Slouching in her desk chair, Imogen smirked as yet another text popped up on her phone. Kate had been persistently messaging her over the past hour, desperate to win her favour, to the point where she’d turned off the notification sound. She’d kept a detached, disinterested demeanour, while still flirting just enough to feed the fire, keeping her lovestruck classmate hopeful and needy.

She hadn’t decided whether or not she’d actually hook up with the girl, although she had to admit she was tempted. It’d been a while, and though she had a reputation for being a bit aloof and asexual (which only seemed to make her more attractive to the gay girlies on her course), even she had to get her rocks off now and again. It wasn’t like she had to date Kate afterwards, whatever she might imply beforehand.

For now, Imogen was enjoying the tease, drawing it out as long as possible. She could think of worse ways to spend her birthday afternoon. She didn’t bother to respond to the latest message yet, instead examining her reflection in the mirror above her desk, to make sure she was happy with her appearance before her surprise party.

That was why she was spending the afternoon of her 21^st birthday alone - her parents had left almost an hour ago, her father giving some paper-thin excuse she hadn’t bothered to retain. Imogen’s dad wasn’t exactly renowned for his guile and subtlety, and she’d caught the irritated glance her mom had shot him when he’d blurted whatever obvious bullshit he’d thought up before his quick-witted lawyer wife had the chance to concoct something more believable.

Imogen had just smiled knowingly and ambled up to her bedroom, wondering why they bothered trying to hide their plans. Her cousin had already ratted them out a week ago, letting her know that the family was gathering at a restaurant to throw her a proper birthday bash.

She reached for an almond cookie - her favourite sweet treats, one of the numerous presents her parents had given her that morning. Before she could pick one up from the plate on her desk, there was a loud knock in the distance.

She frowned. She’d been expecting her parents back any minute to collect her for the party. She couldn’t imagine who else could have arrived at her front door. But was it possible they’d both forgotten their keys?

Groaning at the agonising prospect of having to be helpful, she got up from her chair and trudged out of her room and down the stairs. Whoever she was keeping waiting didn’t seem too impatient either. They didn’t knock again in the time it took for her to reach them.

Opening the door, she was surprised to find a total stranger - a tall, square-jawed and broad-shouldered man with thick, dark hair and a cleanly-shaved face. He wore a heavy dark grey overcoat and black leather gloves, presumably to protect himself from the autumnal chill outside. She estimated he was in his late thirties, although he gave the impression of being older than he looked - of being the sort of person who’d taken care of himself enough to delay the ageing process.

He was certainly good-looking, if you liked that sort of thing. Imogen wasn’t interested in men, but she could objectively state this was one of the more handsome specimens she’d come across. The effect was enhanced when he gave her a dazzling smile, his teeth gleaming white.

“Good afternoon, Imogen,” he said in a deep, almost playful tone. “I’m glad to find you home. Many happy returns!”

She did a double take. “Uh, thanks... Do I know you?”

“I’m an old friend of your mother’s,” he replied, his gleaming grin unwavering. “I was in the neighbourhood, and thought I’d stop by and pay my respects on your special day. You can call me Uncle Robin.”

Imogen’s eyebrows shot up. “‘Uncle’ Robin?” she replied, not bothering to hide her bewilderment and disdain. This guy was starting to give her some bad vibes.

“Why, of course. Your mother and I had such a close relationship at one time, I do think of you as family. As my goddaughter, if you like.” His smile widened. “May I come in? It is rather chilly out here, and your home is so very inviting.”

“Yeah, sure,” Imogen murmured distractedly, stepping aside to let the stranger enter. She was still trying to puzzle out his words, to try and dredge up any memory of her mom mentioning a ‘Robin’ in the past. She was coming up empty. She didn’t have a godfather, or a godmother for that matter - her parents, not being religious, had never named any. They’d always said that if anything happened to them, her dad’s brother would take Imogen in.

This man was definitely not her dad’s brother. He was younger (apparently), taller, and better-looking. And the way he spoke about her mom...

“You’re not my mom’s ex, are you?” she asked, swinging the door shut behind them.

‘Uncle Robin’ chuckled lightly. “Oh, no, not an ex. She and I were never together. Perhaps we might have been, had she not already pledged herself to another.” He turned away, spinning slowly on the spot as he took in the interior of Imogen’s house - but just as he did, she caught his expression darkening slightly. As if he was still annoyed at missing his shot with Imogen’s mom all those years ago, and was trying to hide it.

That concerned her a little. It wasn’t like she couldn’t handle herself - she’d had self-defence classes at college. But this guy was almost a head taller than her, and powerfully built. She didn’t fancy her chances if he turned violent.

I should probably just ask him to wait down here til Mom gets back, and go barricade myself in my room, she decided. It’s probably not a good idea to hang around with this guy in my house.

Then she blinked in confusion. Wait - so why’d I let him in...?

“I was worried that I might miss you,” her newfound ‘uncle’ mused, turning back to face her. “That you might already be on your way to the evening’s festivities.” He gave a look of mock surprise, widening his eyes and covering his mouth with a gloved hand. “Oh dear, now I’ve ruined the surprise! And I do so love surprises, too...”

She snorted. “That’s OK. It’s not like I didn’t know.”

“Of course,” he said, inclining his head. “You are clearly a perceptive thing.”

For some reason, she felt herself grow a little warm at the compliment, condescending though it was. She wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t exactly a fan of older men giving her patronising praise. But it felt different coming from ‘Uncle Robin’.

She tried to keep the conversation on track. “S-so, if you’re trying to say you and my mom are still so close, how come she’s never mentioned you?” she challenged him, daring him to admit his true intentions.

