Demon Whorehouse Transformation

An icy November breeze whipped through the near-barren trees. Small brown leaves, already curled in upon themselves from the sudden cold snap, broke away to fall awkwardly to the ground. Shrouded in thin sheets of frost, they fell hard and fast, crunching softly upon the cracked and worn sidewalk. It was the sound of autumn crumbling away. The winter that the weather had been warning of for so many weeks had finally arrived.

Oblivious to everything else around him, Chris slowed his pace. Without being too obvious about it, he fell back an extra step behind the stunning little blonde. He smiled to himself as he watched her raise one black heel in the air and hop across the sewer grate onto the curb. For one brief, tantalizing instant, the rise of her short blue skirt revealed the trim of white cotton panties before falling back into place.

Damn. There was one fantasy crushed. The Kim of his fantasies was a sexually aggressive little bitch with a fetish for black satin. More than once, he'd day-dreamed of being smothered by the slick, damp satin of her crotch while she swallowed his cock. Back at the office, with his eyes closed and his feet up on the desk, he could almost feel the material against his tongue. Not once had it ever tasted as plain as cotton.

Maybe it was time for a change of fantasy. If it wasn't all an act, and she really was as sweet and innocent as she seemed, then maybe it was time for him to be the aggressor. Yes, as soon as they got back from lunch, he'd have to daydream about teaching the new girl a lesson in office politics.

"So . . . this is it, huh?"

He watched her take another sip of the same bland coffee he'd polished off a few blocks back. When she was done, she tilted her head to the side and favoured him with one of those innocent little smiles that drove him nuts. Perfect white teeth teased from behind full, red lips, suggesting pleasures that likely would never consciously occur to her to offer. As naturally sensuous as she was, Chris was forced to accept the possibility that the young woman might be honestly oblivious to how she affected the men around her.

"Yup." He grinned right back.

Another sip of coffee. Another smile. "Where's the nearest bookstore around here?"

Chris groaned inwardly. God, how he wanted to experience those lips, to find out just how talented they might be. Maybe she didn't have much practice in the sexual arts, but he just knew she'd be a natural.

"It doesn't have to be anything grand." He watched as she looked up and down the street. If those quick, furtive glances were an attempt to hide her curiosity, it wasn't working. She acted like a kid at a carnival, completely overwhelmed by her surroundings. Of course, it didn't help matters that she barely topped 5 feet in heels, with a waist as big around as his neck. "Even a little used bookstore will do."

He cleared his throat. "You have gotta get your mind out of the big city, little Kim."

Her cheeks blushed red, almost as bright as the tip of her wind-chilled nose.

Chris laughed. Coming from a 6'3" frame that weighed nearly 300 pounds, his laughter sounded loud and guttural -- almost obscene. "Closest thing to a bookstore you're gonna find around here is the paperback rack at Sauer's Drug."

She stared blankly.

"Over on Main."

Her lips, full and dark underneath just a touch of gloss, pursed slightly.

Damn he wanted her! If he didn't have to return to work with her, he'd be tempted to take her right there on the street. He could feel the panties ripping in his hands, the shocking warmth of her sex, and the virginal tightness of her pussy as she violated her, right there, on the street, in full view of anybody walking by. Hell, if she was even half as good as he dreamed, it might be worth the sexual harassment complaint she'd slap him with.

Of course, there was always after work.

"Tell ya what. Why don't I walk you home tonight?" He dazzled her with his best smile. "I'll show you around. Make sure you find what you need." Yeah, he thought, and then some!

Kim sighed. The light seemed to fade from her eyes. "Thanks anyway, but I've got too much work to do. Steve wants the proposal on his desk in the morning, and I'm nowhere near done."

Steve. He might be the boss, but at least he was no competition. Nope, Kimberly Strauss was one thing the bald little gnome wasn't going to be taking away from him.

"No problem. We'll just do it another night."

"Sure." Suddenly, she was all smiles again. "Who needs a map when I've got you?"

"Well, the suburbs can be a bit of an adjustment." Chris tossed his empty coffee cup in the nearest trashcan. He smiled back at her. "Guess that's what the internet is for, eh?" The edges of his mouth stretched the smile from pleasant to lecherous.

