted out of the truck toward the door at a run.
~~~~~
Zack pushed open the door and peeked in. Crissy swiftly struck a pose - her hip cocked, one leg behind the other, a hand demurely to her side holding his slippers - and put on her most winning smile. She knew by his openmouthed expression that she made the desired impression.
She was wearing a sheer, see-through negligee that barely made it to her waist. Her erect nipples visibly strained against the material. The only other item she wore were her tiny thong panties, which were getting soaked by now.
She held up a tall glass of Rum-and-Dew in her other hand; it frothed a little, but she'd had to pour it in a hurry. {Should have asked for five minutes,} she thought with regret. {I'd have had time to brush my hair or put on some more lipstick!}
"Hi honey, welcome home!" she called out brightly.
"Whoa," said Zack, almost inaudible. He seemed frozen.
She reached out to hand him the drink, which startled him into moving. He closed the door behind him and looked around the room. His eyes paused at some of the pictures and knick-knacks. {My stuff,} Crissy realized.
She guided him toward a recliner. "Oh, poor baby, let's get you off those tired feet." He sat down and gulped a swig of his drink. She knelt by his feet, removed his sneakers, and gently put his slippers on for him.
Zack looked dazed. {Don't give him time to think about it,} Crissy decided. It seemed to take him a moment to realize her intentions as she began unbuckling his belt.
His hand moved to his waist, but she slapped it away and gave him a stern look. Firmly she continued, opening his jeans and tugging them down. He lifted himself a bit, and she slid them to his ankles. A tent was formed in his boxers. Again, he seemed frozen, unsure.
She pulled down his underwear, and his penis popped free, bouncing a little as it settled down; he was fully engorged. Crissy drank in the sight for a moment. As she stared, a small drop of fluid formed like dew at the tip.
They had been living together for a long time. She had accidentally seen Zack's cock a few times before, though never aroused. With her being a "lesbian", they had laughed it off. But more and more often in the last few months, she'd been wondering what it would look like erect.
Now it was before her, new and strange. She'd watched plenty of porn before, of course, but this was the first erection she'd seen in the literal flesh. His was bigger than she'd guessed from its flaccid state. {Women's pussies are shy. They hide, they need to be explored, probed.} she thought, wonderingly. {But a prick is... extravagant. Audacious. Bold. Showy.} And, she could now gleefully admit, alluring.
Looking up to meet Zack's bemused gaze, she reached out to stroke it. She'd never felt anything like it on a woman. Hard and soft at the same time, warm and gently throbbing. A shiver ran through her as she glided her hand along its length. She had never been more certain in her life what she wanted, needed to do.
Leaning forward, she licked from the base of the shaft all the way to the head, then flicked her tongue at the underside of the helmet, just at the tip. Zack's breath caught for a moment as she ran the tip of her tongue around the groove where the head met the shaft, and she glowed inside. She wanted this to be perfect.
She teased him with her tongue for a while, trying to keep him on the edge as she enjoyed the slightly brackish tastes and the musky, animal smell. Zack was hairier than any girl she'd been with, and the way it tickled her skin was exotic and exciting. She gently probed the hole at the tip with the end of her own tongue, delighting at the briny pre-cum.
Finally, she locked her eyes with his once more, and slowly took him into her mouth. She went down halfway, then pulled back until he was almost out, pursing her lips around the glans. Down a little more this time, then back again. Then a fraction farther, and back.
Zack's eyes were going vague. He was almost hyperventilating in heavy gasps, and she could feel the rapid pulse in his cock. {Like I have his heart in my mouth,} she imagined, almost overpowered by the romance of the idea.
The muscles in his legs were locked tight; Crissy's hair had fallen onto them and brushed his skin as she moved rhythmically. She worked the surface of her tongue back and forth on the underside of his penis as she moved her head up and down, adjusting her jaws to put as much pressure as she could on the head of his prick. He was at the back of her throat now on the downstrokes.
She brought her hand up and cupped his balls gently, stroking the sack, trying to give him as many sensations as possible. She'd been studying sex guides and quizzing her hetero girlfriends in preparation for this long-awaited day. The 'Chris' memories helped, too; she knew better than any other woman what Zack was feeling. He was seeing nothing now, almost trembling as he neared release.
Soon she felt his scrotum contract in her hand. His cock twitched, and he came explosively. His groan filled her ears as his cum spilled out into her mouth. It was as salty and bitter as she'd always heard, but she proudly milked and swallowed every drop. It wasn't really all that unpleasant, and to her, it tasted like validation, like vindication, like victory.
{I think he'll accept me now!} she thought triumphantly. {Let's see Karen top that!}
She watched as his eyes gradually cleared and he focused on her again. "Holy shit," he sighed wonderingly, his chest still hitching occasionally.
"You like?" she teased, idly stroking his shaft as it softened. "My first. Did I do good?" She lapped up a last bit of semen that had leaked out, then looked at his face again.
"That was amazing," Zack exclaimed presently. "I don't think I ever came so hard. You might have broke something."
Crissy reached to the table next to the chair and took a big gulp of the Dew Zack had magicked up for her, swirling it in her mouth before she swallowed to clear her palate. Then she got up (leaning close and sliding her nipples up his stomach and chest on the way) and kissed him languorously.
To her relief and delight, he didn't hesitate to kiss her back.
She sat down on his lap and put her arms around him. His hands were moving now too, stroking her back, sides, face, legs - everywhere, as if he was trying to prove to himself that she was real.
His hand paused for a moment just above her crotch, then eased downward, cupping her mound. She was panting as her tongue wrestled with his.
Zack's fingers eased under her panties, probing. They stopped for a moment, finding the piercing at the very top of her slit, nestled between the labia.
"I wanted a surprise there for my lovers," she whispered, eyes twinkling. Then they closed as his hand began to explore more forcefully, two fingers dipping into her slit as his thumb, well lubricated, slid over her clit.
"Oh god," she gasped. "Please. Don't stop. Right... there." Seconds later she was reduced to incoherent gasps and moans as his relentless fingers continued their ministrations. She unthinkingly arched her back, his other arm supporting her. His mouth fell to her breasts, sucking and licking and biting her nipples.
She had been most of the way there anyway, and within a very short time Crissy was in the throes of a screaming, shuddering, fiery orgasm.
As the tremors subsided, she sagged onto him, her face buried in his neck. His arms circled her now. It took him some time before he noticed her tears on his skin.
"Hey..." As he spoke, she lifted her head. "What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry," she sniffled, "I'm just so happy." She was beaming through her tears. "Oh, Zack, I love you so much." His expression was still a bit doubtful, but he wasn't showing the same obstinate refusal to believe her. He seemed stunned at the idea of a woman crying over him.
Crissy shifted, straddling his lap as she kissed him urgently. The sight, the feel, the taste of him against her whole body was intoxicating.
After a time, Zack gently pulled back and said "We might have to worry about the police."
"Huh?"
"Well, you were kinda loud... the neighbors might, uh..."
Crissy laughed brightly. "Oh, they're used to me making noise!" She reached down and stroked his prick, which was showing signs of life again. She wasn't at all surprised that he recovered quickly. She'd kept meticulous though covert track of Zack and Karen's sex life, and knew he hadn't been getting much lately. "Come on, I know what he needs." She slid off his lap and pulled him to his feet. A couple steps and he left his slippers behind, tangled in his pants.
She dragged him down the hall toward the bedrooms, but she didn't have to pull very hard. For an instant, she almost led them into her room, but smoothly reconsidered. {This is strange enough for him. Better start in someplace familiar.}
As they spilled onto his unmade bed Crissy was yanking at his jacket, finally managing to get it to slide off as he lifted his arms. Then his arms came down, tugging at her nightie, and she wriggled to help. As soon as it was off, she was on top of Zack, showering him with kisses, one hand stroking his stiff cock, the other pulling his face to hers.
Not pausing his mouth, his hands snaked down her sides, finding her panties and working them down as far as he could. She writhed against him for a few more seconds, moaning, until he lost patience and pushed her off, onto her back.
She raised her legs and he worked the thong off, tossing it away. As she lay back, spreading her legs and drinking in the sight of him kneeling beside her, he hurriedly jerked his t-shirt off.
He loomed over her, crawling to put himself between her thighs. He was panting heavily as he reached down and felt her pussy, which by this point was getting the sheets wet.
Her legs curled around him as her arms reached up, urging him into her. "Oh, God, Zack, do it. Do me!" He spread her lips with his fingers, and she felt his hips move forward...
Suddenly he froze, and tried to get up. "Uh, wait a sec. Condom."
Crissy held him there, legs locked. She pulled her left arm back, showing him the inside of her bicep. "No! Norplant!" Her legs clenched forcefully. "Please, Zack!"
Then he moved, and thrust into her. It couldn't have taken any time to speak of, but to Crissy it seemed she felt every millimeter sliding in. She cried out involuntarily, an animal yip of pleasure.
{Oh, God, it feels so right! Like he was made for my pussy!} Only much later did she wonder if perhaps the opposite was true, for as Zack started up a rhythm, abstract thought became impossible. Her experience dissolved into waves of sensation.
He was gliding, in and out... She was moaning as he kissed her... Her calves rubbing against his perfect ass, pulling him in... His left hand planted in the bed next to her waist, supporting him as his right hand stroked her side, her arm, her face... Her fingernails peeling down his back... His pubic bone rubbing her clit with every plunge...
Now his whole body was pressing down on her... The smell of his hair, his sweat... So hard inside her... The feel of their skin, perspiration springing forth to make her almost as slippery outside as in... His chest, his belly slipping on hers, as his cock slid in, and out, and in... Both arms at her sides now, Zack surrounded her, filled her... Everywhere, inside and out...
She managed to make her eyes track Zack's face; he was totally focused on her. He looked implacable, unstoppable. The sight was overwhelming and she came in such an explosion that she literally saw stars.
She returned to herself gradually, realizing that Zack was still pumping into her. Breathless, she grabbed his head and kissed him ferociously. She squeezed him with the walls of her vagina, and that set him off.
{I can feel it! I can feel him coming!} The sensation of his cock pulsing within her walls, his impassioned groan, the taste of his sweat, and her own tingling afterglow threw her over the edge again, the closest and most intense multiple orgasm she'd ever experienced.
~~~~~
Crissy awoke slowly. For a moment she was disoriented, then as she opened her eyes the events of the previous day returned to her. Morning light filtered into her bedroom.
She regarded the heart-filling sight of Zack sleeping next to her, in her own bed, almost worshipfully contemplating his relaxed, contented expression. She was laying on her side, facing him, arms bunched between them. One of his arms draped possessively across her waist; the other was up under the pillow that supported his head. A quick peek at the clock showed it was just after 8.
She had made him come five times in total. While she'd lost count of how many orgasms she'd experienced, it was by far a personal record. After their first fuck, they'd rested and flirted and kissed and stroked each other until he was ready again.
He'd taken her from the rear that time, standing behind her as she'd flopped forward on the bed, screaming into the sheets. The feeling of his one hand gripping her haunches as he'd thrust into her pussy, over and over, hitting her g-spot each time; then the other hand reaching around to stroke her clit... Crissy's nipples perked up at the memory. She'd come at least four times there alone.
{God, am I lucky or what?} she thought. He was a considerate lover, and had tried to find out what she liked. The only problem with that was she had ended up enjoying practically everything he tried.
They had dozed briefly in the afternoon. After they awoke she had cleaned herself ({I guess that's one disadvantage of sex with guys... but it's worth it!}) and cobbled together a quick dinner for them, eaten naked in the kitchen. (She smiled as she recalled how lasciviously she'd eaten a banana in front of him.) They returned to bed, but in her room. The toy collection had drawn a stare from Zack, too, but a much more appreciative one than her mother's had been.
This time they played 'Dirty Dice', trying not to come as each took turns caressing, licking, and rubbing the other. She had managed to hold on - just barely, thanks to some lucky rolls - until he lost control and came between her tits.
At that point, since Crissy had 'won', he had eaten her out until she almost literally collapsed from repeated orgasms.
Each had been tired by then, of course. They had cuddled and watched some TV for an hour or so. At that point it was late evening. Soon enough, she was horny anew, but Zack had protested that he simply couldn't perform anymore.
Crissy, determined to prove him wrong, had turned off the tube and put on a performance of her own. It started with digging out her old cheerleader outfit (she'd only been an alternate for the college squad; she was convinced it was her open lesbianism that had kept her out of the main troupe) and ended with her in a studded leather collar, wantonly pleasuring herself with a dildo before him.
That had been too much. He had joined in and they screwed like animals. What with the long day, he had taken a long time to come, and Crissy swam in what seemed like an eternal sea of pleasure until he finally climaxed and they fell into an exhausted slumber around midnight.
She was a bit sore, but it was a good sore, full of pride in her accomplishments. {I could do it all again,} she thought dreamily. {And if I couldn't, maybe we'd try anal!} That wasn't anything she was particularly into ({I wonder if that means Zack isn't really into that either?}) but for him she'd happily attempt it. She couldn't imagine anything she wouldn't at least try for his sake.
{How many girls get to know that they are their lover's fantasy?} she smugly reflected. Then another thought struck her. The magic, whatever its source, had changed things into Zack's ideal, even when he hadn't been planning on it. The gadgets in the truck had been a surprise. And it wasn't just the date on the ticket that had changed; he was the sole winner of a bigger prize. Some woman in Virginia didn't have a winning ticket anymore.
{And me?} She thought about her own past. It felt real; but then, so did the memories of her high-tech phone, and she knew Zack had magicked it up. Was she actually Chris, transformed and given 'reasonable, consistent' reasons for being Zack's eager, devoted love toy?
Technically, this wasn't the Zack she fell in love with - sweet, goofy, impulsive, kind, loyal Zack. {But that Zack didn't love me!} And she could see, looking at Chris' memories, that the man sleeping next to her had all those qualities. And he was falling in love with her, she could tell. {Another bonus he hadn't planned on?}
She was so confused. Her sense of Chris was dreamlike and unreal against the wellspring of love filling her soul as she felt Zack's gentle breathing on her face and breasts. But that made sense, in a way - like most men, Zack would be weirded out by a transsexual. He already had been, actually. She'd had to work hard to convince him she was all girl.
Whatever force had done this had made its changes with thoroughness and subtlety. And if it were making an ideal girlfriend, she'd have to be a girl, and believe she had always been one.
Did it matter? She had a life as Crissy - friends, exes, family, even a minor police record for an incident of 'indecent exposure'. Who was to say that she was any less real than the truck outside?
Looking at Zack's beautiful sleeping face, it was hard to care about the details. She was far too happy, and it felt like she was betraying their love just having these thoughts. {But if whatever did this is so thorough, it would make me feel that way...}
Zack shifted a little, and she noticed something against her belly. {He's got a woody!} A sudden wave of lust passed through her. She tried to decide how to turn this to her advantage.
Gently, cautiously, taking every care not to wake him, she worked back out from under his arm. He stirred, then rolled onto his back, still asleep.
Crissy pondered. She didn't think she could climb onto Zack without waking him up. {A blowjob it is, then!} she gleefully concluded. {We'll save woman-on-top for later.}
Stealthily, she slithered down under the covers, easing with care between his legs. In the diffuse light through the sheets, his body looked mysterious, magical. She pulled her hair back behind her shoulders so it wouldn't fall onto him. Gently she leaned forward and kissed his semi-erect member, then licked her lips.
She could taste her pussy on him. The mixed male and female smells, primal proof of their coupling, were intensely erotic. Gradually he stiffened further, still dreaming, as her lips worked. Once he was fully erect, she carefully wrapped her lips and tongue around the head of his penis, and slid him tenderly into her mouth.
It worked better than she had hoped. In small increments she moved faster, and more forcefully, and he didn't wake up until his orgasm was inevitable. She felt him begin to sit up as his prick swelled in her mouth, and he let out an inarticulate cry as he spurted down her throat.
Once it was over, she sat up and pulled the sheets off Zack, draping them over her shoulders like a cloak. Zack was staring at her, dazed. "How's that for a wakeup call,
sleepyhead?"
He sat up and looked around the room. "...It really happened, didn't it? I didn't just dream it..."
She dropped the covers and fell forward onto him, pushing him back down. She'd heard most guys didn't like an open-mouth kiss after a blowjob, so she pecked him on the lips and put her head on his chest, wrapping her body around his. "Believe it, lover."
They lay like that for a time, a warm contented heap. "So," Zack finally asked, "what now?"
"Well," said Crissy, considering, "I say we call in sick, get some breakfast, and go cash in that ticket!"
"The ticket!" Zack started. "Holy crap! Crissy, you are the only girl that could possibly make me forget a hundred eighty million dollars!"
Her heart overflowed with joy, not only because of his compliment but because he had actually called her 'Crissy', and 'girl'. Her answering kiss was passionate (and with full tongue, but Zack didn't seem to mind).
They broke off after a few moments. Crissy couldn't stop grinning. "I'm starving. I'll make the calls, you go get ready." Zack amiably headed toward the bathroom as she grabbed her phone and dialed the architect's office where he worked.
Zack was showering when she'd finished. She took care of business on the toilet, finding a bit more of his semen to clean up. {Oh well, at least we won't have to coordinate periods.} It was annoying when her girlfriends' cycles didn't match hers very well, limiting what they could do for much of the month. That wouldn't be a problem with Zack. He'd also be grateful for her lack of PMS and gentle periods, instead of jealous.
Even as she pondered, she was admiring the tasty, if fuzzy, view through the translucent shower curtain. A naughty impulse gripped her; she flushed as she stood up.
"Aaaahh!" Zack cried out as the water suddenly became scalding. {That ought to get him going.} He'd always been a little sluggish in the morning, and she wanted him fully awake. She pulled the curtain aside and stepped in. It was hot. {Not like it's going to be!}
"Oh, poor baby, I'm so sorry. Here, let me make it up to you..." The wicked light still danced in her eyes as she took the soap from his hands and began washing him.
He clearly had his suspicions about her intentions, which were shortly confirmed. Crissy enjoyed washing every part of his body, so intriguingly different from her own. For a moment she thought he was peeing, until she realized it was just water dripping off his dangling penis. {I never thought of that!} 'Chris' had known, of course, but those memories weren't really integrated with hers. She had to consciously access them and right now she had no desire to.
He wasn't a bodybuilder, but he was into sports and in pretty good shape. His chest and back and biceps and especially his tight, sexy ass set her heart aflutter. She couldn't resist a lick.
By the time she finished her ablutions, kneeling before him, his cock was pointing up instead of down. As she stood, he moved for her, but she giggled and handed back the soap. "Not yet, you beast! My turn!"
After a moment, Zack smiled, and began returning the favor. He was just as attentive as she had been. His slippery hands rubbed her neck and shoulders, then drifted downwards. She bit her lip as his fingers glided on her tits, slicking over her stiff nipples.
Her belly was washed next, slowly, and he knelt and ran his hands down her legs, avoiding the place where she really wanted his digits working.
Zack stood, and the wicked light was in his eyes now. Hands to her shoulders, he gently turned her around and began anointing her back, working down. The water rained onto them both, sluicing off their bodies in rivulets. The hiss, the splatters, the drips filled her ears.
The toilet had long ago finished stealing the cold water, but she felt so hot...
His fingers were kneading her ass, and Crissy was panting, inflamed and hardly able to think straight. She leaned forward, hands on the wall, eyes unfocused, spreading her legs almost reflexively as his hands eased between her thighs.
Then he was at her entrance, probing. Tense and wet, inside and out, she gasped as he pushed his way in, filling her, giving her what she so desperately craved. Stroking out and in now, his hips bumping her ass, his thighs rubbing hers, some instinctive part of her matching his rhythm, cocking her hips, her world narrowing, only dimly registering the sounds of the cries escaping her mouth, the water running over her skin.
She came, and never understood how she managed to remain standing through the tsunami of shuddering pleasure that felt interminable...
Gradually it did fade, though, and she became aware that Zack was in the throes of his own orgasm. She wriggled her hips, clenching down with her pussy, trying to sustain him, keep him going. It seemed to work. His groans went on, and on, and gradually died.
She pulled forward, letting him slip out of her, then turned and pressed close, their lips joining as the water rained onto them both.
~~~~~
Crissy brushed her still-damp hair back as they waited for their food to arrive. What with all the calories they'd been working off, both had been desperate for breakfast after the shower. A quick mutual toweling-off and dressing had been followed by a swift drive to a Coney Island nearby.
They sat across from each other, staring into each others eyes, playing footsie, smiling a lot, and generally doing things that confirmed that Zack was very quickly falling for her as hard as she had for him. She was dizzyingly happy.
"How are we going to cash... well, you know?" Zack asked. They didn't want to talk about the ticket in public, of course. The odds of someone overhearing and robbing them were low, but it was a lot of money.
Crissy pulled out her PDA phone and they did some searching. "Cool, there's an office over the bay, in Hayward." She couldn't quite keep the excitement out of her voice. "God, Zack, this is so cool!"
"I know." He was having trouble staying calm, too. His hand brushed his back pocket, where the ticket rested in his wallet.
"Wherever we move, we gotta make sure it has a big water heater!" Crissy teased.
"Yeah," he grinned back. Crissy was ecstatic at his easy acceptance of the idea that they would be living together. "God, I could actually design something instead of being a glorified gofer." Zack's career hadn't progressed as quickly as he'd hoped. Crissy had always suspected that was one of the sources of friction with Karen.
For a few moments, they just sat and beamed at each other. Zack suddenly frowned. "Wait a minute. Why do you have a Norplant? You said you only did it with girls before."
"But I wanted to be ready if I got a shot at you. I didn't want anything to get in the way. So I got it, like, three months ago." She smiled. "What, do you wish you'd needed a condom or something?"
"No, it just seemed kinda weird." A thoughtful pause. "I guess whatever did this thought of everything."
"Hey, I've got a question for you. What was the deal with that Shriner car?"
Now he looked a little sheepish. "When I was five or something, I really wanted a ride in a parade with my uncle Morty. My dad wouldn't let me, probably 'cause Morty was drunk. But I didn't understand. I was so mad." Shrugging, he finished, "I guess some part of me still wanted that ride."
"Oh, that's so sweet!" Every new thing she learned about him seemed to make him more endearing. She looked over his shoulder. "Here comes our food!"
They continued talking as they ate. "You called in sick for me? They accepted that from some strange girl?"
"Dummy, they've heard of me! I talked your admin, Marie. I met her when we went to the Halloween party."
"Oh." He stuffed a forkful of egg in his mouth and swallowed almost without chewing. "Chris was there, that's right." Another gulp. "It's still kinda weird, everyone but me remembering you." A long sip of orange juice. "Hey, you must... I mean, there's gotta be people who know me, that I never met. You don't work at Pool-Brite, right?"
"Nope," she mumbled around her hash browns.
"So where do you work?"
"I'm your fantasy. Where would your dream girl work?" She was enjoying the chance to tease him. Her eyes twinkled with mischief.
"Um..." he hesitated.
"Oh, come on, how hard can it be? You know me pretty well already..." Her grin was very wide.
"Well... not a stripper." She nodded. Zack wouldn't want to share her; not like that. Not with guys, anyway. "Not a porn star. Well, maybe lesbian porn... nah, shit, I don't know. A model?"
"Flattering," and she batted her lashes at him, "but nope. You were closer with the porn thing."
He puzzled while he devoured his food. "Do you maybe work for a porn distributor or something?"
"Oh, close enough. I work at Good Vibrations. Sells women-oriented porn and toys." A knowing look. "Why do you think I've got such a collection? I can't recommend what I haven't tried..."
~~~~~
As they pulled out of the parking lot, Crissy's brow furrowed. "Zack, we have to go left to catch the bridge."
Not meeting her gaze, he kept going the other way. "Yeah, it's okay, I just need to check something real quick."
She was puzzled for a moment, then her blood ran cold. {He wouldn't... not now... But he did seem a little distracted after breakfast...}
Her heart sank in her chest as he turned into the same gas station where the whole adventure had begun yesterday. He parked and stared forward. "I have to try. Just in case."
"Why? What could you make better? Aren't you happy?" Despair consumed her.
He looked almost as sad as she felt, but determined, too. "Hell, yeah. Crissy, you're unbelievable. But Chris... I mean, I don't know if you're him, or if I... killed him or something to make you..." He sighed. "It's not right. I have to try. If it were the other way around..."
"It is the other way around!" she exclaimed. "You'd be killing me! And if I were Chris, under some spell... well, how do you think he'd feel about you fucking him over and over?"
He flinched. "I'll deal with that if I have to, I just..." He looked away. "I'm sorry, this is killing me."
"No, it's killing me," she muttered bitterly. She listened as he got out of the truck. After a moment, in morbid curiosity, she went after him. She couldn't just leave. {What's the point of life without Zack?}
He was feeding money into the machine. A long pause, and he hit the Mountain Dew button. Thunk, the bottle fell. Slowly he pulled it out, and, not looking at her, he opened it and took a swig.
Numb, Crissy watched him fidget with the remote for a few seconds. He started to turn in her direction, then reversed and faced the truck. Chirp.
The engine started up. Zack let out his pent-up breath in a rush.
~~~~~
They were taking the San Mateo across the bay, and had almost made it to the far end. Crissy had ignored Zack's fumbling apologies and the only talking was from the GPS system occasionally advising Zack when to turn. She just sat on the passenger side, looking out the window.
{He wanted to get rid of me!} she thought, heartbroken. Crying seemed hopelessly inadequate. The whole scene at the gas station played back in her mind, as it had many times since she'd gotten back in the truck, lacking anything better to do.
But this time she noticed something. He hadn't tried the remote on her, he'd pointed it at the truck first.
And he'd been relieved it hadn't worked; she knew him too well to miss it, now that she was getting over her shock. Looking at it from his perspective, it almost made sense. His words had not been empty.
One of the things she admired about him was his loyalty to his friends and lovers and family. And Chris had been this Zack's friend. {But it didn't work.}
She turned to him. She had to know. "You really didn't want it to work, did you?"
"No," he said, glancing her way repeatedly, as if trying to make sure he didn't miss the expressions on her face. "I feel a little guilty saying that, but you're... incredible. It's just, Chris was annoying sometimes, but he was my friend, and..." he trailed off.
She noted his use of the past tense. "And you owed it to him. You wouldn't be the man I love if you didn't try." She paused a moment. "Chris doesn't feel real to me, I forget that he was to you."
"Well, what's done is done, I guess." He looked her way again. "I can't say I'm disappointed with how things turned out."
She froze in a sudden rush of understanding. {He tried. It wasn't his fault the magic ran out yesterday, he didn't know! And now he's done everything he could, he can't go back.} She felt a sudden rush of gratitude for whatever had arranged all this. It had even minimized his guilt.
It was like the sun had come out from behind clouds; the color came back to Crissy's world. Even her hurt reaction would help him adjust, she realized, help him really accept her as a separate person. Zack was already falling for her; with Chris out of the picture, that loyalty would shift her way.
He went on, confirming her suspicions. "You bought the ticket. It was your idea. It should really be you getting the money."
She was deeply touched by the gesture. "No, it wouldn't be a winner without you. It's your money." She grinned. "Besides, I'm sure you'll be willing to share a little. I mean, a girl like me deserves a killer wardrobe, right?"
"Damn straight," Zack replied. "But seriously, we'll split it. I at least owe you that."
"You don't have to..."
"Yeah, I do."
~~~~~
Once they presented themselves and their ticket at the Lottery office, the supervisor, one Carla Brannigan, had quickly appeared and ushered them to her office. Before the couple could ask any questions, she was already telling them what to expect. She didn't foresee any problems verifying their claim, but it would take a day or so of processing. Their names would be published and they would have to give one press conference.
Most importantly, she confirmed no other jackpot tickets had been sold. They had won the whole $181 million. "That's plenty big, but it's not a record or anything. It won't attract much media attention," Carla said, a bit regretfully.
Carla made a desultory try to convince them to take the annuity option, but they insisted on the cash payout, even though it was lower. With taxes and such, they would net 72 million dollars.
{It took care of everything,} Crissy thought. Exchanging glances with Zack, she saw he'd had the same idea. He didn't want a media circus either, and the amount was exactly what the old prize had been. {Even the taxes.}
"As long as you don't go insane with it, that should last forever," Brannigan noted. "Money like that attracts cash faster than you can spend it, if you've got any sense. Just put it in a money market account and it'll make two million a year," she said, smiling. "And you can invest it better than that. I'm not supposed to recommend any money managers, but unofficially, I know of a few that past winners have been pleased with..."
As they got to work on the claim forms, Crissy reflected on the whirlwind events of yesterday and today. She still wasn't sure exactly what had happened. Her memories and identity as Crissy felt rock-solid, certain, incontrovertible. 'Chris' was a pale ghost - the memories were just data, with no emotional connection. From her perspective, they were 'grafted in' at that moment in the parking lot.
{Was I really changed? Or did I already exist, and this Zack and Chris' memories were 'brought here' from another universe or something? Maybe 'my' Zack has a new buddy, Chris?} she pondered.
And maybe she really was a transformed Chris, rationalizing her own brainwashing.
Ultimately she decided she just didn't care. However this had come about, it was exactly what she wanted and she wouldn't change a thing, even if it were possible now. She was happy when Zack was happy, and he was very happy. She could tell. Besides, Chris had never been this joyful in his whole life.
A realization struck her. Whether created or found, she had somehow been selected as Zack's fantasy. He wasn't into nonconsensual sex; he wanted his girl to have a good time. He didn't want to dominate his partner. ({Not all the time, anyway,} she thought as she grinned, a pleasant flush spreading through her as she imagined the games they could play.) He liked smart, flirtatious, adventurous, uninhibited women.
Some women had to work to please their man, and put up with at least some things they didn't like. All she had to do was act naturally, as she wanted. And Zack would love it.
~~~~~
The return drive across the bridge had been much more cheerful. "Oh my God, Zack, 72 fucking million dollars! We can do anything, go anywhere!" Crissy exclaimed for probably the tenth time as they pulled into a parking spot by their apartment building. Since most people were still at work, it was close to their door again.
Zack had done well focusing on driving, but the grin hadn't left his face in over an hour. "I know, I know," he said again, also probably for the tenth time. The engine shut off, and Crissy spilled onto his lap.
After some very heavy petting, Zack spoke up. "I've been thinking. All of this... it's so... it's too much. We should do something with the money. Something good. Like, set up a charity for kids, give it maybe 30 million." He grinned a bit sheepishly. "I mean, I think we can make do with 40 mil or so."
Crissy just stared for the longest time. Zack lost his grin and started to look concerned. That spurred her to action. She hugged him as hard as she could, and cried, "No wonder I love you so much!"
Eventually they made it out of the truck, up the stairs, and into their apartment. It took several minutes, what with all the breaks for torrid kisses and giddy laughter and so forth.
As they fell onto the couch, Crissy sighed, "God, it's just perfect, everything's so perfect!" She lay her whole body on top of his, kissing his face, neck, hair, anything in reach. "As if you weren't enough!"
For some reason, that seemed to sober Zack up a little, and he looked in her eyes. "Crissy, why do you love me? I mean, it's not like I'm some awesome catch..."
She laughed. "You kidding? You're sweet, thoughtful, generous, gorgeous, amazing in bed, and now you're rich, too!"
He still looked doubtful. "Try telling Karen that."
An exasperated sigh interrupted him. "Karen can go fuck herself. She never treated you right anyway. I love you because I've lived with you for years, and I know you. Why can't you just accept it and be happy?"
"But would you feel that way if I hadn't..."
"Yes, I would. I mean, why does anybody love anybody? You make me happy."
A long pause. "I just... It's still too much. I don't deserve this."
"Something thought you deserved this. I do."
"I don't even know what could have done all this. Aliens?"
Grabbing his face, she bent low and stared intensely into his eyes. "I don't care. I don't care if it was aliens or sunspots or an Act of Congress that 'made' me love you! I love you, and you had better get used to it!"
Slowly, he smiled, and she matched him. "I'm sorry. Everything's so great, I just have a hard time believing it. I keep looking for a catch." Something seemed to loosen, to let go inside him. "But there isn't one, is there?" he asked, wonderingly.
"No, and I won't let you invent one. Get your clothes off, we've had, like, two fights today and we're about to have our first make-up sex."
Zack started, then he began yanking his shirt up over his head. Crissy was right behind. Very soon they were naked. Though it made the logistics of their stripping more difficult, she stayed on top. Zack was, for the moment, following her lead. Crissy was gratified to see how quickly he was ready - frustratingly few of her girlfriends had gotten aroused as rapidly as she usually did.
The couch was fairly deep so there was room for her to straddle him. He reached up for her breasts, but she pushed his arms back down. "No, obviously I need to prove how much I love you," she proclaimed mock-seriously. "You just lay back and don't move." She loved games and playing the 'haughty mistresses' sounded like fun.
She reached between her legs, grasping Zack's engorged dick. Sliding the tip back and forth along the moist channel between her labia, she simultaneously excited and lubricated him. He shifted a little and she gave him a very stern, admonishing look, continuing to tease him.
He stilled. After a few moments, she positioned herself and, sitting down, enveloped him. Despite her attempt to maintain an amused, almost detached demeanor, it forced a small gasp out of her. Even the most supple dildo had never felt as good, as right as Zack's cock. She saw in his eyes that he'd noticed her flustered expression, the crack in her facade.
Recovering, she reasserted command of her face and began to move. Up and down, with more and more force. Then she paused at the top of her stroke and moved her hips in small circles, swirling her pussy around him. Her aristocratic smile widened, very slightly, at his low groan.
Pausing a moment, with him half inside her, she ran her nails along his chest. She gave him a 'wave' squeeze with her vaginal muscles - pinching first the opening, and then farther in. It took concentration and practice, but she'd amused a few girlfriends before with that skill. Judging from Zack's wide eyes, it worked even better on pricks than fingers.
She eased back down, taking her time. He took in a sharp breath as she settled onto his hips. {So deep...} The mask of her face didn't betray her feelings, but the wetness that had doused his pubic hair must have given him some indication. Her own hips moved forward and back, her clitoris sparking as it slid along. She pulled back further each time, stretching, flexing his erection more and more. {Just a hint of pain, a little uncertainty. Make him wonder how far I'll take it. Key him up...}
Back to penetration. Up, down. She tried to keep a firm rein on her thoughts, but it was so easy to stimulate her favorite spots, and he felt so astounding inside her, that gradually she lost track of herself. Eventually she was moaning, her eyes closed and her back arched. The walls of her vagina pulsed rhythmically; squeezing him delighted her, and she was just glad he seemed to enjoy it, too.
She dropped forward, supporting herself with her arms, eyes still closed. Breathing raggedly, but still pumping. Zack's hands began to stroke her legs; she opened her eyes and beheld his slightly awed expression.
His touch, his eyes; Crissy's control wavered. By force of will, she kept her orgasm at bay, maintaining her steady motion. Fingertips slid past her hips, up her sides, stopping just beside her breasts. She couldn't push them away; she felt she'd explode if she even acknowledged them.
It couldn't have lasted like that for very long, but time was moving very strangely for her now. Some period later, she heard Zack pant her name. "Crissy...", almost whispering.
He was breathing hard, too. His eyes glowed. No longer caring anymore about her game, unable to hold back from the wave of emotion swamping her, she fell onto him, mashing mouth and tongue with his, groaning as a nova of pleasure set her body aflame. And yet, some part of her was distinctly aware of his thrusting, his coming.
Faint echoes of their gasps came to her ears. They lay awhile, limp on the couch, lungs slowly catching up with the rest of their bodies. Recognizing the look in his eyes, Crissy was satisfied. {I guess I proved it after all...}
~~~~~
Celebrations were certainly in order, and their credit cards could fund an expensive night on the town even though the money wouldn't be awarded until tomorrow. Zack had spent some time on the phone making sure their bank would be ready for the fund transfers while Crissy got ready.
As Zack was hanging up the phone from making their reservations, she stepped out from her bedroom wearing her 'special occasion little black dress'. It was a short, sheer, stretchy, form-hugging tube mini-dress that ran from just over her nipples down just past her derriere. Strips of translucent mesh, a few inches wide, ran up both sides, crisscrossed with laces. Almost every movement flashed her matching (and skimpy) black panties. The heels on her strappy black pumps weren't outrageously high - they were going dancing, after all - but still set her legs off nicely.
She hadn't slathered on the makeup, feeling that subtle worked best in that area. Simple hoop earrings were her only jewelry. She stopped at the end of hall and posed.
Zack let out a low whistle. "Whoa. You are so hot!" He looked her up and down, wolfishly.
No matter how many times it happened, she melted inside whenever Zack complimented her looks, noticed her as a woman. Smiling with undisguised joy, she said, "Come on, baby, let's get you ready."
~~~~~
Dressing up Zack in some of his nicer clothes had been like a trip back to her girlhood, except none of her dolls had been anatomically correct. Or smelled so good. Or kissed back.
He was idling the truck in line for the valet station at the restaurant as she inspected the repairs to her makeup in the visor mirror. She decided everything was in order as they pulled up to the front entrance. Giggling at the valet's almost bug-eyed stare, she allowed him to help her out of the truck. She waited until Zack joined her; then, arm-in-arm, they walked in.
It was quite a high-end establishment. Crissy had eaten here once, during a torrid affair with a doctor - the same one who'd given her the high-tech phone. A few eyebrows were raised (and heads turned) at her dress, but they were seated briskly in a comfortable rounded booth.
When they ordered their meals Zack asked for recommendations on wine and chose the most expensive, of course. He'd always been a bit shy in formal situations, and just by her appearance they were drawing attention, but he didn't seem as nervous as she'd expected. She was proud of him. {I knew you had it in you, baby!}
Could her confidence in him be making him feel more confident? She'd read somewhere that being seen with an attractive woman raised a man's social status, and she'd certainly tried to make herself attractive. {Suddenly being filthy rich probably doesn't hurt either.} Now that she thought to look, some of the furtive glances at their table were at Zack, particularly from the women.
All these thoughts percolated at the back of her mind, but the vast majority of her attention was on being out on a date with the man she loved. Letting everyone see she was his woman. Maybe it was her traditional upbringing, but there was something almost instinctually satisfying about the whole affair.
As they talked, making all sorts of wild plans for their newfound wealth, she played footsie with him. Gripped by a sudden naughty impulse, she glanced around, thinking. {The tablecloth is down to the floor... and it'll be at least twenty minutes before the food comes...}
She slid around the curve of the booth to get next to him, then leaned in and gave him a big kiss. The equipment she was working on was still a bit unfamiliar, but she'd always been good with her hands. It took Zack a few seconds to realize what she was doing.
"Wha... what the hell?" he exclaimed, quietly but intensely, looking around frantically to see if anyone had noticed, his hand joining hers at his crotch.
"Relax," she said breezily, "no one can see anything." She dexterously batted his hand away and finished extracting his member. "I just realized, I haven't given you a handjob yet, and this is a perfect place for it." Maintaining an innocent expression, she went on evenly, "But someone might notice if you keep wriggling like that."
"Are you crazy?" he asked softly, sliding forward to hide his lower body, trying not to draw attention.
"No," she smiled, "rich people are eccentric. Besides, Little Zack here isn't acting shy." It was true; he was stiffening rapidly as she stroked and fondled his prick under the table, careful to keep the visible part of her arm still.
Catching Zack's eyes, never pausing her fingertips on his cock, she reached out with a knife in her other hand and cut a bit of butter from the ball in front of them. She picked it up and snaked it under the table. He flinched slightly as the cold butter touched him, but it speedily melted. Her hand glided smoothly now. "Don't worry, I'll lick it off later," she whispered, an innocent expression on her face as her fingers tweaked the head of his rock-hard penis.
Zack was a bit flushed and breathing deeply at this point. He stared as she almost daintily tongued the butter off the fingers of her free hand. He'd been trying to see if anyone was paying them any mind, but as she worked he'd become understandably distracted. Thus the sudden appearance of their waitress clearly caught him by surprise.
"Your salads should be out any minute now. Is everything all right? Can I get you anything?" she asked.
Zack was silent, but Crissy gave her a demure smile and said, "Actually, I could use a little more water..." Her hand didn't pause.
"Of course, just a moment." She ambled off toward the kitchen. Crissy continued to jerk Zack off. It felt delicious, a mix of power and supplication. She was both mistress and servant, in control and devoted to his pleasure.
His hands rested on the table; Crissy could see the tension as they pressed down but she doubted anyone else would notice. Her other hand deftly brought the napkin from her lap to his dick as she sensed he was getting close.
"God, I love the way you look when you're about to come," she said quietly, gazing into his eyes. "Like a beast, a bull, a lion. Like nothing could stop you." No one would have guessed what she was saying from her cheerful, carefree manner.
Zack let out a soft grunt as he began pumping his load, which she caught in the cloth. She continued stroking, squeezing out the last of his ejaculate and wiping off most of the butter. She brought her hands out from under the table and set the crumpled serviette aside.
Their waitress returned as Zack was recovering. "There you go," she said, filling Crissy's glass. If she noticed his somewhat feverish appearance she gave no sign. "Do you need anything else?"
"Yes, can I get another napkin, please?"
~~~~~
Crissy swayed, bouncing her hips and waving her arms. She was a great dancer, and she knew it. Zack wasn't exactly Fred Astaire but she worked to make him look good. {He sure looks good to me!}
Getting into the nightclub had been no problem at all. The truck by itself had helped them stand out, and her appearance and status as a regular, along with a substantial honorarium for the doorman, ensured they were 'added to the mix' without the slightest wait. They'd been dancing for almost an hour now, having a blast.
She turned and backed into Zack, grinding her ass into his crotch, giving him a good freak. Her hands went above her head as his settled onto her hips. They moved in unison, and she only wished they were doing in reality what they were miming.
The song ended, another blending in. She whirled out of his grasp and faced him; she wanted to see him, watch his body in motion. She never tired of that. Her arms still raised, she worked in some belly-dancing moves she'd learned from an old girlfriend. The desire in Zack's eyes was most encouraging, as were the scattering of appreciative catcalls from nearby dancers. They had been drawing a bit of attention.
She moved in tight, and they rocked back and forth, arms about each other. They kissed urgently as Zack's hand roamed to her butt, pulling her close. Her moan was inaudible over the blasting music but she suspected the emotion that drove it was being clearly conveyed.
That song started winding down, and in the relative quiet, he shouted, "I'm thirsty! Wanna hit the bar?"
"Sounds good!" she called back. "Meet you there! Gotta hit the ladies room!" She snuck one glance at his rear as he strode away.
It was much quieter in the bathroom, though it was a little crowded and several conversations were in progress. She checked herself in the mirror as she waited for a stall. {A little sweaty, but everything's still in place.}
Someone called out from by the sinks, "Damn, Crissy, it really is you!" She turned, recognizing the voice. Taniqua was the girlfriend of a co-worker. "I thought I was trippin'. I never seen any girl had less use for men!"
"Just my Zack," she replied, beaming. There was no point in hiding it, even if she'd any inclination to. But she had a good idea what was coming as Renee came out of a stall, a frown on her face.
Crissy slid past her and closed the door, but Renee still began lecturing. "I can't believe you would fall into some phallocentric crypto-slavery! Bad enough most womyn identify with their oppressors too much to..."
"Oh, give it a rest," Crissy interrupted. "This isn't work, I don't have to listen to that crap." {Hey, I don't have to go to work anymore!} She liked her job, but that was still a happy thought. Work had its downsides, Renee being a sizable one. The militant started to take advantage of the pause, but Crissy drove on. "It isn't political with me, I'm just not into guys. Except one."
"Womyn will never be free as long as so many keep fraternizing with the enemy..."
Another voice interrupted this time. "Guys ain't 'the enemy'. Oh, sure, a good half of 'em are assholes, but there's decent ones, too." A smile crept into the voice. "And some of 'em are so damn fuckable."
As she came out of the stall, Crissy recognized who was talking. Shawna was a petite, shapely redhead with many piercings and a few tattoos. She was a relatively frequent customer at the store - a sexual adventuress not unlike Crissy herself, but less restrictive when it came to gender selection. They had hooked up one night; a meaningless fling, but a lot of fun. The memory put a little warmth in Crissy's heart, and more in other places.
She still liked girls... a lot. That hadn't changed, and she couldn't imagine it changing. But she loved Zack, and couldn't conceive of life without him, either. {Good thing I can have both!} she thought.
An image came to her mind; Zack on his back, her straddling him, impaled on his length. And Shawna sitting on his face... kissing her as Zack fucked and sucked them both. {She's bi, she'd do it, too!}
She wasn't jealous about Zack that way. {I don't mind sharing his dick so long as I keep his heart.} Crissy understood better than most women that sex and love weren't necessarily tied. While she'd be devastated if he fell in love with another girl, she was thoroughly aroused at the idea of watching him pleasure one. {I'm going to have to wear thicker panties if I'm going to get so wet all the time!} And, circumstances being what they were, the simple fact that she felt that way was a good indication that she didn't have to worry about trusting him.
Renee had started some kind of retort, but Crissy ignored her as she washed her hands, addressing Shawna. "You here with anybody? Got plans for later?"
A jaded but curious expression was on Shawna's face. "Whaddaya got in mind?"
"I'm still learning about guys. Zack's awesome, but I was thinking it might be fun if you could help show me the ropes..." she said slyly.
A pause. "Awesome, huh?"
"Made a believer out of me."
The redhead thought about it for a moment. "Sure, why the hell not? Been a while since I was in a good threesome. Lemme just tell my friends I don't need a ride."
"Great! We'll meet you at the bar." Moving to the sink, she admired the girl's tits in the mirror as Shawna left.
Taniqua was almost laughing at the interchange, but Renee was practically in shock. "You... I can't... Don't you realize you're just playing right into his fantasies?"
"Why not?" was Crissy's blithe rejoinder as she breezed out the door. "Especially when they're my fantasies, too."
~~~~~
She danced a little as she made her way through the crowd, too happy and excited to contain herself. She spotted Zack, then frowned as she noticed the mixture of irritation and dismay on his face. As she got past a large clot of people, she saw the reason.
It was Karen; a guy had his arm around her shoulder. He looked somehow familiar to Crissy. {Brad something. He was at that party Karen threw...} Crissy had been forced to reject his advances rather firmly. {Asshole.} She hadn't told Zack or Karen, not wanting to make trouble for them. {Well, for Zack, anyway. The old Zack.} A quick check of Chris' memories didn't reveal anything likely to trip the new Zack up in conversation.
She approached them from the side, trying to avoid notice as long as possible. She wanted to be able to back Zack up if needed. He and Karen weren't quite arguing, but their conversation was clearly heated. Karen's face had that pinched look Crissy had always hated. She was a paralegal, studying for the bar, and as far as Crissy was concerned, already had all the worst features of a lawyer.
She got close enough to make out words. "...so upset... said we... other people..." Karen's voice was sharp. Brad gave off an air of amused indifference as he looked on.
Zack's voice was flat. "That's not the point. I just realized that 'business trip' to Seattle had some pleasure mixed in, didn't it?"
Karen looked nonplussed for a moment - not so much embarrassed as annoyed to be caught out. She tended to follow the precept that the best defense is a good offense, however, and riposted quickly. "So I saw this coming a month ago. If my needs were being met I wouldn't have been driven to it."
"Oh, so it's my fault you cheated on me?" He wasn't yelling, but he was clearly furious. "If you had 'needs' you could have talked to me."
Karen had apparently decided to abandon trying to salvage anything from the situation. "What's the point?" she asked dryly. "You don't have any idea how to please a woman."
{That's my cue!} She stepped forward, to the surprise of all concerned. "I wouldn't say that," Crissy said, draping herself against Zack after a quick but powerful kiss. "He sure rocks my world." She gave Karen a whithering, frigid stare.
"You?!" Karen was totally flustered for a few seconds. Then she noticed Brad's appreciative gaze at Crissy's body in the revealing dress and elbowed him.
Karen, like most aspiring lawyers, was skilled with her voice. It fairly dripped contempt as she sneered, "Figures you'd hook up with her. You always were a pussy."
Zack started to retort, but Crissy's expression was positively glacial now as she broke in. "Lots of guys fantasize about being man enough to 'convert' a lesbian." A contemptuous nod toward Brad. "Way too many, take my word for it." She was gratified to see Karen glaring at him again, and his sudden, nervous interest in his drink.
Crissy's gaze toward Zack was much warmer, and she pressed herself closely against him. "Zack's the only guy I ever heard of who actually is man enough." She looked over Karen's shoulder. "Hey, Shawna, you ready?"
Shawna approached and gave Crissy a quick peck on the cheek, running her hand across Zack's shoulder and arm as she turned to face the other couple. Seeing their dumbfounded expressions, she frowned. Crissy knew she didn't like her sexual habits judged. "Who are the stiffs?" she asked, irritated.
"This is Zack's ex, Karen." Crissy nodded to Brad, and continued, "Turns out she was cheating on him."
Shawna gave the pair a jaded once-over. "No big loss," she pronounced dismissively. Karen's outraged look was priceless.
Sidling up to Zack, Shawna planted an intensive kiss on his surprised lips, enjoying her offended audience. "You're cute, and Crissy says you're good in bed. Let's get out of here, huh?" she asked, raising an eyebrow Crissy's way. Smiling, they turned to leave.
Karen had totally lost control by this point. Livid, she shrieked, "Go have fun with your cheap sluts! Back at your shitty apartment! Brad's going to be a partner any day now, and as soon as I pass the bar I'll be an associate!" Ignoring the stares she was starting to draw, she kept yelling shrilly after them. "We'll be rich, and you'll always be poor!" Brad looked as if he wished he were elsewhere.
Crissy and Zack stopped and burst into laughter. Karen, glaring, finally bit out, "What the hell is so funny?"
Almost helpless with mirth, Crissy opened her mouth, but Zack held up a hand. "Oh, no. I get to tell her."
He looked at Karen with contempt, and something like pity; that seemed to boost her rage even more. "I won the Lotto, babe. 181 million." A moment's pause, and he smiled. "I guess you can keep those DVDs you borrowed."
Her face actually went pale. She was finally speechless, her mouth opening and closing silently. "I was going to tell you Saturday," he continued gently, "but, well, you said you needed some space..." Crissy felt a sudden wave of lust looking at Zack's predatory grin. {Yeah, baby, stick it to her!} It wasn't exactly true - from his perspective, anyway - but Karen deserved to twist a little. {I knew you'd stand up to her one day!}
~~~~~
Sensing the probability of a large tip, the valet had produced the truck with alacrity, and presented it to them with flair. Nor was he disappointed, for they had pulled out as much cash as the ATMs would allow. The trio piled in, Zack at the wheel and Crissy in the middle. As they roared out onto the street, she thoughtfully remarked, "You know, she did have a point. We don't have to go to the apartment..."
Zack smiled with her. "How about that place where Toby got married?"
"Perfect!" She looked at Shawna. "What do you say, how about an executive suite?"
"Holy shit. You really did win the Lotto!" the girl replied, eyes wide.
"Yup. We get the money tomorrow. Tonight, we party!" Crissy shouted, throwing her arms wide and laying them across her compatriots' shoulders. She tickled Zack's ear, and the pickup wobbled a bit.
"Take it easy!" Zack cried, laughing. "Let's get to there in one piece, okay?"
"Fine," she mock-pouted. "I don't have to play with you," she said, turning her eyes Shawna's way. A grin answered her raised eyebrow.
Crissy slid close (the lap belt didn't impede her movements much) and planted her lips on the other girl's. Her hands slid along Shawna's bare sides as the redhead kissed her back. Shawna's left hand curved around her back and pulled her close, the right migrating down Crissy's thigh as their nearer legs intertwined. {I've missed this,} she thought, enjoying the play of their tongues, the caresses. {Zack may be awesome, but, well, just because I love ice cream doesn't mean I can't enjoy some pie, too...}
She eased one hand under Shawna's tank top, cupping her breast and gently tweaking a nipple. For her part Shawna had a hand up what little there was of Crissy's dress, teasing her through the sheer fabric of her panties. The breath of both girls came faster, voicing soft moans. The skirt of Crissy's minidress was bunched at her waist now, and Shawna's top was just a band running between her shoulders, covering neither breast.
Crissy's mouth worked down, across Shawna's cheek, then neck. Before long teeth and tongue were servicing nipples. Shawna's hand still played at the brunette's crotch, but her other hand pulled down Crissy's dress and caressed the newly-exposed globes.
A jolt startled the pair. Zack had pulled up short at a stoplight, inches from the car in front. His eyes were very wide.
The girls laughed. "Eyes front, mister!" Crissy teased. "You wanted to drive your nice big truck, so drive!"
A pair of orgasms later, they arrived at the hotel. The girls rearranged their clothes quickly, but nevertheless made the valet's night.
The trio was subjected to many other bemused appraisals as they made their way to the front desk. The guests in the lobby didn't seem to be familiar with, or approve of, clubwear. Certainly the desk clerk was a bit perturbed.
"May I help you... sir?" he asked. He was skilled with his voice, too; the slight hesitation before the honorific spoke volumes.
"Yeah, I'd like... what's your most expensive suite?" Zack asked. Remembering his companions, he hastily added, "With a king size bed."
The clerk regarded them with icy reserve. "Sir, I believe your..." another masterful pause as he nodded very slightly at the girls, "needs would best be met at another facility. The cost of the Presidential Suite is..."
Crissy broke in brusquely, heedless of the clerk's irritation. "You see this guy? Just won the Lotto. You can either insure repeat business and big tips, or watch the money walk out the door." Her voice carried well in the lobby. The clerk looked startled now, and a bit concerned. "Your choice. Make it, fast."
"Is there a problem?" a woman asked, approaching from the back room.
Crissy's eyes flashed, checking nametags and comparing them to the note posted behind the desk. "You're the manager?"
"Yes. Can I help you?" She must have heard everything. Certainly her tone was much more polite.
"I hope so, because Bob here won't. My boyfriend asked for the Presidential Suite, but maybe there's a dress code?"
The night manager frowned at the very abashed clerk. "Oh, no, we encourage our guests to feel comfortable." She brushed him out of the way and began typing at the computer. "How long will you be staying with us? Do you have any luggage?"
~~~~~
Crissy sat in a luxurious chair, enjoying the spectacle on the bed before her. Zack was on top of Shawna, energetically fucking her. From the sounds she was making, he wasn't doing too bad a job.
The bed, an elaborate, canopied four-poster, was comfortably sized for all three, but Crissy had elected to watch this time. Her fingers stroked her clit poking from under its hood and alternate nipples, of course - seeing Zack with Shawna was just as arousing as she'd anticipated. And from his occasional sidelong glances, he found the sight of her masturbating exciting, too. She had plenty of space to spread out in the amply-sized chair and give him an excellent viewing angle.
Indeed, the lavishly appointed master bedroom could have fit several more beds and chairs, and it was only part of the suite. The centerpiece was the oversized, decadently comfortable bed, while floor-to-ceiling windows gave them a panoramic vantage point over the bay and much of downtown. {If anyone has binoculars out there, they're getting a hell of a show,} she thought, amused.
The bathroom alone was as big as any hotel room she'd stayed in before, all done in black marble, and sported not just a shower and jacuzzi but a sauna as well. There was a den with a full conference table and a high-def projection TV. A spare bedroom nearly as large as the master. A fully-stocked wet bar and pantry. And more. Touring it had actually distracted them from fucking - at least for a little while. But not long after their personal concierge had discreetly departed (with a handsome tip, of course), they'd been all over each other.
The festivities had started with general kissing and stroking. It was cute how tentative Zack had been at first, but it hadn't taken long for him to adjust to the situation. He'd received a crash course in adapting to new circumstances, after all, and the girls were far from discouraging. Certainly most of his fears must have been allayed by the time they'd stripped him - he hadn't been at all shy about ripping off their clothing.
Once they were naked, Shawna had moved up to Zack and given a firm but approving tug on his cock as she ran her nails up his side. He'd leaned forward to kiss her as Crissy knelt next to them, licking and rubbing whatever struck her fancy. After the kiss, he'd looked down at her, the question obvious in his eyes. Touched, Crissy had smiled her reassurance; she really didn't mind.
After that, Zack and Shawna had gotten quite busy. Crissy mostly stayed out of the way and played a supporting role, appreciating the show. After a time she'd stolen away and taken a seat.
She had found the process of putting on the condom fascinating, and almost hilarious. {Glad I'll never need one of those! I've been fucked by rubber gloves, and skin is better!} It was a lot harder for a lesbian to catch an STD, and pregnancy was never a concern. One or two partners had insisted on 'dental dams' or similar precautions and it had always gotten in the way - literally. {That thing has got to cut down on sensation for him, too.}
Watching Zack and Shawna pleasuring each other was fascinating in an entirely different way. The mechanics of coupling between men and women were much more dramatic in person than on a screen. Seeing how they fit together gave Crissy a better idea of how she and Zack must look when they were screwing. A delightful idea.
{Mental note: mirrors on the ceiling in our bedroom. We can certainly afford it now.}
Zack leaned forward and began to devour Shawna's breasts; she wriggled, then kissed the top of his head. His ass moved up and down under Crissy's ardent supervision. She'd been (indirectly and subtly) working to teach him to be a better lover; she could see his technique had improved even since yesterday. {Not that I had any complaints!} And Crissy herself was learning a few things about how a heterosexual female went about her business. She was exquisitely sensitive to what pleased Zack, and carefully noted what Shawna was doing when he was most enjoying himself.
Watching (and planning, and fantasizing), she came powerfully; not the sharp explosions she received when Zack was inside her, but a long, slow wave, building gradually, peaking, and dying away bit by bit. It still hadn't quite passed before the other two had finished theirs.
Through the afterglow, she watched Zack roll off Shawna to the side. "This is insane," he panted as their eyes met. "I can't come five times a day forever." He didn't look too unhappy, though.
Shawna, breathing heavily herself, lifted her head and stared back and forth at them with surprise and respect. "Jesus, Crissy, you need to give him a break! Guys ain't like girls, you don't want it to fall off!"
Crissy smiled. "He's stronger than that. But," she went on, standing up, "I suppose he's earned some rest." She walked past the haphazard scattering of clothes on the floor, over to Zack's side of the bed, and bent down to her purse (giving him an extreme close-up view of her cleavage). She rummaged for a few moments and stood up holding a compact but elaborate vibrator.
She heard Shawna chuckle. "Takin' your work home with you, huh?"
"You know it." She walked around the bed and approached Shawna. The toy was abstract, but had ways to stimulate almost anything between a woman's legs, all at once. Crissy had avoided vibrators that looked anthropomorphic before. Now that she'd felt Zack inside her, she suspected she had been needlessly stubborn. {Although I can't imagine anything feeling as good as him, let alone better.}
Shawna stretched out a little and shifted, making room on the edge of the bed for Crissy. One leg curled up slightly, and her nipples were stiffening again as the item in Crissy's hands began to buzz softly. She knelt on the bed next to the redhead, her left hand rubbing along the girl's torso as her right, tingling with the hum of the vibrator, moved slowly along her inner thigh toward the wisps of red hair above her pussy.
It was fun for its own sake, but being able to put on a show - doing it in front of Zack - gave it a special charge. That clearly had some appeal for Shawna, as well; she also was enjoying his hungry gaze.
{Y'know, it'd make sense that I'd be friends with any girls like her around here. The better to help Zack meet them...} Sexual libertines were more common in the San Francisco area than perhaps elsewhere, and her job put her in contact with many of them. But even so, it did seem, reviewing her memories, that she was acquainted with an improbably large number of attractive women who would be open to a threesome (or more) with her and Zack.
As one hand curled gently around Shawna's nearer breast, her thumb lightly stroked the nipple. The hand holding the vibrator was making lazy circles and loops about the reclining girl's vulva but wasn't approaching too closely yet. Crissy bent forward, slowly, her hair falling forward to lightly brush on Shawna's belly. Never pausing her hands, she lightly kissed along her mid-torso. She took the piercing through the belly button between her teeth and pulled, carefully but firmly, to what she judged was just short of actual pain.
The girl hissed inward between her teeth. Crissy could feel the tension starting to build, could hear her breath accelerate. She let go of the metal nub; there was still much to do before she'd let the redhead come again. Her lips worked up to her freckled breasts, and began an elaborate and teasing hunt for the nipples. The vibrator moved to the outer lips, and languorously glided up one and down the other.
Shawna groaned softly and reached her arms over her head, grabbing onto the post at the corner. Crissy's tongue flicked at a nipple, her hand sliding up Shawna's neck to stroke her cheek. Her mouth transitioned smoothly to the other breast, licking and kissing all the way, ending with a wet smooch on the stiff nipple. Meanwhile the central shaft of the vibrator was humming directly outside the redhead's passage, the tip just peeking in. It hovered there, tingling, driving Shawna to flex her hips in a vain attempt to pull it in. The brunette smiled slightly, even as she continued to tenderly devour the breast before her.
Now her mouth made its way upward, spending time at a shoulder, a collarbone, the side of a neck. She settled onto her elbow as the tip of the shaft peeked ever so slightly into the red-haired and sopping channel. The brunette played her lips across chin and cheeks before meeting an ardent welcome at the other girl's mouth.
It took dexterity and practice to use the tool she wielded, but Crissy had both. The central shaft was moving gently in and out now, pulling little hitching gasps from Shawna as their tongues danced. The brunette's free hand cupped the girl's cheek, holding her head in place even as she trembled. Then a shift of Crissy's fingers, and the lower prong of the device pushed with a trilling buzz against Shawna's anus. A long moan was wrenched from her at this surprise, and her whole body jerked. But Crissy had been ready for that and the toy smoothly maintained its pumping and the kiss only intensified.
Shawna's chest was heaving now; her breasts jostled against Crissy's. The brunette's nipples were rock-hard as well, and she could feel the lubrication of her own pussy starting to leak past her labia. Despite her focus on the task at hand, some part of her was keenly aware of Zack's attention, making sure it was both pleasurable for them and at the same time arousing for their audience. She had seen plenty of lesbian porn; not just the kind that was aimed toward women but also many of the movies appealing to men. She had a good idea of what Zack would like to see.
By now Crissy was almost horizontal, balanced next to her panting, groaning victim. Her leg slid over the other girl's, holding them down in gentle but unyielding restraint. The hand with the vibrator was moving much more forcefully, relentlessly thrusting, a zap on her anus with each downstroke. The other hand curled into the red hair, holding her head down; not painfully, but firmly. Both moaned as they kissed passionately. Shawna's arms were taut over her head, hands gripping the post with white knuckles.
Crissy slowed the pace of the strokes very slightly, not wanting to set the girl off just yet. She rubbed her breasts on Shawna's, the toes on her free leg tickling the redhead's foot. Pulling her head back, she let both of them catch their breath for a moment.
She sensed when it was time. Shawna would come within seconds on her own, unable to contain herself any further. But Crissy was in control, and it was important that Shawna know this. So without warning she deftly flicked a switch, putting the vibrator to high gear, and rammed it deeply into her channel, making sure the lower prong was tickling the girl's asshole. Her leg pushed down on Shawna's and her mouth latched onto the redhead's lips. The climax wasn't so much released as torn from her, and it was far more intense because of that. It went on through scream after muffled scream, the girl's whole body bucking with waves of pleasure.
Gradually the earthquake began to pass. The screams became moans, the lurches settled to shivers, and some rationality began to return to her expression as their eyes met. Shawna's unspoken thanks shone in her face.
At that precise moment Crissy shifted her thumb. The upper prong, forgotten until now, bore down directly on Shawna's engorged clit, which had received no direct stimulation since Crissy had begun. A soft clattering could be heard as the tip shivered against the stud nestled through her nub.
It was too much, too soon, as Crissy had known it would be. A whole new orgasm wracked the redhead's exhausted body before the last one had properly finished, and when they had finally ceased she was dazed, spent, almost unconscious.
Crissy was on fire. She wasn't normally quite so dominant but Zack's presence had inspired her. And as she'd hoped, the exhibition had inspired him. His dick was turgid, pulsing, and his eyes were locked on hers. Somewhere in there he'd gotten rid of the rubber.
She rolled over Shawna toward him, and nodded her head at the clock reading 12:11. "A whole new day. You've still got five to go."
Their lips met with the same passion as the rest of their bodies. She couldn't tell which was more exciting - holding and caressing him, or his hands running all over her. It wasn't long before she was on her back as he loomed above. His hand probed her pussy as he kissed and bit her neck and shoulders.
Groaning, she reached between them and ran her fingers up his shaft, gently gripping the slick soft head. She wondered if her own clit was that large, so engorged did it feel. A hand on his shoulder to rear him back, the other guiding him down as she lifted her hips. At last he was in, and moving, and Crissy was moaning incoherently.
One hand roughly gripped Crissy's breast as Zack pumped into her. It hurt just a little, but it was so insistent, so aggressive, so male that she just found it more erotic. It wasn't like with most girls; they 'knew the territory' and tended to be more gentle.
Case in point, Shawna as she carefully settled over Crissy's face. The scent and sight of an aroused pussy so close, as her own was being so lustily plowed, put her on the verge of coming - not that she'd been far to start with.
She began licking with gusto as her hands stroked the legs of both of her partners. Shawna was facing Zack, and Crissy could hear their moans and wet kisses. The sounds and the smells and the mental picture they gave finally pushed her over the brink, and her cries of pleasure were barely muffled by Shawna's haunches.
After a time she settled back down to merely a state of high arousal. As Crissy regained use of her senses she resumed pleasuring the girl above her. Her tongue, long practiced and well-conditioned, ran tireless, delicious circles around the clit with occasional deep plunges into her chasm. At the same time she angled her hips and bore down with her vaginal muscles. She wasn't as experienced with men, but she was a devoted student of Zack and had learned at a breakneck pace over the last two days.
She kept teasing Shawna with her mouth, holding her on the brink of coming while Zack approached his own release. Crissy's hands caressed their legs and bellies; her own legs wrapped around his sides, pulling him in on each stroke. She could sense the two embracing and kissing and stroking each other on top of her. {It isn't quite my fantasy... but hell, it's better!}
She picked up on the twitching, almost spasmodic signals that he was about to come. Crissy made her move, snaking one hand to forcefully rub Shawna's clit as her lips worked and tongue plunged into the girl's slit. As planned, the redhead started to call out her release as Zack's cock throbbed with his own. Crissy let go herself, joining them in a three-way simultaneous orgasm.
It seemed to go on forever, for all of them, the shared sensations acting like feedback to prolong the ecstasy. But eventually there was a general collapse - Shawna rolling to one side, Zack pulling out and almost falling to the other - as Crissy lay gasping in the middle.
~~~~~
Zack and Crissy cuddled together, Shawna dozing at the foot of the bed wrapped in the comforter. The remains of a midnight room-service breakfast were heaped on some trays in the den, but it had been eaten giddily, playfully, and quite messily; a few signs of it had followed them all into the bedroom. She chuckled a bit as she kissed him.
"What?" he whispered with a smile. A loving smile. A smile that made her heart sing and her eyes mist.
"You taste good with maple syrup," she answered, returning the smile in full measure.
"You taste good, period," he said, and proceeded to taste her about the head, shoulders, and chest. Only when it appeared that her giggles might wake Shawna did he relent.
She gave him a long, slow kiss, then rolled out of his grasp toward the phone. At his grunt of protest, she whispered, "I'm just going to set up a wake-up call. We don't want to miss the award thing! We've got to pay for this!" As soon as the chore was finished she was back in his arms.
They lay that way for a time, spent and content. {It's never been so good. And we haven't even done anything really kinky yet!} she reflected. {Maybe that's for the best...} They would be together for the rest of their lives - it was one of the things she was oddly certain of. There would be lots of sex; it wouldn't do to use up her tricks too quickly.
Just when she thought he might be falling asleep, he murmured, "What are we going to do, y'know, after?"
"After what?"
"After we get the prize. I mean, we'll have to get the finances in order, and I was serious about that charity. But then..."
Crissy shifted herself a little, getting comfortable. "I was thinking. The really cool suites are in Vegas. And there's these two girls I know, they moved out there to be dancers." She nuzzled her face into his neck. "I bet if we were buying, they could show us a hell of a time..."
I'd only been here a few minutes, and I could tell their reputation was entirely deserved.
It's not like I was a stranger to strip clubs. And, here in Nevada, legal brothels. You follow cheating spouses around for a living, you're going to clock in the hours there. "Gerry's Place" had more variety than most, and I hadn't seen a dud yet. All the women were top-notch beauties. I mean, even the waitress who brought me to my table and took my drink order might have been a little prettier than the dancer up on stage. She'd have been a headliner anywhere else, whether or not she could dance.
What really struck me was how they all seemed... enthusiastic. In my experience, the world is not oversupplied with girls who actually get off being ogled by men night after night. No, strippers and hookers are in it for the money. Usually the best you can hope for is that they don't mind it much. A blank face, an insincere smile that didn't touch the eyes - that's what I'd come to expect. A lot of 'em didn't even bother to pretend to want to be there.
But take Melissa here, bringing my drink. A bubbly honey blonde with an angel face and a heavenly figure. She watched me glance at her tits, her waist; the lingerie she wore insisted on such inspection. Her smile - already pretty damn chipper - got bigger and more welcoming. She winked as she turned and waggled her ass at me before heading to the next table. I was half-convinced I could smell her musk. If she wasn't getting off on my attention, she was an incredible actress wasting her talents.
I made sure to identify the security. Only two guys for the main room - that seemed low, but on the other hand they were pretty scary guys. Most people wouldn't realize just how scary they were. I knew what those callouses and postures and flat intent stares meant. They even ignored the girls, somehow.
"Diana" - a tall, statuesque brunette with a sense of rhythm far above average for strippers - left the stage, and the DJ announced "Clarissa". My eyes swept the crowd as she got set up and the music began. There were plenty of ”Gerry's Girls" circulating. I did a double-take at the redhead leading a stunned young man towards the back rooms. I'd heard of "Jessie", even seen pictures, but actually encountering her in person... in the literal, startling flesh...
She wasn't quite as exaggeratedly voluptuous as Jessica Rabbit - she was a human being, not an animated character - but I was convinced surgery had been needed to get her waist that small, compared to the hips and breasts. And I wasn't convinced the breasts and hips themselves were real. How she balanced on those multi-inch spike heels was beyond me.
The next dancer was getting into the swing of things. Another 'exotic dancer' who took the dancing part as seriously as the exotic part. I glanced back... then sat up straight and did another double-take... then squinted carefully for a few seconds. I leaned back in my seat after that, shaking my head slightly.
It had been almost three years. A couple had hired me to try to find their runaway daughter. I eventually tracked her to Reno, where she'd gotten hooked on meth and fallen in with a pimp. But she had disappeared shortly before I caught up with her there; the pimp was actually miffed about it. I didn't tell the family what I suspected - that Claire'd been abducted, killed, and dumped somewhere.
I have a good memory, especially for faces. The girl on stage looked uncannily like the photos they had given me, from before the meth. Only better - a lot better, almost idealized. Cosmetic surgery might explain the nose and chin. Contacts could account for the tawny eyes instead of green. But those spectacular breasts couldn't be implants - no surgeon was that good - and this dancer was about three inches taller than Claire anyway. Though Claire had done ballet and the color guard, I recalled...
A coincidence, I was forced to conclude. Even the names being so close.
A different waitress strutted by, interrupting my thoughts - dark black hair in a shortish asymmetrical cut, pale skin, dark eyeshadow and ruby-red lips. Legs up to here and then some. Quite fetching indeed. Not as rounded as Diana or Melissa, and nothing like Jessie. But personally, I preferred my women on the athletic side. Every girl I'd encountered here would be worth my time - and money, especially because my clients were paying - but she fit my tastes particularly.
Still marveling, I turned my head back to my table - and found myself face-to-breasts with Melissa. Another distracting experience. I looked up at her face and realized she'd arranged it deliberately. She winked at me, and nodded toward the woman I'd just been scoping. "You like Collette, huh? She's cute."
"Not as cute as you, honey," I drawled. I had good people skills - I needed them - so I could see she knew I was feeding her a line. That surprised me a little; I'm also a good liar by necessity. What took me back more was that she didn't seem to mind. Most girls, especially pretty ones, get a little defensive when they know a guy prefers someone else.
Yet Melissa took it in stride. She took my empty glass, too, and promised to return with a fresh one.
While I waited, I kept taking mental notes. The main room was big, and clean - and packed. Scores of worked-up men appreciating the available pulchritude in manners both couth and uncouth. I watched a man grab the ass of a passing waitress - a platinum blonde with heavy, blunt bangs, wearing only an (unbuttoned) white leather jacket and micro-skirt. She squealed - to all indications happily - and winked at him. After she set down her tray and dispensed the orders on it into a corner booth, she ambled back to the ass-slapper.
She leaned in close, they murmured back and forth for a few moments, and she gave a wave to the hostess. They made their way arm-in-arm toward the bedrooms and the hostess had a quick conversation with another girl; apparently having her take over the blonde's outstanding tables. The redhead - in a bikini pretty much entirely made of string - got moving.
That was how it worked here. All the girls were available, all the time. The waitresses and dancers and singers and hostesses weren't dressed the way they were just to set the atmosphere. They were advertising. They had a whole system that allowed them to swap roles as needed. Impressive, really.
You didn't even need to book a room. I saw a girl with blue hair and multiple tattoos get on her knees - there was a small pad to keep her stockings from getting too messed up - and crawl past the tablecloth. Shortly after, the man at the table took a deep breath. The famous Gerry's "Under The Table" - a blowjob as you ate and watched the show. There were outstanding questions about its legality, but the argument was it wasn't a public performance due to the tablecloth. And it was taking place in an establishment with strict age checking, so they'd gotten away with it so far.
They'd gotten away with a lot, in fact. Gerry's had launched quietly enough, two and a half years back. A very well-planned launch; judicious lobbying managed, with surprising speed, to update a few laws in Nye county. Gerry's was run entirely differently from the rest of the brothels. The girls were employees, not "independent contractors", and they were allowed to serve food and alcohol. Gambling was still forbidden, though - politics.
It had grown steadily and inexorably since opening day. By now it was practically a destination; quite a few people were willing to drive the hour and a half from Las Vegas for the kind of experience Gerry's Place could provide. Wealthier clients could charter a helicopter shuttle.
These days they were eating into the competition's business to an uncomfortable degree. Even the illegal competition in Las Vegas itself. I'd been hired by that competition to go digging; find out anything useful about Gerry, the establishment, the girls - whatever. If possible, something that would let them shut him down. Failing that, leverage to cut themselves in on his business.
Almost a routine job. Except for one wrinkle: I was the second guy they had hired for the task. The first one had disappeared.
So, I'd been cautious. I'd spent a couple months, exhausted all other means before actually coming here. Researching Gerry hadn't turned up a lot. A branch manager for a bank up until four years ago. Smart and meticulous, by all reports, but nobody special. It had surprised a lot of people when he'd suddenly sold his home, pulled his savings, moved out to Nevada, and opened up a strip club/brothel. Nobody expected it to amount to much at the time.
More mysterious were "Gerry's Girls". He hadn't poached any local talent, nor did he take applications. As I said, they came in a wide variety - Asian, European, South American, even a striking Ethiopian. He added about one new girl a month, somehow. Tax records and such were sparse, and showed signs of being faked. Not many signs - if Gerry was buying identities he was spending good money - but enough to raise my eyebrows.
What raised my hackles was how my predecessor, Sam Loft, had gone missing. My probing hadn't turned up any serious red flags so far. Anyone in the sex trade had some seedy contacts, but Gerry was unusually clean. There was no indication of anyone backing him; the money trail was solid. Of course, with girls like this, he had a license to print money.
Thing is, Loft was good. Else he wouldn't have been hired. Not as good as me, but he wasn't stupid. He wouldn't make obvious mistakes - yet he'd been caught anyway. By someone able to make him vanish. Hence my caution.
But I'd learned all I could from a distance, and it wasn't enough. Hence my visit tonight.
A pretty, manicured hand set a drink in front of me. "Thanks, Mel-" I began, until I realized it wasn't Melissa. I was looking up at the brunette.
"Bonjour," she said, with a confident smile. "I'm Collette. How may I serve you?" She had a slight French accent.
"You just did, I think," I said, tilting the drink.
She smiled slightly. "But I am happy to do so much more..."
Collette leaned forward, hands resting on the table, arms straight, cocking her hips at a rakish angle. She wore a black bustier that her breasts were just on the edge of spilling out of. A silver necklace consisting of square panels matched the silver belt. Her skirt was skintight and came down only maybe an inch below her crotch. Knee-high black boots, laced all the way up the front, set her legs off well.
It was an impressive display. "You did not come here simply to look, bien sur," she said with poised assurance. "The food is not that good."
Despite myself, I chuckled. She really was spectacular. It had been a while since I'd been this affected by a woman. "Maybe I'm just tired of Applebee's".
She scoffed and swirled around the table to sit in my lap. My drink was jostled, spilling some, but it was hard to care with her hip pressed up against my erection. She nuzzled my nose, and whispered, "Games are fun... but I know better ones."
I wanted to get close enough to ask questions anyway. Might as well have fun doing it...
Her smile brightened; she knew she had me without my saying a word. We stood, and she led me away. She brought me into her room - number 310, I noted. Details matter. Just down the hall was what had to be a service elevator. It'd be interesting to get a look back there.
I realized this wasn't just a room for entertaining. It was an apartment. A small kitchenette off the main room, a hallway that I supposed led to a bedroom and bathroom. The decor was restrained, with clean lines. It felt European. Or, maybe, an American idea of "European" - I thought I detected a bit of performance going on. A print hung on one wall - from the 80's, one of Nagel's iconic women; black and white with just a touch of color. Collette had some of the same look.
There was a futon against a wall, facing a rounded table with a TV. She let go of my arm and quickly flattened out the futon. I didn't think it was a coincidence that along the way I got some good sight lines up her skirt and down her top.
Her body was plenty, but I was enjoying her attitude as well. Not arrogance, though some might mistake it for that. Nor was she hurried. She was simply... confident. And unashamed. 'We both know what we're here for, and we both want this,' her eyes were saying, 'so why wait?'
The surface prepared, she beckoned me closer. She guided me around her and bade me sit.
Once I'd done so, she straddled my lap, put her arms around my neck and shoulders, leaned her face in close. Deliberately, looking into my eyes, she kissed me - at first just the lips, then a flicker of tongue.
Again, her attitude. 'Just because we start quickly is no reason not to do this right.' She got up off me, and undid my tie, pulling it out of my collar. She set it aside, then put her hands behind her neck - elbows high, incidentally lifting her breasts, causing her nipples to peek out for a moment. The necklace joined my tie, and the nipples hid away again, for a brief while.
She disrobed us that way, by turns. My jacket for her bustier. My pants for her skirt. My shoes for her boots, one at a time. My briefs for her panties...
Naturally, by now my member stood at full attention. She knelt before me, spreading my legs. She started slow. Not teasing; just taking her time, maximizing the pleasure. Nuzzles and kisses before licking, before she wrapped her lips about me.
Although I enjoyed it all, in the back of my mind I was puzzled. I was receiving a high-dollar, high-class-escort level experience, but Gerry's only charged about twice the going rate for this kind of thing. How could they afford such talent?
Not that you couldn't drop a lot of money at Gerry's Place if you were so inclined, and arranged in advance. Everything from a bachelor party special up to the Emperor's Room. The stories about that were definitely exaggerated, but as Collette expertly tackled my wedding tackle, I wondered.
She got me right on the borderline of ejaculation, all the while looking me in the eyes. Those eyes asked a question, and picked up the answer. She backed off and settled me down enough.
She rose to her feet and sank into my lap. Again we were intimately close, as when she'd undressed us... but this time I was inside her.
I'm not sure exactly how long that went on, but I enjoyed it a great deal. Again I hovered on the edge of release... but again she moderated things down to merely 'very excited'. By now, what little attention I could spare from her was astonished. For the price I was paying... it was like finding a bar of solid gold as a prize in your breakfast cereal.
In a trice, she was on the futon on hands and knees, and I was taking her from behind. Urgently.
She was finally abandoning control, shedding her reserve. She moaned with unrepressed passion now, and pushed her hips back and arched them up with my every thrust, eager and avid. Everything was slippery and well-lubed, further confirmation of her excitement.
I'm human, I admit. It's a major turn-on when a woman is really enjoying your efforts. You feel proud, powerful. I'm as jaded as they come, but she got past my defenses, got me really involved, invested. I wasn't even subconsciously looking for signs she was putting on an act anymore.
Came the point I could no longer hold on. I came hard, grunting and groaning in a way I seldom did. As I did she cried out and quivered, almost spasming.
We both shivered in reaction, after. I pulled out and sat on my haunches, breathing heavily. A touch unsteady, she turned around, still on hands and knees. She took me in her mouth again, cleaning and draining me as I sagged.
Once I was well and truly cleaned, she lay down, head in my lap, looking up at me with a smug crinkle of her eyes. "Where did you learn to do that?" I asked, marveling. "You should be world-famous."
Her smirk was positively mischievous. "To some, it is natural."
I shook my head. "Still, how did you come here? There's got to be a story there."
She stood, just as alluring nude as she'd been clothed. I didn't feel quite as much urgency about that now that I'd just come, but I could appreciate the show. She glided to the counter by the kitchen. "There is little to tell." She made a highly Gallic shrug, almost existentialist. "Gerry found me, and placed me here."
As she began mixing a drink - two glasses, I noted - I kept digging. "How does he find a woman like you?" I made sure there was envy in my tone, outweighing the curiosity. She would perceive it as a casual question, not a probe.
Her smile was calm and untroubled while she filled the tumblers from the mixer. "He is... unusually resourceful, that is all." She turned back to me, a drink in each hand, and slinked toward me in a definitely seductive way.
Most whores were practiced at easing Johns out the door once their business was concluded. Yet Collette wasn't in any hurry to part with me, it seemed.
