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Madame Suzcha free porn video
Madam Suzcha
by Ellie Dauber
copyright 1999
There was a knock at the door.
Madame Suzcha was busy stirring something in a small brass pot over a
burner on the table. It oozed around her hardwood spoon, colors flowing
together. Now dusty gray, now dove's blood red, now a bilious yellow.
She heard the knock, but her stirring barely slowed. "Enter, if you will,"
she called. "Enter, if you _dare_."
Two men strode through the door. Strode with the arrogance of the
young and the wealthy. Both were dressed in well-tailored suits that
looked like they had cost more than most people in that part of town
made in a month. One was tall, sandy haired, clutching a brief case to
his chest with long, thin fingers. The other was short and prematurely
balding, his suit cut to hide his extra weight. He also carried a brief case,
though holding his tightly by the handle.
"You are Suzcha," the taller one said. It was more a statement than a
question.
"Madame Suzcha to such as you, young man." Madame stopped her
stirring. A tiny bit of the _something_ spilled over the top of the pot.
When it hit the tabletop, there was a sudden smell of burning wood. She
didn't seem to notice or to care.
"Madame Suzcha," the shorter one said. "We are two who have heard of
your power and come to seek your help in our time of need."
"I know who you are. Scoundrels, the both of you. Stealers of young
men's dreams and old women's last hopes. Money you have taken from
others, money that weighs you down even as you clutch it within those
cases."
"I won't deny that we have money with us," the tall one said. "But it was
all taken, that is to say, earned, in a manner allowed by the law in this
state. It is money that we are entitled to."
"Bah," said Madam. "Entitled to. Why? Because you are young?
Because you are smart? Because such as you are more entitled to have
money than those poor souls who you took it from?"
"Yes!" said the shorter one. "Yes to all of those reasons. Some people
just deserve to have money. However they get it." The man paused.
"But who are you to question us? We have heard that there are any
number of things that you have done for cash."
"And not all of them legal," added the other.
"What I have done, I have done for my own reasons. Reasons that I do
not need to explain to such as you." Madame slapped the spoon down
hard on the table. "You are in my home, now, Mr. Whitley and Mr. van
Zandt. You come seeking my help. If you want any chance that I will
help you, then you will treat me with the respect that I am due."
Whitley, the tall one, spoke first. "You are right, of course, Madame
Suzcha. And my associate and I do both apologize."
"It's just that, well, we've been under a lot of pressure." This was van
Zandt speaking now. "Ever since that one idiot shot himself in the bank
and left the note blaming us; why there have been so many, many people
asking questions."
"Questions that you two would prefer not to have to answer, I am sure."
"Yes, and we were told that you could arrange this. That we not be
around to answer those questions, I mean."
"Oh, I can. I can, indeed."
Van Zandt was suddenly cautious. "But we'll be all right. You aren't
going to kill us or anything like that. Just fix matters so that the police
won't be looking for us."
"That I cannot do," said Madame Suzcha. "The authorities have read the
note. They have investigated your schemes. They will continue to be
searching for H. James Whitley and Charles van Zandt III." She paused
for effect. "But you two will no longer be those men."
"Impossible!" Whitley said. "What are you a make-up artist? Or is there
a plastic surgeon hiding in here somewhere?"
"I am neither," said Madame. "I am a practitioner of an ancient art based
on the Principle of the Wheel of Life. Reincarnation, you might call it,
but without the discomfort of having to die. When a person passes from
his current life, Something -- G-d, Fate, call it what you will -- looks at
that life and determines the form that the next life will take. I have found
the means of causing one to undergo that process in this life."
"Reincarnation without death. Unbelievable."
"Ah, my doubting van Zandt, unbelievable -- but true. I administer a
potion which puts your mind and body into the proper state. Your life is
judged, and the new life created."
"Instant infancy!"
"And with no memory of our past, so she gets the money we worked
for."
"Forget it!" Both men turned to go.
"No," Madame Suzcha said. Because you have not died, your soul is
linked to your current body. That body changes to match the new life.
Your mind changes, as well, to match. But the memories of your current
life remain. You will be adults, knowing who you were, what has
happened to you, and why. Yet, you will also have the skills of the new
life."
"I'm still not certain about this idea, Charlie," Whitley said.
"Yes," said Madame Suzcha, "but what choice do you have? The
authorities have broadcast your descriptions across the city. It is very
late, but some person must have seen you come to this neighborhood. It
is only a matter of time before Whitley and van Zandt are caught. If
they still exist to be caught."
"I think you're right, Madame Suzcha." Whitley's tone was more sincere
now. It was his _smooth_ voice, the voice he used on new clients or
potential lovers. "When do we start?"
"As soon as you remove all of your clothing."
"What!?!"
