The Bully

The fluorescent tubes lit the interior of the small corner shop in a flickering, soulless light that threw the scowl on Chrissy’s heavily-made-up face into stark relief, and cast her brown eyes in the shadow of her fake eyelashes. The middle-aged man on the other side of the counter didn’t seem to realise that he was the reason for the scowl, or didn’t care even if he had.

“Come on, honey,” he flirted shamelessly with a smoker’s rasp, “There’s no need to be like that. Gi’ us a smile, at least.”

“No,” she said, flat and hostile, “And you’re still not getting a refund.”

“Cut us a break, love,” he pleaded leaning forward until she could smell the stale cigarettes and **** on his breath, “I hardly touched the stuff, and I need the money.”

“If you need the money then you shouldn’t have bought a litre of vodka, and if you wanted to return it then you shouldn’t have drunk half,” she sneered, leaning back as far as she could to try and keep clear of the boozy miasma and only partly succeeding. The drunk only leaned further forward to follow her, and smiled a queasy smile.

“Be reasonable, darlin’. You’re too pretty to be all worked up like this. How about you sort this for me, and I can show you a good time later, huh?”

“How about you back the fuck off and flirt with someone in your own league, like the juice in the bottom of the bins out back,” Chrissy snapped back before she could stop herself. She’d given her manager a half-hearted promise that she wouldn’t swear at a customer again, but he probably hadn’t believed her and she didn’t care either way.

The drunk blinked, his face going red as he slowly realised he had been insulted, and that the cashier he had picked on wasn’t just going to meekly give in. “You little...”

“You’re honestly pathetic,” Chrissy interrupted him, angrily folding her arms, “You come in here reeking of ciggies and booze, begging for a ten pound refund for some vodka you already drank, and you try and turn that into hitting on me? Ew, no. Just no.”

“Now listen here you bi-”

“No I won’t fucking listen, because I don’t give a shit about anything you have to say,” she spat, leaning forward and putting up with the eye-watering aura to face the man down, “Now get the fuck out of here before I have you done for sexual harrassment. Creep.”

The man turned so red he looked like he might burst into flames. His jaw tightened. His fists clenched.

“Smile, you’re on camera,” she grinned nastily, pointing upwards to the CCTV dome on the ceiling. It wasn’t even a real one, but he didn’t need to know that. “Now fuck off, and don’t come back.”

A range of simple but conflicting emotions crossed the drunk’s face for several seconds, then he gave up on figuring out what to feel and settled on the comforting familiarity of anger.

“Fuck you,” he growled, then spat on the checkout and stormed off, flipping her the middle finger over his shoulder as he slammed the door open and left.

“Yeah, fuck you too,” Chrissy flipped off his retreating back, then let out a sigh. That had been kind of fun, her favourite part of working in the little corner shop was getting to go off on customers sometimes, but now she was feeling wired and on edge and there was still another three hours left in her shift. She eyed up the half-empty bottle of vodka that the angry drunk had left behind, where her reflection was distorted in the glass. The bleached blonde hair, the matte makeup, the faded blue of her uniform and the tired eyes were all widened and smeared out into a caricature of herself.

“...I’m going on my break!” she announced out loud.

Getting no answer from the empty store and taking that as permission, Chrissy grabbed the vodka bottle by the neck, twisted the top off, and took a heavy swig as she walked out the back door and into the throne room.

Chrissy stumbled as she stepped from grubby tiles onto a luxurious carpet, flailing as she tried not to spill the vodka only to realise it had completely disappeared from her hand. She froze for a moment, nine faces staring back at her with varying expressions of surprise, confusion, and frustration. Some of them were familiar, but most of them were strangers, including the short ginger girl with the big nose who was walking towards her with a nasty smile.

“Who the fuck are you?” Chrissy gasped, backing up until her heels bumped into the thick wooden door.

“I’m the Host, bitch,” said the woman, effortlessly pronouncing the capital H, then while Chrissy was still trying to work out how exactly she’d heard an upper-case letter there was a sharp jab into her shoulder as she was prodded with the orange quill.

