A Muse By Any Other Name Would Spell As Sweet free porn video

A Muse by Any Other Name Would Spell as Sweet Copyright (c) 1999 by Chilli TNG Notes and Dedication: Not too long ago, in a galaxy not too far away, I made a suggestion . . . a simple, innocent suggestion. Part of the result of that suggestion was the creation of "Taco Belle," a wonderfully amusing story by my dear friend, Janice Dreamer. The scenario that Janice developed, though, just begged for a "what happened next" story, so here it is. But, if you haven't read Janice's story, I fear this one won't make as much sense as it would otherwise. You be the judge. This is a work of fiction. It contains rather graphic descriptions of sexual activity, domination, brutality, and puns, not to mention some objectionable language. (A number of reviewers have objected to many of the adjectives, and a couple more complained about several nouns and conjunctions.) There are also a number of sly references to various members of the FictionMania community, and nothing contained herein is meant to attribute any beliefs, attitudes, or behaviors on any referenced individual. I hope no one is offended by being referenced herein, as I have a great deal of respect for you all and would not intentionally try to anger or upset any of you. I dedicate this story to -- who else? -- Janice Dreamer. Were it not for her original story, this romp would never have been created. She's a funny, witty, eloquent authoress and is one of the true gems involved with FictionMania. Now, if I could just get her to finish "Class Project . . . ." A Muse by Any Other Name Would Spell as Sweet by Chilli TNG It had been nearly two years since Steve and I were married . . . and just over two years since I'd been turned into a woman by my on- line friend, Nancy Sleeper, as punishment for suggesting that she participate in an electronic interview with Geri Core. Nancy, being a rather shy sort, had been horribly incensed at my suggestion and decided to teach me a lesson. Unbeknownst to me, she had been dabbling in magick and arranged to switch places with my former coworker, now husband, Steve Sink; "Steve" caught me at my workstation sending Nancy an e-mail and accused me of writing transgendered fiction. I did write such stories -- I was quite good at it, too -- but I could never admit that to Steve, so I lied about it . . . three times, in fact. As I did, I began to change. After the third lie, it was good- bye, Peter (in more ways than one!), hello, Peta. Nancy also somehow bewitched me into finding Steve utterly irresistible . . . and boy, was he EVER irresistible! His word was my total command. The first month of our marriage was the hardest. I tried so hard to please Steve with everything I did, but, if he couldn't have what he desired, he could get very angry with me. His tastes were . . . strange, I suppose, but I never refused him anything. Never, that is, until I began my period one night just before he was going to make love with me. He had just spent several hours tying me up, and I was totally immobile and in a very helpless position. He was so turned on, and so was I, knowing that I was making him happy. But, as he prepared to impale me with his huge, glorious shaft, he stopped and stared at my groin instead. "What the f . . ." he blurted just before he flew into a rage. "How DARE you go on the rag, you bitch!" he screamed, and then he struck me. It wasn't the first time he'd hit me, but the other times had been more . . . playful, I suppose. This time, he slapped me over and over with the back of his hand . . . hard. I screamed and began to cry. My mouth stung and I knew I'd have a fat lip; I could already feel my right eye swelling shut, and the left one wasn't too far behind it, either. I knew I'd have to stay inside for a few days or risk embarrassing my dear Steve unless I could concoct a plausible explanation for the two shiners I'd be sporting. "SHUT UP!" he screamed, and I did. "Now what am I gonna do?" he asked as he pointed at my groin with disgust. "I can't fuck THAT!" Suddenly, he turned me over and lifted my sweet round bottom into the air. "I suppose one hole is as good as another," he mumbled, just before he rammed himself into my ass. I nearly screamed again, but I remembered that Steve had told me to be quiet, so I was. I never knew that I could endure such pain. He continued ramming in and out of my ass until, with a massive shudder, he erupted deep inside me. He withdrew himself and patted me on the bottom; "That was nice, baby," he muttered and then he walked out of the room. I began to cry again, this time with tears of joy, knowing that I'd made Steve happy. The following morning, Steve came to me, full of apologies. As he loosened my bonds and the feeling began to return to my extremities, I tried to tell him that he had nothing to apologize for and that I was sorry that I'd ruined his evening of fun. As I placed sweet little kisses along his neck, it occurred to us both that my mouth, which should have still been swollen, was not swollen at all. Not only that, but my black eyes were completely healed. In fact, there didn't seem to be any trace of the injuries at all. And there was no pain -- none! -- not even the dull ache that had been my last sensation before falling asleep. At first, I thought that I'd imagined the whole thing, then I saw the bloodstains on my pillow from where my cut lip had bled last night. Steve placed a quick call to my friend -- well, she was OUR friend, now -- Nancy and told her what had happened. "When I was in your body, I got the impression that you liked the rough stuff," she explained to my dear Steve, "so I put a little extra magick into Peta's transformation spell for her protection. I had hoped my impression was wrong; I wanted her humiliated and humbled, but not hurt. Never hurt. I'm sorry that you found out about this protection spell so soon. Every time she has her period, her body will 'reset' itself when she sleeps to the way it was when I first transformed her. If her period lasts three days, then she'll have three nights to reset. After the last night, though, anything that happens will be with her until her next period." Steve hung up the phone and turned to me, a strange, evil grin on his face. "Oh, Peta," he said, his voice oily and sly, "we're gonna have some fun now!" My humiliation began in earnest that day. Well, I can say "humiliation" now, but I couldn't then . . . Nancy's spell prevented me from thinking anything negative about Steve. We were doing things that made Steve happy, and that made me happy. At least, I was happy when I could see him. I began to notice that my happiness with what Steve had done to me lessened as soon as he left the room, and was usually gone within half an hour. Of course, the happiness would return almost instantly when Steve returned. It's a wonder that I didn't go crazy from having my feelings and thoughts manipulated so abruptly. The first thing Steve did was to extend his hand for me to take, which I did with pleasure. He helped me to my feet -- I was still a bit numb from the previous night's bondage -- and led me into the bathroom. He had me stand near the bathtub, facing the mirrored wall, and then had me put my hands above my head. I did so, and he quickly secured my hands to the curtain rod above the tub. He grabbed his electric razor from the sink and clicked it on. "Time for a haircut, Peta dear," he said. He started at my toes and began working his way up. Hairless skin was left in the wake of his razor. As he reached my pubic area, he opened a clipper bar on the side of the razor to first cut away the long hairs, then switched back to the razor to