The fifth week of the semester was beginning. Professor Gina Hansen’s 20th Century Crime Literature class was beginning.

Professor Hansen never got tired of the attention she received from her class. All of her male students were entranced by her, and so were a few of the young women.

Figuratively entranced.

Gina Hansen was a woman 42 years of age. She was 5’7” and had a slender physique. She wore fashionably loose-fitting black clothes and glasses while reading and teaching.

She had striking features, most obviously her lying eyes and full smirking lips. Her dangerous good looks were burnished by streaks of gray in her brunette hair, which prevented her from looking like a base pornographer’s conception of a hot librarian, or college professor. She looked like the real thing because she was the real thing.

Things that are real are hotter.

Professor Hansen walked to the podium of her lecture hall and placed her notes onto her podium.

“Hello class, did everyone do their reading last weekend?”

She peered into the audience and noticed a student thumbing through the required reading with a concerned expression.

Professor Hansen sighed with a dramatic affect into her microphone. “Adrian? Is the incest and sadomasochistic content of Jim Thompson’s oeuvre not exciting enough for you?”

Adrian peered up from his copy of The Kill-Off. “N-No ma’am.”

Hansen spoke like a femme fatale from one of the novels she was teaching. “You don’t want to disappoint me, Adrian, do you?”

That elicited a few chuckles from the class. Hansen finished getting her papers ready and placed her bag on the table behind her.

“For goddess’s sake this is 20th Century Crime Literature. If you can’t read 250 pages of salacious sleaze over a weekend you aren’t cut out for my class.”

“And what kind of class is that?” one of her students heckled.

Hansen pointed in the student’s general direction with her pen. “Good pun. You’ve clearly been doing the reading.”

More chuckles from the class.

Hansen felt more at ease with each passing week. She’d been forced to sit out the prior semester, and as she’d recuperated she wondered if she was going to lose a step.

Apparently not.

. . .

Professor Hansen returned to her office after the lecture and seated herself at her desk. She pulled a book out of her bag, but before she could start reading during the hour-long gap between classes one of her colleagues entered her office.

It was Eugene Moore; he taught Dante and The Prince.

“Gina, are you coming to the get-together tonight?”

Hansen put down her book and sighed. “I completely forgot about that.”

She noticed that Adrian was standing in the doorway of her office, waiting for Moore to leave.

“Well, you don’t have to come. It’s an informal thing.”

Hansen removed her glasses and allowed them to hang from their chain. “No, I want to come. I’ve been out of the loop for too long.”

Moore gave a thumbs up. “See you later.” As he left the office he almost bumped into Adrian, who was half asleep.

Adrian became electrified as he sat across from his Professor. “Are we still having the meeting tonight?”

Hansen shook her head. “No, there’s going to be a party for faculty tonight.”

“A party?”

Hansen seemed annoyed by Adrian’s insinuation. “Not a kegstand party, but a party for want of a better word. It’s lonely at the top, kid.”

“Because you’re going to be the hottest and coolest person at the party?”

“Of course.” The professor lifted one end of her book and let it fall back against the table. “You know what? We’ll have the meeting tonight, except ninety minutes later. I’ll make an early exit.”

Adrian grinned. “Great!”

“Can you tell Cyrus and Jason for me?”

Adrian nodded “Of course.”

The two shared a brief pause. “So, why did you want to see me?”

Adrian blushed and looked at the Professor’s keyboard. “Well, uh, I just wanted to see you.”

Professor Hansen smiled. “Great. You’ve seen me. Get moving.”

The professor waved Adrian out of the room. She briefly inspected the hallway from her seat before using telekinesis to shut the door.

She opened her book.

While walking back to his dorm room after classes Adrian would intercept Jason exiting the art building. As expected, Jason was leaving his final class at the usual time.

Adrian motioned for Jason to come towards him. The art major jogged towards his friend and began to follow him.

“What’s up?”

Adrian motioned towards his dormitory. “I have something important to tell you. It’s a cult thing.”

“What is it?”

“The meeting at Professor Hansen’s house is going to start ninety minutes late.”

Jason studied Adrian for a moment, thinking about how dumb he looked. “Was that it?”

Adrian ruminated. “Actually, yes.”

Jason stopped walking for a moment, but decided to continue following Adrian anyways. “This meeting could’ve been an email.”

“Ha, funny. Want to hang out with Cyrus and I for a bit?”

“Sure.”

. . .

Cyrus Singh clasped some paper towel and used it to pull his curry out of the microwave. He grabbed a fork and poured the contents of the plastic tray into a waiting bowl and mixed the rice with the sauce and spices. He continued mixing the contents to cool down the hot dish, which already was making his bowl alarmingly hot.

Adrian announced his presence by messing with the uncooperative doorknob. Despite living in the room for over a month, he still hadn’t learned the correct way to angle the knob to make the door open.

Cyrus walked back to his desk and spun his chair towards the door. After nearly twenty seconds Adrian finally managed to open the door. He entered with Jason following.

Adrian spoke as he placed his backpack next to his bed. “Hey Cyrus, I’ve got some news.”

“Yeah?”

“The meeting at Professor Hansen’s house is going to be ninety minutes late.”

“Ok. That’s not very bad news.”

Jason peered into Cyrus’s bowl. “What’ve you got there?”

“I got some microwavable curry from the grocery store. Let’s see how this is . . .”

Jason and Adrian watched as Cyrus blew on the spoonful he’d scooped and cautiously ate it. After a moment Cyrus sighed.

“Well, it’s not very good. Basically what I was expecting.”

“Why don’t you just make your own,” Adrian began, starting to imitate an Italian American, “like your a-mother used to make?”

“They don’t have the proper ingredients in the stores around here. And some of us aren’t in Hansen’s airport novel class.” Cyrus picked up a copy of Moll Flanders. “Some of us have to read this before Monday.”

Adrian crossed his arms. “Hey, don’t call Jim Thompson an airport novelist. The foreword of the book of his I’m reading has an essay by Stephen King.”

“My point exactly.”

Jason spoke, wanting to speak. “A part of me wants to take Professor Hansen’s general English Literature class, because she’s teaching it. But I don’t know if I want to read that”, gesturing to the book Cyrus was holding.

Cyrus didn’t want to indulge Jason by agreeing with his assumption that the book was boring. But he did think the book was boring. So he changed the subject.

“Do you think Professor Hansen is ever actually going to teach us magic?”

Adrian smirked. “Maybe she just wants to hang around a couple of young hunks.”

Cyrus rested his head on a fist. “If you represent the caliber of guy that our Professor is interested in, I hate to say it but that makes me think a bit less of her.”

Jason spoke. “We’ve only been seeing her for a few weeks. I guess we’re still in the ‘wax on wax off’ phase of learning.”

Cyrus started eating his curry again, now that it had cooled down a bit. “But what is the waxing that we’ve been doing?”

Adrian shrugged. “It’s enough for me just to be around her.”

Professor Hansen walked to the house reserved for the Dean. It was a pleasant fifteen minute sojourn from campus. She passed the assortment of local businesses that made life in and around the college so bearable, smiling with fond memories at the sight of them.

