Night Skies Hotel VII: The Sands Of Time free porn video

Night Skies Hotel VII: The Sands of Time By Solari Historian's note: This story is set during the "modern" era of the Night Skies Hotel. It isn't necessary to have read the other NSH stories in order to appreciate this one, but there are some references to events and characters from those stories. ************************************************************************************** Flashes of blinding white light flared across the cerulean blue skies above the rolling campus greenery of Richmond National University. Students, bewildered by the atmospheric discharges, stopped in their tracks, peering deep into the heavens, where not a single cloud could be seen. An eerie silence descended across campus as birds and insects, sensing something amiss, ceased their harmonious singing and trilling. The unnatural quietude didn't last long - students near the four-story brick-and-mortar history building on the eastern edge of the campus felt goosebumps rise as a distant rumble filled the air. "There!" a man shouted, his finger pointed toward the horizon. "Aircraft! Dozens of them!" A thick, dark smudge was visible in the far distance. It grew larger as the apprehensive students watched. The sky once again went white with flashes of light. "I can't believe it," another student muttered. "It's happening, it's really happening! The fucking Yanks are attacking us! Again!" "Even the Yanks aren't that stupid," a woman snorted. "It's been a century since we won our freedom from the United States of America, and we've kicked the Yanks' asses in three times since then!" She shook her head, grasping for a plausible explanation. "No. It's a damn drill to see if the air raid sirens are in working condition." She tilted her head, listening for the unmistakable sound of the sirens, but only heard the ominous rumble. "It seems someone's sleeping on the job." Several of the students huddled around an info-kiosk. A moment later, one of them turned to his increasingly restless fellows, calling out, "Hey. You gotta see this! Reports are coming in from all over the Confederacy, the United States and Europe! The flashes of light, the aircraft and ..." he turned back to the info-kiosk, only to see static replace the announcer's grim face. "Hey! What's up with that?!" "It's not a drill!" another kiosk viewer hissed. As if in confirmation, the air raid sirens began wailing, their haunting cadence filling the air. "We've got to get to the shelters!" The students - raised from birth to always heed the screaming sirens - rushed toward the history building. Similar scenes played out across campus as the distant rumble grew nearer and nearer - and was suddenly gone, replaced by an implacable silence broken only by the seemingly futile wails of the still-blaring sirens. Many students, still out in the open, stared open-mouthed at the sky above them, where utterly alien-looking ships hung motionlessly over the capital city in countless numbers. They were sleek, predatory-looking things, black as night. "What in God's name are ..." And then all hell broke loose. *** The dome-shaped greenhouse - part of the university's science department - shook and quaked as spears of angry red energy tore deeply into the nearby administration building. The wizened old man stood in the center of the dome, staring as his world literally came crashing down around him. He ran a trembling hand through thinning white hair, his rheumy blue eyes leaking tears. "They told me this would happen," Dylan Talbot muttered. "They made me promise I'd warn my world of their coming ...," he looked beseechingly at the small, golden ring he wore, a gift from those who had saved his life in the desert, "... I tried, I really did!" "Professor?" A woman's voice sounded over the thunder of the destruction. A firm, yet gentle hand clasped his own. "We can't stay here any longer. Come with me. We'll be safe in the shelter domes." "Safe?! My child, there's no place on this world that's safe from the Patriarchy!" Lourdes Talbot grimaced, tugging on her father's hand. "Damnit, dad! Now isn't the time to start rambling about your fairy tales about the Patriarchy, the Sisterhood and that damnable mirage of a hotel!" Hot tears stung her ruddy cheeks. "I stood by helplessly as you ruined your career going on about other timelines, UFOs and invasions. For the last time, dad, it's the Bolshevik Empire that's attacking us - hell, attacking the Yanks, too, and Europe!" Dylan resisted his daughter's efforts. Exasperated, she began dragging him away. "I spent a week in that hotel forty years ago, beloved daughter. They told me everything, and I relayed their warning to the consul and the Senate." "God, how I wish I hadn't let you go alone into the desert on sabbatical!" "It's over, Lourdes. The Patriarchy has arrived, just as it was prophesied by Artemis." His face was soaked with tears now. "The government didn't believe me." He looked accusingly at his daughter. "Even my own flesh-and-blood didn't believe me!" "Stop resisting me!" Lourdes screamed angrily. She jerked him along, all pretense of gentleness gone. "Get it through your head, dad, there's no such thing as ..." The dome filled with an eerie, alien-sounding drone; Lourdes felt her blood freeze. Oh God, don't let it be a Bolshevik fighter, we're so close to shelter and safety ... she slowly, carefully turned around and followed her father's gaze. He smiled knowingly at the black, ovoid object - which was the length of a bus and twice its width - hanging outside the greenhouse's transparent walls. Diffused, red energy swept across its gleaming, polished surface, which had a symbol etched into it. Lourdes realized it wasn't the hammer-and-sickle of the Bolshevik Empire, but something she wasn't familiar with: A sinuous and powerful-looking black dragon coiled around a planet, its crimson eyes glittering as it spat flames. It was the last thing she ever saw as the diffused red energy flickering across the ship's surface suddenly coalesced into multiple distinct red points and stabbed out. The hellish energy lanced through the dome's walls, through her father and through her, like a hot knife going through soft butter. The ovoid ship pulled up from the dome, let loose with another volley, and shot away as the dome exploded and collapsed in on itself. Similar scenes of destruction were taking place across the planet as alien dropships joined the fray and ground gateways blossomed into existence, disgorging multitudes of troops and military hardware. The Patriarchy was laying claim to yet another timeline, one that put it a step closer to achieving a new objective. *** Finnegan "Fin" Dunbar slammed the door behind him as he stomped into his little apartment on the third floor of a seven-story complex. His noisy entrance hadn't gone unnoticed, judging from the angry pounding on the walls and raised voices of his neighbors, but Finnegan didn't particularly give a damn. He threw the thin manila envelope on the kitchen countertop, rubbed his bloodshot brown eyes, and then simply stared at the envelope, willing it to go away. It didn't. Finnegan gave up the staring contest with the envelope and sighed. "God, it's been a horrible week," he muttered. "I've given it my all at work, finally pleased the boss enough to get a promotion and, and ...," he shook his fist impotently at the envelope, " ... this has to happen. Tell me, Lady Luck, what have I done to deserve any of this?!" Shaking his head, Finnegan plopped down on the sofa and flicked on the television. He was instantly assaulted by a baritone voice. "Believe me, people, when I say that the pinko liberals are the ones who are the real threat to the United States," a chubby, bespectacled man bellowed. "They've had free run of this nation since the 1960s and look what they've done with it! They've run it into the ground and, by God, it's President Bush who will lead us to ..." Finnegan scowled and changed the