leave my crotch as smooth as a young girl's. The razor continued gliding upward, its gentle vibrations tickling my highly sensitized skin. When he ran the razor over my already hairless nipples -- which had long since been erect -- I moaned with pleasure and shuddered with a barely controlled orgasm. "I think you're enjoying this far too much," Steve said sternly as he clicked off the razor. Setting it aside, he untied my wrists, then had me kneel down; he then secured my wrists to my ankles. He sat on the toilet in front of me and ordered me to crawl to him. "Look what I've got for Peta," he said as he pulled down his briefs. His cock burst forth, swollen and engorged and delicious. I began kissing and licking it immediately. His total pleasure was my sole mission in life at that point. As I continued to go down on him, I was barely aware that the sound of the razor had returned. Steve was using the clipper bar again, and made pass after pass through my hair, reducing my waist-length ebony locks to sandpaper-like stubble. He even ran the clipper bar over my delicate eyebrows, turning them to shadows on my forehead. As a man, I had been losing my hair and was resigned to the fact that I'd eventually be bald. But, since I'd become a woman, I'd gained a new appreciation for my hair. I loved how it felt, how it smelled, how I could practically hide underneath it, and I was sick at the thought of losing it. However, it was easy to tell just how excited cutting my hair had made Steve -- he'd already come in my mouth twice and I could feel the beginnings of a third eruption stirring in his loins -- and that made my sacrifice more than worth it. When Steve was finally spent, he looked at me lovingly. "What a marvelous cocksucker you are," he said as he ran his hand over my stubbly head. "Oh," he said with a "tsk-tsk-tsk" sound, "this won't do at all. Sit here." He stood and pointed to the toilet. I tried to stand, but, because of the ropes still securing my wrists to my ankles, I couldn't. "Sorry," he laughed, then reached down and untied me. I sat and looked at him longingly. Every fiber of my being wanted to be with him, to please him, to make him as happy as I possibly could. "What you need is a nice, hot lather and shave." And that is exactly what he gave me, on my face, eyebrows, and scalp. When he was finished, there wasn't a hair that could be felt anywhere on my body. He even plucked out my eyelashes. He applied oil to my pale scalp, and, as disgusted as I was with the thought of being bald, I must admit that the feeling of his oil-slicked fingers massaging my scalp was sublime. This led to another session of lovemaking, and it seemed that Steve had forgotten about my period, probably because of the excitement he felt from his tonsorial efforts. We started on the bathroom floor amidst the piles of hair that had just been sheared from my head, then in the hallway towards Steve's bedroom, and then in his bedroom itself. Twice. Steve took a brief nap, and then left the house to hang around with his friends from work. A little while after he left, the reality of what he had done to me set in and I cried. I cried at the humiliation, at the loss of my newly acquired femininity. I felt myself getting sick, so I ran to the bathroom and discovered to my continued disgust that Steve had taken my shorn hair -- my beautiful, gorgeous hair -- and had thrown it in the toilet. He had then peed on it. Of course, this thick mass of hair refused to flush, so the toilet had clogged. Between sobs, I pulled out the wet, filthy mess, then cleaned the toilet, freeing the blockage. I found myself getting angry with Steve, but also angry with Nancy. I knew that I'd made a mistake when I'd recommended her for that interview with Geri Core, but could her embarrassment then equal the humiliation I was feeling now? Feeling thoroughly low, I went to my bed and cried myself to sleep. In the months since, I've had nearly every hairstyle imaginable, tattoos that, had they stayed, would have more than covered my petite frame twice over, and literally hundreds of piercings. Steve even had me pay a visit to a dentist just after my period finished to have all my teeth pulled. He told me that he wanted to be able to feel me chewing on his shaft without worrying about possibly being bitten. I guess that using a mouth guard never occurred to him. But it didn't matter to me; I went through it all, knowing that I was making Steve happy. Plus, my teeth returned the next month. One of the things Steve had me do was keep my pussy hair trimmed. But, being Steve, he wasn't satisfied with the traditional bikini trim; he wanted me to leave a thin *horizontal* line instead. He called it my "moustache," and told me that it served a dual purpose. First, it would indicate when my period was over, although, after a few months, I had gotten pretty used to predicting both when it would start and when it would stop. Second, he told me that it would be a constant reminder to me that I used to be a man. As though I could ever forget that. One morning, just after I had finished shaving the stubble around my "moustache," there was a knock at the door. I expected it to be either the mailman or someone from UPS -- Steve had been ordering a lot of "toys" lately. "Just a moment," I called out as I quickly dressed, pulling on the tight t-shirt and short-shorts that Steve preferred me to wear at home. I bounded to the door and opened it, saying, "May I help you?" Instead of the mailman or the UPS guy (a real hunk, by the way!), two of the most strikingly beautiful women I had ever seen were standing there, smiling sweetly. They were both tall, at least 5' 11", I think. One had rather pale skin and a tremendous mass of reddish- blonde hair in tight ringlets that swirled and bounced well past her shoulders; a spray of freckles graced her nose and cheeks . . . and her ample cleavage. The other one was more tan, with honey-blonde hair that practically glowed with a healthy shine. At first glance, she appeared to be professionally made up, but then I noticed that she wasn't wearing any make-up; I was just seeing her natural beauty. Her low-cut dress clung to her every curve and made her even more attractive, if that was possible. I was thankful that Steve was at work; it would have been nearly impossible to keep him from drooling at the sight of these two stunners. Even I, having been a woman for the past two years, found them nearly irresistible. "Peta?" said the blonde woman. "Peta Sink? May we come in?" Without even asking their names or their business with me, I opened the door and invited them inside. Something about them filled me with a sense of confidence and I trusted them immediately. Still, as we sat on the couch in the living room, my curiosity got the better of me, and I asked, "So, who are you, and to what do I owe the honor of this visit?" Both women laughed -- not a mocking laugh, but a laugh spawned from genuine amusement -- and I found myself smiling as well. "I can't believe you, Peta," the blonde said. "You are such a stitch sometimes." Still smiling, I replied, "Miss, I fear that you have me at a distinct disadvantage; I know that, if I had met you before, I'd remember it." "Look closely, Peter," she said. I found myself staring intently at her for at least thirty seconds before I realized that she called me by my old name, not my new, female name. With that, I literally felt my mind clearing. A crystal clear revelation hit me then, and I said, quite in shock, "Oh my God! You're my . . . ." "Muse," she said with relief, her smile beaming. "Thank the gods you recognized me! That means that our supplications have been answered." I found myself