Numbers Game

From darkness, to blur, to the world again, slowly I woke up my deep sleep of the night, snug in a pile of softly squeezing, scaly tail. I shifted to my left, where Lila slept with a peaceful smile. I struggled closer in her coils so I could kiss her cheek and whisper to wake up.

Lila shuffled, and for a moment her tail tightened around me in a stretch. Her scales slid over me and I smiled, a lovely way to wake up. Lila blinked her eyes open and smiled to me.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Morning already?” she said.

“Yep, I’m afraid it’s time to get up.”

“Mm, no it isn’t,” Lila said. Her tail settled closer around me. “Let’s stay in bed for a while.”

I chuckled. “I’d love to, but you know I need to get up this morning.”

“Aww.” Lila held my face and kissed my lips. “Not yet, you’re warm and it’s cold out. Just a liiittle biiit?”

As if sinking into her cuddling tail didn’t hold me to bed enough, her kiss sent my whole body yearning to stay with her. Still, I’d planned to get work done in the morning.

“No, no, you said last night we’d get up,” I said.

She leaned closer; our foreheads touched.

“Are you suuuure?” she asked.

I recognized that tone of voice and the twinkle in her eye well enough now to close my eyes.

“C-Come on now, no, please, I want to get that stuff done,” I said. Lila whined. Her tail moved, but she didn’t seem to move it off me any.

“Just five seconds first,” she said. “Five seconds to face each other before we face the morning.” I sighed and smiled.

“Okay, five seconds,” I said. “I’m going to count.” I inhaled, knowing exactly what game we were about to play. I peeked an eye open and counted one.

The “one” came out a slurred “onnnnne” as my eye was barraged with flashing, pulsating violet and blue rings in Lila’s eyes. I tried to open it slowly, but the rings pushed my eye open widely as the beautiful colors flooded my vision. Colors I loved to stare at many times before.

I stuttered out a “tttwwoooo” as the pleasure centers of my mind enter overdrive. I’d known this was coming, I’d prepared for it, but Lila… was… so… very… persuasive…

“Hmm,” she hummed. “Come on, give me both eyes.”

My other eye opened; the colors swam in my vision.

I just needed to reach five and she’d stop. We’d done this before, she was true to her word. Reach five, and then… something…

“Thhhrrreeeeeee,” I said, her tail sliding against my face as I involuntarily grinned from the phonetics of the word. Reach… something, and then…

“F…ffff…fffffeeehhh…” What was I saying? All the colors in my eyes redirected my thoughts. Lila looked so pretty, I wanted to tell her how much I loved her. Was that what I was saying? “Ehhh…” I mumbled a giddy laugh. I was supposed to do something. Maybe later…

Lila laughed. “Come on, you know what’s next. Four…”

Four…

“Three…”

Three…?

“Two…”

My eyelids drooped. I could only see Lila and the shimmering colors. I sank down against her coils.

“One…”

Everything else looked dark. I just wanted to stare at Lila.

“Drop.”

I felt a shudder through my body as my eyes popped open before I sank again deep, down, under Lila’s thick, squeezing hold. She giggled and held my face.

“Oh, did you lose interest in our little game?” She kissed my lips, pleasure pulsating through my in time with the colors.

Lila held me closer and sighed.

“I won’t keep you in bed too long, don’t worry.” She laughed, her tail’s tip rustling on my head. “Not that you can right now.”

A few more minutes… or an hour… that’s all…

Another Flower for the Vine

Kukka approached the mirror at the end of the hallway and adjusted the corsage on her dress. She didn’t really need to—the stem clinging hidden under her dress and around her back kept it secure—but she wanted to make sure it was angled perfectly. She wanted everything perfect.

She was always nervous meeting new people, but she wanted this collection to go perfectly so Lata would be proud of her.

She let go of the corsage as her flower headpiece adjusted itself, the roots hidden in her long hair nestling closer against her head. She smiled.

As long as she had Lata’s pretty headpiece on her she could do anything. She would do anything for her, and she would never even think to remove the headpiece.

The beautiful leafy-green dress and nectar—er, necklace—were gifts as well, but the headpiece was special.

The headpiece was the first gift Lata had ever given Kukka, a pretty little reminder that she was Lata’s pretty little flower, and it helped her feel good when sad, feel brave when afraid, and keep Lata in her thoughts always.

