The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Help me!” screamed a woman taking several hops through the main hall. Layers of green seaweed wrapped her body pinning her legs tightly together in a rigid body cast. The stiff green wrap included her arms holding them up in an odd pose as if she was being robbed at gunpoint. “Help! She’s nuts!”

Wicky slowly followed enjoying the hopping acrobatics. “You know I’m telling you the truth. You have very little time left. Stop wasting it on bouncing away.”

“Get away from me. Someone help, please,” cried the woman.

A couple of the maids took a few steps up onto the main staircase to avoid the bucking girl.

“The witch is crazy! Don’t just stand there. Help me!” She first tried springing over to the front door. “You wacko. Why?” Her green body cast kept her arms up and her body too stiff to bend even to reach the doorknob with her mitten bound hands. She did bend enough to see roots sprouting around her hidden feet. “No. No. No!”

“You wanted fame in exchange for a year of volunteer work. This is what I need.”

“I don’t want this!” The woman looked at thorns growing out across her green hard cast limbs and busty chest. “You’re just bitter because your stuck in that hobble dress.” She was looking more and more like a desert cactus often seen with the branching two arms.

“You better find some dirt in a warm area. I suggest the green house. It’s heated and it’s right through the kitchen.”

“Help!” screamed the cactus girl, as she changed course and starting bounding towards the servant’s door.

“Good choice.”

The panicked woman’s hands now ended in cactus mittens that were turning pink and forming into fist sized flower buds. Her neck was wrapped up to the chin in the green cactus skin. It grew further up over her mouth. “No. Mmmm.” It covered her mouth and nose now.

Hopping away, the woman crossed between houses and into the enclosed garden.

The sunflowers inside shrieked and signaled each other with their sign language.

“Help me,” she mumbled to the flowers.

One flower bent over enough to grab a large terracotta pot while another grabbed leaf-sized scoops of dirt and sand to pour into it. Others joined in to add enough soil. Those in the back row all waved beckoning the feminine shaped saguaro cactus forward to her new home.

More roots formed at the cactus girl’s feet. The plant side of her was anxious to find dirt and water. The human side of her was hesitant to approach fearing its very existence was in doubt. Her hair had disappeared when vertically ribbed green cactus skin encased her entire body. Eyeholes allowed her to see and a slit opened for her to talk. She hopped several times slapping against the clay pot. “I can’t get in.” Little white buds for thorn roots formed like dotted pinstripes down her body.

The sunflowers risked puncturing their leaves to help the cactus up and plant her feet. Hitting the dirt, thorn growth accelerated along the ridges. White flowers with yellow centers bloomed at the ends of her pink mittened fists.

“Ah, now that is what I needed,” said Wicky holding a large pair of garden clippers. She snipped the two pink fists off.

“Those were my hands! The cactus arms moved a bit in front of the terrified human blinking eyes. She now had stubby arms ending in round cactus tops. Her eyes fluttered and darted left and right looking for hope. They were the only visible signs that she was human in anyway.

“You’ll grow more flowers again,” said Wicky plucking at the white petals.

“No!” The cactus girl moved her hips and slowly shook her arms. “I just wanted to be famous.”

“We’ll figure out something for that. But later. Honest. Of course, famous for what exactly? That gives me a wide envelope of possibilities. Let me think of something.”

“Help! Somebody!”

“In the meantime,” said Wicky picking-up a large tulip bulb, “I really don’t want a bunch of screaming from you today. I have a tremendous amount of work to do.” She shoved the bulb into the cactus girl’s mouth.

The witch shuffled off to the main house with the white cactus flowers. “These are perfect.”

“Mmmm?” the cactus tried to speak through her gag. She blinked her eyes. Cactus needles around her face were too close to focus on, but she knew the blurry lines were thorns and a now part of her. When the sprinklers turned on, she could feel water fill inside her hollow body and plump her silhouette from a promising skinny fashion model to more of a May West set of curves.

How long did she have to stay like this? Was this a nightmare? Was this even real?

A sunflower signed a phrase to her. Somehow she knew what it meant, but maybe she misunderstood.

It had signaled: “You won’t just wake-up from this.”

Pinocchia knew she was running late now and that masturbation, even done creatively, was not going to reset her sausage nose to normal. She got out of the way of the screaming cactus woman bounding across the floor. The puppet girl checked that none of the forming cactus needles caught her mesh stockings. She didn’t need more electrical shocks right now.