channel. A woman's cheerful voice filled the living room. "According to geologists, a deep-oceanic robotic craft today brought back preliminary evidence that unusual rock formations found on the ocean floor off the coast of Cuba were actually formed above water in relatively recent times, geologically speaking ..." "Geology? Bah, who cares about that." He clicked the remote again. Another voice emanated from the television set - this one also belonged to a woman, one who looked like she was still living the hippie life of the 1960s. She sounded bitter. "It's a vast right-wing conspiracy!" her shrill voice screeched. "You know damn well that the invasion of Iraq was purely for its oil, and nothing else! And don't even get me going on Sept. 11! President Bush has used that tragic criminal act - not an act of war, but a criminal one, I remind you - to ram home his domestic agenda and ride roughshod over the rest of the world! I mean, just look at the mess in Iraq his arrogance has ..." "ARGH!" Finnegan changed channels. Again. Then again, and again. He shook his head in despair and harrumphed, "Whatever happened to common sense?! That's what I want to know. Did it fly the coop when Pandora's Box was opened?" He sighed. "Ah, damn it. I've got more important things to worry about." Finnegan turned the television off and made his way over to the computer. He yawned as he sat down and booted it up. He stared pensively at the offending envelope until a peculiar sound from his computer got his attention. "Aw, c'mon! Not another blue screen of death!" But that's the least of my worries right now, Finnegan reminded himself as he fiddled around with the computer, then rebooted it. This time it started up fine. I should make some calls and get things confirmed ... but, for the life of me, I just don't feel like it right now. Instead, Finnegan surfed the Internet. It was his way of escaping from the crushing weight of the world outside. Maybe a good game of Star Wars Galaxies will take my mind off of weightier matters. "You've got mail." Finnegan started at the voice, then relaxed. I've got to change that thing so it just blinks at me when there's mail. Less chance of having a heart attack that way, he thought. He was cleaning out his mail account within a few mouse clicks. "Spam and more spam," he muttered. "It's definitely time to refine my filters." He began deleting various e-mails, but the newest one got his attention. Its subject line read, "Tech Support Changes" and the header suggested a legitimate source. He clicked on it, muttering, "Now what are they doing? Raising the fee to $25 per call?" He began reading. "My name is Mark, and I don't know how much time I have left, so I'll make this quick: If you ever come upon the ..." Finnegan deleted the e-mail. "You gotta hand it to the scammers. They know all the tricks," he grumbled. "Damn Nigerians." He scowled as he caught sight of the envelope out of the corner of his eye. Part of him stubbornly refused to read its contents while, at the same time, another part knew there would be no avoiding it. He realized, deep down, that he had to face the reality of the situation. But not today, he thought grimly. I'm going to have some fun first, damnit. Finnegan shut off his computer, shoved his wallet into his back pocket and marched into the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, combed his mop of red hair and studied his rather pale complexion. I need to get out in the sun more, he thought. It might help my eyes, too. His normally doe-like brown eyes had been bloodshot all week. He grinned, revealing a dazzling mouthful of perfect white teeth - At least something's gone right for me - and checked his nose. There were no nose hairs to speak of. He squared his 6'1" frame in front of the mirror, pleased with what he saw. He harbored no illusions - he knew he was just an average run-of-the-mill thirtysomething man, but that was better than, say, being a nerd with Coca-Cola bottles for glasses. His eyes strayed to the ever-irritating envelope. All right, that does it. I'm ready to go crazy for once in my oh-so-predictable life! Thirty minutes later he was cruising down the interstate, doing 85 in a 75 zone and loving every moment of it. The envelop was out of sight, hidden away in the cubbyhole of his silver metallic Honda Accord. *** Nightfall found Finnegan cruising the boondocks, his fuel gauge edging dangerously into the red zone. He was jolted for the umpteenth time as he hit a pothole in the rustic, two-lane country highway to the middle of nowhere. He smiled and laughed mirthlessly. "Well this is what I deserve for being so spontaneous." He took his eyes off the road for a moment, gazing at the scenery as it flashed by, fading away into onrushing gloom as the sun slipped below the horizon. It was mostly uninteresting - flat, green tracts of land broken up by cropland, the occasional stream and a small valley here and there. Recalling his time at college, Finnegan reflected that the land around him had once been buried under a mile of ice thousands of years ago. He glanced at the fuel gauge as he returned his attention to the road. He had maybe 20 to 30 miles of fuel left, and there was no sign of habitation. Coming to the top of a ridge, he looked far and wide as he drove down into a valley carved out by the glaciers. Finnegan fastened his eyes on the riot of neon light that was visible at the far end of the valley. "Well, I'll be damned," he said. "There's a hotel out here." An red warning light flickered to life on his dashboard - his fuel was almost gone. Relief flooded his features. "Now talk about good timing." Finnegan pulled into the hotel's parking lot a few minutes later. He was surprised that he had to hunt for a parking space, so crowded was the lot. It appeared that the place - "The Night Skies Hotel," he said softly, reading from an electronic sign - was the local watering hole for whatever people happened to live out in the boondocks. Claiming the last spot in front of the hotel proper, Finnegan hopped out of his car, locked it up, and made his way into the lobby. The envelope was in his back pocket. "Ma'am, would you happen to know of any nearby gas stations?" Finnegan asked one of the women standing behind the front desk's long, expansive countertop. "As a matter of fact, yes, I do," the woman immediately replied. Thick, curly jet-black hair framed her beautiful, tanned oval face. Her emerald green eyes twinkled. "It's 12 miles straight north of here ... but it's closed until 7 tomorrow morning." "I guess that means I'll be spending the night," Finnegan said. "What have you got?" The woman tapped some keys. "Our rates range from $29.95 a night to $1999.95 a night," she explained, "depending, of course, on just how luxurious you want your stay to be." Finnegan hesitated for only an instant - I shouldn't do this. I'll need my savings for the expenses later - before handing the woman his credit card. He smiled winningly at her. "I'm in a spontaneous mood tonight, ma'am," he said. "Give me a single night of the best the hotel has to offer." "Big spender, huh?" the woman teased. "Well, we like big spenders." She confirmed his card was a legitimate account and handed it back. "Perhaps I can convince you to stay longer, Mr. Finnegan "Fin" Dunbar?" He leaned over the countertop, catching a brief glimpse of the woman's partially-exposed "D" cup melons. "I'm all ears," he said, grinning broadly. The woman gestured expansively. "The Night Skies Hotel offers its best customers a variety of options. In addition to a luxury suite with your own personal escort, we offer a high-stakes, high-paying casino, a giant waterpark, a place for you to work out, a variety of liquor and eating establishments and last, but not least ...," her eyes twinkled, "... we offer adult entertainment, ranging from softcore to hardcore, whatever fits your taste." "Well ..." "And we offer a 25 percent discount to big spenders who stay at least two