Henry hated Toons. He was an adult when they first invaded our reality (Or did we invade theirs? The debate raged on), and as a respected professor of Math, and a serious man all around, their inherently chaotic nature meant their very existence was nothing less than actually insulting to him. So much so that not even fond childhood memories of watching Tom & Jerry and The Jetsons could overcome his contempt.
So he chose to avoid them whenever he could, which made it all the more disturbing to Henry when he noticed he’d accidentally wandered into his city’s ToonTown one day. His mind had been elsewhere, thinking of some equation or other, and he only noticed where he was when he almost bumped into a…weasel?
“S’cuse me, mister!” it said as it hurried around him, dressed in a mailman’s uniform. “Just like a Toon,” he thought. “Always in a hurry, head in the clouds! And ugly to boot!”
And here came another such example – strolling up to Henry was a red, male bovine, puffing away on an oversized cigar. He took no notice of the smaller Toons around him: if they didn’t move away in time, his huge beer belly, pressing up against his wife beater to the point it looked like it was about to rip, would simply knock them off of the sidewalk, sometimes even into oncoming traffic (not that they were ever in any danger, as Toons are famously unkillable).
His gargantuan gut was far from his being his only striking feature: there was also the enormous bulge outlined through his blue jeans, something the more equally-sized female Toons he was now passing on the street all seemed to be (loudly) commenting on.
“I’d like a piece of dat!” yelled one Toon, an exaggerated parody of a human woman. Any follow-up she may have planned was cut off by her suddenly being bashed over the head by a massive hammer, itself wielded by another would-be female mate, a clown with big eyes and even an even bigger chest. Her rival now dazed (with cartoon birds circling her head, of course), she took the opportunity to shoot her shot.
“Slut can’t even handle an ol’ mallet ta tha head!” she cried. “You need ta come home with me, hunk!”
Despite this attention from the opposite sex, though, he had his sights firmly set on Henry. On top of that, and scarier still, was the look in the bull’s eyes: it was one of pure hatred and malice, an expression Henry had seen on many a student’s face after a particularly difficult test.
The cow finally reached him, and Henry could now take in his full size: he was enormous: at least 7 feet tall and probably 5 feet wide at his broadest. Henry may have considered himself the antithesis of a Toon, but the scale of the cow made him gulp in such an exaggerated way that it would not have been out of place on a television screen on Saturday Morning.
“And just what I needed ta see taday – annuda muddafuckin’ human, thinkin’ he can just barge his way into our town!” he said angrily, glaring down at Henry.
A crowd was beginning to form, and shouts of “Hell yes!” and “you tell him!” could be heard from the gathering audience
“Now see here, sir!” Henry began to explain, before being cut off by the ranting bull.
“On da day my own fuckin’ wife left me, no less! Sure, I fucked her sista, but you should see da ASS on dat broad. And dem tits too! Dat heifer needed a good fuckin’ milkin’, and her faggot husband wasn’t givin’ it ta her, dat’s fer damn sure!”
Henry wondered what any of this had to do with him, but before he could ask, the Toon cut him again.
“But she’ll come crawlin’ back ta me, da stupid bitch! She’s nuttin’ widout me! But just in case…”
Now there was a mischievous look in the cow’s eyes, as he used his thick tongue to move the half-finished cigar toward the front of his mouth.
“Hold still, buttercup,” he said, before blowing an absolutely absurd amount of smoke straight into Henry’s face.
But somehow, physics never quite operating correctly in ToonTown, the cloud expanded to cover Henry’s entire body. And when it cleared, it revealed that Henry had been transformed into…a pink female cartoon cow!
She was in every way the bull’s opposite-sex counterpart: tall, wide, and with a huge, round belly. Her rear and bust were outrageously big as well, which suffice to say, did not go unnoticed by Bill (he never did manage to introduce himself, but that was his name). His clothes had changed as well: gone were the tweed jacket (replaced by a tied plaid shirt that didn’t even cover her nipples), khaki pants (replaced by daisy dukes that were being swallowed by her ass crack), and suede shoes (replaced by cowboy boots).
“Holy Toledo!” Henry yelled, his eyes popping out of their sockets, his pupils transformed turned into pink hearts, and his actual heart now beating so fiercely it was almost bursting out of his chest. “You make my wife and her sista’ look like fuckin’ dime-store whores!”
All of this would have horrified Henry before, but Henry was…no more. If we could read his…er, her mind, we would find only the presence of Barbara, 2D heifer, born and raised in ToonTown. And as for any math skills, forget about it. She couldn’t add 2+2 if she tried! But what she did know was that she liked what she saw in Bill: his long horns, handsome face, bulging stomach, throbbing biceps, and, most of all…
“Why don’t ya really show me how much ya fuckin’ love me, ya big stud,” she said, as she approached Bill and cupped his huge testicles through his pants.
“Dat’s it,” Bill roared, and in one sudden motion, he ripped all of Barbara’s clothes off, revealing her in all of her naked glory. Then he did the same to himself, finally freeing his huge erection, itself already leaking a profuse amount of precum. Not wanting to waste a single second, Bill threw their clothes into the air, past the clouds, past a passing airplane, and into the grinning Sun that shone above them, disintegrating them instantly.
As the crowd grew even larger around them, the two bovines began to have sex (ironically) doggy-style, right there on the sidewalk. Even the traffic on the street had come to a complete stop, to better witness the spectacle! And what a sight it was! The force of the two huge bodies colliding with one another was actually causing cracks to appear on the sidewalk!
“Give me dat big fuckin’ dick!” cried Bertha, yelling so her lover could still hear her over the roars and cheering of the crowd. “Take me as ya’ new wife! Put some goddamn babies in me!”
And Bill certainly was giving it all he could, even grabbing her by her long, blonde hair to better give his thrusts a little more oomph (though he continued to puff away on his cigar all the while). But he could somehow sense she needed a little something extra to really push her over the edge. Luckily for him, they were in ToonTown, where opportunities for the extraordinary are never in short supply!
Down the street from this public indecency, a wolf (in classic burglar’s apparel: a black and white striped shirt, black pants, black cap, and domino mask) had just robbed a bank, and was now absconding with the loot (in a brown bag with a $ symbol on it, naturally). Pursued by two pigs – literally, pigs – he maneuvered his way through the crowd. Then, leaping over the rutting couple, he left his pursuers, unable to jump nearly that high (being pigs), in the dust.
The pig-cop in the lead managed to make his way around the new lovers safely, but his partner, still lagging behind, was not so lucky.
Bill, with a mad expression on his face, grabbed the second cop with just one of his enormous hands. “Come here, ya fuckin’ mug!”
Still pounding away, his tremendous, hairy belly pressed up against his wife’s huge ass, he began to mold and reshape the pig into a living dildo (ToonTown physics at it again)! He then pressed the newly fashioned sex toy against his lover’s anus, and, well, that seemed to do the trick!
Bertha and Bill came simultaneously, causing them both to let out a “Mooooo” so loud that it shattered nearby store windows and car windshields. Not only that, the orgasm caused Bertha’s asshole to spasm, sucking in the pig-cop-dildo!
The two lovers collapsed, and the crowd, being Toons and therefore in constant need of entertainment, began to disperse. Spooning on the cracked sidewalk, cum leaking out of her new vagina, Bertha admired the wedding ring that had spontaneously appeared on her finger when Bill filled her with his seed (one had appeared on Bill’s ring finger as well, at that same moment, but he wasn’t as enamored with it, not being a dame and all).
“Whaddaya say we take dis show home?” Bill growled after a few minutes had passed, his mind having finally cleared enough for him to think.
Bertha turned and gave her husband a deep, passionate kiss. Floating hearts danced above their heads as their wide tongues wrestled with one another.
“Ya sure ya can keep yer mutts off me until then?” she said with a wink.
Spoiler: he could not.
...
Epilogue
Bill and Bertha remained happily married in the years to come, eventually having 10 little Toon-cow babies. Bill’s wife did try to reconcile with him, but he was uninterested, as Bertha was both fatter and more beautiful than she was or ever would be. Plus, though Bertha had no memory of it, believing she had always been a Toon, Bill knew that he was the one who had “made” her, and that made Bertha “his” in a way that made all other potential partners mere afterthoughts.
Nobody ever came looking for Henry, or even cared that he had gone missing, as he was unloved and unwanted as a human. Too bad, so sad, what a shame. And all of the students in his classes were given automatic As due to the disappearance of their teacher.
And the pig-cop did not emerge out of Bertha’s ass, ever. She never had trouble on the toilet either, leading her to believe that he had been simply absorbed into her somehow. They say Toons are unkillable, but her husband may have just inadvertently proved that maxim wrong. Not that he or Bertha really cared. The police officer’s family and friends did, however, and would hold a vigil every year at the spot where he had been grabbed by Bill, forever sealing his fate.
But why did Bill have transformation powers in the first place? Do all Toons have that ability? Or is Bill just a wizard of some kind? And if there are Toon police, why wasn’t he arrested for murder, or for, you know, egregious public indecency?
Eh, forget it, kid – it’s ToonTown.
Diego and Pablo were grateful to have finally made it to the hot springs. Too used to the warmer climate of their tropical home country, their bodies were ill-suited to the average temperatures of a place this far north. In fact, neither had felt properly warm all vacation long, not since they first got off the plane a week ago, only adding insult to injury after such a long flight. Not even cranking the heat in their shared hotel room seemed to fully eliminate the chill that had seemed to settle into their bones.
Nothing had worked, that is, until now, and not even the awkwardness of being in the nude could outweigh the pleasure the scalding hot water brought both of them. The spring was so warm in fact, that it had generated a thick mist that hovered above the pool’s surface, making it impossible for the friends to know if they were actually alone or not.
Wait, on second thought, they definitely weren’t alone. Somewhere in the mist ahead, they could hear a man and a woman grunting in unison: the unmistakable sounds of sex.
Diego and Pablo didn’t say anything to each other. They didn’t need to. They had been friends for so long that they could practically read each other’s minds at times, and this was certainly one of those moments. After all, the hot spring forbade all body coverings, and so there was a good chance they were about to see some titties. Sure, there was a strong probability a dick and set of balls were in the offering as well, but….titties! The two friends were so sex-starved, their respective break-ups with their long-term girlfriends being what prompted this trip in the first place, that they were willing to risk seeing some male genitals if it meant also seeing female ones.
It wasn’t long before they found them: a large, fat man, having sex with a small, thin woman probably 15 years his junior. They were in a position not often seen outside of the worlds of pornography – they were having sex standing up, the man holding his lover’s petite-yet-plump ass in his massive, wrinkled hands, as he thrust his absurdly thick penis into her. She was facing upwards towards the grey late-afternoon sky, her eyes closed, and her small but firm breasts jiggling slightly with each push into her. A few minutes passed, and the woman screamed in ecstasy, while her lover roared, his hairy balls clenching as he emptied them fully inside her.
Then she climbed down off of him, giggling, and back into the water. The man did something strange, then: he kissed her on her forehead, like a grandfather might his granddaughter. Unlike the sexual performance they had just partaken in, there was little passion in it.
In return, she got on her tip-toes, and kissed him on one of his full cheeks. Then she turned, legs still shaking, and walked past Diego and Pablo, not daring to make eye contact. For their part, they shamelessly turned to get one last look at her bare hindquarters. Then the mist swallowed her up, and she was gone.
“Did you enjoy the show, lads?” the man asked, in a heavy accent. “My name’s Olaf, by the way.”
Diego and Pablo turned and introduced themselves, but then an uncomfortable silence quickly followed. Willing to say anything to end the awkwardness, Diego finally blurted out: “So she was your….”
Olaf interjected, shaking his head. “Nah, she was just a girl I met here, only a couple of minutes ago.”
This was shocking to the two friends. That girl was hot. Like, really hot. On the other hand, Olaf, though tall, and sporting a cock and testicles that would make a horse jealous, would definitely be considered medically “obese”, if his humungous belly was any indication. How could he have scored with someone like that, especially considering how much younger than him she clearly was?
“Yea, nice girl,” he continued, “but not exactly, wife material, if you know what I mean.”
Actually, they really didn’t. Either of them would have gladly laid claim to her. After all, she was way better looking than any woman either of them had ever hooked up with, even compared to their aforementioned exes. Or up against the slut that Diego and Pablo had had that ill-advised threesome with, the discovery of which being what shifted said girlfriends into the “ex” category to begin with.
Fortunately, Olaf was keen to explain their differences in perspective.
Olaf sighed. “No, she was way too skinny. Too short, too. No, what I need is a big woman. I want a wife that stands 6 feet tall, with long, blonde hair. And her breasts need to be big, huge even, with faint, pink areolas as wide as dinner plates. A round, soft belly. Absurdly wide hips. A 50-inch ass. And thighs so thick that I would need two hands to fully circumvent them. A real baby-making factory, you know?” He paused for a moment. “You wouldn’t have happened to have seen anyone like that around, would you?”
Diego and Pablo shook their heads.
“Are you sure about that?” Olaf asked. He moved closer to them, and both friends were suddenly struck by the feeling that they were in danger. Their bodies told them to run, but they found themselves, inexplicably, unable to move. Their cocks shriveled in fear, while their gonads tried to rise back up into their bodies.
Olaf smiled, raised his arms, and placed one hand on the sides of each of their heads. Then he smashed them together.
….
As David watched his wife, Tiffany, cover her nipples with her hands, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was all a big mistake. He had convinced her to come to the hot springs, telling her they couldn’t come to this country on their honeymoon and then skip one of its biggest attractions, after all, but she was clearly embarrassed to be publicly in the nude.
Not that he wasn’t, evidently, as he was now fighting the urge to similarly shield his own modesty with one of his hands. He knew he had to resist, though, or else he’d confirm Tiffany’s shame, and with that would come even more anger, all directed at him, deserved or not. Well, he thought, at least all of this fog offered some privacy…
Suddenly, David noticed Tiffany was missing. He didn’t panic, as it was easy to assume she had just simply wandered deeper into the pool, probably to find some refuge in the mist. He began to wade forward, eager to find her, though he’d likely have to start the “apology shuffle” once he did. Sex later that night, unfortunately, could safely be ruled out at this point. And they were on such a roll too!
David thought he knew his wife well enough to say that she wasn’t a voyeur, but that didn’t change the fact when he finally stumbled upon her, she was staring, transfixed, at another couple, obviously middle-aged, having sex right there in the middle of the hot spring. Yes, he had heard this happened there on occasion, but he didn’t think they’d actually see it!
But to be fair to gawking Tiffany, though, this was an extraordinary pair: if he had to guess, combined, they probably weighed more than 500 pounds!
The woman, in front and slightly bent over, had breasts so large, and that hung so profusely, they were actually touching the surface of the water. And that wasn’t the only part of her that was, either. The lower part of her substantial stomach too, was partially submerged in the pool as well, creating small waves and ripples as it shook.
The man, behind, furiously slamming his body into her’s, one hand on either of her massive ass cheeks, was her gender-bent mirror image: he too was tall, fair-skinned, muscular, and had a gargantuan belly of his own. With each forward push of his hips, his swollen, furry testicles burst out from under the water, and tapped against the underside of his penis.
David found himself, like his wife, similarly hypnotized by the soft, jiggling forms of the lovers, a spell that was only broken when they finally reached climax simultaneously. They screamed so loudly that David cringed, fearing that the noise would summon more witnesses. For some reason, unknown even to him, David felt that this was something that he and Tiffany were privileged to see, and therefore was not eager to share it with anyone else
The woman turned to face her lover, and they began to kiss as passionately as a new, young couple might, their tongues wrestling one another as if in competition. David wondered if he and Tiffany would still have that fire when they were their age. He desperately hoped so.
“You were right. That cleared my headache right up!” said the fat woman, her accent marking her squarely as local. Cum was dripping out of her vagina, in large globs, down her thick legs and into the boiling soup.
“Always does,” replied the man, smugly. He slapped her left ass cheek with his right hand. Half a minute passed before it finally stopped moving.
Then the older couple walked past the newlyweds, hand in hand. As he passed David, the large man gave him a wink, as if they were in on some joke together. Then they halted before the gloom, kissed one final time, and entered the enveloping wall of steam. It swallowed them instantly, and they were out of view. David somehow knew they wouldn’t see them again, even on their way out of the hot spring. Actually, he doubted anyone would see them ever again.
He looked back to his wife, eager to discuss what they had both just seen. Tiffany, however, much to his surprise, had uncovered her breasts. Her nipples were hard, despite the warmth of the pool.
She arched an eyebrow. “Give you any ideas?” she asked.
He had a few.
The flames flickered in Sid’s dull eyes, as he listened to the harsh, dying screams of the stray cat. This alley never wanted for them, fortunately, and he had plied the old tomcat with a can of old tuna he had found in a nearby dumpster, his usual method. Then he threw it in a rusted metal garbage can, doused it with gasoline, and set it alight with one of his matches.
