Dr Bender's Twisted Tropes Part 1 free porn video

Dr. Bender's Twisted Tropes: A Collection of Clich?s Part 1 By Dr. Bender Foreword To those new readers just discovering our strange and intricate subculture and those old and jaded hands who are still with us, welcome. This collection is for all of you. If you are new to this game, I'm sure you'll quickly discover that there are certain 'stock' plots that get reused and abused in every forum across the genre. When you discover these for the first time they delight and titilize (particularly the main character). You immediately want more and, lo and behold, there are many, many more for you to feast upon. If, on the other hand, you've been reading here for a while, chances are that, while you are more discerning, those ancient tropes still attract you like the old moth to a flame. Tropes become what they are because each speaks to something instinctive within us, something that we share. Seeing as you're still here, reading this, you probably realize the love that you have for these grand tried-and-true plots. Nostalgia, the more jaded might call it, but is that so wrong? I love these hackneyed plotlines. I've read them hundreds of times by authors of varying degrees of skill. I can say, personally, that I never tire of them. Every author leaves their own indelible mark on these old favorites, imbuing upon them a new perspective that prevents them from becoming stale. Sometimes we may seek out the new and different story to expand our horizons but, as they say, home is where the heart is and for many of us these tropes are where we live. On the other hand, as an author, it's the sort of story I only want to do once. When I write, I always attempt to make something wholly different, reaching futilely for the grail of originality. But I still love these hackneyed plotlines. The temptation is always there; to pluck one of these ready-made plots and twist them into a story that is indelibly mine. Of course I know that these plots are no longer mine or anyone's, they are possibly 'open source' in the purest sense of the word. No, I'm not trying to make something that's 'mine' here. What I want, what I hope to achieve, is to celebrate all the stories that I genuinely love posted by too many people over too long a time span to accurately name. To all of you, cheers, you've made my world a brighter place. Here's hoping I can do the same for some of you. I. The Perfect Roommate "Urgh, dude," John groaned, managing to pry his eyelids apart with great difficulty, "I feel like there's an elephant with a jackhammer doing interior decoration to my skull." He tried to chuckle but it hurt too much. The world was blurry and dark, all he could make out was a flickering patch of yellow. The silence was disturbing, though the fact that he couldn't move his arms or legs was even more disturbing. "Richie? Dude?" John called out, starting to panic. "I'm here, John," Richie answered from close by, "don't bother struggling, this'll all be over before you know it." John turned his head toward the voice slowly so as not to antagonize the elephant. His eyes focused with great difficulty on his roommate, a lit blood red candle obscuring his vision. "Dude? What's going on? Little late for a hazing, ain't it?" "Oh, this isn't a hazing," Richie swept his oily black hair out of his face, though his gaze was all for the thick tome that lay open before his knees. "You probably feel a bit fuzzy and disconnected from the Rohypnol I put in your beer. Don't worry, it'll wear off. I just needed time to work." Glancing toward his wrist, John noticed that his hands were tied to a steel ring that had been screwed firmly into the floorboards. Several weak tugs confirmed what he'd first thought: in his drugged state he was too weak to break free. "Come on, dude, whazzappinin'?" "Would you please stop calling me dude?" Richie snapped, drawing a dagger from his belt and pointing the business end at John for emphasis. "Do you have any idea what 'dude' really means? Are you intentionally going around calling everyone 'camel dick' all the time? Do you know how stupid you sound?" "D... Richie, what's up, man? You flippin' out on me? I thought we were buds." John's eyes focused on the point of the dagger, a wickedly curved and serrated blade sharpened to a fine edge. "We were, John, we were. Then you began to change, man. Beer cans all over the floor, drying laundry in the microwave, leaving underwear on the TV antenna, filling the computer up with porn, watching the sports channel day and night, foisting your assignments off on me... all that just for starters! Our friendship died the death of a million cuts, John and YOU killed it!" John gulped, watching the tip of the knife as it was poked ever closer to his face. "What are you going to do?" "I'm FIXING you, John," Richie put the knife down next to his book, "I'm going to make you better. Make you into the roommate I deserve." His vision finally clearing to the point where he could make out details, John noticed that Richie's left had been bandaged expertly. He knew that his friend could have done that himself, Richie was a med student after all. John's gaze was drawn back down to the knife and from there he noticed the red lines that were drawn on the floor, emanating from the base of the red candle. Turning his head to the other side, ignoring the elephant to his detriment as his vision wobbled, he saw yet another red candle just beyond the tips of his fingers and another just above his head. He couldn't see his feet beyond his chest from his prone, spread-eagled, position but he knew the shape the lines were making from a thousand d-grade horror movies. "Shit, is that a pentacle? Holy shit!" John struggled futilely, even his sudden rush of adrenaline not enough to even budge his bonds. "Richie, you're fuckin' crazy, you've lost it, man! Lost it!" Richie smirked, rising to his feet. "I've lost it? While you've been wasting your time partying, I've been studying my ass off. Tell me, John, in your studies, did you ever come across the line 'there is more in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than can be dreamt of in your philosophy'? Maybe you would have if you actually paid attention in lectures. Or read anything beyond potato chip packets. Believe it or not, I started all this as a sort of hobby right under your nose. I never expected the little spells from this book to actually work but they do. Only ones from this book though, for some reason. I think some of the others have been too mangled in the translation from the original languages or too seeped in superstition and folklore. Oh, and forget all that New Age shit... oh, do be still, you can't break free of the circle." "Fuck that," John continued to struggle without success, "you think I'm gonna lie still while you cut my heart out? Think again, dipshit." "Your heart?" Richie snorted in mirth. "What makes you think I'm going to cut out your heart?" "Dude, I've SEEN this movie. What you waitin' for, the rest of your sordid little cult so you can get all 'hail Satan' and shit?" Richie broke out into laughter. "You watch too much TV. Nope, there'll be no sacrifice and no cult, just you, me and a little incantation. Completely painless... well, on your part. As for Satan, there's no such thing. The demon's name is Agyar." "That supposed to make me feel better?" "Oh, zip it," Richie snarled, "this is getting boring anyway. You won't believe it until you see it, so just stay there and watch like a good little boy." John gave his roommate the one fingered salute as he walked the circle. Finally, Richie stopped back where he started and turned toward the pentacle, raising his hands above his head dramatically. "IN NOMINE! KAGERASTONOMICON! AVADA AGYAR IN SU PITE, YATOMAE! YATOMAE! YATOMAE!" A bright flash followed by a puff of yellow smoke above his stomach blinded John for a moment. The smell of rotten eggs hit his nostrils the