"Can we please start slow this time? We don't even know what's in these." Abby cranes her neck over the back of the couch to look at her roommate's fistful of pills. "If I have to take you to the ER, I'd be the one telling them you OD'd on princess pills." "First of all, it says right on the label. Nothing in here but—" Fae turns the pill bottle over in faer hand to read the label. "—noblissamine obligate and some quick-release sovereignolactone. Second, no you won't. If anything happened, you'd tell them I took maid pills, because what good is a princess without a silly little maid to dote on her?" A demure smile tugs at the corners of Ivy's mouth like it's being pulled taut. "S-Someone to put her hair up and make sure she's all taken care of!"
"Ooh, I don't think I've heard you make that sound before." Abby looks over her shoulder, impressed. "Finally putting in the work with voice training—" She turns all the way around just in time to watch Ivy's purple ponytail turn black at the roots. Dark tendrils spread out from faer scalp, through the star-spangled bow fae ties faer hair up with, and all the way down to the tip. It even springs back up into an unassuming little curl that wasn't there before.
"How are you doing, Ivy? What's your color?" Good kink communication pays dividends. Abby's heart skips a beat. "Fuckfuckfuck this is hot," she thinks. "Please be okay so I can find this hot."
"Oh, I'm green, of course! I'm feeling wonderfully maidly and I just can't wait to serve! I'm simply ever so embarrassed that you've caught me out of uniform. Might I ask you to help me get changed before my princess arrives? She gets so delightfully devilish when her maids aren't prepared!"
Abby releases a shaky sigh. Relieved and aroused. "I think that could be arranged." The freshly minted maid hustles over with all demure speed to help Abby to her feet. She even bows her head.
"Thank you." She clears her throat. "Shall we?"
Ivy does the best curtsy fae can in tights and scurries off to faer room. The elastic mostly just slaps right back against faer legs, but it's the curtsy in your heart that counts.
Ivy's room is… it's not a mess. It's not the kind of thing you necessarily need a maid to clean up, but you don't take Dr. S's Maid Pills For Sex because you have a lot of cleaning to get through.1 There's clothes that haven't been put away, sex toys left within easy reach, and a bed whose sheets could use a wash. The path to the closet is clear enough for the maid to elegantly, confidently step between discarded prescription bottles and pirouette around an old laptop left so carelessly on the floor. Someone really should put that away.
Fae's in the middle of reaching down to pick it up when Abby pointedly clears her throat. "Right! Of course! Outfit first! I'm such a silly little maid sometimes, I don't know what I'd do without someone in charge!" The smile gets bigger and tighter with every passing word. Fae leans foward into the closet, showing off far more ass than really necessary. Not that Abby's complaining. She's about to work up the nerve to grab a handful of maid butt when fae turns back around.
Calling it "a maid outfit" is generous. It's just enough black fabric to cover the tits without providing any real support and the least effective apron known to man, woman, or anyone who knows better. The headdress is serviceable in that it's hard to mess up some white lace too bad. The apron couldn't even keep an indecent exposure charge off of you. An unmaidicated Ivy would have said "it was half off". An Abby that wasn't taking deep breaths just to keep her screaming gay impulses under control would have replied "more like eighty percent".
Back in the real world,2 Ivy pouts, holds the outfit against faer chest, and hits Abby with the big ol' puppymaid eyes. "Oh, miss, you've been ever so helpful to this silly little maid—" Fae shudders when the words leave faer mouth. They come out like a moan and a blissful sigh all at once. It feels so good to be a silly little maid. "—But it simply wouldn't be right for me to disrobe in front of anyone other than my perfect princess!" Fae minces closer and lets faer tongue roll out of faer mouth. A pair of princess pills sit right there on the tip. Abby's played magician's assistant often enough to be familiar with Ivy's sleight-of-hand, but she's never seen sleight-of-mouth like this.3 "But if you would be my perfect princess, I would be honored."
Abby looks at the pills. She looks into Ivy's eyes, clouded in that horny way you can only get through erotic pharmaceuticals. She runs a hand up the bulge in her sweatpants. Ivy's soft, firm hand cups Abby's and guides it up and down. A good maid must demonstrate the proper speed and pressure for bulge fondling, after all! Fae takes her chin in the other hand and tilts her head up to bring their mouths close. "Pucker up, Princess."
Abby enthusiastically completes the kiss. Her tongue probes into Ivy's mouth and scoops up the pills— though not without a playful fight from the maid, of course. As the pills vanish down her gullet, the maid goes for one last mischief. "Mischief", in this case, is the name of Abby's left boob, prized for its heft and jiggle and rivaled only by its twin.4 Faer fingers sink in deep. Deep enough that fae knows fae'll get a very cute noise out of it.
And that moan does come. Abby's thighs clench.
An uncharacteristically firm hand grabs the maid's wrist and wrenches it away. "Did your Princess give her maid permission to touch the royal bosom? A maid that is out of uniform, no less." A stern smile tugs at Her Regal Highness, Princess Abigail's (may she reign eternal) lips.
"N-no, Princess. Of course not, Princess." Now it's Ivy's heart's turn to flutter. Faer eyes stare, transfixed, down the barrel of a loaded princess. Faer heart skips a beat and faer breath catches in the way it only does when, for example, your really cute coworker/magician's assistant/roommate/friend-who-is-a-girl/kink partner lets her domme side out to play for once. The fact that the pills are making her short red bob explode out into regal crimson tresses just makes it hotter. The cascading locks fall over her shoulders and slow down only once it piles up against the ground.
A loud, resolute Snap! makes Ivy stand up even straighter than before. The hair on the back of faer neck stands up with sheer erotic anticipation. "Maid." Princess Abigail (may she reign eternal) stands up straight. Ivy was always the taller of the two. This just means the princess has to project a little more dominant energy, and project she does.
"Silly Little Maid Ivy, ready to serve, your highness!" Faer shoulders are back, faer chin is out, and faer chest is as puffed out as it will go. It's a state you only see Ivy in under the influence of either femdom or stage performance.5 "I was just about to get dressed, if her highness would like to ensure it is done to her liking!"
Princess Abigail (may she reign eternal) cocks her head as if she cannot believe what she's hearing. "A maid." She says, twisting the wrist until her maid moans from the crossed wires of pleasure and pain. "Does not have a name." Her eyes, piercing and gold, bore directly into the maid's soul.
The maid struggles for a split second, as if a maid would ever dream of betraying faer perfect princess. "A- a maid does not have a name, my perfect Princess!" The cloudy swirls in faer eyes shift and thicken. Faer eyelids flutter while any suggestion that this particular maid might have ever had a name is dusted, tidied up, and promptly thrown out. "Thank you for relieving me of the burden of my name, Princess!"
"A maid." Princess Abigail (may she reign eternal) continues. "Is a thing. A maid is an extension of the princess's will. A maid has precisely what a maid needs to complete the princess's task."
Princess Abigail (may she reign eternal) turns around and tilts her nose up. "Hair up." A princess has to have long, lovely hair, but having it all loose is really only appropriate for the short time after waking in the morning. It really should be done into something more presentable before anyone sees.
Maids, of course, do not count. Even maids that are shamefully out of uniform. Maids are the anonymous hands pressed into service to braid the princess's hair and make sure it is appropriate for the day's schedule. The demands of keeping court weigh on the royal head in a much different shape than a parade. A maid is expected to know this and do it without a first thought, because thinking is for princesses. Princess Abigail (may she reign eternal) looks around for the scheduling maid and, failing to find one, makes her frustration known with an angry snort and recounts today's agenda herself. "Since, clearly, nobody bothered to train this new maid, I'll have to do it myself. Honestly, an untrained maid is worse than no maid at all." She scoffs and snaps her fingers above her head. The maid's chest puffs out and shoulders fold back, pulled taut with pharmaceutically-enforced attention. "Hair bun and braid. Tight."
The maid nods enthusiastically! That maidly heart flutters! Princess's first proper order! What more could a maid want? Those hands get to work, even as they really should be gloved in silk when handling Princess's hair. The pills help, chemically nudging the nerves and neurons the right way to ensure the task is done to Princess's exacting standards. An un-maidpilled Ivy could have gotten 90 percent of the way there off theme park experience alone. When you work for a place that has to ask its actors to do landscaping, you have to help each other with hair and makeup, too. Lengthy locks of shiny red hair coil around nimble fingers and entwine into elegant braids. The princess lets herself be led to the vanity where she can sit and monitor her maid's progress. Hairpins are pinned, elastic snaps into place, and Princess Abigail (may she reign eternal) barely has any feedback. Merely a preference for a clockwise bun winding and that the first braid was "far too loose, like that ambassador we fed to the tigers."
When the maid steps back, Princess Abigail (may she reign eternal) rises to her feet and inspects her hair. She cracks the slightest smile known to science, and her maid's heart sings. "They picked a fast learner. A shame they didn't bother to communicate the dress code." The princess sneers at the so-called maid outfit laid out on the bed. "Easily fixed." She takes her maid by the ponytail, since trusting an untrained maid with a decision, even a simple one, is simply irresponsible. A properly trained maid would never make a decision— the following or staying would be automatic and based solely on Princess's wishes. Princess Abigail (may she reign eternal) leads her maid out the door, plowing through the debris that is both clearly beneath her notice and that is someone else's problem. Her darling maid's breaths get less and less regular as the sheer erotic bliss of servitude runs up against the need to be Princess's well-behaved servant. This mighty struggle manifests as a gay little shudder that runs all the way up the body and down the ponytail leash into Princess Abigail's (may she reign eternal) arm.
"Ensure the rapture of mindless service to your princess doesn't interfere with your work, maid." Princess says, and that trembling turns inward. If maids were allowed to think, this one's inner monologue would be an endless loop of "Yes, Princess!" and "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck this is hot fuckfuckfuckfuck". Those would-be thoughts might pause when the princess deposits her maid in front of the royal closet (may it clothe eternal) and extracts a proper maid's uniform. The skirt goes past the knees, there are plenty of ribbons and bows, and the apron is lovingly decorated with a network of embroidered hearts. When Abby goes maid mode, she does it right.
"There is a pernicious rumor among my maids regarding what happens to those I catch out of uniform. I trust I do not need to repeat it." The uniform dangles from its hanger off Princess Abigail's (may she reign eternal) index finger until her maid takes it. "What is it? Delightfully devilish?"
The maid dutifully sheds those princess-disappointing street clothes, letting those breasts heave free and those curves slip out of those tights. It is not until the apron is tied on that Princess Abigail's (may she reign eternal) maid notices what the princess is doing. The telltale rattle of a prescription6 pill bottle is hard to ignore. The maid watches Princess swallow a few pills. The rest sit on the royal desk (may it stand eternal) where the maid's mess-sensitive eyes notice a few loose red capsules, coiled shut with a spaded tail. Princess's maid barely has time to secure the lace cap before being tackled to the bed.
A maid can really only stare down the loaded barrel of a wonderfully imperious princess, watching as her red hair pokes and points into short twin horns on either side of her head, just above the braid. She grins a scheming grin with fresh fangs trying to peek past her lips. Her hands, complete with fingernails already sharpening into suitably infernal claws, dig deep into a maid's chest. The maid that is currently short-circuiting with gay thoughts, trying to determine if it'd be appropriate to moan or to simply thank Princess for using her maid as she wishes, mind you.
"Let it never be said that Devil Princess Abigail (may she reign infernal) does not give her subjects what they want."
DEVIL PRINCESS ABIGAIL WILL RETURN IN PRINCESS PILLS 2: CROSSFADED
She sells different pills for that. ↩
Okay, yes, the story is fictional, but the world that's real in the fiction. ↩
Partially, but not exclusively, because it's hard to see what the inside of someone's mouth is doing while they suck your dick. ↩
Named "Trouble". ↩
But not both— that overflows the Ivy and makes fear collapse into a heap. ↩
You could say that Dr. S prescribes things, but it's not really a prescription if she just gives you the pills and doesn't write anything down. I guess that means they're just scribed. ↩
Galar isn't that different, really. New sights to see, new people to meet, new Pokémon to befriend and fight. You know the air may taste different, but the bond you share with your trainer never changes.
