Blooming Fire, Part 3

Arabella waited just long enough for the afterglow of Marissa’s transformation to fade before she lifted her hand and beckoned the next round of victims to the center of the gazebo.

The air inside the circle buzzed with nervous static, the sunlight now a hot coin pressed to the top of every head. Erin was the first to step forward. She’d been standing alone at the edge of the deck, arms folded, the sunlight painting her tanned skin in a glow that would have been beautiful even without the current of dread running beneath it.

Erin met Andy’s gaze, her own dark eyes steady but betraying nothing. He thought he caught the barest quiver in the muscle along her jaw, but it was gone as soon as she reached the center of the circle. Arabella, standing at her full height, regarded Erin with a solemnity that would have been comical in another context, but here felt like the invocation of some old, weird god.

“Erin,” Arabella said, voice ringing out in the hush, “with 51,06% of the vote, you have been chosen for Green Thumb. Triple Jointed came in second with 34,04% of the vote and will return the next round. Pleasure Projection came in last at 14,89% of the vote, and will be available for purchase at the Annex. From this moment, your skin will take on a subtle shade of green, and you will no longer need to eat, if you do not wish to—sunlight alone will sustain you. However, exposure to sunlight will produce a mild but constant arousal, which may be pleasant or a burden, depending on the day.”

Green Thumb: Erin becomes part plant. Her skin turns green, and she can photosynthesize in the sun. Whenever she's in the sun, she feels a low-level arousing buzz which grows in strength the longer she is exposed to the sun. While the arousal gain bypasses Erin's original limitations, she cannot orgasm from the arousal unless the Master is watching. As long as Erin is in sunlight at least one hour per day, she doesn't need food to survive. But if she goes too long without sunbathing, she becomes languid, hungry, and needy, craving warmth, touch, food, or for Andy to “tend” her. (Ki)

The words hung in the humid air, absorbed by the women around the circle—some staring, some pretending not to. Andy tried to meet Erin’s gaze with something like apology, but she was already looking past him, bracing herself.

“Do you accept?” Arabella asked, the ceremony demanding consent even when it had already been taken from you.

Erin’s voice was flat, but steady: “Do I have a choice?”

Arabella smiled, not unkind. “You always have a choice. But the world rarely offers good ones.”

“Then yes,” Erin said, and stood with her hands at her sides, as if awaiting a firing squad.

The change was immediate, but not dramatic: a wash of color, almost imperceptible, stealing over Erin’s body. Her skin, always olive, turned a mint tint, as if she’d been painted in translucent watercolor. The contrast against the whitewashed wood around her made her look otherworldly.

But it wasn’t the color that got her.

She stepped forward, into a pool of sunlight that spilled through the open roof, and as the light hit her bare arms, she gasped—a sharp, involuntary sound, immediately silenced by a clench of her teeth. Andy, from the Throne, saw the effect ripple through her: the nipples on her enormous breasts stiffened, her thighs pressed together, and her pupils went huge.

She tried to hide it, but everyone saw. There was a low, appreciative whistle from Norah, who sat with her legs splayed, feet dangling off the deck. Riley muttered, “Damn. The effect is instantaneous. Is it… pleasant?”

Erin’s lips parted, and for a second, Andy thought she might cry or scream. Instead, she took a long, shuddering inhale and said, “It’s… not bad. Surprising, but not bad.”

Arabella’s smile deepened, as if she’d been waiting for this. “You’ll get used to it. Try stretching your arms toward the sun—see if it helps.”

Erin shot her a **** glare, but did as instructed. She raised both arms overhead, letting the sunlight drench her from fingertip to toe. This time, she didn’t gasp, but the flush that climbed her cheeks was unmistakable—a deep green, darkening all the way to her hairline.

A laugh bubbled up from the group. Even Chloe, who’d been holding Dawn’s hand in a white-knuckled grip, giggled behind her free palm.

Andy found himself caught between admiration and a sharp, vicarious embarrassment. He wanted to go to her, to shield her from the stares, but he knew that would only make it worse.