way chili schnapps hits the back of the throat: burning all the way down. When the smoke cleared, a tiny red-skinned figure stood blinking in midair. It was only six inches tall, had tiny hooves on the ends of its feet, a barbed tail and scaly bat wings protruding from its back. It was also wearing a shower cap and steam wafted from its skin. "Goddamn it!" The little demon swore, throwing a miniscule sponge against the floor so hard it bounced with a wet 'splat'. "Always when I'm in the shower! Can't you idiots give me a moment's peace once every hundred years?" "Ok, that accounts for the stench." Richie held his nose. "Hey, YOU try not picking up that brimstone odor after an eternity in Hell," the Demon groused, pulling his shower cap off to reveal small horns and a completely bald head, "the shit's EVERYWHERE. Ok, I guess you've got questions?" Richie started to open his mouth when John interrupted. "Yeah, I got a question. If you're bald why the fuck do you need a shower cap?" "ENOUGH WITH THE QUESTIONS!" The demon shouted. Turning on Richie, he poked one claw into the med student's chest. "You summoned me. I take it you know the score?" "The book said I get one service but it's a little unclear on the issue of price." "Richie, are you nuckin' futs?" John yelled. "Warlock: The Armageddon? Rosemary's Baby? The Exorcist? Which one of those demonic deals ended well?" "Would the boy in the birthday suit please shut up?" Agyar sighed. "And I'm an Imp, not a Demon. Get your facts straight at least." The imp looked back up at Richie, tapping his fangs thoughtfully. "First service is free, kid, subsequent deals cost more. We're pretty confident that you can't eat just one, so to speak. What's the contract?" John tried to look down at himself, suddenly conscious of the breeze on his nether regions. "I'm naked?" "Ten points to the brains trust," Agyar murmured. "I've got a list here," Richie fished a piece of neatly folded paper out of his top pocket and scanned it. "I want you to make John here into my perfect girlfriend..." "WHAT?!?" John half-shouted, half-choked on the exclaimation. "...she has to be five foot nine, red hair down to her ass. A lithe, flexible, dancer's body with B-cup breasts. Her face must have large, green, almond eyes with high cheekbones and delicate features. Her skin should be flawless and lightly tanned. Her personality should compliment my own, though she should be a bisexual nymphomaniac who can't get enough of my body and be open to threesomes with myself and another girl. She should love me desperately and be willing to do all the chores around the house including cleaning and cooking. And she should have all the skills of a top-class chef." "Gee, anyone would think you'd thought this through." Agyar murmured sarcastically. John was making strangled gasping noises. "That's all you want, kid?" Agyar asked. "Oh, hang on; I've got a few more." Richie ran over to his desk to grab a pen. After a few moments scribbling on a new piece of paper, he read his additions out aloud. "She should also be extremely sexual and have multiple orgasms every time she has sex. She should also have practical knowledge of all sexual positions and swallow when she gives head." "You bastard!" John accused. Agyar snorted. "All doable. Ready kid?" Richie nodded. John watched in horror as dark power gathered in the Imp's hands as it gestured toward him. Hellish energies leapt out toward his groin before engulfing him in fire. It wasn't normal fire, however, that spread up his torso and down his legs, it was something more. It was a spiritual, mystical, fire that did not burn away flesh but rather what made him who he was, melting away his identity and replacing it with another. Sliding his hand down his pants, Richie started to stroke himself as he watched his best friend change. The red fire melted away John's penis and scrotum first, pubic hair evaporating until only a perfectly bald slit remained. More flesh crawled like wax from his skin, sloughing off around his shoulders and hips more than anywhere else, leaving a soft, slender, form behind. Writhing, John felt his bones turn to jelly before solidifying into new shapes. His hips in particular stretching and expanding until he thought his skin was going to burst. As the change continued, his groans rose in pitch. His feet and hands, now much smaller, slipped from their bonds, allowing him to feel the changes as they were happening as he explored himself. As the fire arced through his mind, pain began to give way to his ecstasy and his explorations became more sexual in nature. Of particular interest were the firm, budding, mounds on his chest and the warm, moist, slit between his legs. Richie had to grab for some tissues, wadding them over the tip of his cock before he came. John felt himself pout, a strange notion assaulting his brain until he was compelled to let it out. "Oh, richie," he cooed, "save some for me..." This was too much for Richie, who came all over again. Somehow sensing her lover's climax, Joanne, the former John, came screaming into bliss just as the last of her changes locked into place, wet red hair spilling across the floor. "Well," Agyar smacked himself on one knee, "can I cook or can I cook?" Pausing, the little imp scratched his head. "Hey, where did that one come from?" "Cooking?" Joanne sighed lustily, her grogginess having nothing to do with being drugged anymore. "Richie, love, what would you like for dinner? We've got some cheese and bacon in the freezer, I could run down to the store for some oysters and make us some oysters killpatrick, I know how much you love sea food... OH MY GOD!" Richie almost jumped out of his skin as his perfect girl lurched up into a sitting position staring at herself in horror. "WHAT? WHAT? WHAT? I didn't do it, I swear!" "I'm such a MESS!" Joanne gasped. "First things first, I need a shower to get this gunk off me... and a bucket with some soapy water. Oh, this stuff's never going to come out of the carpet! And blood!" Breathing a sigh of relief, Richie stared at the naked girl's ass as she tried to shift some of blood with a vigorous hand motion that made her breasts jiggle. Moving over to her, he knelt and pulled her hand away from the stain. "Don't worry, we'll get it out." At the touch of his hand, she looked up lovingly into his eyes, a mischievous smile creeping across her perfect face. "Now you're dirty too." Before Richie could draw breath to speak, her lips were locked to his, tongue probing the back of his throat as if it were using his Uvula like a punching bag. She pressed her body into his, goo squishing between them and saturating his clothes as she propelled them both towards the shower. A minute later and her back was pressed against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist as he pumped her mercilessly under the shower head, pelted with warm water from above. She didn't bother with ceremony, ripping Richie's clothes off his body in the desperate search for more skin-to-skin contact. She rode his penis as it penetrated deep within her body even as she begged for more. Her urgings, her pleas for him to fill her womb with his manly fluids, spurred him to ever greater heights of ecstasy though something within him held him back from the ultimate moment of pleasure, some doubt. Screaming, Joanne pushed him out of the shower, frustrated beyond coherent thought. Within moments they were on Richie's bed, still dripping from the shower, as she straddled him, taking control of their lovemaking. She bucked wildly over him, meeting his thrusts with her own, clawing at his chest in desperation for release. "S-slow down..." Richie gasped, trying to bat away her hands. Growling in anger, Joanne slapped him hard, surprisingly strong for such slender arms. "Shut up! Give me more!" Grabbing one of the pillows, she shoved it over his face, leaning down on it with both hands. "MO! NEHT ORF! MAAGYR!" Richie tried to scream through