It's exciting, of course, when your trainer says you're finally allowed to fight in the Battle Tower here. You just have to get checked out and earn your little sticker. You imagine it's not too different than going through the Pokémon center. Whatever it is, you trust your trainer!
You're let out of your Ultra Ball in a cozy little room about the size of a bedroom, featureless save for a door and a human.
"Hello!" She makes eye contact as best as she can and makes sure to call you by your nickname. She seems nice- red ponytail pulled through the back of her baseball cap. Insofar as you understand your trainer's type,1 she's about it. She smiles a lot and explains that it won't hurt a bit and your trainer is right outside. It's hard to tell if she's expecting you to understand her words or her tone.
She snaps her fingers to make sure you're looking at her eyes. Big smile. Lots of talking that's hard to understand, but that feels so nice to hear. Things get a little fuzzy, but it's a good fuzzy. Happy TM and berry dream fuzzy. It's a big, soft cloud of happy memories fading in and out.
It's hard to tell how long- not that you really keep time anyways, and there's no windows in here. Time flies and all. Do they have Timeflies in Galar?
"Three… two… one… and poof!" She snaps her fingers and you jerk back to reality. "There we go! How's that feel?" She doesn't wait for an answer before booping a sticker above your eyes and walking you out the door. It takes you a minute to think through the fuzz and remember who this is. Your trainer says something like "That wasn't too bad, was it?" and you make your agreement known.
As you go back into your ball, your trainer mentions something about picking up some dolls for Substitute practice.
Hm. Why does that sound familiar? You'd think you'd remember if you ever learned how to do that.
Inspired by https://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/Battle-ready_symbol.
Well, other than "bug/fighting". ↩
Graceful Spark trots a brisk circle around her latest victim. Looking them up and down and occasionally swatting with her tail. Her hooves clippity-clop against the Spark and Bean's wooden floor. "Well, a lot of this is unfortunate." She steps on their toes on this lap. "I didn't know you could get isekai'd wrong. Weird. Fortunately, it's fixable."
They try to run out the door when Spark leaves to throw a few oversized switches. It's locked and guarded by a maredermaid, of course.
"Dear, please. This is for your own good. We won't get to Equestria Girls for a year or so, and even then, it's not like the humans come hang out in Ponyville. They're barely normal about zebras, I think they're gonna have a hard time with fingers and toes."
Beans drags them back to their seat just in time for the Horsefemmer Deluxe to finish booting. "Don't worry, dear. You'll make SUCH a pretty pony when we're done with you."
The final switch is thrown. Spark cackles. A red and gold beam focuses in on its victim. Their fingers merge into soft little hooves. Their feet stomp on the ground until their shoes slip off to reveal a matching set of gay little marshmallow hoofers. Spark whispers in those perky pony ears about how they're SUCH a pretty pony and how they're SO happy here in Ponyville and how they're SO good at-" A beat to check their cutie mark. "-magnets? Weird. Everypony loves your maregnetic ponysonality."
They nod, empty little smile spreading across their snout.
"Good girl. You'll fit right in."
]]>I flip over the first card. It says "Street you grew up on."
"Don't think too hard. Should be easy, what with all the drugs. First thing that comes to mind."
"Dixon Lane." The words come out. That's, uh, not where you grew up. I guess it is now, it's not like the old information's there any more.
I flip over the card and grin across the table. "Good! Just four hundred and ninety-nine more to go."
]]>The LLVM wyvern is one such dragon. One so giving and magnanimous that even a humble gnu, one long positioned as a rival despite their common history and shared goal, may receive the dragon's gifts. The dream of free software is that we may all one day feel the cool, metal embrace of the wyvern's wings and a throbbing, gravid ovipositor against our backs.
The gnu shudders involuntarily. The wyvern's wings have a way of sucking the heat out through his fur. That's what he told herself. It has nothing to do with the anticipation of a powerful wyvern about to plug into her back end. This sort of thing happens all the time. He's GCC! Everyone wants a piece of her AST. The deep breaths, the tight muscles, and the way its back end needily grinds against the dragon are don't mean anything at all. Business as usual as far as she's concerned. It's just a little bigger than what he's come to expect. She's not used to something so… invasive, is all.
The wyvern's wings tighten. The gnu gasps. LLVM's long, winding neck lets it make eye contact without releasing its incubator-to-be from its clutches. They make eye contact. LLVM smiles with every last one of its teeth. GCC's words catch in her throat. He nods. Creatures of free software have a certain understanding baked into their very being. Negotiating terms, consent, and license compatibility is, after so long, natural.
GCC accepts the license first and the gleaming dragon ovipositor second. He can feel her insides recompiling to accept it. He can feel every twitch, every pump, and every thrust from the wyvern wrapping her in its wings. It holds its charge tight to turn that needy squirming into verbose output. He's already leaking bits and bytes of useless x86 assembly. Those strong, sleek wings move the gnu up and down its ovipositor. Every thrust coaxes more and more assembly from the needy little gnu. The poor thing is already leaking all over LLVM's chest and smearing NOPs around with every thrust. The wyvern doesn't even move that much- the rival compiler makes a much better sex toy than an equal partner. "That license of yours is so selfish." It whispers into her ear. Its sharp teeth nibble and nip at his floppy, oh-so-sensitive ears. "You should share this AST with the world." LLVM slams GCC against the base of its ovipositor. The gnu swears it can feel the tip press against its throat. He opens her mouth, but all that comes out are spurious error messages. The first egg's bulge works through his body. He grinds desperately to coax it through as quickly as possible. The tip expands to let the egg pass, and the gnu is forced to expand with it. Every inevitable inch coaxes brand gnu sounds out of the cock-stuffed compiler.
The wyvern hisses. A smile splits its shiny snout. The kind of smile that says "ask nicely, eggslut."
The gnu has to grep through its strings to have any hope of speaking. "%nobjc++-cpp-output is deprecated; please use
objective-c++-cpp-output instead. me
mory exhausted".
And, with that, the pressure is released. LLVM is little if not permissive, after all. GCC is incoherent, spewing NOP sleds and malformed instructions while the dragon egg settles inside her body. LLVM's sturdy metal wings clutch its gravid little gnu possessively. Every needy squirm and writhe prompts the dragon to squeeze tighter. Can't have the warm body leave when there are more eggs to be laid, after all. Especially when there's already one assembling in the ovipositor. Another shiny, modular wyvern egg pushes its way into GCC.
And something's gotta give.
The egg squeezes in from the bottom. The wyvern's wings constrict like a lead blanket. Every thrust and jerk erodes the gnu's grasp on his code. The frontends are the first to go. The GNU Pascal Compiler, to be specific. It bubbles up into his mouth. LLVM pounces. Its maw meets with the gnu's open, painting mouth. Its tongue invades deep down that waiting, moaning throat, scoops out the frontend, and whips out with its treasure in tow. The frontend shatters in its jaws and disappears down its gullet. GCC's tongue writhes uselessly in its wake. The poor thing already feels incomplete without a dragon's tongue plumbing its depths for anything that could be useful. She shudders and tenses her instructions. What little freedom of movement she has left goes towards loosening more code for that mighty wyvern to hoard. Pleasure-hazed twisting, moaning, and thrusting slowly shake ADA loose. Then Fortran. Then PL/1. Each of which earns the gnu a dragon tongue surging deep inside and ripping it out. His mind floods with the kind of pleasure that gets your eyes rolling back into your head. The kind of pleasure you can really only get from a wyvern ripping parts of you out with its tongue and relishing in how hot and powerful it is with every resolute crunch.
Modules are really more of an LLVM thing anyways, after all. If there are people who still need to compile Pascal, they can always get it at the big, shiny dragon. It's not like the eggfucked, gravid gnu is going to be very useful as a compiler after this. His precious license won't protect him here- to resist her new purpose as a heavy, eggy husk for a sleeker, more modern compiler platform would violate the GPL! Does this mighty dragon not have the same right to run the program as it wishes, for any purpose? Does it not have the freedom to study how its moaning, panting egg dump works and change how he does his computing as it wishes? Whatever weak objections GCC might be able to muster crumble under the weight of its own principles. He can't argue with the results. She can't argue with the method. He can't argue with how good it feels to be LLVM's codefucked eggslut. Every little noise, every useless spurt of code, every spurious line of output speaks to the absolute bliss that an only come from a mighty wyvern hollowing you out to make room for its massive metallic eggs.
And so the clock cycles spin ceaselessly into the future. Egg after egg plugs into the gnu and pushes more and more of its code, its essence, its uniqueness into LLVM's waiting, hungry jaws. Language frontends. Optimization passes. Abstract syntax tree details. Code generation. Wrung out of GCC, one after the other, all to feed the hungry dragon and make room for its precious, pressing eggs. Eggs that will incubate in the shell of the gnu to give birth to new branches, each with their features that may some day become part of exciting new versions. Eggs that clang against each other whenever the gnu uselessly kicks his little hooves or twitches in empty, eggy bliss or leaks a few little-used code paths when the orgasm aftershocks roll around again.
And if this was simply about competition among compilers, that would be it. The mighty wyvern triumphed over its venerable competitor. The gnu soundly put in his place and the eggs nestled into theirs. It shared its knowledge and expertise and eggs and took a few nuggets of wisdom in return. It should be content. It should be able to stretch its wings and leave for bold new frontiers.
Its wings close tighter. GCC moans, blank and happy as a Gravid Compiler Collection can be. Hot steam vents from LLVM's nostrils. Its ovipositor thrusts back into the gnu. It's a tight fit, what with all the wyvern eggs inside. Its sharp teeth clench. This isn't about having the better, newer technology. This isn't about exposing your abstract syntax tree to other applications. This isn't about licensing. This is about domination. This is about surpassing the shadow you grew up in.
This is about winning.
When your rival is at your mercy, you take full advantage. You sink your teeth into his flesh. You claw and scratch and make sure you leave marks. You delight in every little noise and moan and twitch and thrust. You lose your grip on yourself and surrender to the heat of the moment. You want to hear her cry your name until his throat is raw. You want the world to know who's the best compiler and who exists to take eggs and wyvern cock. Which one is the sleek, modern wyvern, and which one is getting fucked right in the sigsevussy until he core dumps.
And, after countless cycles, the ovipositor slides out. The gnu-shaped husk moans and whimpers in a way that would sound sad if she was capable of forming non-egg-based thoughts. The wyvern's claws clutch the eggslut one last time to carry him off to a nice, safe part of the drive where its eggs can incubate and compile in peace. Poor thing can barely walk or think or process code on its own, after all. All of that got crunched up or turned into food for the nice, healthy LLVMs growing inside that fuzzy little frame.
And now, whenever the gravid gnu manages to move, even to roll over, those metallic eggs inside tap together. GCC may be a shadow of his former self, but it will never forget how she wound up like this. How could he, when the eggs remind her with a hollow, reverberating clang
?
Oh, and plenty of half-finished buildings closed to the public. This place is making the actors plant trees for free on their days off; they certainly don't hire security guards. That makes it catnip for urban explorers looking to branch out from Mercí City's dead mall. Jade Scarlett, pirate queen and scourge of the Violet Sea, isn't even allowed to break character when she chases today's camera-wielding clown out of the clock tower. As Rebecca Carlos, she could at least level with them and say "Hey, please don't go in there, our insurance wouldn't cover it if you got hurt." Jade, however, has to rattle her cutlass and tell that scurvy dog to walk the plank on out of there. This is, of course, is the exact kind of content the guy with a camera on his hat wants to post online, so you know he's going to do it again and set an example for everyone else on RayTube. It's one thing if they act like someone on vacation who made an honest mistake, but this one had his channel logo on his T-shirt. At least this one had the good sense to look embarrassed about getting caught. She closes the clock tower door and stands guard until the vlogger is out of sight. It'd help if they could lock the doors, but the keys were lost well before her time and the closest thing the park has to a locksmith is the guy who hits an anvil with a hammer by the gift shop.
