The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A deergirl and a bunnygirl shoveled a magical mixture of salt and herbs onto the base of a stonewall that outlined the entire property except for where an ocean cliff was left open to a steep drop below where waves crashed against spiked rocks. Taken from the cathedral of trees that morning by Forte, the two furries still wore their given restraints and struggled against them to accomplish any work. Longer chains had been added to their wrist cuffs so their hands were no longer bound against the sides of their breasts. Still, the new chains proved too short as shoveling movements still yanked the chains hard.

The bunnygirl looked up to watch a raven circling overhead, swoop down, and land nearby.

The deergirl also noticed the sinister looking bird and began talking to it. “I’ve heard some things,” she said making several darting looks around for any chain gang prison guards. She waited for the bird to respond.

The raven transformed into a black-feathered ballerina with soft downs forming a bodice and long plumages radiating out from her waist to form a tutu. More feathers covered her arms and hands defining faux wings, but the feathers had real quills growing from her skin. Technically, she was a furry too though with feathers. Her head of human hair was tied up in a perfect bun, her exposed skin was flawless and her supply of attitude boundless. She sat on the wall, fluttered her bare legs enjoying herself, all the while, flaunting her freedom to a point of agitation for the chained deer and bunny.

“I don’t understand language when I’m a raven,” said the ballerina. “What did you say again?” She spoke with a condescending tone like she won the lead role to a production of ‘The Nutcracker’ being performed at Lincoln Center. In her mind, she was not just a messenger girl: she was a star.

“We got some information from the main house,” said the bunnygirl with her long ears standing tall on her head twitching for any audible signs of Wicky or Forte. Both furries were out of breath from the hard work and in no mood for any attitude.

The deergirl continued, “Wicky is working on some secret project and is distracted. She only added a busload of seniors heading to a casino. She’s relying on others to do most of the preparations.”

“And?” said Raven checking her nails.

“That’s it,” said the junior deer girl shrugging her shoulders.

“That’s it!” said Raven annoyed. “I transformed for that?” She jumped down from the wall, placed one foot slightly in front of the other and put her hands on her hips. She had taken a ballerina pose.

“What’s the big deal?” asked the bunny trying to shovel despite the tugs from her short chains. “Seems like you’re doing pretty good here so don’t be complaining to us. We’ve got to shovel this stuff all along the perimeter. It’s going to take us all week.”

“Well,” huffed Raven. “One of you has to give me an orgasm for me to change back.”

The two furries looked at each other.

“I’m not a book,” said the ballerina. “I don’t just rub my ass and change.” She raised her chin giving her a self appointed look of aristocracy. “I will need help.”

“I’m not licking you.”

“Hell no,” said the other.

“Just finger me. I get off fast,” said Raven bending herself over the waist-high wall resting her chin on her forearms. “Come-on. Hurry-up. I’d get off faster though if you do it more inside. I like it better that way.” She alternated bending her lithe long legs like she was dancing.

The Bunny could see the bird’s crotch covered in soft down feathers.

The ballerina added, “I’m getting a little tender on the surface from all these back-and-forth messages. I’d appreciate some care here.” She said all that without even looking at her colleagues. She wiggled her butt and finally glanced back. “And wash your hands first!”

The Bunny and the Doe played rock-paper-scissors behind the stiff ballerina skirt, which was aimed at them like a satellite dish. The loser licked her fingers clean and stepped-up behind Raven, who was too stuck-up to keep track of the two and probably fortunate not to have seen the impromptu techniques for forest furry hygiene.

Pinocchia entered the new spell room passing the fish tank with a passed-out mermaid inside. Oddly, the fish girl seemed to have a smile on her face. Green glowing water on the floor indicated that Wicky had been angered again. Something hit the floor stealing Pinocchia’s attention. It was Octopussy finishing her work lining up a series of candlesticks on a workbench. The poor thing was down to four tentacles. It was all thumbs now and kept knocking over more than it righted. Each candlestick was a passageway to a targeted guest. But they would all have to wait till morning. Her first day was done and it was time to sleep.

The puppet girl opened a secret passage with the typical fake searching ritual and, a second later, climbed out from a large planter into the servants’ section of the manor. Walking down the oddly narrow hallway, she stopped to peer into the maids’ room. The three blonde maids had joined each other in a sleeping huddle on a lower bunk bed. They snoozed away holding each other like a litter of kittens.

No space there.

The next room, labeled the chauffer’s room, still needed the mattress to be unrolled and some sheets. Skipping that room, she headed to the unused Head Maid bedroom. After all, there was no Head Maid and the four-post bed was soft even without any sheets or pillows. She opened the door and walked in.