It brought little satisfaction: this was, after all, his third kill of the night. He had started with insects as a child, as so many psychopaths do, before graduating to small lizards, then birds, then various rodents, and now, finally, cats. The thrill had clearly all but gone, however, so it was clear to him he’d be moving on to dogs soon enough. Luckily for him, there were plenty of strays in this city. Of course, after dogs, the next step was obvious, and the final line would be crossed. Not that this scared him, mind you. He was actually looking forward to it. In fact, he even had some targets already in mind…
The flames finally began to die down, and the smell of the burnt, dead animal wafted toward him. Sid breathed in deeply, and sighed. This time of year always seemed to bring out the worst in him. Sure, he was always bad, but he never hunted quite as frequently as he did around Christmas time. A psychologist or social worker, if Sid bothered to see one, would probably deduce that, having come from an unhappy, broken family, Sid naturally resented a holiday that emphasized togetherness and love, and thus the 18-year-old acted out even more so than usual.
An even better psychologist, however, might be able to see even beyond that: that Sid really wanted the whole world to burn too, and his ritualistic animal murders were the expression of his true desires, just on a smaller scale.
Above him, from somewhere on the neighboring rooftops, Sid heard the ringing of bells. This being the holiday season, he paid little mind to it. People were constantly ringing fucking bells this time of year, when they weren’t singing, shopping, or stuffing their fat faces with even more fattening food than usual.
But then he heard something else, something, much more alarming: footsteps. Sid turned and looked down the darkened alley. What if it was a cop? Now this thought actually struck him with fear. Sid was too old for juvie now. If he got arrested, he’d be doing real, hard time. He wasn’t going to let that happen, though. He’d run if he had to. And if he couldn’t run fast enough, there was always the handy switchblade in his pocket…
“It turns out I might just be skipping dogs after all,” he thought with dark amusement.
A figure emerged from the darkness, and, to Sid’s relief it wasn’t a cop: it was an old, fat man, dressed as Santa Claus, and smoking a cigar. But even a Scrooge like Sid had to admit: he looked perfect, like he had just stepped off the label of a Coke bottle, or out of one of those corny Christmas movies.
Still, Sid had no love for the Big Man, nor was he keen to have anyone snooping around the scene of one of his hunts. He would scare him off, even using the switchblade if he had to.
“You get lost on the way to the mall, fat boy?” Sid yelled.
The man took a drag from the stogie, removed it from his mouth, and blew a thick cloud of smoke into the cold night air. Sid wasn’t sure if it was just his eyes playing tricks on him, but the smoke actually seemed to form the shape of a snowman, before it dissipated.
“So that’s what you do for fun, kid?” the man asked, nodding toward the trash can.
“Fuck,” Sid thought. He knew. How long had the creep been lurking in the shadows, watching? Or maybe he had been looking down from the rooftops? That would explain the bells he had heard, after all.
In any case, Sid was now even more resolved to get rid of the interloper, no matter what it took. He took the switchblade out of his pocket, pressing the button to set the knife into place. He held it up, and it glinted the under the light of the full December moon.
“Why don’t you go home to Mrs. Claus?” Sid said.
The Santa dropped the cigar, and stamped it out with the heel of his foot. “Well, you see, that’s exactly the problem.” He began to walk towards Sid, seemingly totally unafraid of the weapon he wielded.
Sid waved the blade at him. “Listen, man, I’m not afraid to use this!”
The Santa laughed. “Oh, I know. You’ve used it plenty, haven’t you? Let’s see: 30 various rodents, 14 reptiles, 20 birds, and 10 cats. And God knows how many bugs. But let me tell you something, that won’t work on me.” He slapped his prodigious stomach. “Unbreakable skin, you see!”
Sid lunged, and pressed the knife against the Santa’s chest. But, somehow, impossibly, it didn’t even pierce the fabric.
“Oh yeah, the suit’s impenetrable too, Sid,” he said with a wink.
Now Sid was really scared. This was impossible! He had used that same knife, just like the Santa said, on countless animals before. He had even used it effectively in a few street fights before, too. It should have had no problem cutting through the simple red fabric.
And, even more alarmingly, how did he know Sid’s name?
Panicking, Sid dropped the knife, turned, and ran down the alley. He hadn’t checked out this end of it beforehand, and was praying it would open up on the street, and not be blocked by, say, a fence with barbed wire atop it.
Instead, he found an obstacle of an entirely different sort: a large, red sleigh, and before it, nine reindeer. You know their names: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, and Rudolph.
Rudolph, red nose glowing, and at his rightful place at the front of the pack, huffed angrily, ducked his head, and pressed his ornate antlers forward. The message was clear: you aren’t getting out this way, bitch.
Sid turned to see that Santa had followed him.
“Look, I’ll do you the courtesy of explaining the whole thing to you, not that you’ll remember any of it in the end,” he said. “See, the thing is, Santa is immortal, but Mrs. Claus is not. You can imagine how many I’ve gone through in 2000 years then, right?”
Not responding, Sid turned again towards the reindeer, prompting Rudolph to bark and stomp one of his legs. He still wasn’t getting through.
Santa continued. “So, when one of my Mrs. Clauses sadly passes away of natural causes, I have to go out and find a new one. And sure, I could just find some big old broad who wants to live the high life in their golden years, but what’s the fun in that? Especially, when I can make one just as easily!”
Now he produced a wide, intricately -detailed gold ring from the pocket of his jacket, and held it up to show Sid.
“I’ll let you in a little secret: sure, Santa’s mostly nice. The way it works is, me and the elves will provide good little boys and girls with one or two presents that their parents, for some reason, can’t remember buying themselves. Naturally, they’ll assume they just forgot they bought it, or that the other parent got it and never told them beforehand. It’s always something small and old-school, though, like a rocking horse or a wooden sword. We stick to the classics, right? We’re not building fucking Xboxes up there!”
He continued. “But there’s nothing that says Santa can ONLY be good, you know? I mean, who is, right? It’s Ying and Yang and all that shit, although that is a different religion, I admit. So I allow myself a little outlet: whenever a Mrs. Claus dies, I go out and make a new one: from a sadistic little fuck like you!”
There was an awkward pause, as if something was supposed to have been triggered by what he had just said.
“I knew you two weren’t ready for prime time,” he shouted.
At that, two elves jumped out of the sleigh: green-skinned, and, in full Santa’s Workshop regalia.
“Sorry about that, boss!” yelled Pip, the bigger of the two. “We were sleeping!’
“We’re not used to this time zone, you know?” added Kip, his companion.
Santa rolled his eyes, and tossed the ring to Pip, while Kip grabbed Sid’s arms. Despite his miniature stature, Sid found him surprisingly strong, too strong to break free from.
Pip examined the ring. “I think we’ve all really missed a feminine presence in the North Pole, boss.”
“And Mrs. Claus’ pies!” said Kip, as he restrained the struggling Sid. “Will her’s taste the same?”
“No, they never do,” replied Santa, wistfully. “Now let’s get on with it, Christmas is in 3 days! And Santa can’t focus if his balls are full!”
Obeying his master, Pip shoved the ring onto Sid’s ring finger.
“Why do you keep referring to me as a girl?” Sid asked, as his finger plumped up and expanded to fill out the ring that had just been about 2 sizes too big for him.
Kip loosened his grip, allowing Sid use of his arms again. He immediately tried to remove the ring, but it was firmly stuck on his chubby digit. And to his horror, he noticed that not only had his fingernail grown outward, but there was red nail polish on it as well. Well, that explained why they kept referring to Sid as female, apparently.
“NOOOOOO!” he screamed, but it was too late. The rest of his fingers followed, each growing until they resembled small sausages. Then the nails grew outward in turn, that same red nail polish appearing atop them all.
The rest of his body was next, each and every part becoming bigger and softer. His stomach got it the worst, bulging outward until he couldn’t even see the ratty, beat-up sneakers on his feet anymore. It was so prodigious, actually, that it actually hung below his wife beater. Sid instinctually grabbed it, feeling the sheer mass of it with his hands. It was fucking heavy.
Santa, for his part, simply watched, and licked his lips hungrily.
As he felt his hips painfully start to widen, Sid knew that he was starting to feminize as well. Santa’s raging erection, outlined under his pants, only confirmed it.
He felt his ass grow, to the point his stained jeans began to rip from the strain of it, while, his now-flabby chest swelled, and morphed into a pair of G-sized breasts. This was followed by his nipples and areola, which turned even pinker, until they were almost the same color as his new boobs.
The final changes happened almost simultaneously: Sid’s hair grew out until it reached the top of his shelf-life ass, then turned gray. At the same time, his penis and testes retracted inward, becoming a plump vagina, and his face morphed into that of a beautiful, albeit old, woman.
When his eyes turned from brown to a striking ocean blue, the transformation was complete: Sid was no more. In his place was Barbara Claus, who, as far as she knew, had always been female.
Santa stepped forward, removing his coat, and handing it to his wife.
“Jeez, Barb, you’ll catch your death dressed like that! What are you doing out here anyway?” he asked her.
For a moment Barbara looked confused, as if she didn’t know where she was or what she was doing. Then the moment passed, and she shook her head. She placed her husband’s coat over her shoulders.
“Oh, you know me. Sometimes I get homesick, and I ask the reindeer to take him down here to remember what my life used to be like, before I became Mrs. Claus!” she replied.
She leaned forward and gave Santa a long, deep, passionate kiss. Never one to miss an opportunity, he began grabbing her 50-inch ass cheeks with each hand. Kip and Pip gave each other a knowing look.
When their kiss finally ended, husband and wife began walking hand in hand to the sleigh, followed dutifully by the elves.
“Y’know, when I was a little girl, I used to say that, when I grew up, I’d marry Santa Claus!” said Barbara. “I’m sure I wasn’t the only one, but how for many others did it come true?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” replied Santa.
Barbara wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but she didn’t let it bother her. He was an immortal being, of course, and so was far wiser than Barbara could ever imagine, wife or not. She was sure it made sense, at least to him, and that’s all that mattered.
The couple got into the sleigh, along with the elves, and the reindeer lifted off into the air. Christmas was just three days away, and there wasn’t a moment to spare.
…
Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true, because Santa and Barbara did little else until the Big Night but have sex. Barbara couldn’t even remember the last time her husband had exhibited such virile energy. Not since their honeymoon, at least, and that was 42 years ago!
The elves, slaving away all the while, grumbled about Unionization.
And when Barbara waved goodbye to Santa on Christmas Eve, his sleigh packed with presents for the good Christian children of the world, she finally settled on a reason to explain her husband’s voracious sexual appetite of the past few days: he had simply been excited for the holiday, of course. After all, he was Santa Claus himself!
But if we asked Santa, he would have offered a different explanation. Sid had been 18 years old. Now she was 60. From experience, he knew he wouldn’t have more than 20 years with this Mrs. Claus.
He had to enjoy her while he could
…
It was now July 2023, and, as predicted, Barbara had sadly passed on from natural causes. Santa would take his time to mourn her, as he did all of his Mrs. Clauses, and Barbara especially. She had been a loving and supportive wife, and kind to not only the reindeer and elves, but all of the animals of the North Pole.
However, Santa couldn’t help but let his mind wander and begin thinking about what his choices were with regard to the next Mrs. Santa Claus. This being the brave new 21st century, he had decided to change things up a bit. For the past 2000-odd years, all of his wives had been white. Now, he had resolved to branch out a little and pick a Latina. It’s not like Central and South America wanted for naughty boys, especially with those awful cartels around!
In fact, Santa decided he would have TWO Hispanic Mrs. Clauses! He was the Goddamn Santa Claus, after all! Why shouldn’t he have two wives? Sure, forging a second ring would be a huge pain in the ass, but it would be well worth it in the end!
It may have only been July, but it looked like Christmas was coming early this year – for Santa himself!
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Molly walked leisurely down the paved path that snaked through the woods. It was almost dusk, and she enjoyed taking these early evening strolls after particularly hard days at work, which it certainly had been.
Molly was an astrophysicist, and she was closer than she had ever been to what she knew would not only be a breakthrough for her career, but for all mankind: the mathematical equation that would allow our spaceships to achieve faster-than-light speeds, which would in turn allow our species to finally explore and settle planets beyond our solar system.
She could see it in her mind’s eye, as vivid as scenes from a film: colonies on Andromeda! The discovery of life on other planets! First contact with another sapient race! If only she could just solve this last bit of the algorithm, that, so far, had eluded her grasp.
Then, suddenly, and possibly through some mysterious, subconscious process, she had it. She knew what the answer was! The formula was now complete! This was it! Molly Joy, the world-renowned scientist, had figured out the key to the human species’ flourishing in the cosmos!
She went to find her phone, so she could write down her discovery for safekeeping, only to remember that she left the device at her apartment to avoid any unnecessary distractions on her walk. Determined to get back now, she picked up her pace, eager to get out of the woods and back to civilization.
…
Hours had passed, and, somehow, Molly was still not out of the forest. How could this be? She should have made it back to the parking lot ages ago! And now it was really starting to get dark! Even more troubling, the paved path had turned into a dirt trail, and the lamp posts that had appeared every 200 feet or so had totally disappeared! Had she made a wrong turn somewhere? She didn’t think the route, which she thought she knew so well, had any branching paths at all, at any point along its length.
She picked up her pace again, hoping this whole situation would be, before long, nothing but a distant, albeit odd, memory. Soon, she knew, she’d be back in the parking out, and she would find the map, and see where she had absent-mindedly taken the wrong turn somewhere along the way. Hell, this could even be a funny memory: how the brilliant Dr. Joy had gotten herself lost in the woods right after unlocking the secret to human space exploration! She could tell the story after accepting her Nobel! How they would laugh!
The trees finally opened up, but Molly was disappointed to find, not the parking lot, but instead a small meadow. But that wasn’t all – at its far end, resting under a large tree, was a…centaur?!?!? It beckoned to her, and Molly, desperate for answers, walked towards it.
The centaur was definitely male, and, Molly thought, a quite attractive one at that, with his broad chest, chiseled abs, big, muscular arms, and handsome face. She wasn’t sure what to make of the horse portion of his body, though, never having been much of an equestrian herself. She thought his hair…looked soft? Well, its brown coloring looked nice, at least….
Wait, she thought, why was she acting like this was all totally normal? This is impossible! There are no such things as centaurs! She, a woman of science, knew that better than anyone!
She must be having some kind of a mental breakdown, she reasoned, and this was all some sort of stress-induced delusion. It had been a hard day at work after all, another in a very long line. Therefore, maybe, the centaur, obviously nothing more than a product of her own psyche, could show her the way out of this fantasy, and back to the world of sanity. It was worth a shot, anyway.
“Uhhhh,” she said, awkwardly. “Do you know the way out of here, Mr. Centaur-Horse-Man? I just made the most important discovery of all time, and I’d really like to get back to the real world so I can, you know, share it with the rest of the human species.”
The Centaur looked her up and down. “Hmmmm, an Oriental,” he remarked, in an amused tone.
Molly didn’t know what to think about that. Should she be offended? This was, after all, nothing but a figment of her imagination. Could she really even be mad at her own mind for, apparently, being kind of racist?
“Tell me, Oriental,” the centaur continued, his voice deep and bass-ey. “What is the nature of this discovery you’ve made?”
She sighed. Shouldn’t he already know this, since he just was an extension of herself? She resolved to entertain him anyway, at least for now, and hoped doing so would speed up the process of restoring her sanity.
“It’s the mathematical equation that will allow our ships to reach planets outside of our solar system,” she responded, annoyed and exasperated. How long was this going to go on for?
The Centaur stroked his chin. “And why would you want to do that?”
Now Molly really was offended. “Uh, because this planet is doomed due to climate change?!? Because we need to get off this rock, if we want mankind to survive?!?” She was practically shouting at this point.
Still, the centaur remained calm. “I disagree – I don’t think your world is doomed at all. Far from it, I think your race and it have much left to offer one another. Not that you’re still on Earth, mind you!”
Molly shook her head. “Then where are we, exactly?”
The centaur laughed. “You’re in Arcadia, my girl. The place where myth lives! But the gods only send mortals here for a reason, and for you, the reason is obvious. Your head is filled with bad, poisonous ideas…”
Molly turned and walked away, through with this ridiculous creature and this whole ridiculous scenario. She would make her way back on her own, without his help! She didn’t need anyone’s help when she was getting her Doctorate now, did she? If she could do that by herself, she could certainly find her way of a….
“Ouch!” she yelled, and looked down to see that a dart was sticking out of the back of her thigh. She looked back at the centaur, who was now in the process of lowering the handmade, wooden blowgun that had obviously been responsible for firing it.
“…I think you need a new one,” he finished, and threw the blowgun onto the grass beside him.
It all happened very quickly. Molly’s hands fused and turned into hooves, her arms into hind legs, her head into the anus and vagina of a horse, and her hair into its tail. Simultaneously, her human legs became the front legs of a horse, while her vagina and anus transformed into a new human head.
The result was striking: where once a slim, dark-haired Asian woman stood, there was now a red-haired, voluptuous female centaur, whose human half was unmistakably Caucasian. The dart fell out of her front leg, now no longer needed.
“Oh, I just had the strangest dream, Georgios!” she exclaimed, shaking her head as if to banish it from her memory.
The male centaur got up and walked over to her. He placed one hand on her chin and titled her face upwards towards his. Their eyes – hers a bright green, his, a deep blue - met.
