Sitting in his apartment, it was almost easy for Jordan to ignore what was going on. To act like everything was perfectly normal, and he wasn’t in any way tied up in sheer insanity. All he’d have to do was ignore this morning, and the nights before, and also his hair.

 

He wasn’t in that dress, and he’d managed to pull his hair out of that ridiculous beehive…But it was still long, and red, and with little sign of the brown that had been underneath it just a few nights ago. He sat in clothes that now fit awkwardly, a t-shirt snug over softness and a pair of jeans whose button might as well have screamed in protest when he forced it shut. Everything he’d worn had, up until now, been on the loose side. Broad and boxy, to hide his lanky frame from the world (and his own scattered thoughts). And yet now, now there was a shape being clearly displayed by the clothes.

 

He let out a groan, face buried in his hands. It was absurd. Ridiculous. Insane, even. And yet…He’d definitely woken up in the bed of that, green-haired person, Sage. Who had definitely called him ‘Mommy’ and ‘Mistress’ and titles like that. And there was a purse, that he didn’t recognize. In it, he’d found the things that wouldn’t normally go in his pockets. His phone, his keys, even his wallet.

 

He’d also found an instant camera, extra packs of film, and a stack of photos. Shots of the nighttime city, of movie theaters and private screenings and nights out. It hadn’t even been a whole week since Halloween, how had…? Jordan shook his head, trying to focus. The logistics weren’t the problem. There were…Okay, several problems. Like how any time there were people in the photos, they were all noticeably older, 30s or 40s at least, than he was…Except for a few obvious playthings, clinging to whoever their sugar mommy or daddy was. Concepts that he barely even knew before this week, but now came easily to mind when he looked at the snapshots.

 

And in a few shots, either taken with the timer on the camera or some kind of analog arm’s-length selfie, showed one other person. Confident, cunning, with tall red hair and an amused smirk that came easily on her lips. She had the start of a fullness to her figure, but unlike his chubby frame, she wore it well, a tight dress squeezing it into all the right places. And then there was the face, coy and mischievous and mature…

 

He stared longer than he’d like to admit at one photo, in particular. It was one where this woman was front and center, smiling broadly amidst a crowd of older women…Or at least, older than him. She fit right in. He stared, and stared, and taking her in, he felt something stir deep inside him. A yearning, a hunger, a lust that saw him getting hard despite himself, a swelling that felt amazing and perfect and horrifying and shameful all at on–

 

The doorbell might as well have been mounted inside his head, for how startlingly loud it felt. He jumped, scrambling to shove the photos back into the purse and the purse under his couch and oh god what was even happening? “J-Just a sec!” he called, his voice cracking. Definitely just from the panic and stress, though. Had to be.

 

Jordan forced his way to his feet, trying to find a way to stand where his erection wasn’t quite so fucking obvious. The best way to do that was to hunch over, but that only made the context even more obvious, as he shuffled to the door. He could only hope to buy time until it was no longer quite so present. He cracked the door open just a smidge, expecting a delivery or something else easily pushed aside. “Hello–”

 

The door swung open fiercely, forcing Jordan to scramble back away from it, as May let herself in. “Jordan, there you are! You didn’t forget about our plans, did you?” she asked, apparently not noticing anything off.

 

Which was saying something. Since Jordan wasn’t the only one visibly different. May normally wore a fair few colors, and even dressing formal and serious for her meant earth tones, not greyscales. Yet here she was, wrapped in a black sweater-dress and a stark white beret. A black sweater-dress that she filled out more than anything she’d been wearing the other day, her body starting to take on a visible hourglass. Jordan stared, and tried not to feel a surge of jealousy at her womanly figure…Though any objective observer would see he had a fair bit of one himself. “Plans?” he asked, trying to put some kind of neurons together.

 

“That’s right! I was going to make us both lunch, and then we can watch more old movies,” May said. She hefted the bags in her hands; in one, she had a hefty supply of groceries from the local market. In the other, she had a scattering of old VHS tapes. “I have a bunch of classics that don’t have official HD releases. Some of them are even bootlegs off the original prints. Do you mind if I use your kitchen for making food?” she asked, but she was already walking past him, professional heels making sturdy plock sounds of wood-on-wood on his floor.