The compulsion struggled against Chrissy’s **** aversion to following any kind of instruction from anyone, but no matter how much she dragged her heels she found herself inevitably trudging towards the final empty chair at the foot of the throne. She took her seat, her legs straining as she tried to resist before her backside hit the wood with a heavy thud, then her head swivelled to face the Audience.

“Hey, I’m Christine Robertson. I’m thirty years old and I work in a corner shop, I guess. I’m straight, obviously. I probably had sex like two weeks ago after a night out, but I only remember waking up sticky the morning after. I know the... the... fuck off, I’m not calling him thaaaa... Hngh. I know the m-master, fuck you, because I used to bully him in school.”

The blonde went limp, slumping in the chair like a puppet with its strings cut as the strain of fighting against the compulsion was suddenly released. Everyone watched with held breath as she stayed frozen for an uncomfortable length of time, then she slowly raised her head to look at Matt up on his throne. Her eyes were dark and angry, and her lip twisted in a sneer.

“I always knew you were a freak, but this is really a new low even for you, pervert,” she spat up at him.

“Hello Chrissy, I see you haven’t changed a bit,” Matt said with a tired sigh, then turned towards Scarlet, “I don’t suppose I have a veto I can use to get her out of here?”

“I can’t help but notice that you didn’t ask about that when you found out about Poppy, Master,” the Host said, tapping her chin in mock thoughtfulness as Poppy blinked and finally tuned back into the conversation at the sound of her name, “But no. All the Contestants are now bound to you in one way or another.”

“That figures,” Emma grumbled, turning her face away from the former head bitch of the school.

“They got you too, Em?” Chrissy expelled a laugh of frustrated disbelief, “What shitty luck. Stuck in the harem of the worst fuck you ever had.”

Poppy’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But Emma, you always said-”

“Pops, don’t,” Emma said sharply, her head snapping up in fear, “Not in public.”

“Who’s this then?” Chrissy asked, turning her attention to the diminutive asian girl.

The room fell into an awkward silence. Sarah had been curled in on herself since the bully’s appearance, making herself as small as possible in her seat on the far end of the row, but now a tight, vindictive smile spread across her face.

“That’s Poppy,” she said, quietly but eagerly, “Emma’s girlfriend.”

“Nobody asked you, Brown-nose,” the blonde sneered, “Emma’s normal, even if she looks like a butch ####. You’re the ### ####### here.”

The room fell into a very different, even-more-awkward silence. April shuffled slightly sideways in her chair, leaning away from the newcomer as much as she could manage without falling over. Grace gave her a sympathetic smile and put her hand back on her thigh to give a comforting squeeze.

“...well with those unfortunate slurs that I'll have to censor, and a childish insult based on a surname she no longer has, I think we’re all done with our introductions and it’s time to move on to the popularity poll,” Scarlet said brightly, stepping up next to the throne and addressing the Audience directly, “As usual for Harem Hotel, the poll will determine Bonus Points and room assignments. The poll will be ranked choice, with 1 BP for each percent of the score up for grabs, rounding up. We’ll get into more detail on the BP economy during the tour, after the ceremony. First place in the poll will be roommates with last place, second with seventh, and so on.

“In future rounds the popularity poll will also determine the order of the date nights, but for this round I’m making a special exception and we’ll go in the same order as the introductions. That way the Master gets a night with his wife before he cheats on her, and Christine here has the maximum allowable time to extract her head from her own rectum and make room for the Master’s cock to replace it.”

“Hey!” Chrissy snapped angrily, while Sarah and Matt both winced, but the Host continued on without even batting an eyelid.

“The poll will be open until the 11th of May, so get voting! I’ll get on with some more explanations for the Contestants while we wait, and the results will be announced before the transformation polls start.”

“You expect us to listen to you explain stuff for a whole week?!” Eleanor complained indignantly.

“A week for them, assuming they see the poll as soon as it goes live,” Scarlet pointed out, “It will only be a few minutes for us, since we’re in a slower timestream, and I’ll get on with some more explanations in the meantime. Trust me, that week will just fly by, so get voting, Audience!”

POLL CLOSED - SEE RESULTS HERE