falling to my knees before this goddess, and I bent forward to the ground. I began to sob then, great wracking sobs. She knelt beside me and held me, rocking me as a mother does a frightened child. The other woman knelt and hugged me as well. I don't know how long we remained there, but the two never left me. When I had regained my composure, I looked at my Muse intently. "I thought I'd never see you again," I began. "I know, Peter . . . ." "Please, call me Peta," I interrupted. "That's who I am now, and I've accepted that." "Peta, then," she said with a smile, then her expression became slightly more serious. "I know all about your transformation . . . I was there for it. And I know what horrors your 'husband' has forced upon you. We've talked with the gods on your behalf, and they have agreed to let us help you, but only if you could recognize me, which you have." "Yes, I recognize you," I said. "You look exactly the way I imagined you would." She giggled at that, a glorious, musical sound. "Of course I do. I can look like anything -- that's part of being supernatural -- but I chose to look the way you pictured me." I hugged her again, the way one hugs a beloved friend who was believed long-since vanished. "Just having you around has made me feel so . . . so . . . complete." I paused. "To be honest, I don't recognize your associate. I'm sorry." "Oh, pish," the redhead replied with a dainty wave of her hand, dismissing my discomfort as easily as one shoos away a fly. Her voice was light and airy, with just a trace of a southern accent. "Isn't it obvious who ah am? Ah'm a Muse as well . . . Nancy Sleeper's Muse, to be exact." "Oh my," I sputtered, totally taken aback at her revelation. "But . . . but . . . ." ". . . why am ah visiting y'all?" she finished, an adorable smile on her face. I could only nod, my mouth hanging agape. "Actually, we're both here at my insistence. Ah can't stand the way Nancy's become. She used to be such a sweet lady, always a kind word for everyone she met in person or on-line. Then you recommended her for that author's interview. Her initial reaction was pretty vindictive." "Don't I know it," I interrupted. "Oh, dear," she said as she grabbed my hand and held it sweetly in hers. Her beautiful emerald-green eyes were beginning to fill with tears. "Ah know how horrible it has been for you. But it's been pretty horrible for me, too. You see, after Nancy exacted her revenge upon you, she went ahead with that interview." "I know that. She told me she was going to." "But did you see it?" "No," I replied quietly. "Since I wrote my 'farewell' story -- at Nancy's command -- I haven't been on-line. I haven't even written." "Such a waste," my Muse replied as she put her arm around my shoulder. "Why did you stop?" Nancy's Muse asked. "Ah know that Nancy never told you to stop." "I stopped because of my husband," I replied. "He kept wanting to edit my work -- well, INSISTING to edit it, actually -- and it just got so frustrating to me because I couldn't refuse his edits no matter how much I disagreed with them. So, the only solution I could think of was to just stop writing altogether." "Anyhow," Nancy's Muse continued, "Nancy's interview was extremely well received. She began to get deluged with e-mails. People began to clamor for her stories, then to collaborate with her. As her popularity grew, she found that she liked being the center of attention, and her reliance on me decreased. She's written a lot in the past two years . . . an awful lot, all of it pretty awful. She's been writing to please the masses and hasn't even considered writing anything meaningful in ages. Oh, the lost potential there! But ah digress. She has even cast aside her old friends in favor of these new sycophants. Ah dare say that she's even forgotten about you, dear." That revelation hit me like a ton of bricks. For over two years, I'd practically been a sex slave to Steve -- hell, there was no "practically" about it! -- and all because Nancy got a little irritated with me over something that actually worked out for her. And, during those times when I wasn't magickly compelled to please Steve, I got through the humiliation by knowing that my punishment, however disproportionate to the offense, was deserved, and by believing that my friend Nancy would eventually free my mind, if not my body. After all, I thought it was just another of Nancy's practical jokes, and I had survived 'til then by expecting her to show up any minute, a smile on her face, ready to let me be my own woman again. Learning that she'd forgotten all about me brought tears to my eyes and, for the second time that day, I broke down into soul-wrenching sobs. Both Muses held me close, and their love and concern for me became much more than just a concept; it became a sensation I could touch, see, hear, taste, and smell. Their comfort enveloped me through every pore and made me feel -- for the first time in two years -- complete and at peace with myself. When I had once again composed myself, Nancy's Muse continued. "To answer your question, we're visiting y'all to help you, to try and undo some of the damage that Nancy has done. And, even though our helping you isn't contingent on your answer, ah hope that, afterwards, y'all be willing to help me get back the old Nancy." "But what can I do?" I replied. "Look at me. I'm just a slight thing now. Yeah, I'm upset at the moment, but I don't want to hurt Nancy. I don't even want to hurt Steve. I can't even bear the thought of leaving him. He's got such a wonderful, thick, glorious . . . . Well, you know!" I said, my cheeks turning red. "Hate to burst your bubble, Peta," my Muse said, "but Steve's 'equipment' is not exactly OEM." "What? You mean that . . . ." "Part of his deal with Nancy, sugah," Nancy's Muse said with a wry smile. "Steve got certain . . . enhancements." "Enhancements? How big was he before?" In reply to my question, both Muses looked away, almost as if they were ignoring my question. However, the grins on their faces told me they heard exactly what I had asked. Then, in unison, each Muse raised her right hand in a loose fist; slowly, each extended her little finger and waved it in the air. I let loose a most unladylike snort, a sound the Muses quickly emulated themselves. We all began to laugh then; I laughed so hard that I could hardly catch my breath. As the laughter wound down to an occasional titter, I turned to my Muse and asked her the question foremost in my mind. "So," I began, "just how are you going to help me? Are you going to turn me back into a man?" "I'm sorry, Peta," she said, a sad smile on her face, "but we can't do that. There are certain immutable laws, even in magick, that cannot be broken. When Nancy told you your change would be permanent, she was right. You'll always be a woman." I must have looked more crestfallen than I felt, because Nancy's Muse quickly added, "But that doesn't mean we can't help you. Ah know you're upset right now . . . ." "Actually," I interrupted, "I'm not that upset. Being a woman is so different from being a man, but I find that I rather like it. I'm not certain that I want to be a man again." "You can't know how happy that makes us," my Muse said. "I was so worried that you'd be hurt that we couldn't complete 'the big change' for you again." "Not even the gods could do that," Nancy's Muse continued. "Well, ah suppose that God could, but not the gods." I blinked at her in confusion. "Wait a second. Either they can break the laws or they can't. Which is it?" "Didn't mean to get you mixed up," Nancy's Muse said. "There's God -- big gee God -- and there're the gods -- little gee. Big gee God got the whole ball rolling, and the little