 

Since when did May, dedicated chucks girl, wear heels? Especially such professional, understated ones?

 

Jordan stared at her retreating form, newly bountiful ass swaying just above frilly thigh-high stockings, until she disappeared around a corner into his kitchen. And he stared at where her form had been, until well after he heard the sounds of chopping and dicing and other food…prep…sounds. He wasn’t exactly a dedicated enough cook to know what all the sounds were.

 

But. May was over, insisting on feeding him and watching movies. Okay. Okay, he could work with that. He crawled over towards the couch. If he could just get that purse back(?) to his bedroom, it wouldn’t possibly come up where she could–

 

May poked her head out from the kitchen. “Where’s your stock pot? I brought plain popcorn kernels, so we could do it more properly than just microwave bags!”

 

Jordan froze, hand fully buried under the couch. “I…Um…Don’t think I have one?” he managed, only hoping she wouldn’t ask any further questions.

 

For her part, May frowned as she stood there. “Mm…Well, I’ll see if I can find something,” she said, before disappearing once again. Then came the clanging, and the banging, and the hunt for a stock pot. Jordan, as a 20-something dumbass, honestly wasn’t sure what a stock pot was, but he sure wasn’t going to admit that in front of May. Especially not when she seemed to have picked up some new culinary lessons recently, if the smells coming out of his under-equipped kitchen were anything to go by…Wait, he was in the middle of something.

 

The purse!

 

Right! Jordan closed his hand around the strap, yanking it out from the miserable depths under there, and simply scrambled for his room as fast as he could.

 

***

 

So, that day of May coming over went…Well enough, all things considered. She never asked about the purse, and Jordan never asked about the outfit. They ate a hearty curry over rice, as much popcorn as she’d been able to pop, and watched a few terrible movies on VHS. Had that been it, there wouldn’t have been anything else to worry about.

 

But of course, that wasn’t it. Not at all. The next day, May showed up again with groceries, and movies, and an apron on over her sweater-dress. “Since you don’t have one, I just had to get my own,” she’d said, when she caught him staring at the frilled garment. And then it was back into his kitchen, this time without even asking. Then came movies, and an early dinner, and she was off as quick as she came.

 

And the day after that, she showed up again, having brought a humongous cooking pot and steel mixing bowl. “See? This is a stock pot, and it’ll make better popcorn than anything short of a commercial-grade machine.” She marched right on into his kitchen for the third time, working on a meal. Jordan was, pretty sure he hadn’t asked her to come all these times. And he wasn’t sure where she was even getting the money for all these groceries she went through, feeding him. But things were pleasant…

 

Until he tried to go in there to get a soda, while she was in the middle of cooking. She looked right up, glaring at him. “Nope!” she said, pointing to the archway back out with a heavy spoon. “No sneak peeks.”

 

“I’m just coming to get a drink,” he insisted, standing there in a weirdly long sweater. In fact, it looked rather much like the sweater dresses May had been wearing a few days ago, before she’d come in a whole skirted black and white ensemble today…But it was comfy, and kept his chest from bobbling around so much, so he didn’t think twice about it.

 

“You can ask me to bring you one, or if you insist, we’ll put a mini fridge in the screening room,” May said. “Out you go, I’ll bring you a cola.”

 

Jordan frowned…But for all that May let him pick the movies and the portions and things, she was weirdly insistent here in the kitchen. “Okay, okay,” he said, and reluctantly backed out of his kitchen. A bottle of soda found its way to him a few minutes later, and by mealtime, there was no mention of the strange encounter. Or any mention of her failing to take home the stock pot and mixing bowl, or anything else she’d brought.

 

Until the next day, when she brought a set of decorative saloon doors with her. Barely two feet tall, they were purely for show and designation, utterly incapable of stopping any attempt at entry. Yet she stood there, in a frilled miniskirt and equally frilled blouse with a little frilly headdress, and installed them into the archway of the kitchen. “There we go. When these are shut, it’s kitchen staff only,” she said, with a lighthearted wink.

