Chapter One
I knew I was in trouble when Mrs. Flair asked to see me in her office at three pm on a Friday afternoon. Two hours before the weekend? It’s gotta be bad news, I thought.
Now, I’m no stranger to being fired. I’ve been fired … a lot. In fact I’ve been fired so many times that I consider myself a bit of an expert. I’ve heard every excuse in the book, from “We don’t feel that you are the right fit for us,” to “There’s been some reorganization and we’ve had to make some unfortunate cuts,” to my personal favorite “You’re so incompetent at your job that we fired the person responsible for hiring you.”
I’d weathered them all, stumbling from one odd job to the next, never quite finding the right fit.
That was what surprised me when she asked to see me. Why now? I’d only been with the company for nine months, but I thought I was doing fine. I’d kept my head down, never complained, hadn’t driven a fork lift off the loading ramp, hadn’t accidently knocked over a wall of paint cans, nor forgotten the security pin number and summoned a swarm of angry patrol cars at five am on a Tuesday morning. What could I have possibly done wrong this time?
I pondered this while I sat outside her office. I took in every detail of the cramped room. There were stacks of cardboard boxes piled high in all four corners. The unmanned secretary’s desk was cluttered with plastic binders and unopened junk mail. It was chaotic, but not uncommon for a small business, especially a new clothing line.
I’d never really paid much attention to what we were actually selling. Having had no success applying my university degree in the real world, I wasn’t picky when it came to what covered the bills. When I saw the job opening, I pounced. After a very short interview, I was hired on the spot to work in the small warehouse, unloading, lifting and moving stock. It was a small, two man operation and I actually enjoyed it. My co-worker, John was easy to get along with and the work wasn’t too difficult, thankfully women’s clothing is light.
The door creaked open and I almost leapt out of my chair.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, you can come in now,” Mrs. Flair said and returned to her office.
I stood up and followed her, my heart pounding in my chest.
Her office was the size of a storage closet … correction, it was a storage closet. She’d gutted it and converted it into the brain center of the entire operation. Her desk was small. Her chair looked like it been rescued from the curb on garbage day. Her phone was like the dashboard of a commercial airline jet. Her big clunky old computer looked like it had been crafted during the Stone Age.
“Sorry for the mess,” she said as she sat down. “February is one of our busiest months and I’ve been buried under a mountain of paper work.”
“It’s ok,” I said and took a seat.
I hated this part, the buttering up. After some small talk she’d bring the hammer down and I’d be back on the street, looking for a new job.
“So, I bet you’re wondering why I called you in today.”
I didn’t reply, only smiled, knowing full well why I was here, clinging to the last few seconds of full employment.
“How do I explain this,” she said, struggling to find the right words. She reached out and turned her computer monitor to face me.
Oh god, I thought, she’s going to show me some grainy security footage of me slacking off on the job. But, had I? I couldn’t think of a single time me and John had. Sure, we tended to chat a lot while we unloaded the trucks, but waste company time? Never.
“Do you recognize this?” she asked.
I looked up at the screen, expecting to see the damning evidence that would lead to my immediate termination. What I saw instead was a website, our company’s website.
“New sexy Valentine’s Day collection launches tomorrow!” It proclaimed in big bold cherry red letters above a picture of a black box with a red silk bow.
“I … I don’t understand,” I said, genuinely confused. What did the company’s url have to do with me, a common stock boy?
“Here, let me show you something,” she said, turned the monitor back to face her and started to click.
“As you know, all of our orders are done online. We’re still a small fish swimming in a very big pond, but, thankfully, we’ve been able to carve ourselves out a nice little piece of the pie. We have a loyal customer base and I’m really proud of all the hard work every one on the team has contributed. That being said, the one area that has eluded us so far has been social media. We have a small following, and while we will get the occasional like, it’s like screaming into the void … at least that was, until this happened.”
She turned the monitor back to face me and I almost gasped.
“Do you remember when I asked everyone to contribute to our “Halloween in July” sales event?”
I did remember, but I hadn’t contributed.
It had happened in, well … July. She’d sent a company wide email CCed to all eleven of us asking us to come up with a unique spin on the new clothing line and turn it into a quick and easy Halloween costume for the fall. I’d thought nothing of it, because well, I was a guy.
“I don’t understand,” I said as I stared at the screen. I saw a collection of all the photographs from the staff and their various interpretations of the clothing line. There were a few bumblebees, Jen from sales had turned a short sleeve red dress into a lady bug, and in the upper right corner there was a picture of …
“Is that …”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is. It’s you,” Mrs. Flair replied.
I stared at the picture, hypnotized. It had been taken during my first day on the job. I’d been so nervous, but seeing it now, I almost didn’t recognize it. I was wearing my favorite black long sleeve shirt, which was two sizes too large. One of the sleeves hung off my shoulder. My head was tilted down, my long loose hair hanging over my eyes, as I smiled nervously.
“First, I want to apologize, profusely. I don’t know how this happened. Well, actually I can guess. The company that handles our website hasn’t been the most reliable in the past, to say the least. I suspect they pulled it from our staff directory and added it by mistake.”
“How long has that been up there?” I asked.
She swallowed hard and whispered. “Almost seven months … and there’s … more.”
“More photos?” I asked nervously.
“No, thankfully not, and I can assure you I’ll have it taken down ASAP, it’s just … well, you should probably see this.”
She scrolled the mouse down and clicked on the comments.
“Oh god, there are comments?” I asked.
“Hundreds, if not thousands. I wasn’t even aware we’d agreed to a comments section, but there they are. They’ve been piling up for months.”
“Trolls?” I asked.
“That’s what I thought at first too, but they’re all registered to our customer’s accounts and they’re not trolling. Look, here’s a good example of what many of them have to say.”
She rotated the monitor back to face her.
“ApirlWhine69 says, ‘OMG, I love the spooky goth girl, who is she? She’s adorable. Is that velvet? I must have it!”
I felt my head start to ache, velvet? spooky goth girl? what were they talking about?
She scrolled down further and continued to read.
“DreamDaizy says, ‘is that one of their models? It has to be. I haven’t seen her before.’ To which CatGrrl22 replied, ‘Must be, but I haven’t seen her in any of the recent collections, maybe the older lines? Too which CougarGames replied … I won’t bore you with the details, but it goes on and on and on.”
My headache started to manifest into a full blown migraine. The room started to sway, rocking back and forth like a ship about to capsize.
“It actually explains a lot,” she said. “I’ve been going through our sales figures and for some reason our long sleeve black velvet dress is our number one best seller by a huge margin. I couldn’t figure out why until I discovered this.”