He smirked. “Ah. Perhaps because she did not wish your dear father to know of my existence. Or anyone else, for that matter. Even after all this time, poor Frederick would likely feel just a little scorned.”

A secret romance? Go, Mom. That, at least, was something Imogen could relate to. She never knew her mother was capable of dating, or indeed rejecting, someone in total secrecy - especially not a studly specimen with a strange, archaic manner of speech. She was about to ask for further details (within reason), when ‘Uncle Robin’ commented, “I must say, you are fortunate you inherited your mother’s charm, and her good looks. I imagine every head turning as you walk the corridors of your college.”

Such shameless flirtation from a man - particularly a man old enough to be her mother’s spurned would-be lover - would ordinarily have Imogen bristling with indignance. Instead, she found herself blushing and giving him a sultry smile. “Why, thank you.”

He looked her up and down brazenly. “Perhaps you could have a slightly fuller figure, like your dear mother,” he mused, not unkindly. “I must blame your father’s genetics for that. But you certainly make the most of what you have.”

Imogen felt a flicker of disquiet. She’d never been all that self-conscious about her skinny body - thank God there were plenty of girls so taken with her short dark hair, her obsidian eyes, and her seductive words, they didn’t seem to mind her tiny tits and pancake ass. But she felt a little shame now that Uncle Robin mentioned it. His approval meant a lot to her.

Hold up - why did her approval mean a lot to her? She didn’t know him from Adam. He was a stranger in her house. Worse, he was a potential threat - someone her mom once rejected. Besides which, she was gay...

Wait, no she wasn’t. She was straight. Very straight. Which explained why she was letting this handsome older man run circles around her in her own home, his lewd gaze thrilling her as he studied her scrawny body. She loved it when guys paid attention to her. It happened so rarely, what with her minimal assets...

Her head spun. She swayed on the spot. Uncle Robin put a hand on her upper arm, steadying her. Through her dizziness, she could see him smiling calmly at her.

“Don’t worry, my dear. This always happens with the first changes. You’ll recover quickly, and we can move on to more drastic alterations.”

Sure enough, her head was already starting to clear. She still felt a little foggy, to the point where she wasn’t entirely sure what her new friend was talking about - but at least she could stand upright without support now.

“There you are.” He stepped back and clapped his hands together. “Let’s begin, shall we? We need you ready in time for your mother’s return, after all.”

She frowned. “But I’m ready for the party already...”

“Who mentioned the party?” he smirked. “Now, I think a change of attitude is in order first. No more teasing - you would be so much more popular if you were more open to the affections of those around you.”

Imogen blinked in confusion. She had no idea what Uncle Robin meant by that. She couldn’t imagine how much more open she could be. She had a bit of a reputation for being about the easiest girl at her college - and had been at her high school as well. She spent so much time on her knees in the bathroom, acting as a public blowjob dispenser for half the student body, that she earned the moniker of ‘Head Girl’ (which pissed off her school’s actual Head Girl no end).

Uncle Robin barked with laughter. “Oh, I do like you, Imogen,” he snorted. “You have such a colourful imagination. ‘Head Girl’, indeed!”

Imogen giggled - a high, girlish giggle that didn’t sound anything like her own laugh, yet she barely noticed that before her malleable mind accepted the sound as her own. “Thank you, Uncle Robin,” she simpered. It didn’t occur to her to wonder how he’d even known about her nickname. She was too busy staring at her godfather’s trousers, trying to picture his prick. Her mouth was watering at the thought of it. She had no doubt it’d be the best she’d ever taken, given that he was so strong and manly.

“You flatter me,” Uncle Robin snickered, patting her on the head as if she were a puppy. She beamed up at him adoringly, leaning forwards to show off the cleavage of her ample bosom, brushing her long blonde locks out of the way with one hand while she caressed the other enticingly along her chest.

He licked his lips appreciatively - but then his eyes abruptly drifted away, staring into the middle distance. Imogen pouted. How could he be getting distracted now? She wanted his full attention!

But his gaze returned to her in a matter of moments, before she even had time to figure out a way to display herself wantonly enough to draw his eye again. “It appears our time may be running short,” he said with a wry grin. “I sense your mother - dear, deceitful Summer - has left the restaurant and shall be home within minutes.”

“You talk funny,” Imogen tittered. “It’s... kinda hot.”

Uncle Robin smiled indulgently. “Yes, pet. So, as I was saying, we should make haste. I would like you to have some awareness of what is happening to you, and why.”

One moment Imogen was twirling slowly on the spot, undulating her curvaceous body for her newfound godfather’s enjoyment, glancing over her shoulder to continue undressing him with her eyes. The next she was snapping to attention, staring raptly up at him with the sole desire of hearing him speak. His words were the only important thing in the universe. She was barely aware of anything else, even the warm arousal coursing through her.

“As I said, your mother and I knew each other many moons ago.” Uncle Robin cupped Imogen’s face with both hands, the tips of his thumbs resting tantalisingly against her lower lip. His gleaming green eyes seemed to peer into her mind, into her very soul, his words reverberating inside her. “She and I had a bargain, to which she found a most ingenious, and vexatious, loophole. She betrayed our agreement, and denied me my prize. But she was not aware of a certain law imposed to resolve such matters - to which, you, my darling, delightful ditz, are now mine.”

She gaped. “I’m... yours?”