 

“Right…Sure thing,” Jordan said. Honestly, at the moment he was just glad that she didn’t comment on him wearing a dress, since it was the only thing he could find that would fit…And one of the few things he could find at all. He had the vaguest memory of, someone, driving down to a closed thrift store and just leaving shopping bags of clothes out front, and then couldn’t find any pants or t-shirts in his closet this morning…

 

But that wasn’t nearly as weird as when, after May emerged with three plates of food (two for him, one for her) and they settled in for their movie, he kept feeling a sense of deja vu. Maybe it was just the kung pao chicken, or maybe he’d seen some other lesbian vampire movie, but something about this one felt…familiar. Very familiar. Still, he kept quiet about it, even as May said her goodbyes and headed out with a bag of trash.

 

It was nearly an hour later when Jordan went to the kitchen for a snack, only to find the saloon doors shut. Which, of course, they naturally did. They would always swing shut, unless some latch kept them open. A latch May had, notably, not installed. He could see past them, could see the fridge with leftovers in it right there, if he just went past these stupid doors…

 

Twenty minutes after that, Jordan’s food delivery arrived. And when Cynthia went out that night, she didn’t even think twice about going into the kitchen for her ‘breakfast’. After all, that was for the staff to do, not her.

_____

 

Jordan stood in front of his mirror, naked. He cautiously felt his belly, moved a hand to touch one of his love handles. He was more erect than he wanted to be.

        *This . . . isn’t right. I’m starting to almost enjoy this.*

        He moved his fingers to his face, studying his crimson nails, then his more feminine and aged appearance. His eyes seemed more . . . confident. But only in a superficial way. And his lips were fuller. Like every other part of his body, his fat distribution had become more feminine.

        “Fat” was the key word. Jordan looked down, and was confronted by the sight of his breasts, ultimately having to bend forward to look at the scale and step onto it.

215. Jordan gulped. That was over double what he had weighed about two weeks ago, on Halloween.

        *That was such an amazing day, spending time with my friends, being myself . . .*

        The slip. Jordan had not *wanted* to think that. That was not something that was going to go away.

        As time had worn on, memories of his newfound double-life had begun to creep into his own mind, starting to feel like things *he* had done. They felt . . . good. But he was not *powerful* enough to create more of those memories. Not when he was in control.

        Not that he was consciously thinking of himself as being weak . . . for those reasons. He almost bemoaned to himself that he didn’t know how to speak the way Cynthia did, but he managed to stop himself before confronting *another* set of questions.

        Jordan looked up at the wig. Crimson with silver streaks, small drills moving down the sides of his face, voluminous abundance moving down his back and to his breasts.

        It had grown. Wigs were not *supposed* to grow or change. Jordan placed a hand on either side of the beehive, furrowing his brow, and for the first time since the 30th of October, he tried to pull.

        It did not move. Jordan could feel it connected to his scalp. A deep uneasiness set into him, and he began to feel that burning feeling one feels when they *know* things are becoming worse and more complicated.

        Jordan absentmindedly grabbed a ten inch long bar of chocolate, crisped rice, and caramel, and began to eat it. He had . . . a lot of candy laying around lately.

        *Raven. He’s the one who did this. But how? Why? . . . I hope I can find him again.*

.  .  .

 

Jordan moved off of the highway and got ready to move into the turnaround. He wasn’t sure if the Halloween store would even be open still, but it was his only lead.

        Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, that didn’t seem to matter. Because a lavender cloud of vapor began to appear around Jordan’s car, and before he could panic too much, he found himself parked in front of a small apartment building.

        Jordan hesitantly climbed out of his car, and began to walk towards a door on the second floor that seemed to have an . . . aura. Jordan hadn’t even consciously thought about which door to move towards, or why he was accepting this at all. He intuitively understood that Raven would be there.

        After walking up the steps, with much newfound annoyance and frustration, Jordan reached the door and hesitantly knocked. A moment passed, and then Raven opened the door, wearing only a silk bathrobe and slippers, his pipe resting between his fingers as usual.

        “Oh, hello. I wasn’t expecting you~. Are you here for more popcorn? I thought May was taking care of that now.”