Duskendale University was just shy of three hundred years old, ancient by American standards, and located deep in western Massachusetts. Duskendale was situated within a college town, too far from the coast’s urban sprawl to garner a population of more than 10,000 people.

It was only September but the nighttime air had already lost its heat, and it wouldn’t come back until June.

There were only two cars in front of the dean’s house, so walkable was the area. If the above-average size of the domicile wasn’t any indication, Hansen still recognized it from past visits. She entered the house and surveyed the crowd.

Most of the professors had shown up. A small few had brought their spouses; Hansen couldn’t imagine why anyone would expose their loved ones to an event such as this.

A woman in her late twenties approached Hansen. “Gina! It’s been a while.”

Hansen hugged one of the few people she was happy to see. “Liz! How are you doing?”

“I’m doing ok. Last semester was so boring without you around.”

Hansen nodded. “Thanks.”

Liz taught a class called Evolving Mores (more-rays) of Romance Literature. Hansen had sat in on a few lectures during Liz’s first semester at the school for auditing, and the two had become fast friends.

The two heard the sound of someone dropping a glass. They both turned and saw a middle-aged man with graying black hair. He clearly had misunderstood the vibe of the evening, because he was already drunk.

Liz crossed her arms. “I’ve never seen that guy before.”

Gina sighed. “That’s Melvin. He’s the principal of the high school.”

“Why is he here?”

Gina shrugged. “Because of the dual credit program.”

“Ah. Do you know him?”

“I went to highschool with him. He’s a piece of shit.”

The principal noticed Gina and stumbled towards her. His uneven movements and manic giggling made Gina worried that he’d trip into her. “Handjob Hansen! I didn’t know there was a hooker at this party!”

“Hello Melvin.”

The principal fell past Gina, seated himself on a chair, and sighed, placing a glass of wine on the floor. “Oh Gina, things have gotten so much worse since the last time I saw you.”

“Yeah, I noticed. The students from your school get dumber and dumber every year.”

Melvin spoke with a shake in his voice, clearly holding back tears. “No, that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s about my son.”

“Oh my god”, Liz whispered, aghast at the state of the man before her.

Melvin’s face was in his palm as he lamented. “James . . . he’s such a fucking loser.”

Gina crossed her arms. “It must be hereditary.”

“He dropped out of highschool. It’s so embarrassing for me, because I’m a principal, you know? My son isn’t supposed to be bad at school.”

“How did you get sole custody again?”

Melvin was increasingly slumped on the chair. “Because I’m a principal, slut. How else?”

Eugene approached Melvin, who’d nearly slid off of the leather seat. “Melvin? That’s your name, right? I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“I’m going to get my son into this college; he’s going to be ok. Just needs a little help.”

Eugene picked up Melvin and began to drag him to the door. “That’s great, Melvin. Come on, help me out here, use your legs.”

An idea occurred to Gina. She turned to Liz.

“I need to watch this; I’ll be right back.”

Liz assumed Gina merely wanted to experience some schadenfreude and smiled. “Sure, go ahead.”

Gina followed Eugene out the front door and watched as he lowered Melvin onto the lawn before taking his keys out of his pocket. Melvin had already fallen asleep.

Gina closed her eyes and looked away from the windows, so the other guests could not see her eyes glow as she cast a spell. She chanted a simple incantation and placed something temporary into Melvin’s mind, something that would ping her when he woke up, and make him easy to psychically find.

Satisfied with her work, she walked back into the house. Despite how she’d only just arrived, she decided she was already on the home stretch of her visit.

. . .

Gina had nearly finished walking home when she felt a subtle force in her mind, telling her that Melvin had woken up from his drunken slumber. She found a bench; they don’t hate homeless people in Duskendale; and seated herself. She opened her mind’s eye and allowed herself to peer into Melvin’s consciousness.

Gina could see out of his eyes. Melvin was still on the dean’s front lawn. He growled as he climbed onto his feet. Gina could hear his thoughts clearly, and see out of his eyes.

They don’t understand how important I am, as the principal of the school that gives them most of their students . . .

Melvin realized his car was right in front of him. He fished around for his keys and noticed they were missing.

Someone must’ve taken them from me; I could go into the house and get them back . . . no, not right now.

Melvin decided to go for a walk. He was lucky the winter snow had not yet arrived, because his footing was unsteady as he shambled down the sidewalk.

It wasn’t long before Melvin was near some mixed-use buildings that mostly housed students. The principal saw three goth women leave an apartment to wait for a ride. Gina was certainly happy to see them.

Melvin hissed as he saw the light shining off of the black vinyl jacket one of them was wearing. He clenched his fist as he studied the black lipstick and boots and lace.

Goth women are so dumb, Melvin thought to himself as blood began to harden his meager cock. Stupid fashion . . . dumb, stupid.

Gina had to keep herself from laughing too hard, lest she mentally disconnect from Melvin. The principal couldn’t help but stare at them, in frustration, as he continued to shamble down the sidewalk.

If I was a woman I would be goth . . . because women are dumb, Melvin mused. Gina was goth back in highschool, the whore. She was wearing black at that party . . .

Melvin thought about stroking it right there, but his nap on the lawn had sobered him up enough to avoid that catastrophe.

He continued to walk, for several more minutes, before he realized he was getting far away enough from the house that it would be inconvenient to return for his keys. When he did return for his keys, he was naturally told to walk home. Melvin didn’t live that far from the dean; the drive hadn’t been necessary in the first place.

He grumbled about how the dean would regret seeing him the next day, something the dean agreed was probably true.

Gina retreated from Melvin’s mind and took a moment to gather herself before getting off the bench. The witch realized there was a place for him in her plans for the evening. She continued walking towards her house.

Gina walked into her bathroom and turned the bath’s hot water knob. As the water began to fill the tub her mind wandered.

The better part of a year ago Gina’s entire body was engulfed in flames. Members of a rival coven, ones who worshiped a different Goddess, had attacked her. She’d been left for dead, assumed dead, by her assailants.

For long months Gina hadn’t been able to take baths. Aime and Envious, her two right-hand women, had given her sponge baths. They helped her during her time of need, provided her with sustenance when she wasn’t able to walk, much less prepare food for herself.

Gina’s wounds would’ve been permanent under normal circumstances. With the aid of magic she’d been able to heal herself.

It was still a lengthy process. Most members of her coven had decided to leave her. They were cocky, filled with confidence. They felt they no longer needed her tutelage of discipline.

The only ones who remained were Aime and Envious. They were the only ones knowledgeable to understand that they weren’t knowledgeable at all.

Gina turned the knob until the water stopped. She lowered herself into the hot water and let out a pleasured sigh.

The witch moved a hand into the water and created a spiral. After uttering an incantation two images appeared on the surface of the water; Aime and Envious, both shimmering between Gina’s legs.

“My witches, your Mistress needs you.”

Aime walked into a different, less unoccupied room of her tattoo parlor. Envious was the only one in her rehearsal space, messing around with cables.

The musician spoke. “What do you need?”

“Tonight’s the night of rebirth. Tonight you two will mold Adrian and Jason into their new forms.”

“What is the impetus for this?” asked Aime.

