That Old Dark Horse! By Throne (23 Pages) (Patreon)

That Old Dark Horse!

By Throne

© 2019-2020 QoS Comix All Rights Reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to ​Devinwhitegurl@gmail.com 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

***DEVIN DICKIE NOTE***

All characters are OVER 18 years of AGE! This is a bullying fantasy and not real.  The acts in the following written work are only consensual  sexual choices and fantasy humiliation scenarios.

Bullying is NOT OKAY and If you or someone you know is being bullied, please alert the authorities. 

THAT OLD DARK HOUSE 

by Throne

Travis was bored and restless.  At 19 he was stuck in an uninspiring job, craved excitement, and never had enough money.  But he wasn't totally without options.  The old Wheatley Mansion was out there on the edge of town, protected by a high iron fence that was topped with sharp points, and guarded by a live-in caretaker.  The watchman was middle-aged and when he came into town it was mostly to buy supplies.  His name was Harry or Gary or something.  It was rumored that there were endless riches inside.  Supposedly, several guys had tried to break in over the past half dozen years, but then were never been seen again.  The police came up clueless.  To Travis the explanation was obvious.  Those thieves had gotten so much loot that they'd fled to the city and started over.  That sounded perfect to him.  Which is why the teen, short and slim, with smooth even features, found himself lurking outside the huge old place at around midnight, in late Fall.  He had been there several evenings previously, digging his way under the gate and reconnoitering the property.  There was plenty of cover between where he was and a basement window, one that looked like it would be easy to pry open.  He wore all black clothing, including a knit cap pulled down over his long blond hair.

Taking a deep breath and telling himself he wasn't scared, Travis squirmed his small body under the imposing fence and began moving from one patch of shadows to another.  Soon he was at the window that almost touched the ground.  Using the pry bar he'd brought along, he carefully loosened it from its frame and popped it out.  Travis wiped away cobwebs and stuck his head inside, squinting to see in the shrouding darkness.  He didn't detect any signs of the guard and so turned on his flashlight.  Using a trick he'd seen in and old B&W movie, the teen had taped over most of the lens, so that only a narrow stream of illumination escaped.  He moved that around the space, seeing crates and outdoor furniture and shelves filled with empty jars and jugs.  Travis went in feet first, cautiously lowering himself to the floor without mishap.  He brushed off his sweatshirt and jeans before moving slowly across the space to the stairs that led upward. 

While he'd been burrowing under the fence he'd also watched the house for signs of the caretaker.  What he observed was that the downstairs lights went off around eight, and then some upstairs ones went on.  Those stayed lit until after midnight, when most went off, with only one -- that he assumed was the live-in's bedroom -- remaining on.  That one would be extinguished soon after, leaving the entire place in deep darkness.  That would have taken place already, Travis confirmed, checking his watch.  He knew from chatting with Ben, the clerk at the liquor store, that the watchman bought a bottle or two of whiskey every time he was in.  So he probably had a drink before bed, which would most likely mean going to sleep quickly and not being wakened easily. 

Travis crept up the wooden steps, his light aimed toward the door at the top.  He tried the knob and was relieved when it turned easily.  Its unlocked state gave him immediate access to the first floor, which was all he needed.  As he pussyfooted in through a pantry and entered the kitchen, the atmosphere remained silent and still.  He stopped, braced himself, and moved down a hall and into a spacious, high-ceilinged, room.  There was plenty of old fashioned furniture, a bust on a pedestal, and a grandfather clock against the wall.   There were also bookshelves that nearly encircled the space, and reached further up than his short arms could stretch.  He sighed in disappointment.  Instead of valuable antiques there was a library full of old volumes.  What did he need with those?

He slipped further down the hallway and, at the end, opened a white door.  Behind it was a small bedroom.  It had obviously been occupied by a girl, which was evident from the framed pictures of kittens and vases of dried flowers.  There was a long dresser over whose top were arranged perfumes, cosmetics, two jewelry boxes and, at each end, a candelabra with four arms.  Travis's tense shoulders relaxed as his eyes returned to the jewelry boxes.  Those were just what he had been seeking.  It had been ten years since the Wheatley family moved away under mysterious circumstances, so there had been no guarantee that anything of real value, and small enough to easily take away, had been left.  Now, if there were still some precious items in those boxes, this would all have been worth it. 