nights." Finnegan nodded. "I'm sold! Put me down for another night, ma'am." The receptionist smiled as she tapped some keys on her computer. "It's done. Here's your key card, sir, and enjoy your stay at the Night Skies Hotel!" "I most certainly will." "Your personal escort should be able to answer any questions you have, and if she can't, then I'm sure management can." Finnegan gave her a thumbs-up and made his way into an elevator. He laughed as the doors closed behind him. After a lifetime of predictability and rigidity, he was reveling in the newfound freedom granted by the manila envelope. He'd have time enough later to be worried about his future prospects. *** Nine floors later, Finnegan found himself standing wide-eyed just inside the door to his suite. "The receptionist wasn't kidding when she said you get what you pay for," he murmured. Before him stretched the largest hotel room he'd ever seen and, through the subdued lighting, he could see a small whirlpool, a full bar, a gigantic flat-screen television and, well, the amenities went on and on. He moved further into his quarters, admiring the plush, dark carpet and the oh-so-inviting sofa near the television. The suite's south wall was composed of floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a spectacular view of the surrounding countryside, now aglow with a newly risen full moon. A sliding door set in the wall led to a balcony that was big enough for a good-sized party. A pleasant aroma filled the air around him, given off by the profusion of potted flowers and plants scattered throughout the suite. "It's a good thing I don't have allergies, otherwise I'd have to ..." "Are you enjoying yourself, sir?" The silky smooth voice belonged to a woman. Finnegan turned around and laid eyes on what only could be a goddess. She stood 5'10" tall, weighed around 145 pounds and was blessed with a generous bosom, full hips, and a nice butt. The scantily-clad vixen sashayed over to him, warmth and friendship radiating from a soft, oval-shaped face surrounded by thick tresses of dark hair. Her full, moist red lips parted seductively. "I'm all yours, big spender." She gave him a quick kiss. "My name is Fern." Finnegan blushed. "Isn't there some rule against employee/customer fraternization?" he asked half-jokingly. Fern purred. "Only if you want it to be that way. After all, I'm a part of the big bucks you paid for this suite." She leaned in and gave him another quick peck. "I can stop if you want me to. Is that what you want?" "Uh, well ...," Finnegan stammered. His mind raced. "Tell you what, Fern. Let me get settled in for an hour or so and then I'll give you a ring. I'd love nothing more than having a lovely young woman like you showing me all the attractions." "As you wish. My number is by the phone." Fern blew him a kiss and left the suite. Finnegan breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed softly behind her. "I'm definitely not used to this level of service," he said. He glanced at his overstuffed suitcases and sighed. He knew what he'd be doing for the foreseeable future. *** "So, what's the big spender like, Fern?" The voice belonged to Alexia, the sister who'd helped to bring her into the world. "Is he a knight in shining armor?" "He's certainly got the height." A plume of creamy white smoke wafted from Fern's pouty mouth as she took a final puff from her long, slender white Capri 120 cigarette and crushed it out. "He's just another easy mark. Probably running away from something that's gone wrong in his life. I'll have him growing tits by tomorrow night." Alexia lit up her own Capri 120 and took a meditative puff. "Tomorrow night, eh?" Fern sulked. "Hey, cut me some slack. It's not like I've been here for a decade." Her emerald green eyes grew mischievous. "Unlike some sisters I happen to know!" "Whoa! OK, OK, you win," Alexia replied with as much dignity as she could muster. "Tomorrow night is titty time, then." She took a deep drag from her Capri 120 and released a gentle stream of mint-scented smoke in Fern's direction. "And, hey, you never know. I could be called up for duty outside the hotel any day now!" Fern just laughed. "I'll believe it when I see it." *** Finnegan poured himself a drink and savored the sweet taste of the smooth, cool amber liquid as he swirled it in his mouth before swallowing it. "Not bad. Not bad at all," he judged, examining the bottle. "Wild Woman. Hmm. It's pretty good stuff for a no-name brand." He refilled his glass and made his way to the balcony. He inhaled deeply as he stepped out into the cool night air. A glorious full moon was overhead, and tapestries of stars, planets and constellations nestled around it. Finnegan thought he could make out a few of Earth's nearest celestial neighbors - Venus and Mars - but couldn't be 100 percent sure. Astronomy had never been one of his strong points. "Admiring the view, big spender?" He smiled as he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a smaller form step out onto the balcony. It was Fern, right on time. "You could say that." He gestured at a constellation. "You can't see that where I live. Too much light pollution. But that's not the case out here." "It is beautiful, isn't it?" Fern whispered. She stood quietly at his side. "I wonder if there's life out there." Finnegan was a bit surprised. He hadn't expected a simple hotel escort to ask questions like that. "I'm sure there is, Fern. There are billions upon billions of stars in our own galaxy, and we are but one of countless galaxies in this universe." A fleeting, enigmatic smile crossed her face. "I agree. We are but one of many worlds that harbor life." Her eyes twinkled. "Earth just hasn't discovered them yet." "You're a far out woman," Finnegan joked in an effort to hide his sudden awkward feeling, "but how about we talk about more down-to-earth business? A midnight tour of the hotel sounds grand to me." Fern nodded. "Is there any particular place you want to go? Perhaps the casino? Or for a dip in the water park? There's always adult entertainment, too." "Actually, I'm starving. Do you have any five-star eating establishments?" "Better than that, big spender." Fern's full, sensuous mouth turned up in an inviting grin. "Come on. I'll show you." *** Fern tried not to stare, but it was getting harder by the moment. Finnegan had to have been exaggerating when he'd said he was hungry. Goodness! He's barely touched his side orders, let alone the main course, she observed. "Uh, Finnegan ...?" He perked up at the sound of her voice. Looking over the rim of his half-empty glass of Wild Woman, he guessed what she was about to ask. "I know, I know. I've barely touched my food, and you're wondering why." "Well, yeah. The chefs here tend to get upset if you don't enjoy the fruits of their labors." Fern knew that at least one of the chefs - who was a rare emerald green-eyed beauty with dark blonde hair instead of the usual jet-black tresses - was keeping a surreptitious eye on their table. "So why aren't you pigging out?" Finnegan sighed. "I was hungry, but ...," he hiccuped, "... I lost my appetite somewhere on the way here. It certainly has nothing to do with the food - it looks scrumptious! I am, however, enjoying your company and, of course, the Wild Woman drinks." "Obviously." She leaned across the table between them, offering him a tempting view of her cleavage. "Perhaps you're enjoying the booze a bit too much?" "Mebbe so," Finnegan slurred. "But if you had any clue as to what my life's been like lately, you'd be tipping the bottle, too." He took another sip from his glass, and Fern smiled like a Cheshire cat. Barely visible on the lip of the glass was a trace of luscious, red lipstick. He said something else, but Fern wasn't listening too closely. She was focused on his mouth as it opened and closed, shaping words. It was barely noticeable, but Fern noted a very slight poutiness in his lips, along with the hint of lipstick. His transformation is beginning! she thought