“They all think I’m wearing … a dress?” I asked meekly.
“Not you …” she said and turned the monitor to face me again.
She’d enlarged the photo. As I stared at it, I started to see it in a new light. The picture was cropped so you had no way of knowing how long the shirt actually was. There was a slight glimmer to the material, possibly from an odd reflection caught by the camera. If I hadn’t known it was plain cloth I might have assumed it was velvet.
It brought the entire photo into a clearer focus. I saw what they saw, the natural curls of my long hair forming spirals that looked like wet paint strokes. My petite features and pouty lips and the devilish little look in my eyes. As I looked closer I saw a …
“Honestly, I probably wouldn’t have noticed the comments had they not spilled over into our new campaign.”
“New campaign?” I asked, prying my eyes away from the photo.
“Yea, it’s called “Dare to be Devilish.” It’s our first lingerie line, and wow, does it pack quite the punch. I’ve been working on it in my spare time for years, waiting for just the right time to launch it. This Valentine’s Day is perfect. I’m really quite proud of it. It’s a mix of the sour thrill of vinyl BDSM with the sweet intimacy of silk lingerie.”
I listened as she talked, trying to ignore the looped drum solo in my head. I didn’t understand why she was sharing all of this with me, not that I minded. If it meant I still had a job on Monday, I was happy to play along. I continued to smile, following along as best as I could. Maybe she was buttering me up after all, maybe she was going to ask me if I’d be available to work some overtime to help unload the new shipment, which as I was single I had plenty of time to do.
I tuned back in and waited for my opportunity to say yes.
“… and I’ve been dropping hints on social media leading up to its launch for the past few months, sharing my production designs and teasing some of the early prototypes. I was shocked by the response. Suddenly there was a flood of engagement. The likes shattered all our previous metrics, and there were comments, hundreds of them. As I read through them, there was a common thread, a name that kept popped up any time the conversation stirred towards who should model the new line and that name was …”
I thought about what I’d do with the extra money. I could finally treat myself to something special and buy one of the new video game consoles. There was a back log of games I could probably buy cheap used. Then I’d order an extra large pizza loaded with pepperoni, lock myself in my apartment and …
“Do you have any idea what I’m getting at?” she asked.
I snapped out of my trance and looked up at her.
“I’m sorry, what? I must have spaced out there for a second. You were talking about doing some overtime for the new shipment?”
She sat back and studied me like a hawk.
“Well, there would be some overtime involved. But it wouldn’t be your usual rate, and it wouldn’t involve any heavy lifting.”
No heavy lifting, then what? I thought, confused.
She turned the monitor back to face me. I stared at the photo and the spooky goth girl stared right back at me.
“Here’s it in a nut shell. I need the right look to model our new line. I need mysterious, I need playful and above all else, I need sexy, and based on the overwhelming support of our customer base, I think the choice is obvious … I need you.”
Chapter Two
I stumbled down the hallway, dragging my feet, my hand closed tightly in a fist over a scrap of torn paper. I felt woozy like I’d just been kicked in the head. Had I? My memory was a foggy mess. Maybe I’d fallen down and banged my head off something. Where had I been again? I opened my hand and looked down at the scrap of paper, counted all the zeros and commas that separated them into neat little groups and remembered. Right, of course, I’d been in Mrs. Flair’s office and I’d accepted a new job.
“Yo, dude, are you ok?” someone asked me from beyond the horizon of my perception. I looked up, and saw a muddy form advancing towards me. I recognized the broad shoulders anywhere, it was John.
I’d worked with him for nine months down in what we’d affectionately called “Hades.” We’d tried negotiating with the furnace, but it was a stubborn old thing, often picking temperatures at random. When it was in a particularly foul mood the warehouse would be as hot as an oven.
“How’d it go, good news, bad news?” he asked. “If there’s a reason to celebrate, there’s a bar just down the street, and if it’s to commiserate, I got a couple of beers stashed away in my trunk.”
I steadied myself, smiled and pocketed the slip of paper.
“Nothing bad,” I said trying to appear as normal as possible on the surface. “Mrs. Flair just had some … paperwork she needed me to sign, for tax purposes or something.”
John grinned, his eyes lighting up.
“Well, that’s great to hear. I’d hate to have to go to all the trouble of having to train a new hire. There’s a real art to teaching someone how to lift a box without throwing their back out the first time. Well, the offer still stands though, if you want.”
“Thanks,” I said smiling. “Maybe another time, it’s been a long week and I’m wiped.”
John grinned. “Count on it.”
Now, I’m not one who typically pays much attention to what a guy looks like. I have a very loose sliding scale between what is hot and what is not. But why would I even use it? If I got along with a guy why would I care what they looked like? That being said, there was no denying John’s raw natural magnetism. He looked like he’d been cut from a slab or marble by a renaissance master. Whatever his work-out regiment was, it was delivering results. If you’d been handed a ball point pen and asked to circle an ounce of fat on his body, you’d be hard pressed to find any.
“Good timing too, it’s almost quitting time. Any big plans for the weekend?” he asked.
My mind drifted back, replaying the last few minutes of my meeting with Mrs. Flair, my hand hovering over the contract.
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” I said softly.
“Well, I still have a few things to tidy up before I head out. I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning. Take it easy champ.” he said and turned to go.
Bright and early, I thought as I watched him go … bright and early.
“So we’ll see you bright and early tomorrow?” Mrs. Flair had asked me as she took the contract from me.
I nodded, meekly.
“Excellent. When you arrive, we’ll take care of everything. You just need to be well rested and ready for action. Nervous?” she asked.
“A little,” I said. “Actually, a lot.”
“Don’t worry. You have absolutely nothing to fear. It’s just going to be you, me, and the photographer I’ve hired. I’ve worked with her before. She’s super professional.
“We’re doing it here?” I asked.
“Yep, we’re closed during the weekend, so we’ll have the entire warehouse to ourselves. We’ll be using a simple backdrop, which we can digitally alter afterwards. No one will ever be the wiser.”
“And you’re going to post the pictures … online?”
“Exclusively to our website, yes, and don’t worry, after I perform my magic no one will recognize you. You may not know this, but before I founded this company I was a very prominent beauty influencer. I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve that I’m dying to try out on you.”
I looked down again at the number she had scribbled on the torn scrap of paper. She’d told me it was what she had budgeted for the model. I’d gasped when I’d seen it. Had I known I had the potential to be a model, I may have jumped at the opportunity sooner. But, a model of what?
