Transformed! Nine Magically Erotic Stories Read online

  Transformed! Nine Magically Erotic Stories

  Nadia Nightside

  Published by Midnight Publishing, 2015.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  TRANSFORMED! NINE MAGICALLY EROTIC STORIES

  First edition. April 23, 2015.

  Copyright © 2015 Nadia Nightside.

  Written by Nadia Nightside.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Transformed! Nine Magically Erotic Stories

  Recent Releases

  Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older. | Bimbo Casino: No Restrictions

  Bimbo Casino: No Way To Resist

  Bimbo Casino: No Protection

  Bound to Obey

  Needing Him In Charge

  Possessed

  The Shifter's Mate

  Innocent Before The Shifter

  House Of The Shifter

  What's next?

  Further Reading: Paid & Laid: A Taboo Heir

  About the Author

  Subscribe to the Nadia Nightside New Release Newsletter for a private link to THREE completely free stories available ONLY for subscribers! Not only that, but you'll also receive exclusive access to regular special offers and discounts!

  Recent Releases

  Risky Threesomes – 2 Women, 1 Man, 0 Rules

  The beautiful, pregnant Anne is dead-set on keeping her alpha hunk husband happy in her home...even if it means she has to seduce her best friend Tatiana into a threesome! But Tatiana doesn't want a fling...she wants to be owned, permanently!

  Maid Made Bare 6: Scoring With The Football Team

  A deadly serious businesswoman is transformed into a sex-loving bimbo and served up to the very football team that she owns!

  Paid & Laid – The Interview

  Voluptuous beauty Shannon earns a new job by seducing, sucking, and screwing everyone in an office!

  In Her Bag

  A business-minded young woman arrives at her hotel with the wrong bag of clothes. Soon, she finds out that the clothes are very special, and transform her into a cock-loving, giggling bimbo babe.

  * * * * *

  Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older.

  * * * * *

  Bimbo Casino: No Restrictions

  Their plane touched down in the early morning, and both Jonathan and Rosie walked through the airport with an aura—not of fun or relaxation, as one might expect of a young couple with a free trip to Las Vegas—but rather of stolid responsibility.

  They were going to make their marriage work, by God.

  Jonathan was certain of it. His wife, Rosie, was too. They had exchanged very serious texts, emails, and even in-person conversations about how this vacation was the key to their marriage, this was going to be what saved their couple-hood from annihilation. This fantastic, fun trip to Las Vegas that was going to be a wonderful time no matter what.

  They were self-aware enough to know how ridiculously stubborn they were being about it. They were also stubborn enough not to change their viewpoint.

  Jonathan—twenty-seven—dressed in a plain blue t-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting jeans; his travel clothes. His once-athletic frame held a front-heavy paunch that somewhat disguised his skinny arms and legs. Rosie—just twenty-five—with much the same philosophy of travel, had put on a pair of breezy shorts and a loose-fitting blouse that belied her slender frame. Her dark hair coiled about her neck and shoulders in a loose ponytail. Their hands were joined together as they stepped out of the airplane, making their way down to the baggage claim, like two political prisoners on their way to sentencing.

  This was a serious business, their free vacation. Very serious indeed.

  Most of their lives were serious business. Serious business was, in fact, the only manner in which they knew how to approach any aspect of their lives.

  Jonathan worked at an investment firm downtown back in their Sun Belt State city, and Rosie worked three buildings down in a struggling newspaper office. They were both the junior members of their respective employers, and both of them had picked up a considerable amount of debt from their educations which weighed heavy over their head like a dark cloud, popping up at the beginning of every month right after pay day, when they put down the loan payments to try and stave off the inevitable ascent of their interest charges.

  Rosie was overworked, underpaid, and well-beyond stressed out. Jonathan felt much the same way. As young professionals, both of them felt they were constantly trying to impress unimpressable people, who themselves held unwieldy and tenuous positions in greedy, spiteful companies. Everyone they knew was on edge, all the time, and the people at the tip-top blamed the people below them for any failure, and so everyone below those tip-toppers placed their ire on everyone below themselves, and so eventually all this blame and ire trickled down to the very bottom of the ladder—the interns-newly-made-full-salaried, which in this case were Rosie and Jonathan.

  It was a mess, but what could they do? They had to make money somehow.

  It was a mess, endlessly so, and they were stuck in it.

  The night they won the contest—they had been notified through a phone call, followed up immediately by an email, and then followed up again with a Skype conversation with a beautiful young brunette whose name was Hazel or Chestnut or something like that—there was no celebration as one might expect. Instead, the two of them sat at their small kitchen table, glowering at the computer print-out of the plane tickets.

  In their position, taking off even a day for a legitimate illness felt like a sin. How would they get ahead if they weren’t at work?

  After several sad minutes, Jonathan took a breath. “I think we should go.”

  “Really?” Surprise colored Rosie's face. “It’s just...”

  “I know,” he said, sliding his hands over hers. Their palms soft and light. “Everything we’ve worked for, everything that we’ve tried to gain...we can’t take off for a second, can we?”

  Rosie shrugged, nodding. “Right. It’s a bummer.”