The teen gingerly opened the wide bottom drawer of the larger box.  Despite his need for silence, he gasped.  Glittering up at him from the beam of his light was an array of sparkling jewelry.  He had done some research in distinguishing the real from the fake, and was satisfied that what he was ogling was genuine.  There must be a fortune in there, ready for the taking.  He realized he was breathing fast and forced himself to slow down.  This was better than he had hoped for.  His fingertips touched the collection of valuables, even as he was calculating how much more there must be in the other compartments.  Plus, there was still the second receptacle of riches.   His head was filled with dreams of avarice. 

Just then, as his greedy imaginings were about to be fulfilled, the wicks of eight candles sparked and flickered into flaming life.  He stepped back, eyes wide, blinking in the sudden brightness.  There was no one there who could have lit them without him seeing.  And even if there was, how could they have reached all of them at once?  Stunned and disbelieving, seeking some explanation, he spun around.   Blocking the doorway was a female, clothed in white, the ends of her long pale hair stirring as if moved by a light breeze, though that was impossible.  Travis looked her up and down, which was when he got an even more jarring shock.  Petite feet, clad in little silver slippers, hovered several inches above the floor. 

Her sweet face broke into a smile.  In a cheery and unthreatening voiced she said, "Hello."

Forgetting his need for silence, he muttered, "What are you?  A ghost?  Or a witch?"

She giggled.  "Right on both guesses.  I'm the ghost of Mary Wheatley, daughter of the family who left here.  But I was also a witch, though they didn't know it.  When I discovered that I was terminally ill, I cast a series of spells to bring them good fortune.  To make them much richer than they already were.  I also used my magic to give them peace of mind, so they wouldn't mourn my passing for years to come.  But I wanted this place to myself, so I planted the idea in their minds that they would prefer to live elsewhere, in very comfortable circumstances that were possible from their new fortune.  That way I could have my own home without company.  Or rather with only Larry, who was so kind to me throughout my childhood.  Now that I'm discorporate, we're closer than ever.  I'm so glad he stayed on as the watchman."

"But what are you going to do to me?"

"Well," her form bobbed up and down slightly in the air.  "You are a thief."  She said it less with condemnation than with amusement.  "So I'll just have to punish you."

"Please," he begged desperately, "don't kill me."

"Why would I do that?  Then your spirit would stay here with me."  She made a sour face.  "Ugh.  Who wants to spend years with a dead burglar?"

"I've never robbed anyplace before," he told her.

"That's nice," she said lightly.  "But it doesn't excuse the fact that you're robbing this place right now.  Or at least trying to."

"Are you going to... turn me into something?  Like a toad?"

This time she laughed out loud, the sound familiar yet slightly hollow.  "Not a toad.  Though there will be some transforming done.  Mostly in the mind, however."  Her ghostly finger tapped her ghostly temple.  "You'll see."

"You can't do that."

"Of course I can."  Mary waved her hand slowly back and forth in front of her face, while incanting some words that should have been easy to hear, but which he couldn't quite make out.  "I can do many things.  For instance, I just made it impossible for you to leave this room.  Go on, little thief.  Try to go out that door."

She floated to one side, leaving the exit accessible.  Travis approached it uncertainly.  He reached for the knob.  For some reason he couldn't grasp it, turn it, and let himself out.  When he looked for Mary again, she was at the dresser, picking up and examining the make-up items.  As close as she was to the multiple candle flames, he could see that she was insubstantial.  Flickering light allowed him to view his own reflection in the wide mirror behind her.  She rotated slowly, a tube of lipstick between her slender fingers.

"Don't be so afraid.  I'm not going to do anything horrible to you.  Trust me."   She gave him a look that triggered the opposite reaction and then put the tube back where it had been.  "We'll save the face paint for later.  Right now we have to get you dressed.  Well, undressed first.  And then all prettied up."

He didn't understand.  Her image faded until only her hands remained.  Then they multiplied uncannily to a half dozen.  Two of them gripped his unmuscular arms with surprising strength.  Two more held his ankles.  The final pair began to pluck at his clothes, unzipping his sweatshirt and unbuckling his belt.  Taking off his cap to let his long hair fall free over his collar.  Deftly removing his sweatshirt without allowing him enough freedom to stop her.  Opening his jeans so his fly could be easily lowered.  Lifting his feet one at a time to untie and take off his running shoes.  Soon his shirt was unbuttoned and gone as well.  In only his jockey shorts, he thrashed around in the unbreakable grip of those six hands, desperate not to lose the last of his clothing.  One hand released his neck and drifted downward, to playfully insert a finger under the waistband of his underwear.  Travis whimpered and was instantly ashamed of himself for making that sound, despite the extremity and sheer weirdness of his circumstances. 