“Ah!” said Francette lying on her stomach across the mattress with her skirt up over her corseted torso and her ruffled panties pulled down her thighs. She was trying to twist something stuck in her rear when she was caught by surprise. “Oh my!” she yipped as she jumped out of the bed straightening her skirts forgetting her dress was too short to hide her panties that bridged her thighs.

“Who are you?” said Pinocchia. “Sorry, I didn’t know we had a new maid.”

Francette padded down her skirts and cringed in pain. Her hands checked her legs and felt her panties in the wrong place. She embarrassingly reached behind for her panties and gave them a tug up leaving them unintentionally stretched over her rear skirts. “Bonjour, I the new Head Maid, Francette. No?”

“You tell me kid – oh, they’ve got you doing the stupid French accent thing huh?”

“Oui, I suck at the French, but oos-ted must. No?”

“Usted is Spanish. Did Wicky paddle you?”

“Oui, with the utmost prejudices. No?”

“Wicky did that to me once. Hm, I’m starting to remember now. I really was a ponygirl. I’m being told I was named Apples or, it appears, possibly Peaches – no that was a poodle girl. Anyway, I resisted doing something and Wicky unzipped my latex outfit, spank me so hard with a potion covered paddle and zipped me back up into a world of pain.”

“Oui, it erts so grande. No?”

“You know we girls can just talk. You don’t have to be all porno-French here. At least stop saying ‘no’ so much.”

“Oui, no? I mean ‘no’ oui, no? I can’t elp eh. No?” She gritted her teeth and tried to talk again. “The quills they are being the even more the picky with the ax-sont – so much the more now that Wicky poonish me so.” She paused, but it had to happen. She said it again, “No?” Poor Frenchy cringed in frustration.

“Well it’s a shame there are no men around we can seduce. Wicky seems to keep the manor clear of guys.”

“I don’t care about the men right the now. My arse, it erts so the bad.” She paused trying to hold back the next word. Then she stuttered it, “No? Oh! How I ate myself.”

“Ate yourself?” Pinocchia remembered what she herself had tried that afternoon alone in a closet. Surely no one knew.

“It’s French, I make the ‘h’ the silent. I ‘hhh’-ate myself. Et mademoiselle, she candled me.” The maid looked down ashamed. “No?” she mumbled.

“What was that last part?”

“Mademoiselle, she stuck the candle and somehow, she locked it in my arse. I av a candle up moi le bum.” She paused. “No?”

“Well I know the cure for a potion enhanced paddle burn. It’s kinky though. You have to have a three-some. In French porno, I believe that’s a ménage-a-twat.” Pinocchia lifted the back of the maid’s skirt getting one or two out of the panties, but got an annoyed tug as a response. “You’ll have to eat muff, that can be me if you like. At the same time though, you’ll need to be getting it in the ass, but the guy has to really load you up when he ejaculates. Let me see about the candle though.” She pulled at the fluffy skirts again, but the maid turned away.

“Figures the cure, impossible. Guys, no. Candle, oui.” She climbed onto the bed lying back down on her stomach. Her large eyes capitulated and invited Pinocchia to help.

Pinnochia jumped on the bed beside the maid. The bounce set off the maid’s sensitive skin.

“The motion, it urts,” said the maid.

“Sorry.” She moved slowly.

“I did the pull, the twist, and the – you know – the,” she said pausing with a blush, “the, le push, but the candle, it does not the move. No?”

Pinocchia snickered and went silent when she got a glare from the maid. “I’m sorry Francette, but you doing the ‘le push’ got me for a second there.”

Francette propped her head up in her hands as her new friend set the skirts over the back of her maid’s corset and gently pulled down the ruffled panties.

“I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”

“I am up for the anything. No?” said Francette not even looking until she heard a match strike and a flame ignite. That was a noise that made her turn. “What, oo do?”

“These costumes like to inflict a little pain.” Her eyes darted to the candle. “We got’ta light it sweetie.”

“Sacre blue! Really?”

The puppet girl nodded. She waved the match out. It had burned too long.

“Oui. No?”

Pinocchia lit another match. “You tell me: yes or no.”

The maid nodded and remained there on the bed with her tush lit like a birthday cake. The wax dripped down burning the skin. She clenched her fists.

Pinocchia gave the candle a twist as the burning increased and the candle popped free.

“Ta-da! Make a wish. I know I’ve got one.” She blew the flame out.

“Stop the kidding. No? But I so do the wish to take the whole uniform the off. Oui? I can only move the panties down the itty-bit before the quills be so cruel. No?”

“You promise to have sex with me?”

“Pardon?”

“Say you’ll blow me. Or fist me. I haven’t done that recently,” she said quickly appending that sentence with more qualifiers, “this afternoon in the last hour, today, that is.” Her nose didn’t grow. “Thank god.”

Francette rolled her eyes. “I le blow you. Oui? Now why shoo I speak ‘at? No?”