triumphantly. He'll be growing tits by sunrise at this rate. "Fern? Fern?" His voice cut through her thoughts. "Earth to Fern - are you there?" She blinked. "Oh, goodness. My apologies, Finnegan. I ... I was distracted for a moment." She seized the initiative and added a subtle hint of command to her voice. It was time to see if the mental part of his transformation had commenced. "Tell me about your life. It's not often we get big spenders like you - well, at least not in this neck of the woods." "Well ..." Finnegan hesitated, warring with himself. Fern certainly seems like a nice woman, but do I really want to open up to her? I don't know her that well. Ah, the hell with it. A little bit can't hurt. "My life, Fern? My life after college was rigid and oh-so-predictable. I was a drone. A mostly satisfied drone, mind you, happy with my little piece of the world." He took a long drink from his Wild Woman. "But that all changed earlier this week, and the coup de grace came just yesterday." He laughed, low and bitter. "Goes to show, huh? You can work your butt off all your life, kiss all the right asses and, in the end, it's all for naught. It's an old saying, Fern, but it's true: Life's a bitch." "It doesn't have to be that way," Fern admonished gently. "Would you believe me if I told you that being a part of this hotel has literally changed my life? I see things now that were hidden before." She pressed a soft, long-nailed finger across his increasingly full mouth, silencing him before he could speak. "You can start a new life here, Finnegan. You won't have to run anymore." Finnegan eyed her curiously. "Are you sure you're just an escort?" he finally asked. "Because you're almost talking like a philosopher. And I mean no insult by this, but this hotel is just that, a hotel." He sighed. "Start a new life. Yeah, whatever." He gulped the last of his Wild Woman drink. A small, knowing smile played across Fern's face. "Well, big spender, I'm just making sure you get your money's worth." She gestured at his mostly full plate. "Perhaps we should take our leave before the chef comes over here and lays a real guilt trip on you." *** "A word with you, Fern." The low, commanding voice instantly brought the escort out of her fixation on Finnegan and his winning streak at the gaming tables. She'd only heard the voice one other time since her arrival in the hotel but, as she turned to face its owner, she knew who it was. Management. Well, a part of it at any rate. Before the escort stood a magnificent, voluptuous woman with intense, gold-flecked brown eyes. Undulating waves of thick, curly dark hair framed her round face, and the finger crooked in Fern's direction bore a long, manicured nail. It was none other than Corona, mistress of the ancient and esteemed Culture Guild. A guild that Fern had been initiated into when Alexia had transformed her. Discreetly disentangling herself from the burgeoning crowd - Finnegan was too engrossed with his winning streak to notice her absence - Fern followed Corona to a relatively quiet part of the casino. "My goddess, what is it you wish of me?" "Your thoughts about Mr. Finnegan 'Fin' Dunbar." Her smile was genuine. "Don't worry, my sister. This isn't a test of your prowess in transforming males into females. Hands-off observation on management's part can only go so far, thus your presence before me." "He's already changing, goddess," Fern reported confidently. "I predict he'll be growing tits by sunrise and starting his new life shortly thereafter." She paused. "But why is management interested in him, if I may ask?" "Because he's not changing." Fern was thunderstruck. "My goddess! I swear I'm not a liar! I saw ..." Corona radiated calming thoughts into Fern's troubled mind. "We know what you know, Fern. You saw lipstick forming on his mouth, saw it sticking to his glass at the restaurant. And you saw his mouth growing ever so slightly pouty." "Yes ... yes, I did." "But it's all gone now. He's back to normal." "How is that possible? I've never heard of something like this happening before!" Her mind raced. "Is he immune to our wiles?!" Corona shook her head. "There's no such thing as immunity. We've seen to that over the centuries. But it's possible he's resistant, and may be but the first of his kind we've seen in this timeline." She smiled. "If so, it's better to find out sooner rather than later." She gestured. "Now go, Fern. Continue what you were doing, and rest assured that management has things under control." "Goddess, if I may?" Fern asked. Corona nodded. "I sense that Finnegan is a good man. Simple, perhaps, but essentially good. When he does become a sister ... can he be something other than a dancer, escort, or stripper?" "I cannot make any promises," Corona said softly. "But know this: Every dancer, every stripper, every escort - hell, every woman! - in this hotel and beyond carries within her the potential to be more than what she starts out as." She rested a reassuring hand on Fern's shoulder. "But whether she chooses to take that route is something only she can decide. After all, as you're finding out, there's more to the Night Skies Hotel than meets the eye." Corona became transparent before Fern's eyes and vanished into thin air. The escort rubbed her eyes. "More than meets the eye, indeed," she murmured as she made her way back to the gaming table where Finnegan was still playing - and winning. "How are you doing, big spender? Or shall I say, big winner?" Finnegan gestured at his earnings, a delighted, child-like grin plastered on his face. "I'm at $4,000 and climbing!" "Well, you can't beat that. You've more than recouped the money you spent on the suite ... everything else is gravy," Fern said cheerily. She stole a few glances at Finnegan's mouth and briefly pursed her lips. The goddess hadn't exaggerated about the reversal in his transformation. "Yeah, gravy. God knows I'll need the money after I leave," Finnegan said in a subdued voice. The smile was gone as well. "You know, part of me wants to keep playing, but another part is telling me that I'm pushing my luck." "Lady Luck is a notoriously fickle figure," Fern agreed. "I'd quit while you're ahead." *** "Status report, Grand Fleet Lord Devus." The Champion's imposing visage flickered ever so briefly as the holographic transmission - originating from Terra in the Patriarchy's primeline hundreds of realities distant - encountered an eddy of inter-timeline interference. "How goes the conquest of Timeline 0575?" "Behold, Lord Protector Trelisk Trion." Devus gestured, and the wall in front of him and the champion's hologram cleared to show scenes of gray- and black-uniformed soldiers marching triumphantly in formation through ruined cities. Their forms gleamed, the afternoon sun glinting off liquid-proof form-fitting body armor and opaque face shields with built-in rebreather masks filtering the outside atmosphere. In short, the troops were part of an immensely powerful and lethal organism acting with a singular focus. They moved, tens of thousands strong, in the heart of Moscow, the former capital of the Bolshevik Empire. Ranks of troops surrounded the burning remnants of the White House and Capitol in Washington, D.C., the former center of government for the United States of America. Chiang Kaishek's government in Beijing was no more. A pair of gateways opened up in the heart of the city, spewing forth countless numbers of troops and military firepower, all being used to expand the Patriarchy's beachhead in that part of Asia. London. Berlin. Sydney. Tokyo. Jerusalem. Delhi. Richmond. The names rolled on, quickly blurring together. Trelisk nodded approvingly. "Very good," he said, turning to Devus. "The other Champions will be pleased with the tidings from T0575." Devus inclined his head. "These fractured timelines are easy prey, milord," he opined. "It was simply a matter of taking out the Bolsheviks first - the most hated and feared empire in this particular timeline - and then mimicking