Grimmlord 2.13 (Patreon)

“Spellbinder! Spellbinder! Wake up!” Danger Cat slapped Spellbinder gently.

“Ow!” Spellbinder said, batting the next slap away. “First Apex and now you?”

“Just needed to get you awake,” Danger Cat said. She’d found Spellbinder on a ledge along the Sawtooth ridge.

“Apex!” Spellbinder suddenly said, as her head cleared and the memory came back to her. “He attacked me. I think he’s gone mad.”

“He has. With lust.”

“Lust? I don’t get it.”

“The two of them had a— moment yesterday. And you know how he’s been after the Grimmster since his gender change. They kissed, and now Apex is super horny.”

“He wants to bang Grimmlord?”

“In the worst way. And maybe this will surprise you, but Grimm was just as obsessed with Apex. We need to stop it.”

“Do we? Two consenting adults?”

“Grimmlord is nowhere near being able to make a rational decision right now. His suit—“

There was a crackle over the communication system. “Justice Collective. Justice Collective. This is Apex.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Pronto barked back. “You’re supposed to be one of the good guys.”

“Yeah,” Marksman said. “Kidnapping? Grimmlord? Who are you?”

“Just let Grimmlord go,” Danger Cat said. “And I will forget you smashed a hole in the side of my house.”

“I understand your concern,” Apex said in a wooden voice that sounded rehearsed. “I am communicating with you now to let you know that Danger Kitty, as she prefers to be called, came with me by choice. There was no kidnapping. It is her wish to remain a woman. You need take no further action.”

“She can’t make that choice!” Danger Cat said. “Her mind is all scrambled.”

“Put her on!” Spellbinder shouted. “I want to hear it from her!”

“My little kitten wishes for some time to contemplate and decompress. Respect her wishes. Communication over.”

There was another crackle as Apex terminated his broadcast.

“This is bullshit!” Marksman said.

“He’s gone loco,” Pronto said. “We can’t let this stand.”

In the shadows, Cigar Man sat, blue smoke swirling around him, the blue, cathode rays of the monitors flickering on his face. A second figure how now joined him. “How are the probabilities?” A deep, confident woman’s voice asked.

“Very good,” the man said, chuckling. “We have Grimmlord now 94 percent identifying as female. Further, she is 86 percent imprinted on Apex, seeing herself already as being “his” and needing to be in a relationship with him. As for Apex, 100% bonkers.

“And the paradox? Has it been restored?”

“Look,” Cigar Man said, pointing toward a readout that showed a tangled web of timelines and multiverses, diverging and crisscrossing. One line grew brighter and brighter. “You will continue to exist. All we need is for Grimmlord to spend another day and night with Apex, and she will be locked into her new identity.”

“Make it happen.”

“With pleasure.”

As the heroes debated the best approach to dealing with Apex, Simulata listened, struggling with a decision. She wanted to interrupt and tell them just who had actually turned Grimmlord into the lovely Danger Kitty, but she has so many times committed social faux pas that she wasn’t certain. Would it be rude to interrupt? Or, was this one of those situations where it would be appreciated?

“I just don’t know what to do,” Simulata said to herself. ‘Social interactions so not follow any clear set of protocols. I wish I could reprogram humans to clarify all possible interactions so as to eliminate ambiguity! At yet, what would humans be without ambiguity?”

Sitting down, Simulata considered her options. “I will scan the writings of that wisest of all humans and seek an answer,” she decided. Accessing the network, she began to read through every column ever written by “Dear Abby.”

Back at Serenity Center, Grimmlord still wore Apex cape. He had gone to the kitchen, and was at the stove, a pan full of sizzling sausages. The coffee pot steamed and burped, filling the air with the rich aroma of fresh brewed Costa Rican coffee. Grimmlord hummed to himself as he worked, almost dancing. He’d been struck with the urge make breakfast for Apex, and later he thought he might just tidy up a bit. In the confusing jumble of emotions that now consumed him, he found himself wanting to show Apex he could be a good mate, a good helper.

“I don’t even recognize myself,” he thought, remembering his life lurking non the shadows, dropping from rooftops to smash in the faces of filthy lowlifes. And now, suddenly? “For some reason I want to be a 1950s housewife.” It seemed absurd, impossible, and yet all he remembered from his past life was anger, a slow, seething rage. And now? Making breakfast for his man? He felt light, bright, happy. Like this was the role he was meant to play, had always been meant to play.

