Transformed! Nine Magically Erotic Stories Read online

  Within short order, they were both naked in the bedroom, humping madly. Their lovemaking was short and not-that-sweet.

  He closed his eyes, thinking of the hot, peppermint-scented cleavage of the girl who helped them up. He wanted her so bad. He wanted her. He couldn't stop imagining the curve of her body, the sliding motions of her legs beneath her tiny skirt.

  He came hard in his wife's pussy, dreaming of this other girl, almost-just-whispering her name: Delilah, Delilah, Delilah.

  * * * * *

  Waking up from their post-coital nap, Rosie stretched and slipped on a swimsuit and a loose blue dress. That was the best sex they had given each other in a long time. She was already quite the fan of this vacation—Jonathan's wandering eyes or no. When he was inside of her, she knew he was thinking about her—and certainly she must have turned him on. It seemed like some other force had been driving all his big, manly thrusts with his godly husband cock.

  Huh? Godly...husband...cock?

  Her mind still felt a little foggy from whatever had been in that peppermint. Dimly, she recalled standing in front of the television and feeling suddenly horny...but she didn't remember turning it off, and it wasn't on now. She must have dreamed that in her after-sex nap.

  It bothered her dimly that the peppermint had been some sort of drug—obviously it had been, with the reactions it produced. But at the same time, something deep and twisted just kept repeating about how it was all a good time. It was such a good time, being in this casino. So much fun.

  Have some fun, Rosie.

  She slipped down next to Jonathan's prone form and delivered a series of kisses on his forehead.

  “I’m going to have a dip at the pool, dear.”

  He rolled over sleepily. “That’s great,” said Jonathan. “I think I’m going to just rest here for a bit and grab a coffee, maybe look around at the games later on.”

  “Please,” she rolled her eyes just slightly. “Don’t you start calling them games, too. It’s gambling, plain and simple. We could lose money.”

  He sat up casually, hands behind his back. “Hey, they gave us three grand to blow. That’ll take me at least a month to work through with our budget. I think I’ll be fine.”

  Rosie laughed and nodded. Jonathan was so very responsible with their money. It was one of the things she loved about him—his responsibility.

  In the hallway, it struck Rosie how few guests there were. She didn't see anyone who didn't look like an employee, and while that lack was eerie, there was no lack of worker-bees humming around and attending to the interior.

  Instead of the elevator, Rosie took the stairs—an old habit furnaced by her love of fitness—and noticed through open doors that each floor had at least one pair of incredibly proportioned maids in those ridiculously revealing uniforms, happily singing and humming as they folded towels and put away laundry. As far as Rosie could tell, though, there really were no guests besides her and her husband.

  But, no, of course there had to be. Even if the hotel was still doing test runs, she and Jonathan couldn't be the only guests there. There had to be someone. Somewhere. The casino was just a large place, that was all.

  It was easy getting around the casino, though it took a strangely long time. She left the room at close to two in the afternoon, and by the time she made it to the pool, it was three forty-five. She kept stopping in the middle of hallways, closely examining the spinning spirals next to the signs. They were just...difficult to parse, that was all. There was so much to learn.

  She loved learning, though. She was so lucky the casino could teach her.

  She loved the casino already. She had learned that right away.

  Outside, the pool seemed empty at first—until Rosie noticed that was only because no one was in the pool. No one swimming, no one playing, no games of Marco Polo or Chicken Fight. Instead, everyone was laying out by the pool. All women. All busty, well-proportioned women with long waves of beautiful hair, holding small cocktails.

  Employees, perhaps?

  Rosie took a moment to set her towel and romance novel down at one of the pool chairs in the shade. Most of the time, her pale skin burnt rather easily.

  “Can I get you a drink, ma’am?”

  Talking to Rosie was a tall drink of a man—a young rippling stud with sparkling white teeth and mammoth pectoral muscles. He had a name tag that read, “Philip.”

  “A water would be lovely, actually.”

  “All right,” the waiter clapped his hands. “Bottles of water are ten dollars.”

