Love Potion No. 8 free porn video
The following story is fiction, plain and simple fiction. It is relatively
tame, but it deals with arguably adult themes, so no one under age should read
it. And, it should be pointed out that none of the characters herein resemble
anyone living, dead, or undead, at least as far as I know.
Constructive criticism, directed to [email protected], is welcome; flames
will earn you a personal spot on the seventh level of hell.
This story may NOT be posted to any pay site under penalties outlined for
flames above.
Love Potion No. 8
By Chilli TNG
Copyright (c) 2000
Walter Murgitson was a snob. A wealthy, powerful, cruel, vindictive... and
lonely snob. Walter was not what one would call handsome, nor would he ever be
described as rugged, strapping, virile, vigorous, or potent. Repugnant was the
term most often used to describe Walter, but only when his back was turned.
In many ways, Walter seemed to have it all -- wealth, power, prestige. But
the wealth came from his family; it had always been there for him, so he took it
for granted. The power Walter had came from his wealth, not from any leadership
skills or the ability to inspire others; were he to not have a penny to his
name, he would be both financially and morally bankrupt. His prestige, such as
it was, was achieved more through fear than philanthropy. Walter had spent his
life looking out for one person and one person only: himself.
All his life, Walter had lacked for none of the things that wealth could
provide. He always had the best clothing, the finest, most learned teachers, and
the best the world had to offer in gourmet dining. But, for all his wealth, for
all the material things he had, Walter lacked the one thing his riches couldn't
provide.
Love.
It has been said that money can't buy love, and Walter was living
testament to this truism. His servants barely tolerated him; only their massive
paychecks kept them in his service. His employees at work tried their best to
keep out of sight as much as possible lest they incur his wrath. Walter was not
above paying for an escort to attend one gala or another with him, but he had
never done so, feeling that the women available through such services would be
far beneath one of his stature.
Still, Walter was lonely. No matter how much he told himself that he
didn't need anyone else in his life, there always remained a small, nagging
voice, telling him that he needed to find his One True Love. As the years
passed, this notion of finding his One True Love grew, first from a passing
interest, then to a dedication, and finally to an obsession. By the time Walter
was wholly committed to what had now become his life's mission, he was so bereft
of any social skills that he couldn't even successfully solicit a prostitute.
This was unfortunate, for Walter greatly admired the female form in all its
myriad variations; the more he struck out, the greater his need became.
Desperate now in his quest, Walter began exploring alternate avenues
towards obtaining his goal. He spoke with experts in etiquette in an attempt to
change his misanthropic nature; none, however, were successful in improving his
interpersonal skills, and Walter grew even surlier as a result. He hired
chemists to make pheromone-laced cologne; instead of attracting members of the
opposite sex, the cologne made them sick to their stomachs. Walter noted, with
some regret, that it was simply impossible for him to carry on a meaningful
conversation with someone who was projectile vomiting.
In a last-ditch attempt, Walter offered an obscenely large sum of money to
anyone who could help him find his One True Love. As soon as his offer was
announced, he began receiving suggestions from all over the world. Many of them
were things that he had already tried and which had failed. Of the new
suggestions, most were too outlandish for even Walter to consider. Yet Walter
tried to keep an open mind through them all.
It was probably the business card that caught Walter's attention as he
sorted through the latest pile of suggestions. It was black, with raised gold
lettering, and it had the faint smell of burnt popcorn and rotten eggs. The
inscription on the card read:
+---------------------------------------+
| Madame Ruth |
| |
| Potions, charms, and fortunes told |
| By ancient gypsy with a tooth of gold |
| |
| 34th Street and Vine Boulevard |
| Walk-ins Welcome |
+---------------------------------------+
There was no note attached to the card, and Walter nearly threw it away.
Twice. But something kept bringing his attention back to the card. He glanced at
the address and realized that it was easily within walking distance. "What the
hell," he muttered to himself as he put the card in his pocket and headed for
the door.