Travis had to stand there helplessly as his last covering was inched lower to expose his less-than-firm  young bottom in back, and his immature-looking genitals and sparse, fine blond pubic hair in front.  He sniffled like a weakling being bullied.  The last of his clothing was tugged along to his thighs, past his knees, reached his ankles, and was pulled over his twitching feet, to be tossed into the narrow space between the bed and wall.  His lips quivered as he fought to maintain a modicum of control and self respect. 

His remaining resolve weakened further when he saw one of the dresser drawers opened by a ghostly hand, and a pair of panties -- pink and bikini-bottom-brief -- lifted out by translucent fingers.  Mary's face appeared before him, wearing an impish grin.  The panties were slid on over his feet and worked up his legs.  All too soon they were in place, hugging his smooth bottom and containing his unimpressive male parts.   That girly garment was followed by another one, equally insulting to his maleness.  It was a satin camisole tank- top, with spaghetti-thin straps, in shimmering pastel red.  As it was put over his head and slithered down over his bare torso, the material made his skin tingle and stimulated his receptive nipples.  His penis pulsed inside the clinging panties. 

"You can't do this," he protested weakly.  "I'm not a girl.  Or some kind of sissy."

"Not yet you aren't," she retorted merrily.  "But give it some time."

His failing resistance faltered in the face of such unequal odds.  How could he fight back against magic?  She continued to manipulate him effortlessly as she eased bright yellow, micro-mini shorts up his legs and fastened their buttons.  The tiny garment was open on both sides, top to bottom, with crisscrossed laces that passed through eyelets to hold the halves together.   The rear seam was so tight it pressed between his buttocks, separating and defining them.  Then came knee socks with rainbow colored, horizontal stripes, wide attention-getting ones.  Finally there were shiny green shoes with chunky two-inch heels.  Travis was steadied by the cold touch of all the ghostly hands as she made him walk around the small room, out the door, through which he could now pass, and in and out of several other rooms.  By the end he was confident enough of his balance to walk in that footwear, though he was limited to taking small mincing steps. 

Icy fingers coaxed him back to the bedroom.  A white, scroll-backed chair moved on its own, an eerie sight, to a spot in front of the dresser.  He was coaxed to sit in it, allowing him to see his face's reflection.  Mary's body rematerialized and her head and all those hands joined it.  The supplementary extremities did a slow fade.  The youthful ghost/witch examined the array of cosmetics and began to select and use them.  Travis stared as his face was gradually remade.  There were eyebrow pencil, shadow on the lids, mascara, blush, lip liner, lipstick, and a final coating of lip gloss.  The makeover was startling.  He saw not himself but a desirable young girl, one who used a bit too much make-up to suggest that she was eager and willing to meet boys. 

Travis cried out in dismay, "Nooooo.  This is wrong.  It's not fair."

"What wasn't fair," Mary reminded him, "was you breaking in here and trying to rob me."

She went to work on his hair, brushing and spraying and fussing, until it was fuller and had been worked into rolling waves.  He understood that it would be possible for him to pass, from a distance, as a girl.  That was a disturbing prospect.  She did some final touch-ups, creating an artificial shadow under his lower lip to suggest a permanent pout, and adding a hint of glitter to his pinked cheeks, that suggested a partying attitude.  Just when her captive though his predicament could get no worse, he heard movement behind him.  In the mirror he saw a tall male figure filling the doorway.  It was the caretaker, who Travis recognized from sometimes seeing him in town.

Mary turned her head and said, "Hello, Larry."

"Hello to you, little missy."  The man had a rugged look about him.  "Got yourself another one, I see."

"Yes.  He must have thought he was stealthy, but I heard him right away."

"And I noticed how he was digging under the fence as soon as he started.  So I guess there was no way for the little stinker to get away with it."

"But he is going to leave here with at least a few pieces of my jewelry."

As Larry looked on with a wry smile, Mary selected a gold choker, a large gaudy ring, and several heavy bracelets, all of which she put on Travis.  The teen could tell from what he had previously learned that none of them were valuable.  She picked up a small pump bottle of perfume and sprayed a few puffs at various parts of his body, also pulling back his hair and making sure to get a spritz of the fruity scent on either side of this neck.   Travis shuddered.  Mary gestured mystically and explained to Larry that she was making Travis's limited body hair vanish, as well as guaranteeing it wouldn't grow back. 

"So," Larry wanted to know.  "Are you going to do the same with this one as you did to the other three?"

