A Futa-Town Tale

Saturday evening.

The annual ’Royal Summer Show’ was once again proving itself to be the highlight of ’The City’s highly competitive, social-event calendar.

As bursting fireworks lit up the night sky overhead, many thousands of the Queen’s loyal subjects all gathered to see-and-be-seen, laughing, jostling and pointing to the various curiosities as they made their way around the famous and historied Fairgrounds, reveling in the unique entertainment and excitement that would last for only one precious week.

On the periphery of the more family-friendly centralized merriments, ’Sideshow Alley’ was once again proving itself to be the Show’s most popular draw for the youth market. Laughing and screaming in equal measure, they braved the terrifying rollercoasters or dared each other to interact with the passively aggressive carnival barkers, who called out from their coffin-like ticket booths, competing to lure the young – or simply gullible – into “trying their hand”, or offering a chance to “experience the macabre.”

At the furthest end of the byzantine passageway, where the attractions were more explicitly ‘adults only’, numerous antiquated tents pressed tightly together, erected to form a cul-de-sac and block further pedestrian passage. Here, the nearby sights and sounds seemed strangely distant, as if somehow dampened and absorbed by the gaudy canvas sanctums.

“Which one is it?” asked Lucy, eagerly scanning the painted shingles hanging over each of the tent’s entrances, their once graphic – now faded – imagery advertising the exotic delights supposedly offered within. Most had a variation of the ‘sexuality symbol’, discretely included in the bottom right-hand corner, helping potential clientele to quicker identify what they were looking for.

“I’m not sure,” answered Ben, squinting at a crumpled and dog-eared business card, barely readable in the scant light provided by the few flickering gaslights that still illuminated this less frequented corner of the Fairgrounds. “I think it’s that one,” he said, pointing to a maroon-colored tent just ahead, narrower than the others, it’s subtle signage simply stating ’Risqué Reincarnations’.

“Really,” replied Lucy, assessing the dusty, faded and clearly oft-repaired marquee “it looks pretty... shabby?”

Ben shrugged, not knowing what to say. “I guess they don’t need to impress anyone,” he eventually offered.

Lucy squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Gods, I hope you’re right. This is going to be so fucking cool!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Ben simply nodded, unsure if he could handle the disappointment if they were wrong. He’d fantasized about this moment for years, and now it was finally going to happen. Hopefully.

“Well, let’s go and find out,” she said, squeezing his hand again. “No more just talking about it.”

Ben smiled, buoyed her infectious enthusiasm.

Approaching the tent, the pair focused on the bright narrow strip of light emitting through its entrance flap, trying to catch a glimpse of what might lay behind. Unsuccessful, Ben’s mind turned to a more immediate problem. Were they supposed to announce themselves somehow? There was no door to knock on, or bell to ring. Did they just walk in? That didn’t seem appropriate, given the potential repercussions if he was wrong.

The issue resolved itself when the flap was suddenly flung aside, revealing the striking silhouette of a tall, snake-hipped young witch.

Both Ben and Lucy stopped dead in their tracks, their mouths falling open in response to the sexy enchantress.

Dressed in highly altered robes, the witch appraised the two youths in turn, her best assets on full display. Pushed high by the corset that cinched her narrow waist, her firm breasts and pert nipples pushed and poked against the black satin of her blouse. Atop her head sat the obligatory conical witch’s hat, stylishly askew, while her jet-black hair hung down her exposed back in a long braid. “Welcome to Risqué Reincarnations,” she offered.

Ben found it difficult to tear his attention away from her breasts. Eventually realizing that he was being rude, he looked up into devastating grey-blue eyes. “G ... good evening,” he managed to stammer.

“How old are you?” she asked, skipping any further preamble.

“I ... I’m eighteen.”

The witch raised an eyebrow skeptically. “I.D.?”

Ben fished in his wallet and produced a driver’s license.

Snatching it from him, the witch checked the date before handing it back wordlessly. She looked over to Lucy, similarly unconvinced. “Are you planning to join in?” she asked bluntly.

Lucy shook her head furtively. “No,” she squeaked, unable to stop glancing down at the woman’s lovely long legs, exposed and accentuated within black fishnet stockings.