Nor did she worry about personal space. She sat very close to me on the bed and handed me my glass. "But what about you? How did you find your way to Gerry's Place?"
I waited until she took a big sip from her tumbler before I had mine. Poured from the same mixer, she couldn't slip me a Mickey Finn without dosing herself too. "A buddy of mine came here a few months back, and then he just would not shut up about it." I told a true story - at least what the man had said. Although he hadn't been a 'buddy' so much as a guy who was happy to talk for as long as I was buying the drinks.
"Sound like someone you've seen?" I wrapped up. One more try to get her talking.
She shook her head, still amused. "Before my time. I am, as you say, a rookie."
I cracked a grin. "What's the signing bonus like?"
"C'est suffisant," she said, taking another small sip.
I wasn't going to get any information out of her, that was clear. "Thanks for the drink," I said, putting the tumbler on a nightstand. "And everything else." I looked for my clothes.
Collette put a hand on my shoulder, and leaned even closer in a clear invitation. "It does not cost anything more for a second go..." she slurred.
Oh, shit. She slurred. I stood bolt upright... and wobbled.
Collette sagged onto the bed, catching herself with one arm. Then that arm deflated and she flopped onto the mattress.
I was trying to get to the bathroom to throw up when I stumbled, cursing her, and myself. Most hookers won't risk making themselves vulnerable near a John. But she was prepared to knock herself out to get to me.
The floor tilted up to meet my face.
I woke up sitting. Once I remembered how I'd fallen asleep, my head jerked up. I had time to be surprised at the lack of a headache. Knockout drugs aren't known for being gentle.
I was on a couch in an office. Fully dressed. One man behind the desk. Nobody else visible. A window, dark - still nighttime. The door was closed; enough sound leaked through to indicate we were still at Gerry's Place. "Good evening, Mr. Bordreaux," said the man. Gerry Worth himself. His office, no doubt. Not terribly ostentatious, for all that he was 'new money'.
The ID in my wallet didn't have my real name on it, though. This was not good. How had I been made so fast?
I rapidly evaluated my options. Even if the scary guys weren't in the room, they couldn't be further than the other side of the door. Running was a no-go. A bluff about my identity was clearly useless, but I wasn't dead, so... "Good evening yourself. You couldn't have just invited me down?"
He grinned. "Collette got a little proactive, I admit. Her background showing." Gerry was in his fifties. He'd been running to seed in the old pictures I'd found; nowadays he was in better shape. Overweight, but he'd dropped a few pounds, firmed up some. Still not a handsome guy.
"This isn't the best way to get repeat business," I cracked. For now, I was trying not to leak anything. The questions he asked would hopefully give me information.
But he didn't ask any questions. He just got straight to business. "I offer triple what they are paying you. Just give them a useless report.'
I couldn't do that. Private investigators have to stay bought. If they get a rep for double-dealing they're through. But I didn't have to tell him that. "You got it. Best offer I've had all day." I paused. "Well, okay, second best. Until the drink, Collette was a lot of fun." I could be charming when I needed to be.
It didn't help. He frowned. "That's disappointing. I had hoped you'd be reasonable."
What was wrong with my lying today? "Uh, maybe you misheard. I accept."
Gerry shook his head. "No, you don't, Mr. Bordreaux. And I see I won't be able to persuade you."
Shit. "How can I convince you I'm telling the truth?"
"You can't. You see, I'm reading your mind, right now."
That... wasn't among the responses I'd planned for. After blinking a couple times, I said, neutrally, "Well, that's a neat trick."
"I have others." He waved his hand at me, and I shrank. My clothes, the whole room got bigger. In about a second, I was three and a half feet tall and swimming in a crumpled suit.
I yelped in shock - sounding like I'd inhaled helium - and tried to move. As I fell to the floor, I grew again. I got to my feet, the suit now uncomfortably arranged on my body - the belt was down by my thighs, and one arm was stuck inside my shirt, having missed the sleeve as I grew.
Whatever the fuck was going on, it was dangerous beyond my worst imaginings. I had to take Gerry down immediately, and hope to find a way out past the guards.
He shook his head. "Sorry, no." All of a sudden I was frozen in position. I could move my head, but my body wouldn't respond - it just stood there. This time I noted something about his hand - it had been shrouded in darkness or something for a moment. Like it put out anti-light.
By sheer force of will, I pushed panic away. Information, understanding was my only hope. "How the fuck are you doing this?"
"It's simple: this is a magic ring." He held up his right hand. A thick men's ring on the third finger - dull metal, with a black stone, maybe onyx.
I wasn't sure what to think. I mean, magic rings, right? Under the circumstances, though... I knew I shouldn't show fear. "Where do you get those?" I asked, as if I were in the market for one.
He grinned despite himself. "I don't know, in general. This one came from my old job." He spread his hands apologetically. "Sometimes customers stop paying for safe deposit boxes. We make every effort to contact them, but often it's not possible. One of my duties was to open them and go through the contents."
He held up his hand and looked at the ring. "I found this in one. As soon as I laid eyes on it, I felt compelled to try it on. Once I did, I knew what it could do. Its abilities, and limitations." He looked me in the eye. "I still have no idea where it came from, or who stored it away. But obviously, it works."
Not useful, except maybe the 'limitations' bit.
He nodded. "You're a smart one, interesting. Yes, it is far from all-powerful." A resigned shrug. "I don't know how much magic there is in the world, but I suspect it's all limited like that. Otherwise the world would be quite different." Another glance at the ring. "For example, this only affects human beings. Not objects, or animals. Just people. Although, within that domain...."
I tried to move again. Yeah, it was powerful all right.
He chuckled. "Obviously I can alter bodies. They have to stay human, but beyond that there's not much I can't manage." His lips quirked. "Except my own. I can't even remove a sliver or heal a bruise with it."
Glancing down at my paralyzed body, I said, "You have all my sympathies."
Gerry nodded, granting the point. "Fortunately for you, I can't kill with magic, even indirectly. If I pulled a gun on you right now, you'd find yourself able to duck for cover."
I'd never wanted so much for anyone to try to kill me before.
He didn't oblige me. "Obviously, I can read minds. I can influence them as well. But note: influence, not control. Your soul, such as it is, is inviolate. I can't change your memories. Nor can I actually compel you to do anything. I can make you want to do something, or not, but you still have free will. You still choose for yourself."
The first really good news since I'd awakened. I clung to it like a lifeline.
He nodded once more, but his voice finally betrayed a flicker of annoyance. "And the ring can't just keep making changes forever. It gathers a... a 'charge', so to speak, over time. Rather too much time, in fact." He shrugged. "So I have to manage my usage. I always keep some in reserve to deal with unexpected needs - like, say, someone investigating too closely." His hand opened my way, in sardonic acknowledgment. "But because of that, I try not to do more changes than strictly necessary. Economy, efficiency - perhaps even elegance - that's what I strive for." He looked proud almost, to my great annoyance... and even greater fear.
"Contrary to what you might expect, changing bodies isn't terribly costly. Mental changes are much more expensive, energy-wise."
I wondered for a moment why he was sharing so completely with me.
He let out a sigh. "You may well wonder." I still wasn't used to that. It was creepy, having no privacy in my own head.
He rolled his eyes. "Sorry, it's necessary for now. But to answer your unasked question - you are intelligent, and this is a rare opportunity. I can't speak to most people about this."
I spoke up. No point in silence. "Which implies I'm not going to be in a position to do anything about what you tell me."
"Don't worry, I haven't even gotten to the most irritating restriction. I can't make permanent changes without your permission."
Wow...
"Exactly. I can force changes on you for only a month. Well, technically, twenty-eight days - a lunar cycle. After that, they're all undone unless you choose - freely - to accept them." He shrugged, though his smile didn't waver. "After that point, I need your permission to make any changes at all."
I felt real confidence for moment - then it occurred to me that his establishment had been open for over two years now...
He grinned at my expression. "Indeed, I've gotten pretty good at this. But as I said, you're intelligent, and I'm curious. How would you profit from this thing, given its constraints?"
Actually, that was a pretty good question.
Reading minds by itself was power. It'd sure make my job easier. Stock trading might be a fast way to make money, a few other fields. But you couldn't be spectacularly successful. If it got out that you could do that, you'd be a big fat target. Any intelligence agency, anywhere, would slaughter your entire family tree to get hold of you.
You could be a damn good doctor, assuming the ring could heal - Gerry nodded along - but again, a rep for miraculous cures would attract dangerous attention. And the ring wouldn't let you keep people from blabbing.
The more I thought about it, the harder it became to make good use of. You could get away with using it once in a while, and not too dramatically - that's all. And then I recalled what kind of establishment I was in. Collette... Clarissa... Jessie.
Gerry looked self-satisfied. "Precisely. I thought very, very carefully, for months, about how to best apply this little bauble." He brushed some imaginary lint off his jacket. "I've come up with quite a clever little set of changes. Works like a charm, and requires surprisingly little 'energy'. One or two body modifications, and a single psychological quirk. Inspired, if I say so myself."
Given that he obviously didn't expect me to spill the beans, that came across as highly ominous. I gathered my determination. He noticed. "Yes, yes, I know. One month, and then you can take your revenge." He spread his hands wide as he stood. "Who knows, you might even make it. It's possible. Indeed, it has to be, by the rules of magic." His smile shifted again, smug and confident. "But I should tell you, if you do manage to refuse... you'll be the first."
He raised his hand. The ring flashed darkly. Something happened, and I felt myself blacking out...
I shifted, mostly asleep. But I couldn't turn my head, something was pulling my hair. A lot of hair - I realized something was really wrong, and sat bolt upright. I looked down and only felt a fraction of a moment's surprise, which dissolved almost as soon as it appeared. The dismay just kept going.
"Oh, goddammit," I said. In a sweet alto. I had to shift my weight to get hair out from under my ass.
Feeling resigned but determined, I looked around the room. I was on a plain bed, under a throw blanket, in a small, neutrally-decorated suite - much like a hotel room. Light leaked in from behind curtains - morning, most likely. I got up and walked over to the door. Outside, a hall with a door on the other side, half-open on a bathroom. I realized the floorplan was the same as Collette's, I was just in the back rooms.
I stepped across the hall to look in the mirror. I needed to assess the damage, see what I'd be living with for the next month.
Naked girl in the glass, of course. Hardly a shock at this point. I would've pegged her at twenty, plus or minus. Though she could probably play off as younger. She was only about 5'4”.
What was a shock was the hair. Voluminous auburn waves of it down to the tops of my thighs, falling in loose lazy curls. I wanted to find some scissors immediately, it was totally impractical. And it had a truly epic case of 'bed head'.
It was styled to frame a face with a narrow nose and high-ish cheekbones. Wide, potentially-innocent blue eyes - a little unusual for the hair, but I couldn't see any roots - fine arched eyebrows, pouting lips but not a large mouth. Just as sexy a face as graced any of the girls I'd seen here. I almost wanted to call it 'aristocratic' but it was too young to support that term.
Full but not overgenerous breasts; firm and high, of course. The nipples and areolae were a trifle large - yet they fit, they somehow seemed... appropriate. Slim arms, womanly shoulders, painted nails. An hourglass waist and well-rounded hips. Long legs coming off the hips, tapering in smooth curves. There was even a thigh-gap. That made it easy to see more auburn hair between the legs, shaved neatly into a heart shape above the mound.
I rotated to look at my - I resolved, temporary - new ass. I had to push the hair out of the way, it was almost like a cape. Pert and shapely, as expected; I would have called it enticing if it hadn't been my own.
So far, so attractive. Not a human cartoon like Jessie, I was obscurely relieved to see. But there were those few extra touches that pushed her - pushed me - into the exceptional territory of a "Gerry's Girl".
The skin was smooth; unlined and unblemished, and utterly even in tone. Almost photoshopped. Plus the face, the body lines, were highly symmetrical. Not unearthly, but definitely supermodel-ish.
I was yet another of what I realized were Gerry's works of art. If I'd been able to be more objective, I'd have admired it more; but under the circumstances it was a little hard to appreciate.
I didn't reach to explore between my legs. I wasn't ready for that. The only surprises would be unpleasant ones, anyway. I went down the hall and surveyed the front room.
The floorplan might have been the same as Collette's, but the decor was completely different. Exceedingly girly - a room for a college-age "Daddy's little princess". The bed had an embroidered bedspread, fluffy throw pillows, and a white scrollwork header and footer. There was a dresser with matching scrollwork; on top of it rested a pink jewelry chest, next to a stuffed blue cartoon Pegasus with rainbow mane and tail. A large framed mirror was attached.
What indicated 'college-age' was the couch facing the coffee table, which supported a TV and a wooden bowl holding some crystal rocks. A thick soft rug occupied the floor between table and couch. A little end table next to it with a vase. It wasn't quite as tasteful as it could have been - and certainly not expensive. Not what a mature woman would have picked, somehow.
All of it was infuriating. On the counter in the breakfast nook was a note. I unfolded it and started reading.
By now you've had a chance to get a handle on the most obvious aspects of your new situation. It may have occurred to you to check the front door and discover that it's unlocked. I can't magically force you to remain here, as I said, and guarding you is economically prohibitive. You can leave if you want. I would point out, however, that your legal position is rather dubious, and you can expect difficulties establishing any identity at all, let alone your previous one.Additionally, if you choose to leave and make trouble for me, I may well choose to hunt up your loved ones, and see if they are more persuadable than you. I suggest you stay here a little while, and make sure you fully understand the ramifications, before you inadvertently embroil someone else in the same predicament.
P.S. When you're ready, knock on the door across the hall.
I set the note down and chewed my lip for a moment, absorbing that. Absently I walked over to the door and turned the doorknob; sure enough, I felt it unlatch, and pulled in the door about half an inch. Not even enough to see the hall - I wasn't ready for that yet either. I pushed the door closed, and after a second locked it. For all the good it might do.
The door barely registered in my thoughts. I was processing more urgent issues. His 'no-ID' threat wasn't a bluff, but I thought he might be underestimating my resourcefulness. Although, I hadn't had to handle things as a girl before. In any case...
The other threat was more persuasive. I didn't hate my ex-wife. And even if I had, I wanted her safe to take care of my daughter. As for my daughter... I didn't want Gerry in the same state as her. What he could do to a kid... she could be traumatized even if he couldn't do anything permanent.
For that matter, what exactly had he done to me?
I tried to remember his precise words. "A couple body changes and a psychological quirk." Something like that. The body changes were pretty obvious. But what had he done to my 'psychology'? My own mind was now potentially enemy territory...
Tentatively, I brought Collette to mind. To my relief, I still thought she was damn sexy. Apparently that wasn't the 'quirk'.
With real fear, I thought about Gerry. But I didn't feel love, or loyalty, or any positive emotion about him. I was still afraid of his magic, and angry with him - but I was more angry than afraid. He hadn't made me his slave or anything. That was good... except that it meant he must be doing something more subtle.
With trepidation I considered men as a category. Naturally recent examples were closest to the surface. The specific image that came to mind was that guy slapping the blonde's rump last night.
"Oh, goddammit." I found out right then what it feels like to have your nipples crinkle and your clit perk up and your pussy start lubricating.
I recalled the guy breathing hard as the blue-haired girl sucked his tool. The dazed expression on the college boy's face as Jessie led him away. All those hooting men drooling over Diana and Clarissa...
I could feel my heart rate climb. "You motherfucker..." I muttered, mentally cursing at Gerry. If magic was real, I hoped a curse would actually work. It was certainly heartfelt.
My mind kept racing. I imagined what they did with the girls here. What might be going on right now, in a room nearby. A kiss, and then maybe she'd rub him through his pants and he'd groan. Then she'd undo his belt and drop his pants and lick his cock 'til it was pointing straight up and little drops were leaking out the tip. Then she'd lay back and he'd jam his dick in her pussy and stroke it in and out, harder and faster, getting more and more worked up until he went over the edge and spurted...
I was getting too impassioned, I had to stop. I had to find a way to get back to my old body, I...
Oh, God. I had a whole new reason to want my dick back: just so I could watch it get hard. The thought made me shiver.
And because my legs were instinctively clenched together, my labia rubbed my clit some. And because of that, I came. I shuddered, I needed to grab the edges of the counter to keep from falling to my knees.
Gerry was going to die.
Once I was able, I stumbled over to the couch and sat down. This wasn't going to be easy.
I needed to think... about something besides erections. The microwave in the kitchenette was blinking 12:00. I didn't want to open the window and check the time of day. I needed to gather data before I could risk seeing another human being, especially a male one. I turned on the TV.
It was set up like a hotel system. I brought up the menu; basic cable stuff, and lots of music channels in different genres. It was ten in the morning - the next morning, I hadn't been unconscious for days or anything.
Also like a hotel system, it had movies on demand. Unlike any hotel I'd stayed at, it seemed to be all adult fare. Even as I was doing it, I knew it was a mistake. But it was just one button push. Too quick to stop the impulse.
One section of the menu gave access to 'homemade' content. Gerry's Girls doing their thing on-camera. Collette's name was toward the top of the list, alphabetically. I picked a random video of hers.
She was clad in black lingerie, elaborately-filigreed with red accents.The camera explored her body in loving detail, from toes to face, as soft sensual music played. I recalled how her skin felt, what she'd smelled like; yes, she still turned me on.
But then a tall, muscled man moved into the frame. He embraced her and kissed her, and that stirred a mix of emotions that's hard to describe. "Hopeless excitement"? "Passionate despair"? "Urgent depression"? I was horrified and defeated by how intensely I enjoyed hearing his breath hitch as she fondled his dick and balls.
It was the difference between looking at a postcard, and standing next to the Grand Canyon, feeling the wind and watching the sunset. Collette was undeniably sexy, sure... but she couldn't possibly compete with the guy's rising shaft. I whimpered as it lifted and swelled. It was the most erotic thing I'd ever seen.
She slid to her knees and began nuzzling his balls, a familiar curve to her lips. Now, I had no trouble comprehending why she took such pleasure in her work. I appreciated her skill as she slowly licked up the underside of his dick.
My hand was between my legs before I consciously realized it. The clit there was good-sized, on the high end of normal, and thus easy to find by touch. I recalled a few times when I'd had trouble locating the important bits. That wasn't a good feeling for a guy, but it wouldn't be a problem for them with me.
My God, was I actually looking forward to fucking men?
I watched, enraptured, as he got more and more excited. She teased him for a while with her mouth, and then stood and wrapped a leg around his waist, grinding herself up against him. He picked her up, swung her around, and set her on a bed. In seconds he was inside her, and she was moaning and biting her lip.
He pulled out and shot his load all over her belly. I gasped and climaxed again. It was arresting, almost hypnotic.
Only half-pretending it was experimentation now, I backed up to the top of the video menu and grabbed something at random. No Gerry's Girls here; the woman was skinny, with stringy hair; not my type at all. The guy was fat, and hairy as a gorilla. His cock was squat and thick and one of his balls was bigger than the other.
He was sexy as fuck; I wished he was right here in the room with me. I could do a better job than she was doing. He wasn't even that hard! Instead of just tugging it, she could try stroking the sides as she licked the head. Or maybe I'd find a little oil or lube or even just spit, and let him slide between my tits. I could give his helmet a little tongue-flick on each stroke. My creative juices were flowing as liberally as the ones from my pussy...
Desperately, like I'd fallen off a building and was trying to grab a ledge, I hit the channel-up button. A gray-haired black weatherman genially discussed a storm front approaching Chattanooga. I sat there, panting as I recovered, so close to tears it was frightening.
'Quirk' my ass! My real ass, my male one! He'd warped my whole brain, made me some kind of, of, skank, slut! This wasn't one change, he must have reworked half my mind to make me...
Then I realized something. I wasn't getting horny over the weather announcer.
He was just a guy. The camera switched over to an anchor man and woman. Both good-looking people, of course, but I wasn't any more inclined to appreciate the guy than the lady. Less, even.
I went up another channel. A cooking show. Men and women contestants coming up with meals based on limited ingredients. Again, the guys didn't seize my attention.
Another channel. An action movie. Some guy zapped aliens, blew open a door. I started feeling better. I could control this, I wasn't totally at the mercy of...
He pulled some girl out of a probing table or whatever and they kissed. And suddenly I was interested again. My nipples hardened... and then began to relax. The moment was over, and the couple was fighting their way out.
"Okay, that's enough of that," I said out loud to myself, and turned it off.
I thought carefully. So, it wasn't guys per se that got my motor running. Something more 'elegant' was going on. Summoning all my resolve, I pictured a naked guy, with a limp dick.
There wasn't that instant reaction. Things didn't threaten to get out of hand until I pictured it getting hard. That was like a riptide pulling me out to sea. I tried to shift things, picture some old smelly bum... but he had a hardon, and that was enough.
I realized I didn't care what guys looked like. Ripped, flabby, tall, short, hot, ugly... it just didn't matter. All I cared about was that they had a dick. A dick that could get stiff, and squirt cum...
Feeling my face - among other things - getting flushed, I picked up the remote again. I told myself that I had to check... but I knew I was lying. Just reading the titles in that section made me breathe faster. I wasn't even a bit surprised when it started playing and I moaned out loud.
A white guy sucked a black guy's cock, and I simply stared in a trance, almost drooling. Definitely dripping. I came again, almost instantly. Two horny guys!
I finally understood what was going on, though it didn't help me fight the feelings in the slightest. It was a pretty common thing, really. Gerry had given me a fetish. I now had a specific, intense, involuntary turn-on.
I'd even figured out the precise nature of my new obsession. It was a fetish for male arousal, period. Just the general idea of a man being attracted to someone was so fucking hot...
One of the cheating husbands I'd busted had been a judge. And a deacon at his church. Married, to a pretty wife who loved him and gave him three kids. But it turned out he had a fetish for ladies dressed in rubber. And his wife wasn't down with helping him out that way.
To him it had been worth risking everything he had, plus spending a good chunk of change, to hire an escort to make his dreams come true. The evidence I gathered just ruined him. So far as I know, his visits with his kids are still supervised to this day. At the time, it hadn't bothered me. If I thought about it at all, I figured he deserved it for being so stupid.
Now my eyes were locked on a throbbing dick about to slide into another guy's asshole - and that other guy's prick was stiff, too. And I just couldn't manage to look away. One of them was going to cum any second now, I couldn't miss it! I'd always prided myself on my self-control; my shame and embarrassment were intense and crushing. I suddenly felt a lot more sympathy for that poor judge.
But as the bottom's jism leaked out on the screen, I came again, almost shrieking. Once I caught my breath, I exercised what little free will I had and shut off the TV, and threw the remote across the room. Even though I wanted more, lots more.
The closet held exactly two outfits.
One hanger had a white baby-doll t-shirt, cut down alarmingly. If I wore it, there would be considerable underboob visible, and regular flashes of nipple would be unavoidable. There were shiny blue hotpants, barely larger than the average bikini bottom. I felt positive they'd be tight enough to guarantee camel-toe. And on the floor beneath, spiked blue strapped heels.
Draped on the other hanger were gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt, clearly at least a size too big. Underneath, plain flat sandals.
My first real choice about how to respond to the changes. That hotpants-and-t-shirt combo was ridiculous - but also ridiculously tempting. Guys would stare, and get interested, and want to do all kinds of things to my body. Hot sexy yummy things...
It cost me more than I could have imagined to put on the sweats. They hid my shape, made me look frumpy and unavailable. The sandals wouldn't add any extra sway to my hips. It felt so wrong. Like giving up a Maserati for a rusty Chevelle.
I stepped out the door and looked back and forth down the hall. A different one from Collette's, but the same area. No one visible for the present. Apparently I was in room 204. Hesitantly I stepped forward and knocked on 205.
"Just a sec!" I heard from inside. A few seconds later, the door pulled back to reveal Melissa. She wore heels and panties... and nothing else.
She saw my outfit and rolled her eyes with a little grin. Her posture shifted, no longer angling for maximum display.
"Oh, hey, it's you. C'mon in," she said, friendly enough, as she stepped out of the way. I followed her in. Her front room looked like a young woman's first place after leaving home. Ikea furniture, a few stuffed animals on the bed. A curtain hung in front of the hallway, subtly separating the space, implying maybe a closet or something. It made the suite seem smaller.
The bed was rumpled, though, and frilly underthings lay scattered around. I recognized the lingerie from last night. She saw my gaze and shrugged with a smile. "Yeah, the maids come after lunch for the night girls."
She was opening up the refrigerator. "You hungry? I don't have much here, sorry. Maybe some yogurt?"
"Uh... not right now." I paused, then asked, "What... um, what did Gerry tell you about me?"
She looked at me with a neutral expression. "Well, I know you were the guy I sent Collette after last night. He said you were trying to get this place shut down."
My own expression had gone neutral, too. "I was just investigating. It's what I do."
She shrugged. "He said we should call you Marci."
My jaw clenched. "Did he, now." I took a breath. "What else did he say?"
"I'm supposed to show you the ropes. And show you around," she said, deadpan.
"Hah," I said, mirthlessly but without heat, showing I got the joke. Then I asked, "Does he do this with everyone who inconveniences him?"
"Nah, this is kind of special. You're only, like, the third guy who's, uh... 'joined up'."
"Drafted. Not joined," I bit out.
"Hey, I didn't mean anything."
I made myself settle down. This wasn't her fault. In fact, she was probably just as trapped as I was. "Sorry. It's been kind of a rough morning."
She chuckled once. "I bet." She tried again. "Sure you don't want anything to eat? Even some toast?"
There was no reason to refuse, and I might as well not antagonize her. "Okay, yeah. Got peanut butter?"
"I got strawberry jelly."
After we literally broke bread together, I felt some tension subside. So I decided to risk probing. "You're not as... effervescent as you were last night."
She scoffed and flicked her fingers. "I ain't trying to get in your pants anymore. No offense."
"None taken," I said, shaking my head as if to say, 'who would think it?'
That got a smile. "For my looks," she elaborated, "cheerful, maybe ditzy works best. We each have our own style." A wink. "Collette's sure worked on you."
I couldn't deny it. I opened my hand, as if to say 'Touché'.
She cocked her head to the side, looked me over. "Man, the hair-fetish guys are gonna be all over you. You're gonna knock 'em dead."
I saw in her eyes how she relished the thought. Just like part of me did now, too. It confirmed my deduction - all of Gerry's Girls had the same fetish.
Despite myself, despite my anger, I had to admit Gerry had achieved a measure of the 'elegance' he said he aimed for. What could be more perfect for a place like this? The whole point was to turn men on. And every girl here was passionately devoted to exactly that...
"No thanks," I said, striving to sound determined and not regretful.
"Okay," she said, non-committal.
After a beat, I asked, "How did you get mixed up in all this?"
She nodded, very slowly, and gave me a thoughtful look. "I was hooking in Vegas. I'd just been busted, third strike. And my pimp didn't bail me out. I had to call another girl to pull money from my stash. She got me out... and stole the rest."
"Damn," I said. I'd heard stories like this before. Things can get pretty cutthroat on the fringes of the law.
"Gerry found me sitting in a McDonald's, flat broke, tired, and pissed. And I had the clap again. My junk was on fire. He made me an offer. And proved he could do it by curing me, just like that." She shrugged. "I signed up and now I look like this. I been making good money and having fun every night since."
Well. That was... interesting. Some of the girls weren't forced? At least at first. That meant I might not be able to count on as much help as I'd been expecting.
Hit it from the side. "What do you think now?"
"I never came once before I got here." She looked me dead in the eyes. "My dad and my uncle molested me since I was eight years old. Sex was always something I did to survive. It never felt good." She held my gaze, a challenge. "When I leave, I'm gonna be in a hot body, with money, and I'll be able to be with a guy I love and not hate him for his dick."
I didn't know what to say to that. Except... "Leave?"
She leaned back in her chair, calming down. "Yeah, this ain't a permanent thing. Gerry doesn't try to own us. We get paid good, even a frickin' 401k. One girl left already. Put in a year and now she can have kids. She couldn't before. She brought her baby girl for a visit a couple weeks ago."
Great. Not only could I not expect allies, but Gerry's Girls wouldn't appreciate threats to Gerry's Place. This kept getting better.
We put the dishes away as there came a knock at the door. Melissa let in a pair of maids that started cleaning the room. She turned to me and said, "Ready for, like, 'orientation'?"
"I guess," I replied.
When we got to the door, she put a hand on my shoulder and said, "You sure you don't wanna brush out your hair? Just a little?" The idea was profoundly tempting. After all, the better I looked, the more chance to attract and excite guys. I saw in her eyes that she wanted me to look good too. I grasped why - she wanted guys to be turned on, and it didn't much matter who got them there.
Nevertheless... "No thanks," I said again.
"Ok," she said, with an 'on your head be it' tone.
She led me down the hall, towards the back. I was going to get a guided tour of the areas I'd wanted to investigate last night. Under circumstances I'd never conceived of. We came around a corner and I almost tripped.
A beautiful girl - maybe Caribbean, rich cafe-au-lait skin - led a customer toward her room. She held one of his hands and walked in front just a bit, every few steps sending a smoky glance his way. The guy seemed hypnotized by her; especially her hips as they flowed along in a sexy rhythm.
He was kinda thick and muscled, but short. That didn't seem relevant, though. I was fascinated by his manner, poleaxed with lust by his lust. I only came back to myself once they went in the room and closed the door.
Melissa had a knowing smile. "Never gets old." I don't think she meant it to be as discouraging as it sounded to me.
We rode the elevator down. She explained something of how things worked here. All the chefs and line cooks in back, and the maids and janitors that cleaned up, were female. "A guy working here would never get anything done. Besides girls - he'd get a lot of those done."
I frowned. "Wait, what about the security guys?" I caught myself speculating about how to get one alone. Fuck.
"Oh, don't even bother. Gerry's got a deal with them. So long as they work here, they're asexual."
My eyes must have gotten wide, because she laughed. "No, they still got the equipment! They just got zero urge to use it, that's all." She shrugged. "It keeps us from messing with them, and the other way around."
I couldn't guess what I'd have to be paid to give up my sex drive, even temporarily.
Gerry sometimes had to pay a little more, look a little harder for help, she said. Especially because the women were expected to be discreet and not gossip about what they saw. I'd already run into that when I'd been digging before; it had been frustrating at times.
But discretion has its limits, of course. "We're not supposed to talk about the ring in front of anyone who doesn't know already. That's Gerry's Girls, security, and one or two others, I'll let you know." The elevator door opened.
The basement level had a gym, a salon, a wardrobe department, a couple of conference rooms, and a dance studio. They were clean and well-maintained, more functional than decorative. Melissa glanced at the hair on my head again, then sighed. She led me past the salon to the studio.
Melissa called over to the woman leading two gorgeous, less-than-one-quarter-dressed Latinas through a very dirty bump-n-grind. "Hey Ms. Ep! Got some fresh meat for ya!"
She spoke to the girls for a few moments, then sent them on their way and came over to where we stood. She seemed to be in her mid-thirties, and was dressed conventionally for a dance instructor - form-fitting, not fetish, tights. "Hello, dear! I'm Ms. Epstein. And you are?"
My real name was of no utility here. "I guess I'm Marci."
"Well," she said, giving a sharp glance at Melissa, "you can call me Ms. Ep. Everybody does."
"Pleased to meet you." I was trying to be as polite as possible. She was good-looking, and in excellent shape, but not at the level of a Gerry's Girl. So I wanted to peg her as a collaborator. But Melissa had taught me that I had to check my assumptions. So... "What brings you here?" I was upset enough that it still came out as a challenge.
First she tried to examine my body, but the sweats defeated her. She made a sidelong look at Melissa, who nodded. It barely took a second. She waved at her right leg. "You see this knee? I tore the ACL, ripped it right in half. Ended my career. Then Gerry found me." She dropped down, left leg straight behind her and right knee folded double. Then she shot up into a graceful pirouette.
She came to a halt facing me. "In a couple years I can go back to dancing. With enough money to start my own dance company, if I'm careful."
Gerry knew how to pick personnel - and motivate them, it seemed. Then again, he could read minds...
Her head tilted to one side as she looked me up and down. "Hmm. That hair... we can work it into your routine, make it work for you. Swirl it around, use it to hide and show things. We'll go big on the heels, shape your legs and ass."
Part of me was furious. But in my mind I could kind of see what she was going for. I had to agree, it'd be stunning, glamorous. It'd drive guys wild. And that got my heart racing.
Ms. Ep pointed. "Get those sweats off, please. Let me see what you're working with." At my dismayed look, she said, "Oh, come on. Just us girls here. Whatever's new, you don't have anything I haven't seen before."
Melissa spoke up. "It's more what she doesn't have. Anymore." I glared at her. She wasn't affected.
Ms. Ep's eyebrows lifted. "Really?" She shrugged. "Oh, well, the last one worked out nicely."
Melissa chuckled. "She worked him out pretty nicely last night."
Both of them laughed at my speechless astonishment. That hot little number was a man? Or, had been? "Bullshit," I declared, bristling.
Melissa spread her arms, palms up, apologetic... but still grinning. "Nah, she got... recruited in July."
Now I wasn't just disturbed, I was horrified. Sam? 'Collette' was Sam?! Oh, shit... that thing Gerry had said about 'her background showing'...
"I... I need to sit down."
Looking concerned, Ms. Ep said, "Of course, dear, come over here..." She led me to a folding chair which I dropped into.
They only gave me a minute or so, whispering to each other a few steps away. I had time to accumulate a lot of worry and despair. Sam had been portly, and balding, and the hair that was left was brown. He'd been mostly German-American, and couldn't do accents - French or otherwise. If he could be so throughly remade...
They struck at a low point, I think by coincidence, when my defenses were weakest. "C'mon, honey, calm down. It'll be okay. I just want to see what you look like under that mess." Before I knew it I was standing with my arms up and Ms. Ep was pulling the sweatshirt over my head, and hair. And then Melissa's fingers hooked the waistband and pulled down the pants.
I stood naked, feeling very vulnerable. But Ms. Ep had some experience with Gerry's Girls. She knew how to motivate them. "Oh, Mel, just look at those tits! Her nipples are so cute! She's gonna be pop-u-lar!"
Those nipples were poking out in response to the idea. Melissa said, "Turn around, show us your ass!"
Hesitantly, I did. Again I had to move the hair so it could be seen. "Oooooh," she cooed, "apple-bottom! That'll get 'em sprung!" Her hand made the 'stroking' motion at her crotch, which made me picture a guy doing that.
Ms. Ep made an assenting "Mmm". Then she said, "Lean forward a bit, like this. Yes, let your hair hang over them. Just like that." She waved at the mirror across the room. "See? Guys love that stuff. Imagine a guy sitting in front of you, that's what he sees."
I was getting wet as she painted a verbal picture of an audience of men, and talked me through poses. Then she started a little music and had me try some dance moves. I was lost in fantasy, enticing a crowd of guys who were getting more and more aroused... soon they wouldn't be able to hold back anymore, and there would be a gangbang...
The music stopped. "Sorry, Marci, you're gonna need at least a month before you can be up on stage. Maybe two."
"But... but..." Damn it, was I disappointed?
Ms. Ep was sympathetic, but firm. "Have you danced before?"
"Well, no, but..."
"Look, you come here every morning for practice and you might make backup dancer before then."
My mouth opened and closed. I didn't know what to say. Melissa stepped in at that point. "We gotta get going, Marci."
I looked around for my sweats, unsuccessfully. "I ditched 'em. I got you something better," she said. I hadn't even noticed her sneaking away as I danced. She supplied me some excessively lacy and narrow white panties, and then an abbreviated white dress that was more like a corset with a fringe attached at the waistline. They were about as far from masculine as clothing could get, and I only put them on because the alternative - running around naked - was worse. Probably.
I did not, at the time, know enough to wonder how she'd judged my size so well.
To her obvious disappointment, I carried the heels in one hand and went barefoot. But she soldiered on. "C'mon, I'm done looking at that hair." She pulled me toward the salon.
We had to step aside for a glorious Japanese woman walking out. She looked, unsurprisingly, like she'd just stepped out of the salon - perfect makeup, hair done just so. She was wearing something like a latex kimono, so tight it might have been shrink-wrapped on. "Hey, Mel!" she said.
"Lookin' good, Reika!" she called back, and led me in.
The hairstylists had very mixed reactions to me. A combination of happy artistic contemplation of having such a canvas to work with - along with irritation, even contempt, at how I'd treated it.
Soon I was sitting in chair, while one woman tortured my scalp with a hairbrush as another tackled my hands. Melissa left to take care of some other business, promising to come back for me.
To distract myself, and at least gesture in the direction of gathering intel, I struck up a conversation with the girl in the next chair. I recognized her ethnicity from the many Thai 'massage' joints I had tailed men to, looking for a 'happy ending'.
I opened with, "What's your name?"
After a pause, she said, "Me name Anong." A very thick accent. "Mean, 'beautiful woman'".
"Ah, that's really pretty. It suits you." And it did. Like all the rest, she was exceedingly sexy; in her case, taut and flexible and exotic. "I'm Marci." I paused myself, debating whether to protest about the paints being applied to my nails. I decided it wasn't the hill I wanted to die on. "How did Gerry find you? He get out to Thailand much?"
In a perfectly American accent, she said, "Nope." She giggled at my face. "I'm from Idaho, can you believe it?"
I goggled for a moment; I deduced she probably wasn't of anything resembling Thai descent. "You sure got me! I had no idea."
"You should see how some guys get off when I babble in Thai while they're fucking me. I've been listening to tapes and watching Thai soap operas just to make sure I get the accent right."
I could see that happening. All too well, I wriggled in my chair. I got a rebuke from the hairdresser, who'd made a dispiriting amount of progress on combing out what I still thought of as "the hair".
Anong was speaking. "I heard there was a new girl. Love the hair, that's gonna be sick. Where are you from?"
"Las Vegas. But, um..." I hesitated - I didn't want to reveal what Gerry had done to me - but it wouldn't be a secret for long. "...I didn't expect to be here."
She squinted at me, puzzled.
"I had the same job as Collette," I told her. That got through.
"Holy shit! You were..." She stopped herself, shifting her eyes toward the attendants.
"A private investigator," I finished, with a half-hearted grin. The stylist started applying various substances to the hair. I felt like nothing so much as a Formula 1 racer in a pit-stop, getting maintained.
She got quiet for a time, processing my news. As the beauticians switched to my feet, though, Anong began to describe what was, for the sex industry, a shockingly fair profit-sharing arrangement. Gerry was planning to build wealth long-term, it seemed, not a get-rich-quick scheme. Then again - bank manager.
Anong stuck around even after she was done. And when the hairdresser grasped how little I knew about hair care, Anong stepped in and promised to explain things to me. Melissa hadn't returned, so she took me aside so we could talk about restricted subjects.
She worked up to it, though. "My family is Scots-Irish. Gerry made me like this. I used to be two hundred eighty pounds, and covered in splotchy freckles."
She was less than a buck ten now, and Scots-Irish was the very last guess I would make for her ancestry. I blinked. "Hey, is Reika really Japanese?"
"Oh, sure. But she was almost sixty years old with a club foot before Gerry."
Body deformity was a really major issue in Japanese culture. I was beginning to see how Gerry could find willing takers.
"I've seen what that ring can do, but -" Anong shook her head "- you were a guy?!"
"And you were a whale," I snapped. Immediately I knew I'd made a mistake.
"Well fuck you very much, bitch!" she said, turning away. The salon girls gave us a look.
"Wait, I'm sorry..." I said, penitent. "This is kinda fucking up my world. But I'm pissed at Gerry, not you. I'm sorry."
She kept looking at the wall for a second, then glanced my way. After a couple more seconds, she said - still frosty, but not completely hostile - "What happened?"
I told her the story. I started to talk about Collette and me... but we both found that derailing to our train of thought, so I jumped to the drugging. She fought not to laugh, and nearly succeeded. Then the confrontation in the office, and...
She looked amazed. That Gerry could be ruthless? "So you didn't get to pick anything?"
I shrugged. "I just woke up like this."
"Wow," she blinked. "Well, even if you're stuck for a bit, you really are super-sexy. And it's a pretty sweet deal here."
"Free abortions and penicillin, right?" I quipped darkly.
"Nah, we don't get pregnant, and we can't catch anything. Gerry's smart, he took care of it." She smiled. "I ain't been sick once, not even a cold, since I joined."
Nothing to scare me away from men. Lovely. Though not getting pregnant was hard to be sad about. Except there was a detested new part of me that speculated about guys with a pregnancy kink...
Melissa dropped me off in my room. The girls worked six days a week, with a day off. There were two shifts, that overlapped. Noon to 8 p.m., and six p.m. to two a.m. - unless a client made special arrangements for you. I was supposed to start work at six tonight, start my 'training'.
She told me how to order food from the kitchen. Later, I could send out for groceries, make my own meals. Apparently Gerry's Girls could go out and shop on their own, but seldom chose to. I'd wondered about that before, in my research. Now I understood better.
I spent the next couple hours pondering my options. I didn't have many. Escape was out. I couldn't leave until Gerry knew I wouldn't be a threat. And I couldn't fool him about the rage I felt. Because if I ran away... I pictured my daughter Amy working here. I could not risk it. In these days of automatic bill payments, my rent and utilities and even child support would keep going for well past the month this would take.
So I had to stay here. That left two choices - sit in my room until the next new moon, or go out and work as a Gerry's Girl.
Defiance was probably smartest, considering how I'd already been acting today. It would prevent me from learning anything, though. It would likely alienate the girls. And it might inspire Gerry to get even more creative.
I opened the closet door and gazed at the scraps of cloth. Damn me, I wanted to know what I'd look like in them. But if I put them on, I wouldn't be able to stop at just looking in the mirror. I'd head down to the room behind the hostess desk, and I'd be assigned a girl to follow around.
And guys would look at me, and get aroused. And I'd enjoy it. I wouldn't be able to help it. And I'd keep wanting more of it...
The damndest thing about this new turn-on Gerry had foisted on me was that it didn't feel forced. Long ago, when my balls dropped and I discovered what the deal was about girls, it had been new and confusing. Yet it hadn't been an imposition. It was like I finally noticed something about breasts and hips and legs and lips that I hadn't picked up on before.
Maddeningly, this was the same way. It was beyond uncomfortable, but I couldn't help getting turned on by the idea of guys getting turned on. Just... all that urgency...
Like I said, I spent a couple hours running in loops in my head.
There was a back hall to get to the 'staging area'. I passed some other girls who looked at me and muttered to each other. Not precisely hostile, but I was clearly a person of note, perhaps concern. I stepped into the side room and was almost overwhelmed. A lot of scantily-clad beauty concentrated in a small space. At least Anong waved at me. And I didn't see Collette, thank God; I had no idea how I'd react to her now.
A woman stood with a clipboard. She was encased in a slightly more sedate dress than the other girls - which is to say, skintight and thin and short but didn't actually expose her nipples or crotch. The hostess from last night had been dressed in a similar way.
She stepped over to me. "You are Marci, right?" She had a slight Russian accent; I nodded. "I'm Vena." I was almost getting used to being evaluated up-and-down the way she did then. God knew the guys would be doing it soon enough.
At that thought, my nipples perked up. I think she noticed. Hard to miss in the t-shirt. Anyway, she called out, "Diana, come over here!" As the woman approached, Vena told me, "We'll hook you up with Diana. Just go with her and do what she says."
I looked up, and up, at Diana. 'Statuesque' was a lot more imposing now that I was smaller. Six feet, and in serious shape. Not a steroid case - she was female, with the appropriate amount of body fat for a woman. But I felt sure she could pick me up and throw me. Damn straight I'd do what she said.
She saw my dubious expression and smiled. "Relax. Some guys like being pushed around by an Amazon type." Suddenly her confidence drained away, she looked more intimidated than me. "And some like pushing one around." She was back to matter-of-fact in an instant. "I can do both." She winked. "I like both."
"Okay," I managed.
"For tonight, since I'm 'training' you, we'll play it straight. I'm in charge. You'll call me 'Mistress'." She gave me a once-over. "You're just a little shy. You're excited to be here, but kinda scared too. But the guys make you so hot you can't help yourself." Vena nodded along.
I swallowed. The portrait she was painting would indeed be sexy. The guys would love it... Suddenly I wished I'd chosen the defiant path. This was too much. I wanted it too much. I couldn't trust myself to -
But Diana, with a look of mild exasperation, grabbed a little bundle from a pile on a shelf and pulled me out into the hall. The bundle was a makeup repair kit. She started doing my face, and worked to distract me by launching into a quick 'waitress intro' lecture. She didn't expect me to remember all of it, and I didn't, but I surprised her by memorizing the specials on the first try.
In a terrifyingly short time I was following her into the main room, holding an order pad in my hand.
And I came to a stop. It was overwhelming. I'd been trying not to fantasize about horny men all day - and failing - but I hadn't actually seen a male human, in person. Now they were all around me.
And I was going into heat.
Humans can't really smell pheromones. But I felt like I could, like the male perspiration I whiffed was redolent with lust. The excited undertone in their voices, the explicit catcalls, the roving eyes... My heartbeat was racing, my nipples were spiked, and I knew the hotpants were getting damp.
Diana seemed to have expected it, and motioned me to get moving again. I followed her to a table, but I was drawn magnetically to the guys sitting there. The way they scoped her, and me, sitting up straighter - I hoped their dicks were sitting up straight, too...
"Good evening, gentlemen! Welcome to Gerry's Place! I'm Diana, and this is my trainee, Marci. Say hello, Marci."
"Hi boys!" I said with true enthusiasm. All four of them were checking me out - the one in the baseball cap kept staring at my boobs. I smiled helplessly, and puffed out my chest more, grateful Ms. Ep had taught me some poses.
I asked for their drink orders. I had to ask a couple of them twice, I was so distracted by their ogling. Diana firmly kept me on-task. We went back to the bar to get the drinks. I strutted, almost high-stepping, in the hopes that they were watching. I looked back as we got to the swinging doors, and caught one of them looking. My smile was fixing to split my face.
We went through, and headed to give the orders to a bartender. I was almost out of breath. "Oh my God!" I said in wonder, knees shaking.
Diana just smirked. But her nipples were denting her dress, too. I had just enough time to remember that I shouldn't be so excited before we got the drinks and walked back out through the service door to the main floor.
But my shame and anger and even fear couldn't last in that environment. I had just as much fun taking their drinks back, and getting their food orders. On the way I watched guys flirting with waitresses and hooting at dancers with the same interest I'd paid to the girls the night before. And then we got a second table to serve.
Carrying and handing out the food had its own rewards. I accidentally handed one guy the wrong stuff and got a stern lecture from Diana. "Sorry, Mistress," I apologized, head hanging, heels together, butt sticking out as I bowed to her. I swear I saw one guys' ears twitch with my half-lidded eyes.
As we started back things took a twist. "'Scuse me," one guy said. We turned around. "There's a hair on my fries."
I looked down. A very long auburn strand trailed from the plate to hang off the edge of the table. Before I could say anything, Diana spoke up. "I'm very sorry, sir. Marci, you need to be more careful!"
It helped that she called me 'Marci'. Nothing I did here had anything to do with my real identity. It was Marci doing this stuff, not Mr. Bordreaux.
I still hated myself a little for playing along, though. I thought I knew what kind of scene she was going for. Flustered, nervous: "I'm sorry, Mistress, really, I didn't mean to..." The way the guys were eating it up got me so hot...
She interrupted me. "Quiet, girl." She turned to the man. "Sir, while I get you some new fries, Marci here will comp you under the table."
My gasp, and the startled expression on my face, was entirely genuine and unplanned. I just assumed - or maybe had just told myself - they wouldn't have new girls actually do stuff with guys the first night. If it had been calculated to the millimeter, though, it could not have been more perfect to turn them on. They laughed so hard.
I shot Diana a look, and before I could say anything she said, "Maybe this will teach you to watch what you're doing!" and pushed down on my shoulder. A blowjob? Sucking and licking his... prick... until it...
My resistance was a halfhearted, feeble thing. I understood how little I was fighting it when I was on my knees lifting up the tablecloth, and one of the guys said, "Miss? You want your pad?"
That got another big laugh. My face burned... but I ducked under there anyway.
On some level, in some corner of my brain, I was humiliated and raging. But it was almost disconnected from me. Instead, pushing between male legs under a strip club table, I felt like a little kid squeezing through a closet to fabled Narnia.
There he was! I unhooked his belt, undid the waist button, ran down the zipper. I knew what his pants were covering, and I needed to see it. He was mostly hard already, and hairy, and incredible. I draped my long hair to rub over his legs to give him extra sensation and pursed my lips over the end of his cock, swirling my tongue around.
All my senses were engaged, and on overdrive. The taste of his cock, the close-up sight of his stomach and legs, the smells, the sound of his panting and the ribbing of his friends, the feel of soft skin sliding around a stiff center... I was hooked, I was delighted, I wanted all of it and more.
Before long I was deep-throating him. It wasn't even a conscious decision; I just knew from experience how good that felt, and I needed him to feel good. One of my hands was gently cupping and fondling his balls, and the other was rubbing, almost tickling, the underside of his leg.
"Fuuuuuuuck..." I heard him grunt. "That little girl knows how to suck."
My nipples were hard, my clit was engorged, my channel was dripping. I wasn't really aware of all that, exactly. I was lost in sensation; I just knew I was turned all the way on. Hearing the tension in his voice was as sexy as the words. I moaned around his dick, hoping the sound would help excite him more.
He came, and it never crossed my mind not to swallow his load. I wanted him to get the maximum pleasure, because I was coming too, and it was like his pleasure was driving mine. If I pulled away he wouldn't be getting friction and pressure!
He deflated most of the way before I finally let him out of my mouth, and slid his pants back up under the table. As I crawled out, it felt like my body was fizzing with pleasure.
The receipt of the comp was smiling broadly. "Are you satisfied, sir?" Diana asked him, to all appearances unironically.
"Hell, yes!" he said.
One of his buddies piped in, "Could I have a hair, missy?" My face flushed even brighter at the laughter, but I had to fight the urge not to take him literally so I could do it again, right away.
We circulated among the tables, flirting outrageously. Diana unobtrusively helped me with the mechanics of carrying food around and what the table numbers were.
Her flirting help, on the other hand, was quite obtrusive. One guy smiled at my top and cracked, "It's not fair, you teasing us with that shirt."
Diana said, sternly, "You're absolutely right, sir. Marci, show them your boobs!"
With what felt like a permanent blush, I pulled up my scrap of a shirt. Not that my nipples hadn't been practically cutting through the cloth already. It still felt so weird having these... masses hanging off my chest. But the way the guys stared and hooted almost reconciled me to them for the moment.
A bit later, as we checked on the first table, a bearded guy in a Harley Davidson t-shirt said, "Honey, Jake here talked up your mouth so much, I think I gotta try it." He waved at my first under-the-table recipient.
Diana jumped in. "Of course, sir. Marci, do a good job, now! No slacking!" Meekly, I slid past the tablecloth again. It was even more fun this time. Partly because I was so far past fighting the feelings, or even shame, that I just let myself go. And partly because paying for it proved he really wanted it.
The new guy agreed I had a genuine talent when I came back up for air. Diana told me - in front of them - that I was a good girl, and reminded me to thank them for coming out to Gerry's Place.
The night flew by. I saw everything in a new light; it was much more the girls preying on the guys than the other way around. Harvesting their lust like a trapper collecting pelts. And with how sexy the girls looked, and acted... it was like hunting curious squirrels with an elephant gun. The men stood no chance.
We got a table of frat boys, and before we finished setting down their drink orders one of them sprang for a session in the back rooms with me. He was kind of a rich douchebro, and I felt some contempt for him... but it didn't make any difference. After what I'd already been doing, after being in a state of nonstop arousal for a few hours, I just had no resistance. I'd already blown two guys, and flashed my breasts and ass and pussy all over the place, right?
Diana took us to her room. "You'll need a firm hand with this one," she declared, giving me a doubtful look. Her place had a large, double-doored chest. A bed with iron headboard and footboard, suitable for attaching straps or chains to. A weight bench in the corner, a table with iron legs. No actual BDSM gear was visible as we entered, however. It was a space that could be quickly adapted to several different ambiances.
Which Diana proved as soon as she opened the chest. She handed the guy some chains with padded leather cuffs, and talked him through attaching me to the table. The lights dimmed as he did so. I acted nervous and hesitant, but curious despite myself - which was only about one-quarter an act. In what seemed a twinkling I was bent over the table, my feet spread wide, each ankle hooked to a table leg. My hands were strapped together, but dragged forward by another chain connected to the legs on the opposite side.
I think she didn't want to leave me a chance to back out on my first time. In truth, he seemed about as nervous as me. He was trying not to show it; pretending confidence and knowledge he clearly didn't have. But he was also finding the whole scene to be hot; Diana and I could both tell, and found that unspeakably hot.
I probably would have been more nervous, but I was pretty sure that (a) Diana wouldn't let anything too terrible happen, and (b) she could take this guy with one arm if he did try anything 'off the menu'. Plus, Anong had explained that the security guys kept watch on the rooms via hidden cameras. And since they couldn't take a prurient interest, they were quite attentive.
Anyway, there I was, ass and pussy exposed, the hair spread like a blanket across my back and the table, as he slipped a ball gag into my mouth and pulled it tight.
Diana had backed away and sat in a corner, out of our direct line of sight, continuing to guide him. "Touch her. Slowly, slide your hand along her side, up her back. Let her feel you're in control, that she can't stop you." He did so for a minute, and I whimpered. Then she said, "Touch her breasts, her pussy. No, don't push, just... tease. Assert a claim, that's all." When he slid a finger along my slit, I groaned and shook my head.
"Ah. Defiance. We can't have that. Take the paddle, spank her."
My eyes widened and I struggled as the wood slapped my tender backside.
"Not too hard! You want to correct her, guide her, not frighten her." The next slap was softer. "Yes, that's it.
You're encouraging her to submit, not punishing her. Let her learn that obedience brings pleasure. Teach her that you know best."
I moaned. I could hear his panting, he was lost in the moment. I could picture the bulge in his pants, straining to get out.
"Now, the plug. A little oil, and... there." It felt weird going in my ass, then I just had a feeling of fullness. But the way his hands shook, this had to be driving him bananas. I looked over my shoulder at him, moaning. His own eyes were full of wonder, and need.
"Take the feather. Tickle, tease. Compel her to experience sensation, to anticipate you." He played with it, and I twitched and giggled and jerked and moaned, playing up my reactions in a show for him.
"Probe now. Test her. Is she wet? Can you feel her strain, hear her breath come faster?" I was definitely wet, my nipples pressed against the table, inhaling and exhaling through my nose in heaving surges, knowing he was so on the edge. I flexed against my bonds, tensed my muscles.
"Now she's ready. Ready to be claimed, to give herself to you." A pause, then, urgent: "Take her."
I looked over my shoulder again, into his eyes, pleading. He was the one who was actually ready now, turgid and rampant as he desperately kicked off his pants. Diana had talked him into a frenzy. He pounced and plunged into me.
I was so tight for him, but sopping wet; I squeezed to make it tighter, grateful in the moment that Gerry had given me the right tools for the job. I wasn't even registering the sensations of penetration as pleasurable or uncomfortable. I wasn't doing anything but imagining how my pussy was making him feel.
In less than half a minute, he came. A typical girl would have been disappointed; in my experience hardly any women could get off that quick. An ordinary prostitute would have been pleased, her work over so soon. I wasn't normal, so I was already coming when he did. As I heard his frantic "Uuuuuuaaaah!" and felt him climax, pulsing in my tunnel, I just exploded. It was all so unbelievably sexy...
He thrusted, and shuddered, and pulled out, almost stumbling. I felt anxious for a heartbeat, but then I heard Diana murmuring in his ear, telling him to undo my chains. He did so - with, at first, shaking hands. As he left I tried to look dazed, and amazed at his performance. Anything to encourage him to come back and go again.
Once he closed the door, Diana led me into her bathroom, and got a wet washcloth. She showed me how to clean myself. I should have been disgusted, but in the afterglow of an intense orgasm I was more amused than anything. The semen was proof that a male orgasm had just happened, and I'd helped it along! It was almost empowering. A hell of a first time.
And it was only midnight! Two more hours, I knew I could get laid again. At least another blowjob.
At that thought, I had a moment of clarity. What the fuck was I thinking? I was cooperating with guys tying me up and spanking me and fucking me roughly from behind. Things had gotten completely out of control. The only rational course was to head back to my room and barricade the door shut...
What can I say? People are seldom rational about sex. That fact had informed a big part of my old job, for that matter. A few minutes later, after Diana touched up my makeup, I was following her back to the main room again.
And within twenty minutes, I got to fuck a guy on my own. Still in Diana's room, but she waited outside. I guess she knew I was hooked on hooking by that point.
We didn't bust out the toys. He almost carried me to the bed and started yanking off my clothes. He didn't even give me a chance to blow him or anything. He dropped his pants and got inside me with what can best be described as 'alacrity'. Not even the stupidest whore could have missed his urgency. Apparently I was a whore now, but I wasn't stupid, so did my best to mirror it. If passion was what he wanted, what would get him off, then I was happy to provide it.
For all that he started fast, he lasted longer than the douchebro. I had my eyes locked on his so I wasn't worried. He was savoring, enjoying himself, not stalling.
I'd had exactly two simultaneous orgasms in my life, both with my ex. If she hadn't been faking. To Gerry's Girls, though... the feel, or even the sight, of a guy coming... It is, if you'll pardon the phrase, magical. It's almost always enough to get us off, even if we just have.
In short, when he came, I came. Because he came.
He was just as cheerful, after, and gave me a big smooch before he left. Later I found out he left an extra tip on the bill, too. Then I went back out and got in another under-the-table before last call.
At the end of the shift, Diana dropped me off at my door. I was too tired to worry about much of anything. I just kicked off the heels, and pulled off the hotpants - I'd lost the t-shirt somewhere along the way - on the way to the bed. As I lay down, though, I couldn't help smiling. I'd never climaxed so much in my life, it felt like the end of a great workout - my body was tired but glowing. It was a weird combination of satisfaction and hunger; I was ready for sleep but anticipating more tomorrow. In moments I fell into a thoughtless, contented slumber.
I woke up still feeling good. I lay dozing for a time, just... happy. The only actual thought I had for a while was that I didn't have to get up immediately. Finally, though, I remembered why I didn't have to get up early and I sat up in bed.
I looked down at my breasts as the sheet fell away. At the hair. At the hotpants on the floor. On each, there were little streaks of dried cum. I saw every individual one distinctly, and I felt a chill. But each one sparked a sexy memory, too. I knew exactly when that sticky spot in the hair had gotten that way, and I felt my clit engorge a little.
Of course it bothered me, a lot. Yet, it was as if I couldn't actually feel depressed. My spirits would only get so low, and then it was like they bounced off a padded floor. I got up and got the water started, and discovered that long hair meant long showers. Then it took me about ten minutes to figure out how to wrap it in a towel so it wouldn't fall in my face. I didn't even attempt to dry it.
Melissa found me eating a breakfast delivered from the kitchen. It was all fruit and yogurt. She scoffed. "You don't gotta diet too much. Aerobics three times a week, and yoga on the off days. That's all you need, and you can have waffles or ice cream and still be skinny. Gerry's awesome like that."
I blushed, again. When I'd ordered, I'd suddenly been gripped with fear. I tried to tell myself that Gerry might get mad if I spoiled his handiwork. But really, I worried that I wouldn't be able to turn guys on anymore if I got fat.
She took me to the basement; our first stop was the salon, where the hair was beaten into submission and my face was done.
The work was prep for the next stop. One of the general-purpose rooms had been decorated up, with bright lights and cameras in place. They wanted to do a photo shoot, advertise me on the Gerry's Place website. Of course I'd looked it over during my investigation; it had a menu with most unusual options. Members could subscribe for monthly web content, or pre-order a number of special services.
The thought of guys being enticed by pictures and video of me - maybe even stroking off to it - got me hyped. I posed, and twisted, and jiggled, and did anything they asked. I came several times just from the images in my mind, even before they had me masturbate on camera. The only sad thing was the photographer was female.
They handed me a phone and showed me how to handle the social media stuff. Marci had her own Instagram and Twitter feeds, and several pictures were already posted there and on the main Gerry's Place feeds. They showed me samples of the comments and followers:
the-wet-pistol: Fuuuuuuuuuuuu....
homesick102: Dose titties! I needs a bite!
aint-broke: I'm gonna tear that ass UP!
dreamintheshade: my pants are tight
After, I was so jazzed that, God help me, I went to the studio and did some dance practice. Ms. Ep had me watch a couple of K-pop girl-band music videos, then walked me through some of the moves.
That all took up the morning. I found out Anong was just down the hall, in room 208. We had lunch and talked. I asked something I'd been wondering about.
"Melissa said I'm the third guy Gerry's turned into a girl. I know Collette, but who's the other one?" I wanted to know for many reasons. The possibility of an ally was one. The feasibility of resistance was another.
"Oh, that's Madison." She pulled up the website on her tablet and pointed.
I frowned. That little redhead, exhibitionistic even by Gerry's Girls standards? "Damn..."
"It's actually kind of sweet. She came here with some friends when she was still a guy. Heather got the feeling something was off, and called Gerry down. He saw how she really wanted to be a girl and offered her a deal."
So, probably not inclined to team up against Gerry. There had to be somebody here unsatisfied with the status quo. For that matter... "Do you ever regret signing up?"
Anong's sunny smile was not encouraging. "Nah, it's pretty great here."
"Don't you think it's... degrading?" Flashes of what I'd done last night - what I wanted to do tonight - passed through my mind. I had no faith my shame would keep me from showing up for work later...
She looked sympathetic. "I guess it must be pretty hard for you," she said, laying a hand on mine. "You didn't like guys before, right?"
At my glower, she waved her question away. She actually thought about it for a while. "I know I wouldn't have wanted to do all that stuff before." She shrugged, sheepishly. "I never wanted to be a total slut."
Anong looked almost haunted now. "I wanted to be pretty." She looked at me. "You got no clue what it's like to be a fat, ugly girl. The boys ignore you. Even if you let them fuck you they avoid you after. And girls... they're so mean."
I recognized her anger, and felt bad all over again about my 'whale' comment. She went on. "The pretty ones treat you like shit, and even the okay ones just keep you around to make them look better."
I probably looked shocked. She grimaced. "High school sucked for me. I wanted to kill myself a couple times. College was supposed to be better." Her hand was clutching mine. "It wasn't. So I did try to kill myself."
Now I was squeezing her hand. She paused, and said, "It's okay. I didn't take near enough pills." A sly look. "I mean, I was a whale." At my wince, she flashed me a quick, forgiving grin.
More cheerfully, she kept going. "Gerry found me after I was released. I was waiting for a bus to go home." A shrug. "Now I'm gorgeous. As good-looking as any girl here. And I'm making mad bank. And I've got friends. We're all on a team together, y'know?
Philosophically: "Maybe I do 'degrading' stuff now, but I have fun doing it." A pause. "Besides, it's not like
it's really me liking it. It's not my fault, just the spell."
I frowned down at the table, noticing the rationalization going on. "I'm just a smidge more conflicted." I inhaled, exhaled. "I don't think I even 'like guys' now. It's just... I can't help..." I trailed off.
After a pause, Anong said, diplomatically, "Well, it ain't gonna be forever. We gotta sign up for at least a year, and then we can 'retire'. There's barely any girls that left yet, but we can."
"Twenty-seven days," I said flatly.
She looked troubled. To shift topics, I brought up something I had to know. "So does Gerry... sample the goods? 'First fruits' and all that?"
Anong grinned. "Yeah. The first few girls, he did more. But now it's kind of a rule - once per girl." She put a hand on mine. "Not always the first night or anything. But they get a whole night with him." She developed a sly smile. "I think he kinda rests up before. He's not a young guy, and I wore him out when it was my turn."
On the one hand, that meant I would likely be doing something with him. I had conflicting emotions about that. On the other... "That's, um, awfully... restrained of him. Most pim... um, 'managers' don't... give the girls much of a choice.""
She laughed. "He makes exceptions. Some of the first girls, he's got kind of a relationship. The rest of us, maybe every so often, on a special occasion, or right before a girl retires. If he did any more, he'd be buried in girls all the time. I hear it was simpler when they were first starting up." Then she caught herself, and looked concerned. "Um... one thing, though. From what I hear, he, uh..." She swallowed. "He never did Madison, or Collette."
The uppermost emotion I felt was relief, to my relief. But that cursed new part of my brain felt sad. "Huh. Not so into girls who were guys, huh?"
"It's no big deal. I think Madison was a little hurt, but the rest of us girls don't care," she rushed to reassure me. "I mean, I've seen both of them in action. He's really missing out."
I managed a weak smile at that. I didn't take it as the encouragement she'd intended.
I was scared as I walked toward Gerry's office. No duh, right? Oddly, though, I wasn't as scared as I could have been. Because for most of my life, if was frightened, I had to pretend I wasn't. Especially in my job. In this case, though, I couldn't put on a front. Gerry could read my mind, know my emotional state exactly. So there was no point in worrying about my worry.
I knocked, and waited. "Come in, Marci," I heard. The voice came from back in the room; he'd checked who it was through the door. I filed the information away.
I entered, sniffing irritation at the name. He sat at his desk. I sat on the couch, right where I'd woken up, and said, "Any chance you could make 'Mr. Bordreaux' appropriate again?"
He tilted his head, evaluating me. "I think you have a pretty good idea now what I'm protecting. Even leaving aside my own autonomy, these girls could be badly exploited by the likes of your employer."
"Like they're not exploited now," I muttered, defensively.
He rolled his eyes. I felt embarrassed. That had been a poor bluff.
He knew as well as I did, I'd taken the job from Novinski even though I didn't like the guy at all. Refusing a job from him was a dicey proposition. He was Russian, and a human trafficker, and violent.
And besides, I knew I couldn't cure all the world's ills.
I'd never run into a prostitution operation that was all that much better. Some of the legal ones, maybe - but Gerry's had been too good to be true. He had to be forcing the girls, especially with how they seldom seemed to leave the facility.
Maybe the girls wouldn't be better off if Novinski took over, but I hadn't seen how they could be worse off.
Except, now I could. A magic ring changes the situation just a tiny bit. Frankly, Gerry was a hell of a lot more ethical about using it than most guys would be. Fuck, more than I probably would be.
Except there were other things that hadn't changed. "Novinski isn't going to stop. He's just getting started. If I don't report in, he'll start trying other things." I didn't bother elaborating. He could see them in my mind. "Even if I do report in, I can't stop him. Maybe slow him down a little, that's all." I left the implication unstated - if he changed me back now, I could help some. If he waited a month, I wouldn't be inclined to help at all.
It was frustrating to watch him dismiss what I had to say. "We have good security here; better than you might imagine. Cameras to record evidence. He won't find us unprepared."
I suddenly realized I was sitting in a pose that bordered on lewd - legs a bit spread, back up straight to display my new endowments. I wanted to kick myself. Although, he wasn't responding like the customers had. More discomfited than turned on. It was true - he didn't like the idea of fucking a former man. In some senses that was fortunate; it allowed me to stay focused.
Like on my frustration. "That's not going to be enough. This isn't a hostile takeover with stock options, these are bad motherfuckers." I had to make him understand.
"I suggest you visit the gym when one of my security detail is exercising. I have some 'bad motherfuckers' of my own." He sighed. "We're not going to convince each other today, I see. Run along, Marci. Perhaps we'll speak again in a week."
I stared at him for a beat, then got up, not saying a word. As I walked out the door, I realized I was a little disappointed. Gerry had seemed so formidable this morning. Now I saw that he had limitations and blind spots, like any man. I was still angry with him - but I could feel a little pity, too. I felt a lot more pity for the girls, and what awaited them.
At least I had an out. Three weeks, six days. With any luck, that would be before Novinski made any major moves.
I knocked on 310, and waited. I could tell someone was at the door, considering. Finally it opened.
"Hey, Sam," I said. "How's it hanging?"
Collette's smile was brittle. "Bonjour, Marci. Quelle surprise."
"You didn't think you could avoid me forever." It was a statement, not a question.
Her smile was a shade more amused now. "Non. I simply wanted to wait until after your first night."
Jaw clenched, I bit out, "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
"Encore?" she teased, but moved so I could pass.
"You can lose the accent," I snapped. The room was just as I remembered it. I kept having flashes of what we'd done in here, and finding them sexy for totally unexpected reasons. Unfortunately I couldn't confront her on my home ground.
"But the accent, it brings me pleasure!" She gave me a direct gaze. "Now you know how much."
That got to me, though I tried not to show it. I sat on a stool by the breakfast nook. My dignity was undercut by having to shift and pull hair out from under my butt.
Now that I knew what to look for, I thought I could see some traces of Sam. In her demeanor, her movements. Very few, though. She'd put effort into practicing this persona. Of course, now I knew just how motivating a stiff prick could be.
Not relevant right now. I went after the salient point. "You spotted me from the start. You could have warned me."
"But you were so cute, sniffing a ma chatte! How could I resist?" My fists clenched, and she relented. Serious at last, she asked, "Would you have believed me?"
"Fuck, no. But you didn't have to convince me. You didn't have to tell me shit. All you had to do was say my name. I'd have known I was blown." I forced myself not to be distracted by other ways to interpret 'blown'. "I'd have left, reported back that I was made." Dammit, again.
"I needed Gerry to see you. To find out what you knew." She leaned against the wall, looking down at me. "He wouldn't be back for hours." A highly jaundiced eye regarded me. "I'm sure you planned it that way, n'est-ce pas?"
I certainly had, but - keep her on the defensive. "And there was only one way to do that, right? You've really gone native."
The jab didn't sink as deep as I wanted. She was apparently past embarrassment about her sexual needs. But she knew I wasn't: "Diana says you went quite native last night." My skin flushed, despite my fury. "Yes, now you understand."
It was time to break out the heavy armament. "I'm not waiting around to be a target."
"Gerry has done well here. And you have seen by now he is not a monster." Her eyebrows lifted. "Novinski does not treat his girls so well, no?"
That struck home, but also wasn't relevant right now. "It can't last forever," I said. "You know that."
She stared fixedly at the wall. Not admitting I was right, but not able to deny it, either.
I drove on. "Gerry knows business. I have to admit, he's a smart one. But he learned business at a bank. He doesn't have the instincts for the kinds of risks in this field. He knows bank robberies, and he knows hostile business moves. Legal ones."
Collette nibbled her lip. She wouldn't meet my eyes.
"It's legal in Nevada, sure. So what? Even here, this kind of business gets attention from violent people. People who pay off cops. Who don't worry about bad publicity, or getting prosecuted."
"He's got the ring," she objected. Feebly.
"He has to travel, recruit. He can't just hole up here forever. Sure, he's got great bodyguards, but even they can't stop everything. And if he uses the ring in a situation like that, it won't stay secret. Fuck knows what happens then, but nothing good."
It wasn't news to her. She'd had the same thoughts, I could tell. I kept pressing. "Even if he did fort up here, they can switch to harassing customers. Vandalism. Arson."
She sighed. "Yes, trouble will come. But..." Even she couldn't come up with a happy way to end that sentence.
"When I don't report in, they'll escalate. I see it's been a good run, but it's coming to an end." I shook my head slowly. "And can you imagine what Novinski would do with that ring?"
"Then you should enjoy it while it lasts," Collette said with classic European fatalism. "I intend to."
Feeling a little fatalistic myself, I showed up for 'work' at six. Melissa had dropped off some clothes - pink panties and miniskirt, with a white tube top. The kind with no midriff, just a band around the breasts. Sparkly wedge pumps for the feet - excessively high-heeled, of course. It was a very 'teenager' ensemble.
I'd come close to staying in my room. But I made a critical mistake. I'd taken a picture of myself in the mirror, all dressed up, and posted it on Instagram. I looked for all the world like any young woman showing off her body, fishing for compliments. The crudely positive comments got me wet and my resistance melted away.
Tonight, a woman named Kristall was acting as hostess, and I was paired up with Vena. The hostess role was rotated every night, since the poor girl doing the job rarely got to fuck anybody.
Vena looked older than me, but her exact age was ambiguous. Again, Gerry had gone for versatility. She could play a career woman, or a housewife, or a MILF... and with me, she went for the latter. She also backed off on her accent.
By contrast I was encouraged to emphasize my youngish side, and she did my face in that vein. She slipped me some gum to chew, but warned me not to blow bubbles with it until I had more practice with lipstick. We became a sort of a mother-stepdaughter team.
It worked.
It still came across as 'training' me, but not in a BDSM sense. More in an 'older woman corrupting a younger woman' sense. And along the way, I did learn several things. We teamed up on an under-the-table and she showed me some advanced techniques, ones for two girls working together.
I know what you're probably thinking. How does a pushing-fifty, cynical private eye convincingly play a slutty teen girl... with less than a day of practice? Especially when he's chronologically older than the 'MILF' he's 'learning' from? Who isn't, physically, that much older than her 'stepdaughter' anyway?
You'd think the guys would see through it, feel something wrong. For that matter, did Gerry screen for acting talent, too? How could these random girls pull it off, night after night?
But we had a huge advantage. Our clients were men.
I mean, c'mon. When a sexy woman is telling a guy what he wants to hear, it becomes remarkably hard for him to let the voice of reason interrupt her. When that woman seems genuinely sexually excited to boot, he'll actively beat the voice of reason to death with a spiked club.
If we made a mistake or hit a false note, they'd refuse to notice, or rationalize it away. They wanted to believe, or at least pretend. And for the guys who didn't really care... in the end, they still wanted to get laid. It was delicious to work a guy up to a fever pitch, so we did our best. But even a standard ejaculation was still pretty nice as far as we were concerned.
Besides, Gerry's Girls put in a lot of effort. We practiced and shared techniques and supported each other. Look at Collette. I'd only seen 'sophisticated, worldly Collette'. That night, I got to see 'dirty, perverted Collette' in action, and later in the week 'innocently hedonistic Collette'.
But early on my second night, I was still far too enchanted with the guys at the tables to pay much attention to anything the other women were doing. And the guys were certainly paying attention to me and Vena.
She'd correct my posture or my smile, but unlike Diana she'd illustrate herself. 'Show by doing,' you might say. Since the guys got a double dose of sexy moves, they certainly weren't complaining. After all, there's a whole subgenre of porn devoted to 'threesomes with mother and daughter'.
So before long we were acting out that scene in Vena's room. It had some of the maturity mine lacked; slightly better furniture, styling. Like a career woman or wealthier housewife. Still, plenty of space for three or more people to get nasty. Which we did, under her instruction.
The guy was in his mid-thirties. Vena was giving a solid impression of a well-preserved woman in her early forties - which was a decade older than she'd looked when I'd met her half an hour ago. I'd swear she hadn't done anything special with her makeup, so it was all attitude and deportment. And maybe a shift in tone of voice and vocabulary. Either way it was impressive, and the right tack to take with the client.
I was acting nervous, but a slightly different 'nervous' than with Diana. With her I'd been anxious about pleasing my 'Mistress'. With Vena, I acted unsure about getting down with her and the guy. Not reluctant - I didn't hide that I was turned on, my prominent nipples made that an easy deduction anyway. Just... not sure if I should give in to my obvious desire. And maybe a little about how to give in.
She ordered me to help undress him. I did so inexpertly, like a girl who wasn't used to shirt buttons on the wrong side. And any reluctance I might have felt just shriveled up and died as soon as his semi-erect prick was revealed. At that point, I knew I would do just about anything to get him sprung.
So my nervousness was feigned as Vena undressed me in front of him. The halter-top slid up over my arms, and the hair.
"Such cute titties," she said, rubbing them, still amused. I could tell she was just playing to the audience; she wasn't really into girls. But since he wanted a little lesbian action in his threesome, she was glad to play along. My breath hitched as she stroked my stiff nipples. She dipped her head for a quick suckle.
Then she dropped the skirt past my hips and I stepped out of it.
"I'm not going to take your panties off," Vena said sternly. "That's your job. Besides, see how wet they are." I was blushing, but she was right. "Turn, show him your ass. Yes, like that. Now, pull them down. No, slowly! You've got to tease them some."
Now I was naked like him. "Time to do a real blowjob. No hiding under a table. He gets to see you."
So he sat on the edge of the bed and I got on my knees. Vena began to strip as I commenced eager but inexpert fellatio.
I kept stealing looks at Vena while I gobbled his crank. She was frowning in dissatisfaction; I made a guess about her intent and dropped my apparent skill level a notch. An almost-invisible nod confirmed it.
"Paah!" she exclaimed once she was nude, pushing me aside and taking my place. "Enough! Here." She pointed at the floor between her legs. "Lick my pussy, I know you practice with your girlfriends." I saw instantly where she was going and put on a shocked, guilty look. "Yes, I knew, silly girl. You want boys but you're too scared. Now you watch me handle a man instead of a little girl."
So while she knelt in front of him and commenced sucking, I got down under her crotch and started licking. He could look down past Vena moving her head in and out, and see the top of my head poking out between her thighs, staring wide-eyed at the blowjob above me.
Of course I thought she was sexy, too, and enjoyed going down, or in this case up, on her. Before, I would have loved it. Now... it wasn't at all unpleasant, but it didn't have the charge it should have. Not compared to that hard prick she was savoring. I was glad that the scene gave me an excuse to stare.
It didn't take him that long to come, which made both of us climax, too. He lay back on the bed, panting.
Vena stood, a wicked smirk blossoming. She lectured me as I rose. "You see, that is how you please a man.” She scoffed. "Boys won't last as long, though. No control."
Her satisfied eyes swept along the guy's body, who was sitting up. Then she turned to me. "Maybe you can use your hands better than your mouth. Get going."
I moved in tentatively, biting my lip. My nipples showed I was willing, but I gave her a look. "Should I wait, or..."
Again she scoffed. "No, no. This is a real man. He's got more in him." The client didn't look entirely convinced, but he let me get going. I took his member in hand and began to caress and stroke it.
Vena gave me running advice, and even illustrated for me once or twice. It took a little under ten minutes, but he manage another solid erection. I made sure to seem impressed.
I leaned in to suck him again, but got spanked by my "stepmother". "Get up on him," she scolded. "You need to see what a real stud is like. You'll never go back to girls."
So he stayed on his back and I straddled him, pumping my hips up and down, getting progressively more impassioned. Lost in sensation.
Eventually Vena settled her pussy onto his face, facing me. Once he couldn't see us, she gave me a knowing, amused look. Her tone of voice didn't change, though. Still instructing: "Bounce that cute little tushie! Boys like some energy."
We kissed, making slurping noises he could hear. Our expressions were amused and knowing - not what he would picture at all - but we enjoyed every grunt and pant that he made, and when he came inside me it was just delightful.
We acted out similar scenes twice more that night, and it worked just as well each time.
The hair woke me up early. It was covering my nose and mouth. I tried to brush it away... but it wasn't bedsheets, it was attached to me.
Once I could breathe, I got up and went into the kitchen, which I had stocked with one box of cereal and a small carton of milk. I ate slowly, sitting naked in the nook, and tried to sort through my thoughts.
I felt ashamed of what I'd done, at my inability to stop myself. It was disturbing, the acts I was willing - eager - to perform when my motor was all revved up. Although, people did crazy things for sex all the time. Maybe my "self-control" had really just been vanilla tastes, not virtue of my own.
Either way, like yesterday I still didn't feel as depressed as I would have expected. Endorphins from the orgasms, maybe. I'd had plenty last night.
To keep myself from dwelling on the cause of those orgasms, I went and took a shower. Then I spent almost ninety minutes brushing and drying the hair. I knew it couldn't be true, but I swear it felt ten pounds heavier when wet. I eventually wrestled it into a sloppy ponytail, and was just wondering if I should put on my dirty clothes from last night when there came a knock at my door.
I felt tempted to just fling open the door, the way Melissa had. Just in case I could surprise a guy on the other side with my nakedness. But I still felt vulnerable, being smaller and weaker than what I'd been used to.
So I peeked through the little lens in the door. Melissa, and some other women, carrying bundles. "Come on, let us in!" she called.
I did, and discovered my clothing problem was resolved. The lack of them, anyway.
A ridiculous number of items fit in those bundles. Or maybe not so ridiculous; it helped that everything was thin and skimpy. Skirts, shorts, tights, leggings. Blouses, t-shirts, tube tops, halter tops. Dresses. And as much lingerie as the rest of the stuff, combined.
And then they opened up the last bundle, laughing at my expression. The costumes in there were made of improbable materials and would not be legal in public. The girly dresser started getting loaded with the spoils, over my protests. "I'm not gonna need all this stuff! I'm not staying!"
"Never hurts to have options," Melissa said with a sly grin.
They left one drawer empty, and laughed again at my puzzlement. Before I could ask for clarification, a knock came at the door. One of the seamstresses opened it, and Anong came in. "Hey! You didn't say you were getting your stuff today!"
"She didn't know," Melissa said.
"I. Don't. Need. This. Crap.” I reiterated.
Anong had explored an open drawer and was holding up a pair of knee-high white stockings with little bows at the top. "But you'd look super cute in these!"
Another lady displayed a lacy white bra. "They'll go nicely with this!"
"Oooh, yeah, and maybe some butterfly clips in your hair." Melissa had a faraway look as she pawed through a drawer. "And no panties."
The mental picture they were conjuring was threatening to undermine my conviction. "Look, people, thanks and all, but..."
"Oh, c'mon, let's just try some stuff out," Anong wheedled. "You change back, you'll never get to see what it's like..."
"Can't you just see the guys drooling if you were wearing this?" Melissa had found fishnet stockings with pink panties, and a pink mesh top that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The thing was, I could see them drooling. And groping. And sliding a hand down the front to cup my pussy as their eyes got that focused look...
Anong was searching another drawer. "Hey, what about these?" Rainbow stockings, black panties, a black bra. Would look juvenile, except for how developed my body was. That would make the combination look sexy.