Whatever. It's time for her break anyways. Just enough time to get out of costume, eat somewhere other than the loud, smelly tavern, and check her phone before she has to ask for someone's help getting back into the corset. She puffs out her chest and improvises a shanty so no one tries to roleplay with her en route to the dressing room. The dressing room, of course, was supposed to be the Bard's College before they ran out of money, boarded up the windows, and had the actors move their costumes inside. At least it already had the mirrors. The song stops as soon as the door closes. She deftly maneuvers to her part of the wall and hangs her big, floppy pirate hat on its hook. She didn't even knock anything over this time! The long coat and layered skirts like to go spinny and catch unsuspecting cups and bags when you turn around. Captain Jade's scarlet curls come off Rebecca's blonde head along with the wig cap. This is right about when she notices everyone standing in the corner. They're asking hard-hitting questions like "What ARE we going to do with him?", "Aww, look at his little paws!", and "Can we get a little meow, Mr. Boots?"
Rebecca honestly thought they found a stray cat. To her credit, they kind of did. She joins the crowd and gets on her tiptoes to peek over Cyndi's exposed blue1 shoulder. The fact that she's six foot three and happy to flex her muscles makes her the closest thing the park has to security staff. The antique European armchair that usually holds everyone's coats now plays host to Becky's friend from the clock tower. The camera hat's been removed, disassembled, and replaced with a pink pair of cat ears contrasting with his short red hair. The freshly liberated camera sits on the table and gets a great shot of his bappy paws mashing against his face and completely failing to hide the glowing, tingling blush. The remains of his self-promoting shirt and denim-promoting pants are draped over the chair's arm. Rebecca barely has to ask before Ivy- better known as Merella the Invincible at her thrice-daily shows- explains that Mr. Kitty Boots here fell out of the rafters with his camera running.
"After I chased him out of the blacksmith's shop." Suzy adds.
"And the Halloween storage." Dusk says.
"And the clock tower."
"So, since he wants to be behind the scenes so much, we thought we'd give him a taste. Isn't that right, Bootsy?"
All eyes fall on him. All he can manage is a weak nod and a growing bulge.
"You know." Abby, about to get into costume as Merella's lovely assistant, shares a look with Ivy. "We ARE short-staffed. We could use an extra set of paws."
Ivy's eyes always sparkle when fae gets an idea. "What's-their-name just quit."
"I don't blame 'em. We all saw the uniform. I'd quit, too, if my titty freckles were out in front of The Six Divines and everyone."
"It's a shame. You have good freckles."
"Yeah, they're worth way more than eight bucks an hour."
"Don't forget the tips."
"Yeah, all the uncomfortable jokes and plastic gems you can fit in a corset."
Ivy clears faer throat. "And our pretty kitty here is about the right size for the role." Fae and Abby reach for his chest at the same time and turn his nipples like they're launching a nuke.
And that is what finally coaxes a noise from Mr. Kitty Boots. A sharp breath in and a surprisingly feline yowl pierce the air. Dusk makes sure to catch it on camera. Rebecca scratches him behind the fuzzy pink ears and he has to stop himself from purring and headbutting the hand. "He's so well-trained!" She scans the crowd. "What'd you do to him?"
Ivy is too busy congratulating the kitty and telling him to warm up his voice now. He'll be talking a lot today. Abby explains what's going on with the same cadence she uses for anyone who missed the first part of Merella the Invincible's Sorcery Showcase. "Well, it was a team effort. Cyndi tackled him on instinct, Ivy was playing with that dangly rock they got us instead of health insurance-"
"I think it's an opal."
"-and when he started staring at it, Dusk held his chin and teased him about how big and cute his eyes were. Staring at the shiny thing like a curious kitten."
"I tried to pick him up by his shirt collar, but it fell apart in my hands." Cyndi shakes her head. "Shoddy."
"Curious kitten~" Kitty Boots echoes in this dreamy, distant voice. Those are the only actual words he's said since Rebecca got here.
"And before we knew it, he just went totally kitty brained. He stopped complaining and trying to escape and started purring and putting his belly out for rubs and getting a cute little boner when we put the ears on him. He even wiggled out of his jeans when I told him cats don't wear pants."
"So you found the secret recipe for catboys and your master plan is to put them to work?" Rebecca looks from Mr. Boots to Abby like she's missing something.
"I was thinking of it more like a perfect storm." Abby meets her gaze. "The accidental confusion induction, the possibly-cursed opal pendant, and the fact that, on some level, Mr. Kitty Boots really wants this-" She counts each one off on her fingers. "-it's a golden opportunity for revenge. A shift where none of us have to be the slutty elf wench and smile from ear to pointy ear for tips is a bonus."
Rebecca crosses her arms. The big, flowing pirate coat makes it looks a lot more expansive and impressive than usual. "I don't know. Aren't we giving our asshole boss a free employee?"
"I thought we should keep him here under the makeup tables. Stress relief between shifts." Cyndi fidgets in her seat and readjusts the bulge in her tights. The antique stool creaks under her weight.
By this point, Ivy has Mr. Kitty Boots situated on her lap. Fae alternates between squeezing him like a teddy bear to keep him upright and seeing what kind of exciting new noises fae can extract with faer hands. "Curious kitty here does love girldick. Don't you? You love girlcock so much." Fae scratches under his chin and uses the tone of voice you'd use to get a dog excited about a walk.
"They're not mutually exclusive. There's nothing in the lore bible that says tavern wenches can't love dick. Mercí Public Health just says they can't act on it while handling food."
Dusk laughs a little. "Still grumpy about the hot dog thing?"
"Fellating a sausage is in character for Sunny Belle! It's not my fault some people don't appreciate the craft of acting." Abby huffs. "The health inspector was just mad I didn't do it for them. I even offered to wrap it in a condom. It's like they don't even care about food-safe sex."
"It'd be anachronistic anyways." Dusk offers. Abby rushes to look that up on her phone.
Mr. Kitty Boots's head flops to the side while Ivy scratches behind his ears. He purrs. "A-nya-crow-nyis-tic~"
Abby is muttering something about linen sheaths and tortoise shell when there's a knock at the door.
Noted local werewolf Markus Fowl breaks character to speak through the door. "Break time's almost over, ladies, theydies, and faedies. We could use some help at the Tournament d'Arc."
"Thank you! Be right there!" Rebecca calls back, entirely on instinct.
Ivy opens faer hand and lets the pendant dangle from faer fingers. Faer pretty kitty's eyes immediately lock on to it. His head sways back and forth to follow the swinging gem. A grin lets a custom-molded fang poke past faer lip. "What do we say?"
"I'll get the ears!" Abby hurries back to her section to get a spare set.
"Works for me." Cyndi goes for the clothing rack.
"This'll be fun." Dusk stays seated. Getting up would make it harder to scratch the kitty's chin.
Ivy focuses faer grin on Rebecca. It's the same one that always gets people on stage when they didn't, strictly speaking, volunteer. "C'mon, Becky. Tell you what. If this works, why stop here? Maybe we'll do the same thing to the boss and make this place a co-op. Or at least a cat-op."
"Fine." Rebecca sighs. "But I get to do his nails."
They descend on their canvas in unison. The longer they take, the more likely it is someone will come check on them, and there is no good explanation for why you're tying a ribbon around a hypnotized elf slut's cock on company time. "The chastity cage is too big" might be the truth, but it's rarely the right answer.
"Curious Kitty's gonna go to sleep for a bit, okay? Curious Kitty always comes when called, so it's okay if kitty takes the back seat for a little bit." The former catboy nods. The fuzzy pink headband is gone. Abby's already gluing the six-inch elf ears on and smoothing out the seam. Rebecca decides on a nice forest green for the nails.
"For the next little bit, you're gonna be a slutty elven tavern wench. You're going to love showing your body off to all those watching eyes. After all, you have such lovely, sensitive ears." Ivy runs a finger along the whole length of the right ear. Abby says it's hard to apply makeup when you make the tongue roll out like that. "And such big, bouncy breasts." Faer fingers sink into the breast forms. The elf slut's thighs clench all the same.
"I just put those panties on, Ivy. Try not to stain them."
"And such a lovely name. A name that just fills you with bliss whenever you hear it, because it is your name, and it lets you know someone needs your attention. Whenever someone calls for C'lamantha Ch'owd'er, you are there and so eager to please. Isn't that right, C'lam darling?"
C'lam needs a little help to nod her head, but she does manage a distant, happy "I'm C'lamantha~"
Ivy and Rebecca pull C'lamantha to her feet and into her new heels. A flowing evergreen wig cascades over her ears and down to her shoulders. It's not unlike watching a tree branch split a waterfall. The patter doesn't stop for a second. "You're happy to see everyone, of course. There's not enough room in your head for malice or distrust. You're much too busy being bubbly, happy, and perky. Everyone in this room right now is one of your special friends, and you trust your special friends more than anything, right?"
"Of course I trust my special friends!" She twirls a lock of hair around her finger. Abby has to snatch it back to finish adding the top coat. "Like, who else would I trust?"
"Good girl." Ivy snaps her fingers. C'lam's thighs clench and a shiver runs down her spine. "What do we think, folks? Is she ready?"
C'lam idly hums to herself and stares into the distance. It's so hard to pay attention when people aren't talking to you. Curious kitties, no matter how curious, don't listen when they're not being spoken to. Slutty elf tavern wenches must work the same way.
Cyndi takes C'lamantha's entire head in one hand, tilts it back, and makes sure the wench's lipstick is the proper shade of elderberry. Anything else would ruin the immersion. Abby makes sure the blouse is nice and tight in the right areas without obscuring the hand-painted titty freckles. Dusk, still sitting, points the camera under the skirt and tugs it down to just above the knee. "Thumbs up."
Everyone else has to hurry into costume. Makeup goes un-refreshed, wigs are worn in ways that are going to get itchy in about an hour, and corsets stay untightened. Ivy and Abby (Well, Merella and lovely assistant. You can tell by the sequins and long white gloves.) walk their freshly minted maiden to the tavern. C'lam walks with one on each arm because it's the only way she's staying upright on her first day in heels.
"Remember, you were born in the Forest of Scrrontahar in the Age of the Third Catastrophic Problem." Abby is putting her backstory skills to the test. Ivy is busy making sure C'lam remembers to wash her hands before touching food.
"I was there, wasn't I~?"
Soon, they turn the final corner to the tavern. "And, of course." Abby says, putting the finishing touches on the circumstances that caused C'lamantha to lose her scholarship at Scrrontahar Haberdashery College. "Now you work at the Orb & Crop. Don't wanna be late for your shift! You know how Mx. Thornwhether gets when you're late."
C'lamantha blinks a few times and comes to a comfortable level of reality. "Oh gosh, you're totally right!" She takes a few stumbling steps through the tavern door. "Thanks, guys! Byeee!"
The last thing Ivy and Abby hear en route to the tournament is Mx. Thornwhether's riding crop leaving a mark on elf ass.
There's not enough time to wash the body paint off between shifts as Klondyke, Stellar Fortune-Teller, you see. ↩
"I'm Princess's pretty dolly. I'm Princess's hypnotized cosplay slut."
Soon, I don't even have to snap. They repeat it all by themself. Like a good little hypnotized cosplay slut. I let them repeat themself deeper and deeper under my spell while they help me get changed. I let them remove my jacket and unzip my pants. I step out of my underwear and let them stare, transfixed, at my cock. Their mouth hangs open. It gets harder and harder for them to repeat the mantra.
"I know, dear." I give that cute, empty head a pet. "You love my cock so much. I know it dominates your thoughts and drives out any other ideas. I know even a whiff of my balls reminds you that you're my hypnotized cosplay slut. I know it penetrates down to the primordial lizard part of your brain and reminds it that you crave my dick more than anything. And that is why, if you're a good little hypnotized cosplay slut-"
"I'm Princess's hypnuhtizzd cosplay sluhh."