“And what was this dream about Eleni?” he asked, gently.
She laughed. “Oh something to do with the planets and the sun and the moon, I think. I’m already forgetting it!”
Georgios kissed her gently on her plump, red lips.
“Such is the nature of dreams,” he said. “But those heavenly bodies are not our concern, anyway. Such matters are better left to the gods.”
Eleni nodded, and eyed the massive, black penis that hung below the horse portion of her lover’s body. She bit her lower lip suggestively. “I think we have more “primal” matters to attend to right now, anyway,” she said, lustily.
With that, the mates walked out of the meadow, side by side, arms around each other’s waists. Another night of wild lovemaking was clearly in store for the pair, in this, the land of Arcadia, where dragons flew, giants roamed, and the Sun and Moon looked down upon it all, simple, serene, and unmolested.
The children, all twelve of them, made their way through the darkened mansion. It was 10:00 PM, the time that, on their first day here, they had been told was to be designated as “story hour.” The oldest two led the procession, lighted candles atop golden candle holders grasped in each of their right hands. They stopped periodically, to make sure none of the others had wandered off or gotten lost, especially the youngest. It was a real concern considering the maze-like layout of the estate. Fortunately, this time, they made it to the library without having to send out any impromptu search parties. All of the staff were asleep, so they’d be on their own if they had to.
In the library, before a great and blazing fire, itself situated inside a grand and ornate fireplace, sat their grandfather. Adorned in a red robe and gold slippers, eyeglasses perched upon his nose, he stared at the flames silently as his descendants shuffled into the room and dutifully took their places on the floor around his grand leather chair, just as they had done every night during their Christmas “vacation” at Timberridge.
For a few moments more he watched the dance of the fire, while the winter storm raged outside. The children hoped, quietly, that it would end before Christmas day. They, understandably, didn’t want to spend the holiday cooped up inside, like they had been for the past few days.
Finally, and perhaps because he had settled on what he wanted to talk about, or how he wanted to tell it, the old man turned toward the assembled, and started to speak.
“This is your sixth night here, at Timberridge,” he began. “Each evening I have told you one fantastic tale after another.”
“First, there was my discovery of a remote, hidden island full of beasts once thought to be long extinct, along with its tragic sinking beneath the waves of the Pacific Ocean shortly after I had made my escape via seaplane.
“Then, there was the time I rescued the love of my life, your grandmother, from a pack of fiendish centaurs, who had stolen her away from me and sought to make her the bride of their chieftain! I know you especially liked that one, Mary, as it ended with the story of our wedding.”
Mary, the oldest of the girls, blushed and giggled.
“Next, I told you of the epic saga of me and my compatriots’ (including your grandmother) successful battle against the cartoonish invaders of a parallel reality, bent on nothing but the destruction of our own! And all because, in their world, there were no cartoons, and they found live-action programming so boring!”
“Then, our subsequent adventure in which we saved the Soviet Union and all its people from the wrath of Jack Frost! That was the last time any nation ever conducted nuclear tests in the Arctic Circle, and for good reason! We came close to meeting our demise in that one, if you all recall, if not for the timely intervention of a mysterious figure that I’m still not convinced wasn’t an ancient Norse god in a mortal disguise."
“Finally, last night, I told you all about my personal battle with a witch from Eastern Europe, whose demise I still find myself entirely doubting in the late hours. She was only one of my many rivals from over the years, though she was my sole female one. I always found that fact interesting.”
Some of the children exchanged excited glances at one another, an acknowledgment of the thrill and awe that each of their grandfather’s stories had inspired within them, that had lasted beyond the nights and still burned brightly throughout the days.
“Yes, account after account, each more fantastic than the last. And yet, all true. Your parents all doubted me at the time, too, when they sat where you are all now. Of course, they’ve now all gone on to have adventures themselves, many of which have been even more extraordinary than my own!”
Their grandfather’s tone became more sober, and a shadow drew across his face.
“But none are more terrifying than the events I am about to relay to you tonight, I regret to inform you. I am sure of it. I know some of you are not quite old enough for this particular story, but I want you to hear it from me, and I don’t know how much longer I have left in this life before I join your grandmother in the next.”
“So, please forgive me if you have nightmares tonight. But also always keep in mind that fear is sometimes justified, and I would never scare you if I didn’t have good reason too.”
He paused then, and the house shook under the force of the howling winds. The ornaments on the Christmas tree in the corner of the study rattled delicately. Some of the children huddled closer together for warmth. The house creaked above and below under the strain of the elemental force outside.
The children were no longer looking forward to this particular story.
…
It was the day before Christmas Eve. I had gone into the city to go shopping for presents. I was on my own, not even having requested the assistance of a driver, as I thought the long ride there and back by myself through the countryside, what you might call “the long way,” might do my mind some good after the stressful events of the previous few weeks. I’ll tell you about that particular ordeal tomorrow, don’t worry.
I was on my way back - successful, but lighter in my wallet - when things took a turn for the strange. I was driving on one of the many back roads through the forest when, out of seemingly nowhere, a snowstorm hit. While the radio hadn’t mentioned any snowstorms on the forecast for the day, let alone one of such severity, I didn’t think much of it at the time. It’s not like they hadn’t been wrong before, of course.
I tried to make my way through the blizzard, inch by painful inch, but even after a few minutes, it was clear that I was headed for a car accident under the conditions, and on such a particularly curvy and treacherous road. Nor could I simply stop the car and wait it out, as I did not have nearly enough gas to last the night, which was quickly approaching. I was relieved then, to see a small wooden sign with the name of a town inscribed upon it: “Noel”, it was called, and the arrow below it indicated all I had to do was turn off the main road I was on to reach it. Not wanting to crash or freeze to death, that’s what I did.
After about fifteen minutes of driving, I finally saw the lights of Noel in the distance, faint as they were. Green, red, and white they sparkled, fitting both the namesake of their origin point and the time of year. My mind, involuntarily, conjured images of my destination: rows of single-family homes, each with a lit Christmas tree in one window, while lights glittered from their roofs and shingles. With any luck, there’d be a small hotel or Bed and Breakfast where I could wait out the storm. And if not, well, hopefully they were a generous people.
A few minutes later, I was driving down the main street of the village. But it was not as I had pictured it at all: it looked as if no new structures had been built there since the late 1800s! But this was obviously a small, rural community, I told myself. I never should have expected to see what you might call “modern development.” And, again, I was still in the middle of the gall, and had to find some sort of lodging, so beggars can’t be choosers. But, along with the unexpected storm, the lack of weaponry on my person, enhanced or otherwise, was beginning to feel like more and more of a problem. I had simply experienced too much over the course of my life to not be concerned.
At the end of the main drag, I spotted the only building that had any lights on at all. To my relief, the headlights of my car illuminated a sign outside it that read “Bed and Breakfast.” I parked in front, behind another car (the only other one I had seen in hours), and went hurriedly inside, bracing myself against the bitter cold.
In the foyer, lit only by a candle sitting atop the front desk, I met two brothers, who, like me, had found themselves trapped in the middle of the sudden storm. They were much younger than myself, however, and had been traveling back from college together for the holiday. Their names have been long forgotten by me now, but some details remain: they were only a few years apart in age, about the same height, and had the obvious physical builds of athletes. This will all be important later.
Despite our predicament, they were in good spirits, and we all agreed that we hoped that the wind and the snow would stop before morning, so that we would not risk missing Christmas with our families.
The owner of the establishment then emerged from somewhere deeper in the house, dressed in her nightgown and holding another candle, obviously not having expected any more customers so late and with the current weather. She was a plump, kind-looking woman in her early 40’s, and introduced herself as Agnes.
“Did the power go out?” I asked her, looking at the candle. She didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure if she was being rude, or didn’t hear me, but I didn’t want to press my luck with her, considering this was seemingly the only available lodging in town.
I paid for a room for one night. It only cost a quarter! And when I handed the coin over to her, she held the candle up to better inspect it, as if it was in some way strange or new to her. But then something changed, and the look of confusion I had just observed plainly on her face was suddenly gone, and she placed it in some hidden pocket in her gown without further fanfare
I said goodnight to the brothers, and Agnes led me upstairs and down a hallway to my room. It was modest but still very cozy, and I was not surprised to see it did not contain a television.
“Do you have a telephone?” I asked Agnes. Even if the power was out tonight, I hoped I could use one in the morning, to at least let my wife know I was safe, and would shortly be on my way back.
Again, Agnes look confused.
“No, we don’t,” she said, slowly, as if she wasn’t entirely sure of what she saying.
I was too tired to press her any further. I bid her goodnight, removed my coat, and, despite my growing unease and the prospect of sleeping in my clothes, I still found myself collapsing upon the very comfortable bed.
Before unconsciousness overtook me, I went over the events of the past few hours in my head: the spontaneous blizzard, the discovery of this town, perhaps (not) coincidentally called Noel, and its decidedly un-modern appearance. Had I somehow found myself in the middle of some sort of paranormal phenomena, when I, ironically, had least expected it? My conclusion: maybe. But I knew I had to get some sleep before any of my questions could be answered anyway, and maybe the cold light of day could assist me.
In the meantime, I was happy I had remembered to lock the bedroom door.
…
I awoke the next morning, happy to see the sun was indeed bright and shining. My instinct was to get back on the road immediately, but I was hungry, and still had a few hours of driving left before I reached home. And I had paid for breakfast, as cheap as it was.
I went downstairs, where I caught the two brothers, along with Agnes, already eating. It was a veritable feast: pancakes, eggs in all their varieties, waffles, muffins, bacon, sausage, crepes, croissants, and probably even more that I’m now forgetting. I have to admit, it was the greatest breakfast I have ever had, in quality and quantity, to the point where I barely spoke at all the entire meal, my mouth was so full.
But I did make a few observations. Agnes, out of her nightgown and dressed for the day, was wearing a very… retro outfit. I don’t exactly know what everything was called, never having been an expert in women’s fashion, but, like the town itself, it looked to predate the turn of this century. It was the kind of thing you’d imagine the ladies in A Christmas Carol to be wearing, if that helps.
Second, and much more concerning, I realized one of the brothers, the younger of the two, had appeared to have changed, physically, overnight. It was subtle, but still noticeable, at least to my trained eye: his hair had grown a little, and he appeared a bit thinner. And when they both stood to excuse themselves from the table, having each met their stomach’s maximum capacity, I made a final observation: he had shrunk a few inches in height.
I had two thoughts, at that moment. My first was that this was further evidence that there was something more going on here. My second, and which inspired much more panic, was a question: had I changed as well? I finished eating, thanked Agnes, who I had learned over breakfast ran the business with her husband and son, and retired to my room. It was difficult to climb the stairs back up, I was so full with her cooking.
There, I examined myself in the mirror, even getting undressed out of my days-old clothes to make sure I didn’t miss anything. As far as I could tell, nothing had changed. Nothing that is, beyond the usual ravages of time, that I had observed with much chagrin over the past decade. That, however, was regrettably all too natural.
Naturally, I began to second-guess myself. Maybe the young man hadn’t morphed at all, and I was simply misremembering? It was dark in the foyer last night, and I had been tired beyond all measure, after all.
Whatever the reasons, ultimately, my short-term goal was the same: get home. I could figure out the rest later, when I had the assistance of my brilliant and capable team. I retrieved my coat, went back downstairs, thanked Agnes for her hospitality, and went outside.
…
My stomach sank when I saw how much snow had fallen the previous night. The road was covered by at least a foot of it, and the cars, mine and the brothers’, were inundated to the point that not even their basic shapes could still be discerned.
Agnes had followed me outside. She placed her hands on her prodigious hips, and shook her head.
“My husband and my son will get your machine out for you,” she said. I noted her use of the word “machine”, instead of “vehicle” or “car”.
“But what about the roads?” I asked. “Will some snowplows be coming through soon?”
“Yea, the horses will be out here before too long,” she answered.
Horses, I thought. Of course they’re using horses.
“Listen,” Agnes continued. “Why won’t don’t you go into town in the meantime? It’s Christmas Eve, and everyone will be out shopping and doing the rounds! Oh, there’s no place else like Noel on Christmas Eve! I’m sure you’ll love it!”
I weighed the risks. Something odd was going on, I was now sure of it. The evidence was insurmountable. And I was alone, and without any of my instruments. But my curiosity had grown with my suspicions, and exploring the village might reveal some answers. And if it was obvious that this was more than I could handle on my own, I would simply come back with the lads and the ladies later. In the meantime, I would be sure to keep my guard up. It wasn’t like this was my first time.
I thanked Agnes for her help and her suggestion, and began to walk back into the main area of the hamlet that I had first glimpsed last night, albeit in the dark.
…
Over the subsequent hours, any lingering doubts were erased: I was in the middle of what began to think of as a “time warp”. Everyone I met and talked to was convinced it was 1899, with the turn of the century only a week away. All of the technology, fashion, and culture I observed were also squarely of the same period as well.
I had thought, initially, that maybe this was all some kind of grand performance by a community that had simply wanted to escape the modern age. But, unless they were all trained actors as well, that seemed unlikely, as none would drop the act even under intense examination. And why couldn’t this be some sort of “hole” in time? Stranger things had happened, especially to me.
Around noon, after hours of conversation with anyone that would entertain me, I sat down on a bench in the middle of the town square, in front of their massive Christmas Tree, and watched the citizens of Noel as they shopped, ate, talked, and played in the snow. I spotted young couples, full families, groups of friends, elderly retirees, and gangs of young children: all happy and content on this Christmas Eve.
Overlooking the town was a large mountain, and I could see a mansion seemingly embedded on its face. This, I had been told, was the residence of Barnaby Wilson: industrialist, philanthropist, and notorious playboy.
It reasoned that this man, in some way, was responsible for Noel and its condition. After all, he was apparently benefiting the most from it. But should I consider him an enemy? All around me were happy people living simple lives. The pews would be full at the midnight mass later, I had been assured.
By contrast, out in the real world, we had hate, disease, division, famine, crime, and the threat of Nuclear War hanging like the sword of Damocles over all of human civilization.
So what was the problem, exactly?
At that moment, I actually felt blessed to have stumbled upon the town of Noel when I did, as if God himself was rewarding me for my good works with a glimpse into this miracle. I even considered not telling anybody about any of this when I got back home, so as to preserve it from the wider, cruel world beyond its invisible borders.
I gazed up at the moon, faded in the daylight, but still visible. Was it altered as well? Was it the same heavenly body that had been so recently conquered by mankind? Was the American flag implanted on its surface?
Would it be good, if it weren’t? The thought even surprised myself.
But then, my gaze shifting back to the Earth, I saw something that quickly annihilated my optimism, or any notion that the good God of Abraham had anything to do with this.
I saw the two brothers again, walking arm in arm. And the younger one, the one I had noticed physical changes in earlier at breakfast, was now even shorter, thinner, and had longer hair. Moreover, he was now also sporting what were obviously, even under his (women’s) winter jacket, two large breasts, accompanied by much wider hips, and a behind that stuck out further than a bustle alone could account for (I’m sorry to be so explicit, children, but I need to explain how I knew he had turned female).
I ran up to the pair, and began to question them. They explained to me that they were born in the village a few years apart, had started as childhood friends (not siblings), before graduating to lovers in their teenage years, and now, were engaged to be married come spring. They had no memory of who they had been a mere twelve hours before, even after I reminded them. They took offense to that, actually, and abandoned me in disgust.
“How dare you say such a thing, and on Christmas!” said the now-woman, in shock and disbelief.
I hurried back to the Bed and Breakfast. Every bemused person I ran past, I couldn’t help but wonder: were they like the two brothers? Had they too been sucked up by this place, and changed to suit its twisted means? My mind raced with possibilities: had siblings become lovers, children become parents, and parents into children? Were even the pet dogs and cats I spotted once human beings? I could have ejected my breakfast onto the snow.
And why hadn’t I been affected? Actually, there I could make an educated guess. On my person I presently had: a cursed ring on my right ring finger, enchanted tarot cards in my left breast pocket, a necklace once worn by King Solomon himself resting on my chest, and a vial of sacred water from the Ganges in my right pocket.
There were also the various times I had been blessed by priests, shamans, rabbis, imams, and medicine men, and granted spells of protection by white witches, mages, and warlocks.
All of these were the prizes won from my previous adventures, and any of them, or even multiple working in concert, could have been responsible for keeping me from succumbing to whatever evil force was at work.
…
I made it back to the hotel, where I was not surprised to see that the cars hadn’t been dug out at all. No matter, I thought. I would do it myself. I still had my gloves.
I began to remove the snow by hand, but, even after 20 minutes of excavation, no vehicle was emerging. All it was, I realized with horror, was a giant pile of powder. It too, had been assimilated into this alternate dimension, along with the gifts I had stored in it.
I didn’t bother to check the state of the brothers’ car. It was easy to assume that it was gone as well, if the state of its owners was any indication.
I considered my options. I could try to trek back to the main road on foot, but it was about 25 degrees, even in the sun, by my estimation, and, even after reaching the main road, it might be hours before I saw another car. There was a very real chance that I would end up succumbing to the cold in the meantime.