the pillow as Joanne continued to hump, her eyes closed and oblivious to everything but her own overwhelming need. The Imp fluttered up to sit on the bed head, buffing his claws on his chest. "Yes, kid, was there something?" "MOO MEETER!" "Cheat? Me?" Agyar laughed. "This is exactly what you asked for, no more, no less." "MULLNIT!" Agyar glared. "Kid, what the fuck sort of 'complimentary personality' did you think an asshole like you would get? Sugar, spice and all things nice? Kid, you're an utter bastard, betraying your best friend for a good shag. I'd fuckin' well do you myself just for kicks, how do you think she feels?" Richie tried to struggle but Joanne was just too strong for him. "MAH THOT EED MUV ME." "Oh, sure," Agyar snorted, "but since when did that mean she doesn't hate you? Besides, she'll get over love. She knows that." "MO..." "No? Too late for regrets, sonny, I'll be taking payment for services rendered. Before you use up more air accusing me, yeah, I lied. I'm an Imp, kid, what'd you fuckin' expect? Besides, you won't be a repeat customer. I've got a one-way ticket for you to Hell, kid, I'm afraid you'll be taking my place down there. Here's a tip: try to take a bath more than once every hundred years, you really stink when you get summoned otherwise." Richie's scream was incoherent, even if he hadn't been smothered at the time, and used up even more of his precious air. Hopping down from his perch on the bedpost casually, Agyar carefully stepped up into Richie's chest. "Here goes nothing, cross your fingers kid." The Imp smirked as his body melted into black, ink-like, liquid, seeping into Richie's veins. The black fluid could be seen following the college boy's circulatory system, flowing down towards his groin area. Spots appeared in front of Richie's eyes as the last of his air leaked out from between his teeth, forced by Joanne's thrusts. He felt his scrotum swell with the Imp's black ichor until it felt like his balls were about to explode. With a final strangled scream, both he and Joanne came at once, black demonic semen pumped directly into her fertile womb accompanied by Richie's death rattle. # Nineteen years later, Aaron lazed on the sofa in front of the TV, ignoring the dark stain in the carpet that just didn't seem to shift no matter how much elbow grease he and his roommate David put into it. The two boys had met on their first day as freshmen and hit it off immediately. David was sitting in the armchair, knocking back a Coke as they watched the latest horror movie they'd rented from the store. "Dude," he complained, "that make-up is so freekin' fake. Who thinks demons look anything like that shit?" "I dunno," Aaron shrugged, frankly bored with the program. "Holy crap!" David shouted, checking his watch. "Seven thirty! Shit, change the channel, man!" Smiling, Aaron reached for the remote. It was times like this he knew why he loved his roommate; it was often like they were sharing the same brain, almost uncanny. Flicking the picture over to the TV, he flipped through the channels until a gorgeous redhead was smiling at them from over a stove, the sight of lobster and crab cooking on the hotplate so appetizing that they could almost smell it though the screen. "Aaron," Dave sighed lustily in admiration, "your mom is so hot." Aaron brushed a stray lock of red hair out of his face. "I wouldn't know. Hey, kid," he tapped the raven-haired succubus on the head, interrupting her as she gulped down his enormous member, "what do you think, is my Mom hot or what?" Turning to look at the screen, she winced, lowering her gaze and staying silent. "Eh, enough of that, back to work," Aaron guided her lips back to his lower head, which she sucked down eagerly once again. "Hey, Dave, this bitch ain't working hard enough. Wanna get on the other end and see if you can spur her on?" Standing up, grinning wickedly, Dave rolled up his sleeves. "Don't mind if I do, good buddy. Don't mind if I do." II. The Genie "My Lord, Mohammad Ibn Del Rashid," the herald began, standing atop the high sandstone platform at the center of town square, raising his voice until it echoed throughout the entire city, "wishes to announce the eligibility of his daughter for suitors to come and seek her hand in wedlock!" The gathered crowd broke into a low murmur of excitement, pausing as the herald continued. "As the lovely Askami Del Rashid is the last of the surviving Jann-born, the proclamation of His Highness, Solomon the Wise, will oversee the fair lady's courtship. Only the man that can satisfy her will win her hand, by the grace of Allah. For only that man will be the one she truly loves and the only man with whom Allah will bless her with children. Any man present, be they prince or pauper, may place himself forward for consideration at dawn tomorrow on the steps of Del Rashid Palace. That is all." Rassa snapped the store shutters closed, thrusting two meaty hands into her thick, gelatinous hips. "If you weren't such a sniveling coward, I'd make you go Adas!" "Darling!" Adas, a rake-thin thirty-odd balding man whined. "Please! There are customers out there! And it's not like we can afford to lose the business!" Picking up a particularly large and fragrant specimen of their wares, she waved the fish in front of his nose, her voice piercingly shrill. "You think anyone is going to buy our mangy, day-old, floaters? If you had any balls at all, we'd have six wives and eleven sons working the shop right now like Mohammad Ali three stores down!" Adas sat heavily on his rickety stool, sick of hearing the tirade yet again. "Darling..." "No," she stamped her not-insignificant foot, "I've had it! To think how ashamed my father is of how we've turned out! And such high hopes he had for our future when we were betrothed at the tender age of just two weeks!" He wanted to point out that her father hadn't counted on her being too fond of sweet meats and unable to get another suitor when his own father had gambled away the family fortune. As always, however, he just kept silent. "I'm sick of you lazing around waiting for fortune to fall on our heads! You're going to press your suit, so help me by the mighty grace of Allah!" "Darling," Adas repeated, "Askemi is a Jann-born half my age with mystical powers gifted to her by Allah himself. The great and wise Solomon personally laid out the arrangement for her courtship. Princes are flooding in from all corners of the Empire determined to win the girl at all costs! What makes you think they will allow a struggling fishmonger twice her age get within a league of her? I'd have seven knives in me if she even looked at me sideways! Not that she would. I mean, LOOK at me, woman! What do I have to offer a princess?" "I don't care!" Rassa stamped her foot again. "Do you have any pride as a man? Does that lump between your legs even bother to stir any more or has it completely abandoned you for another that would use it? Perhaps it is so well rested that it would titillate and amuse an inexperienced girl! Perhaps your clumsy oafishness would make her laugh. Perhaps Allah will send an earthquake and kill all your competition. Or maybe the girl has a thing for worthless louts! And even if you are killed, better that you die trying and leave me free to find true happiness in the arms of another than force me to suffer you any longer!" "A harsher husband would cane you, woman!" "A real man would have tamed me long ago," she retorted. "Very well," he stood, glaring darkly over the cutting table, "I leave to set you free of your obligations to me. I fully expect to die tomorrow, my dear, if your soul still has some warmth, perhaps you will remember me upon the anniversary of my death." "Where are you off to now, fool," she snapped back as he threw off his apron, "the courtship doesn't start until morning." "We share nothing but bitterness and spite, wife," he growled, "if I am to die tomorrow I would spend my last hours under the stars making