        Jordan’s brow lowered in annoyance. “You know exactly why I’m here. And I’m pretty sure you were expecting me, too.”

        The femboy dismissively waved a hand, before turning around and walking back into his apartment. “Please, come inside. And lock the door behind you.”

        Jordan entered Raven’s apartment and looked around. A few portraits hung on the walls, each one depicting a different man or woman, almost all of them quite fat. Very fat. A small shrine to a succubus was against the wall perpendicular to Raven’s TV. The decor was gothic, and the apartment had dimmer lights installed to keep things appropriately dark.

        On the opposite end of the room was a large table completely loaded with foods. Very, very fattening foods. Cinnamon rolls, donuts, chocolate cakes, cookies, brownies. Jordan gulped at the sight of them, almost positive that most, if not all, of this food was somehow going to end up inside of him.

        He felt a hand fall on his shoulder, as Raven began to purr into his ear. “What’s wrong? Are you starting to feel hungry?”

        “Why are you doing this to me?”

        Raven chuckled before taking a quick breath from his pipe. “I’m something of a fixer. Why I do what I do isn’t really that important, but I knew that you needed some help . . . self actualizing.” The femboy loosened the belt on Jordan’s dress, which caused his quarry to tense up, as he began to remove the dress from his body, leaving him naked. “This dress has been holding up remarkably well, but I think it’s going to need a proper letting-out soon. The magic can only carry its growth so far.”

        “What do you mean by self actualize? And can I have my clothes back?”

        Raven smiled somewhat sinisterly, as he encouraged Jordan to move closer to the spread on the table. “You know exactly what I mean. Clearly you’re . . . not a guy. I’m just helping you become what you were meant to be.”

        Jordan studied all of the warm gooey treats that had been laid out by the femboy. He didn’t want to indulge, but he was finding that he was much hungrier than he’d been even a few minutes ago. His stomach rumbled in protest of his resistance, and he reluctantly reached out to grab a chocolate chip cookie.

        “Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, I *was* supposed to turn into a goth girl, for some reason. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have been . . . this fat.”

        Raven watched as some of the tension left Jordan’s shoulders as he took the first bite out of the cookie. “Perhaps you would’ve ended up somewhere else without my helpful intervention, perhaps not. I think we’re ultimately going to meet somewhere in the middle. You have been enjoying yourself, haven’t you?”

        “Under duress. You’ve done something to May too, haven’t you?”

        Raven grinned. “That was Cynthia’s work, not mine. You soon will be just as powerful as her. She *is* you, after all.”

        Jordan started to eat a second cookie. “I . . . I guess I could start calling myself a woman, experimentally.”

        “That’s very good, you’re already making progress.”

        Jordan finished eating the second cookie, and looked around for a drink. Raven helpfully placed a milkshake onto the table.

        “Here you go.”

        Jordan took a long sip before starting to eat a brownie. “I don’t know how to undo the magic, but you really need to get May out of this. She didn’t ask to become my maid.”

        The femboy took a deep draw from his pipe, before letting lavender smoke surround Jordan’s head. “I’ll let you undo the magic later, if you want to. But, you know, you’re entitled to servants, to pets, to playthings. You are, after all, the Madame of Horror, and you have many *needs*.”

        Cynthia finished chewing one of the warm and soft brownies, before taking another sip from her milkshake. “Yes. I’m always so . . . *hungry*.”

        “Hungry in more ways than one, aren’t you?”

        Jordan took a bite out of another brownie, savoring the warm chocolate. “I have to admit, my sexual appetite has been . . . growing.” She took a meaningful look at Raven, and noticed the tiny but firm knub making what could charitably be called a “tent” in his silk bathrobes.

        Raven, despite being a massive slut, found himself blushing slightly under Cynthia’s gaze. “Y-Yes. Tell me, how does your body feel? Are you enjoying your new weight?”

        Jordan squeezed her belly experimentally as she continued to chew on the delicacies that had been prepared for her. “I have to admit, I didn’t like what was happening at first, but I don’t think I miss my old weight.”

        “Elaborate”, Raven asked, wanting to inspect his work, or was perhaps just being a shameless pervert.