“I have earned the trust of my new followers, and an idea occurred to me involving someone from my past. All shall be revealed soon.”

Gina heard her doorbell ring. She looked back down into the water.

“I must go. Both of you need to stay where you are.”

.  .  .

The three boys heard Gina’s door unlock via telekinesis. With some hesitation Cyrus grabbed the knob, twisted it, and stepped into the house.

After they had all entered the foyer, a voice called from upstairs.

“Your Mistress demands your presence from her bath!”

Adrian gulped. “Bath?”

The trio walked up the stairs and entered Professor Hansen’s bathroom. The witch was reclined in warm water, surrounded by candles.

“Thank you for joining me. I think it’s time that our relationship was taken to the next level.”

Tears began to fall from Adrian’s eyes. But Jason and Cyrus could understand that Hansen was euphemistic.

The professor continued. “There are two people in the coven I haven’t introduced any of you to. I want you all to meet them, but not together.”

Cyrus furrowed his brow. He hadn’t heard Hansen call the group a “coven” before, always a “cult”.

“Adrian, I’ve sent you the address of a rehearsal space. It’s on the outskirts of town; you might have to get a cab.”

Adrian nodded, wondering about what kind of things were rehearsed in the space. The Professor turned her attention to Jason.

“Jason, I need you to go to a tattoo parlor, about a thirty minute walk from here on foot.”

“Can do.”

Professor Hansen motioned with her hand. “Hand me your phones so I can give you the addresses.”

The Professor had deliberately avoided creating any kind of a paper trail, physical or digital, with her cult members. And so she’d never sent them any emails that weren’t class related. She accepted the phones, gave her students the addresses, and handed them back.

She immediately got to work lathering her hands in soap afterwards, knowing precisely how gross the phones were.

“Cyrus, I need you to stay here for a moment.”

The trio stood in a semi-circle around the bath, waiting for the Professor to continue. She gestured towards the door, flicking water onto the tiled floor.

“Jason, Adrian, I’ve given you your instructions. Leave.”

Adrian spoke. “Cyrus called Jim Thompson an airport novelist.”

Hansen frowned. “Adrian, don’t tattle. Come on, leave.”

The two left, hoping they weren’t missing anything good, leaving Cyrus alone in the bathroom with their Professor. The Professor shared a smirk with her pupil, one he’d never seen before. She curled a finger before pointing down.

“I want you to take a look here.”

Cyrus gulped. He approached the bath, hoping to see something with a vaginal quality. When he peered down into the water, he was disappointed to see an image glowing on its surface.

It was some guy, about his age. Brown hair and bad boy looks. Smoking a cigarette outside of a strip mall.

The Professor spoke. “You see this guy? His name is James-”

“James Jamison. I knew him when I was in highschool.”

Hansen allowed herself a chuckle, eager for gossip. “You did?”

“He was a bully. A stupid one. Gave me a lot of trouble.”

Hansen motioned for Cyrus to move away from the bath as the image in the water dissipated. “Good. It’s good that you know him, I mean. Because I need you to do something to him.”

“What?”

“There’s a ring next to my sink over there, the one with the purple gem on it.”

Cyrus grabbed the ring as the Professor continued.

“DON’T try putting it on. It’s for James, and James only. Do you understand me?”

Cyrus nearly dropped the ring. “Y-Yes.”

“You need to make him wear the ring. Of course, you can’t talk him into putting it on, because that would be gay. You’re going to have to use magic.”

Cyrus felt a tinge of excitement. “I get to learn magic?”

The Professor looked down into the water as she bit her lip. After taking a deep breath she returned her gaze to Cyrus.

“Don’t make me regret it. I’m going to transfer this spell into your brain psychically. You’ll only be able to use it once, and then you’ll forget it. Understood?”

“What does it do?”

“It will put James into a stupor. It will allow you to place the ring onto him, and when he ‘wakes up’ he won’t notice the ring.”

Cyrus nodded, already thinking about how he’d probably miss the spell and fuck up the whole thing. “Ok.”

The witch motioned for her pupil to come closer. “I need to touch your forehead. Lean closer . . .”

Cyrus obeyed. He felt the two longest fingers on Gina’s left hand above his eyes.

He then felt a pressure build up inside of his head. It was as if a sphere were appearing inside of his skull, between the two hemispheres of his brain. He couldn’t tell if the spell he was being fed was a physical object or not, and he was afraid to ask.

The “object” stopped increasing in size, but the pressure did not subside. Gina removed her hand and relaxed her body.

“I remember how it felt when I was first fed a spell. When you actually learn spells, they don’t feel that way. Your head feels normal.”

Cyrus rubbed his head and tried to adjust to the new sensation. Gina continued.

“You’ll know how to release the spell when you need to. It’s instinctual.”

Cyrus doubted her words, but nodded.

Gina warmed her bath using some heat magic before continuing. “Did you really call Jim Thompson an airport novelist?”

Kylie grabbed her things and motioned towards Aime.

“You’re closing up?”

Aime nodded. “Yeah, I just want to take care of a few things before I head out.”

Kylie was already halfway out the door. “Great, see you tomorrow.”

Aime was alone in the tattoo parlor. It occupied a small commercial space only a thirty minute’s walk away from the college. The parlor was long and thin, the two tattooing stations nestled in the back.

The checkout area towards the front of the store was a barrier that kept the back of the parlor intimate. On either side of the cash register were large boards with printouts of tattoo designs pasted to them. These boards blocked out most of the natural sunlight, turning the tattooing area into a veritable cave.

Four large binders were open to customers, two for Aime and Kylie each. They were filled with designs and photos of the artists’ handiwork.

A fifth binder was hidden in plain sight. It was on a desk in one of the back corners of the store where Aime kept her backpack and some other personal belongings.

This binder held designs for tattoos of a different variety. The pages contained sigils, magical shapes designed to mold their wearers.

Some of the sigils were simple; they cured simple ailments or subtly increased arousal. But others were more drastic.

Aime went to her backpack and pulled out a syringe. With practiced movements she tightened some rubber around her bicep so that she could remove some blood from herself. She walked to her tattooing station and released her blood into the ink she would soon be using.

The artist heard a knocking at the door. She turned and saw a young man out in the cold, his breath leaving condensation on the window.

Aime motioned that the door was still open, and Jason entered the parlor. He sighed with relief as the comparatively warm air of the shop’s interior surrounded him.

Jason spoke. “I, uh, I’m here because Professor Hansen sent me.”

Aime walked to her tattooing station. “She wants you to get a tattoo as the final step of your initiation.”

Jason waited for an overt invitation before following Aime into the back of the parlor. He saw her sanitizing the chair on which he was about to receive his tattoo.

“Take off your top for me”, Aime said.

“I, uh, I’m not sure if I want a tattoo. I mean, if you give me a few days to think of a design-”

Aime pointed to a page in her private binder. “This is the tattoo you’re going to receive.”

Jason approached the stand and looked at the design. It was a variety of complex symbols organized within the confines of a pentagram. Within the visual noise Jason failed to notice a Venus symbol.

Jason studied how visual weight was spread across the design. He could immediately see the appeal of having it as a tattoo. He was impressed with it.