“Then I don’t need to ask,” she said dismissively, before looking back to Ben. “You’ve got money, I assume?”

Ben nodded.

“Then come in,” she said, stepping forward and holding the flap open wide. As Lucy moved nervously to follow Ben inside, the witch shot her a sneering glance. “My home is not, shabby, by the way.”

Mortified at having been overheard somehow, Lucy’s face turned bright red as she darted past.

Inside, Ben found the tent’s rectangular interior to be a single large space, semi-obscured by thick incense-smoke and barely adequate, flickering amber light. It perfectly matched how he’d always imagined a fortune-teller’s diving space to look, minus the crystal ball and tarot cards.

Overhead, a dozen tiny bird cages hung haphazardly, rocking beneath their hooks. Each contained a single live fairy, the excited pixies glowing brightly as they chittered and flapped their translucent wings, raining sparkling dust motes down onto those below while providing the room’s aforementioned dim light. There was precious little other occult paraphernalia to be seen, although two malicious looking crows stared back at him intently from their low perch, clearly plotting no good. Looking from left to right, Ben realized that he must’ve misjudged the tent’s size from outside, as its interior proportions were quite adequate.

Arriving beside him, Lucy pressed herself against his body and clutched at his arm, as the witch closed the flap behind them.

“My name is Abigail, by the way,” said the witch, before quickly continuing. “I don’t need to know what yours are.”

Ben was certain that the two crow’s sudden cawing sounded too much like laughter as the witch walked around to the other side of a small, black lace covered table.

“Have a seat,” continued Abigail, indicating the mismatched chairs in front of Ben and Lucy, while doing likewise herself.

Ben patted Lucy’s hand for reassurance, before pulling out a chair for her to sit first.

Abigail actually appeared somewhat impressed by the simple display of good manners.

Sitting down in turn, Ben re-assessed the witch in the new light. No longer silhouetted in the entrance, he quickly realized that her blouse was in fact sheer, and that her nipples could be seen clearly through it, along with the thick piercings that caused them to stick out so prominently.

“So,” said Abigail ignoring their continued stares, “who is it that you want?”

Ben swallowed audibly before answering. “My mom.”

If the answer surprised the witch in any way, it certainly didn’t show on her face. “For how long?”

“I’ve got $300.”

“That’s one hour,” stated Abigail.

“One hour?”

“What can I say, cost of living in The City is scandalous. Of course, you can always go to ’Wicked Witch’s Wishes’ instead, and pay their prices.”

“An hour’s pretty good,” interjected Lucy, smiling at her boyfriend knowingly. “You can do a lot in that time.”

Ben gave Lucy a look of genuine appreciation before turning back to Abigail. “Will she know who I am?”

Abigail thought for a moment. “With family, there’s always a connection. Let’s just say that she’ll understand who you are on a spiritual level.”

“I can’t wait to see her,” said Lucy, smiling wide.

“I take it you’ve heard how this works,” posited Abigail. “Have you brought something of her?”

Reaching into his pocket, Ben produced a small velvet bag, the type often used in jewelry stores to protect ring-boxes. He passed it to the witch. “Hair, from her hairbrush, I made sure there’s follicles.”

“That will work,” said Abigail, opening it to check the contents. “And a picture, for my reference?”

Ben opened his wallet again. This time, he carefully removed an old photo that had been neatly folded into quarters. He passed it over.

Unfolding it deferentially, Abigail looked down at the individual portrait.

It had been taken professionally and showed an extremely attractive and voluptuously proportioned swimsuit model, aged in her early twenties at most. Shot against a blank background, her ample assets all-but burst out of the immodest string-bikini that she posed in so provocatively.

A hint of recognition flashed in Abigail’s eye, which did not go unnoticed by either Ben or Lucy, or seem unexpected.

“I know this woman,” said Abigail, sitting up in her chair. “I’ve seen her somewhere before, is what I mean.”

Ben nodded. “Do you remember the old ’Bold ‘N Gold’ tanning oil ads?” he asked.

Abigail’s eyes widened. “This is... her, she’s your mom?”

“Yep,” answered Ben. “Her name’s Delvene. She was twenty-one in that photo. It landed her the gig the following summer.”

