Blooming Fire, Part 4

Sun hit the gazebo like a spotlight, outlining every crack and join in white wood, every shimmer of heat in the air, every feather of sweat on the contestants’ upper lips. Arabella stood at the center as if she’d been sculpted there, the curve of her bare shoulder as white as the dais itself, her dress caught in the wind just enough to make her look windborne, and her hair a waltz of red and honey under the sea-breeze. In the ring of stools, the women watched her with the raw, jumpy focus of cats at a window.

Andy sat on the Throne, hands laced over his knee, pretending his heart was not banging out a warning. He watched as Arabella let the silence bloom, arms folded across her midsection, gaze running over the circle as if taking a final attendance.

She swept a hand outward, a gesture practiced and easy. “The Audience, as always, has spoken,” she said, her voice carrying even over the snap of wind. “And it is my honor to present the next set of transformations. Would Dawn please join me in the center?”

Dawn shot up from her seat, half from nerves, half from politeness. The sudden movement made her rabbit ears pop straight up, then flatten a moment later in embarrassment. She approached Arabella, hands knotted in front of her, and tried to smile, but Andy could see the little tremor in her lips. Her brown eyes darted to Chloe, who gave her a thumbs-up so tight it looked like her thumb would break off.

“Ready, Dawn?” Arabella asked, all ceremony.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Dawn said, her voice doing that up-note at the end, like she was hoping someone would call the whole thing off at the last second.

Arabella pressed her hands together, wedding-officiant style, and pitched her voice to cut through the wind. “Dawn, with 46,15% of the votes for two options, the Audience has decreed a tie,” she said. “Again. I suppose it must be the harem’s week for abundance.”

Dawn laughed, a nervous, rabbit-quick sound, but she squared her shoulders. “What’s the damage?”

Arabella smiled, eyes like polished jade. “First: The Way to a Man’s Heart. Any dish you prepare can now carry not just your love, but also a subtle emotional effect. A cup of tea might calm a broken heart, a sandwich could banish envy, a cake—” she paused, a spark of humor—“might seduce a soul.”

The Way to a Man's Heart: Dawn's cooking can create emotional effects in whoever eats it. (Helpless Romantic)

“Oh,” said Dawn, with the delighted horror of someone who’d just been handed a hand grenade in a bakery box. “So if I make you a flan, you might—”

“It’s your choice to use this gift, Dawn. Perhaps don’t use your powers irresponsibly,” Arabella said, and the hint of mischief in her voice was so clear Andy nearly laughed out loud.

“The second transformation,” Arabella continued, “is Bunny’s Favorite Spot. From now on, all seating will be uncomfortable to you, except for a lap. Any lap will suffice, but you will find Andy’s lap… uniquely comforting. Possibly addictive.” She let the words sink in, then reached out and brushed a fingertip along the soft curve of Dawn’s cheek. "The third option, Room Service, already returned once, and will now be available for purchase at the Annex."

Bunny's Favorite Spot: Dawn's bunny instincts grow stronger. While she can sit wherever she pleases, any seat that is not a warm lap feels itchy and uncomfortable. Other people's laps feel comfortable and relaxing in comparison, with the Master's lap being particularly luxurious. (Fun Lover)

For a beat, the world was still. Then Dawn blinked, her ears twitching involuntarily.

She looked at the stool behind her, then at Andy, then at her own hands, which were now gripping her skirt in a white-knuckled clutch. “Is it immediate?” she asked.

Arabella nodded. “You may try, if you wish. Or you may wait.”

Dawn hesitated, then perched herself gingerly on the edge of the nearest stool. The moment she made contact, her eyes widened in shock. “Ow. That’s… wow.” She shifted, then shifted again, but the discomfort was clear. “It feels like sitting on a thousand tiny bottlecaps. Or maybe…” She squirmed in place, ears at full alert, and the group erupted into laughter.

“Want to test the lap thing?” Sam called, patting her own thigh.

“Any volunteers?” Dawn said, then immediately went pink at her own joke.

Andy spread his hands, palms up. “You’re welcome to try mine,” he said, and Dawn bit her lip in a way that could have launched a thousand ships.

She stood, nearly tripping over the base of the stool, and then—without a second’s hesitation—bounded straight onto Andy’s lap, her rabbit tail fluffing out as she landed. The sensation must have been incredible, because Dawn let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

“Oh, wow,” she said, relaxing into him as if she’d been poured there. She wriggled, then stilled, then leaned her head against his shoulder. “It’s like… sitting on the world’s best beanbag, but warm and alive and… Oh, this is going to be a problem.”