  He grabbed her by the shoulder. “But we can, love. That’s what I’m saying. They make us think they we can’t, but we really, really can.” He stood up and grabbed an apple out of their small fruit bowl. “It’s this damn false meritocracy. We kill ourselves to get the jobs that are there, and when we don’t get them, they tell us we’re not good enough. If we stop to look after ourselves for half a second, or wonder if we’re doing the right thing, they tell us that we’re not trying hard enough.”

  “It’s lunacy,” said Rosie softly. “Pure lunacy.”

  Her eyes lit up a bit. She had told him more than once how she admired the way he talked about life, about most everything. Listening to Jonathan was like a more soulful version of talk radio, she said. It was one of the reasons she had married him, a little over two years before.

  The reality was that they both knew that the prize trip—all expenses paid for a week in Las Vegas as the Shining Spiral Casino—was a godsend. Both of them were exhausted from their jobs.

  Jonathan finished chopping up the apple and laid out a half for Rosie. She munched thoughtfully for several seconds before nodding herself.

  “You’re right,” she said. “We should go.”

  And so they did.

  Now, as they walked out of the airport with their baggage in tow, they both took several seconds to adjust to the sudden wave of desert heat.

  “Wow,” said Rosie, fluttering the collar of her shirt.

  Jonathan admired the way
her fluttering made her shirt cling to her slim form, her perky breasts. A bead of sweat dripped down from her neck and toward her chest. He followed it for a moment, smiling slyly when she caught him.

  “Wow is right,” he said.

  She giggled and punched him on his arm.

  Good, that was good. Already they were having fun. Jonathan noted the fun, cataloged it deep into his files of good times had. Hopefully there would be more to come.

  They had been told that someone would swing by to pick them up. Soon, a black town car stopped in front of them. A gorgeous young short-haired blond chauffeur came out greeted them.

  “Jeffersons, yes?”

  Her voice was high and bubbly. The smell of peppermint, strong and tingly, poured off of her in waves. Jonathan struggled not to stare openly at her impeccably tanned breasts, but was able only to stare instead at her shining, tanned thighs.

  Everything about this chauffeur was simply more impressive than Rosie. It was almost painful to look back at his wife—who before had seemed so chic and relaxed in her travel clothes, and now in the face of this gorgeous chauffeur seemed so very drab.

  In the car, Rosie, somehow, didn't comment on his probably-obvious disappointment as he looked at his wife. That was good. Another good thing. Catalog, catalog.

  The ride was quick, but long. The bubbly chauffeur didn't seem to mind flagrantly disobeying the speed limits. Probably she thought she could flirt her way out of a ticket—and probably she was right.

  “We're just so excited to have you at the casino,” she enthused from the front. “We haven't had very many guests at all so far. You'll be one of the only couples there.”

  “Really?” Worry tinged Rosie's voice. “Why is that?”

  “Oh, we don't have our official grand opening for another week or so. Boss wanted a test run on a few more guests, just to make sure we all were as wonderful and obedient as possible!”

  Rosie raised an alarmed eyebrow, but Jonathan hardly saw it. If he positioned himself correctly, he could stare directly down the chauffeur's cleavage through the rear view mirror. The chauffeur's smile seemed to indicate that she saw him doing it—and enjoyed it immensely.

  He felt wrong doing this, of course—it was such a big shift from his normally business-like self—but maybe that was part of the fun.

  Much to Jonathan’s surprise, they passed right by the main strip with all the big, recognizable casinos and ventured far out into the desert. The Shining Spiral Casino was the only thing, it seemed like, in miles.

  It was quite the sight. An enormous, glittering, rotating, silver-and-black spiral stood over the dome of the casino, appearing suspended between the twin towers of the hotel. Jonathan caught himself staring up at the spiral as they approached on the long road—and saw Rosie doing the same.

  It was strangely contenting, looking at that spiral. His cares seemed to melt away from him, bit by bit.

  So what if he looked at the chauffeur’s tits? She was hot. Let him look. He was on vacation, by god.

  As they drove up to the hotel, a gaggle of big-breasted women in tight, tiny spandex outfits awaited them at the entrance, standing obediently behind a tall, thin man with slicked-back hair. He wore a blue suit, his arms hanging down from his shoulders like spindly tree branches. As the young couple stepped out of the town car, the man placed his fingertips together and drew them up to his face, highlighting a charming smile.

  “Ladies, welcome the Jeffersons!”

  All the girls smiled and intoned at once,“Welcome, Mister and Misses Jefferson.”

  For Jonathan, seeing the crowd of women like looking into an endless sea of fleshy valleys. Everywhere he looked was another bountiful pair of breasts, each slender-waisted and top-heavy beauty more gorgeous than the last. Next to him, Rosie stiffened up and wrapped and re-wrapped his hand.

  He tried once again, valiantly, to be a gentleman, but it was rather hard.

  Soon, he was rather hard, and carefully arranging his bag to hide his erection with his luggage. All the lovely girls caught him looking. None of their looks were discouraging—in fact, they seemed to be openly encouraging him to look more and more, dragging their fingertips along their cleavage or toying with locks of hair that just so happened to land squarely between their sumptuous tits. Several of them winked knowingly.