Wicky winked while following behind the bouncing screams. Obviously, the chaos was under her capable control.

That thought was sarcastic and something to avoid snidely saying aloud. Pinocchia, not worried about Wicky, instead worried that sarcasm might increase her nose size. A simple sexual fix for her nose was now consuming her mind, but she had duties to perform. She walked across the great hall stomping her heels in anger. She opened a door under the main stairs, felt for a light switch and accidentally banged her long nose against the doorframe as she entered.

Muttering to herself, she took a maze of hallways. She reached a nook storing discarded odds and ends including a grandfather clock. She started to pretend to search for another secret passage lever.

The view between her eyes of her long nose continued to anger her. The fake search became more violent. “Blasted passage!” She pushed off some knickknacks smashing them on the floor. She hated the time wasted pretending not to see the lever right where she knew it was, but it wouldn’t work if you didn’t do an obsessive-compulsive search first. It was like what characters in old black-and-white movies did as they fruitlessly sought clues in a haunted manor until an idiot in the cast leaned against something obvious and opened a secret doorway.

With a twist of this and tug on that, at last, she had earned the right to pull the real lever, an antler on a mounted deer’s head. She heard an expected click inside the grandfather clock, opened the clock’s glass door, and stepped inside.

Entering the new spell room, she saw a dozen cock rings drying by the cauldron. Things weren’t going to be easy if all Wicky offered were cock rings to obligate human attendance. She thought the witch was more creative than that. Grabbing a test tube, she dipped it, with tongs, into the nearby cooking cauldron to collect some potion to use later. If she had too, she could figure-out some better tools to get positive RSVPs.

Other than small boiling cauldrons scattered around the tables, the spell room was quiet. She was alone, except for the mermaid, who was busy weaving what looked like a seaweed hat. The puppet girl walked past a massive spell book left open on the workbench. She found comfort in thinking that maybe things were not so bad for herself after all. With a gentle pat on the spell book, she said, “Poor thing. Could you even hear me?”

Next to the spell book was a tall stack of sealed invitation envelopes—dozens and dozens more than she had ever seen before. That knowledge about previous attendance troubled her. Hadn’t she only been here a few years with most of it frozen as a scarecrow? And what about that whole Apples name that the billionaire Rod guy kept using? Had she actually been a ponygirl?

Over at the fish tank, the mermaid signaled that the little cauldrons had something useful. Each of them boiled and glowed purple.

Pinocchia gestured curiosity as to what the potion did.

The mermaid closed her eyes halfway and pretended to do an orgasmic shutter.

“Ooo, sounds interesting,” said the puppet girl loading-up another vial. As she gathered a vial and then corked it, she slowly mouthed, “Do you need anything?”

The mermaid smiled and nodded “yes,” but the secret passage in the fireplace abruptly opening interrupted her.

The cauldron slid to the side and two maids entered struggling to carry Wicky laid-out on a stretcher. Pinocchia checked her cleavage with a jiggle to secure the two vials inside.

“Hurry up Pinocchia,” said the witch. “You have to hand out all of those and convince them that RSVPing regrets is just not acceptable. Sorry I can’t get you more help, I’ve been too busy on a special project I have going. You’re on your own here for the rest of the week. Invite any extras you think best.”

“Yes ma’am.” Pinnochia quickly grabbed several invites and dropped a couple cock rings between her bosoms. She didn’t have a bra, but the suspenders held her breasts firmly in and up. She gave her chest a good shoulder shake to secure the cargo.

Checking out more envelope addresses, one stood out as unlabeled. Wicky was getting sloppy. It was probably best to mention the oversight since no one could ever reach the manor without actually being invited in some way. Then again a blank invite could be a tool; something possibly to trade with. She tucked it down the back of her shorts, secretly signaled the mermaid of her intended return, and she left through a cabinet off to another place on the planet.

When Pinnochia left the spell room, Wicky stopped her work. She thought about her meeting with Danior. She pulled open a drawer that hid the Playboy Bunny costume Danior had stained with the would-be-assassin’s blood. The costume was torn and useless now. Magic couldn’t be used to fix it without ruining other aspects of the spell. Another outfit would be needed. Danior and his wife Vamps could be such “assholes!” yelled Wicky slamming her metal tongs several times against the workbench.

She gathered herself for a moment. Her dress was getting stiffer and tougher to walk in. It wanted more sex, but sex only with something new and unique. Pinocchia-nose sex was an inspired choice that awakened the desire for more variety.