Pinnochia stuffed her hand between the maid’s tummy and the bed. She plucked loose the laces of the maid’s outer corset.

“Impossible!” said the maid lifting up to all fours. “I. How! I pulled so the hard.”

“These costumes like kinky. And girl-on-girl action is always kinky, especially since you’re hot – burning candle aside.”

Pinocchia pulled off the maid’s outer corset and was now undoing a zipper down the back torso of the maid costume exposing an inner corset with lacing in the back. “Lot’s of layers, huh?”

“You say, I ‘eat the muff’ and get it in the arse—I feel the good. Oui?”

“Yeah.”

“But Wicky, she will punish even the more. Oui? She will the know. No?”

“Wicky is too busy to remember anything. She seems preoccupied with some secret project and can’t even focus on the big night. By tomorrow she’ll have forgotten and besides, to be safe, just pretend it hurts for a bit, and by then she’ll certainly have forgotten.”

The maid kept taking looks at the bathroom. She was thinking about something, maybe even scheming; but Pinocchia couldn’t figure out what.

Francette whispered, “Would you be the willing to wear the blindfold?”

“Oooo.” Pinnocchia pulled her suspenders off. The idea was turning her on. “Sure, sweetie.” Her nipples pushed through her shear white silk blouse. With her suspenders off, she knew her costume was horny too. She quickly started tugging off her white blouse and shorts as the maid left for the bathroom and closed the door.

With a couple of kicks, the wooden heels hit the floor. Relieved they actually came off at all, she let a minute pass enjoying the ability to wiggle her toes.

The maid hurriedly emerged. “Please, make me the naked.”

“Sure sweetie,” said Pinochia, now naked herself, except for her stockings.

“You will need the certain something though, no? Don’t take the need as the insult, please. I beg. Oui?”

Pinocchia lifted the maid’s chin and kissed her in response. “Whatever you want. I’ve been on the sidelines too long. I could use a little excursion.”

The maid tried to run to the bed, but then stopped in pain and slowly walked. Pinocchia smiled watching. The fast moves must have added a jiggle that hurt.

The maid grabbed a pillow. “The blindfolds, no good. People see down the side of the nose. No?”

Pinocchia thought the maid knew about the nose thing. Then again, it was true that blindfolds were not good even with a normal nose. If only the maid had any idea what kind of nose there really could be.

The maid pulled off a pillowcase dropping the pillow hastily to the floor and returned handing it to the perky girly version of Pinocchio.

“You want me to put a sack over my head? A sack! I’m not hot enough for you?”

“I have a guy in the bathroom, but he is the too shy. No?”

“Wait a minute, a guy? In your bathroom?” The idea made no sense. How did she get a guy on the grounds, let alone the house? How did this silly maid hide him so well? Unless: “You don’t have a male vampire bat coffin-carrying slave in there do you? Or a zombie? Oh yuck, I hate zombies. Sorry, the deals off if it’s a zombie.”

“I can’t answer, but no the zombies and no the bat. No?”

“Ok, fine I’m curious enough. I’ll bite, but I don’t want to be bitten.”

“Just the eaten out, no?” said Francette giggling then cringing her nose with the pain from the paddling.

It was the stroke of midnight and Wicky entered the library, closed the door behind her and approached a crystal ball on a built-in shelf. She hated this part of being a witch: the meetings. She hated them especially since the other witches never really accepted her. Why did they make such a big deal of her dress preventing her from sitting and flying a broom? Actually she could fly, but without moving her hips, she couldn’t steer. She always ended up becoming a horizontal missile shooting straight forward.

If she could sit, she would have made herself comfortable since the meetings took time, but her dress once again got in the way. She took a deep breath, put her hands out against the breast-height shelf that held the crystal ball, and leaned in as if doing a plank exercise. She pressed her face against the glass and felt her head being enveloped into the ball.

An infinite distance away, a ghostly image of Wicky’s head appeared in a crystal ball in a main meeting hall of the Westerly Witches.

“Order!” cried a witch holding a glowing jack o’lantern. “All bodied spirits here in the chamber rise while the council enters the dead center of the hall.”

Wicky’s ghostly image turned to look around. She knew the witch in the crystal ball next to her. “Hi Griselda,” she whispered.

The witch scoffed at Wicky and looked forward.

On the other side of Wicky’s image was Angelica. It wasn’t worth the trouble greeting her. She was worse than Griselda.

The jack o’lantern holding witch stood center stage down below several circular balconies of crystal balls and witches. She gaveled the podium again.

A tall blonde witch took center stage. Wicky tried to get comfortable. The meeting would be a series of status reports and rumors on were possible warlocks were hiding.

Let the snooze fest begin.

Francette led the hooded Pinocchia into the bathroom. The burning paddle marks hurt even more. She prayed this idea from her new friend would work. Other than the hood over Pinocchia’s head, and the little doily bonnet Francette wore in her hair, and also the mesh stockings they both wore; they both were naked.

