Chapter 1: A New Night

Scene 1

Val woke up not knowing who they were.

That maybe sounded worse than it was. They knew some basics — they knew they were Val, for one thing. They knew where they were: in a flat above Lady Margaret’s bordello, the one she let them use in exchange for their help with security. They knew when it was: sundown, the last orange rays of it casting through the window. The perfect time for someone like Val to get up and active and see what trouble could be made through the night.

It was normal for them to wake up not knowing who they were. They needed time to reflect on their mood and make a decision.

They rolled smoothly from the bed. Even at home, reflex kept their stride catlike and light on the way to the closet. They threw it open wide and considered their options, from one end of the spectrum to the other. At the left hung their dresses, their skirts, everything of that nature. Did they feel like a ‘she’, maybe wearing that forest-green skirt with a long-sleeved blouse? At the right hung breeches, tunics, everything a young man could wear. Was that what Val felt like today? A ‘he’ in leather trousers and a doublet?

Hm. Leather pants sounded good, but not those ones. They took a different pair from near the middle of the closet, black leather with a different fit. Once they’d decided on that part, the rest of the outfit soon fell into place. Calf-high boots; fingerless gloves; and ... yes, that vest, the purple one, with that black cloak.

They didn’t put it on just yet; none of their clothes fit well on their natural form. It was time for the last details of their presentation.

They turned to the workbench beside the bureau. They didn’t even need to refer to their alchemy books: they knew this recipe, and several like it, by heart. A pinch of this, a splash of that, a good mix, and they had a fresh-brewed potion. Then they got dressed, buckling everything into place. The vest draped over them, and they had to use one hand to hold their pants up while the other knocked the potion back. An old, familiar warmth spread through their body, a tingle of magic they’d been using for years.

Then they changed, taking on the unique shape the potion dictated. More weight pulled on their scalp as their brown hair grew past their shoulders and turned void-black with streaks of crimson. Their small breasts expanded, growing until they properly filled out the vest, pushing it forward into a display of cleavage; at the same time, their waist narrowed and hips spread to create a proper, womanly curve. The transformation added roundness below: a feminine, fit, round butt to do to their pants what their chest did to their vest, a shapely fullness to her legs that drew the leather into a tight outline. Yet they kept their penis, a modest lump that only a keen or interested eye would notice.

They turned to the mirror to watch the finishing touches, morphing into one of their favourite looks: high, arched eyebrows above glossy, smoke-grey eyes; a small button nose; soft lips, ‘naturally’ black. All set into the kind of angular features that made a woman look severe, intense.

Yes, that was right for today. A woman, one with a daring sensuality. For tonight, she was Valerie. With that, the magical sensation faded. The transformation would ‘stick’ until sunrise, but she’d need another potion to make any other changes.

With that, she was ready for the night. She went to the window and leapt out, using her favourite shortcuts down to the cobblestone streets.

Scene 2 (F/F, petting)

Soon after, Valerie stepped through the front doors into the bordello’s lounge, her cloak and all her weapons surrendered to the bouncer. Incense smoke leant the comfortable space a dreamy edge with its haze and fragrance. Lady Margaret didn’t use aphrodisiacs — she was above such crass tactics — but she did use the soothing scent to help make the lounge as relaxing as possible and let natural desire come to the forefront.

Chandeliers of glowing crystals hung from the ceiling, casting the room in moody scarlet. One brighter crystal was flanked by mirrors, focusing its light onto the room’s centre stage, where a blue-haired woman danced her way through discarding the silk scarves that adorned her lithe, leggy body.

Val paused to appreciate it. Elinor’s dancing skills were really coming along.

She continued on her way and took a seat on one of the loveseats arrayed around the room. After just long enough for a smiling waitress to pour her a drink, someone approached her: a woman with marigold hair, locks alternating between red and gold, and a lush figure dressed in matching yellow brassiere, high-cut panties, and thigh-high stockings, accented by a garter belt and high-heeled shoes in red.

The woman invited herself to sit beside Valerie — close beside her, leaning against her upper arm. “You didn’t come from upstairs. You left through the window again, didn’t you, Valerie?”