There was also the possibility that the dimensional pocket that I had found myself in wouldn’t let me leave anyway – that I would find myself walking and walking only to end up back in town, or in an endless expanse of forest. Maybe I was beyond rescue already, and so this was all a moot point anyway. Or, even more disturbingly, maybe the outside world was gone, and only Noel remained.
I’d cross that bridge when I came to it, I decided.
Another option sprung to mind: horses! Agnes mentioned that they would be using horses to clear the streets of snow! I looked around. Clearly the streets hadn’t been touched. Maybe the horses were still in their stable? I ran inside and asked Agnes, now eating lunch with her husband and son, where I could find it. She told me the farm was located a little outside of town.
I started walking there as fast as my feet would carry me.
…
Arriving at the farm, I noticed immediately that something was wrong. It was too quiet – even if the animals had been kept in their pens on account of the snow, I should still have been able to hear them, even if muffled and at a distance.
I knocked on the door of the main house. No answer. I tried the handle. It was unlocked. I let myself in. I could handle the farmer, if that’s what it came to.
Inside, nothing looked out of the ordinary. But something outside, in the backyard, caught my eye. I moved closer to one of the windows, and through it viewed what I can only describe as absolute carnage. Masses of dead animals littered the area between the farmhouse and the barn, their blood and entrails staining the white snow red. I couldn’t recognize any of the individual species - such was the state of their dismemberment. I ran outside.
No ordinary animal, or animals, could have done this. The only creatures that came to mind that possibly could were the dinosaurs I had encountered on that now-sunken island.
Then I spotted him – the body of the farmer. And he was still breathing.
I ran over to him. Something had taken a massive bite out of his shoulder. There was nothing I could do for him. I had no medical expertise.
“What did this?” I asked him, hoping, selfishly, that in his final moments he could possibly still help me.
“The horses”, he struggled to say. By the sound of it, his throat was inundated with blood “But they’re not horses anymore. And they’re still in there.”
I looked over at the barn. A trail of blood led to its front doors, which stood wide open, but its interior was shrouded in shadow, hiding whatever lay waiting within. I became acutely, and uncomfortably, aware that, given the distance, whatever the horses had become could be on me in a matter of seconds.
I looked back down at the wounded farmer, hoping he could offer me some more information in his final moments. But they had already passed. He was dead.
What was there left to do? I looked behind me, back in the direction of the town, the looming mountain behind it. From that distance, the mansion that called it home was not visible, though I knew it was still there. I had earlier reasoned that the man who called it home was in some way the cause of all of this.
I decided I would have to confront him. There were simply no other options.
But first I needed more information. I left the farm without taking any further action, hoping, and praying, that whatever resided in the barn was content to stay there, at least for now.
…
I went back to the Bed and Breakfast and talked to Agnes, along with her husband and son. I went back into town, and questioned anyone I could. I even saw the two brothers again, though I dared not approach them. The female was now obviously pregnant. By the size of her protruding belly, I guessed she was probably in the third trimester. My stomach still churns at the thought.
But, overall, my endeavors were largely fruitless. All I had learned was that Barnaby Wilson was seldom seen in person these days, and that he liked to throw lavish parties with guests from out of town. There was talk that one such party would be happening that very night, but that morsel of information was more like a rumor that no one seemed to know the exact origin of, or who they had first heard it from.
At this point, dusk was not long coming, and I still needed a weapon. I went to the police station.
…
Fortunately, the town only had a single law enforcement officer: the sheriff. And since crime in Noel was nonexistent, as the residents had proudly told me earlier, it reasoned he didn’t have much practice in either shooting or fighting.
By contrast, I had much of both.
I entered the front door, and found Noel’s sole police officer shining his badge behind the front desk. To his left was the gate to the cells, which had been left open, indicating that there was nobody currently locked up in any of them. That suited me fine.
“Merry Christmas, sir,” I said to him in a cheerful tone.
“Merry Christmas,” he replied, and finally looked up from his book. He squinted at me, obviously trying to remember my name.
“Oh, I’m new in town. Just got in last night.”
“Oh…uh…what can I help you with?” It was as if he was in a play, and had forgotten his lines.
“Well, I’m going to need your gun, and every bullet you have for it on hand. Plus, your nightstick, and whatever else you might have lying around.”
I didn’t want to hurt him, As far as I knew, he was just as much a victim as everybody else here. So my goal was this: get him to draw his weapon, whereupon I would quickly disarm him, and turn the gun on its owner.
Over the next 30 seconds, that’s exactly what happened. The result: the sheriff, bound to a chair with a makeshift gag stuck in my mouth in the cell at the end of the hall, which I had locked. And now I had a revolver, with 20 additional shells stuffed into my pants’ pockets, and a nightstick, which I had placed in the breast pocket of my coat.
Someone would find the man, I reasoned. Eventually,
Now armed, I began to make my way up to the mountain, just as the sun was beginning to set.
It was getting colder.
…
There was a gate at the foot of the hill, with a heavy lock upon it. I shot it off.
…
I didn’t encounter a single other soul on my hike, nor did I see any animals or birds. I didn’t see any other tracks, either, until the path I was on merged with another that originated somewhere else further down the mountain. This road had obviously been the one used by the party guests I had heard about, as there were now many imprints in the snow before me.
But I didn’t see any that were obviously made by any wheel or horse. No, these tracks were made by … other things. Whether vehicle or animal, I do not know. None of them had been made by anything I had ever encountered, and no two were alike.
One set were square, as if made by a giant robot. Another was nothing but a deep cut, a mini canyon between walls of white. I imagined something like a miniature ship had produced them. A ship that didn’t need water, apparently.
A third pair resembled the tracks of a bear, albeit with 10 toes on each foot. The adjacent prints were nothing but three zig-zagging lines. The last imprint I could make out was a perfect circle six feet in circumference, each marking about 5 feet apart from the next, as if a giant had taken to playing with a pogo stick.
I could finally see the manor through the trees. I needed to get closer.
…
Now I was in front of the mansion. Whatever had made the tracks, they weren’t parked outside. Maybe they were inside, I thought. Maybe this mansion was bigger on the inside than the outside. Much, much bigger.
But there was certainly a party going on, as every window was lit, and an excited murmuring could be heard emanating from within. I couldn’t pick up any of it, however, and I still don’t know if it’s because the sound was too muffled, or if the language or languages spoken were simply alien to my ears.
Shadows moved behind the drawn curtains. Some were too big to be made by even a large human adult. Others were too small to be children. At one point, a huge shadow moved across multiple windows at once, as if it were being cast by a huge caterpillar.
Now I could make something out. It was hard to hear, but I realized it was “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,” by Brenda Lee. Released in 1958, fifty-eight years later than it was supposed to be in this strange place.
Rockin' around the Christmas tree
At the Christmas party hop
Mistletoe hung where you can see
Every couple tries to stop
The song changed. Now a male voice emanated from inside.
There'll be parties for hosting
Marshmallows for toasting
And caroling out in the snow
There'll be scary ghost stories
And tales of the glories
Of Christmases long, long ago
“It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” by Andy Williams. This was a bit more recent – 1963. Then the song changed again.
The mood is right
The spirit's up
We're here tonight
And that's enough
Simply having a wonderful Christmastime
Simply having a wonderful Christmastime
I knew the voice – it was Paul McCartney. But I didn’t recognize the song at all. Then it hit me: this was a song from the future. For whatever reason, this final irregularity – this final insane contradiction - is what broke my resolve.
I stared up at the mansion, but for how long, I couldn’t be certain. I took out the revolver, loaded with six bullets. But I quickly put it away. It was now undeniable: I was in over my head.
Whoever, or whatever, was in there, it was more than I could handle on my own.
The party's on
The feeling's here
That only comes
This time of year
I had been beaten.
I turned around, and looked back over the town. The red, green, and white lights were back, and I now realized that their coloring should have been impossible considering the state of their technology. Another mystery. Another terrible wonder.
The word is out
About the town
To lift a glass
Oh, and don't look down
…
I walked back down the mountain, to the town. All the while, I considered what my next action would be.
I could try to start a fire, to create an inferno that would wipe out the whole of Noel, but who’s to say it wouldn’t be suddenly deprived of oxygen, snuffing it out? Or, I could simply go on a killing spree, and try to save as many of the villagers through the mercy of death that was as I possibly could. But how long before the doors of the mansion would fling open, and whatever is in there descended upon me to save its playthings?
The final choice was the simplest: suicide. I would use the revolver on myself, and die in this lonely place. Never see my wife, children, or team ever again. They wouldn’t ever even know what had happened to me.
What would they think? Would they assume that I had gotten into a deadly car crash? Been the victim of a simple carjacking and homicide? What an ironically pedestrian way for me to meet my demise that would be!
Or would they imagine something greater? Maybe one of my old, still-living rivals had finally bested me by striking when I least expected it? Or maybe it was a new foe, the vengeful sibling or friend of some villain I had once bested?
Whatever they theorized, I doubted any would ever guess this.
How could you?
…
Back in town, the streets were deserted, the residents of Noel no doubt eager to get some sleep before their namesake holiday. I stopped again before the great tree in the town square, where my hopeful delusions about Noel had been shattered only a few hours before.
I would decide my fate here.
The sound of bells interrupted my dark brooding. I turned to find that an ornate, red sleigh had materialized behind me. Along with 12 reindeer before it.
I inspected the sled, trying to discern whether or not this was some sort of trap. The bench, where Santa himself would presumably sit, was too small for even a thin man to rest comfortably. And in the rear, where there should have been a sack overflowing with presents, there was instead a single wrapped box. I took it out, and opened it. Inside was a scrap of paper, with one word handwritten upon it: “Leave.”
I looked back towards the mountain, where I could see a pinpoint of light emanating from its side: the mansion. Whatever was in there, it simply wanted me gone. It must have realized it was not going to be able to assimilate me, now having been in Noel for about twenty-four hours. And maybe it didn’t like how close I had come to its seat of power.
I sat down on the bench inside the sled, whereupon the reindeer suddenly took off into the sky. For a few seconds, I could again look down upon the town, along with the sea of trees that surrounded it.
Then I blacked out.
…
I awoke, still sitting up. We were back on solid ground. To my left was a truck, the bright beams of its headlights almost blinding me. I summarized, by the shocked look of the driver, that the sled had landed here right in front of him, no doubt almost causing him to crash.
One of the reindeer grunted: a clear signal to get out. I did, and the reindeer immediately began to turn round and head back into the sky. As they did, I caught a glimpse into the eyes of the head buck, the truck’s lights illuminating its pupils enough for me to see them clearly. Instead of being horizontal, as they are for all deer, horses, and sheep, they were round. Like a human’s.
I watched as the reindeer and the sleigh climbed higher and higher into the sky, until….they abruptly winked out of existence. A word popped into my head: firmament. Yes, that sounded right.
I walked over to the passenger side of the truck. I had half-expected the driver to refuse to let me in, but he was apparently feeling generous, as he leaned over and unlocked the door for me. It was Christmas Day, I suppose.
“You don’t want to know,” I said to him, before he could even ask me anything.
He believed me, thank God.
…
We arrived back at the mansion shortly after daybreak, where my wife (your grandmother) and five children (your parents) ran to meet me outside. They asked me where I had been. I shot a knowing look to your grandma, before telling them that I had been snowed in back in the city. They believed me, because they did not yet know what they do now: how strange and terrible this world, along with a few others, really are.
I gave the truck driver a handsome tip, and we all waved him goodbye as he drove off. Back inside, we opened presents (minus the few that had been swallowed whole by Noel), played with some of the newly unwrapped toys, and had breakfast.
...
In the early afternoon, when the children were all taking naps, exhausted from the excitement of the holiday, I told your grandma over hot chocolate what had really happened to me. She said nothing the whole time, and, when I was finished, only had one question.
“So, when do we start?” was all she asked.
She knew me too well.
…
The next day, I called the Company. I was able to get through to the Boss, and I told him the same story I had told your grandmother. When I was done, the line grew silent.
“Can you come in for an Audit?” he asked
I knew that was coming.
An Audit is a grueling, week-long process in which magic and medicinal means are both employed to get the absolute truth out of someone.
Actually, I misspoke: it’s to get the truth out of someone’s soul. That way, even the unconscious deceptions crafted by one’s own mind can be detected and discarded.
Usually, an operative will only ever be subjected to one Audit in their entire lives, when they first join the Company. This is standard procedure, to weed out any spies or psychopaths. So, yes, I’m sorry to tell you: all of you will likely have to go through one yourselves, if you choose to follow in the footsteps of your parents and grandparents.
But I wasn’t offended. If I were the Boss, I would be skeptical too. What were the odds that an operative would just happen to stumble into a situation like this? And it may not have even been deliberate on my part. The life of an operative is, to put it lightly, stressful. It was not unreasonable to think I had had some kind of mental break, and made up the entire story of my time in Noel while in the midst of it.
Or maybe I had gotten into a car accident, and the whole thing had been a kind of dream or hallucination? The possibilities were endless, really.
I agreed to come in.
…
A week later, and the Audit was complete. I was fifteen pounds lighter, and had more gray hair, but there was no longer any doubt: I was telling the absolute truth, as my own soul knew it to be. I was not being deceitful, or mistaken.
With all that cleared up, the hunt for Noel could begin.
…
The main team, along with two sub-teams, were summoned to Headquarters. Once all were assembled, I again retold my story, which was followed was a short Q & A session.
Then, we set out.
…
We combed the woods for months. We used every spell and piece of technology at our disposal, even at one point using a helicopter to survey the area from the air. We tracked down the truck driver who had rescued me. We interviewed local residents, amateur historians, and consulted the Native American tribes that had lived nearby since pre-Colombian times.
But we never found Noel, or any record that such a town had ever existed at all, at least in the State.
…
Back at one of the Company’s offices, someone crunched the numbers and found that the area in question had a higher-than-average rate of missing persons than in similar parts of the country.
And the consultations with the Native American tribes did dig up one interesting piece of information: the range of land where Noel should have been had a name that translated roughly into English as “Don’t Go There.”
I had also surrendered the sheriff’s revolver for analysis. Examination showed that its general design was of the late 1800’s, but that was all that could be gleaned from it. I’m sure it’s sitting in a warehouse somewhere now.
A year later, and this was all we had. With no more leads to pursue, the file was closed, as we used to say.
…
The last loose end was the matter of the brothers who had become husband and wife. We actually discovered their identities very early on, as their family had reported them missing on Christmas Day. Once my Audit was complete, the Company felt confident enough to leverage its influence with the FBI and Local Authorities to work with them to cover up their deaths.
Together, they planted and staged a fake car crash, complete with the burned skeletons of two unclaimed male corpses. What else could we do? It would have been crueler for the family to continue their search, when we knew it would forever be fruitless.
And, in a sense, they were dead.
I attended the funeral, under the guise of being one of their college professors. I stared at their weeping mother, and wished I could comfort her in some way, while still fully well knowing that that even this deception was better than the truth.
The truth was that the world she knew was a lie. That monsters were real, and could be hiding in your bed or in your closet every night when you lay down to sleep. That every time you went out on some mundane errand, there actually was a chance you’d suddenly disappear into thin air, in the short walk between the door to the grocery store and your car. That your children weren’t really safe playing outside, even when they stayed confined to your backyard, and away from the forest. That witches, vampires, ghosts, and werewolves were not only real, but were actually among the least of your concerns.
Yes, this poor woman had to believe her sons were killed in a car crash, so every other mother could still comfortably place their newborns in their cribs and not have to worry that elves would come in the night and replace them with a changeling.
After that, it was time to move. During the investigation, we had kept the children under strict supervision, not allowing them anywhere near where I had chanced up that cursed town. But, realistically, we knew we couldn’t keep it up forever.
Eventually, they would be more and more on their own, and what if, for example, one late December, my son found himself driving his girlfriend home for the holiday, eager for us to meet her? Then, when none were ever forecasted by the weather, a sudden snowstorm was to strike. And what if, desperate to find shelter from the wind and sleet, they were to see a sign for a town called “Noel”, and all they had to do was make that fateful turn to reach its shelter?
The risk was too great, so we moved out of state, and into Timberridge, where we have lived since.
But I still think about Noel, especially around this time of year. I have not suffered many failures in my life, or my career, but I still consider this to be the worst of them. I couldn’t save those people, and that is something I still cannot make peace with.
And what exactly was Noel, anyway? I still wonder. The company released a memo laying out all of the theories that the boys back in the office had come up with. They ranged from “incursion from a parallel universe,” to “a glitch in the simulation that is our known reality.” I never did come up with my own personal hypothesis, but I suspect that the Company hadn’t even come close with any of theirs.
Whatever Noel really was, I’d wager it was something so fantastic and terrible that it’s beyond our human imagining. That’s why, no matter how powerful you all might grow to become, and despite my personal regrets, I still hope and pray that you never stumble upon the town of Noel, or that the Company never tries to restart the hunt for it.
You must never see those terrible lights in the distance yourselves.
…
With that, their grandfather stopped talking, and turned back to the fireplace. The children knew that this meant he was done for the night. They slowly got up, one by one, and made their way back to their rooms.
Christmas was only a few days away, but the promise of it was not as enticing as it had been just a few hours ago.