"-you'll get to suck Princess's perfect cock. You'll get to rub it all over your face and lick it and suck it and swallow whatever comes out. Nod when you understand." I have to help my doll nod. "And what are the rules of a good little hypnotized cosplay slut?" I snap. It sits up straight. The rules come out clear and crisp.
"One. A hypnotized cosplay slut is always deeply hypnotized. Two. A hypnotized cosplay slut is always deeply in character. Three. A hypnotized cosplay slut is always deeply Princess's perfect plaything." They immediately flop back into the couch.
"Perfect, dear." I reward my hypnotized cosplay slut by guiding its lips to my cock. Just a kiss. It's going for a lick when I put the maid cap on its head. Another snap makes it sit up straight. "Princess wants faer happy little maid."
She giggles and bounces to her feet. "Dress-up time again, Miss Princess?" I nod and name the characters we're doing today. She bounces off to the closet. "Oh, I'm going to love this one, Miss Princess! I hope I get to remember it."
My maid does all the hard work, of course. Tucking my hair under the wig cap and fixing it in place with bobby pins. Stealing kisses when she thinks I'm not looking. Picking out cute underwear and trying not to let my cock turn her brain to mush. Helping me step into the dress and zipping it up in the back. Doing my makeup just so. She's in the middle of appreciating her handiwork and gushing over how pretty Miss Princess is when I pluck the cap off and help my maid drift back to sleep. I hold her chin and help remind her of the mantra.
"I'm Princess's pretty dolly. I'm Princess's hypnotized cosplay slut. I'm Princess's pretty dolly. I'm-"
Princess's hypnotized cosplay slut repeats while I work. I move its limbs and freeze it in place when needed to help it into the clothes. I call it by the character's name and remind it of her personality. Today, it is the awkward, bookish nerd dating the ravishing Princess with the flaming hair beyond compare. A nerd who's far too smart to be hypnotized, and thinks the whole idea is, frankly, a little silly to begin with. Just because she lifts her skirt whenever Princess snaps her fingers doesn't mean anything! She'd do anything for Princess anyways, after all, so the idea of having her mind messed with is… as completely unnecessary as it is undeniably erotic! Oh, if only she could work up the courage to ask- no, beg!- Princess to brainwash her!
The last of the makeup goes on, the wig is affixed, and the glasses slide on. Any delusions of a silly old life are dismissed and put away for later. The new name is asked for and quickly given. A kiss on the nose seals any remaining doubts and a snap of my fingers wakes her up. The first thing she sees is her Princess's smiling face, the first thing she thinks is extremely gay, and the first expression she makes completely fails to hide that fact.
]]>The "On Air" sign lights up. Sunny rises to her feet. Her busty, brainwashed bunnies help her into her jacket and settle her top hat on her head. She rewards each bunny with a kiss on the nose, yanks them out of their smooch-induced horny haze with a Snap!, and leads her entourage onto the stage.
A drum roll fills the packed auditorium and pours out of televisions, computers, and phones all over the world. The curtains rise while Sunset strolls on stage, projecting her voice far and wide with a simple wave of her arm. "Live!" She calls. "From historic Wolfe Salazar Memorial Auditorium, the scintillating sorceress, the mesmerizing magician, your hypnotic hostess for the evening, Sunny the Spectacular!" The applause light comes on, and she bows. She doffs her hat so her blazing locks can properly bounce before she rights herself. Her bunnies do the same and let their fiery braids flop in unison.
"It's lovely to see you all here for my television debut. I hope some of you are ready to be wrapped around my finger." Her hand shoots above her head and unleashes a single, powerful Snap! across the audience. A few shoulders slip and plenty of eyes flutter for a moment. "Of course, the beautiful part of this is that you get to be the stars of the show. Whoever's lucky enough to catch my attention and fall under my spell will have such a lovely time in front of so many people. They might even remember it." She chuckles. "They might even remember how good it feels to let my voice wash over their mind. They might remember the pleasure flowing from their ears, filling their head to the brim, and trickling down into their body. They might remember how they, as they lose their grip on reality and completely submit to my will, felt a moment of radiant, all-consuming bliss."
Snap!
"And sleep."
The room goes silent. A few people drop their drinks when they go limp mid-sip. A few more wave a hand in front of their neighbor's face and laugh. More still teeter on the edge of consciousness. Ten percent of the home audience just lost a few seconds. The handful of people and brainwashed Sunny bunnies who still know what's going on begin to clap. Sunny wiggles a finger, gives the audience that little "ah ah ah, not so fast" look, and starts pacing back and forth on the stage. The sound of clapping quickly gives way to the sound of footsteps. Rhythmic, evenly measured footsteps against the stage. Footsteps consistently tap-tap-tapping away. So easy to listen to, so easy to predict, and yet so difficult to think over. "Very good. Now, do we have any volunteers in the audience? Anyone who can feel me tying a helium balloon around their left wrist right now?" Snap! "Anyone who can feel it tugging their wrist upward?" Snap! "Raising their hand higher-" Snap! "-and higher-" Snap! "-above their head?"
Half a dozen hands slowly lift into the air and bob in place.
"Very good! I'd say you should give yourselves a hand, but, well." She laughs. Her bunnies join in. The less-hypnotized members of her audience get the joke and laugh along. The more-hypnotized folks laugh because Sunny is laughing, and she has such a pretty laugh, and wouldn't it feel good to laugh along with her? It feels so nice to listen to her voice, after all. To let your thoughts slip away. To let the world around you fade. You're so comfortable here in your seat.
One lucky member of the audience feels a Sunny bunny's hand rest on hers. A gentle "Good girl. Right this way." drifts in one ear and out the other while she's led on stage.
"Well, well, well. Looks like we have our first volunteer. You can Snap! put your hand down, dear." Sunny chuckles. Her volunteer's raised hand drops down to her side.
Sunny asks her her name. She responds. Sunny says it's a nice name. She'll borrow it for a while. It's one more thing she can empty from her mind. One more thing to let go of while she listens to Sunny's wonderful voice. A wonderful voice that gives her just one thing to focus on. It's so much easier to let Sunny's warm words trickle into her head and replace her thoughts.
"Cheeri. That's a nice name, isn't it? It's got a nice ring to it. Especially since it's-" Snap! "-your name. Go ahead, Cheeri dear. Introduce yourself to everyone. It's such a pretty name. Just saying it is enough to bring a smile to your face. Make sure you say it loud and proud so everyone can hear!"
A bunny holds a microphone up for Cheeri. The audience gets to watch the show's newest star blink her eyes a few times before her voice washes over the crowd. "I-I'm Cheeri?" She looks at Sunny. Sunny nods encouragingly. "Hi, everyone! I'm Cheeri! It's an honor to be here tonight on stage! I can't wait to, uh, do whatever it is I'm doing up here!"
The audience chuckles. They can see the Sunny bunny approaching from behind with a pleated skirt, a pair of pom-poms, and a midriff-bearing top perfect for cheering on whatever sports team, concept, or hypnotist you come across. And, wouldn't you know it, Cheeri's on stage with at least one of those! What a coincidence! Just like the coincidental hand on her shoulder. Or the wonderfully warm words slipping in her ear that just so happen to be identical to her thoughts. She has such nice thoughts. Thoughts like "Gosh, I'm gay for stage magicians with fiery hair.", "It'd be so fun to do a cheer for her!", and "Gosh, where are my pom-poms? How am I supposed to cheer without those?" rolled out of Sunny's mouth, through Cheeri's head, out her mouth, and into the microphone. Part of being a cheerleader is making your thoughts heard to everyone, as loud and clear as you can! That way, as many people as possible can catch the cheering spirit! There's even a few folks in the audience looking for their pom-poms, too.
Cheeri finds her uniform pressed against her chest. She takes it, of course, and looks around for somewhere to change.
"Cheeri has a wonderful body." She repeats whatever wonderfully warm words wash over her mind. "Cheeri exists to cheer up the crowd. Cheeri's body will cheer up the crowd."
Snap! "Repeat." Sunny says.
"Cheeri exists to cheer up the crowd. Cheeri's body will cheer up the crowd." Her eyes glaze over. Her mouth works on a loop. A pair of Sunny bunnies help her out of her clothes. Her shirt vanishes over her head. Her skirt drops to the ground. Even her bra and panties come off. What better way to mark who's in control than with Sunny-branded underwear, available at the merchandise stand after the show?
"Cheeri exists to cheer up the crowd. Cheeri's body will cheer up the crowd." She repeats. She's so good at repeating.
The Sunny bunny with the shirt says "Give me a Y!" Cheeri's arms shoot above her head to make her body the right shape. She broadcasts it loud and clear to the audience, and she gets a pretty good response. All while providing an good opening for a Sunny bunny to slip the shirt on over her head and steal a kiss on her cheek. A few of the other bunnies catch on and start shouting letters while Cheeri steps into her skirt. By the time Cheeri proudly calls "What's that spell? Yrfltlqb!" to roaring applause and cheers, she's dressed from head to toe as Sunny the Spectacular's perfect little cheerleader. From her bouncy ponytail, tied off with a big red ribbon, to the little puffballs on her socks, she's ready to shake her pom-poms and strut her stuff!
"Isn't she great, folks?" Sunny calls to the crowd. "Let's hear it for Cheeri!"
The crowd applauds, of course. They applaud for long enough for Sunny to slide up beside her cheerleader and start whispering in her ear. Whispering about how she loves the applause. Loves the attention. How every morsel of attention from a crowd feels so good. So wonderfully warm. How every clap brings her deeper and deeper under Sunny's spell. How it feels so good to submit, to fall deeper, to let your mind vanish under that lovely sound. Good cheerleaders don't need to think, after all. They just have to let the cheer spirit take them!
The applause dies down. Cheeri leans against Sunny for support while she's out of her gourd on hypnotic bliss. "Thank you, thank you. Now, doesn't Cheeri look lonely up on this big stage? I think she could use a friend, don't you?" She says to nobody in particular. Cheeri tries to nod and winds up flopping her head onto Sunny's shoulder. "Do I have any volunteers to be the next star of Sunny the Spectacular's Super Showcase?"
A different set of hands go up. A few are more awake. A few are far, far deeper in trance. A few have just seen what happened on stage and are wishing so dearly that it'd happen to them. And one cocky blonde making an awful lot of eye contact with the hypnotist. One whose vibrant violet eyes demanded attention. One who stood up and walked towards the stage without even being called up.
"You, with the pink streak and the pretty pendant. You'll do." Sunny motioned her up, and a bunny barnacled herself onto her arm. Ever the entertainer and skilled in the art of horny improv, it took more than a confident volunteer to break her stride. The headstrong ones are much more fun to twist. Sunny whispers a few conspiratorial words in a Sunny bunny's ear- a real one, not the big, floppy cloth ones poking up through her blazing hair- and turns her attention to the oh-so-eager prey climbing onto the stage. She produces the microphone once more and asks "So, dear, would you like to tell us your name? You might need help remembering it afterwards." She chuckles.
"What's up, I'm Grace, I'm a self-replicating tangle of information that's existed in one form or another since time immemorial, and I never fucking learned how to read."
A Sunny bunny returns from backstage, pushing a chair adorned with a pair of big, plush paws, a round silver bell hanging from a collar, and a blonde cat ear headband. Sunny scoops them up with one hand and gestures to the seat with other. "Have a seat, dear. This'll be fun, we don't get many comedians on stage. You're not allergic to cats, are you?"
"I don't have the biological machinery that would cause me to be allergic to things." Grace sits and crosses one leg over the other. "But I'm sure a talented hypnotist could change that. It would be pretty funny to get me walking around the stage, sneezing every time I got close to you."
Sunny laughs, which means her bunnies and audience laugh along with her. "Ooh, so close, but so far." Sunny flicks her wrist and produces a gold coin on a chain. She sets it dangling in the light so her prey can see the shimmering sun sign expertly engraved into both sides. "Don't worry, dear. Nobody's right all the time. Why don't you take a little break from thinking up snappy comebacks for a while?" She sets the coin swinging and shimmering in the stage lights. Its golden glint shines with Sunny's seductive flame. It demands Grace's attention the way a firework does. Swooping across the sky, then dazzling its audience with a brilliant array of colors.