peace with Allah for whatever wrong I did in a past life to deserve this one. Rissa, if we never meet again, I am sorry that I could never be the man you wished for as a girl. It may be uncharitable and may Allah forgive me but I hope your next husband is the complete bastard you always wanted." With that, he stormed out of the shop, vowing on his mother's grave never to return. # Mighty processions of elephants made their way through the giant gates of Del Rachid Palace. Each was laden with gifts swathed in fine silks and surrounded by exquisite dancing girls. Each procession left a different coloured trail of rose petals, marking each as the property of their respective provinces. Princes strutted before the Palace steps, clothed in dashing robes and dripping with jewels, each favoring their own sycophants with choice insults directed at the other contenders. By comparison, Adas picked his way through elephant droppings, his plain cotton robe not even good enough for a Prince to spit upon. Nobody, not even the crowd of gawkers or the guards at the gates even bothered to pay him any attention, probably figuring him for a lowly slave attached to one of the caravans. He felt small, dwarfed by the men of riches and power. He hovered around at the base of the steps, praying to Allah that his end would be swift and merciful. Lord Del Rashid's Vizier sat at the top of the steps asking each of the suitors to step forward and state his name for the list, patiently explaining to each one that their turn at impressing the Princess would be ordered by random ballot drawn by his own hand. "My name is Mohammad Ibn Razool," the first proclaimed in a loud voice, puffing out his chest, "master of the Tantric arts of the South! Only I am able to satisfy the Princess, these others should be dismissed immediately!" Several jeers and insults were followed by drawn blades and challenges to life or death duels. The Vizier stepped in before any deaths could turn the courtship into the greatest diplomatic disaster in history. "Will all you boys SHUT UP! Name only, please, save your boasting for after your turn in the Princess' chambers. In this, I speak with the authority invested in me directly by the Great One, Solomon the Wise. If you have any complaints, you can take them up with him. Until then, you and your men will hand in your scimitars to the Captain of the Guard. If any of you misbehave, I'll move on to daggers. Beyond that, I'll forbid you cutlery for the duration of your visit. All of you will note that the Princess' decision is final; there will be no appeal to my Master. Again, if you have any complaints, take them up with the Great Emperor Solomon the Wise. Next, if you please." "Mohammad Ibn Buckpuck," the next contender announced proudly, "heritor of the eight..." "Yes, yes," the Vizier waved him on, "I'm sure you're very impressive. Next!" Adas calmly counted off the Mohammads that gave their names but lost track when he ran out of fingers and toes. "Next?" The Vizier finally asked. "Blind old fool!" One of the Princes laughed. "That's all of us." "Careful who you call blind," the Vizier looked at the speaker sternly over the rims of his glasses, "I count twenty-three Princes but I also see twenty-four suitors. If the twenty fourth will step forward and give his name we can proceed." Adas almost tripped as he stepped up the first step. "Uh... my name is Adas, noble Vizier. Just Adas... I have no second name." The Princes collectively burst into fits of laughter. Their mirth stopped when the Vizier started to scrawl the name down on one of his scraps of paper. "You can't be serious, senile old fool!" Ibn Buckpuck scoffed. "Anyone can see the man, if that is what it seems, is a pauper unworthy of..." "Any man, Prince or pauper, may seek the Jann-born's hand in marriage," the Vizier replied, quoting from Solomon's proclamation, "or can't you read either, young mendicant?" Turning red, Ibn Buckpuck reached for his dagger, turning his murderous ire onto a target he could actually take it out on without any complaints. Adas closed his eyes and prayed under his breath, hoping that the Prince's wrath would be hot enough to kill him with one blow. "Stop," Ibn Razool laughed, "does the great Mohammad Ibn Buckpuck fear a pauper so much that he will do him the honor of killing the man by his blade? Does he truly fear that a pauper will satisfy the Princess more than he could? What chance does he have if he sees one so lowly as such a threat when he stands against finer men? Or should we start checking our cups for poison as well?" When death didn't come, Adas opened one eye. Ibn Buckpuck was swallowing his rage with great effort. "I fear no man, Prince or otherwise. Come, the Princess awaits me." With that, he turned and led the way into the Palace. Adas allowed the Princes to go first, bowing low to each as they passed. None of them even acknowledged his existence much less his presence. The Vizier, however, gave him a wink before allowing him inside. Servants escorted the flock of suitors into a large shaded courtyard dominated by an enormous fountain. They were allowed to lounge by the water as serving girls in veils brought them sweets. Adas kept to himself away from the fountain and the boastful Princes with quick tempers and quicker blades. None of the serving girls offered him drinks or sweets, making him feel like an outsider despite the Viziers previous warmth. Trumpets sounded announcing the entrance of Mohammad Ibn Del Rachid. The Princes immediately flocked to the aging Lord, showering him with gifts and pleasantries in the futile hope that he could somehow influence his daughter's decision. "Now, now, young men," the Lord protested, "my daughter is a woman of her own mind, as all the Jann-born are, and in fact as all women should be. The only advice I can give any of you, and it is knowledge gained from many years of experience I assure you, is thus: do not expect to tame the Djinn. Love my daughter with all your heart and she will return that love in kind but force will be met with irresistible will. Press your suit too hard, Princes all, and I will not be responsible for the consequences you bring down upon yourselves." The gaggle of Princes immediately professed their undying love for a woman they'd never met. Their lame attempt at such an obvious deception so disgusted the Lord, Adas noted, that he was forced to depart and leave the proceedings to his Vizier. The pauper felt sorry for the old man, a just and wise ruler who had been the glue that held his city together for longer than he had lived. A great hero in his youth, married to a Jann at an early age, his achievements couldn't be listed in anything less than a thousand scrolls. For such a man to be reduced in the eyes of these pompous popinjays was almost too much for Adas' honor to stand. Yet he said nothing and it was with the feeling that he was an unworthy coward that he heard the Vizier call out the name of the first Prince: Mohammad Ibn Buckpuck. Prince Buckpuck strode confidently through the gates into the Harem, the other Princes glaring at his back. If a man could shoot daggers from his eyes, Prince Buckpuck would have been punctured by no less than forty- four blades. Even Ali Baba would have been pressed to orchestrate the feat with only forty thieves. The Vizier burned the paper with Buckpuck's name on it in order that it not be mixed back in with the rest and cause even more strife. After several long minutes, Prince Buckpuck emerged from the darkness of the Harem raging. His first act was to smash a pitcher of wine over a servant's head. "HA! Good luck marrying that shrew off, old man! There isn't a man alive that can satisfy her!" "How do we know?" Razool commented, smelling a rose he had plucked from the garden. "Since no man has yet to try?" Rather than turn his anger on his fellow Prince, Buckpuck laughed. "We'll see which of us is laughing in the end! I'm staying to see