  The tall suited man held out a hand. “I am Mister Craft. Wallace Craft. This is my establishment.”

  Jonathan took his outstretched hand, shaking it. “Thank you so much, then! We’re really looking forward to staying here.”

  Rosie held out a hand, but Craft must not have seen it, as he turned and began walking into the shiny silver doors of the hotel lobby. She frowned furiously—in the workplace, Jonathan knew, she had suffered plenty of gender-based discrimination.

  But amazingly, she put up with it. Perhaps she was just getting in the vacation mode already.

  “This is the lobby,” said Craft as he led them inside, waving his hands about. “Any information you need about the hotel, my girls and boys will be happy to answer. If you feel like playing a few games—and I hope you do, with the three thousand dollar credit we’re extending to you—then it’s right through that door.” He pointed to a black double-door, bright neon lights flashing through its small windows. “In the meantime, Delilah here can show you to your room.”

  He snapped, and very quickly, a tiny, incredibly busty young woman arrived. Despite her small size, she was thoroughly leggy, and wore a tiny spiral-striped skirt and sparkly platform heels to highlight this particularly feature. Her long chestnut hair's volume only highlighted how tiny she was.

  Throughout the lobby several beautiful women and a number of large men attended to their duties. Jonathan noticed his wife noticing the men—tall, ruggedly muscled, with beardy stubble and smoldering eyes. Each of them seemed to be carrying something heavy by themselves—a table, a pole, a dolly loaded down with boxes. The lobby was ornate and large, with extensive flowery sculpting on the tall pillars.

  No, not flowery, thought Jonathan. Spirally. Was that even a word? Anyway, lots of spirals floating up the pillars, along the walls.

  He didn't focus on it. Delilah's rear was much more engaging than the décor.

  Rosie and Jonathan followed Delilah down to the elevator—her walk was as animated as every girl in the lobby—sultry and purposeful. Jonathan admired her ass openly. There was...something in the air. Some scent coming from her—that same hot peppermint smell that the chauffeur displayed. It freshened up his thoughts.

  “Peppermint?” she offered, turning around in front of the silver elevator doors.

  Suddenly the mints were just in her hands—her outfit had no pockets, so either she had been holding on to them, or they had been stuffed down the slick, luscious space of her cleavage.

  Both of them took one. It melted immediately in Jonathan’s mouth.

  “We’re so happy you’re here,” she said, gushing just like the chauffeur had as she guided them into the elevator. She pressed the button for their floor with a long, painted nail. “There’s so few guests here, as you may have noticed. We’re really just trying to build up the place’s reputation, get reviews and all of that. We really hope you love it here like we do!”

  Both of them made little muttering noises—if Rosie was like Jonathan, then she had something friendly to say, but her voice stayed after taking in a long, deep peppermint breath. For Jonathan, the mint flooded his system with slow, cool energy, and focused his gaze directly on Delilah's amazingly built derriere.

  The elevator dinged and the doors opened up. “You’re staying right above the employee’s quarters, for now.”

  Jonathan's surprise fought through the effects of the peppermint. “You live here?”

  “Oh my gosh, yes!” Delilah grabbed his hand enthusiastically. “It’s wonderful here!”

  Their room, down at the end of the hall, was an enormous suite. Everything was layered in silver and black, and small little spirals
rotated out from the handles of the doors and faucets. There were even spiral-themed paintings.

  Delilah followed them in, calling out names of rooms—bathroom, living room, bedroom, kitchen. Rosie picked up the remote for the television, perhaps thinking to put it on the night stand. Instead, the second she picked up the remote, a wave of spirals appeared on the television screen. Frowning, she made to change the channel, but then she stopped mid-motion, her eyes glazing over a bit.

  Jonathan almost said something, but Delilah grabbed his hand and pulled him out toward the door.

  “God, it's such a shame you're married,” she purred, clearly not caring that Rosie was no more than fifteen feet away. “Please let me know if you need anything.” Her hand trailed along Jonathan’s chest and then his arm. “Anything at all. If you want to find me later, I'll be at the three-card poker table.”

  “Okay,” said Jonathan, staring entirely at her hot, perfectly positioned globes straining in her tiny uniform. His head felt sooo foggy. “Sure.”

  The door shut behind her. Jonathan’s hard-on was almost painful, stretching out against his pants. He was going to have to masturbate or something, take care of it. There was a vacation here he had to take care of, after all.

  Right—vacation!

  A vacation where he played a lot of three-card poker.

  Turning around, he saw Rosie in her underwear, her eyes still a little glossy. Looking down, he saw her thighs glistening with hot, wet arousal, the front of her panties spotted. Behind her, the television screen pulsed with strange, hot, dancing spirals. He saw Rosie inside of the spirals, and slowly felt himself descend into her grasp.

  “Come on.” She grabbed his hard-on through his pants. “Let’s fuck. Now. Please?”

  He was surprised. Usually it took him a long time to warm her up. And now, here, just from being in this wonderful place, she was ready to go.

  Of course, he was ready to go too, thanks to Delilah.