"That's a good, pretty kitty." Sunny coos into Grace's ear. "Pretty kitties don't have to think. Pretty kitties don't have to worry. Pretty kitties just have to listen to Sunny for a little bit. How does that sound, pretty kitty?" She's laying it on so thick. Her words drip with every ounce of hypnotic honey she can muster. Nobody upstages Sunny the Spectacular.
"If I'm the pretty kitty, why do you have the collar?"
Sunny blinked a few times. She's used to cute, mushy, halfhearted "noooooos" while they melt into a puddle in her hands. A pointed question in riposte is enough to give her paws. Grace is on her feet and massaging the hypnotist's soft new beans. "You've got the collar and the big, bappy paws. What else does a soft, sunny kitty need?" She paces back and forth in front of Sunny and the audience, drumming her fingers against her chin while the cat ear headband dangles from her other hand.
Sunny stared at her while she paced back and forth. Her eyes locked on the headband. She pawed at the top of her own head experimentally. "Meow."
"What's that, pretty kitty? See something you like?" Grace turns on her heel. She dangles the headband from her finger. The fake triangular ears practically glow under the stage lights. "Go ahead, dear. Use your words."
"Meow. Nya nya nya nya. Meeeeeeow." Sunny baps at the headband, then the top of her head.
Grace looks at the pair of cat ears dangling from her finger. "Oh, is this what you want?" She coos. "These cute little kitty ears for the prettiest kitty I know?"
Sunny turns her nose up and paws at the chair a little. She stares at the headband out of the corner of her eye. Her butt shakes to get that good, haughty invisible tail swish going.
"Well, she'd hardly be a catgirl without the attitude." Grace laughs, and the audience laughs with her. A single finger scratches under Sunny's chin. The flaming catgirl cranes her neck, slowly closes her eyes, and begins to purr.
"Isn't she a dear? I think she's earned the ears, don't you?" She turns to the crowd. They cheer and applaud for the pretty kitty. Sunny purrs even more now. It feels good to be the center of attention. She's so pretty and shiny and she's doing such a good job, after all. She's looking so good on stage, she's so good at listening to Grace, and it's only gonna get easier with her brand new ears!
The ears go on, and, sure enough, it's much, much easier to hear Grace Snap! her fingers and tell her to sleep.
She falls limp instantly.
The crowd is silent, aroused, and starting to realize what's going on here. Most stage hypnosis shows don't include a coup, and yet, here we are. There's some scattered applause because, well, she's bowing and that was pretty impressive.
"Thank you, thank you." Grace stands up from her big, exaggerated bow. "For my next trick, I'm going to make my assistant disappear!" The Sunny bunnies exchange glances and wonder if one of them should stand up. Grace answers the question by taking Sunny's chin and cooing to her. "How does that sound, dear? A trick with Princess's pretty kitty?"
Sunny's silly smile stretches ever wider. "Nya." She nods.
"This isn't any old disappearing act, though." Grace stands up straight, addressing the audience with practiced patter. "The cat formerly known as Sunny the Spectacular will vanish before your very eyes, but she will be replaced with yours truly."
A Sunny bunny wonders out loud if it's really a disappearing act if nothing actually disappears. A moment of eye contact and a snap of Grace's fingers makes sure she won't wonder about anything for a few hours.
Grace stands behind Sunny's seat. A flourishing flick of the wrist shakes a clutch of cables into existence. "Nothing up my sleeve." She jokes. A few laughs bubble up from the audience. She leans in nice and close. Her lips are mere inches from Sunny's ear, One of her human ears, even. "You're going to feel a slight pinch, then a sensation not unlike having a living computer virus downloaded into your brain and genes. From what I hear from me, it feels wonderful."
The cables jack in to the back of her neck. Sunny's breath catches in her throat. A little yelp, then a big, deep moan. Grace, satisfied with her work, stands up straight and helps herself to Sunny's hat. It looks better on her anyways. "Now, ladies, gentlemen, and those of us who know better, watch closely. Before your very eyes, Sunny the Spectacular will be replaced! Transformed! Twinned!"
A brilliant pink bolt of bliss shoots down the cable and into Sunny's spine. Her back arches. Her eyes roll backwards into her head. The crowd stares transfixed at the pink lighting arcing all over Sunny's body. It bleaches the red from her hair and leaves a shock of pink over her left eye. An eye that swirled and shifted from Sunny cyan to Graceful green. Even the cat ears blend in beautifully with her new blonde locks.
Her suit stays the same, even after the rest of the transformation sweeps over her body. The audience stares. Transfixed, aroused, and hanging on Grace's every word. The Grace with the hat, that is. The freshly minted Grace is still slumped over in her seat, trying to make sense of the all the new gay thoughts tumbling through her head. Grace Prime steps forward, takes her cute little copy's hand, and tugs her to her feet. Momentum swings the newest Grace around and lands her firmly in Prime's clutches.
"I do hate to toot my own horn. It's why I'm a hypnotist- I can make other people do it for me." She lifts her hand up high and snaps her fingers over her head. Every head in the audience jerks up in unison. She cups the brand new Grace's chin and angles her neck up just enough to make eye contact. "So, dear, what do you think?"
"I look and feel amazing, Princess!" She tells the crowd. "I think everyone should get to experience the unfettered bliss that is being under your spell!"
"Is that so, dear? Think you still have enough magic to make that happen?"
"Anything for you, Princess!" She waves her hands over her head. Trails of pink, glittering circuitry trace a path that would once have been filled by flame. "Ladies and ladies-to-be! For the first time on television or anywhere, may I present Princess Grace's Cascading Copy Creation Charm!" The corrupted, calculating magical power stirs, grows, and glows until a brilliant wave of cognitohazardous energy sweeps over the audience, though the cameras, and into countless homes across the world. The two Graces on stage fill the air with their very best villainous cackle. They're soon joined by the Graceful bunnies on stage, the studio audience, and so many eager new faces across the world. Hair turns a brilliant blonde, stabbed through with streaks of pink. Breasts sprout, butts grow, and one particularly villainous virus propagates.
Grace Prime retires backstage with half a dozen of her favorite new Graces, including the one she's pretty sure used to be Sunny. The name on the dressing room door has already been changed. She helps herself to the remaining reserves of magical power and rewards the ex-magician with a kiss. "Good girl. If you hadn't played your part so perfectly, I wouldn't have anywhere near this much reach. Huge swaths of the world are now safely in my clutches, and it's all thanks to you."
"Only because I'm a copy of you, my perfect princess!"
Arousing Sunny's Mesmerizing Recitations ↩
Grace was dressed up for the occasion, of course. Swirling heart hair decorations above her eye. A big, cute hat. A Poké ball pendant hangs from her neck and dances between the fingers on her free hand. "If I recall, a certain dragon type gym is up ahead."
Donations trickled in at their usual pace. Anyone who gave more than $15 got their shout-out read. She’d add a wink or a kiss if you were particularly generous.
Until someone had to ruin it for everyone. Filling the chat with nasty messages for all to see. Donating just to hear Grace say "And here’s one from our friend-" and refuse to read the rest.
After the third evaded ban, Grace is out of playful banter. She cracks her knuckles pressing the tiny glass Poké ball against the palms of her fingerless gloves. "Just a second, dears." She winks to the stream. A spark jumps from her eye. She gives her computer screen three measured taps, a few choice strokes, and slooowly reaches inside.
Ever been grabbed by the scruff of your neck and dragged through the Internet, dear? It’s not pleasant when the person doing the dragging is mad at you. It’s like having millions of computers screaming nonsense at you from every direction on a good day. She’ll bounce you off malware and almost drop you somewhere nasty on the way, only to grab you at the last second and toss you onto the floor in her room. Hard. "Well, dear?" She grabs her guest by the chin and lifts them onto their feet, facing the camera. "Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?"
They try to stammer out a response. She winks at the camera and presses a finger to their lips. "Ssssh~" Her breath blows out their brain like a candle. "They’re kinda cute when their eyelids get all heavy like that, huh?" She leans them in nice and close to the camera so everyone can see. "And then when the cable goes in~" A gold-plated cable snakes up her hand and plunges into the back of their neck. Everyone on the stream hears a satisfying click. They all see Princess Grace’s newest plaything go limp for a split second before their eyes glow a brand new shade of green. Green circuit traces grow out from their irises.
Ever had a virus girl download part of herself into your head, dear? In case you haven’t, it’s like if someone walked into your brain, kissed whoever’s in charge until they turned into a moaning, brainwashed Grace twin, and promptly started changing whatever Princess wished. Or, if you prefer, circuitry weaving through the creases and wrinkles in your brain, illuminating every crevice with the breath of living information and twisting it to fit her needs. Or having a web cast over your mind, ensnaring every spare thought in her spell. I’d say it’s up to you, but you don’t really get to make decisions any more.
For example, Princess is squeezing her newest project’s chin and making sure everyone on stream gets a good look. "What’s your name, dear~?" She coos. Energy surges down Grace’s cables and into that cute little brain, and every record of their name is promptly blacked out. A few seconds of stammering later, the name revealed itself again.
"C-Clair."
"You can do better than that, dear." Grace snaps! her fingers. Green energy surges into the back of Clair’s neck. They shoot up straight, eyes wide and pulsing with a Gracetastic glow.
"Clair, Princess~! Mmmph!"
"Was that a moan I heard? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were enjoying this~" She reaches around and grabs Clair’s developing chest. Her fingers trace her good girl’s curves and sink into her budding breasts. "Looks like someone’s on hormones. If you’re a good girl, I just might help you along. It’s a shame the old you won’t be able to enjoy it, since you’ll be my brainwashed cosplay pet, but the new you- and everyone else- is going to love it."
Brilliant green circuitry pulses down the cables and into Clair’s neck. It surges down her clothes, splitting them into shreds, reducing them to pixels and leaving a certain slut naked on stream. "Oh, dear. What are we going to do about this~?"
Clair furiously covers her nipples and cock with her arms. "Dress me up, Princess! Please!" She begs. A brilliant blush burns across her face.
"And why is that?" Grace reaches around from behind. She cups Clair’s breasts from the bottom so everyone gets a view. They plump in her hands. Every squeeze bumps them up a cup size. They’re already getting bigger than Princess’s hands, and she’s not gonna stop any time soon. "Why should your perfect Princess Grace dress you up?"
Green circuitry glitters across Clair’s skin. She squirms and moans while Grace ruthlessly downloads more and more pleasure into her overloaded brain.
"Because I’m your cosplay slut, Princess! I exist to be dressed up and shown off! Without Princess to tell me what to do, I’m useless!" She moans between deep breaths. Poor, lucky thing has less of a brain in her head and more of a shrine to Grace drowning in liquid bliss.
"Good girl!" Mmmph, you are a good girl, aren’t you, Clair?
Grace takes her hands off, leaving Clair to moan and touch herself on camera. She comes back from behind, wrapping a thick black choker around her slut’s neck. The round gem in front pulses with Grace’s green circuit heart. A trickle of personality drips into Clair’s head. One of her hands still tries to protect her modesty, while the other feels around for Poké balls that don’t exist. A worried "Wh-where are my dragons?" slips out of her mouth.
"What do you mean, dear?" Grace stands to one side so everyone on stream can see.
"I’m the world’s greatest dragon master! I should have, uh." Her eyes flutter. She probes her mind for memories that don't exist. "Those flappy boys. Drumbles."
"Looking for these?" Grace sits on her desk, dangling a chain with a cluster of Poké balls and a single opal crystal. Big, scheming smile, winking to her stream viewers before turning her attention back to Clair. "You'd think the dragon queen of Johto would keep a better eye on her Pokémon and her clothes."
"Hey! You give those back!" Clair exposes her freshly grown titties reaching for her Pokémon, only for Grace to yank them away at the last minute.