She nodded to her reflection and passed through the tall double doors into the ballroom, a bright display of crystalline lights, fluffy streamers, and a long buffet setting the party where high class guests in draping dresses and tight tuxedos mingled.

Community leaders, celebrities, and others with enough connections to get an invitation conversed with each other throughout the expansive room. Kukka wasn’t sure how Lata had gotten an invitation, but it was likely from someone she had collected before.

She didn’t want to draw attention by going straight for her target, so she mingled with the other guests first, trying to maintain a calm composure despite being star-struck by some of the celebrities. She had to say hello to her favorite musician.

She tried to keep a straight face when complimented on the flowers, but she still blushed, especially as her hairpiece seemed to tighten snug for a moment each time. She hoped no one noticed.

Finally she headed for the painter she’d come to see, Ada Clover.

Clover. A coincidence?

Probably not, Lata enjoyed puns. Kukka’s name even meant “flower” apparently.

Kukka knew who Ada Clover was. A famous painter who did stage shows with splashy paints–quite literally. Audience participation was usually involved.

Ada was alone, contemplating the crystal lights.

“Ada Clover?” Kukka asked.

“Don’t you think the lighting in here is off?” Ada asked as if in a conversation. “It doesn’t quite bring out the colors of the decorations, though, I suppose reality can never be as perfect as a painting.”

Kukka disagreed, knowing Lata.

“Yes, I do think it doesn’t quite hit its potential,” Kukka said. Ada chuckled.

“You have no idea what I’m talking about, I’ll bet.” She shook her hand. “Yes, I’m Ada Clover.” Kukka introduced herself and Ada said, “I love your flower ensemble.”

Ada took a step back and formed a frame with her fingers. “I’d love to paint you sometime, the flower girl.”

“I’d like that,” Kukka said. “I have a friend who’d like it, too. She couldn’t be here, but she wanted to meet you—she thinks you should try scented paints at a show.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Ada said. “Would need to be well-ventilated, though.”

“Maybe,” Kukka said. “Something flowery, like my corsage.” She lifted it towards Ada.

“Oh, does it have a scent?” Ada leaned closer.

Kukka squeezed the corsage and sprayed a stream and spritz of mist.

Ada sputtered in response. “Oh, hah! Is that a… gag…” She swayed before dropping forward. Kukka caught her and quickly pulled her behind the lights and into the shadow. Fortunately Ada was short like Kukka–any taller and she’d have trouble. She gave Ada another spray.

Ada gave a soft moan before a burble and giggle, and she went quiet. Lata’s spray was quite effective. Kukka pulled her out a side door and down a hallway.

She’d scoped the house out earlier. She’d parked out the side without a valet. She could get Ada to the car without anyone—

“Hello, miss, fine evening.”

Kukka whirled around to see a guard at the corner.

“Oh, hello!” Kukka’s mind raced as the guard approached, head tilted.

“Is she okay?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, she just had a few too many,” Ada said. “I’m going to take her home.”

“Ah, I gotcha.”

The guard waved as Kukka stood Ada up as if she were just tipsy and Kukka was helping her to the car.

“Drive safely, now… Wait a minute.” The guard stepped forward. “There’s no alcohol at this party.”

Kukka sprayed the guard. He stumbled back and slumped against the wall.

“I never said alcohol,” Kukka said.

She carried Ada out the house and to her car in a secluded area, and she placed Ada in the back on a bed of flowers, all with a scent to keep her in a daze. Kukka buckled up and drove slowly through the night to Lata’s old greenhouse.

It had seen better days. Much of the walls were shattered, the frame was creaky, and the surroundings were all rubble. Kukka had to step carefully to enter the greenhouse.

Much of the damage was caused by Lata, but it wasn’t her fault. She had outgrown it long ago.

Undergrowth around the greenhouse shuffled as Kukka exited the car. Most of the wall damage was done by two thick branches sticking out from the greenhouse, an afro of leaves rising above it. The walls creaked, vines curled around them.

Kukka lifted Ada out of the car.

As soon as she stepped into the greenhouse with Ada vines lowered from above, and Kukka handed Ada to them. They wrapped over Ada and carried her deeper into the greenhouse.

Kukka stared at the towering tree in the center, all the vines and flowers and foliage stemming from it.