"It is necessary. The changes to your bodies will be abrupt, and anything
you were wearing would be badly damaged. I have some control over
the process, but no one can know what their shape in that next life may
be."
"I don't know," van Zandt hesitate, sensing a possible trap.
"There is but this one room in my home," Madame Suzcha said gesturing
about with her arm. "Lock the door if you wish. I am an old woman, far
too weak to overpower you. And with no way to safely get rid of your
bodies should I choose to kill you."
The two men looked at Madame Suzcha. She was perhaps five foot tall,
half a foot shorter than van Zandt. Her face was thin, her voice old and
frail sounding. What could be seen of her fingers from the sleeves of her
long blue-green robe -- van Zandt thought it looked more like an old bath
robe than any sort of witch's gown -- looked almost unnaturally bony.
The two men shrugged and began undressing. Van Zandt tossed his
clothes onto the bed. Whitley folded his carefully and draped them over
a chair next to the table. Both men kept their brief cases besides them.
Madam Suzcha picked up a tong and used it to lift the pot off of the
burner. She poured an equal portion into two old jelly glasses resting
near the center of the table. The _something_ bubbled for a moment in
each glass, then settled down, turning a slight purplish color as it did.
Madame put the pot on a wooden trivet and handed each man a glass.
"Drink," she said, "drink to your new lives."
The two men looked carefully at he glasses in their hands. Whitley
smelled his. He was surprised to find a rather sweet odor, something like
freshly cut hay. Van Zandt thought it had more of the smell of bad meat.
As if on cue, both men held their noses and drank.
"Now what," asked van Zandt. The answer was not long in coming.
Both men suddenly stiffened, their mouths opening, their eyes going
blank, oblivious to the world.
"You see nothing; you hear nothing except my voice. My will is all."
Madame Suzcha walked over to the two frozen men, stopping in front of
Whitley. "Tell me, who are you to cheat so many people of their life
savings?"
Whitley began to sweat, as if he was somehow trying not to answer but
knew that he could not stop himself from doing so. "I -- I am H. James
Whitley, Harvard class of 90, _cum laude_. If people are stupid enough
to let me talk them into giving me their money, then they deserve to be
used. I'm smarter than them, and I deserve that money. Screw them!"
Madame Suzcha spat on the floor at the answer. She turned and asked
the same of van Zandt.
"My family's old money. We came over in 1647 and got rich early.
Kept it a long time. Some people, some classes of people, just deserve to
be rich. We have a right to take money from those who don't know what
money means or how to use it. I say screw them', too!"
Madame Suzcha stepped back and looked at the two men. Their bodies
seemed to be swelling, turning coarse and a pale, sandy color. They
gradually lost all detail as if becoming mounds of earth. Graves. "As
you spoke," she said, "so shall you be judged. Yours was a crime of
male arrogance. Let such feelings fade, and with those feelings, the
maleness that called it forth. You shall enter your new lives as women.
Yet one emotion will remain. In your past lives you were so eager to
screw others figuratively. That drive shall remain, but in a stronger and
more literal meaning." Madame pointed at Whitley. "You who were H.
James Whitley prided yourself on your great mind. That mind is of the
past. Your intellect is far more limited, the mind of a child, given to
pouts and fits of emotion, easily persuaded to do as others tell you, with
an aggression now turned yielding and submissive."
Now she turned to van Zandt. "Class and family that meant so much to
you are now gone. You who were of the upper classes are now of the
lower, a dark child of the streets. You are wiser in some ways than your
friend, but your speech and your manner shall forever mark you as
socially inferior. Aggression in you also is lost, changed to the need to
yield to the desires of others."
Pieces now seemed to flake off the two mounds that had been Whitley
and van Zandt. Slowly two figures were revealed; two women in their
early twenties. A pale, long limbed blonde with hair far down her back
stood where Whitley had stood, and a Black woman with corn-rowed
hair was now in van Zandt's place. Both were quite lovely with
well-formed breasts, somewhat large for their sizes, narrow waists, and
wide hips. Their features were beautiful, although neither woman's face
gave the slightest hint of the man she had been. Their bodies were
smooth and lacking in any hair, except for that on their heads and the
furry inverted triangles that guarded their new genitals.
Madame Suzcha shook the blonde by the shoulders. The woman
trembled, closing her eyes to shut out her new reality. "Who are you?"
Madame Suzcha answered. "I command you to speak your new truth to
me."
"I -- I'm Candy Price", she said, then she giggled. "But I used to be
Jimmy Whitley. I want to be mad at you for doing this to me, but it all
seems kind of silly. I -- oh, I don't know. Can I get dressed, I'm cold
like this."
"Dress," said Madame pointing to Whitley's clothing on the bed.