Aime placed a hand on her prey’s sternum from behind. “The tattoo will go right here. Sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“Professor Hansen wants me to get this tattoo?”

“Yes.”

The last remnants of Jason’s hesitance vanished. He removed his jacket, and then his shirt. “Yeah, I’ll do it. I’ll get the tattoo.”

Aime motioned for Jason to get onto the tattooing seat. After he settled himself into the reclined chair, Aime grabbed an alcohol wipe and rubbed it on his sternum. She made the action sensual, smirking and looking into his eyes as she prepared him.

“Are you ready?”

Jason nodded. Aime grabbed her tattooing machine and brought the needle down to her quarry’s sternum. The first bit of ink entered Jason’s skin, the ink made with Aime’s blood.

Her cursed blood, the blood of a witch. The blood of an unrepentant sinner, slowly penetrating into the dermis of Professor Hansen’s pupil.

Jason tried to be strong, acted like the pain was nothing to him. It was the way he acted when he went to the dentist. The longer Aime spent working on the sigil, etching its complex lines and symbols into his flesh, the stranger he felt.

It wasn’t just the pain. He was starting to feel lightheaded.

Aime spoke. “So, Professor Hansen tells me you’re an art major.”

Jason nodded. “Yes.”

Aime looked into Jason’s eyes. “How long have you wanted to be a tattoo artist?”

Jason’s mind went blank. “I, uh, I don’t know.”

Have I wanted to be a tattoo artist? I . . . huh . . .

Jason studied Aime. Her muscular arms covered in tribal tattoos. The bandanna keeping her black hair out of her eyes, surrounded by black eyeliner and smoky eyeshadow.

Despite the low temperature, Aime was sweating. Jason realized he was looking into her eyes, and so he averted his gaze, his eyes momentarily getting caught on her silver navel piercing, her abs subtly making themselves known.

Jason did want to be a tattoo artist. Thoughts were starting to fill his mind as old thoughts fell out. Memories of studying the craft of tattooing, filling sketchbooks with designs optimized to be placed onto human skin.

Sketchbooks his mother had unfortunately thrown away when she’d found out he was a lesbian.

That last thought confused Jason. But Aime was there for him, there to psychically transmit thoughts into his brain and shepherd him.

“So, Jasmine . . . do your friends call you that? Or do they call you Jazz?”

Aime finished the Venus symbol part of the sigil. Breast tissue formed underneath Jason’s nipples, on either side of the pentagram. His cock began to shrink in his pants as his genitalia transformed.

Jason cleared his throat as a new voice emerged, higher than it previously had been. “I, uh . . . Jazz sounds nice.”

Aime tousled Jazz’s hair and grinned. “I’m glad you consider me a friend.”

Jazz blushed. His crotch felt funny. It was a familiar feeling, one he’d felt around women many times. But never quite like this.

Aime put her tattooing machine on its holster. “I think it’s time for you to take a little break. Don’t you?”

Jazz nodded. His chest was feeling sore, and not just where the tattooing work was being done. Aime knelt down and opened a door built into her tattooing station.

Aime emerged with a back massager. Hitachi. Something Jazz had seen in pictures, never in person.

Aime rested a hand on Jazz’s belt buckle, giving her prey a chance to protest, before she unwrapped her present from Professor Hansen.

Cyrus walked through an alley and could see the strip mall across the street, the one his target was leaning against.

Cyrus knew intellectually that James was not waiting for him, was not expecting him. But Cyrus knew what his intentions were, and he couldn’t stop himself from believing that James did as well.

Even if Cyrus wasn’t sure what the ring was supposed to do. He clenched the ring in his jacket, taking care not to let it slip onto one of his fingers, before he crossed the street.

It wasn’t long before Cyrus was within range of his target. Cyrus pretended he was going to walk into one of the stores, hoping that James would recognize him. After Cyrus passed James without triggering any kind of reaction, Cyrus pretended to do a double take.

“James? Is that you?”

James pulled out his cigarette and turned towards Cyrus.

“Hey . . . what do you want?”

“Nothing. I, uh, just recognized you. How are you doing?”

James dropped his cigarette and extinguished it underneath his boot. “Fine.”

James had long brown hair, a tall lanky frame, and was wearing a worn leather jacket. His eyebrows were thick and his eyes half-lidded. He looked how most people would assume he looked, a rebel shaped like a rebel. If being a rebel meant being unambitious.

Cyrus stared awkwardly at James for a moment, wondering what to say next. James broke the silence.

“What are you doing here?”

“I go to Duskendale University. But I thought I’d come over here and check out,”

Cyrus inspected the strip mall, and realized two of the three spaces were occupied by a sex toy store, and the third was occupied by a shipping company that wasn’t open past 4 PM.

James interrupted. “You’re here to get a sex toy?”

Cyrus grimaced; he wasn’t thinking too good. It wasn’t helping that he could feel the pressure of the spell he’d been given, seemingly trying to squeeze between the two hemispheres of his brain.

“Sure. For my girlfriend.”

James pulled a carton of cigarettes out of his jacket. “I don’t believe you. That you have a girlfriend, I mean.”

“Why are you here?”

“The kinds of women who come to a place like this are the kinds of women I like to pick up. They certainly seem to like me.”

Cyrus had too look up into James’s eyes. Cyrus wasn’t short, but James was certainly tall. Cyrus thought about what Professor Hansen had told him; that he’d know how to use the spell instinctually.

James looked down at Cyrus and scoffed. “What? I’m not going to buy you a butt plug.”

Cyrus thought about pushing the spell out of his head. It was like shitting out of his forehead. He saw a bright light for just a moment, and he then saw a dazed expression in James’s eyes.

Cyrus himself was barely holding on; he felt a relief in his head, but also felt exhausted. He pulled the ring out of his jacket and fumbled as he struggled to put the ring onto James’s hand. It took a moment, but after some struggle Cyrus managed to move it past one of the slacker’s knuckles.

Cyrus waited a moment for something to happen, but nothing did. James looked the same as he did before. He also looked like he was emerging from his stupor. Cyrus walked away at first, and then jogged, hoping he wouldn’t cause James to awaken with any rapid movements.

Adrian climbed out of the rideshare vehicle and studied the building he’d been instructed to visit. It was on the outskirts of town, and it was a newer building, less than forty years old. Relative to the ornate buildings that comprised the Duskendale campus and most of the surrounding area, a no-frills slab like this one seemed anomalous.

Adrian entered the building and was subsumed the green light of its fluorescent central hallway. He studied the doors as he walked, looking for rehearsal space E.

He found it. He pushed open the door and walked into a room filled with hardshell instrument cases, amplifiers, and a drum set. Black soundproofing foam covered the walls.

Sitting on a stool a few feet in front of Adrian was a woman. Pale skin, hair dyed red and black with brunette roots starting to show. Gray eyes surrounded by pools of indigo.

She was wearing a black spandex jumpsuit underneath a denim vest and cutoff jeans, both acid washed.

She was holding a short scale bass. It was a metal bass; not one made of metal, but one shaped with spikes and edges that made its genre affiliation obvious.

Adrian grinned. “You’re the lead singer and bassist of Covert Carcass!”