She’d laid out a few photos for me to look at. They were her concept drawings for the new line. Her figures were exaggerated, every line dripping with raw sexuality. The lingerie was unlike anything I’d ever seen before.
“Don’t worry,” she said, as she saw me nervously eyeing the shoes. “You won’t actually have to walk around in them. They’re more for show.”
I smiled, trying to conceal my trembling hand. I flipped to the next drawing, my eyes widening when I saw it. What had been left to the imagination had been picked clean by scavengers.
“Having doubts?” she asked.
“No, it’s just … a black velvet dress is one thing, but this … this.”
“Honey,” she said, and reached out and gently touched my hand. “Leave everything to me. I’ve hired the best in the business. You have nothing to worry about.”
I smiled, trying to find reassurance in her words.
I clung to them as the day wound down. I sleep walked through the trip home, almost failing to pay for the bus fair. After a stern eye from the driver, I slipped into an open seat and stared out through the thick rain soaked glass window. The city slipped by as I combed through every detail of my conversation with her. It still didn’t feel real, like it had been a fever dream. I pulled the scrap piece of paper from my pocket and stared at the string of numbers again.
It’s real …
I thought again about her production designs, of what they showed and how little they covered. I was still confused by one thing she’d said.
“Oh, and on your way home you might want to take a quick detour, you know … to prepare.”
Detour, prepare? Why would I need too … Ohh. the thought struck me like a bolt of lightning. I leapt up and pulled the chord for the next stop. A few minutes later I found myself in the isle of a pharmacy close to my apartment standing under harsh fluorescent lights, staring at a wall of products I’d never thought I’d ever need to buy.
There were more options for hair removal than my brain could comprehend, but which one should I choose? I opted to try several, as I didn’t want to draw the attention of an employee and be asked questions I’d prefer not to answer.
With my purchases bagged, I headed home.
It’s best not to describe my single room apartment because there’s not much to describe. The walls were bare, the furniture sparse. I’d been living there for over two years, yet I still hadn’t unpacked half of my cardboard boxes.
I found myself pacing after I arrived. I tried to eat, but had no appetite. I tried to watch TV, but couldn’t concentrate. The tips of my fingers felt electric. I kept looking over at the thin shopping bag sitting on the plastic bin I used as a kitchen table.
When was I going to start preparing again? I looked over at the clock. Close enough, I thought and grabbed the bag and headed for the bathroom. I read the instructions on the box, pouring over every detail several times. One of the hair removal products looked like a thick paste and smelled like an industrial chemical. I opened the bottle, smeared it over every available inch of my body, set a timer on my phone and waited.
My patience was stretched razor thin as I watched every second count down. When it hit zero, I leapt into the shower and started to scrub the thick goo off. I ran my hand over the exposed skin. It was smooth, plucked clean and bare.
I remained in the shower, savoring every last drop of the scolding hot water.
How rude, I thought as the temperature dropped, cursing the apartment’s ancient furnace. I turned the shower off and poked at the tiled floor with my toes. I stepped out, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my shivering, naked body. At the sink, I wiped the steam from the mirror and gazed into the reflection. My wet hair dangled in front of my eyes like festive ribbon, my lips were drawn up like a bow.
What was in those hair removal products? I thought as I examined my body. It appeared fuller. There was a natural swagger to my hips I’d never noticed before. They were curvy, hung like a bell from my thin waist. My legs were long, lean.
I pictured the production designs again, the spaghetti thin straps, tight black lyrca and shimmering red silk.
From spooky to sexy in a snap, I thought, my mind simmering with devilish thoughts.
Chapter Three.
Sleep was not my companion that night. I tossed and turned, haunted by a thousand different thoughts. I eventually eased into the shallow end of my subconscious and waited for dawn. I was surprisingly energized when my feet hit the floor. If I was running on pour adrenaline, it showed no signs of waning.
After a quick shower, I changed. I still hadn’t developed an appetite, but I ate a quick toasted bagel anyway, headed out the door and caught the bus. My heart kept pace with traffic and I arrived with plenty of time to spare.
Should I just walk in, I thought as I stood outside the side door. I couldn’t remember if I’d been given any specific instructions. Were we meeting inside, outside? As I stood there I smelled something foul, ash, from a cigarette. I turned and saw a woman wearing thick rose tinted glasses eyeing me curiously.
Her hair was cut short, the tips dyed purple. She wore a loose white blouse and tailored black pants. Was it the professional photographer Mrs. Flair had hired? It seemed like a safe bet.
Should I introduce myself, but introduce myself as what? The lingerie model? Did she know? Had Mrs. Flair brought her up to speed?
She took another drag of her cigarette and spoke. “Bon après-midi.”
I had no idea what she had just said, so I continued to stand there and smile at her.
There was a loud clank as the door swung open. Mrs. Flair poked her head out, saw us both and grinned.
“Exactly who I was looking for. We’re all set up and ready to go when you are.”
I smiled and nodded, unable to find the right words to say. I followed her into warehouse. It felt strange to be there on a Saturday. It was eerily quiet, like a tomb. The metal scaffolding towered above us, packed with stock. In the dim lighting they almost looked like coffins.
I knew every box, every package, having personally been responsible for stocking most of it. I followed her into the loading dock were we unloaded the stock before sorting it. She’d built a small photo shoot with two green backdrops set up in front of a large black four poster bed adorned with several throw pillows and ivory white blankets.
I had never seen the bed before, nor had any idea how she’d managed to drag it into the warehouse.
“A personal favor,” she said, answering the question I hadn’t asked. “It’s from a personal business acquaintance of mine. I promised to give them a shout out online when we launched the new line. They were more than happy to oblige.”
“It’s impressive,” I said softly, trying to picture myself mounted on the bed in the lingerie I’d seen in the productions designs. How would I pose? Ass up, staring over my shoulder with pouty lips? What did I even know about modeling?
“How rude of me. I forgot to introduce you. This is Amelie, the photographer I told you about. I promise you, you’re in good hands.”
I looked up at Amelie, who was busying herself with one of the cameras on the tripods. She glanced up and smiled. I returned the favor.
“Well, every second counts, shall we?” Mrs. Flair asked. I nodded and I followed her, weaving through the narrow aisles until we arrived at the break room.
“Don’t mind the clutter,” she said as we entered. “I dug deep into my storage and pulled out the big guns. Trust me, you’re about to be spoiled rotten.”
The break room was small. There was a simple table with two chairs, an old refrigerator that rattled, a sink and a microwave which only functioned on high. It wasn’t ideally suited to take a break in. I’d often have to wedge myself into the far corner to avoid blocking anyone’s path. Still, during the colder months it was a better alternative to sitting outside on the asphalt in the dead of winter.