how this farce ends and perhaps derive some enjoyment from this futile journey from your humiliation!" "Prince Mohammad Ibn Sinbad!" The Vizier called out, burning the paper even as he called out the name. As the next Prince entered, some of the others began muttering that the burning of their names was an omen. A few laughed off these whispers, remaining proud and confident of their abilities. Adas remained silent along with Ibn Buckpuck, waiting for the farce to unfold. Mohammad Ibn Sinbad, descendant of the great Sinbad of legend, fled the Palace howling in fear. Ibn Buckpuck spared him gallons of mirth followed by a pelting of rotten tomatoes. A chill descended on the suitors and the next approached the gates of the Harem with more caution. Caution availed him not, however, as he exited a broken man, pale and weeping. Occasionally he wailed for a mother dead more than fifteen years who he claimed the Princess had called back from Hell to torment him. Several of the Prince's nerves broke, declining to enter the Harem which now seemed to be the gate to Hell itself. Adas remained along with the heartier Princes, their numbers drastically reduced. Paradoxically, the pauper noticed Ibn Razool salute his courage with a sidelong glance. "Mohammad Ibn Razool!" The Vizier's voice rang out like an announcement from death himself. Adas stood as the handsome Prince collected himself and bowed. "May I wish you luck, my Prince?" Razool smiled. "Where is this land when our paupers are more Princely than we? How sorry the state of things? Adas, you are the only Prince I will acknowledge here. Have courage, I beg of you, come what may." The Prince bowed back to Adas before entering the Harem. Adas noted that the Vizier's gaze followed the handsome boy, almost as if the old man were imploring him not to enter. But he disappeared into the darkness like all the rest. Unlike the rest, however, Mohammad Ibn Razool never returned. When the Vizier's hourglass ran out, he drew the next ballot from his box amid some protests from the other Princes. "See here!" One shouted over the general babble of her peers. "Nobody said this was a test of life or death! Where is Ibn Razool? I demand to know what is going on!" The Vizier gave the noisy one a level glare. "When you court the Djinn, you court fate itself. You were all made aware that you were taking your fate into your own hands entering that doorway, or you should have been by your fathers and their Viziers. Any man who wishes to bow out may do so at any time, no cowards will sit upon the throne of Del Rashid for as long as I live." Ibn Buckpuck laughed raucously. "It seems I escaped with more than my fellows can claim! Dignity, pride and courage are still mine by the grace of Allah! Take heart, men of valor, roll the dice and accept your fate! There is much more entertainment to be had for us survivors at your expense!" Several more Princes fled. Adas remained, figuring that he had nothing left to lose and that death by either Prince's blade or Princess' magic would bring the same oblivion. The remaining Princes were called upon to try their luck one by one, by some miracle Adas' name remained untouched. One by one, the Princes shambled back outside, bitter from their experiences. In the end, only one scrap of paper was left but the Vizier, following protocol to the last, plucked it from his box and read the name aloud. "Adas the Pauper." Sighing, drawing courage from his confidence that death would come swiftly in any case, Adas stood and walked through the gates of the Harem. The inside of the building was cool and dark, the trickle of water constantly soothing the mind. Within the gate, shrouded from view by a gossamer curtain, was yet another door before which stood two large, muscular, shaved eunuchs who barred Adas' journey. "What is your name?" The first one asked. "And what is your gift?" The other completed. "Adas... the Pauper," Adas said, reiterating the Vizier's words. "As for my gift..." He paused. He had no gift for the Princess, nothing of any value whatsoever. Of course, Adas mused, the Princes had no gifts either that they had not plied to Lord Del Rachid. So perhaps they do not mean physical gifts? But what of any value could I give to a Princess? What quality as a husband? Love? No, I know her not. Pride? The Princes have far more than I could ever attain. All I am is a pauper with foolish hopes and dreams... Finally, he hit apon his answer. "All I have to give is my imagination." "Imagination," the first looked to the other. "Is a commodity seldom seen in the Harem and greatly valued by its women." The second eunuch continued. "Pass with the grace of Allah," the first concluded. Bowing in return to the eunuchs, Adas stepped through the doorway which was immediately closed behind him. The click of a lock rang through the chamber he found himself in. It was a room fit for a princess. The stone floor was covered in fine rugs warmed by the rays of the sun overhead. A fountain graced one side of the room, doubling as a bath. At one end, a large circular bed covered in silks and veils dominated the space with a riot of hot reds, pinks and yellows, trimmed in gold. Most strikingly, upon the bed lay a sixteen year old girl. She was on her back, her legs spread and skirts hiked over her hips to expose her womanhood for anyone to see. Bending her neck upward, she glared at Adas with hateful eyes but even so, she was beautiful to behold, a flower in her prime. "Well?" She asked impatiently. "Excuse me, Princess," Adas bowed, "but your posture shocked me." "Oh," she let her head fall back, "well come on, get it over with." Adas chose his next words carefully, sliding onto a cushion that sat atop the rim of the fountain. "You'll have to excuse me, Princess, but I do know enough of women that just jumping on top of you is unlikely to achieve satisfying results." Grunting in frustration, she threw herself up to sit on the edge of the bed, displaying her legs seductively without really meaning to. "Look, just get it over with already! Like I told the last ten men, this whole exercise is pointless. You all want a shot at me, best to get it over with so we can all get on with our day." "Several of those men's lives won't be the same," Adas sighed, "and one at least never returned from this room." "I will not be taken," She snarled, "you will not have my heart by force." "So your father warned but I knew some of those present wouldn't listen." She took a good look at him with her perfect almond eyes. "You're no Prince." "The law states that anyone may try for your hand," Adas shrugged, "I figured that it was a means of suicide with some dignity, dying with courage." "You wish for death?" "No, I just don't fear death the way I used to. My life is pointless and without meaning, I am a man, Princess, with literally nothing to lose. Even were I to walk out those doors victorious, your other suitors would see me hanged for my impertinence. In all honesty I hadn't thought to make it this far, so I find myself at a complete loss as to what to do next." She sniffed. "Yet you refused my body when I offered it to you? Am I ugly to your eyes? The others seemed to find me fair." He shook his head. "Far from it, Princess, you are beautiful. But you are also half my age. If I were to... it would not be appropriate. You deserve a younger man... though, if I were to hazard a guess, that isn't what you are seeking." Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?" He met her gaze steadily. "You have just offered yourself to the twenty most eligible bachelors in the Empire and yet NONE of them have impressed you. I know for a fact that several of them were well versed in matters of pleasure, trained from a very young age to please a woman. They were also all handsome and rich, excellent matches for any Princess. And yet you rebuked each and every one. No, Princess, I don't think that ANY man will ever satisfy you." She stood, face red with rage. "You dare!" "Like I said, Princess," Adas spread his hands in a gesture of supplication, "I have nothing to lose, not even my life. Though by your anger I think I have stumbled across the truth, though I could care less if you are a lover of women. If Allah has given you power, as he must have if you are truly Jann-born, then who am I to second guess his will?" She sat back down, deflated. "It's not like I have any choice in the matter. Allah bids us to have children and entwine our spirits with a human male to prevent tyranny and hardship. As the last of the Jann- born, I must have children to carry on that legacy, as much as it pains me... and yet I cannot entwine my spirit with any man I do not truly love. You may be a man with nothing to lose; I am a girl with nowhere to run." They sat in silence, each brooding on their own situation. Adas didn't like the thoughts that were forming in his head, the solution that ground to an inevitable formation in the forefront of his brain. It was too much of a coincidence, too easy, too unfathomable for the simple minds of the Princes, too elegant to be anything but providence from Allah himself. "Princess," Adas began slowly, afraid of what he was about to suggest, "there may be... a way." She raised one eyebrow in askance. "You need a man and yet you cannot stand the touch of a man. My life is over no matter which way I turn. As far as I am concerned, Adas the Pauper is dead. If you would use your powers to transform me into your lover, I could be both man and woman for you..." "But even if I did," She sighed, "we could have no children." "Using your powers," Adas offered, "I would carry your children. Is there no way for you to impregnate a woman as a male would with your Djinni gifts? I believe the tales of Solomon do mention the restoration of a woman's fertility." Her nose twitched as she concentrated on the idea. "It would work but... even so, even though you say that you have nothing to lose, would you sacrifice so much for me? Everything you are now, everything you were would be gone. I would have to re-make you completely, both male and female aspects, if we were to be compatible. As you say, you must be younger for starters." Adas didn't dismiss her concerns casually. He thought upon what he was losing for a long while. His friends, his family, everything he'd ever known. It all came back to the same conclusion. He had no real friends. He had no family. Rissa hated him with a passion usually reserved for holy days. He wasn't so attached to Adas the Pauper, he might as well have never existed. "Princess," he sighed again, "I am no-one important. I have no-one waiting for my return home. I have no home. I realize now that I have been walking dead for some thirty years of my life. What I have come to is a decision, may Allah be guiding me true, to give myself over to your needs completely so that some good may come of my life. There are a great many fates worse, Princess, than loving you." She smiled and the darkness of the room seemed to lift. Standing, her silks hissing as she walked gracefully toward him, she ran her fingers over his chin to lift his face up so that he could look her in the face. Still smiling, she bent over and kissed his forehead. "Adas the Pauper, you carry richer finery than all my other suitors combined. You are noble where they are not; you know the meaning of self-sacrifice. I am humbled and honored, Adas, and if you are truly willing I would accept your offer. However, I am very sorry that I could not love you fully as you are and if you would allow me I would grant Adas the pauper a boon before he leaves us forever. What would you wish for with all your heart, Adas the Wealthy?" Adas didn't have to consider his wish for long. "I wish that my wife, Rissa, would find the happiness and contentment in this life that I could not give her. It would be my one regret in leaving this life behind, though she may not deserve my kindness she was my wife and mine to look after. In this I failed." The sky seemed to darken for a moment as if the hand of Allah himself had passed over the sun. "It is done," the Djinn intoned, her voice soft with emotion. Before either of them could begin to cry, Adas stood sharply, bringing his hands to rest on her slim shoulders and looking down into her eyes. A momentary pang of doubt stabbed him through the heart. He was old enough to be her father and she was too beautiful for a man such as him. "Please let us do this now Princess," Adas gasped intensely, "before I lose my nerve." "You have to wish it," she informed him, "it is our curse that we cannot grant our own deepest desires, only those of others and only what they ask for. Choose your words carefully, Adas, for I can only twist a wish so far." "I wish to be your perfect lover, Princess Askemi Del Rachid," Adas said, "and to love each other through all eternity." She kissed him on the lips. For a long, timeless, moment Adas didn't know what to do or to expect. It was as if in that instant the world had paused, breathless. Birds in the gardens outside ceased chirping. Water seemed to freeze, becoming something akin to glass. He waited for a heartbeat that never came, though he did not choke with the young woman's soft tongue in his mouth. The first feeling of his change began deep in his stomach. Not an unpleasant sensation, though curious as his organs seemed to groan as if awakening from an ancient slumber, rolling over in their sleep. From that point, the change spread up his spine and down his legs until his entire skeleton hissed, sounding like frying bacon to his own ears. Flesh slurped and pulsed beneath his skin, shifting into new formations. He was keenly aware that he was shrinking as kissing his Princess became much easier when they were of more similar height, though he finished slightly taller than she. He could feel his weight shifting around, trying to find a new position of comfort of its own accord. Most of it seemed to settle into his hips though the majority simply vanished as if it had never been. Most disconcerting was when his manhood inverted of its own accord, sucked back inside his stomach and slithering into new formations. At the same time, pressure built under his nipples, his chest expanding as if two sacks under his skin were filling with tender flesh. Though hard-earned muscle mass wasted away, what became left to him, now her in most ways that counted, was hard and well defined. As her insides settled, the change moved into her skin. Wrinkles smoothed out and blemishes were erased even as his body hair receded into nothingness. The hair on her head rippled as it grew down her back, styling itself into a long braid that finally tickled her slender ankles. Her changes didn't stop at the cosmetic, however. Askemi's power slid into her mind, impregnating her thoughts and memories to allow new concepts to germinate within. In moments she knew her name: Adja. Adja was a Princess and, as such, she had been trained from birth as a member of the nobility. Not only in the arts of diplomacy but also in the arts of pleasure in the Harem. In addition, there were the thousand little things that a woman must know that a man never learns, not because it is a secret but because there is no need for them to know. Most significant, however, was what Adja learned of the woman she loved. Her Princess' favorite foods and colors; how she liked to be held and kissed; the ways she loved to be touched and those lessons usually only learned from a lifetime of intimacy. Adja was all these things when she was finally able to pull away from her love's first kiss. Looking down, she found herself as she knew she would be: tall for a woman, lithe and athletic from years of dancing lessons. Her clothes had changed, plain cotton metamorphosed into fine blue silks and gauze with red trim that matched her complexion perfectly. Her bust was ample and pleasing yet not too large, presented