The First Night

After the heavy theming of the Contestant rooms, Matt hadn't been sure what to expect from the Master suite. Perhaps a different genre of story, like mysteries or superheroes, or maybe just ludicrous excess given the golden throne he had been thrust upon earlier. The reality was surprisingly restrained, in all aspects but one.

The Master suite was large, for sure. It wasn't too much smaller than the throne room, with a wide open space under a vast vaulted ceiling, but the main room was furnished like the cozy common room downstairs, albeit with some luxury additions. There was a singular chesterfield sofa by a stone fireplace, and a massive TV screen with some videogame controllers resting in front of it but no visible consoles to connect them to. Nearby was a modern kitchenette in black marble and dark blue panelling, a well-stocked wine rack, and a small glass and steel dining table with steel and leather dining chairs. Across the room was a doorway, presumably leading to the bedroom itself, and some windows opened out over a twilight forest. An armchair and a small side table sat beside the window, angled to look obliquely out at the view.

The rest of the space was taken up by books.

Thousands of books, maybe hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions, lined the walls and reached up nearly to the exposed rafters. More tomes were left loose on the table, the counter top, the sofa, and stacked in random piles across the carpet. There was an entire jungle's worth of paper printed and bound, capturing stories into a digestible format even if the vast majority of them were too high to reach. The room was so dense with words it almost seemed to bend space around it, dizzying the mind if you tried to take it all in too fast.

Matt blinked and shook his head, leaning against the doorframe for stability. It was one of the few bits of exposed stone in the room, other than the floor. As his head stopped spinning he became aware of the texture beneath his hand. His brow furrowed. Inquisitively, he ran his fingertips over the surface. It looked like stone, to the naked eye. It felt like paper.

He took a breath and lowered his hand, then stepped slowly into the suite. He ignored the books, passed the kitchen without comment, snubbed the sofa, and went off to find his bedroom. Alone.

“So what the hell did you even do to Emma anyway?” said the true horror that lurked in the horror room, “She was normal when I knew her.”

Poppy looked back at Chrissy with a blank expression, then gave a slow blink before turning away to investigate the bathroom, carrying her pyjamas under her arm. She had been very grateful to discover that all her clothes from home were not only already in the wardrobe, but they had also shrunk to her new size. She was less grateful about her new roommate.

“Hey!” Chrissy yelled after her, but didn't move from her position on the bed, feet up and her arms wrapped around her knees, “I'm talking to you!”

“I know,” Poppy replied, looking around.

The en suite was decorated in the same dark opulence as the bedroom, grey stone and ebonised wood, but contrasted with stark white porcelain for the sink and the claw-footed bathtub. Poppy spotted her own familiar toothbrush in a pot by the tap, and lingering memories of Emma's gentle scolding prompted her to make use of it before she forgot. Someone had provided a merciful footstool to help her reach the sink, though she could still only see the very top of her head in the mirror.

“Whatever it was, it won't work on me,” Chrissy said with total confidence, “So you might as well not bother.”

The toothbrush paused, and Poppy closed her eyes while she took a slow breath in and out through her nose before she resumed brushing. She didn't respond. Chrissy failed to cover up a quiet whimper with a cough, then didn't try and continue until Poppy had finished cleaning her teeth, spat, and rinsed.

“Sucks to be you,” the harpy tried a teasing tone, though it wavered just a little, “Emma too. Couple of lesbos stuck in the harem of that pervert.”

“Emma likes men as well,” Poppy corrected the assumption, checking she was out of sight before stripping to get changed. Chrissy hadn't been there for anyone else's introductions, though she suspected the bleach-blonde wouldn't have known what ‘pansexual’ meant even if she had heard it anyway.

“Yeah, well, I'm surprised he didn't end up putting her off men altogether. She always said he was a lousy lay.”

That particular assumption was left unchallenged, even if Poppy knew better. Or, she thought she did at least. Emma had clearly lied to one of them about her relationship with Matt, but had it been to Chrissy because she was awful, or to Poppy because she had been so insistent in asking about it? Either way, Emma had told her not to say anything about it in front of others and it was an argument she had no interest in having right now.