Stacy had a problem, a BIG problem: her son. When she and her late husband, Chad (God rest his soul), found out that the baby rapidly growing in her ever-expanding belly was a boy, they had both been filled with such hope. What a handsome, strong man he would inevitably grow up to be, they thought! And virile too, though neither would dare say that part aloud (that would just be crude, of course).
But then Chad died in a car accident, and Stacy was forced to raise their child, named Ben, all on her own. She had tried her best, she knew, but something had, evidently, gone wrong - terribly, terribly wrong. Maybe it was always an impossible task – perhaps a single mother could never really hope to raise a son “right” without a man also being in the picture (she had refused to remarry after Chad’s death, despite her many suitors. There was no greater man than him - never would be - and she simply refused to settle for less). But this was all cold comfort now.
Presently, Ben was 25 and, sure, he had a job and his own apartment, but he was still, as far as Stacy was concerned, a loser: fat, greasy-haired, and with no girlfriend in sight (now or ever)! And he was a liberal too, if the stickers on his laptop were any indication. But he was the kind of guy Stacy personally wouldn’t touch with a ten-and-a-half-foot pole, so it’s not like she didn’t understand what women DIDN’T see in him.
“But he has a job! A well-paying one, in fact,” her air-headed girlfriends would protest, when she would habitually complain about her son during their girl’s night outs.
“A man’s job is supposed to support his wife and children! Not just allow him to buy even more Funko Pops and Poke-Man cards!” would be her eternal response, and they never had any counter to that, did they?
So, when a mysterious stranger, a gnarled old woman with a giant wart on her nose (complete with a lone, black hair growing out of it), pulled her aside while she was walking down the street one day, promising to help with her son’s “situation”, Stacy eagerly went with her, down a darkened alley and into a sketchy-looking store. “Fortune-Telling,” the flickering, neon-lit sign above the doorway read.
Yes, this was obviously a foolish thing for Stacy to do – maybe it was her sheer desperation that was to blame, or maybe the old woman’s magic was already being worked on her in some more subtle way. After all, why didn’t Stacy question how this stranger knew about her dissatisfaction with Ben in the first place? And why wasn’t she concerned with the fact that she had never noticed this shop before, even though she would have passed it countless times in the past?
Regarding her desperation – you must understand, Stacy and Chad came from a long, long line of successful WASPS. More importantly, they came from a long line of WASPS who reproduced. And with neither Stacy nor Chad having any siblings of their own, their whole line was in continuity jeopardy with Ben! So maybe magic wasn’t really to blame, and simple biology was the culprit all along!
“Through here,” the old woman said, and gestured to a door at the back of her store. Wordlessly, Stacy opened it, and was shocked to see Greg in the center of the bare room beyond it, bound to a chair and with a washcloth - a makeshift gag- stuffed into his mouth.
Now who’s this “Greg” fellow, you’re probably wondering? Well, Greg is none other than the piece of shit drunk driver that killed poor Chad all those years ago. Sure, the police didn’t have any evidence that Greg was drunk when the accident happened, but Stacy knew. She knew, alright, and had spent the last 20 years cursing Greg and the incompetent police that had allowed him to go free. Now here he was, finally at the mercy of Stacy (and her mysterious, new benefactor).
“This man – what would you have me do to him?” the old woman asked Stacy. Her accent was thick and decidedly not American.
“Is she Eastern European? Are Gypsies even from Eastern Europe?” wondered Stacy.
Not that it made a difference. And Stacy knew exactly what she wanted the old woman to do to Greg. She had fantasized about doing it to him on her own, many, many times before. Hell, she would have volunteered to take over and do the deed herself then and there, if she wasn’t so worried she’d somehow screw it up from a lack of experience.
“Kill him”, she replied, flatly.
“About what I expected. Good thing I came prepared,” said the old woman, as she took out a long knife and small vial from some unseen pocket in her dirty dress. Greg, seeing his captor’s weapon, and understanding its obvious implication, began screaming. Pleading too, probably, not that any of it was intelligible with that washcloth stuffed in his mouth.
Confidently (like she had done it many times before) the crone moved behind Greg, bent over – and slit his throat in one fluid motion. His eyes rolled back into his head as the blood began flowing profusely from the wound, and the gypsy collected as much into the vial as it would allow. The rest just spilled onto the floor, and Stacy had to shift her feet to avoid it getting on her expensive heels.
“I’ll clean later,” said the fortune teller nonchalantly, and Stacy couldn’t help but wonder if she would use a magical broom to do so.
It was kind of hard for her to think any further than that, though, as she now felt very similar to the way she had when Chad had given Stacey her first orgasm, one hot summer night when they were both still in High School: her heart was racing, her knees were shaking, and her skin felt like it was being massaged with faint electricity. Yea, she felt that good. And why shouldn’t she, after all of the pain this man had caused her? She cursed him one last final time, and prayed his torment would continue long after the last light faded from his eyes, which it very soon did.
“Come back in week,” said the hag, as she put the now-full vial back into the hidden compartment from whence it came. “And I’ll have what you need.” She then proceeded to explain to Stacy exactly what that was.
…
A week later, Stacy was at her son’s disgusting apartment. She had used the excuse that she wanted to cook for him as her reason for coming over, and so both were now standing in his filthy kitchen. Her original scheme was to slip the potion into his portion of the soup she was making, but you know what they say about the best-laid plans of mice and men…
You see, Ben had been droning on and on about some awful nerd shit (Marvel films? Star Wars?) when Stacy - not being able to listen to him for another single second – decided that she had finally had enough, and pulled the small vial out of her pants pocket. She turned on a dime, and tried to force its contents into Ben’s zit-ringed mouth.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!! I WANT MY DAUGHTER ALREADY, YOU FAT FUCK!!!” she screamed.
The witch had explained it all back at her shop– all she had to do was give Ben the potion she would make with her husband’s murderer’s blood, and he would transform into a 100% biological woman almost immediately. Stacy was, at first, admittedly disappointed that he wouldn’t just become the Alpha stud she and Chad had always wanted him to be, but it’s not like she could go shopping around for other magical elixirs, could she?
And anyway, thinking over this prospect the past week, she had actually come to prefer this over her original desire. After all, hadn’t she secretly felt gender regret when she and Chad had learned that Ben was a boy? Hadn’t she always, deep down, wanted a daughter? Yes, the notion had grown inside of her each day since she had been pulled into that strange store, until it had become the seed of a kind of insanity.
An insanity that was now being expressed, very physically, by Stacy.
“Mom, what the hell are you doing!” cried Ben, before slamming his mouth shut.
He wasn’t making this easy for her. Thinking quickly, Stacy did the one thing she knew would get him to open his mouth – she kicked him straight in his balls. Sure enough, his gullet opened, and Stacy hurriedly poured the witch’s brew down his throat.
“He won’t be needing them again anyway,” she thought to herself. “Not that he was ever going to use them for their God-given purpose to begin with!”
Ben coughed and gagged, but the changes came quickly regardless. Before her eyes, Ben was transformed (very painfully, judging by his moans and screams) into a “slim-thick” young woman with supple breasts; a plump, rounded butt; a toned, flat stomach; and long, blond hair. Even his dark, stained, oversized clothes changed into a white tank top and denim short-shorts.
The last things to change were his eyes, and when they did, going from dark brown to a bright blue, something else changed, too.
This was the death of Ben’s identity, of course. Now he was Megan – always was and always would be, the only daughter to a single (but, thankfully, rich) mother, whose beloved father had died in a senseless car accident when she was still a baby.
Something inside Stacy changed too, as new memories of raising Megan flooded her mind: taking her to gymnastics; teaching her about the changes her body would be going through with puberty; watching her graduate High School, and then College. Her old memories of Ben weren’t rewritten, however, meaning she would be the only one left in this reality who would remember he ever even existed.
Did this bother Stacy? No, it did not. A week ago, after killing Greg and taking his blood, the old woman told her exactly what was going to happen, and every price she outlined was one she was willing and glad to pay to rectify this – her – mistake with Ben. Hell, the whole world would be better off with an attractive white girl like Megan than with just another male loser incel like Ben. Who needs more rapists, misogynists, and mass shooters, right? Stacy might have actually saved some lives by making Megan, even!
“Mom, are you okay?” asked Megan, causing Stacy to suddenly snap back to reality.
Mother and daughter were standing in the latter’s modest but nicely-decorated kitchen, Stacy having visited so she could check in on her precious daughter and cook her favorite dinner for her. They had been pleasantly chatting away when Stacy had suddenly gone quiet.
“Oh, I’m fine, honey,” replied Stacy, a little wistfully.
“Anyway, let me tell you more about this guy I went out on a date with last week,” continued Megan, picking up the conversation that she and her mother had been having before her mother had started acting so…weird.
As Stacy listened to her daughter go on and on about her recent date, a deep sense of calmness washed over her. This was something she hadn’t felt in…well, not since Chad had passed away on that fateful night, so long ago. Finally - finally - things were right.
And she had so much to look forward to, as she had no doubt that Megan would quickly find a husband, perhaps even this very same guy she was talking about right now. An engagement, a wedding, grandchildren…If there were any doubts left in Stacy, even somewhere deep in her unconscious mind, they were definitely gone now.
She had a beautiful, healthy, and happy daughter, and a Mother couldn’t ask for anything more.
…
Epilogue
Stacy did try to return to the gypsy’s shop, to not only thank her for her help with Megan, but also to see if she could enlist her aid in a few…other matters. She was disappointed then, but somehow not surprised, to see that the store was gone. No, not abandoned, not closed: it was as if it had never been there at all. Instead of the windows, door, and neon sign that had been there before, all Stacy found was a smooth, unmolested brick wall.
Stacy simply shrugged and continued on with her day. She imagined the old witch had moved on to help other poor, struggling women like Stacy, and found herself comforted by the thought.
Note: this a written continuation of a comic I commissioned.
Page 1: https://www.deviantart.com/thet0wer/art/thet0wer-Comic-01-92...
Page 2: https://www.deviantart.com/thet0wer/art/thet0wer-Comic-02-92...
Page 3: https://www.deviantart.com/thet0wer/art/thet0wer-Comic-03-2-...
His Mother had explained everything: the two men he had seen entering the temple, through the magical Fertility Idol, had both been turned into 100% biological women. Moreover, their minds had been changed as well. Neither had any memory of ever being men, and, as far as they knew, they were just two helpless girls who had washed up on this strange Island, the only survivors of their doomed voyage (had his Mother had something to do with their ship sinking? Ka-Tar wondered, but honestly didn’t really care).
Their names (chosen by his Mother, and infused into their identities via their transformation) were Sheera and Mariko. Even better, his Mother told him that they were already madly in love with him, a claim that was confirmed when they immediately began kissing and touching him after their initial introduction. They were also in love with each other, which obviously pleased Ka-Tar greatly.
Unable to resist, they had their first threesome right there in the temple, the responsible Idol still laying just a few feet away where it had been unceremoniously dropped (Ka-Tar made sure to put it back on its perch before they all left. Who knows, maybe he’d find that even two wives weren’t enough for him).
Ka-Tar liked to see that both females bled during this initial ménage, and liked their explanations for their virginities even more: both had refused to have sex with anything less than a Real Man, and Ka-Tar was the first one either of them had ever met (Note: this was not Ka-Tar’s first sexual experience, but that’s a story for another time).
He then took them to their new home, the expansive, multi-room tree house he had built for himself many years before. Then they had sex again. And again. And Again. And again. All in all, their marathon lasted a week, with Ka-Tar only going out to hunt for food and to gather a specific fruit that would prevent either of the women from getting pregnant. There was probably not a single position three lovers could engage in that they didn’t try at least once during this time.
Finally, they felt satisfied, if only temporally, and the next day, Ka-Tar took his lovers out for a tour to see their new home and everything it had to offer. At first, it was just a lot of jungle, with few signs of fauna besides the distant calls of unseen animals, and period shuffling in the underbrush. That is until Ka-Tar stopped, laughed, and pointed to a nearby clearing. What they saw there caused Sheera and Mariko both to loudly gasp.
A large ape, having killed an equally-sized therapod dinosaur, had cut off its head, removed all of its teeth, and was now using it as a makeshift fleshlight. It furiously shoved its humongous penis in and out of the mouth of its decapitated foe, until finally, a long stream of semen shot through the bloody hole at the back of its reptilian head. The ape roared in ecstasy as the thick, white semen flew high into the air, before crashing down on the Earth below, forming a small pond in the process.
Almost immediately, small creatures of all sorts – bugs, mammals, tiny dinosaurs- began moving towards the newly formed jizz-lake, eager to consume the nutrients they would surely find contained within it.
Now satisfied, the large ape disinterestedly threw his organic sex toy to the ground, and retreated back into the surrounding jungle, no doubt eager to go back to his mountain lair and take a long nap.
“That’s Grog,” explained Ka-Tar. “And don’t worry, he would never hurt us. I think he sees a little of himself in us!”
This was far from the only bizarre sight the trio would take in that day. Ka-Tar showed them the vast swamps where the long-necked Honkers grazed, their curious trunks allowing them to still draw breath even when they dared venture into the deeper and murkier ends of the morass, in search of underwater vegetation.
He showed them the sprawling plains where the Hooters roamed in their great herds, ever watchful for the vicious Knife-Claws, which they knew were always on the hunt for easy prey: the young, the old, and the infirm. They even witnessed a pack take down one such vulnerable Hooter, an old female that had strayed too far from its family. The pod of six Knife-Claws swarmed the poor beast, jumping atop it and driving their claws deep into its vulnerable flanks. The Hooter bleated pitifully, but, apparently, none of the other herbivores were willing to risk coming to its aid. It finally fell, and the Knife-Claws didn’t even bother waiting for it to die before they started feasting.
Next, he showed them the dark, yawning entrance to one of the Island’s vast caves, where the multi-legged Spinners brought their prey after having caught them in their giant, inescapable webs. Chillingly, he explained, they weren’t even the worst of what the interconnected subterranean system of the Island had to offer (if his Mother was to be believed). He refused to elaborate though, despite their insistences, claiming that they’d be better off not knowing. They believed him.
But what he showed them last, just as the sun was finally beginning to set, shocked Sheera and Mariko the most. They had come near to the top of a large hill, and were now looking at a sizable village down in the basin below.
“There are other people here?” said Mariko. “I thought we were the only ones!”
Her husband shook his head. “No, that’s the Amazon’s village.”
“Amazons?” replied Sheera. The word meant nothing to her.
“They’re a tribe of seven-foot-tall women,” explained Ka-Tar. “They are proud, vicious warriors, but beautiful all the same.”
“But if they’re all women, how does the tribe survive?” asked Mariko.
“You mean, how they make babies?” asked Ka-Tar. Mariko nodded. “Well,” he continued, awkwardly, “that’s because half of them are … equipped like men.”
“Like,” said Sheera, and she pointed to her husband’s own large penis, outlined under his loincloth.
He nodded. “My Mother would tell me the story of how they came to be when I was a boy, before my bedtime. It was one of my favorites.”
He continued: “There was a war in Heaven, God against God. On one side was Zeus, God of Thunder. On the other was Athena, his daughter, Goddess of Wisdom and Warfare. The rest of the Olympians were evenly divided among the two sides, and, equally matched, they became locked in a stalemate that lasted for thousands of years. Eventually, so much time had passed that no one could remember why the fighting had started in the first place!”
“Athena, however, always one to think ahead, decided to create an insurance policy for herself, should she and her allies eventually be defeated. She came here and, using powers unknown to any other god, was able to create two copies of her herself. They were identical except when it came to their genitals – one had male organs, and the other, female.”
“They bred, their children bred, and their children’s-children bred. They were all immortal, just as Athena was, at first. But eventually, after generations of inbreeding, the familial line eventually lost its divinity. Now they were vulnerable to disease and aging, just like us. Still strong as Hell, though. I’ve even seen one tackle a Hooter to the ground single-handily!”
“But realizing that they would need “new blood: to save themselves, they began going on raiding parties. They built boats, and would pillage any coastal town they could find out there.” Ka-Tar nodded toward the horizon. “They’d kill the men and the boys straight out – they had no use for them. The women they’d bring back here, to be used as breeding sows. They’d use them until they were too old to have children, and then they’d be disposed of as well.”
“What happened to the original Amazons?” asked Mariko. “The ones who were still immortal, like Athena?”
“They’re all gone now,” answered Ka-Tar. “Totally wiped out. The original tribe, just like the Gods, began to fight amongst themselves, mainly over who would get the most prized slaves. Eventually, there was only a handful left, the tribe that lives in the village down there.” He again pointed at the settlement below.
“Your mother told you all of this?” asked Sheera.
Ka-Tar nodded again. “Yep, she even tried to reach out to the Amazons after they were established, but they rejected her. It turns out Athena was the only God they’d worship. And as for their creator, after she made her copies, she left to rejoin the war, and never returned to the Island.”
Ka-Tar looked at his wives very seriously now and his tone of voice became sterner, in a way they’d never heard before. “But what I said about the slaves – that’s why they’re so dangerous. When it was just me here with Mom, I was of no use to them. We’d even team up from time to time, to take down greater threats. But you two would be great prizes for them. That’s why this will be the last time you ever come this close to their village. Now come.”