So, before long I was putting on - and being coached on how to entertainingly get out of - a bunch of different clothes. And even the part of me that hated that I was wearing them still couldn't help but enjoy what I saw in the mirror. The new kinky me was getting eager to test some of the looks in practice.
"When did she go in for a fitting, anyway?" Anong asked Melissa while I was pulling up a gauzy skirt.
Actually, that was a good question, which I should have thought of. I didn't know all that much about women's clothes, but I knew the tolerances were a lot tighter. How'd they know my exact size? I stopped and looked at Melissa, waiting.
"She didn't," Melissa said to Anong, not explicitly paying attention to me. "We measured her the first night, while Gerry had her knocked out."
"Oh, okay," Anong said with a remarkable lack of concern.
I snorted and went back to the fashion show. It was all in line with the lack of personal boundaries I'd noticed around here. Although, Gerry's Girls wouldn't tend to have - or need - such boundaries. In fact, that would interfere with their primary function.
The clothiers and Melissa left after a while. Anong and I wound up having lunch in my room, then she took me downstairs. We were heading for the salon, but to put off dealing with the hair, I took a side trip into the dance studio for more practice. Anong and I did more girl-band moves; seeing how I couldn't quite sync up with her forced me to admit that Ms. Ep was right. I did need practice before I was up to the dancing standards at Gerry's Place.
I got another remedial lesson in hair care, but the ladies decided to have fun - note I didn't say I had fun - and braid things into two long pigtails on either side of my head, with some multicolored ribbons woven in. To my irritation, I couldn't help but picture how they'd go with those rainbow stockings and black undies.
Sure enough, I couldn't convince myself to go on strike that night. And sure enough, I was wearing the rainbow stuff. The hair ribbons just matched so well.
I didn't get assigned a girl to work with. My 'probation' was over. It felt weird to be doing this all on my own; I couldn't blame my behavior on being pushed by another Gerry's Girl. Not weird enough to stop, however. By this point I was pretty sure our hormone levels were exceptionally high.
Anong greeted me warmly. "Hey, babe! Lookin' fiiiine!" she said, giving me that standoffish hug women did when they didn't want to smear their makeup.
"Back atcha," I said. She had on a blue and yellow, translucent silken ensemble that was definitely Asian-inspired, but covered rather less skin than actual street fashions ever did. Instead of a little stud on one side of her nose, she had a ring with a chain that joined it to her left earring. What a king's concubine might wear, in the bedroom on her first night. She was delectable.
Melissa was, too, naturally. She emphasized the sunny side that night, with white lingerie and makeup tuned to widen her eyes. Both of them were sent out in the initial batch of waitresses. I got held back to be a replacement when one of the 'first round draft picks' went to service clients in the back rooms.
A shade nervously, I scanned the room. Half a dozen other girls, all sexy beyond belief, chatting amongst themselves.
In the corner was Madison, talking to Clarissa and a black girl I remembered from the website - Destiny. Madison had gone for platform heels, and another semi-legal bathing suit. A V-shaped one that looped under her crotch and had two long strips to the shoulder that just covered her nipples. If you squinted.
A few minutes later, Destiny got sent out to take over for Kylie. I took the opportunity to sidle up to them.
"Hi," I said. "I'm, uh, Marci."
"Yeah, we heard," Clarissa said. They didn't volunteer more, waiting for me to continue. Not friendly, but not unfriendly either.
It was clear that everyone was in on my situation. No point in dancing around it, though I found it hard to be direct. I looked at Madison. "Um... Anong said... um, that you were... well, you used to be a guy, too?"
"No," she said. Before my squint had really formed, she said, "I was always a girl. But I did have a guy's body."
"Okay," I said, noncommittal. When I grew up, people didn't talk like that. I was aware terms had shifted these days.
She turned her head to the side, but apparently understood I might not share her feelings. "I never fit in as a kid. I wanted to play with my sister more than my brothers. But my dad was a preacher. He couldn't have any sissies."
I saw ghosts of old pain - and anger - in her face as she went on. "I tried my sister's clothes on once. I just looked stupid, and I got caught. And got a beating." She shook her head. "I played a part for years. Then some friends came here for a bachelor party, and I guess you heard the rest." Her smile didn't show the same ghosts anymore.
"What about your family?" I probed. I kept half an eye on Clarissa at the same time. She stiffened a bit and her face went blank.
Madison rolled her eyes. "They only cared about a guy named Ezekiel. They never even wanted to know me, inside. No matter what I said." A scoff. "Not like any of them looked too hard for me when I disappeared."
I came at it from an angle. "You wanted to be this kind of girl?"
"No," she giggled. "I'll take it if it gets me where I need to be, though." A pointed look. "Plenty of regular girls do the same things. For a lot less money and a lot less fun." After a pause, she added, "And a lot more risk."
Clarissa jumped in. "Yeah, I used to fuck guys to get a fix, before. Now that's my fix, it doesn't cost me anything, and I don't wanna die when I come down."
I bit my lip and looked away, conceding the point. "So, a few years here and you're off to a new life?" I sad to Madison. It was becoming a familiar story.
"You got it." She looked amazed. "I might even have kids. I thought that could never happen."
I needed to understand this. "You never tried to, uh, 'transition'? Before?"
She shrugged. "If I couldn't do it right, what's the point? I was tall with big shoulders and no hips. I never coulda passed even if I did hormones and surgery and all that." She waved down her entirely feminine body. "But Gerry's got the magic."
"Can he really change everything, though?" I asked, almost in desperation.
"Are you hitting on me right now?" Her gaze was direct, a challenge.
She was scoring points left and right. If I'd really thought of her as still male, I'd be trying to get her sprung right now. She watched as I made the next logical connection - Gerry's Girls weren't hitting on me.
Instead of hitting on me, she took some pity on me. "Look, I'm sorry it had to be this way. I know what it's like to be stuck in the wrong body." She put a hand on my shoulder. But then Iris, the hostess, waved Madison to the floor. I was left standing with Clarissa.
I don't feel proud about it, but I was off-balance from Madison's story. So I was a little aggressive with her. It's not like I had any doubt at this point. "My family hired me to find you, you know. I almost caught up with you in Reno."
Her jaw set. "Yeah?"
"They were really worried about you."
She took a deep breath. "Did they tell you why I ran away?"
"No..."
"I had sex. Once. And I got gonorrhea." The expression of fury looked really out of place on that sexy face. "They kept me prisoner after that. I mean, I couldn't leave the house without one of them around. I couldn't talk to my friends, go my cousin's, anything. And they acted like I was... I was garbage, that I'd ruined myself forever." She had her hands in fists. "Like all that mattered was how it affected them."
I thought about her parents. There had been hints; their insistence on discretion...
"So I got out. And nothing was better, but it was easy to do what I had to. I was ruined anyway, right?"
I was rescued from having to reply by Iris motioning me to the door. I took over for Skye after being rapidly briefed on her tables. It was easy to push aside my unease from my conversation with Clarissa. As soon as I caught sight of the men, it was hard to think about anything else.
My first table had two Chinese businessmen, sampling the decadence of the West. Shortly after I returned with their drinks, they sprang for under-the-tables. First the elder, then the younger one - Chinese were big on protocol.
I pranced around, admiring all the sexy vibes - the way some men hollered at the singers or dancers, the way others just goggled silently. Some tried to act blasé, some pounced on the first girl to pass by. Endless variations on a theme I couldn't help but love.
There were three "VIP rooms" off the main floor. Some guys wanted something closer to the traditional strip-club experience. Sex there was slightly cheaper; the rooms were easier to clean.
I hadn't even seen the inside of them yet, but a patron asked me for a private dance.
"I'm really new," I told him nervously. "Like, only a couple days." I didn't want him to be disappointed...
He seemed to grasp that I wasn't reluctant for any reason beyond inexperience. Apparently he found it cute. "Missy, I'm sure you'll do fine."
I waved down Iris and gave her the signal I'd be occupied for a while. Clarissa emerged seconds later, but I was already leading my guy to an unoccupied lounge.
The space was a little dark, with a curved, low, leather couch and a pole in front of it. Mirrors on a couple walls. I fiddled with a small touchscreen and brought up a song to dance to. Wherever the current entry was in the playlist, I was too keyed-up to care.
He set himself down and leaned back on the couch. I could tell he wasn't hard yet and it upset me a little. An intolerable state of affairs.
So, under his close supervision, I caught the beat. Ms. Ep had barely started teaching me anything, but the basics are universal. Sexy dancing for women starts with the hips. Move them with rhythm and you're halfway there. Arms and legs aren't as critical; asymmetrical movements are fine.
I turned on the pole, just fooling around, not trusting myself to do anything fancy. I hated being unprepared. I wanted to know what I was doing, especially for things that were important. And getting this guy off was the most important thing in my world right now.
Fortunately, he wore an indulgent smile, which gave me a little room to experiment. I fell on the old standbys of jiggling ass and tits to the beat. I tried to be at least a little sophisticated about it, but I could see in the mirrors that I wasn't doing a great job, dancing-wise.
I came across as earnest, though. I genuinely wanted to entertain, to arouse. That, by itself, put me up on a lot of strippers. And, to my joy, I saw the john shift in his seat. He was getting a little wood!
I danced closer. I was asking myself, "What would Marci do?" This guy saw a sexy young woman, I had to give him that impression. Marci, I decided, would twirl in front of him, sticking out her rear one moment and segueing to showing him her tits.
I got up on the couch, straddling him, boobies right in his face. An important checkbox for any lap dance. Marci would nuzzle his nose as she ground her crotch down on his. She might take a braid in hand and use the end to tickle his ear and face and neck, a mischievous grin on her face.
I flowed down his body onto my knees before him, and began to unbuckle his belt. He was into it now, for damn sure. I got his pants unbuttoned and pulled them down to pool at his ankles.
His erection stood free and proud. It was like... like the distilled essence of sex. Hotter than any woman I'd ever seen. Beautiful.
But it wasn't complete, not yet. A stiffie has a purpose, and I needed to help it fulfill that purpose.
I kissed it and licked it and made his breath turn fast and shallow. I got him deep in the back of my throat a couple times, but this wasn't the endgame. He'd asked for a lap dance, and I intended to give him the top of the line.
I got up and turned around. I bent forward, and hooked my thumbs around my panties, stretching them away from my hips. Slowly I worked them down as I rocked my hips back and forth to the beat, exposing my pussy. I bent low and stepped out of the panties, carefully. Then I shimmied a little out of sheer excitement as I shifted back and slowly sat down; one hand by my bottom. I got fingers on his prick and guided it in.
In.
It felt good; it goes without saying that I was thoroughly wet and turned on. But... look, a regular woman who's getting fucked by a guy will have at least some focus on how it feels for her, what he's doing to her. Whether her clit's getting any action, his hands caressing her, kisses or whatever.
For Gerry's Girls, that stuff was almost totally irrelevant.
Instead I was focused on his cock, giving it every sensation possible. On his hands cupping my breasts from behind, making sure I didn't accidentally jiggle them out of his grasp. On the moans and "mmmmm's" and little hitching gasps I made for him to enjoy. On my body and posture, so that the visuals would please his eyes. I could track things in the mirror.
With me, reverse cowgirl put the hair front and center for the guy's attention. My back was framed by the two long dangling braids, that rippled as I bounced. I could feel him inside me, that dick on its way to fulfilling its purpose. It felt sublime. Precisely as it should be.
I wasn't experienced enough then to anticipate the exact moment he'd come. I mean, I knew he was close, from his breathing, the tension in his body. Yet when I felt things get more slippery inside me, and he let out a low grunt, it was a slight surprise. It kicked me right over the edge and I came too, delighted and proud.
I kept pumping until I was quite certain it was over. Then I popped off him, got down on my knees again, and cleaned and drained that crank with my mouth, bright-eyed and cheery.
He ran a hand through the hair as I did so, and said, "Missy, if that was your first, you're gonna be a legend in a little bit."
In a post-orgasmic haze, I could not help but feel warmly satisfied. We parted on good terms, as you might imagine. And I went back to waiting on tables with a will.
The rest of the night was just as fun. I got to see an actual celebrity and his entourage. An actor; fat and and a little nerdy, he'd mostly been a comedy sidekick. Still, he had money and a degree of fame. That attracted hangers-on. And a certain type of woman, but apparently he was looking for something else. Something like me, it turned out.
He sprang for girls for his entourage, and me for himself. It actually put a strain on the table service in the main room, they had to call a few girls back on-shift. I paid it no mind as I led him to my room. I had my priorities straight.
I dropped his pants as soon as we got in, and got him in my mouth as soon as possible. In only a few minutes, I was swallowing his issue as he sat on the couch. I didn't stop, though - I kept stroking and stimulating him as I disrobed and rubbed myself up against him. He was hard again before too long, and I moved him to the bed. He got on top of me and jabbed it in.
He was fat, and his dick was undersized. Who cared, though? He was pounding me hard, gasping, frantic to fuck me. It was glorious. The lust in his eyes, the vehement intensity - it got me all the way off. I was glad it took him a while to come again, just so I could relish the experience.
The next few days went similarly. I got official training in various topics in the morning. Mostly dance - I wasn't going to be caught short-skilled again - and care for the hair. I hung out a lot with Anong, who helped introduce me to the other girls. They gave me unofficial training in the form of sexual tips and techniques.
And all night, every night, I did whatever the fuck guys wanted so I could make them come. And loved every second of it. Just like Anong and the others, I told myself it wasn't really me doing it, anyway. I was playing the role of Marci, it wasn't my identity. I learned fast who Marci should be.
There's a kind of stereotype, or at least expectation, about women with really long hair. A certain... lack of maturity. If she's prone to excess in one area, then she's probably high-maintenance elsewhere. A princess type. I mean, you don't find a lot of tomboys whose hair reaches the hem of a short skirt.
The guys with a thing for long hair tended to buy that idea, so I had to kind of lean into it. Be girly, or at least womanly. I went more for dresses and skirts. One night I got the hair done in multiple braids and put on an anime-inspired, cosplayish ensemble, and pitched my voice a little higher. That really pulled in the college boys.
I developed an appreciation for the thought that had gone into my front room's decor. If clients wanted an emphasis on immaturity, on childishness, I'd steer them toward the bed. Or maybe hold onto the dresser as they did me from behind, maybe meeting their eyes in the mirror if that turned them on. If they wanted a slightly older princess, a willful young woman, then we'd do it on the couch or the rug.
I found out what the empty drawer was for - a bunch of naughty toys. The end table by the couch had a small toy supply, too - best to have them handy, immediately available. Sometimes the moment could be lost in the time it took to walk to the other side of the room.
For guys with a hair fetish, there's something called a 'hair job' - you rub and wrap hair around his cock, while you use your mouth or boobs. The hair was long enough that I could even do that while they fucked me doggy style. It was a little abrasive, granted - but for one guy, it got him off so hard we both saw stars.
It wasn't enough to get a man to come, usually, but in a 69 when I was on top, I'd usually dangle hair onto his erection and sweep my head to give him some good friction before getting into the oral action. Some guys liked to pull the hair while I sucked them off or they did me from behind. In that case, I'd try to make a couple pigtails they could use as handlebars.
And younger guys who'd seen a lot of porn just loved spraying cum on my face and hair. So I loved it, too.
But clients liked a lot of different things. I thought pegging a guy was a little weird, but he got off on it so it became fun.
Anong suggested a great trick I pulled off on susceptible clients. I'd lay them on their backs, mount them cowgirl style, and lean forward to spread the hair out around their head. There was so much, it was like a tent. I would look in their eyes, and all they could see was my face - and boobs pressed on their chest - surrounded by hair. With me pumping on them, it just blew them away.
I couldn't do it on really tall guys. For them I'd bury my face in their chest, rubbing the hair against their skin. Still pretty effective.
You've seen the motion a million times, but probably haven't thought about it much. A woman with long hair, sweeping it away from her face with her hand. I had time while working on the hair every morning to practice it a lot of different ways. You could do it shyly, or with the elbow high to pull your tits up, or throw in a little head-bob to get them to jiggle. Lots more. I had a whole repertoire to bring to bear on clients.
Chewing on hair - immature, and draws attention to the mouth and lips. Twisting hair between your fingertips, or twirling it around a finger - not as immature, but a classic flirting signal.
If you bobbed your head just a little, in the right sync with your hips as you walked, you could get the hair to kinda swing back and forth. Got attention even from guys that didn't care particularly about long hair. I was a little stunned at how fast I learned, how easily my posture and voice and vocabulary and habits shifted... but thanks to the magic, I was kind of monomaniacal about turning men on. We all were.
A guy named Samesh came in one evening, a regular. So regular he had an account on the website, and made reservations in advance. Anong was a favorite of his, but he also liked to try out fresh talent as it came in. He was fairly rich - some kind of ties (business, not family) to the House of Saud. So he booked a double - Anong, and me, the new blood.
She had given me lots of tips over lunch about how to get him going, which I lapped up excitedly. I only worked the floor for a couple hours, then went back to my room to get ready. That took another two hours including a trip to the salon to re-do the hair. (Not many places have a hairdresser on the late shift...)
I took the service elevator all the way up and met her outside a door. The Emperor's Room was the biggest space in the building - it took up almost half the top floor - but there were three other good-sized suites on the same level. Nice spots for high-rollers to have fun in, without spending an actual fortune.
We had brainstormed together about how I should present myself. With her guidance, I'd selected something fairly juvenile. He wanted girly, chipper, and complaisant. Brains were a detriment. He didn't want his bed partners to be any kind of intellectual challenge. And he had the stereotype - common among a lot of countries, especially Eastern ones, thanks in part to Hollywood movies - that American girls were sluts.
Thus, I was wearing something you might, just plausibly, see on an American street. A clingy t-shirt with a hand-cut neckline - pink and sporting a 'Supergirl' logo. No bra, of course. Low-rise, hip-hugger jeans that revealed the top of a thong. The jeans themselves were distressed enough to expose a lot of skin. Pink sneakers - no heels, but I knew by now how to walk sexily without that assistance. The hair was done in a partial knot-top with a long tail. I'm sure it had a name; I'd seen it on various female singers in videos.
Anong had on a tight, dark, shimmery dress. The neckline plunged as low, and the skirt was slit as high, as you'd expect. Black heels went well with the dress. Our makeup wasn't quite at "street hooker advertising for trade" levels, but it was definitely in the range of "girls going out on the make". We smiled and silently double-checked each other's clothes and makeup.
Then we knocked on the door and stepped in, as I consciously dropped several decades of maturity and a couple dozen IQ points. My smile wasn't precisely vacant, but let's just say it was at no more than half occupancy.
"Hello!" Anong called as she closed the door. "It's me! And I brought Marci as you asked!" Her Thai accent was pronounced but her English was reasonable. She adjusted her vocabulary and grammar for each client. Samesh spoke a couple languages but Thai wasn't one of them. English being the only common tongue they had, she made sure they could effectively communicate.
"Hey, Mr. Samesh!" I said, just as cheerfully as I waved at him. I glanced at Anong, ingenuous. "You're right, he is cute!"
That won a tolerant smile from the client leaning back on the sofa. A well-groomed Indonesian, wearing a tailored suit in a conservative blue. Late thirties, only a little fat. One glance confirmed what I had deduced from Anong's descriptions. I knew the type from before: semi-legitimate businessman. He wouldn't move drugs or ship arms, but he'd happily put together deals that skirted tax, disclosure, and export laws.
He fancied himself a smooth operator. Maybe he was; he could afford a few hours with us in a private room, after all. But he definitely had a need to be in control of any situation. A fair number of guys like that desired to let go in bed, give up control. Diana did a brisk trade humiliating such.
Samesh, however, wasn't that kind of guy. He still wanted to be in charge, even in bed... he just didn't feel like working for it. He was after a reward, not a conquest.
With only a slight accent, he said, "Very nice to meet you, Marci. Please, come closer, both of you."
With big smiles, we did so. He swirled a finger, and we turned around, letting him see us from all angles. "Anong, lovely as always. Marci, you are stunning."
We both beamed from the compliments. "Come, sit here," he said. We took positions on either side of him. I was learning how to sit without getting the hair caught somewhere. "So, Marci, how did you come here?"
I told him a pack of lies. "I'm from Denver, but I, like, moved out to L.A. I was gonna, y'know, be a model, actress. I almost got into porn. Then I came with some friends to Vegas, and, like, Gerry found me." (I made sure to say "Vegas"; actual natives like me always said "Las Vegas.") My smile was huge. "This is a lot more fun!"
"I'm sure," he said. He reached for my shirt. "May I?"
"Like, of course, silly!" I said, laughing. He pulled the shirt up over my head. I had to help him a little after that to get it around the hair.
"She has great boobies," said Anong, excitedly.
"That she does," Samesh agreed, staring with a crooked smile as I puffed out my chest. He reached out to stroke one, and I all but purred.
He undressed us both, then let us take his clothes off. We cuddled up on either side of him, caressing his body and taking turns kissing him whenever he turned to one of us. He was erect, so we were in no rush. Just being near a stiff cock was enough to make me melt anymore.
He took me as I lay on my back on the couch. Anong rubbing and caressing his back and legs. When he came, I saw her shiver behind him as I shrieked.
He had room service sent up. The food at Gerry's Place wasn't awesome. As Collette had noted, it didn't need to be the main attraction, so Gerry, ever-prudent, didn't spend the kind of money it took to procure the absolute top-quality ingredients that serious gourmet cooking required. Although neither did he cheap out; the food was at least as good as any hotel restaurant.
So we had a lovely naked snack. We giggled and chattered about nothing important all through the meal, amusing him. Of course we got a little messy, but in a carefully decorative way that lent itself to being licked clean.
That naturally eased into Anong and I kissing and embracing each other, amusing him in a different way.
He began to idly handle his prick. It was time. I looked in Anong's eyes for a second and we both smiled. Then we got emplaced and I started licking her pussy with gusto. She was on top, I was on my back. The hair would cover up too much of her, otherwise.
I still liked women, on some level. It was already more in the vein of sprinkles on ice cream, though - a nice addition to the primary ingredient, not something that would satisfy me alone. Not anymore.
I was sopping wet anyway, though... because he was watching. I knew it would get him cranked. I sure would have been panting, before. We knew just what he'd want to see, and it was - quite literally - our pleasure to give him a good show, far more than the actual 69. My clit got stiff much more from the little grunts he made as he stroked himself than from her tongue licking it.
I knew Anong felt almost the same way. It was like we were a team, and we both won if he came. Neither of us cared how he got there, we'd do whatever it took. But she didn't even like girls, except when a client wanted her to.
Once he came, we raced to see which one of us could lick him clean.
I ate some pancakes and thought very carefully. It had been a little over a week since Gerry had flipped my whole world over. And every night since, I'd been an enthusiastic whore.
Integrity isn't a partial thing. You either have it or you don't. It doesn't matter how tough the rubber of a balloon is; if there's a hole somewhere, it won't hold air. Gerry had poked a hole in my psyche, and it wasn't integral anymore. When it came to men, I would do practically anything to get them off. That was simply the way it was now.
I was beginning to appreciate just how diabolical a situation I was in. My degree was in criminology, but that required classes in psychology. I'd read about a study once. They took little kids and put them in a room with a treat - a cupcake, I think. They told them if they waited ten minutes, something like that, they could have two treats. But if they ate the cupcake before then, they wouldn't get a second one.
Very few kids made it. Almost all of them broke. The researchers noticed something about the ones that held on, though.
They didn't have exceptional willpower or anything. What they did was distract themselves. They didn't look at the temptation. They played games on the other side of the room, or sang a song, or whatever.
The ones who tried to tough it out, staring at the treat and holding on - they failed. Moral of the story: relying on willpower isn't reliable.
Addicts trying to quit can't hang around addicts, or they'll relapse. They have to stay away from temptation, find something else to occupy their minds and time. A smoker who sells cigarettes, an alcoholic bartender - they aren't going to quit.
But I had a built-in fetish for horny men now. An addiction. Stiff cocks, cum, the faces men made, the sounds they made, the way they smelled and moved when they were on the hunt. That hungry look they got and...
Fuck, I was getting wet just thinking about it. I wanted to run out right now and find a guy and suck him off then and there.
How could I possibly get away from temptation? I was a strikingly sexy woman now, and men were... men. They'd look, they'd touch, they'd hit on me all the time. They couldn't help themselves. I was an addict, and it was so easy to get a fix.
Fuck, they would pay me for the privilege of giving me what I craved. Imagine a junkie who got a salary for shooting up. What chance would they have of getting clean?
A cloistered nunnery was about the only environment I could imagine that would give me any chance. But even as I tried to figure out if I could find one and get them to take me in... I was picturing myself in a nun's outfit. And speculating what I could do to make it sexy, make it more of a fetish thing.
If I hadn't known the place was doomed, I might have been seriously tempted to let the month deadline pass. Instead I kept careful track of the 'countdown', and kept watch for any of Novinski's toughs among the clients.
And I kept going to work every night.
Concluded in Part 2
It took close to an hour to get the hair ready. Every morning. I always had to take a shower - most girls didn't wake up each and every day with cum in their hair. Shampoo and oceans of conditioner. I only went to the salon once or twice a week. Most days I'd have one of my 'sisters' help me blow dry it, usually Anong. If they were too busy, though, it took even longer. And then, tons of product to shape it just right.
They were somewhat annoying at times, but long earrings and long hair really worked together. I got my ears pierced - Gerry could create a non-fatal hole anywhere, painlessly - and wore dangling stuff every night. I just had to put up with it; every little bit helped.
A great deal of being a sexy woman was a hassle, actually. Heels demanded concentration for a lot of common actions like swerving through crowds or walking down steps. Skimpy underwear, even when it didn't chafe, was generally binding. In fact, most of our clothes were really tight, except for the exceptionally loose, light item... and those tore easily. Maintaining makeup is difficult when you've got a physical job like waitressing. I could go on and on.
But the cocks made it all worth it.
His name was Mershom, and he wanted to fuck me bad. Riley had traded tables with me right after she saw how he looked at me from across the room.
He was tall, six-two or so, and black. Not full-blooded African, but dark-skinned. Neither thick enough for football, nor thin enough for basketball. Maybe the right shape for baseball, just... balanced.
I was dressed kinda princess-y tonight. That white micro-dress and lacy panties combo Melissa had put me in the first day. But this time I was rocking the heels, and had traces of glitter on my face and shoulders. I hadn't gone for pigtails, but had some braids laced through the curls.
His eyes widened just a touch as I walked toward the table where he sat with a couple friends. Riley had been right. One of his pals elbowed him and laughed when he caught sight of me.
"Hey guys," I drawled, "Riley got called away. I'm Marci. What can I do for you?" As I asked that last, I looked in Mershom's eyes, then cast them down. Not exactly shy, but... my people-reading skills had a laser focus lately. He wanted me to be curious, a little excited... and a little intimidated. I could just tell.
One of his friends answered. "You can get me another vodka tonic. And vodka straight for my brother here."
"Coming right up!" I said brightly, and stepped away. Of course my gait was as sexy as possible without being too obvious about it, providing them a show.
The food order Riley had put in was ready, so I brought it all along, getting Lori to help me. She was the platinum blonde I'd seen the first night. It was partly an experiment. Was he specifically in to me, or what? Lori's persona was a fashion-model type. A sophisticated city girl; not worldly in the same way as Collette, just... kind of modern. Like everyone here at Gerry's, she could fine-tune her approach. Outgoing party girl, arrogant and wilful bitch in need of taming, decadent and shallow model desperate for validation of her looks, etc.
Mershom enjoyed looking at her; he wouldn't have been human if he hadn't. Yet his eyes lingered on me. As I exchanged a quick glance with Lori, we both suppressed shivers of lust - she'd noticed too. It was extra sexy when a guy responded really strongly to one of us.
As we took the trays back to the kitchen, I thought it over. My educated guess was that he wanted forbidden fruit: a privileged white girl. He wanted to take some rich, innocent white chick and do her raw and dirty, ruin her for white boys. And Marci came across about as close to "innocent" as any girl could, here.
I didn't judge him. I wouldn't even have done so before. We don't get to pick what gets us sprung - I'd had my face rubbed in that truth - and race relations in America affected people sexually, too. It was a common-enough turn-on, both ways. Destiny and LaShawna got so much white dick it was hilarious; noticeably more than Chloe, who was lighter-skinned.
Besides, thanks to Gerry's ring, I thought the idea was sexy as fuck because he thought it was sexy as fuck.
His interest hadn't flagged by the time I swung by again. But he wasn't making a move. Shy, ashamed, impecunious? Whatever the cause of his hesitation, I found it profoundly frustrating. If I was right, there wasn't much time. If he saw me do an under-the-table or VIP dance or whatever, my perceived innocence would suffer. He'd probably not want me anymore. At least, not so intensely.
How to quickly get him over the hump - or more to the point, over to humping? A stiffie was a terrible thing to waste...
I quickly decided on a strategy while I walked toward him. I would act shy, but strongly attracted and therefore flustered. It would play into his desires. So as I arrived, I said, "How's it going, guys? Everything good?" I met his eyes a couple times, but looked away, awkwardly. When you've got big hair, every head motion is more prominent, carries more weight.
"It's all good, shorty," his other buddy said.
"Yeah," Mershom agreed, gaze hungry.
I looked him. "Is there... anything else I can get you?" I shifted my eyes to the table, with a flush of lust that I hoped resembled a blush.
"Shorty's on your jock, my man!" his friend cackled.
He didn't say anything, just kept a smirk on his face, trying to play it off. I could see through it, though, and so could his crew.
"Shit, my man, you gotta do this," one of them said. "Fuck it, here's a hundred bucks, right now. Call it a coupon. But pay the lady and go have a good time." It wouldn't cover my fee, but it wasn't an insubstantial discount. That was all the excuse he needed. In a twinkling we were walking back to my room, arm in arm. I acted jazzed and energized, giddy as a schoolgirl. But a little nervous too, like someone about to make their first skydive or bungie jump.
He ate it up. You had to manage things right; some guys got cold feet or second thoughts on the way. Married or religious or whatever. You had to keep up the image that had lured them in. Often you had to maintain their focus on you, prevent them from falling back into their own heads. Fortunately, he didn't seem inclined to back out.
When we got to my room, I subtly moved us toward the bed and let the nervousness predominate. "So... whatcha wanna do?" There was a corner of my mind that was chastened at how I was demeaning myself, but the way he concentrated on me...
"I want to get those fucking clothes offa you." I let my eyes widen as he reached for me, pulled me up to a standing position, and started undoing my bra. I didn't help him, but I put up no resistance at all. I acted indecisive, pulled by lust, balanced by apprehension. The bra came off easily; few items of clothing were a challenge to remove here.
He grabbed one tit, palming a nipple. I let out a tiny moan as my lips parted. He kissed those lips, slipping in a tongue. He had that haven't-shaved-since-the-morning stubble many guys get by evening. It should have been revolting but his passion compelled me to kiss him back, my nipples getting even harder.
He got a hand down the front of my panties as our mouths pressed together, slid fingers into my moist crevices, tickled my pointed clit. I let it force a groan out of me, closed my eyes so he'd know I was savoring the sensations. That he was driving me wild. After a bit he got hands on either side of those panties and slid them down off my hips. They fell to my knees. Without pulling away or ceasing the kiss, I shimmied and stepped and dropped them to the ground.
He grabbed my ass with both hands and lifted. I wrapped my legs about his waist and ground into him. It still surprised me a little that I was small and light enough for a guy to just pick up like that, but if he wanted a lot of physical contact I just was not able to refuse. We made out passionately. I wasn't evincing any apprehension now.
Eventually his grip on my ass loosened, and I unhooked my legs and sank to my knees in front of him. Men just loved that pose, and he was no exception. Squatting with legs spread was almost as good. Better, if there were guys watching from behind; it displayed your ass to good advantage. Kneeling implied submission, though - and that added spice for most guys.
He was entirely on-board with me unbuttoning his jeans. I pulled them down, leaving the boxers; you have to be careful with cocks, not get them caught. Of course he was sporting a ramrod, pulling the fabric into a cone. I made sure to have an expression of daunted delight, shading toward awe. He was lapping it up.
And then I slid the boxers off, revealing him in full. The daunting and the awe both grew.
He wore a satisfied smile. "Ain't you never seen a real man before, honey?"
"I... I never..." I was speechless, staring. It was good-sized, but not huge. I marvelled anyway, like I'd never even conceived of one his size.
In truth, for most girls, size isn't that big a deal, and dicks could definitely be too big for comfort. Not only had I learned that as a man, but the girls I'd talked to here confirmed it. On the other hand, once they became Gerry's Girls, size really didn't matter. If it was a hard penis, it was perfect by definition. "From the tiniest little tadger to the world's biggest prick," as Monty Python sang.
But Mershom wanted me to be impressed and astonished, so that's what I gave him.
As if drawn by gravity, I leaned close, kissed it, licked it. I took the head in my mouth... He jammed it in, to the back of my throat. I opened my eyes wide; my startled squeal was understandably muffled. And so, a moment later, was my moan of pleasure...
I got him close. I took my time doing it, acting just inexperienced enough that he wouldn't suspect how much I was enjoying teasing him, right on the edge. But he broke it off, pulled me to my feet, then immediately flopped me on my back on the bed. "Time for the sugar, shorty."
I spread my legs, acting dazed, and he plunged in. Quickly I sensed that he was holding back. He wasn't trying to get off yet; he wanted to get me off first. That wasn't exactly uncommon. Nor was it unpleasant. I mean, think about it. I wasn't especially concerned about me coming; it was pretty much guaranteed to happen as soon as he did. All I needed to do was convince him I'd climaxed. However, the highest-probability way to convince him I'd climaxed was... to have a real climax.
So, once he got a thumb on my clit, I thought about him enjoying me, and had a screaming monster orgasm.
Once it was over, he pulled out. Showing little mercy for my gasping looseness, he flipped me over on the bed. "Get that ass up high. We finishing this right."
Gerry's Girls were never very far from a supply of lube. He grinned at my wide-eyed expression as I silently pulled open the drawer on the nightstand, got out a tube and handed it to him. He was further amused, and aroused, at my slight hesitation while I got on my hands and knees, butt facing him.
Before, anal had been a real turn-off. There was a stand-up comedian who'd summed up my feelings well: "Why go for that when you're half an inch from the happiest place on Earth?" A lot of guys disagreed strongly, though. And since my transformation they'd made me love it.
Since he was big, almost porn-star level, he filled me right up. But Gerry had engineered us with resilience, and I got off on how tight it was for him.
He was maybe a little rougher than he needed to be - most ordinary girls might have been discomfited - but so long as he was enjoying himself it was almost impossible for it to bother me.
Quite soon I was crying out. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, omigod omigod omigoooooooooood!" I sounded transported, overwhelmed, overloaded... so overpleasured it was almost painful. It was easy, because I was. His dick was so hard, I could tell he was loving it.
"Here it comes, bitch! Take it!" I came again when he shot his load, forcefully. I felt sure he didn't usually talk like that, but he was getting carried away by the experience. It just enhanced my pleasure to know I was getting him so hyped.
After a good thirty seconds of both of us just catching our breath, he pulled out, and found the wipes in the still-open drawer, as I'd intended. I rolled onto my back (exaggerating how weak I appeared in the aftermath) and looked up at him with adoring eyes.
"Jeez, I never got fucked like that!" I fibbed. Mershom was so chuffed I had a hard time keeping a straight face.
I don't think he was as pleased twenty minutes later, as I was slipping with evident delight under another table in the main room. But he'd had his turn.
You saw some weird things in a place like this.
Not just the costumes. Sure, you'd see girls walking the halls in all sorts of bizarre outfits - way beyond nurses and maids. I'd seen sexy plumbers, sexy scientists, even - I shit you not - a sexy balloon vendor.
No, there was genuinely surreal stuff. One time I had to stop Melissa on her way to her room and ask why she had blueberry pie filling smeared all over her ass. Or when the guy held up Destiny's legs and had her walk on her hands into her room. Or the guy who jerked off as we faced away from each other and rubbed our asses together.
My second client of the night had just left. I was in my bathroom, smiling and wiping semen out of my crotch, when I heard a loud bang. I scooted toward the hall as fast as I could in heels and yanked the door open.
Two rooms over, September's door was wide open. Broken open. Another bang sounded, something heavy hitting a wall. More girls down the hall opened their doors and peeked out. I ran over to September's doorway and beheld Duane, one of the security guards, struggling with a guy. Well, the man was struggling; Duane wasn't having any trouble holding him at bay, despite the fact that his opponent was huge. In fact, he was a pro football player, I recognized him.
September lay on her couch behind the guard, wheezing and holding her neck. The counter in the breakfast nook was damaged. I watched Duane block a sweep of his arm, then he made a vicious jab at the guy's gut. It knocked the wind out of him, and then Duane literally picked the brute up and slammed him back-first into the floor. He couldn't breathe at all now, and Duane was able to flip him over and lock his arm in a hold.
A rush of wind, a flicker in the corner of my eye made me look; Tony, another security guy, was racing up the hall at an Olympic record pace. I had just enough time to pull back from the opening so he could whiz through.
Tony immediately checked on September. She murmured something to him. He looked at me and jerked his head to summon me over. I stepped in the room and gave Duane and the man a wide berth.
"Can you help her out? Get her to Gerry?" Tony said.
"Sure, no problem," I said.
They picked up the client and moved him toward the door. He was able to gasp, wheezing, "You know who I am, motherfuckers?"
Duane, with unconcealed irritation, said, "I know exactly who you are. You give us any more shit, I'm gonna break both your knees and end your fucking career, got it?"
As they moved down the hall, I heard Tony say, ”Maybe you can beat up your girlfriend and get away with it, asshole. Yeah, I read the news. But nobody hurts Gerry's Girls." They were already a good distance off, but I heard a very solid thump and the running back groaned in pain.
I turned back to September. "Are you okay?" I said, a little doubtfully, as I helped her to her feet. She had curly dark brown hair, a button nose, and a long lean body with great hips, awesome legs, and cute B-cup breasts. In dark lingerie she was a vision, and just roped in guys looking for a little class.
"Yeah," she rasped. We moved toward the door. "He just started choking me," September said. "He wasn't even getting off on it. He just went crazy."
"Some guys are like that." Bruises had begun forming on her neck. I waved at Melissa to let her know the situation was under control, and she went back in her room.
Anong came around the corner, leading an Indian man toward her room. Instinctively, September and I adjusted our postures a bit to seem more casual, carefree. Anong noticed something wrong, though, and turned her smile on the guy to distract him. Her eyes promised me questions later.
We made it down the front elevator, the one for clients, without incident. It was the quickest route. Gerry was waiting at the door and ushered us into his office. "I'm so sorry, September." A wave of the ring as soon as the door closed, and she smiled in relief. The dark marks on her skin were gone.
"Thanks, Gerry," she said in a restored voice. "And thank the guys for me." She gave him a lingering hug.
"Of course," he murmured. "I just got off the phone with the team manager. I let him know that none of his teammates will be welcome here so long as he has a contract." A grimly satisfied smile. "He will be punished by his fellow players, I guarantee."
September was all gratitude. "Thanks, Gerry, I really appreciate it. When he got his hands around my..." She trailed off, shivered, and pulled him close. I'm a fast learner; I noticed exactly where her belly was rubbing him.
So did he. He glanced my way, then down at September, who turned her face up to his, lips slightly parted.
"Thank you, Marci," he said to me. "We'll speak later." I took the hint and left, controlling my frustration. Apparently comforting one of his girls was a 'special occasion'.
I took the back hall to the staging area, to find a makeup kit. I was too horny to head back to my room, thinking about what must be happening in Gerry's office right now.
Gerry obviously appreciated women. All the walking confections around here... You couldn't invent or imagine Gerry's Girls unless you loved the female form. I had a hunch - the kind I got sometimes in an investigation. I had no objective evidence for it, yet I saw a vision of Gerry as a failed artist, maybe, who couldn't paint or sculpt what he conceived in his mind. And then got the ring?
I didn't get jealous, really. More like I felt sad that there was something I wanted that I just wasn't going to get. And I was pissed that I wanted it that much.
"Jesus, is there a square foot in this whole building that doesn't have glitter on it somewhere?" I complained, shaking off my coffee mug before I poured another dose.
Anong chuckled. "Prob'ly not." Her smile was amused and superior. "It's a stripper thing. Like, traditional."
I sat down at the counter, and cut off another chunk of waffle. "I wonder how much of it I've eaten since I got here," I mused.
"Can't be that much. Does everything shine for you in the bathroom?" We both laughed.
I had breakfast with Anong most days. I was alternately intrigued and amused as she related the storied history of Gerry's Place.
She liked hearing tales from my private investigator career. But only once in a while did we talk about her life before she became Anong. That was... pretty common, I gathered. Not surprisingly, choosing to become a Gerry's Girl was usually driven by some intense desire or regret. Most of the women here tended to focus on the present and future.
Her room was set up in an Oriental style, as you would imagine. Her bedroom in back was set up a lot more like what I'd expect from a girl from Idaho - but even there, little related to her past. There was a single picture of an older couple, a man and a woman - her parents. I'd never seen a picture of what she had looked like before. She'd never even told me what her name had been, before.
She was Anong to a far greater degree than I was Marci. I had a life to get back to, though.
One of the most humiliating things about the situation was how I couldn't help loving Marci's body.
I didn't want to be female, exactly. I didn't feel like a girl inside; I wasn't even sure what that would feel like. But... I really wanted to turn men on. I craved making guys cum. And this body was a much better tool for that job than my old one. So I'd find myself feeling grateful for having tits, and a pussy, and a round padded ass, and even the hair. They were just so useful. I would've felt almost helpless without them. There were a lot fewer gay guys than straights.
And then I'd remember that, once I had my old body back, I'd have my old mind too. I wouldn't want guys to cum inside me anymore. By now, I couldn't remember - or even really conceive - what that'd be like, though.
Care and maintenance of that body sucked up an alarming amount of my attention. Not just the hair, although my hairstyle vocabulary was growing by leaps and bounds. (Beehive, bouffant, feathering and layering and waves and fringes and wraps, the endless variations of braids and buns - on and on.) Makeup was another whole field of study now, too.
Then jewelry on top of that. Like I said, I wore earrings a lot. Piercings were extremely common here. I was old-school enough that nose rings or lip rings weren't my style. So I added a couple more earring holes, and a jewel in my belly button.
I also got a stud in my tongue. Really opens up your options for blowjobs. That little extra tickle coaxes out the cum like nobody's business.
That's in addition to bracelets and anklets and necklaces and sometimes rings (though since we needed a lot of manual dexterity those weren't as common).
Remember the website menu I mentioned? There had been a special order. And they'd picked me!
But the details of the order gave me pause. D&S, bondage and humiliation. I had no real clue how to pull that off - and I was more than a little confused why a guy would pick a girly frou-frou princess for such a role, anyway. Since, as previously noted, I hated to be unprepared, I made a beeline for the local expert.
Diana was not confused. "Oh, Aaron, yeah," she said with an indulgent, reminiscent smile. "He's really into the whole humiliation thing. I've done him a couple times."
"Wouldn't you be better at it?" I asked. "Is he tired of you or something?"
Now I was the target of her indulgence. "You know how guys are. Always wanting the new hotness. He's tried a bunch of new girls." Then she paused, recalling that my knowledge of guys was from the inside as well as from experience.
I rolled my eyes, as if to say, 'whatever'. "But I don't exactly have a dominant build. How am I supposed to -"
She laughed, interrupting me. "Not all bottoms are the same!" She shook her head. "Some of 'em want to be physically dominated, yeah. So they have an excuse for giving in." Then she shrugged. "A lot of 'em want, y'know, emotional dominance. A lover or even a mother, someone who knows best for 'em."
I still didn't get it. "But..."
She held my eyes, as if to say, 'let me finish'. "But, some guys - like Aaron - want to be humiliated. Feeling pathetic gets them off."
The light dawned. "Oh! So if even a frilly little girl can push him around..."
"Right!" she replied.
Now that I had some understanding, now that I could picture it, I started to get turned on by the image. If he thought it was hot, that automatically made it hot, period. Diana gave me a lot of advice, not unlike Anong had with Samesh. I could see her getting almost as worked up as me, just imagining Aaron responding to me.
And then I had to wait all day. I was in a heady state of tension and anticipation and horniness, and distracted myself trying to pick a hairstyle. I settled on a loose side-braid with sweeps on either side of my face. It worked well - my skill level made it just amateurish enough to look like an experiment by a fashion-conscious girl who didn't have quite enough time to hit the salon.
I was sitting on my couch, watching the news with the volume low. When the knock came at the door, I shut the TV off, stood up, and spent a few seconds examining myself in the mirror over the dresser, just to check my appearance.
I was wearing a purple dress, not fancy - cotton/polyester blend. The skirt was short, but past my crotch and covered my butt. It had two straps over the shoulders, thin but not 'spaghetti'. Bra straps were visible - I was wearing white-and-purple bra and panties. The neckline was about even with my armpits, with only a modest scoop. In back, there was a wide strip of fabric across the shoulderblades that kept it from being backless. It was cute (and with my body, quite sexy) but not at all explicit. A girl could wear it to a family party with hardly a raised eyebrow.
I couldn't bring myself to delay more than a moment or two more. When I opened the door I did it casually, as if I didn't care. It felt weird to hold back - most guys wanted eagerness - but Diana had insisted. As I let him in, I hoped she was right.
Aaron was tall, thin, in his mid thirties. Shoulder-length hair, curly. Diana said he was a consultant in some tech field, had money to throw around. He wasn't wearing a suit; he had on skinny jeans and a tan sweater. He was a little hard to read; not exactly a poker face, but low-affect.
Since I wasn't Diana, her kind of style wouldn't work for me. We'd agreed that I'd be a typical teenage girl - by the standards of Gerry's Place, at least - and I would start out a little unsure. Not afraid, just not used to the idea of humiliating someone.
I spoke up, my eyes squinting. "So, like... you really want me to, like, take over?"
Still hard to read. "Yeah."
"Okay," I said, with just a shade of doubt. "Um... stand up straight. Lemme look at ya."
He did. After a second, I said, "Turn around," with a bit more confidence. He did. "Not so fast," I said. As he slowed down, I thought I saw the first flicker of interest.
"Huh. Not much to look at," I said, half to myself. I looked him in the eye. "So you'll really do anything I say?" I asked, with lingering disbelief.
He nodded.
I thought for a second. "Then take off that stupid sweater!"
He did, then stood still. I smiled slightly and said, "Okay, like, get your shoes and pants off."
He started to, but I barked, "C'mon! Faster!" More rapidly, his shoes were pushed off. He hooked a finger under a sock but I countermanded that. "I didn't say take off your socks!" I thought I saw his eyebrows rise for a second - almost the first emotion he'd displayed. Then his pants dropped, and he pulled his feet out of them. He was wearing briefs, which let me judge how tumescent he was pretty well. He wasn't cranked yet, but was getting there.
But I wanted to speed that along. I tilted my head and told him to pull down his underwear. He did, and...
"Ohmigod, is that your dick?" I scoffed, and tittered, exuding shocked and amused derision. That dick got harder. So did my nipples, but I had chosen a bra that would keep me from sprouting points through my dress.
"Ohmigod, you really are a pussy!" I exclaimed. His cock stiffened yet more.
I put him through some paces, my apparent delight growing with my scorn. He warmed to my discipline and mocking, but I didn't let him touch himself or do anything about the erection jutting out from his crotch.
Diana had warned me, but I hadn't really appreciated how incredibly difficult this kind of job was for Gerry's Girls. He wanted to be humiliated, dominated. He wanted me to be in total control at all times. If I got mildly aroused, that was fine - but he craved my contempt. Having a shrieking vocal orgasm was right out; it would ruin the mood. So would touching that dick that wobbled around, tempting me.
So I had to stay outwardly casual the whole time. Ever try to look snide and maybe a little bored while your pussy is literally quivering with lust? When he came the first time I only just managed to keep myself from whimpering. I turned it into a bout of laughter that didn't quite become hysterical.
Then I made him clean himself up. He had to lick his cum off his hands. We played more games and he came twice more. I ordered him to get dressed after that, and kicked him out with a few insults.
Once I shut the door I counted to ten, to give him a chance to walk away. Then I jammed my fingers past my panties and frantically fingered myself. In seconds I fell to the floor in the throes of a climax so intense it bordered on a seizure.
I heard some disturbing gossip the next morning. A car with two guys in it had parked toward the back of the lot, and they'd just sat there for a couple hours before Duane noticed them on the security cameras.
He went up to the roof, and checked them out with binoculars. They were set up for a stakeout, including binoculars of their own. Duane had flicked on a laser gunsight and pointed it at the men in the car. Once they noticed it, they started up the engine and peeled out.
Almost certainly Novinski, taking more active steps - since both Loft and I had clearly failed. This had been partly surveillance, but mostly a test of our security. It made me nervous. Since we'd demonstrated decent responsiveness, Novinski would simply adjust his tactics.
I got my period two weeks in. I woke up at a quarter of four, with wet thighs and red stains on the sheets. The blood in my veins felt as cold as the blood smeared on my crotch.
I went to the bathroom and wiped off what I could, and quickly realized I wasn't going to manage this alone. I wound up wearing a pair of panties, and stuffing another bunched-up pair of panties under the crotch. Nothing I had was really useful. Lace and satin are not famously absorbent. I wrapped my upper body in a gauzy robe that hid nothing.
Down the hall - for once, praying that no one would see me - I knocked on Anong's door. I kept trying, a couple more times, until she opened the door, blinking sleepy eyes.
"What's up?" she asked, yawning. I realized I'd woken her straight from REM sleep.
"I'm bleeding. Down there."
For just an instant, she looked annoyed. Then her brain kicked in. "Oh, shit. This is, like... your first."
"No shit."
She took my arm, led me back toward my room. "Nothin' to worry about. For us it's super easy. Barely three days, no cramps, not even much blood. Tampons, maybe a liner at night."
As we got to my door, I said, "I didn't think it was going to happen at all."
She stopped and frowned at me. "What?"
Nervously, I said, "I just... I just thought... You said we couldn't get pregnant, and I..."
"Hey, we're still women! We're not robots or some shit!" I'd offended her.
"But I was never a woman! I don't... I'm sorry, really, I just never..."
Anong closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. "Fuck it, let it go," she told herself. I meekly followed her to my bathroom. She pulled out the bottom drawer of the cabinet under the sink.
"What'd you think these were for?" she asked, giving me an uncharacteristically jaundiced eye. The drawer held a supply of feminine necessities.
"Visitors," I admitted miserably. I hadn't really thought about them at all.
"Hah. When do other girls come here?" Anong said, annoyed. "Well, now you got your monthly visitor." Then she had me use the shower massager to clean my lower half, without getting the hair wet. We were about to set me up with a pad when she realized I possessed zero non-sexy underthings. She went and got me one of her pairs of 'granny-panties'.
While we were getting me situated, she reassured me again that it would be fine, that menses was easy for Gerry's Girls. "Worst you got to worry about is messy sheets." I wouldn't meet her eyes. "Oh fuck, really?" She stepped over to my bedroom door and glanced in. "Fuck."
She showed me how to call the night maids, and went back to bed, still shaking her head. About half an hour later, I was lying down on fresh sheets. It took me a while to fall asleep.
Anong brought breakfast, and Madison, over in the morning. "I shoulda thought of her last night."
I wasn't feeling too bad; my stomach was a little off, like I'd eaten something really spicy, that was all. Except my pad was getting full.
We left Anong to get out plates and stuff, and went to the bathroom. Maddy was fairly gentle about things. She taught me the stuff I needed to know - things that girls learned by their early teens at the latest. It turned out she'd helped Collette that way, too.
After, we ate breakfast in my kitchen. Anong explained that we got a vacation during our time of the month, "unless somebody asks for a girl on the rag, o'course."
That gave me pause. It had been one of the options on the website menu. Still... "No guys at all?"
Madison grinned. "Awww, poor baby."
Ears warm, I looked at the countertop. My tone had been embarrassingly plaintive.
She answered my question anyway. "You can try." She shrugged. "I mean, blowjobs, anal, that's all good. But if a guy wants to go down on you or fuck your pussy, you'll have to disappoint him."
That was not a sexy thought at all. I didn't want to be responsible for a dick going limp.
Anong added, "Lotsa the girls go out and run errands and pick up men for a quick beej or something. If they ain't paying for it, guys don't mind taking what they can get." Her expression became a little more serious. "But, y'know, here... it's safe. Carmina, one time, she was out at a bar and she sucked off one guy, and then later she was getting another dude in her ass and it pissed off the first guy. He punched her real hard in the face before the other guy started fighting him. She had this huge bruise before Gerry fixed her up."
That was sobering. I was way more vulnerable now. And more likely to put myself in dangerous situations. Of course... "I don't think Gerry would let me out anyway."
Maddy gave a discomfittingly casual shrug. "If you promised not to run away, he might."
I opened my mouth to scoff at the notion... and then I closed it again. You could trust a promise if you could read minds.
This was all more interaction with her than I'd had since that night backstage. Anong was good for that. She seemed to like me, and everyone liked her, so the other girls were willing to give me a chance.
We gossiped for a while. Maddy glowered at Anong and said, "Billy came by again. Got all pissy when it was time to leave."
Anong rolled her eyes. "He'll give up. Someday."
At my blank face, Maddy clarified. "He wants to rescue me from this life. He's in loooove!" She sounded almost disgusted as she drawled.
I understood immediately. Gerry's Girls had no use for romance except as a seduction tool. There was no conceivable way we could be exclusive. We probably couldn't make it through a date without fucking somebody - or some group. Let alone a wedding reception.
Normal prostitutes or strippers would have enjoyed guys like that, if only for the chance to draw more money out of them. But to Gerry's Girls they were complications.
Anong brought up another kind of problem client. "At least you get to fuck him. I got a talker on Sunday." She scoffed in disgust. "Who springs for a hype ballin' hooker just to have some fucking conversation? I mean, come on!"
I laughed in sympathy. It had happened to me once already. "Like hiring a Lear jet to go pick up groceries." That got a both of them laughing, too.
Again, the vast majority of hookers would have probably enjoyed the chance to get paid without putting out. For us, however, they represented an unwelcome and irritating challenge. On the bright side, since we were in fact world-class hookers, at least half of the 'talkers' proved seducible. They found themselves getting more physical than they'd planned.
I kept them laughing as I told the story of how I'd corrupted my talker. Then Madison taught me some alternate strategies for dealing with them. It was as pleasant a morning as I could imagine for my first period.
Ultimately I chose to stick around. Some of it was safety. And some of it was wondering if I could promise Gerry not to spill, and mean it. I still hated his guts. Initially, of course, that had been because he'd turned me into a wildly promiscuous woman. But things had shifted somewhat.
Now I was furious because he'd obliged me to love being a wildly promiscuous woman. That was driven home by the fact that, for the moment, I lacked the ability to be promiscuous. And I missed it.
I spent a lot of time experimenting with different looks and styles and accoutrements. Like hats. A cute hat could really make a hairdo shine. A little off-center bolero on top of a fall just drove the boys wild. A pillbox added some vintage glam. For some reason, small gloves worked well with a beret.
I also put in hours of studio time each day, practicing. Ms. Ep declared that I might actually get on stage as a background dancer later that week. Symptom-wise, I had nothing more than very mild cramps. Although I didn't feel quite as cheerful when I got up in the morning. Maybe it was because I couldn't look forward to making any men come.
I did reflect on my situation, of course. What would it be like when I turned back? How would my mind process all the memories of this time as Marci?
Facing that problem was inevitable. Even with how much I enjoyed getting men off, I had absolutely no intention of staying here. There was no future in it, and I had people I loved in my old life. Not many, but I loved them a lot. Especially Amy.
That said... I felt nothing but excitement and relief when my period was over and I could get back to work.
Ben wanted me. No doubt about it. The second I came up to his table by the dance area, I knew.
For some reason he wouldn't seal the deal, though. I was using every stratagem I'd learned, but he just would not take the bait. Something held him back.
A decent-looking guy. Average height, shaved head, light-brown beard and mustache. A little body fat, but the kind of muscles that took regular workouts to maintain.
He watched longingly as Kristall danced. We had ways of covertly signalling each other, and I let her know he was interested. But when she swung by after her set, he didn't take her up on a quite explicit offer. The problem wasn't money, so far as I could tell. He tipped well on the meal and drinks.
I even caught him looking with envy at a patron while I was standing up from an under-the-table. He struck me like a kid looking through the window of a locked candy store.
I had to do something. The whole situation was intolerable. Finally I just came out with it. As I brought his fourth drink, I blurted out, "The great thing about Gerry's Place is you don't gotta play games. You want me, I want you. Let's do this. Fuck, I'll give you one free. No obligation, or whatever."
He looked tempted - God knows I knew how to recognize that by now - but also pained. Practically grieved. He fumbled for words. "I... Marci, that's... I wish..."
"Ain't no ring on your finger. What's the problem?" I had a sudden suspicion. "You sick? AIDS or something?"
It took him one extra moment to answer, a tiny beat. "Something like that."
That was bullshit, an excuse. I just knew, before he opened his mouth. It couldn't stop me. I smiled triumphantly and said, "Fuck that, we got female condoms. Not as much fun, but better than just looking." My smirk got lascivious. "Way better. I got skills I promise you ain't never seen...
Still he fought. "It's more... physical." He showed signs of definite discomfort now... alongside maybe a sliver of hope.
Now it made sense. A deformity, or an injury. Maybe just a tiny dick. He still liked girls, but he didn't believe he could do much for them.
As Marci, I couldn't possibly have cared less. I looked him in the eye. "Honey, I promise, whatever you got down there, I'll find a way to make you happy. Free of charge." I meant every word.
He stared at me for a second. Then he nodded. "I'll pay. But I'll hold you to that."
I wasn't worried. He'd never met a girl like me. Any dick at all was fine, whatever the shape. My smile was genuine as I took his hand and waved to Vena for a takeover. Ben was still nervous on the way to my room. Hiding it well, but I could see. Hope and anxiety all swirled together. I guessed it had been a long time for him.
We got the door closed, and I did a happy little striptease for him. Better to keep him focused on me, not let him sink inside his own head. I had his attention; my tits and ass were relevant to his interests, you might say.
He got tense again when I went for his belt. But he was turned on, I could see it in his eyes, his stance. I couldn't see a bulge at his crotch, but I paid that no mind. I pretty much expected that by now. I got his pants down... and froze.
No scrotum. Just lips. It was... it was a pussy! With a giant clit. It stuck out an inch, inch and half.
It was a very close thing. The situation hung in the balance. The magic effectively made me attracted to men. My previous history made me like women. Neither one made me attracted to women who looked like men.
Ben didn't seem at all surprised at my expression. He was hurt... but not guilty or ashamed. His voice when he spoke was... determined. "I've been on T since I was fifteen."
Testosterone. A transsexual. I thought of Madison... but he was still talking. "My parents thought I was a tomboy for a long time. I never wanted to dress up or play with dolls. I wanted to play with boys, but I wouldn't let them make me the princess to get rescued." A pause as he grit his teeth at some memory. "I wanted to be the knight, the soldier. I wanted to be the rescuer."
He sighed. "I'm a man. But if you can't get past my birth defect, I understand."
If it had been my first night, I would have bailed for sure. But it wasn't. My perspective had undergone a fair amount of forcible expansion. Enough to entertain the thought... what if?
What if he were a guy? I sure as fuck accepted Madison as a girl now. At this point I even believed she had been a girl, in some sense, all along. Was it so difficult to take Ben at his word? Hell, in my heart of hearts - despite all evidence - I still thought of myself as a guy. And my body was way less manly than his. Shit, my old body hadn't been in that kind of shape. Of everyone here, I should be the last one to doubt him.
I could feel myself warming to the idea - literally. Here was a guy who was seriously hard up. Who needed to fuck a beautiful girl, and make her come. And his 'dick' might be small, but... I mean, c'mon! A guy who could have multiple orgasms? What Gerry's Girl could possibly resist?
So I nodded, smiled, and started sucking on his nub. He gasped, only partly in surprise.
Sure, it was weird. But now that I'd accepted him as male, the magic breezed me past that. Fundamentally, just another blowjob now. One that required some specialized techniques, granted... but as thoroughly sexy as the rest.
He grunted a little as I tickled that stub with my tongue. I held his eyes with mine - it was vital he knew I was enjoying this. That I found it - found him - sexy. One of my hands flowed carefully past the lips. I read a flicker of tension in the muscles of his legs (lots of my skin was pressed against his, there). It was quick and, I think, subconscious. It told me that he didn't want to be penetrated.
I could understand that. Better than almost all Gerry's Girls. In fact, at this point I was honestly glad that I was the one he'd picked. I don't think even Collette could have understood him so well.
So, straight male techniques only. To the extent possible, treat him like a guy with normal equipment. In moments I had a whole set of strategies and tactics laid out, and was proceeding with a plan of attack.
My own equipment had been pretty run-of-the-mill, back in the day. Even then I'd worried sometimes about pleasing a woman. Clearly Ben had issues about that. I recalled my first night here, how much it had meant to me that Collette enjoyed me, and I resolved to give Ben the same experience.
A disadvantage of his anatomy was that I didn't get a mouthful when he came. It's hard for a guy to fake that. You know he's come, then. The way Ben groaned and twitched, though, I had no doubts. I came along with him, naturally.
He sat on the bed, and while he caught his breath I unbuttoned his shirt, then pulled off his undershirt. His chest had scars where breasts had been removed. I made sure to run my fingers over his pecs, admiring the work he'd put in. They trailed over his shoulder, and down to linger on a bicep. In truth, he was decently developed. Women ogle, too, but they're generally more subtle about it. I was demure enough to be womanly while being sufficiently obvious to pump his ego.
I moved in close for a deep kiss. Although he'd taste some of his own juices on my lips and tongue, it was the 'normal' thing to do. I took up a position on his lap, pulling him close. All he could see was my face and neck and breasts, framed by the hair. My lower half pressed in close against him.
He got worked up enough after a few minutes to turn over and lay me on my back on the bed. I had considered this quickly but carefully. Woman on top was out. Doggie style wasn't gonna work. Even standard missionary would present difficulties. Fortunately there was a good option that was even fairly common amongst the young and limber.
He was getting ready to go down on me. I held his arm and arranged myself invitingly, sliding up the bed a foot or so. With my legs flat on my stomach, knees at the bottom of my breasts, rump raised, he had easy access to my pussy.
He smiled, nodded, and got himself arranged.
It shows up plenty in porn, but real-life lesbians don't actually rub their pussies together all that much. Oh, it happens... but it's seldom a 'go-to' move. Fingers and tongues are way more precise and dextrous.
However, Ben's 'clenis' could actually get inside me some. Hardly deep inside, of course, but most of the nerve endings are at the front of the channel anyway. And for my part, what I really cared about was how it felt for him. I gave him every impression of taking pleasure from his efforts, which boosted his confidence. A clit is lower down than a dick, so his hips were somewhat offset, but it worked.
We came, and then he insisted on eating me out. It probably won't shock you to hear he was better than average. Nor that we kept going for a good interval after that. After quite a while, we both pretty much collapsed.
At least ninety percent of the time, guys didn't care to linger once they'd had their fun. A handful wanted to rest or talk entwined with the beautiful woman they had just came in, or on. Ben was like that. But not the way you might expect - not like a post-orgasmic woman wanting to cuddle, to share closeness and affection.
He just... wasn't ready for it to be over. He wanted me to be womanly, to be a little stereotypical, and cling to him some. Ordinarily it would have been annoying - I'd have been looking forward to my next fuck - but this situation was a bit out of the ordinary. For one thing, Gerry's Girl or not, I was a human being, and I'd just had a lot of closely-spaced orgasms. For another, it was a chance for him to talk with someone who knew, and accepted, a central aspect of himself that he'd had to both fight for... and hide. I got to hear a chunk of his life story. I was only the third girl he'd ever bedded - and naturally the most successful outing he'd had, by far.
He'd worked several jobs in his life, including security guard, but for the last several years he had been a firefighter in Denver. That had taken an assload of work, and he'd had to go through a bunch of shit to prove he could do the job and earn the trust of the others. Firefighters have to trust each other, and a lot of prejudices were against him. But he was accepted now, by most of his co-workers. I could see how much he cherished that.
He had that puppy-like gratitude lots of guys showed when their fantasies come true. These days I understood why women were sometimes willing to do things for their guy that they didn't particularly enjoy, just because they wanted to see him happy. There's a difference between pleasure and joy - and Ben gave me a rare combination of both. Pleasure was easy for Gerry's Girls, but we seldom made a major positive difference in someone's life.
I was a good reader of people. Security guard, firefighter... knight... As he was getting dressed, I spoke up.
"I think there's someone you need to meet."
The wardrobe department had a few logistical bonuses. We only had to stock shoes in three different sizes - women's 5, 7, and 9. Gerry had us 'standardized'. Which was good because we needed so many kinds - boots, sandals, pumps, wedges, and especially heels. Plus the guys couldn't tell - and wouldn't have cared - that most of our clothes were cheap knock-offs and copies. Which was good, considering how many things got torn, stained, or otherwise ruined per night.
There was a lot of teamwork here, keeping up appearances. We all kept an eye on each other for makeup damage, clothing failures, hair problems, etc. Ensuring everyone looked their best was a communal duty.
Normal females were often hostile to attractive, sexually-available women. Competition, mostly. But being jealous of each other's looks here was silly. It'd be like tulips being jealous of roses or orchids. We were all gorgeous, just in different ways.
Besides, we liked being around sexy ladies dressed - or undressed - provocatively... because of the delicious effect it had on men. I didn't really care if a guy got hot for me, or Melissa, or Jessie, or Anong, or Collette - all that mattered was he got hot.
I mean, it was awesome when I got to make a guy spurt. It felt great, I came every time. But I got a nice frisson of pleasure just knowing another girl was going to get him there. If I could tell, say, Reika would really do it for some client, I'd make sure to send him her way. And they all made sure to steer guys in my direction if they thought they'd get the most out of me. We were all in it together. A weird kind of sisterhood, but... no cock-blocking here. Or rather, box-blocking.
It wasn't like we were going to run out, after all.
The Emperor's Room was big - a couple thousand square feet, with an extensive array of amenities. A full bar, a large Jacuzzi in one corner, an oversized bed big enough for a dinner party, a spacious lounge area, and a spiral staircase up to a stately bedroom with "just" a king-size bed. Large windows offered a view of the desert sunset outside from the top floor of Gerry's Place.
It was a decadent space, suitable for fulfilling a wide range of fantasies. Within very few limits - Gerry refused to provide even the illusion of illegal entertainments such as underage companions or real violence - clients could arrange for their heart's desire. If they were willing to part with mucho dinero for the privilege.
I hadn't seen it up until now. This morning Melissa had stopped by and informed me I had an assignment here tonight. I'd gleaned as much information as possible from Anong and other girls during the day. A few seemed jealous that I'd gotten the opportunity.
I adjusted the formal, dark pink dress with white trim. It exposed ample cleavage. Then again, I now had a lot more cleavage to expose. I was taller, about five foot six, with shoulder-length pink hair (and pink pubes). I was now at least a hundred sixty pounds, plump and plush, with big pendulous breasts. A little further magic had endowed me with pierced nipples and a hole for a lip ring. Gerry couldn't create tattoos as such, but an artist painted some designs on my skin, and the ring sank the pigments down below the surface. He could remove them later just as easily.
It was surreal. I didn't look a thing like Marci anymore. Not even a "big beautiful" pink-haired version of her. My eyes were a different color. The face was pretty - no duh, right? - but definitively not Marci-related. And it felt so weird to turn my head without feeling the hair shifting and sliding all down my back. By now, it felt wrong.
Melissa was still blonde, but also transformed. Zaftig and padded, with breasts bigger than mine plus a sizeable round rump. All the girls in the room were well-rounded, in keeping with the client's specifications. Only Melissa was clad in white lace and brocade, however. The rest wore the same dark pink dress as me.
The client wanted a wedding party of plus-size women. It was a preposterous setup - he was a male stripper coming to a bachelorette party, and would wind up fucking the bride and all the bridesmaids. Gerry had a rep for being able to tease out what a client really wanted... and the most they were willing to pay. Telepathy is a killer edge when negotiating.
The situation was technically possible, sure. More plausible than a lot of notions people stroked off to, in fact. But would everybody be dressed in bridal gown and bridesmaid dresses, plus full makeup, for a party? Our job was to sell the fantasy, however, and for the price he was paying he deserved good service.
Gerry had given the client a little boost. First, a pill he'd been told would give him extra stamina. Actually just a placebo - but accompanied by a covert magical enhancement. Few guys could fuck six women in a row naturally. He even got a slight upgrade to the size of his dick. Not enough to be suspicious; merely enough to enhance his confidence.
A few minutes remained before he arrived. We were milling about, making sure we knew our characters and the rough outline of how the night was supposed to go. It wasn't the kind of thing that could be scripted in detail. For these sorts of jobs, the girls who were best at improvising got selected. In a way, it was flattering that I'd been tapped.
I was talking to Jessie. She was a brunette tonight, and as upholstered as the rest of us. "Feels weird, huh?" I nodded my head at her very different figure. Her waist was likely four times its normal - or rather, usual - circumference.
"It's nice to do something different sometimes," she said, unconcerned. Her voice was higher. It was hard to psychologically connect the girl in front of me with the exaggerated spectacle I'd seen before.
"What's it like?" I was compelled to ask after a moment.
"Being a freak?" she teased.
"You know I didn't mean that!" I protested. Weakly, though - in a way I had meant exactly that.
She laughed a little, not appearing offended. "It's actually pretty cool. Guys get..." She thought for a second. "They get kind of in a weird place, y'know? They do things they'd never do with a normal girl."
That was an aspect I hadn't considered. And it made sense, come to think of it. I found myself actually feeling a mite jealous.
Before I could muse on that much, the show started. A knock came at the door, which Riley answered. Her face flashed anxious dismay, segueing to thoughtful appreciation. And then she pulled the door fully open.
In stepped the client. He wore a cop uniform, albeit unusually tight-fitting. No gun, but a truncheon of a suspiciously convenient size. And he carried a small bag. We all looked his way, apparently surprised.
"I'm sorry, ladies," he began. "I'm afraid we've had some noise complaints." He looked around. "I'll have to ask you all to move over here." He motioned us to the lounge space. A circular carpeted area recessed a few inches into the floor, surrounded on three sides by long, plush, curved leather couches that faced a giant screen on the wall.
Each of us stole glances at him as we followed meekly along. We all preened ourselves, subtly, the way a woman does when she's interested in a guy and making sure she looks good for him. Adjusting clothes, changing posture, covertly checking makeup. I reached to toy with my hair, but it was shorter than I'd gotten used to. I played it off as a nervous tic.
"Everyone sit down," he ordered sternly. We did so, though some of us were giggling and whispering to each other other. Reika was playing "Maid of Honor", so she elbowed Melissa and muttered something in her ear. They both laughed.
Once we were arrayed on the couches, he shook his head. "Like I said, people have been complaining about the noise you're making." He glanced at all of us, trying to be cool about it. He didn't do a perfect job; we'd been restructured to his specifications, and he couldn't help appreciating our looks somewhat. We acted just a bit nervous and cowed.
He continued. "You don't really seem like the noisy type, though." He frowned, and unzipped the bag. "Looks like I'll have to..." A portable speaker system emerged. "... bring the noise!"
"Whooooo!" we all called, laughing and smiling. Our glances at him became openly lascivious while the music started up and he set the speaker against the wall. Then he commenced to dance.
He would not have made it as a real stripper. He was only in average shape, and of average height. Not a bad face, though. His dance skills... well, Ms. Ep would have called him 'teachable'. Plus he was nervous at first. I think he was realizing how silly his chosen scenario was, wondering if we were judging him behind our rapt expressions. But as we played into it, it turned him on. He became more aroused... and that was incredibly seductive. We didn't have to pretend at all now. Soon he really was driving us wild.
I shifted in my chair, and licked my lips. All the women were paying close attention, looking flushed. He was getting us too turned on, making us lose control. Exactly what he wanted.
He grabbed Chloe's hand and pulled her to her feet. Then he danced around her. We all hooted and made catcalls - actually quite reminiscent of the main floor downstairs, only in a higher register. He got in her personal space, with hands and crotch. She was like a mouse hypnotized by a predatory snake, paralyzed. Obviously tempted but unsure. His cap and sunglasses came off, and then his shirt. We all drank him in, making little titters and cries of approval.
His caress wasn't particularly skillful, nor were his moves especially slick. On one level, I was amused by his attempted seduction. On every other level I was completely enthralled. Any expression of male sexual interest, however clumsy, is hot to a Gerry's Girl. Finally he leaned in and kissed her. The dam broke and she clung to him, kissing back ravenously. We all shrieked in delighted shock and surprise.
He kneaded her ass and pulled her in tight, getting no resistance whatsoever. And then he got a hand on the back of her dress and slid the zipper down. Our catcalls stopped, and our voices dropped to whispers.
"Ohmigod..."
"What the fuck?"
"Jeez..."
The top half of her dress fell from her shoulders, bunching at her waist, exposing her breasts. (Few women with breasts of the size we now possessed would go braless in real life, but this wasn't exactly real life.) He manhandled one while continuing to kiss her, his other arm holding her waist close to him. Chloe appeared to have completely forgotten where she was, or anything but getting busy with the stripper who was all over her.
He let go of a breast and used his hands to push her dress down past her waist. She started fumbling at his belt, but he broke off and spun out of her grip. Her expression became bereft for a moment as she stood there in panties and stockings and heels, reaching helplessly for him. But he smiled and shimmied and took off his belt, then slid down his pants, exposing a banana hammock that was bulging. There was a kind of collective sigh...
Chloe knelt before him and kissed that bulge. Then she pulled the brief briefs down and away. His cock was only slightly above average, but now there was a collective gasp. While the awe might have been exaggerated, the sheer lust it engendered in the crowd was entirely authentic. My panties were soaked.
Chloe started sucking him desperately, like a drowning woman snatching at a lifeline. It was his turn to breathe deeply, but before long he pulled out of her mouth. Then, in swift order, he got her up and laying on a couch, relieved her of her underwear, and plunged into her dripping snatch. She screamed and wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in.
We were all staring in shock, mesmerized and avid, some moaning softly. I and Jessie were softly, apparently unconsciously, rubbing our nipples and crotches through the fabric of our dresses.
They came. As you might guess, it was dramatic. Perhaps even melodramatic; Chloe was not at all subdued. As he pulled out, there came a delicate moment. How we acted at this juncture was critical. We had to maintain the mood.
Jessie was closest. She knelt down in front of him to 'take him in hand', staring in amazement at her own stroking fingers. More "ohmigods" and other, coarser expletives were uttered as the girls exchanged uneasy glances - to the effect of, "Are we really going to do this?" But no one tried to stop her. In seconds the apparent misgivings had faded, and the pair had an invested audience.
I was so invested that before long my skirt was hiked up and I was rubbing my pussy through my panties. My colored hair and tattoos bespoke a level of impulsiveness, so it had plausibility. And this gave the other girls cover to gradually up their own game.
Riley was usually the hair-dyed and tattooed one. (The under-the-table I saw that first night was hers.) For tonight's engagement, she was a plump - of course - bleach blonde with dainty hands. Those hands had extricated a small vibrator from her purse and removed enough clothing to put it to good use. The only woman not self-stimulating in some way was Melissa. She was frozen, unable to look away.
Jessie and the client got to an explosive climax. Riley and I didn't exactly fight for who went next, but it was clearly a competition. Riley still had some clothes on, whereas I was naked by then. Unburdened by clothing or a vibrator, I got to him first. He was barely out of her before I had my mouth around his member.
I wasn't the top cocksucker at Gerry's. LaShawna was a fucking genius at it. But, false modesty aside, I was one of the smartest girls. I'd learned fast, and I had the advantage of knowing what they felt like on the receiving end. It only took him a couple minutes to get hard again. I can't take all the credit for that, though. Magic helped, plus being the center of attention for a lustful crowd of women was, obviously, kind of a turn-on for him.
Once he was good and stiff, he pulled out of my mouth and lifted up on my shoulders. After my transformation, I was too hefty to just manhandle. Since I wasn't fighting him at all, though, he maneuvered me into his desired position with no trouble.
I was bent over, ass up and elbows on a couch. He plunged into me from behind and began pumping, claps sounding as his belly and hips hit my new bubble-butt. It felt strange, being so much more... hefty than before. But I felt... comfortable for him. Padded, upholstered. And his dick, ramrod straight for the third time that night, told my kink that he loved my form, so I was thrilled. And when he shot off, I was ecstatic.
Riley and Reika got fucked in turn - Riley between her tits, and then Reika from behind, like me. He was slowing down a smidge by then. Still having fun, though. All of us bridesmaids were cheering him on. And conspicuously pleasuring ourselves or one another.
The client wrapped up with Reika, leaving her collapsed and panting on a couch. He was breathing pretty deeply himself. Nowhere near what a guy who'd just come five times in a row should have been, though. I'd have suspected drugs if I hadn't known about magic.
Therefore, it wasn't very long before he set his eyes on the 'bride'. If Chloe had been a mouse to his snake, Melissa was a rabbit staring down a drooling wolf. She wasn't frozen, she trembled with confusion and need. He stepped - stalked - closer, as his cock lifted yet again.
Jessie spoke up after a few seconds. "Melissa, come on! You gotta try him!"
Riley chimed in. "Fuck, Mel, he's amazeballs! I never came like that! Not even with my Rabbit!"
"I'm getting married tomorrow..." she wailed. But her eyes never left the dick hovering in front of her.
I stepped up to her. "Mel. It's your last chance." I pulled her hand, lifting her up off the cushions. "You gotta." She stood, then fell to her knees before him. He smiled, almost cruelly, and rolled his hips. Clearly lost to his fantasy, no self-doubt or misgivings anymore.
Her resistance blew away like dust in a strong wind. With a moan, she leaned the few inches forward and ran her tongue up his shaft. Several of the girls were rubbing their twats, transfixed with lust. Chloe and I were rubbing each other's pussies, and kissing, but kept stealing glances as he plowed Melissa. Soon we were joined by Riley. Jessie and Reika began making out.
He took his time. It was several minutes before he took her on the plush carpeted floor, skirt hiked up and panty-crotch shoved to the side. Mel's innocence had vanished, a wicked leer lit up her face as she relished his every thrust. "Oh fuck oh fuck fuck me fuck me fuck me..." she chanted.
He came with a roar, a tenor note anchoring the alto and soprano groans, shrieks, and cries as everyone in the room orgasmed at once. I grasped now why Emperor jobs were so popular. Fucking a series of guys was excellent, but focusing on one man and making his wet dreams come true... that was a special treat.
Remember the security guards I mentioned before? Maybe you're wondering why they were willing to sign up.
Gerry had thought carefully again. He had to screen applicants aggressively, but he had a unique benefits plan. In return for at least a year of service, they got paid well, and received bodies on a par with Captain America - strong, fast, tough, with incredible endurance, which they could keep after their term so long as they agreed to keep quiet.
And they had plenty of time for martial arts practice, or time on the gun range. Since they couldn't be tempted by us, we couldn't be tempted by them. We were friendly, but only friendly. You might expect that would limit the takers, even with the other considerations. Why bother working at an ice cream shop if you don't want sweets? And you'd be right... except Gerry had one more thing to offer as an incentive.
A retirement party.
On their last day, they got the Emperor's Room for the night, and their pick of the girls. And an entire year's unleashed libido in a body powerful enough to express it. All of Gerry's Girls looked forward to those nights.
Tonight, Tony was saying his goodbyes. And he'd picked a series of girls to enjoy. Astonishingly enough, I was one of them. He knew who I'd been, but wanted me anyway? It got me wet, thinking of lust so strong it could overcome such reservations.
On the top floor, near the service elevator, there was a little dressing room for girls to get prepped for an entrance. Tonight it was an undressing room; he wanted his ladies au naturel. Clarissa was in there as I arrived, putting on a robe.
"How's it going? Any tips?" I asked.
She wore a satisfied smile. "He's still going strong. Seems to like starting out gentle and gets kinda heavy at the end."
"Thanks," I said, filing away the info as I ditched the lacy nightgown I'd worn on the elevator ride up. I inspected myself in the mirror for any makeup issues or cruft in my hair.
I passed inspection, so I draped my hair over my breasts and down my stomach. If I leaned my head forward the ends just covered my pussy. Sometimes it was more about what you concealed than what you showed. The chance of an accidental reveal could often be more exciting than letting it all hang out.
I stepped - almost strutted - through the door. Off to the left, Tony sat naked and at ease on one of the couches around the 'lounge pit'.
Obviously he was a physical specimen. Almost any heterosexual woman would have felt her heart flutter. His dark hair was cropped short, but longer than a crew cut. There was a manly amount of body hair, he wasn't plucked clean like a model; but neither was he a gorilla. His muscles were ample yet didn't bulge; they were hard and sharply defined, not grotesque. Same for his cock; it was generously sized but not - quite - intimidating.
His physical charms did nothing for me, however; I wasn't actually a heterosexual woman. What I appreciated was good cardiovascular health and stamina, plus libido and confidence. That is to say, I was looking forward to a guy who would have zero trouble getting it up, and keeping it up. His dick was limp for now, but I knew that would change soon.
"Hey there," I said, archly.
He just stared at me for a moment. "Hey."
Something was wrong. He was looking at my face, my body - a heterosexual male almost couldn't help that - but not the way he should. Abstract, not concrete. Like a guy looks at a naked statue. Sexy, maybe, but not something you could do anything with.
I tilted my head - and my hips - slightly. I had a confusing sense that I needed to get things going quickly, or things might not get going at all.
I stepped closer. The smell of sex was in the air; he had unquestionably been busy. I was doing my level best with my walk and my face, but his dick remained stubbornly limp.