        Cynthia let out a pleasured moan as she bit into her first cinnamon roll. “My fat feels so . . . luxurious. Befitting of my elevated stature, a symbol of my power, the faithfulness of my loyal servants.”

        “Servants?”

        Jordan playfully grinned at the goth femboy. “Yes. I don’t just have May. You *did* prepare this feast for me, after all.” Raven gulped. Jordan thoughtfully looked at her breasts. “I have to admit, this weight, on a more carnal level, does look *decadent*. It’s so much better to have all this softness, than to still be able to see my ribs and my spine. Don’t you agree?”

        “Y-Yes.”

        “And it’s good that my size reflects my abundant . . . *appetite*. Tell me, can you use that pipe of yours to move this feast into your bedroom?”

        “N-NO! Er, no. Not now.” Raven mentally cursed to himself. He had, perhaps, been a little too cocky, and he realized he was losing control of the *narrative* he was trying to create here. *Perhaps it was a mistake, to create a Mistress of my own design, without the guiding hand of my succubus Mistress . . .*

        Raven continued to slowly pace around Jordan as she indulged in another cinnamon roll, casting a weak relaxation spell onto himself in the process. He inhaled from his pipe as he continued to work through his mental list of changes to make.

        “Of course, a powerful Matron of Darkness needs a large, throbbing organ with which to dominate her quarry.”

        He exhaled a plume of lavender, and Cynthia, almost passively, gathered the vapor in a hand, forming a translucent ball. She spoke as she sucked sugary icing off of her fingers, before reaching for another roll.

        “No, I don’t think so. I realize that other Mistresses may enjoy a fuller and more lengthy cock, but I personally don’t think that will be necessary for me. I have *other* methods of exerting control and power. I don’t want to implicitly suggest having a large cock is *boorish*, but . . . it’s not what the Madame of Horror *needs*.”

        Before Raven’s very eyes, Cynthia’s cock began to shrink, until it was barely a knub, her testicles and the ball of vapor disappearing in turn. Cynthia continued to speak.

        “Besides, with all this added weight, I would want to allow myself a little breathing room between my belly and thighs. Everything is already getting *so warm*.”

        Raven stammered. “b-but you, i, uh,”

        Cynthia raised an eyebrow and smugly grinned as she opened the box of donuts. “Oh? Have I disappointed you? Were you expecting something else? Is this not what you *wanted*?”

        The goth femboy spoke with a false confidence. “No, i . . . was merely . . . anyways! . . .” He wanted to ask about what those other methods of “exerting control” could be, but he couldn't risk losing his footing.

        Cynthia savored the subtle texture of sprinkles on her chocolate donut, letting out a small but throaty moan; precise and effortlessly sensual, before speaking. “Anyways what?”

        Raven grabbed a necklace off of the table next to his couch, and presented it to Cynthia. It was a silver spider, with a large ruby in its center. It also came with a black silken sleeve, that allowed the spider to rest in a choker. "Here, you can have this."

 

***

 

To say it was tense in the back room of the comic shop wouldn’t, quite, be accurate. It wasn’t quite that people were uncomfortable. And it wasn’t quite like it was all of the people, for that matter. But there were two very large elephants in the room, metaphorically speaking…And one, a bit closer to literal. Out of the four people in the room, Derek and Sintrae were just the same as they’d been the last time they’d all met up here. With Halloween behind them, they’d put their costumes away, and all was as it had been.

 

For May and Jacob Cynthia, it was a different story. May was sitting there in nothing less than a full-on fetish maid dress, all black and white and with her chest practically spilling out of it. A chest that was visibly, noticeably larger and bouncier than it had been, looking less like she was here to play a tabletop RPG and more like she was about to shoot a video.

 

Or at least, she’d look like she was about to shoot a video, if she wasn’t busy putting food in front of the last member of the group. Cynthia had… changed was too small of a word to even begin to describe what had happened. She didn’t look like she’d just started transitioning, she looked like she’d been at it for years. Her hair, deep red with fat streaks of silver running through it, was styled into a perfect beehive, with excess spilling down to her shoulders. Her makeup was professional-grade, dark and brooding and just a tiny bit overdone. And her body, was…Well. She’d.

