A Fairy Day's Wage For A Fairy Day's Work

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   There was always a foreboding atmosphere in the office when an employee was nearing retirement. There were fewer of the aging millennials every year, and even the older zoomers were starting to look at each other like frightened animals being led to slaughter.
The boss’ office had thick walls but you could still hear their raised voices. My old mentor, Daniel, was on his way out. It had come as a shock.
“Look, Danny boy, profits are way down on last year. You understand this isn’t personal. The company has to downsize, make cutbacks.”
“Downsize? Is that some sort of sick joke?”
“We’re offering you early retirement. You should be over the moon!”
“‘Offering’?”
“Offering...mandatory early retirement,” the boss corrected himself carefully.
Daniel's voice became low and threatening, and the admin team leaned forward in their chairs to catch his words. “You smug bastard. I’ve worked here forty years on the promise of a comfortable pension and you parasites repay me like this? Early retirement you call it? Throwing me back into the food chain, that’s what I call it! How much money does the government pay you for this?”
“I fail to see what that has to do with anything.”
“How much?”
“There are… tax incentives if you must know. Oh, be reasonable, Daniel. You know the state the world is in. 12 billion mouths to feed, not enough resources. Nobody can afford to keep you retirees fed until you’re 180, or whatever the hell the lifespan is these days. We have to reduce our footprint somehow”
“‘Reduce our footprint’? One more joke out of you…”
“If you want to blame someone, take it to the government, not me. If you want to protest it, be my guest. But do it now before…”
“Before what? Before I’m ten fucking inches tall?!” Daniel roared
“There’s no need to get short with me- oof!”
That was the last thing he said before Daniel lamped him in the jaw and stormed out.
   He didn’t come in the next day, or the next. I packed up his desk and drove around to drop off the box and my sympathies at his house. His wife answered the door. She’d been crying. She had the air of someone at a funeral.
I didn’t see my old mentor again until the winter. It was snowing. I was half-asleep performing data entry when something tap-tap-tapped quietly at the window. I cracked the window and got him in from the snowy window ledge a moment before a crow swooped down to snag him. He perched on my lap, shivering, his ice-encrusted wings vibrating. I let him crawl under my shirt to get warm where he lay trembling against my chest.
“Retirement going well?”
“The wife found a new man,” he explained forlornly when he finally stopped shivering and emerged to stand on my knee. His naked left foot was perched right ontop of my dick but I politely pretended not to notice. “I couldn’t bear to stay in the house. I didn’t know where else to go.”
I fed him chunks of granola bar which he took with both hands, and gave him a bottle cap of pepsi. The government had found a way to reduce his footprint alright, as it had with 10 million other aging millennials, by transferring his consciousness into a vat-grown pixie body. At (generously) a quarter of his height as a man, he was expected to consume a 64th of the resources. It was one solution to the population crisis, and the animals that had taken to eating the retirees was the other solution. Most had spent their lives in the office environment, and had all the survival skills of accountants.
“Couldn’t you stay with your daughter?”
“She’s got a cat.”
“Oh. Well what about those retirement colonies they have?”
Daniel shook his head vehemently. “Not a million years. The only way they keep ahead of the death rate is their equally insane breeding rate, and I refuse to live in a fucking tree,” he snarled cutely, stamping his tiny bare foot. I wince. “Can I stay here with you? At least for the winter. I… I can be useful. I know excel… and… and powerpoint.”
I folded my jacket in the desk drawer as a makeshift bed and propped my phone against the side for him to use as a TV. How could I say no to those eyes? Or that tiny perky rack.