He held up a hand for me to stop. "I saw you when you came in the first night. I got you dressed after Collette took you out." He shook his head. "And then you were a sucking cock like a pro the next fucking day."
Yes, something was definitely wrong. He kept going. "Before, it didn't bother me much. It was funny." His head lowered, he gazed up at me. "But now I got my mojo back. Got some perspective." He scoffed. "How could you let him do that to you? Were you a fag before?"
Sex wasn't going to happen, obviously. He was just... disgustedly curious. I wasn't horny anymore, I was irritated and ashamed. And a good chunk of that shame was because I felt disappointed and frustrated. So I was all acid as I replied, "No." I even went on the offensive. "Were you castrated until this morning?"
He sat up sharply at that, glaring. "I was still a man."
I almost blurted, 'so am I'... but it wasn't true in any way he'd accept. Struggling for an alternative, I stammered, "You... don't know what it's like... I didn't choose this."
He wasn't impressed. "Yeah, you did. The ring can't make you do anything."
At that, I recovered some will. "Made you leave more than three dozen gorgeous, horny, experienced 'sluts' alone for a couple years."
He took a deep breath. He was getting angry - and I suddenly felt stupid for challenging him. He was the kind of guy who'd never hit a girl. If he decided I was a man, though... he was probably a full order of magnitude stronger than me.
But then he sat back and took hold of his tool. "And you can't leave these alone."
I couldn't keep my eyes from following his hand as it stroked up and down. Was his manhood stirring? Maybe? "That's not fair."
"Go ahead. Choose to walk away." He slid his foreskin back a bit.
I nearly did. But I stared just a second too long; I had just started to turn when I realized his prick was getting stiff. I was drawn back.
He laughed. "You really can't do it, can you?" And his prick lifted a bit.
That tore it. I understood. Or, at least, suspected. I thought I saw a way to get him going. If I'd still despaired, I could have left. But knowing that the option existed...
By now, seducing was a reflex. It didn't take any conscious reflection. I bit my lower lip, the angle of my hips shifted, et cetera et cetera. Not all at once; my collapse was gradual. A progressive loss of self-control, over several seconds. An act finely calculated to arouse.
He'd seen that act thousands of times before in his time as a Gerry's Guy. It shouldn't have worked. Before, though, he hadn't had the vulnerability of a libido. Now he had the same motive other guys did to buy the act. And he did.
Besides, it became less of an act, over those same seconds - since it worked. His dick got hard. My guess was right, he enjoyed my weakness. Which automatically made me want to be weak. Which could be dangerous...
"You want this?" he asked. "Get on your knees." Was there a trace of huskiness in his tone?
I dropped. "Please, don't..." I whined. "I don't..."
"Shut up. Pussy."
I had a handle on him, from gossip and the incidental interactions we'd had. He wasn't a bad guy. He had a lot of respect for women, and wanted to protect them; otherwise Gerry would never have hired him. But he had kind of fixed ideas of how men and women should be. Old-fashioned in some ways. As far as he was concerned, men had a duty to honor and care for women. Women had the luxury of that protection and nurturing, to carry out their own necessary functions.
It was kind of like the attitude of many soldiers toward civilians. They took pride in putting their lives on the line to defend others, considered it honorable. But they felt it made them superior to civilians in some ways, too. That also meant a man accepting womanhood was fleeing that duty, like a soldier deserting their post.
So here, before him, was a sexy creature who deserved, in his mind, to be humiliated. An outlet for desires he'd normally never consider acknowledging, much less indulging.
"Beg for it." He stood, and his cock stood out from his crotch.
I didn't say anything. I just gazed with longing at his shaft.
"Beg, bitch."
I broke. "Please," I whispered, reaching toward it. "Please let me..."
He batted my hand away. "No."
I turned and fell forward. I was on my hands and knees, raising my ass to him. My hair slid to either side. "Please, fuck me, oh God please! I need you to fuck me!"
I heard and felt him crouch behind me. "Oh, you want this?" he said, and the tip of his dick brushed against my lips. I moaned, "Yes, I need it, please..." I pushed back, trying to envelop him.
He slipped back and gave me a good spank on one cheek. "Nuh uh, bitch. You don't move."
I melted down onto my elbows, but kept my rump spread and available. "Fuck, oh fuck, you've got to do me, I can't stand it, oh God please..."
He knew I'd been a man, not three weeks ago. And here I was, desperately whining for him to fuck me doggy style. He wanted me to feel humiliated... and I did. And the more humiliated I felt, the more it got his rocks off. And that drove me wild.
We were caught in a loop. The more I debased myself, the hotter he got. And the hotter he got, the more I wanted to debase myself.
I kept pleading with him. "Fuck me, stick it in, oh God I need it, please oh God please..." I was trembling slightly. I had a great ass; I was very confident he'd crack soon.
And again I was right. He roughly grabbed my hips and shoved into me. "Here you go, cunt! Take it all!"
He slammed into me again and again, almost brutal, with little appreciable regard for my feelings. He wasn't completely out of control - he'd probably have broken my hips, otherwise - but he was definitely punishing me. Taking his pleasure from me.
And I loved it, screaming in mixed pleasure and pain. The pain, indeed, making the pleasure more intense. Shrieking and moaning so he'd keep doing it.
Abruptly he pulled out. With one arm, he flipped me over onto my back. The rug was deliberately padded, so it didn't hurt, but it took my breath away for a moment. Naturally my legs were spread.
In that moment, he got on top of me. He penetrated me again, but one hand covered my mouth. I could still breathe through my nose - smelling his fingers, he'd definitely been playing with many women tonight - but my cries were muffled as he thrust repeatedly, giving me a serious pounding.
He locked eyes with me. I could almost hear his thoughts. 'You're helpless. I can do anything I want to you and you can't stop me. This is what you chose. This is what you are now. A toy for men, that's all.'
He came and I squealed in humiliated, submissive ecstasy. It went on for longer than I expected - he was enhanced and optimized, after all. For a few seconds, he stopped, panting - even he was out of breath. Then he got up and walked to the bar, wetting a washcloth to wipe himself off.
I laid there for a time, limp. He looked my way and said, gruffly, "Get out of here." I could tell he was embarrassed, and using anger to cover that up. Just like a man.
I climbed to my feet and left, walking funny. The door was closed behind me as soon as I was in the hall.
A lingerie-clad Riley seemed a little startled when I came into the dressing room. We were familiar with all different kinds of "just been fucked" looks, and she hadn't been expecting the "rode hard and put away wet" style from an encounter with Tony. "What happened?" she exclaimed.
I sighed, and said, "Special, uh, circumstances. It's cool." A shade sardonically, I said, "He's probably gonna want to be gentle and take his time with you. Be a lady." As she absorbed my words, I added, "A naked lady."
She understood that, and began unhooking her bra. It would be a little tricky for her - it's not easy to put out a 'lady' vibe with her tattoos and piercings and dyed hair. But I knew she could pull it off. I picked up the nightgown, and made my way to the elevator, lost in thought.
We had learned things about ourselves, and each other, that we weren't proud of. We'd brought the worst out in each other. I think we were both glad we wouldn't see each other again. And I resolved to never get near a serious sadist before I was a man again.
But holy fuck had it been hot.
Halloween at Gerry's Place was next-level. Customers had to pay a large fee to get in that night, but it was all-inclusive. Dinner, dessert, drinks, entertainment, and all the girls they could fuck until midnight. (Although, in practice, few guys made it past two.)
Gerry seemed to really enjoy it. He got to let his creativity range free. Costumes could be impressive as fuck with judicious use of magic.
He had transformed my hair yet again; still the same length, but now black with white stripes, styled into a windswept mane. Even the tuft of pubic hair over my shaved lips had stripes. Some body paint - which the ring turned into tattoos - and I became a zebra girl. A buttplug gave me a literal ponytail. (The ring couldn't give us non-human traits, sadly.) The only other thing I wore were white and black wedges - very steeply sloped, of course, to give my ass a wiggle. As I walked, they clattered like hooves.
There were other animal themes. Melissa was a splotchy cowgirl; her breasts were, for the night, producing milk and her nipples were oversized and fat. Anong was a fox, with a cute bushy tail. Jessie was a rabbit, wearing bunny-ears. Collette, hair curled in ringlets, was - what else? - a French poodle. Chloe had orange-and-black lingerie that matched the monarch butterfly wings she wore with a little headband with antennae.
Animals weren't the only type of costume, naturally. Sexy nurses, sexy superheroines, sexy witches, sexy vampires, even Madison as a sexy Pokémon catcher.
The mood was festive on the main floor. I mean, lots of people let their freak flag fly on Halloween, step outside their usual characters - and morals. You can imagine how we did everything possible to take advantage of that. Our flirting behavior was even more blatant than usual.
I got in five under-the-tables in the first hour. Enough that it impacted my effectiveness as a waitress, but we had the whole staff circulating. Even the ones on their period; LaShawna and September were dressed as BDSM slaves with chastity belts. Made for an excellent excuse.
I figured out pretty fast that Kevin would be my first fuck of the night. He was just fixated on me. Like he couldn't get over my costume. I think the only reason he didn't have me take him back first thing was he was pacing himself. But I felt his eyes on me the whole time.
I was excited. I remembered what Jessie had said, how a really different girl caused guys to push their boundaries some.
An hour in, I swung by his table and gave him a smoldering look, imitating Collette my first night. He grinned and stood up before either of us said anything. Of course we talked some on the way back to my room. He was in his mid twenties. He was in banking, and had just broken up with a girlfriend. I absorbed every detail, just in case it would prove helpful when it came time to get to business.
We stepped inside; I kept the lights low. I led him to the center of the room, and kissed him. Reverently and silently I disrobed him; I tried to emphasize the animal, the sensual. To make the experience almost dreamlike. When I knelt and played with his cock, I sniffed at it first, obviously aroused by the aroma.
I didn't intend to get him off that way, at first. Just to get him excited. I did a smidgeon of ass-play as I suckled. From his reactions, I could tell that (a) he hadn't had that done to him before, but (b) he found it enhanced the experience. When he got close to shooting off, though, I disengaged with a teasing smile and stood languorously. I turned away slightly - making sure my rump drew his attention - and he moved in.
He stood pressed up behind me; his erection lay across one of my ass-cheeks like a promise. A hand curled around and cupped my mound, another stroked my breasts. I looked at us in the mirror; I really was otherworldly in this costume. I stared in his eyes in the mirror, then lifted my face to him. He kissed me over my shoulder. I knew I was going to make him come hard, and his hand rubbing my labia got wet.
He pushed me down onto the rug - which, as I noted before, was soft and comfortable for a reason. He turned me and we grappled facing each other for a time. Then he slid down, spread my legs, and got his face in my crotch.
A fair number of guys only do oral under duress. They don't like going down on a woman but do it to make her happy - or at least, to increase their chances of getting a blowjob. On the other hand, plenty of guys do enjoy cunnilingus - but let's face it, there aren't a hell of a lot of males that ejaculate from licking pussy. And guys who are paying for sex understandably tend to focus on what gets them off.
So Gerry's Girls didn't get oral as often as you might think. Even were they inclined, most guys are so frantic to get with us that sticking that dick in is all they can think about. But there were clients that enjoyed foreplay, and got genuine pleasure from pleasuring us. He was one such. I think since there was no time limit he felt like appreciating the experience.
He spent a little too much time with his tongue inside my vagina; most women prefer more focus on the clit. But since he was having fun, I had no complaints. And while I had denied him release, he made sure to make me come.
We didn't slack off, though. We stayed on the ground, but he turned me again.
I lay on my side, the 'tail' running up my rump and back between us. He spooned with me, chest to my back, my hair pressed between. His legs and hips against mine, he entered me from behind. The buttplug moved interestingly with the pressure. And with my legs together, my lips moved over my clit. It felt nice.
I kept things nonverbal. My whines and whinnies had an animalistic tinge, but were fundamentally human. He grunted, and moaned, and panted. I let out a cry when he came inside me. We rested together, in no hurry to part. Eventually I stirred and lapped him clean, slowly and with relish. He got erect again as I worked, and this time I gave him release that way, to my obvious, uninhibited delight.
I spent my third weekend making videos. They were great advertising and naturally we got a share of the revenue they brought in. I fucked four guys and five girls and had a lovely time.
Porn star guys are weird. They have to keep their rods stiff, without coming. And we did it in weird positions that looked good but were less than totally practical. At least thinking about guys jerking off to me made it fun. And at Gerry's Place, there was no need for fluff girls. In fact, we had kind of a reputation - we kept trying to get them to go off early. (Said reputation was entirely justified, of course.)
Most of the plots and situations were pretty standard, though the production values and passion were unusually high. One was a little different, though. Even more expensive to shoot, but Gerry himself had made the request. A lot of that one was shot underwater.
It took forever to dry my hair after getting in the pool. Looking at the dailies afterward, though, I knew it was worth it. The long-hair freaks would go bananas. When I swam around, I was followed by a great flowing trail of auburn. When I was low in the water, I became surrounded by a halo of floating strands. The effect was multiplied in the scene where I blew one stud standing in the shallow end. Only my head stuck out of the water, and my hair rippled in time with my bobbing motions.
I didn't feel pride when they showed up on the video menu and the website that night. Some corner of me felt - not shame, not anymore - but embarrassment. Although I couldn't help taking a few minutes to rub myself and picture all the guys yanking their puds because of them...
Gerry and I maintained a wary relationship. We didn't see each other very often. He knew as well as I did - literally - my determination to leave the moment I could. I was willing to go as far as a truce, simply because the realities of the situation demanded it. I'd leave him alone if he left me alone; but I wasn't going to help him at all. And I'd have loved to get him back - if it were possible.
Still, I had saved him some trouble finding a replacement for Tony. After reading Ben's mind, he'd extended a job offer. Given the unique benefits Gerry could offer, I hadn't been at all surprised Ben took him up on it.
I was glad that the security force wasn't under-strength, that Ben was being trained. I knew that soon Gerry's Place would need all the guards it could manage. On my way to the salon one morning, I got a chance to see him power-lifting - and it was awe-inspiring. He did a clean-and-jerk, and I couldn't even count the plates. But the bar curved, almost scarily, with the weight. When he dropped it on the padded floor, the whole basement echoed.
He was still recognizably Ben, but idealized. Much less body fat, wider shoulders, narrower hips, a couple inches taller. He caught sight of me and waved. I waved back and started to move on, but he said something to Chris, who was coaching him, and loped over to the door to talk to me.
Like all the security guys, he looked at my face, and his eyes didn't wander to my body. By now it felt weird not to be ogled. "Hey," he said, "I just wanted to thank you again for everything."
He'd been fulsome in his gratitude, understandably, the handful of other times I'd seen him. It got to the point of awkwardness; I was avoiding him anymore. "No big deal."
"Hey, it's everything to me."
I shrugged. "Yeah, well, we both want the same thing."
That penetrated a bit; he had the grace to look embarrassed. "Uh... yeah. It'll be soon, right?"
"Ten days." I shrugged. "I got to go get my hair sorted out. Glad it's going well for you."
He took the hint. "Yeah, okay. Have a good day!" He waved and went back into the gym.
I wasn't sure what I felt as I headed to the salon.
"Fuckin' A, let's go!" I whispered. The other girls grinned at me, but I could tell they were eager to get going, too.
I was super excited, and at this point I wasn't even bothering to be ashamed of how eager I was to get out on stage and dance for all the men to see.
And then Destiny waved at me and we stepped past the curtain.
The extra practice during my period had helped a bunch. Ms. Ep had finally given me the go-ahead to be a backup dancer. Chloe was one of the first girls, and she was retiring in just a few days. This was kind of her 'grand finale'.
Chloe was up front, singing. Anong, Destiny, and I were dancing in a line behind her, occasionally lip-synching the chorus. It was a pretty raunchy chorus, but all my attention was on moving in sync with my fellow dancers, hitting my marks.
Well, not all my attention. It wasn't as good as my imagination in some respects. The stage lights made it hard to see the crowd. But we could hear them over the music, and they were as raucous as I could've hoped.
Chloe had a more elaborate stripping routine, but us backup girls weren't wearing many layers. A dress, bra, and panties. So we just took off an item at three different points in the song. I knew it was a seriously sexy routine; I'd been seeing it in a mirror for a week. And Chloe, in addition to being a hell of a dancer, had an incredible voice. So by the time we were done, we got a standing ovation. And the guys stood and clapped, too.
After, when I took up my waitressing tasks, I had several guys compliment me on how I "shook that ass", and at least two guys came back to my room because of that advertising. I knew on some level it should have still bothered, me, but I felt nothing but pride of accomplishment.
Ms. Ep had a sharp critique of my performance the next morning. I hadn't been up to her standards for Gerry's Place. "Any slut can wiggle her hips and get a stiffie going. Here, we're giving them dream girls. Better than their dreams."
The guys who fucked me last night seemed pretty happy, I thought to myself. But I meekly buckled down for more practice.
I got to see Chloe before she left, when she came to say goodbye to Anong. She had a new identity, and looked different. Still stunning, still a biracial young woman, same hair color and eye color and general build. But the face and body shape were just different enough that she was definitely not 'Chloe' anymore. Nobody could blackmail her with pictures from her time at Gerry's Place.
She gave Anong a hug. She only nodded to me, but it was friendly, and I was the 'new girl', after all. "Gerry fixed your brain?" Anong asked, curious.
"Yeah," Chloe said, smiling.
Anong was clearly curious. "What's it like?"
Chloe snorted. "It's sorta fucked-up. I remember doing all kindsa stuff, and being all into it." She shook her head in wonder. "I just can't understand why anymore."
I hesitated, but had to know. "Do you feel... um... ashamed?"
She squinted at me, but seemed to figure out why I'd ask that. "Sorta. Not really." She thought for a second. "Like, when I was seven or something, I was all about Justin Bieber. I'm a little embarrassed about it now, but I just... I dunno, I know better now, or something. It's kinda like that. I liked it then, I don't like it now, so what?"
"You still like guys?" Anong asked, curiously.
"Yeah, sure. But I don't need 'em anymore.” She smiled. "And I'm gonna make sure guys treat me right from now on. Do stuff for me in bed. And they're gonna have to work to get there."
It sounded fair. And it fit with what I'd seen of Gerry's m.o. It wasn't simply that he was a shrewd businessman, valuing his workers and compensating them well. He had an almost paternal interest in his girls, and wouldn't send them off scarred. (Of course, they cynic in me pointed out that a dissatisfied Gerry's Girl could cause problems for him...)
Anyway, I asked, "What are your plans now?"
Chloe's smile was sunny. "Gerry got me hooked up with a producer. I'm gonna try to be a singer."
"You'll be superstar!" Anong said excitedly. I agreed. If there were any justice, Chloe would be huge. She could sing without Autotune, she could dance at a high-end professional level, and she was world-class gorgeous. Plus she wasn't desperate for money; she had a much better position to negotiate contracts than most artists starting out.
I woke up Thursday with my now-usual good cheer. But as I showered, I realized that it was my last week at Gerry's Place. I would transform back in six days. It felt very strange. I was in a a weird mood as I went over to Anong's room. After she helped me dry my hair, we had breakfast.
She'd noticed I was being quiet. "Okay, what's wrong?"
It crystallized for me then. I knew what the problem was. "I need to get out. Just for a while. Just to remember that there is an outside world."
"You'll be outta here pretty soon anyway."
"Yeah, but... I dunno. I don't think I've even been outside since Gerry did this to me." I looked at her. "I just... I gotta get out. Just for a while."
Anong only hesitated a moment. "Okay. We should be able to do an overnight. I'll come with." Her smile turned into a leer. "You should see how fun things can be when you're a hot girl ready to party!"
When I went to Gerry's office, it was almost anticlimactic. I went in and asked for permission to head out the next day. He looked at me for a moment; then his eyes got distant as he thought about it. He could see that I wasn't planning to run away or make trouble for him.
"Fine." He gave me a very serious look. "But you take Diana with you."
I saw the point immediately. If I changed my mind, I'd be dragged back anyway. Since I really had no intentions of doing that, I had no objections. "Sure." In an odd way, it took the pressure off, anyway. Not to have to plot an escape and all.
The next morning, Anong and Diana and I went on a road trip to Las Vegas. It's not like I had forgotten what the real world was like - it had been just barely over three weeks at Gerry's - but I did find it cleared my head a little. I wasn't constantly thinking about sex and seduction and all that. I could remember - could see - that most people had other pursuits and priorities, too.
Some things were different, though. I never flashed my boobs at truckers before. And when we got into the city, parked, and took a walk... we also took pictures of each other in public, squatting with our panties pulled to the side, or flipping up our skirts, or lifting our tops, so we could post them on the website when we got back. Some guys really got off on that stuff.
And seeing regular women was really strange, for a couple reasons. For one thing, Gerry's Girls varied quite a bit, as I said. But we had a lot in common, too - guys prefer faces and body shapes in a certain range, after all. Ordinary women with ordinary imperfections came across to me as almost exotic by now.
The other reason it was strange was the hostility those regular women greeted us with. Bordering on hatred, often enough. Gerry's Girls didn't compete with each other... but we were out of that bubble. Females frequently were the most vicious about policing social norms for women's behavior and appearance - and we were hardly genteel and demure in our looks and manners.
Clerks and waitresses and even ladies simply walking by would glare. We were ambling down the strip, and one woman deliberately bumped into me, hard. I would have fallen over if Anong hadn't caught me. Diana reacted with startling speed, 'accidentally' tripping the woman on the rebound. The woman and her friend yelled at us anyway. We ignored them and moved on, but it was a fair stretch before my mood returned to normal.
There was another incident, uncomfortable in an entirely different way. We went to a diner for lunch, and some teenage boys sat down a couple tables over. Young teenagers - like fourteen, fifteen. They couldn't stop staring at us. Just mesmerized.
Of course it got us turned on. I could tell we all wanted to whisk them somewhere out of sight and milk them dry. But... they were kids. It would be just plain wrong.
Another reason for us to stick around Gerry's Place. We rushed through our meals and got out of there. After that, though, we were so worked up we had to do something.
'Something' turned out to be a dive bar down the street. No under-21s there. Just a bunch of older drunk guys. Within ten minutes we each took one or another out to their cars and blew their minds, among other things.
We went back to our car, and in short order got a room in the Bellagio - two double beds - and went in to change. We were all psyched. "Told you it was fun to be a sexy girl on the make," Anong gloated.
I couldn't deny it. Being conspicuous in public was a new experience; private detectives tried to blend in, be anonymous. Marci was a center of attention, inevitably. Marci plus Anong plus Diana drew every eye in range.
Still, I was regaining some perspective, being away from Gerry's Place. "You don't want to do this forever, though - right?"
Anong paused, halfway into applying some lipstick. "Nah, not forever. I do want kids someday." She shrugged, lips quirked. "A few more years, I'll have enough saved up to retire. Gerry can take away the cockhound spell and I'll be rich and gorgeous. Won't be too hard to find a guy willing to marry me and knock me up."
I nodded, working a mascara brush, then smiled myself. "Look me up then. I'd be honored."
She appeared as though she didn't know how to feel about that. Flattered, embarrassed, perhaps even sad? But she smiled and gave me a quick hug. "Maybe I will."
Diana was dressed in a clingy, metallic silver dress. She leaned into the bathroom. "You ever gonna let me use the mirror?" We laughed and I hurriedly finished my makeup. I went to the wall mirror to work on my hair as Diana took over my station in front of the sink.
Once we were ready, we quickly figured out which club we were going to and called an Uber. (We didn't want to have to worry about managing the car all night.) As we walked out, I realized something disquieting. I'd just been alone in a hotel room with two extremely attractive women in various states of undress, who were both doing their damndest to be as sexy as possible. Yet I hadn't really scoped them out, even once. I'd been looking them over some... to make sure their clothes and makeup and hair were right, though. I'd enjoyed the view, but not with the kind of intensity I should have.
Instead I'd mostly been focused on making myself as sexy as possible. It preyed on my mind on the way to the club; the Uber driver was female so I had no distractions.
The clouds over my mood were swept away the moment we got out of the car. The doorman didn't even let us move in the direction of the line, he immediately waved us in. Ludicrously sexy girls are always welcome at such a venue. We hit the floor almost immediately.
I was barely good enough to be on stage at Gerry's Place. For picking up guys in a club, though, I was massively overqualified. You didn't need to be a pro to grab the spotlight, you just had to look good and know a few moves.
Naturally, we were the sexiest girls there. We never lacked for partners and every man around was watching us. Some of the other girls got pretty bitchy but we were having a blast. And we had no need of money; guys argued over who would pay for our drinks, not quite coming to blows.
Then Diana got kicked out. She'd taken a guy to the men's room. And taken him, in the men's room. 'Taken' was precisely the right word. He'd gotten a blowjob, but not exactly the way you'd picture. She'd lifted him up and held him against the wall so his dick was at a convenient height to suck on. Rocked his world. However, the action was a little too dramatic for the bouncers to ignore, what with his head peeking over the top of the stall.
We left with her, of course, several guys following us out the door as though they were tethered to us. A brief discussion wound up with three guys driving us back to our motel. And then, well, you can imagine we didn't fall asleep for rather a long while. Diana had some Viagra in her purse.
I woke up to the sound of Anong moaning.
I opened my eyes. My guy was still out. I lay on one of the beds. Diana was on a couch, still asleep, very snuggly with her gent. I turned my head; Anong had her legs wrapped around her man's hips and was getting gently plowed. I eased myself from the grip of my guy and joined them. I threw my hips over Anong's face and kissed her partner passionately. Threesomes always got men hot.
Within a few minutes, the others woke up. My guy came after me, but I stayed with Anong's beau. I wound up sucking him off, and my guy fucked me from behind, a classic spit roast. Anong went off to help Diana with her fellow, a large and strapping buck.
Eventually we sent the boys on their way, and got cleaned up and dressed. We'd worked up a substantial appetite, of course, so we went down to hit the buffet. I grabbed a bunch of smoked salmon - always loved that stuff - along with various carbs for energy. We didn't have to be back to Gerry's until the evening, so I was sure we could get in at least one more sexual escapade before we drove back.
I noticed Anong over by the sweets area. She had the same idea; she was picking up a guy for an after-breakfast treat. I grinned, getting ready to do the same myself... and then I felt a surge of adrenaline. I recognized the guy she was hitting on. One of Novinski's enforcers.
My eyes darted about. By one of the exits to the buffet, I saw another thug. I didn't know the guy hanging out by the other exit I could see, but he was of the same type.
I had switched to full-on 'emergency strategy mode', analyzing the situation and evaluating contingencies. They wouldn't just be following us; this had to be an attempted abduction. They wouldn't want to do anything in public if they could help it. If they realized we'd made them, though, they might well escalate.
I put on a fake smile and touched Diana's wrist. She turned from gathering a high-protein breakfast, and I said in a quiet voice, "Hostiles. Covering exits. We need to bug out."
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. I watched her repeat my assessment. Then she put on her own fake smile and nodded. "Get Anong over here. Stay behind me if anything goes down."
I did a little wave, caught Anong's attention. Come here, I motioned. Right now! my expression said.
She gave me a puzzled, slightly annoyed look. I'm having fun! Unfortunately, the guy saw it and sharply glanced at me.
Maybe I'd lost some poker face as Marci; in any case he decided to make his move. He grabbed Anong's wrist and commenced dragging her to an exit. He waved at us, and the other guys moved in our direction, closing in.
Diana and I both made a beeline toward Anong, who was still indignant rather than scared. But we were intercepted by two toughs, who got in our way and said, "You're coming with..."
That's as far as they got. Diana moved fast. She blurred. Suddenly one guy was curled up and puking, and the other was half-conscious on the floor with a dislocated - and, I think, broken - jaw. She whirled, and before I knew what was going on she'd shoved me off my feet behind a table.
I shot up to my knees, hearing a struggle; another guy was flat on his back. Diana was locked with a fourth goon; her hands gripped his forearms as he strained to grapple with her.
No, one hand held a gun. My heart rate had just enough time to shift to an even higher gear before Diana squeezed that arm and the guy yelled. The gun dropped from a limp hand. An instant later her knee rocketed into his gut and sank inches deep.
He collapsed, helpless and semi-conscious. She kicked the gun across the tile and under a buffet table, then spun and dashed in my direction. I had just managed to stand up. She got a grip under my shoulder and more or less carried me, at speed, after Anong.
I heard alarms screeching as we turned a corner. An emergency exit was open onto blinding daylight. Diana brought me to rest against the wall next to the door, and peeked around the jamb. I heard a gunshot and she jerked her head back fast. Tires squealed outside.
Diana peeked out again, and cursed. Then the casino's security arrived. I watched her visibly consider fighting them too... but she powered down and cooperated.
It took a couple hours to sort out. Four injured men, guns, etc. A review of their security footage cleared us and led to the thugs getting arrested for assault and attempted kidnapping. But it was half an hour before we could even call Gerry to let him know what happened. And then we had to answer endless police questions about the successful kidnapping of Anong.
Once released, we flew down the highway at way past the speed limit and were back at Gerry's in barely an hour. Then we waited. For them to call, or visit, or anything. But there was nothing, for hours. I knew how to get in touch; the only thing keeping me from doing it was that Novinski would see it as weakness. It would put all the other girls at risk.
At more risk. Goddammit.
The mood wasn't as festive as usual on the floor that evening. Everyone knew about Anong and, fetish or no, that's going to impair any human being's erotic inclinations. Everybody liked her.
Diana and I stayed in Gerry's office, waiting. Then there was a scream outside. Chris raced in carrying a red and brown bundle. Diana screamed too, but I just got icy once I realized it was Anong. They'd cut her - everywhere - and dropped her off in the parking lot. Her face looked like raw meat. Her thumbs were gone.
I spent a couple hours holding Anong in her room as she trembled and cried. She was fully healed - all hail the ring - but those motherfuckers had put her through hell. She'd been brought to Novinski, who looked her over and told them to tie her up. Later they pulled her out of closet, attacked her, and left her bleeding in a car trunk lined with plastic. She passed out somewhere on the ride from blood loss. They hadn't even interrogated her, figuring a whore wouldn't know anything important.
She was quiet for a long time. I thought maybe she'd fallen asleep, but then she turned in my arms and looked at me. "Did you really work for that asshole?"
"He hired me," I said, reluctantly.
"Did you know what he was like?" It wasn't precisely an accusation, but I knew our friendship was on the line.
"Yes," I admitted. "But I didn't think anybody in the business was better." Before she could break in, I said, "If you don't believe in magic Gerry seems too good to be true."
She closed her mouth and considered that. "It was still a dick move."
I wasn't forgiven, but I wasn't dead to her yet. I decided to play my hole card.
"I got that a lot. I picked a bad job for someone with my name."
She looked at me quizzically. At least I was distracting her from recent events.
"Before I was Marci, I was Richard Bordreaux."
Even if it was at my expense, I was glad to hear her laugh. "Holy shit! You were actually a private Dick?!"
I looked sheepish and said, "I always hated that joke."
We sat silently for a while. Very softly, she asked, "Are they coming back?"
"Probably." I could feel my face harden. "I've got some surprises in mind for them, though."
She did fall asleep shortly after that, seeming less troubled. I slipped out, carefully. Then I marched down the hall toward the stairs.
I was angry in ways I'd never experienced before. I'd never made any really deep friendships. An only child growing up, I'd never had a sister before - but Anong felt like one now.
And Novinski had hurt her. He'd had two of his goons mutilate her. For life, so far as they knew. Treating her like a thing, like a scrap of paper to write a message on. He'd threatened this whole family. Which I realized I cared about, a lot.
I'd show him what a whore's feelings were worth.
I burst into Gerry's office. He was in a deep conference with Chris and Duane. He looked up at me and his face went wooden. I wasn't surprised; if he was reading my mind it wouldn't be a fun experience.
Without preamble, I pointed at the ring and said, "I need to know exactly what that thing can do. What's its range, anyway? I've seen you don't need line-of-sight."
The meeting was about to begin. Following my advice, Gerry had utterly refused to leave home ground, and after a brief back-and-forth Novinski had agreed to come to Gerry's Place. He was sure he had nothing to fear, anyway. An attack there would start a war, and further involve law enforcement. He'd even brought his son Denis along, as I'd hoped. On-the-job extortion training, you might say.
His bodyguards weren't convinced. In fact, they were acting a little intimidated - his security chief most of all. They had the background to perceive something of how physically dangerous Gerry's Guys were. On top of Diana wrecking four of their mates singlehandedly. Especially when neither Duane nor Murtaugh were bothering to conceal their displeasure. Hostility filled the room.
Novinski seemed more annoyed than unnerved, unfortunately. Several of us were watching from a room down the hall, over a camera. Diana, me, Collette, and Chris. Anong didn't feel up to it.
Zeke, and a nervous but game Ben, were handling regular security out on the main floor. They were ready to respond to Novinski's group if anything went down, though.
Within fifty feet, Gerry could get advice from Collette and me by reading our minds. That didn't cost much magic. Which was fortunate, because the ring was dangerously low. He hadn't budgeted on transforming me and healing September and hiring a new security recruit in the same month as Halloween, plus an Emperor's Room engagement, plus a security retirement party, and Chloe leaving.
Novinski got right to it. "I am your new partner. You will take on manager. My man. He will run books. You will keep fifty percent of profits. We will have use of the girls. Put some of them in our facilities. I will need to speak to your sources, make sure they understand new arrangement."
He was playing up his accent and Russian lack of copulas. Suggesting a brutal, gang-leader vibe. I knew in reality he could speak English rather well.
"That will not be happening, Vadim." Gerry sounded just like I'd hoped, stern and assured.
Novinski sat up straighter, inhaling, but Gerry didn't give him a chance to break in. "You should have taken the hint when your spies failed. They've been dealt with, of course."
A small laptop sat on his desk. He turned it to face the Russians. Novinski's eyes narrowed as he took in the video that played on the screen. Everyone else's eyes widened, or looked away.
The screen showed me in bondage gear - male me, though starved, skinny, and ill-shaved - getting fucked in the ass, my boner wobbling in the air. When the guy fucking me came, so did I. You couldn't fake the pleasure in my eyes. We'd had a couple hours to set that up. Gerry had changed me back physically, but left the fetish in place. That had been my suggestion; it would aid the verisimilitude, and conserve limited magic energy for later.
But that was our cue. "All right, then. I'm up," I said. My voice sounded weird and low to my ears. Chris grabbed me and flipped me over his shoulder - casually, like a dad playing with a toddler. All of Gerry's guards looked strong... and were actually much, much stronger than they looked.
He walked down the hall and came into the office as the video wrapped up, throwing me on the floor in front of them. Novinski's eyebrows flicked up, briefly - surprised I was still alive.
I had on different leathers, leg chains, and handcuffs, but was still mostly naked. I felt extra naked without my long hair. I cowered, sitting on the floor, and said, "Novinski. Oh, God, get the fuck out of here! You got no clue how bad you fucked up!"
"Silence," Gerry said, mildly. In the back of my head, I thought maybe he sounded too much like a movie villain, but I immediately shut up and pulled my knees up to my chest, softly keening in fear.
"You have stumbled into something beyond you," Gerry noted. "Perhaps Semyon should have been notified, but this is above even his need-to-know."
Novinski had been building up to an explosion, but as soon as Gerry mentioned 'Semyon' he took on a very neutral aspect. Some of the former KGB had gone into politics, some had gone into business, some had gone into crime, some were still in intelligence in the FSB. A Russian human trafficker was guaranteed to have intelligence-related contacts; Gerry had plucked the name out of his thoughts. I'd pinned a lot of hopes on that.
"My real manager didn't want to disrupt things too much, but you failed to display any wisdom. We get valuable information here; men from all over the world. Businessmen, diplomats, Saudi princes." He frowned at Novinski, and said, with authority, "Leave now, stay away, never speak about any of this to anyone, and you will live. Do anything else, and you will simply vanish."
Novinski blinked. He looked at me, then at Gerry. Then he said, "Bullshit."
He shook his head once. "If they want lawyers and rag-heads, I can do it. You bluff, badly. You have nice girls, decent muscle. No more." He almost laughed. "I am killer. You are just bank teller."
Gerry looked no more than mildly irritated. I was proud of him. "I told him you were stupid. Go home. Set your guards. If you are still there tomorrow morning, then you can tell me you're a 'killer'."
Novinski bolted upright in anger... and got very still. Duane, Chris, and Murtaugh all had pistols pointing right at him. Drawn faster than I could even follow, in an eyeblink, like a magic trick. Their expressions were totally without mercy, or even concern. His bodyguards had barely begun to react; they froze, uncertain.
I moaned again, and curled into a fetal position, just to enhance the effect.
For the first time, Novinski actually seemed taken aback. Gerry stood up, placed his hands on the desk. "Leave now, or your son dies too."
Novinski shot a look at Denis, then appeared to relax. "I go. But I come back tomorrow with manager." He turned and opened the door - not quite fast enough to trigger an attack, just fast enough to be a challenge.
"No, you won't," Gerry said. The rest of them filed out. Duane and Murtaugh put their guns away and followed them. Closely.
Once the guys returned and reported the invaders had left, Chris undid my restraints. Diana and Collette joined us in the office.
Gerry looked at me. "You were right. Denis would like to take over, but isn't planning to move for at least a few more years." All the anxiety he'd been masking came out. He shook in reaction. "I was hoping he'd back down."
Collette spread her hands wide. "I know, but this is better. He would try again, and might catch us by surprise. You got everything?"
Gerry was already nodding. "From him, his son, and his bodyguards. Locations, passwords, all of it."
I took a deep breath. "Then we move tonight. Let's hear the layout."
The Russians' place was outside of the city, in the foothills of the mountains. They wanted to be isolated, which worked just as well for us. Plus, because they expected trouble, they'd cleared out any noncombatants.
It was funny, in a way. In all my years, I'd never come close to a situation so much like a Hollywood movie. The big bad boss, barricaded in his manor, guards patrolling. A handful of good guys, assaulting.
Reality did intrude, somewhat. The 'manor' was just a nice McMansion, not a multi-acre estate. He only had about ten guards, instead of dozens. Some of them were probably ex-military, and several carried automatic weapons, but it wasn't like infiltrating the Pentagon or anything.
Like movie heroes, we had good intel. Gerry could tell us where the outlying guards would be. Unlike the movies, Gerry was also our best weapon. It looked incredibly stupid, but Chris carried him piggyback.
They jogged around the perimeter of the place, quietly, and Gerry zapped the guards with the ring, from fifty feet out. Putting people to sleep took hardly any juice. They never even heard anything. One second they were awake, the next they were out. Like a switch. Took about a minute and a half. The guards had radios but only checked in every ten minutes.
Once that was done, the guys sprinted for the house along one of the few blind angles (a pair of the now-sleeping guards had covered that approach), carrying Gerry. One lap around the outside of the house, and everyone on the ground floor was zonked. It was a big-enough place, but how many homes have you been in where you can get more than fifty feet from every outside wall?
The back door wasn't locked - to let guards back and forth - so they simply stepped in, and did a quick walkabout on the ground floor. Now the people in the basement and upstairs were taken out, too. From start to finish, under four minutes.
Once things were secure, they called me in from the van we'd parked down the road. As I stepped through the door - still getting used to walking with narrow hips again - Chris, Zeke, and Murtaugh were gathering everyone up and zip-tying hands and feet together. Duane was busy wiping all the security footage and records from tonight, using their own passwords.
"You got them all?"
Gerry smiled in relief. He really wasn't the action-hero type. "Nobody saw anything. They'll all wake up with bad headaches tomorrow morning. Like a drug hangover."
I smiled. Another Hollywood-ism I'd never seen before, the perfectly executed plan. Of course, that was more likely when you had actual magic on your side.
They might as well have been hit by ghosts. The entire estate taken down without a shot fired, without any alarm being raised, and zero traces left behind? When they were explicitly told to expect an attack? That was beyond even organized crime. It took a nation-state to pull off a hit like that, and in reality even they fucked up from time to time.
It'd put the fear of God into them. Especially Denis, at least for a while. He'd be busy taking over his father's operation anyway. No solution is permanent, but this would buy Gerry's Place a couple years breathing room, most likely.
Anong wasn't a fan of violence. She had pleaded that no one else get hurt. As Chris carried a limp Novinski out the door, however, I savored a different class of incipient revenge. I'd talked things over with Gerry and Collette, and we'd pooled our creativity. She liked the proposal we'd come up with.
Not all of the revenge would be nonviolent, however. Duane stared meaningfully at Gerry, who hesitated and licked his lips. He was a little squeamish. Duane's glare became impatient. He eventually broke and pointed out two men, on different sides of the room. "They're the ones."
Duane and Murtaugh picked them up, no expression on their faces. "Don't worry. No one'll ever find 'em," Murtaugh stated. The goons who'd hacked up Anong had brief but vastly unpleasant lives to look forward to. She was well-liked, friendly with everybody; I was far from the only person thoroughly pissed about what they'd done to her.
Maybe she didn't like violence, but what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
Gerry and I sat in his office. It was a weird mix of the first and second times. I was a guy again, but I still wanted to get him to come. In this male body, though, there was no hope of doing so. It helped me ignore the urges.
He was speaking very earnestly. "Thank you for your help with... everything. We all owe you a great deal. I wish I could reward you properly. Immediately. But there's simply not enough power left to remove the fetish." He opened his hands apologetically. "At least you only have to wait two more days."
I looked him in the eye. "Do you have enough power to make me Marci again?"
His eyebrows shot up. A few minutes ago, he'd just about drained the ring dry. "Barely, yes, but... is that what you want?"
I grinned. "Can't you tell?"
"I... can't afford to read your mind right now." He looked uncomfortable.
I scoffed, good-naturedly. "You should get some practice figuring out people without that crutch." More seriously, I said, "Whatever I want, you're sure that's what you want. You're too smart not to see three reasons to keep Marci around, right off the top of your head."
He tilted that head, inviting me to elaborate.
"First, if Richard Bordreaux reappears, it'll shatter the illusion we just worked so hard to create for the Russians. Everyone'd be in just as much danger, all over again, right when the ring's useless."
He regarded me thoughtfully, then granted the point. "It would make many things simpler if Mr. Bordeaux were not seen anywhere for a time." It was interesting, analyzing his expression. Cautiously hopeful, but still puzzled.
"And then there's the other wrinkle. Legally, Marci is an assault victim and kidnapping witness thanks to the thing in the casino. The law's gonna want her to testify. And if she doesn't, if she goes missing... Gerry's Place can't afford that kind of legal attention either. That's a whole different class of threat."
"Having Marci available for the next few months would be... very helpful." He looked genuinely confused. "But why not wait until you break the spells - especially the one on your mind? Then have me just change your body?"
"Because I don't actually want to be a girl." I sighed. "With or without the kink, guys'll be hitting on me. Unless I sit in a room the whole time, which'd drive me bonkers." My lips quirked. "So if I gotta be a drop-dead-sexy girl for a while - which I do - I might as well be in a state of mind that lets me appreciate and use the equipment."
He shook his head in wonder. "And now we'll owe you even more." He shrugged in defeat. "I confess, however, that I can't see what the third reason might be."
I smiled in anticipation. "I suppose not. You aren't ruthless enough." He still looked puzzled. "Even with that hint, you still don't see?"
I waited a beat, then let him off the hook. "It's the perfect way for me to greet our new guest downstairs."
Gerry was kind of a stiff, and kept a certain reserve. But at that, he chuckled, then chortled, then laughed uproariously.
"Wakey wakey!" I sang, giving her nipples a good pinch.
She jerked her head up, squealing. She was strapped to a column already, so she didn't have far to go.
Most bondage equipment isn't really intended to restrain an unwilling victim. Especially the amateur crap. Gerry's Place, however, had invested in the good stuff.
The main strap was around her torso, right below her breasts. A collar circled her neck, with a short chain also hooked to the column. The chain was loose for now, but could be pulled tight when needed. A horizontal bar went through the column behind her neck; her arms were spread and hands lashed in place at shoulder height, elbows at about a forty-five degree angle. Her feet rested on the ground, but were chained so they remained a few feet apart. A completely defenseless position, but one that could be enforced for hours without physical risk.
The ball gag suited her well, I thought. Really complemented the ensemble. Aside from the gear she was naked, of course.
Middle Eastern and lovely. Long straight black hair, luscious dark eyes with long lashes. A tight, graceful body; I couldn't wait to see her belly-dance. I pictured her in a jeweled headdress and bangles and silks; she'd drive the guys wild, alright. A true desert flower; Gerry had done it again. He said he'd gotten the idea from Novinski's 'rag-head' crack.
Immediately, before she was even fully conscious, she was struggling to free herself. That lasted for a few seconds. Suddenly she froze, finally picking up on some unusual sensations.
Anong leaned in close and cupped the new pussy, curling a couple fingers inside. "How do you like it, bitch?"
It wasn't exactly a scream she made. More like a confused yell. But her eyes got really, really wide. Hard to tell if it was from the fingers up inside her, or the sight of Anong, unhurt - without even a scar.
Gerry's Place did not lack for full-length mirrors; an evil grin on my face, I rolled one up from behind the column so she could get a good look at what Gerry had wrought.
She tore her eyes from Anong and saw herself. Her face couldn't go pale, not with her new coloring; but I swear it turned a shade of green. Her expression, her whole body could have been made into an animated GIF titled 'Horrified Confusion, Melting Into Pure Horror'.
"It's real," Anong said, just as she began to shake her head in denial. "Your name is Ayesha now." Anong winked. "But I think we'll call you 'pretty slave'."
Ayesha said something that sounded belligerent - or tried to, anyway, around the gag. Anong slapped her face, hard. "Be quiet, girl!"
Anger began to creep into the new girl's eyes... and then puzzlement and fresh horror. I watched her nipples get stiff.
"That's right," I piped in cheerfully. "You now have, well, kind of a thing for being dominated. And humiliated." I reached around and gave her bottom a solid slap.
"Don't you glare at me, pretty slave!" Anong barked, as she pulled the neck chain tight. The girl did stop glaring, mostly because her eyes were rolling in terror... and mounting passion.
"I said you had no idea how badly you fucked up," I noted, rubbing a remarkably hard nipple with my fingertips. "This is just the beginning." Her eyes slewed to my face in shock, then her knees trembled; by now she had to be a whirling mess of emotions. I watched her make the connection, grasp who I was. Her head shook again at my vulpine leer.
Anong let her fingers glide up Ayesha's slippery labia, extracting a helpless groan. "Don't come, you slut! Don't come - or you'll be punished!" She went to work on her clit. Not thirty seconds later, the freshest Gerry's Girl shrieked and writhed in her first female orgasm.
She sagged against the restraints after, struggling for breath. Just as she looked up, Anong switched her across the belly with a riding crop. It left a long red mark. "You were warned, pretty slave!"
Ayesha's eyes bulged. Intently, I checked off the flow of expressions: pain, fading to pleasure, fading to horror at the pleasure. I was hoping for tears, but not yet. The corners of her eyes glistened as brightly as her pussy lips, though. Oh well, I could afford to be patient.
"Pretty slave, we'll leave you alone with your thoughts," I announced, unable to stop grinning at the way the nickname made her shiver. "But don't worry, you'll have some entertainment."
Anong was rolling a TV on a stand into her line of sight. She switched on the porn and we left. It had been all kinds of fun, picking out an educational sequence for her - hours worth. It started with handsome gay men doing their thing, but moved on to increasingly depraved stuff that starred attractive women with escalatingly ugly dudes. The fact that that she wouldn't be able to look away, yet wouldn't be able to masturbate... demoralizing indeed.
Her muffled shrieks were already switching from enraged, to fearful, to - dare I say - longing by the time we closed the door.
We hadn't told her about the third mental change. She'd find out soon enough. Mind stuff was expensive, and as I said it had just about exhausted the ring's reserves... but Gerry was willing to invest in Ayesha. She now had a phobia about physical violence. Even imagining trying to attack someone would leave her frozen in terror.
In a few hours Diana would head in to begin her training. I kinda hoped Ayesha would try to fight her anyway.
Anong's smile did my heart proud, but it faded as we walked down the hall. "What if she doesn't give in? What if she changes back?"
I leapt to reassure her. "Novinski's a tough cookie, sure. But the Gerry's Girl kink, plus masochism? She'll undermine herself, I promise. She'll want to feel weak, and ashamed!” I suppressed a shudder, remembering my episode with Tony; instead I shook my head. "Trust me, I know. After a month, she'll be begging to stay here."
That seemed to make her feel better. I didn't bring up the fact that we knew the exact day and hour she'd make the choice. If Novinski did reappear, he'd be surrounded by several pissed-off supermen. And he would cease to be, period, some time after.
Thoughtfully, she mused, "Do you think it's too mean?"
I was filled with hope to hear that. If she could feel sympathy for Ayesha, it meant she was moving on, recovering from what had been done to her. I wasn't ready to forgive, but for Anong's sake, I said, "If she's a good girl then maybe, once she can't go back, Gerry can back off on her kinks."
I wound up sleeping next to Anong. She had been through a lot, and wanted someone to hold. She was out pretty quick, to my relief. But even though I was exhausted, my head kept spinning for almost an hour.
In about a month, the ring would be charged enough to be useful, at least for healing people. Making me Marci again really had finished it off for the time being.
So I would be back to work tomorrow night, making money for Gerry's Place. At least it was fun work.
And frankly, I was starting to think it was a better career than my old one, anyway. I still got to use my people-reading and acting skills. I still got to solve puzzles, work out people's motivations. Now, though, I made people really, really happy, instead of producing ammo for divorce court, or getting someone fired. Besides, this place needed some people with my experience, to advise on complications like gangsters.
The one issue was Amy. She had a stepfather, but I still wanted to be part of her life. And I couldn't do that as Marci. With some careful planning and online messaging, I could avoid having my old self declared dead for at least a few months. After that... well, I'd have some decisions to make.
There was a possibility I kept to myself. A daydream, almost. Maybe I'd leave when Anong did, and become a guy again permanently. And maybe I'd get a few improvements so I was worthy of her. And maybe we'd live happily ever after. It was something to hope for, anyway.
At least imagining it helped me finally fall asleep.
About a week after the unpleasantness, I got a summons from Gerry. I went to his office, curious. I didn't bother to even finish getting dressed - I was just wearing tight panties and a brassiere.
The deadline had passed, days ago. I'd sensed it - a strange experience. For a few moments, everything felt like a dream - like I could wake up, if I chose. I was strongly tempted to make the effort of will that would shatter the spells... but I let it pass. The feeling dwindled, and everything was normal again. Well, normal for Marci.
I wasn't sure what Gerry could want, now. When I sat down, I had to keep a sharp rein on my body, my voice. A big chunk of me really wanted to seduce him.
He started with a topic that helped distract me. "I've hired an Arabic tutor for Ayesha. With Diana enforcing, she's making excellent progress. She nearly has the accent down at this point, and her vocabulary is growing by leaps and bounds."
I grinned. "Let me guess - she doesn't get chastised unless she begs in Arabic?"
Gerry let that go, but he smirked briefly. Then he mused, "There have been many clients I've turned down - despite a rather tempting profit potential. Ones who've proposed scenarios of... excessive degradation. Even if some of the girls would be willing, I simply couldn't bring myself to subject them to that sort of thing." The smile he made then was quite out of character for him; sadistic, almost. "Ayesha, though... I think she might find such encounters... instructive."
He chuckled, I giggled. In Marci's body, near a male, I couldn't completely shut it off. That thought, however, sobered me a little. Gerry noticed, and said, "What's wrong?"
In some corner of my mind, I was relieved that he wasn't reading my thoughts. Yet that didn't really lift my spirits that much. I met his eyes. "You know how I feel about Anong."
He shrugged delicately. "I... yes."
"After seeing me do... all the things I've done. After me choosing to stay like this for a while..." I swallowed a lump. "She's not into girls, herself. Could she... ever see me as a man?"
He recognized that I was asking for his expertise, his judgment. After a moment's reflection, he said, "I think so, actually." At my skeptical expression, he elaborated. "Don't forget - she has a vested interest in believing that what someone does under the influence of magic doesn't define them."
My eyebrows went up. That was a very salient point. She couldn't look down on me without condemning herself to some degree. Granted, people often chose to be hypocritical about that stuff. Yet... Anong had a good head on her shoulders. And more importantly, a good heart.
And I was coming to the conclusion I should work on being the kind of person someone with a good heart would want to be around. At least I knew I'd have some time - it's not like Anong would be pairing up with a boyfriend for the forseeable future.
But that was a thought for another time. I could feel my fetish pressing on me; it was time to get down to business before I embarrassed myself. "Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about?"
Gerry paused; he looked serious. Then he said, "I need a successor."
That brought me up short. I'm sure I just looked blank. Then I began to get concerned. Quickly, he said, "Not immediately." He looked down at his desk. "But... I'm not a young man. I hope to have another twenty years here, at least. Yet..." He looked up at me. "My old career taught me that contingency plans are important. And this latest episode has only underscored that."
Of course I had my suspicions. I was glad to see him pick up on them without using the ring. "And yes, obviously, I'm considering you as the backup, should something happen to me."
I pondered that for a few moments. Of course it had its tempting aspects, but... "Wouldn't Chris be a better choice?"
Gerry sighed. "He's an excellent security chief, of course. He'd try his best. But he lacks the experience - and more importantly the imagination - that a general manager requires."
I looked him right in the eyes. "I don't know if I could trust myself with that kind of power. If anyone should trust me like that."
He gave a judicious nod. He knew me, inside out, as well as anyone could. "I understand, and share your concerns. However..." He held my eyes, now. "These recent events have caused both of us to... reevaluate. Ourselves as much as our circumstances." He shrugged delicately. "Would the Richard Bordreaux of a month ago have chosen to remain Marci to help protect a gaggle of whores?"
That was a good point. And hadn't I just thinking about becoming the kind of person Anong would one day want to marry?
He pressed on. "Indeed, I've come to think that whoever inherits the ring should probably spend some time as a Gerry's Girl first. It would help with empathy, I should imagine."
Not a terrible idea. Still... "I'll... have to think about it."
"Certainly." Gerry was unruffled. "In the meantime, is there anything I can do for you?"
I had a quick mind, used to manipulating people. Instantly the whole chain of reasoning snapped into place. "Actually, there is one favor you can do for me..."
His eyebrows elevated. "As I said before, we owe you a great deal. I can't do anything magically..."
I interrupted. "Fuck me."
At that, he became wooden, silent.
I stood and posed. "You can't convince me that Marci isn't a fantasy of yours. Gerry's Girls are your art. We're your masterpieces." I turned and pushed my hair aside. "I mean, if this ass isn't crafted in loving detail..." I turned again, undoing my top. "I'll eat this bra."
I had seldom seen Gerry uncomfortable, at a loss. And certainly never because of a woman taking off her clothes in front of him.
His mouth opened and closed. I noticed he didn't look away as my breasts emerged from behind their cloth-and-wire casement. I twirled it on my fingers, then flicked it off into a corner. I took a step closer, then stopped and put a hand on either side of my hips. My thumbs hooked under the waist of my panties and I slid them off with endlessly-practiced skill.
Naked, I stalked closer to my flustered prey. I shook my head, spreading my hair out more, like the cape it had been when I'd first awoke as Marci. "You did this to me. Take some responsibility and get involved yourself." I came around the desk and leaned forward, arms on his, resting on the armrests, face right in front of his. His eyes were very wide...
I moved the inch further, and kissed him. He didn't pull back, but it took a few seconds before there was any cooperation. In the meantime, my hands were working - by now I was just as good at undressing men as I was at stripping myself.
I didn't go all the way. I just got his pants and underwear off. His dick was getting stiff, I think against his will. It was delicious. He was so turned on it was overriding his resistance. It was drowning out the part of him that considered me a man. The idea of him being that tempted, lusting for me that much, made my pussy walls actually twitch. I felt swollen and damp.
I climbed into his lap and took him into me, in one smooth motion, still locking lips on his. His breath came faster. I felt his hands on my back - or more precisely, through my hair draped all over my back. He was moving underneath me, thrusting. I was doing most of the work, but I had won.
I had a complex mix of emotions when he came inside me. But, since I was a Gerry's Girl, the foremost emotion was lustful enjoyment.
I milled with the other girls in the waiting room. Anong had gone out with the first group, so I was chatting with Destiny.
I had on a hip-hop outfit. Low-riding hiphugger jeans, a baby-doll tee plus an open hoodie, blinged-out sneakers. An equally-blinged baseball cap covered the crowning feature - my hair was in cornrows. It had taken the ladies in the salon half a day. The ends of the braids had beads on them; they clattered as I moved, like I'd hung a beaded curtain off my back.
A major effort, but the Instagram comments were already pouring in. I was pretty sure it would be worth it.
Madison caught my eye and, winking, blew me a kiss. Gerry had visited both her and Collette in the last couple days. Making up for lost time, so to speak.
In fact, here came the man himself. He periodically left his office to check how things were going. I excused myself from Destiny and went over. Once he was done talking to Diana, who had hostess duty tonight, I caught his eye.
"Yes, Marci?" he said politely. His eyes wandered in a delightful way, though.
But I was serious. "I'm not ready to say yes, yet. But I'm thinking about it." I shrugged. "Anong's okay with it. With her watching me, I could probably even stay... moral. But I'm not sure I could ever be as 'elegant' as you with the ring."
He squinted at me for a moment. "A test, then." He leaned in closer. "There's a physical change beyond the obvious." My brow furrowed, and he smiled. "You're a smart girl. If you figure it out on your own, perhaps there's hope for you."
So I was distracted, pondering that. It even percolated in the back of my mind when I went out to waitress. But, all modesty aside, I am smart, and with that hint I finally figured it out in the middle of my first under-the-table of the night. Well, actually, at the end, right as he spurted down my throat.
You bastard, I thought. You unbelievable, magnificent, fucking bastard!
Maybe you've seen the articles. They show up every six months or so, in this age of clickbait. "Who Needs Prozac? Semen Is A Natural Anti-Depressant!"
It's mostly bullshit. They're all based on one study, never replicated, that compared college women who used condoms to ones that didn't. They found that the women who didn't use condoms were a bit less likely to be depressed than the ones who did.
They didn't even check to see if maybe depression made women more likely to use condoms. They just assumed that the prostaglandins in semen were absorbed into the bloodstream and had an antidepressant effect.
But suddenly I was pretty sure that it wasn't bullshit for "Gerry's Girls". I'd bet my next ten fucks that sperm was like a drug to us now.
It wasn't just satisfying my fetish. It wasn't just all the endorphins from multiple, daily, mind-blowing orgasms. Spunk itself made me happy. I had two addictions now, not just one, that reinforced each other.
I could recognize it now, as I milked my clients' wilting tool, as I swallowed every drop I could get, greedily. I'd been feeling it every time a guy came in me, or even on me. I was just... cheerful. Content. Like all was right with the world. The way I felt every morning, waking up after a big dose of spunk. How I couldn't get depressed.
I was so fucked. And I was going to be, over and over, for another few months at least.
I couldn't wait.
End
This is a sequel to Imperator Mentus' story, "Aladdin's Last Wish" - where one or two slightly divergent decisions by the characters spin the tale in a radically new direction. (It can be found on Fictionmania.tv or Storiesonline.net. Reading it is not strictly necessary to follow this story, but it does build on that foundation.)
While of - ahem - a different tone than the original, I felt that Imperator did a good job of making the characters recognizably themselves, even if responding to drastically altered circumstances. (If you feel his portrayal is too out-of-character for Jafar, I suggest you look up the deleted song, "Humiliate The Boy", and check out the associated storyboards.)
The story is complete on its own, certainly.
And yet. Sometimes I come across an idea and just... see the consequences. (Well, if he did that, then obviously they would respond like so, and then of course...) Scenes and dialogue and plot points kept appearing, uninvited. Sometimes a story - well, it doesn't write itself, but...
Don't blame Imperator for this. It's my fault.
Eyes flying open, a bearded face presented itself. Jafar! And just beyond him, Jasmine!
Limbs froze, breath hitched. Everything was confusion. How to explain this insanity? How did I end up in bed with her? My...
Bewilderment. A tangled complex of emotions: ...love? rival?!
Just as incomprehensible, if not more so, were the feelings sparked by Jafar. My enemy, my...
Total paralysis, mental and physical: ...Master?!
Then, the disorientation somehow climbed to even further heights. Pressed up between them were sizeable breasts. They certainly weren't attached to Jafar. A simple but stupefying question presented itself: Who am I?
Two names came to mind at once: Aladdin. Alana.
The name he had held all his life. And the name that she somehow accepted just as deeply. Who am I? a soul wailed.
Memories of the lamp arose, and Genie. Escaping the Cave of Wonders scarcely three days ago. Wishing to be a prince. 'Wishing' to save his life from drowning. And, just last evening, wishing to be a beautiful woman...
And then, memories of what had happened after that. Submitting to Jafar, with body and mind. Pleasuring him by mouth, and so much more. Witnessing Jafar's hands roaming across Jasmine's flesh. Memories of humiliation and shame, somehow mixed with pleasure and satisfaction.
The upheaval inside raged, balanced on the cusp. It might have gone either way - Aladdin or Alana - had Jasmine not just then opened her eyes, blinked, and smiled.
It was not at all the joyous, loving smile Aladdin had thrilled to see since their carpet ride. This smile was malicious, triumphantly vengeful - the one that had been directed at Alana all last night.
Under that contemptuous gaze, she instinctively pulled closer to her Master, causing him to stir.
Jafar blinked awake. Who - well, this was a comely one! He felt other feminine arms from behind, and memory flooded.
Jafar was impressed - amazed, in fact. His plan had been risky. The staff was powerful - yet also maddeningly limited. It could bend and twist a mind only so far. Pushing beyond that, the spell would snap, not the mind. Even the feeble Sultan had resisted the idea of letting Jafar wed his daughter.
The key had always been tying suggestions to strong emotions already present. Using the staff, he had taken ruthless advantage of the princess' deep-seated resentment of being manipulated, and her newfound infatuation with the street rat. Planting doubts pitted the one against the other, stirring her to anxious volatility, undermining her normal stubbornness. Then, once 'Prince Ali' was revealed as a liar - no matter that it was an understandable lie - her fury at the 'betrayal' had left her defenseless. A lit cannon he need only aim. She had always been impulsive and impetuous; it was almost hilarious how eager she became to carry out the 'revenge' he'd proposed.
Likewise with the street rat. Had Jafar tried to ensnare him, he would have fought off the staff's influence in a trice. But in Jasmine's hands... the vexing boy had been helpless. Trusting her unreservedly, his own infatuation leaving him unresisting until it was far too late.
Enspelled, the 'prince' had used the lamp and wished to become a beautiful woman. And then, after a few more sessions with the staff, Jasmine - unconsciously following his directions - had prepared the new harem girl to be eager and obedient when presented to Jafar.
The results last night had exceeded expectations. Thanks to the genie, she was indisputably beauteous, ravishing. And thanks to the staff, disposed to please her new 'master'.
And not long after that, more than 'disposed'. So inexperienced, so... innocent; the street rat had never bedded a woman. Her responses had followed the channels laid down beforehand by the staff. The pleasures he had forced upon her had - in all senses - unmanned her.
The staff's effects had a tendency to fade with time, however. He was not surprised at the confusion and distress in his new slave's eyes. The changes wrought had been enormous and wrenching, well beyond any he'd attempted before. And it had been many hours since Alana's eyes had last been captured by the gaze of the serpent.
For the staff's suggestions to become truly fixed in the mind, new behavior had to be repeated, reinforced. Usually that meant subsequent applications of the staff - especially since Jafar's suggestions were seldom in anyone's interest but his own.
If the commands were rewarded, on the other hand... a victim might not need any further encouragement, and new habits of thought could take on a life of their own.
Jafar considered all this in scant moments, even as he fully awoke, and decided the correct path at once. He would compel the sort of behavior he wanted from her, and without delay. Which entailed some risk; the 'snapping point' might be reached, rebellion might finally spark.
Should he need to use the staff again and again, so be it. If a suggestion was accepted but once, even the strongest will could be worn down by sheer repetition and brute force. The girl's fate was sealed now, there was no escape for her. Sooner or later, she would be his eager slave.
Were it possible, though, he would prefer to avoid lengthy and tedious retraining. And such brutal, extended indoctrination had a tendency to dull and damage the mind. He sensed the potential for a lively bedmate, not a placid cow. Quick-wittedness was a large part of how he had risen to power. Bold steps had carried him this far - he decided to continue as he'd begun. If this worked... at a stroke, it would skip past a great deal of struggle.
Alana saw awareness, then consideration, fill the eyes of the man she still - inexplicably - could only think of as her Master. "Kiss me, little mouse," he commanded.
"Little mouse! Little mouse!" cried Jafar's bird, perched on the back of a chair on the other side of the room. The vizier flashed him a quelling glare. "Hush, Iago," he said, then turned his stern gaze back to the girl.
Alana quailed. But she complied - she was Jafar's harem girl. She could not think why that was so, but she knew it was true nonetheless. Jafar's tongue, sour in the morning, slipped into her mouth. His hand clamped possessively onto her bottom, and pulled her close. She felt horrified, yet somehow could not bring herself to resist. In fact, resistance felt wrong. A harem slave rejoices in being submissive. The thought rose unbidden, full of strange import.
The vizier's hand slipped around her thigh and plunged between her legs. She squeaked, but could make no other noise with Jafar's face pressed to hers. She wasn't rejoicing, exactly, but submitting felt... good. A harem slave exults in pleasing her master. Another thought that felt leaden, ponderous - and seemed to make her body warmer. Her lips and tongue began to work more passionately...
Jafar wanted to chortle with glee. It was working! Alana's own flesh provided the requisite encouragement, rewarding her submission with pleasure. But this was still a juggling act, a two-front war. He broke off for a moment, glanced over his shoulder at Jasmine. "See, princess. This is how a slave should greet her Master in the morning."
Jasmine's smile still looked so out-of-place on that sweet face. Smug and cruel... no, vindictive. It made Alana feel small. And guilty.
The princess came fully awake in the heady rush of righteous anger avenged. 'Prince Ali' - hah! A liar. Just like all the other suitors, treating her like a child, her feelings just a tool to be manipulated. Worse than the rest, with even his royalty as false as his affection.
Now that 'prince' was brought as low as could be. A harem girl, a slave, captive to the crude desires of the man who had exposed his treachery. Before her eyes, Jafar's long fingers exposed more - the girl's ample breasts. He groped them while he forced his tongue into her mouth.
He had proposed the test - tell 'Ali' that she and the vizier would wed. In his distress, capture his eyes with the staff - and discover if he spoke truly.
Had Ali but proven honest, all would have been well. Instead, he was revealed as a sham. So she remade him as he deserved, and would wed the advisor who had proven his perceptiveness.
Wait... the connection there was elusive. Because Ali had lied, she was resolved to marry Jafar. That was true... but she couldn't quite remember why. It would spite Alana, of course, but...
"Come, Jasmine. Surely a princess can do better than a mere slave?"
Her thoughts interrupted, she stared for a moment at the vizier, then grasped his intent. A kissing challenge. A flicker of a look to Alana, then she mustered a smile and leaned forward.
Jasmine did not need to see the girl; this close, she felt Alana tense up as she kissed Jafar deeply. You thought to kiss me? Watch another do what you will never get to do again! The vizier's tongue was a small price to pay for such indignation and grief in the false suitor.
Jafar took a few minutes to enjoy his other victory. The princess' rage had left her vulnerable to the staff. She now accepted him as betrothed, and treated him as such. He had lusted over her flesh for some time now, and she would allow him quite liberal contact with that flesh.
True, not unlimited contact; kisses and gropes were all he dared, at present. And she only allowed this in order to torment 'Ali' all the more, not out of any ardor for him. But once the wedding had been accomplished, her motivations would no longer matter. She would treat him as a wife was duty-bound to... one way or another.
Jafar ran fingers along Jasmine's crotch. The princess' movements slowed, but he was already pulling away. "I have had a night's rest, and I believe I am ready to teach our little mouse a new trick." He nodded at the bureau next to the bed. "Princess, would you be so kind as to fetch that bottle?"
While she did so, he turned back to the slave girl. "The genie has given you many wondrous things. Long lovely locks, delicious lips in a precious face. Your waist would be the envy of many a girl, your hips are delightfully rounded, and your legs twin graceful pillars." Alana blushed, oddly happy at the words. I adore being pretty and alluring. Another thought with unaccountable certitude. "A marvelous collection, and I have explored much of it." Her face reddened even further, recalling how completely he had taken her the night before.
He leaned forward. "But your mountainous bosom is a wonder among wonders. And it is time for me mount an expedition, to properly survey those peaks." His tongue traveled in circles on a nipple, driving a moan from between her lips. Delicious lips, Master said so... She could not think of him as anything but Master now. Nor could she even conceive of resisting him, rebellion forgotten. She offered her other breast to his tongue with joyous compliance.
He stood, and bade her kneel on the bed. With polite thanks, he took the bottle from a sneering Jasmine. He ordered Alana to hold out her hands. He poured oil into them and commanded her to anoint her bosom.
She worked the oil over her chest. Jafar whispered something to Jasmine. Despite the eyes upon her, Alana couldn't help lingering for a few moments on those strange nubs that stuck out. The ones her Master had awoken with his tongue. Strange... but pleasurably responsive, and somehow connected to the other pleasurable spot below, stirring it further.
Despite those eyes - and because of them. Jafar's, at least. She had her Master's attention, and her embarrassed indulgence seemed to please him greatly. A harem slave exults in pleasing her master. The thought echoed compellingly in her head... and memories of last night confirmed it for a fact.
The memories themselves were compelling, too...
They entered the bedroom with a bit of stumbling. Jafar found it difficult to navigate with two beautiful women clinging to him, competing for his affections. As problems went, it was an excellent one to have.
The setting sun shone through the window. Perched on the sill was Jafar's parrot. "How was your day? How was your day?" it cawed harshly. Both Jasmine and Alana sensed an uncanny amusement in its tone.
"I would say it's gone... rather well," he said, maliciously. Suddenly he pulled Alana close, hand digging into her bottom. A slobbering kiss on her lips, too quick for her coiled emotions to sort themselves.
Alana felt as if she were in a dream. Scant minutes ago, she had presented her bosom for Jafar's manhandling. As she shared his lap with Jasmine on the Sultan's throne, both fighting to arouse him more. And just before... her mind shied away from that memory. Surely none of this was possible. But, then - was Genie, the Cave of Wonders, and all the rest a dream, too?
Jafar had turned to bestow an equally assertive kiss upon Jasmine. Then he broke away, stepping back and laughing gently. "Rather well indeed." He drank in both girls, each holding one of his hands, staring at him with a heady mix of apprehension and resolve.
"Jafar?" the princess said, producing a small, unassuming lamp. "What should I do with this?"
He controlled his first reaction to snatch it from her hands, and instead waved toward a table in the corner. "Place it there," he said, striving to sound casual. It took a supreme act of will to put the lamp aside for the moment. He had pursued it for over a decade, ever since his research had turned up the existence of the Cave of Wonders. The power to reshape reality itself, but three steps away...
It could not be said to be easy. And yet, it proved less difficult than he would have thought. After all, he had another victory to savor. One that still demanded attention to fully secure. So he focused on the two gorgeous young women at hand. Literally at hand, to his satisfaction.
Alana felt a chill as Master turned his attention to her. "That is a very... appropriate outfit," he drawled. She blushed; Jasmine had produced clothing such as she had never seen before. Bright red, with clingy leggings and a sleeveless halter held up only by its own tautness. She had also worn a gossamer veil, earlier; but that had been discarded when she... again, her mind fled from the memory.
Master finished looking her up and down; it was as though his eyes physically probed and fondled her. Muddled feelings of abhorrence and fear and... relish? "But I think its time is past, now." Firmly, curtly: "Disrobe."
She hesitated. Her Master frowned, but then...
"She doesn't know how to dress herself, or even undress herself." Jasmine's voice was full of amused derision. Alana felt shame. How could she be a good harem girl if she could not handle silks and veils and halters? She would disappoint her Master!
Yet that shame itself was not merely perplexing but deeply disturbing. How had she come to desire to be a harem girl? Why did she want so badly to please Jafar? And why did it arouse her so? Nothing made sense...
Jafar saw the irresolution in her pose, and knew that it was time to take a more direct hand. As a young man, he had learned how to seduce. He knew how to excite, as well as compel. While his enjoyment was the important thing - of course - a woman's pleasure could be... useful.
It was inconvenient. The princess had been quite willing to grant him liberties upon her flesh ere now, the better to torment her former love - and Alana had responded with a competitive spirit. But he would need to focus on the slave for a while. He intended to amuse himself upon Alana in a thousand ways, train her to perform whatever act he could imagine. Many of those acts would not be ones a typical girl would find pleasant. Some, even a slave might balk at.
To secure her eager - rather than sulky - participation, she would have to find pleasure in his own. To start her down that road, it would be wise to make the first breach of her gates enjoyable.
Enjoyable... but also humbling. She should come to associate submission and pleasure. So as he moved toward her, he commanded, "Be still!"
Alana froze. Jafar reached for her halter - but he did not try to remove it yet. Instead, he tweaked the nipples that so clearly stuck out from beneath it.
It took minutes to undress her. Slow minutes as Jafar pulled, untied, and occasionally yanked. He did not stint to stroke and pinch the skin that was gradually exposed, either. Especially the darker nubs that decorated the domes upon her chest.
Naked, Jafar so near and a head taller than her, Alana felt unspeakably vulnerable. Two imperious gazes weighed upon her, and all defiance seemed to have fled. And for some mysterious reason, it further stoked the fires already blazing in her loins. Everything felt wrong... at the same time something told her it was right.
Jafar's hand moved - shoved - her toward a desk next to the bed. "Place your hands so. No, keep your feet where they are! Legs straight!" Alana found herself bent forward about a quarter of the way. Her rear stuck out - presented, almost.
"A Master may strip his slave as he pleases, of course," Jafar remarked idly. Without warning, his tone became as iron. "He should never be required to, though!"
Two deliberate smacks, one on each cheek, one from each hand. Not violent, but quite enough to sting - and for twin red handprints to appear. After sharply drawn breaths, her head turned toward him; he savored the fear in her eyes. "No, little mouse, do not move." She became as a statue, save for a slight trembling. He looked up - this drama could serve more than one purpose, and it would not do to ignore Jasmine. His grip on her was not firm enough for comfort yet. "Princess, I think she has earned your chastisement too. Don't you agree?"
Jasmine was startled briefly, but did not fumble her cue for more than a breath. "Quite so," she murmured, stepping closer. Her hands had not the strength of the vizier, but the princess put more effort into her strikes. The left cheek: "Pretender!" The right: "Deceiver!"
Alana felt tears gather at the corners of her eyes. She remembered wishing for this... but she could not remember why. She heard her Master, in a tone of vast amusement, speaking to the princess. "Observe this lovely rump, the marks we have left! As if you and I held hands." He discusses me like a pet beast, not even a person, she thought.
Jafar, watchful because he knew the limits of the staff, noted signs of emerging anger in the set of Alana's shoulders, the stiffening of her neck. He had anticipated something of the kind, though, and moved to interrupt it.
Suddenly her Master scooped Alana up in his arms, and dropped her across the bed. It drove home her new station in yet another way. Aladdin had been a strong young man; more than a match for the vizier. Alana, in sharp contrast, could be tossed about like a child. The anger she had barely started to feel dissolved in a rush of trepidation, stillborn.
On her back, she stared up at him. He loomed over her, his turban spread wide at the top of his long lean body. She had a strange vision of him as a giant, menacing snake. A street rat might fight a snake; she had seen such battles happen in the alleys. Now, though, she was but a mouse - entranced and helpless in that pitiless gaze.
"Spread your legs, girl," he commanded, sneering. "I would see the sex you have wished for."
Tentatively, she complied. Her knees parted somewhat. "Wider!" he snapped.
Her legs spread much further, hiding nothing.
"And what is this you show to me?" he teased.
Alana, eyes wide, remained mute.
"Name it, slave!" he said in a steely tone. The word 'slave' seemed to reverberate in her head.
"My... my almahbal," she whispered.
His laughter was full and - unusually for him - heartfelt. "Such a gentle tongue!"
"Almahbal! Almahbal!" Iago cried by the windowsill, then made a sound like laughter. Jafar nodded the bird's way, and caught his breath with difficulty. "A gentle tongue is a fine thing - in a throne room."
Alana's eyes fell. The memory she had struggled to evade caught up to her with a vengeance. Well she recalled the taste of his issue as he spurted down her throat, seated at the Sultan's throne. Jasmine in his lap, kissing him in a way she never had kissed Aladdin...
The vizier continued, still smiling. "But you are a harem slave, naked before her Master in his bedchamber." The smile vanished. "Name it truly."
She had to comply. She was a harem slave. A harem slave is obedient. The thought seemed to echo throughout her mind, true in a way she could not explain.
"It is... it is my kus." The crude term had seldom emerged from Aladdin's mouth. To Alana it felt... naughty, and yet truthful, as her Master said. Her face was so warm! And... and so was her kus...
Jasmine watched all this - fascinated, gratified, and excited. The obvious embarrassment that Alana displayed at even having a kus, let alone naming it such, was like fine wine. The betrayer deserved all this mortification, and more!
"And such a lovely kus! You should be most grateful." He smirked. "Of course, I doubt you have much experience with them, no?"
He stepped forward. "Let us inspect together what the genie has provided." His fingers tickled across her pubic hair, hovering above the skin. "This is the soft down she hides within, as a mouse in her nest." He began to play with her folds - gentle, teasing strokes. "These, the outer lips; tender and yielding." A minute, perhaps, as Alana's breathing hastened. "They part to reveal the inner ones, protected and sensitive."
Alana could not dispute any of this - the sensations were confusing and overwhelming.
"And what they reveal - the sheath where my sword shall rest." Two fingers worked inward through wetness, a confusing intrusion she could barely process as unpleasant or agreeable. Alana simply lay frozen, humiliated. Why was she letting him... manhandle her so intimately? And with such impunity, without even a token protest?
Because he is my Master, came the resounding realization. It was her own thought... and yet it also felt like an instruction from another. Somehow it was answer enough.
Jasmine sat enthralled. She had never seen a man and a woman make love, and indeed had little idea how it might work. She had once caught a glimpse of two dogs wrestling, until her ladies-in-waiting had escorted her briskly away. Another time, she had seen two rabbits in a similar pose in her father's menagerie.
Never had she seen a man's parts until Alana had revealed Jafar's earlier this evening. And while she had tentatively explored her own nethers, she had barely seen another woman's. This was all proving informative... and, she realized, arousing.
"How charmingly snug you shall be for my zubb, slave," he remarked. Both Alana and Jasmine were startled at the vulgar term. "And... oh ho!" Suddenly two hands imperiously spread her legs wider, then pulled at her newest lips. "A virgin, no less! The genie was generous. Or..." A thoughtful pause.
Mocking laughter. "You were a virgin before! A boy of your age, and not once had you inveigled a woman to share your bed? Pathetic!"
Alana blushed. Aladdin had been anxious about that, even insecure - as a young man would. He had come into a little money once or twice, he could have hired a girl. But that seemed... tawdry. He wanted a willing partner... and before he gathered the nerve, the money went to help a family pay a doctor for their child, or to feed some starving orphans. A few girls he'd helped had offered... but were they truly willing, or merely trying to pay a debt they did not owe? Uncertainty had kept him from taking advantage.
Jafar shook his head, sneering - and inwardly thrilled at his luck. "Do not fret, little mouse. The first stroke of my sword shall draw blood, but the wounds thereafter shall be much sweeter!" He had realized this was an opportunity, if handled correctly. All her life, the princess had been shielded from experience with - indeed, awareness of - the carnal arts. Properly deflowering his new slave could do much to persuade his wife-to-be...
Jasmine's attention was riveted. An especially deep mystery, the loss of virginity.
His fingertips glided a scant inch or so, but kept gently kneading. "Allow me to introduce you to another landmark." Alana's breath caught. "Sensitive, is it not? It is your zambur. Such a small thing, and yet, what pleasures it can provide!" He chuckled. "Not unlike you yourself, I trust." Alana panted and moaned slightly. Her eyes closed, concentrating on sensation.
That would not do. A slave needed to pay attention to her Master. His right hand continued to play with her kus, but his left snuck up and pinched a nipple. Alana yelped, eyelids flying open. "Our little mouse squeaks so!" The princess met Jafar's sidelong glance and joined his laughter. But he noticed a royal flush as well, and royal nipples standing up beneath her halter.
Jafar looked down and caught Alana's eyes with his own. He felt the beginnings of a smile on his face - a true one. He had deployed many false, friendly ones over the years. Only rarely did he allow his actual feelings to show; usually lies were more advantageous. This was a rare moment when the truth was precisely what was called for.
Alana saw her Master's wicked, arrogant sneer and felt small and helpless. And yet, his fingers kept working, making her heart race and her muscles tense and her chest heave. She could feel her breasts moving in time with her breaths; her hands curled into the linen of the bedcover. The hand that had pinched her nipple now stroked it. On and on... and she could not but stare into her Master's eyes... haughty, harsh, superior... irresistible...
The princess marked that expression, too. Alana deserved to submit to a cruel master, the crueler the better. But... Jasmine was troubled, slightly, at the notion of that expression looming above herself. She had dreamed of a husband with a loving smile. Like Ali's had seemed...
Jafar had given the princess careful instructions while she had been entranced by the staff. Clearly she had followed them, else Alana would not be here. So he knew the words to say as he saw that she was nearing her climax. "Who is your master?" he demanded, intensely. He pressed a shade harder on her zambur, moved his fingertips faster, and tickled her nipple with increased force.