their tactics and invasion routes to attack the rest of the planet." He laughed, low and sinister. "By the time the other nations realized it wasn't the Bolsheviks coming for them, it was too late." "Excellent. When will the pacification of this timeline be completed?" "Soon. With orbital, aerial, naval and ground assets at our command, any sort of guerrilla activity that pops up will be ... short-lived." Trelisk nodded his great, shaggy gray head. "Good. The sooner we can launch another probe into Timeline 0600, the better. We need more data on that timeline and what the remnant of the Sisterhood is doing there." His hologram began dissolving. "Having T0575 in our possession puts us that much closer to getting the answers we need." Devus grinned at the now-empty space near him, and spoke to thin air. "And once our military conquers a few other key timelines, we shall be in position to drive the bitches out of yet another reality." His eyes glittered. "Or, better yet, perhaps an opportunity shall arise to kill them once and for all, void or no void." *** "I'm sorry, Fern, but I'm just too tired to go on." Finnegan stopped for a moment to catch his breath. "It's been a long night. Fun, yes, but long. I need to turn in." "It's only three in the morning," Fern said gently as they made their way to his suite. "We haven't been to the waterpark or to the really hard-rocking part of the hotel - the adult areas - yet. How can you be tired?" Finnegan raised a delicate, dark eyebrow. "For starters, it was a long day leading up to the fun of the past few hours. And secondly, I'm ordinarily not a night owl." "But there's still so much to show you!" Fern protested. "It's great that your stay here is essentially free because Lady Luck smiled on you at the casino, but don't stop there. Don't play it safe, Finnegan!" They came to a stop at the door to his suite. "I thought you came here to have a little fun, to escape the burdens of your life." "Argh." Finnegan scowled as an unbidden image of the manila envelope flashed through his mind. "Don't remind me, please! Look, I don't know why you're so insistent, but I don't check out for another day. It's not like I'm going to disappear at sunrise ..." Fern wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him ferociously. "That, big spender, is just a taste of what you're missing out on by sleeping," she purred. "Want some more where that came from?" "I ... uh ..." Finnegan licked his lips nervously. He'd be a liar if he said he hadn't enjoyed the fleeting moment of contact with Fern. "Um, I'll call you." Without another word, he slipped into the suite and quickly closed the door behind him. Fern smiled dreamily. She'd noticed his changing eyebrows - which had gone from being bushy to acquiring a feminine elegance as they thinned and arched darkly above his eyes - and one other thing. His tongue. She savored his lingering sweetness in her mouth as she saw, once again, in her mind's eye, his soft, delicate pink tongue nervously licking his lips after their liplock. "He'll be growing a fine pair of tits for me to suckle on before I'm done with him," she murmured as she made her way down the empty hallway. "And, of course, a nice wet slit between his legs." *** "Your insights have been very helpful, my sister," Artemis told the partially nude woman sitting across from her. "Now go. Your time on the poles is about to begin - and as we have quite a crowd out there, I believe you'll be busy afterward as well." A joyful light filled Gemini's emerald green eyes. "It pleases me, goddess, to know that my knowledge is benefiting my sisters in their time of need." She cupped her large, firm "D" cup breasts. A droplet of hot fluid welled up from the tip of each nipple. "And I can't wait to press these against a man's chest." Artemis sighed as Gemini left the chambers, the rich, herbal scent of her smoking habit lingering in the air. It had taken many moons for the stripper to recall enough of what Joaquin had known - even with the mental assistance of her new sisters - to be of any benefit to Artemis and the others. By then, most of the information was out of date. But it's better than nothing or, worse, misinformation, the Queen Dominus thought darkly. Any insights we get on the Patriarchy can only benefit us in the end. Another's presence briefly brushed her mind, and Basima appeared moments later. "You're not going to like this, Artemis," the dark-haired woman said brusquely. "We haven't been able to contact Professor Dylan Talbot for days now." "He was an old man. Perhaps he died." "Died, yes, but not likely from old age." Basima's dark eyes grew hard. "We both know in our hearts that the Patriarchy has conquered Dylan's timeline - and once again they're drawing closer to us." She stood face-to-face with Artemis. "Queen Dominus, the next time the Patriarchy comes to this timeline, odds are it won't be with just a few fighters." "Not if your strategy of fortifying timelines - knowingly or unknowingly on their part - against the Patriarchy continues to slow their advance," Artemis said grimly. "And you also know that's why we warned Dylan. It was our hope that, as one his world's foremost scientists, he'd be able to use what we left him to help turn his world into a bulwark." Artemis frowned as Basima scowled. "No, it didn't work. This time." Basima changed the subject. "What of your own plans?" she asked pointedly. "After all, what I'm doing is just rear guard action to give us the time we need." "Everything remains on track," Artemis said. "The hotel and its offshoots continue to harvest men and women from various timelines and drops off the new sisters at our remaining colonies as needed. In time, Basima, there will be enough of us to put your master plan into action." "Did that slutty stripper have anything worthwhile to say for once?" "I assume you're referring to Gemini," Artemis said icily. Basima nodded. "Good. Kindly refer to her in a more respectful manner from now on. She's no longer Joaquin, you know. She's a part of the Sisterhood now." The Queen Dominus looked meaningfully at the mistress of the Military Guild. "At any rate, Joaquin didn't have the seniority to access the most sensitive of the Patriarchy's records. But what I have learned from Gemini is that the Patriarchy remains single-minded in its quest to control the known timelines. Nothing new there, right? But she did manage to dredge up a frightening tidbit from the shattered memories of her old life." Basima paled. "No. It can't be true. Those rumors were never substantiated ..." "Until now." Artemis' lips thinned. "It seems the Patriarchy is looking for a reservoir of the plague that swept Gaia in its ancient past. The plague that killed tens of millions of women." "We've been traveling among the timelines for well over a thousand years, and in all that time we've never found a trace of the plague's origins!" Basima growled. "Hell, for all we could know, it originated in our primeline and died out soon after sweeping Gaia, just as the Science Guild theorizes." She began pacing. "Maybe the Patriarchy simply wants to compare the genetic structures of the plague and pathogen. Perhaps they believe it'll give them insights on how to counter or even reverse our natural ability to transform males into females." She whirled on Artemis. "You know how fanatical they've been about that!" Artemis closed her beautiful emerald green eyes - Basima's words had brought back painful memories of her soulmate, Deyvid Trion. It's hard to believe eight centuries have passed since he was taken from me by the Patriarchy. Aloud, "You're giving them too much credit. I fear the Patriarchy wants the plague for a single purpose." "To wipe out the Sisterhood once and for all," Basima hissed. "Damnit. If it isn't one thing, it's another with the Patriarchy - their tentacles are almost everywhere!" *** Finnegan wasn't sleeping. Instead, he sat in front of the oversized television, listening raptly to an in-hotel