She ignored her outfit’s sexual urges and, as she had many times for over a century, focused on work. Waddling her body over to a collection of shelved books, she found the sadness getting harder to shake. Unknown to anyone, she had hidden among the books a glass negative of her and a handsome stable boy. The fading image showed her bound and gagged in her blood slave outfit, but the simple act of him holding her built a feeling of happiness that she would never forget. It was before her apprenticeship. Before she was a witch.

Wicky hid the glass negative and thought how Vamps would pay for taking what she loved away. Danior would pay too, but later. Pulling out an old first edition book, she returned to work. A piece of paper wedged inside prevented the edition’s middle pages from contacting each other. With its removal, she threw the book to the floor like it was trash.

A sexy Playboy Bunny appeared in place of the book. She had the famous corseted costume, the satin ears, the white fluffy tail, bowtie with collar, and high heels. She looked surprised, frozen like a deer in headlights.

“How did I get here?” she finally asked.

Wicky was too busy checking a list. “Shut-up and give me your costume.”

“I just gave you my costume!” She looked down at her cleavage pushed up by her outfit. “Wait, how did I get back into it again?” She spun in place trying to twist enough to see her bunny tail. She gave-up on looking and felt for her fluffy tail, then her satin ears on her head. “How?”

“Now please.”

“Look, I don’t know how you’re making this happen,” she said as she popped her cantaloupe-sized cotton ball tail off and unzipped the back of her bunny bodice down to a point that the tail had covered. “But, but. Damn it. Just one lesbian orgasm and I don’t know anything anymore. It wasn’t even a good hand job. The bitch just rubbed me through the costume. I was working at the mansion in LA. I must have been drunk. She pushed me back against this desk and then…” The bunny now handed over her ears, tail and suit while she rambled. “I suppose you want the tights too like you did, what, a second ago? And then there is the falling – the endless falling in a bottomless pit. It’s pitch black. Where did that bottomless hole in the floor come from?”

“I want everything,” said Wicky. “Now strip. Come-on, take it off and hand it over. I don’t have all day.”

“I know you’re going to turn me back into a book. Aren’t you? I don’t know how I know this, but that’s what I am now isn’t it? That sexy librarian did this, didn’t she? She got me off while I was lying on a book on the desk. That’s it, right?” She watched the witch putting the costume neatly away in a drawer. There was nothing else to take off now. It was clear. She was going back. She would fall into darkness and keep falling never getting used to the sensation. “Please don’t. I just kept falling when I’m in there. It’s so dark and then suddenly, I’m here. Please, no more.”

“Naughty librarian.”

“What?”

“She was a naughty librarian, not a sexy librarian.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Naughty ones are sexy, but know how to be naughty too.”

“Huh?”

“They can capture your body and your soul into a book.” Wicky rolled up the pantyhose. “Most Librarians never learn that. Their victims get sucked in and their bodies turn to powder. Very sad. You though can come-out and play.” She raised her eyebrows with a little nod like there was a silver lining. “You still have your body. You’re lucky.”

The bunny stood naked trying to cover herself. She had run out of words to say as well as clothes to take off. “I, I don’t feel so lucky.”

Wicky forced a smile as she pushed the fluffy tail into a drawer. “Well that’s it. I’m done. Now rub your ass please.”

The bunny helplessly began to stroke her own butt and stopped, “Please don’t send me back. I can help. I can do things you know.”

“If you were still human I could use you, but your part of a curse now and I have enough magical staff. So, please, it would be just best for the both of us if you just rub. Time’s a wasting.”

The bunny slowly passed her right hand back and forth over her perfect derriere. Her next word turned into a scream when her body dropped into a hole in the floor that did not exist before. She fell so quickly into oblivion her scream barely lasted a second. A leather bound edition of Jules Verne’s “Mysterious Island” sat opened to the middle pages where she had stood.

Wicky wiggled over to the book with some long fireplace tongs. She pinched a sheet of scrap paper between the tongs, awkwardly leaned the few precious degrees forward that her dress would allow, and placed the scrap between the open pages. With a quick, and obviously well practiced skill, she used the tongs to close and pick-up the book.

“Silly rabbit.”

Marcy, a bookish college student, walked among the stacks in the lower section of the research library. She loved the marble floors and the cast iron shelves. Books were so much better than online documents. As she rounded a corner into another row of books, she found Mr. Wall Street with pinstripes, cufflinks—the works.