Poppy returned to the bedroom wearing a set of loose blue shorts and a yellow short-sleeved shirt, pointedly keeping her gaze away from Chrissy's wary eyes and exposed breasts. She hauled herself up onto the other side of the bed, crawled to the top and then wriggled herself down under the covers. She lay facing the window, watching the distant storm rage outside. It really was very pretty, in its own way, and thankfully far enough away that the thunder was only a muffled murmur. It wasn't her usual sort of subject, but she did find herself wondering about the optimal exposure times for her camera to capture the majesty of the backlit mountain peaks without the lighting blowing out the image.

The candles in the room all suddenly went out at once, making Chrissy gasp sharply. When nothing else immediately happened, the bed shifted a little as she also got herself beneath the covers and pulled them tightly around her neck. Poppy considered whether the photo would be better in black and white, or if the subtle browns of the dead trees were worth a full colour image.

The bed shifted some more, Chrissy tossing and turning. Poppy wondered if the window itself made the best framing, or if she should crop that out and let nature speak for itself.

“Hey. You still awake?” Chrissy asked, several minutes later.

Poppy didn't even notice. The window would stay in shot, she decided. It was too perfectly aligned, as if the view was already a framed picture, to miss out on.

“Poppy?”

Her attention snapped back at the sound of her name, but she didn't move. She hadn't been asked anything, or told to do anything, so there was no point in reacting yet.

Chrissy rolled over again, and let out a shaky breath. There was a quiet sniffle, and a choked sob. More rustling, as she burrowed her face into the pillow.

“It will be alright,” Poppy found herself saying, “There must be a way through this, even if we don't want to do anything with Matt.”

Chrissy went very still. For a moment, she stopped breathing.

“...shut up,” she mumbled eventually, muffled by the pillow.

That was an instruction that Poppy had no problem at all following. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

If the view out of the sci-fi room's window was a trick, then it was a damn good trick. No matter how Emma looked at it, she couldn't see any edges to the illusion, or any ground below them. Just an endless starry sky, right outside her new bedroom. Even for someone whose interest in space usually started and ended with an occasional appreciative glance at the moon, that was kind of cool. Kind of scary too.

“So what was it like growing up with him?” she asked her roommate, purely for the sake of making conversation, “Matt, I mean.”

“I knew who you meant,” Grace's voice drifted out of the bathroom, where she was getting changed. Emma had already been, leaving as quickly as she could manage. The en suite intimidated her even more than the view out of the window. The shower looked like it required an engineering degree to operate.

“I guess ‘him’ narrows it down a bit, doesn't it?” Emma admitted, “I vaguely remember him from back when we started secondary school, but only because he was always on his own. Was he always like that?”

“Nothing like that,” Grace sighed, “He was always the ringleader when we were kids. The one who came up with the ideas for games, and convinced everyone to play them. The parents in our neighbourhood must have loved him, taking half a dozen bored children and keeping us entertained all day during the school holidays.”

Emma barked out a laugh, caught completely off guard.

“Are you sure we're talking about the same Matt? I swear he barely spoke to anyone except the teachers until he was sixteen.”

“He spoke to me, when he could manage,” the response came after a moment’s pause, unexpectedly soft and serious, “Some of the others from back home too. We’ve got a group chat history longer than War and Peace, and there’s always a handful of games in rotation for anyone who wants to hang out and play something. I didn’t realise he was so much different in person since he left. I guess he probably didn’t realise that about me either though.”

“He never mentioned you, while we were dating,” she said, more curious than accusatory.

“He mentioned you, more than a few times,” Grace replied dryly as she came back into the bedroom.

Emma winced, turning around with an apology at the ready, “Yeah, I bet you heard all sorts about- holy shit, where the hell were you hiding those things?!”

Grace's living hair was instantly up in a defensive posture and she wrapped her arms around her chest, but not fast enough to stop Emma from catching the outline of a pair of enormous breasts. The redhead was wearing a t-shirt so big and loose it could have been an ill-fitting dress, but while it did an admirable job of concealing the shape of most of her body it couldn't fully hide the pendulous orbs that ballooned out in front of her. She backed away, nostrils flaring, jaw clenched.

“Sorry, sorry,” Emma held up her hands and lowered her eyes as she recognised the reaction for what it was, even if she had no idea why, “Sore point, I guess?”

“You could say that,” Grace ground out. Her body was absolutely stationary, but her hair writhed with agitated energy.