channel as a band of nude, raven-haired, emerald green-eyed women rocked the night away in the Tittie Bar. Their music floated hypnotically from speakers embedded throughout the suite; Finnegan, unaware of what he was doing, was bobbing his head to the pleasing beat. His hands, tipped by gradually lengthening nails, went to his shirt and unbuttoned it, revealing a soft, hairless perspiration-soaked chest. "Uhh." He moaned as he gently kneaded his oh-so-sensitive nipples. He felt them changing in his long-nailed hands, swelling in size and darkening. His areolae followed suit, widening and darkening into puffy halos around his erect female nipples. "This feels sooo good ... sooo ..." BING! The noise snapped Finnegan out his reverie. He shook his head and looked around, confused. It was the microwave; his popcorn was done. Muting the television, he rose from the plush sofa and trotted toward the kitchen. Halfway there, he froze. And screamed. "What the hell?!" he yelped, staring in surprise at his distended, female nipples. He was shocked again an instant later - his fingernails stretched almost an inch beyond the tips of his now-slender, feminine digits. "This isn't normal," he babbled, the popcorn all but forgotten. He stumbled back to the sofa. "What's happening to me?! Oh, God, I need a drink!" He snatched a half-drunken Wild Woman from the stand next to the sofa and gulped it down. The hypnotic music from the band in the Tittie Bar filled the suite. Finnegan hit the mute button again and again on the remote, his long nails getting in the way, but it did no good. The music rippled through the air, making him feel drowsy and lethargic ... he collapsed onto the sofa, his mind drifting off into a deep, dark recess. As he slept, the changes reversed themselves. His nipples reverted to their small male state. His aerolae followed suit, becoming lighter and returning to their normal, unimpressive size. His red-painted fingernails resisted the longest, but even they blunted and shortened in the end, as his hands once again became more masculine in nature. *** "The region is secure, grand fleet lord," a black-uniformed Sentinel reported from the planet's surface, "and weather conditions are optimal." "Excellent." Devus nodded in a technician's direction. "Commence probe launch." Moments later, a small sphere was ejected from the Vanguard's matte-black underside, and plunged into the planet's atmosphere. Turning to the pair of intermediate scientists responsible for programming the probe, he asked, "How long before we begin receiving data?" "No more than three days, six hours and thirty minutes, if all goes to plan," the taller - and balder - of the two boldly predicted. "It'd be much sooner if this timeline had direct links to TO600, which it doesn't." His partner spoke up. "While the conquest of T0575 puts us much closer to T0600 than before, the probe must still pass through a number of 'wild' timelines - those not yet under our control or fully mapped - before it reaches one that has gateways into TO600," the silver-haired man explained. "You two make it sound as if the Patriarchy's strategic position isn't much better off now than it was before this conquest," Devus noted. Both men dropped to one knee before the grand fleet lord. "No offense was intended, milord," the bald scientist murmured. "It is as my colleague says," the other scientist added. "It's just that ...," he looked up at Devus, " ... permission to speak freely, milord?" The grand fleet lord nodded. "What we need are better maps of the known timelines. The Sisterhood has such maps, and as long as they do, they will always remain a step ahead of us." His voice grew more strident. "We believe the bitches have a good idea of just how far our reach is - after all, many of the timelines we've conquered are ones they likely knew of centuries before we did. Meanwhile, we're stuck making educated guesses as to where we'll find the next hotel complex, one of their colonies or, annoyingly, a timeline they've fortified against us. That has to change, milord." Devus nodded. "You need not worry. Acquiring a modern Sisterhood map is among the Patriarchy's top priorities," he said. Cryptically, "After all, we'll need a map like that to deliver to all the right places a cure to the ills caused by the Sisterhood." "Your tidings gladden my heart, milord," the bald scientist said. "The accuracy of the Sisterhood's cartographers is unrivaled. With their newest maps in our possession, we can weed them out once and for all!" His silver-haired colleague spoke up. "And avoid fiascoes like the one that led us to T0600 in the first place, and the loss of operatives Joaquin and Trevor." "Neither of you shall mention those names again," Devus said, his voice low, harsh. "Not if you value your positions within the Patriarchy." Both scientists gulped and nodded. It wasn't wise to mention fiascoes. Especially when dilly-dallying around by personnel under Devus' command had had a role in causing them. *** Like so many other timelines, T0575 didn't have a continental equivalent to Terra's Atlantis. In its place was an ocean with only a few islands breaking up the blue monotony, the largest of them being a landmass known as Cuba. It had been a part of the Bolshevik Empire until the Patriarchy arrived and destroyed them - and every other nation, for that matter - in the span of a few days. None of this mattered to the probe's AI as it oriented itself above the ruined landmass, brought its gateway generator online, and hurtled toward the resultant whirlpool of energy. One of the island's last guerillas took a potshot at the probe with a missile launcher, but her shot went wide, thwarted by the probe's defenses. It vanished into the vortex and, seconds later, an orbital strike reduced the guerilla and the mountain she was on to dust. *** The chime of the suite's doorbell brought Finnegan out of a fitful sleep. He looked around dully as a woman's muffled voice called out, "Housekeeping!" "I'll put a sign out when I'm ready," Finnegan bellowed. There was a muffled acknowledgement, and the squeak-squeak-squeak of a cart could be heard moving further down the hallway. He glanced at his watch and shook his head ruefully. "I can't believe it's nearly noon already. Time sure flies in this place." He made his way over to the suite's kitchen, where he found an unappetizing bag of cold, uneaten popcorn in the microwave. Reaching for the brimming coffee pot, his eyes fell on that damnable envelope. The one that'd turned his life upside down. He gritted his teeth and set the pot down. Damn the coffee, he thought, I want something with a little more kick! He poured himself a glass of Wild Woman. Swirling the amber liquid in his mouth, he once again savored its texture and taste. This stuff is intoxicatingly delicious! Finishing the drink, he realized what would really hit the spot. It wasn't long before steam billowed from the bathroom. Finnegan was within, luxuriating in the hot full-body jets of the shower, lathering up his body. The hot water and steam combined to lull him into a state of introspection. Closing his eyes, he lost track of time as timeless memories welled up. Spending holidays with his family as a young child flashed through his mind - parents, siblings, grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins celebrating Thanksgiving, Christmas, and other special events. The rich scent of his grandmother's cooking once again filled his nostrils ... the crinkling sound of presents being unwrapped by wide-eyed children ... warm apple crisp filling his eager, young mouth ... of children - including him - running around their grandparents' house, laughter echoing off old, sturdy walls ... his mother dancing with him to jolly music ... holding his newborn sister, awed at how small she was, her tiny fingers wrapped tightly around his thumb ... The years flashed by as he left behind the innocence of childhood, becoming first a teenager and then an adult. He