Mrs. Flair had wheeled in several … I guess they were best described as tool cabinets. They were metal with several thin trays, I assumed full of make-up.
“You might want to change first, before we start.” she said.
“Now?” I asked meekly.
“Yes, now. I want to avoid smearing any of the make-up once we get started. Here, you can wear this,” she said picking up what looked like a white fur coat.
“I figured this would be warmer than a flimsy bath robe. Don’t worry, it may look like a million bucks, but it’s fake, a gift from one of the campaigns I worked on. I’ll step outside for a second,” she said, and handed it to me.
“I’ll be right outside when you’re ready, just hauler,” she said, turned and left, leaving me alone with the robe.
I still couldn’t gage how much of what I was feeling was excitement or fear. It shifted back and forth between the two, too often to nail down. But as I held the robe, felt the thick fake fur between my fingers, I felt the overwhelming desire to dive deeper down the rabbit hole.
I stepped out of my sneakers, pulled my shirt off and kicked off my pants. I felt the cool dry air against my naked skin, wrapped myself in the warm coat, sat down, and waited.
“All set?” Mrs. Flair asked from outside the room.
“All set,” I replied.
She stepped back into the room, grinning like a cat.
“All right, let’s get started,” she said and sat down opposite me. She opened one of the storage cabinets and started riffle through it.
“Your hairs still damp, which will help. Do you mind if I tidy it up a bit?” she asked as she pulled out a small pair of red scissors.
“ah …” I replied.
“Nothing permanent, I promise. You can always shake it out later.”
I pictured the production designs again, the illustrations of the slim models and their long gorgeous hair.
“I … I suppose,” I said.
“Wonderful,” she said as she grabbed a towel and placed it around my shoulders. “Prior to being an influencer, I was a hairdresser for several years. It wasn’t the type of work that got me invited to red carpet events, but it paid the bills. Lean forward and close your eyes honey.”
Again with “honey.” Not that I really minded. This was the most time I’d shared with her since I’d started the job. My initial interview had been brief. Even then, she appeared to be pulled in several directions at once. She’d asked me a few questions, glanced down at her phone several times, and was interrupted twice by two different employees before hiring me on the spot. After that, I rarely saw her. Even with a team as small as ours, our paths rarely crossed.
“Your hair is so thick and I love the colour, is it natural?” she asked as she snipped at it with the scissors.
“Yea, I don’t really know what I want to do with it, so I’ve just let it grow out,” I said, which was true. I normally just kept it in a ponytail shoved under a baseball cap. I’d thought about cutting it, but hadn’t bothered. I kind of liked it long.
“Well, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was a bit jealous. Mines just a tangled mess of loose ends and knots,” she said as she continued to cut. How much was she planning on taking off?
I felt her moving around me, buzzing like a bee, before finally setting the scissors down.
“No peeking. I want to finish your make-up first, then you can see the complete picture. All right, lean your head back, but keep your eyes closed.”
I obeyed and tilted my head back.
“The natural hue of your skin is flawless, so I won’t need to smother it in foundation, but I’ll apply a little to even it out.”
I heard the sound of several different trays being opened and closed and the sound of glass bottles being placed on the wooden table. I then felt the touch of thick bristles sweeping against my cheeks like the strokes of a paint brush.
“The trick is to heighten the accents, not conceal the imperfections. It’s a losing game if your goal is bury the face under a foot of foundation. That’s how you end up looking like you tripped and fell forward into wet cement.”
I almost laughed, but kept my composure.
She set the brush down and opened several more trays.
“The colours I’ve selected are ideally suited to compliment the new line. I think you’ll love them. Raise your eyebrows my pet.”
My pet? Again, I obeyed, and felt a smaller brush apply eye shadow.
“Perfect, just like that. You’re so well behaved, has anyone ever told you that?”
Well behaved? Pet, what was she getting at?
I heard her unscrew a plastic bottle then felt a small brush tug at my eyelashes, mascara?
“By the way, have you thought of a name?”
“A name?” I whispered, confused. Why would I need a name? I had one, it was …
“To go with your new persona, silly. The internet in its infinite wisdom has plenty of suggestions, but I thought I’d allow you to have the final say.”
The thought hadn’t crossed my mind. I pictured the photo again, but nothing materialized.
“Do I need to think of one now?” I asked.
“Not at all. We can always add it later. Ok, pucker up.”
I squeezed my lips together and pushed them forward.
I heard her rummaging through the cabinets again.
“This is one of my favorites. Sadly, it’s been discontinued, so I only use it on special occasions.”
I felt her apply the lipstick. There was a slight tingling sensation, a strange warmth that radiated from it. Was I having an allergic reaction?
“Smear it together,” she said.
I obeyed and pressed my lips together. My lips felt fuller, pouty.
“Give me your right hand.”
I did. She cradled my hands in hers. I heard another bottle open and smelled a harsh chemical like an industrial cleaner, it was nail polish. She started to apply it to each of my nails, then moved onto my other hand.
Nail polish, how was I going to remove nail polish?
“Just hold your hands there for a second while it dries,” she said and closed the bottle.
“Can I see?” I asked.
“Not yet, I still have to put on the final touch.”
Final touch? I thought as I kept my hands perfectly still. What was left to do?
I heard her stand up and followed the sound of her heels as she crossed the room. She picked up something heavy and set it aside. I then heard the sound of what I’d best describe as a wooden trunk creak as it was being opened.
“Remember, no peeking,” she said.
There was a loud thump as something heavy hit the table beside me. I almost coughed as I breathed in the dust. Whatever it was it smelled like it had been rotting in a crypt for several centuries. I heard her open it and flip through several pages. Was it a book? Why did she need a book?
“Ah, there you are, perfect,” she whispered. I heard her dig into a pocket and the pop of a small bottle being opened.
“You can put your hands down now, the nail polish has dried,” she said.
I lowered my hands and rested them on my lap.
“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”
It was an odd request, but I obeyed.
“Now it is imperative that you listen to me very carefully and follow my instructions to the letter. Do not swallow until I tell you too, do you understand?”
I nodded and waited. I felt a single drop hit the tip of my tongue. It was acidic. I felt it burn, eroding the soft tissue. I fought against every natural instinct in my body, refusing to swallow.
“Good girl,” she whispered.
She turned her attention back to whatever she’d opened on the table. I heard her start to read, speaking in a dialect I didn’t recognize.
“Ossia omea fay,” she said softly, her voice slipping into a lower octave. “Mohia si kay, sola.”