Adrian had seen Covert Carcass many times; they were the best local band, metal or otherwise. All female too, which Adrian felt made their show visually exciting.

The woman smirked. “Yeah. My name is Envious. What’s yours?”

“Adrian. Professor Hansen sent me here.”

Envious stood up. Adrian was surprised by how short she was; she seemed so much taller on stage. Adrian would’ve sworn she was seven feet tall, but instead he was eye-to-eye with her.

The bassist pulsed the low D string of her instrument in a manner that seemed unconscious.

“Do you play?”

Adrian nodded. “Yeah, I play guitar. How do you know Professor Hansen?”

“We fuck sometimes. Also I’m in her coven.”

Adrian gasped; he had no idea his Professor was attracted to women, although there may’ve been a few signs, with some of the pulp assigned in class.

Envious broke Adrian’s contemplation. “Do you feel fuckable, Adrian?”

Adrian turned as he studied the room. The sound proofing on the walls made the bass sound a certain way, as if it was inside of him and all around him.

“I guess.”

Adrian hadn’t yet noticed there were multiple bass amps turned on; the sound truly was omnipresent. The pulse was within him and surround him.

Envious moved freely with her wireless unit. She studied Adrian’s lithe form and bit the inside of her cheeks.

“I can improve your body. I bet Gina would enjoy it.”

“r-really?”

Envious accepted his response as consent, although she didn’t feel that was strictly necessary. She walked to a microphone placed in a mostly empty corner of the room and turned on a looper, set to do frippertronics.

She continued her bass pulse as she started to sing. She usually sang with a growl, but the voice emanating from her was soft and melodic.

The delay device she was using caused her voice to repeat multiple times, seconds apart, slowly receding into silence. Envious layered notes on top of each other. Sometimes making harmonies, sometimes singing in unison.

Adrian was awash in the sound of Envious’s voice and the hypnotic thump of her bass. He felt compelled to walk towards her, and he tried. But he didn’t move. He walked in place, reality warping around him.

Adrian grew hard. He studied Envious’s full lips and the way her black catsuit clung to her body. He wanted to touch her, but he sank onto the floor instead.

He heard an entire chorus around him, a siren’s song oppressing him into a dream.

Adrian wanted to give everything to Envious. He’d fallen so easily.

His last thought was that he hoped he wasn’t betraying Professor Hansen by succumbing to Envious’s song.

It was late and James was ready to go to bed. James didn’t enjoy being at home too much; it reminded him of how he still lived with his dad. But his mattress was inside of the building and so he found himself returning day after day.

Stupid Cyrus. Going to college. I’m not going to be a failure . . . Cyrus is going to be a failure. Like me. Wait . . . no . . .

James almost tripped as he stepped foot on the driveway. He realized he’d, somehow, nearly fallen asleep while walking.

He thought to himself, Maybe it’s just because I know I’m going to be sleeping soon, but fuck I can barely walk.

James looked through the window of the house and noticed his father had fallen asleep on the living room couch.

He must’ve got drunk at that party, the son thought.

James managed to reach the front door. He placed his key into the lock and noticed a ring was on his middle finger.

He paused for a moment, but couldn’t piece together why it was strange that he was wearing a ring. He pushed the door open and entered the house.

With great effort James began the ascent to the house’s second floor. His feet almost got caught on the lips of the steps a few times and towards the top of the stairs James found himself crawling on his hands and knees.

James felt a pain in his back.

no . . . can’t sleep on the floor . . . my back will feel better in bed.

The floor was dirty; the men of the house weren’t much for cleaning. James begrudgingly lifted himself onto his feet and rushed to his room, despite how uneven his footing was, because he feared he wouldn’t make it otherwise.

His bed seemed like an oasis. His back still hurt.

He was too drained to feel much emotion, but he’d still never been this excited to sleep.

James collapsed onto the bed. He didn’t remove his clothes or pull himself under the covers; he fell asleep where he’d fallen as energy continued to drain out of him.

Jazz was surprised when she felt Aime put fingers inside of her; she wasn’t aware she had a pussy.

But how could she not? She was always a woman. Jazz struggled to process it, before realizing there was nothing to process.

She was too busy thinking about how Aime’s touch felt anyways. Jazz let out whimpers of pleasure as the tattoo artist toyed with her.

After the inaugural fingering, Aime turned on the Hitachi and brought it down to Jazz’s clit. Using her other hand she groped one of Jazz’s breasts.

She didn’t need to worry about messing up the sigil tattoo. It was magic. Permanent. Once the seal had been completed it was firm.

Aime lowered herself towards Jazz’s head, still keeping the vibrator in place, and spoke.

“You belong to me.”

Jazz felt electricity moving through her body. Waves of pleasure rippling through her flesh in ways she’d never imagined possible.

“You belong to the coven. But you belong to me first.”

Jazz could feel that something was happening. Her memories were shallow and non-specific.

But she couldn’t find fault in the reality that was being presented to her. She was shivering with pleasure so hard that she moved her legs off of the tattooing chair and wrapped them around the seat’s underside. She grabbed the top of the headrest and clenched, her grip providing some stability against the onslaught of pleasure.

“Surrender. Surrender your mind to me.”

Jazz could see out of her periphery that her tattoo was glowing an infernal shade of crimson. Aime looked demonic, the way she grinned in the red light.

Jazz wanted to be Aime’s slave. Wanted to be Professor Hansen’s slave. She knew what her place was to be in the coven and she wanted to surrender.

Jazz let go. She orgasmed, and the memories of her past slipped away. She would remember them, in her dreams. So she could have pleasant nightmares about how perverted and deviant her existence was.

Aime lowered the speed of the vibrator but didn’t stop. She kissed Jazz’s lips and ran her free hand through her hair.

“You’re going to be everything I want you to be.”

Gina continued scrying using the bathwater, taking turns watching what was happening in Aime’s tattoo parlor and Envious’s rehearsal space. She was pleased with what she was seeing, and lightly teased her clit to the sight of Jason and Adrian being dyke-ified.

Gina decided it was time to make sure things were proceeding as planned with James and Melvin. She searched for James’s location and managed to find it using the ring she’d enchanted.

She peered into his room. She could see that James’s body was changing. In his slumber his body was shrinking; he’d already lost a few inches. His thin, lanky body was recontextualizing; he was turning into a woman with some meat. Breasts were appearing on his chest and his ass was growing.

Gina had to use X-ray vision, a standard witch power, to see certain things. She cackled at the sight of James’s once formidable cock transforming into a pussy.

James’s youth was melting out of his form. He currently looked like a woman roughly Gina’s age, but he would continue to age some more, continue to ripen, depending on how one saw things.

Gina, using his ring as a reference point, managed to find Melvin quite easily.

Melvin now looked like he was in his late 20s, but he wouldn’t stop until he was about nineteen. It would take 40 years of James’s life to give Melvin back 20, because youth was expensive; ask anyone who’s had some work done.

Thankfully Melvin wasn’t just getting younger; he was also turning into a woman. Gina was impressed by what she was seeing; she wondered if Melvin would’ve been such a loser had he been born a girl. He was the kind of guy who, evidently, had features that were unflattering on a man but kind to a woman.