His brilliant white teeth broadened into a wolfish grin in her lower peripheral vision. “My property. My possession. My pet. In subverting my will, Summer unwittingly sold the soul of her unborn child - to be claimed on this day, when you truly come of age. Now you are entirely under my power, subject to my every whim. I can remake your mind, your memories, your personality, and even your body, into any form that takes my fancy.”

He leaned closer, his emerald eyes enchanting Imogen. “I have already begun to transform you, in fact, without your awareness. You are already nigh unrecognisable. Your mortal form is mere clay for me to reshape. You have transcended the natural laws of your world, and become my plaything, existing to please and amuse me.”

Imogen’s jaw hung agape as her Uncle - no, her Owner - explained her predicament. She knew, instinctively, that everything he had said was true. She belonged to him now. She was his slave. He had changed her in so many tiny ways - and now that she knew that, she finally noticed them. She had a mental image of her former self - a skinny, dark-haired lesbian who took full advantage of her parents’ doting, delighted in leading on lovestruck girls, and didn’t feel much empathy for others. The curvy blonde that Imogen had become barely recognised her former self, and didn’t much like her.

Still, on some level, she knew her past self would never have agreed to be some stranger’s property - to be transformed by him into a cock-hungry airhead with a body built for sex. She’d have objected vehemently to becomg a mysterious, magical man’s powerless pet.

“Woooow,” she exhaled. “You really turned me into your slutty little slave, Uncle Robin...” A whimper escaped her. “That’s so fucking hot!”

He chuckled. “I’m pleased you agree.”

“Oh I do, I do,” she practically drooled. “I feel so so sexy, and so horny, and so... submissive.” She gave him a doe-eyed look, the expression sitting easily on her transformed face. “I wanna do whatever you say - anything you say.” The awareness that he had made her want that - that he had warped her mind and twisted her desires to suit him, and that she would’ve hated everything about this less than half an hour ago - just turned her on even more.

“Such a docile darling,” Uncle Robin grinned. “I am almost tempted to whisk you away to my realm of the Invisible at once, and while away eternity with you entertaining me.”

Imogen shuddered at the implication. “Yesss, please Uncle Robin,” she babbled, “take me away and keep me as your pet, your pleasure doll, your fuckbunny, your cock holster...”

“You have a way with words to rival my own,” Robin laughed. “And perhaps all that is still in store, my beautiful... fuckbunny. But first, a reunion awaits me. I wish to demonstrate my work to an old acquaintance, and present her with a choice.” Removing the hands cradling her face, he gently booped her nose with an oustretched finger. “Perhaps, if she is prepared to pay the price, sweet Summer can still save her autumn child.”

Quivering with barely-contained lust as she followed her new Master upstairs, Imogen fervently hoped her mother would do no such thing.

***

Summer knew something was wrong the second she stepped into the house.

She couldn’t have explained what, or why she felt that way. There was nothing obviously amiss as far as she could see or hear. Her home was just the same as it’d always been. She just felt a sudden unease gripping her soul.

She’d always prided herself on her intuition being sharper than most. It helped her to perceive the innocence or guilt of prospective clients, to sense which way a jury was leaning and to deftly sway them to her way of thinking. Now, those same sharp instincts were screaming at her that danger was close.

She felt an urge to turn and run, to get as far away from her family home as possible. But she couldn’t leave without Imogen. If there was a threat, she had to protect her daughter above all else.

As she hurried upstairs, not bothering to remove her coat or her shoes, she heard a noise in the near distance - a high-pitched cry. For a moment her heart pounded louder in alarm - was Imogen in danger? Was she being attacked?

Then a second squeal reached her ears, and it was harder to mistake it this time. It didn’t sound like fear or pain. More like... pleasure.

Had Imogen invited a girl over? It wasn’t as if it was the first time - she was a grown adult with wants and needs just like anyone else, and her parents had simply requested that she be mindful and respectful of them, and to try not to get too amorous while either of them were in the house (which, to be fair, they hadn’t been). Plus, it was her birthday. Summer guessed her daughter was just celebrating in her own way.

Summer slowed her pace as she reached the top step, her cheeks reddening, her panic fading to be replaced by embarrassment. It was uncomfortable, the thought that she’d stumbled upon her daughter in the midst of a sexual encounter - but on the bright side, it didn’t sound like she was in danger.

She was about to go back downstairs, prepared to wait in the car and text her daughter to come out when she was ready, when she realised the lewd cries weren’t coming from Imogen’s bedroom. They were echoing down the upstairs hallway from further along - from the open doorway of Summer’s room.

Was it possible... could Imogen really be fucking someone in her parents’ bed?!

No. No, that couldn’t be. The girl had a slightly twisted sense of humour, and sometimes tested boundaries to see what she could get away with. But she would never do anything so horribly perverted... Would she?

Heartbeat speeding up once again, Summer tiptoed down the corridor, hoping not to alert her daughter to her presence, praying she was wrong. Peeking through the ajar door, she saw apparent confirmation of her fears.

A stark-naked young woman with an hourglass figure, flawless skin and short blonde hair was bouncing up and down on the duvet, hands roving across her bare flesh. She had her back to Summer, facing towards the headboard, bellowing wails and moans of ecstasy into the air, her buttocks rippling every time she slammed downwards.

But Summer’s gaze was fixed upon a tuft of white fluff at the base of the girl’s spine, just big enough to tickle the top of her ass crack. And on her head, protruding from her blonde bob to jut proudly into the air, were two long, slender rabbit’s ears, covered in downy white hair.

Summer blinked in astonishment. The young woman before her was an actual bunny. A Playboy bunny, but made real. (Any thought that the leporine attachments might be fake, parts of a costume, vanished quickly - those ears were too lifelike, quivering and twitching as their owner squirmed and humped on the bedclothes.)