gee gods handled a lot of the early day-to- day stuff for Him." "So they're angels?" I asked. "Different department," she replied with a smile. "But there are still things we can do to help," my Muse said. "Such as?" "Well, um, er," she said, suddenly quite nervous. She stood and looked at me. "The first thing's a biggie. It may be upsetting to you . . . physically and emotionally." "Listen," I said, "you don't need to be nervous around me. Especially around me! Just tell me what it is." "We can't change you back into a man, but we can remove the portion of the spell that has you drawn to Steve." "Why would that hurt?" "Because of all the crap you've put up with from him for the last two years. Once the spell is gone, you'll see things in a different light. I just want you to be ready for it . . . if you want us to remove that spell at all." That one got me thinking. Sure, Steve had his faults. We all do. He could get a little rough, but that was just his nature. Over all, he was always sweet to me. He always used soft rope when he tied me up. I don't think he ever put more than a five-pound weight on each of my nipple rings. He appreciated all the cooking and cleaning and general housework I did. I loved him. I really did. He was a talented lover with tremendous stamina; he usually got me off without having to work too hard at it. What would change once this spell was removed? I couldn't believe I'd be mad at him. I knew that I'd continue to love him. I might not be quite as willing to be suspended from the ceiling by my hair again, but I expected our sexual experimentation to continue. So, it was with a naive, simplistic confidence that I looked at my Muse and said, "Sure. Go ahead and remove it. I'm ready to love Steve on my own now." WHAM! Have you ever seen a hyper-fast sequence in a movie? You know, where the images come at you so quickly that you barely recognize one image before the next one is displayed? I've seen a few of 'em before, and read about some others; the longest of these montages rarely lasts for more than fifteen or twenty seconds, and even at that, the viewers often feel exhausted after watching them. Try sitting through half an hour of that. Images and emotions washed over me, wave after sickening wave. I thought I was ready to accept this? My mind could scarcely comprehend the depths of debauchery to which Steve had descended. To which I had descended. The scenes that came back to me overwhelmed me. I believe that I simply shut down for a while. My eyes, though open, did not see, my ears did not hear. I shut off totally from the outside world as I tried with all my might to rise above the memories that had previously been filtered. My first conscious thought was of being rocked, gently and lovingly. A voice -- my Muse's voice -- was singing quietly, sweetly, soothingly. Another set of hands -- Nancy's Muse's hands -- were stroking my hair and cheek. "So this is what a newborn feels when her mother holds her," I said, my voice a faint, harsh whisper. "Welcome back," my Muse said, then kissed me tenderly on the forehead. Tentatively, I opened one eye, then another. What I saw repulsed me. My Muse's dress was ruined -- it was torn in several places and was covered with a disgusting mixture of tears, snot, and puke. She looked thoroughly disheveled, as did Nancy's Muse next to me. The telltale bloodshot eyes gave away the fact that they had been crying. "How long?" I croaked. "About thirty minutes," my Muse said. "I'm sorry to put you through that, but there was really no other way." "I know," I said as I reached to touch her cheek. "Thanks." "Let's get you cleaned up," she said. "You, too," I said, trying to smile. "The bathroom's down the hall, then to your right." "Hon," Nancy's Muse replied with a grin, "we don't need bathrooms." And, with a "SNAP" of her fingers, she proved it. There was a slight flash, and then she and my Muse were cleaned up. Hell, they were wearing new clothes, their hair appeared to have been freshly styled, and even their nail color had been updated. With a start, I realized that I had been "cleaned" as well. Gone were the skimpy t- shirt and short-shorts, replaced with a very stylish charcoal gray dress suit. I stood slowly and walked to the nearest mirror. This was the first time I had seen myself post-transformation without the benefit of Nancy's magickal filters. I hoped that two years of seeing myself as a woman would actually prepare me for this sight, but, during those years, everything I saw, everything I felt, everything I did, was clouded and filtered. I had almost always felt good about myself then, but, as I now realized, the past two years of my life had been artificial. How was I going to handle things now? I didn't have the benefit of magick-induced ignorance to fall back upon. It took all the courage I had to gaze into that mirror. I don't believe I ever actually felt good about the way I looked . . . not as a man, at least, and I doubted I would as a woman. Well, I was wrong. I actually liked what I saw. I think the first thing that struck me was just how short I was. I was used to being tall, and it was actually a pleasant change to be short. I could remember the places I'd been -- not to mention the positions I'd been in -- in the past two years, and I remember that it was nice to not have to worry about whether or not I'd fit somewhere. I continued looking at my body with a critical eye. I was rather slight now, with a very slim waist and rather narrow hips. I doubted if I weighed more than ninety pounds. My bust was somewhat diminutive -- I've always been a breast man -- but was certainly womanly. My face was cute in a waifish sort of way -- large brown eyes and full, pouting lips were the predominant features -- but I was not what I would consider beautiful; pleasant, just not beautiful. My hair appeared to have that "fresh from the salon" look and my makeup, while minimal, was perfect -- no doubt another "gift" from the Muses. I turned from side to side, taking in the shape that I'd worn for the past two years. In a way, I had a strong sense of deja vu . . . it was as though I'd never seen myself before, yet I was totally familiar with my appearance. In the end, I had to admit I was happy with my appearance. If someone had told me to imagine my ideal woman, she would have looked very, very different from how I looked now, but I was still happy with my appearance. I turned back to the Muses. "I don't know what to say . . ." I began. "From this point, Peta," my Muse said, "our help will be only good things. The worst is past. I promise." "What would you like to do now?" Nancy's Muse asked. "Ah bet you'd like to change the way you look." "I thought you said my transformation was permanent." "It is, Peta," my Muse explained, "but only as far as your sex is concerned. As long as you stay female, you can look any way you wish." "That's our next gift to you," Nancy's Muse said. "We're going to let you change the way you look, any time you wish, as many times as you wish, as long as that look is female. If you wanted to, you could make yourself over into a fat, dumpy, butt-ugly troll of a woman who could easily pass for a man . . . ." ". . . But why would you want to do that," my Muse continued, "when you can be a beautiful woman and can sample all that femininity has to offer?" "How?" I asked. "What do I do?" "Just think about how you'd like to look. When you've got the image down pat, think to yourself the phrase 'Complete the Change.' In a few moments, you'll change into the look you've imagined." "But ah'd be careful if ah were you; some shapes are better imagined than assumed." The warning from Nancy's Muse came too late