It practically shone with dew in the moonlight. A thick musty smell mixed with the sweet fragrance of flowers permeated the greenhouse, and Kukka was almost dizzy just standing inside. A vine slipped under her chin and around her shoulders, and she smiled. Lata was happy.

In front of the tree vines snaked down and twisted around each other, forming a thick ball that grew taller. Vines twisted into tubes on either side, an outer vine layer ending the tube in flowers with long, graceful petals. More flowers bloomed among the vine mass.

Vines with leaves half Kukka’s size circled halfway down the mass like a leaf dress, as two bulbs sprouted on a separate mass atop the main one. Branches pushed out from the vines atop this smaller mass, flowers blooming with petals flowing down the back of the mass.

Lata smiled, the vines making a hole in the upper mass for a mouth as the bulbs opened and shut before focusing on Kukka.

“I’m so proud of you, my little flower,” Lata said. Kukka beamed. She stepped closer to Lata as the plant lady completed her human shape construct.

“Thank you, Lata,” Kukka said. Lata reached out with her flower hand and caressed it over Kukka’s cheek. Flowers on Lata’s face kissed Kukka with the petals, each leaving behind a spot of nectar.

“Once Ada Clover is amicable to me,” Lata said, “I’ll soon have a new greenhouse.”

“Her art will convince the people to pay for a new greenhouse to be built for me, one that I won’t outgrow so quickly.” Lata’s vines wrapped around Kukka, holding her close and tight. “But the rest of the night will be for us, my flower.”

“Yes! my love,” Kukka said, the first word shouted as a sharp pinch twinged over her head, the next two words slurred. The roots of the flower hairpiece Lata had given her nudged closer into Kukka’s head, administering the numbing toxin—no, drug—no, nectar—that she loved.

The roots shifted and grew further around Kukka’s head, embedding itself further into her skin. Her head numbed as the room spun, but Lata held her in place as her vines wrapped tight around her, locking her arms to Lata’s human vine construct. Lata bound Kukka’s body to her.

The pinches in Kukka’s head became a rhythmic throb as the flower headpiece filled her head with Lata’s drug. Her eyes lost focus, but she had little need for sight, following Lata from her scent alone. Lata puffed pollen from her hands into Kukka’s face, and she inhaled deeply.

Lata’s vines crawled closer around Kukka, wrapping between her legs before binding them together. Inch by inch Lata pulled Kukka into her vine form, sliding under and over her dress as Lata grew to accommodate Kukka’s body. She wrapped her dress tight between layers of vines.

Kukka moaned at Lata’s encompassing control, vines outside her body and roots inside her head. Lata cupped Kukka’s chin with a thick vine, holding her neck in a vine collar, and she lifted her flower hand to Kukka’s mouth for a kiss, flooding her mouth with sweet, tingling nectar

The petals tickled Kukka’s lips as the stamens slipped along her tongue, coaxing her tongue out into the flower. Lata stuffed Kukka’s head with her control, her overwhelming presence, leaving Kukka limp and mindless in her grasp. The tree, where Lata’s core lay, shivered with joy

After Lata pulled her flower away Kukka’s mouth remained in an open grin drooling and dripping nectar. Her eyes rolled back, senses lost in a sea of Lata’s power. Branches emerged from Lata’s arms, gently scritching Kukka under her chin and behind her head.

“Such a precious flower,” Lata said, completely binding Kukka tight against her in her vines.

Kukka would hardly recognize herself now—if nothing else for the green hue spreading over her skin from the hypnotic, addicting, transformative drug still pumped from her headpiece.

Lata solidified Kukka as an extension of herself even more than before, pulling more of her mind into orbit around her. Enough of Kukka would remain to be her own person, but her own person for Lata.

Of course, the green skin would revert. She wouldn’t be a good spy otherwise.

Kukka’s unfocused vision faded into darkness as Lata’s vines cocooned them together entirely with a thick bind. Light returned as Lata’s flowers began a bioluminescent glow, each petal shifting its color in a consistent pattern. Kukka stared, Lata’s flowers all she could see.

The glowing patterns impressed onto Kukka’s soggy mind, imprinting thoughts into her head, further conditioning, the next steps Lata wished for her to carry out, boosts to her confidence, deeper entrancing, and the thought that she was Lata’s very, very, very good flower.

Dedicated to all the Hypno-Switches Out There

Content warning: hypnosis… but it’s actually consensual woooo

“Here you are, my dear flower.” She handed her flower a cup of warm tea, and she drank of it.