Together, they strolled in silence to the end of the block. "What street is this one again? I swear I can't tell the difference between it, and the last ten."

Chris watched her breasts sway gently beneath the faux-fur jacket as she shook her head. Full and round, with nipples impossible to hide, they wouldn't have looked at all out of place on a woman twice her size. On her petite little frame, the effect was almost hypnotically sexual.

"Ah, don't worry, little Kim." Suddenly, he couldn't help himself. He threw an arm about her shoulders and squeezed. She let out a yelp of surprise before he released her. "You'll get used to it sooner than you think."

"I guess so." A visible shiver coursed down her spine as she brushed a strawberry blonde lock of hair from her eyes. Once again, the light seemed to fade from her eyes. Something in her body language told him she was suddenly eager to conclude their little tour. Chris mentally kicked himself for not holding back, and then kicked himself again for not taking full advantage of the moment.

It would have been so easy to 'accidentally' brush his hand against those amazing breasts. So easy to discover the answer to the questions that every man in the office -- and more than a few women -- wanted to know. Were they soft or firm? Did they yield to the touch, or bounce right back? Were those nipples as hard as they looked? Most importantly, were the damn things real?

But, then, he knew they were. She was far too naive about her beauty to have resorted to surgery.

"Shouldn't we be getting back?" Kim's strained voice drew him back to the present. "We have less than twenty minutes left on our lunch."

He smiled again, not about to let his disappointment show. If he couldn't cop a quick feel now, then he'd just have to play the gentleman and bide his time. "As you wish, milady." With an exaggerated bow, Chris turned down the street to their left. He put a few houses behind him before shortening his stride to let her keep pace.

*******

"Hey! I thought you were in a hurry?"

"Ah, yeah . . . yeah, I was." Kim crouched down and placed her coffee on the sidewalk. They couldn't have been more than five minutes away from the office, but she just had to stop here. "Wow." She did a quick check of traffic -- not that there was any in this neighbourhood -- then jogged across the street. In the absence of traffic, her heels clicked loudly across the black asphalt. "What is this?"

She stopped before a filthy, crumbling stone wall, not quite close enough to let it stain her coat. An erratic line of withered apple trees ran the length of the fence, having given up on hiding the immense, dilapidated mansion they surrounded. Three full stories, with what looked to be a half-attic above and a cellar below, it must have been something magnificent at one time. Sadly, it had clearly seen better days. Those windows that weren't broken were boarded over. Most of the blue-grey paint had peeled away to reveal the rotted, crumbling boards beneath.

Kim wandered further down the street. Even with her untrained eye, she could see that the entire building seemed to be sinking on the right side. The master balcony had long ago crashed down upon the front porch, destroying the elegant railing in the process.

"I mean . . . what was it?"

Chris paused just long enough to hand over her coffee. "It's nothing, little Kim. Let's go." He started walking back across the street. "It's just some dusty old relic that nobody's ever gotten around to cleaning up. Forget about it."

She paused a moment before hurrying to catch up, then couldn't resist looking back over her shoulder once more. "Well, if nobody wants to restore it, why don't they at least demolish it and develop the property?" She was almost walking backwards, reluctant to let the mystery pass out of sight. "There has to be room for three houses, maybe even five if you follow those long-and-narrow designs you showed me back on Arthur Street." When the burly programmer didn't immediately respond, she asked, "What? Is it some kind of historical landmark or something?"

Chris chuckled softly at the suggestion. There was nothing obscene about his laugh now. "Yeah," he muttered, "you've got it dead-on with the 'or something' part."

*******

Although it was several blocks out of her way -- and she wasn't even sure she'd be able to find her way home afterward -- Kim couldn't resist passing by the old mansion again after work. She'd spent a good part of the afternoon trying to drag some details out of the few people she'd gotten to know at the office, but nobody seemed to want to talk about it. Either they claimed to have 'never really paid any attention' to it, or they just assured her 'it wasn't worth wasting her time' on. Despite their excuses, though, they all had one thing in common -- a brief, nervous twitch that said far more than words.