Instead, he tried for humor. “How do you feel?” he called, his voice echoing across the ring.

Erin’s eyes snapped to his. The contact was electric: a visible shiver went down her spine, and she hugged her own elbows, breasts squishing up like two balloons in a vise.

“I feel…” She hesitated, then grinned, teeth showing white against green. “I feel awake. Maybe for the first time in a year.”

There was a pause, then Arabella offered her hand in benediction. “You may return to your seat,” she said, as if Erin were being dismissed from a council of elders.

Erin walked back, her stride more confident, the sun making her skin almost phosphorescent. As she passed Andy’s Throne, she bent at the waist and whispered, “Don’t look at me like that, or I’ll never calm down.” But she grinned as she spoke, and to his surprise, she seemed almost… happy.

Andy grinned, and for a second, it felt like the old days, before the world went sideways.

Erin resumed her spot at the edge of the circle, not bothering to hide her breasts or her smile. The other women gathered around, some offering high-fives, others just staring at the transformation with open wonder.

Andy watched her, unable to look away. He felt the warmth of pride and the pinch of regret, knowing that this was the cost of keeping them all together—change, not loss.

Arabella, sensing the moment had reached its natural end, clapped her hands once. The sound was crisp, a call to order.

“We will proceed,” she said, voice velvet and steel. “Liesa, you are next.”

The ring tightened. The sunlight shifted. But for a moment, the world belonged to Erin, and she was bright enough to fill it.

Liesa had always been the picture of composure, the “exchange student” energy that made her stand out even in the most crowded room. Now, as she walked to the center of the circle, Andy could see the artifice slip for a moment—her hands trembling at her sides, her eyes flicking from Arabella to the floorboards to Andy and back, as if searching for a hidden exit.

“Liesa,” Arabella intoned, every syllable crisp as rain on stone. “With 61,54% of the vote, you are to receive Flaunt It. Colorblind to Modesty came in second with 23,08% of the votes and will return next round. Finally, Studying A Broad came in at 15,38% and will be available for purchase at the Annex. From now on, every movement you make will be unconsciously, unavoidably, an invitation to be watched. Your body will present itself at all times. Even when you try to hide, you will attract every gaze in the room. Any attempt at modesty will only increase the allure.”

Flaunt It: Liesa knows how to move to set the blood afire. Whatever she's doing, she's compelled to move in a sexually suggestive way. (Girlfriend Experience/Escort)

Liesa flinched, just a fraction, but enough to send a ripple of sympathy through the group. Marissa actually winced; Emi’s hands fluttered in her lap, uncertain whether to clap or cringe. Even Erin, still glowing with photosynthetic pride, drew her lips into a thin, worried line.

Arabella smiled, and the warmth in it was real—like she admired Liesa for being the one who’d have to carry this new burden. “Ready?” she asked.

Liesa’s voice came out half a tone higher than usual. “No, but go ahead.”

The transformation, when it hit, was as much attitude as biology. Liesa straightened, shoulders back, and in a single fluid motion, her hips cocked to one side, giving her a classic, almost pin-up silhouette. She didn’t do it on purpose—Andy could tell from the panicked set of her mouth—but her body didn’t care. Every tiny gesture seemed preloaded with a kind of slow, liquid grace: her hands rose to brush the hair from her face, but instead of a nervous tuck, her fingers traced a long, sinuous curve down her cheek, lingering at the jawline. Her feet shifted on the boards, and instead of fidgeting, she ended up with one leg slightly forward, knee bent, the hem of her skirt rising just enough to draw a line of attention up her calf.

It was a performance she hadn’t signed up for.

Andy watched, unable to look away. He knew it was cruel, to stare, but it was also impossible to do anything else.

Liesa noticed, of course. She noticed everyone. Her face flushed—actually flushed, a deep, genuine pink that started at her hairline and worked its way down her neck. She tried to stand still, to minimize herself, but her body rebelled. Her spine arched, her chest thrust forward, and when she tried to button the top of her blouse, her hands moved in slow, exaggerated circles, like she was giving an instructional on how to seduce a camera lens.