“Alright. I get it. I'll drop it. Just... Damn, girl. They must be bigger than my head!”

The hair lunged, only to come up just a few feet short of Emma when it ran out of length. She reflexively backed up anyway, bumping into the window.

“Okay! Dropping it!” she laughed nervously, wearing a guilty expression, “Um. What were we talking about?”

“How Matt told me all about you,” Grace grumbled, forcefully relaxing her jaw but keeping her arms crossed over her chest.

“Right, that,” Emma winced again, “I'm sure you heard all sorts of horror stories.”

“Just the one, actually. We all thought you sounded great, until you broke up with him.”

“When I broke up with him?” she blinked in surprise, “Breaking up with him is probably the only thing I ever did right in that relationship.”

“Why? Because he wasn't good enough for you?” Grace dropped her arms, and took a step forward, protective anger about her friend forcing the previous issue from her mind.

Under any other circumstances, Emma wouldn't have been able to stop herself from stealing a glance as the giant knockers jiggled beneath the thin fabric, but she just hung her head in shame.

“No, because I wasn't good enough for him,” she muttered.

“Bullshit. He worshipped the ground you walked on. Never had a bad word to say about you. He even tried to take the blame for the breakup.”

“He really never said anything to you? I thought he would have vented to someone about...” Emma shook her head, “Ah, it doesn't matter. I guess the breakup is just one more thing I messed up on then.”

Grace's fury faltered in the face of Emma's depressive state, even her hair starting to go lax. It was hard to continue an argument when your opponent was agreeing with you.

“...are you alright?”

Emma shook herself and looked up at last, her eyes only catching for a moment on the massive melons before she treated Grace to a **** smile.

“I'll be fine. It's just been a rough day, you know? Skipped a meal because of coming here, and I’m exhausted anyway.”

“Sure,” Grace said uncertainly, a little confused as to how suddenly she’d switched from aggressor to comforter, “Have you tried the bed? It's a little weird, but I think it should be a great night's sleep once we're used to it.”

“How bad can it be?” Emma shrugged, swaggering towards the circular anti-gravity projector. It only took her a couple of hours to stop panicking that she was falling for long enough to get to sleep. It only took Grace a little longer than that before she could allow herself to relax enough to sleep in someone else’s presence.

The nose began to tune out the cloying floral scent of the romance room after only a few minutes of exposure, which was a relief. The **** on the eyes from the garish red and pink decoration took somewhat longer to get used to.

April was nowhere to be seen when Sarah entered the room, and since she didn’t really want to have a conversation through the bathroom door (or try opening it, especially when it didn’t appear to have a lock) she opted to just wait and see. She took a quick tour of the room, briefly glancing through the window into the shower cubicle only to be relieved to find there was no view into the rest of the en suite, before stopping in front of the full-length mirror in the corner.

The woman looking back wasn’t Sarah. Not really. She was far too pretty, too thin and sexy, and too confidently dressed to be Sarah. And yet, when she moved, the woman in the reflection moved too. When the woman touched her flat, toned stomach, Sarah felt it beneath her fingertips. When Sarah tugged at the edge of her top, the woman’s breasts (much higher and firmer than Sarah’s) shifted a little in response. A giddy giggle escaped her lips. The woman might not be her, but it would be fun to pretend.

“You look amazing,” April said, soft and shy.

Sarah’s head whipped around, April squeaked and took a half step back towards the open bathroom door, looking guilty enough to make Sarah feel guilty herself. She took a slow breath.

“Thanks,” she said with a small smile, then turned away again.

“I mean, you looked nice before, but now... it suits you, I guess.”

“...thanks,” the woman in the mirror said with a disbelieving frown. Sarah shook herself, and stepped away until she could no longer see the reflection. “You’re very pretty as well.”

She really was, from Sarah's perspective. April was a little taller than even Sarah's newly increased height, her brown skin flush and healthy, and her black hair was thick, shiny and luxurious, with the two cat ears protruding from the top. Despite her height, her features were delicate and her curves slight. She was cute, especially in the pink Hello Kitty pyjamas. Sarah could see why her husband would be attracted to her. She shook herself as she realised that she was, once again, literally checking out the competition.

“Thank you,” April said quietly, clasping her hands in front of her and looking down demurely, “It took a long time before I didn't hate what I looked like.”

“You used to be fat too?”