“Hello, Marcy,” said Danior.

“Have we met?” The student adjusted her eyeglasses. He was handsome, but too forward. She didn’t like him leaning-in so much with those eyes. His eyes were so, so, piercing and introspective and wonderfully open and also cold, but she could work with him on that. All handsome guys could always use just a bit of improvement. She could help – what was she thinking again? Oh yes, he asked her to follow him down another flight of stairs in the back of the library and into the furnace room. After all, why not?

There were candles everywhere. Wow, he was such a romantic. And look, a coffin. Nothing strange there. And he wants me to climb inside. But who are the six creepy bat guys? She smiled at Danior. It didn’t mater.

As the coffin lid closed, Marcy felt content that she was able to help out – on what exactly, she wasn’t certain, but it was important and Danior – what a fabulous name – he was so handsome and loving. She was so lucky.

She found the sounds of chains banging around the pine box just a tiny bit unsettling, but she knew everything would be all right. She hugged herself inside the cold dark wood box. She felt so happy.

“Shouldn’t you tell the girl how dangerous some of these guests actually are?” asked Forte looking through some of the latest envelops for Pinocchia.

“What and ruin all the fun?” said Wicky looking into a crystal ball and addressing another envelope. “I will always want her to go through hell for what she did.”

“But she doesn’t even remember who she is anymore.”

“Oh no, she remembers just enough to figure out she’s being punished. I never ever fully erase her mind. She will be my plaything for a long time to come – and if one of the guest does prove too much to handle, so be it.”

In the dark of a closed doctor’s office, a filing cabinet drawer slowly rolled opened. A long mesh stocking leg stretched upwards from the metal drawer showing a wooden high-heeled shoe. The burlesque show continued as another leg pushed out on display leading to the pair of legs rotating over to allow some red shorts to back out of the tight drawer while the feet touched the floor. Eventually, Pinocchia extracted herself from the snug fit with a few frustrated echoing bangs from inside the metal box.

Standing in the dark offices alone, it was clear any extra workers were gone for the day. Hopefully finding the doctor and giving him this invite would be a simple hit-and-run. After all, what could a dorky Dr. Johnson do?

As she entered a private office, she was grabbed from behind and a syringe jammed into her neck.

“I have enough in here to fry your brain, so don’t move,” said a woman.

“So you’re Doctor Johnson?”

“I heard what Wicky’s been doing. I’m not being fooled into going back.” The doctor paused. She slowly let go of the syringe and slid along the wall down to the floor. Her eyes closed as her body started to jerk and shutter uncontrollably.

“Strong stuff, huh?” said Pinocchia proudly holding an empty vial.

A purple glow soaked into the lap of the doctor’s skirt. The woman rolled left and right on the floor as she moaned. The pending orgasm rushing into the doctor’s mind certainly looked wonderfully fantastic. Not that Pinocchia was envious, but she did look at the vial to see if any drips were left. An orgasm would have been good about now. She looked down at the doctor. It certainly looked like a really good orgasm.

Fifteen minutes later, Pinocchia picked up a wired remote and pressed a button for ‘up.’ A motorized table began to fold lifting the doctor into a sitting position. Rubber gloves stretched like bungee ropes binding the doctor to the table.

“So you still do surgery?” asked Pinocchia rummaging through some papers. “I just checked the Internet, now that I have your real name. You accidentally killed twelve people over the years and lost your license, how long ago? You couldn’t take a hint, could you?”

“Look, I’ll send more women patients Wicky’s way, honest,” said the doctor.

“I’m just leaving an invite to a Halloween party. Wicky wants you there.”

“Sure, I’ll go. Really.” She smiled to appease.

“Mm, not convinced.” She saw a silicon implant sample sitting by a model of a breast. “Are you a plastic surgeon now? What’s the biggest size you got for one of these?” She held the squishing silicon blob in her hands.

“Most doctors only do 500cc, but I provide a special service.”

“Sounds like code for morally questionable.”

“It’s perfectly legal. Unlike others, I go up to sixteen-hundred and even two-thousand cc’s.”

“Isn’t that two liters each? You don’t happen to have them in stock do you?”

The doctor nodded and shrugged. She probably shouldn’t have.

Walking from a storage room, Pinocchia returned with a box and checked the gag stuffed in the lady doctor’s mouth. It was probably best to leave it in.