I felt gravity ease its grip on me. I drifted up, away from my chair. I grabbed hold of it and used it as an anchor.
“Dos infina bia …”
My jaw ached, my tongue burned. A wave crashed against the fragile shores of my conscious battering the lines of communication between my body and my brain. I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.
“Swallow,” she commanded.
I obeyed, the strange liquid, like a corrosive toxin oozed down my throat hitting my stomach like a sucker punch.
“What … what was that?” I chocked, straining to hold back tears.
“Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about. It’s all part of the preparation,” she said. “Now, are you ready to meet the new you?”
My excitement washed away all of my fear. “Yes please,” I said.
I heard her moving again and patently waited for her next command. “Alright, you can open your eyes now.”
I did, slowly. I could feel the weight of the thick mascara on my lashes. Light poured in. The world was a muddy, unfocused mess. Shapes began to materialize, large at first, then gradually gained finer detail. I saw Mrs. Flair. She was sitting in front of me, grinning widely. She was holding a large mirror. In it I saw … my eyes welled up with tears.
“Careful, I’d hate for you to ruin all of my hard work.”
“Sorry,” I sputtered, trying to squash the tears with several quick blinks. My eyes were drawn back to the mirror. I felt completely disconnected from what I was seeing because what I was seeing should not be there. I’d expected to see my tired old reflection staring back at me. What I saw instead was entirely new. The space was occupied by a young girl, my age, but not ravaged by years of neglect. Her skin was pristine, with a soft glow like the embers of a fire. Her features were delicate, her lips pronounced. The make-up was fierce, dark. The lip stick was a deep shade of black with a hint of crimson. The eye shadow was metallic gray with a hint of gold. Then there was the hair … It was the work of a true artisan. She’d taken an old ragged mob, plagued with knots and frayed ends and somehow turned it into a priceless work of art. It framed the face, hanging in spirals, every strand shimmering like silk.
“The suspense is killing me. Well, what do you think, do you like it?” she asked.
I looked over at her, my eyes continuing to well up with tears.
“I love it.”
“Excellent, well, as they say, time is money. Are you ready to make your grand debut?”
I felt the ache in my stomach again, a mix of raw nerves and something else … something new. It was the strange chemical she’d given me, what had it been? I could feel it simmering, spreading its greasy tentacles deeper into my body. It’s nothing, I thought, ignore it. It was just something to help calm my nerves. I looked again into the mirror, then at Mrs. Flair.
“I’m ready,” I said.
She smiled, stood up and stepped over to the make-up cabinets. There were several thin, flat boxes stacked on top of it.
“We have several outfits to go through today. So I thought we’d start with the mild ones first, then as you get more comfortable, progress to the more risque pieces. When you’re ready, meet us in the loading bay,” she said and picked up a small wooden black box. It was long, thin with a heavy golden lock. She turned and looked at me with a devilish grin.
“And no peeking at this one. I’m saving the best for last.”
Chapter Four
My heels rang throughout the warehouse as I approached the loading bay. Every step was a calculated high risk maneuver. The stilettos were razor thin. There was no room for error. One false move and I might snap one of my ankles in half.
I’d changed in the break room. I still wasn’t sure how Mrs. Flair had guessed my correct shoe size and converted it to a ladies size. But, she had. That wasn’t the type of information HR kept track of, was it?
At first I’d assumed the shoe wouldn’t fit. The shiny black heel looked several sizes too small to fit my mammoth, misshapen foot. But, as I dipped my toes in, my entire foot slid in easily. It was surprisingly comfortable. The material was like warm asphalt. The lines were clean, from the open bulb of the heel to the spiked toe.
Standing had proven to be a new challenge. My entire center of gravity had shifted and I felt like I was standing on an uneven chair.
I’d wrapped myself in the thick white faux fur coat, my arms forming a tight knot around my chest.
I stepped into the loading dock bay where Mrs. Flair and the photographer were waiting.
“And our star arrives,” Mrs. Flair said, turning to face me. She was holding a thin glass filled with what I assumed was …
“Champagne?” she asked.
The butterflies in my stomach started to become agitated.
“Ah, no thank you, not right now,” I replied.
“Pity, well we have plenty if you change your mind.”
I looked over at the photographer, who was perched above her camera like a stone gargoyle.
“Whenever you are ready,” Mrs. Flair said and took a sip.
Better to dive into the deep end then wade in the shallows, I thought, and let the coat fall. I went into what I had planned to be classic contrapposto pose. I failed spectacularly. I felt like the petrified remains of a dead animal on a back country road. My arms felt like wet noodles, my belly a bloated sack.
“I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed, tears welling up in my eyes.
“Don’t be,” Mrs. Flair said softly. “You look gorgeous. Did you have any trouble with the corset?”
I looked down at it. Trouble? No. A struggle? Yes.
When I’d opened the thin white box and discovered the corset inside I’d half expected to find a set of instructions.
It was jet black with a thin layer of delicate lace woven on top of a thick layer of vinyl the colour of red wine. Its delicate appearance was deceptive. Hidden underneath the lace and silk were thin iron rods, bones, like the skeletal ribcage of an animal. It was surprisingly stubborn, holding its shape no matter how much I mishandled it. There was a row of tiny hooks in the back. I undid them, wrapped the corset around my chest and started to close them one at a time.
The corset tightened, molding my body into a new shape. I felt my waist shrink, my hips widen. I looked down and saw a hint of cleavage peeking out of the tiny A cups … impossible, I thought, the taste of the strange potion still lingering in the recesses of my mouth.
A set of garters were attached to the bottom, and swayed back and forth, their metal clasps like the jaws of a viper.
I tucked and slipped into the matching pair of black bikini thong panties, the silky materially hugging my sensitive exposed skin.
There was a pack of nylons tucked away inside the box as well. I didn’t recognize a single word written on the silver card stock. It opened like a wedding invitation. The stockings inside were like thin wisps of smoke. I rolled them gently into a donut, dipped my toes in and slid them slowly up my smooth legs until the hem was at my thigh. I let the garters sink their fangs into them and bite down.
I picked up the box, something inside rattled. Had I missed something? I peered inside and saw … was it, it was …
… a collar.
It was made of black leather, hopefully faux. There was a metal clasp bolted to it, with an iron ring.
… a collar.
My mind dissolved into a murky fog, my thoughts drifting aimlessly like apparitions. I tried to grasp hold of them, but my fingers slipped through.
I undid the clasp, slipped it around my neck and closed it. A surge of electricity shook my body. I almost collapsed to my knees.