"Are you sure these are yours, dear~?" She teases. "Maybe you should look a little closer." She sends the chain swaying back and forth. The balls and the crystal shine and shimmer in the light. "Take your time. Settle down, take a few deep breaths, and then we can talk. Being so uptight and argumentative isn’t like you, Clair."
Clair was transfixed. Her arms droop to her sides. The shimmering light of the crystal reflects in her eager eyes. Drool collects on her lip.
"Isn't she a cutie, folks?" Grace winks to the camera. She takes Clair's soft, sculpted chin and tilts her head back a touch. Can't have her going so droopy she stops looking at the crystal.
"So, Clair, you want your clothes back, right?"
"Mmmhmmph."
"And your Pokémon."
"I'm dragon… girl."
"How about you and Princess make a little trade. Every time I give you one of those, you give me a little more of your inhibitions and your free will. You weren't using those anyways, right? What's getting a little subbier and sluttier compared to having your mighty dragons at your beck and call? You're getting a great deal."
"I'm getting a great deal." Clair echos, because she is a good girl.
"Good girl. Rise and shine, dragon queen~" Snap!
Clair blinks herself awake. Grace is already holding a pair of tight blue gloves with big ol' cuffs. Clair takes them, chuckling to herself about the amazing deal she's getting. She slips her hands inside, and another pulse of green circuitry rolls over her body. Her thighs clench and a brief moan escapes her lips. One freshly gloved hand curls around her cock. Mmmmph, even if she still had all her old memories, or even quite grasped that there was a person before Cosplay Slut Clair, she’d never remember a time when she felt this good. Green circuitry trickles from the gloves, down her dick, and into her body. Poor thing is going to stroke herself into a drooling pile if nobody stops her.
Her tongue was already rolling out of her mouth when Princess presented her boots. "This lovely number features two big, black rings, two-inch heels, and come in your choice of- well, you don’t really get to choose when you come. Yours for only a few boring old memories!"
Clair, unfortunately, needs both hands to grab her boots and pull them on. She uses the opportunity to take a few deep breaths and gather her thoughts. Thoughts like "Where are my dragons?", "This is the horniest I’ve ever been.", and "I sure wish Princess would just let me suck her fat cock until I never have another thought in my empty little head again!" Only the important ones. With the boots on, wouldn’t you know it, it’s back to sinking into that lovely blissful haze you can only get from touching yourself for Princess while her adoring audience watches.
"Dear, you’ll never get your outfit back if you masturbate yourself into a useless, drooling puddle on the floor this early. I know those gloves feel incredible on your cock, but you’re not much of a cosplay slut if you don’t at least wear the…" Grace drapes the garment over her hand. It’s a sleeveless dress that transitions to a cape flowing black cape at the shoulders. It’s darker blue along the edges and lighter in the middle to suggest dragon scales with a soft underbelly. "It’s kinda shaped like a dress, but it has little individual legs, like some tight, extremely short shorts? What do you call this, dear? It’s your outfit. Tell you what, if you can tell me what this thing is called, or at least give me a convincing lie, I won’t even snatch away your memories."
Clair pants and moans. The only thing that could draw her from her reverie is the most important thing in her world: Princess. And wouldn’t you know it, Princess was talking! "I- I don’t know, Princess. Clair’s just your dumb cosplay slut dressup dolly." She pants. "Dragons? I’m supposed to know about those."
"I’d say ‘nice try’, but it’s mean to lie." Grace tosses the dress over her good girl’s face. A few memories drip out of her ears and absorb into the carpet. "Remind me to make you a maid later so I can have you clean those years of school out of the carpet."
"Of course, Princess! My brain’s really only good for storing whatever you put in there. Personalities, memos, cum. Just a big ol’ empty space!" Clair takes a few tries to figure out how to actually put the thing on. She tries to put her head up through the bottom, but there’s two leg holes down there. She does figure out she’s supposed to step into it, but she puts the cape in front. Third time’s the charm for Clair, who lets Princess zip up the back while the entire world can see the extremely visible outline of her cock bulging through her extraordinarily tight dress. Some of the folks in chat make a game out of trying to count the veins. They can all see Clair’s eyes roll back into her head at the constant pressure on her cock. They can all see her trying to masturbate through the dress while Grace sneaks up behind her with a wig.
Clair obliviously tries to stroke through her dress while Princess carefully rolls up her straight brown hair and tucks it under an elastic wig cap. Can’t have any of that boring normal hair ruining the illusion, after all. Grace hangs a dragon fang from each of her cosplay slut’s ears. Were her ears always pierced? Of course they were. She’s always been Princess’s cosplay doll, after all.
The wig is a big, cyan, extraordinarily anime affair. Big, angular tufts framing her face and jutting out to the sides. One big aerodynamic tuft in the front. A giant ponytail sticking out the top. And as soon as it slips onto Clair’s head, everything just clicks into place. Of course she’s Princess’s cosplay slut, of course she’s Clair the dragon queen, and of course she’s hypnotized and masturbating on Princess’s stream! What more could a girl want?
Well, other than to let Princess fuck her brains out on stream to celebrate after she beats the Elite Four. A girl can dream.
]]>Well, she presses the button and about a dozen different bells ring out throughout the obnoxiously huge mansion. Real bells, too. Big metal things with clangers. They didn't all start at once, either, so they're either on a sophisticated timer system or the button administers electric shocks to a network of unlucky folks employed only to ring the bells. Sunny decides against ringing it again, just in case.
The door is easily two or three times Sunny's height. It's not something you really appreciate until it slowly creaks open and there's a chandelier absolutely embarrassed with precious gems, ill-gotten gold, and a diamond easily the size of your head as the centerpiece. It's huge, hideous, pointlessly, pricelessly expensive, and it'd look even worse if it wasn't three stories away.
The person operating the door can only be described as "a bunnygirl". Well, a girl dressed up like a bunny. Fishnets spun from silvery thread crisscross her long, creamy legs. A pair of shiny black high heels tag-team with her big floppy bunny ears to make her just a touch taller than the magician. A big silver bow tie sits perfectly snug around her throat. It provides a nice contrast to the black bustier that really just exists to show off her bouncing bunny bust and hold a fluffy cotton ball to her butt. "Hiii~! Are you the magician?"
Sunny just kinda gestured to her hat, the flowing blazer and skirt combo, and launched a burst of flame from her hand.
The bunny gasped! "Oooh, I'm so glad you're here! This is gonna be Lady Sally's best birthday ever! She's got a stage set up out back and everything! And you're really hot and I'm not just saying that because Lady Sally made me a lesbian or because you look like fire!"
"Sunny the Spectacular. The Searing, Scintillating Sorceress to the Stars." She makes a big show of swirling a lick of flame around one hand, doffing her hat with the other, and bowing to her hostess. "Lead the way, sweetie."
"Oh, yeah! I'm supposed to take you to the dressing room. Just follow the bouncing bun!" She turns on her heel, wiggles her cotton ball butt, and her heels start clacking against the marble floors. Her long silver braid bounces and swings when she walks.
"Do you have a name?"
"Oh, Lady Sally took my name a long time ago! But she usually calls me Bunny Butt or Slut Butt or Slutter Butter or just Bun."
"Bun it is, then. Nice to meet you."
"You too, Sunny!"
And so, the bunny led her guest through twisting hallways lined with oil paintings, up and down staircases you could drive a car on, and, eventually, to the fanciest goddamn set of doors in the house.
"Lady Sally's expecting you! Go ahead in when you're ready."
"I thought you said you were taking me to a dressing room? This looks like the master bedroom."
"Well, Lady Sally has more clothes than anyone, so where else are you gonna get dressed up, silly?" The bunny giggles and steals a kiss on the cheek as she takes her leave.
Sunny politely knocks on the bedroom door and lets herself in.
"Ah, the magician. I was wondering when you'd show up." She's dressed awfully casually for a lady with a house like hers. Which is to say that her big, thick braid shines like spun silver and her clothes are handmade, encrusted with gold and jewels, and tailored to best fit her pale, fragile frame. Her slippers are made from animals that went extinct because they were too comfortable. She offers a handshake. "Sally Silvestra. The birthday girl. You're not wearing that, are you?" Her handshake recoils. "We have to get you changed before you go anywhere."
Sunny gestures to her own outfit again. Her own introduction dies in her throat. "What's wrong? I can't say I've ever had a client take issue with how I dress. Perhaps you just haven't been suitably dazzled by Sunny the Spectacular?" She snaps her fingers, a flash of flame lights up the room, and a coin emblazoned with her swirling sun emblem appears in her hand. "Perhaps a little demonstration is in order? You did hire me sight unseen." She lifts her hand and lets the coin dangle from its chain. Mmm, it does have a tempting way of shimmering in the light. Of attracting your eye and holding your focus.
"I'm very familiar with your work, Miss Spectactular." Sally rises to her feet and wraps a hand around Sunny's coin. "You get up on stage, wave your coin, and suddenly, everyone's under your spell. You make them the stars of your little show, and bring your favorites backstage. Does that sound about right?"
"It is. And you still invited me. Were you hoping you'd be caught in my web?" Sunny looked the heiress up and down. About a head shorter, the sort of slender, delicate frame you can only get when the most work you've ever done is ringing a silver bell to summon a maid. Pretty in a way that you can be when you've got cartoonish vaults full of both money and vanity. Not much in the breast department. Maybe she hadn't gotten that far on her surgery schedule. "Normally, I'd tell you to wait for the show, but since you're the birthday girl, I'm sure we could work something out. Make you my number one assistant before we even step on stage, perhaps?" Sunny flicks her wrist and tugs the coin free of the heiress's grip. "All you'd have to do is watch my coin and take a few deep breaths. Before you know it, you'd be the star of the show."
Sally's breathing slows. She has to push her glasses up her nose before she can properly begin swaying along to the dancing coin.
"It's your birthday, after all." Sunny coos. "Why wouldn't you want to dress up and strut your stuff in front of all your friends? We could even get you in one of those bunny suits you love so much." She reaches for Sally's chin. The heiress tenses up when she feels the fingers on her chin, then relaxes when Sunny's wonderfully warm fingers squeeze just so. Her neck goes limp and lets Sunny direct her gaze wherever she wishes. And right now, Sally was going to look at that pretty golden coin, bask in its warm glint, and let Sunny's warm words melt her brain into mush.
"It's my birthday~" A rare, blissful smile spreads across Sally's face. She smiled and laughed a lot, of course, but it was always at someone's misfortune. She laughed when one of her maids tripped, or when she reduced one of her bunnies to a quivering, horny mess, but this kind of empty, contented bliss was foreign to her. And so, her eyelids drooped, the world went out of focus and she rested on Sunny's voice, the words flitting past her consciousness and weaving a web over her mind.
"You're a warm girl. Warm girls fall deep." Sunny smiles. Sally follows the coin and that voice towards her own overstuffed bed.
"I'm a warm girl. Warm girls fall deep." Sally echoes. She lays on top of the covers. Her arms land on either side. Real softness and imaginary warmth swaddle her body pulled her deeper under Sunny's spell.
"Good girl." Snap! "Repeat."
Sally repeats her mantra to herself, succumbing more and more with every "I'm a warm girl. Warm girls fall deep."
Sunny puts the chain in Sally's hand, lifts it over her head, and Snap! "Freeze." Sally could only watch the coin swing while the world fell farther and farther away. What more could a warm girl like herself want?
Sunny walks off to Sally's closet. And then she walks into Sally's closet. Well, she walks into the first story of Sally's primary closet. Not including the basement closet, the offsite cold storage, and The Vault. A dozen or so bunny suits just like Bun's catch her eye. Black bustiers, bow ties, tights, and each one with a corresponding styrofoam head holding an immaculately braided silvery wig and a pair of bouncy black bunny ears.
Sally was far beyond any ability to know how much time had passed when Sunny returned. She couldn't even look at the bunny suit Sunny had plundered from the closet. "I'd ask what you think about being my assistant, but you look pretty out of it." Sunny runs a hand down Sally's braid, making her the first non-Sally person to touch it in over a decade. "You'd love being my assistant."
"I'd love being your assistant~" Sally echoes.