"Jafar is my Masterrrrrrraaaaaaaah! Aaahn! Aaahn!" she cried and moaned, heaving in the throes of her first feminine release.
He continued to minister to her flesh until she was quite spent. Submission and pleasure, already linked by the staff, now would stand very near indeed within her mind. Well worth the effort, he thought to himself.
That effort was not quite done, of course. But even as he worked, he could already reap some of the rewards of his labors. "It is not the Master's task to pleasure the slave, you know," he snapped at the panting girl.
It took Alana a moment to understand that. She felt shame again. I want to be the best harem girl for Jafar, came the oddly resonant thought. Abashed at her failings, she rose unsteadily to her feet. "How may I please you, Master?" she asked, breathless, still feeling aftershocks from that amazing explosion.
The day was fully over, darkness and stars outside the window. The night air cooled her unclothed skin, yet it was as if the heat of the noonday sun shone within her belly, and especially on her behind. Even the sting of her buttocks felt good, in some mysterious way inflaming her kus even further.
"I have done you a good turn. Now you must return the favor. Surely you are at least familiar with male garb?" Jafar drawled.
A pause as she worked to grasp his meaning. Once she did, Alana said, "Master... may I undress you?"
He nodded. "You may," he said. Condescending, granting an inferior a great boon.
In the moment, Alana felt as if he had bestowed a wondrous privilege. Tentative, she reached for his cape. He did not stop her, so she undid the clasp, pulled it off, and laid it aside. She paused. "Master, I... I cannot reach your head." She was so short now, especially compared to the tall vizier. Her head barely came up to his shoulders.
Bearing a disparaging smirk, he bent forward. Gently, she removed his headdress. He is bald! she thought in surprise. His head was shaved - and suddenly she recognized the 'old prisoner' that had brought Aladdin to the Cave of Wonders. A gleam in his eye told her he knew what she had realized.
He had betrayed... Aladdin. Tried to kill him. But... he was Alana's Master. She set the overly-elaborate headgear on the desk next to the cape. And undid his sash, if perhaps a fraction reluctantly.
His robe slipped from his shoulders, joined the growing collection. His red, billowing shirt next. She fumbled a little; well she knew masculine clothes, but never had Aladdin undressed another man. Jafar now wore only a close-fitting black shirt and tight black leggings. Not looking down, she helped pull off the undershirt. But there was nothing else, after that. She could not ignore the bulge under the leggings. She had already moved them aside once, in the throne room, and seen what was within.
More than seen. Touched... kissed... drank from... Her hands trembled with fear and anticipation as they reached forward...
"Kneel for such tasks, girl," Jafar growled.
She dropped at once, unthinkingly. After a moment, shame rose. Why am I doing this? Why am I letting him degrade me this way?
Jafar recognized the renewed confusion. He knew the words to conjure by; he had authored them himself. But he made a quick glance at Jasmine. She had the wit to understand his intent. "What are you?" she called out.
"I am a harem slave." A certainty to cling to. Somehow Alana could not doubt that.
"Who do you belong to?" Jasmine's dulcet voice was harshened by wrath. She had drilled this phrase into Alana with the staff, over and over.
"I belong to Jafar." The words came out unthinkingly. True in that way she could not explain. And... arousing.
She resumed her task, completed undressing her Master. His manhood, his zubb, stuck out from his long, lean frame. Lean, but possessed of a certain wiry strength. She might have hesitated, kneeling before a naked man with an erection who was set upon taking her - but Jasmine afforded her no chance.
Harshly, a royal inquest: "Who owns you?"
"Jafar owns me." Echoing, ringing in her mind. A harem slave desires her owner. Rich and resonant; her own thought, yet not her own words?
The vizier could command, too. "Back on the bed, just as you were." Alana darted for the bed, and arranged herself just so, legs spread lewdly once more. Jafar, wearing a satisfied grin, stepped forward. He took hold of his zubb, and used it like a puppet. Dipping the tip just between her lips, right at her maidenhead. He pulled back, and the tip glistened.
"Ah, see, princess! Her kus weeps tears of longing for my zubb."
Jasmine's own privates felt embarrassingly wet. She thrilled to see the blush of shame on Alana's face. He slid the tip of his zubb upward, tickling her most sensitive part. The harem girl groaned helplessly.
He stared in her eyes - then glanced at Jasmine, smirking. "You can see what she desires. And how much." A mock frown. "But I am not certain I should reward her poor performance." Alana looked upset. She wriggled, as if to slide down the bed and take him in. Shame and longing fought to dominate her expression.
Jafar, however, pulled back. Laughing. "Ah ah! A slave may not command. She can only plead."
Self-awareness, and thus rebellion, at last began to emerge. How could she - she would not -
Suddenly a girl's voice rang out. "Jafar is my Master!" Then moans of pleasure. The bird, Iago. It struck her as higher-pitched than her voice sounded to herself... but she knew it was how her new voice sounded to others. Those were her own words, echoed. She remembered the pleasure... and she realized she had spoken truly.
Softly at first, but with increasing volume: "Please, Master. Fuck me. Fuck your slave!" she begged. "Fuck me, I beg you!" she exclaimed then, with full passion.
He plunged into her.
There was pain. But the spanking and pinching had already prepared her for mixtures of pain and pleasure.
He works his way inside my body as he worked his way inside my mind, she realized. In the throes of passion, it was not an entirely unpleasant thought - but there was plenty of unpleasantness. How could she desire a man? How could she desire Jafar? How could the thought - the feeling - of his zubb both repel and delight her at once?
She fled from her humiliation and disgust, taking refuge in the thoughts that seemed so reverberantly certain. I am a harem girl. I want to be the best harem girl for Jafar. A harem girl is submissive. A harem girl rejoices in being submissive. A harem girl is obedient. A harem girl rejoices in being obedient. I am a slave. Jafar is my Master. A harem slave delights in submitting to her Master. Jafar owns me. A harem slave desires her owner.
It was too much. "Master! Fuck me, Master!" She wriggled, not sure if she moved to help or hinder him - not that it made any difference. He was too strong, he simply drove into her, again and again. She had no choice but to submit. She was a harem girl. A slave. And he was her... "Maaaasterrr! Uhhhn! Aaahh!" The pleasure swept her away, again, and she gave in to it utterly.
Jafar gloated, and kept up his rhythm. I told her I looked forward to her squirming beneath me. Her storm passed, gradually, though he faltered not a moment. Once she had some breath back, he bent forward and kissed her. Deeply, exploring her mouth with his tongue. In moments she was returning the kiss - amateurishly, but with ardor.
Jasmine was riveted. She could not know it, but she was staring at the two as raptly as she had stared into the jeweled serpent's eyes hours before. She had known that one day she would have a husband. That one day, she would be initiated into these mysteries. But she had not thought ever to watch some other man and woman 'make love'! It was indecent and lewd... she should look away, this was not how well-behaved girls should act, or feel...
The vizier saw the princess' body language from the corner of his eye. Yes, this all was proving useful on many levels. And pleasant on so many others. A minute or two more to savor his conquest, enjoying the close-fitted embrace of her virgin kus. Then, it was time to reward himself fully. He drove with more force, and caught Alana's eyes. A soft grunt escaped his control, no more.
She realized he was coming inside her. A harem slave exults in pleasing her master. Suddenly she was crying out again, pleasure sweeping through her once more, to her shock... and dark delight.
Submission and pleasure, chained together in her mind forevermore. Jafar basked in her cries, and his triumph - even as he finished pumping, depositing his seed within his newest possession.
Presently he pulled out, and laid to one side on his elbow, catching his breath. Covertly, he gauged the princess' interest. She was slightly flushed, and perhaps her breath came a touch more swiftly than would be expected for a seated girl. Her nipples had certainly not softened since his last check. All to the good.
Alana lay dazed and bewildered and horrified... yet simultaneously pleased and contented. She did not understand how she could take such satisfaction and pride at allowing herself to be so debased and used. Everything was confusion. Then she lifted her head from the bed, looked down her body - as far as she could, at least, with the seeming mountains on her chest.
To the side, Master's faint smug smile. Her eyes lowered involuntarily, and she beheld the semen dripping from the end of his withering zubb. Suddenly she noticed that more was beginning to ooze from her kus. She remembered its taste, and for an instant, it made her want to throw up... until she realized she longed to taste it again, right now.
Jafar owned her. I am his slave, she thought - and there rose scarcely a trace of defiance. The idea of obeying her Master - of complying with his every desire, no matter how twisted - now felt so right. And thrilling. I am happy to be Jafar's harem girl. The words had that surreal intensity she was almost coming to welcome. It was lunacy; such a concept had never appealed to Aladdin. Had never crossed his mind, in fact. But Alana found serving Jafar, in any way he wished, a tantalizing prospect.
Jafar noticed Alana's nipples begin to pucker anew, and crowed inwardly. Confident in his hold on the 'mouse' - at least for the moment - he turned to the princess. There was still work to be done this night to shore up his position.
"Move aside, slave. Make room for my betrothed," he said imperiously, eyes meeting Jasmine's. She was startled, flushed and confused. The princess stood slowly, considering. She had heard that men needed to rest between their bouts of pleasure. She wasn't sure how long, but... sufficient time to frustrate a woman, often. It should be safe enough to approach him. And the look on the slave's face was quite encouraging. Alana was stricken even as she moved to obey, shifting to the foot of the bed.
Jafar, quick-witted, moved to take the spot Alana had just yielded. Best that I stay between these two, for the time being. So Jasmine, when she lay down into his embrace, could peek over his shoulder to witness - and delight in - the sullen resentment in the eyes of the one who had tricked his - her? - way into the heart of a princess.
Jafar undid her halter, and let his fingers roam across the supple breasts so revealed as their tongues wrestled. The princess kept glancing at Alana, making sure she saw what they were doing. He pulled her closer, cupping her bottom with one hand, as the other pulled that delightful, long-appreciated but long-forbidden chest against his own.
After a time, his fingers roamed to her kus, though still outside the silks of her pantaloons. For just a moment, she made a sound in her throat - then stiffened slightly, eyes widening.
Jafar pondered momentarily. The princess was doing this to punish 'Prince Ali', not out of any real attraction to himself. It might just be possible to persuade her to give up her virginity this night... but it would take careful, cautious, judicious effort.
Why bother? Especially when it would come naturally, in the course of time - and marriage. He was not a young man, and he had already deflowered his first new prize tonight. Twice over.
That gave him inspiration, in fact. A way to condition the princess to further associate 'sensual pleasure' with 'Jafar'. When his head turned, Alana noticed his thoughtful smirk, and her eyes dropped demurely to the floor.
"Come, princess," he purred, patting the head of the bed. "Sit here." As she complied - a little watchfully, laying her back against the headboard - he rose and put a hand to Alana's chin, lifting it. He stared forcefully into the harem girl's eyes, and said, "This little mouse needs to express her gratitude for your helpful training."
Jasmine's eyes declared suspicion, but she did not resist as he slid her pantaloons down past her waist and off her legs. Jafar's eyes drank in her naked curves, though her most intimate regions were not visible beyond a tuft of curly hair.
"Princess, but spread your legs a bit," he said, with a certain solicitude. Another moment of hesitation, but she complied. Yes, she was not ready this night for his zubb. No matter. He would take that now-revealed kus by and by.
"Slave, come here." He didn't even look her way, supremely confident in her obedience. Alana was uncertain - as well as both angered and cowed by Jasmine's narrowed gaze - but complied as a good harem girl should. "Kneel here. No, here!" The girl anxiously repositioned herself, rebellion the furthest thing from her mind. "Now lean forward, on your elbows." She obeyed so unthinkingly that it took her by surprise what her face was practically touching. The slight gasp she heard told her the princess was startled as well.
Mere inches before her was Jasmine's kus. Strange and fascinating, with a faint odor that was musky but not unpleasant. I have one of these now, she realized in wonder.
Jafar laughed at the 'o' of surprise the harem girl's mouth made. "You must have had your fantasies," he taunted. "No male - especially a virgin! - could be so close to such a delectable maiden and fail to entertain at least a few lewd thoughts."
Alana felt the blood suffusing her cheeks. Indeed there had been daydreams - and night dreams - of such a view. But never like this!
Jasmine, seeing her blush, felt her jaw tighten. A liar and a lech! That she herself was lewdly exposing her most intimate charms did not occur to her. She only felt anger at the impudence of the former street rat. And a desire to punish...
Jafar ran his fingers up Alana's back. "Your tongue has some talent for pleasuring a zubb. Let us see if it is of any use to a kus."
Now it was Jasmine's jaw that dropped in utter surprise. To put her mouth there? To put her mouth there? Jasmine had never imagined such a thing. Disgusting, degrading...
Degrading. That was... an interesting aspect. Her eyes locked with the vizier's.
The slave girl was hesitating. Jafar's voice became a shade harsher, and he gave the girl's rump a firm swat, though his eyes never left those of the princess. "She shall provide good service. Or she shall learn to fear the strap." Jasmine could not help but laugh at the sudden apprehension in the slave's expression.
Her head dipped between the princess' legs.
Jasmine gasped, laughter forgotten. No one else had touched her there since she could remember. And it was quickly stoking feelings she half-recognized. She had felt some of this sitting next to Ali on their magic flight. She had felt quite a bit more, waking from a half-remembered dream of Ali this morning. But never had such sensations been this intense!
After an uncertain duration, she was almost startled when Jafar spoke again. "Pay attention to her sensitive spot. Well you know by now how important it is to a woman." Alana's tongue repositioned, and Jasmine's eyes closed as her back arched involuntarily.
She wondered. Would it have been better if 'Prince Ali' had been using his tongue there? A moan escaped...
The princess forced her eyes open. The vizier had taken a step back, and was taking in the scene with relaxed amusement. The mouth at her kus made a particularly intense motion, and she sighed. Jafar's smile quirked, and Jasmine glanced away, embarrassed. Not so put off that she even considered pulling away from Alana's ministrations, however.
Jasmine kept half an eye on the vizier, who had turned to his bureau. He opened a small bottle, and poured some oil onto his hand. He spread it onto his... thing. His zubb, she thought, enjoying the rudeness of the term. On the excursion when she'd met Ali, she had seen a snake being charmed in the market. His member was rising again, in just the same way.
Jafar, as ever, had a plan. The slave girl already responded to pleasure with submission. Now it was time to ensure that they were as one. That the link flowed both ways; that submission and humiliation would in themselves produce pleasure. This would prove an excellent test.
He moved to the bed, noting the rising tension in Jasmine's shoulders as he approached. But he took up a station behind the harem girl, who continued to lap at Jasmine's crotch, all unknowing. A twitch as manly hands grasped her hips, but she didn't lift her head.
Alana knew what was coming, and - despite her shame - found herself welcoming it. Her Master was bringing his zubb forward, she could feel it. He would use her again. Here it came - wait! What...
Alana's tongue stilled, and her eyes flew so wide Jasmine had to laugh. The slave girl made a startled "Mmmmmph!", muffled by the princess's muff, halfway between a moan and a grunt.
The vizier had already taken her by mouth, and by kus. Now, he was taking her yet another way - one she had only heard of, with puzzlement, ere now. Frozen, alarmed... and feeling the first stirrings of anger.
Jafar chuckled as he began to move his hips - only a modicum more gently than when he had been inside her as nature intended. "A slave may be used however her Master pleases. She may only submit." The words struck that strange deep chord within her, stilling thoughts of resistance.
Jasmine followed all this interplay avidly, even as she enjoyed the girl's renewed lapping at her nethers. Such a scene as she'd never imagined. A princess, taking part in such depravity! Willingly, joyfully!
Alana's thoughts were quite similar. A submissive plaything she was, compliant slave to the whims of her Master! Never had she conceived of such a thing - but she felt herself getting wet anew as he thrust into her rearmost gate. Her grunts were becoming moans... How could this feel so good?
Jasmine grinned fiercely down at the harem girl as she reveled in her triumph. The 'prince' who'd lied to her, dreamed to possess her - now a girl-slave, herself a possession, used in such a debasing manner. Compelled to not merely submit so utterly, but to enjoy the humiliation! Suddenly a great rush of feeling swept through her, washing away all thought, leaving only sensation...
Had she been in a condition to observe, she would have seen an even more triumphant grin on the vizier's face. Two great conquests in one night! Upon seeing the princess climax, he slipped fingers to Alana's kus, and thrust vigorously. The ecstatic exclamations of the threesome intertwined...
Alana's thoughts returned to the present, and the morning light shining on Master's face. She stuck out her tongue, licking the head of Master's tool each time it emerged from the slick embrace of her breasts. She could feel wetness between her legs. Something about this was wrong... but the 'wrongness' had shifted. Pleasing her Master's senses this way seemed, more and more, to be excitingly naughty instead of revolting. Even her lingering distaste for Jafar's arrogance and greed somehow made her surrender and submission more arousing.
And then, at Jafar's nod, the princess worked her fingers into Alana's kus. The slave gasped and twitched, in surprise and pleasure. Jasmine's haughty expression was filled with amused contempt. Alana's chagrin somehow excited her, forcing out a moan. Her humiliation - and eagerness - both increased as Jasmine sneered and laughed.
Alana's humiliation excited Jasmine, too. Abasing and degrading the formerly virile young man was so wickedly delicious! She who had been pampered but powerless found unexpected - and unexpectedly great - pleasure in taking away the power of a man. Power she had envied. It made her private place - her kus - wet again...
Jafar, nearing climax, grinned inwardly. Including the princess in Alana's training and humbling would prevent her from contemplating her impending marriage until it was far too late. Once the bond was consummated, what little power the princess had would be gone. And Jafar's position would become unassailable.
As Master grunted and his zubb began to spew fluid at Alanas's face and mouth, the dainty fingers at her kus moved more rapidly. The slave cried out her abject surrender, swept away in ecstatic capitulation.
The vizier carefully placed the lamp within his headdress. That had proven a safe place for the street rat - neither the guards, nor Iago, nor even Jafar himself had found it there. If the boy had left it behind even once, the covert searches would have turned it up. Not that his cleverness saved him in the end, he thought with relish, gazing upon the girlish morsel shyly avoiding his eyes as she clumsily dressed herself.
Then he realized there was a lesson to heed, as well. He would have to be most careful. Mistakes with the genie could - would - prove catastrophic. Resolving never to let the lamp from his person, he turned his attention to the princess.
Jasmine was already dressed, having far more practice with feminine garb. Yet she was hardly presentable. Her clothes and hair were disheveled, her makeup was in utter ruin, one of her earrings was missing. He kept the amusement clenched in his heart, and well off his face. So long as she felt her dignity was above Alana's, she would be... tractable.
Finally Alana was clothed in a way that was not completely indecent. "Come, there is much to do today," Jafar urged. The three stepped out from his chambers together, though not actually clinging to each other the way they'd entered it the night before. A serving girl gave them a very startled look before she recovered control of her expression and studiously directed her attention to the floor, blankfaced.
Jasmine, royalty long used to servants about, hardly noticed. "I shall return to my chambers," she declared. The servant was already bustling away. Perhaps a trifle hastily.
"I must find quarters for our new possession," Jafar purred. "I'm afraid I shall be busy for a time this morning." A diplomatic pause. "I suggest your father the Sultan will take the news of Prince Ali's disgrace and departure better from you than myself?"
Jasmine nodded firmly. Remembered anger furrowed her brow as she gave Alana a glance so sharp the slave flinched. "He needs to be appraised of our betrothal as well."
"Feel my breasts, Jafar. No man has ever held them before." Iago moaned in the princess' voice, echoing words she had spoken last night in the throne room. Words meant to hurt Alana. Her stricken expression showed they had scored a hit again.
At Jasmine's exasperated glare, Jafar quickly barked, "Silence, Iago!" He bowed to the princess. "I am pleased to have been of service, your highness. Until later..."
She sniffed and turned away, marching up the hall.
Once she had turned a corner, Jafar snapped at his bird. "There is a time and place for humor, Iago. That time is after the wedding, not before." Iago squawked but settled.
With a sigh, he turned to look down at the apprehensive expression on his new toy. "And what nest shall I place you in, my pet? My little mouse?"
Alana followed her Master through the palace, dazed and numb. Her mind felt... clogged, blocked. Stagnant, unable to flow. It bounced chaotically from one fantastic memory to another, not able to arrange them into any sequence, let alone a coherent narrative.
They approached the entrance to the women's quarters. Despite the insanity of the situation, she could not help feeling curious. That place had been the source of much speculation and tall tales on the streets of Agrabah. Male guests - particularly a royal suitor! - had not been allowed near them. Aladdin only managed to reach Jasmine's chambers because he possessed a magic carpet.
A barred metal gate closed an archway. A guard stood next to it. He seemed a formidable man, even if he possessed the scant beard and general softness of a eunuch.
"Good morning, Grand Vizier," he said. Not hostile, but there was no welcome in his tone either.
Jafar was undaunted. "I have a fresh mount that needs stabling. Open the gate."
The guard blinked slowly, and looked down at Alana. His gaze prowled her body, making her uncomfortably aware of how little of that body her clothing concealed. Despite his gentling, the gatekeeper seemed to take a man's appreciation of the sight. Though he betrayed a certain amused derision, as well. She felt her cheeks turn red from more than Master's dismissive words.
He looked back to Jafar. "The Sultan's harem, my lord, is not a hostel. I may only allow those known to me."
"I speak for the Sultan," Jafar said sharply. Then, low and dangerous: "Or do you doubt me?"
The guard met his gaze for a moment... then looked down. "Of course not, vizier."
Alana felt a thrill, almost a shiver. The vizier was a man of stature and importance. Dominant, lordly. A Master in truth. She felt small and meek next to her... owner.
Jafar nodded slightly in satisfaction as the guard moved to open the seraglio gate. He glanced her way, and paused. The corners of his mouth curled up - smug, cruel. She blushed helplessly and looked down at the ground, bosom hiding her lower body from view.
Suddenly she realized her nipples had stood to attention. That's what made him smile!
Her blush, and her humiliation - and her arousal - all intensified. How could she just accept this treatment as if it were her due? Why was compliance so attractive?
Once inside, Jafar braced a passing functionary, demanding accommodation for his new slave. Flustered, the woman protested... but again the vizier brushed aside all resistance. In a short time Alana was placed in an unoccupied room.
Jafar only gave the chamber a brief inspection. He fixed his gaze upon Alana. "I have business to attend to. Rest here, slave, and await my pleasure." He swept out, the woman trailing behind him still attempting feeble objections.
Alana sat on the corner of her bed and looked about the small, and extremely feminine, room. Alone for the first time in... she wasn't sure.
Thanks to time, and no longer distracted by Master's overwhelming presence, she had recovered a fraction of her wits - which had always been abundant. Finally able to think with something approaching clarity.
Obviously last night had been magical, in many senses - not least the literal. Even beyond Genie granting her disastrous wish. She realized some spell, some bewitchment, must have compelled that outlandish and out-of-character request.
The staff! Her last clear memory as Aladdin was Jasmine coming to him, acting strangely. Showing him the serpent's eyes in the head of Jafar's staff... After that, memories went hazy. And the world went mad.
That the treacherous vizier was a sorcerer came as no real surprise. Aladdin had never trusted the man. One like him would always seek more power. Jafar's 'old prisoner' disguise had been supernaturally good - and who would know so much about the Cave of Wonders but a wizard?
So the magic, Aladdin should have suspected. But he would never have believed how canny and audacious Jafar could be in its application!
She reflected on her situation now. The vizier's victory was devastatingly complete. Aladdin was lost; Alana she would be, forevermore. Genie would not grant her another wish. Neither Jafar nor Jasmine had any reason to ever wish for Aladdin back.
She fought tears, briefly; but they leaked soon enough. For a time, she grieved. Jasmine had discovered "Prince Ali's" lies, and come to hate him. She had carefully and ruthlessly stolen his manhood, bequeathed the name Alana, and delivered her to be Jafar's plaything. That kind of revenge seemed out-of-character for her, too; very likely the princess had been under the influence of the staff as well.
But the royal fury and vengeance had been fully real. Could Jasmine even truly be blamed? She had been lied to, by one who sought to steal her heart.
Had Genie not warned Aladdin, over and over, to tell her the truth? Alana wept bitterly, and not just for the lost love. She had failed Genie, too - her promise to free him betrayed.
At last, still sniffling, she turned her mind from the past and its lost chances. To consider her present - and future. It seemed all too clear: she would be a slave forevermore.
Surely it must be the magic of the staff, but she could not help feeling a strange contentment at the idea of being a harem girl. A harem slave. Even leaving aside the pleasures she had experienced, being a beautiful and submissive girl - who served a forceful and compelling Master - held an eerie, inexplicable attraction.
Not that she had any real choice, anymore. What was the alternative? Running away was worse than useless. In her past life on the streets, she had seen - many times - the inevitable fate of attractive girls with no family to protect them. Were she to escape the palace, she would be servicing men before nightfall, anyway. Property of whatever pimp captured her first.
Compared to that, the harem was not so bad. After all, this room was finer than any she had been in, before Aladdin had wished his way into the palace. The bed her disconcertingly plump behind rested on, more comfortable than the old rooftop pallet by far! Here, there would be no need to scramble for scraps to live on, every single day. Even the Aladdin of last week had wanted to be rich, live in a palace, and never have any problems at all. A harem girl had two of the three...
Except for the small matter of gender. That was a problem! Along with the wickedness of the Master to be served.
And yet...
Her thoughts were interrupted by someone knocking at the arch, and brushing the curtains aside. Two women entered.
One was middle-aged, but dressed finely, moving with confidence. Though time had taken some toll, she remained a handsome woman. In her youth she must have been a great beauty.
The other - dark-skinned, possibly Egyptian - had not quite so much beauty, being merely pretty. She possessed a full measure of youth, though; well shy of her twentieth year. The girl's clothes marked her as a servant. (Even though they were finer and more expensive than Alana... Aladdin had ever set eyes upon, living on the street.)
Both women performed a quick, head to toe once-over. The girl's face remained studiously blank; the woman's lips pursed slightly. Alana was finally, uncomfortably aware of how she must look. Dressed in a sultry - indeed, wanton - outfit, now wrinkled and askew. Disheveled hair and makeup. Cloth and skin alike bedecked with dubious stains.
Like a well-used harem slave, she thought. The image was simultaneously shameful... and wickedly satisfying.
Despite a certain evident tension, the older woman's smile seemed genuine enough. "My name is Priyat, and this is Rubiya. I am the Haseki Sultan. I am in charge of the women's quarters here in the palace." Her smile became slightly more gentle. "I understand you are our new guest?"
"I... yes. I'm..." A moment's hesitation. "I'm Alana. My Master brought me here."
"So I was informed," Priyat said sharply, though her frown was directed over her shoulder at the door rather than Alana. "He grows bold. Perhaps the Sultan should remind him who is the ruler, and who the advisor."
"He is my Master," Alana said. As if that explained anything.
Priyat exchanged a glance with Rubiya. Curious... perhaps the girl was simple. Or addled.
"You seem to have had a busy night," Priyat remarked neutrally. The girl's blush might have reddened a shade further, but her slightly abstracted smile didn't falter. "Let us find you some clothing more suitable for the day." A pause as she looked over Alana again. "Perhaps a bath, first." She turned her head. "Rubiya, please draw some water."
The dusky girl stepped out through the curtain. "While you are here, Rubiya will be your attendant," Priyat told the blinking Alana.
"Thank you," she replied shyly.
As the morning proceeded, Priyat grew increasingly mystified. Words like "simple" or "addled" were inadequate. It was hard to name a single thing about Alana that was not odd in some way. For a time, Priyat suspected Jafar was playing some obscure, tasteless prank.
Such lush beauty, revealed as she bathed. The equal of any Priyat had ever seen, even Princess Jasmine... if in a somewhat more voluptuous mode. (Little wonder Jafar had apparently rushed to acquire her, with no preparation!) And yet that beauty was accompanied by a profound, incomprehensibly complete ignorance of how to present, manage, or maintain it.
How could anyone possibly grow such an elegant mane, for example, and still be incapable of brushing it? She had no idea how to dress herself - quite literally. Looking in a hand mirror, she stared as if she had never before seen her own face!
So... gorgeous but empty-headed. Fitting the image most men had of an odalisque, almost to the point of parody.
Once she was dressed (elegantly and significantly more modestly), they shared a light meal. And the picture became more complex. Though the girl was not messy or offensive as she ate, she definitely had scant experience of formal table manners. Plus, while she didn't overeat, every scrap of food was cleaned from her plate.
A poor childhood, then. One as pretty as she, and poor, would have absolutely no options other than the obvious. Priyat tried on the idea of a common - though uncommonly attractive - whore that Jafar had taken a fancy to, and chosen to possess for himself.
It didn't quite fit. Jafar was hardly immune to feminine charms, of course, and had occasionally dallied with women for hire. (All the servants of the royal household reported to her - in both senses of the term. Priyat was likely the most informed person in the palace.) Those transactions were just that, however - business exchanges. No one could accuse the vizier of sentimentality. Even his pursuit of the princess (Allah forbid that bear fruit!) was driven at least as much by her rank as her beauty.
That pursuit, in fact, made Alana's presence all the more baffling. Taking a concubine was hardly advisable in the midst of courting a princess. Especially courting that princess!
And it was utter foolishness when a dazzling new alternative had suddenly appeared!
Had Jafar conceded to Prince Ali, and purchased this slave girl to console himself? It was unlike the subtle and ambitious vizier to abandon the schemes of years, after but a day and a half of setbacks. Indeed, if Jafar had ordered those guards to attempt Ali's assassination - and who else, even if he was too clever for there to be proof - what could make him concede at all?
Stranger still - Priyat suddenly realized that Alana had adjusted her eating style over the course of the meal. Evidently she had picked up on the unspoken disapproval - and reacted. Where had such intelligence been hiding ere now?
"My lady?" The Haseki Sultan turned in mild surprise at the interruption. Shirin leaned in, giving her the kind of neutral look that Priyat recognized as 'urgent'.
This mystery must be put aside for a time. "I'm afraid you must excuse me for a little while," Priyat said to Alana. "Rubiya will help get you settled, make sure you have what you need."
She stepped out into the hall. "Yes, Shirin?"
"In your chambers, if you please, my lady?" Shirin said quietly.
Priyat frowned, but nodded and strode to her apartment at once. Shirin was definitely agitated, though few would have been able to tell. The day had begun with disruption; this did not augur well.
The moment the painted doors closed, Shirin spoke. "Prince Ali has disappeared!"
The Haseki Sultan blinked, then snapped, "Tell me everything."
Shirin spoke rapidly. "The servants brought him a late lunch. No one has seen him since. He was not there this morning - his elephant is almost uncontrollable!" The briefest of hesitation and she plunged on. "Lakshmi said the princess went to visit him shortly after lunch - alone!"
Audacious, even for her, Priyat reflected.
"After perhaps half an hour, she went back to her chambers. And she brought that new..." - a flicker as she chose a neutral term - "girl with her." Shirin's lips pursed. "She was dressed as finely as a princess herself, then."
Shirin spread her hands. "She wore the garb of a coquette when she and the princess left for the throne room, though. They met Jafar there. He had shooed away all servants and retainers, however, so no one saw what took place then."
Shirin finally hesitated for real. "Out with it, girl," Priyat commanded.
Her most trusted servant - her spymistress, in truth - obeyed. "The princess did not return to her chambers last night. This morning, Naeva witnessed her leaving the vizier's chambers - with him and the new courtesan." Even then, a final pause. "Jasmine's clothes were as unkempt as the slave girl's."
Priyat was aghast. "How am I only learning of this now?" Nothing made sense. Jasmine had been indulged by the Sultan - perhaps even spoiled, in some ways. Spending the night with a man unchaperoned went well beyond indulgence, however.
Her distaste for Jafar was obvious to all. The subject of jokes - and relief, by the many who feared the prospect of his rule. That she would invite - nay, demand - scandal by such behavior was incomprehensible. To salvage her honor at this point, she would have to marry the vizier!
A night of debauchery had taken place in Jafar's bed - Alana's condition made that apparent. Could Jasmine really have participated?
Shirin's gabbling apologies helped rein in her galloping thoughts. "I'm sorry, my lady, I was busy trying to find more information about the guards who attacked Ali. As you asked. Lakshmi and Naeva only just managed to speak to me a few minutes ago..."
Jafar slipped into his laboratory. He extracted the lamp, and examined it carefully. It looked like worthless junk. He rubbed it, tense.
He had expected it - had known it would happen - but he was still awestruck and overjoyed as raw magical energy erupted from the tip of the cheap-looking brass object, coalescing into a giant blue form. Music swelled, as if they were surrounded by an invisible orchestra. Bright sparkling explosions filled the room. The blue being, tall as a house, looked down at Jafar...
...and there came a strange, unpleasant scratching noise; the music returned, but progressively slowed down while dropping in pitch, fading to nothing in bare seconds. To Jafar's ears, a very eerie sound. The fireworks ceased, except for a tiny, fizzling 'pop' with a few desultory sparks.
"Aw, man," the genie said, sadly. "I was hoping it'd be the princess." He turned his head, searching the room. His clothes had changed, to some barbarian form, and outlandish smoked glass rectangles concealed his eyes. "Yo, shorty, you 'round the hood? Maybe want a turn at the mic?"
Jafar, irritated, disregarded the indecipherable words. He grabbed the smokelike trail that connected the djinn to the lamp, and yanked down. The cobalt-colored creature was drawn closer, and bounced off the floor. "I am your master now," the vizier declared triumphantly.
"Master now! Master now!" Iago cried.
"I was afraid of that," the genie murmured, one of the glass squares shattered, a darker blue bruise on his cheek. Then he squinted at Jafar's scepter. "A Staff of Apep! Haven't seen one of those in a Sphinx's age!" He shook his head, crestfallen. "No wonder Al and the princess were acting all weird! Nasty things, always causing trouble." His eyes were suddenly filled with rotating spirals.
Jafar's crooked grin overflowed with malevolence. "I must compliment you on your handiwork, slave," he drawled. "'Alana' was simply delectable last night." A small chuckle. "And this morning."
The djinn looked shocked... and sad, and guilty. The vizier's smile had lost none of its menace, but acquired some mischief. "Even the princess agrees."
The spirals had disappeared; it was easy to tell, since the genie's eyes protruded and became the size of dinner plates. "Whoa!" he exclaimed. Abruptly, with no transition, he was curled around the staff. Iago squawked and flapped his wings, dislodged from Jafar's shoulder. The magical being was examining the jewels in the scepter intently, through some curved disc of glass at the end of a handle. He wore a brown jacket of odd tailoring, and also a hat with a protruding brim and flaps covering his ears. "That's a heck of a whammy to lay on somebody. They both got busy with you?" His tone of bemusement was so insulting that it must have been calculated.
"Enough, slave!" The vizier took a deep breath, dismissing the implied derogation. Instead he laughed in celebration of his ascendancy. "Unlimited power, at my command! At last!"
Suddenly the genie was grey-haired, clad in a scholar's robe. He began to lecture. "Ah, not quite. There are a few, uh, provisos, addenda, a, a number of quid pro quos..."
"Such as?" Jafar bit out, dangerously.
"Well, the first one's gonna be a problem for you. I can't kill anybody." Suddenly two genies floated before the vizier; the rightmost one sliced the other's chest open with a sword. A beating - yet bloodless - heart fell to the floor, next to the 'slain' genie, whose eyes had become twin 'X' symbols.
"And second?"
"I can't bring anyone back from the dead." The fallen duplicate suddenly rose, green-skinned with swollen eyes, a moving corpse. It seized the 'living' genie by the neck.
"It's not a pretty picture," the risen genie moaned. "I won't do it! I won't!" He bundled up the blue genie and swallowed him whole.
Jafar was not perturbed. "And finally?"
The green genie was suddenly blue again, but with long hair, a frighteningly large bosom, and a gauzy veil. "I can't make anybody fall in love with anybody else," 'she' simpered. A pause, as the genie's face filled with exaggerated feminine revulsion. "Especially you."
"Love?" Jafar chuckled. "What use have I for love?"
The genie, now wearing his normal appearance, also wore an expression both weary and jaded. "Yeah, that sounds about right, Señor Psychopath," he muttered under his breath. Jafar chose not to notice.
"Is that all?" The part about killing was barely an annoyance. Assassins were easy to hire. The only person he would ever want back from the dead was himself, and how could he utter that wish in such a case? Love was a tool of manipulation, no more - and fear was more useful.
He shook his head, casting aside the irrelevant constraints. "Even yesterday, my first wish would have been to be Sultan. Long have I dreamed of that moment!" He laughed again. "But with the princess my bride, it will fall to me soon enough. No, I must take time to reconsider my plans, in light of recent developments." He turned to the apprehensive genie. "But the princess needs more breaking in. And I plan to extract full use of my new slave."
Perhaps melodramatically, he gestured at the genie, and solemnly intoned, "I wish to have health and potency and strength outstripping a dozen ordinary men, and that my manhood be of the size and power to satisfy many women, for hours."
"Like I haven't heard that one before..." the genie muttered. In sadness, he pointed at the vizier. The magic enveloped him, and swiftly dispersed.
Priyat realized how upset she was as she walked into the princess' rooms... uninvited. Technically she was in full charge of the women's quarters since the death of the Sultan's wife; she had the right. But once the princess had reached a marriageable age, she had extended the girl every courtesy. In truth, she loved Jasmine. And even if she hadn't, she had loved the girl's mother, and intended to do right by her.
If anything justified the breach of politeness, though... she went past the bedroom to the bath. The princess was emerging from the pool.
More beautiful than even her mother. (Astonishing, that, considering who her father was.) Priyat would have unhesitatingly called Jasmine the most beautiful girl in the world... had she not just come from meeting Alana. Impossible to decide, there.
Rajah, Jasmine's pet tiger, was prowling anxiously about, eyes searching his mistress. They turned to the Haseki Sultan and he mewled some kind of plea.
Priyat could not spare concern even for the agitation of a tiger; she had her own concerns about his mistress. "Is it true? Did you spend the night with that monster?" She had not intended to sound shrill, but...
The look Jasmine favored her with took Priyat aback. Cold, stern. The princess could be fierce, but she was always fiery. Never cold. "Indeed I did." There was no shame. She simply began to dry herself with a towel.
"How could you do such a thing? Does Prince Ali know? Is that why he has vanished?"
Jasmine scowled at the mention of her suitor, puzzling the Haseki Sultan even more. "Ali was a pretender, no prince at all! He is gone, and will never return."
Priyat blinked, and exclaimed, "Who but a prince would have such a procession, such wealth?"
"A liar. A foul deceiver." Jasmine seemed utterly certain. Rajah flinched, ears turned back, tail flicking.
Priyat put that aside for the moment, not wishing to confront the girl's obstinacy directly. "So you spent the night with Jafar?" She threw her hands up in exasperation. "You were seen leaving his chambers. With Ali gone, you will have no choice but to marry him!"
"Indeed I shall." The princess had dried herself off and was putting on a robe. Untroubled by the prospect of marrying a man she despised.
For long moments, Priyat was dumbstruck. Finally, she found her voice. "How can you say such a thing?"
Jasmine was brushing her hair now, agitated. "He discovered Ali's deception, and showed me the way to prove him false. Shouldn't I have a wise husband?"
Priyat blinked. Then she gathered her wits. Something was going on here she didn't understand. "What has gotten into you? Just yesterday you were overjoyed to marry the prince!"
"Yesterday I was tricked and deceived. Now I see clearly." Sullenly, but with an undertone of real anger.
There seemed no way to avert this catastrophe, but Priyat had to try. "Jafar is known to use his women harshly."
Yet Jasmine actually smiled at her words. "He will have Alana to use as he likes."
Priyat shut her gaping jaw. Never had she been so bewildered. "You always said that you would never allow your husband to keep concubines. You would be more than enough." She threw up her hands. "And now I hear you brought the girl to him yourself!" Then, unable to keep the exasperation out of her voice: "And spent the night with them both."
With shocking unconcern, the princess shrugged that away. "She well deserves the vizier's attentions." Her smile was uncharacteristically malicious. The tiger laid a pleading paw on the girl's lap, but she brushed it aside, irritated.
"Do you, as well?" Priyat snapped. "Did you spend the night in bed with him, too?"
Jasmine's glance was impossibly jaundiced. "Husbands-to-be are allowed to be with their betrothed before the wedding, often enough."
The Haseki Sultan could hardly believe that the sweet princess was talking about such things. Without even a blush! "For commoners, perhaps! Not for royalty! And not for an engagement that has not even been announced!" She had to ask, fearing the answer. So many inconceivable things had happened last night, it was not the impossibility it should have been. "Did you give him your maidenhead last night?"
"No," Jasmine said, far more casually than such a topic deserved. That cruel smile again. "Jafar was much occupied with Alana."
She would have to retreat, to try to grasp how things had gotten so out of control. Still... she should try to gather as much information as possible. "Alana is... a very strange girl. Who is she? Where did she come from?"
Jasmine did not answer. Instead, she insisted, "You must train her well! She will need a lot of practice. Don't hesitate to discipline her!" Rajah whined. He seemed to sense how strangely his mistress was acting.
Her hair acceptable, the princess stood. "I must see my father. I have to tell him about Prince Ali."
Priyat blinked. "And your betrothal, surely?"
"Oh, yes, that too," Jasmine said with startling absent-mindedness. She seemed entirely focused on Prince Ali's alleged perfidy.
Once Alana had finished eating, Rubiya took away the dishes. When she returned a few minutes later, the beauty was still sitting at the table, uncertain. "What would you like to do now?" the serving girl asked.
"I don't... I'm not sure," Alana admitted. She looked up at Rubiya. "I don't know what to do. What I'm supposed to be."
The odalisque thought for a moment; it was all very curious. It was obvious what kind of slave Alana was. Previously, Rubiya had never attended upon a courtesan; just wives and daughters of palace functionaries.
Contrary to what commoners seemed to think, most women in the harem, even the slaves, did not slake the sexual thirsts of the Sultan or other high court officials. (Not that the Sultan had ever had more than Jasmine's mother and Priyat.)
Rubiya was simply a domestic servant. Some of her fellow odalisques had ambitions toward concubinage; it could be a step up, as slavery went. Like Alana, they would get an attendant of their own.
"I don't know much about being a... concubine," the attendant admitted.
"Neither do I," Alana sighed. She looked so lost...
Rubiya felt badly for her. "When I was girl, I knew a dancer who became a courtesan." She shrugged. "I remember she said... how did she put it? She said it wasn't so hard. 'A man comes to me, he's not looking for a challenge. He wants a respite. A bit of joy and ease at the end of the day.' Like that."
Alana frowned. "That doesn't sound much like... Master."
"I suppose not." To most of the servants in the place, Jafar barely seemed human.
There was an awkward pause. Rubiya broke the silence. "Will... the vizier call for you tonight?"
The new girl paused, considering the question. "I think so," she finally said, to Rubiya's eye displaying very mixed emotions about that.
"Maybe we can find a pretty outfit for you, then." Diffidently: "And perhaps some makeup."
Alana was unexpectedly gripped with excitement at the idea. I ache to wear silks and lace and perfume. I love to adorn myself with cosmetics and jewelry. Weighty, indisputable words. Schooled into her by the staff, no doubt. But... why fight them? If her kismet was to be a harem girl, why not take what enjoyment she could from it?
Sultan Hamad Bobolonious was in a fine mood. Jasmine would at last be wed... almost at the last possible moment! And to such an impressive - not to mention wealthy - prince! His greatest, consuming worry had been that he would perish before he could make sure she was taken care of.
He sat on the great elephantine throne, tuning out the droning of an advisor, humming to himself. And then he caught sight of Jasmine herself, approaching. Almost marching closer, with a determined stride. Priyat followed behind.
"Oh, dearest one, I missed you yesterday! I was hoping to announce your engagement earlier, but we can do it this afternoon." The Sultan paused. "Where is Prince Ali?"
He finally registered his daughter's scowl. "He was no prince! He was nothing but a swindler!" Jasmine was often irritated, but seldom so furious.
"But he... but you..." He slumped. "I don't understand," he said plaintively.
"Ali was deceiving me. Us all. Jafar showed me his treachery. He confessed it himself." Both Priyat and the Sultan exchanged a glance at this non-explanation. The princess continued, vehement. "He has been banished forever! Never to be seen again!"
"But... but this is a disaster! Your birthday is days away. The law says you must be married by then, and we have no suitor!"
His daughter showed not the slightest worry. "No, father. For his service, I am betrothed to Jafar." She said this as though it made perfect sense.
"But he's so... old," the Sultan objected, faintly.
"Oh, not so old as all that," came a familiar voice from the north entrance of the throne room.
It was still Jafar. But as he strode forward from the archway, there was an energy, a vigor in his movements none present had ever seen before. His skin glowed like a stripling, his eyes had lost their trace yellowness, and he seemed to fill his robes more fully. The subtle tinges of gray in his beard had vanished.
The Sultan struggled through his confusion. "You look... well, Jafar."
"Love will give any man a spring in his step, highness." He took Jasmine's hand and kissed it. She made no move to retrieve it from his clasp.
Hamad stared for a moment, amazed. He had sometimes wished that the two would get along better, but... marriage? "Are you sure, daughter?"
"I am, father." She said it with all the determination a father could hope for... though perhaps not so much passion.
The advisor was very agitated. "The law says the princess must marry a prince!"
The Sultan frowned. "Doesn't it say...? Jafar, I'm quite sure you told me something about the vizier in that law..."
The Grand Vizier skated past the issue. "Be that as it may, sire, you may always change the law as you wish."
"That's right! Am I Sultan or am I Sultan?"
"That might be unwise, my lord," the advisor broke in. "You recall the reason for the law..."
Jafar did not want to confront those politics right now. The law had been intended to foster alliances. Realities had changed in the century since it had been instituted, however. The nations arrayed about Agrabah were all of roughly equal power. None could threaten the land Jafar would rule... on their own.
An alliance between Agrabah and any one of its neighbors would tip that balance. The others might well unite against them. That lack of a clear choice had allowed Jasmine to reject so many suitors - even her father's indulgence could not have overcome statecraft to that degree.
A threatening glance suppressed the advisor; then the vizier turned to the Sultan. "How soon may we be wed? I am eager to begin our new life together."
Priyat struck, deploying the only tactic left to her: delay. "A month. A royal wedding will take at least a month to prepare."
All three looked to her, surprised. "Come," Jafar said tensely, laboring to sound polite, "we were preparing to marry the princess to that pretender within the week!"
Priyat was firm. "We wanted to cement the alliance as soon as possible, not let the boy get away." She tossed her head. "Apparently, that is no longer a concern. You would not abandon her at the altar, naturally?"
"Perish the thought," he bit out. "Yet it must be possible to hurry that along? Jasmine's birthday approaches!" A deep breath. "Surely two weeks would be sufficient?"
Priyat said, sweetly, "A betrothal is as good as a marriage, by the law." She addressed the Sultan, heading off argument from the vizier. "Surely your daughter deserves the most spectacular of weddings? Not a hastily-prepared improvisation?"
The Sultan's face lit up at this. "Of course, of course! A royal wedding should be memorable. Take the time you need, Priyat. Everything must be perfect!"
Suddenly Jasmine spoke. "Yes! A spectacle that will make everyone forget about that fraud Ali."
A fraught pause, then Jafar said, "As you wish, darling."
The Haseki Sultan took what pleasure she could from Jafar's veiled dissatisfaction. And what hope she could from the veiled relief she thought lurked in Jasmine's eyes.
Jafar shifted his attention back to Priyat. He could not lash out at her directly, not here. "And how is my new slave?" he asked, in a saccharine tone. "Is she settling in nicely?"
"As well as can be expected." Pointedly: "Given that we had no warning of her arrival."
"Keep a close eye on her," Jasmine growled, sounding almost like her tiger.
"Who is this? What slave?" the Sultan asked, curiously.
The Princess appeared caught out for a moment, unsure what to say. Priyat noticed, and resolved to interrogate the bizarrely ignorant courtesan at the earliest opportunity. The sheltered princess had little experience with lying, but obviously wished to conceal something.
Jafar smoothly stepped into the gap and interposed, "A leftover from that rapscallion Ali. He abandoned the poor serving girl in his haste to escape justice." A magnanimous shrug. "I took her under my wing, so to speak, out of pity."
"Oh, that's very kind of you, Jafar," the Sultan said.
"It seemed the least I could do, sire." The vizier's unctuous grin made Priyat want to grind her teeth together. The story was complete nonsense - Alana had not been in the palace until last night. Prince Ali had been an enormous distraction... but that girl would be noticed in any situation. There would have been gossip.
"By your leave, sire, I shall go begin planning the wedding," the Haseki Sultan said. Casually, to Jafar: "I suppose I can check on the girl, as well."
"I shall come with you, to supervise her training myself," Jasmine declared.
Jafar's smile grew yet wider. "I am sure she is much in need of correction, Princess."
Priyat lost the battle; her jaw clenched involuntarily. Her last hope, just conceived, was to get Alana alone the moment she returned to the harem. Now, that would not be possible for a while.
Alana wrapped a rather indecent 'skirt' about her hips, feeling an unaccustomed - but intense - thrill. It was made of narrow strips of silk, down to her calves; any movement exposed her legs, and the embroidered panties underneath. It was meant for dancing... and not the kind of chaste shuffling-to-music that old married couples did at a celebration.
Rubiya produced a halter, then helped her put it on. Alana wasn't looking at her at all; she stared at herself in the polished metal of the mirror on the wall. The servant girl found it cute, in a way, the childlike wonder this concubine displayed at her appearance.
Although, in these clothes, she looked anything but childlike. No, her development was quite unmistakable. Rubiya might have felt jealous of her beauty... had it not been apparent that very beauty had closed off all options for the poor girl, save one. She decided she was glad to simply be pretty; she would have a husband one day, not a master like Alana.
For her part, Alana was in a very strange state of mind. I adore being feminine, alluring. She knew it wasn't actually so, but she felt as if a lifelong dream was suddenly fulfilled. And she experienced renewed humiliation at how much she loved wearing such girlish clothes.
But she was coming to realize that her enjoyment was not as harmless as she had supposed. Jafar had compelled her to feel this way. She knew that - however genuine, and natural, and intense the emotions seemed. Giving in to some of these feelings was giving in to all the others. They were all tangled together. Taking enjoyment from femininity meant also taking enjoyment from submission and obedience. From pleasing her Master...
He was an evil man, who had tried to steal Aladdin's life. Then he had successfully stolen his love, his manhood, and his freedom. And had already half-stolen his very mind! Maybe more than half; the idea of submitting to him was so darkly tempting... Being Master's slave in body and mind... The shame and embarrassment somehow increasing her arousal...
A girl of the type she now was would always belong to some man. It was disturbingly easy to picture it being Jafar. A man with real power, political and sorcerous. A Master who could protect and provide for - and make regular use of - her.
She shook her hips, experimentally. Her breasts jiggled, an alien but hardly unpleasant sensation. The silken panels rippled and parted, offering the promised glimpses of her hips... and her crotch. The fabric was getting darker there, damp from her kus. That bewildering new cleft between her legs was clearly outlined by the indecently tight silk; it reminded her of the toe of a camel.
It was good, she decided... but Master would like her better if her face were painted. And so would she. I love to adorn myself with cosmetics and jewelry. She did not even mark the resonance, so enthralled was she by the idea.
The new slave girl sat on a stool and let Rubiya use various brushes and sticks and sponges to apply wondrous substances to her eyes, cheeks, and lips. It felt weirdly sublime, and she gave herself over to the experience of being painted and decorated.
The emotions helped her remain still, despite her impatience and eagerness to see the results. As with the clothes, it was as if she had craved exactly this, for years. It came as not merely a joy but a relief to wear makeup. Both joy and relief increased when Rubiya clasped a pendant around her neck, dangling into the cleft between her breasts. Then, the bracelets!
Alana wasn't sure how long it had been since they had started. Far longer than it had ever taken Aladdin to get dressed, though she was wearing so much less than he had. (And Aladdin hadn't even been able to afford a shirt!)
At last Rubiya released her. When Alana stood up and took in the image in the mirror, she knew it had been worth it.
She beheld a gorgeous dancing girl, dressed in gauzy silks and fine jewelry, with her face thoroughly done up. Yet those silks were scandalously meager, the jewelry drew attention to her bosom and painted nails, and her makeup was that of a strumpet, a harlot. Save for the quality of the fabric and the richness of the gems, the garb would fit right in at any of Agrabah's pleasure houses.
Master will be so pleased! she thought. "Oh, thank you, Rubiya!" A moment later, she paused, reviewing her thoughts with alarm...
Suddenly, Princess Jasmine and Priyat came through the archway. Rubiya noticed the Haseki Sultan's closed expression and tried to become small and invisible. Something was bothering the mistress of the harem. She was not prone to pettiness, but it would be best to avoid causing her any trouble.
Fortunately, they both were paying attention exclusively to Alana. For her part, the slave girl was looking meek, though still flushed. Jasmine surveyed her up and down, a strange mix of satisfaction and resentment in her mein. Priyat's eyes widened, then narrowed, as she performed her own inspection.
"Well," the princess barked, "you wear the costume. But can you actually dance?" Rubiya was startled by the unwonted harshness in her tone.
Alana's mouth opened in surprise - and dismay. Then it closed in nervousness. Hesitantly, she began to move. Her hips swayed, she did a little twirl, her arms waved... and it was comical. In this, at least, she was fully childlike - having as little idea how to dance as she did to dress.
"Disgraceful!" the princess cried. "Always the pretender!" Hissing: "Is there anything true about you?"
Rubiya could not help but look to Priyat - who gave her a flat glance and a nearly imperceptible nod. She had noticed the princess' uncharacteristic vindictiveness. What could Alana have done to rouse such ire?
The girl herself had looked away, sullen, and... remorseful?
"We obviously have much to do to get you ready to meet your Master tonight," Jasmine said. The girl was not above using sarcasm - but seldom with so biting an edge. Again Rubiya and Priyat exchanged looks.
Rubiya schooled her expression; Jasmine had turned to her. "Girl, perhaps you should fetch me a switch."
Alana's eyes and mouth opened wide in fear. Fortunately Jasmine was watching this with a smile, since both Priyat and Rubiya looked scarcely less shocked.
Jafar sat in his laboratory, having banished the disrespectful genie back to his lamp. Alone save for Iago.
He considered the realities of national intrigue. His marrying the princess would avoid the difficulty of an unbalanced alliance with Agrabah. But it was likely to lead to the opposite problem - all the surrounding nations uniting against Agrabah, to carve up the land he had worked so hard to possess. Eschewing their princes to marry non-royalty could easily be regarded as insulting. At least it was a pretext for war.
This tangle was a key reason that a prince from a distant land had been so welcomed. An alliance with some far-off kingdom would not threaten the local balance of power, nor would it insult the honor of any neighbor. Prince Ali's arrival had seemed wondrous good fortune to everyone - except the ambitious vizier.
Many in Agrabah would regard their betrothal as impending disaster. Already the Haseki Sultan had caused problems. He could expect a great deal more covert opposition, and from more than her. Possibly even attempts at assassination; though he need not worry about such drastic measures until the wedding drew closer.
It would not come to that. He had resources beyond even nations now, and could defeat any problem. Jafar held the lamp in his hands, smiling as he pondered how best to apply its power.
Wishing to become a prince hadn't worked for Aladdin. It likely would have failed, eventually, even if the boy had guarded both mind and lamp. Jafar trusted his own power more than the fealty of others, in any case. Especially his sorcery - which had overcome even the master of a genie.
Had Aladdin used his last wish quickly, he would have escaped the trap in which he had been snared. Jafar understood his reluctance, now, however. Two wishes left. Keeping them in reserve, as insurance against the unforeseen... it was difficult to resist. Although that had instead left the street rat vulnerable to being tricked. Compelled to using his last wish on Jafar's behalf -
Suddenly the vizier laughed out loud, startling the bird. "Get a grip!" it squawked.
"Don't you see, Iago?" Jafar crowed. It was so blindingly obvious - the staff was the key to everything. Literally everything. "I never need run out of wishes... when I can compel others to use theirs for me!"
The bird echoed the man's peals of laughter.
Alana followed Jasmine through the corridors of the palace. It was a distorted echo of the night before.
Immediately after her transformation, Jasmine had whisked the fresh girl to the royal quarters. There, she had been dressed and made up. Though Alana could not clearly remember, she must have been subjected to the scepter at some point. Probably more than once. Everything was hazy.
Once prepared, she had complacently followed Jasmine to the vizier - just as she was doing now. At that time, she had been dazed, more than half in a dream, unable to ponder the future. Now, she was much more aware of what was going on. And this time she was crystal clear regarding what would happen when they reached Master's chambers.
Even in the fog of last night, she had marked how everyone regarded her so differently. Aladdin - and 'Ali' - had been greeted with disdain, or respect, or suspicion, or admiration. Alana received none of those; she was not important enough. Barely a person; just an ornament, a frilly decoration. She was regarded mostly with contempt from women, and - exclusively - lewd examination from the men.
She was much more... conscious tonight, and thus more fully aware of these responses. The women were disconcerting, but the men -
It was frightening, in some ways. Aladdin could have defended himself, or athletically evaded attack. Alana the mouse was no more than two thirds the size of the street rat; and much less of her was muscle. Virtually any male old enough to grow a beard was a potential threat. And if they had reached that age, they had reason to pursue her.
And yet, at the same time those looks were also exciting. Nearly intoxicating. Being a beautiful and enticing denizen of the harem was... exhilarating. Their attentive scrutiny proved that she was an attractive, bewitching slave girl - as she now greatly desired to be.
Again, despite the fact that she had only experienced such urges for barely a day... it had the flavor of fulfillment of a much-delayed aspiration. An itch scratched at long last. How could these... engineered appetites feel so unforced? So... trustworthy?
And as earlier, these new feelings were all intermingled. Feeling sultry and seductive - it was a heady sensation. And that made her want to be pliant and yielding. To obey and submit. The idea that she could be forced to comply, to surrender, actually excited her.
So she was off-balance and ambivalent as they came to the corridor that led to the vizier's rooms. A guard leaned against the archway. He came to attention at the sight of the princess. But his eyes wandered to the bosom and hips of Alana. She felt her nipples harden further. As she walked past him behind Jasmine (I love to excite men), she experimentally flashed the man a look, eyes half-lidded, and made sure her hips swayed just a touch more. A few yards down the corridor, halfway to Master's room, she glanced over her shoulder. The guard was staring at her behind, captivated.
She could not help her silly grin. To beguile men proved embarrassing, and a little intimidating... but also incredibly thrilling.
They arrived; Jasmine made a crisp knock at the door. Jafar had ordered the thick oak barrier installed when he moved in, long ago. He had always insisted on privacy. After a moment, she heard the lock disengage, and it opened. "Ah, my dear, how lovely you look tonight!" He gave Jasmine a kiss on the cheek, which she cooperated with. Then he turned to survey Alana. "What a tender morsel you bring me!"
The slave girl felt as if she were shrinking. Master was somehow even more imposing. Overwhelmingly masculine - aggressive and domineering. She told herself it was just the spell of the staff, warping her perceptions... but could not make herself believe it.
With exaggerated solicitude, he stepped back to wave Jasmine in. "Welcome, darling. You grace my rooms with your presence." Alana trailed behind, eyes lowered in shame and turmoil, hoping it came off as merely demure.
Once the door was closed - and locked - Jafar moved on Jasmine more aggressively. "I have missed you, my intended," he breathed, and hugged her close with one arm. The other hand importunately fondled her rump as their tongues twined. Jasmine moaned, possibly a bit too theatrically.
The arrow struck home nevertheless. Alana fought tears. Despite the tremendous changes she had undergone - the fact that she truly thought of herself as a 'she' not the least - it continued to sting, witnessing Jafar paw crudely at Jasmine. As the princess eagerly welcomed it!
Even with magic, how had it come to this? Their love had felt so true, barely a day ago! It made her want to weep. Or rage...
She felt so insignificant (a harem girl is submissive) as they clung to each other. Wanting to interfere, yet afraid to draw attention. She was only a slave. A total nonfactor.
At last they broke off. Jasmine glanced at her sharply, and that atypical vengeful smile broadened. Alana's guilt was mixed with resentment. Did she really deserve such treatment?
Just then, the vizier stepped forward. His gaze traveled all over her, possessively, imperiously. "Seldom have I seen so appealing a present so scantily wrapped," he remarked. He thinks I look good! she thought, with helpless satisfaction.
His hand came forward, and glided down from the side of her breast to cup the side of her hip. She shivered, unable to look away - eyes captured by his commanding stare.
She could hardly think, yet some response was called for. "I learned a dance for you, Master," she said, shyly.
"Then by all means, you must dance." He waved toward the center of the room. As Alana took her place, Master sat on a low couch against the wall; Jasmine placed herself close beside him.
She began. The bells on her feet jingled. I adore being girly, she thought to herself. The notion had that strange resonance that she now recognized as coming from the staff.
Whatever the source, the pleasure was real. It was a delight to be feminine and alluring. Why fight it? What choice did she have, anyway? So much easier to be guided, to accept. To submit...
Jasmine watched the girl with intense concentration. This imposter, this swindler - brought so low. He who had wormed his way into her heart, had deviously stolen her love - now dancing nearly naked, a toy for the whims of men. Ready to submit to any perversion, ardently. It was delicious... Suddenly Jafar's fingers brushed a nipple. All at once she was aware of how aroused she was, of how her kus felt swollen and moist. She flushed, but did not push his fingers away.
The dance finished, and Alana knelt on the floor before him, panting... not entirely from exertion. It was humiliating, how wet she was. How eagerly she degraded herself for Master.
Only the staff made her think of him as Master, though - right? She attempted to summon some resistance. She tried to look at... at Jafar... but could not hold his gaze. Her eyes lowered from Master's face. She felt... bashful. Timid. Like a little mouse, a pet before her owner. Then her eyes widened - at his groin, his pants swelled. Had she succeeded in pleasing him?
"What do you think, my dear Jasmine?" the vizier asked, with a certain mirthfulness. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her close. His hand dangled, though - casually cupping and playing with a breast through her halter.
"Shameful," the princess sneered after a moment. "She moves like a pregnant cow." Alana, wounded, peered at Jasmine as she sighed. "It was the best I could do with only an afternoon."
That was unfair, though the princess felt no guilt. She recalled the grace and speed and balance Aladdin had shown in the market; all those survived in Alana. The girl had learned quickly, especially with the light encouragement of the switch. (Jasmine had been careful not to mark the slave's skin. Yet a surprising sting could be managed even within that limit.)
"Oh, I thought it had a certain appeal," the vizier drawled. "Certainly in the view afforded." Alana couldn't help but look up, feeling a smile appear on her lips, unbidden. A harem slave exults in pleasing her master.
His own smile grew at her transparent pleasure. She looked down again, only partly from bashfulness. There was more than a flicker of shame, as well. How helpless she was! Once strong-willed, clever, ambitious - now taking joy in her own abject mortification. More - in the pleasure that brought her abuser. Her thoughts were dragged to that bulge...
Jafar rose from the divan. "To my bed, slave. I have a present for you, as well."
She stood and obeyed (a harem girl rejoices in being obedient), hearing him follow. Alana sat on the edge of the bed. Memories awoke - of what Master had done to her, right here, bare hours before. What she had done to him, gladly, with that captivating mix of submission and passion. Now she was looking up again at his face, so far above her... His disdainful, victorious smile making her feel tiny and exposed...
She realized that this was a tipping point. Last night, and even this morning, she had been confused and befuddled from the scepter. Not fully in control of what she was doing. Tonight, this very moment, she had a choice.
A mere fragment, a crumb of hope remained. Just possibly, she could somehow steal the lamp, and find someone willing to wish her back to manhood. A slender thread, indeed. Hardly possible at all; and then only if she held a grip on her own will, maintained a spark of defiance.
Should she give in again, here and now... if she allowed him to control and dominate her this night... she sensed there would be no turning back. The street rat would be defeated, gone forevermore. There would only remain the tamed mouse, the concubine slave. Letting Master willingly use her (fuck her) would be giving all of herself. She would be able to hold back her affection, her soul... but nothing of her mind and will. She wouldn't even want to be Aladdin again.
Did she still want that? Her kus felt incredibly fiery for something so damp. His eyes, so... masterful. So possessive, avaricious. A slave girl desires her owner. It seemed the plain and simple truth. What could be more natural?
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jasmine sit up, smile that vicious smile. What awaited life as Aladdin, anyway? Heartbreak, and poverty. The princess forever lost, love turned to hatred. Even wishes from a genie had not improved his lot. Alana could look forward to, if not love, then at least safety and pleasure...
Jafar saw the indecision in her face, in her tense shoulders. It had been a calculated risk, forgoing the staff this morning. Yet he was encouraged; he had more than half expected outright rebellion before this point.
Had it been only the staff, Alana would unquestionably have revolted already. But Aladdin had been smitten by the princess. The loss of Jasmine's affection, and her present loathing, must be affecting him - her - deeply. Jafar had seen lovelorn men succumb to despair; watched them flee to ruin in drink or opium or brawling. It stiffened his resolve to avoid the weakness of love.
The slave girl now had but one avenue to escape that suffering. Her residual opposition was a desperate, rearguard action. If he pressed sharply, it would collapse.
He slipped a flattened hand under her rump; she yelped, but didn't pull away. Then, he lifted. She squeaked as he picked her up. He was suspending her with one hand at shoulder level, with nary a tremble or sign of effort.
The vizier's grin was impossibly smug. Jasmine was staring in awe - and alarm. "The genie has granted my first wish: vitality and strength," Jafar boasted. His mouth curved in a very self-satisfied manner. "That I might enjoy you more thoroughly."
To Alana, it brought little if any bodily discomfort - his hands were wide, and her rump well-padded, after all. Emotionally, however... it brought roiling, turbulent upheaval. Apprehension and unease at how utterly outmatched she was, physically. Never had she felt so intimidated, in this life or the one before. Yet that reaction mixed and mingled with excitement, curiosity, and... undeniable lust. He was so formidable, so puissant, so... irresistible!
He tilted his hand, tumbling her onto the bed. She yipped only in startlement, unharmed from a fall onto so soft a surface. Alana, on her back, stared up again at her Master. She had felt small and meek beside him this morning. Now... she could not dream of defying him.
"But that is not the gift I have for you, slave." A flick of the eyes, a turn of the hip, made clear what he referred to.
Alana was eager - but knew her place as she knelt and bowed on the bed. "May I undress you, Master?"
"You may unwrap your present."
There was no fumbling this time, removing his clothes. Alana learned quickly. She was amazed by the muscles revealed as his robes and shirt came off. Not a great deal larger than before - but sharply delineated, and rock-hard to the touch. Then she gasped when his leggings came down. She had thought him masculine before...
The slave girl was small; she could not truly judge his member on an absolute scale, but it was much larger than it had been. Prodigious, marvelous. Not as big as a horse's tool, yet unquestionably of greater length and girth than the one Aladdin had wielded. She could not look away, but she heard the princess echo her gasp.
"You have served me with your mouth, with all your warm crevices," her Master declared. "I have taken pleasure from your bosom, as well." Memories of the dawn flooded her mind, causing her breath to come yet faster. "But there are other ways a woman can pleasure a man."
She tore her eyes from his zubb and looked up, uncertain. His gaze, boring into her...
"I am mindful of a manner I'm sure the street rat brought pleasure to himself," Jafar chided. "Let us see if I share his tastes."
Alana wondered if she would ever stop blushing in this strange new life. But she finally grasped her Master's intent. "May I touch it, Master?" she pleaded.
Upon his nod, she brought her hands forward, taking gentle hold of his manhood. Aladdin had liked to play with the tip with one hand, while gliding the fingertips of the other along the shaft, at least at first.
She was rewarded with a near-immediate animation of her target. Quickly, it became rigid and rampant.
So focused was she on her task that rough fingers at her crotch came as a surprise, pushing silks aside. She gasped and shuddered. Already, Alana had been aroused. As his digits probed her nethers, there came an embarrassing moist sound, as of stirred porridge.
She was a slave. It was of utmost importance that she continue her ministrations. Disregarding any diversion, however pleasurable. So her fingers kept moving, and her eyes were locked on his zubb, now huge and unwavering. Then her Master spoke: "Do you remember, slave? What the Guardian of the Cave of Wonders called Aladdin?"
"Yes, Master," Alana admitted. It was necessary to listen, to attend his words. Despite her fascination with his member, so proud and... and beauteous, in its own strange way...
"And what was that?" the vizier demanded as his other hand insolently groped a breast. The sensation threatened to distract her. That could not be allowed. She applied her will to focus on the pleasure of her Master.
A particularly agreeable pressure disturbed her resolve. She gasped, then almost moaned, "It called... him... 'The Diamond In The Rough'."
The vizier chuckled as his fingers moved from her breast to slide through her long hair. "Do you see a single thing 'rough' about our Alana, Princess?" Encouraging her obsession with humiliation and feminization was vital.
"Nothing at all," she murmured, smiling. The former male was entirely, completely feminine now. Eager - enthusiastic - to please her master. Submitting fully. It was extraordinarily... provocative. It was shameful how much Alana's abasement excited Jasmine. Aladdin had been such a proud, manly specimen - now a girlish slave working diligently to pleasure a zubb!
Jafar lifted the slave's chin with a finger, held her eyes with his - as his other hand did things to her zambur. Prudently supplying recompense for her capitulation. "No, indeed. All has been polished away save that which is pleasing and winsome. The fate of this 'diamond' is to be the jewel of my harem."
And then, through her fingers Alana sensed a swelling; a burgeoning tension. With unconscious - and entirely unfeigned - devotion, she brought her lips to that slit at the front of his zubb. Moments later, she was drinking as if through a straw of hay. It would have been unacceptable to let her Master's issue dribble about...
Once it was over, Alana sat up, dazed. A harem slave exults in pleasing her master. The exultation was there, unalloyed. She had definitely given pleasure to her Master... the taste on her tongue somehow - gratifying.
Jafar cast a sly nod at Jasmine, lips curled. "Naturally royal hands can outshine those of a slave..."
Jasmine hesitated, yet... phrased that way, how could she refuse? She shrugged off her momentary pause, approaching the seated vizier. Jafar had needed many minutes to recover, last night, so it would be a little while before she was faced with an... erection. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. What she did know was that she'd never let Alana see her uneasiness.
She sat and took his manhood in a gentle grip. It was... strange. Soft, limp as a rope, but she sensed a - resilience. The princess began to move her hand up and down, gently, running it across her palm. In seconds, to her consternation, she felt it stir.
Jafar smiled. "The genie gave me potency surpassing that of ordinary men." Both girls clearly were somewhat confounded by this, to his concealed satisfaction.
Jasmine discovered he did not lie. It was growing in her hand at a startling rate. In a few breaths, it was firmer than she would have believed. And had reached a disconcerting size. She continued to stroke it. There was some give, but she understood now how it could so deeply penetrate a woman. Nipples might become as stiff, perhaps - but they were unanchored. This zubb seemed rooted deep in his body.
She had seen veins under the skin like that - on circus musclemen, trim and lean, surface pulled tight with no fat beneath. Was this a muscle, then? She could not deny a certain impression of strength...
Jafar marked her intense study, not unexpected in a virgin. "You see, princess? This snake is friendly. And his venom brings life, not death." It surprised her; she had become so focused she had forgotten that it was attached to a man.
Seeing her eyes widen slightly, Jafar regretted his last words. Reminding Jasmine of the prospect of pregnancy was perhaps not the wisest move right now. In fact, he might well have doomed any chance of deflowering her before their wedding night. Well, no matter. Her umbrage against Alana was sufficient for the present. "Ah, such a gentle hand. Excellent, princess." A brief glance at the slave shored up the princess' resolve. She went to work on his tool with intent.
"The tip is not unlike the zambur, my dear," Jafar murmured, after a time. Jasmine moved one hand further, onto that head. The fleshy skin that usually covered the tip moved with her, then fell back. Such odd textures...
Lacking experience with males, his release took her by surprise. He made a soft groan, and then... Fascinated, she watched it spurt, emitting little globs of greyish fluid. When it was done his legs, belly, and zubb were decked with glistening drops. Even her hand was slick. She let go, started to pull back... then gave Jafar a tentative glance. Her fingers moved forward, reluctant...
Jafar spoke quickly, solicitous, gently warding her hand with his own. "Oh no, princess! That is a task for servants." Once they were married, he could compel her to minister to him properly. For now, best to avoid anything too objectionable.
Alana took her cue obediently. She slid forward, first licking Jasmine's hand clean, to the princess' surprise - and disgusted pleasure. Then she edged out Jasmine, almost possessively, and began lapping at the vizier with her tongue. She displayed no evident hesitation. He was cleaned most thoroughly and diligently.
She saved his member, and especially its tip, for last. By then, his magical fortitude had brought him to readiness once more. Erect, his member was nearly as long as her forearm. As she nuzzled his scrotum, it stretched across her face from chin to the top of her forehead.
Jafar could not keep a sigh from escaping. Such skill, developed so quickly! The ambition and intelligence of the street rat had been inconvenient - dangerous, in fact. Victorious now, Jafar relished the marvelous prospect of all that passion and cunning directed exclusively to his pleasure.
On that note... "But this is unfair," he murmured. "Here my present to you girls is unwrapped, while both of yours stay hidden, teasing me."
The slave and the royal exchanged looks, and quickly stood before him. It took great effort to keep from laughter. These two, once united against him, now competing with each other to please him best! Marvelous, truly.
It was an interesting contest. Jasmine had significantly more garb to remove - but less concept of what a man would wish to see. Alana was wearing little indeed - yet better understood how a male might enjoy to be teased. And both were magnificently endowed, in varying ways.
Jasmine had too many curves to be called slender, exactly - but she displayed a coltish trimness nevertheless. The build of a dancer or acrobat... save for breasts a fraction large for tumbling, unless bound. In contrast Alana's hips were wider, and her bosom even more pronounced. There was more softness to her; a pillowy plushness. Not that anyone could call her 'fat' - the slave's figure quite resembled that of an hourglass.
So, an interesting contest. And as it turned out, a somewhat comical one. Jasmine had been extensively trained in dance... though in much more innocent styles than she was currently attempting. Alana exhibited a definite poise and dexterity - legacy of the agile street rat - but her experience with dance was obviously no older than this day.
Only their earnestness to entice him enabled him to hold back guffaws. Besides, if there was little erotic skill on display, certainly the flesh on display - progressively more of it - held his interest.
At last, there was no more cloth to remove. He beheld two naked beauties, posed and panting from their undertaking. Alana knelt, Jasmine stood - and both searched him for response.
"An excellent first effort, my dears." He felt how smug his smile was, and had no desire to tamp that down. "I am tolerably pleased."
His "dears" seemed ambivalent about this faint praise. While he needed them concerned for their position, too much pondering on their part was undesirable. So, he waved them closer. "Come, I would welcome a chance to play with my gifts." They scampered to him with entertaining keenness, and soon he was pressed against that exposed flesh, surrounded by delectable sights and textures.
Their competition had moved to who could best stimulate him. Jasmine had reached him first (benefiting from a standing start) so her hand was back on his zubb, trying to tickle it to life. Alana, after a fraction of a moment's consideration, knelt straddling one of his legs, and made sure her bust was easily accessible to his mouth. My breasts are bigger than hers, Alana thought with satisfaction. The princess seemed to pick up on the direction of her thoughts, and clung to Master more tightly.
After a most rewarding interlude, he managed to disengage slightly; both attended his words. "Let us make a bit of a rearrangement..."
Once they had fully untangled, he had Alana lay on her back in the bed. Then he positioned the princess squatting over the slave's face. Jasmine seemed gratified by the aesthetics of the arrangement. Then, in short order, she was gratified by Alana's tongue.
Though Jafar had enjoyed their hands, and planned to do so in the future, he was not drawing from a limited menu. There was no need to ration his desires. So he forced himself between Alana's legs and rudely checked her readiness.
There was plenty of lubrication. He still was astounded at how effective his plan had been. He wasn't sure if it was due to the power of the Staff of Apep, his skill in using it, or a lack of manhood in the street rat. But then, just perhaps... 'true love' really could make someone that vulnerable? So perfectly trusting that the suggestions could reach much deeper?
On the other hand, he had never had a djinn alter a victim's body at the same time.
Whatever the reasons, there was no resistance as he entered Alana, facing Jasmine. The princess spoke as Alana licked her below. "Oh, Jafar! Your beard is so... twisted." She pulled him closer and they kissed and caressed each other, each enjoying the slave girl in their own way.
Between gasps, Alana continued to explore the royal kus with her lips and tongue. The task was far from disagreeable, but it could not match the pleasure of her own kus being filled by her Master.
Just as she had known - and, not so long ago, feared. A balance had been overturned. She could no longer imagine being Aladdin again. She had difficulty remembering what it had been like to be other than she now was. Servant... slave... (Jafar owns me) property. Submitting ardently to the whims and desires of a powerful Master.
Even so, she retained some resentment at being so reduced, so degraded. Shame and humiliation endured. Escape was impossible, resistance hopeless. But she could still pursue certain goals, however limited.
Jasmine would be Master's wife. That was inevitable. Even leaving aside the royal daughter's beauty, such a man as Jafar would never pass up a chance for the Sultanate. He would marry her and make the current Sultan a puppet. Unless she were barren, he would no doubt sire many children upon her.
Alana could never have such a place of honor; she could only be his concubine. So be it. She resolved to be his favorite. A princess might give him a throne, and heirs. She would give him pleasure and delight (I want to be the best harem girl for Jafar), and be highest in his heart. The diamond of his harem.
Concluded in Part Two
"People of Agrabah, my daughter has finally chosen a suitor!" the Sultan cried to the crowd gathered below.
Alana, jostling with many other girls, watched from a window in the harem. She saw Jasmine standing arm in arm with her intended on a balcony above the courtyard, next to the Sultan.
The assembly could not be called excited. Tense, anxious - those were more accurate terms. Rumors and gossip had been flying for the past several days. First, the boisterous arrival of Prince Ali, then gossip of Jasmine at last taking to a suitor. Then, sudden confusing tales of the prince vanishing, and the princess scandalously disporting herself the past two nights with the Grand Vizier.
So no one had known what to expect from this announcement. The Sultan continued. "The princess will marry Grand Vizier Jafar, four weeks hence!" He paused, perhaps expecting some cheers. Instead, there was a great susurration as citizens whispered and murmured to each other. Jafar was not well-loved by the populace; his policies on tax collection alone ensured that.
The Sultan continued, but Alana did not listen. She thought back on the crowd cheering at the arrival of Ali. There would have been a happy uproar if this had been an announcement of his engagement to Jasmine.
But 'Ali' was no more. He had become Alana, harem girl and concubine slave to Jafar. The schemer had used his serpentine staff to turn Jasmine against him. She, armed with its hypnotic power - and Aladdin's boundless trust in her - had compelled him to summon Genie and waste his final wish on becoming a beautiful woman.
Together they had played with the new girl's mind, making her crave submission and servitude. Compelling her to take pleasure from being used in any manner Jafar willed. Last night, he had forced those pleasures upon her repeatedly. Even in her heart, she had ultimately surrendered.
She could not be called happy about her fate. Reconciled, resigned - those were more accurate terms. Seeing Jasmine fawn over Jafar was painful. Even if she was doing it out of revenge for Aladdin's lies, to spite and humiliate the former suitor who had deceived her.
Jasmine this very moment was kissing the vizier before the crowd. Yet when she finished, it was not the throng, or her father, or even Jafar she looked to. It was to the harem window her head turned, knowing Alana watched. The slave girl looked to the ground, saddened and resentful.
Serving the evil vizier in such demeaning ways brought shame, as well. Yet the staff's suggestions had worked their way deeply into her being. That very shame and humiliation aroused her now. Aroused her greatly. Besides - trapped in this gorgeous, defenseless body - slavery was unavoidable. If she escaped the palace, she would find herself whoring in a brothel within hours. If that long.
Submitting to one mighty, seductively dominant Master was better than servicing the hundreds of grubby men that awaited her anywhere else. Last night, as he filled her kus with his seed, she had resolved to be Master's favorite. A meager measure of revenge upon the princess, for stealing all Aladdin had been.
"I am so delighted, my love," Jafar drawled as the various functionaries scattered at the conclusion of the announcement. "I count the days until we are united as husband and wife."
For once, he spoke the perfect truth. His victory was immensely satisfying. And also, the delays the palace officials had invented to stall the wedding were immensely infuriating. He would be required to keep the princess focused on her (staff-enhanced) rage at the former street rat... in order to distract her from considering the consequences of marrying him.
Once wed, he would be able to do with Jasmine as he willed. She was stubborn, but the staff could wear down anyone's resistance, given sufficient time and repetition. As his wife, he would have constant access to her. The princess would become as much his slave as Alana, eventually. Complaisant, servile - and lustful. Until then, he would be forced to exercise restraint.
"I think I want to change into something less stuffy," the princess said. Her dress was elaborate and formal, befitting a royal engagement. "Then I must continue Alana's training," she said, sporting an uncharacteristic cruel smile.
"As you will, my dear," Jafar purred. A much briefer kiss than the one outside, and Jasmine moved away.
Jafar made a brisk satisfied nod at the girl's back, then set off to the harem. Soon he arrived at the gate. The guard, long since cowed, allowed him entry. Shortly thereafter he barged into Alana's room. She had been conversing with her attendant Rubiya. The pair quite resembled any gaggle of gossiping young women, Jafar reflected in amusement... and triumph.
Upon her Master's entrance, though, Alana swiftly knelt on the rug and bowed her head. "How may I please you, Master?" she asked, with all evident sincerity, as Rubiya discreetly moved to the corner.