to full effect by her low-cut sleeveless vest. Her midriff was exposed, showing off her pleasantly supple stomach as well as the curve of her waist and hips. Below that, she wore a wrap low over her hips, long legs barely concealed by the transparent cloth. She was slightly older than the other Princess, maybe seventeen or eighteen, but elegant and in the full bloom of womanhood. Looking up into Askemi's eyes, she saw the younger girl breathing heavily as if short of air. One hand strayed up to her heart as Adja poured all the love she felt for her wife out through her eyes. The Princess melted under that gaze, allowing Adja to kiss her again, more passionately this time, full lips meeting and melding together perfectly. Kissing gently, Adja did all the right things, pushed all the right buttons, skillfully moving her love over to the bed without her noticing. They left clothes in their wake strewn across the floor without care. As Adja lowered Askemi onto the bed an urge seized her that she was almost familiar with. A man's first time with a woman, Adja discovered, might be said to be driven by his need to stake his claim, to conquer and mark the girl as his own. As a woman, Adja found the instinct similar yet subtly different. This first time wasn't about claiming Askemi as her own, that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to proclaim their love to the world, to make Askemi cry out so that all would hear and know that their fates were entwined. To this end, she worked her lips down Askemi's chin, following the valley of her neck up into the foothills of her breast before surmounting the peaks of flesh before her. Askemi moaned in encouragement, begging for her love to go faster. Adja, however, was canny, keeping her pace slow just short of being maddening. She knew her love's limits well and was able to manipulate them perfectly with every part of her body. Once her lover's breasts were well served, she moved her lips down into the gully of her taut stomach, feeling and teasing the flesh of her hips and thighs as she continued to descend towards her shrine of womanhood, fancying her tongue on a pilgrimage to the holy land. The manipulation of a certain part of Askemi's spine made her gates pread wide open in preparation for the pilgrim's arrival, moans and gasps becoming more insistent with every caress. When the pilgrim finally completed its journey, it discovered a denuded oasis and immediately dived deep into the sweet waters of life. Askemi, kept on the brink of ecstasy for so long, felt her orgasm building like a tidal wave, filling her body until all she was became a skin filled with earthly delight. When the wave finally broke, it carried her away, screaming at the top of her lungs. Smiling beatifically, Adja rose up from her work with satisfaction as she watched the transcendent expression form on her love's face. In that moment, all was right with the world, all was good. Allah prevailed upon the Earth and everything was just. The moment was short lived. An inarticulate cry of rage broke the slice of perfect peace, shattering all hope for a perfect world with it. "NO!" Prince Buckpuck cried, red from anger at the scene before him. "I CANNOT LOSE TO A WOMAN! THIS IS A HERESY AGAINST ALLAH! ONLY A MAN MAY SATISFY THE DJINN! I AM THAT MAN!" As the furious Prince stalked forward, Adja slid off the bed, placing herself between him and Askemi. She didn't see the dagger until it was too late, the steel blade from Damascus plunging downward into her shoulder, the tip seeking her heart. "NO!" Askemi called helplessly from the bed as her love was stricken, Adja falling limply to the ground before her eyes. A blur shot out from behind one of the curtains as another woman leapt at Buckpuck, clawing at his eyes while shrieking like a banshee. The struggle was short, however, and the pale Harem beauty was thrown into a table with ease, knocked unconscious as the furniture crumbled beneath her. "You're min, Princess," Buckpuck advanced on the naked girl, "only a man may satisfy you fully, I know the scrolls. Maybe now that you're fully prepared for me you will find my credentials more fulfilling." Screaming, Askemi kicked at him as he climbed onto the bed but it was a mistake. He grabbed her ankle and pulled her toward him instead, twisting her over onto her stomach so that she was bent over the edge of the mattress. He pinned her expertly with one hand as the other sought to remove his sash but the distraction was enough for the willful Djinn to press her advantage. Whipping her body around, she bit his arm, blood seeping into her mouth as she sought to gnaw a chunk out of his flesh. The Prince was a seasoned warrior, however, and was able to ignore the pain. Grunting and snarling, beyond articulate speech, he pushed her face away from his arm and drew his hand back, fist balled up ready to slam into her cheek. Another grabbed his wrist, forcing him to turn about and allow Askemi to escape. Buckpuck had to look up into the face of the man before him, at least a head height taller than he. Slender yet wiry, a wall of toned muscle obvious from his bare chest, the man's face was almost woman-like yet certainly masculine, his skin pale and soft. And yet that skin contained the rippling strength of ten men. "My name is Prince Adas Del Rachid," the man introduced himself casually, "and I'll thank you to take your hands off my wife." Reaching out with his other hand, the first till occupied by Buckpuck's wrist, Adas grasped the back of Buckpuck's neck and forcibly introduced the Prince's nose to his knee, the two meeting halfway. The knee proved the more irresistible force, however, and Buckpuck's nose shattered, spraying blood all over the fine Persian rugs. "Ugh," Adas tisked, looking down at the mess he'd made on the floor, "Askemi, dear, I really wish these rugs wouldn't stain. They are too beautiful to sully with such filthy blood." Reality seemed to flicker slightly as Askemi crawled urgently out of the bed to the other girl's side. "Razia! Razia, are you all right?" The girl who had bounced her head off the table groaned. "I am fine. There must be better ways for a woman to defend herself, you'll excuse me Princess but it seems I was unable to defend you." Adas stared at the girl, exquisitely beautiful yet pale and delicate. "Prince Razool? If you made the sacrifice, then why..." Razia probed the knot forming on her head sheepishly. "I was never the man you were, Adas," she sighed, "I was, and still am, a lover of men. As a Prince I would have had to sire many children to continue the line. Now my brothers can fulfill that role without me... the kindest Princess Askemi granted my wish to remain here in her Harem as a woman where I could live how I wished without stigma or prejudice. I had faith that you would come through where I failed, my friend... oh, I do wish this swelling would go down." Adas squeaked. "Uh, you might want to word your wishes more carefully, Razia, particularly while I am male." Askemi giggled. "I think our husband likes your new form, Razia." Buckpuck groaned, finally coming to his senses. Adas knelt before him on the balls of his feet. "You dare call yourself a Prince, Buckpuck? You are nothing but malicious trash unworthy of your title, squandering the gifts Allah has given you. Askemi, what would you wish to do to this man for his crimes against you?" Askemi blinked. "Um... I don't know, really. Nobody's ever asked me what I would wish before. His death would be a waste, I think, of the precious gift of life and there is so much of that sort of waste already. It would be better if he would learn a lesson from this life and come to a new understanding in the next if Allah would grant mercy on his tarnished soul." "I agree," Adas smiled, "I wish Prince Mohammad Del Buckpuck to know what it is like to be poor and helpless, completely dependant upon the kindness of others for the necessities of life." Buckpuck gasped