Gina chuckled as she saw how Melvin was nearly bursting out of his clothes. He’d grown a good five inches at least, and he wasn’t quite done yet.

Gina didn’t need to use X-ray vision to peer at his girth; it was clearly outlined within the confines of his too-tight pants. She was excited to feel it inside of her; she thought about how it would happen within the space of an hour. She was being efficient tonight.

She decided it was time to get personal with her new plaything.

. . .

“Melvin? Meeellviiin.”

Melvin was used to walking the hallways of his highschool in his dreams. Or, rather, his nightmares. These dreams were not unusual for adults, but the frequency with which Melvin experienced them certainly was.

“Melvin where aaare yooouuu?”

Melvin had never left highschool. He was stuck in it, with his job as principal. Walking the halls as an administrator, not unlike the ways he walked through the hallways as a student over twenty years prior.

“I want to see you Melvin. Where are you?”

The voice was new. Melvin could not remember hearing the voice.

Not in a dream. He could faintly recall the timbre. Was it Gina? Yes, it sounded like her, but he’d never heard her voice taunting him like that.

Teasing him. She sounded like she was playing with him, like she was a giant cat pawing into a dollhouse version of the school.

Melvin walked through the hallways, but things were different this time. His movement felt effortless in a way it hadn’t in decades. He no longer felt a certain lethargy that middle age had brought him. His stride was new.

He also could see the guys in the school leering at him. Why were they looking at him that way?

Melvin had always found Gina intensely attractive. He knew that he’d only bullied her because she would never sleep with him. Even if she was a slut she would never do that. Would never deign to touch a pathetic loser like himself.

Melvin could hear a cackling sound. He walked out one of the school’s back doors and found himself near the football field.

There Handjob Hansen was standing, an overcast sky above her. 

“Are you going to follow me Melvin? Are you going to follow me?”

The dream had reached a climax. It could not remain here.

Melvin found the dream slipping away from him, found that he was keeping his eyes closed. He became acutely aware that he was resting on his couch.

But something was different.

Envious chanted. Adrian was not conscious enough to recognize words, but even if he was he’d only be able to guess what the bassist was saying.

She was chanting Latin, mostly. But also words forgotten to most linguists, the ones who aren’t witches.

The sound waves of unholy infernal words formed a cocoon around Adrian. Envious’s tongue dripped with a poison that any metal singer would be envious of, but these were words only a woman could know, words a man could not survive hearing, figuratively speaking.

Adrian had always looked androgynous. He was never a model of masculinity and his hair had always been long. But now he was turning into the kind of girl Envious could appreciate. The masculine edges of his face softened, but they didn’t soften much.

Envious liked hard music, and she liked hard women.

Unlike Aime, Envious enjoyed a hard cock. Aime crouched and pulled Adrian’s pants down, which required her to stop playing bass for a moment. He was still hard from her singing, and she was disappointed with the results.

So she made Adrian endowed to her tastes, accomplished by chanting the right words, before standing back up and resuming her bass playing.

Envious closed her eyes and imagined the slave she’d always wanted. An obedient eternal groupie, eager to pleasure her, but also not annoying. Needy, but in an uncommonly endearing way.

Envious knew what she was doing was not exactly what she’d discussed with the leader of her coven. And so she moved cautiously at first, caressing and molding Adrian’s mind to her-

Envious. We talked about this.

The bassist sighed. Gina continued.

There’s no place in the coven for a mindless sex slave. Not yet.

Envious wondered if Gina found it necessary to watch what Aime was doing with her girl. She changed course and started moving through the musical influences in Adrian’s mind, deciding what she needed to change in order to turn Adrian into a new rhythm guitarist for her band.

Adrian had a decent taste in metal, but there was the whole “remembered being a guy his whole life” thing. Envious worked her magic, literally. Her psychic powers were not as good as Gina’s, but she’d known enough to settle a few band arguments; she could turn someone into a girl just fine.

There was a final touch Envious needed to put into place, and it was a simple transposition.

Adrian was now Adrienne.

Envious turned off her looper and stopped pulsing her bass. Adrienne woke up after a moment of silence.

Slightly confused, she climbed to her feet and studied Envious, faintly remembering coming to the rehearsal space for an audition.

Envious pointed to a guitar in the corner of the room. “It seems you forgot your instrument; you can borrow one of my lead guitarist’s ones.”

Adrienne nodded and pulled the instrument off of its stand. Envious continued.

“You know how to play Breaking the Law, right?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Let’s try playing that.”

Melvin climbed off of his couch and staggered a bit. He noticed the world around him was different. Smaller. He’d grown at least half a foot in his slumber. The buttons of his shirt had popped off and his jacket was undersized.

He could feel that his penis was a good three inches larger than it had been.

He needed to use the bathroom. Melvin got used to his new stride as he looked for the bathroom’s light switch; it was still nighttime.

He didn’t recognize the woman looking back at him in the mirror. But he did recognize Gina, who was visible in the mirror’s reflection.

“Hello Melvin. It’s good to see you up and about.”

Melvin wasn’t used to the new sound of his voice. “This isn’t real.”

Gina smirked and leant against the door frame. “But it is. And aren’t you glad? Look at how young you are.”

Melvin looked in the mirror again. He had the body of a twenty year old woman. The mileage had disappeared from his face, and he felt better. He didn’t feel as tired as he usually did after waking up.

Gina wrapped her arms around Melvin’s waist. He couldn’t feel it, but he could see it in the mirror “I want to see you. You know where to find me.”

Melvin wanted to feel her touch. But he didn’t know where to find her. Not at first, but the directions to Gina’s house became vivid in his mind.

It was a twenty-five minute walk. He didn’t have his car keys, but that didn’t matter.

I can do this. I can see Gina. We can have fun. She can turn me back into a man again.

After using the bathroom, Melvin walked out of his front door. He felt like he was still dreaming. This couldn’t be real; magic wasn’t real. There was always something about Gina, but he reasoned that his feeling that was why he was having this dream in the first place.

The sound of Gina’s voice encouraged him as he got closer to the house.

You’re almost here. Are you excited to see me? Naked?

Melvin’s cock was harder than it had ever been, despite his feminine form. His pants were unbearably tight. He wanted to tear them off so he could have some breathing room.

But a part of him knew he wasn’t dreaming. He didn’t want to confront it; what about his job? What happened next?

Handjob Hansen, he mused.

He thought about her fingers stroking him. He could see her house. With his new stride, the door appeared before him sooner than he’d anticipated.

When James woke up his head was inside of his t-shirt. His clothes felt loose around his body, and he was drenched in sweat. He leant up and felt like his winter jacket was some kind of a restraint; he was too small.

James couldn’t parse what was happening, not yet. He was still tired, but his confusion was getting to him. He didn’t know why he should feel alarmed but he was feeling heat on his neck and tension in his chest.

James wrestled his jacket off of his body and got off of his bed, his shirt nearly reaching his thighs and his pants almost causing him to trip. He slid off each pant leg and held his underwear up.

James was confused. Everything was telling him his body had transformed, but it seemed so outside the realm of possibility he didn’t understand how to process what was happening. He walked into his bathroom and turned on the lights.