Ka-Tar began climbing the mountain to its peak, and Sheera and Mariko followed dutifully. At the summit, they found a Leather-Wing’s nest, filled with 3 giant eggs. Ka-Tar pointed at the biggest.
“Dinner!” he exclaimed.
…
Later, after a dinner of Leather-Wing egg back home (which turned out to be fertilized and housing an embryo, increasing its nutritiousness), they again engaged in another marathon sex session. After all participants were thoroughly spent, they together fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, one wife to either of Ka-Tar’s sides.
At the same time, down below on the dark forest floor, a set of jealous female eyes gazed up at the tree house. But then, spooked after hearing a mysterious sound in the underbrush, the Amazon ran off into the jungle faster than any human being ever possibly could.
Ironically, if she had stayed, she would have seen that it was nothing to be worried about – it was only a small, feathered carnosaur catching its dinner, an even smaller rodent-like mammal.
….
“Why doesn’t his Mom just send a Knife-Claw to kill this cunt???” you ask? My son is a big boy, a very big boy, and can protect himself and his women all on his own. He doesn’t need me stepping in all the time. Hell, he’d be upset if I did! And, despite them turning me down, I actually like the Amazons. They remind me of myself.”
Note: this a written continuation of a comic I commissioned.
Page 1:https://www.deviantart.com/thet0wer/art/thet0wer-Comic-01-92...
Page 2:https://www.deviantart.com/thet0wer/art/thet0wer-Comic-02-92...
Page 3:https://www.deviantart.com/thet0wer/art/thet0wer-Comic-03-2-...
Part 1: https://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/97032/adventures-ka-t...
Clementine ran through the jungle, faster than she had ever run before, faster than she’d ever thought she could run. She ducked under vines and jumped over puddles. She ignored every strange sound she heard, be it hoot, howl, or…roar? But not a roar like you’d hear from a big cat, she thought: this was far deeper and louder than anything a lion or tiger could muster.
But then she stopped suddenly, as there was now a man standing in her way: Ka-Tar, with spear in hand. He stood before her, stone-faced and bare-chested, looking her up and down, not saying a word.
But while his face may have betrayed no emotion, his thoughts were far less disciplined. They were going a mile a minute, in fact, and for one simple reason: he had never seen such a beautiful woman in his life. Actually, this was the first non-Amazon female he had ever seen, period (other than his late (biological) Mother, and that really didn’t count)!
For her part, Clementine was surprised at the sudden appearance of this nearly-naked man. But then something in her expression changed*, and she began speaking in a frantic tone and strange accent that Ka-Tar had some trouble keeping up with.
“Do you speak English?” she asked, and when Ka-Tar nodded in the affirmative, she took that as the sign to continue.
“Oh, you must help me, you must! I’ve been kidnapped! Well, I was kidnapped, but now I’ve escaped! And the men who took me, from my dear husband and poor children, are now chasing me! They took me right off the street back in London, put me on a boat, and were sailing me to the Orient to be sold into slavery! Me, a white woman! Imagine that!”
Most of what she said meant nothing to Ka-Tar. But he did understand what slavery was from the stories his mother had told him about the Amazons. Not that he was anti-slavery, mind you, as he had often fantasized about how nice it would be to have some of his own, especially female ones. But the idea of this woman being enslaved, with her jet-black hair, piercing blue eyes, long, slender neck…okay, that idea displeased him greatly! Wait, was she still talking?
“Oh, they’re all brutes, the lot of them!” Apparently, she was. Ka-Tar was happy to see, however, that she was nearly done.
“You’ll help me, won’t you?” Now she approached him, and place one hand on his chiseled, hairless chest. This, combined with the look she was giving him with her large, doe-like eyes, was stirring something within Ka-Tar. And evidently without too, as his loincloth began to rise from the erection that it was now struggling to conceal!
“Oh my!” said Clementine, as she noticed Ka-Tar’s excitement. She placed one hand on his massive, engorged penis, and began to gently stroke it. “And, if you do help me, I’ll see to it that you get a very… special reward.”
If there was ever any resistance in Ka-Tar to doing whatever the stranger wanted, it was now well and truly gone.
“Where are they?” he growled, struggling to remain in control of himself.
She stood on her tip-toes and whispered, seductively, in his ear. “The beach.”
*I noticed it of course, and knew exactly what it meant.
The three Englishman watched from the shoreline as two creatures – a plesiosaur and an ichthyosaur - fought one another in the surf. The battle was taking a bloody toll on both, to the point that it was unclear who was actually winning.
“My God,” exclaimed one of the men. “Actual sea serpents! And I thought it was just bored sailors telling stories!”
“My money’s on the one with the long neck!” shouted another.
The aquatic reptiles dove under the surface and, judging by the cloud of blood that began to rise up from when where they sank, now continued their struggle underwater. A few minutes later, the body of the plesiosaur washed ashore. The men moved closer to inspect the carcass, littered with countless lacerations and bite marks from the teeth of its opponent. The one who had been “betting” on it to win the fight approached its head, and looked down into its lifeless eyes.
“Stupid beast!” he said, contemptuously. “You had every advantage!” He looked back at his compatriots. “This is why God granted us dominion over them, eh lads?”
Before they could answer, the neck of the dead animal spasmed and propelled its head forward – right towards its critic’s lower half! Before he could even react, the dreadful jaws shut around his left leg, causing him to howl in pain. It spasmed again, the neck jerking sideways, and causing the unlucky extremity to be torn clean off. The creature’s head and neck now fell back on the sand, bloody leg still held in its mouth, where it twitched a few more times before finally falling still.
The newly-made amputee was now lying on the beach and screaming in pure agony, as his companions rushed to his side to aid him. Well, only one of them actually made it to the injured man, as the other had spotted something in the shallows, and had, wisely, stopped to try to figure out what it was before getting any closer to the water.
The more selfless of the men soon found out what it was that his friend had seen. It was the ichthyosaur, riding a wave onto the shore. It was likely intending to retrieve the body of its defeated foe, but had spotted something more exotic in the hapless human it was now bearing down on. It snapped its long jaws down on the man’s head, crushing it effortlessly. Then, turning on its side, it used its four flippers to roll back into the ocean, which it no doubt felt was a more comfortable venue for enjoying its meal.
Now only one man was left: his name was Charles. And he had no idea what to do. After what he had just seen, he wasn’t going to risk trying to attend to George. He was quickly bleeding out anyway, and Charles was no doctor. No, that was Harry, who was now serving as lunch to a creature he hadn’t even known existed this morning.
No, all he could do was enter the surrounding wilds, and continue to pursue Clementine. She was, after all, the whole reason they had ever come to this accursed island in the first place. Hopefully, the fauna wasn’t as hostile on land as it was in the water, but he had to brave it anyway, seeing as she was his-
Just as Clementine had earlier, Charles suddenly found himself face-to-face with Ka-Tar. “A white man? Here?” he said,
dumbfounded. After the sea beasts, he would have expected anything, anything besides another white person.
When Ka-Tar didn’t say anything in response, electing to just stand there quietly, he quickly began to grow suspicious. And annoyed.
“Say, you better not have laid a hand on my Clementine, old boy. I’ll have you know that I’ve put down far bigger brutes than you for King and Country! Much darker ones too” He was now poking Ka-Tar’s chest with his skinny pointer finger.
Ka-Tar could tell this wasn’t going to take long. Despite his boasting, the man was small, far smaller than he was. Ka-Tar could easily encircle one of his biceps with just a single hand.
“Too much time spent using weapons,” he thought. “Not enough using his arms.”
The silence from Ka-Tar was only making Charles even more agitated. “Are you even dumber than you look? Or have you just adopted one of the low “languages” of the natives here? Ha, I bet you worship their Gods too! Heathen!”
Ka-Tar was pretty much done Charles at this point. In fact, he was actually looking forward to killing him. He had killed dinosaurs, giant snakes, giant reptiles, giant spiders – a lot of giant things in general –not to mention sabertooth tigers, mastodons, cave bears, etc. But he had never taken another man’s life, as there simply weren’t any others on the Island. So this was something new for him.
Plus, he was greatly looking forward to fucking Clementine back at the treehouse, where he had left her. And he couldn’t do that until this fool had been dealt with.
Not wanting to exert himself any more than he had to, and not wanting to risk damaging his spear on such a paltry foe, he elected to use his hands. In one lightning-fast motion, he struck his closed fist into Charles’ neck, crushing his trachea. He fell to the ground, backward, gasping for air, and, breathing now being quite impossible, it was not long before he was finally dead as well.
Ka-Tar surveyed the beach. He had seen the ichthyosaur claim one man, and the other, still screaming in pain and gushing blood from the stump where his leg had been, obviously wouldn’t be long for this world either. Already the Leather Wings were circling overhead, while on the beach the crabs and other assorted small creatures were moving closer to the writhing body of the man, waiting for it to finally stop moving.
Yes, Ka-Tar’s job was done here, and his prize awaited him back home.
Back at the treehouse, Clementine was hurriedly preparing for Ka-Tar’s return. Though she couldn’t find any formal weapons, there were plenty of makeshift ones scattered all around the domicile, especially when it came to Ka-Tar’s trophies. She had finally decided on the six-inch long tooth she had pried from the shark’s mouth mounted above the doorway, and had stashed it in under his bed.
Her plan was simple: seduce Ka-Tar, take him to bed, and, when he was in the throes of orgasm, pull the tooth out from its hiding place and sink it right into his neck. Sure, it was thick with muscle, but that shouldn’t be a problem with such a sharp instrument. No, she couldn’t see anything going wrong with this plan at –
Allow me to cut in here. It WOULD be a good plan, if not for me. Even better than she realizes, as she doesn’t know my son’s never been with a woman before, and would therefore DEFINITELY be too distracted and excited to see her betrayal coming. But I’ve watched every move she’s made since she got near the island on her stolen rowboat. I know what, and who, she’s REALLY running from.
That expression she made when she first met Ka-Tar confirmed it. I recognize it well. I saw it on Athena’s face when she told her children she’d come back for them one day, when her war had ended. I saw it again on the visages of her descendants, right before they began to fight and backstab one another over the rights to their most precious captives. I even see now it with my son, when he tries to hide his true feelings from me, chief among them the loneliness he feels from a lack of a physical relationship.
It was the look of deceit, and maybe it makes some twisted sort of sense that one without a true face, like me, should be so able to recognize it when others cannot.
Oh, my poor Ka-Tar! How long have you waited to finally experience true romance? The Amazons wouldn’t have you, and how cruel that this outsider would reject you for much the same reason! Well, there is something I can do… This wouldn’t work on an Amazon, even the residual magic that remains in their blood would make them immune to it. But this wretch is just a mere mortal, so there shouldn’t a problem. We’ll make good use of you yet, bitch.
A few trees over, a hive of small purple insects buzzed around their large, honeycombed nest. How they’re able to move in such unison is a mystery to all but the Spirit of the Island, but one could speculate. Do they use pheromones? Are they a part of a hive mind? In any case, the spell appeared to be no longer working on one member of this expansive family, as one of the winged bugs was now straying from the pack, and beginning to fly towards one of the open windows of Ka-Tar’s home.
If we could read its simple mind, we would hear the Spirit whispering to it, telling it where to go. This is but one of her powers, and while her influence would only go so far with a more cognitively advanced creature, over this insect she has near absolute control.
She tells it to go through the window. She tells it to find the porcelain neck of the woman residing within. She tells it to sink its sharp proboscis into the biggest vein it can find there. “Ow!” yelled Clementine, feeling a sharp pain in her neck. Instinctively, an open palm is brought down on its epicenter, and she is not surprised to find the remains of a bug on her hand when she examines it after.
“Figures there’d be such awful things here. Guess I should be glad it wasn’t any bigger, this being the tropics!” She might have continued on, complaining about the insect life of the warmer climates, if she didn’t begin to feel so damn queer.
Ka-Tar had finally made it back to his treetop house. The whole way from the beach, he had tried to think about what it meant, having finally crossed the line and taken the life of another man. But every time tried to dedicate some real thought to it, he was quickly distracted by the idea of having sex with Clementine. His penis was already erect and leaking precum from the very prospect.
Therefore he was pleased to see her already naked and lying in bed when he walked in, waiting for her hero to claim her.
“Hey, big guy,” she said to him as he walked over to her, her voice slurred. “Are you ready to do it or what?
Suffice it to say, he was.
And they did.
I watched the whole thing, how could I not? You might think that wrong, or perverted, but your morality means nothing to me. Here I am the highest power, and, well, that means I can do whatever I want! After all who’s going to punish or stop me? Who would even be able to? In fact, even as I speak now, I’m simultaneously enjoying the view o yet another Amazon orgy down in their village. The third one this week, believe it or not!
Anyway, how did Ka-Tar do? Well, I would say it was almost as if he attacked her. Not violently, really, or at least not overly so, but he did have 22 years of sexual energy to release, mind you! And though she would be loath to admit it now, Clementine did enjoy it, if her moaning was anything to go by!
My only criticism, and it is a small one, is that Ka-Tar could have lasted just a little bit longer. But it was his first time, anyway, and he’ll have plenty of practice to build up his…stamina in the future. Just not with this one, unfortunately.
Yes, I told him the truth about Clementine after she had passed out post-coitus. He had decided to take a stroll in the jungle to, I don’t know, clear his head? I’m not sure if he expected or even wanted to see me, but I manifested away, and proceeded to tell him the facts about Clementine, almost all of which I had gleaned simply by eavesdropping on her and her “captors.”
Did you figure it out already? In case you didn’t, here’s the quick and messy rundown: Clementine was from a formerly-rich family fallen on hard times. To improve their fortunes they married her off to a wealthy shipping magnate, the man my son put out of his misery back on the beach. But Clementine was a lesbian, just like the presently-copulating Amazons, currently in the fourth hour of their orgy.
And it was on that long voyage back to his estate in Africa that the reality of her situation finally sank in. In a desperate and not very well-thought-out move, she stole a rowboat, and made off over the water, in search of an escape from the Hell she saw as her imminent future. Unfortunately for her, all she found was a different region of it. That will be clear to her VERY soon.
Clementine impotently pounded on Ka-Tar’s expansive back. He had woken her up when he threw her, still naked, over his shoulder,
before beginning yet another trek through the forest, though this time to a destination unknown to her.
Ka-Tar was silent. Clementine was not.
“Put me down this instant, you brute! Ah! I can’t believe I let you have sex with me! Me! I’ve never had sex with a man before! I’m a lesbian! A homosexual! Queer! Do you know what that means, or are those words a little too big for you, you ape!?!?!”
It went on like this for a while. Clementine told Ka-Tar her entire life’s story: the first notable event, by her recounting, was when she smugly “came out” to her parents while she was still a preteen. Then being sent off to an all-girls boarding school as punishment, so that her classmates’ femininity could “rub off” on her. She outmaneuvered her clueless parents and the teachers alike, however, by slowly but surely “corrupting” her schoolmates as well! By her telling, there were orgies every night in the dorms, after lights-out. She claimed that even some of the younger female teachers joined in from time to time!
At any other moment,, all of this would have titillated Ka-Tar beyond measure. But right now, he felt weird. He felt…different. Yes, Ka-Tar was good at killing. Yes, he took pride in that fact. But he wasn’t a sadist – he had never killed outside of hunting and self-defense. But now he had, and it was all this awful woman’s fault.
He didn’t blame his Mother: she explained that the reason she didn’t warn him earlier is because she didn’t know when he’d have the opportunity to mate again. She had simply been trying to give Ka-Tar what she thought he needed, as any Mother would. But now, knowing what he did about Charles, he felt downright…bad. He even sympathized with the poor fuck! If his own wife tried to pull what Clementine did, he would have tracked her to the ends of the Earth!
He was also upset, though he’d be loath to admit it, that Clementine’s affection for him wasn’t real. For him to think he finally had romantic love in hand, only for it to be snatched away... He was now on total emotional lockdown, in a way he hadn’t been since right after his biological parents had died.
Thus, all of Clementine’s stories fell on deaf ears. He didn’t care about the pride she felt when, after graduating, she had mocked her parent’s failed efforts to “set her straight”. He didn’t care about how angry she was at her wedding, and how fucking her soon-to-be sister-in-law right before the ceremony began did nothing to alleviate it.
The only thing he could think about now was how nice it would be when he was finally rid of her. And he had the perfect idea of how to do so.
He finally broke his silence. “Do you know what an Amazon is?” he asked.
The black Amazon stood before her village, alone, her muscular arms crossed. The Spirit of the Island had told her Ka-Tar was coming with a “gift,” but didn’t actually specify what it was.
But, now, as Ka-Tar emerged from the thick jungle, she could guess: the pale-skinned naked woman he held over his shoulder. My, what a pleasant surprise it was!
“Hey Ka-Tar,” she said, coolly. “Got something for me?”
He grunted affirmatively. “Did my mom tell you I was coming?” he asked, as he dumped Clementine at her feet.
“Yea, is it true you don’t want anything in return?” she replied, as she gazed lustfully at Clementine’s bare form.
Ka-Tar turned and headed back in the direction he came. “Believe me, taking her off my hands is reward enough.”