That’s where I belong, one of my thoughts whispered to me
What? Why would I think something like that?
It was then that I noticed I was tracing the edges of the collar with my fingers.
… my collar, I thought as I wrapped the tip of my tongue around my sharp fangs
… fangs?
I don’t want to keep them waiting, do I, I thought, and stood up.
Something was missing … I looked down, past the corset that had set let concrete, past the string bikini panties, under the garters and over the rolling planes of my smooth legs through the nylon to my bare toes.
Shoes, I thought. I need a pair of shoes. I looked amongst the cardboard boxes and found one that was about the right size. I picked it up. I was about the right weight too. I opened it.
Bingo.
“Is that a no?” Mrs. Flair asked.
I snapped out of my daydream and fell back into reality. “I’m sorry, what?” I asked.
“Nothing, it’s not important. I thought I’d lost you there for a second. Well then, are you ready to make some heads turn?”
I pressed my lips together, felt the wet lip lipstick slide between them.
“I’m ready,” I said, and walked towards the bed. I felt my hips sway, the garters tugging on the nylons. Mrs. Flair had set up several portable heaters around the shoot, but I could still feel the slight chill in the air against my exposed skin.
When I reached the bed, I crawled up onto it, turned my back to the camera and peered over my shoulder. I felt its eye on me, watching me like a vulture.
“Should I …” I asked, searching for the right words.
“Try not to over think it,” Mrs. Flair said from outside the orbit of the camera. “A good pose can’t be forced, it has to be natural.”
Natural, I thought, be natural. I tried to wipe my mind clean like a slate.
“Est-elle et amateur?” I heard the photographer whisper to Mrs. Flair.
“Elle apprendra,” she hissed sharply then turned her attention back to me and smiled broadly.
“Head up honey, lets see those beautiful eyes.”
I raised my head, looked up and saw the camera glaring at me with its unblinking cold eye. I felt my long hair dangle in front of my eyes.
“You’re not in tune with what you are wearing. Stop trying to fight it. Channel its energy.”
Channel its energy, I thought. I felt like I was wrestling with the lingerie. Whenever I tried to go right, it forced me left. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever worn before.
I tried to relax, allowing my body to be guided by it. It was like a magnetic force, pulling me in several different directions at once. I arched my back, and thrust my chest forward. I felt the thong tighten. I placed my hands on my knees, raised my ass, lifting it up off my heels.
“There you go! Now you’re getting the hang of …”
There was a sudden loud bang as I heard the bay door burst open and light poured into the loading bay. I shrieked and tried to cover myself.
“I’m so … so sorry, I didn’t realize any one was … here?”
I swung my head around and saw the intruder. I recognized him, it was John. We locked eyes, his wide, shocked. Oh god, did he recognize me?
Mrs. Flair launched forward, grabbing the faux white coat off the floor and wrapped it around me.
“That’s quite all right John. We weren’t … expecting company. I don’t believe I scheduled you to work today, did I?”
“No you didn’t” he said, trying to divert his eyes from me. “There was a delivery I forgot to add to the inventory yesterday, and I wanted to make sure it was done before the orders went out Monday morning so I … just thought I’d just … well I …” he said fumbling over his own words.
“Incroyable,” the Photographer whispered. I turned to look back at her. Her eyes were glued to a small digital display on the side of the camera. “C’est l’ingredient manguant.”
She’d caught the attention of Mrs. Flair. “Quel ingredient manquant?”
The photographer looked up at her. “Chercher par vous-meme.”
Mrs. Flair stood up, walked over to her and peered over her shoulder at the small screen. Her eyes widened. She then looked back at me, and then at John. “It is the missing ingredient,” she said softly.
“Well, anyway, I don’t want to disrupt you. I’ll just be going …” John said and started to turn.
“Actually, John,” Mrs. Flair said, rushing forward. “If I could just have a quick word with you, I think we may need you after all.”
Chapter Five
“And you’re absolutely positive he doesn’t recognize me?” I asked.
“Beyond a shadow of a doubt,” Mrs. Flair said as we huddled together in the small break room. “I spoke with him at great length and found no reason to believe he’d made the connection.
“How is that possible? We’ve worked together every day for over nine months,” I said, rubbing two small welts I’d discovered on my scalp. Had I fallen and bumped my head when he’d burst in?
“What can I say, I’m good.”
I eased back into the chair, sinking further into the fake white fur coat, the corset underneath whined and tightened.
“And you want us to both … model?” I’d asked meekly.
“I’ll admit, it’s a lot to swallow, but hear me out. I saw the photo. It was incredible. There’s real chemistry between you too.”
“Chemistry?” I asked.
“Yea, it’s raw, natural. You can’t fake it. Trust me, I’ve known several major studios who’ve have spent a small fortune on A list celebrities and failed miserably.”
I smiled, but I couldn’t hide my nagging doubts.
“Why don’t I sweeten the deal with a hot chocolate,” she said. “If I’m not mistaken, we keep plenty in stock. It’s one of the little perks I like to spoil my team with.”
We did, and I was no stranger to it. She opened the cabinet, found a packet, ripped it open, filled two cups with water and started to boil them in the microwave.
“Nervous?” she asked.
“Very.”
“Don’t be, this is what you were made to be, what you are being made to be.”
That was an odd thing to say, I thought as I continued to poke at the tiny lumps on my skull. I could still taste a small hint of the strange liquid she’d given me. Had it worn off, or was it still worming its way through my body?
The microwave dinged, she pulled the steaming cups out and handed me one. I cradled it in my hands and felt the heat through the thick ceramic. I lifted it up and took a sip. The chocolate was artificial, but it helped calm my nerves. I felt tears start to well up in my eyes again. I looked up at Mrs. Flair.
“But, what if I disappoint you?” I asked.
She smiled, walked over to me and placed a finger under my chin. She raised it and stared into my tear soaked eyes.
“You could never disappoint me my pet. You’ve been so … obedient, so willing. You’ve done everything I’ve asked of you and so much more. If you want, we can call the whole thing off right now. I would never ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable doing.”
“No,” I said, “it’s not that, it’s just …” I pictured John, his jaw like a block of concrete, a body like a well oiled machine. I was seeing him in a new light, like something had been unlocked in my brain from some secret well of thoughts I had never been aware of.
“… that is to say, nothing you wouldn’t want to do,” she said softly.
I licked my lips and took another sip. “I think I may have finally settled on a name,” I said as I watched the steam rise from the cup like smoke from the dying embers of a fire.
“Oh, and what would that be?”
“Ashley,” I whispered. “Or Ash for short.”