“Thank you, mistress,” her flower said. Of course, the tea had some soothing nectar added to make her flower extra bubbly and suggestible. She settled on the sofa, thoughts already soft.

Mistress’ vines curled around her flower, holding her down with a gentle massage. Mistress sat her laptop on the table in front of her flower and sat next to her on the couch, taking her head in her hands. Her flower looked up to her, and mistress smiled and kissed her forehead.

“Now, my flower,” mistress said, “breathe in… breathe out…”

“Mmyes, mistress,” her flower said, already sinking from her touch and the tea. Her eyes dropped. Mistress laughed as she wiped a little drool from her flower’s mouth.

“Breathe in deeply,” mistress said.

As her flower did mistress’ smaller flowers around them puffed out pollen, filling her flower’s senses with her scent, dropping her to mistress. Mistress turned her flower’s head to the computer, a spiral spinning on-screen to steal her flower’s attention.

Her flower sighed, thoughts melting as a voice from the computer commanded her to relax, spoke gentle words to sink her into a peaceful trance. Mistress smiled at her flower, her glazed look at her snuggling against mistress in the vines.

Mistress took a cup from the table.

Once her flower had settled into her easy trance, mistress drank of the same nectar tea, relaxing as she breathed deeply of the same pollen.

She watched the spiral on the screen, letting her own thoughts fade into the spiral, her senses sinking into her soft surroundings.

As if on their own, her vines gently curled around her like they had her flower, holding her down and against her flower. The recording on the computer echoed in her mind. Sleep. Relax. Snuggle. Mistress and her flower both drooled a little as mistress pulled her flower close.

They sank together, thoughts intertwined and entwined in the trance, cuddling in a soft dream for the evening.

Mistress would have to wake up eventually, but she could enjoy the evening with mind muted alongside her flower.

Jock of the Jungle (Veggie Strength)

Content warning: Hypnotic scents and pollen, bullying, claustrophilia, locker room

Kelly inched open the side door into the abandoned school and it creaked with a whine that seemed to fill the empty halls and rooms of the building. He slipped through the narrow opening—no need to make more noise than needed—and stumbled on the roots covering the floor.

As Kelly stepped into the overgrown den of lost student dreams he stumbled again on the uneven footing. His heavy pack pulled him backwards and he let it fall from his shoulders.

After adjusting his glasses he took a quick inventory check and swigged some water.

Rumors abound about this old school, but the facts Kelly found indicated it had simply closed down years ago for normal reasons, no conspiracy or disaster or monster. The rumors really started when the jungle of plants sprung up around it, faster than anyone deemed normal.

A forgotten lab experiment or just the luck of nature? Kelly wanted to know. What educational gems of school culture might he find buried in this building? Lost books? Rare maps? Overflowing science experiments were just the beginning.

Kelly tied a rope around the doorknob.

He tied the other end around one of the sturdier plants. Better safe than sorry.

He marked the wall to show the direction of his travel and marched forth down the hall of hanging vines and sprawling ferns and blooming flowers lined with lockers. They were surprisingly intact.

While the thick plant stems and trunks burst through the broken drywall and classroom doors in some places, very few of the lockers were missing doors. Those that were had a plant growing inside; others only had the plants growing around them.

Kelly peered around the corner.

The plants looked thicker down that hall, and after Kelly marked his direction he had to choose his steps carefully and duck around the thick foliage. If they were thicker further into the school, they could converge at a single place, the source of the growth.

The school felt much like a jungle, the air humid despite the cool temperatures outside. With all the plants it looked like one, too, aside from the lockers and broken fluorescent lights.

It didn’t sound like one, though.

Kelly expected chirps and yowls and buzzes in a jungle.

Here there was silence save for the shuffling of the foliage.

Foliage that Kelly would swear moved when he brushed past them sometimes.

He wouldn’t let the rumors get to him, though. Word was kids entered the school as a dare and ran out drenched and screaming.

They said someone shoved their head into a toilet, but they probably just tripped on the roots or an old pipe burst or something.

He coughed at the next junction. The air was getting hazy and thick. He pulled a secure mask from his supplies and slipped it on over his face.

Of course the planets would produce pollen. They were clearly reproducing in the school, and the vents Kelly saw were clogged with vines and stems and leaves. There wasn’t much ventilation in the building. He’d have to be careful.