Her mind overloading with confusion, she found herself pushing the door fully open and stepping inside. She could no longer remain an onlooker. Her every instinct was telling her to find her daughter.

Despite her huge ears, the woman seemed not to hear her, lost in her orgasmic bliss. Summer stepped closer to the bed, expecting to see Imogen lying supine while her naked companion rode her. But there was no-one beneath the bunny girl. She seemed to be having sex with nobody, with nothing.

That was until, despite herself, Summer looked more closely. Now standing in front of the horny hybrid, she could see a thick, knobbled purple shaft planted upright amidst the folds of the duvet, half-swallowed by the blonde’s vagina, which slid back and forth along its length.

The lawyer’s stomach lurched. Worse than getting an eyeful of the girl’s genitalia, worse than seeing her rampantly fucking herself in Summer’s bed, was the realisation that she was using Summer’s dildo. She had raided the nightstand and found the forty-nine-year-old’s favourite sex toy, and was using it unashamedly as its owner watched.

Summer let out a strangled noise, choking on her own horrified, outraged indignance. Who was this girl? How did she get into this house? What could possibly motivate her to commit such depraved acts? And where the fuck was Imogen...?

At the sound of the mother’s wordless exclamation, the bunny’s eyes flew open, fixing on Summer’s face. She slowed her thrusts, but didn’t stop, continuing to ride the stolen dildo. Her blissful expression shifted into a more alert one, that still showed nothing but pure, guileless joy.

“Mom, you’re home!” she said warmly.

Those three words were the worst part of this shocking spectacle so far. Summer reeled backwards a few steps, her back legs thudding against her nightstand, staring at the girl before her with new, aghast recognition.

“I-Imogen?” she stammered.

It seemed impossible. The woman on the bed resembled her daughter in no way whatsoever. Even her voice, when she’d spoken, was higher and squeakier than Imogen’s lower, almost growling tone.

Yet, as she met her dim, vapid eyes, Summer’s sharp intuition confirmed that the naked nympho cavorting in her bed was, in fact, her daughter. Her smart, skinny, slightly emo daughter had been transformed into a buxom blonde bimbo bunny, a pornographic parody of femininity.

It was grotesque. It was unbelievable. Yet Summer believed it. She didn’t understand how, and she thought her brain might split in half from astonishment and mortification - but she knew it was true. She felt sick to the depths of her soul.

“This is the best birthday ever,” the unrecognisable Imogen gasped, still riding the stolen sexual aid. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about Uncle Robin before?”

“Uncle Rob-” Summer’s confused response cut off partway through as, all of a sudden, everything fell into place. Her eyes went wide.

No. No, it can’t be. Not him.

Glancing past the bobbing figure of her transformed daughter, Summer saw a handsome, dark-haired man lounging in Frederick’s desk chair, smirking across the room at her. Had he been there the whole time, watching this pornographic pantomime play out?

She knew him at once, even if he looked a little different from how he’d last appeared to her, twenty-four years ago. A whimper of terror escaped her. Her hands clawed at the nightstand behind her, clinging to it for support, her body trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.

“You,” she croaked.

The man’s leer widened. “Why yes, my duplicitous darling. It is I. Robin Goodfellow, returned to you after all these years. Come to claim what’s mine.”

To claim what was his? Despite her all-consuming dread, Summer felt anger swell within her at his arrogance. She straightened up, swallowing hard, and tried to compose herself, to look more assertive. This was her home. Robin Goodfellow had no power here. By coming here and violating her daughter like this, he was also violating fae law.

“N-nothing here is yours,” she snapped, hoping her fury hid the tremor in her voice. “Not me, and certainly not my daughter. Put her back the way she was, and then get back to your own realm, Puck.” She spat the name as if it were a swear word.

“Oh, but I think you’ll find Imogen is in fact mine. Her fate was written before she was but a twinkle in your... husband’s eye.” Though his self-assured smile was unwavering as he spoke, Robin pronounced ‘husband’ with almost as much distaste as Summer had used when she said ‘Puck’. “And she has embraced that fate with all her heart and soul,” he added, gesturing in the direction of the blonde bunny bouncing on the bed.

Summer tried not to look at the naked whore that used to be her daughter. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing. I know what you’re capable of, Goodfellow. You’ve messed with her mind, made her think all this is normal, good, right... But you’ve taken her without her consent!”

“Is that any worse than what you’ve done?” he countered easily. “You gave her away without her consent, even before her conception.”

The mother shook her head in total bewilderment, trying to piece together what the guileful goblin was saying. Her concentration wasn’t helped by the writhing figure of Imogen in her peripheral vision, still avidly bobbing up and down. “I love your cock so much, Mommy,” the mind-controlled girl moaned, sending a disgusted shudder through Summer.

“I - I never gave her away,” she stammered, sure that the sprite was full of shit. “That didn’t happen. I outwitted you, and sent you away. This is just your petty revenge...”

Goodfellow actually laughed, and the sound was more chilling than the perverted phrases coming out of Imogen’s mouth. “You think so? You think that after aeons of dealing with humans, we fae wouldn’t have planned for your wily ways? That we wouldn’t have amended our laws, laying contingency clauses in case any of you tried to betray our contracts...?”

Summer’s eyes widened. “C-contingency clauses?” she said in a very small voice, her certainty rapidly crumbling.

“Why, yes, my dear.” His eyes twinkled with cruel humour. “I would’ve thought such a thing might have occurred to you, given your extensive knowledge. The knowledge you won from me, through trickery and deceit...”