Clementine started laughing manically. “Wow, you really are dumb, aren’t you? I was joking when I asked if you knew what a lesbian was, but you really don’t know, do you? You think this is a punishment, handing me over to a tribe of beautiful, seven-foot-tall women? Boy, I can lick pussy so well they’ll make me chieftain before the week is out”
“Are you sure about that?” he called back, not bothering to stop or look back at Clementine.
She scoffed, and turned to look up at the dark-skinned woman. “What are you talking about? Hell, I’ve always wanted to taste a negr-“ She suddenly understood what Ka-Tar meant, and was rendered speechless as a result: the Amazon had pushed aside her loincloth, revealing her eight-inch-long, erect, black penis.
She screamed as the Amazon pulled her, by her hair, into the village.
Clementine ran through the jungle, faster than she’d ever run before, faster than she’d ever thought she could run. She ducked under vines, jumped over puddles, and ignored every hoot, howl, and roar she heard
It had been a week since Ka-Tar had dumped her with the Amazons. In that week, she had been raped more times than she could count. Was she already pregnant? It was certainly possible, and the thought made her almost physically ill. Finally, after another hours-long orgy, when most of the village had passed out from exhaustion, she had found an opportunity to escape, and seized it without hesitation.
Finally, after hours of running, with no particular destination in mind, she was forced to stop due to simple physical exhaustion. Panting, she walked up to a large boulder and leaned against it, hoping that doing so would keep her from passing out.
Unfortunately for her, this was no rock: she quickly discovered that for herself when she realized it was breathing. If Ka-Tar had been there, he could have told her that her “boulder” was actually a dinosaur he called a Shellback. Even worse, he could have just as easily called it a Clubtail. But most unfortunate of all for Clementine, this Shellback was a mother to two babies.
Though all were asleep, the adult could still sense Clementine’s presence through the nerves that ran through its hard exterior. It also knew exactly, through that same organic feedback system, where she was in relation to her tail, and the natural weapon that lay at the end of it.
Not even bothering to open its eyes, or take any chances with young ones to protect, it simply swung its tail at Clementine. The stone-like club at its terminus made a direct hit with her chest, sending her flying into the air.
She was dead before she hit the ground.
The Amazons sent out a search party, feeling that Clementine could still be of use to them, especially if she was with child. Disappointingly, they didn’t find her body until it had already been picked clean by scavengers, leaving only a skeleton as a prize. They brought it back to the village, and offered it to the matriarch of the tribe, Nubia, the same Amazon that had first retrieved her from Ka-Tar.
Nubia was disappointed that Clementine had managed to get herself killed out in the wild, but was not really surprised: after all, the only other human who was able to survive out there was Ka-Tar, and he had his Mother to help him. Still, what a waste! They had not had a slave as white as her in quite some time, and likely wouldn’t again anytime soon. And the pale ones always were Nubia’s favorites…
Clementine would still serve her in death, though, as Nubia’s old codpiece had recently been cracked after an embarrassing fall while out on the hunt. Fortunately for her, Clementine’s skull looked to be just about the perfect size.
Trevor looked in horror at the gaping vagina before him, the same one he had impotently obsessed over and fantasized about for so many years, he couldn’t help but think: where had everything gone so very wrong?
Yes, the vagina looked immaculate, even better in real life than it had through the LCD screens that had been his only window to it up until now. But there was a problem – he was only a few inches high, having been shrunk just moments before through forces unknown. And the vagina in question, already soaked, somehow looked …hungry. He didn’t know why he thought that, exactly. How could genitals look hungry? But the impression was unshakable nonetheless.
He turned, and what he saw then only reinforced his sense of helplessness: a 7-inch, hard white cock, leaking precum, and rapidly closing in on him. If he were in a joking mood, he might have made a joke, a play on being between a “rock and a hard place”. Understandably, however, he was not.
He started to run, but it was too late: the dick had reached him, and was now pushing him into the yawing opening of the vagina. Beyond that, he could see only blackness. As the precum soaked through the back of his ratty t-shirt, he closed his eyes, unable to bear witness to what clearly was to be his imminent fate.
To Trevor’s surprise, then, images from his life actually began to flash before his eyes, just like he had always heard happened before you die.
It was not pleasant viewing.
…
Where had it all gone wrong? Maybe it was his birth, or more specifically, when he was born. Trevor, you see, was a Simp.
When the decline of Western Civilization is written about in the coming centuries, these future scholars - be they robot, alien, or Chinese - will no doubt devote a chapter or two to the Simp. A Simp, if you’re not familiar with the term, describes a particular type of person that only existed in the dark corners of society before the turn of the 21st century, but then saw rapid growth thereafter. That is, a Simp is someone that not only pines after a woman they’ve never met, but actually helps financially support them.
Here’s how it works: the Simp will spend an inordinate time on the internet, mainly watching porn. Eventually, they’ll stumble upon a girl that’s a “cut above the rest”, at least in their mind. If they had met in real life, this would be considered “love at first sight”, if only unrequited. This is much more tragic.
In that case, at least the female in the equation might have actually glanced at their would-be lover, even if they ultimately made no note of him. For the Simp, on the other hand, the object of his lust doesn’t even think of him as human. He’s just one among thousands, maybe even tens of thousands, throwing money at them every month in exchange for periodic postings of poorly-lit nude photographs, along with the occasional short sex video that looks like it was filmed at the site of a recent murder.
If the Simp is really pathetic, they’ll go even further, paying for clothes, custom videos, and pay-per-view exclusives. They might even just send them money directly, not even bothering to launder it through the pretense of an exchange of goods and services.
Now, you might be tempted to think these women would be grateful to the Simps, without whom they’d be forced to join the working world, filled as it is with mundane tasks, endless meetings, and agonizing commutes. You couldn’t be more wrong. In reality, the Simp could not be held in lower regard by their benefactors.
For example, if some brute grabbed them one day, dragged them into an alley, and mercilessly raped them, they would still bestow upon them more respect than what they grant the Simp.
All because there is nothing women hate more in men than weakness, especially beautiful women, and the Simp is the ultimate expression of it.
…
Trevor is a perfect example. Now, he at least knows the truth of his status, and even has embraced it somewhat, having long since pushed the shame deep, deep, down, where he could no longer feel it.
This feat was achieved through a potent mix of a few of the realities of his existence, that: A) he hates women, while simultaneously being obsessed with them, B) he has no girlfriend or wife, and believes, at this point, that will never change, and C) that he is the only surviving member of his family, leaving no one around to care enough to try and save him from the errors of his ways.
Thus Trevor found himself in the same pitiful loop: discovering a new digital visage to obsess over, throwing money and gifts at them, then finally growing bored with them and setting out to find a new virtual partner.
This could have gone on for perpetuity.
But we know it won’t.
…
The series of unfortunate events that resulted in Trevor’s demise began when he found the latest recipient of his affections: Lucy. He couldn’t remember where he had first seen her, be it Twitter, Pornhub, or Reddit. But the minute he saw her, he knew he had found something special.
Lucy was Asian, and this fact alone did not distinguish her from most of Trevor’s targets. He had a type, clearly. But what made Lucy different was that she was curvy. Her breasts were small, yes, but her hips were wide, her ass was round, and her legs were thick and muscular. She was, literally, one in a billion.
It helped too, that Lucy’s boyfriend Greg was white. Thus, Trevor was more easily able to self-insert himself into her porn videos, particularly the ones shot from a Point-of-View perspective. Greg’s penis was substantially longer and thicker than Trevor’s, but he could overlook those details if he tried hard enough, fortunately.
So, he subscribed to her Onlyfans. He signed up for her exclusive Snapchat. He joined her official Discord. He even found the GoFundMe she had set up to pay for her boob job, and donated a not-insubstantial sum. He was hooked alright, at least for now, though he knew this affair would always be one-sided.
Until, shockingly, it wasn’t.
…
“Want 2 meet up?” read the text message. It was the first thing he saw when he checked his phone at 12:30 PM, his usual wake-up time.
The number was Lucy’s: he had paid to get it, so that they could sext for an additional 50 dollars an hour once every month. They were the happiest hours of his adult life, incidentally.
His first thought was that she must have decided to start escorting. Obviously, he would have loved to take advantage of this new service, but he doubted he could afford it. After all, disability checks can only be stretched so far. Still, there was nothing to lose by at least asking.
“How much, my love?” he texted back. “My love” was always how he addressed Lucy in their texts. She did not use it in return.
She replied almost instantly. “Free.”
Okay, he thought, this had to be a prank. Someone had stolen her phone, or otherwise spoofed her phone number, and was now using it to mess with her legion of fans. Obviously, Lucy had anticipated this, because the next message from her was a photo: Lucy, laying naked in bed, a white piece of paper covering her nipples. It read: NOT A JOKE. NO PRICE. I WANT YOU TREVOR.
Another message came through before he could respond: an address, date, and time.
…
One week later, and Trevor found himself knocking on the door to Lucy’s apartment. Naturally, he wasn’t able to afford the travel expenses, but she had been kind enough to cover those as well.
She had eventually provided an explanation: she was starting a “Fuck a Fan” series, and Trevor had been selected at random to be the star of the first video. Made sense to him, though he wondered if she knew he would be taking his virginity as well.
“Come in!” cried a female voice from within. Trevor obliged, opening the door and entering the apartment.
He was familiar with the layout, having seen it in so many of her videos: a modest studio, with a king-sized bed on the far side of the room. But now he was finally here, in the flesh, and in front of that bed was Lucy, beckoning him closer with her finger. Trevor was pleased to note she was wearing one of the lingerie sets he had bought for her.
He approached, and, just as he began wondering where the camera and the tripod were, she kissed him.
His first kiss! But the moment of triumph was ruined when Trevor realized that some sort of liquid had been in Lucy’s mouth, and she had used their moment of entanglement to spit it down his throat.
Whatever it was, it tasted awful, worse than anything he had ever drunk before. He backed away from Lucy, gagging and coughing.
That’s when he realized he was shrinking. He looked up at Lucy, helplessly. She looked down at him with a look of disgust.
….
As Greg waited in the closet, naked, he couldn’t help but think about the sequence of events that had led to this moment.
Everything had been going so well: they were in love, and their OnlyFans was bringing in tens of thousands of dollars a month. Clearly, there wasn’t ever going to be a better time to have kids, even despite the taboo nature of their lifestyle. So Lucy stopped taking her birth control, and they tired. And tried. And tried….
Nothing worked, not even IVF, which they spent most of their savings on unsuccessful round after round of. Was it Greg or Lucy that was the problem? Apparently, it was both, the first bit of bad luck for a couple that had always considered themselves so blessed.
They had given up all hope, when, after a day out shopping, Lucy came home, noticeably happier than she had been in years, at least since they had started trying to conceive.
The story she told him was bizarre: while walking down the street, Lucy had been approached by an old woman who sounded like she was from Eastern Europe. Impossibly, she knew about Lucy and Greg’s fertility issues, and offered Lucy a solution. As desperate as she was, she followed the crone to her store, where she gave Lucy a vial filled with a strange red-brown liquid.
“Left over from my last job,” she said.
All Lucy had to do, she explained, was consume half the potion. The rest should be given to a third party, man or woman, which would then proceed to shrink to a height of only a few inches. Then, Lucy and Greg would have sex, pushing the hapless victim into Lucy’s vagina.
This is when it got even weirder: the gypsy told Lucy that when Greg finally ejaculated, their unwilling partner would be transformed into a zygote, the 100% biological offspring of Greg and Lucy.
It was impossible. They’d be insane to try it. And yet, for some reason, they agreed with each other that they’d make the attempt anyway. Was it just desperation? Or did the old woman’s magic run even deeper than they thought, influencing their thoughts and actions on a subtler level?
In any case, their minds had been made up, and all that was left was to choose the unlucky victim. Greg and Lucy had long lists of enemies that they would have loved to snuff out, namely friends and family that had cut them out of their lives when they started making porn full-time, but they ultimately agreed it would probably be best to choose someone whose disappearance would go largely unnoticed.
Thus, one of Lucy’s Simps was the natural choice, and she picked the most pathetic one she could think of: Trevor. He had told Lucy that he had no friends, family, or job, and she also knew that he would blindly do whatever she asked; such was his unwavering devotion to her.
Greg, having interacted with Trevor many times before, whenever Lucy was busy or too tired to “spend time” with her fans, knew what she said was true.
Yes, it had to be Trevor.
…
Greg watched as Trevor shrank in front of Lucy. This should have freaked him out, he knew, but his sexual excitement overrode all other concerns. His penis was so hard, in fact, that it was almost painful.
He saw Lucy pull the thin fabric of her panties to the side, exposing her vagina. It was time. He sprang from the closet, and centered the tip of his penis directly at Trevor’s back. Then, he pressed forward, pushing his cock and the shrunken Trevor together into his girlfriend’s warm, welcoming vagina.
He pumped, each time feeling Trevor collide with the glans of his penis. It felt strangely good. It wasn’t long, then, before he came, and Lucy did as well, simultaneously. They exchanged a deep kiss until their ecstasy subsided. Later, both would agree it was the best orgasm of their lives.
When Trevor pulled out of Lucy, there was no sign of Trevor, not even his clothes.
It had worked.
…
The pregnancy test came back positive. That wasn’t a surprise, of course. Every other part of the spell had worked. The doctor confirmed the pregnancy. Again, no surprise there. That the tests later showed that the baby was a girl – now that was a shock! They had, for obvious, reasons, assumed it would be a boy. That it was twin girls came as an even bigger surprise! And identical twins to boot (though they didn’t learn this until they were actually born)!
Naturally, Lucy had to visit the Gypsy to express her gratitude, and a few months after the twins’ birth, the dust finally having begun to settle, she went to thank her for all she had done to help her. She was disappointed, but not surprised, to see that the old woman’s store had completely vanished, as if it had never existed at all.
Lucy simply shrugged, then began to make her journey home: the princesses would be waking from their nap soon, and she and Greg had wanted to get a shoot in before they did. After all, they had so many fans to please.
As he watched the sunrise on the horizon, causing the brilliant golden spires of the city to twinkle like the multi-colored stars that had just retreated from the sky, the King couldn’t help but issue a forlorn sigh. Even the flock of yellow and green dragons that passed by overheard shortly thereafter, off to begin their morning hunt for the red whales of the nearby purple sea, did little to lift his spirits. This particularly hurt, because the same sight had always delighted him as a boy, to the point where his father, then the King himself, would wake him up early so that he could witness it every morning.
Yes, his kingdom was a marvel unlike any that had ever existed before. Yes, its inhabitants – 112 different sentient species and counting – were the world’s most educated, wealthy, and artistically brilliant. And yes, he, as King, had presided over an unprecedented era of peace and prosperity. But what good was it all, if he were alone?
No, he wasn’t literally alone: he had his advisors, magicians, sorcerers, court eunuchs, scientists, philosophers, concubines, artists, diplomats, animal trainers (along with a full menagerie of exotic beasts from near and far), servants, cooks, and fools. But what he didn’t have was a Queen.
Sure, he had tried to find a suitable match. He had even lost track of the number of princesses that had been presented to him, such was their number. But the smart ones, he had found, were too ugly, and the beautiful ones were just too dumb. And, though he was loath to admit it, being the ruler of such a diverse country, he just couldn’t bring himself to look beyond the human race. While he was sure the elephant-headed Tarntarn people were attracted to one another, their physical appeal was quite lost on him!
Maybe he was too picky? The thought had obviously crossed his mind, and he was sure there were many others, even in his own palace, who thought the same, though they would never dare admit it to him. The King was not known to cruel or unjust, but that didn’t mean they wanted to test his limits.
He also knew they likely blamed his mother. It’s not like the notion had never occurred to him, either. She was, after all, considered to be, by far, the most elegant, gracious, intelligent, and comely woman to ever hold the title of Queen, at least in this Kingdom. Who could measure up to that? If only her native land hadn’t been annihilated by the most recent wave of the Laughing Plague, he lamented! Maybe they could have provided him with a fitting mate, as they had his father!
Still, his search continued, and in the meantime, he did have his harem of concubines to satisfy his baser desires, even if they couldn’t entertain him on any sort of intellectual level. Nor could he hope to sire any successors with them. No, the wars of the Third Age had made it quite clear that that was quite a bad idea!
His self-pitying was brought to a sudden halt by the sweet, unmistakable smell of the Prism Orchid. Of course, that particular flower having gone extinct some 500 hundred years ago, at least on this plane of reality, it could only mean one thing: a Djinn was about to manifest.
For many, this would be cause for alarm: Djinns were infamous for their mischievous nature. You would be hard-pressed to find anyone in the world that hadn’t heard at least one tale of a hapless fellow who, encountering a Djinn, and thinking he had finally found some fortune in his miserable life, ultimately found himself ironically worse off due to their ever meeting.
One such story had always stuck with the King, first told to him by one of the aforementioned court storytellers when he was “becoming a man,” as his father put it. It went like this, once there was a lonely man who, despite, everything thing he tried, just never seemed to have any luck with women. In fact, such was his incompetence in this area, that he had never had sex at all!