  Rosie was aghast. “Ten dollars?”

  He smiled, shrugging sheepishly. The maneuver was startlingly handsome, just like all of him. “I know, right? Blame my boss. He’s trying to push our new drink, the Spiral Twist. Those are free from now until this evening.”

  “Free?” Rosie's interest was piqued. “Well, what’s in it?”

  He shrugged, his massive shoulders bulging together. “A little of this, a little of that.”

  “I meant—you know. Does it have alcohol in it?”

  “Oh, yes ma’am. It’s very popular. It'll make you feel fantastic.” He swept out a hand to the other ladies sitting in their pool chairs, each drinking the black and white drink liqueur

  “Oh, no thank you, then. It’s the middle of the day.”

  “As you wish, ma’am. But, it is free, and I haven’t had a complaint yet.”

  She made a face, trying to shuffle away from the sales pitch.

  “I tell you what,” he said, stepping close to her. His size dwarfed her entirely. “I really am supposed to try to get everyone to try one. If you’ll take just one, and you hate it? I’ll get you a bottle of water on the sly. How’s that?”

  His masculine, earthy smell only increased as he came closer. It was a heady scent, one that had Rosie almost swooning. Smiling, she nodded.

  “Sure,” she said. “That sounds fair.”

  “Thanks, babe.”

  He patted her on the ass and left to grab the drink. Rosie didn't even have time to protest that it was completely inappropriate for him to touch her like that—and when he came back, she was too busy wrestling with her amazed tongue—which had a sudden and definite longing to wrap itself around any part of his rippling torso that she could find—to form any kind of coherent response outside of a meek and slightly-curtsying “thank you.”

  That was unlike her. Normally she was quick to judge sexist behavior—and quick to call it out.

  Oh well. She was vacationing. This waiter, Philip, worked for the casino. He couldn't be all bad.

  She loved the casino.

  As soon as he left, leaving the drink in Rosie’s hands, two young girls—who looked about Rosie’s age, sat down in the row of chairs just behind her. She noticed them sitting, and noticed how incredibly attractive they both were, with their waspish figures and thick heads of glossy, shiny hair. Self-consciously, Rosie sat up straight.

  What if the waiter came back? She would have to look good somehow.

  That was an odd thought for her to have—an odd thing for her to worry about.

  Oh well. She took a little sip of her drink. It was like a malt—thick and tasting something like peppermint chocolate. There was some sort of milk inside, thick and creamy and warming her throat. The alcohol immediately had an effect on her, making her head feel slightly foggy and her whole body comfortably warm.

  The two girls behind her began to have the oddest conversation. Their voices were melodic, happy, and relaxing. Overhead, the spiral between the towers of the hotel continued to spin. Rosie couldn’t help but sip at her drink—so thick and delicious—and follow along with the conversation for a while.

  “I really, really hope I’m a good wife for my man,” said the first woman.

  The other voice was reassuring. “Of course you’re a good wife.”

  “I just know I have so many things to do for him.”

  “You’ll do all those things for your man,” the second voice reassured. �
��You want to do anything for your man.”

  Anything for her man. Rosie nodded slowly, looking up at the spiral overhead. Yes. Of course she would.

  “He’s a good, strong man. And I want to be his hot, fertile wife.”

  “You’ll be such a hot, fertile wife for your strong man.”

  Hot wife for her strong man. Oh yeah. She sounded hot. They both did.

  This was a rather odd conversation indeed. It sounded like the two girls were reading off some kind of script—but they were so enthused, so happy about what they were saying, that Rosie had a hard time finding it disingenuous.

  Where did Rosie's dress go? She was only wearing her bikini now for some reason. Her hands were sliding at the straps, which suddenly felt too constraining. She looked up at the spiral overhead, her thoughts slipping away.

  “There's no reason to ever be worried about anything now that I'm married,” said the first girl.

  “You're right. No reason at all. My man and the casino take care of everything.”

  Rosie nodded slowly, sip sip sip. No reason to be worried about anything.