Triumph galore! He had sensed her internal surrender the past night. Even the staff could not have accomplished such a swift and thorough reworking alone. It had laid a trap baited with addictive pleasure; but he was certain that wilful street rat would have clawed his mind free of that before now, mandating further sessions under its gaze. Carefully-cultivated despair had been essential to his speedy victory. Genuine heartbreak and jealousy had eroded the once-prodigious will of the impudent boy. (Love was a vulnerability Jafar would never allow in himself.)
Now Alana did not even aspire to be Aladdin again. She had acceded to the life of a slave girl at her core. Distracting a broken heart with lustful games and sport, soothing sorrow with physical pleasures.
A slave, of course, needed commands. "There is to be a feast tonight, in honor of my upcoming nuptials." He fixed his gaze upon his delicious property. "You shall be there."
He spoke sternly. "You must be at your most tantalizing. And at your most servile." A true smile again, cruel and vain. "They must know that I possess the most beautiful slave in all the lands. And that she is entirely in my thrall."
Alana bowed her head, and pledged, "I will make every man in Agrabah jealous of you, Master."
"This is not for vanity, little mouse," Jafar reproved.
Not only for vanity, he means, Alana thought to herself. Surrender did not necessarily entail an end to all her wits. But her Master continued.
"When they see that not only do I possess the princess' regard, but that she is willing - nay, happy - to allow me a concubine such as you..." A satisfied smirk. "It will head off ever so much scheming. They will not bother to try to turn her against me."
He frowned down at the abashed girl. "Those concerns, however, are above your station." A stern look. "Even a slave may count to two," he sneered. "So, what are the two things all must see?"
The command was clear: "That I am beautiful, Master. And that I belong to you."
"Excellent." He left without a backward glance.
As Alana rose, Rubiya stepped closer. Her new mistress was such an odd girl. Many concubines acted submissive and attracted to their masters. It was a requirement of the position; a lack of apparent passion could lead to punishment, or worse.
Few - if any - drew such genuine pleasure from their owner's satisfaction as Alana clearly did. Rubiya had wondered several times if the vizier had concocted some love potion and used it on the girl. How else to explain such exaggerated amorousness and ardency for so wicked a man?
But that didn't line up, either. Surely he would have used it on Princess Jasmine if he possessed some tincture of passion. And she obviously only tolerated Jafar's attentions as a means of upsetting Alana. The princess behaved almost like a betrayed lover... yet Jasmine had never been interested in other girls!
None of these mysteries were Rubiya's concern, for more than gossip, however. She had been assigned to serve Alana as attendant. "What do you think the vizier will want you to wear?" she asked, doubtfully.
Alana wore an expression of intense concentration. "I have an idea," she said.
The girl kept surprising Rubiya. Her first day in the harem yesterday morning, Alana had trouble dressing herself, ignorant even of the names of various garments. Now she had ideas on fashion? Although, intelligence lurked within the slave. Rubiya had seen glimpses of it...
The attendant had relayed Alana's audacious descriptions and drawings to the seamstresses, and they were sitting idly before the polished brass mirror in her room, experimenting with arranging her lustrous hair. Alana was indisputably gorgeous, second to none. Jasmine alone could match her.
Suddenly the princess herself swept in. "Stand up, girl," she called harshly to Alana. "Your dancing last night was appalling. And your gait is much too manly."
Alana did as she was told, displaying no emotion. Jasmine looked her up and down. "The outfit last night suited you better. Even dressed as a normal girl, you look like a slut."
Rubiya was still shocked at the princess's attitude and rude words toward Alana, but she kept her face schooled to blankness. They both followed Jasmine to a small courtyard, where she took the slave girl through more dance and deportment practice.
Jasmine never praised her, quick to find fault. But as yesterday, Alana demonstrated much grace and agility. Rubiya could tell that the girl had never had dance training before her mysterious arrival in the harem. Yet with a bare two days of instruction she was already better than a few of the regular girls.
During a brief respite, while Alana drank greedily from a cup, another of the attendants passed by. "Rubiya, did you hear?"
"Hear what?" she asked.
"Prince Ali's elephant has gone mad! The creature is trying to climb the walls out of the guest compound, as if it were a cat or a monkey!" The girl shook her head in pity. "They are planning to kill the poor thing, since Prince Ali has abandoned it."
"Abu!" Alana cried, dropping the cup in shock. "No!" She looked so bereft...
Jasmine was croggled, staring at Alana. "Your..." She stopped, glancing inscrutably at Rubiya. She began again. "Ali's elephant is... Abu?!" she exclaimed.
The slave girl nodded, mute. Jasmine seemed very troubled.
As the trio of women tried to enter the guest pavilion, a guard waved them off. "Stay back, foolish strumpets! Do you want to be trampled?!"
Then his face blanched, as he recognized the princess. "Forgive me, your highness! Please, forgive me! The beast... I feared for your safety..."
Jasmine glared, imperious. "Out of my way. We will see him."
"I..." the man was pained. "The Sultan would be furious if I..."
"He'll be just as furious if I tell him what you just called his daughter." At that, she pushed him aside and moved on.
The great gray beast was rampaging about. Tables and benches were overturned and shattered. Men with spears tried to hem it in, but it moved strangely, evading them time and again. Trumpeting in anger.
Alana raced forward, stopping directly in front of the elephant. For all its agitation, it avoided bowling her over. "Abu?" she cried. The elephant frowned at her, turned away... then turned back, puzzled.
"It's me, Abu. It really is." She shrugged helplessly, and sadly. "Ma... Jafar tricked me."
When an elephant opens its eyes wide, they become wide indeed. It froze, and the armsmen started to run forward. "Back! By order of the princess, back!" Jasmine shouted. The men, after a pause, dubiously retreated a little ways.
Alana was crying. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I ruined everything."
She hugged his leg, head barely coming up to his chest. The elephant wrapped his trunk around her. They stood still for many minutes, tears leaking down the girl's face.
Jasmine was troubled. Alana deserved to suffer... but this poor creature had done nothing. She couldn't help but think - what would happen to Rajah if she disappeared? Who would care for him?
"Take this beast to the menagerie," she told the attendants, gruffly. "See that he is treated well," she said pointedly. "I will be checking on him."
The elephant turned its head to look at her. Alana favored the princess with wide eyes and an open mouth. But she swiftly recovered control of her demeanor, looking down bashfully. "Thank you, your highness," she said quietly.
She turned from the slave to the attendants and armsmen. "Do not harm him, and he will cooperate." She glanced at 'Abu'. "Right?"
The elephant regarded her carefully... then nodded, to the amazement of Rubiya and the men. He followed the stunned guards toward the royal menagerie.
"Thank you," Alana repeated softly.
Jasmine's lips pursed. Then she snapped, "It's time to go back to the seraglio. You need more training."
Priyat felt as though she were in a constant state of agitation now. Managing preparations for a wedding was complicated enough, but it was much harder for one she dreaded. The fact that Jasmine was taking no precautions at all about her reputation was causing enormous headaches as well. On top of which, she was not helping with the wedding planning, spending her time in the harem with the new slave girl.
Sure enough, when she came to the courtyard, the princess was hectoring the courtesan about her posture, making her sit and rise from a bench over and over.
"Like a yak with indigestion!" Jasmine exclaimed. "You need to soften your movements to please Jafar!"
Exasperated - the princess was quite unjust, Alana's clumsiness was greatly reduced - the Haseki Sultan broke in. "This is not like you at all, being so mean to the poor girl!" Priyat scolded. "What would your mother say if she could see you?"
Jasmine whirled, more harshly indignant than usual. "This has nothing to do with her!" She waved at a cringing Alana. "She knows what she did!"
Rubiya was at a loss. She had thought to see a bit more kindness from Jasmine after the incident with the elephant. Instead, she'd been even more strident and cruel through the afternoon. She exchanged a bewildered glance with Priyat.
The woman angrily shook her head. "It's time to get dressed for the celebration tonight." Then she extended an open hand toward the princess, ironically. "Unless you'd care to cancel the wedding?"
At that, Jasmine looked sharply at Alana. "Never," she hissed. Then she turned and led a frazzled Priyat out of the room.
There was a pause, as Alana sat with slumped shoulders, looking at the door where the princess had left. But after a few moments she stirred, and turned to Rubiya.
"Do you think they have the clothes ready?"
Jafar paced down the halls of the harem, barely glancing about, preoccupied. It was time to retrieve Alana and proceed to the feast. As anyone could tell from his clothes, the vizier was a man much concerned with appearances. He was regretting not giving the slave more explicit direction.
She could not wear something overly scandalous to such an event. The dancer's garb of last night, for example - that would be... excessive. 'Tantalizing' had perhaps not been the most specific of terms. Could he really expect sartorial sophistication from a transformed street rat?
He stepped into her chamber, glanced past Rubiya standing discreetly in the corner - and stopped. A wintry smile appeared. "Ye-e-e-s... that will do nicely."
Alana knelt in the center of the room. On hearing his words of approval, her bowed head lifted. A gratified smile blossoming, as fresh and joyous as springtime.
On her feet, dainty slippers. A curl at the toes, the tops of her feet uncovered. Pantaloons bunched at the ankles, flowing up to a second bunching at the waist. There, a hem of a different shade, dipping in the center to expose a fraction more belly. Between waist and shoulders, only a halter across her breasts; loose hanging sleeves brushing her biceps, midriff and shoulders exposed. Large, solid, triangular earrings.
In other words, an outfit strongly resembling those favored by the princess. But Alana had made the look her own. There were differences.
First, of course, the color. Orange fabric save for the yellow hem at the waist, and the bright yellow earrings. Colors suggestive of heat, fire. Too, the pantaloons fit more snugly than those Jasmine wore, and the halter was so thin as to be very slightly translucent. Leaving no doubt where those nipples were on her magnificent breasts.
Her hair was not bound into a tail like Jasmine, either, though two similar bunches pulled it away from her face. Behind, it hung in gentle curls over her shoulders down to her lower back.
There were two further - more significant - alterations. Of course a slave did not sport a jeweled tiara in her hair; merely a yellow ribbon. And around her neck...
No thick, solid necklace for Alana! She wore a collar, as for an animal. A leash draped in a line from her neck to the floor, pointing at the door where the vizier stood. Inviting him to take hold of it.
"How may I please you, Master?" the harem girl asked gently, still smiling.
Master had detached the leash, deeming it "not in the best of taste" for a public celebration. But he had tucked it away in his robes; Alana felt sure it would be used later. Indeed, to a disturbing degree, she hoped so.
As they moved through the guests gathered in the great throne room, they created a little pocket of quiet. As people caught sight of her, they fell silent. However, there was a deal of intense whispering in their wake. They reached the Sultan fairly quickly. Alana felt shamed and embarrassed; just days ago she had impressed this man as a handsome and powerful prince. Now she was a slave. A concubine...
"Good evening to you, sire," Jafar said, bowing. Slightly.
"Oh my..." A royal gulp. "Good, good evening to you, too." The Sultan was distracted, staring down from his throne at Alana.
The vizier smiled. "Ah, your highness, let me introduce Alana. She is the slave we spoke of earlier." He spoke sharply to the girl. "Kneel, slave, before the Sultan." She dropped to her knees at once; an odd blush colored her cheeks.
The Sultan looked from Jafar to Alana. He seemed very doubtful. "Oh. Um." He chewed his lip. "Has... um... has Jasmine met her?"
At that moment the princess swept up. "Of course I have, father." She turned and looked down at Alana. Her expression curdled as she took in the slave's outfit, so reminiscent of her own. Indignation warred with wrath for dominance, momentarily. Then she gathered her self-control, and her face became neutral.
She continued, "I think it's very kind of Jafar to take charge of her." Her jaw was not quite locked, but there was a definite tension as she said, "There is much she needs to learn."
Alana did not smile. But somehow, she gave off a sense of amused satisfaction. There was a pause. Then the Sultan said, hesitantly, "If you're sure, my dear..."
"Oh, I am." Then Jasmine moved forward to kiss Jafar - with a shade more passion than decorum would ordinarily condone.
Aside from the stares and whispers, there were no further incidents before the dinner commenced. The large throne room had been filled with tables, and nobility and prominent citizens had been invited. There was much murmuring when Jafar had Alana kneel next to the couple's table, though.
Jasmine was ignoring her, almost pretending she didn't exist. In her heart, however, Alana treasured that expression when the princess first caught sight of her. I may be a slave, but I have some power. Maybe it was unwise to taunt Jasmine, but...
The bride-to-be was the only one ignoring her. The way every male stared at her, greedy and covetous... I love to excite men. I adore being pretty and alluring. More of the phrases drilled into her by the snake's eyes. Thoughts that felt so authoritative, unarguable. Instinctive.
Those feelings helped her ignore the scorn and disapproval of the women. Their disgust, in truth. In their estimation, she was obviously a contemptible harlot. But oddly, it bothered her less than she would have expected. Aladdin had been scorned and underestimated all his days. Why should Alana be different?
Jafar was enjoying himself. The servants and guards and administrators who came to offer their congratulations after the meal were already showing him much greater deference - in anticipation of his rule. And the rivalry between Alana and Jasmine was delicious. So long as they were wrapped up in that feud, they would scarcely have attention to spare for resisting him.
Then he noticed Qadir approaching; the commander of the garrison in Agrabah. They had clashed before, over many things. Such as how much tax money should be allocated to the country's defenses versus the opulence of the palace.
The soldier stepped up to the table and paused, surveying Alana in detail; it might even have been called a "reconnaissance in force". Her blush had barely faltered the entire night, and it did not fade then. He glanced toward Jasmine a few tables away, surrounded by noble ladies and their attendants. Finally Qadir turned to the vizier. "Fortune smiles upon you," he murmured, shaking his head slightly.
"Fortune favors the clever," Jafar replied. A boast and a warning.
"A pity that fortune did not smile upon Ali," Qadir said thoughtfully. "First those guards attack him - and disappear. And then the boy himself."
"Fortune does not favor the unwise," As he said this, the vizier brushed a finger along the slave girl's cheek, smiling as if at some joke. The girl's beautiful face betrayed dismay for a moment. Possibly even resentment?
The emotions of females were of no concern to Qadir. "I cannot help but question the wisdom of this marriage," he said, unflinchingly meeting Jafar's sudden frown.
A pause. "You object to our union?" the vizier asked coldly.
The commander was equally cold. "I object to the security of Agrabah being subject to the whims and fancies of a flighty, spoiled girl."
Jafar's thin smile held little humor. "Your objections have been raised before. And overruled by the Sultan before."
The commander did not bristle, but a slight tension betrayed his frustration. His voice was even, though, as he said, "A crisis has a way of forcing decisions to be revisited."
Jafar sighed. "Well, as I was just saying, fortune favors the clever."
"We will need more than luck to survive if war breaks out," Qadir snapped.
The vizier frowned, irritated. "We have more than luck. Why, we have you and your mighty scimitar!"
Qadir scoffed. "You might bewitch girls and doddering old men," the soldier murmured, "but your sorcery is no use on a man in his prime."
For some reason, the slave flinched at that. Jafar noticed, and his smile, perplexingly, became more confident. "You would be astonished at what is within my power, Qadir."
Qadir bowed slightly before retreating. "A blade has a power all its own, vizier. As you were just saying."
Master was irritated for several minutes after that conversation. Alana came in for some baseless scolding.
Jasmine returned to her place at the table next to Jafar shortly after, as dessert was being served. She had witnessed the vizier's conversation with Qadir from across the room, as a consequence of keeping an eye on Alana's public humiliation. To see Jafar snap at the girl made her heart glow.
A flagrant kiss, and she sat down. Just then one of the servants came up; he attempted to pour the vizier some more wine. Unfortunately Jafar, head turned to sneer at the kneeling slave girl, did not see this and reached for his cup; some of the wine spilled onto his sleeve.
"You dolt!" Jafar barked, lip curled in anger. "You will pay dearly for that!" The servant paled, babbling apologies.
Jasmine paused. She was inclined to mercy, and feared what the vizier might do to a servant who had made a simple mistake. But she hesitated...
"Master," Alana said suddenly.
"What?!" Jafar shouted at her, whirling, enraged.
Alana flinched but did not look away. "Surely I am more entertaining to punish than some silly waiter?" As she spoke she leaned forward, pulling in her arms, pressing her breasts together with her biceps. The trampish halter made them hard to miss, prominently showcased.
The display definitely caught his attention. "And what have you done to deserve punishment?" Angry, but... intrigued.
Sly and humble all at once, her eyes wide in not-quite-innocence: "I have interrupted my Master."
Sly but very proud indeed, eyes narrowed and mouth curled up in a malicious grin: "Perhaps you should do something more useful with that mouth, then."
Jasmine jerked her head, shooing away the servant. With luck, the 'offense' would be forgotten in the coming disportment.
The princess was irritated... and a touch ashamed. By all rights, she should have been the one to restrain the vizier's anger. On the face of it, she had much more power. Instead the slave girl had applied what little power she had.
Applied most adroitly, in fact. The girl now licked and suckled the vizier's sleeve, extracting the wine with her mouth. If the highborn ladies had been scandalized before, they now were appalled. The princess relaxed, amused at the degrading spectacle.
Yet her hesitation to intercede preyed on her mind. What did it say that she felt afraid to challenge her intended? What did that augur for her marriage?
Once again, the trio entered Jafar's chambers together. They were not so tangled as the first night. The vizier and the princess walked hand in hand. The slave girl followed, led by the leash in Jasmine's other hand.
A dark wooden chest a few hands high sat in the middle of the bedchamber. Both girls squinted when they caught sight of it. It must have been stored away somewhere before, gathering dust; it had not been visible the last two nights. Yet it had been polished to a gleam tonight.
Once again, Jafar and Jasmine clinched - passionately, most observers would say. Much of their clothing was removed over the course of a few minutes. Jasmine even gently prodded at Jafar's groin once his robes were set aside. But when things were becoming more heated... the Grand Vizier broke away and turned to an Alana grown sullen.
"Ah, little mouse," he almost sang, "you have been naughty." The slave looked nervous - and a trace intrigued. Jafar nodded toward Jasmine. "Twice over." At that, the girl's apprehension came to the fore. "You should not disrespect the princess so. A harem slave's attire must reflect her station."
His words gave Alana a chill. She had thought Master liked her clothes! I want to be the best harem girl for Jafar. Disappointing him was not just dismaying, but grievous... and perhaps dangerous. Some deep part of her - the part that knew the magic of the scepter was responsible for her attitudes, that she shouldn't think this way - was shocked at how upset she had become. It did not help fight the feelings at all, however.
Master took hold of the leash, and drew her close, staring down into her timid gaze. "We must punish you appropriately." A drawn-out pause, then... "Dispense with that insolent outfit." Alana skinned out of the garments as quickly as she might, impeded by the leash - and slight tremors of her hands. She had pictured stripping gradually before her Master, enticing and arousing him - and distracting him from the princess - but his commands, perforce, overrode her plans.
She worked to calm herself with resonant mantras. A harem girl is submissive. I am obedient. Jafar owns me. They did not help completely. She had been naughty, Master said so...
Jasmine saw the apprehension in the slave girl, and was satisfied. For the moment.
Once Alana was naked, Jafar pulled her to the bed by the leash, and tied it to the headboard. Leaving just a few inches of slack, so she could turn her head, no more. Then, he unlocked the mysterious chest, and from it produced soft leather straps. Slowly, theatrically, he lashed her hands to the headboard as well. His slave was clearly nervous now, but he could also see the dewy moistness at her kus. Things were going even better than he'd planned. He'd anticipated having to invent a flimsy pretext for punishment. In annoying Jasmine, the little mouse had pleased him better than she knew. Better than she should be allowed to know, certainly. So he maintained a mild frown.
Alana watched in roiling uncertainty as Master reached back into the coffer and extracted a dark, wide ribbon - along with a strange contraption. An ivory egg, with long leather straps dangling from either side?
Its purpose was swiftly revealed. The egg shoved in her mouth, the straps tied at the back of her head. A gag that made speech impossible. The last thing she saw was Master stretching the dark ribbon across her eyes, blinding her. In reality, she could not have overcome Master, with his superhuman strength. But like this, she had not even the illusion of possible resistance. Entirely helpless now - listening intently, striving to ascertain what might be happening. What might be coming...
The slave was badly frightened. For all that she was inexorably devoted to obeying her Master, she understood how cruel, selfish, and evil the man was. And yet... how could she submit him more completely than this? Her nostrils flared as her breath quickened even more. She knew her nipples were pointed, could feel her zambur flushed and aching.
Jafar placed a finger across his lips, cautioning the princess to silence. Then he located a switch, and showed it to her. The cruelness of Jasmine's smile surprised even him. He turned to Alana, stepped closer.
A whisk through the air, next to her head. She jerked, and stilled. Her breasts rocked in waves with her urgent breaths.
Jafar whipped the switch past the girl's rump, causing a slight breeze she could feel. Then he tapped one cheek, far too gently to cause any pain. Alana nevertheless flinched and made a squeak around the gag.
She heard the laughs of her Master and his intended. "Her conscience assails her, princess," the vizier declared. "She knows discipline must come, and so every moment, she fears it has arrived." He sounded almost magnanimous. "We shall soothe it with proper chastisement."
This time the switch was used conventionally; the girl shrieked around the obstacle in her mouth, hands gripping the headboard with white knuckles. Another blow, and another. Measured, of course; only the proper amount of pain. Too much might start to unravel the webs he had weaved in her mind.
Jasmine stared with fervid, almost febrile attention. She was not even thinking as such, just feeling. The scene was preposterously arresting. The pretender Aladdin, now a restrained naked girl, punished in the manner of a child for the amusement of her owner. He could scarcely be brought lower...
Jafar noted the hunger in Jasmine's gaze. She longed to chasten Alana, too. That hunger was excessive, however; given the chance, the princess might well use the switch too ferociously. He would not care for Alana's smooth, rounded bottom to be tainted by scars. Unfortunately that urge might well be too strong to contain much longer. He would need to redirect it, and soon.
Quick-wittedness was his pride. In moments, he knew the proper course of action. That it would be enjoyable in itself was a congenial bonus.
He broke off his caning. "Perhaps that is enough." He winked at the princess, who seemed dazed. He turned to the pinioned girl, gently weeping, head sagged against the headboard. "What say you, slave? Do you promise to behave properly now?"
With pathetic fervency, she roused herself, nodding in animated fashion. "Mmmm-mmm, mwhuthm," she pleaded, unintelligible.
"Mwuthm, mwhuthm!" cawed Iago. Even Jasmine could not suppress a slightly hysterical chortle.
The vizier set the rod aside. The princess was just shading to indignance - no more swats on that rump? - when she noticed Jafar removing his remaining clothes. "You are prepared to serve your master properly, then? With your whole heart?" he asked.
Alana's head had turned, seeking the voice of her Master. "Mmmmmm! Muwhu, mmm mmummuh!" she wailed, nodding still, tears continuing to flow.
"Hmmm," the vizier mused. "I suppose this can be tested." He was soon nude, and his manhood was revealed to be quite stiff. He approached the bed. "Remain still, my little red-cheeked mouse." The girl froze in place; only a slight trembling visible. Her breaths were spaced very close together.
Alana was lost in a tempest of emotion. Anxiety, lust, devotion, fear, submission, excitement, humiliation, and more, chaotically whirling in her mind, leaving no room for thought. Exquisitely focused on sound and touch, lacking any other inputs. So Master's fingers suddenly probing her kus came as a thunderbolt.
Wet as expected; sopping, in fact. Just what he was aiming for. He withdrew his fingers; any more stimulation and the girl might climax then and there. He hopped onto the bed, positioned himself behind her, and plunged into that inflamed kus with no further warning.
Jasmine would not have been surprised if that zubb were a red-hot poker, so frantically did Alana convulse as it entered her. The princess was unable to look away, flashing back to girlhood, when she had caught glimpses of animals mating. He was taking her just the way the dogs and rabbits had done. Not face to face as man and woman, but in the manner of mated beasts! Alana's moans were damped by the egg, as though she wore a muzzle like some untrained bitch.
To Alana, it was as if great irresistible waves were carrying her away. The whole world was pushing its way into her, a vise gripped her hips; there was no sensual input she could process except touch, and that poorly. Flashes of discomfort that did nothing to interfere with the intense, ecstatic pleasure. Helpless before her Master's might and will, and joyously grateful for it. She screamed her subjugation.
Jafar was having a grand time; the only slight blemish on his pleasure the fact that he could not completely concentrate on plowing this delightful furrow. It would be such a relief when he did not need to take the princess' thoughts and feelings into account. Still, the performance was definitely holding Jasmine's attention. And Alana - her throat must have been sore, to force such sounds past that obstruction.
At last he was sated enough to finish the meal. He drove harder, and felt himself fill her up. He wasn't sure if there was any change in the harem girl's sounds or motions in response to this; but she did collapse when he pulled his zubb out. Wind whistled through her nostrils as she fought for air.
Jafar moved off the bed, keeping an eye on Jasmine. She was clearly at a fever pitch, overexcited. He did not dare let her use the switch, let alone the whip still hidden in the chest. Fortunately, it contained another utensil that would help channel that vehemence in safer directions.
The blindfold slipped off over Alana's brow. The light from the lamps burning in the corners of the room hurt her eyes, and she blinked repeatedly. "You should see this, my pet." His tone was full of dark promise, causing her skin to flare into goosebumps.
Again, a trip to to the chest, where the vizier rummaged about for a moment. Both girls stared in wary, breathless curiosity. He rose from his stoop and turned to the princess.
"Alana has been quite well humbled and tamed. Thanks to your efforts." Jafar held an odd arrangement of straps and... she felt her mouth drop open slightly. That looked like...
Jafar stepped forward and - politely - passed some leathers between her legs. "Surely you most of all deserve to give our gentled mount a ride?"
Jasmine stood, still and uncertain - and increasingly excited - as Jafar tightened buckles about her hips. She looked down to see the false zubb jutting from her crotch. It, too, was carved from ivory. Differently shaped from Jafar's member, but of similar daunting size. A leather bag containing two marbles hung at the base.
Jafar had picked up that chest from a trip to the Hindu lands. This tool had been part of the set, and he had almost thrown it away, at first, seeing no call for it. He had since discovered that it came in handy for occasional games with two or more whores. He had learned some interesting techniques, in fact, observing them ply each other with that instrument. Many women found it tempting to play the bull, for once.
As he had suspected - been certain of, actually - Jasmine was one such. The dark excitement on her face was charming to behold. A fine show was in the offing...
Jasmine chewed her lip; she looked every bit the uncertain princess as she stared down at the tool at her groin. A delightfully ironic, wicked contrast, in Jafar's opinion. Yet, she was able to gather her determination sufficiently swiftly. She smiled the most roguish smile as she turned toward the bed. The mixture of fear and curiosity in Alana's eyes was like ambrosia to the princess.
"You wear the collar of a dog. I, too, shall ride you like one. Like the animal you are." Alana's mouth was already open - thanks to the egg - and the now-widened eyes made her the picture of astonished trepidation. She looked to her Master; he rested on a settee, smiling broadly, one hand casually toying with his member. No quarter there; he clearly expected her to cooperate.
So (a harem girl is complaisant) Alana gathered herself and presented her rump for the princess, even then clambering onto the bed.
This was a view of a girl Jasmine had not had before, certainly not so close. For a moment, she was tempted to breach the harem slave's anus, as the vizier had done that first night. But... the bottle of oil was on the dresser, out of reach. It would spoil the moment to backtrack for it. So, the kus it was.
She fumbled the operation a bit, never having to manage such a job before. But the ivory instrument was slipped into the slave girl promptly enough.
To Alana, it was not so different. A subtly distinct feel - less supple, a marginally dissimilar articulation compared to Master's rod. Yet the intrusion felt curiously familiar. And, as always by now, enjoyable.
To Jasmine, it was in some ways revelatory. She understood so much now; the slipperiness, the tolerances of a woman's vessel; yielding, but bounded. Much the way you could probe the ground with a stick and tell so much about its texture. She felt a rush of... of energy. She thrust again, and again. Pushing into Alana, and she powerless to stop it.
"Did you imagine doing this to me?" Jasmine asked, panting. "Did you want to plumb the depths of my kus like... this? Did you imagine me making the sounds you are making now?"
Alana had thought herself far beyond embarrassment anymore... but Jasmine's words made her realize the moans and grunts she was making. Sounding just like a woman enjoying being conquered and taken. Her face flushed anew... but she couldn't stop whining and gasping. She looked to Master again; his zubb at attention like a palace guard (I love to excite men) as he ran his fingers along it.
The princess cavorted with her new toy, experimenting and evaluating - and relishing - the experience. She forced two climaxes upon Alana before desisting. (And if the slave girl imagined that it was her Master that used her, the princess did not need to know.)
She sat back, admiring the carved phallus, now glistening with the harem girl's juices. She looked to the vizier. "That was fine... but I want to look her in the eyes when I do that. I want her to see me."
Jafar was startled, but avoided showing it. He stood and came forward to help. "Nothing simpler, my dear!"
Alana was untied from the headboard... but only long enough to flip her onto her back. Then her hands were brought together and strapped to the top of the bed once more. Jafar produced more wondrous things from that chest; a belt with odd attachments went around the slave's waist, cinched tight. Then, more straps and attachments; her thighs pulled to her waist by rings of leather, then long tethers pulling her ankles up. Trussed and exhibited, legs splayed, everything at her crotch displayed and defenseless.
Jasmine, while Jafar and Alana were occupied, surreptitiously retrieved the bottle of oil from the dresser. Once the slave's preparations were complete, she moved in, reached down, and untied the egg. "You shall call me Mistress."
Alana's eyes were very wide. After the slightest hesitation, working her jaw... "Yes, Mistress."
Jasmine remounted the bed, and shuffled forward on her knees, getting close to Alana's most tender flesh. Imitating Jafar on that first night, she used the tool as a tool. Rubbing the lips, opening, and zambur of Alana's kus with the tip. Before long the imprisoned courtesan was gasping and panting.
The princess evinced no leniency. "Beg for it."
Alana was silent for a moment. A tickle of her zambur forced out a moan, and she broke. "Fuck me, Mistress! Fuck me, please!"
"I shall. But as I choose." She showed Alana the bottle of oil, let her watch the white zubb being anointed. Alana was speechless.
Jasmine looked at that kus, and almost changed her mind... but then aimed lower. She could not help being a bit more gentle - but inexorably, she entered the girl where she had intended.
Alana was confounded, overturned. She could not pretend that it was Master within her kus now. She... Aladdin had pictured being with Jasmine so intimately many times in the days after that morning in the market. But not in this manner. Not being invaded, and certainly not there! Instead of a loving gaze, the princess looked so roguish - untamed and wild. Taking pleasure in her dominance over a slave.
Jasmine moved in and out, smoothly. She savored Alana's groans, glad she had removed the muzzle. Drinking in every little vibrato and shift of pitch.
Alana was in utter turmoil. Some part of her still loved Jasmine, despite everything. She had her own revelation, finding a measure of involuntary happiness in seeing this amazing girl so passionate, so alive. But then she remembered what the girl was being passionate about... Alana fled from uncertainty and perturbation along the route she had taken before. She recalled how good it had felt to submit to Master (a harem slave is submissive) as he took her this way. "Oh, Mistress..."
And then Jasmine stroked her zambur with gentle fingers and Alana exploded.
Jasmine's own kus was untended, the closest thing to stimulation being the straps to either side of it between her legs. And yet, seeing Alana shudder and jerk beneath her, she felt her own release appear, born of sheer triumph.
Jafar did not like the look of speculation that the princess favored him with in that moment. It was the look of an ally - reconsidering their alliance.
Jafar had sent the girls away in the morning. He sat in his room until the sun was well above the horizon, thinking. He knew what he wanted to wish for. The ifrit had granted his first wish just as asked; but it clearly had no enthusiasm for service. Many legends warned of wishes taken too literally, twisted in the granting to become curses. He would have to be careful.
Too, the conversation with the garrison commander was... concerning. Plus, Jasmine was becoming increasingly restive, and it had been but three days! Keeping her under control for an entire month until the wedding... 'difficult' was an understatement.
It took more an hour before he was certain of the wording. Wracking his brain to guard against any loopholes. Once he was satisfied, however, he sprang into action. His clothes were donned in haste, and his stride was brisk as he crossed the palace, making for the Sultan's chambers. Shortly, he stood before the guards at the heavy iron doors.
"The Sultan is resting." The man's tone was respectful, without overt resistance - wise enough to see which way the wind was blowing. Hesitating to disturb the current ruler, nevertheless.
"He will see me." He allowed just a trace of annoyance to leak into his tone.
The guards looked to each other. The wise one shrugged. The other pulled the key from around his neck, and unlocked the doors.
Sultan Hamad was shaken awake. "What? What? Oh..." he mumbled, sitting up. Jafar inwardly groaned at the man's preposterous striped undergarments.
He recognized the Grand Vizier. "Oh, Jafar. Is something wrong?"
"I come on a matter of great urgency. A splendid opportunity has come to us... to you, rather."
"What is it, Jafar?" The Sultan's voice was peevish. "I was up late..." He had a headache. He had sipped a bit too much wine at the celebration. Especially after his daughter retired early with her betrothed... and that striking slave girl. Of course he was glad that Jasmine had finally declared a suitor, and seemed certain of her choice. A father could ask no more. Yet... he had not pictured Jafar as a son-in-law. Nor Jasmine in such a strange mood...
"I have made a profound discovery, your highness." The vizier extracted something from his robes.
It was... a commoner's lamp. Old, and shabby. The Sultan looked down at it quizzically, then up at Jafar just as quizzically. "I don't understand," he said. He used that phrase often with Jafar.
Jafar seemed a bit peevish himself. "I know it is hard to believe, my lord, but... this lamp contains a powerful djinn. One that can grant three wishes to the one who holds it."
Another look at the lamp. "Are you sure?"
"Positive, sire. I have seen the genie myself."
Hamad's eyes grew wide. "But... but this is marvelous! I must think what to wish for!" Jafar had something in his other hand. His staff. Something made the Sultan feel unsettled; but only for a moment. The jeweled eyes were so marvelously colored... almost, they seemed to swirl...
"Wishes on a genie are very important." Jafar's voice came from a long distance away, but echoed through the Sultan's head just the same.
"Very... important..."
"You must think of your posterity."
"Must think... of posterity." That made sense...
"You must ensure your son-in-law is best positioned to protect your daughter, and Agrabah."
"Son in law... protect Jasmine..." Jasmine must be safe...
"With three wishes, you can guarantee her happiness." Urgent, profound words.
"Guarantee... Jasmine... happy..." His daughter, safe and happy...
"Yes. Listen carefully! Here is what you must say."
"Must say..."
The Sultan blinked. What had he been thinking of? Suddenly he saw Jafar, and the lamp. "Oh my!"
Jafar's smile was broad. "Are you ready to safeguard your daughter and your kingdom?"
"Oh, yes. Very ready!"
Jafar handed the lamp over, not without trepidation. But surely there was no chance the doddering fool would resist the influence of the staff. Surely... "Just rub the side, your highness."
The white-bearded man did, and the river of blue magic coalesced into the djinn once more. He looked about, and that expressive face made a disappointed squint at the slightly glazed expression of the Sultan. But he quickly crossed his arms, and intoned, "What are your wishes, O Sultan?"
Jafar glared. The genie acted more respectful of that addled dolt than of Jafar. No doubt deliberately, intending more irritating impudence.
"By Allah! A real genie!" Hamad turned to the vizier, bright-eyed. "This is wondrous, Jafar!"
He reached out and poked the genie in the belly; the ifrit tittered slightly. "Marvelous, marvelous. I must make my wishes at once!"
Jafar smiled, relieved. "Indeed you must, sire."
The genie interposed himself between them; Jafar was pushed back, tripping to the ground. "Better be careful, o mighty one! You sure about those wishes?" the genie asked, still acting deferential - but with an edge.
"I wish... wait a minute, I just had it. I wish that none..." He paused in frustration. "Oh, bother. You're right, djinn, I need to be careful. I wish I could remember what I'm supposed to say."
Jafar was utterly stunned, unable to do anything but stare, jaw agape. That... that idiot had...
The genie's smile was bizarre and infuriating. His head changed - still blue, but with a wide, gap-toothed grin. Low, protruding ears, freckles, misaligned eyes. His pointing finger puffed out the merest hint of magic, barely a flicker.
"My goodness! That's much better!" the grey-haired... dotard declared in evident delight. "Thank you!"
Even last night, Jafar had been congratulating himself on his quick wits. Now, so profound was his crogglement - his sheer dumbfounded astonishment at the breadth and depth of the Sultan's ineptitude - that he missed the chance to interrupt him.
Thus, the elderly ruler confidently prattled on. "First, I wish that none of my wishes can ever bring harm to Jafar. Second, I wish that all of my wishes provide their maximum benefit to Jafar."
At that moment, the vizier had finally recovered from the shock enough to speak... only to choke in despair. Too late, too late...
The Sultan continued blithely on. "Finally, I wish my soon-to-be son-in-law become the most powerful sorcerer in the world!"
There came a pause. He turned to his vizier, whose face was drawn and pale. Jafar's fists trembled. "Is everything all right?"
"Is everything all right?!" Jafar's pet bird squawked. Not a good imitation; he sounded outraged rather than confused.
The genie was smiling. "Yeah, Stretch, didn't he do good?"
For several seconds, the vizier stood frozen, unable to speak. Then he took a deep breath, and put on a pained smile. "Well done, sire." He plucked the lamp from the Sultan's hands, rather forcefully. "Back in the lamp!" he shouted. The ifrit disappeared.
Several deep breaths from the vizier. Then, "I must retire to my rooms. To meditate on how best to ensure the princess' well-being."
"Oh, excellent! You're a mighty sorcerer now, it should be easy!"
"Speak to no one of the genie," Jafar urged, barely managing to keep from snarling.
The wise guard took one look at the vizier stalking out of the Sultan's rooms, and became as a statue. The other guard was not so wise, but had learned to imitate his companion. So they escaped Jafar's wrath. A serving boy down the hall was knocked off his feet as Jafar passed, though.
Jasmine lay in the pool in her chambers. Rajah stalked restlessly, circling her. A bath every morning, for the past three mornings! Such sweaty work...
Memories and images of last night danced in her head. Images, scents, textures, sounds. It was a shame Alana wasn't here right now. She had a use for the girl's mouth.
Then she recalled Jafar, last night. Handling his own equipment. Well, if the vizier could do it, why couldn't she?
She rubbed that strange place she had lacked the courage to truly explore before. Her kus. Her zambur. Words she had hardly dared think before, and had never spoken.
"This is my kus," she said out loud, smiling a wicked smile. "And this... mmmm... this is my zambur." The tiger whined uncertainly, ears flicked back.
Her fingers moved, turned, pressed, flickered under the water. Strangely unfamiliar territory, for a part of her own body. She recalled looking back to the palace on that fateful morning she went to the market, and finding it appear so different, alien. A new angle of view could change everything. She now saw her body, her self, her life from a different perspective.
A sheltered, protected, coddled princess. Never allowed to do - or even learn - anything important. Anything real. Barely allowed to dress herself.
Everything in her life had been about pleasing others. Duties, commands, restrictions. She had been outside the palace twice - and one of those trips had required a magic carpet to be possible at all!
She was tired of being a good girl. That sense of power as she had worked her will on Alana last night - forcing pleasure upon her, seeing her reduced from brash masculinity to feminine submission. She wanted more of that.
She was not a slave. She was royalty. And she wasn't going to blindly accept duties and commands and restrictions anymore. Rajah paced as Jasmine moaned and panted.
Jafar raged about his laboratory, kicking over tables and bellowing in fury. "A lesser man might waste a single wish. Only a Colossus of Incompetence could waste three in a single breath! With nothing to show for it!"
"Colossus of Chump!" Iago cried.
At last the vizier stood panting, even his magically-enhanced endurance temporarily spent. He looked about the room with regret. Rather more of a mess than he should have allowed himself. But the situation was so infuriating...
He pulled out the lamp, stared for a moment. The wording was as foolproof as he could imagine...
Bold steps. As always. "If I must do it myself, so be it!" In moments, the genie was summoned.
"Hey, dude!" the blue ifrit called, insolent as always. Despite a lack of legs, he suddenly had a lap of sorts, and a strange wooden puppet sat on it. It resembled Jafar. Its mouth - a flap of wood - opened and said, "Found another dummy?"
"Silence! Not another word!" Jafar bellowed.
The genie pulled something across his mouth, making a peculiar buzzing sound. Gleaming metal sealed his lips - a weld of some kind?
Not important. Carefully, but with infinite malevolence, the vizier spoke. "My second wish - make me a greater wizard than any sorcerer in history!" The genie again looked sorrowful, as he pointed a finger at Jafar.
Two serving girls passed the Grand Vizier's tower from the courtyard below. An ill-omened place - strange smells and sounds emanated from it at odd hours. Sometimes there was the crack of lightning without a cloud in the sky.
The flashes of eerie light from the windows were unnerving... but the rich, malign, and inhumanly loud laughter caused them to flee.
Jasmine frowned. "No! Look, you've smeared it again!"
Alana meekly reached for a wet cloth, and began brushing at her cheeks. She had made dramatic progress in dance, bearing, and general conduct. She was now extremely feminine in demeanor and comportment. Rubiya had noted her mushrooming facility for fashion. Her skills at cosmetics lagged, however - it had only been three days.
Her attendant had been doing her face. The princess, upon learning this, had decided to remedy that at once. In as stern a manner as ever; Rubiya wished she could do more to shield her mistress from the princess' wrath. At least she and Alana had had nearly a full day with just each other, before Jasmine arrived in late afternoon.
Alana peered into the mirror, trying to judge how clean her skin was. "Lazy slave, keep going!" Jasmine snapped.
Rubiya couldn't help herself. "Please, your highness, let me show her..."
The princess whirled on her. "I do not wish to hear from you at all! Be careful or I'll have you dismissed from the harem!"
Rubiya quaked in fear. Anywhere she might be sold to was worse than here. Much worse...
Alana spoke gently, but with anomalous mettle. "She has done nothing wrong, Mistress. Not to you, or anyone. Save your wrath for me, I beg you."
Jasmine gaped at her for a moment, thoroughly shocked. (Rubiya was hardly less amazed.) For another moment, royal fury mounted - but then she faltered. The princess took a few deep breaths, and a bit of consideration appeared in her expression.
Long moments passed. Then the princess turned to the attendant, contrite. "I am sorry. My anger at this trollop got the better of me." A deep breath, and a glower at Alana, shrinking with her wonted meekness. "I shall keep it focused where it needs to be."
Out of nowhere, a male voice broke in. "Ah, you're both here. Excellent." All three girls spun, startled to find the vizier suddenly in the room with them.
He looked subtly different. His headdress had twin projections like horns, the pointed shoulders of his robe stuck out further, the sash at his waist was different. So much, Jasmine and Rubiya noticed at once, clothing occupying much of their upbringing. Alana first noticed the staff; the mouth was now open, fangs displayed. She had difficulty looking away from it; not entranced, but fearful. She dropped to her knees. "Master!"
"Jafar!" the princess exclaimed. "I... didn't hear you come in!"
His smile was insufferably smug. "Naturally not. I did not come by the door, after all."
"I - I don't understand," Jasmine said, cautious.
He laughed broadly. "The genie has granted my second wish - incredible sorcerous power!" All three girls gasped.
A flick of his wrist, and suddenly Alana's clothes climbed off her body, leaving her naked. The silks then seized her wrists and ankles, pulling tight, taut though attached to nothing but air. She was suspended above the ground, spread-eagled, a look of astonishment on her pretty face. Rubiya shrieked and cowered. Jasmine's look of incredulity was almost a twin of Alana's.
He nodded toward the princess. Her garments suddenly felt heavy; she looked down, and now was clad in tight gold mail. A princess's ransom, in the form of a princess's dress.
The wizardly vizier eyed Alana for a moment... then shook his head in mild regret. "That shall have to wait for later. You will need decent clothes for the throne room." A snap of his fingers and the silks flowed back onto her. Just in a very different form.
Ironically, they actually covered somewhat more of her skin than before. But they were unladylike nevertheless. A dark red sleeveless vest, golden-hemmed and far too small to actually close in the front. A translucent pink halter not covered at all by the vest, revealing a scandalous amount of cleavage. A bare belly and lower back, of course.
Pink translucent pantaloons, well-displaying her legs. Dark red panties over the pantaloons; with oval, gold-hemmed cutouts revealing the gauzy pink fabric below. Her hair was gathered, and flowed up and through a fez of sorts - in that dark-red-and-gold-trimmed style of the jacket and panties. A pink veil ran from the fez to surround her face on the sides and under the chin, but did not cover her face at all.
Jasmine had never seen such an outfit - technically decent, yet manifestly improper and indecorous. Something only a slave courtesan would wear... and only the most shameless of those. Alana looked dazzled, examining herself.
"Come, we have an appointment," Jafar said. Jasmine was struck by the lack of "my dears" or "darlings" as he addressed her.
"Yes, Master," Alana breathed.
Jafar led his fiancée and slave girl into the throne room. They met only another trio; the Sultan, Priyat, and Qadir. All others had been sent away.
"What is the meaning of this, Jafar?" Qadir did not bother to hide his irritation. "Why a private meeting?" Priyat said nothing; her squint was irritated, too, yet also suspicious as she examined his altered outfit.
Jafar gave the Sultan a sharp glance, then spoke. "My esoteric researches have recently borne great fruit. I have learned much powerful magic." Far safer to keep knowledge of the genie from spilling out. No one could try to steal what they did not know he possessed.
He made a notably shallow bow to the Sultan. "Agrabah shall be even wealthier." He waved his hands; the light in the room took on a distinct reddish hue. A stream of gold coins began to drop from nowhere in front of the throne, creating a swiftly-growing pile. The throne itself shifted and flowed, morphing from an elephant to a giant snake, disturbing the Sultan. "But we shall not become a tempting target thereby."
He nodded ironically toward Qadir. "Blades have their own power, I am told." Suddenly a ring of swords fell from the air, the tips of their blades penetrating even the stone of the floor. The startled commander was fenced in by steel. "Agrabah's troops shall be well supplied. I can lay curses upon any army that opposes me." A venomous smile. "We shall have more than luck to protect us, should war break out."
Finally, he glanced at Priyat. "Why, I believe that with my new resources, we may even be able to hurry the wedding along."
"Well, this is splendid news!" the Sultan said. Even his happiness seemed a bit muted, however, in the shadow of the vizier's manifest power. The pile of coins kept growing, now three hands high.
"Let us celebrate, with a meal!" Jafar waved his hands, and tables laden with food appeared in a swirl of glittering sparks. The swords dissolved into smoke, freeing the commander. He cautiously took a seat alongside Priyat and the Sultan.
It was a very quiet supper.
Another night in the vizier's rooms. He was in a grand mood as they entered. For once, he did not start with Jasmine. He looked at both girls, and contemplated the possibilities his new powers unlocked. Jafar's gaze focused on Alana, whose face betrayed some misgivings.
"Ah, little mouse," Jafar almost sang. "Perhaps we should see how mouselike you can be."
A stream of light shot at her from the staff. Alana's clothes vanished. Which made it easy to see as her body flowed like water, shifting and changing. Her ears grew round and prominent, emerging from under her hair and becoming the size of saucers. At the same time her nose and mouth protruded somewhat, suggestive of a muzzle without becoming unappealing. The tip of her nose darkened. Her feet lengthened and reconfigured, now suggestive of paws, even as a thin tail emerged from the base of her spine. As all of this was happening, fine gray fur sprouted all over her skin, shading to white on her belly and breasts, contrasting with the dark hair on her head and between her legs. Her fingernails became short blunted claws.
She looked at herself - then, in shock, twisted to look behind her, at the tail. She ran her hands along her flanks, feeling the soft fur. Then she looked to the vizier, at a complete loss. "Master?" she said, almost pleading - in a voice so high-pitched it squeaked. Her hand darted to touch her throat.
"Now you are Little Mouse." Master was laughing. She glanced at Jasmine; she seemed as though she disbelieved her own eyes. Yet, she did not seem wholly displeased by the sight, either.
Jafar got hold of himself. "Come closer, Little Mouse. No, slowly." Alana moved toward him carefully. Her walk was strange, animallike. He wanted the chance to appreciate it.
At last, Alana reached him, and fell to her knees. She looked up at him, abjectly servile, obviously at sea. He moved his hand forward. Within it...
"Gaze into the serpent's eyes, my pet." He saw her shiver in realization of how apropos the appellation 'pet' was. "I have some special instructions for you."
Alana hesitated. The staff had made her a fawning, servile harem slave. Taking pleasure in her own subjugation. If he used it on her again, he could do... anything he wanted to her. Make her do or want anything. Shape and control her utterly.
The ultimate submission...
She was afraid. But her kus was suddenly dripping at the thought of surrendering herself so completely (a harem girl rejoices in being submissive), being so totally enslaved and dominated (a harem slave delights in submitting to her Master).
She stared into the jeweled eyes. The colors... swirling, dancing...
Jafar was surprised, seeing her yielding cooperation. He was used to fighting through resistance to plant suggestions. It had never occurred to him that opposition might be disarmed in stages. By now Alana was deeply conditioned to crave submission; she enjoyed being compelled, manipulated. She wanted him to ravish her mind.
The thaumaturge vizier felt a great surge of lust. He could make her do virtually anything!
He would have to think on this later. For now, his current plan was sufficient. "You shall be a mouse. No thoughts, no words, no memory. Until I call you by your name - until I call you Alana - you shall only know who your Master is, and that the honey from his zubb is the sweetest nectar of all."
Her blank expression was profoundly arousing. He withdrew the staff, watching for her to wake.
The mousegirl stirred, blinked. She looked around, eyes wide and uncomprehending. She darted about with quick, rodent-like movements, eyes darting. She backed away, on hands and knees, agitated. Then suddenly she appeared to catch sight of Jafar, and her tail stood up. She moved forward, suddenly nuzzling his groin, sniffing excitedly.
Jasmine could not look away, entirely enthralled. She had not imagined that Aladdin could be more ignominiously abased than when she was bound and spanked. Now, the boy who had dared gull and delude her was almost literally an animal. A she-creature mindlessly satisfying the lewd desires of a man.
Jafar laughed, and shooed her away. She retreated only a bit, tail flicking back and forth, eyes barely moving from her target, nose sniffling. He proceeded to take off his robes and his leggings, then sat on a divan, legs spread. The entranced Alana darted forward, focused on his zubb. Her tongue flickered; no slow strokes. She was a mouse through and through, lapping like an animal.
He had engaged in such games along similar lines with a few whores... but none had played the part so well. Alana had the percipience, the imagination to act out a role. Admittedly, the sorcerous transformation helped with the staging - but that had not touched her mind. He knew this was not thoughtless behavior; it took intelligence to put on such a performance.
Out of the corner of his eye, the wizard noticed Jasmine's busy hand, taking pride of place between her legs. He was pleased at her bawdyness - and very mildly surprised. He had consciously avoided encouraging such behavior in Alana. Best the slave be trained to seek her reward from the stimulation of others. Yet the princess had discovered self-pleasuring independently, as it were.
Presently Little Mouse succeeded in her aim, and greedily licked up what he spurted out, not excluding the drops that landed on the floor.
Alana whined liked a bitch in heat... which she closely resembled. The mouse had become a canine. Jasmine, wearing the false zubb, was taking her like one. Alana's tail curled up over her back. Jafar's lip curled in a tight smile; the princess was almost as entranced by the experience as Alana. Boundless magic made for diverting bedroom games, and this night was far from over.
The most powerful sorcerer in history sighed, almost wistfully.
Keeping the princess entertained and distracted had been a challenge. Maintaining her in unthinking outrage - or lust - for an entire month would certainly have proven impossible. Jasmine, though passionate and headstrong, was cunning, and also fundamentally kindhearted. It had been necessary to carefully introduce new degradations upon the slave - and balance the amount of suffering. Else he risked arousing her pity. He had sensed they might be approaching that limit.
With his wizardry, he could cut the preparations to a few days. (Physical resources were not a problem, but some social roadblocks could not be safely ignored.) That timespan would prove no difficulty, given his newfound powers.
Watching the girls at their debauched play, he shook his head in reminiscence. He was not dissatisfied with Alana, not in the least. Her eager complaisance was most enjoyable. Still, that first night of conquest had possessed a certain spice and piquancy. Methodically breaking down resistance, corrupting her in stages, forcing her into new and progressively more humiliating experiences - it had been quite stimulating.
And it had riveted the attention of the princess.
He sighed again, with a certain wry amusement. His triumph was almost too complete, too final. He couldn't very well start over with Alana. Some things could only be experienced once. A girl couldn't lose her virginity every night.
And then he stilled. His eyes slewed to his staff again.
Or could they?
"You will see what she tells you to see."
"See... what she tells..."
"Feel what she commands you to feel."
"Feel... what... she commands..."
"Believe what she orders you to believe."
"Believe what... she orders..."
Aladdin stood on the magic carpet, hovering outside Jasmine's chambers. He had managed to talk her into a ride - and the carpet turned out to be a showoff. It had taken them halfway around the world! Despite the dizzying speed, they had been shielded from the wind and cold.
He was feeling better than he ever had in his whole life. Jasmine had seemed charmed, and interested. And they had even kissed! He stood, staring like a fool, watching her return to her room. He finally understood the word 'overjoyed'.
Then suddenly, halfway through the curtains in the latticework door, she turned back. His hopes rose... but he noticed a slight frown on her face. "Ali... could you come here for a moment?"
Curious, he hopped down from the carpet onto the absurdly large balcony, and walked toward her. Stomping mentally on the part of himself hoping for an invitation to her bedchamber. Rushing things would be the height of stupidity. Although, another kiss would not be a bad thing...
Jafar, invisible to the eyes of 'Aladdin', smiled. It was remarkable. Such an unmistakably female form, moving with such masculine assurance. Bravado, almost.
Alana believed herself Aladdin, the past days forgotten. She perceived nothing odd about her form. Which was amusing, because those princely clothes did not flatter her form very well. Still, to her, she was tall and male. And the vizier's room, to her senses, was Jasmine's balcony.
"You say you dress as a commoner sometimes," Jasmine said, thoughtful.
"Why... yes. Sometimes. Get a feel for how the man in the street lives. You know." He deepened his voice slightly, to cover his nervousness.
"Those guards seemed awfully familiar with you, though." Jasmine squinted at him. "Like they'd known you a long time."
Aladdin felt a chill. "Well, I... I came a few days before my, my retinue. To check the lay of the land."
Jasmine was acting more and more certain. "And the people in the crowd - they knew you too."
"I... make an impression." It sounded lame, even to his ears.
Jasmine was impossibly stern. "You have been lying to me again! You have never stopped lying to me! Admit it!"
Almost against his will, his tongue moved. "I'm sorry. I had to be a prince, to see you..."
"And how did you become a prince?" she asked, low and dangerous.
"A... a wish from a genie..."
Towering rage. She seemed taller than him, all of a sudden. "You are nothing but a worthless street rat!"
He realized it was true. He was worthless. He was nothing. People had been saying it to him for years; it took a princess to finally make him understand it. Shame filled him.
"On your knees, dog!"
He fell to his knees. She was so far above him. Royalty, exalted. And he was just street trash. Pathetic.
"How dare you lie to me?" Like the fury of a goddess crashing down on him.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he babbled. "I fell in love with you when I saw you in the market. Before I even knew you were a princess."
Jafar squinted. Jasmine seemed taken aback by this. The street rat spoke on.
"Then I got the lamp, and I... I thought I could..."
"Could lie to you," Jafar said quickly.
'Aladdin' could not hear him. Jasmine seemed uncertain, but repeated the vizier's words. "Could lie to me."
The 'boy' wept. "I'm so sorry... I never meant to hurt you..."
The princess was definitely hesitating now. Clearly her hatred was not as unwavering as Jafar had believed, nor her affection as extinct. This was turning out to be a grave mistake. He thought quickly, and a little desperately. Well had he marked Jasmine's newly-discovered enjoyment of humiliation and domination. Hopefully he could distract her from pity - "But she did hurt you. And pays the price in the harem..."
Jasmine looked him in the eye for a moment, then down at the entranced Alana. "You are not worthy of those clothes." She waved a hand.
Unseen, Jafar waved his own. The white princely robes shrank, becoming worn and patched. Alana now wore the garb of impoverished Aladdin. It looked quite ridiculous, especially her large bare breasts exposed by the vest.
'Aladdin' was amazed. "What... how..." 'He' stared at his clothes, but could not see the absurdity.
"Never mind that!" Jasmine snapped. "I have ways of finding the truth." She glared down at 'him'. "Now, you must apologize."
"I'm so sorry! Please, I..."
"Not like that! I don't want to hear any more of your lying words!" She smiled, so cruel... "You'll apologize by your deeds. Take off my slippers."
The dreaming girl leaned forward, and extracted Jasmine's dainty feet from the expensive slippers. A tear or two leaked from the corners of her eyes.
"Lick my feet." 'Aladdin' looked shocked... but complied. How had it come to this? Why was Jasmine being so... dominant? And...
...why did it make him feel so funny? To submit, to do as she ordered?
After a time, the princess lifted a foot, pushed Alana's face away. As 'he' sat back on 'his' haunches, she laughed, malicious. "You dreamed I would marry you? Your breasts are larger than mine!"
'Aladdin' looked down at himself in horror, able to sense his bosom now. "I don't..." His hands grabbed them, confirming their reality by touch. "No! This is impossible!"
Jafar was concealing his relief. The princess was becoming wrapped up in her game. Her pointed nipples betrayed her arousal, mercy forgotten...
...for the moment. He would have to consider his next moves carefully - but move he must, obviously. And soon. Tomorrow.
Jasmine wore a spiteful grin. "Take off those clothes!"
Wondering, dazed, 'Aladdin' shrugged off the vest as he stood. Then he slid down his pants. Oddly wet at the crotch. Leaks from the tip of my erection. He couldn't understand why he felt so aroused, despite his distress and bafflement. Soon he stood, naked, exposed. At her mercy.
Mercy which seemed in short supply.
She looked him over. "You're not a man. You don't deserve to wield a zubb. I take it from you now." She reached down between the girl's legs, and grabbed air. "Don't worry, it won't even hurt!" She pulled the imaginary member away.
Aladdin's lungs locked in sheer unadulterated horror. She held it in her hand, mocking him. He reached for it desperately...
"Don't move!"
His whole body seized up, paralyzed.
Jasmine mimed taking off her pantaloons. Even in the depths of dread, he could not help looking between her legs, at the lips he had nervously wondered about.
The princess scoffed. "You will never have that! How dare you even look at it!" His eyes tracked to her face. "No, no, look back. See, now I have your zubb!" His gaze snapped down as her hands pulled away. An erection jutted at his face. From her hips.
"It suits me better, don't you agree?" Aladdin had not wept in a very long time, but helpless tears were leaking. How was this possible? How had he come to this nightmare?
Jasmine, wearing the tool from the special chest, turned her hips, enjoying how his eyes could not help but track it. "A street rat who dreamed to fool a princess." She looked down, smiling. "You wanted to use this on me, didn't you?"
Aladdin could speak, given the question. "Please... give it back! I'm so sorry, I never..."
"Answer the question!" A furious shout.
"Yes, princess." he admitted, involuntarily, truth squeezed out of him.
A snarl. "You don't get to call me princess! To you, I am your Mistress!"
"I'm sorry, Mistress! Please, Mistress, forgive me!"
"Answer the question properly. And in full."
Resistance popped like a soap bubble. "Yes, Mistress. I wanted to use my... my manhood on you."
"That was the wrong word."
How could his cheeks flush any redder? "Yes, Mistress. I wanted to use my zubb on you."
Jasmine sniffed. "Well, you shall be punished for your impudence. I shall use it on your kus."
Alana could now perceive her true sex. Jasmine giggled at the shocked expression on the face of 'Aladdin', at the questing fingers that confirmed its reality.
"Lay down here!" Jasmine pointed. A couch Aladdin had not noticed before. He - she?! - moved slowly over to it. "On your back!" the princess commanded.
Wide, fearful eyes stared up at Jasmine, a delicious cocktail, as she stalked toward her victim. "Beg me, worthless street trash. Beg me to punish you properly."
It did not even occur to 'Aladdin' to disobey. "Please, Mistress! Please use me! Take me, punish me for daring to want to be with you!"
Jasmine's teeth were visible. But it was not a smile; it was a rictus signifying malice and conquest. "If I do this... you will be a girl entirely. And forever."
Aladdin tried to muster resistance this time. Desperate, feverish. He couldn't... he didn't want...
But her eyes. And his... his kus, almost throbbing... "Please, Mistress," he whispered. "Please, take me."
"I shall do as you ask," Jasmine said lightly. She pounced, and thrust into the entranced girl. "You may thank me."
Alana still remembered only Aladdin. But she could feel her true body now, beautiful and utterly lacking in masculinity. And she could feel the pleasure as she was inwardly parted and stretched by what she believed to be the princess' true zubb. "Allah preserve me! Thank you Mistress, please Mistress, please, more, please..."
"You enjoy this, then? Being a slut, fucked by a zubb?" Jasmine's scorn was harsh.
It burned... on his face, in his... his kus... the shame was crushing, but... Mistress had asked. "Yes, Mistress! It feels so good!"
"You know nothing of pleasure, girl," the princess crowed. "Let me show you..."
Her hips did not desist their thrusts. Her fingers found Alana's zambur, and began to rub and press it.
Aladdin was sucked into a vortex, an earthquake, a monsoon. Her true nature could not be denied; she was a girl, being ridden by a zubb. Her body heaved, completely beyond her control, as tidal waves of pleasure flowed through her.
Jasmine stood up, grinning and energized. 'Aladdin' was spent, limp, motionless beyond sharp breaths. "Pathetic. No man at all."
Aladdin was cowed, defeated. Embarrassed and humiliated at a level... she had never before imagined. How could any of this have happened? Had Jasmine found Genie?
"You are nothing but a simpering girl. A slave forevermore." A toss of her head, and Jasmine said, with mock solicitousness quite reminiscent of the vizier, "A pretty girl like you should have a pretty name."
'Aladdin' looked up at her, irrationally fearful. What more had she to lose? How could a girl's name be worse? Yet, she feared it just the same...
A malefic wink. "I name you... Alana."
Alana's blood chilled. The full weight of memory came crashing down, the past days crowding in. The illusion of the princess' balcony dissolved, and she knew herself to be in the vizier's quarters. And there was Master himself, chuckling quietly, greatly amused by the spectacle. Zubb arrogantly upright.
The slave girl's emotions were a tangle. Grief, mortification, fearful resentment at being so degraded and used. And a hateful satisfaction at the same time. A harem slave exults in pleasing her Master.
Another morning in the harem.
"Unbelievable! Can't you do anything right?" Jasmine declaimed, grabbing the brush from Alana's hand. She began working at the girl's hair, roughly. Rubiya barely kept from wringing her fingers, seeing her mistress' wince of pain.
"Is this truly who you wish to be?"
Jasmine spun, indignantly seeking the source of the interruption. Priyat stood at the door, unflinching in the face of royal anger.
"How dare you speak to me like that?"
The Haseki Sultan stalked forward. "I remember a girl filled with kindness. With ambitions to make the world better, through her husband. Who would never have mistreated a slave." Jasmine made to speak, but the Haseki Sultan overrode her. "A girl who was not eaten up inside with bitterness."
The princess inhaled audibly. "You don't know what she did!"
"It does not matter what she did." Jasmine gasped in outrage, but Priyat pressed on. "Will you let whatever injury she gave corrupt everything you are? Will you give her that power?"
Jasmine's mouth hung open. Never had Priyat spoken to her with such contempt.
"Besides, I do not think it's her that you are throwing away your self for." A glare. "You don't love the vizier. What do you imagine your life will be like as his wife?" A pointed sneer. "His chattel?"
"He... I..." Something was wrong, Priyat was wrong, marrying the vizier was necessary. She just couldn't remember why...
"He has vast power now. Rubiya says he spoke of a genie." She shook her head. "How long do you imagine your father will live, once Jafar's grip on the Sultanate is assured?" She threw her hands in the air. "Do you think his ambition will be lessened, when the throne is one old man's death away?"
Jasmine shivered. Something was wrong... She felt like her thoughts were wading through mud.
"He has always had strange powers. He has bewitched you. And her." Priyat nodded to Alana, who cast her eyes to the floor. The Haseki Sultan shook her head. "You know the kind of woman Jafar desires." An embarrassed blush blossomed on Alana's face. "He has shown you plainly."
She turned back to Jasmine. "He has remade you already. Married to him, he will surely remake you again."
Jasmine fled from the room, tears beginning to flow.
The princess paced all through her chambers until noon, restless, Rajah pacing beside her. She felt as if she were struggling to wake from a dream, but she couldn't quite open her eyes. Or perhaps it was a nightmare that held her. The princess' mind seemed to falter each time she thought about breaking with Jafar. And even if she managed somehow to say the words - how would she enforce them? The vizier was a mightier wizard than even the legends spoke of.
A flash of light, a cloud of swiftly-dissipating smoke, and that wizard himself stood before her. Rajah yelped and splayed his legs. Abruptly he growled, and charged the sorcerer. Jasmine did not bid him stop, hope and fear at war within her. A great leap, claws out...
A bolt of magic swept across the tiger, and he shrank. A harmless kitten landed on the marble floor, well short of Jafar. It clumsily tried to stand, slipping on the smooth surface, mewling in confusion.
"Rajah!" She ran to pick him up. "Don't hurt him!"
"I have no need to, princess," Jafar said, smiling his cruel smile. He looked in her eyes, then, and frowned. "I am just in time," he muttered to himself.
"I'm... not feeling well. I want to lay down for a while." Jafar made no move to depart. "Alone," she said, tentatively.
Jafar shook his head. Firmly. "I'm afraid I have need of your assistance."
The princess nervously temporized. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I'm sure I'll..."
"No, dearest, I think now is the time." A wave of his hand, and a ribbon of magic energy gripped her like iron. Rajah was hurled away. His magic brought her closer, hanging in the air.
"Let me go! Put me down this instant!"
The vizier chuckled. "But I have something to show you, my love..." His voice was full of malice, and mirth. He raised the serpent staff. A shadow of memory rose; he had done this before -
"You like to humble arrogant men." Jafar's voice reverberated, as if she were in a large cave.
"I like to humble arrogant men." Especially lately.
"Turning men into women pleases you."
Shameful to admit, but... "Turning men into women pleases me."
"Agrabah's borders may soon be invaded."
"No!" A terrible thing. Was she dreaming? She tried to wake...
Smooth, and soothing. "You can stop it."
"Stop it..."
"If the invaders have no armies, there will be no war."
"Don't want war..." Children orphaned, women abused...
"Yes. You can make a wish."
"A wish? What wish?"
"Tell the genie. Wish for all all their men become beautiful women."
"Wish... all the men?"
"Yes. If they are all women, there will be no armies."
"All women..." She frowned, dreamily. "But... no army. No protection."
"Just so. They shall fall to my armies."
"Don't want war." Something was wrong...
"You will make that wish!"
"Don't want... that." She had to wake up...
Jafar wanted to curse. The stubborn princess was fighting the staff. He was so close...
It was such a grand vision. Without men, the nations that were now such a threat would be trivial to conquer. Jafar would have all the support of the populace.
After all, every man of Agrabah, down to the lowliest of camel-drivers, would have as many brides and concubines as he could manage. The genie made beautiful women indeed.
And all that stood between him and conquest was one pigheaded girl!
He resumed the battle. "You will do as Jafar says!"
"Will..." She stopped. Not able to fight free of the staff, not when held in place with bonds of magic. But fighting still, holding the influence at bay with all her considerable will.
It was enough to make a sorcerer scream.
Jasmine blinked. She had lost the trail of her thoughts. She felt tired.
"Come, dearest," Jafar said. "We have one more announcement to make." Mechanically, she rose, only then realizing she'd been seated on her bed. She heard a mewling sound, and looked to it. A kitten clawed at the bars of a little cage. Rajah was a kitten now. Jafar had done that.
Jafar had...
Jafar had used the staff on her. Again. She held onto that thought, even as it kept trying to slip away. Her feet moved by themselves and she followed the vizier mage.
They passed by Alana's room on the way out of the harem. When they came in, Alana and Rubiya were deep in conversation at the mirror. Alana knelt as Jafar entered; before she could say anything, he snapped, "Come with me. I want you to see this, slave," Jafar said. He glared at Rubiya.
"Yes, Master," Alana said, giving her attendant a quick hug. She seemed concerned when she saw Jasmine, but did not speak.
Jasmine felt as if she were floating, almost. What her legs did seemed disconnected from the rest of her. The throne room. This was the way to the throne room. Jafar had used the staff on her. In some corner of her mind, a spark. Not even anger, but... resentment.
As they walked the halls of the palace, Alana looked very unsettled indeed, stealing glances at Jasmine. At one point, she murmured "Mistress?" - but a glare from Jafar kept her silent thereafter.
The three arrived at the throne room. It was not crowded beyond the usual bustle. Jafar rapped the end of the scepter on the floor when they got close to the throne, attracting the attention of all present.
"Everyone leave us with the Sultan." His head sought, and found a target. "Except you, Priyat. Stay, I pray you."
There was a brief hesitation, as several retainers and advisors peeked at the Sultan for guidance. Looking rather intimidated, Hamad nodded. Very shortly, the large domed room was clear. Another tap of the staff, and opaque reddish curtains of magical force sealed the doors. There would be no aid from outside the chamber. Jasmine's thoughts were flowing now. Not quickly, but her formidable will was stretching the bonds laid on her mind.
Jafar had used the staff on her. He had tried to work his will on her mind. She could not remember...
Jafar addressed the Haseki Sultan. "Perhaps you have been wondering what the source of my new powers was. Or, perhaps, you already suspect."
Priyat's face gave nothing away.
"I had planned to keep it between myself and the Sultan. But then I recalled that, in my excitement, I may have said something unfortunate in the harem, when I met these two." A backhand wave at Jasmine and Alana. "Careless of me to have mentioned a genie in front of a slave." He glared at Priyat. "Who no doubt spoke of it to the Haseki Sultan."
Priyat's face was as stone.
"The Haseki Sultan can keep secrets. All the palace knows this. I am not concerned - at present - with that." A sniff. "I may have to take steps regarding the attendant, however." A horrified gasp from Alana. Again, a quelling glare for her.
Jasmine felt another flicker. Guilt. She had threatened Rubiya, who did not deserve it. The girl did not deserve Jafar threatening her either. Another flash. Brighter. Shame. The bonds worn just a bit further.
"But be of good cheer, Priyat. Your knowledge admits you to a great show. You can see my greatest triumph."
"My" greatest triumph, Jasmine thought, distantly. Not "our" greatest triumph, or "Agrabah's" greatest triumph. More flares of umbrage. Brighter. Hotter. The bonds fraying.
He turned to Jasmine's father. "You have used up your wishes, Sultan. For which I thank you." Jasmine was puzzled at the undertone of anger in his voice. He sounded more cheerful, at least, when he continued. "But I have spoken with the princess, and she has agreed to make the wish that will secure Agrabah's preeminence. Indeed, this throne shall rule a land with much larger borders than presently." A chuckle. "And perhaps all, in time."
You didn't say the Sultan would rule, the princess realized. Just the throne... which you will occupy. There was fear... but also, finally, a kindling. A burst of ire that remained. It helped.
"Here, princess. Summon the genie." He handed her the lamp. "Secure our future."
She looked at the lamp in her hands. She dithered for a moment. Another. Then... she rubbed it.
A fountain of sparks, of light, of magic. A huge blue ifrit, hovering in front of her.
On a face that size, a huge smile was huge indeed. "Hey, Jasmine, amiright?"
A small orchestra had appeared behind him, playing odd instruments in a foreign style. "Sounds like 'jazz hands', doesn't it?" The genie danced in front of the band, shaking his upright hands in the air. "You sure made Al dance through some changes!"
And then, he swirled over to Alana. "Hey, Al, sorry about all that. A wish is a wish, y'know." A glance over at Jafar, who was turning red in the face. "I wish I'd spotted that Staff of Apep when we first got here."
Jafar had used the staff on her. Mounting rage caused Jasmine to breathe a little faster.
"Silence, you immense blue dolt!" Jafar cried, firing a bolt of magic at the spirit. It brushed the sparks aside, casually.
Suddenly, the djinn was eye to eye with the wizard. "Yo, dude, shut it!" He pointed at Jasmine. "She's holding the lamp, she's in charge." Then his finger pointed at the scepter in Jafar's hand, staring at her meaningfully. "Or are you?"
Jasmine struggled to gather her wits, thinking as quickly as she could. Remembering Priyat's words... her own misgivings... Alana's kismet... Rajah... and the eyes of the staff. If she made the wish on the tip of her tongue, she would be lost... along with everyone and everything she loved. Just as Aladdin had been lost, had betrayed himself with a compelled wish.
She would become another plaything, in time. Jasmine had always hated life as a powerless prize to be won. Becoming a prize that had been won was an even more loathsome prospect. Familiar anger - and abhorrence, aimed at the hated vizier - emerged. A blaze that charred at the cords binding her thoughts.
Jafar squinted. Her hesitation was concerning... "Master," Alana suddenly said. He whirled to face her. His fury was incredibly intimidating, but she spoke on, mustering a smile. "May I dance for you?"
"Not now, idiot slave!" His rebuke caused Alana to shrink in on herself. Jasmine's mind was churning. Alana strives to buy me a little time, she realized. Her gratitude created a large fracture across the spell on her mind, already straining against her awakening fury and terror. Love, once twisted to hatred, now uncoiling and rebounding.
But the sorcerer was turning his attention back to Jasmine. The princess saw his frown gathering, his fingers twitch, and knew there was no more time. Rapidly: "I wish that all the wishes upon Jafar be transferred to me!"
The genie whooped and grinned and did that strange thumb-cocked pointing gesture - this time with both hands. One beam of magic struck the vizier, and the other the princess.
"No!" Jafar cried. He tried to strike her down with a bolt of power... but it dissolved like smoke as his genie-enhanced sorcery was drained away. A wave of weakness washed over him as his supernatural vitality fled.
By the time he had recovered, so had the princess. Jasmine glowed with health, almost literally radiant. Jafar leapt forward, swift despite his surprise, clutching for the lamp.
Jasmine grabbed his arm and held it back. Easily. She grew not so much a smile as a victorious snarl, and threw him to the ground with supernatural force.
Jafar was dismayed by this, of course - but he had a moment to think on how she must possess his wizardry, as well. Which she proved at once, as a swirl of mystical force created ropes binding his arms and legs, cloth covering his mouth. In a trice he was trussed and gagged.
The wicked smile of the princess was familiar - and horrifying when aimed at him instead of Alana. But suddenly it collapsed in dismay. Her hands fled to her crotch. She said 'all the wishes upon' me, Jafar realized. Including a manhood of great size and power...
Another moment of bewilderment... and then suddenly, the princess exuded determination. She glared ferociously at Jafar.
"You desired power and dominion over me. Like all the others, you knew the path to the Sultanate wound through my kus," she hissed. "No more. No more! Never again shall I be a tool to be manipulated." She turned to the genie. "I wish to be the Prince of Agrabah, heir to the Sultanate in my own right!"
Priyat, Alana and the Sultan all made identical choked gasps.
Sounding only a little dubious, and greatly amused, the genie said, "Your wish is my command... master." Another whirling torrent of sparkling supernatural energy enveloped Jasmine.
Jafar's eyes bulged. Shock filled him - and a certain bitter regret. It was not wise to tempt her with a false zubb...
The princess was bulging, too - and with more than wizardry and vitality. Her arms, her shoulders expanded like a wineskin pumped overfull. Her legs lengthened. The first instants of the change were easily visible - but her clothes grew, too, becoming looser and gaining much more fabric.
For a crazed moment she wondered if she were turning to stone. Soft curves firming up to hard muscle - especially intense at her breasts - bones becoming thicker. Hair crawling into her head. It was wrenching, yet not entirely unpleasant. In seconds, a strapping young man stood where a girl had been. Broad-thewed and tall, dressed in an outfit such as 'Prince Ali' had once worn, but in a pale blue color scheme echoing that of Jasmine.
She... he exchanged glances with Priyat, and the Sultan... and longest with Alana. Finally the muffled angry grunts and growls at his feet drew his attention back to the vizier.
"Sleep, usurper. Sleep while I ponder your fate." He waved a hand, and Jafar collapsed. He picked up the staff, and examined it - very deliberately not looking in the eyes.
"You wanna be careful with that thing," the genie said, small enough to sit on the prince's shoulder and look at the staff himself.
Jasmine looked to the lamp in his other hand. It was all too much. "We will talk later. Please, for now, can you go back in the lamp?"
The genie nodded, not too surprised. "Don't take ten thousand years, okay?" He dissolved into a stream of sparks and plunged back into the end of the lamp.
It looked so ordinary now, in his hand. The Sultan approached. "Jasmine? Is that you?" He sounded like a lost, confused child.
"Call me... Jabari." 'Courageous'. And why not? Had he not had the courage to take control of his fate? To escape the bonds the world laid upon Princess Jasmine? He tucked the lamp into his robe for the moment. But he did not let go of the staff. Never would either be far from his person until he puzzled out what to do with them.
Priyat was staring, too. The Sultan looked down at Jafar. Still puzzled. "He was using this scepter to control you, father," Jabari said. "And me as well."
"Jafar, a traitor?" The Sultan sagged. "Oh, my child, I am sorry." A wondering glance. "You are still my child?"
Jabari smiled. "Always, father."
"That's all right, then." The Sultan looked up at the tall boy in front of him, weeping. "I... have not been at my best. I have been afraid I would lose my throne, or my mind, or both - before I could make sure you were safe, cared for." He blinked. "But if I have a male heir..." He looked up again, with growing joy. "I can abdicate! You shall be Sultan by day's end!" Then he paused. "No, no, that won't do. There must be announcements, and, and ceremonies, and..."
"That sounds wonderful, father," Jabari said indulgently. "Go with Priyat. I'm sure she can help." He looked at the magical barriers at the doors, and realized he had the power to dismiss them. A tap of the staff on the floor, and they vanished. Then, an urgent look at the Haseki Sultan and she gently led the Sultan away, planning a grand transfer of power. Priyat glanced over her shoulder, clearly expecting more answers later.
For the first time, Jabari had a chance to think. The burgeoning magic within him overwhelmed and washed away the suggestions of the staff. A clarity of thought he had not experienced in many days emerged. Shock and guilt and triumph made an almost nauseating blend of emotions.
The past intimate touches of Jafar, never more than tolerated ere now, became fully hateful and infuriating. To have cooperated with such a monster...
And for such petty reasons! Shame filled him as he recalled the humiliation heaped upon 'Prince Ali' - driven partly by a fury he now saw was quite overblown compared to the offense. Punishing him more for the sins of that endless parade of puffed-up suitors than any offense of his own.
He resolved to master his temper in the future. Especially if he were to be ruler. The tantrum of a princess was as a passing thundercloud. That of a Sultan could bring a nation to woe.
And further embarrassment. Only partly driven by rage at being tricked. The perverse pleasure he... she had taken at degrading Ali... at turning him into a compliant, debased plaything... it had not been compelled by the staff. That wickedly arousing urge to dominate and humiliate had not been imposed from without, it had lurked within. Awakened, recognized, and nurtured by Jafar - to the schemer's ruin, and Jabari took much pleasure from that thought - but not created by him.
He looked to Alana, now kneeling by the unconscious vizier, with remorse. The perplexity and distress on her face was pitiable. "Master?" she asked plaintively, almost despairingly, shaking Jafar's shoulder as tears leaked down her cheeks.
He spoke, gruffly to hide his confusion. "He is no longer your master. You never need submit to him again."
Her confusion - and dread - increased, however. "I am a harem slave. If I have no Master..." She looked up at he who had been her tormentor the past days - and nights. "You will throw me onto the streets!"
"No, have no fear," Jabari said. "I suppose I am master of the harem now." It dawned on him that was the plain truth. "I promise you my protection." Her expression hadn't changed. "Have no fear," he repeated.
The doubt on her face was well-earned, he realized in sorrow. "I... know you can see no reason to trust me. But I swear, I will do right by you." She stared at him, uncertain.
Then, some of the fear in her mein was replaced with fragile hope. "Thank you... Master."
He coughed, feeling like a small mouse had taken up residence in the front of his pants. Then, an instant of alarm - that was big enough to be a rat! The understanding came as a shock. It was his new zubb, beginning to stir at the sight of the puzzled and awed slave girl kneeling before him.
He swiftly turned to the retainers and guards who stood in disarray at the door. "The vizier is a traitor. Take him to the dungeons to await my justice."
They only stared, at first. Then the Sultan called out, just before vanishing around a corner with Priyat, "Do as he says! That's my son!" He sounded gratifyingly happy.
The men then obeyed with gratifying urgency, if a substantial amount of confusion. They did not question the orders of a prince the way they had often deliberated and pondered those of a princess.
He looked again to Alana, barely risen to her feet. He noticed the painted toes on those feet, her gauze-enclosed legs, the curve of her hips... He forced his gaze to her face. "Go to the harem. I guarantee your safety. We'll speak later."
She appeared so bereft, still, glancing toward the door that Jafar had been carried through.
"I have much to do, but I will visit tonight. I swear it." A gentle nudge toward the women's quarters, a glance at another retainer. The man instantly leapt to take the slave girl away.
Vast magical upheavals, incredible changes forced upon Agrabah. Yet Priyat, as ever, was practical. She found the new prince in a small audience chamber, meditating on his next moves. She braced him immediately. "We shall have to look to your marriage as soon as possible."
Jabari looked up from his chair at her. It was different, but Priyat thought she could see a faint echo of the princess' sullen expression as he exclaimed, "I just escaped life as a breeding sow! Now all at once I have to become a stud bull?"