Naturally, then, when he encountered a Djinn, inadvertently freed from its lamp/prison by the man when he was rummaging through a pile of old antiques at a market, looking for a special trinket to woo his crush with, he had but one wish: to be made irresistible to women. The Djinn, and this was a particularly devious one, obliged, and turned him into a diamond-encrusted dildo.
And adding insult to injury, the next person to scavenge through the mountain of knick-knacks was a woman, and not just any woman, but the man’s crush, who had yet again turned him down for a date only a few days prior! She found the dildo, and promptly purchased it – it was, after all, irresistible!
“Was he ever turned back?” he asked the storyteller, an old woman that had served his family for generations.
“Of course not!” she replied. “Silly boy – the man’s crush had no idea her new toy was once a human at all. And it wasn’t like he could make the request himself, could he, being in the state he was in?”
“Well, could he think at all?” he countered.
The old storyteller laughed. “Can your bed think? What about your father’s throne? Do you think it sits there, deep in thought, while your father, in turn, contemplates atop it?”
The story had disturbed him, but, over time, it actually had come to excite him a little, too. In fact, he had added his own addendum to the story, imagining that the man’s crush’s eventually passed the dildo down to her daughter, then her daughter’s daughter, and so on, until it was finally lost one day, its ultimate fate to be forgotten at the bottom of a buried treasure chest, or floating in some flooded sub-basement somewhere.
When he became King, inheriting his father’s palace and all of his staff, he had even asked the Djinn- the very same one that was now in the process of manifesting herself, and that had sworn allegiance to his family centuries ago– if the story were true, and, if so, if the dildo could be retrieved.
He was disappointed that the Djinn, whose name he did not know, and never would, because names have power, and no Djinn would ever be foolish enough to reveal theirs, didn’t know if the account was real.
‘Well, could you talk to the other Djinn?” he had asked the spirit. “Maybe one of them would know?”
The Djinn laughed. “Do you think we have regular meetings? Like, a big conference once a year?”
He supposed not. And, despite some common misconceptions, Djinn aren’t omnipotent, either. Still, he hoped he might find the dildo one day, and had even tasked some of his servants with keeping an eye and an ear out for it.
But why? At first, he thought, if it were to fall into his possession, he would ask his Djinn to turn it back into the man it had once been. Eventually, though, he realized that, were he ever come to obtain it, he would no such thing. In fact, he’d display it proudly in the quarters of his harem, and even demand that his concubine use it on themselves and each other.
Nobody else knew of this fantasy. And if they did, he imagined they’d be shocked by it, such was incongruity between this dark desire and his reputation as a kind, fair ruler. To some degree, he didn’t fully understand the contradiction either.
However, as the Djinn slowly began to materialize, line by line, the outline of a humanoid being beginning to make itself clearer and clearer, the King wondered if there was one who actually did suspect.
And maybe even understood.
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The Djinn, as always, manifested in pieces. First, her long, flowing black hair came into shape, fashioned into a ponytail that’s terminus almost reached the ground. Next came her wide, almond-shaped eyes, that, beautiful as they were, were upstaged still by the golden irises that lay at the center of each. Then her button nose, the plump lips that made up her mouth, and her pointy, elf-like ears appeared. With that, her face was now complete, and she smiled coyly.
Though her visage was unrivaled, her next features to appear were the King’s personal favorite: two massive, impossibly-round breasts, that defied gravity the way only a creature unbound by the laws of psychics could. Both of her large, bare nipples – a lighter shade of red than her surrounding skin- were pierced, a bright silver chain connecting both.
Lastly were her slender arms, delicate hands, and flat stomach (pierced belly button included). No legs, of course: her lower body instead trailed off into a sort-of tail that itself seemed to fade into the air behind her. And with that, the Djinn had once again entered this dimension.
Every time she appeared, and filled his nostrils with the smell of that long-dead flower, the King couldn’t help but think of how she came to serve his family. It was an epic tale of love and adventure, where his ancestor, then just a common thief, had claimed a princess, defeated an evil wizard, freed a Djinn, and ultimately became King himself in the process. The Djinn, in her gratitude, had sworn to serve him and his descendants for as long as she lived – which would be a very long time indeed, their lifespans being what they were.
The King sighed. He, like everyone else in his kingdom, loved the old story. He had heard it so many times that he could recite it flawlessly back, along with some of the disputed and controversial parts that scholars had long argued of the truth of (did the King’s ancestor, at some point, even seduce the Princess’ mother – the Queen? The Djinn would never tell, but she always smiled mischievously when he asked).
But, despite his fondness for the tale, it still filled him with a kind of melancholy. Where was his adventure? The peaceful Kingdom he ruled had been practically handed down to him by his father, who had, in turn, received it from his. All the old enemies had been vanquished, and all the lost treasures had long since been recovered, leaving only a few minor issues for him to resolve: a border dispute here, a fight over ceremonial titles there. All quickly solved, and peace had reigned ever since, which had been decades now.
The Djinn stretched, and placed her hands on her prodigious hips.
“Did you summon me, master?” she said, dryly.
This was a joke – Vatima (not her real name, but what the King called her, having tired quickly long ago of just calling her “Djinn”) had not been a servant to any since his ancestor relieved her of her duties at the end of the story that had become a legend. She found it funny. The King, however, really didn’t.
“You know I didn’t,” he replied, without even a hint of amusement in his voice.
Vatima laughed, causing her humongous breasts to move up and down, which in turn caused the silver chain that hung between them to rattle delicately.
“Oh, but you were thinking about me, weren’t you? I can always tell.” Vatima drifted over to the King, and placed a hand on his chest. She looked up at him, and fluttered her long eyelashes up at him, seductively.
The King turned away, and gazed back out at his city. This flirting no longer amused him. Djinn and humans were forbidden to marry, and if even they could, Vatima would have refused, for she had loved one and only one – his great ancestor, who, for his part, had spurned Vatima for the love of his Princess.
So what use her display, beyond giving her some cheap thrill, and at his expense? He had neither the patience nor the desire for it, at least not anymore (His teenage self had been a different story, he had to admit, and much to his embarrassment now).
“Fine: I wish for you to conjure me the perfect wife,” he said.
Vatima groaned, and stuck her tongue (also pierced) out in exaggerated disgust. “Uh, even if I had to grant your wishes, I would still try to find a way to wriggle out of that one. It’s just so boring!”
“What would you suggest, then?” he quickly countered.
“Hmmmm.” She placed a crimson finger to her lips, pretending to be deeper in thought than she really was. Her eyes lit up, an answer having apparently come to her.
“I know, let’s turn one of the male schmucks out there into your dream lover!” she exclaimed, pointing out at the city. “We’ll use my magic!”
The King rolled his eyes. “Yea, who?” he asked. “Don’t say we’ll punish a criminal in one of the palace cells, because there are none there that have committed an offense that would warrant that kind of punishment. And don’t say who should pick someone off the street at random, because that would be evil. We don’t have any prisoners of war, either, because we aren’t at war. And if we kidnapped the subject of another kingdom and used them, we soon would be.”
“We could use an animal,” said Vatima. “You have plenty of camels in the royal stables. Let’s use one of them, then!”
The King scoffed. “That’s disgusting, and you know it. Why are you Djinn so obsessed with transformation anyway? It seems like in every story involving your kind; you’re always transforming something into something else!”
Now it was Vatima’s turn act to act incredulous. “Uh, because it’s hot? Let me give you an example, babe. Thousands of years ago, back during my “bad” days, these two street urchins – two brothers - came across my lamp. That was a funny story, actually: the older brother was turning tricks for quick cash- he wasn’t gay or nothin’, but they needed the money – and one of his johns paid for the fuck with my lamp!”
“Now, normally that would have been a total rip-off, but in this case, it really did! The younger of the two rubbed the lamp, though, so he got the three wishes. Of course, he went for the boring stuff with the first two – money and a huge palace!”
She continued. “With that taste, I knew what his third wish was going to be before he even said it – a beautiful wife. So to make it worth my while and all, I turned the older brother into his “beautiful wife”! And before her former brother could protest, she got down on her knees and started sucking him off right then and there, in the living room of their new home! And let me tell you something: by the time she sucked the cum out of his balls, he didn’t care who she had been before!”
Vatima had begun to rub her nipples during the last section, and the King had to admit to himself that he found the story arousing as well.
“So what happened to them?” he asked.
“Eh, nothing exciting,” she said, dismissively. ”They were both pretty fuckin’ dumb before they ever met me, and the younger one didn’t exactly wish for either of them to be smarter, right? I mean, who would ever accept a lousy old lamp as payment instead of cash?”
The King nodded.
“So,” Vatima continued, “the younger brother lost all of his newfound riches and his newfound home in a couple years, mainly due to a gambling problem he developed in his rich-guy boredom. So he pimped out his brother-turned-wife for some extra dough, but one of her “clients” beat her to death after a particularly unsatisfying “session”. No surprise there: she was designed to be the perfect partner to her brother, but not to anyone else.”
“So yadda yadda yadda: he becomes an alcoholic in his grief, died from it a few years later. The end.”
The King laughed darkly. “And you wonder why Djinn aren’t trusted?”
“Pffft!” Vatima replied. “Those two were a couple of assholes, along with everyone else I had to serve before I met your grandfather. Besides you, stud!” she said with a wink.
She floated up to him, and placed her hands on her shoulders.
“C’mon, I know you liked that story,” she whispered in his ear. “Just like the old one about that loser that got himself turned into the dildo. We could do something like that now, for real.”
She began to rub his shoulders. “The perfect woman, tailored exactly to your liking. Wide, child-bearing hips. Thick, strong legs. An ass you could serve tea off of. And tits as big and round as mine.”
The King closed his eyes. “And her face?” he asked.
“Oh, she’ll be as beautiful as your mother was,” Vatima replied. “And we’ll make her smart and cultured and shit too, since that’s so important to you.”
The King opened his eyes, and turned to Vatima. “Except I want two,” he said.
Vatima’s eyes widened in genuine shock. “Two wives? Maybe I underestimated you, your Grace. No one in your line has had the balls to take multiple wives in hundreds of years. Even the Great King himself wouldn’t take me and the Princess to be his, even after I begged him!”
“I thought Djinn and humans couldn’t be wed?” the King asked.
“I would have broken all the rules, if it was for him,” Vatima replied, longing in her voice.
The King raised an eyebrow. “Would you do the same for me, now?”
Vatima’s response was simple and to the point: “Hell yeah.”
Vatima and the King (who shall henceforth be referred to as Zathura, or “Zat” for short, which is his actual name) had retired to his main bedroom to discuss things further. He sat in a golden, upholstered chair, and watched as two of his concubines pleasured each other atop his absurdly-wide bed. Though he admittedly couldn’t remember either of their names, the display pleased him nonetheless, if the raging erection that had appeared under his robes was any indication.
The older, darker-skinned of the pair lay on her back, while the other, head between her soft, full legs, slowly and sensually licked her sex. The prone woman ran her manicured hands through her lover’s hair, encouraging her further, though it may have been largely redundant considering her frequent moans of pleasure.
Vatima, hovering above the floor in the center of the room, had generated her own source of amusement: she had conjured up several small, humanoid creatures, who were now doing battle with each other. Vatima further entertained herself by picking favorites, to who she then gave certain advantages. For instance, she had come to particularly like a snake-headed being with a muscular, bipedal body. So when another monster - which resembled a headless man, but whose face could be found on his torso instead - tried to attack her champion with its club, she quickly summoned a little wall between them. This gave the snake-headed one the time it needed to counter-attack: it jumped atop the wall, and then pounced on its would-be attacker, who was still confused and stunned by the sudden appearance of the obstacle that had halted its previous offense.
Having been pushed to the ground by its leaping rival, the snake-headed beast then shot its head into its foe’s mouth, twisting and ripping out its tongue. It wasn’t long before the headless humanoid’s thrashing body went totally limp, having bled to death from the wound. The snake-headed creature then placed one of its grey feet atop the dead body, and roared triumphantly. Due to its diminutive size, however, this sounded like nothing more than a cute squeak.
Vatima giggled, once again causing her impossibly-round breasts to jiggle up and down. Seemingly in response, the concubine that was currently being pleasured orally let out a particularly loud moan. She must be getting close.
“So where are going to the “raw materials” for your new wives?” asked Vatima, not looking up from the miniature scene of carnage that was unfolding below her. Her “hero”, emboldened by his earlier victory, was now tearing a swath through the other creatures. Only a few remained now – a slug-like creature, and another that resembled a crab - and neither of them looked like they would stand much of a chance.
Zat was also transfixed, though for him it was by the arched, bare ass of the concubine who was currently eating out the other. Turned on by what she was doing, she had begun fingering herself, and the juices flowing out of her vagina were running down her hand and arm.
“How about the lower frequencies?” he replied.
“Hmmmmm,” thought Vatima. “Those aren’t easy to get to, but it would avoid a war. At least in this universe. Not that I care about that. You ask me, this place could use a good war. Shake things up a bit.”
“Tell me about them, again,” he requested. “Everything you know.”
Vatima had once again started idly touching her nipples. The snake-headed monster had killed all of its opponents, and was now raping the dead body of the slug-like creature in celebration of its victory.
“Well, there are more than a few, and I’ve never actually visited any of them. So all I can tell is you what I’ve heard over the centuries. The dimension closest to us is nothing but an endless expanse of sand, littered with the long-destroyed bodies of giant automatons. They had some kind of big war there using the machines, legend says, and it wiped them out completely. So, nothing for us to use there, obviously.”
Zat nodded, eyes transfixed on the perfect brown asshole of the concubine in front of him.
“After that is a plane of endless torment,” she continued, “filled with monstrous sex demons engaged in a never-ending mass orgy of pleasure and pain.”
“That sounds like Hell itself,” remarked Zat.
“Kind of,” responded Vatima. “But think less fire and brimstone, and more concrete and pipes and steam. And I’m not going there, anyway. Even Djinn ain’t safe in that place.”
“I’ll quickly name the rest, in descending order: The Toon-Zone; The Realm of Savage Lizards; The Toon-Zone. East; The Endless Carnival; The Chaos Dimension; The Order Dimension; The Toon Zone, Digital; The Land of Melting Clocks; Eternal Autumn; The Place Where Everyone Who Enters Gets Turned into the Penis of an Anthropomorphic Animal; The Boring One…”
“Wait, what’s the “Boring One?” interrupted Zat.
Vatima rolled her eyes. “There’s just nothing exciting going on there, you know? No magic or mystery or anything fun like that. Just one sentient race around, and it doesn’t believe in anything higher than themselves anymore, from what I’ve heard. Oh, and the place is dominated by an Evil Empire headed by a Mad King.”
“An Evil Empire headed by a Mad King?” repeated Zat. He immediately thought of the evil sorcerer his own ancestor had toppled, and the sick regime he had commanded.
“Am I right in assuming that his legions are equally as twisted?” he asked Vatima.
“Oh yeah, a real bunch of sick sons-a-bitches,” she replied. “Numerous, too. That gives me an idea, actually.”
The copulating ones – the female concubines and the mini-monster - had, maybe not coincidentally, all begun to climax at the same time. These orgasms, however, all had an added dimension to them, and one that was undoubtedly influenced by a certain Djinn.
The snake-headed monster had begun to fuse with the body of the slug creature, and in a matter of seconds, had formed an entirely new entity: a hooved, antlered herbivore. Seemingly unaware of what it had just been, it trotted away, leaping over the bodies of the other dead beasts, and into some hidden corner of the room.
Atop the bed, the girls had similarly begun to join together. Their two bodies melted into each other, forming first something that resembled a vaguely human-shaped blob, before changing again into a fully-formed woman. This new one was big, and looked as if she weighed as much as the two who had fused to create her. But while the concubines had been tanned, their product was black as ebony, and had a huge afro where they had long, straight hair.
Like Vatima’s living playthings, the new woman didn’t seem to know that anything strange had happened at all. She simply gestured for Zathura to join her on the bed, a lustful look in her eyes.
And he was tempted, make no mistake.
“Vatima…” he said, sternly, using every inch of his will to keep from launching himself on his new servant.
“And here I was thinking you were going to be actually fun now”, she said, dismissively. She snapped her fingers, and the black woman’s body quickly began to dissemble, until she was gone and the two concubines she had been were back on the bed once more.
Unlike the product of their union, however, it was obvious that they did remember their ordeal. They both ran from the room, crying and screaming at the same time.
“Damn, they’ll need some serious TLC to get over that!” remarked Vatima. “What do you think about it, boss?”
Zathura had collapsed upon the bed, his erection still going strong beneath his robes. He thought for a second.
“Let’s do the reverse. We’ll take one of this evil sorcerer’s worst henchman, and divide him in two. Could you do it?” he asked her.
She didn’t respond verbally. The little hoofed creature, which had also been the product of transformation, had wandered back into the center of the room. Vatima pointed her finger at it, and a bolt of light shot from it and at the animal. Upon connection, it transformed again, this time splitting to become two small, yet magnificently colorful butterflies.
Zat gazed up at them as they flew around the light fixture above his bed.
“Yes, just like that,” he said. “Two wives, from one man. And speaking of pairs, fetch me those two concubines, please. I’d like to start their healing process right now.”