Sam, who had never met a boundary she respected, gave a wolf-whistle. “Settle in, Dawnie. You might as well make it official.”

Arabella looked pleased. “I suppose we’ll need to order more laps, at this rate.”

Marissa—who, by virtue of her new transformation, was now on perfect arousal-parity with Andy—made a small, involuntary noise. She crossed her legs and shot Andy a pointed look.

He caught it, and felt a flicker of heat in his own body. It was nothing compared to the effect on Dawn, who was now squirming in delight on his lap.

Arabella made a note in her little white book. “You may stay as long as you wish, Dawn. There’s no hurry.”

Dawn looked at Andy, the flush of pleasure rising in her cheeks. “You don’t mind, do you?” she whispered, suddenly shy.

He grinned. “Not at all.”

She kissed him, quick and soft, then ducked her head against his chest.

“I should probably let you finish the ceremony,” she said, but made no move to leave.

“You can stay,” he whispered back, and she relaxed a little further.

From the ring, Chloe was watching with barely contained envy. “I want to try after,” she muttered to no one in particular, and Emi, beside her, nodded in solidarity.

Sam said, “I think we’re going to have to set up a waiting list. Maybe a deli counter system—take a number.”

The group laughed again, the tension in the air dissipating. Even Riley, who had worn her best scowl since breakfast, allowed a twitch of a smile.

Arabella waited for the laughter to fade, then addressed the group. “We will continue in sequence. Chloe, you are next. Dawn, you may return whenever you wish—or not at all. The choice, as always, is yours.”

Dawn looked like she’d never been so happy to have **** in the matter. She nestled into Andy’s lap, eyes closed.

Chloe’s name rang out in the sunlight, and the effect was immediate: she flinched, tucking her chin and folding her hands in her lap, as if she could make herself smaller than the bench she sat on. Her enormous breasts—magnified by last week’s transformation and the soft cotton of her shirt—made this effort about as effective as hiding behind a watermelon at a produce stand. She looked at Arabella with an expression somewhere between hope and horror, and when the Host beckoned, Chloe walked the three paces to center with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Arabella gave her the briefest of sympathetic smiles. “Chloe, with 48,84% of the vote, the Audience selected First Ambition for you. To my complete surprise, Mother’s Milk only achieved 46,51% of the vote, just below the 1,5% threshold for a veto; it will return in the next round, while Head of the Class, which earned only 4,65% of the vote, will be available for purchase at the Annex. From now on, you will know, instinctively, which contestant achieved a first-time sexual milestone with Andy—and you will be compelled to claim as many firsts as you can. The more you succeed, the less the compulsion will dominate your thoughts.” She paused, letting the words settle on the ring like dew. “It is not a cruel transformation, Chloe. It is a competitive one.”

First Ambition: Chloe will gain a sense of what things the other harem members have done first with Andy and a desire to do them better. The more firsts she has the less this will drive her. (First Kiss)

Chloe’s eyes went wide. Arabella reached forward and, with the gentlest pressure, pressed two fingers to the hollow at the base of Chloe’s throat.

For an instant, Chloe looked normal—blushing, nervous, hair wisping around her jaw—but then her whole body went rigid, like a current had just been run through her. She inhaled, once, sharply, then exhaled with a faint “oh!” that was both delight and panic. Andy saw the shiver ripple from her chest to her knees. When she opened her mouth again, her voice came out a full octave higher than normal.

“I can— I just— Wow. Oh, wow.”

The other women watched, equal parts concern and voyeurism. Even Dawn, usually so quick to support her friend, lifted her head off Andy’s lap to stare.

Arabella, ever the showman, let Chloe dangle for a moment before asking, “What do you feel?”

Chloe looked around, mortified, then locked eyes with Andy. Her pupils went wide as dimes. “I—” She bit her lip, blushed deeper, and then said, “I want to—” Her voice trailed off.

Sam, never one to let a moment die, stage-whispered, “You want to what, Chloe?”

Chloe squeezed her arms tighter around herself, like she could wring out the feeling. “I want to claim a first with Andy,” she said, voice so soft it barely reached the first row.

The women all started to talk at once: “What kind of first?” “Do you know which ones are left?” “Does it feel urgent?”

Chloe nodded, trembling. “It’s… it’s really strong. Like I could jump him right now and—” She stopped, then put both hands over her mouth, ears burning. “I can sense all the ones people already claimed. It’s almost like—” She faltered. “Like there’s a leaderboard. I can’t unsee it.”