  The first girl sounded a bit concerned. “I hope that he finds me attractive. That's mostly all I care about.”

  “Being attractive is the most important thing for a wife to do, outside of obeying.”

  Rosie's fun-tasting super-good drink was empty, strangely. How had that happened? She didn't care. Her head floated happily. All she had to worry about was looking attractive.

  “I have to obey all the time.”

  “An obedient wife is an attractive wife.”

  “My man is so strong. I have to be hot for him. Otherwise he'll never get me pregnant.”

  “You'll be so hot for your strong man. You're a hot babe. You know how to dress like a hot babe for your man and he'll make you more pregnant than you can believe.”

  Obedient, attractive, duty, hot, pregnant, strong, man.

  These words bounced off Rosie’s mind like jello-filled super balls, floating everywhere at once.

  Dumbly, Rosie looked down at her drink. It was full again. When had that happened? Did Philip come by? Had he said if she looked hot or not?

  The drink was so good that she immediately started drinking more, the cool breeze of the day fluttering against her body.

  Looking down at her chest, she saw that her breasts were rippling somehow—growing, in fact. Right before her eyes, her bust was increasing with happy, jiggly bounces. They felt full of...milk?

  That was...that was really cool. That would let her be a better wife for her man. That was so wonderful. Every thought she had landed serenely in her head. There was no panic, no urgency. Everything was wonderful. The casino was wonderful.

  She swallowed the rest of her drink, watching her breasts grow even more as she did, her waist becoming narrower, her pale skin becoming more tan in the shade. Wasn't that something?

  She sat up to set her empty drink down—but then Philip was there, grabbing it and replacing it with one smooth motion. That was so good of him. So strong.

  She needed to learn how to be a good hot wife for a strong male. Philip could be practice. He was so big and tall and strong.

  The women behind her continued to speak in their hot, droning tones. Overhead, the spiral turned and turned, so wonderful. She couldn’t place what exactly it was about the speech of the two girls that was so very interesting. But oh good lord, it really was!

  Rosie noticed, squirming her legs in happy little pulses, that her pussy was soaking wet. Her tits continued to grow slowly, and she noticed that her dark hair had started to become longer and longer. Glossier. Shinier.

  “I need to learn how to suck cock all day long for my man.”

  “Sucking cock is so important.”

  Rosie felt empty inside. When was the last time she had even sucked a cock?

  “I need to learn how to suck my man off so that he knows I’ll do it any time he wants.”

  Mmph. Unable to stop herself, Rosie's fingers had slipped under the thin fabric of her bikini.

  “You should suck your man off whenever he wants. It’s your duty.”

  Oh god yes, suck him off. It's her duty.

  “I do love having all these duties as a wife.”

  So many duties. They were all so, so good. Rosie’s fingers were buried deep in her cunt, not caring who saw. Overhead, the spiral twisted and turned, filling her mind. Her engorged tits were incredibly sensitive—empty of a drink, her hand had wandered to her strawberry-sized nipples.

  “Have to be a good wife,” she moaned. “Have to do my duties. Have to be a good wife.”

  Their voices were close now. If she turned even just slightly, she would see their lips churning out hot, happy, hypnotized words into her ear, to make her just as hypnotized as they were.

  “It’s so fucking fun to be a hypno slave for my hubby.”

  “It’s so fun,” Rosie droned in response, fingering blankly.

  “I love this casino. I’ll do anything for it.”

  “Anything for the casino!” Rosie moaned.

  As she came, someone pushed a glass of Spiral Twist to her lips, letting the delicious liqueur slide down her throat. Hot, tempered bliss danced through every muscle as she gurgled down the yummy substance. Her hands went limp, sliding away from her big tits and her tight young wife pussy, but it was perfectly all right. The nice girls behind her replaced her hand with theirs almost immediately.

  And then, they continued to talk.

  * * * * *

  The casino floors were, in a word, overwhelming.