remembered the joy of his first love ... then the heartache of his first break-up ... of having to say good-bye for the last time to a cherished grandfather ... the praise given by a beloved teacher ... his high school graduation, a time of joy and sadness. His family was there, cheering and clapping as he came down the aisle, diploma in hand. His father was older and grayer, as were his aunts and uncles. His teenage sister snapped her bubblegum at him. His father's weathered face glowed with approval, something long cherished by the son - yet Finnegan could still see a reservoir of sadness behind the gray eyes, a solemn reminder that his mother wasn't there, couldn't be there. There was a whisper in his mind, his name echoing - it was her voice, gentle and infinitesimal as a breeze on a hot summer day - and knew then and there that life was about so much more than mere flesh. He hugged his father and sister tightly ... and the dam broke as their tears of joy and sorrow mingled, dripping down their cheeks. The years passed quickly ... college came and went ... his first job, which had lasted all of six months before a bad economy resulted in his unemployment ... the time he'd spent as a smoke jumper, parachuting seemingly right into the roaring hearts of wildfires across the West ... the day terrorists had struck America, a day he'd mostly spent in front of a flickering television set, alternating between righteous rage and mind-numbing grief ... and the day he received word that he'd landed his dream job as a counselor to abused and addicted teenagers, leading them to better lives. His life was, at long last, becoming one of personal and spiritual enrichment, advancement and ... He blinked as his washcloth caught on something. Looking down through the jets of hot water, Finnegan could see something glinting in his navel. Reaching down, he gasped as he fingered the object - it was some sort of navel ring. The small, golden band had some sort of script etched into it and what appeared to be the ancient symbol of womanhood: a circle with a bisected line extending down from its base. A piercing? How did that get there? I'm not into piercing! Finnegan thought. I don't remember getting pierced. Unless ... his mind drifted languidly to the copious amount of alcohol he had drank since arriving ... Fern and I did it sometime last night. I was drinking quite a bit of booze, after all. Still slightly disconcerted by the navel ring - I'll ask Fern about it later - he got out of the shower, drying himself off with a thick, luxurious towel. Spying a scale in the corner, he tempted fate and hopped on it. Just as I thought. I've lost another seven pounds. I've got to start eating more. Finnegan proceeded to admire his physique, standing in front of the full-length mirror, flexing his biceps and practicing his toothy, boyish grin. Hell. Maybe I should get really wild and see if any of the women here are up for a one-night stand, he thought roguishly. I've got protection and, Lord knows, there's enough half-naked babes around the hotel to fulfill any man's wet dreams. He laughed quietly. I know Fern said something about an adult section in the hotel. It's time to really enjoy what's left of my stay here. Fifteen minutes later, he was out the door - but not before remembering to put a "Housekeeping Service Required" sign up. He quickly made his way down the opulent, red-carpeted hallway - a corridor decorated with paintings, globular light fixtures made of silver, gold and glass, its walls lined with a purple, velvety material - and into an elevator. He wasn't alone; an employee in housekeeping stood next to her cart, her skimpy work uniform leaving little to the imagination. She was strangely quiet, her emerald green eyes never straying from some point Finnegan couldn't fathom; he wasn't inclined to interrupt her reverie as their car descended, but he couldn't help but notice something about her. She, too, had a navel ring that glittered in the belly button of her soft, yet firm abdomen. It was identical to the one in Finnegan's navel. The doors whooshed open, but the woman was gone before he could utter a word. He shrugged and went his own way. It wasn't long before Finnegan found himself standing before a pair of sleek women; the raven-haired beauties exuded equal amounts of feminine sensuality and raw power. "Your identification, sir, is necessary in order to access the hotel beyond this point," one of them explained. She held out a tattooed hand expectantly, her emerald green eyes coolly appraising him. "It's nothing personal, but we must comply with local, state and federal laws when it comes to your age. In this case, to ensure that you're at least 21 years old." Finnegan handed her his driver's license. As the woman eyed it, her partner spoke. "I recognize you," she observed. "You're the guy who won big at the casino last night." She nudged her partner. "Hey, Skye. Let him pass. There's no way he's a kid. Not with his gaming skills." "You haven't seen some of the kids nowadays, have you?" Skye replied, only half-joking. She handed Finnegan his license. "Enjoy your time, sir, and let us know if there's anything we can do to improve your experience." The pair watched Finnegan stride past them and recede into the distance. He was becoming well-known among the women of the hotel, and not just for his winning ways in the casino. "A resistant male," Skye murmured. "I wonder if he'll hold out as long as some of the others have. Three days is the longest, y'know." Her partner grinned. "Wanna put some money on that?" *** The first place Finnegan found himself in was the self-titled Billiards Room. It was a spacious area filled with pool tables, foosball, dart boards, a full bar at the far end of the room and tables and chairs along the periphery. Squinting through the subdued lighting, Finnegan could also tell the place was pretty much abandoned. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," he murmured, winding his way among the tables, "since it's broad daylight in the middle of the work week." He laughed bitterly. "Work week. Hah. Like that has any relevance to my life anymore." "Hey now, don't be so gloomy," a new voice interrupted. A man's shadowy figure rose from one of the far tables. "I'm bored stiff of drinking. Care to join me for a game of billiards?" Finnegan gave the olive-skinned young man an appraising look. "Sure, if you don't mind teaching a novice a trick or two." "You've got a deal." He ordered two shot glasses of Wild Woman. "A toast to beginner's luck!" Finnegan accepted the drink and downed it with a single, satisfying gulp. His playing partner grinned. "Let's rock." *** Beginner's luck eluded Finnegan not only once, but twice as well. "Are you sure you're taking it easy on me?" he asked Rupert. "Aye, I am." Rupert brought a long, slender white Capri 120 cigarette to his lips and flicked a lighter. "You weren't kidding when you said you were a novice." He inhaled a ball of minty, white smoke and, moments later, released it in a thick, creamy plume. Rupert noticed Finnegan's curious look. "Want one?" He offered the pack to the young man. "Thanks, but no thanks." Finnegan pushed the pack away. "An expensive addiction is the last thing I need to take up right now." "Suit yourself, handsome," Rupert said nonchalantly as he took another pull from the superslim cigarette. The odd choice of words piqued Finnegan's curiosity, but it was Rupert's mouth that really caught his attention. Maybe he was just seeing things, but Finnegan was sure the man was wearing lipstick - a thick, luscious red color, if the wet richness staining Rupert's lips was any indication. His mouth also looked fuller, and it wasn't just because of the elegant Capri 120 dangling from it. "You know what they say: Third time's the charm," Rupert said, interrupting Finnegan's train of thought. "But this time, let's play for higher stakes. The loser gets to buy the next round of drinks. How's that sound?" Finnegan