"So . . . just what -- exactly -- is your secret?" She stood beneath a flickering streetlight, hands tucked into her pockets, and let her gaze wander across the scene before her. It consumed her . . . called to her . . . demanded that she notice it, and she didn't understand why.

The crumbling stone wall that surrounded the property stood roughly waist-high, and was maybe twelve inches thick. Although she couldn't tell what kind of stone it was in the darkness, there was a distinct blue-grey coloring visible beneath the dirt and the mould. At one time, there must have been a wrought iron trim along the top to match the gate, but all that remained were rusty holes in the stone where the posts had once been. As for the gate, it was an elaborate piece of early twentieth century craftsmanship that, in defiance of the ruin it protected, remained solid -- if not clean -- and securely fastened.

She abandoned the weak circle of yellow light and strolled over to peek inside the gate. The yard beyond the apple trees was nothing more than dirt and weeds, with what looked liked dead rosebushes scattered randomly about. A narrow, meandering path of cracked and broken paving stones led up to the building itself, with a few interesting branches to either side. Off to the right, the path circled its way around a deep oval ditch, where a fountain, or perhaps a garden pond, must have sat at one time. Off to the left, one path ended at the remains of an old gazebo, while a second disappeared around the side of the house.

"You must have been something special," she mused, "so what happened? Doesn't look like a fire, or any kind of sudden disaster. It just looks like . . . well, as if you were left to rot." The petite beauty shook her head softly, wondering what could have befallen such a gorgeous building.

More than that, though, she wondered what it was about the place that had everyone so spooked.

And what made her so insanely, inexplicably curious.

"Oh well." It was dark, cold, and she was tired from a long day at work. For now, she'd leave the issue alone, but she planned to come back for a closer look on the weekend. With one last, curious glance, she turned around and headed for home.

At least, she hoped it was the right direction for home.

*******

Despite the obsession gnawing at her subconscious, Kim waited until Sunday morning before deciding to risk a closer inspection of her mystery mansion. The house that Froud Enterprises had found her was situated in a mature neighbourhood, full of good, old-fashioned, churchgoing souls. Not all of her neighbours fit the stereotype, of course, but enough did that she felt a little more comfortable with fewer prying eyes to watch my daylight trespassing.

"Good morning, Kimberly."

She frowned. 'Kimberly.' Even her mother didn't call her that anymore. "Good morning, Mrs. Henderson."

Not long after she'd moved in, the kindly old woman next door had 'just popped by for a cup of tea,' as she put it. That cup of tea had lasted two hours, and the woman had still been talking as Kim walked her out the door. For a moment, she thought about pretending she'd forgotten something in the house, but then paused.

If anybody could tell her more about the old mansion, it'd be Mrs. Henderson.

Kim resumed her usual cheery smile and happily skipped over the flowerbed that separated their yards. "How are you, this morning?" She stood there, racking her brains for something -- anything -- the old woman might have told her before. "Is . . . um, is that orange tomcat still digging up your flowers?"

"Oh, gracious, no. Sprinkle a little cayenne pepper around the garden every day, and the cats, they only dig up once." She waggled her wrinkled index finger in Kim's direction. "After that, their burning little noses keep them away."

The young woman laughed, honestly amused by the idea of neighbourhood strays having met their match in this sweet, little old lady. "You've lived around her most of your life, haven't you?"

Mrs. Henderson nodded. "Yes, my Phillip and me, we were the third tenants of this building. It was during the war, you see, and houses were much too expensive for a pair of newlyweds to afford."

"So, you must remember that old mansion over on the corner of Edgar and . . ."

Both cataract-clouded eyes lit up at that, which meant there was indeed a story to tell. "Now, what would a nice young woman like yourself be doing in such a sordid place?" The little old lady cocked her head to the side and looked up with her one good eye. "I think you'll find that most folks around here, they like to stay away from there."

Kim shrugged. "When you come from the land of glass and steel, a little bit of history tends to catch the eye."

"Well, if you'd really like to know the story . . ." The old woman smiled. "I could use a little help with my groceries, don't you know."

"Sure. I'd be glad to."

*******

"A burlesque house?" Kim leaned into the shopping cart and smiled. "Are we just talking about off-color jokes and petticoat stripteases, or . . ."