A woman in her sixties was staring back at him. The woman in the mirror had aged incredibly well. She even looked like she’d had some work done. But she was definitely in her sixties.

James had occasionally thought about sleeping with women like this, but a part of him had been afraid. It was an unfamiliar frontier.

James put a hand on the mirror, trying to make sense of the reflection he was seeing.

That’s when he noticed the ring he was wearing. Gold band and pink gemstone.

James had tried doing the thing where he wore nine rings before. He never would’ve touched a girly ring like this. He reached for the band before hearing a voice.

Hello Kennedy. It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?

James paused. He looked around the bathroom, and into the hallway. He was alone.

You need to stand up straight; how is anyone supposed to see your boobs when you’re hunching over like that? And wearing a goddamn tarp?

James stood up straight and grabbed the back of his shirt. With some hesitation he pulled it tight against his body, revealing his new breasts.

Kennedy, you look like you could use a drink. You want a nice glass of wine, don’t you?

Wine had never been James’s drink. But he realized he had a craving for it. He knew where his father’s wine rack was. He allowed his underwear to fall to the floor, exposing his groin to the cool air. He then left the bathroom and descended the steps to the kitchen.

He hoped the voice would follow him from the bathroom, not realizing it was in the ring. The ring had been programmed by Gina, designed to read the mind of its wearer and respond with pre-programmed suggestions.

It was easy to reshape someone like James.

The wine rack was above the kitchen sink. James could reach the wine, but struggled to get a reassuring grip with his now-lessened height. He pulled down a bottle and opened a drawer to grab an opener.

He twisted out the cork and brought the bottle towards his lips.

Slow down, cowgirl. Pour yourself a glass first. You aren’t trashy, are you?

James opened a door and pulled out a wine glass. He poured himself a drink and took a hungry sip.

Good girl. Or woman, I should say. It has been a hard day, Kennedy. What was it that was troubling you, again?

Kennedy couldn’t remember. Gina’s ring was there to guide her.

Right, you’re tired because young people are so exhausting.

Kennedy was starting to remember. She slept with people much younger than her all the time. The boys had great stamina and were usually well-endowed, but they could be exhausting. Needy. And they had the worst taste in music.

It was usually worth it though. She enjoyed reminding herself she could still catch herself a young stud.

But the women were better. Kennedy enjoyed nothing more than being eaten out by a twenty-something dyke.

Kennedy was starting to feel warm. She reached under her shirt and touched her new clitoris for the first time.

She let out a moan of relief before taking a few gulps of wine.

Kennedy wanted to feel something inside her. But she realized she didn’t have anything to fill herself with.

You don’t own a vibrator?

Kennedy wanted to go to the sex toy store and buy one. But it was closed this time of night, and a woman like herself couldn’t go outside alone.

Her hand would have to suffice. She grabbed the bottle of wine off the counter and walked to the living room couch. She decided to see what was on Lifetime; hopefully something salacious; hopefully something that could put her back to sleep after she finished her business.

The ring had a few more things to say. But it wouldn’t need to say them. Kennedy was slipping into her new life faster than Gina would’ve thought possible. Inertia would ensure that a new cougar walked the streets of Duskendale.

Of course, Gina wouldn’t leave anything up to chance. She had no way of knowing that the ring would work its business perfectly. And so she’d added a backup to ensure things would be finalized.

Kennedy heard her front door open. First the mechanical twisting of the knob, and after a moment of hesitation, the door being creaked open the rest of the way.

The ring assured Kennedy she had nothing to fear. She looked to her left and saw Cyrus emerge from behind a corner. He spoke with caution, hoping he wouldn’t be perceived as an intruder.

“Uh, hi. How are you?”

Kennedy topped up her glass of wine and tugged at the shirt she was wearing. “I’m perfect. Want to see?”

Cyrus nodded, and watched as Kennedy stood up from the couch. She removed her t-shirt, doing a brief striptease, before throwing it at her guest. Cyrus in turn threw the shirt onto the coffee table before approaching the cougar.

Kennedy got onto the couch and rested on her back. “My pussy needs you, whoever you are.”

Cyrus started unbuckling his belt. “My, uh, my name is Cyrus.”

“Great. Show me how much of a man you are.”

Cyrus climbed over Kennedy and inserted himself into her. The woman underneath him only faintly resembled his former bully, but it gave Cyrus great pleasure regardless as he thought about how much James would’ve hated this.

Kennedy grabbed Cyrus’s ass and squeezed. “Yes! Fuck! Fuck me!”

Cyrus leant down and sucked on one of Kennedy’s breasts as he thrusted. As he continued to exert energy, the ring on Kennedy’s finger began to glow, lighting the dimly lit room a shade of pink.

Kennedy could feel her mind becoming numb with pleasure, and something else, something magical she couldn’t identify and didn’t care to. She was too busy enjoying her pussy’s inaugural filling.

It wasn’t long before Cyrus could feel an orgasm on the horizon. But he wanted to make sure Kennedy was satisfied, despite how she’d once been his enemy. He angled his arm and wrist so he could rub her clitoris while continuing to thrust into her; an awkward and uncomfortable gesture, but a worthwhile one.

Kennedy pushed Cyrus’s forehead. He got the hint and stopped thrusting.

The cougar was panting. “Please, eat me out. Taste me.”

Cyrus pulled out and repositioned himself so he could taste Kennedy. He started by sucking on her clitoris, which elicited a pleased sound from the woman. He reached up to grope her breasts as he continued.

Cyrus realized switching to oral was a good move. The orgasm that had once seemed so close had become distant again, allowing him to prolong the experience he was having.

Cyrus started to occasionally stick his tongue into her when taking short pauses from clit sucking. Kennedy thought about reaching for her wine and taking a sip as she was pleasured, reaching for an ecstasy she’d never felt before, but she decided that she’d only spill it on herself.

Kennedy moaned with her contralto cougar’s voice. “Yes! Yes!”

Cyrus knew it was time to return to thrusting. He reinserted himself and returned to his former speed. It was what Kennedy needed to get pushed over the edge.

“Oh Cyrus! AAaaaaahhh!”

The entire room filled with a radiant pink. James had no chance of reemerging; only Kennedy remained.

The cougar was satisfied. Cyrus exited her body and moved onto his knees as she reoriented herself towards her television.

Kennedy gave his arm a slap. “Good boy. I need to relax now; it’s been a long day.”

Cyrus put his pants back on and got ready to return to his dorm. He took one final look back at Kennedy, who was re-immersed in the made-for-TV movie she was watching, before leaving her house.

Melvin grabbed Gina’s doorknob and tried to turn it. The moment after he gave up, he heard the door unlock.

Melvin burst into the house and looked around. He heard a voice in his mind.

Come upstairs Melvin.

Melvin reached the top of the stairs and looked around. Everything seemed dark at first, but after a moment he noticed a faint light, past what seemed to be Gina’s bedroom. He walked towards it and saw Gina resting in a bath, surrounded by candles.

The witch looked at her prey and smirked. “You finally made it.”

Melvin walked closer to the bath and looked down. He studied Gina’s body, and could see out the corner of his eyes that she was amused by his gawking.

