Beg Pan to change you back — there has to be a way to reverse this.

Pandora's Box Costume Shop, Birch Street, at 12:39 AM on Thursday October 31st, 2024

"Change me back," I choke out. My voice is higher than it should be — a breathy, feminine sound that makes my stomach lurch. Cum is still leaking from my pussy in thick, warm rivulets, pooling on the cold tile beneath my trembling thighs. My tail curls between my legs, twitching involuntarily. "Please, Pan. There has to be a way. You can do anything — you changed me, you can change me back."

Pan tilts her head, studying me with those luminous amber eyes. Her cock hangs heavy between her thighs, still glistening with my juices, softening slowly. She reaches down and tucks it back beneath her skirt with casual grace, as though it's the most natural thing in the world. Then she crouches beside me, her face level with mine, and brushes a strand of sweat-damp hair from my flushed cheek.

"Oh, kitten," she murmurs, and her thumb traces the line of my jaw. "You're so pretty when you're desperate. Did you know that?"

"Pan, please." Tears are running down my face — hot, humiliating tears that make my vision swim. My ears flatten against my skull. "I don't want to be this. I want to be me again. Trevor. Please."

She's quiet for a long moment. Her expression shifts — something calculating moving behind those slit pupils, something that looks almost like consideration. Then she sighs, a theatrical sound, and sits back on her heels.

"I could reverse it," she says slowly. Each word is measured, deliberate. "The magic is... flexible. Nothing is truly permanent if you know how to bend it." Her fingers find my collar — the fused leather band around my throat — and trace the edge where it meets skin. "But reversing a transformation of this magnitude requires enormous energy. More than I'd normally spend on a customer who's already received so much from me."

She stands. Towers over me. Her shadow falls across my curled, trembling form and I feel impossibly small.

"I'll change you back," she says, and my heart leaps — actually leaps in my chest. "But there's a condition."

"Anything," I whisper before I can stop myself.

Her smile is slow and devastating. She reaches into the pocket of her skirt and produces another black card — this one embossed with a silver silhouette I don't recognize. Something with wings. Something with horns.

"I saved the best for last, Trevor." She presses the card into my palm and her fingers close around my hand, holding it there. "The final costume. My personal favorite. The one I've been saving — the most exquisite, the most perverted, the most perfect piece in my entire collection." Her voice drops to a whisper. "All you have to do is promise me — swear to me — that you'll put it on. No matter what it is. No matter what you see. You wear it, you let it do what it does, and when it's done... I'll release you. Fully. Completely. Trevor again, walking out that door, going to your little party."

She tilts my chin up with one finger.

"But you have to promise me everything. No backing out. No changing your mind halfway. You put on whatever's on that card, and you see it through to the end." Her amber eyes burn into mine. "Do we have a deal, kitten?"