"Marriage for royals is about the future of the realm! The desires of the bride and groom scarcely enter into it," she snapped. "At least now you are not simply a conduit for power, but may retain it for yourself." A carefully blank expression that was as good as a roll of the eyes. "Perhaps you might deign to be less choosy."
He was a man now. He could ill-afford to pout or sulk. So he sighed, picturing a new parade of suitors to be endured.
Yet Priyat spoke truth. An unwed heir drew scheming and strife like spilled honey drew flies. Look at how close Agrabah had come to ruin from one stubborn princess! But care had to be taken - dynastic alliances were no small matter.
Thus, Jabari would be immersed in a great political struggle at the start of his reign. He could see no way to avoid it. The best solution was still to marry a royal from a distant land. That would pose no direct threat to Agrabah's neighbors.
And yet... Jasmine had feared just that: ending up locked into unwilling servitude as a brood mare, far from homeland and loved ones. Could he bring himself to do that to some poor girl?
He had sought the Sultanate. He would have to develop the necessary ruthlessness. But no more than that, I pray...
Priyat was already working on the next steps. "We shall have to send out messengers to the nations, soliciting princesses instead of princes." She shook her head. "I don't know if any of them will believe this..."
Jabari stood up. "It is time for me to go to the royal council. I doubt they will believe this." He shook his head. "I barely believe it, and I lived through it."
Many pairs of suspicious, doubtful eyes stared at him around the table. Jabari had told the story of Jafar and the genie... a version that glossed over exactly how he'd disposed of Prince Ali. Obviously it did cover how Jafar had been using his staff to attack the minds of the royal family. And it very prominently featured the way the vizier had been defeated... and by whom.
The Sultan had just announced his impending abdication - and who he intended to abdicate to. The genie's power let all who looked upon him know his identity at a glance. It did not compel acceptance of the implications, however.
Such acceptance was hard in coming. Indeed, resistance raised itself at once. "I will not submit to a princess in a costume!" said Qadir, the commander of the garrison. Jabari was not surprised. Princess Jasmine had attended many council meetings, until her thirteenth year. Once she began to blossom, the commander had insisted that Hamad keep his daughter away. To "avoid distraction".
"This is no façade," Jabari said sternly. "I'm now as you see me, through and through."
"I see a girl, pretending to a station far above her nature," Qadir sneered. "You haven't the spine for ruling. No woman does."
Jabari's heart pounded in his chest, but his voice was measured as he said, "Careful, Qadir. You may find your own words to rest on illusion."
"If you are a man, then I challenge you to a duel!" The commander stepped away from the table, to a clear space, and drew his sword. Challenging royalty was against the dueling code - even this was another calculated insult.
The new prince came around the table, drawing his own sword. "Have a care. You don't know who you face."
"I face a kus on stilts," the commander sneered. "Come, princess. I've no doubt you wield a strong arm. But when did you practice swordsmanship?" His voice dripped contempt. And his guard was expert as he extended his scimitar.
Jabari smiled grimly. "I don't - yet - have your skill. But my arm isn't merely strong." With a ferocious speed that shocked everyone present - even Jabari himself, a little - he swung a sudden mighty blow at the advisor's sword. Both weapons shattered at the impact, and the hilt was dashed from the man's hand. "It's swift as well."
The man gaped down at the hilt, laying next to the shards of blade. When he looked up, the prince had taken a step forward. The fist caught him in the jaw, and he tumbled, stunned, to the ground.
When Qadir could see again, he looked up. All the pairs of eyes at the table were staring at him. They moved to the prince, who stood calmly, gazing down at the bruised advisor. He turned to the others. "This 'costume' is real enough to defeat any of you in a duel." His jaw clenched momentarily, then he spoke on. "You all have had a measure of power. You take it for granted."
Bitterly: "I had none. You develop an appreciation for power when it is used upon you." He held each man's eyes, in turn. "My might is no illusion, I assure you. Not physical" - he glanced at his awed father - "or political."
Qadir sat up. "That is not enough to subdue all of us! Come, brothers, let us end this madness!"
Jabari let out a brief, mirthless snort. "Then it's well I possess other powers, too." He waved his hand, and Qadir felt his clothes writhe across his body. He looked down in alarm, and realized he was clad in the silks and brocade of a harem girl.
A second handwave conjured a mirror out of nowhere. Qadir stared into it - his cheeks were rouged, his eyes darkened with khol like a whore! It looked ridiculous on his bearded face; his zubb was obscenely outlined by the tight garments.
Tense laughter from someone at the table, swiftly choked off.
Qadir stared up at Jabari's pitiless expression in horror. The prince bit out, "That is a costume. Shall I teach you the difference between a masquerade and reality?"
Though he didn't let it show, the prince was chastising himself. His powers were vast - born of Jafar's monstrous ambition. Jabari could make this stubborn advisor into a donkey, or a frog, or even a puppet. But he could not actually change the man's sex. He had not intended to bluff; he shouldn't have needed to. His impatience and anger - and, he admitted to himself, lingering insecurity - had baited him into overplaying his hand.
If Qadir did not concede, at once... the whole situation might become much more difficult.
Fortunately, the commander's face had paled; the contrast between the makeup and his bloodless skin was pronounced. "Forgive me! Mercy, please... Prince Jabari," he breathed.
Jabari, internally relieved and resolving to master his impetuousness, held the man's eyes for a breath. Then he nodded and stepped toward the table. A backhand flick of his fingers dismissed the mirror and makeup, and Qadir's clothes shifted back to robes of state.
The prince addressed the gathering. "I am not a fool. I will take advice soberly, I will consider your words carefully. I will reward loyalty and good service as it deserves. I will strive for the good of Agrabah and its people, always." His eyes narrowed. "But I will rule."
Flatly: "If any of you cannot accept this, you may be dismissed from my service, as Qadir shall now be. There will be no vengeance, and I will even provide a stipend for you to begin a new life." Deathly serious: "Somewhere far from Agrabah."
He folded his arms across his chest, and spoke firmly. "That is the choice you face. Serve me as you served my father, or be banished." Then, a pause, and a wry smile aimed at a shaken Qadir. "I suppose there is a third choice. Swear falsely, move against me some other time... and discover what a sorcerer's wrath looks like."
The men were exchanging glances among themselves. Some blankfaced, a few betraying cowed fear.
"Now choose."
Jabari stepped through the seraglio gate. He had checked on the disgraced vizier in the dungeon. The prisoner was woken from enchanted slumber - but sealed in a cell fenced round with magic. There would be no secret passage to freedom for Jafar this time. The vile imprecations of the overturned schemer still echoed in the prince's ears.
The halls of the women's quarters looked so strange - so much smaller. He almost hit his head at the top of the doorframe walking into his rooms, he was so tall now. He glanced around for a moment. He would rest here for tonight, perhaps. By the morrow he would need a new suite in the men's quarters - decorated much more suitably. He was a princess no longer.
Priyat herself brought Alana in shortly. "Thank you, Haseki Sultan. Leave us alone for a while, please. We have a lot to talk about." The woman eyed him speculatively for a moment, then wordlessly bowed and retired.
The anxious uncertainty that filled Alana's demeanor brought forth his guilt again. It reaffirmed the decision he had already made. If he was to be a man, he would be a man with honor.
"I have one remaining wish," Jabari said slowly. "I was under Jafar's evil influence when I... made you as you are now." He sighed. "But I'm guilty, too, for what happened to you."
He placed a strong hand on the slave girl's shoulder. "I will use my last wish to make you Aladdin again. In body and mind." The girl's mouth made a little 'o' of astonishment. The prince continued. "As Sultan, I can make you rich. You could have whatever new life you chose."
Alana did not meet his eyes. She stared at the tiles of the floor for many moments. Then, she spoke softly. "Most of all, Aladdin hoped to be with the Princess." Her eyes alighted upon Jabari's manly hand on her soft, graceful shoulder. "But the princess is no more."
Jabari felt uncomfortable. He tried to reassure her. "Aladdin was... is handsome and quick-witted. A man like that, with money, might even manage to marry some other princess..."
Her hand lifted, warding. "I ask something else." Those lovely shoulders dropped in shame. "My last wish - the wish that made me a slave girl - was truly wasted. I had promised Genie I would use it to give him his freedom."
Jabari's eyes widened in surprise. The girl, still gazing at the floor, spoke on unknowing. "I could have used it any time. But I wanted to save it. In case I needed it." A brief, sad laugh. "If I'd done what I promised, when I had the chance, everything would have been different."
The prince could hardly disagree. What might have happened in some other world where Aladdin, or Jasmine, or Jafar had made other choices?
She looked up, finally. "I got what I deserved for being a coward. Help me keep my promise. Set Genie free."
Jabari hesitated. "I only have one wish left. I can free you or him, not both." A pause. "Are you sure that..."
Seldom indeed came the times a slave girl might interrupt a prince! "Aladdin dreamed of a thousand things, growing up in the streets. Then he met a princess, and only had one dream." A wan smile. "Not even a wish from a genie could grant that now, I see."
Jabari felt even more guilt. And yet, Alana spoke truly. His resolve to remain a prince was as steel. He could not go back to that soft, gentle prison of girlhood.
A shake of Alana's head set her beautiful hair to flowing. "I had only one dream, too, in this strange new life. The most a concubine might hope for: to delight my Master and be the dearest in his heart." A cloud of... strangely mixed anger and longing. "Even if I served a Master I had reason to hate."
Then a sly grin crinkled the girl's lips. (Full, pink lips, he noticed for some odd reason.) "Of course, I wanted that as much to annoy his betrothed, as from devotion to... him." A pause; then, sadly, gaze downcast: "The betrothed I had tricked and lied to."
"I... am not so angry as I was." He was a man now; he must not cry.
Her lovely eyes lifted again to Jabari's face. "I'm glad to hear it. And so... my dream hasn't changed."
In confusion, he cried, "What do you want from me, if not your manhood? If it's in my power, I'll grant it, I swear!"
"The harem will have a kinder Master, now. One I've already loved." Limpid eyes stared into his. "You'll make a fine Sultan, but it will be a life's work. I want to spend my life making up for my mistakes." A dainty hand upon his forearm. "Let me be your delight. Your respite, your joy and ease at the end of each day." Anxiety blended with the faintest of hope, a whispered plea: "If you'll have me."
Again with his zubb! The wretched thing seemed to have a will of its own.
He covered his bewilderment with action. "It'll be done as you ask. I'll free the genie. Right now!" He withdrew the lamp from his robes, went to rub it and summon the genie.
But Alana, a sultry look in her eyes, stilled the motion with a gentle hand. "He's waited thousands of years. Surely he can wait one final night..."
Jabari stared, taken aback. She took the lamp from his suddenly uncertain grip, and set it on a small table. He realized that in any hands but hers, the lamp posed a dire threat. I truly do have to free the genie. So long as he's enslaved, he could bring me to ruin. Just like I did to Jafar...
Alana had turned to him. "Master?" she said. "May I use my mouth to please you?"
His mind was thrown back to that fateful night. She had used just those words in her first submission to the vizier.
"You don't have to demean yourself anymore," he told her, stepping back, bumping into a couch. It took effort; she was very beautiful... but he had to do what was right.
She approached. She was kneeling before him anyway. "I choose this. Nothing done in love, that harms no one, can be demeaning."
"How can you still love me, after all I've done to you?" She had reached for his trousers. He tried to push her back.
Yet she batted his hands away easily. His supernatural might seemed to have fled. Drained into his zubb, stiff as iron. It looked like a tent at his crotch, the cloth pulled tight.
"I loved you from the moment I met you in the market." The drawstring about his waist was coming undone by her clever fingers. Her voice was sweet and soothing. Its feminine warmth stirred something deep within him. "You were kind and clever, brave and beautiful."
Jabari shook his head, weakly. "I've been none of those things, since that day." He looked down at the top of her head, shamed. "I've been small and spiteful and stupid."
Alana was entirely serene as she pulled down his trousers. The silk sliding over the tip of his zubb almost made him shiver. "You were kind to an elephant, even if it made your betrayer happy. Then you forgave that street rat, who'd lied to you to steal your heart. You offered to trade a genie's wish for his sake!" A nod, firm despite its gentleness. "You are still kind."
Her hands were doing something he at first did not understand. The muddled impressions suddenly resolved - those were his balls she cupped! "You challenged and outwitted the vizier. You fought off the spell of his staff, as I could not." A pause, then more softly, "You beat the man who defeated me." A whisper. "The man I surrendered to."
She continued to tickle his scrotum with one hand, a confusing but not unpleasant sensation. The fingers of her other hand slid along the shaft of his zubb. Now he did shiver. "You are still brave and clever."
She looked up from his manhood. Nothing but love could be seen in her eyes. Except perhaps a trace of amusement. "I am a woman now. When I say you are the most handsome man in the world, I know what I'm talking about." Her eyes returned to where her hands worked. "You are still beautiful. More beautiful than ever."
She did not have to lean forward very far. She took him into her mouth. Jabari inhaled sharply. In some ways, it felt similar to what the princess had felt, when her zambur was being licked. Yet, it was profoundly different in other ways, disorienting. He was surrounded, as if he'd been turned inside out, drawn into Alana's mouth. Everything focused on her smooth slippery ministrations.
The confusion didn't go away, but the pleasure mounted apace.
Alana worked passionately, using everything she'd learned, heard of, or even imagined about fellatio. It was important - it was crucial - that she please this man. And, very soon - sooner than Jafar had ever lasted - she drank his semen. It could not be said to be sweet. But she enjoyed it very much. It tasted cleaner, somehow, than the vizier's. A harem slave exults in pleasing her master. True words, indeed - especially this Master.
Jabari sagged onto the divan. Leaned back on one elbow. This, too, was strange and different. Now that the storm had passed, it had passed entirely. After Jasmine had found release, some excitement had remained, even after a great earthquake of a climax. He instead felt a wave of weakness and langour; as if he had truly emptied himself completely, down her throat.
So he watched almost in a torpor, as Alana stood. Her smile was bright and happy, lightening his heart. She was not tired. "May I dance for you, Master?"
He waved the question away. "Do as you like. I don't wish to own you. You should be free."
With a saucy, raffish grin, she said, "I will change your mind, Master." She glided away from the bed, to the center of the room. She raised her arms, and stood still for a few moments. Then, she began to move.
Jabari's eyebrows raised. This was not a dance Jasmine had taught her! She remained in one place, barely moving across the floor. Her torso twisted, shoulders moving one way, hips moving another. Her upper body froze, yet her hips wobbled with scarcely a tremor of her chest or arms.
He sat up. "When did you learn that?"
She smiled wickedly. "Does it please you, Master?" Suddenly her hips stilled, knees slightly bent. Her chest and shoulders now moved in a percussive pattern, breasts jiggling, though her lower body hardly budged.
"Very much." It was truly fascinating to watch.
Just a touch breathless from the effort, Alana spoke, still dancing in that curious style. "Rubiya was friends with the Almeh of Egypt as a child, before she was sold to the Sultan's palace." An eye-opening twitch of her hips. "She taught me some of their moves." She turned, hips undulating like waves in water. Suddenly she twirled away and dropped the skirt to the floor. Naught but a thin strip of silk covered her rump now. That rump rocked back and forth, forward and back, as her arms swept about leisurely, and her head leaned back, causing her dangling hair to gently sway.
That pert bottom seemed to speak directly to his zubb, inviting and inspiring. The lassitude was fading with haste, replaced by animation and interest.
Though her behind kept up its amazing display, Alana turned her head, gazing over her shoulder. "I had intended to surprise you. To upset you. To entrance Jafar some night when you didn't expect it." A seductive smile. "This is so much better," she said as her eyes traveled to his zubb, already climbing into the air afresh.
She danced until Jabari could stand it no more. He rose and stalked forward, gathering her up in his arms, pressing his zubb against that tempting rear. Alana squealed and gasped, but did not stop smiling.
He could not help himself. He toted her to a table and bent her across it. He tore the silk of her panties with his magical strength - first one side of her hip, then the other. He threw the cloth away, carelessly. He clasped her hips with one hand, and felt for her kus with the other. There!
It was as if his zubb had taken control. Turgid, insistent, urgent. He felt the tip find that moistened receptacle, and had to restrain himself from pushing forward too hard. He felt a deep, almost instinctive need to bury himself in her. At last he was in. It was phenomenal; incomprehensibly satisfying and yet inflaming his desire at the same time.
"Oh, Master!" Alana moaned. He began to pull out, only so he could push in again. "Yes, yes, yes... please, Master, take me!"
To be called 'Mistress' had been intoxicating. To be called 'Master' was... fulfilling. He was pumping now, over and over, not sure when he had started. It didn't matter. He had to be inside her. There was simply no choice. The free girl, who insisted on playing the slave, whimpered, "Yes... Oh, Master, yes..."
He knew something of what she felt. Especially in the past few days, Jasmine's kus had received much attention. Yet, her maidenhead had been jealously guarded, as suited the virginity of a princess. Naught but the slenderest finger had ever sneaked into her passage. How might it have felt to be used as the scabbard for such a proud sword as he now brandished?
Alana seemed to find it most thrilling, judging by her moaning cries - now wordless, impassioned. Whatever she feels, how could it possibly compare to my own pleasure? Tight but yielding, warm and wet... truly these parts were made to fit together!
The girl shrieked, a cry betokening sensation beyond pleasure or pain. As her back arched, he felt his climax materialize. A complete unleashing, as though a second heart in his loins was pumping out his lifeblood. A release of an intensity he could scarcely compass.
He was not sure how long it was before he became aware of anything beyond sensation. The slave girl had slumped onto the table, panting, exhausted. He was still inside her, a last twitch of his manhood expelling just a trace more. His lungs were like bellows, filling and expelling by themselves.
From that unnatural wellspring the genie had bestowed, vitality flowed into him. Sooner than he would have imagined possible, he could stand straight, withdraw his softening zubb from within Alana's kus. She began to slide back off the table, her legs unsteady; he caught her, and lifted her up.
He cradled her in his arms like a child, and carried her to the bed. He laid her gently on the silks, then stood up and examined her. She panted, lips parted, pearly teeth and that agile tongue just visible within. Her hair spread like a halo about her head. Her strangely fascinating bosom gently heaving as she breathed deeply. Her waist turned slightly, hips rising and falling into her graceful legs. A shadow at her groin, where the hair was visible.
Jasmine had thought her beautiful, before. She had appreciated Alana's form, and taken sensual pleasure from forcing womanly submission upon it. And yet... as the princess had grown into womanhood, she had felt the stirrings of interest and curiosity about the bodies of men; those of women had not held such intrigue. Not even Alana's body, really - not that way. It had aroused for what it was not anymore, rather than what it was in itself.
But now, Jabari regarded a female form with male eyes. Princess Jasmine had felt those gazes upon her, all her days; she had found them amusing at best, annoying at worst. In this moment he truly understood what they had been seeing. He found it profoundly amazing, arresting. It was as if he had never really caught sight of a girl before. Everything about her was riveting, alluring, exotic and fascinating and tempting. A greedy possessiveness rose in him; he wanted her exclusively, entirely. Every bit of her to himself.
Jasmine had forced pleasure upon Alana - to diminish her, to punish her, to enslave her, to humiliate her. Jabari would give her pleasure, offer it. Simply because she deserved to feel good.
She who had been a poor commoner, a boy whose heart was bigger than his station. A boy who would come across a genie, and wish to be at the level of his love. A boy who had lied - because he had believed he knew what a princess would want. That unworthy princess who never gave him a chance to explain, never even asked about his true feelings, just viciously reached in and turned his whole being inside out.
Then, transformed into a girl who had despaired of ever knowing love again, who had accepted utter defeat - and still worked what little she could for the good of others. Who had accepted an alien, sorrowful new life yet retained a spark of soul. A girl who somehow, impossibly, could forgive the unforgivable. Who would embrace a lifetime of slavery for herself, if she could free her friend from it instead.
Jabari would offer that girl... everything. Because... because he loved that girl. He needed her. This beautiful, precious, perfect diamond...
He got onto the bed, gently turned her hips, spread her legs. He looked at her kus; for all that he had sported one until this very day, it seemed unfamiliar and foreign. Yet not distasteful - no, never that.
Except... a bit of milky fluid oozed from those lips. His own emission, he realized. The idea of tasting it was... admittedly a trifle offputting. Fortunately, that posed no obstacle to his intent. He was a great sorcerer now. A wave of a finger, a tiny spell, dissolved the remnants into nothing. Leaving her clean, unsullied. He suckled her kus greedily, then.
She puffed, and let out a groan. It was slippery and musky and unlike anything he had encountered before. But it had a strange allure all its own, and the little hitches of her breath were encouragement indeed. He pressed further, moved closer.
His zubb was stretching out again, pressed onto the silks as he labored with his tongue and lips. The smell was earthy and animal, awakening some fundamental, essential yen within him. His resolve to offer pleasure, and not compel it, was crumbling; he wanted to hear her wail in ecstasy again. He needed it. It was compulsion of her, domination of her, yes - and yet, it somehow impressed him as a purer, healthier impulse than Jasmine had experienced. He drove on, implacable.
Her hips bucked, and she screamed. Her hands clutched his hair, her nails dug into his scalp painfully - but he was smiling triumphantly through it all, even as he ceaselessly tormented her tender flesh with his mouth.
Eventually, she fell back, slack and enervated. Jabari desisted, and rose to his knees. Filled with a pride such as he had seldom experienced in his life. Truly, finally, he felt like a man.
And almost instantly, he was overflowing with anxiety. Alana was weeping.
"What's wrong?" he exclaimed, reaching out hesitantly, suddenly afraid to touch her.
"Nothing is wrong, Master," she whispered, even though tears leaked down her cheeks into her hair. "I'm happy." Her hand lifted, weakly, taking hold of his hovering one. "I'm so happy."
Dumbfounded, Jabari hesitated for a few seconds. Then he leaned forward, and kissed her. He started gently, but Alana kissed back, more and more intensely. Suddenly he felt her hips rubbing his belly... and his zubb. He pulled his head back, just a few inches - their faces close, as he shook his head slightly in wonder.
"Again?" he murmured. "Truly?"
Her grin was shameless. She continued to wriggle against him, pressed against that staff. A staff at least as magical as the snake scepter leaning on a nearby dresser. "I can feel it will be no hardship for you, Master."
It was the work of moments to reposition himself. Entering her again was... at least as keen a sensation as the last time. Again, the rising intensity, the impulse for greater and greater penetration...
Alana had come to greatly desire submission.
Now she writhed under a Master she could surrender to utterly. Giving not simply body and mind, but heart and spirit as well. Loving submission, she discovered, brought more than pleasure to the flesh. It brought joy to the soul. She saw his pleasure, his ardor, his intensity. She felt him inside her, assertive, grasping, conquering - but somehow giving, supplicating as well.
Once, she had imagined she had surrendered to Jafar. It was astonishing how much of herself she had actually held in reserve. Made clear by her gift of herself now. She was Jabari's - gladly, completely, and forevermore. "Master! Oh Master I love you I ahh ahh ahhn ahhn aaaiiieee!"
They played for a timeless time. Jabari was astonished anew at his boundless potency. Jafar had wished greedily indeed. A particularly intense exertion shook not just the bed, but the dresser next to it. The serpent staff fell and clacked on the floor.
Alana was on top of him, panting, a light sheen of sweat making her glisten like some enchanted houris. Her eyes brightened as she regarded the scepter. "Oh, the games we'll play with that, someday!"
Jabari frowned and shook his head. "Your mind has been toyed with too much already. Both our minds." Gently, "I find you perfect as you are..."
The slave giggled. "I'm not sad about where the staff has brought me!" At Jabari's dubious expression, she giggled again. "I said games, Master, not assaults."
He looked embarrassed. Gruffly: "You need not call me Master..."
Again, a slave interrupted a prince. "If I am free, as you say, then I am free to call you Master." An impudent smirk. "Master."
Jabari pursed his lips, but could not gainsay that. He rolled his eyes. "What games?" he asked, with a highly doubtful mein.
Alana's mein was highly wicked. "Just imagine! Aladdin discovers his beloved Jasmine is now Jabari... yet finds himself still attracted to the prince. Realizing a strange new urge to become Jabari's catamite." A giggle. "Picture his confusion!"
Jabari shook his head in amazement. "You want to put yourself through such distress?"
"It'd only be a game, a dream." Her smile became puckish. "And I'm sure you'd teach him well, and use him as gently as me, no?" She tossed her head, moving a strand of hair from before her face. "Let him wear the false zubb, and think it's his own. He could even return the favor..."
The images Alana was painting had an undeniable appeal. Even if he had become male, he retained a certain fondness for Aladdin's handsome form. And he definitely still enjoyed the thought of gentling and humbling men. With his sorcery, Jabari could make many cunning illusions. That lunatic fantasy of the night before - truly only a night before? A Jasmine bearing a zubb entering an Aladdin possessed of a kus... he could make it seem real.
Of its own will, he felt his manhood twitch, trying to rouse anew.
"Aha!" the girl crowed. "You're a man now! You can't hide those feelings anymore!" She brought her face closer, licking her lips. "I could... but have no desire to."
She took the princely zubb in her smiling mouth, and began to work. Presently, her labors met with rousing success... in many senses. Merciful fate, could that thing be exhausted?
In the deep of night, they lay entwined on the silken bed. Her head nestled at his shoulder. She appeared as content as a kitten after a bowlful of milk.
A dark shadow passed briefly across her face, however. "What'll happen to... the vizier?"
Jabari sensed a suppressed 'Master' in her hesitation, the product of habit. "For his crimes, his treason, I'll have his head."
Alana shifted, thoughtful. "Seems a shame to waste his final wish," she mused.
The prince tensed, inhaling sharply. "That's a chance I will never take! I can't even imagine what that snake might wish for if he got hold of the lamp again!"
The slave girl was untroubled. "You can convince a man to wish for the most amazing and contrary things," she said archly as she shifted, displaying her bosom. It was surprisingly distracting to his new male eyes. "If he's convinced it will get him his heart's desire."
It could have been an accusation... but Jabari, despite a flicker of guilt, sensed no malice. She seemed entirely at peace.
For a moment, he pondered, though with no great enthusiasm. "What's closest to that monster's heart?" he muttered to himself.
He had not actually sought an answer from her, but Alana spoke at once: "Ambition. And treachery."
He squinted - then confidently asserted, "You have a plan." A girl who could bring such pleasures... and retained the wit to give advice? How... interesting.
Her eyes lowered, the very image of diffident female servitude. "I am but a humble slave. How should I come up with a plan?"
"Speak, or be punished, slave!" But his tone was light as he casually slapped a rounded buttock. It jiggled in charming fashion.
Her nipples had crinkled. "May I speak and be punished, Master?" she asked, eyes still demurely downcast... but her smile could not be hidden.
For his part, he could not help a brief laugh. "If you earn it!"
Her hand had crept to his zubb somehow... and it was rising again, magically indefatigable. She spoke innocently enough - belying her wicked, stroking fingers. "It's not even my plan. Jafar can't complain - he showed the way himself."
Jafar sat against the cell wall, dejected and frustrated beyond endurance. The manacles itched, and the window - magically shrunk to a bare handspan - let in too little air or light. The fallen vizier's mind whirled in furious circles, trying vainly to come up with some scheme, some scrap of a plan. He did not even hope for any kind of victory by now. He merely sought to escape before the new 'prince' turned his attention back toward his former vizier.
"Pass me some water." The light dimmed even further. Someone had paused outside the window. "It is another thirsty day."
"There is much to do," another voice replied.
The first voice smacked his lips after a pause, evidently slaking his thirst before replying. "Too much! It is to be not merely a princely wedding, but an abdication and coronation, too! All in the same day!"
Jafar was envious - he was quite thirsty. The second voice replied, "The prince asks much."
The first voice sighed. "At least he provides much! Arranging such a feast should take weeks to prepare. But he revealed a hidden storeroom - food from distant lands, banners and decorations."
A pregnant pause. Then, the second voice: "No one knew of that storeroom before yesterday."
Another pause. Then, another sigh from the first voice. "Sorcery, yes. A small thing, given that we now have a prince instead of a princess."
"What is to be done?"
"To be done?" A resigned laugh. "Our work is to be done!" Then, musing. "I do not think he will be a bad ruler. And if a Sultan be also a mighty wizard, I would prefer he be on the side of Agrabah, rather than some invader."
The light brightened. Jafar could not make out what was said as the workmen walked away.
Reflecting on the overheard conversation brought two surprises. The first surprise was great. He means to marry that slut? he thought. That will not satisfy the surrounding principalities! Only marrying a princess would quell their ambition. He smiled, bitter. Marrying a courtesan is guaranteed to be taken as an insult.
The other surprise was mild. He would have expected an execution, too, to round out the day's ceremonies. Apparently 'Jabari' had no rush to dispose of 'his' former betrothed.
In truth, Jafar realized he posed little enough threat to the ascendant princess, thanks to the power the genie had bestowed up on her. Power stolen from me! That was a bleak thought. He drew what comfort there was in the prospect of Agrabah ravaged by war.
The two workmen rounded a corner, and bowed ingratiatingly. "Your highness," one said, "was that satisfactory?"
Jabari smiled at him. "Quite satisfactory. You will find your wages more than satisfactory, I hope."
The men smiled just as ingratiatingly. "A thousand thanks, your highness!" they said as they backed away. Yet, they could not keep their eyes entirely on the prince. His companion was very hard to ignore. Such a wench!
Alana bowed her head, to all appearances shy and demure. Only the sand saw the grin she allowed herself. I adore being pretty and alluring, she thought, no longer caring if the notion came from herself or the staff. It was true either way.
"I still think we're taking too big a risk," Jabari mused.
Alana, displaying a confidence quite unusual in a harem slave, merely shrugged. "We'll make him so angry and desperate he can't think straight. Let him marinate in rage and despair for a full day." Her smile, though beautiful as ever, was impish. "He will become a fertile field for the seeds planted with your staff." She nodded at the snake scepter in the prince's hand... but her eyes roamed elsewhere.
Despite his misgivings, the prince had to chuckle. "That's the hope, anyway." The two walked off, arm in arm, to inspect the preparations for the triple gala.
"You desire to be Sultan." The staff in Alana's hand held the prisoner's eyes raptly.
"I desire to be Sultan," Jafar agreed. Fire and ambition burned even behind the glazed expression on the fallen vizier's face.
"You need to marry into the royal family to become Sultan," Alana said. Jafar would never have accepted suggestions from Jabari; his hate and rage were incandescent. But he would not perceive the same threat from a contemptible slave girl.
"I need to marry into the royal family to become Sultan." There was another way, wasn't there? He couldn't remember...
"You need to marry into the royal family."
"I need to marry into the royal family." Years of planning reminded him of that truth.
"Again."
"I need to marry into the royal family." No hesitation.
"Again." She spoke with unaccustomed firmness and command, finding it remarkably easy to steel herself against submission to this man. She had a better Master now, and gladly served his will instead.
"I need to marry into the royal family." Complete certainty.
"You will do anything to marry into the royal family."
"I will do anything to marry into the royal family." That, too, had been true for years. Jafar had never lacked determination.
"To accomplish your goals, you will dare whatever is necessary."
"To accomplish my goals, I will dare whatever is necessary." The central truth of his life. Not even a suggestion, simply a reminder.
A pause, then: "What do you need to do?"
"I need to marry into the royal family."
Alana purred, "But now the princess is a prince."
"A prince..." Despairing.
"He thinks he has outwitted you."
"Outwitted? Never!" A snarl. Furious. He very nearly struggled free of the serpent's gaze then. No one made a fool of Jafar!
The slave girl spoke quickly and soothingly, calming the storm just enough - while redirecting it. "But there's still hope."
"Still hope?" Confusion... and a hint of desperation.
"Yes, there is still a way to outmaneuver him! One he will never expect." Gentle reassurance in a warm, comforting tone. Even more soothing from a lovely girl's voice.
"But how?" Jafar's thoughts, dulled by the trance, spun fruitlessly.
"You can still marry into the royal family." Alana smiled. She could not know it, but it resembled the vengeful smile Jasmine had worn, days ago.
"I need to marry into the royal family." Jafar knew that was his true goal. He would do anything to marry into the royal family!
"There is just one way. You can defeat him utterly."
"Defeat him," Jafar murmured in anticipation. "But how?"
"A clever trick."
"A clever trick." Jafar prided himself on cleverness. Anticipation and ambition rode him as he desperately waited for the plan that would solve his problems at a stroke...
"First, you must get hold of the lamp..."
Jafar came back to himself. What had he been thinking? So strangely fuzzy... the last thing he remembered was... was the little slut entering his cell at dawn, and... the serpent's gaze!
The false 'prince' - even more false than 'Prince Ali' had ever been, a quim in disguise - stood before him. Handsome and virile, by the genie's stolen magic. The staff nowhere to be seen... but he knew it had been here moments before.
You dare to try to bewitch me? he thought in fury that bordered on frenzy.
Even the wily street rat had succumbed to the influence of those jeweled eyes... but Jafar was made of stronger stuff than other men. He had only to hold onto his wits. There was no doubt that he possessed the will and cunning to resist its power - especially when he knew to guard against it.
"I should thank you. I would not have thought to seize this chance, without your nightly teachings." The sorcerer prince, lips curving up in amusement, waved a hand. Steel manacles fell from the prisoner's wrists.
Jafar was free - but he forbore from attacking. He well remembered the incredible strength and wizardly might that this 'young man' before him now wielded. Strength and might that will be mine again, somehow! Stall, stall...
If only he could get hold of the lamp! He had one wish left. He felt certain there was some way (a clever trick) to turn this predicament about, if only...
The prince reached into his robe, and pulled something out. Jafar's eyes became fixed on the prince's hand. A hand that held the lamp. It was the center of his world now.
The 'prince' spoke with authority. Unearned authority, Jafar thought bitterly. "I will grant you mercy... if you make the wish I want upon this lamp."
Jafar's thoughts were full of malevolent calculation. You proved the unwisdom of letting others wish on your behalf. But you did not learn from your own example. I shall teach you. "Agreed."
The prince's fingers spread, relinquishing their grip. Jafar clutched the lamp to himself, trying not to smile. He rubbed the sides, and the genie appeared.
The djinn saw who was holding the lamp. "Whoa, hey, this doesn't seem like the best idea, you know?"
"Shut your mouth, fool of an ifrit!" Jafar shouted, at once. The genie's lips pursed, but he continued to expostulate toward Jabari. "Mmmm mmmm mmm mmm mmmmm!"
The vizier thought quickly. What should he wish for?
"You were about to wish good fortune and prosperity upon Agrabah, weren't you?" The prince had the full measure of temerity and imperiousness the princess had possessed. Jafar's blood boiled. You cannot control me! No one can, even with the serpent staff! I shall serve myself, as always!
The schemer saw that the genie had created some kind of banner, reading, "GET THE LAMP! DON'T LET HIM SAY ANYTHING!" Already the 'prince' frowned, suspicion growing. Bare seconds - if that - remained before this last chance would be plucked away. Swiftly, swiftly! How best to...
The idea sprang into his head, fully formed and perfect. He would still be able to marry into the royal family! And the prince would never expect it! He would be completely outplayed! Bold steps, as always!
Laughing, triumphant: "I wish to become a beautiful young princess, betrothed to the prince of Agrabah!"
The genie's jaw dropped, and bounced once or twice off the floor. Then, inexplicably, he smiled. Magic shot from his extended finger, swirling around and into Jafar's body.
For a moment, pure exultation. He had finally defeated that arrogant pretender! Then: Wait. What did I just...
Bones shrank and shifted, muscles dissolved. The hairs on his face were being sucked inward... even as the stubble on his skull was leaping outward. At his groin, it felt as if his zubb was climbing into his body, like a tortoise pulling into its shell. There was no pain, but that did not reduce his dread and panic one whit.
The changes to his body finished, and his sagging robes began to wriggle and transform. Pulling in tight - around the chest and hips in particular. A dress with a high, stiff, red-lined collar, open in the front. The opening continued to a very low-cut bodice. Pointed shoulders; loose, flowing, gauzy red sleeves emerged from them, and bunched at the wrist. A skirt hugged closely down to the knees, then puffed outward. Bright red slippers. The dress was black at the top and bottom, shading gradually to red, where a sash with a floral texture clinched tight at the waist.
The elaborate headdress had become a small rounded cap, atop flowing midnight-black hair. The cap, at least, was still black. It still sported a ruby at the forehead - but a bright red feather stuck up from the gem as an accent.
The whole transformation had taken mere seconds, though Jafar felt every moment intensely. The aftermath was overwhelming. Those hands holding the lamp - thin, delicate fingers. The swellings on that chest, the cleavage revealed by the alien clothing. A wordless, high-pitched moan of terror was coming from somewhere. It halted at the realization of exactly whose throat and mouth it emerged from.
The djinn was now seated at a table as if he were eating outdoors in the bazaar - whistling at Jafar like a man catcalling a passing girl. "Ooh, I like it! Such an 'evil stepdaughter' vibe going on, very 'young Grimhilde'!" He spoke the infuriating words in an unrecognizable accent.
Jabari's laughter, rich and deep, trailed off. "I think I'll call you Jelveh." ('Loveliness'.) He waved a hand and an ornate mirror appeared, letting the new girl see herself. "You must agree, it suits you well."
'Jelveh' stared into it, uncomprehending. "No! Noooooo! This cannot be!" The outfit denied the words, outlining and emphasizing a shapely - and entirely feminine - form.
"You should be happy," Jabari said, laughing. "You have saved me a great search, and endless plans and scheming. And then a forced alliance at the end of it." A smile. "You've saved an entire region from war." He chuckled once more. "You even rescued some other girl from a loveless marriage. So much good, all from a single wish!"
"You tricked me!" Disbelief and rage dripped from the words. Jelveh was still trembling in shock.
Jabari scoffed. "Oh, no, it wasn't me! The web that caught you was spun by someone else."
Alana stepped through the door, awkwardly carrying the serpent staff; it was not much shorter than she was. Her attire, though flattering, was revealing enough to make her station as a courtesan unmistakable. A monkey perched on her shoulder, glaring at the new princess with undisguised menace.
Jelveh bellowed, and leapt for Alana. "I will flay the skin from you while you still live!" But red magical streams surrounded the fresh girl, and yanked her back to the cell wall. The manacles writhed like cobras, striking her wrists and binding them again. Jabari lowered his hands.
The captive princess turned to the princely wizard, straining against her shackles. Manic hatred twisted her lovely features. "You! I shall cut the heart from your chest! You will..."
Barely a flicker of an eyebrow, the merest hint of Jabari's magical power, and 'Jelveh' fell mute. Her mouth moved soundlessly. Fury filled her eyes - but that gave way quickly to fear. "You're speechless, I see. A fine quality in a wife," Jabari purred. Those were words Jafar had spoken in the past to a guard. He had not known Jasmine had been about, to hear.
Though she clutched it with all her might, the prince yanked the lamp from Jelveh's hand effortlessly. He looked to the genie, who said, "So, Jasmine. Looking good, if I say so myself."
"It's Jabari now," the prince noted.
"Jabari, eh? Suits you." Suddenly the three humans were lined up in a darkened room, seated at a long counter. Behind it stood the genie in yet another outlandish outfit. Behind him were shelves stuffed with colorful bottles. "Maybe we can head to the bar after this, jabber a bit, buy some drinks for the ladies?" He was handing a large glass cup full of fruit and brown liquid, with a little umbrella on top, to Jelveh.
Face curdled in fury, she picked up the glass and threw it at the genie. But the entire vision faded before it could land.
"Actually, I think there's a debt that needs to be paid." Jabari's smile was subdued, but genuine just the same.
The genie looked to Alana. "Yeah, I still feel bad about that. Let's fix this kid up!" He began to inflate, puffed up with magic. Sparks glittered about his hands.
Jabari spoke firmly, a princely declaration. "Genie... I wish for your freedom!"
"Here comes our boy Aladdin! Straight from..." The djinn froze. So quietly it was nearly a whisper, he said, "Wait. What?"
He stared at Jabari, and then a smiling Alana, utterly stunned. The lamp began to glow, and this time the whirlwind of magic enveloped the genie. Suddenly the manacles on his wrists snapped open, and vanished. The lamp fell to the ground with a dull clank.
Jelveh would have wailed, if only she could. No more wishes... no chance to escape this horrible fate...
The genie stared at his wrists for a moment. "I'm free," he whispered. "I'm free," he said, picking up the lamp. Urgently, he handed it back to Jabari. "Quick, wish for something ridiculous. Wish for the moon! Say 'I wish for the moon'!"
Jabari, dubiously: "I wish for the moon."
"Not a chance, sucker!" the ifrit shouted, and laughed hysterically. "Wow, did that feel good!" He was catapulting about the cell, casting glowing light everywhere as he literally bounced off the walls.
Suddenly, he came to a halt, looking at Alana. "Oh... Al, I'm sorry. I..."
"Everything's fine. It's all right," Alana said, still smiling joyfully. "I'm just sorry it took a while to keep my promise."
The genie's expression was so skeptical that one eyebrow lifted up off his head, attached to nothing. He glanced at Jabari, who confirmed, "It was her idea. Her choice." He took Alana's hand and they smiled at each other.
The genie was nodding, a sly smirk on his face. "You know, I had a feeling right from the start about you two crazy lovebirds. But I didn't know it would be that kind of love story! I figured even PG-13 was a stretch!" Three large X's floated about Genie's head.
Genie made many bizarre comments; his phantasmagorical transformations were often incomprehensible. Yet they understood enough. Alana blushed most fetchingly, and the silks enclosing her bosom gained two new puckers.
The djinn came close to Alana, who took him up in a hug. "I'm going to miss you, Genie," she said, tears sliding down her cheeks.
"I'll miss you too, Al," Genie's voice was gentle, on the verge of tears. "Been a heck of a week, huh?"
"Yes, it has," Alana agreed with a ragged giggle.
The genie circled to clutch Jabari's hand, shaking it vigorously. "You take good care of this little lady. You won't find another like her in a million years!"
The prince nodded seriously. "I'll treat Alana well. Like the most precious diamond. She'll be happy in my harem, I swear it!" A sidelong glance at the former usurper. "Even Jelveh may find some pleasure, in time."
Genie grinned so widely it went out past his shoulders. "You two have fun with that. I'm gonna see the world!" Suddenly his arms pulled everyone together, even a squalling Abu. "Group hug! Hey, baby, give me some sugar, huh?" He gave Jelveh a very forward, moist kiss, then turned away coughing. "Yikes, morning breath!" Jelveh could not speak, but her face declared everything about her disgust and horror and fury.
Another dizzying transition, and the genie was clad in a singularly ugly multicolored shirt. "Well, I can't do any more damage around this popsicle stand. I'm outta here!" He swirled through the tiny window of the cell, shooting off into the sky, exclaiming joyously until he was lost to distance.
Jabari and Alana looked in each other's eyes, radiating love and happiness. Jabari pulled her close and they kissed chastely. Or at least, as chastely as a young couple in delirious love can. One more moment facing each other... then they turned to regard Jelveh. Their smiles lost not a whit of happiness... but gained significantly more menace.
Jelveh quailed inside, but refused to flinch. A wave of the prince's hand restored her voice - unleashing a torrent of abuse. "Foul dog! Unclean pig! I shall destroy you, though it take to the end of my days!"
Jabari was unfazed. "Why, Jelveh! That's no way to speak to your intended! Especially on the eve of your wedding!"
Jelveh's horror could grow no larger. But it took on an even darker hue. The wedding tomorrow - he planned it for me all along! He has intended for days that I become his war-warding princess bride...
"My magic is powerful," - the prince chuckled - "as I'm sure you remember. An elephant to a monkey is no trouble." He nodded at the furry beast on the shoulder of the slave girl as he stalked toward the new princess. She tried to back away, only to fetch up against the cell wall. "But not as powerful as the genie's. I couldn't give you a kus as he did." Jelveh made an outraged yelp as his hand prodded that new kus through her skirts. She hit him... and he barely noticed the blow.
A terrifying smile. "Fertility, though... that I can guarantee. With me as sire, our sons will be strong and brave. With you as dam, our daughters will surely be great beauties."
Jelveh snarled. "Never! Bring your counterfeit zubb near me and I shall pluck it off and stuff it down your throat!"
Alana's loving, worshipful smile toward the prince was frightful to behold, under the circumstances. The slave spoke gently: "My Master's staff is true and genuine. You will come to treasure it above gold, as I do." The smile she gave to Jelveh was much more wicked. "We'll teach you together. As you once taught me..."
"I shall never submit as you did, whore!" Jelveh heard the note of hysteria in her voice, spoiling the protest.
A mocking, singsong tone had crept into the prince's voice. "How shrill and unbecoming you can be! A sultry beauty like yourself ought be demure, seductive, a sensual delight for all to see. Eager to serve her husband."
The new princess shivered, recognizing more sharp words that the vizier had spoken to Jasmine in years past.
The prince took one step back, eyeing Jelveh up and down. With a puff of smoke, the snake staff appeared in his hand. "You wished to be a princess. And you know how a princess should think and act. You lectured me about it again and again." A hard stare. "All I need to do is... remind you."
Jabari felt a definite relish. Perhaps I do enjoy humiliating and emasculating men rather too much. But I could scarcely find a more deserving outlet for my tastes...
Jelveh saw the delectation in the prince's eyes, recognizing the twin of the princess's ardor for domination. Her fear rose to a towering peak; there was time for an instant of utter, wrenching despair. They have already proven skilled in applying the staff... and they shall have all the time they need to batter down and reshape my will as they please... I shall be made docile, tractable...
Then all concern melted away as the serpent's eyes captured her attention. So pretty...
End
I've finished preparing the next set of doses and carefully stored them away. I still should have at least another few hours. Just enough time to finish composing this and hide it somewhere out-of-the-way. But where to begin?
At the beginning, I suppose.
~~~~~
"...that truth, by whose partial discovery I have been doomed to such a dreadful shipwreck..."
It was the end of the day, and I was examining some bedroom furniture I'd recently obtained at an estate sale. I ran an antique dealership on the outskirts of Boston that was, if I may say so, upscale and well-respected among a more refined clientele. The bed, wardrobe, bureau, and so forth had been indifferently cared for but I felt that with some restoration work I could turn a good profit on them. Late 19th-century sets such as this one were a bit in fashion in certain circles.
My first hint of something strange was when I started to remove the drawers from the bureau. The final one, on the bottom left, refused to come out completely. It appeared to be stuck on something inside the frame. I bent low and examined it carefully; I certainly had no intention of damaging it. To my surprise, I realized there was a hidden catch preventing it from coming loose. I'd seen this before, in other furniture of the period - I had stumbled upon a secret compartment.
Cautiously I disengaged the catch and removed the drawer from its slot. There was indeed a hollow concealed beneath. I carefully extracted the contents, puzzling a bit at their curious nature. Two small, thick, stoppered bottles came out first. The larger vial contained a residue of a very dark, reddish, viscous substance. The smaller one was almost empty, holding just a few grains of some white crystal. Beneath them, perhaps a dozen pages of handwritten notes, yellowed with age. Nothing else.
I skimmed the pages quickly, my excitement mounting. At first I thought it was a portion of Stevenson's 'Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde', and a handwritten copy could be worth a good deal. But slowly I realized it was something different, and much stranger. It was old, clearly. But it wasn't Stevenson's work... at least, not as published.
It was the confession of one 'Dougal Tawesson', and mostly it followed 'Jekyll's' from the story. Large chunks were identical. (A pure liberal arts education isn't worth much outside of academia, but at least I knew literature.) Key details were different, though. It took place in Edinburgh, not London. Instead of murdering a prominent citizen, his alternate form had killed a prostitute who'd refused him 'service'. But, like in the original (Or was it original? I had begun to doubt...) there had been a witness to the crime. And so on.
Whatever I'd found, I had an unaccountable hunch that it was important. I looked to the stoppered bottles in the drawer. Perhaps it was a set of props for one of the plays based on the story? It was old enough to be an early production - still worth some money to the proper collector.
Or, far more valuable - might this be an early draft of the story? That could be very lucrative, and buy some useful publicity besides. Then there was the dim, scarcely-possible chance that I had found an earlier work, something Stevenson had based his story upon. The papers could easily be that old... and if that were the case, they would be nearly priceless.
It's ridiculous now, looking back. Even my craziest, most half-baked imaginings fell so far short of what I actually had in my hands. I didn't even begin to suspect what I now know to be the truth until later that night. I decided to leave the set for the morning. I bundled up my finds, locked up the store, and drove home.
My house was a sizeable cottage in the older part of the city. Somewhat expensive, but my business brought in a respectable income and I had no one but myself to spend it on. I'd restored much of it to its original condition, with a few discreet updates. The electrical system had needed the most modernization, I remembered as I sat in front of my computer, skimming sites and Googling details.
The first thing I did was find a copy of the original story online and compare it with my find. As I'd thought, it was mostly identical. Only the names and a few circumstances and details were different. Next I began to research those circumstances.
There really had been a Tawesson, and he'd been killed by one of his servants, who had then killed himself. He'd been a learned doctor, at least later in life, and while the fit was not exact there were other parallels between him and the fictional Jekyll. A record of churchgoing and charitable pursuits. There'd been hints of blackmail between him and the 'newly hired' servant, Henry Cuilidh. Tawesson's body was never found.
And like Jekyll, he'd apparently craved the respect of 'higher society', though he'd had somewhat less success in garnering it. His past was a trifle too disreputable - an excess of drinking and brawling when he was young, heroic service in the Anglo-Zulu War but stories of brutality had dogged him afterwards. (Considering the times, that implied a truly shocking level of ruthlessness.) A gentleman, true, but... not a gentleman's gentleman.
I knew some of the history of the furniture, and it had indeed come from Britain. The elderly lady it had belonged to was definitely of Scottish descent. I could find no solid link to either Stevenson or Tawesson, but such a connection could not be ruled out.
More interesting. There were hints - just hints, but still - that Tawesson had been abused as a child. And that was a primary risk factor for developing multiple personalities, I'd read. And a quick search found that 'cuilidh' was Scots Gaelic for a 'cellar' or 'secret place'...
I looked again at the bottles from the drawer. I wasn't ready to admit, even to myself, what I was starting to suspect. But I was filled with an unjustified agitation nonetheless, anxiety mixed with a hint of almost formless hope.
~~~~~
"...I stood already committed to a profound duplicity of life..."
I acted on my tension in the way I often did at night, alone, with the shades drawn. I shut down the computer and walked up the stairs to the spare bedroom, locking the door behind me. And then I unlocked the lovely Victorian wardrobe therein and regarded the contents as I began to undress. In moments I was naked, semi-erect, and my former clothes were banished from sight in an empty drawer, closed swiftly with a familiar motion.
I moved differently now, a sway in my hips, my weight shifted to my toes. A wig - light brown hair, with a gentle wave - settled onto my head and became my own. Sheer black panties slid up my legs and concealed my burgeoning erection. Enough to ignore, at least. I stole a glance at the imposing, full-length mirror on a stand in the corner of the bedroom.
A garter belt next. Black with red piping, so sexy. Then sleek, genuine silk stockings. You couldn't even see the hair now. Sometimes I shaved, but I was frightened of being discovered with shaved legs somehow... no, not important, not now. I turned, admiring the dark line running up the back of each stocking. No wonder girls in WWII had painted those lines on when silk ran short. They just accentuated the legs so well, and drew the eye along the curves, up to where they should be looking.
A corset next, so tight... my waist had that girlish slimness I so loved. The forms tucked invisibly into the cups of my favorite brassiere, and with practiced ease I slipped it on and hooked the straps.
The dress followed swiftly. An evening dress, skirt to the knee, no cleavage showing but still emphasizing my bosom. Light lace trim, frilly and playful. High-heeled, strappy shoes.
A bit of makeup, expertly applied. A touch of blush, shadow. Mascara? Tonight, yes. And now red lips puckered at me in the mirror, blowing a kiss. Delicious lips. I could see them pressed against a hairy cheek, nuzzling a neck with an Adam's apple... wrapped around a stiff cock. Oh, yes, they were perfect for that.
The opening rites of the ritual were complete. There she was in the mirror: Sherry Dulce. Sweet, sassy, strong, intoxicating. The shoes gave me such a walk as I sashayed across the room, poised yet seductive.
No one, not my small remaining family, not my handful of friends, certainly none of my customers, knew about Sherry. Only once had she gone out in public. A buying trip to a less staid city, where I could not possibly be recognized. I had dressed in my hotel room and dithered for almost half an hour before sneaking out the back stairs and hailing a cab to a bar I'd read of.
I entered with trepidation inside, but Sherry would never feel that way and outwardly I was collected and confident. I could see others like me scattered about. Some were better-disguised than others, a few I couldn't even be sure about. It was clearly the right place.
I had a few drinks at the bar, and a man even asked me to dance. I did well, I think, despite only having practiced in the mirror. Sherry would have enjoyed it, but I still felt awkward inside, an imposter. I gave no sign; he even asked me if I wanted to go home with him.
In reality, things had gone no further. I had chickened out, unable to live up to Sherry's ideal. I wasn't gay, in all truth. Dressed up, in my bedroom, I'd have all kinds of wild notions. But in my daily life, I'd never been attracted to a man. I'd eye the ladies, enjoy their charms, and examine their clothes for ideas. Not once had I pictured myself with any of my customers. That night I'd made my excuses and gone back to my lonely hotel room.
But now, in my spare bedroom, in Sherry's room - in my own world - I did go home with him. He was much more handsome, a gentleman. He had led me into the bedroom and kissed me gently. I could almost feel his hands gliding over my body, appreciating the ladylike curves he found. He pulled me close, and held me tight.
My breath increased its pace as my phantom lover handled me with escalating roughness, squeezing me, playing with my breasts, sneaking a hand between my thighs. (Somewhere else, my hand stroked my penis through the dress, but that was irrelevant compared to my imaginary loveplay.)
I let him draw me toward the bed. (On that other level, a vibrator emerged from the wardrobe, and was quickly lubricated...) He threw me down on top of the bedspread and held me down, proud kisses muffling my moans of pleasure. I helped him hike up my skirt and push my panties out of the way. I was so wet, he slid in so easily.
Oh, I was such a naughty girl!
I groaned and came when he did, shivering within my passage. It was heavenly, fulfilling, wonderful. I basked for a period in the afterglow, whispering endearments to the man who had possessed me.
Now that I had come, the glamour receded in increments. My stomach was wet and sticky, my anus dripping and aching slightly. Guilt grew to replace the dreamy satisfaction of before.
I had never found a woman I could share this with, that I could even dream of taking such a risk on. The scandal, if it got out... I'd be ruined. People expect a certain dignity in an antiques dealer. And so, here I was, a lonely middle-aged man playing dress-up at night. My face burning with shame, I cleaned everything thoroughly, put the clothes in the wash and the toys away, and went to take a shower before bed.
~~~~~
"...a side-light began to shine upon the subject from the laboratory table."
Sal Travis was a friend of mine, one of a few. A chemist at a testing firm. As I said, I only have a liberal arts education so when he tried to explain his work, it mostly went over my head. But he enjoyed antiques, too, which was how we'd met. He'd helped me out a few times, checking the age of some items of questionable provenance.
We would meet once in a while somewhere and have dinner. It had been a few months since the last time - he'd gotten over his divorce and started dating again. But he was happy to hear from me and readily agreed to get together.
We met at our most frequent haunt, Fleming's, a tasteful midtown restaurant that served fine steak with excellent Cabernet Sauvignon. As we were wrapping up the meal I finally broached the subject I'd been patiently avoiding.
"Anyway, I found these bottles locked away in a bureau. I was hoping you could take a little time and tell me what's in them. Or, at least, what was in them. I don't think they've been touched in a century or more."
Sal looked them over doubtfully. "Huh... not much left. And this red stuff here is definitely organic. If they're that old, they'll have decayed badly by now. Why do you care, anyway?"
"Honestly, at the moment I'd rather not say."
He peered at me, somewhat confused. "Seriously?" he half-smiled.
"I'm afraid so. If I told you what I think it might be, you'd... I don't know. Laugh at me for sure."
"Now you've got me curious."
"Well, apply that curiosity to what's in those bottles. I really want to know what's in them."
"I guess I could run them through the chromatograph and such at work, that'd tell me something."
~~~~~
"...scientific discoveries had begun to suggest the most naked possibility of such a miracle..."
A week later (a week that felt very long to me) we were again having a final glass of wine over the remains of an excellent meal. Sal, sensing my burning curiosity, had nevertheless put off his report on his findings until then.
"Okay, the red mixture is weird. Lots of different things, some are impurities, leftovers from the chemistry back then. They just couldn't make stuff as pure as we can now. It's also broken down pretty far, but not so completely that I couldn't figure it out. Basically a bunch of simple organics. There's a small amount of a plant-based MAOI, but there's more Melanopsin and Melatonin - those come from the pineal glands of birds. So far as I can tell, that's where most of the impurities come from. Whoever whipped this up seems to have chopped up a bunch of bird brains and filtered out the fluid."
"So... what does all that mean?"
"Wait, it gets better. Most of the solvent evaporated by now, but all these substances were once dissolved in DMSO, Dimethyl sulfoxide. An organic solvent." He smiled again. "DMSO glides through most body tissues like they aren't even there. You get a little on your fingers and suddenly you can taste the stuff. It's that fast. It can carry other chemicals along, too."
"Forgive me, I'm just a BFA." He grinned. Like most technical types he had a bit of a superiority complex over those who didn't pursue the 'harder' subjects. It didn't make him a bad guy but he did enjoy ribbing me. The good news was I could exploit it to keep him talking.
He paused. "DMSO was expensive then - there's a reason it's there... but I'm getting off-track. Overall though, the stuff is pretty benign. The most you might get out of drinking it would be an upset stomach."
I paused, wondering, and embarrassed to be a little disappointed. "And the white powder?"
"There wasn't much left, but I was able to get a good reading. It's more complicated, but it's basically a hydrochloride, a salt, of a medium-size organic molecule."
Now his smile was very wide. "I'm dying to know who the heck brewed this up. If you mixed them, you'd get a quick reaction that would combine the precursors to produce a variant of Dimethyltryptamine - DMT. He must have been trying for a powerful, fast-acting hallucinogen, at least with the MAOI - Monoamine oxidase inhibitor - that's in there. It's been used for centuries in tribal rituals and the like."
Now I worried that the 'change' had been all in Tawesson's head. "Well, I can tell you the guy I have in mind had done some travelling in Africa."
"Must be where he got the idea. A little goes a long way. I nicknamed it Shaman's Hangover. Partly because it shouldn't have worked."
"What?" My confusion was unfeigned.
"I said he was 'trying for' a hallucinogen. But it'd be the wrong form. Most organic molecules have multiple forms, diastereomers or etaniomers, mirror images or partial mirrors..." He finally noticed my blank expression. "Anyway, the form produced would be biologically inactive. Except for a contaminant in the salt."
My mind flashed back to what I'd read. "I am now persuaded that my first supply was impure, and that it was that unknown impurity which lent efficacy to the draught." Trying to be casual, I asked, "What 'contaminant'?"
"The salt itself has a few etaniomers. Looks like he got lazy separating them out. Or maybe he just couldn't tell the difference, a lot of this wasn't understood well back then. In any case, it was a lucky break. The mixture of both produces an active variant of DMT. This might be the first designer drug; you've found a Timothy Leary for the 1800s."
His eyes got a faraway look. "Mixed with the MAOI... they would've gone on a hell of a trip. Not sure what the Melatonin and such would add. Descartes thought the pineal gland was the 'seat of the soul' but now we know that it regulates bodily rhythms and such... Anyway, with the DMSO carrying the Hangover, the effect would be practically instantaneous - faster than crack. It'd rocket across the blood-brain barrier. I'm not sure, but I think it'd also metabolize faster. It might be like the whole trip was compressed into a few seconds. But pharmacology isn't really my field, I'm guessing at a lot of this."
The moment of truth. "Could you whip up a fresh batch?"
He stared blankly for a moment. "That is just about the last thing I expected you to ask." A long pause. "Why should I?"
"I... I'm not in a position to say yet. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."
Sal looked thoughtful. "As they say, 'Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies.'" He considered a moment more, then shook his head. "Sorry, Carl, you're not quite that good a friend."
"Look, I never should have..." I began.
"Wait, let me finish. I can't make this for you. I won't be legally responsible for you killing yourself or ending up in a padded room." A smile broke the thoughtful expression. "But hey, I don't care how people get their jollies. It's not that hard to make - the raw ingredients are legal and fairly easy to come by, and you don't need much equipment. A stove, a professional timer and thermometer, a couple of graduated beakers and a few other instruments..."
"I think I see," I said with a smile of my own.
"I can always say 'I just told him how the guy would've made it.' I thought I was only helping your research..."
~~~~~
"But the temptation of a discovery so singular and profound, at last overcame the suggestions of alarm."
Much later that night I sat at my desk, my elbow propped on the edge, chin resting on my hand. Sal's handwritten notes lay next to Tawesson's papers. The website of a chemical supply firm was displayed on my computer.
So. Did I really believe it could work? Or was I just a lonely pervert driven half-crazy by desperation, willing to risk poisoning myself? But still... I reread a few lines from the 'confession': "...I began to perceive more deeply than it has ever yet been stated, the trembling immateriality, the mist-like transience of this seemingly so solid body in which we walk attired..."
That sounded a lot like the modern new-age 'Quantum Consciousness' stuff you heard nowadays, just expressed in 19th-century terms. Sal was ruthlessly derisive about such 'cranks'. He said they were badly misinterpreting Quantum Mechanics.
But now, I couldn't help but wonder. What if he was wrong? What if they were onto something? And then, a bit further: "I not only recognised my natural body for the mere aura and effulgence of certain of the powers that made up my spirit, but managed to compound a drug by which these powers should be dethroned from their supremacy, and a second form and countenance substituted, none the less natural to me..."
If the 'Quantum Consciousness' types were right, then a drug that mucked with the self-image, that allowed buried aspects of the personality to become dominant in the right way...
On the other hand, I didn't want to be a murderous sociopath. I wanted to be... I wanted to be Sherry. My eyes alighted on another passage I'd read and reread before. The one that had made me take the bottles to Sal: "Had I approached my discovery in a more noble spirit, had I risked the experiment while under the empire of generous or pious aspirations, all must have been otherwise... The drug had no discriminating action; it was neither diabolical nor divine; it but shook the doors of the prison-house of my disposition; and like the captives of Philippi, that which stood within ran forth..."
Yes, I was going to try it.
~~~~~
"...endowed besides with excellent parts..."
Preparations took two and a half weeks. The supplies came quickly enough but several days were wasted as I learned how to do organic chemistry by trial and error - mostly error. Sal's directions included warnings and tests at the critical steps but I hadn't done anything like this since high school. I closed the store early every night, rushing home to play mad scientist into the wee hours.
Eventually, though, one Tuesday night I had proper amounts of the reddish potion and the salt, and they had the right density and such. Even then I hesitated; but I'd come this far.
I went upstairs with the components and dressed myself, taking my time, making everything perfect. First a bath, and this time I shaved everything, even shaping my pubic hair. Pink toenails and fingernails; I never did that on a weeknight, it was too much trouble to clean them, but tonight... The lacy stockings felt wonderful on my smooth legs. High heels, my very favorite dress, flowing hair. Complete makeup - my lashes were that long! Jewelry too - a lovely broach, rings. The sole compromise was the clip-on nature of my earrings. Shaved skin I could cover, pierced ears I could not. But when I was done I was just scrumptious.
I was hard and throbbing as I admired myself in the mirror, but I tried to imagine it as an empty ache, lower down... a tiny sharp clit, soft lips... breasts with hard, sensitive nipples...
I poured the crystals into the potion. It bubbled furiously for several moments, then settled down, turning purple. Seconds passed and that gave way to a light green. On the edge of orgasm, I downed the mixture in one swift chug, like a sorority girl doing shots at a party.
It tasted horrible but that barely had time to register before I went into agonizing spasms. Every bone in my body felt like it was being twisted and a wave of weakness and nausea washed over me. But, even stronger than the physical symptoms, there was a sense of profound horror, of both oblivion and awakening.
It passed as quickly as it had come, and I felt myself swiftly recovering. But I still was pained and uncomfortable; my chest was being crushed. I yanked down the top of my dress and tore off my brassiere and the forms that had been squeezing my breasts. The wig fell to the floor, freeing the hair that now spilled to the small of my back. Only then did I finally regard myself once more in the mirror.
Looked at objectively, the girl in the mirror should have been laughable. The dress and stockings and even the shoes were too big for her. The top of the baggy dress was bunched under her breasts and a bra dangled from her hand.
No one could have looked at her objectively, however. Dainty feet with mischievous toes. Long shapely legs surmounted by the curviest, sexiest hips. A tiny wasp waist, flat tummy... firm, high, ample, absolutely symmetrical breasts with perky nipples that cried out to be touched, licked, suckled. Sleek, smooth, feminine arms tipped with hands of obvious, supple dexterity. Long, flowing, light-brown hair that framed a fine-boned, ideally-proportioned face, with wide but sultry eyes; full, luscious lips slightly parted as she stood panting, an enticing hint of the white teeth and nimble tongue visible within.
And the way she moved... animal, wanton, a blatant invitation. All she had done so far was shift her weight, lower her arms, cock her head slightly. It was still more erotic than any porn I'd ever watched.
There was nothing about her that was remotely masculine. She was fantastic. A beauty that demanded ravishing. She was a sexpot.
I laughed out loud in recognition. Here was the Sherry that Carl had always imagined, the Sherry he'd so crudely imitated all these years. His little dress-up games had produced an image no more true than a scarecrow was to a real person. It didn't feel like a discovery so much as a recollection; everything was new but somehow familiar, like deja vu.
My age was... indeterminate. I could have been a teenager, but I was no older than the late twenties. That was at least twenty years younger than Carl, and I felt every second of that. My skin was smooth and unlined, my muscles toned, my joints limber. I was full of the kind of vitality you only notice after it goes away with age.
And again, the mental and emotional changes were greater still. I was hornier than I'd ever been, on fire body and soul. The most wicked and depraved notions filled my mind; images and sounds and smells welled up constantly in my imagination. And shame and guilt - conscience itself - had vanished. That little voice of judgement everyone hears inside had been completely silenced. I felt pure, unalloyed. Distilled to an essence like a fine sherry.
I wasted no time tearing off the silly clothes. Even the corset was too big for me now! In a twinkling I was naked, devouring my new form with my eyes and hands. The novel erotic sensitivity of my nipples dragged a moan from my throat as my fingertips brushed and tweaked them. Then I was turning my back to the mirror, leaning forward, spreading my legs and craning my neck to see. My ass was incredible, round and padded yet still defined, with the cutest little rosebud hole. Seemingly of their own will, one hand remained to glide over my breasts as the other slid down my belly to my exposed pussy.
My pussy... it was beautiful, drawing hand and eyes with equal power. Sweet dewy pink folds that my fingers greedily explored. My thumb brushed my clit, diamond-hard amid all that moist softness, and I came instantly, dropping to my knees, my fingers curving into my vagina, screaming out my joy for what must have been minutes. A female orgasm is an amazing thing. Everything gets involved, even the uterus contracts.
Eventually I let the pleasure subside and stood up, a bit shakily. I struck a few poses in the mirror, enjoying my delectable form. But that was a momentary amusement. With a confidence, an arrogance almost unimaginable to most people (except perhaps sociopaths) I knew that I was the most gorgeous creature in the world. I enjoyed it but had no need to confirm it to myself. Not a trace of self-doubt remained.
So I marched determinedly over to the wardrobe and prized the vibrator from its hiding place. Then I jumped onto the bed with a giggle and squirmed myself into a comfortable position on my back.
My senses appeared to be much sharper now; I didn't just hear the buzz of the toy as I switched it on, I didn't just feel it in my hand. When I'd been a little boy (a memory that seemed completely alien to me now), at the end of every haircut the barber would take an electric razor to the back of my neck. It never failed to raise my hackles, my whole spine stiffened and my skin tingled where the shaver was about to land.
Now my entire body had a similar sensation... but with a critical difference. It was lustful anticipation, it was feverish tension. Every bit of my skin could sense it, was tingling with how it shivered in my hand. I brought it down to my cunt, my juices almost spilling from between the lips. I stroked it back and forth along the slit, each square inch of my vulva more sensitive than the whole of my unlamented cock had ever been.
I found my entrance and gradually pushed it in. The buzz wasn't just on my skin, it was inside me now, my whole body was trembling. The walls of my pussy were stretching, melting, dissolving. I clamped down with muscles I'd never possessed before, trying to pull it further within. It was wonderful, it was ecstasy. (There was a sensation that I didn't register as pain then, but I later realized was me pushing through my own hymen.) I began to move the toy out and in, over and over, more and more powerfully. My other hand started rubbing my clit and I was screaming, my back arching, my breasts jiggling on my chest.
Over the next hour or so I brought myself to orgasm repeatedly. But I knew I needed more, much more. I rolled off the bed and began to search through the clothes for something that would fit well enough.
~~~~~
"The pleasures which I made haste to seek in my disguise..."
I bolted from the house before the taxi I'd called had finished parking in the driveway. I was impatient to get going, but what if I were pulled over? Sherry had no license, no ID of any kind.
I went straight to the front passenger seat and hopped in with a flounce. I was wearing the best-fitting dress I could find (cinched closely at the waist) and a pair of strappy high-heeled shoes similarly pulled tight... and nothing else. I didn't need lacy underwear or jewelry to feel like a woman now! The only purse I had didn't go with the dress but I needed to carry some money.
The driver was stunned. According to Tawesson, people had reacted to Cuilidh with a unique, visceral disgust, sensing the purity of his evil. I've since witnessed Sherry evoking an equally strong reaction, too, but of a different nature. She is literally an incarnation of Lust, and all are fascinated and attracted to her often despite themselves.
I enjoyed his stupor for a moment. He was a middle-aged, vaguely Eastern European man. Not particularly good-looking, rather unkempt. He needed a shower. None of that mattered, I was delighted with his stubble, his paunch, his odor. I licked my lips and gave him a slow smile. "Aren't you supposed to ask me 'Where to'?" I asked with wide eyes.
He jerked, and stammered. "Wh... wh... where..." I knew I was going to have such fun with him. I couldn't wait anymore to get started.
"Tell you what. You just head downtown... while I go to town." He pulled out into the street and started heading toward the main road.
He kept stealing glances at me, mostly at my breasts with their rampant nipples. I loved the attention and the way he was squirming in his seat. I leaned in close and reached for his crotch, knowing exactly what was making him uncomfortable. I grasped his stiff cock through his pants and he groaned.
"Here, let me help," I said smirkingly as I started to undo his belt. He didn't fight at all, he just kept driving. Driving slowly, I noticed. Soon I had his pants undone, and he hunched his ass into the air, letting me slide them down. He had a raging hard-on. I squealed like a little girl who'd just opened her favoritest present, it felt incredible in my hands. Without the slightest hesitation I leaned down and began sucking happily.
"Bozhe Moi!" he exclaimed, panting and groaning. For my part I was transported; cocksucking was an utter sensual delight. I slowed down as it twitched a little in my mouth; I couldn't have him coming too quickly, I was having too much fun. With a skill that I still don't know the source of, I held him straining at the brink of orgasm for more than ten minutes.
Finally even I couldn't stop him anymore. He exploded, delicious cum surging into my mouth for many seconds. I'd been having my own low-grade orgasm for a while and it peaked with his. My hips shivered and bucked, and my muffled moans blended in with the sounds of horns honking behind the taxi.
I sat up, wiping my mouth and sighing with temporary release. I looked around and realized we were on the edge of downtown. The driver had started moving again, passing under the light that had long since turned green. Still breathing heavily, he was babbling some kind of thank-you but I interrupted him with, "You can just let me off here."
He pulled to the side of the street and I hopped out, blowing him a kiss. I laughed as he hurriedly tried to yank up his pants, and strolled off into the city to seek my fortune.
~~~~~
"...an unknown but not an innocent freedom of the soul."
As I walked down the street, everything seemed alive and excited and there just for me and my own amusement. I drew stares from men and women alike and relished the attention. There were frequent whistles and catcalls that I gaily acknowledged as my due. A few times I literally stopped traffic. For my part, I surveyed everyone with a sexually-charged appraisal, continually visualizing myself engaging in manifold perversions with him, or him over there, or her, or them...
It wasn't long before I came across a simple, unassuming sports bar tucked in a side street. Clearly a gathering place for students, and young and athletic was just what I had in mind.
In the movies, there's a cliche: A beautiful woman walks into a bar, and there's a sudden lull in the conversation. I doubt that happens much in real life, but it did then. As I stepped in the door and looked around, the noise level faded swiftly. I was the focus of dozens of stares.
I strutted to the bar and asked the bartender for a girlish cocktail. I probably should have been carded but I had such a presence I doubt it even occurred to him. Conversation had resumed by then and I glanced about, evaluating the patrons like a butcher examines a bull to be slaughtered. It was that callous; I had needs and they would be satisfied, regardless of anyone else's feelings in the matter.
I was not surprised that a strapping young man was already zeroing in on me. "Let me get that for you," he declared, paying the bartender. I looked him over hungrily; tall, well-muscled, short dark hair. Yummy.
"My hero," I purred, leaning close. "I'm Sherry. Who do I owe the pleasure?"
"Mike. Mike Pryzowski," he said. He was putting up a brave front but I could tell he was trying to figure out if I could possibly be for real. "I'm sure I haven't seen you here before," he essayed.
"I'm new in town," I smiled. "So, what does a girl do around here for fun?"
"Well, come with me and find out." He led me over to where he and his friends were having a few beers and playing pool. He was obviously the alpha male of this little pack of five, but I was attracted to all of them in their own ways. Even the shy chubby one. Their accuracy dropped precipitously when I joined the game.
Their eyes were all over me - every eye in the bar, really - and I willingly gave them plenty to see. I bent low over the table as I made shots; my tits were almost spilling out of my dress as it was, and the skirt rode up high in the back. The way I stroked my pool cue was clearly distracting them terribly. Mike's hands were almost trembling as I had him hold the bridge for me on a difficult shot. As I leaned down, one leg idly rubbing against his, I looked back over my shoulder and caught him regarding my rear with awe. He sheepishly averted his eyes but my chuckle made him look back.
I favored him with a slow wink and a knowing smile as I cocked my hips, inviting a more thorough appreciation. I could feel his eager gaze sweeping over my body as I turned back and took my shot. As I came up to watch the balls rattle about I leaned back into Mike, enjoying his smell, the feel of his chest against my back. His fingers brushed my ass, testing the waters, and I smiled and pushed it back into his hand.
I wasn't particularly good at pool but that wasn't the game I was playing. Mike and his friends were the game, and I was winning. It was wonderful being the center of all that male attention. They were falling over themselves to be helpful and I could not pay for anything.
Mike and I sat the next round out, me perched on his lap, driving him half-insane. His arm supported me around my waist and that was driving me crazy. Flirting and seducing was almost as much fun as screwing. Almost, but I was no longer interested in half measures. I nodded at the table and nuzzled his ear, saying, "Those aren't exactly the balls I want to be racking, you know."
"Let's head to my place," he proposed, almost drooling. He ran his nails along my bare leg and I shivered.
"No. I can't wait," I declared, my voice husky. I hopped off his lap and pulled him to his feet. "Come on, let's go."
He followed me like a pet on a leash into the men's room. He was about as dazed as any guy would be if he'd stumbled into the world of the Penthouse letters column. But once we were in a stall with the door closed he wasted no time pinning me against the back wall and mauling me with hands and mouth.
I moaned with voracious passion, helping him hike up my dress. He got a hand on my pussy and I nearly passed out, it felt so good. I pumped my hips and he finger-fucked me while he fumbled with his belt. Finally I broke free and jerked the dress over my head, throwing it to the ground, heedless of the messy floor. I knelt and tugged at his belt. In moments I had his pants down. Since it was right there, I took the chance to lick and stroke his generous cock for a moment.
He groaned, and his hips bucked a little, but I wanted something new. I jumped up and locked my lips with his. He roughly picked me up and slammed me into the wall again. A few seconds of confused coordination and I was slipping onto his dick. It was bliss: complete, hedonistic, animalistic satisfaction.
My legs were wrapped around his waist as he pumped into me. It sent shooting bolts of pleasure everywhere each time his dick pistoned up into my channel. He was warm on my front, the tile was cold on my back. My hands roamed over his meaty shoulders, his back, his butt. His mouth mashed with mine, and traced wet kisses over my neck and shoulders. I let out repeated, uninhibited screams and moans.
It was practically a continuous orgasm for me, and even Mike, who struck me as the silent type, let out an occasional throaty groan. Soon enough he gave voice to something like a roar and came violently, his cum joining my own juices, making a delightfully slippery mess and sending me to new heights of pleasure.
I came down slowly. Mike made a few more powerful thrusts and then seemed to deflate. That was the first time I encountered that difference between males and females. I felt alive, energized, ready for more - but he was obviously exhausted. He set me down and worked to catch his breath. I was panting, too, but with excitement.
I bent over to pick up my dress. Mike was pulling up his pants as I, still naked, opened up the stall to find my discarded purse. I must have been a sight: bare, my boobs jiggling on my heaving chest, jism leaking down my leg. It sure pole-axed the guy coming into the bathroom.
It was the plump one, Rich or Rick or something. He stood there gaping at us... or more accurately, at me. Mike's annoyed glare caused him to mumble something like, "I really have to go..."
"So go," Mike spat, and turned back to me. Chubby made his way to a urinal and shortly I heard his piss splashing away. It was distracting; the sound kept reminding me there was an exposed dick nearby.
Mike had collected himself somewhat and was staring as much as Chubby had. "Wow," he exhaled. "That was awesome. You are the hottest piece of... of anything I've ever seen." Shakespeare he wasn't, but in my sexually-charged mood it was music to my ears. I gave him a kiss, my nipples rubbing against his shirt.
Chubby was sneakily ogling me; he'd partly turned to get a better view as he was tucking himself away, so I got a peek in the mirror at what was between his hands.
"Oooh, it's not circumcised!" I cried with undisguised delight, whirling around. "Let me see, let me see!" I demanded, reaching for his pants. He was too shocked to stop me and in a flash I had his jeans and underwear pulled down.
Just as I'd thought, it was uncut. The flesh over the tip was so cute, just begging to be pulled back to reveal what lay within. So I did, of course. There was a heavenly smell, which I've since found to be unique to the uncircumcised. Both sets of my lips moistened immediately.
The subject of my examination, already semi-erect, commenced rising to its full extent. I giggled and gave it a kiss. It tasted as good as it smelled. Chubby was dumbfounded, and looked up at Mike. Then his eyes closed involuntarily as I took him into my mouth. The feel as it stiffened against my tongue was mesmerizing.
Mike might have said something at that point, but if I so I didn't care. He was no longer relevant. His cock wasn't hard, and the one I had now was.
Blowing Chubby was different, the foreskin glided with my movements and made for a new and delightful experience. I held it retracted with my hand as I drew back and flicked my tongue at his head. The tip was different, too; the skin was softer, more like a giant clit. He wriggled as I snuck the end of my tongue into the hole.
Then I wrapped my lips around him again and slid him deeper than before, to the back of my throat. Wine tasters have a term, "mouthfeel". Every dick has its own, just like every wine. I knew I was going to be a cock connoisseur. Or at least a gourmand.
Chubby never made a sound as he came, except perhaps a breathy hiss. I wasn't really paying attention, I was evaluating the flavor of his cum; again every man has his own unique vintage. Some are tastier than others but none of them are bad.
I happily sat back on my haunches and became aware that I now had an audience. The rest of Mike's crew had come back; I suppose they were wondering what had happened to us. So now I had three new guys looking at me with open mouths.
"Well," I asked, a smug expression on my face, "who's next?"
Precedence was settled quickly, then position, and after a remarkably brief interval I had a fresh prick in my mouth while another labored in my pussy. My legs were locked straight up and my hips cocked back while the guy I was sucking off helped support my upper body. More delight, I was shivering at the flood of sensation, surfing on waves of flesh, riding a storm surge.
I strung the blowjob along but the guy fucking me didn't have a lot of stamina. He shot his wad after only a couple minutes. Of course, I reflected that I really couldn't blame him. I was the sexiest girl in the world, after all. And I knew there was a reservist waiting in the wings.
The next guy started pushing his dick into my asshole. I broke off my blowjob and turned to glower at him. "You carrying some lube, boy?" I demanded harshly. He haltingly admitted he wasn't. "Then go get some or aim lower," I admonished, and returned to the cock before me. There was a brief pause and then I felt his prick sliding into my folds.
I wasn't the least bit reluctant to get cornholed in principle. Indeed, I was idly wishing that I had remembered to pack some lubricant in my purse. But my pleasure was paramount. A little pain was fine; it could even be hot. Raw, sore, potentially bleeding tissues were not.
Fortunately this was only a momentary distraction. He seemed to be enjoying himself in my cunt, and the dick in my mouth tasted as divine as the others had. By the time those two were done, Mike was ready for another round, but our time was rudely cut short by the killjoy bartender breaking up the party. I toyed with the notion of seducing him - I was utterly confident I could do it - but I decided a more comfortable venue wasn't a bad idea anyway.
I stopped conversation on the way out of the bar just as thoroughly as I'd quelled it on the way in. Mike and his crew came with me, of course, and we repaired to a nearby hotel for a few hours of play.
The boys were worn out and asleep as I slipped out of our room at about four in the morning. The desk clerk summoned a taxi and I enjoyed a short wait in the night air. The spring breeze on my skin felt like a caress and I glowed with satisfaction. It had been a very good birthday celebration, I thought.