Emi, always the sweet one, asked, “Are you okay?”

Chloe nodded, but her whole body vibrated with need. “It’s just so much. And everyone else got there first. It’s like I’m…” she searched for the word, then blurted, “the last cupcake at the party, and everyone else already licked the frosting.” The metaphor hung in the air, sweet and a little sad.

Arabella touched her shoulder, a stabilizing hand. “If you’d like to claim a first now, Chloe, it will lessen the compulsion. You may choose which one.”

Chloe’s face turned a new, darker shade of red. She looked at Andy, then at the ring of women, then at her own hands. She seemed to measure herself against the group and come up short every time.

Chloe took a breath, squared her shoulders, and shuffled toward Andy with a gait like she was walking barefoot on hot asphalt. She stopped in front of him, then bent down, chest pressing against her knees. She cupped her hands around Andy’s ear, her hair falling in a curtain to hide her face.

She whispered, “I want you to spank me.”

Andy blinked, not sure he’d heard right. “You—”

Chloe’s hands went tighter around her waist. “You haven’t spanked anyone before,” she said, still whispering. “I feel it on the board. I want to be first.”

Sam said, “I thought this was a family show.”

Riley rolled her eyes. “Not on this network.”

Andy glanced at Arabella, who inclined her head in permission.

He disentangled from Dawn, who pouted at him but stood nearby, watching. Andy stood, took Chloe gently by the arm, and guided her so that her hips were squared in front of him. “You’re sure?”

Chloe nodded, face pressed against her hands to hide the embarrassment. “Please.”

Andy raised his hand, then brought it down in a sharp, but careful slap against the seat of her jeans. The sound cracked the silence; Chloe gasped, then moaned, then straightened, eyes huge and bright and wet with relief.

Spanked by the Master! +1 VP
First! x2

Arabella smiled. “Well done, Chloe. How do you feel?”

Chloe grinned, wild and proud. “So much better.” She flexed her hands, as if a weight had just been lifted. “Thank you.”

Arabella addressed the group. “The compulsion will always fade when you claim a first. Or,” she turned back to Chloe, “when you outdo someone else’s first-time achievement. In that case, you’ll both remember, but your satisfaction will be greater. When it returns, it will be lessened, unless others claim more firsts in the meantime.”

Chloe, now emboldened, said, “So if I do something more impressive than what’s already been done, it counts?”

Arabella nodded. “Not for the first-time bonus, but to lessen your compulsion, yes. Precisely.”

Chloe looked around at the women, then at Andy, and said, “You’re all perverts,” but her voice was warm, teasing, and the entire ring erupted into laughter.

Andy caught her eye, mouthed, “Are you okay?” and Chloe nodded, cheeks still flushed but smile unshakeable.

She returned to her stool, sat gingerly, a faraway thought in her eyes, as if she were consulting some hidden manual. She frowned, then she stood again, marched up to Arabella, and whispered something in her ear.

Arabella listened, nodded, and whispered back. “Yes. It will remain our secret.”

Chloe’s face contorted with the effort of keeping her mouth shut, but she managed it. She beamed at Andy, then at Dawn, then resumed her spot, arms draped over her enormous breasts like a queen in exile. Her eyes wouldn't leave Andy, however.

“Ready for the next?” Sam called as Dawn claimed her newly favorite spot in the world again.

Arabella’s eyes sparkled. “Always.”

The air was still vibrating with laughter from Chloe’s return when Arabella turned her gaze to Riley. “Riley?” she said, as if taking attendance in a class where no one had ever skipped.

Riley stood. She always stood like a duelist—chin up, feet planted, one fist balled at her hip—but Andy saw how her shoulders rose, an extra half-inch, as she braced for whatever came next.

Arabella’s tone shifted, a different shade of velvet. “Riley, with 57,89% of the vote, the Audience has selected Gravemind Tresses for you. Poetry in Motion, with 18,42% of the vote, will return next round, while **** Core and Misjudged Matchmaker, which earned 13,16% and 10,53% of the votes, will be available for purchase in the Annex. Effective immediately, your hair will reach the floor, and you will find it not only supernaturally strong, but—when aroused or overwhelmed—it may animate to restrain you. You may also notice a persistent scent of dried roses.” Arabella said this with the calm of a funeral director outlining the next steps. “The effect is keyed to your emotional state, and the only way to undo it is to calm yourself or wait until the moment passes.”