“I have a confession to make,” said Pinnochia.

“Oui?” said Francette.

“You need me and the guy to get off for this to work. I kind’a have a problem.”

“You too much the shy?”

“I’m kind’a out there, so no. I sort’a need a rope or belt around my neck.”

Francette paused trying to understand.

Pinoccchia’s head bobbed around under the hood as if she blushed. “I need to be choked a bit to get off. I mean I can masturbate, but I just don’t reach climax with someone else without a little, well—could you strangle me when I get close to orgasm?”

Francette didn’t realize how complicated this was going to get. “You are not the lying to me? No?”

“My nose grows if I lie.”

“Come-on,” Francette said in her American accent. She didn’t like the sound of this. She was hoping this woman knew what she was talking about and now it was clear she was just a nutcase. Switching back to porno-French, the maid said, “But your nose is the normal. You say you never did the lie before? Ever? No. I say the impossible. No?”

“If I have sex, it goes back down again.”

“Then I say, do the lie. Show it to la moi.”

“What?”

“You are about to have the sex with moi. Lie. Prove it does the growing and you no problem—since we are aboot to ‘av the sex. No?”

“Fine.” Pinocchia paused.

“Well? Lie to the me. Oui?”

“Wait. Wait. I’m thinking of something outrageous to say. Don’t’ rush me. Ok. I got one: I fucked an elephant.”

Francette waited. Nothing changed.

Pinocchia’s hands went onto her hips. She was waiting too.

The maid pinched the pillowcase to feel the nose. It felt normal. She pinched harder.

“Ouch,” said Pinocchia.

“I think you lie about the lying, no?”

“Ok, that is a little concerning. I don’t remember an elephant. Ok, next idea: I like broccoli.” Her nose grew in a six-inch spurt. “Ta’da!” She raised her arms in celebration and then lowered them in regret giving her nose a touch through the pillowcase. “I hate this.”

“Bonne. I am the impressed. Not the nose, but the elepha’h. I don’t know how one does the pachyderm. Wait the here. I return tout suite. No?”

The maid walked, very gently, into the bedroom avoiding any butt jiggle. She saw a golden rope tying a drape to a window’s frame. She looked up at the ceiling, “Are you the game? No?”

She smiled as the house made the rope unwind and coil into her hands.

Returning to her friend, she held out the rope and watched as it snaked itself around the hooded girl’s shoulders binding her forearms together behind her back forcing her hands to cup the opposite elbows. A section of rope went across the throat, so if her arms tried to lower to be comfortable a choking action happened.

“Whoa, Francette. Tell your boy friend to slow down.” She relaxed her arms and gasped, “but I like it.”

“You want it loosened?”

“Actually,” she pushed her bound forearms down feeling the full strain against her throat. “Can you put a noose around me too? I’ll need it to be much tighter.”

Francette watched as the rope lengthened itself and coiled thirteen times around a zigzag of rope forming a noose that cinched the pillowcase around the hooded girl’s neck.

Pinocchia giggled shrugging her shoulders with enthusiasm. “I love it this way. It’s like we’ve done this before. Where do you want me?”

The maid guided the bound girl into the bathroom’s cast iron tub. The four iron legs of the tub moved about like an excited dog. The warping porcelain surfaces flexed several times before calming down. The house was clearly excited at all this. The maid threw an end of the rope over a towel rack above the tub so that a pull downwards would give an upward choking action to the noose. She stopped to look at her submissive friend. She could never imagine being tied in rope like this. Giving so much control was just too wild for her.

Pinocchia leaned back and hung her legs over the edges of the tub. She began to moan under the hood. The tub’s slow rocking hurried the process enough for the horny puppet to get started. “Francette, you better hurry. I’m gett’in there fast just thinking about all this. Maybe it’s the choking. I love it.”

The maid looked at the bathtub faucet. It too was waiting, erect and eager. The room’s walls started to change to mirrors like before.

“Wait the everyone,” said the maid. “I need the getting the butt in the position. No?” She quickly placed herself between the girl and the tub’s spigot. With the pain burning across her butt cheeks, it was hard to build the courage to touch anything with her rear. She slowly backed up sliding her knees across the smooth tub and pressing the tap in between her round cheeks. It was cold, her skin was burning and the house began to shake as more contact was made. “Sacre bleu, I forget the lubricant!”

“Too late sister,” said Pinocchia pushing her knees against the maid’s shoulders forcing the faucet deep inside the moaning maid. “I don’t know how three of us are fitting into this tub. You do know what anal sex is right?”

The maid lowered her face between Pinocchia’s legs and gave a long lick across the shaved vertical slit and then pressed her tongue inside near the top. She lifted her head long enough to say, “Oui, but of course. No?”