Grimmlord took the sausage off the burner, put it on a hot plate in the stove to keep it warm. He took the eggs out of the freezer and held one above the lip of a glass bowl.

The role I was meant to play.

The thought struck him, as he looked at his delicate hand, holding that brown egg, his slender wrist. The role I was meant to play?

That was exactly it, he thought. This was a role, a role someone else meant for him to play. He remembered the first day, the day this had all started. He’d jumped into the costumater, and when he’d come out, he’d found his suit had breasts. Huge breasts.

As he reflected on that moment, he remembered how embarrassing it had been, how he’d been called sugar tits. He was a man. He wasn’t supposed to have breasts. And yet, now, just days later, he felt their weight, felt them brushing against Apex’ cape, and they felt right, like he needed them to be complete and happy.

But so what? He cracked the egg, letting the sunny yolk and whites sluice into the glass bowl. So what if someone else had made him happy. He took another egg from the cartoon. He remembered when his voice had changed— or the modulated had made him sound like a girl. It was like someone had stolen his identity, and his buzzy, high-pitched voice had made him cringe. And all this hair?

He shook his head, feeling his long, thick hair swirling. It was impractical. Time  consuming. And yet now he couldn’t imagine getting it cut, and this new voice was the right voice, wasn’t it? Pretty, cute, adorable.

Crack. He let the second egg dribble into the bowl.

Who did this? He wondered. I should want to know. Need to know. I’m a detective! Why am I just accepting this? I’m supposed to be a man! Grimmlord! Not a kitten.

Just then, Apex walked into the kitchen. He’d put on his usual super suit now. “That coffee smells great,” he said. He looked at Grimmlord, like a man looks at a woman, one he just conquered.

Grimmlord felt a thrill of pleasure. Yet, as the same time, the questioning wrongness of his feelings plagued him. “Help yourself.”

Apex poured a cup. “Oh, yeah. That hits the spot.”

Grimmlord pulled the cape tight, frowned. “I need you to take me back to New Amsterdam.”

“Yeah. Okay. Maybe later. Let’s eat, and then I really want to go another round with you.” He put his coffee down and walked over, putting his hands on Grimmlord’s hips and pulling him close.

Grimmlord almost swooned. It felt so good when Apex took charge, and looking up him, being small and soft and pretty, it all just sent tingles through every inch of Grimmlord’s body. “I have something I need to do.”

“And what would that be?” Apex said, kissing Grimmlord on the neck, caressing his cheek.

“I need to find out who did this. And why.” Grimmlord said, struggling against the rising heat.

“Oh?” Apex said. “Find out who turned you into the sexiest little female in the world? Apex stared fiddling with the tie on the cape. “Made you into the perfect woman?”

Perfect woman. Sexiest female.. It was like chocolate for Grimmlord’s ears. He wanted to badly to surrender, to give into Apex manly aggression, to feel hot kisses all over his body, but no. He had to fight this! He pushed Apex hands away and whispered, “Please. Stop. I— I’m not strong enough to resist you.”

Apex smiled. He reached for the tie on the cape, and when Grimmlord tried to push his hands away, he ignored the feeble attempts, and the cape fell to the ground. Grimmlord put one hand across his breasts and used the other to cover his womanhood. He pleaded with his eyes. “Apex…..” He whispered. “Please.”

Apex stared, his eyes hard and hot with lust. Seeing Grimmlord there, knowing it was HIM inside that that body with those round little shoulders, that tiny waist and those generous hips, that bashful, feminine pose, it drove Apex mad with lust. He needed that body, needed to drive that former man into another frenzy of woman. “Yes?” He growled. “Please what?”

“Please,” Grimmlord whispered, and then he lost control, his will shattered and he said, “please take me.”

Apex was on him like a ravenous wolf, lifting him off his feet, lifting him up and setting on the counter. The glass bowl with the eggs tipped over, and the eggs poured down, puddling on the floor. Apex pushed Grimmlord’s legs apart, and got down between his legs. Looking up, his face framed by Grimmlord’s round, smooth thighs, he said flicked his tongue and then dove in.

Grimmlord gasped and moaned, as a whole new world of female pleasure drown his fleeting masculinity like a tidal wave.