“Big O, M, and a G,” said the puppet girl opening the heavy box and ripping down in full Christmas present mode to two large yogurt-like containers with plastic seals across their tops. “Look at that.” She pealed a sanitary layer of plastic off and pulled out a huge silicon balloon. “Squishy, but it doesn’t really look like two liters. It’s heavy though.” She picked up a scalpel putting fear on the doctor’s face. A second later the doctor’s blouse and bra were open in the front and the vial of potion used to prep the cock rings was poured over the silicon implants as they sat in their discount warehouse sized yogurt containers. “We’ll let them marinate for a moment.”

Snapping on some rubber gloves, the puppet girl added, “Maybe this helps too.” She rubbed the white healing potion onto the doctor’s bare breast. Next came two heavy balloons held in her rubber gloved hands. “I’m hoping this is interesting.”

As the balloons touched the undersides of the doctor’s breasts, the implants wiggled and pushed their way up inside. It was entertaining to watch the doctor’s scientific observations flash across her face as the globs of silicon followed the path of the standard breast enhancement procedure. When it was clear this was going to happen despite the impossibility, the doctor simply watched in horror as her chest inflated to whatever triple-Z bra cup size she was gaining from her extra 2,000 cubic centimeters. She looked at Pinocchia and then down with her mouth gagged and agape.

Both women had the same amazed look.

Pinocchia, though, wasn’t tied-up and could reach out and grope the large squeezable goods—just like that morning’s perverted skeleton hands had done. “Fantastic,” she said. “Huge. Still not as soft as real ones, but who really cares. I mean do guys really give a shit? Come-on, look at these massive Titanic sinking icebergs, twin peeks, attached floatation devices – I’m running out here. Help me out.”

“Mmm.”

“Oh yeah.” She pulled out the gag. “Do you have more professional metaphors?”

“I can’t have these inside me,” said the doctor. “They’re the size of my head.”

“That’s not really a metaphor. More of a literal comparison.”

The doctor, still bound in a sitting position, looked down at her chest. “My god, I think they’re actually bigger than my head. I’ll look like an idiot, a porn star, a slut. I’ll be ruined.”

“You know, it is true that there is too much time before Halloween.”

“Yes, that’s what I mean. Take them out please.”

“I probably should make certain you don’t get any ideas like getting a surgeon friend, if you do have any, to undo this. No breast reductions for you girl.”

“Why? Come-on!”

“I need you to attend. A fix for this is your motivation. Although, it is an incredible rack though. You should be proud – maybe keep it. Of course, I wouldn’t want it myself.” She took a view from the undersides. “My ample bosoms cause me enough grief as it is. Yours on the other hand, wow.” She gave them a squeeze again as the bound doctor forcing a squirm and moan. The doc seemed to have some orgasmic leftover effects from the purple potion. Another squeeze prompted another moan. Maybe they were just tender. Another squeeze. No, that was sexual.

It was getting late. Pinocchia needed to get to her next appointment, but the doctor’s new boobs were so captivating, in a sick oversized way. They couldn’t be more spherical and still be attached to a woman’s dainty frame. So how to make certain this industrious doctor stays this way until Halloween? In fact, stays this way unless she attends the party.

The puppet girl took several rolls of gauze and soaked them in a sink with water. A few teaspoons of cock ring potion added to the water began to hex the cotton fibers. The potion seemed to be useful at gluing things to humans, leading to an idea.

A short time later, the puppet girl whistled on her way out of the office.

Back inside the office, the doctor found herself alone. She leaned forward from her sitting position and challenged the rubber gloves binding her to the table. It took several tries, but one over-stretched glove finally snapped into pieces giving a free hand to undo the others bindings. When she was free, she took a moment to look at her hands and boobs and legs and feet, all wrapped like an old horror movie’s mummy returning from the dead. She was glued into a gauze catsuit and, according to Wicky’s assailant; the cotton strips would stay attached until Halloween. All nonsense, she hoped.

She tugged at the gauze. Only one revealing layer of cloth covered her body, but the normally delicate and temperamental gauze material was impenetrable. She examined herself further. Her new humungous breasts proudly pushed out, her nipples poked further and her sharp shoulders felt the strain of all the weight. Her silver dollar-sized areoles showed through the thin gauze. But it was her new breast size that was most shameful and embarrassing.