as the effects of the wish made themselves known to him. His fine silks crumbled to dust even as his body shrank. Adas found the transformation fascinating from the outside looking in, though each change echoed in his memories. Prince Buckpuck simply melted away in moments, leaving a scrawny waif of fourteen years in his place. The new girl was rake thin and malnourished with small breasts and slight hips. All she had for garments were dirty rags that seemed to be made of sackcloth. At the sight of her hands, she screamed and wailed, tears streaming down her face. Though she was young there was a promise to her form that she would one day be a beauty... if she survived long enough on the streets and managed to enter into a brothel or found herself a good, charitable, husband. Adas wasn't going to be him, he decided. "Bupai," he commanded, "I wish you to run from here into the streets of the city and never return." Crying out as her body moved without her consent, the waif scampered out the window, the quickest route outside, and disappeared into the gardens. Turning back to his wives, Adas helped them to their feet. "If you wouldn't mind helping me dress, I think we have guests waiting." So it was that Prince Adas Del Rachid exited his Harem with two of the most beautiful women in the world on each arm, his wives. Raising his voice so that all assembled could hear him clearly, he spoke. "Friends all, do not despair. That you were unable to sacrifice what was needed to succeed in this test is not something I believe Allah will look unfavorably upon. Yes, I say sacrifice, though you may look upon be now and wonder what I have lost, I can tell you that while I have gained much I am no longer who I once was. Yes, I do mourn Adas the Pauper's passing, for he is surely as dead to us as Prince Razool and Prince Buckpuck, may Allah have mercy upon them both. I am informed that, as the husband of a Djinn, she is bound to grant me wishes so that we all may one day live in peace. My first wish, then, is that each of us here return to their homes in peace and comfort. And may each of you look deep into your souls and count the blessings of Allah within you and perhaps ask yourself how you may improve the world with every breath you take. May the conclusions you come to align with the will of Allah, for as I hope you will come to realize, it is not his will that intolerance and hate rule our lives and the lives of our children to come." Glancing over Razia's dark hair, Adas noticed the old Vizir favor him with a fatherly smile and a slow nod of approval. And, for the first time in Adas' long life; all was right in his world. Today's historians barely record the reign of Prince Adas Del Rachid. They were peaceful times ruled by wisdom. Crops were plentiful, the people were content and the law was just. It was a golden era of peace and, as such, unexciting to those who were not involved in forging it. Adas was no conqueror, he united no lands under his rule with mighty war machines, his wishes were made unselfishly for the good of all. As Princess Adja, she bore her Genie wife many daughters whom continue to serve the will of the divine in whatever name it chooses to be known. Princess Razia bore many sons to Adas so that his line would continue on for many centuries and beyond into the present day across all nations of the world. Of course there are other stories which survive of their reign and of their descendant's exploits, tales of grand adventure with the peace of the world threatened at every turn. Unfortunately, these tales await another time and place to reveal themselves, as all things must by the grace of Allah. # Ah, but that is not the end of this story, oh no. For there are two whose fates were decided by these events more surely than that of Adas, Razia and Askemi on the very night in which they consummated their marriage. Rissa awoke to the sound of weeping from the alley behind her house. Her bed was empty of its usual warmth, the building empty and cold. After the announcement in the town square that Adas had won the hand of the Princess Askemi, she had loudly proclaimed her pride in front of the whole town. They had laughed. Try as she might to convince everyone otherwise, they told her that she was an old spinster, never married and without prospects. Sorting through her deeds and papers, she found nothing where it was supposed to be. She was living in her father's house on a miniscule stipend generously provided for her by her eldest brother. Lying in the dark, she had cried herself to sleep, only just coming to realize the stability that Adas had given her. She missed his gentle presence, his sacrificing nature, his patient wisdom, his understanding. Suddenly, her life was empty and she only had herself to blame. It took her a while to realize that the weeping wasn't coming from her. Curious and perhaps sensing a kindred soul in misery, she wrapped a nightgown around bulbous form and descended the stairs onto what was once the shop floor. Opening the back door a crack, she peeked into the alley, the full moon lighting the scene from above. A young waif was curled up in one corner, filthy from wallowing in mud and dirt, her hands wrapped around her slender legs. She looked the picture of misery, tears flowing freely. Rissa's heart broke at the sight. Opening the door fully, she beckoned to the girl. "Dear? Come in here, please. I have fire and food enough for us both, if you'd like." The waif seemed suspicious at first but eventually allowed herself to be coaxed inside by the smell of stew over the fire and the offer of bread. Rissa had to laugh as the girl ate like a demon. "Slow down, dear," she laughed, "you don't want to end up like me." The girl stopped, looking down into her food. "Why feed me? I'm nothing to you. You'd have to be a Saint to take me in now, not knowing if I'd slit your throat and steal everything you own by morning." Rissa blinked, looking away from the girl with a sigh. "I'm not a Saint. I threw away everything good in my life today without knowing it. You can take whatever you want, even my life, I don't care any more. I don't have anything to lose. What's your name?" "B-Bupai," the girl stuttered, almost as if she were unsure. "How did you come to be on the street, Bupai?" The girl paused. She looked down into her food for a long time, leaving it untouched. "I guess I threw away everything I had without knowing it too." Rissa smiled. "So we do share something in common." She reached out to pat the girl's head but jumped backwards as a spark shot between them. Gasping, Rissa stared at her hand as it began to shift and pulse as if with a life of its own. "By Allah!" Rissa gasped. "No! I'm sorry!" Bupai gasped, scrambling away from the other girl. "I didn't do anything, please..." Rissa watched as her hand grew thicker, more muscular. The change spread down her arm and into her torso, fatty flesh hardening into muscle. Her breasts receded, her chest flattening, as her hips shrank and her waist expanded. She grew taller even as something slithered out of her nether regions, long, slick and hard. Finally, she shivered as the changes completed themselves and Rija the fisherman stood blinking before Bupai. They stared at each other for a long time before Rija stepped forward, now clothed in a plain cotton robe. "Don't hurt me," Bupai begged, feeling small and vulnerable before the man's awesome height and strength. Rija stopped. "Bupai... what has happened to you in your short life that you would fear a stranger so?" "I... I don't know," Bupai started crying again, "I'm j-just so scared..." "Oh, honey," Rija, reached out to pull the little girl into his strong, protective, arms, "I know the world is cruel, but it would be a crime not to wipe the tears from your eyes. They are beautiful." Bupai winced. "I'm not beautiful." "You are if you try," Rija comforted the girl, "stay with me a while, please Bupai. Maybe we can teach