He stopped at a few classrooms but came up empty.

For most of Kelly’s trip he followed the thickening foliage. He even had to wade through the plants a few times. Fortunately he wore proper protective clothing, much as it made him sweat in the growing heat. No one ever said science and discovery would be spent at a desk, though.

Passing into some halls felt like passing through a curtain with the thick draping vines and leaves. It became harder to find a place on the wall to mark as creeping plants were more plentiful than wall space. Finally Kelly looked around and decided to head back.

He had time, and he needed to be better prepared to find the source of these plants.

He turned around and stared at the wall.

He couldn’t find the mark he made. He pulled at the plants on the wall but they hardly budged.

He didn’t know which hall he’d come from.

He turned back around. No sense in worrying about it, he’d just forge ahead and find the source. Finding a way out should be trivial anyway, the straight hallways would keep his path in one direction and he’d hit the edge of the building eventually.

He marched forward.

Soon he came to a dead end hallway the plants seemed to originate from, the doorway at the end burst open. Kelly pushed his way through the plants and emerged on the other side to a vast room like a small jungle, plants filling the center and rising in staggered rose at the sides

Vines hung from the tall ceiling and crossing structures, flowers covering a suspended board and more vines dangling from hoops.

It’s a gymnasium, Kelly realized!

That had nothing to do with science!

Kelly turned around and headed back out the hall. Surely that wasn’t his goal.

The plants before him trembled. The walls creaked. Kelly stumbled back as the ceiling buckled and collapsed, masonry tumbling into a dusty mountain.

Kelly stared at the new wall before him. The school was old, yes, but nowhere had it appeared to be on the verge of collapse.

The plants must have been heavy on the floor above. He stood up and dusted himself off, then examined the barrier of collapsed drywall, fallen lockers, school furniture–he wasn’t making it over that.

He turned back to the gymnasium. He supposed that was the only option.

He entered the rather more literal jungle gym. Perhaps there he could find another way out.

He checked the door on the other end but it wouldn’t budge. It looked held shut by the overgrown plants. Side passages were blocked by hanging plants, but he might be able to pull them off

Kelly turned at a long sound, like the roar of a waterfall. That was the most significant sound he’d heard in the building aside from a single instance of crashing masonry. Steam floated out an open door. He peered inside and grimaced.

Ah, yes. The locker room.

Kelly avoided them whenever he could. In his experience, a sweaty den of testosterone posturing. He never fit in.

This locker room looked as plant-dense as the rest, but everything remained in place. The room looked pristine, as if the school had shut down yesterday.

The steam emerged from one of the shower rooms, where water splashed out. One of the showers must have been on. Did all that water help cause those plants to grow?

Kelly also wondered how the building had running water, but regardless of how, it did seem to. He crept closer.

Perhaps an old lab experiment had fallen into the shower. The poor ventilation of the room increased its growth. He wondered what he’d find.

He peeked into the shower stall. He blushed and stumbled back over a bench, clattering against the lockers. He slid to the floor.

There was a woman in there! A naked woman! He scrunched his face. Was he in the woman’s locker room?

Wait, why was a woman taking a shower in a long-abandoned school?

Wait… did she have green skin?

He blushed more at the thought that he saw her bare skin, green as it was.

With a squeak, the roar of the shower stopped. Wet steps slapped across the shower room and out into the locker room.

Kelly stared at the green woman, her skin glistening. Her arms and legs appeared to have enough muscles to throw him. Her vine-like hair stopped at her shoulders.

Hair stopping just short of hiding her—

Kelly shut his eyes and blushed.

“Sorry! I’m sorry, miss, I didn’t know someone was in here!” He clambered up to his feet. “I didn’t mean to see you naked, I’ll get out of—” He stumbled against the bench and fell back down.

“Oh, for—”

Her voice had an strong element to it, as if she could shout across an entire field, yet a shadowy quality. It nearly sounded like a facsimile of human speech and not actual speech. Kelly heard scraping and shuffling as if rustling leaves and sliding vines.

“Open your eyes, I’m not naked now.”

Kelly peeked and saw leaves over her upper body like a tight sports bra, vines wrapped around her waist. A single vine like a headband held her hair up.

“Sorry,” Kelly said. “I wasn’t expecting to find someone else in here.”