She gave her new heft a lift with both cupping hands. The false-flesh weighed a ton. How did those idiot bimbettes she operated on live with these things? Her hands let the human spheres drop with an aching jiggle. With their strong structure building off her chest like inflated Gaza pyramids, they barely dropped, but they definitely jiggled. Why did everyone complain so much? She lifted, dropped and jiggled again. They jiggle just fine. Of course, the force against her shoulders hurt.

There had to be a way out of this situation.

She yanked at a bandage end. It didn’t budge. How did it stick? There didn’t seem to be any adhesive. She pulled harder. She really was stuck. She was afraid to use a scalpel to scrape. Wicky normally made vindictive magic.

Looking in a mirror, her wrapped face terrified her. She knew the things Wicky did to people. It was clear Wicky was exacting a heavy punishment here. The doctor had slacked off during the past year on her agreement to trick women patients into recovering at the haunted manor. Of course they were told it was an exclusive spa, which was a lie revealed to them when it was too late.

The doctor fondled her two centers of attention. Was she to remain a big-boobed mummy for life now?

A sealed envelope sat on the counter; the invitation. It would only get worse if she attended the party, but what choice did she have now?

Wicky did not like being mocked.

The mermaid had made a witch’s cone hat out of seaweed and was wearing it as she pretended to walk about the fish tank with a fast sashay of her hips to imitate taking tiny steps. She stopped a few times giving some silly looks of surprise that she couldn’t pick-up a starfish or a rock sitting on the coral floor.

The witch wagged a finger.

The mermaid saw the warning and blatantly continued to pretend that she couldn’t bend to pick-up a seashell. ‘Oh, my!’ she pantomimed then waddled some more around in a circle with only her tail fin rapidly moving just like Wicky’s hobbled high heels.

Wicky pulled out her wand and approached the glass. “So be it.” She jammed the wand magically into the glass wall sending lighting bolts branching out into the liquid volume. The mermaid’s body jolted. The seaweed hat popped off with some actual burnt puffs diluting into the water. The mermaid threw her arms out wide. Every single muscle in her body pulled tight. The electrical static shot her long strands of hair out straight from her scalp.

“We don’t do that, now do we?” mouthed Wicky so the fish girl could see the words.

The mermaid smiled as her motionless body began to sink. She then stiffly jetted her hips side-to-side in defiance repeating her hobbled walk imitation.

Wicky twisted the wand in deeper.

The mermaid’s mouth opened, not in pain, but more in ecstasy. Her fish hips shook in orgasm as her otherwise limp body descended towards the floor.

“Impossible,” said the witch twisting the wand again. Mermaid essence dripped down along the shaft of the wand. The green glowing liquid fell as discard splattering the floor.

Hair flung all around the mermaid’s face in the next lighting storm. When the turbulence settled, her poor body stopped convulsing enough that her face came into view between the gathering locks of floating hair. The relaxed eyes and smiling mouth showed just how sick the little fish had become.

She had managed yet another orgasm.

Wicky freed the wand from the glass. “Curse you!”

Pinocchia found herself in an elevator shaft standing on top a descending car. She wasn’t expecting a secret passage to lead to such a hazardous place. She grabbed the vertical group of cables attached to the roof of the elevator. The greasy metal ruined her white gloves and left some vertical black marks on her blouse and red shorts. Her costume did not approve and was getting ready to shock some cleanliness into her. She tried to hold it off since everything around her was covered in grease. She’d be dirty again a minute later anyway. She ripped open a large manila envelope and tried to see as lights flashed by. She was beginning to hate the special invites. Inside was a bottle of fog to throw into an elevator car and a pack of Mission Impossible explosive chewing gum sticks.

She read a note from Wicky: ‘Zombies want some casually traumatized humans. Elevator has bankers inside, so it’s OK. Use the purse to get back. XOXO, Wicky.’

Was it really ‘casual trauma’ or maybe the real wording was supposed to be ‘causalities from trauma?’ It was hard to know. She tried to re-read the note.

“Oh come-on!” she yelled in the din of moving cables as a weight stack dropped past her body and the elevator rapidly started to ascend.

“Do you need help?” yelled a short grotesque goblin holding onto the cable above.

“Shit! You scared me.”

He laughed enjoying that acknowledgement. “Wait. I know you. Peaches! You’re Peaches, Wicky’s poodle girl with the white fluff in just certain positions to hide certain places.” He noticed the bra-less outfit and growled like a dog. “I know what you’re doing. I want an invite too.”

“Get away you mutant. I don’t need your gremlin-like pandemonium around me.”