Abigail appeared to reconsider the young pair. “What’re your names?”

“Ben,” said Ben.

“And Lucy.”

Abigail whistled appreciatively as she studied the photo again. “A great many boys in ’The Kingdom’ discovered what it meant to be a man, thanks to that campaign,” she smiled. “As well as a few girls,” she added, appearing to reminisce.

“Some of those men still like to remind me,” said Ben, his expression clouding somewhat.

“Whatever happened to her? I didn’t see her after those ads.”

Ben considered what the witch was asking mathematically. By his estimation, she didn’t look more than a decade his senior, at most, yet she was referring to events that happened twice that long ago as if she’d experienced them firsthand as a young adult. He decided not to question. “She settled down. I think Bold ‘N Gold’s success shocked her. And she met dad, who was on the fast track to the ’Royal Service’s executive branch. Then I was born.”

With all trace of her initial belligerence now gone, Abigail continued questioning with genuine curiosity. “How was she as mother? Did you get along?”

“She was great. Is, great,” he corrected.

“She really is a sweety,” confirmed Lucy. “I wish she’d been my mom.”

“And does she still rock a bikini?”

“Fuck yeah!” said the two teenagers in unison, then laughed at their identical response. Ben recovered first. “She still diets and exercises like a professional model.”

“And dresses like one around the house too,” added Lucy. “Definitely not the conservative type either, if you know what I mean. I think she misses the old days.”

Abigale pointed between the photo and Ben. “Have the two of you ever been, intimate?”

“I wish. But she’s just not like that.”

“I’m still not convinced,” interjected Lucy. “She dresses way sexier when your dad’s out of town and it’s just you two.”

“I don’t think that’s for my benefit.”

“I don’t know...”

Abigail looked down at the picture again. “$200,” she said, seemingly out of nowhere.”

Ben looked confused, then glanced at Lucy who could only shrug back. “$200 for what?” he asked.

“For the hour. That’s all I’m going to charge you?” answered the witch.

“I don’t understand. A minute ago, you wanted it all.”

Abigail considered her answer before speaking. “Magic is more than just potions, artefacts and incantations. It’s an artform, like astrology or ... cooking. It’s also intrinsically tied to karma. Dishonesty, immorality, hurting someone, to perform magic for the sake of these is very dangerous.”

Ben frowned. “I don’t know if I understand?”

“Suffice it to say, I intend to cast tonight’s spell, twice. The second time will be purely for my own benefit.”

Lucy understood the witch’s meaning first. “She’s so fucking hot, isn’t she? I’ve probably used that picture as many times as Ben.”

Ben suddenly understood. “You’re going to sleep with her too?”

“The specifics are my own business. However, the opportunity has value, which should be considered against your fee.”

“I guess,” said Ben, not entirely sure that he understood.

Abigail looked him straight in the eye. “I’ve learned the hard way not to fuck with karma. However, if you still want to give me the full $300...”

“No, no,” said Ben quickly. “$200 is good.”

Abigail re-folded the picture and handed it back to him. “I think I have what I need, shall we go through?”

Ben and Lucy both looked around quizzically. “Go through where?” asked Ben.

Standing and moving to the back of the tent, Abigail pulled aside another flap, one that had until now been hidden between hanging tapestries and the ubiquitous smoke haze. Through the second opening, both Ben and Lucy could see a second room, one that couldn’t possibly physically exist, based on the tent’s exterior dimensions.

“In here,” answered Abigail, clearly enjoying the looks of surprise on their faces.

Passing through, they found themselves in a nearly identical space, once again illuminated by literal fairy-lights, but without any malicious avians, or eye-watering smoke. Only a single claw-foot cauldron sat in the center, its contents obscured by gently pulsating silver mist, shimmering and swirling, occasionally spilling over the sides. Behind, there was a third tent flap, which Ben somehow felt certain would lead to yet another room. On one side, a well-used console table held a dozen pre-prepared glass test-tubes standing in a rack. Filled with a bright, glowing green liquid, they shone like a beacon in the gloom. Next to them, several mismatched spell books and a thick grimoire, were stacked haphazardly.

Curiosity piqued, Ben walked forward, attempting to get a better look into the cauldron.