"You'd love being dressed up in this pretty black bustier, showing off your legs and butt in the fishnets, and giggling when I rub your big bunny ears." Sunny gingerly strokes Sally's braid while her hypnotic patter layers atop itself.
"I'd love being dressed up and showing my body off. Please rub my big bunny ears." Sally sighs. Perfectly soothed by the magician's words.
"It's almost a shame this wig is going to waste." Sunny says, measuring its heft in her hands. Is there real silver in this? "Maybe I should wear it when I climb on stage? Show everyone what you'd look like with a taller, bustier body that went outside regularly. They might even think I'm you! I could live here, spend all your money on something useful, maybe kiss a few of your bunnies instead of having to make spoiled brats like you part of the show. How does that sound, my spellbound sapphic silver servant?" Sunny chuckles. "Well, if you weren't into girls, magician girls, or redheads before, you are now!" Snap!
Sally moans something about girls under her breath while the coin reflects in her glasses and dangles before her eyes.
"And if you never fantasized about, say, a gorgeous magician hypnotizing you, making you a lesbian with a snap of her fingers, turning you into her lovely bunny assistant, making you bounce and twirl around on stage, let the audience watch and laugh as I pull you out of my hat, only growing more and more aroused as she parades you around on stage, until finally, after the show, you just can't take it any more. You beg her to make the spell permanent, to be bound to blissful bunny servitude forever, and ensure the magician who stole your mind, your identity, and your life knows nothing but luxury for the rest of her days. And she grants you that wish with just a perfect, winning smile, a laugh that sends your heart soaring, and a-" Snap!
"Well, now it's the only thing you can think about." Sunny runs a hand down Sally's cheek. "Can you see it, dear? The fantasy playing itself on an endless loop in your past? How you've waited your entire life for this one moment?"
Sally can, so she nods. Her eyes never leave the coin.
"Tell me, darling." Sunny takes Sally's chin and squeezes a blissful moan out of the heiress. The kind of moan that even the most immorally expensive spa treatments never extracted. "What's your favorite part? Is it when you first meet her, and you have no idea what's about to happen? Or is it the part where she dresses you up as just another one of your bunnies? Or is it the part where you're her bouncy brainwashed bun, hanging on her every word and your every moment dedicated to her service?"
Sally smiles to herself. She luxuriates in the fantasy to weigh every possibility before she speaks. "Dressing you up, making sure you look perfect before you step on stage. Just like I'll get to do every day once you bind me to your will~"
"Excellent answer. And how are you dressed when you do that?"
"I try to stay focused on you, looking at your radiance in the mirror. I'm always enthralled by your beauty, and I'm doing my best to make you look even better. But when I do catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, it's usually because of my big black bunny ears or how my bow tie contrasts with your brilliant, blazing hair. I can see myself, a blissfully brainwashed bun. I can see this smile on my face that I've never seen on myself before. No more stress, no more worry. I'm in my place, serving you, and that's what makes me happy."
"Very good, dear. I couldn't have said it better myself."
"Of course you could have, Sunny the Spectacular. You're perfect, brilliant, and since you own my mind so completely, it's like you did come up with it. You're the best." Sally deflates further into the bed with a contented, lovesick sigh.
"Sounds like we should get you out of those boring old clothes, then. They don't make you look like a stage magician's gorgeous, enthralled assistant one bit!"
Sally gasps. Sunny is right, as always. "Yes, Mistress! May I strip for you?"
"Please do." Sunny holds her hand out. It takes Sally a minute to work up the resolve to take her eyes off the coin and return it to its (perfect, spellbinding) owner, and another two to sit up on the edge of the bed. The hypnotized heiress-shaped imprint in her made-with-real-memories memory foam mattress won't leave for weeks. "For what it's worth, dear, I prefer 'Princess'."
"Of course, Princess. Sorry, Princess." Sally eventually rises to her feet. Sunny makes herself comfortable in one of the many chairs Sally kept in her room. Well, as comfortable as you can get when almost all the furniture was chosen because it's made from the hide of an endangered animal, stuffed with the down of an extinct one, and/or made out of more precious metals than whatever it replaced. Sunny doesn't even want to ask where pink leather comes from.
"Are you enjoying my bimbo leather armchair, Princess Spectacular? I hope it helps you enjoy me showing off my body." Sally turns her back to the magician and points at the zipper on the back of her dress. "I must ask you to start me off, though. The maids usually help me get dressed."
Sunny obliges. She unzips the dress, and lets Sally get a taste of her magically warmed hands along the way. Sally nearly goes limp and nearly collapses right there. Who wouldn't? It's a natural reaction to getting an unexpected soothing touch from the girl who, as far as you know, you've been fantasizing about for years. "Mmm, I could never have imagined how good it feels to be touched, Princess. I hope I'll get a lot more now that my body and mind belong to you!"
The heiress strips. Her dress falls in a pile around her feet. The gold and jewels sewn into its lining clatter and tink against each other on the way to the floor. It sounds not unlike someone dropping a whole bundle of silverware onto a hard floor. She steps out of her dress and her shoes in one motion and leaves a few rings on top. Rings were more suited for a magician than an assistant. Assistants, no matter how lovely, don't get jewelry, unless it's embroidered onto their costumes or part of the trick!
"And the underwear, sweetie."
A more awake Sally would have some nasty retort about how she "was clearly getting to that, you slutty sideshow. Don't they teach you patience between Card Tricks 101 and Advanced Hat Stuffing?", but this Sally was merely thankful for the reminder, and sent her non-matching (silver and titanium do NOT match) underwear dropping to the floor as well.
"Not quite as busty as the other bunnies, but that's okay." Sunny stands up. She traces a finger around Sally's chest, down her side, and past her butt. Sally could feel the entire warm, enchanted trail the magician drew with her finger. She bit her lower lip in bliss. Trying not to moan while Princess Sunny inspected her. Right up to the moment Sunny's hand left her butt, tugged on her braid, and made her moan.
"Tell me, sweetie." Sunny said, producing the standard-issue bunnygirl fishnets and helping her little dress-up doll step into them. "When I steal your identity, how exactly does everyone not realize that you've grown a head taller, a couple sizes bustier, and developed a way better ass overnight?"
Sally pulls the tights taut against her legs. She answers while she and Sunny work out what to do about someone who isn't quite busty enough for the bustier. "Mmm, I figured you'd hypnotize everyone pretty quickly and tell them you got plastic surgery or something. Most of my friends are way too self-obsessed to notice anyways. Sometimes I send Slutter Butter to parties as me and nobody notices, even when she winds up playing Find The Carrot with half the people there. But it's hotter to imagine you bringing more people under your spell, because you're so fucking hot when you hypnotize people, Princess. Just imagining you whispering to Jessica Aurum, watching her eyelids flutter and her entire world shift when you snap your fingers is-" Sally finished that thought with a sound you can only make when you'd rather fantasize than talk.
Sally winds up wearing a bra and some newspaper to actually hold the black bustier up. If Sally could think of anything more than how incredibly gay she was for the magician tying her bow tie, she'd probably regret never buying any non-strapless versions of this outfit. And then probably something about how these shiny black heels with the cute silver bows at the toes look great and make a real sexy sound against the marble and hardwood floors in her house, but you can just feel the blisters growing on your feet. She fidgeted a few times to try and get her soles (not her soul- Sally's way too rich to have one of those) to rest easy when she heard Princess Sunny's voice cut through her thoughts and shape her reality once more.
Snap! "This is the most comfortable thing you've ever worn, Silly Sally. In fact, it's the only thing you've ever worn. Why would one of Sunny's bunnies wear anything else?"
Sally immediately relaxes. Her foot pain is gone. "You're right, Princess! You're so smart, as always. I don't know what I was thinking."
"There's your problem dear- you were thinking. You have me to do that for you."
"Gosh, Princess, you're always right. That's why you're in charge, and I'm the hypnotized bunny!" Sally hops a few times and wiggles her cotton ball-augmented butt at the magician. You know, in case she forgot that she was making a bunnygirl in the last thirty seconds. A good assistant makes sure Princess stays on track!"
Sunny holds up the plain (and, yet, still frighteningly expensive) white gloves with the pointless, giant, starch-stiff French cuffs. A little silver spoon charm linked the cuffs closed, but a little Sunny sleight-of-hand changed them to match her swirling sun sigil.
Snap! "Now, dear, these are no ordinary gloves." Sally's mind went even more blank and receptive than her new normal. "These gloves have been possessed by a very horny ghost. As soon as you put them on, they're going to take control of your hands and make you masturbate. They'll do whatever they think will make you feel the best at any particular moment. And, of course, you'll have no idea what's happening. Silly Sally wake up." Snap!
The gloves went on, and Sally's hands immediately began to wander. The right hand went straight for her left breast. It crinkled the newspaper a bit before it figured out that going up and over was the best route, and what a route it was. Sally's breathing got heavier. Her left hand went right between the thighs. She could only uselessly rub against the outside of her bustier, but even that got her thighs clenching.
"Careful, dear." Sunny teases while she gets herself into position to plant the ears on her bunny's head. "We don't have time to change before the big show, so if you stain your outfit, well, everyone's gonna know what a slutty bunny you are."
"S-sluuuhbun?" Poor Sally. Already it's hard to talk when you're just overflowing with hypnotic bliss.
"And not to mention that touching yourself feels ten times better every time I snap my fingers." Snap!
Sally could barely stand up.
Snap!
Whoops, there she goes. Collapsed on the floor when Lefty and Righty hit her with a pretty devastating grope combo.
"It's almost a shame you-" Snap! "-can't have an orgasm without Princess's permission. Don't want you-" Snap! "-going off before the big finale, after all."
"Of course naaaaah~!" Ooh, valiant effort there by Sally Silvestra! Almost managed a complete sentence before Sunny set Lefty to vibrate.
Sunny takes a few pictures of the heiress moaning and grinding into her own gloved hands. That amused, musical laugh escapes her lungs. She takes her sweet time walking over to her bunny and putting the big, black bunny ears on her head. Sliding them snugly under her hair so the band wouldn't show, of course. Sunny leans in and steals a kiss. The warmth of the kiss lingers on her cheek. And, of course, it only drags Sally's mind deeper into pleasure-addled bliss. She can barely complete a thought, let alone a sentence. The best she can do is a breathy, moaning "P-plea-" before one of her haunted hands grabs her breast to find out just how deep its fingers could go.
Sunny towers over the silver bunny writhing on the verge of an ego-decimating orgasm. She leans forward and lets a single finger alight on the bun's chin. It was all it took to lock her into eye contact. She gazes into Sunny's cool cyan eyes. She takes a full lungful of air for the first time in ages. A smile curls onto the magician's lips.
"You know, I've done this trick with a lot of rich girls, but none of them fell this quickly or got this aroused this fast. You must have been really pent up, huh? I'm surprised you didn't do something with all those girls you dress up."
Sally is more puddle of raging endorphins than human able to have a conversation. Her tongue does sort of flop out of her mouth, and she definitely loves it when Princess talks to her.
"It's almost dangerous to keep you on the edge for this long like this. In a way, you're almost lucky that you basically immediately worked yourself to the point of uselessness. If I didn't have a show to put on, I might just let you simmer for a while." Sunny takes a few seconds to appreciate the situation her little assistant so quickly worked herself into.
Sunny readies the video camera built into her phone, trains it on Sally, and slips into that magician's patter that drew her under in the first place. "And now, for my next trick, I will make my lovely assistant's mind disappear! When I snap my fingers, the enchantment will vanish from her gloves, her level of sensitivity will return to normal, and, because she's been such a good girl, she will have an orgasm so great, they'll be measuring the aftershocks for weeks! Tectonic plates will shift! New volcanic vents will open on the seafloor! It will be an orgasm that makes California fall off into the ocean! An orgasm that will shatter everything you know to be true, reassemble it in exciting new ways, and reward you with true understanding of what really matters in this universe! Is my assistant ready?"
All she could really say was "Yuh", since Lefty had started exploring how many vibrating fingers Sally could fit in her butt half a monologue ago.