“Oh god. Choke me more,” said the bound and hooded girl.

It was hard to do everything at once. The maid pulled down on the rope forcing a shrieked of glee from under the hood. She pushed back onto the water tap prompting the tub to shake with pleasure. With a forward and backward motion, a rope tug and release, and a search with her tongue for the right spot; both the house and the hooded girl lost themselves in the moment.

Francette, on the other hand, worked hard and just felt pain in the rear entry and her skin. Her knees also hurt from resting on the tub’s hard porcelain. Her arms and thighs were getting tired too. This wasn’t fun. There was no pleasure for her. She begin to worry the cure might not even happen.

“Faster Francette,” said the hooded girl.

“Oui-mm, mmm.”

“No, left a bit. No, choke me more. Yes, make me pass-out.”

The chrome pipe inside Francette quickly reached climax. Warm liquid rushed inside.

“Hurry Pinocchia,” said Francette, “mmm, he is the ejaculating, mmm-mm, inside moi now. No?”

“Choke me harder. Oh god. I’m coming too!”

Snuggles sashayed around the lonely dark manor without a care in the world. Wicky had left the spell room and the servants were in their quarters, so the house was hers to prowl. She entered the library, ran her latex fingers across a globe giving it a spin. She then stopped in fear – Wicky was standing right there. It took a second to for the catgirl to realize that Wicky’s head was stuck inside a crystal ball. The witch’s stiff body had a perfect silhouette with a perfect bottom all angled to a shelf. The catgirl curiously tilted her head and approached. Maybe she could give her mistress a fast spank and make a run for it. Then again, maybe she should find-out what the witch was doing.

She got closer. The conversation going on under the glass was more of an argument. It was one of those witch meetings. The catgirl looked around getting close to the witch’s body, but very careful not to touch. Interrupting a witch meeting would surely result in a horrible punishment and Wicky was very creative when it came to dishing out penance.

Snuggles wished her ears were not encased in such a thick stretched latex hood. She lowered her head down to the glass ball while focusing on some faint voices. What did these witches talk about anyway?

With an echoing murmur at first and then, with concentration, Wicky’s voice became audible: “This is outrageous. No witch has ever had to go through so much scrutiny.”

“Council,” said another witch.

Snuggles had heard that voice before. It was Witch Griselda.

“I request,” said Griselda, “once again…”

Wicky interrupted, “It is painfully obvious that some witches just want the wand.”

“It is too powerful,” said Angelica, “for just one witch among us to have that wand. It isn’t fair that Wicky is the only one that has access to that power.”

“Let alone,” said Griselda, “a former blood slave stuck in her master vampire’s assigned fetish outfit. She can’t even ride a broom, a witch’s right of passage.”

“You are all out of order,” said the Council Leader. “Wicky is one of us and she is the one with the power of the old manor. Of course, being the most junior raises a bit of concern.”

Griselda’s ghostly head, a perfect Miss Universe head and hairdo all pickled in crystal ball vapor, faced Wicky. The two glared at each other from their glass spheres.

“Wicky, if it weren’t for the vampires protecting you, you’d have lost by now.”

“I provide a service, Miss Helmet Hair.”

“I request,” continued Griselda, “that Wicky turn her spell book over until an investigation is done on just how close she is with these, these vampires. After all what proper witch sells potions to such creatures?”

A council member spoke, “Would Wicky volunteer her spell book at least for examination? It will be returned—possibly with a few pages removed if such spells were deemed unwitch like?”

Snuggles dropped to the floor on hearing that. She felt betrayed by these witches – by Wicky. Her life was tied to that spell book. Her mind was tied to each page. She transformed into a cat and ran out into the dark house.

It was morning. The servants’ bell rang as Francette tightened her outside corset laces in the front, walked over to the bed and gave Pinocchia a kiss on the forehead. The naked puppet girl rolled in the sheets lost in sleep. Her nose grew an inch.

Could people actually lie in their dreams?

The maid lovingly kissed the bedroom wall. “My maison.” She quietly left closing the door behind her. On her way down the narrow hall, she stopped to check that the blonde trio had left their room to start work. Then she checked a mechanical box that hung above the exit door. It had an arrow pointing to a room label where someone rang last. The arrow had rotated to the living room label.

By the time she reached the main hall, the German maid was leaving the living room with an empty tea tray. Checking inside, Wicky could be seen engaging in conversation with two tall women, both dressed in red.

“Yes, Francette come-in,” said Wicky.

Francette passed the two women. They were identical twins wearing matching corseted bright red latex catsuits. Both had long brunette hair styled around bull-like horns protruding just above their foreheads. They relished in swiping their long demon tails behind them like dancing cobras.