Valerie slipped a casual arm around her soft waist. “You know I need a walk to wake up, Liz.” Especially while getting used to a freshly-transfigured body.

Liz laughed — a mature, womanly laugh, not a girlish giggle. “You remember that time a gift basket sat in the hall for a week because you never used your door? The Lady was furious.”

Valerie grinned. “But she learned not to leave gift baskets unannounced, didn’t she?”

She looked out around the lounge. Many of the other couches were similarly occupied: visitors with the bordello’s ladies practically draped over them. Huddling close, speaking in hushed tones. From a distance, it all just looked like flirting.

For those in the know, it was the perfect cover.

Valerie produced a silver coin from under her glove. “What do you have for me?”

The coin was a finder’s fee, but to the rest of the lounge, it would look like she was paying Liz a tip for good company. She tucked it into the pouch attached to her garter belt. “The Lamplighters are looking to get some relics out of the Kaldwin museum.” That would mean dealing with the occult. Not uncommon. “The Sisterhood of the Hart want a burglar to ‘liberate’ some recipes from the King’s apothecaries.” Stealing from the crown, fairly standard. “Or Sigmund can get you an invite to the Owls’ next party.”

Valerie’s fingers reflexively tightened against Liz’s hip. “I’m not going anywhere near the Owls.”

Liz idly ran her fingertips across the back of Val’s neck. “The rich and powerful, partying the night away, dropping their guard? It’s a thief’s paradise. I’ve worked it with one other thief and two grifters, and we’ve made out like bandits every time.”

Val shook her head, meeting Liz’s golden eyes. “Rich and powerful slavers and traffickers. A smart thief stays miles away.”

Liz shrugged a shoulder. She made the gesture as graceful and sensual as Elinor’s twirl up on stage. “It’s your loss. The Sisterhood contact is waiting at the Doe and Dame. Go to the bar and order a root tea.”

Of course Liz already knew which one she’d pick. Valerie smiled at her. “Thanks for the lead.” She took the coin from her other glove. This one was a tip for just before they parted ways.

“Hold on.” Liz’s hand pressed down on her shoulder to keep her from rising for just a moment more. Once she had Val’s attention, she reached behind herself. With one deft move, she unhooked her brassiere and let it slide away, revealing her weighty, rounded breasts. “You’re wearing those gloves. You’re not leaving before you touch me.”

Valerie couldn’t argue with that. As she settled back onto the couch, Liz gave her a small push — just enough for her to feel how much Liz wanted her there. She started her touch low, hands cupped against the sides of Liz’s waist and stroking upwards, following the soft curve. That was enough to make Liz shiver, her head tipped back as she smiled softly.

Liz gasped, just audible under the music, when Valerie’s hands reached her breasts. She cupped them from below at first, feeling their significant, feminine weight, before she spread her fingers wide and gave each a good squeeze. Liz had the softest breasts that Val had ever known. That was a benefit to committing to just one body: when Val had breasts, they always had the firmness of new growth, while Liz’s had time to fully settle into themselves.

As Valerie started to massage, Liz threw a leg over her lap to sit astride her, to get closer. To press forward and overwhelm Valerie’s grasp with her breasts, positioned right in front of her eyes. Val gave her the slow, kneading squeezes she wanted and got the reward of an erotic sigh from her love’s lips. Liz closed her eyes, sensually serene as she focused on the contrasting sensations: Valerie’s leather-covered palms over her nipples and her bare fingers squeezing into her flesh.

Valerie spent five minutes with those magnificent breasts in her hands. Five minutes — no more or less than the quick tease Liz would give the club’s other clients. Liz enjoyed every part of her work; by the end, she had a fetching flush across her cheeks and a beautiful tightness perking her nipples.

And the lump at Valerie’s lap had become significantly less modest. The touch of lust was a better wakeup than any walk. The lack of satisfaction just added spice to her desire: it was something she could carry with her. She could enjoy the wanting without rushing ahead to the having. That was an important balance for a thief to keep.

Liz slid from her lap, though took her time putting her brassiere back on. “Always a pleasure. you knock ‘em dead out there, Valerie.”

“I’d rather not,” Valerie said as she rose to her feet. “I’m a thief, not a cutter.”