The Life Of Lydia

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   I’m sorry, Lydia. I know what you're thinking, I’m a terrible father. But you had such a perfect life, such a perfect body, that I couldn’t resist taking it. I felt terrible casting that spell but, on the plus side, nobody will ever know. You wouldn’t have any objections if I removed these clothes to examine my prize, would you?
Mmm perfection.
Here, let me retrieve you from where you’ve fallen. ‘The Life of Lydia’, what an amusing title! You don’t mind if I just flip through to the last page. Ah, it’s still being written! More magic! Let's see here... *clears throat*
“Lydia stared up in horror at the figure - her figure! It was her! Her own father within her body, while her soul had been evicted into this vessel of paper and glue. He stooped, picking her up from the flooor. She felt tiny within his hands. He was a giantess! Her leather spine creaked painfully as he spread her wide open, riffling roughly through the thin parchment that was now her entire being. ‘This can’t be happening’, Jessica screamed, though no sound could be heard. ‘This isn’t happening. Give me my body back!’”.
You make for such fascinating reading. I’m afraid your body is my body now, and reversal is quite out of the question. I suppose the kindest thing would be to burn you to free your soul from these pages but, alas, if I’m to take over your life, I need all the secrets written in these pages, access to your innermost thoughts. You don’t mind if I read through these memories, do you? I simply need to know how you and your husband first met.
Oh my, these pages are quite erotic. And with illustrations too! You naughty girl! Is this what I have to look forward to?
Hmm, what’s this you're writing now? “Lydia watched, hope kindling within her as her husband slipped quietly into the room. Unknowing of the theft of her body and life, the man’s dark eyes glittered lustfully at the sight of her father’s exposed, stolen ass. With amorous intent, her husband approached her father, and she saw the same dark lust alight in her father’s eyes as he read her thoughts, as he considered what was to come - his acquired womanhood impaled over and over on his own son-in-law's cock. Too late, Lydia realized her mistake, tried to mask her mind even as her father read it, but the hope of freedom intruded over all other thoughts. The hope that if her husband were only to catch a glimpse of the writing of her book-bound form -even just her title! - he would realize the deception and rescue her from this tor-”
*snap*
Don’t think I don’t see you creeping back there, dearest, admiring my ass. Hmm? 'What was I reading'? Oh, nothing important. But you’re welcome to watch as I put it away. Far, far away.

Mysterio Jones Watson

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“Is that your phone in your pocket, MJ?” Peter Parker asked.
“Mm-hmm, yep,” Mysterio replied, shifting himself around so that his cock wasn't jutting against the hero’s hip. He pressed his breasts against Spider-Man's arms, knowing that was usually sufficient to distract the teenager.
   It had been a week since Mysterio had faked his death in London. A week since he’d been a respectable villain, now reduced to this absurd charade. The plan had been a concocted at the last minute - kidnap Spider-Man’s girlfriend and use the drones to project a holographic shell of the girl around Mysterio, allowing him to get close enough to Spider-Man to steal back the glasses. Simple.
There was of course one very obvious flaw in that plan, which his team were racing to correct - Miss Jones-Watson was an 18 year old girl, while he was a 39 year old man. There was a mismatch there. If the body beneath didn’t match the illusion, Parker’s hand would vanish through the hologram the first time he went for a fumble of a nonexistent breast.
Mysterio’s chest ached from the two large silicone breast implants his team had forced into him. All so that his nemesis would have something to fondle.
“Could you put your arm around my waist this time,” Mysterio said sweetly. The implants inside his ass-cheeks were similarly tender. His team had at least programmed a subroutine into the audio converters to filter out his grunt of pain every time the randy teenager groped Mysterio’s tender cheeks. The audio converters were so far doing a spectacular job modulating his voice into a girly lilt.
"Sure thing, MJ." Peter gripped his waist, and Mysterio’s heart sank as Peter used the closeness as a opportunity to peel up his mask and pull his girlfriend into a kiss. While Mysterio was focused on twisting his head in such a way that his larger nose didn’t bump against Peter’s, Peter took the opening to shove his tongue down his throat. Mysterio nearly gagged. Perhaps the worst part was knowing a live feed of this tryst was being streamed to his team from multiple angles. He played along in kind, examining Peter's tonsils with his own tongue.
At least the lasers and chemical epilation had dealt permanently with his body hair. There’d be no more of ‘MJs’ rough five o’clock shadow scraping against Peter’s cheek as they kissed. That had nearly blown the entire ruse wide open the first time.
And then they were away. Mysterio clung on for dear life as they swung through the city, aware that even the slightest flicker of his disguise would give him away now, while the invisible, hologram-projecting drones struggled to keep pace. His team were similarly rushing to keep up with events, Mysterio’s heads-up display reeling from data as they fed him details of MJ's life, her likes and dislikes, as well as diet tips, gossip, feminine perfumes, and fashion trends. Worst of all was the endless stream of appointments filling his calendar as his team sought ways to improve the foundation of the illusion - liposuction, hair extensions and follicle implants, a buttock lift, jaw and nose reduction and facial feminisation surgery. He shuddered. If this continued, he might not even need the holograms.
“I was thinking we could have Netflix and chill tonight.”
“Of course, honey,” Mysterio replied sweetly. He had no idea what Netflix and Chill was but, 500 feet above the streets of Manhattan, he’d agree to anything. “I-is that your phone in your pocket, Peter?”