Francette had never seen demons before and certainly didn’t know what to do when they greeted her with smiles and a demonstration of how fast they could whip their tails at the floor almost hitting her feet. She refused to let their floor lashing startle her. She was becoming immune to the unexpected.

Wicky handed Francette a glass tube of red liquid and whispered, “I need you to go to the library. Drip this on the lock for the first edition bookcase and get me, um, ‘Moby Dick’ and, um, ‘Dante’s Inferno.’ You’re such a sweetheart.” Wicky gave the maid a swat on the rear.

Francette pretended it hurt and took the tube. She curtsied slowly so as to appear as if her bottom still stung, and left for the library. She stopped at the doorway to listen.

“So you have two decoys,” said the first twin demon talking to Wicky but looking rather romantically at her sister. She even caressed her twin sister’s face.

“Yes, I just need some demon horn powder and we’re set,” answered Wicky. “Plus some extra to cover costs.”

“We can do that,” said the other twin. The two French kissed in celebration.

The first twin pulled away, “Daddy is so, so angry with us.”

“We made out with an angel and need a couple centuries in hiding,” said the other.

“We appreciate this so much,” said the first twin giving Wicky a wink. “We can do more you know. Have you ever done it with demon twins?”

The second one looked jealous and pulled back her sister. “So these two decoys will seem to Daddy like us trying to poorly hide as pathetic humans?” She gave her sister a kiss.

“Yes. That’s the plan,” said Wicky. “You said he would be too angry to talk, so hopefully he’ll entomb them for a few hundred years without double checking. Should give him time to cool off.”

“The Devil, cooling off, I get it,” said the first demon.

“Cool off,” said the other giggling.

The first sister sharpened her long fingernails of one hand against those on the other. She lowered her left horn to a tea saucer and scraped her nails along a horn flaking off ivory powder. The other did the same adding more demon horn powder.

Francette noted the tube in her had. She had better hurry. She trotted quickly to the library and pulled at the lock. There was no keyhole, just a bat symbol. She had seen that before. She viewed her reflection in the cabinet glass inspecting her large nose ring. She lifted the ring and rotated it a bit through the hole punctured in her nasal septum. The ring had the same symbol. Maybe she could undo this later. Uncorking the glass test tube, she put a drip of what looked like blood onto the bookcase lock popping it open. Yes, this would be useful for later.

She searched the desk drawers. She needed a container or bottle or, yes, a pen. She emptied a fountain pen, put some of the blood inside and stuffed the pen down her cleavage. It took a moment to look through the cabinet, but she found the two requested books, locked the cabinet, and brought them to the living room.

When Wicky got the books, she removed some cloth that was sandwiched between their center pages and threw the books to the floor. With the pages all making contact, two women appeared in place of the books. They looked frightened and, unlike other ‘booked’ victims, these two were not bound.

Wicky sprinkled demon horn powder on them, waved her wand and said some incantation. She turned to the demons. “This will make your father sense them as you no matter where they go. He’ll also think you had some magic done to look so simple and human.”

The two demon girls clapped with excitement.

“Now,” said Wicky to the two frightened woman sitting on the floor, “your very lives depend on this.” It was all a lie, but it got their attention. “I want you to run and hide. If we find you, that’s it. You’re dead. Here’s some cash. Make it good a chase.”

Wicky threw down some silver coins. “Who knows, if you are successful, you’ll be free from all this.” That, of course, was a blatant lie.

The two women looked at each other. They slowly stood and seeing no resistance from the creatures standing around them, they made a run for it.

Francette could see across to main hallway to where the German maid was opening the oak front door to let the human decoys outside.

“So can we stay for the party?” said the twins in perfect synchronization.

“Certainly,” said Wicky. “You know I might take you up on your offer. I haven’t done demons before.”

The dream felt so real. Pinocchia somehow knew she was in a dream – a dream where she woke inside a straw body wearing rotting clothes. It was a hot summer. Wicky stood right in front of her and Forte was undoing ropes. Pinocchia then stood towering over Wicky and, for the first time, at eye level with the Clydesdale-sized ponygirl. Pinocchia was a Scarecrow, but Forte wasn’t there when this all happened just days ago. Then there was a jump in time. There was snow, and the untying all happened again. Pinocchia’s scarecrow body then walked behind in last position watching the sway in Forte’s ponytail. Wicky, who was wrapped in furs, was being carried in Forte’s arms. Forte blocked most of the view except for Wicky’s pointy hat on the left and the stiletto heels sticking-out on the right, but it was certainly Wicky carried in between.

In a blink, the dream changed. She was in the old spell room in a pink genie costume.

“Stuff this hay into your costume,” said Wicky.

“Yes Mistress.” And she took a handful of straw and pushed it down her cleavage. She then stuffed lots of hay down her shear pantaloons.

“Stuff this hay into your costume,” said Wicky again, but it was a different time. The costume was different too.