for her words to sink in; I was already thinking about how I wanted to look, about my ideal woman. Just as Nancy's Muse finished her warning, I was thinking to myself, "Complete the Change." And I did. Boy did I change! My back was to the mirror, so I couldn't see the transformation happen, but I could certainly feel it. It wasn't unpleasant, exactly, but it was something I knew I would never get used to, which was probably a good thing. And it didn't last long, either . . . probably no more than ten seconds. As I changed, I noticed my perspective changing slightly. Soon, I was eye to eye with the Muses. It was nice to be tall again. "Oh gods!" my Muse said, her eyes widening. Nancy's Muse appeared to be just as shocked as my Muse had been. "Oh sugah," she said with a laugh, "y'all look like something out of a Freddy Clover story!" The first thing I noticed after the transformation stopped was a tremendous weight on my chest, pulling me forward. To compensate, I tried leaning back, but that began to hurt my back muscles. I turned so I could see my new self in the mirror, or at least I tried to turn. Instead, I lost my balance and fell forward, landing painfully on my breasts. My huge, watermelon-sized breasts. Trying not to laugh too hard, the Muses came over and helped me up, pointing me towards the mirror in the process. At last, I was able to see what I looked like. And even I had to laugh at what I saw. First, my nice, smart gray suit was gone, replaced by a leather micro- mini-dress that stopped about one millimeter below my crotch. Black, seamed nylons and eight-inch high heels replaced the gray pumps I had previously been wearing and may well have contributed to my not being able to turn around, let alone walk. My hips were much wider now, almost circular, and my waist was so impossibly tiny that I feared I'd break in half. My beautiful ebony hair with its naturally tight curls had transformed into a straight platinum blonde so bright it gave the impression it had a light source of its own. My brown eyes had turned ice blue. My nose was inhumanly tiny, and my lips were too full by half. These were all noticeable changes, but none were as noticeable as my mammoth mammaries. I had pictured them big -- as I said earlier, I've always been a breast man -- but these were beyond belief. If I held my arms straight in front of me, the ends of these breasts were even with my elbows! And talk about heavy! "Um, I guess I kind of overdid it a little," I said sheepishly. My voice had changed as well, sounding like a six-year-old girl impersonating a breathless Marilyn Monroe . . . badly. "Like ah said," Nancy's Muse giggled, " 'some shapes are better imagined than assumed.' " I tried to take a step and nearly lost my balance again. "How can someone walk in these things?" I asked, gesturing towards the high heels I was now wearing. "You ought to be asking, 'How can someone walk WITH these things?' " my Muse said, pointing to my colossal chest. "How can I change back?" I asked. Then, with a sudden flash of panic, I added, "Or can I even change back?" "Of course you can," my Muse replied with a smile. "We gave you this ability so you could have some fun, not to punish you with a strange body if you made a mistake. Just think to yourself, 'Cancel the Change' and you'll be back to the way you looked just before the most recent change." I did this immediately, much to the relief of my back and legs, not to mention our collective funny bones. When I had a moment to think, I looked at myself in the mirror, fixed that image in my mind, and imagined slightly more subtle changes instead. When I'd completed that change, both Muses applauded my choice. I still looked like myself -- my female self -- but now taller (my first alteration, I must confess), with a slightly more curvy figure and a slightly fuller bust -- I'd learned my lesson previously! The extra height, extra weight, and extra curves changed me from a waif-like person to, at least in my mind, a beautiful, desirable woman. "Here, sugah," Nancy's Muse said with a giggle as she handed me a thin little book with an oddly familiar yellow cover. "This will help you out, ah think." I looked at the book -- it was "Transmogrification for Dummies." "Very funny," I said with a smile. "Yeah, we know it's silly," my Muse said, her grin widening, "but they gave us a good deal to write it, the printing costs are next to nothing, and it really does have some good information in it. Plus, it's fun to read. And the illustrations are a hoot!" I happened to glance over at the clock then and was shocked to see just what time it was. "Oh my God!" I said. "Steve is going to be home any minute." An involuntary shudder coursed through my body as I thought about that vile man. "He always expects a quickie when he gets home and -- oh no, it's Wednesday -- tonight is 'Back Door Night.' He can't see me like this!" Just as I was about to think "Cancel the Change" to myself, my Muse grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a light shake. "Stop it, Peta!" she exclaimed. "You don't have to do anything he says any more unless YOU want to. You don't have to change for him. And you don't have to be afraid of him." "Wouldn't you like to get back at him?" Nancy's Muse asked. "Pay him back for all that he's put you through? You can, you know. We can give you that gift, too." I don't believe there is any way I can convey just how tempting that offer was. I found myself reviewing the traumas that I had endured over the past two years. I imagined a hundred humiliations for Steve, a thousand tortures, and countless gruesome and painful deaths, all in the span of a few seconds. And then something came over me. I think it was the flashback I did over the past two years that started me thinking about what had been done to me and made me question whether or not I could do something like that to another person. "C'mon," my Muse said. "Say 'Yes.' It will be a lot of fun." I smiled at them, a sad little smile, with tears forming in the corners of my eyes. "My, aren't you the devious pair? If I said 'Yes,' then I wouldn't be any better than Steve. And I AM better than he is. So I'm afraid I must say 'No' to your offer." The two Muses looked at each other, then at me. Slowly, they began to smile. "Oh, I knew you had it in you," my Muse said, practically gushing with pride. "I knew that you'd take the high road. That's why we're going to do this." With that, she snapped her fingers and things changed slightly. Suddenly, she was me -- that is, she looked like me, the waifish me -- and Nancy's Muse was transparent. I could actually see through her! Then, I realized with a start that I could see through myself, too. "What are you doing?" I asked. "What you can't," she replied. "I am your Muse. I have been deprived of your abilities for the past two years, and that ends tonight. I help you when you create; I help you feel inspired. I also protect you, and that's what I'm doing now. I've taken your form to fool Steve at first. After we get started, it won't matter if I fool him or not. And I've made you both invisible to him. He won't be able to hear you, either, so feel free to talk amongst yourselves. "It's about time that he got his, and I'm just the Muse to do it." And then, as if on cue, the door opened and in walked Steve. My big, hunky, loveable, adorable Steve. And all I wanted to do was vomit at his sight. It was amazing what Nancy's magickal filters had done for the way I looked at Steve. I could remember, quite vividly, greeting him at the door practically every night for the past two years, and I know damn well that he never looked quite this shabby to me before. He looked as though