“I can’t stop it,” she whispered, voice barely audible, but the microphone of the universe caught it and replayed it for everyone.

“Try walking,” Arabella suggested, but the tone was gentle, almost like she was coaching a toddler through their first steps.

Liesa glared at her, then at Andy, but she obeyed. She took one step, then another, and her hips swayed with a rhythm that would have made a burlesque dancer take notes. Even her hair, loose and strawberry-blonde, seemed to catch the breeze just right, falling in perfect sheets across her back and shoulders.

The women in the circle watched in fascinated horror. Chloe actually looked away, blushing so hard she could have set paper on fire. Dawn, ears quivering, muttered, “It’s like she’s possessed.”

Liesa’s hands kept moving, framing her face, her breasts, her thighs. She tried to cross her arms, but the motion only served to lift her chest, pressing her breasts together until the fabric of her blouse seemed about to surrender.

Andy finally got up from the Throne, trying to do… something. He approached Liesa, hands out in a peace offering. “It’s okay,” he said, hoping the words would help.

Liesa turned to him, her lips quivering. “Don’t you dare say this is funny, Andy.” She glared, but her body betrayed her: she leaned into him, her chin tilting up, her arms shifting to frame the curve of her waist.

Andy tried not to smile. “I would never. But you’re… handling it better than anyone else could.”

She made a sound, half laugh, half groan. “It’s mortifying. I feel like a—”

“Goddess?” Sam supplied, voice low and lush. The word hung in the air, charged.

Liesa looked at her, then at the group, then back at Andy. “I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my own skin.”

Andy put a hand on her shoulder, meaning to comfort, but the gesture sent a shiver through her whole body, and she let out a sound that was almost a moan. She clapped a hand over her mouth, mortified.

“Sorry,” she said, muffled by her own palm. “I can’t control it.”

Arabella nodded, as if this was the expected outcome. “You will, in time. The more you accept it, the easier it becomes.”

Liesa shot her a look that would have peeled paint, then took a step back and tried to collect herself. The effort only made her look more alluring: her posture, her hair, even the way she wiped at her cheek, all of it was now part of an endless, involuntary striptease.

“I need to sit down,” Liesa said, and drifted back to her spot, every step a study in choreography. She sat, then immediately crossed and uncrossed her legs, as if she couldn’t remember which position was least likely to make her the center of attention.

Andy retreated, but not before giving her a small, supportive smile. She caught it, then rolled her eyes, but there was gratitude there, too.

The group let out a collective sigh—equal parts relief, commiseration, and, in Norah’s case, amusement.

“That could have been me,” Norah stage-whispered. “Thank god I only got stuck with the shoes.”

There was a round of laughter, the spell broken for a moment. The gaze of the world shifted, and Liesa was free, at least until the next time she moved.

Arabella gave her a final, approving nod. “Well done, Liesa.” Then she pivoted, the hem of her dress fanning out, and called: “Sam, you’re next.”

Sam waited half a heartbeat before strolling to the center, letting her arms swing loose and giving the whole affair the casual gravity of a weekend barbecue. Her tank top read “HELLO DARKNESS” in block letters, which Chloe clearly noticed and tried not to laugh at. Sam stood tall, one hip cocked, and looked up at Arabella like she expected a punchline instead of a life-altering curse.

Arabella gave her a long, measuring look, then announced, “We have a tie, Sam.” The Host drew out the syllables, turning the moment theatrical. “The Audience could not decide between Beerista—a returning favorite—and Fantasy Weaver, which is, frankly, a rather interesting pick. Both received exactly 35,42% of the votes. The third choice, Platonic Cuddle Monster,’received 29,16% of the votes and will return next round.”