"Give him a runaway sex drive?  Make him attracted only to men?  And put the idea into his head that he has to go to the city?"

"Right.  So he ends up being a Nancy boy, running after any guy with a randy tool.  Compelled to make them happy even though he hates what he's doing."

She chuckled.  "I was planning on that.  Except not sending him to the city.   I drew some additional power from my previous housebreakers.  Back then I had limited abilities outside this place.  Now I'm able to exert some influence on people in the world beyond these walls.  And I found someone I think will be a perfect match for our Travis."

"Travis?  That's not a girl's name."

"Right you are.  So let's change it to... Mavis."  She turned to the seated teen.  "Do you like that one?"

"No."  He sobbed.  "It's awful."

"Great.  Then Mavis you shall be.  Of course, I'll let you remember your old name.  Every little indignity adds to your suffering."

Larry offered, "I like the way you think, Mary.  Still, having them in the city, hanging around sleazy bars, drooling over guys in tight pants, is what a robber like him deserves.  Dressing up all girly to attract attention.  You did make him want to wear frills and panties and all, didn't you?"

"I did.  But I made the spell weak enough that he'll be able to fight it.  Never beat it, naturally, but there'll be a constant conflict."

The watchman nodded approvingly.  "Good.  But about this new power, being able to reach out and touch the mind of someone nearby, you say you did something with that.  Could you be more specific?"

"I can let you watch and see.  I'm sure Mavis here is in a hurry to find out what's in store for her."

"Please.  Stop talking about me like I'm not a guy."

"Well, you don't look like one.  You look like a sissy who's trying to get a guy interested in her."

He was nearly crying as he objected, "But I don't want to be a sissy."

"Too late for that," she assured him.  "Now I can feel your new friend approaching this house.  Why don't you leave by the front door?  I'll unlock the main gate from here.  And Larry and I will watch from an upstairs window so we can see you begin your new life."

Like someone in a trance, unable to control himself, Travis went through the house, seeking the front door.  He found it and let himself out, stepping onto the wide wraparound porch.  His movements in those feminine shoes was surprisingly assured, so long as he took tiny steps.  He could tell that his gait was making him roll his hips but there was no way to prevent that.  The cool night air made his nipples engorge, so that they were visible through the thin top.  His flat chest and narrow hips would make his true gender obvious.  Everything else would suggest that he was a complete sissy, on the prowl for male company.  If he could just get back to his apartment, he could strip out of these unwanted clothes, wash away the stigmatizing make-up and perfume, and get his hair back to its normal look.  Surely those spells Mary had mentioned couldn't be real.  It wasn't possible to change his personality like that.  If he could flee now, there wouldn't be a chance to put the possibility to the test.  He passed out of the gate and turned toward where his car was parked, several blocks away, then remembered that his keys were still in his jeans, in that dreaded house that he intended never to enter again.  Travis was looking toward the ground, measuring his steps, considering whether or not he should remove those shoes and make the long walk home in the garishly colorful socks.  A part of him didn't want to lose the feminine footwear.  That was puzzling.   All of a sudden he was startled to hear someone coming toward him.  Travis raised his head. 

From an upstairs window, the ghost of a witch and the caretaker who had been her friend since childhood, observed the developing scene.  The second person was male and he intentionally blocked Travis's path.

"I see," Larry said, his tone already congratulating her for the choice.  "It's Reggie Van What's-his-name.  That spoiled rich brat who lives on the hill."

"On the hill," Mary expanded, "in a palatial estate that he inherited a few years ago, when he turned 21."

"And you think he's going to want to -- you know -- get intimate with our Miss Mavis?"

"You don't have to be delicate when you talk to me, Larry," she chided.  "I know I still look the same age as when I became a spirit, but I'm really quite grown up.  And yes, I know Reggie will be attracted to Mavis, in a most carnal, rapacious way.  The rich young man has a penchant for sissies that he's never been able to satisfy, except on discrete visits to the city.  In fact, when I was probing his mind I found out that he's encountered all three of my previous projects, who I still have tenuous mental links to."

Down on the sidewalk, Reggie was crowding Travis backward.  He told the attractive she-male, "I really like that slutty look of yours.  Why don't you come up to my place?  It's not far from here.  We could just chat."

"I'd really rather not."

Reggie, hair slicked back, snub nose seeming to test the air for Travis's sissy scent, freckled cheeks coloring slightly as his anticipation mounted, looked around.  "I don't see a car nearby.  And I can tell you're still breaking in those sexy shoes.  You need to get off your feet.  So why don't we just pay my house a visit?  Hmmm?"  His attitude hardened.  "Unless you'd prefer for me to call the police and report a sissy hooker who just propositioned me."