“Yeah, like Wicky isn’t surround in bedlam.”

“I said get lost.” She kneeled down and opened a ceiling panel.

The goblin jumped down slamming the door shut under foot when he landed. “I want that invite.”

Pinocchia noticed her suspenders pulled out into his hands. He let go, letting them slap hard against her breasts. “Bastard.” She got back-up. “You don’t know how to ask nicely do you?” she said dealing with the sting.

“Sorry about being unclear. I’m not asking. Give me that invite.”

“Well it’s not addressed to you. So it won’t work. It’s for people in the elevator.”

“Oh really, well then sorry I got in the way.” He stepped aside and crossed his arms.

The puppet girl raised an eyebrow. She knew something was up, but the elevator was heading fast to the top and she didn’t want to stay. She opened the ceiling panel and threw down the bottle smashing it on the elevator compartment floor below among several businessmen. She had to trust that Wicky had researched this and that these suited gentlemen where deserving of this invite – or what might be more of a snuff invite. Fog flooded the box as she closed the lid. She took gum sticks and wrapped their putty viscosity around the cables making certain to get the Mission Impossible blue and red ends to crush together.

“Thank you for the invite,” said the goblin forcing his way under the ceiling door.

“No!” She grabbed one of his legs. Having a goblin at the party was not good. She just had a gut feeling about that.

“Let go you slut.”

“Shut it,” she said holding onto him as she pulled out a purse with a secret passage inside. She stuck a whole leg into the purse. Setting it on the elevator roof, she began to stick the other leg in. The goblin struggled to stay inside the elevator. She tightened her grip on his little leg and prepared to drop through the purse to safety. Hopefully, the jolt entering the purse would take the obnoxious runt with her. Wicky could then zap him or, better yet, Forte could step on him.

“Ah!” she screamed. He bit her hand. She dropped him into the fog steaming up from the elevator.

Gum stick explosions released the tension in the cables above letting them snap like whips around the shaft. The sudden drop stole any downward sense of gravity. She floated for several seconds as floor after floor zoomed by.

She held onto the roof with one hand as she also pulled her waist into the purse with the other. As the anti-gravity seemed to stabilize, she grabbed the purse in both hands and pulled her body further into it fighting it like getting into a pair of really tight jeans. A cable slapped the purse out of her hands extracting her legs. Where did it go? The floors passed by faster than ever.

Crash.

Pinocchia rolled around in pain among the ruble. The businessmen and the goblin would have been sent forward through time and space to the Halloween party. At least that is what fog bottles normally did. How Wicky factored the crash into the spell was a mystery. If timed right, everyone inside survived, maybe bloodied with some injuries but certainly filled with panic. So now she could check the strange request for ‘traumatized humans’ off the list. Wicky wasn’t going to be pleased to find-out that a goblin would be causing trouble come Halloween.

Recovering in a pool of her own blood, Pinocchia felt the protests from her costume concerning, of all things, the stains. It had no issues with her broken bones and lacerations. It insisted again. It wanted her to hurry up with the healing potion, so that it could repair the ripped soiled clothing with a good shocking cleanse.

She reached for her cleavage. The bottle of white liquid had already broken. Its contents had spilled over her body. Her neck cracked and her spine popped as she sat up, correcting her dislocated shoulder. She tugged her broken leg straight feeling the bone rejoin inside.

As she stood on the crushed elevator car, voices from outside offered help to anyone who could hear.

She looked around. “Where’s my purse?”

Pinocchia entered the spell room infuriated.

“Wicky!”

The witch was absent.

The mermaid happily rolled around on the coral, like Snuggles in bliss, until she saw the puppet girl’s burnt and torn outfit covered in blood. She swam to the window and pointed wondering if the puppet was all right.

“Hi fishy, yeah I’m having a wonderful day.” Her nose grew. “Great. And by the way, my costume is begging right now to electrocute me. There has to be a less painful way for a glued-on costume to repair and clean itself.”

The mermaid shrugged signaling that she actually like the electrical feeling.

“Whatever floats your boat.” Pinocchia noticed the open spell book. It was rarely left alone. What was Wicky doing right now? She stepped closer checking that Wicky really wasn’t around. She began to flip through its oversized pages. There were little suction cup wet marks drying on the page corners. She saw a glimpse of Octopussy hiding behind a small cauldron.