Beerista: When Sam makes a drink of any sort she can now choose to also make it magically alcoholic. This might occasionally accidently happen even when she doesn't want it. (Blue Bean Barista)

Fantasy Weaver: Through her fingertips, she can subtly reshape a woman’s body — altering curves, skin warmth, or scent — aligning her more closely with the Master’s subconscious fantasies, even if the Master isn’t aware or consciously desires it. (Emotional Anchor)

Sam gave a mock salute. “Sounds like I’m about to become very popular at parties.”

A ripple of nervous laughter went around the circle.

“Indeed,” Arabella replied, a hint of real amusement on her lips. “You may create an Irish coffee at any hour, with zero added calories.”

Sam grinned. “I’m never sleeping again.”

Dawn, from her seat, leaned over and whispered, “You already never sleep.”

Sam shot her a wink. “Now I have an excuse.”

Andy watched the group. They’d gone from fear to cautious interest in a single sentence. Even Erin, who usually treated all transformation news like a looming health hazard, looked intrigued by the possibilities.

Arabella continued, “The second transformation is the more… artistic. Fantasy Weaver. With a touch of your fingers, you may subtly alter a woman’s body—her scent, her skin, even the shape of her curves—to better match the subconscious desires of the Master.” She paused, letting it land. “The effect is never drastic, but always noticeable, and is permanent unless intentionally reversed.”

There was a hush. Then Norah snorted, not even bothering to hide it. “So she’s a walking Photoshop filter?”

Arabella allowed herself a genuine smile. “A fair summary, yes.”

Sam glanced at Andy, then at the group. “Is this like… consensual? Or do I just start ‘fixing’ people because Andy has a thing for freckles or—” She looked directly at Andy, eyebrows raised. “What exactly am I tuning here?”

Arabella answered, “You must will it to activate. But the touch alone is enough—if you desire it.”

Sam digested this, then looked to Liesa, who had gone rigid at the news. Liesa’s arms hugged her sides, as if she could already feel the adjustment coming.

“Not testing that one right now. But Beerista… can I test it?” Sam asked. “Or do I have to wait for someone to order a drink first?”

Arabella held out her hand, indicating the carafe of water on the side table. “If you wish.”

Sam walked over, pouring herself a glass. She stared at the clear liquid, focused, then swirled it twice before sipping.

She coughed, hard. “Jesus, that’s moonshine.”

Arabella said, “You must also will the degree of ****. Precision matters.”

Chloe, unable to resist, called out, “Maybe you should have started with orange juice.”

Sam, mock-offended, glared at her. “Maybe I like my water to punch back.”

The group laughed, the tension breaking entirely.

Sam took another sip, then grimaced. “If anyone needs paint stripped from their car, let me know.”

Arabella, pleased, shifted the focus to the second power. “Would you like to try the Fantasy Weaver effect as well?”

Emi raised two hands. “Can you make my skin sparkle?”

Sam shrugged. “Probably? Depends on Andy. We’ll try it after lunch.”

Claire scribbled on her pad and flashed the page: Don’t change my tail. I like it.

Sam grinned, “Deal. It’s your signature.”

Liesa, voice barely above a whisper, said, “If you ever need to, just ask me first.”

Sam nodded, instantly serious. “Of course. No changes without permission. Promise.”

Andy watched the exchange, something in his chest untwisting a little. It was so normal, so kind, that he almost forgot this was all **** upon them.

Arabella said, “Very well. The transformations are now active.” She turned to Andy, tone both ceremonial and soft. “Halfway through, now. Before we continue, would the Master like to address his Harem?”

Andy, caught off guard, stood and looked around the circle. Every face watched him—curious, wary, maybe even hopeful.

He cleared his throat. “I know this is supposed to be a game, but I’m proud of all of you. You’re adapting. You’re surviving. And I’ll do everything I can to keep that going. Even if the rules get weirder every day.”

Erin flashed him a grin, all teeth. “It’s already too late for that.”

Sam raised her glass. “To weirdness, then.”

The rest followed suit, each in their own way. Even Liesa managed a smile.

Andy raised his imaginary glass, and Sam took a sip from the glass, cursing and spitting out the drink immediately, spluttering.

It seemed as fitting a mark of punctuation as anything else.