"But those are guy's clothes. I'm a girl, silly." She put a hand on her
hip and bent one knee, clearly and quite unconsciously to better exhibit
her new charms.
"They are of your life, old or new. Touch them and see."
Candy carefully picked up Whitley's boxer shorts between two dainty
fingers. As she did, the shorts transformed into a pair of lacy blue
panties. "Ooh, cool!" she said stepping into them, pulling them up
around her waist. The transformation continued with each item. An
undershirt became a matching bra. Two socks stuck together and
changed into panty hose. The shirt and slacks were transformed into a
miniskirt and semi-transparent silk blouse. The tie became a silk scarf,
and the suit jacket turned into a sleeveless fake fur halter top. Candy put
the clothes on without difficulty, as if she had always worn such things,
and without regard for anything else happening in the room. She stepped
into Whitley's loafers which immediately changed into a pair of leather
pumps with a three inch heel.
As Candy dressed, Madame walked over to the transformed van Zandt
and shook her. "Speak, I command you. Tell me of your new place in
this world."
The figure blinked and shook her head for a moment, not believing the
thoughts in her mind. "I was some ol' White guy name of van Zandt,
but I be Jasmin Moore, now. Why you do this to me, you ol' honky bitch
witch?"
Madame Suzcha slapped Jasmin's face. The Black woman's anger
flowed out of her. She trembled and seemed ready to cry. "Dress
yourself!" Madame ordered.
Jasmin sniffled and walked over to van Zandt's clothes. As with Candy,
each item changed as she touched it. In a few moments the new woman
was dressed in five inch heels, her legs in patterned stockings held in
place by a black and red garter belt. Beneath a micro mini-skirt she wore
a matching thong panty. The dress was cut low to show her pillowy
breasts pushed up and out by a lacy black and red bra that could also be
partly seen.
Madame opened a drawer and pulled out two small purses, handing one
to each woman. "In here are the details of your new lives, cosmetics,
and a few dollars." Candy opened her purse, took out a lipstick and
began applying it. Jasmin counted the ten dollars in her purse, frowned,
and also began doing putting on make-up. Both acted as if they had
years of experience as women.
Madame waited until they had finished before continuing. "You will
never be able to come back to this room or to bother me in any way. Nor
can you talk about what happened to you to anyone but yourselves. You
will always remember who you were, but the impulses of your new
bodies will overwhelm any chance of your behaving as the men you once
were. So far as the world knows, Whitley and van Zandt have
disappeared."
"Candy and Jasmin, you are new in this town, and you have a chance at
good, useful lives, if you choose to try. If you choose not to try, if you
give in to the sensual impulses of your new bodies as quickly as you
gave in to the evil impulses of your old lives, well, there are many places
in this town with those who would welcome lovely, willing young girls
such as yourselves."Both women stood quietly as Madame's warning
sank in. Neither would admit it, even to themselves, but both had sensed
a sort of hunger in their bodies. It was a feeling that each vaguely
recognized as sexual, like, yet at the same time very different from the
arousal that they had known as men. But it was stronger now, taking its
strength from the drive to acquire money that they no longer had.
Neither realized it, but that displaced drive was a special part of the
transformation intended by Madame Suzcha to torment them long after
they left her that night.
Candy suddenly had a serious thought, a bit of her former self struggling
to survive in its new form. "But the money?" She asked abruptly,
almost as surprised at her words as Madame Suzcha was. "Are you
going to keep it?" Madame could see that what was left of Whitley was
fighting for control, and she move quickly to crush it.
"Why," Madame asked. "It isn't your money, is it, Candy?"
Candy shook her head. The question had been important a moment
before, but now it seemed meaningless. Money wasn't something to be
grasped for at all costs. It was just something you spent to have fun.
Deep within her, the remnants of H. James Whitley screamed in a blind
frustration that came out of Candy as an innocent giggle.
"I will return the money in a way that makes it seem as if Whitley and
van Zandt are dead. For in truth, those two men hardly still exist."
"Yo," said Jasmin, "I still gots one question. You could'a done a lot a
diff'rent things to us. Even killed us if ya wanted. This -- these bodies
-- and what you done to our minds, they's the worse. Why you done dat
to us?"
Madame smiled for a moment. "Why? For the simplest of reasons. I've
been working my magic for years helping people escape what they
deserved. And generally, I don't make any sort of judgement. Very few
wind up as badly as you two did -- although _your_ new fates were
chosen at my direction, of course." She smiled again, showing teeth;
teeth that were filed down to points in some cases. "But you two are
special cases because of that idiot' as you put it, the one who gave you
away when he shot himself. He made all the difference. You see, he
was my grandson."
The End
Ellie Dauber, copyright 1999. This may be posted to any free site.
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