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Maggy Stoils walked the backstreets of Hasselby Court and shivered. She wasn’t going to make rent. Her hands and feet were cold. Her shoes had holes in them. She hadn’t eaten in sixteen hours. In four more she wouldn’t have a place to stay.
She heard from Tall Emma about the Wizard in the Warehouse. A mangled man with a body ravaged by his own spells, like the kids who waded the toxic sludge by the river or the beggars caught in the glittering spell fog that periodically descended over the city. Unlike the beggars and the kids, he was wealthy and paid handsomely any woman who would lie with him.
Not many took him up on the offer. Those who lived wished they hadn’t.
Maggy dimly recalled a piece of advice given by her Aunt Bergitte, in between mouthfuls of gin and probing her niece with bony fingers to see if she was old enough to butcher.
“Go ugly early.”
She needed the money before she got so filthy no man wanted to touch her. Before she got so hungry she couldn’t glide smoothly up and down a pox-ridden cock. Before her hands froze and fell off and she had to use her mouth for everything.
She rounded the corner and made for the Royal Docks. Her left sock went squelch as water from a shallow puddle filled her shoe.
William Hall had two penises, individually thin but thick when bundled together, which he inserted into Maggy at the same time. They glowed a strange color, bright enough to be visible through her belly when she made the mistake of looking down. He had a body like the rotting oarfish she saw once at the street circus in Broadham. He draped it over her as he humped away at her slit, so his luminescent pustules rubbed and leaked all over her. He stank. He was big. It hurt. Maggy had fucked fat men with big dicks before. Men who crushed her during sex. This was worse. It wasn’t just suffocating, like the air was being squeezed out of her. It felt like being transported to a place where air didn’t exist. To the bottom of the river to be picked over by thaumic eels. To the bottom of the ocean to rot like the carcass of a whale. He was cold, but she was used to that. She always felt cold.
Bill (he asked her to call him that) muttered during sex. His voice made squelching sounds and dribbled slime all over her. Fucking on her back was a mistake. She should have laid facedown with her rump offered for penetration, so she wouldn’t have to look at him and choke back screams every time he moved. But then she couldn’t see him, and if he grabbed her neck he could-
He placed a webbed hand on her right breast. Something sank into the skin just above her areola. A sharp hook, like the ones bristling from the tentacles of the enormous squid drawn on the wall of the tavern. Maggy gave up choking back tears and sobbed. Men liked that. It made them feel big. He’d hurt her but he wouldn’t kill her. He’d never killed anyone, that she knew of.
He froze inside her. His glowing buboes winked like eyes. His remora-toothed maw made a language-like sound she couldn’t understand, dribbling a fresh cascade
Shit, did she make a mistake? Did he not like to hear her sob?
Her right breast throbbed with pain. Her overstuffed box answered with a dull throb of its own. The Wizard stiffened inside her, mind made up, which hurt her even more. He continued humping away. She controlled her breathing through force of will, though the effort expended and the taste of the air spoke again of a place where breath was impossible.
The condom of force which kept the mage’s twin claspers bundled together stopped his load from staining her insides. The rubber was transparent and the flash of light was still visible through her belly. It was elastic and she felt it bulge around his penises as he filled it. He let it stew inside her, leaking thaumic radiation and Gods-knew what else through the thin barrier. She resisted the urge to thrash, to run away, because it was almost over and she was so-close to food and rent and shoes that didn’t leak.
Her genitals glowed octarine even after he pulled out. He drooled something about half-lives. It would go away on its own, probably. She sniffed and thanked him, which is what men wanted to hear when they came inside her. He nodded absently and peeled the condom off, sending splatters of glowing jizz across her thigh when his twin penises sprang free. The spell dissipated and the rest of the wizard cum spilled on the bedsheets. But by then he was already shuffling across the room to retrieve her payment.