he'd put on twenty pounds since this morning. His square, jutting jaw was now somewhat less square and actually was kind of weak. "I'm home, Taco," Steve called out as he always did, even though he could see me -- well, see my Muse, who was pretending to be me -- quite clearly. It dawned on me then that he almost never called me by my new name but instead kept using that now-hated screen name; it was funny that I hadn't minded it before now. Doing her part, my Muse ran -- scampered, actually -- to Steve and gave him as huge a hug as her diminutive frame would allow. The show she was putting on, fawning over Steve, was actually uncomfortable to watch. "Good Lord," I said to Nancy's Muse, "I can't have been THAT bad! Can I?" "Actually, Peta," she replied, "you were somewhat worse. Magick will do that to you, though. Ah wouldn't worry about it, sugah." "Did my big ol' Stevie-bear have a hard day?" my Muse cooed to Steve as she stroked his arm with one hand and ran her other shamelessly across his crotch. "The worst," he said. "The only thing that kept me goin' was knowin' that I was comin' home to your sweet ass. You haven't forgotten that it's 'Back Door Night,' have you?" "Of course not! And I've got something special planned, too. Come on." She put her tiny hand in his massive one and led him to the bedroom. Nancy's Muse and I followed, actually walking through the walls -- a most excellent experience! -- to beat them into the bedroom. What I saw there made me laugh out loud. Laid out on the bed, in all its shiny, black, fetishistic glory, was the Catwoman suit that Steve took such delight in having me wear. Although it bore a tremendous resemblance to Michelle Pfeiffer's costume in "Batman Returns," it had certain . . . alterations. The area around the nipples was open, and the area between the legs was exposed, front to back. The only other exposed area was around the face. I had worn this suit many, many times, and it was always uncomfortable, hot, and horribly confining. As I laughed, I knew damn well that my Muse was NOT the one who was going to be wearing the costume tonight. My Muse entered the bedroom first, leading Steve in by his necktie. When he saw what was on the bed, his eyes practically lit up, and I'd swear that a bit of drool actually fell from his open mouth. "Oh, Taco," he said after a hasty swallow, "you really know how to please me!" "It's not for me tonight, Stevie-bear," my Muse said, a sexy grin on her face. "Oh, PLEASE tell me I didn't talk like that, too," I groaned to Nancy's Muse. "'Fraid so, sugah," was her reply. Steve still hadn't comprehended what was happening. "You mean someone else is joining us? Cool!" His expression was a hilarious combination of unbridled lust and utter confusion. "No, silly," my Muse cooed to Steve as she ran her finger up his neck, over his chin, and then tapped him coyly on his nose. "It's for you . . . Pinkie!" The last word was said in a throaty growl that was so unlike the little-girl-like sounds she had been making -- that I used to make! -- that Steve actually recoiled for a brief second. "Pinkie?" he exploded, the veins in his neck and temples beginning to pulsate with his rage. "Pinkie? Where in the FUCK did you hear that? Nobody's called me 'Pinkie' since tenth grade gym class! Don't you EVER call me that again!" "Oh, I'm sorry," my Muse said, the little girl voice coming through once more. "Maybe you'd prefer . . . Pencil-Dick?" She ended again with the growl, and Nancy's Muse and I could scarcely contain our laughter. "You BITCH!" Steve screamed and swung at my Muse's face with his massive, balled-up fist. It never connected. Instead, my Muse raised her arm so quickly that it was almost a blur before my eyes and caught Steve's giant fist in her hand . . . and stopped it cold. "No you don't, Pinkie," she said in a calm, even tone. "You're never hitting me again. Not now. Not later. Not ever. And you won't hit anyone else again, either." She let go of his fist and walked to the side of the bed. "Now, don't you think it's about time you got dressed?" Slowly, almost as though asleep, Steve walked to the end of the bed and began to remove his clothes. Although his body was moving in slow motion, his mouth was going as fast as he could possibly speak. "Just what the FUCK do you think you're doing?" he bellowed. "There is no way in hell I'm puttin' that fuckin' thing on!" Steve was nearly naked now; his underwear remained the only thing he was wearing. As he removed his last vestige of clothing and his big, sweet, cock emerged, it was all I could do to keep from going over, kneeling down, grasping it lovingly in my hands, and giving it the ministrations that had made Steve -- and, I have to admit, me -- so happy these past two years." I actually took a step towards him, then Nancy's Muse gently said, "Peta, hon, that's not your job any more." And I had to admit she was right, even though that gorgeous, throbbing cock was practically calling out to me to make love to it. My Muse took one look at Steve's engorged penis and laughed. She actually laughed! "Oh my," she said between giggles , "look who's getting aroused by being bossed around!" "Don't laugh at me, bitch," Steve spat at her. "And I am NOT putting that fuckin' thing on! It'll never fit me!" "Oh, you're so right," she said, "but I can fix that!" With that, she knelt down before Steve and stared up at him, lust written large on her face. Steve seemed to relax slightly. He still had no voluntary control of his movements, but he seemed to forget about that. He grinned; he was back on familiar ground, about to dominate the tiny body that had been his sex slave for so long. "That's better, bitch! Now get busy and maybe your punishment will be just a little easier to take if you do an extra good job of it." My Muse continued to stare up at Steve, but her look changed from lustful to vindictive. "Oh, I'll get busy all right, Pinkie," she said. Almost as though she were preparing to clean up a loathsome mess, she reached out with both her hands and grasped Steve's long, thick, lovely cock. Steve groaned in anticipation, but it was short- lived. No sooner had my Muse blanketed his cock with her hands then she began to twist and squeeze; her actions reminded me of someone wringing out a wet towel. When she pulled her hands away, what remained on Steve's groin bore no resemblance whatsoever to his former pride and joy, and I now realized just how accurate the nickname "Pinkie" was for Steve. "You BITCH!" he bellowed once again. "Give me that back! Give me back my dick!" But, even as he raged, he picked up the costume and started to put his feet into it. My Muse simply smiled in response. She got up off her knees and went over to sit on the bed. She crossed her legs at the knee in a display of casual calm and watched as he struggled to get his feet into the attached high- heeled boots of the costume, crying all the while about the loss of his cock. Finally, she had had enough of his whining; she looked over at him and said, "Stevie-bear, what are you bitching about? I HAVE given you back your dick. Your original one, anyway. Isn't it cute? Like a little pink worm. Maybe I should put a little ribbon around it so I don't mistake it for a funny pink hair!" "Stop it! Stop it, please!" he begged. "C'mon, Taco, give me a break!" He now had his legs inside the costume and was tugging it up over his hips. "It was all Nancy's fault," he continued to whine. "She's the one who did this to you." "Yeah," my Muse said calmly, "but you're the sick son of a bitch who has abused, degraded, and humiliated me for the past two years. Nancy had nothing to do with that!" Steve had his arms in the costume