Especially someone who seemed to have plants growing out of her head, from her arms, from her feet—in fact, she appeared to be part of the plants. Kelly was wary.

The woman stood over him and glared down. She really was—well, she’d developed more than just muscles.

She looked like she should’ve been a model for a boxing calendar, not in an abandoned school. Kelly tried to introduce himself, but the woman lifted him up under his arms against the lockers.

“Stand up, buttercup,” the woman said. “Can’t hear you all the way down there.”

She lifted Kelly to the tips of his toes. She towered over him. He glanced down to see if the vines were suspending her, but no, she was standing on her feet.

“The name’s Rhona,” she said. “This is my locker room. Everything in here is mine.”

“Okay, good to know,” Kelly said.

“Not to worry, I have no intention of taking anything out of this room.”

Rhona grinned. It wasn’t a bright grin. It was a laughing grin. A darkly laughing grin. A grin that said “I know you technically just gave the right answer but I’ve decided it’s the wrong answer anyway.”

“Good,” she said.

Kelly heard the vines and leaves and flowers around them rustle. He felt a few above and below him, too.

“So,” he said, reaching his foot for the ground to pull away from her, “I’ll just get out of your vines–er, hair–er, way, and—”

She slammed her palm against the locker next to Kelly, blocking his way. She stopped holding him, but with one hand on his shoulder and foliage clinging to his feet he felt she held him even more.

“Perk up those ears, little deer,” Rhona said. “Everything in this room is mine.”

“Uh, uh, yes, and I won’t take anything out of it,” Kelly said. He backed against the locker as much as he could, but Rhona just moved forward until their faces were inches away. She knocked on his head.

“You’re pretty dumb for someone who looks like a nerd,” she said.

“Everything in here is mine,” Rhona said, “so if you take yourself out of this room, you’re taking what’s mine.”

Kelly ducked under Rhona’s arm and scrambled for the way out, but Rhona stuck out a leg and tripped him to the spongy plant-covered floor. Vines whipped around him.

The vines held Kelly to the floor as Rhona placed a foot on his back.

“Can’t we talk about this?” Kelly asked.

“Don’t think so,” Rhona said. “But I’ve been bored in here, so I’ll give you a chance. We’ll play for you. Name your game–rugby, soccer, preferably a contact sport.”

“Er, chess?” Kelly said.

“What?”

“It’s a contact sport when it gets really competitive.”

Rhona brushed her foot across Kelly and the vines flipped him to his back.

“I can’t hear you with that mask on your face.” She yanked the mask from Kelly’s face.

Kelly coughed, eyes wide as the thick wave of pollen and sweat and floral scents mixed with heavy odors flooded his senses. His mask had been tight enough to keep it out. Now he was overwhelmed with everything Rhona had to offer.

“Now, if you’re going to act like a nerd…”

Rhona lifted Kelly off the ground, his body limp as her scents pummeled his mind as much as they seemed to fondle it. Now even closer, Rhona seemed to encompass the entire world, contained in one spot before him yet surrounding him. The room spun. Kelly couldn’t think straight.

“I’m going to treat you like one,” Rhona said. She opened one of the lockers and shoved Kelly inside. Covered in flowers as the walls were, he barely felt the hard steel, not least because even more pollen thickened his head. He forgot where he was, only Rhona in his head now.

Kelly fell against the back wall as Rhona shoved herself inside, squeezing against him until no part of his body wasn’t pressed against Rhona or the flowers.

“Hope you don’t have asthma, nerd,” Rhona said, pressing her face against Kelly’s, “because you’re gonna breathe deep.”

Kelly did so, breathing in of Rhona, and she pressed closer to kiss Kelly as she closed the locker door, squeezing the two of them inside. Vines surrounded Kelly from Rhona, from the walls. Somehow something removed his clothes.

“Pfft, wow, you went down like a rock,” Rhona said.

Her skin against Kelly’s, her vines against Kelly, her flowers against Kelly, his mind crumbled like plant shoots breaking through concrete, turning it to rubble. She squeezed his body, and he moaned.

“I’m gonna give you a workout,” Rhona said. “Try to keep up, buttercup.”

Soul Editor

“Why, hello there, you little cutie. What are you doing out here all by your lonesome?”

You jump in surprise at the sudden appearance and voice of someone next to you on the bus stop bench. You didn’t hear her walk up. One second you were alone, the next you have company.