The walk to the intersection was uneventful, but, once he arrived, Walter
had a very difficult time actually locating the appropriate storefront. After
examining each of the buildings at the corner three separate times, Walter was
feeling a great deal of aggravation. Just as he was about to turn on his heel
and head back to his office, a quick flash of color just at the edge of his
vision caught his attention and he turned. There, at the bottom of a dark set of
stairs, was a narrow door. The top half of the door was glass and painted
thereon was "Madame Ruth."
Excitedly, Walter dashed down the stairs and turned the doorknob. The door
yielded him entry with a noisy squeak of very rusty hinges. He stepped quickly
into the shop, closing the door behind him. The store was quite dingy; cobwebs
appeared to be the primary decoration along the shelves lining the exterior
walls of the store. A single electric bulb, hanging bare from the ceiling
fixture, was the sole illumination in the room. Directly opposite the front door
was a curtained opening to what Walter assumed must be the storage room for the
little shop.
"Not exactly the Ritz," Walter muttered under his breath.
"Make ye not fun of th' stoore," rasped a voice from behind Walter,
pronouncing the "o" in "store" with an "ooo" sound rather than the long "o"
sound Walter was expecting to hear.
"A damn foreigner," Walter thought to himself as he stared at the wizened
woman walking to him through the shadows.
"How I help ye, Waltair Muyrgeetsoon?"
"A Slavic accent," Walter thought, "probably Romanian or..."
"Czech," finished the woman. She was old beyond old; Walter couldn't
remember ever seeing someone as wrinkled, as hunched, as withered as this woman
appeared. She moved with deliberate care, placing each foot down before shifting
the other.
"Um, Madame Ruth? You sent me your card."
"Cart? Show me!"
Walter produced the card and handed it to Madame Ruth. As it touched her
fingers, it seemed to vanish. "Probably a trick of this crappy lighting," Walter
thought.
"Hand!" Madame Ruth barked. "Ye hand!"
Taken aback by Madame Ruth's abrupt behavior, Walter nonetheless extended
his right hand for her to grasp. The first thing Walter noticed was just how
cold her hands were. That thought was replaced quickly by a thought of concern
over just how impossibly tight Madame Ruth was squeezing his hand. Walter
panicked and tried to pull his hand away, but Madame Ruth was surprisingly
strong for someone her apparent age. She peered at Walter's palm intently while
Walter felt as though the blood was being squeezed out of his fingers.
"I see," Madame Ruth began after a long, protracted silence, and then
finally let go of Walter's hand. "Ye need a love potion."
"Yes!" Walter shouted. "That's it! A potion to make me irresistible to my
heart's desire."
"Is that what ye really want? It will cost ye."
"Yes!" Walter shouted again, annoyance clearly evident in his voice. "I
don't care what it costs. Just make the damn potion."
"Ye must pay first."
Walter was growing impatient. "Fine, fine," he said abruptly as he pulled
his checkbook from his coat pocket. "Just name the price."
Madame Ruth did, and Walter paled. He hesitated, his hands visibly shaking
with his indecision. He considered his actions carefully, and then decided to
act with his heart for once. "All right," he began, "how do I make this out?"
"Ye pay cash," Madame Ruth rasped, her eyes gleaming. Apparently, Walter
wasn't the only one in the room afflicted with avarice.
"You can't be serious," Walter exclaimed. "I don't carry that kind of cash
on me. I'd have to go to a bank and..."
"Around corner," Madame Ruth interrupted. "Get cash. Potion is ready when
ye return." She cackled as Walter flew out the door and up the stairs to the
street, then busied herself with gathering the necessary ingredients for her
noxious brew, pouring them into a nearby sink.
Walter practically flew into the bank, made out a check to "Cash," then
had the singularly satisfying pleasure of watching the teller gulp, not once,
but three times, at the size of the withdrawal. He knew he was hurting the
bank's cash reserves, but he also knew they would make up for it the next day.
And, more to the point, he didn't care what he did to the bank -- his entire
focus was on getting that potion.
Walking back to Madame Ruth's, Walter was thankful that her shop was so
close to the bank; he found the bags rather on the heavy side. He had managed to
work up a pretty good sweat by the time he again opened the creaky door and
stood before the answer to his prayers.