"But I didn't..."

"Who are they going to believe?  A cock-tease like you, in drag, wandering around in the middle of the night?  Or a respected taxpayer like me, who went out for a stroll on a whim, and was approached by you, who made suggestions so disgusting that I can't repeat them?"  He took out his cell phone.  "It's your choice, Sugar Lips."

Travis hesitated.  He could see no alternative.  Reggie had a reputation as a selfish despicable person.  But once they were indoors he could possibly be talked out of going any further.  The last thing Travis wanted was to have that leering pervert put a hand in his panties.  There must be a way to discourage him.  Once they were off the street it would be easier to think.  So Travis went along.  At the same time, he felt unfamiliar stirrings in his mind and groin, the two locations now connected by an unbreakable bond.  If matters did proceed further than the teen wanted, it would only be one time.  And he suddenly intuited that it would feel good.  And never be repeated.  But always be fondly remembered.  Though it would not ever happen again.  He heard himself panting softly as he reached for Reggie's hand and allowed himself to be pulled by the older male.  Travis was still trying to sort out his mixed thoughts when they came in sight of Reggie's impressive home and started up the stone steps that were laid into the side of a grassy, well maintained slope. 

From their high vantage point, the watchers had seen Mary's prey and his companion vanish out of sight.  Reggie had pulled the dressed-up young man close and put an arm around his narrow shoulders before they got that far.  It appeared that Travis was leaning against him invitingly.

"Well," Larry concluded, "looks like Mavis is going to get what she wants.  Or what you made her want."  He chortled.  "Which Travis is going to abhor."

"That's not the end of it," Mary explained.  "You see, the rich creep has a real nasty streak.  He has trouble getting sissies even in the city, because of the games he likes to play.  Spanking.  Bondage.  Elaborate roleplaying."

"Whoa."  Larry squinted in the direction of the now invisible pair.  "Sissy Mavis is going to get a real workout.  The sex will be bad enough, with her still thinking like a straight guy inside.  But the rest of it... whew."

The couple had just entered Reggie's home.  He escorted Travis to an inner room with no window, produced a bottle of port and two stemmed glasses, then poured them each a drink.  Travis sipped from his, not liking the heavy liquid but grateful that it took off the chill from outside.  He was still hoping to be home before long and wouldn't mind being fortified for the walk.  Those odd stirrings continued to make him want to stay here, but that was unacceptable.  He decided to play his ace.  In his eagerness Reggie must not have thought everything through .

"Listen," the perfumed youth said cautiously, not wanting to upset his host.  "I have to tell you something.  I'm just a guy from around here.  And I got... um... forced into looking this way.  So I'm not what you think I am."

"Well, that's all right.  We can still have a glorious time tonight.  Maybe make a weekend of it."

"But aren't you worried about what I'll say afterwards?  Once I get home?"

Reggie's lip curled.  "Listen, tramp.  If it makes you feel better to tell some story about why you're dressed like trailer trash, go ahead and do it.  But you're not going home.  This is home for you now.  I'm not going to miss an opportunity like this.  And there's nothing to connect us, so no one will even come around asking questions.  As of this minute, you are a permanent resident of where you are right now.  And as a bonus, I can get rid of my cleaning service and make you the fulltime maid.  I don't work, so we'll be together 24/7.  What could be better?"

"But I don't want to...  I'm not..."  Travis felt his willpower melting.  He was being compelled by Mary's magic to do terrible dirty things.  Sexual stuff that was repugnant to his male self, but irresistible to his new female persona.  He got weak in the knees.  "Well, maybe... just a little... and then we can rethink this."

The home's owner laughed cruelly.  "Right.  Before you leave.  Which will be never."  He went to a wide closet and, when he swung open the door, revealed a collection of leather garments of bizarre design.  Mounted on the inside of the door was a collection of instruments of discipline.  "But I'm not a bad guy.  Let's start out slow.  We'll just leave these toys on display to remind you what happens to a sissy who doesn't make me happy.  Now let's have a sample of your talents." 