Her stomach felt like it had dropped out. She suddenly realised she should have considered the possibility of a contingency clause. After all, fae were ancient, and at least as intelligent as humans - probably more so. Plus, there were so many stories about people trying to trick the faerie folk - it made sense that they would’ve thought of counter-measures.

She just always thought of magical laws as immutable, inviolable, like the laws of physics - not adjustable, amendable, like man-made laws. It never occurred to her that the fae could change them. If it had, she would’ve never dared to summon Robin Goodfellow in the first place, much less trick him.

It hadn’t felt like she’d had much choice at the time. It’d always been her dream to become a lawyer - to help people, fight injustice, and stick up for the downtrodden. But law school was much, much harder than she’d expected, and towards the end she wasn’t confident she would pass the bar. She had severe brainfog, muddling her mind whenever she studied.

In desperation, she consulted a book of the occult given to her by an eccentric aunt, and found the secrets of the Goodfellows, a fae family who sometimes made deals with mortals. They were known for their tricksy ways and the heavy prices they exacted - but there were records of those who’d fooled them and got away with the boon they sought, while not losing much in return. Summer was sure she could get away with it, too - and she was frantic enough to give it a try.

Her confidence had wavered when she realised she’d summoned Robin Goodfellow, the most infamous of all the faerie folk, who had visited Earth so many times over the millennia that Shakespeare even based a character on him. If anyone would anticipate human treachery, it’d be him. But to her surprise, her plan went off without a hitch. Puck agreed to instil in her the knowledge and focus she needed to pass the exam and become a top attorney, in exchange for something of great value. He didn’t specify what, exactly, merely informing her that once the deal was made, she wouldn’t be able to refuse.

He was clearly hoping she was desperate enough to gamble and accept the bargain, without knowing what he wanted. But she had already guessed. She’d heard stories of what he’d taken in the past. A human soul. Once he owned that, he could do anything he wanted with her. Manipulate her mind, alter her body, spirit her away to his realm and keep her as his prize, his possession, his powerless slave... She would ultimately gain nothing from the deal. She’d never be able to use the knowledge he’d give her, because she’d belong to him. He might even let her become a lawyer after all, if only so he could force her to take cases she never would otherwise, or defend clients she’d find abhorrent, simply for his amusement.

Feigning uncertainty, she asked him for a minute alone to consider. He agreed, and the second he was out of the room, she hurriedly drew out a contract she’d pressed her bewildered boyfriend Freddie into signing earlier, and scrawled her own name next to his. She hadn’t dared do so earlier out of fear that Goodfellow would somehow sense it.

Calling him back into the room, she agreed to the deal. With a snap of his fingers, she knew every fine detail of the American legal system - including all the variations across the fifty states - as easily as her ABCs. Her feeling of triumph was multiplied by a thousand when he then tried to exact his price, only for a perplexed frown to cross his face as he found he had no power over her. She’d already pledged her soul to another - her future husband. Robin had no valid claim to it.

She thought at the time that he accepted her treachery calmly, congratulating her on her guile before vanishing back to the Invisible Realm. Charmed by him despite herself, she believed he merely knew when he was beaten. Clearly, she was wrong. He hadn’t argued because he had an ace up his sleeve. Somehow, her actions had given him power over her daughter instead.

“A recent amendment,” Robin remarked mildly, studying his immaculate fingernails. “The Seelie Court passed it four decades ago, by your time. Or was it four centuries...? I always get those confused! Regardless, the clause clearly states that should a mortal forge an invalid contract with a fae, it applies instead to their firstborn, once they come of age. Thus, on this day, the day she turns twenty-one, your Imogen is now mine. And it is all your own doing, my dear.”

“You did this to me, Mommy?” Imogen suddenly squeaked, drawing Summer’s aghast stare away from the fae to her writhing nude form. “Oh, thank you so much! I’m so glad you tried to trick my Master like a dumb bitch! Now I’m his pet bunny slut forever, thank you thank you thank yoooou!”

Then she bowed down, faceplanting the bedclothes, and reached back to grab her buttocks, pulling them apart to show off her asshole. The white fluffy blob that was her tail sat above her spread crack like a toupée.

Summer felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. Reeling aside, she clutched at her torso, a guttural wail escaping her mouth. This couldn’t be happening. This was worse than her worst nightmares. For years her dreams had been haunted by the ghost of Goodfellow, threatening to return and take her as his plaything, dooming her to eternal enslavement in his magical world. But she’d never once imagined he would claim her child instead.

“I love being Master Goodfellow’s silly blonde whore,” Imogen giggled into her mother’s pillow, waggling her open ass in the air to emphasise her words. “I’m so excited to be Uncle Robin’s brainwashed bimbo butt slut for all time. I hope he turns me into all kindsa freaky magical creatures, and cums all over my stupid face every day!”

Robin casually waved a hand in her direction, and suddenly long red ropes sprouted from the ceiling and lashed downwards, coiling around Imogen’s wrists and neck. They pulled her straight upright, holding her arms taut in the air above her. She gurgled at the constricting grip around her throat, her tongue protruding from between her lips, her eyes crossing, her face turning purple. All the while, she still wore a dopey, dreamy smile.

Summer screamed, leaping forwards to try and prise the rope off her daughter’s neck, to no avail. “Stop!” she cried across the room. “Stop it!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Goodfellow said calmly. “She cannot die. She shall never die now, nor grow older, nor change, except as I change her. I can leave that rope there for as long as I like, and though she will choke and gasp without air, she will not die. In fact, I could leave her throat bound forever, leave her in a constant state of agonised asphyxiation...”