Madame Ruth looked in one of the bags, and then smiled as widely as she
could, her golden tooth flashing in the dim light. "Good, good," she said, still
smiling. "This cover cost of potion." She handed Walter a small vial containing
a purplish-black liquid. "Drink quick," she instructed. "Potion make ye
irresistible to thy heart's desire, just as ye request."
There was no hesitation on Walter's part this time. In one swift motion,
he uncorked the vial, placed it to his lips, and then tipped it back. It was the
most disgusting taste he had ever tasted, comparable to nothing he had ever
experienced before. As the liquid went down his throat, he began to experience
alternating waves of nausea and numbness so debilitating that he could no longer
stand; his knees buckled and he collapsed between the aisles.
Madame Ruth watched Walter intently, anticipation clearly written on her
craggy face. As she watched, a number of blonde hairs began to erupt from the
top of Walter's head previously occupied by a receded scalp. More and more hairs
appeared, flowing down his head onto the floor, completely obscuring his rather
pudgy face.
"Kecy," she swore under her breath.
She noticed more changes taking place on Walter. First, there was a
decidedly noticeable emptiness in his suit, as though he'd lost a great deal of
weight from all over his body, other than his rear end, which seemed to be as
full as ever. She could see his hands slimming, too, and watched in awe as the
nails lengthened, casting a decidedly feminine appearance to Walter's fingers.
Gradually, Walter began to regain control of himself. He slowly got to his
feet, feeling suddenly awkward and out of balance. His shoes must have come
untied, he reasoned, because his feet were slipping around inside them. He
turned to look at Madame Ruth, noticing for the first time the long blonde hair
in his face. As he brushed it aside, he heard an audible gasp come from the old
woman.
"What did you do to me?" Walter asked, and then put his hand to his throat
in shock. The voice he heard was not, could not have been his. It was too...
feminine!
As Walter had brushed aside the hair covering his face, Madame Ruth got
her first look at what had been hidden underneath all that hair and had gasped
in surprise. Walter now had the face of a young, beautiful woman. And, as Madame
Ruth quickly observed, Walter had a body just as beautiful to match his new
face. "It's lucky he's wearing a double-breasted suit," she thought to herself,
using far better English than she had used when talking with Walter, "'cause
he's certainly got the breasts for it now."
She heard Walter ask her what had been done to him; in response, all she
could do was hand him a mirror. And then it was Walter's turn to gasp.
"I can't believe it," Walter said as he stared at his reflection. "I'm so
beautiful. I've always loved beautiful women, but I never wanted to become one.
What went wrong?"
"Nothing," Madame Ruth said, her Czech accent suddenly absent. "You got
what you asked for -- to be irresistible to your heart's desire. You've never
loved anything but yourself. You say you've loved beautiful women, but they've
never loved you. Now you are one, and I suspect you're going to love yourself."
Walter was still looking at his image in the mirror. "I love you," he said
to his -- now her -- image, then kissed the mirror passionately and embraced it
as though it were a lover.
Try as she might, Madame Ruth could not get Walter to respond to any more
questions. It was only when she tried to take the mirror away from the young
woman who used to be Walter that she got any response at all -- and that
reaction was so violent that she quickly returned the mirror to the young woman
who again embraced it and tried to whisper sweet nothings into a reflected ear.
Madame Ruth made a phone call and explained the situation to the person on
the other end of the phone. "No problem," she heard the man say, "I'll have
someone down there in twenty minutes to pick 'her' up. I've got just the place
for her where she'll be happy for the rest of her life. But it'll cost ya."
"I know, I know," Madame Ruth replied, "half my take. It'll be worth it to
get rid of her. She's starting to play with herself now; it's disgusting."
"How many mistakes does this make, Ruthie?" the voice asked.
"Eight. But I swear, the next one will be perfect. Why, it's gonna be so
good, I bet they'll write a song about it!"
~Fin~
Annalisa
- 30.06.2021
- 13
- 0