Pinocchia returned to her search somehow knowing an alternative existed to electrical costume healing. Her muddled memories told her it involved getting an insect nest though. How did she know that? She saw all the Latin phrasing. ‘Insectus’ maybe?

The mermaid swam to the corner to watch.

Grinding some herbs, Pinocchia began to add another ingredient.

The mermaid gestured that too much of a certain powder was being added.

“Really? Thanks. I guess you learn some things watching from there.”

“Like, you like, got like paddled!” said the valley girl maid in the kitchen with Francette. The silly girl was trying to offer the suffering Head Maid some sympathy.

“Oui,” said Francette with a look showing how tired she was of her subordinate’s speech patterns.

The valley girl felt bad about saying ‘like’ so much. But then again, her Head Maid’s fake French was no joy either. “You, like, know I, like, didn’t always, like, talk this like way. Right?”

“We are cursed,” said Francette now feeling pretty down.

“You, like, OK?”

“I feel that I am the cursed. I am not the human as promised. No?”

“Well, like, let’s like see and, like, figure this like out.” It seemed obvious to her, but the Head Maid was wishing too hard that she wasn’t trapped like everyone else. “Have you, like, eaten?”

“No. Not since I arrived. No?”

“Like, you’re not, like, hungry at all?”

“No.”

“It’s like simple. I think you’re, like, cursed then.”

“Sacre bleu. I’m so the fucked. No?”

The valley girl sat up on the kitchen counter and shrugged her shoulders. Join the club sister. After all, her past year was spent as a feather duster hanging by her nose in a stranger’s closet. Saying that thought out loud though would probably not help. She tried to sooth things again. “Like, I too, like, regret the curse. I was, like, studying like English, before, like, having to, like, say like all the like liking like time.” She pounded a fist against her thigh. “Like, like, like, oh I hate, like, this.” She bit her fist.

“I thought you the Van Nuys valley girl. A porno star, no? I’m sorry, forgive me saying that. No one here is what they seem, no?”

“Like, I was, like, class valedictorian, like.” The valley girl played with the large nose ring hanging off her face. “Like, look at me now.” She gave her fluffy skirts a flip. “Like look.”

Francette gave her junior maid a gentle pat on the shoulder. “I retire upstairs, oui? You should sleep too, no?”

“Like, whatever,” said the valley girl with an exaggerated eye roll and then a smile to show she was kidding.

As Francette’s heels clicked and clacked up the back servant staircase, a cabinet opened in the butler’s pantry. The valley girl was intrigued, jumped from the counter and headed over to see a pair of mesh stocking legs push out from a lower kitchen cabinet knocking pans across the floor.

“Damn, secret passages,” cursed the woman crawling out wearing shorts and suspenders.

The maid watched as the woman tried to kick a pot jammed around a wood-carved high-heeled shoe.

“Like?”

“Don’t ask,” said the woman calming herself. “Sorry, I guess you’re one of the new maids. I’m Pinocchia or, apparently, Apples or Peaches. Or a scarecrow or a ponygirl.”

The maid’s eyes locked on the moving tip of Pinocchia’s long nose. She felt bad aboutmaking her stare so obvious when Pinocchia stopped rambling.

“Yeah,” said the long nosed woman. “It’s been a great day so far. Just peachy.” The nose grew a short spurt. “I shouldn’t do sarcasm.”

The maid gave a hand to get the puppet girl off the floor. She unintentionally pulled them together compressing her fluffy skirt between them. She saw the puppet girl look deeply back into her eyes. Was there a sexual attraction? She glanced away. Women here at the manor were too forward.

“I need to do another invitation today,” said Pinocchia. “Could I fuck you? It’s just for my nose. Honest.”

“Like, say what?”

Rod’s chauffer threw several more costumes on the bed.

“Just leave them there and go,” yelled Rod from a walk-in closet that was the size of most bedrooms. “Did you get the ones with the fans?”

“Yeah, boss.”

Rod waited for his driver to leave before he ran naked across the room and locked the bedroom door. He quickly sorted through the costumes finding an Elvis balloon costume. He pulled on the baggy outfit, zipped-up the front, searched for a control and pressed a button. The whir of motors started and the bag-of-an-outfit inflated into a fat Elvis costume.

“Perfect!” His oversized erection was well contained. He could even go to some parties this week to get his mind off all this. Looking into a mirror, his hopes faded away. The material was translucent and more like a parachute. He could see his strong perpendicular feature inside the costume.

“Blast you, Apples!”