You’re not sure what to make of her. That ample witch hat atop her head seems fitting enough for the Halloween season, but the rest of her outfit has enough skin showing it must be one of those “sexy” witch costumes—assuming she isn’t a prostitute going for a Halloween theme. You turn away.

“Sorry, I’m not interested,” you say. You’ve had a long day regardless and just want to get home. She laughs.

“That’s easy enough to change.”

A warm hand cups your face and turns you back to her—at least, you thought it was her hand, but it looks to be a staff of some sort that felt like flesh. Not wood, not metal, not plastic, but warm and soft, pulsating with ghostly balls of off-white light.

This is getting weird now, costume or not. You push the staff away from you, though for a moment it feels electric, like injecting an energy drink directly into your hand. You shake your hand.

“Go away,” you say, “I don’t want whatever you’re after and I certainly don’t trust you.” The witch laughs again.

“Oh, my silly dear,” she says. She lifts the staff, and you stare as the end flashes, a rapidly swirling ball of color that grabs your attention. She leads your gaze to her eyes, which now swirl with the same colors. “What makes you think your silly little opinions matter?”

You stare into her eyes, feeling a wave of pleasure swarm over your body. You think what she said was wrong, you really don’t trust her, but as you stare into her eyes that thought of distrust grows smaller, insignificant, nothing.

“The only thing that truly matters in the moment is what you feel,” she says. “In the moment, the only thing guiding your interests is what you’re feeling.”

She pulls you closer, her staff bending and twisting with the dexterity of a snake around your shoulders, squeezing down your arms and chest. You try to hold on to that distrust, but it disappears as you feel pleasure pulsate through your mind and ripple down your body.

“And it’s so easy for me to manipulate what you’re feeling,” she whispers. She strokes her fingers under your chin, but it feels like she’s stroking the core of your being. “To simply write on your soul new, pleasurable feelings, and arouse new desires and interests in your very soul.”

Her staff squeezed tighter, snaking down your body as she stroked your chin and stroked your soul as if with a pen. You don’t care at all now whether you trust her or not. All you know is you feel tingling, swamping pleasure surging through your body, originating from this enchanting witch. She’s all you’re interested in right now. She chuckles, stroking your head like a pet.

“And I’ve written my mark so deeply on your soul that those wonderful feelings are overwhelming,” she says. “It’s hard to think. You don’t really think, with your bothersome old opinions meaningless, but you still remember, as murky and fuzzy as those memories are becoming.” She holds your face in her hands and pulls you closer to her eyes, her staff now coiled to your hips and still snaking down, squeezing your legs. “So blurry are your memories now,” she says, “it’s so simple for me to write over them now, too.” She kisses you on the forehead as if marking your memories with a kiss. “To write myself into your memories. Why, you’ve known me for years, haven’t you?” She laughs. “You’ve known me forever. Just let me write myself into your memories. Let me write over those dusty old memories. You don’t have anything else important to remember, anyway.”

By now trust would be the last thing that matters. All your memories are of this witch, this witch who soaks your mind with hypnotic pleasure then intensifies it until you have no interest but her. No interest but letting her do as she wants.

“And now, my silly soul vessel,” she says, “now that I’ve fixed your feelings to me, scribbled myself into your memories, and pulled your interest to me so far you have no opinion on anything I might do to you, now it’s easy to simply . . .” The staff squeezed tight, wrapped all over your body. “Wipe it all away.”

You grin at a surge of power washing through you. Your body goes numb, then your head, then your mind. Even your altered memories feel disconnected as the witch erases you, bit by bit, sucking the soul straight from your body and into her staff. What might be the pain of a separation is the pleasure of a new purpose, a new existence.

As the witch erases you from your soul, she rewrites it entirely.

The soul is hers now. She owns it. It’s her property.

Your soul pops out and fizzes into the witch’s staff, another source of power with nothing in it but subservience to its master, life force that only knows life as part of the witch.

That leaves the body. With the soul that once resided in it firmly in her control, she easily leads the body to follow her with her staff. The body follows, a puppet in her control, to her home for her to do as she wishes with.

Oh, my, no, we can’t describe what she’s doing, it’s much too scandalous!

Oh, very well, if you insist.

It’s a long night of fun she has with that body.

So many cute outfits she dresses it up in like a doll.