He began to open his pants.  Out flopped an enviably large cock, thick and ridged with veins.  Travis went goggle-eyed.  His recently acquired desires shifted into overdrive.  He salivated.  With Reggie sneering at his obvious helplessness, Travis sank to his knees.  His nipples pulsed.  The panties felt so good against his crotch that he wanted to wear them always.  His hand went toward Reggie and took hold of his partially tumescent member, easily bringing it to full hardness.  Travis shuffled forward on his knees, aware of how submissive and needy he was being, but incapable of reining in his Mavis side.  He opened his lips wide and took in Reggie's proud cock, loving the feel of it on his tongue, and how it filled his mouth.  As if doing it from long practice, he sucked and tongued, in a rapture of fulfillment.  Reggie put his hands lightly on the sides of Travis's head and stroked his scented hair.  This was a dream fulfilled for the wealthy young man.  He would make it continue on and on.  Right now it was simple and direct.  Very soon, he reminded himself as he glanced toward the open closet, it would become complicated and convoluted.  He had so many fantasies to fulfill.

Travis was still present physically but Mavis was in command mentally, telling him what to do.  The kneeling teen got those pants halfway down and fondled a pair of heavy balls as he managed to hungrily take in another inch of that magnificent staff.  The involuntary sissy wanted to gag and reject what he was doing, to get that invading length of manhood out of his mouth and throat.  As much as he tried to assert himself, actually doing it had become impossible.  He fumbled Reggie's pants the rest of the way to his ankles and groped hard male buttocks.  This was glorious, but simultaneously disgusting.  And he knew that similar scenes would play out and then repeat with everchanging variations.  He was imprisoned by Reggie.  Trapped by what Mary had done to him.  And ultimately, caught by his own altered mind. 

Mavis was thrilled by the muscularity of Reggie's rump.  She knew hers was much softer and wanted it to become even more so, plump and round to attract attention that Travis dreaded.  She had an impulse to encourage everything that would most repel him.  Her new recreation, causing Travis torment, was going to be the most fun she could imagine.  But for the moment she had a concern that was essential to her, which would also achieve the goal of disgracing and sickening him.  She backed off the handsome organ that was the center of her attention, until only the bulbous head was past her encircling compressed lips.  She had to have that unique taste on her tongue, the salty, slightly metallic, distinctive flavor of spunk.  Her short fingers curled around Reggie's shaft as far as they could, and stroked it tenderly, while her active mouth continued to perform like that of an expert. 

She felt him tense up, heard him grunt, and then the longed for gouts of white cream were blasted onto her tongue, rolled toward the back of her mouth, and slid down her throat.  All the while she continued sucking and pumping, extracting the maximum of male ejaculate, greedily gulping it down, while also trying to keep a coating of the rich elixir on her tongue, feeling it energize her.  It was delicious. 

Back in Wheatley Mansion, Mary smiled with the satisfaction of a job well completed.  She told Larry, "That's it.  Our newly minted sissy just swallowed his first load.  He didn't know it but that's what seals my spells.  Too bad for him he didn't fight back harder.  But then maybe he never had a chance.  I'm good at what I do."

"That you are," said the admiring caretaker.  "And I'm proud to be able to help you."

"If you'd like, my offer is still good to..." she began. 

"No.  Thanks as always for wanting to help.  But I prefer to accomplish things on my own.  I met a new girl in town and invited her out here.  So no love potions or other trickery from you, Miss Mary.  Let me woo her and win her the old fashioned way.  You save your magical energy for the next poor sucker who tries to rob this place.  How many more do you need?"

"I think two more will do it.  After that I won't be confined to this location.  As much as I like it here, I want to also be able to fly the night skies, commune with others like me, and be one with the elements for as long as I please."

"That sounds wonderful.  Anything else you'll be doing then?"

"Oh yes.  I'll be visiting all the young guys who I've changed.  Checking in on them and seeing if they need any tuning up.  Maybe even deciding that they've paid enough for their crimes and making it possible for them to settle down with just one man.  And of course, I'll be stopping by Reggie's place to find out how Mavis is getting along."

"And perhaps commuting her sentence at some point?"

"I don't think so," Mary mused.  "It's just going to be too much fun exacting endless justice on that one, making the punishment too much for the crime, and letting that twisted Reggie work out all of his weird kinks, which I doubt he'll ever get to the end of, on our vulnerable little Mavis.  Who knows?  Maybe someday the Travis part of her will learn to like it.  But I don't think so."

Back at Reggie's place, Mavis was hugging his legs.  A drop of cum quivered at the corner of her mouth and she lapped it up, driven by a bottomless appetite.  She looked up at him adoringly as she purred, "More.  More.  More."

"In about an hour," he reassured her.  "But this time you'll be playing dress-up.  And it won't just be your mouth I'm after."

Mavis licked the inside of Reggie's thigh.  Travis tried to close his eyes but could not.

*********