“I’d stay back, if I were you,” cautioned Abigail, now standing beside the table and selecting the next test-tube in line. “It won’t kill you,” she clarified, “but having to rescue you, would definitely spoil my plans for the evening.” As Ben stepped back, she placed several of his mother’s hair strands into the tube, watching them dissolve almost immediately. Next was a pinch of something white, and granular.

“What’s in those?” asked Lucy, pointing to the remaining glowing tubes, clearly fascinated.

“Trade secrets,” answered Abigail dismissively, placing a thumb over the test-tube’s open end and shaking it vigorously. The green liquid quickly flared white, accompanied by numerous bright rainbow-colored sparks. Then picking up a large pin, she carried both over to Ben. “Finger,” she demanded.

“I’m sorry?” replied Ben.

“Your finger. I need a drop of your blood for the potion. Semen works just as well, but I suspect you’ve got other plans for yours tonight.”

Hearing the word semen, a thought occurred to Ben as he extended his index finger. “She can’t get ... pregnant, can she?”

“No,” answered Abigail smiling, pricking the offered digit with the pin.

“Ow!” protested Ben.

“Don’t be such a sissy,” chided Lucy, poking her tongue out at him as he looked back with an injured expression.

Likewise, unsympathetic, Abigail pinched his fingertip and extracted a bright red bead of blood. The droplet fizzed as it hit the green liquid, before quickly dissipating like a dissolved aspirin.

Much to Ben’s astonishment, the witch then pulled his hand and finger up to her mouth and sucked the residual blood from it without hesitation. His cock started to swell in his pants immediately.

Lucy appeared equally stirred, as she watched the witch swallow unconcernedly.

“We need to hurry up,” said Abigail, releasing Ben’s hand. “Time is money in this game, and your clock’s already running.” Saying so, she walked up to the cauldron without hesitation and tipped the tube’s contents straight in. Reacting instantly, the swirling mist erupted into a bonsai-thunderstorm, green lightning flashing inside.

Fascinated, both Ben and Lucy stared at the miniature tempest.

Extending an arm over the cauldron, Abigail made spirit-fingers with her hand as she waved it around in a circular motion. The angry mist began to revolve, before forming into a twister-like column that rose up, just as a charmed snake follows a fakir’s commands. She muttered a cryptic invocation and watched the mini-tornado enlarge to the size of a person, green lightning still crackling within. Then snapping her fingers, she smiled with satisfaction as the mist quickly dissipated, leaving a flesh-and-blood woman standing in its place, totally naked.

Mouth hanging open in astonishment, Ben gazed upon a living and breathing, twenty-one-year-old version of his mother, identical in appearance to the photo, right down to the tiny heart-shaped birthmark on her left hip.

“By the Gods,” whispered Lucy beside him.

Ben’s initial semi-arousal at the witch’s previous touch, instantly bloomed into a full-blown awakening, blood pumped into his cock as his heart thumped against his ribcage. “Is she really... real?” he asked. “Not just an illusion?”

Abigail shot him an offended look. “She’s every bit as real as you or I right now. So be warned, for the next hour, she’s to be treated in accordance with Kingdom law.” Her eyes arrowed as she continued her warning. “Don’t do anything stupid that I’ll make you regret.”

“I understand,” said Ben, hurrying to convey his understanding. “Besides, I could never hurt her.”

“Good,” replied Abigail, apparently reassured. She turned back to the newly conjured figure of Delvene – still standing in the cauldron – and offered her a hand. “You can step down now, sweety.”

Delvene considered the outstretched hand for a moment, almost as if she’d never seen one before. Then apparently realizing, she took it within her own and stepped out of the mist and down to the floor.

“Good girl,” said Abigail, reaching up with her other hand and stroking the woman’s jawline with her fingertips.

Delvene noticeably relaxed into the gentle touch, her bright eyes sparkling.

“She’s so gorgeous,” said Lucy still staring, clearly just as besotted as Ben.

“Come,” said the witch, gently pulling on Delvene’s hand in an effort to coax her around the cauldron.

Hesitating momentarily, Delvene took several small steps to follow the witch, looking down at her feet gingerly as she did so. Her confidence increased with each successful footfall, a smile forming on her lips at the achievement.