“No, no, no, no, please,” Summer sobbed, still fighting with the bonds her daughter dangled unresistingly from. “Please stop, please, please let her go. I’ll do anything, please...”

“Puck’s as pleased as Punch to hear you say that,” the sprite snickered. With a snap of his fingers, the ropes vanished. Summer staggered backwards, her head spinning with sudden vertigo as she tried to take in the new tableau before her. Her dildo was no longer beneath Imogen - instead, the girl was clutching it in one hand. In its place, Robin lay on the bed, stark naked, his impressive manhood protruding into his plaything’s pussy. Barely missing a beat, the brainwashed bunny began to zealously bob up and down on her magical Master, while ploughing the purple phallus into her mouth with a manic grin.

Summer’s revulsion was softened with a hint of relief - even this depraved diorama was better than seeing her daughter helplessly hanging from a noose.

Robin smiled almost benevolently at her, his head propped up by the pillow. She couldn’t believe how composed he was. Imogen was riding him like a jockey on a particularly wilful horse, but she may as well not even have been there for all he reacted.

“Once my seed is sown within her, the covenant will be complete,” he explained, his tone suddenly so soft and gentle, as if he were a doctor trying to break devastating news to a patient’s loved ones as compassionately as he could. “She will be bound to me forevermore. There will be no way you can release her from my power. I shall take her back to my realm, and spend eternity twisting her mind and body into all sorts of amusing shapes...”

Imogen made a little elated spluttering sound as she continued to deep-throat the dildo and bounce on Goodfellow’s cock.

“But, there is one way to spare her this fate. One way to set her free.”

“Please, I’ll do whatever it takes,” Summer begged.

His eyes were locked onto hers, piercing her like arrows. “You must forfeit your own freedom. You must revert to our original accord, and offer yourself to me, in her place. You must find the contract you made with your husband, and destroy it, thereby lifting its power over you and allowing mine to take hold. Then, and only then, shall your daughter be released.”

Summer’s breath caught, her chest tightening with panic, her eyes tearing up. Deep down, she’d known what he would say. She’d known what it’d take to earn her daughter’s freedom. She would have to give herself up, and accept the fate she’d cheated decades earlier.

She’d been afraid of this for almost her entire adult life. It was her worst fear. Her worst nightmare, made real.

But it wasn’t worse than seeing her daughter degraded, dehumanised, destroyed before her eyes.

“Make your choice quickly, sweet Summer,” Robin urged her, his breath hitching a little as Imogen slammed herself down on his shaft with even more vigour. “Time runs short...”

Not giving herself time to think, Summer ran to her closet in the corner and dropped to her knees, pulling open a drawer at the base of the cabinet. Inside was a small, locked box decorated with an assortment of pretty painted flowers. She hastily opened it, producing a folded, yellowing scrap of paper. Carefully unfolding it, she stood up and held it out for the supine sprite to see, showing him the pact she’d signed with an oblivious Frederick so many years ago.

Then, as her daughter impaled herself once more with a muffled moan, Summer tore the contract in half, and then again and again, until the carpet below was covered with confetti-like shreds.

With a pop, Robin vanished from the bed. Imogen sank to her knees and sat still, her arms falling to her sides, the dildo resting in her mouth like a pacifier. Otherwise, she appeared unchanged. She was still naked. Her ears were still long, fluffy and white. There was still a poofy tail above her butt.

Summer, too, felt just the same. She frowned, unsure what could be happening. Was destroying the contract not enough, somehow? Did she have to do anything else? Whatever it was, she’d do it, if it meant saving her child...

Then she heard a familiar voice, speaking directly into her ears as if coming from all around her, although as she whirled in search of its source she saw no-one. “Well done, my pet,” Robin purred. “You have renounced the illicit treaty, and granted ownership of your soul to me.” She shuddered, picturing his hold on her soul like cold chains encircling her heart.

“You and I shall spend an eternity together now... But I admit I am a greedy goblin by my nature, and I wish to reclaim those years you stole from me. I crave them. The fact of their having happened at all offends me to my very core.” His tone was growing increasingly triumphant, and malignant. “Fortunately, by destroying the contract of your own volition, you are renouncing it, as if it never happened. And that means it never did. It is becoming unwoven from your timeline as we speak - and as such, your history is being rewritten.”

Summer blinked in bemusement, instinctively trying to refute what he’d said. But as she thought back, she found she couldn’t remember writing up the contract in the first place, or making Frederick sign it. She couldn’t bring the memories to mind.

And now that she thought about it, she found she couldn’t bring many other memories to mind either. She couldn’t recall the details of the last case she worked on. She couldn’t remember any case she’d worked on, in fact. She couldn’t remember graduating from law school, the name of the firm she’d joined afterwards, the other partners that worked there...

Her heart thumped as she realised - if what Robin said was true, if she’d never made the contract with Frederick, if she’d been under the fae’s power since she was a mere student... then her life since then had never happened. Her career. Her marriage.

The birth of her daughter.

One moment, Imogen was knelt on the bed before Summer’s wide eyes, her posture slumped, staring vacantly ahead, sucking the dildo in her mouth, one hand sneaking between her legs to lazily tease her clit.

And then, she was gone.

There was no bright flash of light, no puff of smoke, not even a sound like the pop that had accompanied Robin’s disappearance. She was simply there one moment, and gone the next. “I-Imogen?!” Summer cried out, stumbling forwards with a hand outstretched.