Mrs. Flair smiled. “Wonderful. It suits you. Ashley it is.”
I took another sip, lapping at it with my tongue. The welts in my head began to throb, it felt as if they were being pushed out from inside my skull.
“I think you’re ready for your final gift,”
“Gift?” I asked.
“I was going to save it till the end, but I think it might be better to strike while the iron is hot, as they say.”
She turned around and picked up the black box with the golden lock.
I stared at it, hypnotized.
She brushed her hand against the lock. There was a loud pop and the sound of something burning. The gold started to hiss and began to melt, dissolving into a liquid and dripped to the floor. The top of the box slowly opened, and thick gray tendrils of smoke rose like the brittle legs of a spider.
“What is it?” I asked.
She smiled, the light in her eyes burning like an inferno.
“The last thing you’ll ever need to wear.”
Chapter Six
I followed Mrs. Flair back to the loading dock. I still had yet to find a good equilibrium with what I was wearing underneath the faux white fur coat, it was unlike anything I could have possibly imagined, not to mention how awkward the …
“Sorry to keep you waiting, we were just having a little … girl chat. Tu es pret Amelee?”
“Oui,” Amelie said and hunkered down, behind the camera.
Mrs. Flair walked slowly over to John who looked like a wind-up toy caught in an endless loop.
“I’ll save you the formalities. John, this is Ashley, Ashley. John.”
I saw his eyes dart over to me, then away. As he spoke I could hear his voice tremble.
“Ah … hello.”
Mrs. Flair smiled, reached forward and started to unbuttoned the top of his shirt.
“That wasn’t so hard, now was it? There’s nothing to worry about. After all, were are all professionals here.”
She stepped into the center of the loading bay and addressed us all.
“Well then, if no one has any questions, we’ll begin. No? Excellent. First, some ground rules before we begin. John, this applies specifically to you.’
He looked up at her, alert.
“You are not to touch Ashley unless she initiates it, is that understood?”
“Of course, understood” John said, his eyes darting over to me, then away. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good, and if for any reason the two of you feel uncomfortable, just say the safe word … which is … well, one we need to decide on right now. Any suggestions?”
Everyone remained silent.
“I have one,” I said softly.
They all turned their attention towards me. I wanted to curl up into the faux white fur coat and wither away like a dead vine.
“Go on, don’t be shy,” Mrs. Flair said.
“Devil,” I whispered.
Mrs. Flair’s lips curled up into a neat bow.
“Perfect. All right then, “devil” it is. If spoken, we stop immediately, no questions asked. In the meantime, I’ll facilitate, think of me as a … director. I’ll give you instructions. But, I want you to be willing to let the process guide you. Remember, in order for this to work there needs to be a narrative, a common thread that the viewer can follow. For “Dare to be Devilish,” its temptation.”
I felt her gaze drift to me. Her eyes piercing me like daggers.
“And in order to tempt, you must seduce. Ashley, if you wouldn’t mind getting up onto the bed.”
Her words were commands, throwing me into the backseat of my own mind as an invisible force took control of the wheel. Before I was even aware of what had happened, I was back up on the bed, resting on my knees.
The shadows crept in from all sides, clawing at the ring of light generated by the portable heaters, their light bathing everything in the colour of dry rose pedals.
Mrs. Flair and the photographer sank into the darkness leaving Jake and I alone in the halo.
“Don’t be timid pet. All eyes are on you now,” Mrs. Flair said, her voice floating like an apparition.
I looked up at John. What was it he reminded me of? … a fighter? No a boxer. Every muscle crackled like an electric wire. His shirt had come loose, his bare chest exposed.
“Remember, it’s a game and you hold all of the cards.”
The image of him standing there seared a hole in my mind as I turned away from him. I tilted my head, placed my hand on the faux fur coat and let it slip off my bare shoulder. It fell to my elbow, revealing the long lycra black glove I wore.
“Lure him, taunt him, tease him … deny him,”
I turned my head, brought my hand up to my other shoulder and let the faux coat drop to my waist. I looked back at John, his feverish eyes devouring the …
“Teddy is the word you are looking for” Mrs. Flair had said while we were in the break room.
I’d been staring at it for several minutes, trying to make sense of all the buckles.”
“And it’s a one piece?” I asked.
“It is. It’s actually rather complicated. There are several seams with underwiring hidden within them. Some of the buckles are purely aesthetic, a few actually act as shape ware.”
“And the loose straps,” I asked.
“They attach to your collar,” she said.
I found myself gently tugging on it. It was tight against my throat. My mind continued to swim in an empty fog, unable able to focus.
“I don’t see a clasp,” I said.
“You won’t need them. Don’t worry, leave that part to me. In the meantime, I have one last gift for you.”
“You do?” I asked.
She smiled, raised her hand and opened her palm. It was empty, there was nothing there. Confused, I continued to stare at it. What was I suppose to be looking … then I saw it. A snake appeared from under her short sleeve and slithered down her arm. I almost jumped back in horror, but my body refused to react.
It was blood red, it’s small forked tongue darting out as its body formed a tight coil around her wrist and rested its head on her palm. Its unblinking amber eyes stared at me. She slowly closed her fingers around it like a steel trap. Its body went limp and fell free like a whip. She opened her hands, her thumb and forefinger holding its head … or what had once been its head. The shape had changed and was now the tip of a …
“Show us that beautiful tail,” Mrs. Flair whispered from the shadows beyond the halo.
I concentrated, remembering her instructions.
I drifted back again into a memory.
She’d told me to strip, not asked, told me. I’d obeyed.
I sat up, took the faux fur coat off and started to peel off the layers of lingerie. I felt a quiet relief when I unhooked the corset. I left the heels on.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” she’d whispered. “I’m only doing this once. Now stand.”
I obeyed and stood before her.
“So, tell me, what do you think of your new body?” she asked.
I looked down, admiring my new breasts, now free of the constraints of the tight corset.
“They’re wonderful, but how?” I asked.
“Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about. Tell me, what is your name again?”
“Ashley,” I giggled, remembering I’d picked it because of how I’d loved the sight and smell of ash.
“And before that?” she asked.
“Before what?” I asked, confused. A tiny little voice screamed from deep within the void of my subconscious. I saw the image of a small lonely apartment with unpacked boxes, and a city soaked in rain through a thick glass window. The corners of the memory frayed, slowly burning until it was no longer recognizable. Then … nothing. I remembered this room, this small room, of which purpose was too … I couldn’t remember that anymore either.
She smiled, which made me smile, pleased that I served her.
“It’s not important, it never was. Turn around my pet,” she commanded.