Mrs. Henderson winked, apparently not scandalized in the least to be having such a discussion in the cereal aisle. "Oh my, it was much more than that. Folks nowadays would call it a whorehouse, but people back then, they liked to sugar-coat their vices." As they turned down the next aisle, she continued. "It was a very high-class place, mind you, but what they did was still sordid and dirty."

"Really?" Kim felt herself blush at the thought.

The old woman favoured her with a gentle shake of her head. "My lord, the things some girls will do to earn a living!"

"Must have been a few scandals within those walls."

"Oh, no -- at least, not at first. Kept things very quiet and very discreet, they did." Mrs. Henderson dropped a bag of oatmeal into the cart. "Would you be a dear and grab me the little fruit rings up there? Phillip, he just loves them."

They continued onto the next aisle. "You know, they had a lot of very good years there. Mind you, the Great Depression marked lean times for us all, but they'd made enough during Prohibition to see things through and even to offer some folks a little charity."

"Then, what happened? From what you're saying, it sounds like it was almost a respectable business. What eventually brought it down, and why are people so unwilling to discuss it?"

This time, the old woman took a good look up and down the aisle before motioning Kim close. "Not here," she whispered. "I'll tell you the rest on our way home . . ."

*******

It was two painful hours later before Kim was finally able to get away and explore the old place. Mrs. Henderson had really dragged out the final, incredible details, but she hadn't done anything to dull the young woman's interest. If anything, she was even more obsessed with the old place now than ever before.

Apparently, the brothel's fortunes had taken a turn for the worse in the early fifties. World War II was over, the boys had come home, and -- as far as most people were concerned -- things were to be back to normal. Of course, people's private lives were a lot more private back then, so it took quite some time before the strange patterns of bedroom behaviour came to be noticed.

At first, it was just little things -- a little more energy after dark, a little more aggression in bed, and a little more curiosity beneath the sheets. It seemed the sweet, demure women the boys had left behind . . . well, weren't quite so innocent anymore. In fact, some of them were downright aggressive, demanding to be pleased and pleased right now!

Before long, everyone and everything became suspect, but nobody could have guessed the bizarre truth. These young, lonely women who'd gone so long without their husbands had indeed sought out the affections of others. They had indeed found themselves warm beds and willing partners -- but not with the men who'd stayed behind. Instead, it was the women of the brothel that consoled them, and it was they who kept the brothel in business!

The sordid, Sapphic scandal had very nearly caused the brothel to close its doors right then and there, but the Madame's resignation and consequent sale of her mansion pacified most. Unfortunately, an era had come to an end, and things were never quite the same after that. People were no longer willing to turn a blind eye to the brothel's activities, and many of its most prominent clients eventually decided it would be safer to find their pleasures elsewhere. As a result, the new Madame was forced to supplement her brothel's income with other . . . perversions.

"Ouch!" Kim stumbled through the back door on her third attempt to force it open. The rotted wood had proved stronger than she'd thought, almost as if it were trying to keep her out. It was silly, of course, but her imagination tended to run away with her at times.

Once inside, she found that the small flashlight sticking out of her purse wouldn't be needed right away. The upper floors might be a different story, but here the open door conspired with the broken windows and other various holes to provide adequate illumination. It wasn't perfect -- there were still a lot of shadows to be explored -- but she had no difficulty discerning the general layout of the dusty, cobwebbed scene before her.

The room in which she stood appeared to be some kind of lounge, well furnished and well decorated, with a large fireplace on either side. While she had no idea what color they might once have been, moth-eaten couches dotted the room, each discreetly turned to provide a measure of privacy from the others. The few she stopped to examine had all been elaborately carved, with the same kind of claw-feet you find on antique bathtubs. In addition, before each couch were tattered patches of fabric that she assumed had once been rugs -- likely more ornamental than functional.

The young woman stooped down to scratch her ankle and frowned. Sneakers may have made for a comfortable walk, but a decent pair of boots might have been more appropriate for exploring. "Hope there are no mice in here." Coming from the big city, burglars, cockroaches, and even rats she could deal with. For some reason, though, mice drove her a dozen different kinds of crazy.