“You weren't that...” she started to deflect but then trailed off, eyeing the exposed shower cubicle. She didn't really want to spend every time she used it in a state of constant panic. Maybe it would be better to get it over with straight away. “Um. No. I used to be a boy.”

April anticipated the second look, and wasn't disappointed. A re-appraisal, not just checking her out but looking for evidence this time. Clocking her height, her small breasts and her limited curves as symptoms rather than simply facts. She tried not to blame Sarah for it, she'd never met a single person who didn't do it to some involuntary extent, but it still stung just a little.

She braced herself for the follow up. A question about her genitals, or asking what her ‘real’ name was. Either that, or a simple look of concealed disgust and a careful distancing; an assumption that she was some kind of pervert. Which she was, to be fair, but not in person, and it had nothing to do with her gender!

“You're very pretty,” Sarah said again, instead of any of that, blushing a little.

“Thank you,” April replied, blushing right back at her, “I hope it's not weird sharing a room.”

Sarah shook her head, and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

“Honestly, it's just weird that you're here at all.”

“Right. Matt probably won't want to even do anything with me, will he?”

April sagged, preemptively dejected. Sarah just glared at her.

“My issue with you being here isn't that I'm worried my husband won't be interested in you.”

The warm moment suddenly turned cold enough to freeze April on the spot. The blush faded from her cheeks, and her heart sank into her stomach. “Oh god,” she mumbled, wringing her hands in front of her, “I... I’m sorry. I should have thought... I just got so excited and-” She cut herself off with a squeak and clapped both hands over her mouth before she could dig herself into an even deeper hole. Her ears went flat and her tail curled up into an anxious coil.

Sarah’s frustration burned hot and fast, and as a result it almost immediately ran out of fuel. Her soul had already been scoured clean by the heavy emotions of the day, and she simply didn’t have the energy left to hate her new roommate. She allowed herself to fall backwards onto the mattress, body and face both going slack.

“You know what the weirdest part is?” she said to the ceiling, “It should make it worse, that you’re excited to be here, but it doesn’t. If anything, I think you’re the one I mind the least.”

April very slowly removed her hands from her mouth. “Because I’m not really any competition for you?” she asked over the top of her fingers.

“I’m not going to win this competition anyway,” Sarah snorted, her own self deprecation briefly skirmishing with April’s before easily winning due to its home turf advantage, “I just think that if Matt’s going to end up with anyone, it should be someone who will treat him well. The others... I don’t know. At least you seem as if you might actually like him.”

“I don’t even really know him anymore,” April said tentatively, “But I’d like to, if that’s alright with you.”

Sarah made a noise that was closer to surrender than agreement. It only took a few seconds of the ensuing awkward silence before April was searching around for something to fill it.

“Um... you can borrow some of my pyjamas, if you like,” she offered.

“Why would I need to?” Sarah’s head slowly lifted off the bed, and she squinted at the catgirl in confusion.

“Well... I think I found your new ones from your transformation earlier while I was looking for mine, and they’re...” she gestured at one of the drawers, unwilling or unable to finish her sentence as her earlier blush returned with a vengeance.

Tiredly, but curiously, Sarah hauled herself back up off the bed and opened the indicated drawer. Her eyes went wide. There was a lot of fabric inside, but a very small amount of coverage. She hadn’t expected to be able to make out the rose patterns on the bottom of a drawer that was filled to the brim. She very slowly closed it again, as though afraid the dangerous clothing inside might leap out and bite her if she startled it.

“...borrowing some of yours would be good, thanks,” she said in a slightly choked voice.

April giggled, approaching cautiously then leaning down to open the drawer below.

“Let me show you what I’ve got.”

The fantasy room was designed to be calm, tranquil, and peaceful. Neither resident seemed to have noticed though.

“I’m having this side of the bed, and I’ll use the bathroom first,” Eleanor demanded as soon as she stepped through the door, “Make yourself useful and build a wall of pillows down the middle or something.”

“Oh I’m so glad I ended up sharing with you,” Max replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she threw herself onto the side of the bed that her roommate had just claimed, resting her boots on the fluffy white duvet and laying back on the plush pillow with her hands interlaced behind her head.

Eleanor paused on her way through the bathroom door, her red eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Did you not hear what I just said?”