It was more money than Maggy had ever seen in one place. Maybe more money than she had made in her life. Enough for food and a place to stay and new clothes and enough left over that she wouldn’t have to hook again for a week. A month. The throbbing pain in her needled breast was worth it. The protests from her bruised vagina were taken under advisement, then discarded as merely the price of doing business. The feeling of suffocation, of drowning, would pass.
The smell didn’t go away.
The first time Maggy stayed the night, it wasn’t by choice. A low pressure system blanketed the city in a thick octarine fog, crackling with arcane energy and promising mutation and death to anyone caught in it. By the time she finished getting Bill off, it was so thick that even stepping outside the door of the warehouse would be fatal. She’d never make it home.
So the warped wizard told her, anyway. She wasn’t having any of it, afeared that he had decided to keep her as a test subject. An experiment. A doll to be shoved in a box, locked away and hidden except when he needed a place to sheathe his twin cocks. A female close enough to his species that he could mate with her, pumping her full of little mutants who would devour each other in the womb and eat their way out of their mother so she died screaming.
By way of demonstration, he pulled a hagfish from the slime tank and tossed it out the second story window. Maggy watched through the fogged glass as it fell, lit by the gaslamps outside. Before it hit the ground half the flesh had been stripped away, the cartilaginous skeleton within converted to a matrix of glittering crystals that slowly offgassed into dust.
Bill ladled her a bowl of thick fish chowder. He paired it with half a loaf of soft bread and a mug of sweet beer. She ate naked except for a blanket, wrapped around her and tucked underneath so she didn’t get splinters in her ass from the rough wood of the chair. The mutant mage didn’t have guests often. He grumbled about his work and spat frustrations about his customers while she ate. The warehouse was warm. Maggy could afford to heat her apartment but usually didn’t, preferring to save the money for an emergency. It was important to keep her eye on the prize and not be distracted by luxuries. She almost fell asleep, warm and full of delicious food and lulled by the wizard’s babbling. The fish stink didn’t even register.
He fucked her again before morning. He was still a man. She was still a whore.
Maggy Stoils had a small row house in a decent neighborhood. She had a respectable job as the assistant night manager in an outlet store selling heat ray cookers and chests of frost. She didn’t have to fuck strange men to make rent. She turned on the heat when it was cold.
She also had a medical problem. A side effect of magical contamination from sucking wizard dick. From writhing in pain while a man with a body like a sea serpent and a dick like a sea turtle wrapped himself around her and forced her open and came inside her again and again. The last time she fucked him he had grown too big for enchanted condoms but his sperm were so pickled in thaumic radiation there was no chance they were viable. She wasn’t pregnant, thank the Gods.
(She didn’t know if she even could get pregnant. She didn’t know what would come out if she did.)
She didn’t want to show her genitals to a doctor. She didn’t trust doctors to keep their mouths shut about what they found under her skirts, and she had no confidence in their treatments. Pills that made you sicker and more dependent on the pharmacist until they had you in their fist and you had no choice but to pay and pay. There was only one man who might know what was happening to her. Who she trusted to help her and do it quietly.
Bill strapped a lamp to his enormous head for the examination. It was a carbide light focused by a mirror and it was so bright that Maggy couldn’t see the rest of him. Which was a comfort. He had grown larger since she last submitted to him sexually and his slithering bulk was now partly supported by floating discs and featherfall charms. He could have changed himself back, he made sure she understood, but that would have been an admission of defeat. His body was a mystery even to him and if he couldn’t solve it there was no hope.
He wouldn’t charge her a thing for his services, she made sure he understood. He used a wand of ventriloquism to speak, his mouth could no longer form the words. She would have preferred to pay him so she could pretend this wasn’t another one of his experiments, but she was already strapped to his table with her bare pussy glistening scaly purple under the harsh white light.