As she neared the bed, she paused, confused. There had been someone, or something, on the duvet a second ago. But they weren’t there any more, and she found she was struggling to recall who or what it was. She just knew it was something important, something that mattered to her, even more than her job...

What was her job, again? Her breathing sped up in a panic as she realised she couldn’t remember.

She spun on the spot again, searching for answers in this bedroom, which she knew was hers, yet its contents and layout were disturbingly unfamiliar to her. As if someone else entirely lived there.

Her eyes fell upon a tall mirror in the corner - and more specifically, on her reflection, which sent a jolt through her. She was greeted by the sight of a short, nude young redhead with flawless skin, thick pouty lips, teardrop tits, and a neat, heart-shaped bush sitting above her slick ripple. The only incongruities were the long, thin ears protruding from her fiery locks, covered in dark grey-brown fur. Twisting her torso a little to see her shapely rear, she saw a similarly taupe-coloured tail flicking back and forth over her buttocks.

Glancing down at her real self, she was met with the same sight as in the mirror - her naked, youthful body, strands of brick-red hair hanging over her chest. But she was a brunette, not a redhead. And she wasn’t twenty-something like this strange new form - she was nearly fifty! Not to mention the weird ears and tail...

She concentrated on the mirror, trying to see past the uncanny reflection and remember her real self - the smartly-dressed middle-aged lawyer, with a successful career, a modestly fancy home, a doting husband, and a wilful yet wonderful daughter. But those memories were getting fainter and fainter by the second, more and more of them evaporating. Her and Frederick’s wedding. The fancy dinner they had for their twentieth anniversary. Giving Imogen her first puppy. Taking her to the beach when she was little.

She tried to grab onto them, but they wafted through her fingers like smoke - and once they were gone, she couldn’t recall what she’d forgotten. And she recalled less and less about the person they’d belonged to - the person she used to be. It was so much harder to see any version of herself but the nude ginger before her...

“Forget that life, my sweet, silly Summer,” Robin’s voice coaxed her. “It never came to pass now. It has no reality, no substance - it is no more yielding but a dream. This is your true self, and your true life. You are my pet, my plaything, my property. You exist to please and amuse me. That is all. No career. No house. No Frederick. No Imogen...”

Summer frowned at her reflection, her brain full of cotton candy as she struggled to think.

“Who’s Imogen?” she asked at last.

He responded with a malignant disembodied laugh that sent an erotic thrill through her bare body. “Nobody, my pet. You imagined her.”

Imogen. Imagine. Summer snorted, and then suddenly, compulsively cried, “Hee-HAW!” She clutched at her sides, trying to stifle her mirth to stop another embarrassing bray from escaping her. It didn’t help that she could still see her silly naked reflection, her cheeks turning almost as red as her hair, her tits jiggling from her suppressed giggles.

Now, at last, the Goodfellow reappeared, standing behind her in the centre of the bedroom, still gloriously naked - and at once Summer understood why he’d hidden from view, to give this moment so much more impact. For the instant her eyes fell upon his reflected image, she was utterly overcome with reverence, arousal and submission. He was the core of her universe, the only thing that mattered, the only thing that had ever mattered.

She pirouetted and dropped to her knees, gazing up at him with a wide, awestruck smile, her furry tail tickling her between her butt cheeks. “Master,” she gasped. “I am yours to control and compel. I am yours to change and transform. I am your pet, your plaything, your property.”

Robin smirked. “Indeed you are, my dear. And what else are you...?”

She blushed again, the answer entering her mind instantly. “I’m a silly ass - hee-HAW!”

As much as she wanted to keep staring up at her eternal owner, she was so mortified that she couldn’t help burying her face in her hands, as he chuckled cruelly. He did like to humiliate her. It was one of his favourite pastimes, changing and controlling her in ways that made her look and act utterly ridiculous. Making her part-donkey was a particular preference of his, for reasons she didn’t quite understand. But the compulsive braying embarrassed her beyond reason, and her utter helplessness made her astonishingly wet - as did the awareness that her absurd behaviour was pleasing her mystical Master.

“You are a silly ass,” he sniggered, reaching down to stroke one of her long ears, which only sent more shivers of pleasure through her. “You were such a silly ass, thinking you could deceive me. Thinking you could outwit me.”

Summer didn’t know what Master meant. She couldn’t remember ever trying to trick him in any way. Maybe it was something she did in the time before him, when her soul was still her own and not his? That made a certain amount of sense. She didn’t really remember anything from back then anyway. If she’d ever tried to defy his will, it must’ve been then - because it was unthinkable now.

“Ah well,” he murmured. “All’s well that ends well, isn’t it, my silly ass?”

“Yes, Master,” she whimpered, squirming helplessly on her knees. Her naked body was aching with arousal. But then, it’d been aching with arousal for as long as she could remember. Decades, surely, if not centuries. Time no longer meant anything to her. She measured it in the number of orgasms she’d had - which had been very few since the day she’d become his property. He rarely permitted her to cum, preferring to keep her denied and desperate. Much as she enjoyed being allowed the occasional climax, arbitrarily doled out as a rare reward by her owner, she also adored being his pathetic pent-up plaything. She adored everything he did to her.

Glancing up at her majestic Master, she felt a flicker of curiosity as she vaguely noticed their surroundings. “Where are we, Master?” she wondered faintly. “Why are we here?”

“It matters not,” he smirked. “We will return to the Invisible in moments. Once we do, we will never have been here, and you won’t remember it.”

“OK, Master,” she said, smiling placidly.