“I heard,” Max sighed, closing her eyes and relaxing, “I just don’t give a fuck.”

“I could have you fired, you know,” Eleanor snapped, giving up on her nightly routine in favour of turning the inconsequential disagreement into an argument.

“I really don’t think you could, princess,” one pierced eyebrow lifted, ever so slightly, though her eyes stayed closed, “On account of how daddy’s probably gonna disown you when we get out of here and he finds out you’re in a harem.”

“As if,” she sniffed derisively, “Not all of us have parents as terrible as yours.”

“Hey, screw you,” Max suddenly sat up and opened her eyes again, “My parents are great, and they don’t give a shit who I fuck. I heard you tell us about your lack of sex life and the men your daddy is trying to pawn you off on though. You think Matt’s upper-class enough to distract your daddy from the fact that he already has a wife, and you’re just one of six sidepieces?”

“Yeah, well...” Eleanor faltered, then recovered with a sudden burst of righteous self-confidence, “I’ll win the wish anyway, so I can do whatever I like afterwards. So there.”

“Fuck off, you really think you’ll win the kinky sex competition?” Max laughed raucously, “Kid, I’ve got piercings in my pussy and you’ve probably never even touched a dick. You remember that the way you win is to have as many different kinds of sex as possible, right?”

“I’ll do what I must,” the heiress snarled, but found herself unable to maintain eye contact with the punk. She clenched her fists, and her teeth, fighting to keep up her angry front.

Max peered at her suspiciously, then a salacious smile slowly split her face. “Oh my god. You’re actually kinda looking forward to it, aren’t you? The virgin princess is a closet pervert!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she snapped, still physically unable to meet Max’s gaze.

“That’s fucking hilarious. I bet you wouldn’t even know where to start!”

Eleanor gave up on eye contact and turned away, folding her arms indignantly. She definitely wasn’t looking forward to anything. Not even slightly. But if she was going to win anyway, it wasn’t like there was any harm in enjoying herself in the process, right? She was young, she was pretty, she was rich and powerful. She could beat all these older and more experienced women. She could have the so-called Master do all sorts of things to her if it suited her whims. Purely for the sake of winning, of course.

“As if it’s even difficult,” she huffed, “If someone of your calibre can manage then I should have no problems whatsoever.”

“Someone of my-” Max began with incredulous anger, then paused and laughed again, “I can ‘manage’ because I know what I’m asking for, and how to ask for it.” She stood, hovering behind Eleanor’s shoulder and continuing in a teasing chuckle, “You just take your clothes off for Matt and I’m sure he’ll show you a good time. Hell, you might even get some bonus points for your virginity. But if you want to get into the really kinky shit, the kinda stuff that’s probably worth more points, then you’re gonna need to do a bit more than that, princess.”

“Well you’re certainly not asking him on my behalf,” Eleanor snapped back.

Max recoiled with a grimace. “What? Ew. No. I’m not going anywhere near you and your sexy-times. I’m just saying, I got no fucking problem getting men to treat me like dirt - and I like it that way. A sheltered rich girl like you, though? Matt’s gonna treat you like a delicate little flower unless you get him really turned on first, and by the time you work up to the good shit I’m gonna be way out in front.”

“What makes you think I want to be treated like dirt?” she challenged, spinning around to face her opponent but only managing a couple of seconds of eye contact before her nerve failed her once again, “What makes you think I’ll have any difficulty whatsoever t... turning him on?”

“You wanted to win, didn’t you?” Max sneered, “And you’re hot enough, I guess, but your body will only get you so far. Good luck managing any dirty t-t-talk when you’re stuttering and blushing like that.”

“I’m not blushing,” Eleanor vehemently lied.

“Sure you aren’t,” Max snorted, “May the sluttiest woman win.” She gave the goth a patronising pat on the shoulder, then slipped past her and into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Eleanor stood quietly seething for a moment before she realised what had just happened. “Hey! I said I was going first!” She shouted at the door, getting only a muffled laugh in response. Her seething intensified, and she turned back to the bed with a frustrated growl. The pure white of the sheets were marred by a dirty mark from Max’s boots, and she took her petty **** by flipping it over so the mark was on the underneath of the side that she had failed to claim.

The lowborn punk would be put in her place, Eleanor vowed to herself. She would win this competition, and she’d do it by being treated exactly as she deserved.