batted ineffectually at the mint-scented smoke around him as an odd tingle tickled his fingers and as his scalp itched. "That's fine by me," he replied distractedly. He scratched at the itch, and came away with some strands of hair caught beneath his nails. A number of black strands were mixed in among the red hairs. Perfect, he thought, now I'm going bald. And I really need to trim my nails. Rupert looked at him quizzically. "Hey, are you more interested getting your nails manicured or having to buy me a free drink?" Finnegan's competitive streak came to life. "Neither," he said, rising to the challenge. "But I do look forward to you buying me a drink!" *** Sometime later, Finnegan paid the bartender for two Wild Woman drinks. He brought them back to the table where he and Rupert were sitting. "Obviously, I'm better at the gaming tables than I am at the billiards tables," Finnegan said wryly. "You win some and you lose some," Rupert declared. "And each time you learn something new. That's how life works." A minty aroma once again filled the air as he lit his fifth Capri 120 and inhaled deeply. "Me? I can't complain. I've been wined and dined ever since I arrived at the hotel a week ago, and last night I fucked some stripper named Gemini." He released a stream of smoke and looked pointedly at Finnegan. "How about you, handsome?" "I can only wish my night life was as interesting as yours - but then again, I haven't been here as long as you have." Finnegan didn't wave the minty smoke from his face this time. Part of him had grown to like its aroma, and enjoyed seeing it flow from Rupert's full mouth. "But I've enjoyed some fine dining, gambled and won, and spent some quality time with my escort, Fern." He sniffed the air delicately. "You wouldn't happen to have ..." Rupert grinned. "Here you go," he said, pushing a fresh, unopened pack of herb-scented Capri 120s across the table. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist their allure." Finnegan opened the pack with his long-nailed, slender fingers. Plucking a long, white superslim from the pack, he brought it up to his mouth. "I've never smoked before," he said as Rupert flicked his lighter and leaned across the table, "but there's a first time for everything, right?" The tip of his Capri 120 flared to life and Finnegan inhaled. Cool, creamy white herbal-scented smoke filled his mouth for a moment, then shot down his throat into his lungs. The buzz was almost immediate; he held the smoke for seven seconds before releasing it in a thick, erotic plume that spilled from his now increasingly pouty, lipstick-stained mouth. "Not bad for a beginner, huh?" Rupert stared at Finnegan, his eyes unfocused for a split second. "Have you noticed how long and dark your hair has become? It's gorgeous," he said admiringly. "I wish mine was as luxurious." As if on cue, a lock of jet black hair slithered past his ear. "And your nails! They're to die for!" Finnegan ran his long-nailed hands through his still-thickening hair, then inspected his inch-long, red-painted nails. "You're coming along good, too," he said. He took another pull from his Capri 120. "And I love smoking. I feel so feminine, so alluring, so ... so sexy!" Rupert basked in Finnegan's praise. He preened as his now luxurious mane of dark hair continued to thicken and lengthen. It fell past his shoulders, showing little sign of slowing. His nails stretched past the tips of his feminizing fingers, acquiring a metallic blue color. Interest in billiards and small talk slipped away from Rupert as the transformation accelerated. He moaned as the flesh of his buttocks and hips began pulsating, becoming wet with sweat and growing rounder and sleeker with feminine fat deposits. His hips pushed out, and his jeans - no longer able to contain the warping flesh - split apart at the seams, revealing moist, soft skin. As Finnegan clutched at his throat, Rupert wriggled out of the constricting jeans, his supple ass cheeks and sleek thighs sliding out as would a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. Finnegan's voice was changing, along with Rupert's. They squeaked and giggled as their vocal cords tightened, the sounds becoming higher pitched with each passing moment. Finnegan brought his Capri 120 to his lips and, seconds later, a plume of creamy white smoke jetted from his alluring mouth, which had become pouty and slathered with garish red lipstick. The white filter of his cigarette, held elegantly between his long-nailed fingers, was coated with lipstick. A high-pitched cry of pleasure focused Finnegan's attention on Rupert, who was writhing half-naked on the carpeted floor. Finnegan's penis grew rock hard, tenting the crotch of his pants. Womanhood drew nearer for Rupert as his body continued warping, as height was lost and mass redistributed. In the span of a few minutes, he went from 6'1" tall to 5'7" tall, the cracking of his feminizing bone structure audible to Finnegan. The last traces of masculine body hair fell out, leaving behind soft, perspiration-soaked skin. Rupert fell back on his plush buttocks, his eyes acquiring a blank, distant stare. His brown orbs began changing color, gradually acquiring an emerald green hue. At the last instant, Rupert realized he was literally losing his mind, but the realization came too little, too late. His new life was only minutes away - he squeezed shut his gorgeous new eyes as an old, unwanted life slipped away. Rupert ... Ruper ... Rupe ... Rup ... Ru ... Ruby opened her eyes and gazed around the room, drinking in all the details - the billiards tables, the bar, the tables, the chairs. And Finnegan. He stared at her, his own transformation accelerating as Rupert's had. Finnegan smoked and masturbated, blissfully unaware of his impending fate. His thick, erect penis instantly drew Ruby's attention, but a far more powerful urge commanded her to focus on completing her birth. Sex could wait, for she knew what was coming. Tearing off her shirt, Ruby showed off her soft, hairless chest and small, flaccid, male nipples to the world. "Uh." She moaned as her nipples darkened and hardened. "Uhh." They swelled in size as, around them, her aerolae grew thicker, darkened and doubled in width. "Uhhh." Small buds developed beneath the newly feminized, quivering nipples. "Uhhhh!" Ruby willed her still-tiny breasts to grow - and grow they did. The twin bulges enlarged quickly, growing heavier and becoming more and more prominent with each passing moment. Perspiration slicked the hot, jiggling flesh of her emerging tits as they bulged out of her chest, big enough to fill a "C" cup bra. Their explosive growth ebbed, but Ruby wasn't finished. She took a deep breath and pushed one last time - and her round, firm mammaries responded, expanding another cup size. Ruby panted, her "D" cup melons heaving. "Yessss." Ruby gently squeezed and rubbed her expansive bosom. Turning to Finnegan, she smiled dreamily. "Join me, handsome. Free the woman within you and become one with us!" Finnegan was in shock - he shook his head, trying to deny what he had just witnessed, but couldn't. He extinguished his half-finished Capri 120 in an ashtray and scrambled out of the chair. "You ... you ... tits! You've grown tits, Rupert!" The nightmare from last night came roaring back as, in his mind's eye, he saw his own distended, female nipples poking out of his chest. "And your hair ... your nails ... your mouth!" He paused. "My voice!" "Huh?" Confusion clouded Ruby's face as, between her legs, a thick, inverted triangle of pubic hair sprouted from a patch of reddish, irritated skin above her penis. "I've always looked like this, handsome. But speaking of tits ...," she smiled softly, " ... I want you to suckle mine. I'll return the favor once yours have emerged ..." Finnegan's world spun. Is any of this real?! he thought. Am I lost in some sort of booze-enhanced nightmare again? He saw his long nails, licked the wet lipstick that coated his full, pouty lips, fe