“Yes Mistress,” said Pinocchia again. She took a hand full of hay and stuffed it down her turtle shell costume with its rigid underbelly shell that artistically supported her boobs. She then stuffed hay into her green stocking tops with garter belts stretching from under the leg holes of the hard turtle shell. She couldn’t remember how she had sex in the thing, but she had and it was with Wicky. Given the shell, was it even possible?

Could this all just be a dream? ‘Yes, it’s only a dream,’ she said to comfort herself. She woke in the maid’s bedroom. Her confounded nose was growing again. She sat there naked, exhausted, her Pinocchio costume discarded around the room. The French Maid had already left for work.

A short bit later Pinocchia greeted Wicky downstairs in the new spell room. “Good morning.” She looked over at the mermaid who made grotesque faces by pressing her mouth against the glass and widening her eyes. The puppet girl waved at the mermaid and got a wave back as the face pressing continued, teeth fully showing and the tongue wiggling around.

Wicky avoided looking at the spectacle. Why was Wicky putting up with it though? Normally, she would just shock the poor fishy into unconsciousness. Strange.

“Sleeping in are we,” said Wicky stirring a stew in a huge cauldron.

“It’s 7AM. You make it sound like I slept till noon.”

“You have several more invitations to go.”

Pinocchia took another candle. No one appreciated the work she did. “I’ve got it.” She set the candle on the fireplace mantle, searched other objects and then exited to wherever the candle would open a passage. Hopefully it would not be another monster and instead be a billionaire in Paris, or a stockbroker in London, or a model in New York. She hoped for a cop in LA. She liked the idea of handcuffs.

In the cathedral of trees, the raven landed among several deer girls and a visiting witch. The bird transformed into her black-feathered ballerina form and updated everyone on the little information she had regarding Wicky using a bus of casino going retirees.

Griselda laughed. “See the low quality she gives you girls. Have your messenger fly back and demand that younger humans be there this All Hallows’ Eve. Wicky is trying to be all goody-two-shoes sticking with vices like avarice. Do this, and I promise you, I will be a far better witch for your cause. I just ask that you insist that this one name be added to the list.”

“Who is this woman?” asked the fourteen-point deer girl.

“She likes to buy and beat ponygirls.”

That made all the furries visibly angry.

“Why do you care so much?” asked the deergirl leader.

“I need an invitation to enter the grounds. You have a group invite, but it won’t work for me.”

“But the invite you’ll see will be to this woman.”

“Don’t concern yourself. I have a way.”

The leader thought about the extra demands and signaled Raven.

The raven bowed aiming her butt to some junior deer girls. “Come-on, get my motor started.”

“Don’t you just rub her?” asked a young deer girl.

“I wish,” said Raven. “Books have it so easy. I need an orgasm – and with all this back and forth, it’s getting old.”

She closed her eyes as a deer girl kneeled to lick.

Pinocchia found herself walking in a junkyard amongst piles of wires and metal scraps. Lost in the rubble were womanly metal faces, mechanical female hands, and sexy molded long legs with dainty jointed feet. It was a sex crazed Samford & Son junkyard.

“Can I help you?” said a voice.

She looked around.

“Look-up,” said the voice. A camera mounted to a pole angled down a bit more. Its lens rotated to zoom-in.

Pinocchia pushed her chest out and rolled her left shoulder. If a fan blew her hair back, a photoflash would snap the perfect picture. After all, wasn’t that what you do in front of a camera, despite the voice not sounding male? “I’m looking for a,” she said half-breaking from her photo-shoot pose to read the envelope, “Metropolis. Is that person here?” She smiled for the camera again, while holding out the envelope to silently read a note Wicky had scribbled on the back. The wording was concerning; actually, it was just plain strange.

“Please wait,” said the female voice trying to sound monotone and robotic.

A moment later a metal robot approached walking around a pile of sexy legs. The android was more of a shiny chrome mannequin articulated with black rubber at the joints. It was clearly a next generation model compared to the leftovers scattered around the yard. Its body captured a visceral porno movie in moving metal especially when a vertical black rubber slit at the crotch grabbed a viewer’s attention like it did Pinocchia, who’s eyes kept lower. The slit looked too narrow to actually fit anything. Did the section of the robot somehow widen?

The same voice came from its mirrored featureless face. “Yes, this is a sexbot. It’s how I make my money. Come this way.”

It must have seen the judgmental look on her own face. Being diplomatic and hiding an questioning face was hard. “Wicky sent me.”

The sexbot stopped walking and turned. “Really?” The robotic-ness of the voice was gone. “Did she accept my application?”

“All I know is that you’re invited and, wait, let me get this right,” she said switching to reading the note on the back. Her head posed as if she was looking down through bifocals that weren’t there, but the pose was just hesitation. She just didn’t want to read the sentence at all. “It has to have a vagina with tactile sensors.” That last part made her grimace. What in the world did it even mean?