Driven by an impulse that could only have come from her owner, she hopped to her feet and began a seductive dance, swaying her hips and undulating her arms, turning on the spot so he could enjoy every inch of her naked body. Her alluring movements were occasionally interrupted by a loud, “Hee-HAW!” that burst free of her mouth, but the Goodfellow didn’t mind - in fact, it made him laugh uproariously.

As she danced, their surroundings darkened and faded from view, replaced by the indescribable Invisible Realm. A mortal whose mind and soul remained their own would be driven mad if they looked upon the chaotic environment, but as a fae’s property Summer was unbothered. Her sanity was as much a toy for Master Robin to play with as any other aspect of her, and as such he could keep it from breaking under the strain of unreality.

This was where she belonged. This was where she had lived since the day she signed herself over to Robin Goodfellow, never once returning to the mortal world. And this was where she would remain for all time, dancing and braying and worshipping and fucking and sucking for his entertainment.

She couldn’t imagine a better life.

***

Nothing more was heard of Summer in the human world. All record of her for the last twenty-four years had been erased, since her disappearance mere days before she was meant to sit the bar exam, a mystery that no detective, journalist, or crime-obsessed podcaster had ever solved. She was never seen again.

But what of Imogen? That was another story altogether.

In the new timeline, of course, she’d never been born. Her mother had been spirited away by Robin Goodfellow years before her conception. And so her body had vanished from existence, because it’s difficult to have a body without being born.

She felt the moment of her unhappening. It wasn’t frightening - she was beyond fear. She was beyond anything but pleasure and submission at that point, transformed as she’d been by the fae trickster. As her flesh, bones and organs vanished, the mystical euphoria she felt persisted even as her mind and soul were cast into the void, dwindling, disembodied, disappearing from the universe.

The pleasure was a comfort for her, in the state she’d been reduced to, devoid of all her senses, unable to see or hear or smell or touch or taste or breathe or tell right from left or up from down. She could barely think. She couldn’t remember where she was, or who she was, or a single detail about her undone life that had led her to this point. All she could do was feel, and all she felt was joy, lust, submission and contentment. She was a ball of bliss, happy and horny and unconcerned that she was shrinking into nothing.

But once something has existed, it’s very hard to make it un-exist. Even altering the course of history is rarely enough - echoes often remain, unmoored from reality, clinging to a semblance of life. Though Imogen had lost everything that made her herself - her physical form, her memories, her identity, her name, even her gender - still, that tiny part of her survived. A faint wisp of thought adrift in the air, invisible and inaudible, even less substantial than a ghost.

It couldn’t really be called Imogen at this point. It couldn’t be considered a person, a spirit, a mind. Yet, still, even without the capacity to think or desire or act, it stubbornly kept on existing. Like a stain on a carpet that resists all efforts to clean it up.

Houses, too, are hard to change, even by changing the past. They’re big, sturdy things, strong enough to withstand the winds of time. That’s how some end up haunted - ghosts, cut off from reality, can cling to them, bind themselves to them, and keep a foothold in the human world.

So it was that the last vestiges of the being that never was Imogen clung to the house where she never lived, a structure solid enough to anchor it. It became interwoven with the fabric of the building, inexorably bound to it, spreading throughout its history so that it’d been there since the house was built and would be there until the day it was demolished.

And it grew. It gathered fragments of thought, of personality, of mind and will and soul, absorbed from generations of residents who lived in its dwelling. It became more real. It still lacked a body, but now it had something resembling a mind. It had wants and needs. It had wishes and desires. It had a purpose - a role, a responsibility, imposed on it by the beliefs of some of its home’s inhabitants.

In its final form, it was everywhere and nowhere in the house at all times, dwelling in the bricks and the wallpaper and the carpet and the air, unseen and unheard, undetectable except by the sixth sense - that instinct that makes the hairs stand up on the back of one’s neck. Those that lived there felt it once they’d been there long enough, but knew it wasn’t a malignant presence - it felt more like a comforting embrace, keeping them warm and safe. From time to time it would conjure up a slightly more tangible manifestation, a whirling, writhing vortex of air that zoomed around the house carrying out the new purpose it had found.

It had become a brownie, a domestic spirit. It kept the house neat and tidy, cleaning up any mess each night while the residents slept. It vacuumed up any dust, dirt and crumbs into the void of its being, vanishing them from the world. It cleaned cutlery and crockery merely by passing over them, leaving them polished and gleaming as if they were newly bought. It tidied away any misplaced objects, flicking dirty clothes into laundry baskets and stray forks and spoons into cutlery drawers. If there was ever an unwanted intruder - and there were a couple of burglars, over the years - it would repel them with violent, albeit non-lethal, force.

It knew nothing of its former existence, and nothing would ever remind it, for in this timeline Summer never lived in this house, and Imogen never lived, period. For all it knew, it had always been a brownie. It felt no desire to be anything else. It was happy in its eternal home, and took great satisfaction in its work keeping the house pristine. Helping others, helping the humans who lived under its protection, made it feel a deep sense of contentment.

All it asked for in return was the occasional treat.

The family that lived there now - Frederick and Lydia, and their young children Zack and Gracie - were firm believers in the supernatural, as well they should be, after living in a house with a brownie for well over a decade. They always left it the nicest offerings, earning its diligent loyalty. Tonight, it noticed, they’d left out a plate of almond cookies in the kitchen, which its cleansing vortex hungrily devoured. Although it lacked a physical mouth, it found it could taste if it concentrated. And almond cookies were its absolute favourite.

It was a very kind offering from the mortal family. More than that, though, it was wise. One should always show the proper respect to fairies and spirits... or the consequences could be dire.