In her previous occupation as a whore, Maggy’s quim had been beaten black and blue. It had been stretched and hammered and generally maltreated. At first she thought the swelling was a late-arriving symptom of a disease, manifesting years after she escaped her former life rutting with filthy men in the city’s gutters. The color and texture she could deal with, until she couldn’t. Until the feel of the sensitive tissue rubbing against the inside of her skirts became a distraction. Then became debilitating. Her vagina had been beaten to a pulp before but she was really not used to it being so sensitive . Swollen and throbbing and filled with blood. She had to lock herself in the backroom and masturbate so she could work without whimpering in front of the customers. Multiple times a day, interrupting sales and demonstrations of the latest features on wands of prestidigitation and rings of mage hand.
Bill had matured since she last saw him. Matured or gotten worse. He wasn’t interested in stuffing his cock into her and draining his balls while he gnawed and clawed her. He had heard her in pain on numerous occasions and now he wanted to hear what other sounds he could twist out of her. His instruments felt like ice cubes dribbling across her plump, glossy labia. She shrieked. The restraints stopped her from leaping off the table. He touched her again.
He explored her with calipers, tape and clamps. His claws were trimmed for fine detail work and he used the pads of his webbed hands to explore the soft tissues inside her, mercifully sparing her his array of metal tools. He used a bowl to collect everything that dribbled, then squirted out of her, periodically pouring it into pipettes and labeling them with a grease pencil for later perusal.
Bill diddled Maggy through two dry orgasms, making completely sure she had no more samples to offer him, before giving her a diagnosis. The transformation was a physical manifestation of female hysteria. He could treat the symptoms trivially, returning the shape and texture of her vagina to that which he had lazily familiarized himself with over night after night of rough fish sex. But the disease itself could only be tamed by regular treatments like the one he had just administered. He could offer her a device, or she could visit after work any time she was feeling distracted. He explained all this with the wand of ventriloquism clasped in his flabby claw, voice set to one of the deep, smooth presets that made everything around him vibrate.
He undid the restraints. Maggy slumped bonelessly on the slab without the stirrups to support her legs.
Maggy Stoils had a nice house in Monk’s Garden. She had fine clothing to cover any evidence of her former dalliance with slimy fish wizards and their mutagenic seed. She had two suitors who, as far as she could tell, knew nothing of her past life. One was a charming patent lawyer, the other a handsome adventurer. She kept both of them interested without showing the goods, parceling out felatio and handjobs like a miser to string them along. If they suspected she had acquired her aptitude for cock pleasing in a former life as a prostitute, they kept their mouths shut. Certainly they didn’t complain.
She thought the knock at the door was one of them. Maybe with a bottle of wine. She’d make a plate of cold cuts and cheese and fresh bread and they’d go out in the garden. Or to the Long Mall for a picnic. She smiled and went to let him in.
Neither of the two men waiting for her were her suitors. They were from the Ministry of Justice and they would be happy to discuss their business publicly on the porch, if she didn’t feel like inviting them inside, which she did immediately. One refused tea, the other accepted a lukewarm cup but didn’t drink while they laid out the facts of the case:
A certain sorcerer in a warehouse by the docks had come under investigation for banned magical practices. He had made a killing with his patent formula for the distillation of polymorphine but his recent research had veered into the unsound. They weren’t precisely interested in the details, in fact proving a medical case against him was likely more trouble than it was worth. It would be far easier to nail him on charges of moral contamination. Perhaps if an anonymous victim of his sexual attentions would submit to a brief inspection, along with providing a sworn affidavit that she had lain with him on multiple occasions proceeding any transformation that occurred, this would be sufficient to shutter his business. They could guarantee that he would be in no fit state to retaliate against whoever admitted to being his victim, along with substantial compensation for such a victim’s pain and suffering.
Maggy tried to keep her hands steady. She didn’t want to talk about this with two strangers who somehow knew exactly what she had done to get where she was. They offered her a lot of money. Enough to finally shut up the little voice that said she wasn’t safe. She could end up back on the streets again.
She thought about the hooks and suckers and teeth. The pain and damage. The parts of her that still itched in the light and glowed in the dark. She thought about her beautiful house and her comfortable shoes and her two wonderful suitors, all bought and paid for by Bill in exchange for brief access to her holes.
The one who refused the tea smiled blandly. She bit her lip.