Reclining Venus - Inanimate Statue

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   Every now and then, I liked to visit the museum of art after college in the quiet hour before closing time. There was a new installation there, an alabaster sculpture of a girl of beautiful craftsmanship. ‘Reclining Venus - Lorenzo Bartolini - 1820’.

A peculiar sensation of being watched overcame me as I stooped over the sculpture to examine its beauty. Oddly, while the rest of the artwork had ‘Do Not Touch’ signs, the one attached to this one read 'Please Touch'.

“Go ahead.” A woman, dark-haired and beautiful, stepped into the room. “You're welcome to touch it. Don't worry, she won’t bite. She won’t do anything. She’s just a statue.”

“I figured it was a misprint.”

“Not at all. We're encouraging all our visitors to interact with this particular piece. We find it's the best way for them to truly appreciate the artform. Go ahead.”

I shrugged and placed a hand on the statue's knee, appreciating the startling realism there before trailing my fingers slowly up the thigh. The stone was warmer than I’d anticipated, almost body temperature, and not quite as smooth as it appeared. Instead it was slightly granular, and it left a white, chalky residue on my fingertips.

The woman watched with an eerie intensity as my fingers investigated the anatomical-detail of the marble musculature that made up the buttocks. “Did you say something?” I asked. I could have sworn a soft moan came from somewhere.

“Must be the wind,” she soothed. “Pretty, isn’t she? She's such a pretty little thing. Don’t you think?”

“Whoever made her had quite the eye for female anatomy."

"Would you like to own her?"

"A little out of my price range I'm afraid," I laughed politely. Her strange manner unnerved me a little. "Do you work here?”

“My husband owns this collection.”

“He must be a rich man.”

“Very. Marcellino Vecoli, you may have heard of him. He worked hard all his life to assemble these pieces. But in his retirement he is somewhat more… reclining. He found that money did not buy him satisfaction.”

“What does?” I asked, making polite chit-chat. Something about the woman put me on edge, though she was beautiful enough to tolerate. Perhaps it was something about the room I didn't like.

She smiled enigmatically at my question. “What do you think about the chest? Please, take your time. The nipples were made by a master artisan.”

In the hope that complying would make her leave me alone in peace, I obliged, cupping the marble mammaries. Again, they were warmer than I expected stone to be. My fingertips examined the nipples, circling them studiously.

“There’s that wind again,” I muttered, withdrawing my hands quickly. The muffled orgasmic grunt from somewhere in the room was undeniable that time. I mumbled a 'thank you for your time', and quickly left, staring uneasily at the chalky residue on my hands.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————

Gabriella Vecoli looks down at her husband frozen in plaster and spray-on marble. “Did you have fun there, darling?”