I obeyed and spun around on my heels. I felt her approach me from behind. I could feel the heat from her, like the iron casket of a raging furnace.
“Bend over.”
I bent over, resting my elbows on the wooden table. I raised my head, and stared forward.
“Spread your legs.”
I spread my legs, and felt them strain as my heels dug in.
The tip of her razor sharp finger nails traced the small of my back. There was a sudden pain like a burning coal was being pressed into my skin.
“Don’t fidget or the ink won’t set properly,” she hissed.
“What … what are you doing to me?” I whimpered.
“Marking you. Now speak only when spoken too.”
I obeyed. I felt her other hand touch my exposed ass.
“This is the last of the incantation that I have the power to cast. The rest I leave up to you. Let me ask you, do you like being my pet.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Good, in order to submit, to fully hand yourself over to an existence of eternal servitude and obedience you must do it willingly. It cannot be forced.”
I felt the dull end of the tail slip between my cheeks, searching …
“And how do I do that …” I moaned as a wave of pleasure rolled over me, as my body was penetrated.
“That is for you to discover …”
I fell out of the fever dream and looked back at John, and commanded my tail to rise. It complied. It was one of the simple tricks I’d learned since it had fused with my body. It rested just below the small of my back, poking out through a small hole that had been specifically designed for the lyra teddy.
Wonderful, I thought. I might have use for it yet.
I looked down at my shoulder, felt the warmth from the heaters baking my exposed skin. It had started to tan, depending to a crimson red. I leaned forward, locked eyes with him and slowly licked it with my forked tongue.
I spun to my side, sweeping my legs up, and over the side of the bed. The sound of the heels of my thigh high stiletto boots rang out like a revolver. I felt the thong of the teddy tighten, the hidden sorcery of the teddy’s underwire metal frame gently squeezing my sides.
I took slow even steps, placing one foot in front of each other, closing the distance between us. Although firmly anchored, my new breasts bounced with every step. From beyond the ring of shadow I heard the faint sound of a camera snapping, though I could no longer remember why.
I circled John, tracing the lines of his body with my fingers, then stopped in front of him and looked up into his eyes, the gap between us razor thin.
In my dying memories, I heard Mrs. Flair’s words again.
“Remember my pet, the choice is yours. You can walk away and tomorrow you will wake up and remember all of this as nothing more than a strange fever dream. Or, you can join us, forever, eternally, in servitude.”
“How?” I’d asked again, as I’d slid on the lyra teddy, feeling it swallow me whole.
“I’ve already given you the catalyst, it rests inside your belly. You need only find the missing ingredient and your fate will be sealed,” she said as she tightened the straps around my collar.
I slipped out of the dream, back into reality.
I reached out and touched John’s chest, savoring every well defined line. He looked down at me.
“What … what are you?” he asked softly.
“A gift,” I said. “Your Valentine.”
I leaned forward, up onto my toes, my hand planted on his chest and whispered into his ear.
“I’m yours if you want me. The choice is yours. A devil,” I said, as I lowered my free hand. “Or an angel,” and started to trace the lines of his throbbing cock.
I pulled back, saw the anguish in his eyes, as he struggled to refrain himself. I saw him battle with his own inner thoughts, before a victor emerged.
“Angel,” he spoke softly.
I smiled and fell to my knees. I let my hands slip to his thighs and looked up at him. I started to toy with his belt buckle. I could feel his erection pressing against the fabric of his thick jeans. I undid his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and gently tugged at his zipper. His hard cock sprang free, pulsating with raw sexual energy.
I licked my lips and admired it before plunging forward. It was a magnificent instrument, forged by the gods, a creation beyond the comprehension of mere mortal men. It was as thick as a post, the tip like a blunt hammer.
Would I even be able to wrap my mouth around it?
I hungered for it, drawn forward by a primal magnetism. I opened my mouth, my wet forked tongue reaching for the base of his shaft. I made the connection, felt an electric spark, then followed it to the tip, a journey that felt like an eternity. At the tip, I wrapped my mouth around his hard cock and greedily devoured every inch. I brought my hand up, hooking it around its base and fell into a cycle, moving from the tip to as far as I could to the base, and sucked.
I felt his body trembling, the rules of the game forbidding him from touching me. The cold slab of concrete below me offered little comfort. My knees arched, my back hurt and the lyca teddy didn’t appear to be committed to the idea of actually covering me. My bare ass was exposed, the thong buried deep between my cheeks. My breasts hung precociously on the edge of the feeble cups.
I didn’t care. I was savoring every second. I couldn’t decide what I loved more, my mouth wrapped around his hard cock or what I had now become, his little cum sucking succubus, eternally bound and eager to serve him.
I sucked harder, tightening my lips around his throbbing cock as he built towards a climax. I wanted to drown in his cum, have it pour down my throat. I thought again about what Mrs. Flair had said, it was one of the few remaining thoughts I clung too as my mind emptied like a shattered glass.
The missing ingredient … the final phase of the incarnation, one which would seal my fate forever. But, what was it? Before he erupted in my mouth … I had my answer.
The moment was like a rising dawn, reducing all memories of what I had once been to ash. He came in my mouth, the salty warm cum rocketing to the back of my throat. I swallowed hard, devouring every last drop. I savored the strange new taste, a taste I knew would soon be as familiar too me as the air I breathed. As it hit my stomach and formed a magical bond, the last refuge of my past flickered in my mind before being extinguished forever.
“I want to thank you,” I’d said to Mrs. Flair as she tightened one of the buckles behind my back that I was unable to reach.
“Thank me, Thank me for what?” she asked.
I looked over my shoulder through my misty eyes and smiled.
“I’ve never felt as happy as I do right now. It may sound difficult to explain, but It’s like you’ve lifted a weight off of my soul.”
She laughed.
“I did nothing of sort. I only nudged you in the right direction,” she said as she reached down and stroked my new fully formed horns. “My, my … Look at how far you’ve come in such a short time. I’m jealous I won’t have you all to myself. I always thought you’d make the perfect pet.”
“And what … what will happen next?” I asked meekly.
“You’ll never be burdened by an unpleasant thought ever again. All of your needs will be taken care of. You will live a spoiled pampered life in a gilded cage far from the troubles that plague this broken rotten world. You will know and care for only one purpose: to serve. To do so will fill you with eternal joy. How does that sound pet?”
I closed my eyes, a single tear staining my check. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you … thank you Mrs. Flair for everything you’ve done,” I purred.
“Please,” she said, and guided me back towards the loading bay. “Call me Luci.”
The End.