  Jonathan walked from game to game, searching for Delilah, a thousand dollars in house money chips in his hands. Every game was fully-staffed, and it was hard to spot another guest in the sea of bright lights and flashing machines. The dozens of card-games each had a smiling, beautiful dealer with a low-cut top threatening to spill over with incredible, jiggly titflesh at a moment's notice.

  For every game, there were at least three beautiful babe employees there, happily waiting. All eyes on Jonathan—the only guest in the casino as far as he could tell.

  It seemed like, if he actually took the time to focus, there were themes for the games. Or rather, for the girls attending the games. All the poker games had variations of school-girls: cheerleaders, pig-tailed dolls with knee socks, volley-ball players, hot preppy girls with tiny sweaters and tennis skirts.

  All the roulette tables had sexy business-type women, dressed in tight, sexy pinstripe suits with micro-length skirts and teensy tiny blouses. The craps tables had peasant girls wearing tight corsets or open blouses, sexy flowery skirts that sometimes were too short or sometimes had hot stockings attached to them. So on and so on, theme after theme filled with beautifully busty smiling babes.

  And all the while, this odd techno beat kept thrumming out the walls. And not just the walls, but the slot machines, from panels in the floor, from small speakers attached to each gorgeously-endowed server...from all angles, at all times, he was bombarded with rhythmic sound.

  At first, it was overwhelming. It took away his ability to concentrate. Every time he considered stepping out, or maybe going back to his room and waiting for Rosie, the sound broke the thought apart.

  It wasn’t so bad, he decided after a while. In fact, it was...sort of nice. And if he didn’t like it, he could just play.

  Ignore the rest of life. Have a turn at the tables. That’s why he was here, wasn’t it?

  The music thrummed along with his new thoughts, guiding them, focusing them. He tugged at his loose shirt collar, feeling a bit warm. His cock grew to a comfortable half-mast as Jonathan enjoyed all the clear stares at his package.

  Head-a-swivel, he finally spotted the beautiful Delilah at the three-card poker table where she had promised she would be. His heart thumped as her face lit up, calling him over and patting the empty seat right next to her.

  God, she was gorgeous. Her hair arranged in an effortless long pile, practically cooing again
st her back. He wanted to rub his face in that thick mess of hair and breathe her scent in deep before plunging himself in her cunt.

  Or...o-or something.

  Maybe. He loved Rosie, though.

  Of course he did.

  He loved his wife.

  Delilah smiled at him even more dazzingly than before as his steps faltered a bit. He forgot about his wife long enough for Delilah to slide a drink in his hands and guide him to her table.

  “Here,” she said. “On the house.”

  The drink was black and white, arranged in stripes, like some kind of Neapolitan liqueur. The taste was sugary and sweet.

  “What is this?”

  “Oh that? It's the special.” She giggled. “It's very special. I made it myself.”

  The second he sat down, he heard a chorus of disappointed moans from the nearby games—and saw all the girls and dealers at them pouting that he hadn’t chosen them. They all took big, elaborate sighs, their breasts swelling, and stared at him with open longing in their beautifully big eyes. He was so important to them—to all of them.

  Important, yeah, that was the word. He felt important. Critical. Everyone's attention was on him.

  Delilah wrapped her arm around his possessively, haughtily winking at the other girls, and introduced him to the others at the table.

  Besides Delilah, there was another gorgeously stacked brunette who could have been her sister—the name tag read Karen—and the dealer, a sumptuously tall redhead with a killer smile, named Tasha. Karen sat on Jonathan's left, and Delilah his right.

  Tasha shuffled the cards clumsily and only dealt to Jonathan.

  “Oh,” he said. “You ladies aren’t playing?”

  Karen and Delilah giggled. Jonathan turned from one heavy pair of jiggling breasts to the other, feeling rather in love.

  “Don’t be silly,” Delilah said happily. “Games are for men. A girl’s head just isn’t built for this like yours is.”

  He took a drink, smiling. The warm liqueur warmed every part of his body. That was certainly right. Games were for men. Girls just weren't as good at that sort of thing as men were. It’d be nice if Rosie recognized that more often.

  No...no, that was wrong. Rosie was a whiz at numbers.