The statue gives a soft groan of affirmation, shifting its stiffly painted hand with effort to unveil something stiffer - the fleshy, pink, unpainted cock standing proud and throbbing between its alabaster thighs.

“Liked him, did you?” Gabriella croons, taking the cock in her hand. “Why don’t I finish you off and then we can get you out of this.” She leans in to whisper as she slowly jerks her encased husband to completion. “Or maybe I’ll keep you in there and sell you to the nice young man.”

Her statueified husband gives a gurgle of delight around his concealed oxygen and feeding tubes at the thought, as a spray of cum coats his marble skin.

The Cruise Of A Lifetime - Part Two

 

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Ah, Maisie, you’re home already? Has it really been twelve months since you stole my life? Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun. Did you enjoy sharing that tiny cabin with your grandmother all that time, enjoy having your wrinkly old balls drained night after night by her toothless gums around your cock? Gwendoline’s quite the cougar and she doesn’t like to take no for an answer.

I suppose you expected me to jump at the chance to change back, but I’ve gotten quite comfortable in your skin. It was a shock at first but I soon came to view your body and life as my own, and decided to make a few changes. Hm? ‘I made you a lesbian?’ Well, not quite. Don’t you recognise the tattoos? Don’t you recognise your husband?

Your plan to swap us must have been short notice if you didn't even tell him about it. It was a simple matter to pose as you, and I soon had my darling husband wrapped around my little finger. Such a sweet, gullible young man, he truly did love you. Well, me now.

After I told him I only had eyes for women, he begged me to stay, said he could change. After giving him a big pair of silicone tits, it was a simple matter to push him to take hormones. And those got him so confused and submissive, persuading him to undergo the snip was easy. I’ve been treating his body as my plaything ever since he lost that ugly cock of his. While you were eating oysters in the mediterranean, I was eating out your husband's beautiful new pussy. Do you like what I’ve done with him?

I hear your wife calling you. She truly is your wife, you know, after you renewed your vows. You shouldn’t keep her waiting too long. Who knows how long an old man like you has left!

The Cruise of A Lifetime

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    It was to be my retirement cruise. Just me and my wife touring the world in the lap of luxury. Fourteen months of beautiful scenery, fine dining beneath both the aurora borealis and australis, and tender, intimate moments alone together in the most romantic European cities, culminating in the renewal of our vows as we prepared to spend a comfortable retirement together. No phones, no contact with the outside world, just me and her. Gwendoline had prepared for the holiday in her usual way by packing plenty of little blue pills. The hormonal rollercoaster of menopause had awakened a rapacious sexual appetite in the woman that I’d yet to find a way of quenching.

I’d known my granddaughter Maisie was desperate to see the world. I didn’t realised just how desperate until I awoke on the day of departure with sticky electrodes glued to my scalp beneath my long hair. I’d been bald when I went to sleep. A swap helmet lay on the pillow beside me. My head lolled groggily. She must have dosed herself with sleeping pills last night just before slipping on the swap device, leaving me to have a long, deep sleep inside her.

Navigating the absurdly wide and wiggling hips of a woman was bad enough without the drugs. I staggered to the bathroom, staring in horror at her… my naked reflection. My fingers refused to play ball with donning a bra, so I pulled on a shirt, panties, and ran as fast as I could for the docks.

I arrive just as the cruise liner is departing. Maisie and Gwendoline stand on their cabin balcony, wrapped in each other's arms in the cold morning air. Maisie doesn’t seem to see or hear me hollering on the dockside as the ship pulls away. Perhaps she’s still adapting to her new cataracts and figuring out the on-button on my hearing aid. Perhaps she’s distracted as Gwendoline presses her wrinkles lips against hers in a lingering kiss, her insistent tongue worming its way into her granddaughter’s mouth, her old hands fumbling for the girl’s wizened cock.

The last I see, before the ship departs for 14 months, is Maisie's pale face as Gwendoline pulls her back into the privacy of their cabin.