Gravemind Tresses: Riley's grief turned her into a recluse, not even taking care of herself, or her hair. Upset, the hair can now fight back. Riley's hair becomes impossibly long. It wraps around her limbs from time to time, especially when she’s overwhelmed, or aroused, tying her up. Riley is unable to free herself from the hair's grasp, and the hair only releases her when her emotion abates, or if the Master commands it. In addition, it becomes a minor erogenous zone. (Widow's Wake)

Riley’s face didn’t change, but Andy saw the tick in her jaw, the pulse at her temple. She nodded. “Ready.”

Arabella stepped forward, took Riley’s chin in her hand, and looked her in the eye for a beat longer than she had with anyone else. Then she stroked a single strand of Riley’s already-shoulder-length hair.

The effect was cinematic. Riley’s hair spilled down her back in a red and black cascade, thickening and lengthening as it went, until it pooled around her feet like oil. The scent of old roses hit the air—not sweet, but dark, the way you’d remember a cemetery after rain. Riley lifted a lock, studying the transformation, her face unreadable.

The group let out a collective “whoa,” Dawn’s ears flicking upright in awe.

Arabella, satisfied, continued. “It will also be much more sensitive. Both to pain—should anyone try to cut it, for example—and to touch.”

Riley ran her fingers through the new length, discovering the ends reached nearly to her ankles. She grinned, then rolled her eyes. “Guess I’ll save on scarves this winter.”

But Arabella wasn’t finished. “There is another feature. When you are… emotionally charged, the hair may act to restrain you, or to… heighten the experience.”

Riley snorted. “So, I get tied up by my own hair. Great.”

“You may test it, if you wish,” Arabella said, with a slight tilt of her head.

Riley’s first thought was to try it on command—she tensed her shoulders, then tried to summon anger or arousal like a magician willing the dove from a hat. Nothing happened.

But then Andy caught her eye. The intensity of the gaze, the history in it, was enough. Riley’s face blanked, and in that instant, her hair twisted up from the floor, lashing around her wrists and pinning her arms to her sides.

There was a sharp intake of breath, not just from Riley, but from half the women watching.

Sam started to move, but Arabella held up a hand. “Let her do this,” she said.

Riley tugged, hard. The hair held, unbreakable as cable, the rose scent thickening in the air. She gritted her teeth, then, by sheer **** of will, calmed her pulse. As her breathing slowed, the hair slackened, then uncoiled, falling limp and lifeless to the floor again.

Riley flexed her hands, wincing at the red marks. “Okay. That was a thing.”

Arabella stepped back, her work done. “You will get used to it.”

Riley touched her wrist, then her hair, then locked eyes with Andy again. For a moment, something passed between them—defiance, maybe, or an old dare remade.

Andy, from the Throne, said, “It suits you.”

Riley’s lips twitched. “I suppose you’ll want to try it sometime.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. With your permission.”

The crowd murmured, and Riley smirked. “You can watch,” she told Sam, who gave a two-fingered salute.

Dawn, who had been stroking Andy’s knee absent-mindedly, said, “It’s so pretty, Riley. And it smells… like an old bookshop.” She buried her nose in the air, dreamy.

Chloe, unable to resist, asked, “What happens if you get embarrassed in public?”

Riley shrugged. “I guess I’ll find out.”

The moment passed. Riley returned to her seat, hair trailing behind her like a cape. She sat, then, as if on impulse, picked up a lock and stroked it gently between two fingers. Her whole body gave a visible shiver, and she shot a glare at Arabella, who only smiled.

“Transformation complete,” said Arabella. She looked at the group, sunlight sparking off her red-gold hair, and let the silence fill the circle. “Any further questions?”

Marissa, who had watched Riley’s ordeal with quiet fascination, raised a hand. “Does the effect extend to… all hair?”

Arabella considered, then shook her head. “Only what is visible. Unless you wish otherwise,” she added, and the subtext made the women giggle, even Riley.

Dawn wriggled in Andy’s lap, then said, “You can always braid it, Riley. That way it won’t get in the way.”

Riley ran her hands through the black river at her back. “Or I’ll just donate it. Maybe there’s a charity for magical bondage hair.”

Sam grinned. “If there isn’t, you should start one.”

Andy watched the group settle, each woman processing her own change. He saw the way Chloe kept sneaking glances at him, the way Dawn couldn’t sit still, the way Marissa’s eyes kept returning to his face, hungry for every flicker of emotion. Even Claire—still silent, still scribbling—looked at him now and then, her blue eyes sharp and knowing.