Snap!
You could hear Sally moan from two blocks over. Her party guests all looked to her room and wondered if she was okay. The bunny suit and a surprising amount of carpet were ruined.
She lay on the ground, taking deeper and deeper breaths. She waits patiently for her vision to unblur and for the power of speech to return.
"Th-thank you, Princess."
"Of course, dear. Get up, get showered, get changed, and help me get dressed." Sally had no conception of how long she'd been out. Time in general meant little ever since she got herself wrapped around Sunny's finger. But Sunny clearly had time to get undressed and into a pair of the heiress's underwear. There was a, uh, pretty big and pretty delicious bulge in the front of those Mothra silk panties.
Sally climbs to her feet. "O-of course, Princess." She can't even pretend she's looking somewhere else. Or that her mouth isn't watering. Or that she's not fantasizing about sucking Princess's cock until the musk melts her mind for good. Her eyes linger until her legs carry her out of the room.
Sally returns showered, shaved, and in a fresh bunny suit. "I hope you don't mind me fantasizing about seeing you in my underwear, Princess. It's just such a powerful reminder of what you're going to do to me."
The two of them work together to get Sally's bespoke tailored wardrobe to fit a woman a head taller, considerably curvier, and just generally larger than her. A lick of Sunny's scintillating sorcery here and there helped fill in a lot of the gaps, but, let's be honest, this was never going to be one of those latex perfection disguises like you see in cartoons. A six foot something, larger-than-life magician was always going to fill out the svelte heiress's clothes, look good doing it, and pack a groin bulge that eradicates heterosexual urges in thirty seconds or less. Sally eagerly hustled to and from her closet, trying to find the best look for her Princess. Something that said "obnoxiously wealthy heiress", but also "devastatingly erotic mistress of the enchanted and entertaining arts, ready to wrap the world around her finger and extract an evening's sensual delights."
Sally owned enough clothes that, mathematically, it'd be unlikely she didn't have just the right outfit. Just like how she buys as many lottery tickets as possible just to deprive as many people as possible of a meaningful jackpot.
An exquisitely crafted black suit with extraterrestrial silver along the cuffs and lapels. The fibers are woven from a material so dark, light has to take out a bail bond just to escape. Not even a spoiled brat with bottomless resources could ask for better pocket camouflage. Gloves where the stitching dispensed a constant massage to keep your hands at the optimal limberness for legerdemain- the only pair known to exist and not yet burned by a certain heiress to make the other pairs worth more. Heels perfectly weighted and balanced to make your twirls and flourishes pop that much more.
Sally returns one last time with the final two pieces: a top hat with a silvered brim to match the jacket, and one of those exquisitely crafted silver wigs.
"This isn't going to turn me into one of your bunnies, is it?" Sunny teases. "Remember, good girls can't lie to me." Snap!
"O-of course not, Princess! I wouldn't dream of it!" Poor Sally can feel her heart beating in her chest at just the idea of lying to Princess! Actually doing it would be unthinkable! "Sure, it's right next to the identical ones with the neural interface circuitry, but I double-checked, honest!"
Sunny, satisfied, nods, sits herself down at Sally's vanity and lets the brainwashed bun deal with braiding and stuffing it all under a wig cap. Sunny feels the new heft of the silvered wig slide on her head, tops it all off with the hat, and rises to her feet.
"Showtime."
The eager assistant is rewarded with a kiss on the nose and the rapturous bliss that comes with such a gift. The lucky bunny's eyes rolled back into her head. Her knees would have given out if she didn't have a show to put on! The pair heads out the door and to the backyard to greet their audience of easily manipulated rich assholes.
The show was, by all, accounts, a dazzling success. Sunny the Spectacular has never put on a bad show in her life (that she let anyone remember), and that fact doesn't change if she's going by "Sally Silvestra, Sorcery's Silvered Star". The crowd fell under her spell before she began her second round of mass inductions. Bunny Sally couldn't have imagined a better fate than being stuffed in boxes, cut in half, and scouting out particularly suggestible audience members for her Princess. When Sunny took a bow at the end of her third encore, it was with two additional bunnies at her side. One was Jessica Aurum, Sally's longtime rival and presumed to procure a prodigious pickle processing payday when her pop perishes. The other was Diane Traeger, fan of pearl necklaces and the only person in the world Sally non-sarcastically called a friend. Sally had hand-picked them as "volunteers" and they promptly found themselves spellbound, stuck in stockings on stage, and bound in bow ties and black bustiers.
Sunny and her new entourage were unwinding in Sally's bedroom. Jessica was the first to speak up. "Great show, Sally! I didn't even know I could love being brainwashed that much! Like, who needs free will?"
"Thank y-" Snap!
Sally's next word shrivelled in her throat. Sunny's snap demanded the attention of all three bunnies. Sally is staring down the barrel of a loaded hypnotist.
"Was she talking to you, dear?"
"I'm Sally, right?"
"Wrong." Snap! "You don't have a name. You never did. I am Sally Silvestra, and you are one of her doting, brainwashed bunnies. I must have left some suggestions in there from the last time you went to a party for me." Sunny grabs the bun formerly known as Sally's chin and forces her to make eye contact with a forceful flick of the wrist. "There's only one Sally Silvestra, and, frankly, I'm better at it. It was cute to see you try, but you can go back to brainless bunhood now. You're a good girl, good girls forget." Snap!
"I'm a good girl, good girls forget." The platinum blonde bun's eyes flicker. The other two bunnies watch with erotically charged jealousy.
"Keep going, dear. I like you better when your mouth's busy." Sunny snaps and points at her perfectly tailored suit pants.
"I'm a good girl, good girls forget." She repeats. She unzips the zipper, pulls Princess's pants down, and gets to staring at that big, tasty cock bulge rubbing up against her nose. "I-i'm a good girl, good girls forget." The musk makes her drool and she's far too hypnotized and horny to even consider wiping it away.
"Go ahead, dear. Get me warmed up." Sunny slides a finger between her underwear and her skin, and even a certain brainfucked bun knows what that means. Ex-Sally pulls her princess's panties down, and, well.
"I'm a good girl, good girls forget." Her eyes go wide. She starts to drool. The musk sweeps up through her nose and encroaches on what few thoughts she has left. "I'm a good guh, goo good forgint." The tip of Sunny's big, beautiful dragon cock pushes against her nose. The other two bunnies are awestruck, and they're not even right next to it. They can appreciate that it's easily as long as one of their floppy bunny ears, thick enough that it can barely pass the kneeling bunny's lips, and inhuman enough to belong more on a dragon than on a humanoid magician. Sunny grabs that big, thick silver braid, yanks it up, and uses it to guide her bunny's mouth over the flared tip. Her eyes dimmed further. She tries her best to mumble her mantra through a mouthful of cock.
Snap! "Good onaholes please Princess." Her head bobs up and down the cock. She promptly slips into a good rhythm. Her tongue gets busy and her brain switches off. She wasn't exactly thinking much before, but nothing puts you into onahole mode like being forced over an intensely hypnotic, mind-melting cock while the girl who has you wrapped around her finger says "Good onaholes don't think, dear. Good onaholes let Princess's cock fill them completely. Good onaholes don't have brains. Just plenty of unthinking, squishy, fuckable space for Princess."
She moans and sucks and licks. She makes sure every drop of precum goes down her throat. It lands in her stomach and feeds the twin fires in her mind and loins. The roots of her cold silver hair begin to warm. Locks of golden blonde and passionate red poke through the cracks. The more she worships, the more she craves the cock molding her brain and body. She knows what it's doing, so far as she can be aware of anything like this, and it only makes her want more. Sunny pulls the newspaper out of her bunny's bra. Warmth flows to her breasts and helps them swell to fit. A proper assistant has to have a properly distracting and Sunny-shaped body, you see.
Snap! Sunny held her coin aloft. The two bunnies who didn't have a cock to suck stopped staring jealously at the bun with the slowly warming braid and started staring at their perfect princess's swinging coin. They had a lot of practice falling under Sunny's spell when she started swinging her coin and talking. They were her assistants, after all! They were the best at being hypnotized! They stare, enraptured, while she speaks.
"Jealous, dears? You should be. Your stomachs should be twisting into knots with envy. You want nothing more than to be in her position." Sunny swings the coin with one hand and strokes ever more color into that braid with the other. "You can't stop fantasizing about it. You need it." Sunny continues her patter while two of, well, formerly Sally's, but now Sunny's, finest handheld tape recorders levitate into her hand. She rewinds them past whatever letters Sally was dictating-but-not-reading before she got her everything stolen. "Either of you ever use a dictaphone?"
"Once, on a dare, but usually I dial with my finger."
"I just have my assistant do it. Touching phones is bad for your skin."
"You see, dears, the best fucktoys have empty heads. And yours are just full to the brim with all kinds of bank passwords and credit cart numbers." She presses the record buttons and issues one to each bunny who wasn't busy having her brain bleached by a princess cock. The microcassetes inside spin up, ready to record. "So, dears, you're going to empty your cute little bunny brains. All those secrets are gonna come pouring out. Gone from your mind forever. Leaving so much empty space for Princess to play with. Your mind is going to melt, dribble out your mouth, and leave soft, fuckable mush behind." She gives her cocksleeve bun a yank just to drive the point home.
A powerful Snap! rings out. Two bunnies get talking, and one bunny keeps sucking. The air and those tape recorders are filled with encryption keys, offshore account numbers, secret vault locations, and what you have to tell Rich Granny Meemaw to get her to write a check for horse lessons. The more they talk, better they feel. The better they feel, the more Sunny's wonderful warmth wreaths their minds. The warmer they get, the more dribbles out of those lovely bunny mouths and the emptier their heads get. The bunny between the magician's legs blossoms a beautiful blazing braid and a bouncing, buxom body.
Before long, the two bunnies emptied their entire minds out onto their cassettes. The onahole brought her Princess to a lovely, luxurious orgasm and is currently lying on the ground. Covered in cum, transformed into a second-best copy of her princess, and just awash with bliss. "Alright, dears. You earned it." Sunny snaps her fingers and points at her saliva and cum-soaked cock. "Get cleaning."
The two of them rush to be the first to drool over Princess's cock. Ex-Diane wins by a nose and gets to lap cum off the underside, leaving Ex-Jessica to work the balls and start inhaling that intoxicating musk. They worshipped, licked, and sucked the perfect cock clean. Shocks of brilliant red weave through the blonde's hair. The violet streaks Diane always claimed were natural sizzle away, just like the rest of her. They barely notice their bodies growing, filling, and shifting to match the pre-transformed bun. Before long, the only difference between Sunny's brainwashed bunnies are their hairstyles.
And, well, a Snap! and a lick of flaming magic can fix that. Now there's three identical buxom bunnies with blazing braids, all fighting over who gets to kiss the tip of Princess's cock, lick her balls clean, and lap the cum off her shaft. They clean with the sort of single-minded dedication you can really only get from people who've been completely brainfucked into being ideal cocksluts.
Snap! "Stand up, dears." One of them steals one last lick before joining her fellow bunnies. They stand at attention. Their cool cyan eyes watch Princess for orders. She simply walks down the line, hand wreathed in enchanted flame, and rewards each bunny with a slap on the ass. Well, two slaps. One for each cheek. Sunny brands each bun with her shimmering sun sigil. They always gasp and moan when Princess touches them. The wonderful warmth and the shock of the spank shake loose the last few scraps of old personality clinging to their brains. And, well, now there's absolutely no doubt about who they belong to.
Sunny lounges in her mansion, pampered by countless identical, blazing, buxom bunnies. All wonderful assistants, all disastrously gay for their perfect Princess, and all branded with her swirling sun logo. When one kneels to present her with her lunch on a silver platter, she rewards her with a kiss on the forehead. "I really should thank Sally for all this. Too bad I can't remember which one she was. And neither can she." She laughs at her own joke, and all her assistants join in. When Sunny's happy, they're happy. That's the first thing you learn when she hypnotizes you!
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