This story contains extreme/hyper proportions, D/s and slave dynamics, enthusiastic consent, mind control and manipulation, non-human bodily transformations, and public and quasi-public sex.
This story is a character-driven slice of life story. All characters involved in anything sexual are 19+. They are fictional and any similarities to real people, living or dead, is coincidence.
Purple, like a jewel turned into light, billowed out into the apartment. Filling every cabinet and blanket, reaching glittering fingers into every light fixture. When it ended, it left Mike standing in a room with five women he'd never seen before.
A million thoughts filled the air. Introductions, accusations, questions, all unspoken. Because another new thing was sitting on the floor. A simple piece of paper.
Like a fishing lure in the lip of a carp, they could not pull away from the page. Before a word was spoken, before anything was inquired, they needed the answers.
Mike spread it on the table, and all six people began to read.
You, Mike, have made a wish. For love, appreciation, passion, and devotion. They, those around you, have made a wish. To submit, to serve, and to be passionate. What you take from them is a gift you give. What they give to you is a selfish desire.
They, the slaves, may leave at any time. Returning back to lives and places unknown to you. Each that walks away will be replaced by a newcomer, itching with that same wish.
You may suggest a change. A theme, and its target. You, all of them, or one of them. One of them will be selected. You will each make a change, in line with the theme. A question will then be posed to all, and the winner shall become real. Future changes may alter past ones.
"Mierda. Genial," came a voice from over his shoulder, accompanied by a slow whistle.
It was now that Mike took a step back and took in the women he was surrounded by. The one who'd just spoken was a caramel skinned woman with dry, unkempt hair. It was all up in a tangle, pulled up behind a scrunchy. Her face resembled that of a fox. A long pointed nose, cheeky eyes, and a playful smile. She couldn't have been much older than Mike, maybe early thirties. She was also sweating heavily, clad in unflattering workout gear that was sticking to her in several places. While not overweight, she had some chub around her arms and neck. She was leaning against his kitchen counter, eyeing him up.
Beside her was a woman of contrasts. Her skin was the darkest he'd ever seen, and her hair was somehow even darker. Her clothes, however, were bright and colourful. Reds and greens and oranges drew every eye in the room, making up for the purple glow that had since faded. Her body was rectangular, with small breasts, solid waist, and a clandestine ass. Her face was beautiful, with hooded lashes and thick lips. She was surveying the room and its occupants with a cool, almost disinterested stare.
The middle woman was easily into her fifties. She was plump, with short tufts of dirty gold hair. A big pair of spectacles sat on her face, connected to a chain that wrapped her head. Her attire could best be described as floral and formless, wearing something comfortable before anything else. She was wringing her hands and looked about ready to pass out or throw up.
The fourth was a redhead, and seemingly the only one younger than Mike. She couldn't be older than twenty, with acne and freckles mixing on her face. She had straight red hair that was washed out and dull from improper cleaning. Large bags underneath her mossy green eyes gave the impression that she was either often, or currently, sleep deprived. Her outfit was a simple blazer and suit pants, which looked cleaner and more alive than the woman wearing them. She was rereading the paper, clutching it in hand and squinting at it.
The final of the set was another older woman, mid to late forties at Mike's guess. She was wearing Hello Kitty pajamas that were far, far too big for her. Her frame, thin to the point of looking malnourished, contrasted the garments. She looked less like a person and more like a deathly pale coat rack. She was Japanese, with jet black hair that had a few grey streaks. She flopped down on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. She seemed to be at war with herself. Or perhaps just fighting to stay awake.
Mike and the older blonde woman came to much the same conclusion at much the same time, but she opened her mouth first.
"I don't... I don't think they can understand us... you? If you, uh, also speak English?"
Mike nodded.
"Then, maybe, uh, sir, I'm sorry, I shouldn't- can I speak? Is that okay?"
Mike nodded again.
"You should- or rather, you could, if you like, uh, test out your changes by uh, helping us all talk?"
Mike surveyed all of them. They were all looking at this woman in some way or another, and the poor blonde was not handling it well. Her face was bright red and even if she wanted to say something else, it wouldn't have escaped her lips.
Mike tried to make a change. When he did, he felt a pull. Like he should clap his hands. He did, and a thought appeared in his mind.
Theme: Communication. Target: All of them. Counter change: Afi
The black woman, who Mike intuited to be Afi, moved. Her hooded eyes fluttered, and she stood up a bit straighter. A bit of steel entered her expression, her eyes squinting and her tongue pushing against one of her cheeks.
There was a long pause before Mike realised he had to supply a change. It didn't have to be complicated, he reasoned. Just something to get them all on the same page. He looked over it a few times, before revising it. They'd appeared before him by magic, on an afternoon so random it seemed impossible. He was still in a state of shock, if he was being honest. Grasping only for the most immediate next step. Read the paper. Learn their language. Maybe go buy a spare bed. But where would he put it? What if they needed more?
Exhale. Inhale. One at a time. Both changes appeared before him.
All the girls can speak and understand English with the same fluency as me. Any accents they may have will be light enough that I can understand them, without being completely erased.
He nodded to himself, content with how that looked splayed out in front of him. But he heard some yelps and strange snickering around him. He continued to read.
All slaves will lose their understanding of their native tongue, along with their ability to speak. They will only be able to understand the words of their master.
Mike just stared at her. Trying to find something that was not forthcoming. No reactions of embarrassment, no smile as if to imply a joke, nothing. She just looked at him with that same calm, expressionless face. Held his gaze, like one might hold a strawberry.
The two options hung in the air, and one by one, glowing dots appeared beneath his. In the end, it was five to one, though for an instant Afi's change had two votes. He could not tell from who.
The choices vanished, and the vocal chords of each of the girls glowed with purple light. Not as bright, nor as overwhelming. A lamp to their appearances' sun.