now. "Please," he cried, very nearly in tears. "I'll do anything." My Muse opened a drawer in the bedside nightstand and brought forth a piece of paper and a pen. "Okay, " she said, "sign this." Steve walked slowly over to the nightstand and looked at the paper. "A divorce?" he asked, his voice cracking with emotion. "Is THIS what you want? Fine!" He signed the paper with a flourish. "You won't last two hours without me and you damn well know it, you slut." As he put the pen down, he resumed pulling the costume over himself. "Hey!" he exclaimed, "you said you'd stop this!" "I said nothing of the kind, Pinkie. All I told you to do was to sign something." "Where did you get the divorce papers?" I asked Nancy's Muse. "We brought 'em with us," she replied. "We know this sympathetic Judge in Oklahoma." Steve was nearly enclosed in the costume now. The only thing that remained was for him to pull the cowl of the costume over his head. It was amazing to see his massive 6'8" frame squeezed into this tiny costume. Actually, I was more amazed at the resilience of the costume itself. All the seams had separated and were held together by threads, much like the lacing on a shoe or corset. Patches of Steve's male skin were revealed everywhere where the latex had split open. But the costume retained its overall integrity and he looked ludicrous in it. I suppressed -- barely -- a giggle as I thought about what Steve's reaction would be if the costume actually fit him. As he reached for the cowl and began to pull it over his head, Steve had time for one last plea. "Peta -- Peter! -- I beg you. Stop this! I'll change. I'm sorry! Really! I'm so sorry!" My Muse laughed at that, then flashed him a dazzling smile. "Oh, you'll change all right, Pinkie! Don't you worry your pretty little head about THAT!" And then the cowl was over his head and his face changed into a pale-skinned female face. At the same moment, his entire body quivered, then shrunk down rapidly, taking on the form of a very lithe yet voluptuous woman. The costume no longer gapped at the seams but fit him -- no, her -- like a glove. The exposed nipple and crotch areas went pale as well except for the rosy pink nipples, and Steve's tiny member dwindled and finally disappeared altogether, then reformed as a vagina. "The only thing you're sorry about, Pinkie," my Muse said, "is that I finally came to my senses." With that, Steve stopped moving altogether. And I mean stopped -- he didn't blink, he didn't move his fingers, he didn't even breathe. Then, I noticed that his mouth actually moved . . . well, his lips at least. He looked like he was trying to say something that began with the letter "O", and then his lips froze, too. "Well, that was fun, Pinkie," my Muse said to the immobile Steve, "but I think it's time to pull the plug on your abuses." She reached forward and pushed on Steve's stomach right where his navel would have been. To my surprise, a small tube popped out. My Muse flipped the end of this tube and I heard something start to hiss. Then I noticed that Steve was starting to deflate. "Oh my God!" I laughed as both Nancy's Muse and I became visible once again and my Muse resumed her previous form. "You turned him into a blow-up 'Fuck Me' doll!" "A fitting fate for someone with such an inflated ego," she quipped, an evil glint in her eyes. Nancy's Muse and I both groaned at the pun. "You like?" my Muse asked with a devious wiggle of her dainty brows. "You're deliciously wicked," I exclaimed. And, although I was still giggling at the sight of Steve continuing to deflate in the bedroom, I felt a pang of guilt. "What's gonna happen to him now?" I asked quietly. My Muse came over and gave me a comforting hug. "When that ol' bag o' wind empties out, we're gonna box him up and send him to a friend of ours . . . he sells all kinds of strange items. I'm certain Steve will have all kinds of fun." Nancy's Muse looked at me for a moment, then realization dawned on her face. "Peta, darlin' . . . do you still care for him?" she asked softly. All I could do was nod my head as a tear slid slowly down my cheek. "Oh, Peta," my Muse said, "don't be upset. I know you think you loved him, but he was an evil, vindictive man, and he got what he deserved. But don't worry too much, dear. There's hope for Steve, no matter what he's done. If, in time, he learns his lesson and becomes truly repentant- well, he'll regain his humanity. Maybe not as the man he once was, but he - - or rather she -- will at least return to human form and free will. I give you my word." "Now," Nancy's Muse said, "how're we gonna teach Nancy a lesson?" "Oh, I think I've got some ideas on that," I said, a sly grin spreading slowly across my face. "Do tell!" both Muses said as one. And I did. And, all modesty aside, they proclaimed them the best ideas they'd heard in eons. All that remained was to carry them out. Over the next two days, while the Muses and I worked on our plans for Nancy, I learned a lot about Muses. Like, for example, it was pretty rare that Nancy's Muse wasn't with Nancy; once a Muse adopts a human, they stay for the life of that person, through thick and thin. Sure, they get vacations from time to time -- what writers call a "dry spell" is typically the result of a Muse taking an extended vacation, although, in some cases, when the Muse doesn't like the way their person is going with their talent, those vacations can last a lot longer than two or three weeks. They also have annual conventions, but these rarely interfere with the creativity of their people . . . my Muse explained it to me by saying that they leave little notes for their people during planned absences. I was also surprised to find that a Muse remained devoted to one person as long as that person lived. I figured that they each dealt with hundreds of thousands of people. This assumption was based on the explanation that the Muses were the nine daughters of Zeus. As my Muse explained it to me, though, she indicated that they long, long ago realized that there just weren't enough Muses to go around, so the original nine married, and their daughters became Muses, and their daughters became Muses, and so on and so on. "That makes our annual conventions more like family reunions," she added with a smile. And their degree of specialization! Oh my, I never would have imagined it. Of course, a Muse doesn't always have to stay with one specialization. Nancy's Muse, for example, had a tremendous amount of scientific knowledge in addition to her writing past, which helped to explain just how Nancy was able to concoct such plausible pseudo- sciences in some of her stories. They also indicated that those people with seemingly unlimited talent -- they write, they draw, they play instruments, they sing, they dance, they innovate, they build, they sculpt, they paint -- are ones who have very old Muses associated with them. Everything the Muses told me made perfect sense. After listening to them, there was no doubt in my mind that Creationists are much closer to the truth in their thinking than the Evolutionists. Nothing here happened by mere chance. Of course, not everything during those two days of planning was work, work, work. The Muses believed in a very healthy amount of play. Consequently, we ate at the nicest places, partied at the swankiest dance clubs, and just tried to enjoy ourselves. With two supernatural beings to party with, it's pretty safe to assume that there wasn't a dull moment. And, being with them, I had ample opportunity to explore my new femininity. I discovered that I really enjoyed flirting, and there was certainly a plethora of men from which to choose. But, when it came time to "pull the trigger," so