“Yes!” screamed the voice through the motionless body of the mannequin, which must be radio controlled.

Pinocchia waved her hands in front of the mirrored face to check.

The machine turned away ignoring her. “Come.”

They walked around tables of metal parts and entered a shack half buried under metal scrap.

Inside the well lived-in “living” room, a woman sat in front of a computer. She let go of a couple joysticks and the motorized mannequin froze. The girl wore eyeglasses, piercings around her eyes, ears, and lips. She clearly did not worry about style and it certainly showed in her frizzy hairdo.

“Hi, I’m Metropolis,” she said standing and offering a fist bump. “I make these sexbots.” She pointed to the escort. “This one’s radio controlled. The others come with a remote to choose missionary or jockey positions. They have limited AI – more fake-ELISA than anything.”

“You sent Wicky an application?” said Pinocchia handing over the envelope.

The nerdy gal enthusiastically grabbed it and bounced up-and-down in celebration. “I know. I know. Don’t open it until Halloween. Right? I researched this—soooo researched this. It was hard to find you guys. Please, tell Wicky, I’ll bring her combined Dyson-Ball-Segway when I join you at the party. It’s so ready for her.” She pointed to a rubber treaded bowling ball on the floor with a steal cylinder attached above it like a chimney.

Pinocchia looked down into the cylinder.

Metropolis pointed inside. “She just puts her feet in there and it will move her about. It recharges if she drives it onto a charging mat. She can put mats around the house. You know, where she stands around a lot, like her cauldron. I’m presuming there of course.”

Without asking, Pinocchia stepped her high heels into the contraption. Something inflated around her lower legs securing her ankles as the ball came to life rotating in fast short bursts to keep itself centered underneath no matter how Pinocchia leaned. She started moving forward and drove in a circle around the room trying different speeds and turns, all controlled by leaning. She went faster then slower and then stopped.

Metropolis looked at the invitation and restarted her jumping, composing herself only to add, “It’ll work better with a stiff dress that prevents your knees from bending. You know, like Wicky’s.”

“You would think Wicky could come-up with something, well, magical,” said Pinocchia, “instead of asking for something mechanical.”

“She said brooms tend to shoot around, so finer motion was impossible.”

Pinocchia took another spin around the room. It was hard to imagine Wicky moving this fast. That witch could get anywhere around the house with this. That was a scary thought, which came back to one other thing that was impossible to hold back from asking, “And the tactile vagina?”

“Oh that’s for me. I want to be a robot. My sexbots don’t feel. They just perform. But to do the transfer, I’ll need a robot that can receive a blowjob giving reactions and moans. It has to look good so the spirit of the house is pleased. The deal is the house can swap us, putting the program into my body and my spirit into the robot. I get to be a robot and Wicky keeps a simpleton obedient human servant girl.”

Pinnochia stopped the Dyson-Ball-slash-Segway-slash-thing’a’ma’bobber. Normally the house just swapped the curse, but a mind swap would be a rare event. Once again, she didn’t know how she knew this.

She looked down at her feet. The moving platform was nice, but Wicky must have had some other motive. The witch always shunned technology. Also, obedient humans were a dime a dozen. So what was the gain here?

Wait. Now it was clear. Wicky never had sex with a robot before. And the chrome mannequin frozen over there was pretty damn hot. That witch’s hobby had always been to find every perverted womanly combination possible. Now, it was evident what Wicky’s real interest was. She had probably been surfing the web one night, with her head jammed into a crystal ball, and saw a website showing all the artistry this girl poured into building these sexbots. The thoughts that probably went through that witch’s sick head had to vary from scissoring, to robotic fisting, to double dildos, to who knows what.

It made Pinocchia cringe. Looking over at the excited happy girl dancing there, it was clear that the clueless enginerd only thought she’d have to eat robotic silicon muff once in her life to achieve her dream of becoming a real robot. The dork probably didn’t even care if she ever had sex again. But the idea of being programmed into a woman’s sexual prison bitch probably never occurred to her. Even the typical short romps Wicky’s love life followed, before discarding a playmate for the next new thing, would be a blue screen segfault shock for this girl; if the poor thing only knew.

Pinocchia stayed quiet. Why mention it? There were more invitations to give out. She focused on the contraption wrapping her feet and crimping her lower legs. The motorized ball moved back and forth a bit as she tried to lift a leg out. Pulling again, she found the cylinder’s tight grip around her calves impossible to overcome. When she attempted to bend over to reach the ball, it zipped forward enough to throw her body back into a standing position and then zipped in reverse to stabilize her. “Wooh! How do I get out?”

Metropolis stopped her giddy little kissing-the-envelope dance to think for a moment. “Um. Well, geeh. Shoot.”