Again, the taxi driver was male, and therefore my ride home was free - or at least, paid for in trade. About the only difference from the earlier ride was that he was Arabic and cried out "Allahu Akbar!" at the critical moment.
I was a touch sleepy as I made my way up to my room. I undressed again, and admired myself one more time in the mirror. There was semen by my mouth, my pussy, my breasts, but I rather liked it. It seemed only right, like warpaint for a conqueror. I regarded the bed for a moment and then came to a realization. Why should I waste time sleeping? I could make Carl do that stuff. It took no time for me to mix up a dose and drink it.
~~~~~
"...plunged into a kind of wonder at my vicarious depravity..."
As I came back to myself, to my original self, I felt an incredible mix of powerful emotions. Awe, terror, exaltation, shame, arousal, and more. I could not believe, couldn't even comprehend what I'd been doing, thinking, feeling.
I had been a completely shameless slut - literally like an animal in heat. I had sucked and fucked seven men, had been the focus of a gangbang in a bar men's room... and I had thoroughly and without reservation enjoyed the entire experience. It was mortifying. Even with my 'hobby', I hadn't imagined such raw desires lurked within me. Yet I was powerfully tempted to take another dose immediately, despite my now-crushing fatigue.
I mastered the impulse and staggered off to the shower. I needed to feel clean again; cumstains were not nearly so charming back in my normal frame of mind. My thoughts remained a confused muddle until I dropped into a deep slumber almost the moment I laid my head on the pillow.
The next two days were quite difficult. I argued with myself constantly, parts of me wanting only to down a fresh dose and head out for a night of debauchery, others fretting about the risks and dangers involved. Not only did Sherry have not the slightest concern for my well-being as Carl, she was quite incapable of moderating her behavior. Guilt was not part of her makeup; trying to explain why she shouldn't do what she wanted, when she wanted, would be like trying to explain color to the blind, or music to the deaf... or Deconstructionism to a cat.
She could not be raped in a conventional sense - virtually no sexual activity was against her will - but she might inspire violence among others competing for her attentions. And what if she caught some disease, or became pregnant? I ran the store in a halfhearted way, returning home each evening to struggle with myself. But my timidity was sufficient to keep me from transforming.
~~~~~
"...in my case, to be tempted, however slightly, was to fall."
Friday night, though... my resolve could not hold. When Sherry re-emerged, she had big plans. I remained as her for the whole weekend - and a very busy, and expensive, weekend it was. The first thing she did was take a taxi ride back to the store, paying in her customary fashion, and open the safe. (Like many small business owners, I kept a moderately substantial supply of cash readily available for an unexpected crisis.) The second thing she did was go clothes shopping.
My own clandestine purchases had familiarized me with the costs of women's fashion. Later, as myself, I was dismayed but not surprised that Sherry was able to spend nearly twenty-five hundred dollars in the space of four hours at the mall. She'd recruited with ease two guys to help her carry her purchases, and they drove her back to our house.
Before anything else she made sure to procure a bottle of olive oil from the kitchen. She had the guys strip and chose the boy with the largest equipment - perhaps not surprisingly the black one - and took loving care anointing his tool and making it quite slippery. Then she bent over the side of the bed and presented herself for mounting. Anal was everything she'd anticipated. Some pain, of course, but that simply added spice to the affair. Feeling him come inside her ass while the white boy manhandled her tits was inspiring. That was only the introduction; a long night ensued as she modeled several of her new outfits for them. She enjoyed every minute of the process, and didn't mind that many of her brand-new clothes were so quickly torn or stained.
After she'd worn the boys out to the point of uselessness, she idly masturbated herself to sleep. Sherry's dreams are surreal and, of course, highly sexual. An endless stream of porn done by Salvador Dali and David Lynch.
Early Saturday, after a brisk morning romp with her companions, she sent the pair on their way. Her first shower brought to her attention the scandalous lack of a massager, something she resolved to correct as soon as feasible. Then she took a taxi to a local adult novelties store and spent over a thousand dollars. The clerk closed up early, loaded everything into his own truck, and gave her a ride to a nearby Lowe's, then home. She gave him several rides once they got to my house, breaking in a few of her new toys, including the shower massage she had him install.
From the clerk she got an introduction that afternoon to the owner of an area strip club, the 'Corinthian Lounge'. Of course Doug 'Dawg' Simmons hired her on the spot. He was upset about the issue of her lacking any official identity, however. Not out of any moral qualms, of course - he didn't even evince much curiosity about her situation - but apparently tax people paid particular attention to businesses like his. Fortunately this was not a permanent obstacle; it would only delay her start date. Dawg evidently had some extralegal acquaintances that could make such arrangements. Sherry convinced him to front the money for the new identity and take it out of her earnings.
By then it was early Saturday evening. She couldn't be an official dancer yet, but an impromptu 'audition' was held on the center stage and she was a smashing success. There was a certain amount of resentment from the other dancers, but she had clearly won the hearts of the patrons. Sherry enjoyed watching the other girls as much as any of the men there, and her earnings were quickly distributed among their g-strings. (She wasn't heterosexual or homosexual or even bisexual; she was pansexual, omnisexual. Freud had claimed that everything was really about sex. For Sherry, that was literally true.)
She left the club with a particularly rowdy bachelor party. The six guys took her back to the best man's house in the suburbs. She'd never been in a Hummer before, and took full advantage of the ample space to partake of one of the groomsmen on the way. She sat in his lap and the vibration and jostling of the ride added some excitement to the festivities. The stares they drew at a few stoplights were utterly priceless.
Once they arrived Sherry decided she wasn't in the mood for a gangbang. They were fun, of course, but she felt like focusing and taking her time. She appropriated the master bedroom and instructed them to send in one man at a time. She lay on the bed, idly toying with the tassels on the throw pillows, a pleasant anticipation building in her loins.
She wasn't surprised that the best man came in first. The house showed that there was a Mrs. Best Man, but he had demonstrated earlier that he was no stranger to strip clubs. And he'd seemed put out that he had to drive, so Sherry couldn't do much with him on the way from the club. She had him sized up as a macho, take-control type... or, at least, a wannabe. So she gave him what he was looking for.
As he paused at the door, sizing her up himself, she put on a half-fearful, half-anticipating expression. A little tentatively, she asked, "So... whaddaya got in mind?" Her tone, her delivery was just so; it said that he would be able to make her do whatever he had in mind, and he would be able to make her love it.
He paused uncertainly for just a moment, then strode briskly toward the bed. "What I got in mind is for you to get your ass off that bed!" She jumped to comply, and he began pulling off her clothes. She didn't directly help him but he didn't run into any trouble. Soon she was naked, standing shyly but with erect nipples and a modicum of color in her cheeks. He turned her about, and slapped her ass appreciatively.
He shoved her down onto the bed so she was bent over it, her rear facing him. His hand insolently explored her pussy, fondling lips and clit. She yelped and shivered but made no attempt to pull away. Her juices drenched his fingers. "Oh, yeah, bitch, that's a nice tight box."
Then, peremptorily, he stepped back and waved at himself. "Your turn. Go." Sherry leapt hungrily to the task, and stripped him as well, but much more respectfully. She started with his shirt and worked down, so she was kneeling in front of him in a most convenient position as she pulled down his underwear.
She started to kiss his tool but he jammed his dick to the back of her throat. She coughed theatrically. (Not sincerely, though; Sherry had total control of her gag reflex.) Then she began sucking and licking, moving her mouth up and down his shaft, letting out little moans and hums of appreciation.
"You like that, huh? Yeah, suck it just like that, you little slut!" He was acting out his own little porno movie, complete with bad dialogue, but Sherry was happy to star in it. After all, she did like it, and she was a little slut. She sucked him harder, looking up into his eyes as she savored the taste. Then she pursed her lips and pulled back, kissing just the head as her tongue flickered across it inside. With a smacking sound she released him. One hand glided smoothly up and down his saliva-soaked cock as she ran her tongue along his scrotum, lifting and dropping each ball in turn. It was his turn to let out a choked groan.
Her other hand ran her nails gently up and down one of his legs. She brought her mouth back to his tool and resumed servicing. He grabbed her hair as he grunted approvingly. "Uuuh, yeah, that's it, you bitch, you whore, take it all!" Sherry found his words exciting, arousing, nasty in the best way. He stiffened and pulled her head back by the hair as his other hand grabbed his cock and began stroking. An instant later his cum began spilling onto her face and breasts. She extended her tongue to catch some of the sticky rain.
Sherry was wet and turned on by the whole experience. His shudders subsiding, Best Man seemed a little sheepish now that his little drama was over. He gruffly thanked her and put on his clothes as she went to the bathroom to clean up. He was gone by the time she returned.
Next in was the groom himself, pushed along by the the other members of the bachelor party. His reluctance was not a surprise - he'd seemed embarrassed by the entire bachelor party and Sherry thought he was probably fairly shy. He seemed to mostly be going along with his best man's plans. More, she had the idea that he probably genuinely loved his bride-to-be and didn't want to cheat on her.
That just made things a challenge for Sherry, though. She didn't care about his feelings except insofar as they involved getting her rocks off. The groom seemed to sense this, too. He stepped forward like a man entering a she-bear's cave. "Look, really, no offense, but I'd rather just..."
"Shut up," she snapped. "Get over there by the bed." Best Man wouldn't have recognized her; the submissive toy was gone, replaced by a forceful dominatrix. The groom meekly though apprehensively obeyed as Sherry marched to the closet.
She searched for a moment and came out with several neckties. Groom's eyes widened as she stalked toward him but the look in her eyes kept him frozen. "On your knees!" she barked, and he complied. Roughly she hauled his arms up and deftly tied them to one of the short posts at the foot of the bed. A second tie went around his neck as a leash.
"Now, let's see what I've got to work with." He tried to mumble some words of protest as she began to take off his pants but again her glare quelled any actual rebellion. Her hunch was confirmed as his dick was freed; he was getting hard. "Yeah, I figured you were whipped," she sneered, giving his dick a pinch. He looked away from her but his cock stiffened further in her hand, as if it was eagerly admitting the charge.
She deftly stripped him from the waist down. She stepped in front of him, legs spread. and grabbed his head by the hair. Bending over, she dragged his red-flushed face to her feet, his arms straining and stretched. "Worship me. Now."
He balked for an instant, and she icily hissed "Now!" once more. Groom commenced licking her toes and rubbing his face on her feet. She was almost dripping with the intoxicating power she felt. A few guiding tugs on his 'leash' and he started to gradually work his way up her legs.
Once he reached her thighs, she lost patience and directed him insistently to her crotch. "You should know what to do. Get to work!" He began mediocre cunnilingus, but Sherry would have none of that. "Get in there and lick boy!", she commanded imperiously. At that, he started pleasuring her in earnest. He wasn't particularly skilled but she was direct and insistent about what she wanted and soon enough he was doing a creditable job. Without for a moment diverting attention from the experience at hand, she amusedly reflected that she was probably doing his bride a favor.
It went on like that for some time, Sherry being in no hurry. Eventually she came, quietly but very intensely, only a sharply-drawn breath indicating the violence within. He might have heard her, or sensed the tremors - he began to slack off. But a firm hand yanking his head forward restored his vigor. Once the climax had fully passed, she released her grip and let him pull back.
His dick was rock-hard, waving gently in the air as he caught his breath. She bent over and stroked it with just her fingertips. He froze and the tip swelled... Slap. "Not yet, you pansy. I'm not finished with you."
She loosed him from the bedpost and used his leash to drag him onto the bed. First one hand, then the other, was lashed to the headboard. His apprehension grew visibly when she constrained his legs, too, in a spread-eagle arrangement. He tried to sputter an actual protest as yet another necktie was formed into a gag, but by then it was too late.
His struggles to free himself only increased his anxiety as Sherry ambled unconcernedly to her purse, since her knots held fast. But actual terror filled his eyes when he saw what she pulled out of it. She began strapping a dildo onto her crotch, finding his muffled shrieks terribly cute. It was rubbery and flexible, with a longish base that would offer her pussy excellent stimulation during its use. She'd been wanting to try it out all day.
"You don't have a choice about this, boy. But if you quiet down, I promise to use this," she teased, waving a tube of lubricant in her hand.
Once that sank in, he lapsed into silence, save for the racing breath through his flaring nostrils. As she approached she noted that drops of sweat had broken out on his forehead. His tool had deflated markedly, but not completely, she was pleased to see. She sat down on the bed next to him and, with a superior expression on her face, began masturbating him. In no time he was stiff again; his eyes kept being drawn to the phallus wobbling slightly in front of her hips.
"Yeah, that's right, you've probably even fantasized about this, right? Being humiliated, being totally owned?" The throbbing of his prick showed her words struck home. "Does she know? Is she into that?" His downcast eyes gave her the answer. "Didn't think so." If anything, his embarrassment seemed to excite him more. "Oooh, you're getting wet..." Drops of fluid had started emerging from his meatus.
She stood and, as he stared, she drizzled lube onto the shaft at her crotch. She made a show of spreading it around, then climbed onto the bed between his legs. Groom was breathing very fast now, and his muscles strained against his bonds fruitlessly. Her hand guided the tip of her instrument to his anus. She left it there for a few seconds, milking the tension. Then she gradually pushed forward and slid it inside. A muffled moan escaped from Groom as she did so.
"You even sound almost like a girl," she sneered. "I do that, too, when a real man takes me in the ass." She started to move, slowly, back and forth. "Better relax down there, or this'll hurt."
Somehow it didn't seem to be hurting him - or at least, the pain was being outweighed by something else. His cock waved ineffectually in the air as she thrusted; she was careful not to give it any direct stimulation. But one hand snaked forward under his shirt to pinch his nipples. He didn't seem to experience that as pain, either. By now, she knew, his balls would be aching with pressure. He'd been feverishly on edge for almost half an hour now without any relief.
For Sherry's part, she was thoroughly enjoying the exquisite rubbing on her clit as she worked him mercilessly, and revelling in the domination. Her own orgasm arrived, and she tweaked his cock as she began ramming into his ass as hard as she could. His own climax was practically a seizure, shaking the bed. She was impressed with how far his cum sprayed up onto his torso, staining his shirt.
When all was done, she unstrapped the tool and left it inside him. Then she untied one of his hands, and ordered, "Clean that up. And yourself. And send in the next one." She rolled off the bed as he began to untie himself, inspecting the dressers and cabinets for anything useful. His face burned with obvious shame as he went to the bathroom holding the dildo. In a few minutes he was dressed, and he left without a word.
The next groomsman was tall and skinny and not nearly as fetishistic, which suited Sherry just fine. She got things going with a minimum of preliminaries; her pussy needed some serious plumbing. They fucked happily on the bed, with her on her back this time. He rode her high and hard, and kissed her deeply as he pounded into her cunt. She screamed as she came three times before he finally exploded himself.
Once he'd left, another groomsman came in. He was older and on the short and thick side. There was a vague resemblance to Carl, which turned her on in an odd way. She took charge again, though less forcefully, and had him sit on the bed while she performed extended fellatio. He reacted much as Carl would have - with disbelief, wonder, and in the end almost pathetic gratitude.
The revelry continued through the night in that fashion, the men taking their turns with her - except the groom, who devoted himself to drinking with a vengeance and eventually passed out. At least, that's what Sherry heard; she never ventured out of the bedroom. It was quite late before the exhausted group finally gave up and slept.
~~~~~
"...within I was conscious of a heady recklessness... a solution of the bonds of obligation..."
Sherry was awakened by a frantic hand jostling her shoulders. "Oh, shit, wake up, wake up!" She smacked the hand away and sat up, rubbing her eyes.
"What the fuck is your problem?" she snapped, recognizing Best Man.
"You've got to get out of here. I didn't set the alarm, my wife'll be home any minute. She can't fucking find you here!" Best Man looked worried.
Sherry thought for a moment, then slid out of bed. "Okay, fine. I'll just get a shower and go."
"No, you stupid cunt, it's almost nine! She'll be here any minute! I've got to clean this place up!" He grabbed her arm and tried to drag her toward the heap of her clothes in the corner.
Sherry refused to be budged. Best Man glared in her eyes for an instant but then froze as he met what Groom had encountered the night before. His hand fell away from her limply.
"I'm covered in cum. I don't mind that, but when it dries it itches. You clean up, whatever, I don't care. But I'm gonna take a shower." Best Man stared desperately after her as she strode unhurriedly to the bathroom.
She peed, and then took her time in the shower. It was not out of any malicious impulse, she was simply indifferent to anyone's desires unless they matched her own. Cleaning out her vagina was both necessary and fun, and Mrs. Best Man apparently enjoyed shower massagers, too.
When she turned off the water she heard someone outside the stall. She opened the glass door to reach for a towel and beheld Tall Groomsman vomiting into the toilet. She stepped past him and dried herself off. He finished and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at her miserably.
She was wrapping her hair up in a towel as she remarked, "There's another bathroom, you know."
"Occupado. Jerry's in there. I told him to take it easy on the tequila." She vaguely remembered that had been Groom's name. Tall was hovering over the toilet, as if waiting for more.
"Guess you should have, too." She located what looked like Mrs. Best Man's toothbrush and went to work.
Apparently satisfied he was done for now, he sat back on his haunches and grabbed some toilet paper. "Hell, I've drank more'n that before. Don't even have much of a headache. I hope I didn't catch what my kid had..."
Sherry left him in the bathroom and walked out into the bedroom, where Best Man had tossed the dirty bedclothes in a corner and was frantically making the bed with new sheets. He shot her a murderous look as she began putting back on what little clothes she had been wearing. Skimpy panties, a short dress, and some shoes comprised the entire ensemble, so she was dressed, though hardly decent, in seconds.
Best Man had just started pulling the comforter onto the bed when a low hum thrummed from somewhere else - the garage door opening. "Fuck fuck fuck!" he cried. "Look, get out the back, I got Don, he'll give you a ride." He started bustling her down the hall.
Now that Sherry was clean, she didn't mind leaving, even in a rush. A confrontation would be tedious and possibly even annoying. Their haste was in vain, however, as two women came into the kitchen from the garage as they tried to pass by. One of them called out, "Tell Jerry to hide! We're just gonna..." Sherry's presence finally registered, and she trailed off.
There was a tense pause, and stormclouds gathered on both women's faces. "Who is she?" the other one demanded frostily.
"Uh, honey, this is..." Best Man fumbled for words.
"I'm Sherry." She smiled. "I was just leaving." It didn't mollify them. She had seen hints of this before. Women tended to get defensive of their men in her presence. Though, certainly, the present circumstances didn't help.
"What the fuck is she doing here?" Mrs. Best Man shouted. "What is she, a stripper? A hooker? You said it was just going to be 'the boys', not..."
"I'm not a stripper yet." Sherry interrupted. She realized she could lie at this point, and possibly smooth things over. But she was getting bored and she just did not care what happened after she left. "Like I said I'm leaving now anyway." She turned to Best Man. "Where's Don?"
"You're goddamn right you're leaving, bitch," spat out Mrs. Best Man. She couldn't seem to decide who she wanted to glare at more, Sherry or Best Man.
"Where's Jerry?" asked the other woman, apparently the bride, in a tone that foretold doom. "If he fucked you, I'll kill him. And you," she pointed at Sherry.
Now she was not bored but actually irritated. "Shut up. He didn't fuck me," she said as she rummaged in her purse. "You might want to ask Jerry where this's been, though." Then she tossed something underhand at the bride, who caught it reflexively. Then she dropped it in shock as she recognized the strap-on. She looked back up at Sherry with confusion and mounting horror.
"Go ahead, keep it," Sherry smirked. "Might come in handy with him." As she'd expected, that was a conversation-stopper, and she was allowed to depart unhindered.
Don turned out to be the Carlish guy. She had him drop her off at a nearby mall. She breakfasted in the food court, and got in some shopping time. At noon the court was much more crowded. Her food was purchased by a store manager on his lunch break, who ended up taking the rest of the day off and driving her to a nearby hotel.
Regrettably, though, his reach exceeded his grasp, so to speak. Inside of an hour he was too tired to continue. Sherry donned a swimsuit she had bought at the mall (that was right on the borderline of legal) and went down to the pool to 'advertise'. It was the work of minutes to pick up some travelling businessmen and she moved between three rooms as the afternoon proceeded.
By Sunday evening, however, Sherry was feeling more than a bit queasy. She concluded that the vomiting groomsman had not had a hangover after all. Given the volumes of bodily fluids she'd exchanged, infection was practically inevitable. In her usual selfish manner, she did the only logical thing - she returned home and changed back to me, intending to leave me to suffer through the symptoms. But as the wracking pains of the change subsided, I realized that I felt fine. I was tired, but I wasn't nauseous.
Later experience has borne out what I theorized then - a side effect of the transformation somehow eliminates diseases. I'm uncertain as to the mechanism. Perhaps some aspect of the change kills germs. Or perhaps being sick isn't part of my 'self-image'? However it works, that little byproduct wiped away my last major worry about Sherry's lifestyle, the last hurdle that might have kept me from my current predicament.
~~~~~
"...the situation was apart from ordinary laws, and insidiously relaxed the grasp of conscience..."
Monday the store was closed as I cleaned the house, laundered the sheets, and attempted to organize the rooms for their new second tenant. I was hooked, being Sherry was intense and exhilarating and irresistible. I knew that I would be Carl only part of the time from now on.
Monday night saw Sherry in a photographer's studio doing some promotional shots. Dawg had called and sent her there - he was spending a goodly amount on advance publicity for the debut of 'Sherry Sweet'. He knew a sure thing when he saw it.
The shutterbug was a guy in his forties who was apparently a friend of Dawg. He was black, and a veteran of some kind; she didn't really care about the details. His girlfriend was there, watching the shoot; she was also a dancer at the club. Sherry enjoyed the process, posing among a pile of pillows and cushions in various outfits and assorted states of undress. Imagining guys stroking off to her image was incredibly hot. Eventually, she was naked and masturbating openly, taking pictures that could be used for the club's "members only" website.
The girlfriend had been watching with awe. Sherry was distinctly aware of her gaze... and equally aware that she herself hadn't fucked a woman yet. "Hey, Jesse? Wanna get a few shots of me and Mercedes?"
"Hell, yeah," Jesse breathed. Mercedes didn't need much convincing to join her in front of the backdrop. At Jesse's insistence Sherry put on a thong and a frilly negligee. They started by looking into each others eyes, and then moving close. "Yeah, just like that," Jesse called, "you're in love and you can't hold back anymore."
Sherry ignored him and kissed Mercedes gently on the lips, one hand on her shoulder. She was a thin black girl, but full-chested with a wonderful caboose. Her hair was straightened and lightened to a tawny brown. She wore a pink cutoff t-shirt, jeans, and sandals. Sherry thought she looked delectable. Mercedes was breathing faster, now, as she leaned in for a hug and a longer, slower, juicier kiss. Sherry reached forward and pulled the other girl's shirt up over her head. The camera clicked wildly.
She leaned forward and nuzzled the offered breasts. They were implants, of course - few skinny girls could have such a bosom naturally - but they felt wonderful, and the stiff nipples tickled her face and lips and, as Jesse took shot after shot, tongue as well. Mercedes was trembling, unsteady on her feet, her eyes squeezed shut.
Sherry stepped back and bent forward, undoing the other girl's jeans. The dusky girl remained still, eyes closed, but she spread her legs slightly to help as the brown-haired beauty eased the pants down. Mercedes was wearing a red thong that flashed invitingly as she stepped, one leg at a time, out of the pants.
Sherry stood up, and Mercedes opened her eyes. She reached forward and lifted the negligee off as Sherry raised her arms, presenting her own bosom for best display. The girls moved close, kissing and embracing. Sherry found Mercedes' soft smooth skin to be eminently touchable, and her full lips felt too wonderful on her own.
Jesse had fallen silent. It was clear that no direction was needed. Mercedes was fondling Sherry's breasts now, and the girls sank down gently to lay upon the scattered cushions and pillows. Sherry eased her hand down between Mercedes' legs and deftly slipped past the strip of fabric. The dancer was quite wet, and she squirmed, moaning through the kisses as Sherry explored her pussy. Sherry commenced gently humping Mercedes' leg through her thong, voicing deep moans as well.
The moans peaked - just shy of screams - as the girls both experienced passionate orgasms. But there was no slowdown as Sherry helped Mercedes remove her thong. She lay on her back, propped up on an overstuffed pillow as Mercedes' head dipped between her legs and began to lap at her sopping cunt. The sensations were enchanting; a girl really did know what a girl liked. Sherry admired what she could see of the dark-skinned body for a few moments, before the exuberant slippery probing at her lips and clit demanded her full attention. She yelped joyfully and rode the surge of excitement to a quick series of climaxes.
The stripper came up with a pleased expression on her face, that Sherry quickly showered with kisses. The smell and taste of herself on the other woman was piquant and provocative. She had to taste the other girl's musk at once. She laid Mercedes onto her back and, with easy, acrobatic grace, flipped herself about to enable them to 69. She buried her face in the girl's shaved and succulent pussy. There was a hint of stubble - not something she'd encountered before - but it made a nice contrast to the smooth slippery convolutions of her labia and channel. She loved the contrast between the dark skin of the labia and the pink sweetness within them.
Matters continued like that for some time, each girl exploring the other intimately. No words were needed as they coaxed repeated ecstasy from their conjoined flesh. The first actual sentence in over an hour was Jesse, hoarse with lust, saying, "That's it. I don't have any more film, or cards." Sherry had forgotten he was even there. Mercedes had consumed her total attention.
And the pair had obviously consumed Jesse's attention. His pleading expression made Sherry giggle and it took her a few moments to compose herself and invite him in with a wave. Scarcely another moment passed before he had dived onto the haphazard softness they were playing upon. Mercedes got to work on stripping his lower half while Sherry took charge of the upper half; she was slower because it was more difficult to pull off his shirt while kissing him.
The contrast was striking and enticing. Jesse was urgent, forceful. Mercedes was passionate, too, but the dynamics were different. Not exactly less selfish, but less... using. More aware of what Sherry wanted. Of course, what Sherry wanted from a man was generally that very male aggression, so in practice she got what she craved. That was the case now, as in short order she settled onto his dick with a sigh while Mercedes sat on his face. Her hips moved in sinuous flow while she kissed and stroked the other girl.
Jesse didn't last more than a handful of minutes. His cock pulsing inside her triggered yet another profound detonation. They remained pleasantly conjoined for a while in the afterglow, and presently Mercedes squeaked through her own crescendo.
The girls returned to a sixty-nine while Jesse worked to rebuild his strength, but this time they were side-by-side. Assertive licking and knowing, gentle teeth soon dragged another climax from her partner, but knowing that Mercedes was licking cum out of her drove Sherry wild. She knew she had to taste that herself. So she took the part of 'fluff girl' and went to suck off Jesse. Under her administration, Jesse erected his tower in record time. Then Sherry sat back on some pillows, Mercedes on hands and knees before her, eating her out. Jesse mounted his girlfriend from behind, staring avidly as Sherry tweaked her own nipples and eyed him languidly.
When he ejaculated with a yell a few minutes later, Sherry pounced. She switched positions with the other girl and began lapping at her twat with glee. Spunk and pussy juice made a delicious cocktail indeed.
~~~~~
"...a body that seemed not strong enough to contain the raging energies of life."
Again I managed to go two days as myself, but on Thursday, Sherry had a message from Dawg on my answering machine. That night she went to the lounge to pick up her new bona fides. He presented her with the driver's license, birth certificate, and Social Security card for one 'Charlene Ann Dolchay', age 21. She wasn't at all troubled by the misspelling.
She left and went clubbing with her new ID. While certainly not an experienced dancer, she had an instinctive talent for moving her body and a gift for mimicry. Naturally she became a center of attention. When the club closed at 1 am (Boston's liquor laws are rather old-fashioned) she was invited to a rave and gleefully jumped at the chance.
The rave was wonderful, with exposed, gyrating, sweaty flesh everywhere she looked. She became the nucleus of a 'cuddle puddle' and happily turned it to her own ends, seducing and ravishing several partygoers over the course of the night. When it finally wrapped up, she accompanied two aspiring studs to their dorm room and proceeded to fuck them silly until almost morning. Then she annexed one of the beds and slept until noon.
When she awoke, the boys took her down to the cafeteria. Sherry didn't care about my store in any way, and never even considered relinquishing control of our shared form for the day. A coed dorm was practically a candy store for her; she was far more impressed with the selection of students at the tables than the food that was available.
Over the course of several hours she visited at least ten different rooms, and had sex with over a dozen young men and one adventuresome young woman. (Sherry almost fainted with pleasure when the girl fit her dainty hand entirely inside Sherry's passage.) It was late Friday afternoon before she finally organized a ride back to our house. After 'tipping the chauffeur' in her usual way, she had him wait downstairs while she cleaned herself up and selected an outfit for her debut at the club.
~~~~~
"I began to profit by the strange immunities of my position."
Sherry was backstage getting ready for her first official dance. There wasn't a trace of fear within her, of course, but she was tense with excitement nonetheless, like a thoroughbred itching to race. A few other girls were milling around the cramped space. Almost all of them were fearful to some extent. Sherry was unquestionably serious competition and directly threatened the established pecking order. Adding to their resentment was her sheer unassailable indifference to their subtle (and sometimes not-so-subtle) snubs and jibes.
The one friendly face there was Mercedes. No doubt part of that was from the excellent fucking Sherry had given her. However, Mercedes also had been low in the previous hierarchy and saw a chance to move up by allying herself with the newcomer.
"You look awesome!" she gushed as Sherry finished applying the last of her makeup. Her garb was not elaborate. High heels and fishnet stockings, of course. There was a skimpy thong, barely concealed for the moment under a skimpy skirt. A lacy bra half-visible under a translucent blouse. Sunglasses and fingerless gloves, just to have something else to take off. She intended the focus to be on her body, not props.
"Thanks," she replied idly. A last review of her appearance in the mirror, and then she turned and strode to the small alcove that led to the stage. From there she was able to discreetly signal that she was ready. For a few moments she examined the audience, peeking through the curtain.
It was a fair-sized crowd. Dawg's advertising had been effective, even on short notice. The current girl, her act complete, was gathering up her money and discarded clothes. She brushed past Sherry without a word. Unfazed, she kept gazing at the patrons, anticipating the thrill of baring her incomparable flesh as they watched longingly...
The house lights dimmed. Loud music began to play, with a sensuous beat and lots of low, pumping bass. (She had asked the DJ for suggestions earlier, choosing the one with the rawest, most sexist lyrics.) Spotlights began waving back and forth. "Gentlemen, the Corinthian Lounge is proud to introduce to you... for the first time on any stage... Sherry Sweet!"
She strutted out onto the platform with a brash, saucy excitement that proved swiftly infectious. Hoots, whistles, and catcalls arose immediately and were unceasing throughout her performance. She had not planned out any routine, trusting to her instincts. They did not fail her.
She commenced a slow walk about the edge of the stage, eyeing the audience with a sultry gaze. Her gait alone was quite enticing, and then she whirled and fell into a split, displaying her uncanny, limber flexibility. A hearty cheer sounded from the crowd, which continued as she rolled onto her stomach and thrust her ass into the air. In that position her skirt provided no cover of any import.
Sadly, few strippers find much enjoyment in the actual process of their work; their motivation is much more tied up in the rewards for their labor. And not many of those who take up the profession possess the requisite acting skill to effectively conceal this. There are men who prefer this state of affairs; having the power to force a woman to abase herself is what they're after.
But very few men, even the misogynists, are immune to the charms of a well-shaped and willing woman who is clearly enjoying the attention of men. The roar of the crowd grew to almost drown out the music. She rose and began to unbutton her shirt coquettishly; when she whipped it off and hurled it into the audience, a brief scuffle broke out over who would keep it.
Imagining the forest of stiff cocks that surrounded her drove her half mad with lust. She spun around the pole, hair flaring out behind her, gyrating with liquid dexterity.
The first song of her set was drawing to a close when she belatedly realized that she hadn't actually collected any money. That was far from her top priority, but the way strip clubs worked, she had to pay a rate for her time on stage, while she kept the excess. As the second song began, she shifted her rhythm and began milking the wolfpack surrounding her. There was no need to choose, bills were being urgently waved at her from every direction.
By the middle of the second song she was nude, but she could have sewn several dresses out of the cash littering the stage. When she almost slipped on some, she moved to the pole and entertained herself (and everyone nearby) with it until her set was finished. She didn't realize at the time just how unusual it was for a stripper to receive a standing ovation.
While she collected and stowed her cash, she was hounded by a surfeit of requests for personal dances in the VIP room. With plenty to choose from, she picked one of the sexiest guys and led him away. He actually came in his pants without her having to touch him. She did two more sets that night, and at least a dozen private dances, with similar results. At the end of the night she went home with a high-roller and probably spoiled him for other women.
Over the next few days she had an absolute blast. She proved to be a versatile and enthusiastic ecdysiast. Saturday night she was a not-that-innocent schoolgirl in pigtails. Sunday night she wore a leather dominatrix ensemble. Monday she was a MILF. Tuesday a haughty-but-naughty fashion model graced the stage. The combination of her superlative physical charms and her obvious, sincere zeal for arousing her audience made her practically irresistible.
Staying within the bounds of the law was difficult for her, of course. The legalistic distinctions between stripping and prostitution did not hold her interest, so she violated the strictures on a semi-regular basis - much to the joy of her clientele. Fortunately, an undercover vice cop sent to investigate her was swiftly compromised by her irresistible allure. Once Sherry had her way with him, he could not report her without implicating himself; and by then he had no inclination to abort her career anyway.
~~~~~
"That part of me which I had the power of projecting, had lately been much exercised and nourished..."
It was a hot, wet summer for Sherry. Four nights a week, Thursday through Sunday, she performed at the club, almost always going home with someone for the night of their lives. Sometimes she teamed up for a show with one of the other girls, usually Mercedes.
A handful of the dancers still displayed infrequent, residual cattiness, but her dominance was unquestioned. It went without saying that she had Dawg's full support, but in truth, the rising tide of Sherry's popularity was lifting all their boats. She brought in big crowds, and everyone's take was better than ever before.
She even did her part to support the troops. At one point a squad of National Guardsmen came to the club the night before they were shipping out. She left early with the soldiers and gave them a going-away party the USO would never have authorized. It had nothing to do with patriotism, of course; eight horny, macho, and well-conditioned young men were frankly irresistible.
And then one Wednesday morning I was sitting in my desk at the store, idly reminiscing about the two Puerto Rican brothers who had tied Sherry up and used her mercilessly the night before, when the phone rang. I recognized the number; it was Sal. I suffered a pang of guilt at that point, because I hadn't even thought of him once since I'd successfully mixed up the concoction. I answered the phone with genuine warmth.
"Hey, Sal, how have you been? Sorry I haven't called, things have been pretty busy lately."
"I'm fine, thanks. How are you doing? You've cut back the store's hours, I heard..."
"Well, yes, but I'm still doing all right."
"So, what are you up to instead of working?" I could hear the skepticism mixed with concern in his voice.
"Oh, no need to worry about me. I'm not abusing... anything. The truth is, uh, well, I've got a girlfriend now."
"Really? Well, we definitely have some catching up to do then. How about tonight? Fleming's again? Bring her along if you like."
"Well... actually, she, uh, works nights. But I can come." Part of my willingness was just a desire to see my friend. But also I wanted to allay his suspicions. If he started poking around... he'd be about the only person in the world who could possibly suspect the truth.
So that evening I arrived just slightly late at our favorite restaurant. The hostess knew me as a regular and escorted me to the quieter back room. Sal was already there, and waved as I was led through the door.
I said before that I wasn't gay, that I didn't eye men on the street or anything like that. But when I caught sight of Sal, of a familiar face from my old days, I was suddenly aware that part of me was checking him out. I realized that I had been lecherously evaluating men as well as women lately, asking myself what Sherry would do with them.
And I realized that Sherry liked Sal very much. She wanted see how this distinguished-looking older gentleman appeared without those tasteful clothes. How well-hung was he? He'd been around. He'd know what to do with his cock, and... I cut that line of thought short with an effort.
I forced a smile and walked to the table, ignoring the odd sensations I felt as we shook hands, then I sat down across from him. For a moment, we were both silent.
"Well, I feel better already," Sal finally said. "I suppose you knew what I was worried about. But you look all right."
"Thanks, I guess." I said ruefully. "I feel fine. I'm actually enjoying life a lot more these days."
"Let's hear about this girl of yours. Sherry, you said? How did you meet?"
"She's, er, quite a handful. I... uh, I've known her for a while, but we've been spending more time together lately." Before I could continue, our waiter appeared.
I might have made it through the meal and got away, were it not for a spot of bad luck - he was new, but I recognized him. Sherry had gone home with him a couple of weeks ago. Unbidden, memories of riding his dick reverse-cowgirl style flooded my mind. He'd been a good lay, reaching around and tweaking my nipples as I'd bounced up and down, squeezing his pole with my pussy walls... No, Sherry had....
Something of my distress must have shown on my face. The waiter (I suddenly remembered his name was Patrick) said, "Is something wrong, sir?"
I reestablished control of my thoughts and replied, "No, I'm sorry, it's just that you look remarkably like someone I knew long ago in college. It's almost uncanny." I smiled. "Your name isn't Ron, is it?"
"No," he smiled back. "It's Patrick. I'll be your server tonight. Would you like to start off with an appetizer?" I worked strenuously and mostly effectively to forget his active tongue in my mouth.
After he left with our orders, Sal pressed me again. "You were telling me about Sherry? You never mentioned her before."
"Well, we didn't have that kind of relationship. She's pretty amazing, though. Beautiful, smart, knows what she wants."
"I hear the store hasn't been open much lately."
"It's just, she takes up a lot of my time." I shifted uncomfortably.
"High-maintenance, as they say?"
"Definitely."
"If you're cutting back hours, can you afford a woman like that?" He looked me straight in the eyes. "Are you selling something new?"
"It's not like that, really. I wouldn't do that. I'm a dealer, but an antiques dealer." I sipped my water. "Sherry helps. Together we make enough to get by."
"You're living together?" His gaze was piercing, probing. I avoided his eyes... partly because on one level - Sherry's level - I wanted to stare into them.
"Yes." I was trying not to volunteer information, but that seemed to make him more suspicious.
Patrick returned with our wine. As he left I felt my eyes drawn to the young man's rear, but I suppressed the impulse and focused on the conversation. Sal shifted topics, and brought up what I'd been dreading. "Did you ever end up trying the stuff?"
I paused, choosing my words carefully. "Yes. It actually helped me get to know Sherry a lot better. But it's not really my main focus these days."
"Hmmm. Maybe I should mix some up."
I couldn't tell if he was serious or not. "I wouldn't advise it. If you didn't know what you were doing, the results could be..." I searched for a word. "...unpredictable. My situation is, well, kind of special."
"In what way, exactly? What does that stuff do, anyway?"
"It... um... breaks down inhibitions, I guess you could say." I considered a moment how to phrase things safely. "It... brings out repressed parts of the personality."
"I see. That could be dangerous." He took a sip of wine. "Why isn't it dangerous for you? What if you hurt someone, or yourself?"
"My repressions... well, they weren't of a violent nature."
"Might I inquire as to what nature they actually were?" Sal asked with exaggerated politeness.
"Uh... well, Sherry's in my life now." I took a sip of wine.
"Ah. I see." Sal seemed thoughtful. I didn't think he was any less suspicious, though.
"But enough about me. What have you been up to? Still seeing whatshername, Donna?" After I asked I realized I was more interested in his love life than I should have been.
"Not anymore. We just didn't click, I suppose." The conversation moved to safer topics for a time, though I had the strong impression Sal was still evaluating my reactions. But his intense regard wasn't just making me nervous, it was making me horny as well. A substantial fraction of my personality wanted him to pay attention to me.
As I said, I might have made it if not for the waiter. But the combination of thoughts of him, and my unwanted but undeniable new attraction to Sal, upset my equilibrium by too great a degree.
When Patrick returned with our meals, I was struck by his poise and strength carrying the heavily-loaded tray. This time I could not keep myself from examining his ass as he served Sal. Flustered, I sat quietly after he left, pretending to be absorbed by my meal, making occasional encouraging sounds as Sal continued his report on his dating situation. But now, I could not help but notice his deft hands as they handled the silverware, and his mouth and lips as he ate. It was too much.
"Excuse me," I broke in and stood up. "I have to go to the men's room. I'll be right back." Sal looked after me with a concerned expression as I hurried away.
I rushed to a stall in the bathroom, pulled down my pants, and sat on a toilet. I immediately began to masturbate, hoping to relieve the tension and be able to finish the dinner. Stroking my shaft, I fantasized about Patrick, how it had felt riding him. But I couldn't help myself. In moments I was fantasizing about Sal; then I felt a shudder and the pangs of change swept over me.
My last thought as Carl was the realization that I hadn't had an orgasm as myself in months... and then Sherry was rubbing and grunting through an intense climax. The ecstatic spasms ebbed and she sat for a moment in the stall, catching her breath. This was a bit of a problem. It wasn't too much of a surprise, though - involuntary changes had happened to Tawesson as well.
She was attired in a man's suit far too big for her slim frame. We always changed at home; there were no spare clothes in the car and the formula was at the house, miles away. If Sal saw her dressed like this, he'd know something very strange was going on, and that would not do, not at all. There were things that needed to be done before he suspected the truth.
Deciding to take a cue from Cuilidh, she dug out Carl's wallet. She could imitate his handwriting perfectly, so she penned a quick note on the back of one of his business cards. "Sal - not feeling myself, had to go home. Meet me there, all will be revealed. Carl."
She heard someone coming in, and stepped out into the men's room. A very startled old man gaped at her, jaw sagging. With total insouciance, Sherry said, "I need you to do me a favor. There's a really cute guy in the back room, mid-40s, touch of gray at the temples. On the left. Give this to him, okay? And tell him a man gave it to you; it's very important he doesn't know it came from me. Can you do that, sweetie?"
He nodded mutely. She smiled and gave him a quick smooch. "Okay, hop to it! Let me know when he leaves!" She turned and went back to wait in her stall; best to avoid a disturbance. Her impromptu lackey, completely bemused, went back out the door.
It wasn't a very long wait, but Sherry was not given to patience. She gave some consideration to the nature of her attire. She hadn't thought of dressing in men's clothes before. Her next set at the lounge would definitely be in drag. Moreover, she could likely pick up some nice femme lesbians like that. Of course, the butch ones had their advantages, too. And those in between...
Perhaps fortunately, the old man came back in at that point, before she could work herself up further. "Excuse me, uh, miss? That, uh, gentleman just left." She emerged from the stall and brushed past her befuddled bravo. She blew a kiss behind her as she walked out the door.
She was used to the lull in conversation when she appeared in a crowd, but never before had she engendered complete silence the way she did now, on her way out of the restaurant. Sherry, heedless, rushed out onto the street and off to the car. There were plenty of gawkers on the trip to the parking garage, but no one got in her way. Carl's cell rang as she was starting the car. When she checked the number, it was Sal. She let it go to voicemail.
It wouldn't have worked in most cities. But Boston - at least the city center - was never designed for car traffic. (Indeed, it was never designed at all.) Sal came from a different direction than us, and we knew where he habitually parked. It was on the wrong side of the restaurant - that is, for reaching our side of town. With the maze of twisty, one-way streets and perennial construction, he would take at least fifteen minutes longer to reach our house than she would - despite our cars being parked less than a quarter mile apart.
~~~~~
"...I had voluntarily stripped myself of all those balancing instincts by which even the worst of us continues to walk with some degree of steadiness among temptations..."
So it was that Sherry arrived home comfortably ahead of Sal, and had exchanged the ridiculous trappings for a garment that was more suitable. One that invited an entirely different kind of attention. She waited on a couch in the front room until the doorbell rang.
Opening the door, she was pleased to note Sal's double-take: the nearly universal human reaction to encountering Sherry's raw, animal aura. While he worked to recover his composure, she stole the initiative. "You must be Sal," she purred. "Carl told me to expect you." She stepped back and waved him in.
He entered rather dubiously. The dress she wore had a plunging - indeed, dive-bombing - neckline, and slits ran up both sides of the short skirt. "So, I take it you're Sherry?" Sal was trying to keep his eyes from roaming over her body, with strictly limited success.
"The one and only." She smiled in a satisfied way. There would be no trouble getting what she wanted, she was quite sure of that now. "Can I get you something to drink?" She led him to the living room.
"Not just yet." He looked around; the ground floor of the house hadn't changed noticeably since Sherry had 'moved in'. "Where's Carl?"
She sat down on the couch, leaving plenty of room for him to join her. "He's resting upstairs. He tends to be worn out when I'm through with him." She smirked. "Didn't he tell you about me?"
"I... think I'm beginning to understand." He stood uncomfortably, clearly having trouble focusing on the business he'd come for. "I thought you worked nights?"
"I got off early tonight." Another smile. "Are you disappointed?"
"Uh, no, not at all. But I'd really like to check on Carl."
"Oh, you just had dinner, give him a break. I'd like a chance with you. I've heard so much about you." She patted the cushion next to her. "Come, sit."
He did, carefully, a few inches further away than he really needed to. "What do you do for a living?" he asked.
"I'm a dancer at the Corinthian Lounge."
"Ah. Really." He absorbed that for a moment. "How did you and Carl meet?"
"We've been... intimate for years now." She stretched a little, drawing his attention to the benefits of intimacy.
"I never would have suspected that." He sounded doubtful.
"I think he was worried that associating with me would sully his reputation." She tossed her head and swept her hair back, grinning mischievously. "He was quite discreet."
"Apparently so." He looked away. "What changed? Why tell me about you now?"
"I'm a much more important part of his life these days."
"So I gather." He cleared his throat. "I have to admit, you don't seem quite the type I'd have pictured for him."
"He's been fantasizing about me for a long time."
"I can well imagine." She could see him struggle with his duty. "Forgive me for the way this question sounds, but... I wouldn't picture Carl as being your type. What do you get out of the relationship?"
"He... takes care of me."
"Why can't I get a straight answer out of either one of you?"
"I'm sure it sounds strange, but it's simply that our relationship is... complicated." Now she leaned forward and shifted closer. "But it's a very open one."
"That doesn't sound much like Carl." Sal seemed to be having trouble figuring out what to do with his hands, fidgeting and backing up slightly.
"I know what you mean, but you'd be surprised how much he's changed."
That seemed to shore up his determination a little. "I might be responsible for that. If I'd known about all this, I wouldn't have..." He moved to stand up. "I really think I should see him."
Sherry put her hands on his shoulders, holding him down. It didn't take all that much effort. "You're a good friend, Sal," she stated, hiding her exasperation. "Now, will you be my friend? Will you help me move a body?" A sinuous ripple of her form as she slid close left no doubt whose body she referred to. "After, you can see Carl if you want. I promise."
Still he hesitated. "Believe me, you'd be doing him a favor, too," she pleaded earnestly. "Carl wants this."
She saw the war inside him. He was Carl's friend... but he was also a man, and she was Sherry. She leaned forward the last few inches, pressing her chest to his and kissing his lips sensuously. His eyes told her the battle was won.
He didn't say anything. Instead, he put his arms around her and kissed her in return, drawing her close. Some of her enjoyment came from the perverse, wicked pleasure of fucking an old friend, someone who'd known Carl. But she'd been right, too. Sal did know how to treat a woman. He used his hands and tongue skillfully, and most importantly he didn't rush things.
While their tongues wrestled his fingertips roamed across her back, her sides, her hair, her cheeks. One sought lower, and ran along her thigh, following the split in her skirt. Then it slid back up and cupped her rear. He pulled her close, turning her onto his lap.
Gently he brought his hands up to her shoulders, and even as their lips remained locked, he eased the dress down over her shoulders, liberating her only nominally-constrained breasts. Sal sat back and paused, dazed at the splendor before him. Sherry was literally too good to be true. Her smug wink spurred him to further action. He brought his lips to the side of her neck, trailing feather-soft kisses down to her chest. Her breath caught in her throat. He took a nipple gently between his teeth and tickled it with his tongue, prompting a shiver and a gasp.
Meanwhile, his hands kept wandering about her body; the one stroking her back as the other moved from her rump around under her skirt, to her crotch. There it found no cloth, only the lubricious signs of a very ready female. He teased her for a few minutes, splitting his kisses between her breasts and her lips, while he played his fingers in and around her pussy.
Sherry repaid him with impassioned kisses and strokes over his form; but she did not reach for his cock, not inclined to interfere with his efforts. Eventually he shifted to a more direct and forceful mode, and called forth shrieks of joy from her.
Once this overture had come to completion, they moved in concert to ditch their clothing entirely. Sherry's insubstantial outfit was speedily dispensed with, but she took her time disrobing Sal. His suit progressively revealed its contents to her probing hands. Sal, for his part, displayed admirable patience as she labored.
Once finished, she lay back on the couch, one leg stretched to the floor, the other pulled up, her breasts bobbing gently with her fevered breath, and drank in the sights. He was in good shape for his age. A bit of fat, but on him it looked distinguished. She was reminded of an older wolf, one who had beaten rivals by strength before and still was canny enough to remain head of the pack. An attractive mate. His prick was of average size, but she was untroubled, confident he'd wield it properly.
Sal, too, had paused to admire the view from his perspective. His gaze was hungry but controlled; a general surveying territory he planned to conquer, working out a lengthy campaign. She experienced it as an almost physical caress, anticipation stoking inner fires. Then he strode deliberately forward, laying hands on her to guide her into the position he'd selected. He eased her back onto the couch, and kneeled by her hips.
She was on her side as he penetrated her, one leg tucked between his, the other wrapped around his waist. Many women would have found it uncomfortable but she accommodated it easily with her pliant, supple joints. Her back arched and she let out a loud low moan when he began to stroke in and out. She shrieked happily as one of his hands reached down and his fingers tickled her nub. "Oh, fuck, Sal, fuck me! Fuck me!" He complied with increased vigor. He'd made a good choice; he could excite her easily in multiple ways while still having a commanding view.
One hand helped support her and the other probed her anus, a double penetration far easier to allow for than two cocks, and much better coordinated. Her juices were flowing liberally so he had ample chance to make his fingers slippery. She hissed with pleasure, muscles stiffening. After a sharp explosion, he backed off to simple penetration for a time, then made another move, thrusting more aggressively.
A hand darted to her clit, maximizing her stimulation. Absently but approvingly, she noticed that it was not the hand that had recently been in her backside; that was a mark of experience, not wanting to leave any discomfiting infections later. She was immune, but he didn't know that.
After that, however, she left off appraising his technique and simply enjoyed the results of it. He continued to change things up, never quite letting her get used to any one mode. She came, enthusiastically, several times, before she decided to show off some of her skill. She commenced a spectacular display of muscular control, massaging him inside her with ripples and clenches and waves. He maintained control for a while longer than she expected, but finally gave in and shot an intense load within her.
Breathing deeply, he pulled out of her and sat back on the couch. Sherry sat up and put a hand to her pussy, twirling a little cum onto her finger. As he watched, she brought it to her mouth and licked it up. "Mmmmmm. I knew you'd taste good. As good as you fuck."
"I'm pleased to have been of service," he said, dignity maintained even as he panted. "You are truly an expert in the field."
"Oh, you can't say that now," she pouted. "You haven't seen anything yet." It was her turn to advance on him.
"Sherry, I'm flattered, but I simply cannot..." he trailed off as her talented mouth met his penis. His recovery was not instantaneous, but she was able to clean him off and coax a handsome erection faster than Sal had apparently believed possible. When she sensed he was getting close to his summit, she abruptly disengaged, to his unmistakable disappointment.
He was mollified in short order, however, as she shimmied up his body and began positioning herself atop his pelvis. In truth, he was also distracted by the sudden, immediate proximity of her spectacular tits.
She paused there, her vagina hovering inches above his stiff prick. Gazing into his eyes for long moments, not sighting her target at all, drops of her wetness fell unerringly onto the head of his dick. Languorously, and again unerringly, she descended to capture him inside herself. Both of them let out gentle appreciative gasps as docking was achieved.
Then she initiated a serpentine wriggling of her entire body even as her almost superhumanly-controlled internal muscles quivered around his member in a startling manner. He gasped again, this time in sheer disbelief. He regarded her with nearly superstitious awe; she laughed and intensified her motion.
Sal was panting heavily, struggling to maintain some kind of control, holding onto the couch with a deathgrip. Sherry bent forward, never slowing down, placing her bobbing rack directly in his face. Trying to delay the inevitable, he rocked his hips lower, attempting a partial withdrawal. But instantaneously she matched him, offering no respite. He groaned and closed his eyes, the war evident on his face.
At the last possible moment, she froze. He hovered for a time, right on the border of coming, then began to recede from the brink. She let it happen, but not very far. Within seconds she was moving again. Sal was helpless, dragged again and again to the razor's edge of release and then carefully ushered away.
There came a time when she did not stop. She clenched tightly and rippled her body and laid herself upon him and moaned loudly and Sal felt his cock tear itself violently apart in a cataclysm of ecstasy.
Sherry watched, amused and pleased, while Sal regained consciousness. His eyes fluttered open as he drew in heaving gulps of air. "That was... the most incredible thing that has ever been done to my dick in my entire life." He shuddered with reaction. "I thought my heart was going to..." he trailed off.
Sherry chuckled. "Now you can call me an expert."
~~~~~
"...the horror of my old friend perhaps affected me somewhat..."
They lay intertwined on the couch, resting, neither speaking. It took Sal about ten minutes before he remembered why he'd come to our house in the first place. He worked to pull himself out from under her with a serious expression on his face. "I'm sorry, but I think I need to talk to Carl. You said he's upstairs?"
Sherry resisted his attempts to extricate himself. "What's the rush? He'll keep." She wriggled enticingly. "Besides, aren't I a lot more fun?"
"Sherry, please. I..." He gulped as she groped at his equipment. "This is all very strange. I need to talk to Carl."
Sherry pouted. "Oh, come on. Just one more..."
It seemed that his suspicions were aroused again. "Later, perhaps. Right now I need to clear up a few things."
She sighed and rolled off of him. "So, do you really want to know what's going on?" she smirked. "Or will you take my word that Carl's never been better?"
"I'd like him to tell me that."
"If that's how you feel." She stood and motioned for him to rise. "Follow me."
"Excuse me a moment." He quickly put on his pants and shirt while Sherry watched with unveiled amusement, not bothering to clothe herself. Then she led him upstairs to her room. Unlocking the wardrobe, she revealed the supplies and premade doses of the concoction. Sal watched wordlessly as she poured a premeasured amount of the powder into a vial of the precursor. The reaction proceeded as usual.
"Enough of this," Sal bit out, angry. "I want to see Carl right now." He nodded at the mixture in her hand. "I don't need to see..."
She interrupted. "I'm showing you Carl, I promise." She looked him up and down one last time, lasciviously enjoying the sight.
Sporting an evil grin, she toasted him with, "Here's to us." She downed the philtre; the pangs of the transformation waxed and waned; I looked over to see Sal backed up against the wall, sheer horror pasted across his face. For a long time he couldn't speak, and I had nothing to say. I rapidly covered myself with a nearby robe, and didn't realize for several seconds it was one of Sherry's frilly peignoirs. Unfortunately, nothing more appropriate was at hand.
Our discussion after that was strained and awkward, as you might imagine. I haltingly explained most of what had happened, what I theorized, what I suspected. I began to apologize but the words died in my throat in the face of his blank stare. In all truth, what could I have said?
He left fairly soon thereafter. I remember thinking how tired, how much older he suddenly looked. I never heard from him again. Barely two weeks later, when I listened to the message on my answering machine informing me that he had died, I realized I had almost expected it.
I don't know if it was really just the shock of seeing the transformation. A very similar fate had befallen one of Tawesson's friends. I wonder if perhaps there's some kind of 'psychic fallout' or radiation or something if another person is too close during the transition? Neither of us have ever been tempted to find out since.
I went to the viewing but I didn't stay long, and I couldn't attend the funeral. I just wasn't sure I would be able to keep Sherry from manifesting herself, even in so somber a situation. Instead I sat alone in the store and drank a glass of wine in his memory.
~~~~~
"I have more than once observed that, in my second character, my faculties seemed sharpened to a point..."
About five months had gone by since Sherry's "birthday". Fall was approaching, and she had become something of a phenomenon in the Boston area. The club was filled to capacity every night, and she was clearing tens thousands of dollars a week. Much of that cash was immediately spent on clothes and partying, but even she couldn't outspend that income. Had she bothered with cocaine or heroin or that ilk she could likely have done so, but she wasn't tempted. Sex was her addiction, and she never ran out of fresh suppliers. (Although Sherry did keep a stash of Viagra and Cialis on hand; very few unaided men could keep her satisfied for terribly long.)
I was spending less and less time as myself; Carl no longer existed at night anymore. The store wasn't open more than three days a week, which took a toll on business, but with Sherry's earning power I couldn't manage to be terribly concerned. And truth be told, Sherry didn't feel the guilt that I did over what happened to Sal. Other people have drowned their sorrows in drink before; I simply took that to new heights. Or perhaps depths is a better term.
As I noted, her profile was skyrocketing. After an eventful night that led to the arrest of several of the Red Sox (and subsequent divorces for two of them), one of the larger area churches decided that a useful object lesson might be made. So it came to pass one Friday night that perhaps two dozen parishioners from Rock Baptist Church were picketing near the club when Sherry arrived. They were carrying signs citing verses of Scripture and generally denouncing sexual licentiousness.
She waved a hello to Dawg on her way backstage but then noticed his frown and slowed down. "What up, Dawg?"
"It's what's down. The damn crowd. Those fucking Jesus-freaks are scaring people away!"
"Oh," she replied. Sherry hadn't really noticed; she didn't care about mundane business details unless they affected her. She didn't even care about the money she made except insofar as it let her do what she wanted. She gave a "so what" shrug and started to turn away.
Dawg was uncharacteristically worried, and snapped at her. "It ain't just them outside. I found out that they're gonna try to do some kind of zoning shit, close us down!"
That got Sherry's attention. "When?" This was the closest club to her house; if it closed down she'd have to drive at least ten extra minutes to get to another one.
"I dunno for sure. They gotta talk to the city council, all that shit. But I hear they're serious."
She thought for a moment. To her, the solution was obvious. "Call the news types, get them out here to cover it."
Dawg practically exploded. "You dumb bitch, that'll fuck up my business even more! Those assholes want publicity and shit!"
But he'd forgotten who he was dealing with, and he was suddenly taken aback by her intense glower, falling silent. "Shut the fuck up," Sherry said, redundantly but very deliberately. "You don't get to call me 'bitch' unless you're fucking me, got it? I'll handle those shitheads. You just get a crew here." She turned on her spike heel and marched to the back. "Let me know when they get here," she called over her shoulder.
Sherry had finished one set and was entertaining a gentleman in the VIP room when a girl came in to let Sherry know that a news crew had arrived on the scene. She wrapped up her dance and hurried backstage to change. In a very brief time she was clad in sandals, a t-shirt, and cutoff jeans. Dawg hovered impatiently nearby as she dressed, not quite daring to say anything. When she finished, she turned to look at him. "They still out there?"
Sullenly: "Yeah."
"Get me Phil's boom box and one of his CDs."
"What the hell..." Dawg began heatedly, but then moderated his tone under her murderous stare. "Uh, which one?"
"I don't care. Something I can dance to."
Minutes later, she emerged from the lounge carrying the DJ's portable stereo and ambled nonchalantly across the street toward the protestors. Two were being interviewed by the reporter. The man who was speaking trailed off into silence as he caught sight of Sherry. His companion's jaw had already dropped.
The reporter turned at that point, and had his own jaw-sagging moment. He waved his hand urgently toward the approaching vision, and the cameraman focused on her as she arrived. Smiling openly, she called out, "What's going on here?"
The representative from the church stammered for a few moments, then collected himself, struck a heroic pose, and began holding forth. "We are here to protest this sinful and immoral establishment that is corrupting the morals of our community!" He stopped to inhale. "We do not accept the degradation of culture that the purveyors of..."
"Whoa, there," Sherry broke in, grinning. "I'm sure you've got a whole speech planned, but you're way off base." She looked earnestly into the camera. "We're not corrupting anybody. It's all grownups here at the Corinthian Lounge. We just want people to have a good time. It's about fun, not 'degradation' or whatever."
"Treating women as objects, selling sex and depravity? That is degradation and sin, not just of the women who dance but the men who..."
Sherry interrupted again. "How would you know? Have you ever been in there?"
Angrily, he began, "I don't have to..."
Not letting him finish, Sherry overrode his incipient tirade. "I didn't think so. Ever seen an exotic dancer anywhere?"
"No, but..."
"Okay, let's fix that now." With that, she took a few steps back, bent over (making sure her ass was aimed toward the camera), and put down the boom box.
"Wait, what..." Alarm had crept into his voice.
"I just figured you should have some idea what you're protesting." She turned on the music. It wasn't as loud as the speakers in the club, but it carried well enough. She whirled back to face the crowd and began a striptease.
Her dancing, and the whole persona she projected was... not exactly innocent, but not malicious. Playful is perhaps the best term. She was saying, with her smile, her body, "Isn't this fun? Don't you want to join in?" It was also, in the way of everything Sherry did, highly arousing.
None of the protestors could ignore it, but different people responded in different ways. Some were enraged, screaming epithets. Others prayed and averted their eyes, unable to bear the temptation before them. And many were mesmerized, staring raptly at the tantalizing display. (Nor were all of these ardent observers men.)
Sherry wrapped things up as the song drew to a close. She had revealed the immodest but legal bikini she'd been wearing underneath her clothes, but no more. This time when she bent to turn off the music, much more of her hindquarters were visible. Smiling, she waved to the camera. "If you want to see more than that, you'll have to come inside!"
The reporter and cameraman, protestors forgotten, followed her back toward the lounge, requesting an interview.
The resulting footage was television gold - plenty of sex as well as humor. Sherry had been careful to reveal nothing that the FCC could legitimately file a complaint over, so the protest was the lead story on the late news that very night. The protestors, with their comical mix of reactions, came off as complete buffoons. The item appeared on cable news over the weekend, and by Sunday it was one of the most-viewed clips on YouTube.
There was some talk of charges being pressed, but no one could name anything Sherry had done that was illegal. She hadn't collected any money, or stripped fully nude, or done anything but dance in public. The talk quietly withered away.
It was a PR disaster for Rock Baptist. They had not merely failed to harm the club, they had given it a massive publicity boost and damaged their own reputation in the process. They couldn't move forward in the political arena without opening themselves up to further derision. A change of strategy was called for.
~~~~~
"...leaping impulses and secret pleasures..."
Thus, the following Wednesday, Mrs. Patricia Palmer walked up to the front door of the club in the late afternoon. The wife of the head pastor, Michael Palmer, she was a formidable woman, as befitted one of the leaders of a church with several thousand members. In her late 30s, she kept herself in shape and well-groomed, though her dress maintained the modesty of her station. Her gentle manner was disarming, but rivals at the church had learned that steel lay beneath the surface, and her husband's position owed no small debt to her adept political guidance.
The jaundiced eye of the bouncer up front looked her over doubtfully, but she was unfazed. "Is Sherry Sweet in? I'd like to talk to her."
"Is that so? What for? You applyin' for a job?"
"No," she replied patiently. "I'd just like to talk."
A moment of thought. "What about?"
"That's really between me and her, isn't it?" she said brightly.
The bouncer wasn't too fleet of mind. Another moment or two passed. "Well, you pay cover to get in, I'll let her know you're here."
"I'd really prefer to talk to her out here..."
"Then you'll be waitin' out here all night." He smiled unpleasantly. "And she's usually got somebody with her when she leaves. Good luck talkin' then."
Reluctantly she brought up her purse. "If I must."
Shortly thereafter she sat at one of the back tables, surveying the room with thinly masked disapproval. The place was much busier this early than she would have thought - and in the middle of the week at that. Confirmation that things had gotten out of control, and that her mission here was vital.
Patty didn't anticipate a total, immediate triumph, of course. Few people were saved on their first exposure to the Gospel. But she had faith that closing this den of iniquity was God's will, and she was confident that He could use her to help accomplish His purpose. So she had come to talk with the woman who had so thoroughly embarrassed her church and parishioners. If she could discourage her from supporting the club, it would be of help. And who knew? If the girl were saved, she would be a powerful witness... in the religious and legal senses.
They would offer her financial assistance, scholarships, housing, drug counseling, whatever she needed to get away from this immoral lifestyle. Patty couldn't imagine a woman wanting to do such things unless there were pressing circumstances. In many - perhaps most - cases, she would doubtless have been correct.
But she hadn't watched the video of the protest, so Patty was unprepared when Sherry appeared from backstage. She was striking, not just for her beauty but her personality. Something about her spoke of - and directly to - the id. Patty drew a sharp breath, and began to suspect that this would be an even more challenging meeting than she'd anticipated.
Sherry strutted over to her table, acknowledging the hoots and whistles of the patrons with gay aplomb, and sat across from Patty with easy grace. She was topless, wearing only heels and lewdly meager panties. "What can I do for you, Mrs. Palmer?"
Forcing a smile she did not truly feel, she called out over the thumping music, "Call me Patty, please. I'm from Rock Baptist Church."
Sherry's face betrayed a shift from mild curiosity to bored annoyance. "Oh, crap. Look, I don't think we have anything to..."
Patty interrupted. "Please, I'm not here to condemn you or anything like that. That's really not what we're about. I'd just like to talk."
A smidgeon of curiosity had returned to her expressive face. "So, talk."
"If you don't mind, I'd rather we discussed things somewhere else." A pause for breath; she wasn't quite shouting, but it was a very loud environment. "Perhaps we could meet for lunch tomorrow?"
Sherry considered that for a moment. Then she seemed to focus carefully on the pastor's wife, looking her up and down. There was no doubt what kind of study she was engaging in. Patricia had been ogled like that before, though never by a woman. Then Sherry looked her in the eye and said, "Why not now? You had dinner yet?"
Mrs. Palmer was now convinced that Sherry was under the influence of a sexual demon. But she reflected that all things worked to the Lord's purposes. If a perverted attraction was what He would use to lead this woman out of sin, so be it. "I don't want to get you into trouble with your job..."
Her answering grin was positively wicked. "They need me a lot more than I need them. Besides, it's only Wednesday. C'mon, let's go." Then she looked down at herself and giggled. "Well, okay, let me throw on some clothes first."
Not long thereafter Sherry drove them to a nearby restaurant. Patty was somewhat discouraged by the expensive sports car the girl was driving; financial assistance might not be the incentive she'd hoped. She didn't begin her pitch the moment they'd sat down at their booth. Being too pushy would turn people off. Instead, she gently pumped her for information; some intelligence would help her tailor the approach.
"As you know, our church doesn't exactly approve of the Corinthian." She essayed a rueful grin. Then, earnestly, "But please don't think that means we hate the people there. Far from it. All we want to do is help them avoid what we view as a mistake."
Sherry smiled back. "Fair enough. But you understand, I kind of disagree about the 'mistake' part. Like I said, I think you have it all wrong."
"Okay, then. How should we 'have it'?" Patty asked, trying to convey trustworthiness, an absence of judgement. She was quite skilled.
With that, Sherry began a monologue about life as a stripper. It was a tissue of lies, but truth was not her objective. The seduction proper had begun.
Mrs. Palmer would never have succumbed in ordinary circumstances. Her sexual tastes were quite in line with her moral beliefs. Sherry was certain that Patty found the idea of sex with another woman incomprehensible, distasteful, even disgusting. And her instincts in such matters were practically infallible.
But Sherry was astronomically far from ordinary. She was Eros personified, and her every thought and faculty and talent and ability was devoted entirely and unreservedly to sex and enticement and arousal. She could intuit, and exploit, the desires of anyone she set her sights on.
It started gradually, Sherry using the way she moved, the tone and pace of her voice, her choice of words, when she made eye contact and when she looked away. For Patty, there probably was no clear dividing line. As they talked, her subconscious attitude easily moved from "She's so pretty, it's a pity she's wasting her life so," to "No wonder the men fawn over her... what does she do with them?" to "What would it feel like to do those things with a man?" to "What would it feel like to do them with her?"
Sherry reached out and took the woman's hands in her own, gently stroking. Patty's heart leapt at the touch, and she was suddenly, finally aware of how excited, how wet she was; how she'd stopped talking herself, listening entranced to Sherry's almost hypnotic voice; how her thoughts had turned so completely to "I want to do things with her, dirty things, again and again..."
Sherry could see all this clearly, as it happened, with an exquisite animal sensitivity that was nearly telepathic. (Given her origin, perhaps on some level it was.) This was a critical moment. Patty was horrified at the extent of her own raw lust, and Sherry didn't want this 'Church Lady' to regain control of herself.
"I... I really... should..." Patty stammered.
Sherry put on a concerned expression, shading it just so, innocent and open, knowing it would entrance her victim even further. "Is something wrong, Mrs. Palmer? You look... I dunno... flushed or something."
"It's... I can't..." Words wouldn't come. Sherry continued to rub her hands, and it felt as though they were connected directly to her nipples, to her pussy, to her soul...
"Man, I think you need to lie down for a bit." A cute little frown. "My place isn't far."
Patty shivered, her heart galloping at the thought. But she despairingly (and greedily) understood that if she went home with Sherry, she would do... anything. Everything. And that was wrong... wasn't it? She gathered the scraps of her willpower, and pulled her trembling hands away.
"I really shouldn't," she stated with little conviction. "I mean, what would people think..."
"I understand," Sherry smiled sadly. "After all, Jesus never hung out with sinners."
"Oh, I didn't mean it like that... and He did..." She trailed off, confused, trying to get hold of herself. She had come to try to convert Sherry, and now... But she was a fine, upstanding citizen, she couldn't...
Patty realized no one would 'think' anything. No one would believe what she wanted to do, even if Sherry tried to tell anyone. The storm was inside her and she didn't believe it. Her sin would be hidden... "I'd love to go home with you." Sherry's deep eyes, her sudden sweet smile...
~~~~~
"...drinking pleasure with bestial avidity..."
Patty walked into the house in daze. She was more than half convinced she was asleep. She couldn't really be doing this, feeling this way, could she? And Sherry herself... something about her was so uncanny, so otherworldly, as if she belonged more to a dream than reality.
The stripper closed the door, and turned to face her directly. Patty started to mumble something. "You have a lovely home. I wouldn't have..." She trailed off. The girl's eyes were boring into her own. She couldn't think, looking into those eyes. Sherry came nearer, nearer. Not saying a word.
She almost said something then, but Sherry's hand brushed her face and left a warm trail behind, warmth that spread everywhere. Her breath was coming so fast, she leaned back against the wall. But the woman she'd come to save stepped forward and leaned in. Their breasts touched through their clothes, and for the first time in her life Patty found that inexpressibly erotic. Sherry's face was inches away, hovering. It was too far away. Compelled by forces she could scarcely acknowledge, she brought her lips to Sherry's.
The kiss might have appeared gentle, even tentative to an onlooker. But it was in that moment Patricia was lost. Sherry's lips, so tender, but still insistent... not like a man's, urgent but not needful...
The kiss deepened. So different from Michael's... her impudent, unashamed tongue... and now her hands, stroking... approving of what they found, but somehow not possessive... lustful but not territorial...
There was no resistance left in her, and reluctance had vanished long before she'd walked through the door. The two were embracing, exploring each other with impassioned caresses. She discovered with faint surprise that they had moved to the living room, and they had shed their purses and shoes. Sherry deliberately worked at Patty's dress, unzipping it, then easing it up and away. Patty stood, her only motion a shivering with desire, as the girl removed her bra with equal deliberation. It fell to the floor as Sherry's lips fell to the newly-revealed breasts. She gasped as an acrobatic tongue performed lazy somersaults across her nipples for several minutes.
Sherry stood up again and gazed once more into her eyes. This, too, was different - taking one's time, savoring the moments, not hurrying. She realized that all she was wearing were her panties. Sherry could see all of her, but she could not see Sherry's body. That was suddenly intolerable. She reached out and began undressing the girl with the compelling eyes.
The dress came off with a little work. Sherry's waist was so tiny, her clothes had to be custom tailored. But with a modicum of gentle tugging, she was released. Her breasts, firm and high despite their generous size, invited touch, and taste. Patty found herself suckling and licking another woman's nipples, and revelling in it. But then she looked further down.
Now she saw Sherry's underwear again. So small, but it covered what she needed to see. Patty knelt down, and reached forward, grasping the spaghetti straps across her hips, and pulled them down, and away.
She had never really seen an adult vagina, not even her own. The hair was fine, and seemed to naturally limit itself to a neat triangle; the labia were clearly visible. She felt herself drawn forward. She was conscious of the smell of Sherry's arousal, the same as her own, yet subtly different, too. In her keyed-up state it was darkly tantalizing. The thighs parted gently, invitingly. Before she was even fully aware of the impulse she was exploring that delightful pussy with her mouth.
It was exotic and enthralling. Patty was licking clumsily, hungrily, insatiably. Her nipples rubbed against Sherry's legs and she absently thought she could feel the juices from her own vagina dripping through her conservative panties. Sherry's hand stroked her hair, and she let out gentle sighs from time to time.
Then the dancer shuddered, crying out softly. After a time she stepped back and knelt down herself, and they traded impassioned kisses. Patty was frenzied, completely out of control. She fell slowly to the rug and laid on her back under Sherry's easy guidance. Then she felt the other woman pulling off the last of her clothing. Animal-like in her balanced poise, she dipped between Patty's legs and suddenly the world lurched as a woman's mouth touched her inflamed pussy.
It had been years since anyone had licked her down there. When she and Michael had been younger, early in their marriage, they had experimented more, but after a while... Sherry's lingual ministrations were stimulating her clitoris beyond endurance. Michael had nicknamed it her 'kitten' but now it was a tigress, roaring exuberantly, alive and hungry as never before.
Moments stretched, apart from time. As if she'd been carried along a raging stream but now had been thrown out over Niagara Falls, dropping down to the water so far below. She could feel the orgasm coming, like the ground rushing up to meet her, and she knew it would break her as completely as a literal impact.
And then she hit the wall. A hole was burned into her personal reality, the universe warped as she experienced literal convulsions of pleasure. Only afterward did she understand how violent it had been, by the aches in her joints, in her throat raw from screaming.
Her thoughts were streaking along in channels she'd never suspected lurked within her mind. She'd already come but Sherry wasn't stopping, she kept going, and it was going to happen again, she couldn't stand it, Michael always stopped but Sherry wouldn't stop, that tongue, and now oh God was that a finger in her asshole and oh God she was coming again oh God oh God oh God...
Sherry liked women for their stamina. They didn't have pricks, sure, but they didn't run out of steam as fast as men. And an uptight prig like Patty, who barely knew how to fuck and hadn't had a decent screw in her life... she had a lot bottled up. She'd last a while.
That was proven almost immediately. Following climaxes like those, any male would have been reduced to jelly for an extended period. But scarcely half a minute had passed before Patty was attacking her again, begging to be allowed to try fingering Sherry's rosebud.
It went on like that for hours, Patricia acting like a fawning, adoring puppy eager to do any trick her mistress commanded. She did things she'd never heard of, never conceived of, played with dozens of marvelously twisted, disgusting objects, and Sherry made her love every depraved second of it, doing things in front of, and with, and to this pagan goddess, this succubus.
~~~~~
"I must here speak by theory alone, saying not that which I know, but that which I suppose to be most probable."
Dawn found the two women still fucking furiously, at that point on the staircase leading up from the foyer by the front door. They had screwed in almost every other room in the cottage by now. Sherry was sitting with her legs spread, leaning back on the stairs. Patty knelt on a lower step, eating Sherry out while she busily frigged herself, working around the harness of the strap-on dildo she was wearing.
She was lurching in the throes of yet another volcanic orgasm when she heard the chiming of her phone. The ringtone was "Household of Faith", the song she had danced to with Michael at their wedding. An icy chill ran through her body, cutting short the pleasure. She stumbled down the stairs and picked up the purse she had dropped the night before. She pulled out her cell phone as the music died; there were fifteen unanswered messages.
The chill intensified as she looked down at the phallus jutting out of her own crotch. What had she been doing? What would Michael be thinking? He would be frantic, and she hadn't thought of him in hours, hadn't thought of anyone but herself and...
"Everything okay?" Sherry called down, casually. Even in the midst of her sudden, crushing guilt, when Patty looked up the stairs she was amazed at how sexy the girl was, at how much she still craved to just put the phone down and march back up to her... To sin again, and again...
She jerked herself away. "I... I have to get home."
"Oh," Sherry replied, unperturbed. "You're gonna need to call a cab, I'm going to bed. Phone book's in the kitchen." She stood up and ambled away in the direction of the bedrooms. "See you around, maybe?" Patricia snapped back to herself as Sherry moved out of sight - she realized she'd been staring, hypnotized, at the stripper's magnificent rump.
She tore the obscene tool from her body and made her way unsteadily to the kitchen. She called the first taxi company in the book. The dispatcher seemed unaccountably excited and amused by the address she gave. Then she numbly went to gather her clothes, trying not to think about the woman in bed upstairs. If she did too much of that, she would find herself in that bed too.
The taxi arrived with amazing promptness. She hadn't even found all of her things before it pulled up to a screeching halt in front of the house. Patricia was grateful that it was early morning and no one was about to see her leaving. The taxi driver pushed open the door next to him, and appeared to be very disappointed when she got into the back seat instead. At her direction, he headed off to the club in a surly fashion.
Away from Sherry, the spell was wearing off further. Patty was suddenly aware of her disheveled appearance, of what the driver was seeing with his sneaking peeks at her in the rearview mirror. She summoned her dignity and stared resolutely out the window until they approached the club.
The parking lot was nearly empty since the club was closed. Finding her car was easy, a police cruiser was parked next to it. Two uniformed officers were examining it. "Wait, stop here!" she cried to the cabbie before he could turn in. She got out and paid him, not able to look him in the eye. Then she started the long walk to her car and the waiting police. Michael must have called them, she suddenly realized. Of course he would have.
Her nipples were pierced. How could she face Michael, how could she face her children? She was an abomination, a harlot with pierced nipples and shaved pubes and no panties and every inch of her skin stank of sweat and pussy, even her hair smelled like cunt, and every hole was sore and aching... and she still wanted more. More from the very Whore of Babylon herself. Patty sagged down in the middle of the lot and sobbed brokenly. She cried out to Jesus for strength, for forgiveness, not caring about the police coming towards her. She'd never prayed more fervently; and she'd never prayed with so little faith God's answer would be "Yes".
Popular Pastor Takes Leave Of Absence From Rock Baptist Church, Cites 'Personal, Family Issues'
~~~~~
"...habit brought -- no, not alleviation -- but a certain callousness of soul, a certain acquiescence of despair..."
No church ever directly challenged the Corinthian again after that. Before long Sherry was gone, anyway. There had been some preliminary discussions already, but the news story sparked a tempestuous bidding war among the various adult video companies and when the dust settled she had moved to L.A. That was over a year ago now. I sold off the store; she only let me bring a few of my possessions along.
A porn star's life suits her perfectly, of course. Filming takes up only a few weeks of each year. The rest of the time, she's stripping on stages around the world, or dancing in clubs, or fucking anything that moves, or doing photo shoots. (Nor are all of those for porn magazines; the more respectable media has taken notice of her, too.)
She won almost a dozen AVN awards this year, and her salary is closer to that of mainstream celebrities. (So, too, is her fame.) Her future seems extraordinarily bright; she's one of very few porn stars who look good in HD. And certainly no actress has ever been as... accessible to her public.
Unlike stripping, porn requires gynecological exams. Sherry's first trip caused something of a stir; it turns out she has a male chromosome or something. Her 'ovaries' are like failed testicles. Apparently most women like that don't even undergo puberty, but that's pretty obviously not the case with Sherry - the docs say she's "hypersexualized". They're calling it "Atypical Swyer Syndrome" if I remember correctly, though they promise not to use her name when they publish.
She's quite undisturbed by it - as far as she's concerned periods and pregnancy would just interfere with her activities. Personally, I'm quietly grateful. I wouldn't want any child to have Sherry for a mother.
I do have some small power over her, a 'nuclear option'. I'd kill myself if she molested a child, and she knows it. Fortunately children aren't exactly common in the circles that she travels, and she must 'bring me out' at least every few weeks. Otherwise, she'd have a truly legendary collection of STDs. Still, she hates to give up valuable fucking time, so I spend most of my few scattered hours making up doses of the potion; she doesn't have the patience. It's not much of a life but it's something.
Rereading this account, I have to admit that the risqué details I've included might seem excessive or merely titillating, but I couldn't help including them. Chalk that up to Sherry's influence; she's a part of me. The strongest one, now. Even as I write this, I can feel her stirring inside. My 'turn' is running out. I just want there to be a record, some kind of trace that Carl was here. She'd probably want to destroy this account if she thought I would try to publish it, but she's pretty focused on her own pursuits. She'd never waste time going to look for it so long as I don't do anything to jeopardize her lifestyle. Maybe I'll hide it in the bureau this all started with. We brought it to L.A. with us.
Some of this is extrapolated, like poor Mrs. Palmer's thoughts. But the fact that she did what she did means that Sherry read her pretty well. She babbled enough about herself and her mission in the course of that night; I don't think she's misrepresented.
To anyone reading this at some future date, who may be tempted to follow in the footsteps of Tawesson and myself, heed our warnings. The id is more powerful than we, with our millennia of civilizing influences, might credit, and ta
Poor Carl dear, you waited too long, didn't you? It's all right, I won't destroy your little confession. I know you'll hide it; you wouldn't dare spoil my fun. But I like the ideas you didn't want to write down. I agree... take some submissive, work them up into a frenzy of sexy obedience, and make them drink the potion... Why, you'd have the perfect slave!
I think I'll go hunting tonight. Someone who won't be missed... Thanks for providing me some extra doses!