to speak, I begged off. As far as I was concerned, my past with Steve never truly occurred, mainly because I never had any choice in the matter. So, in that respect, I guess I was "saving myself" for someone . . . I just wasn't sure who. We had a lot of fun, but we needed to set our recreational activities aside for the moment and get started with my plan. My first order of business was to alter my appearance once again. Using information from Nancy's Muse and from reading her archived stories, I reshaped myself into what I believe would be a female form that even Nancy would notice. Tall. Powerful. Sort of a cross between Conan and Miss America. My new body had approximately two-percent body fat, and most of that was concentrated in my breasts and buttocks. I was beautifully, femininely muscled -- not like some of those female body- builders who seem to have been taking steroids - - and had a stunning face. I was trying to play up to Nancy's apparent attraction to big, strong people. Not only that, but I was going to be doing so in a health club. Nancy's Muse told us that Nancy had been bitten by the fitness bug about a year ago and had joined an exclusive club . . . a club that, thanks to the Muses, I now appeared to have belonged to for over a year. For their parts, the Muses reshaped themselves as well, into shapely, petite, young things. My Muse assumed a male form, while Nancy's Muse remained female. It was their task -- besides procuring us the necessary membership documents -- to assist me in my workouts and, when not doing that, to fawn all over me and shower me with affection. We knew Nancy's schedule and arrived at the club about fifteen minutes before she was to arrive. I wanted to be certain that she'd see me working out. And she did. She hadn't recognized me, of course, but she was certainly watching me, her expression somewhere between fascination and lust. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed her talking with the receptionist. While I couldn't hear their conversation, I knew that Nancy would be told that I'd been coming here for over a year, that they had no idea what I did for a living, and that the club was considering using me as a spokesmodel for their facilities (all little ideas that the Muses planted in the staffs' memories . . . for this to work, my story had to be supported). As she turned to look at me, my Muse made a big show out of giving me a deep kiss after I'd completed a rather strenuous part of my workout. I could feel Nancy's eyes on me, and I felt them bugging out ever so slightly as her Muse gave me an equally passionate kiss after my Muse finished hers. Nancy disappeared into the locker room while I completed my set, and the Muses and I left before Nancy returned. I could only imagine why she was so delayed in the locker room. Before we left, however, I made certain that our next appointment there at the club was scheduled immediately before Nancy's appointment. I wanted to give her every opportunity to watch me work . . . and every opportunity to ask me out. At the next appointment, Nancy did indeed watch me work. And work I did! I had designed a very powerful body, and I was pushing it to its limits. The sweat matted down my black tresses and soaked the cropped halter top and shorts I was wearing. As I completed my set, I was quite frustrated; Nancy hadn't said a word to me the entire time. And I was even going slowly on purpose to make her have to wait. She seemed to wait gleefully, as though she was enjoying the opportunity to see me work out. The Muses again showered me with kisses and attention, again trying to entice Nancy into talking to me. But she never did. Later that night, as we sat around over dinner, the Muses and I discussed the events of the day and I asked them both for suggestions as to what to do next to get Nancy to talk with me. "You know," my Muse said, "you could always approach her. Let her know you're interested in her." "That's a good idea," Nancy's Muse added. "She's always been a little shy, and ah wonder if she isn't just the teeniest bit intimidated by you." "I hadn't thought of that," I replied. "What can I do NOW, though, to make myself more approachable? More desirable to her than I already am?" "You could humiliate one of us," Nancy's Muse replied. "Show her your dominant side. The desire to be dominated runs deeply in her." "Yeah," my Muse continued. "If it's public, she'll know that you're not afraid of the reaction of others. And, if it's really humiliating and we do it anyway, she'll have that much more respect for and interest in you, knowing that we're willing to debase ourselves for you." "I don't think I can do that," I said. "I don't think I have it in me." "It's not like it would be permanent," my Muse said, putting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "I really think this will work. "Ah do, too," Nancy's Muse said. "Peta, just leave it up to us; we'll guide you through it." "I still don't know about this," I said with a shrug, "but I trust you both. You've never let me down." "And we won't," they said together. At our next workout, Nancy was again studying my every move. Her stares and silent treatment were starting to get on my nerves, and I almost suggested that she take a picture instead since it would last longer. But, I held my tongue instead and hoped the Muses knew what they were doing. It happened just as we were leaving the free-weight bench press station. As I was sitting up, Nancy's Muse dropped -- apparently accidentally, but I knew better -- one of the weights and it landed, not on my hand, but on the tips of my long, sculptured fingernails, breaking three of them. While my initial reaction was to jerk away my hand, I heard a little voice in my head telling me instead to slap the Muse. I instantly recognized the sound of my own Muse's voice, and I realized that this must be their plan. I slowly lifted my hand and examined my damaged nails. Then, I backhanded Nancy's Muse in the face . . . not hard, but she reacted as though I'd hit her with a brick. I heard that little voice in my head again, prompting me to my next action. "Look what you did," I said to Nancy's Muse as I held out my hand for her to examine. "Those nails cost me three hundred dollars. That's coming out of your pay." I was then silently instructed to put my hand in my gym bag and remove the contents. "You took away my nails," I said, "so now I'm entitled to take something of yours." My fingers had curled around something long and hard, which I pulled out and handed to Nancy's Muse in a blur. When I realized what I'd handed her, my stomach began to churn and I thought I was going to throw up. I'd handed her some battery- powered clippers. "I want your hair," the little voice told me to say. "P-p-p-please, Mistress!" Nancy's Muse pleaded, her lower lip quivering and tears welling up in her eyes. "Not that! Anything but that!" The little voice in my head told me to remain silent, so I did. Slowly, hesitantly, Nancy's Muse reached out and took the clippers from my hand. She flicked them on and nearly dropped them as the "brrrrrrr" sound filled the room. It was at that point that I noticed everyone in the club was staring at us. Nancy's Muse placed the clippers behind her left ear and started to push them back, but I stopped her with a rough "Wait!" Relief flooded her face at that point for just a second, then fear and panic returned as I said, "Not there. In front. At the center of your hairline." She complied, tears now running down her cheeks. As the clippers bit into the hairs, their tone shifted down and I could tell they were struggling through the strawberry blonde curls that she had used as her