“My eyes are up here.”

Melvin looked at Gina. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

Gina made a tent with her fingers. “I’m destroying you; that’s what’s happening. Your flesh will be a vessel for something new, more worthy of existence.”

“You’re going to kill me?”

Gina grinned. She was far below the tall person looking down at her, but she was the one in control. “Not quite. I’m going to change you into something I prefer. Something you will prefer as well. Your subconscious will be getting off all the time. Of course, I can’t fuck you if you are yourself, consciously.”

Melvin thought about running away. But he couldn’t stop looking at Gina. And he momentarily considered what life he still had; how would he go to work tomorrow if he still looked like a young woman?

He stopped being able to think as Gina entered his mind with a ferociousness he hadn’t felt before. He couldn’t move; he watched, frozen, as his assailant climbed out of her bath and dried herself off before putting on a bathrobe located at the opposite end of the bathroom.

That was when Melvin noticed that four other people were watching this performance, a bunch of lesbians.

Melvin could no longer dart around his eyes; his consciousness turned off.

. . .

Niobe woke up. She was in a familiar space; one of the classrooms in Duskendale High.

Niobe realized someone was shaking her shoulder. She turned around, looked up, and saw Handjob Hansen looking down at her.

No . . . Professor Hansen. The English Literature Professor who taught a dual-credit class at the highschool.

“Please don’t sleep in my class Niobe. If not for the sake of your education, at least so you don’t ruin your makeup.”

Niobe looked down at her black arm warmers and realized some of her pale white foundation had gotten onto them. She let out an irritated sigh.

Fuck, being goth is so hard. But it does feel good . . .

The mere thought of being a pissed off goth girl caused a wave of arousal to pass through Niobe. She looked around her and noticed a couple of her friends were sitting near her; Jazz, Adrienne, Aime, and Envious.

Niobe leant over to Aime, who was sitting to her right. “Where are we right now?”

Aime motioned inside of her copy of Matthew Gregory Lewis’s The Monk and whispered. “Page 287.”

Niobe paged through her own copy before looking up to study Professor Hansen, who’d resumed teaching the book. Niobe sighed to herself.

Professor Hansen, what a perfect woman. I hope I can be her sex slave someday.

Niobe faintly remembered having opposite feelings, of wanting to exert her will upon Handjob . . . no, Professor Hansen. But now, the thought of Professor Hansen dominating her filled her heart with butterflies.

As Professor Hansen talked about the assigned reading, Niobe daydreamed about obediently sucking on Hansen’s fingers, feeling the Professor’s fingers running through her black hair. She thought of sucking on the Professor’s clit and being degraded by her.

It took all of Niobe’s restraint to not start jerking off underneath her desk. She was at the back of the classroom, and perhaps could get away with it. But jerking off in school seemed like a risky idea . . .

Niobe noticed something; there was nobody else in the classroom, aside from the four other students and the Professor.

RIIIIIING

Niobe grabbed her backpack off of the floor and stood up. The only other student who got up was Envious, who walked with her towards the door.

Professor Hansen spoke. “Niobe? I need you to stick around for a moment.”

Niobe turned and noticed Envious had closed the door and propped a chair against its handle. Before she could react, Professor Hansen and the remaining students picked her up and set her down on a table.

Niobe only pretended to struggle. Professor Hansen pulled handcuffs out of her desk and restrained her to the legs of the table. Aime pulled her pants down, allowing Niobe’s erect cock to burst free.

Professor Hansen, now naked, climbed onto the table and straddled her prey. The room began to change around her as she did. No longer was Niobe inside of an average highschool classroom; the room began to resemble the inside of some kind of unholy temple, with ornate carved walls and ceilings and dyed red windows. The table transformed into a ceremonial surface.

Professor Hansen had changed too. Her skin had lost all of its pigment, her eyes had turned red, and her brunette hair had turned black.

She was every goth girl’s dream, and Niobe was very much one of those dreamers.

Professor Hansen wrapped her fingers around Niobe’s cock and lightly teased its length, watching as her quarry squirmed with pleasure beneath her.

“I have desecrated you, Niobe. And in the process turned you into something far greater than you ever were before.”

Desecrated? You haven’t desecrated me yet, Niobe thought.

“It is time for me to complete your transformation. To enslave you to my unholy pussy and mind.”

Niobe watched as Professor Hansen raised her hips before lowering herself onto her cock. Niobe gasped at the sensation, and tried to thrust into the professor. But she found herself immobile; Hansen was controlling the speed of things.

“When you cum, you will know your place. You will belong to my coven, belong to my most loyal servants. But my word will override everything.”

Niobe turned her head and saw that the four lesbians were watching. She felt pleasure, both from how she was the one currently getting action while they were merely spectators, but simultaneously from how they were seeing her being used.

“Cum for me. Die your little death and cast away your former existence into the abyss of my chasm.”

Niobe realized she had even less control than she’d thought. A feeling began to move through her body, the same feeling she felt when she’d first started crossdressing and dressing in leather and lace. But it was more concentrated, it felt physical, and it was moving into her cock. It was pushing the cum out of her, causing her to experience a sustained orgasm unlike anything she’d ever felt before.

Her mind seared, and all sense exited her body.

Niobe existed only for pleasure. She lived only for sin. She belonged to Gina Hansen.

. . .

Niobe woke up on the floor of Professor Hansen’s bathroom. She saw her teacher was washing her hands at the sink, and two of her four friends were pulling their pants back on. Envious’s catsuit, the one she’d been wearing underneath her denim, was resting on the floor, and Envious was sliding it up her legs before putting her denim back on.

Adrienne ejaculated onto Niobe.

Four Months Later

Jazz, Adrienne, and Cyrus walked up to Niobe’s front door. The trio had never known the building as Melvin’s house, James’s house. It was simply Niobe’s house.

Or, rather, the place Professor Hansen sent Niobe when she needed to get work done.

Kennedy opened the door, glass of red wine in hand. She smiled at her guests as she took a sip.

“You must be here to see Niobe! She’s upstairs.”

The three could hear Niobe running down the steps. “Mom! Leave my friends alone.”

Jazz, Adrienne, and Cyrus entered the house and began walking up the steps. Cyrus felt a hand clasp around his bicep.

Kennedy pulled him down a step. “Oh Cyrus, can you help me with something?”

He heard Niobe let out an irritated sigh before his friends walked to Niobe’s room.

“Uh, sure. What is it?”

Kennedy led Cyrus into her living room. Two bottles of wine were on the coffee table, alongside a few stacks of romance novels. A Lifetime original film was playing.

“I’m having a man problem, Cyrus. The problem is that I don’t have one. It’s like everyone is a woman these days.”

Kennedy had a worn, sultry voice, befitting a cougar whose pout had only ripened with age. She lifted one of the wine bottles and topped herself up.

“Do you think you can help me, Cyrus? Don’t tell me that Gina woman my daughter’s always going on about has you in chastity or something.”

Cyrus shook his head, studying the buttons of Kennedy’s top. “No, no. I, uh, I can fuck.”

Kennedy leant against her couch. “Then what are you waiting for?”