 

Gained.

 

A lot.

 

Sintrae did her best to keep a calm demeanor, and not ask too many questions. “Well, I must say, I’m thrilled for you, Cynthia. It’s good to see you…blossoming so readily. Are you going to want to make any changes to your character? I completely understand if Madame Shadow feels too close for comfort now…” she trailed off, eyeing the larger woman. There was a lot to eye there, too. Bountiful curves and a thickly rounded frame, to say nothing of that chest, sitting so plump and rounded with her dress putting those beautiful beasts on display.

 

But Cynthia just waved the concern off, halfway through an apple fritter. “Nonsense, darling! Madame Shadow is simply wonderful...Even if she’s also all skin and bones. We’ll have to fix that in the session, though, no fun in just writing a big number down without her properly earning it!” she said, a deep chuckle running through her body. And oh, it ran through her, making her bountiful mass ripple and wobble with sympathetic vibrations.

 

All of which, also quietly confirmed to Sintrae that the food was a sex thing.

 

Not that she was going to press on that particular issue, especially not today. If it became a problem, it could be dealt with then, but there was simply too much here and too many unanswered questions to risk–

 

“Okay, but what the fuck happened to you two?” Derek asked, dooming himself before he even realized. “The whole gender thing is cool, but you’re like three times your old size in a week! That’s not normal! …Is it?” he asked, looking over to Sintrae.

 

Who promptly busied herself with checking over notes on tonight’s dungeon. She did not need to anger whatever dark powers Cynthia had turned to, no thank you, she liked her head right where it was.

 

So instead, the awkward silence stretched across the table, back over to May and Cynthia. May, for her part, just quietly slid an entire half-gallon milk jug in front of Cynthia to quench that donut thirst. But Cynthia, she smirked, lifting her head up high. A choker sat firm against her throat, hidden by her plump chin until that moment…And the gemstone on it gleamed. “Derek, my dear boy, you’re worried far too much about what’s normal. Why not perceive what’s possible, instead…?”

 

Derek blinked once, twice, three times, before the eyelids settled down. And oh, they settled down deep, now half-lidded on his face, as the blue of his eyes melted into gold. “I, um, yeah…Yeah, you’re right, Cynthia…” he mumbled out, swaying just a bit in his seat.

 

“Oh, I always am,” Cynthia said. “But we musn’t keep our game master waiting…Isn’t that right, Sintrae?”

 

“Mmmhm,” Sintrae sounded, completely refusing to engage with what just happened. No matter how many emotions it sent running through her. “Everyone have your dice?”

 

***

 

“Is seventeen enough to hit the Hollowed King, nyah?” Derek asked, his polo shirt hanging loose over his shoulders.

 

Sintrae paused, looking up from her notes. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

 

“I asked if seventeen hits,” Derek said. His hair hung longer on his head than it had at the start of the session, and his nails were definitely longer. Also, at some point May had clearly given him his own bottle of milk; at least his was a bottle like one might include with a storebought breakfast, and not the jugs and cartons Cynthia was steadily working on.

 

Not something to engage on. Instead, Sintrae looked back down at her notes, checking the armor class of the Hollowed King. “That just manages. Roll for damage.”

 

And oh, the *smugness* on Derek’s face. It was unbelievable, as he snatched up an eight-sided die to put the hurt on his opponent…Though not nearly as unbelievable as what happened next.

 

Namely, Cynthia reached out with her free hand, stroking…no, petting Derek’s hair. “Such a good boy, protecting your Madame from the big bad Hollowed King~” she cooed, as Derek made a…a noise. A rumbling, vibrating noise oh goddess he was purring.

 

With nobody looking her way, Sintrae pinched the bridge of her nose. She had just gotten a stable group together, and Cynthia reacts to her egg getting cracked by getting into dark magic. And, apparently, now turning her most stable player into a cat! It was enough to make Sintrae consider swearing off open groups entirely. She’d just make some cute little sub play a cleric if they wanted to have sex with her. There, that was marginally healthier and more responsible than…whatever this was.

 

But, she was also not getting caught up in it. So Sintrae took a deep breath, steadied herself, and focused on the game at hand. “So then, yes, you’ve hit the Hollowed King for…Six damage, after modifiers. Excellent. He staggers back at the sudden blow from Rhodan, his own sword swinging wide at empty air! His cucurbitous eyes narrow in rage, eldritch flames turning from mere orange to a vicious and spiteful red…Be’Kok, it’s your go. What do you do?”

 

***

 

At last, it was over. The Hollowed King was defeated, Sintrae’s players had gained their glory and loot…Well. Rather, Madame Shadow was showered in glory and loot, and Be’Kok and Rhodan took the things they needed to better support her. So that was the dynamic now! Yes. That was the dynamic. Sintrae was now GMing for a domme and her two simps.

 

Cynthia smiled, checking over the last of her notes. Notes that, of course, May had written for her. “And that should be all of the treasure accounted for…A wonderful adventure. Anything else before we wrap up for today, Sintrae?” she asked, looking over. With her head high, that spider medallion was just about visible. Was it a veiled threat, or an offering?

 

Either way, Sintrae forced herself not to bite. No matter how…powerful Cynthia had become, it wasn’t worth it. There was no way she would sign that devil’s bargain freely. “I think that should just about cover it…Same time next week, everyone,” she said, waving them off.

 

The sooner they headed out, the sooner she was no longer at risk of getting turned into a frog.

 

Or a cat.

 

Because while Cynthia ponderously rose to her bountiful height, and May smoothly stood, Derek had to hop out from his chair. He stood less than five feet tall, the table now level with his chest…Though his new kitty-cat ears, the same color as his hair, stood an extra half-foot into the air as they pivoted around. He looked this way and that, standing there with a shiny new tail swishing, and his shirt hanging off of him like a dress.

 

He looked deep in thought…Or at least as much deep in thought as he’d managed over the last section of play. “Miiiiissss,” he whined, looking to Cynthia, “I’m all needy, nyah! I gotta rub my dickyyyy~” Already, his hands were moving for his groin, ready to do it right there in front of them all.

 

At least, until Cynthia scooped him right up, hefting him into her arms as if he weighed little more than an actual cat. “It sounds like someone needs to have his cage put on…” she said, to the sounds of needy whimpers from Derek. “But if you’re a good boi, perhaps I’ll let the maid give you a little fun. Can you be a good boi for me, my pretty kitty?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Derek managed, biting his lip with prominent canines (or rather, felines) exposed.

 

“I shall endeavor to do as you desire of me, miss Cynthia,” May said, her voice in a mellow and businesslike monotone. It was basically the exact opposite of her usual bubbly enthusiasm, all restrained and buttoned down into the professionalism of a dedicated maid, focused only on her duties.

 

“Wonderful,” Cynthia said, nodding in satisfaction. “Then we had best be off. I’d like to get in at least one movie, before my showing tonight,” she said, making her way for the door. “I’ll be sure to see you soon, Sintrae!”

 

Well. That. Had just happened.

_____

 

Sanguina gently stroked Tyler’s freshly dyed-black hair as he straddled her lap. Precum dripped from his cage as he anxiously studied his Mistress’s cruel face.

        “You’re so needy and desperate . . . you really should be careful.”

        “w-what do you mean?”

        Sanguina began to scratch the base of her submissive’s neck. “You were so willing to give yourself to me. You’re so . . . desperate for approval and validation from older women. Stronger women, taller women. Why is that?”

        Tyler whined. “i . . . i dunno.”

        His Mistress grinned, and chuckled slightly. “I think you do. I think it’s because you’re weak and pathetic, and you just want a Mommy to tell you that you’re special and that you’re doing ok. Is that right?”

        “um . . . uh . . . maybe . . .”

        Sanguina sighed happily as she began to lightly tease Tyler’s testicles, watching him squirm, clearly so desperate for some kind of release. “You’re so reverent. So loyal and obedient and deferential. You clearly know your place.”

        Tyler whined again. It was, of course, a happy whine. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure that it was.

        His Mistress placed a kiss on his forehead. “Remember to tell me if you think things are going too far, ok?”

        “y-yes Mistress.”

        “How would you feel about being put on estrogen?”