Handbook of Erotic Fantasy: Harem of the Freaky Efreeti, Part 6 (Patreon)

The qualifying round had been easy. When your best friend is a unicorn, you pick up a few ranks in Ride. Even better, it turned out that kegels were Strength-based. The bull construct had bucked, the crowd had roared, but Fighter had plenty of skill synergy working in her favor. Staying on the full eight seconds had been a cinch. Unfortunately, it also left her ever so slightly sore.  

“Friggin’ disadvantage,” muttered the blonde. She stared at herself in the vanity, trying not to dwell upon her disastrous pole dancing round. In Fighter’s opinion, if you couldn’t take a measly high kick to the temple, you didn't have any business calling yourself a Demon Queen. More to the point, the negative points were definitely uncalled for.  

Unfair or not though, Fighter had been forced to watch as girls from a dozen different planes — including some shapeless hussy from the Para-Elemental Plane of Ooze — out-scored her. Magus of all people topped the leaderboard, and the former male couldn’t shake the image of her long-lost ‘rod of lordly might’ winging away into the distance, gone forever beyond her overly-manicured reach.  

“You’re still in this thing,” she told the curvaceous apparition in the mirror. “You can still get that wish! Who came out on top in the swimsuit competition? You did. Who ripped the bikini briefs off Flarissa the Burning Sensation and Terrane of the Gaping Fissure? That was you, dude! You’re a stone-cold stud. You’re the man. You’re —” 

“Giving ourselves a pep talk, are we?” 

Fighter whirled in startlement. Her bosom heaved in embarrassment. She dearly wished it would stop doing that. 

The figure who loomed in the doorway was obviously an efreeti. The red skin, 10-foot-tall physique, and prominent horns were sure signs. She was also extremely female, and Fighter felt an odd sense of relief at not being the bustiest woman in the room for once.  

“I have the honor of being your stylist,” said the hulking brute of a woman, tracing a small bow. “We are to work together in the evening wear competition. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

The genie held a cosmetics case the size of a steamer trunk in one huge hand, and was already rifling through it with the other. “You would be a summer, yes?”

Fighter blinked. “I have no idea what that means.” And eyeing the larger woman with suspicion: “You aren’t another contestant, are you? Because this feels like a sabotage subplot. Metagaming or not, I’m not about to take that chance.”

“You misunderstand,” replied the efreeti with a throaty chuckle. “I am what you might call a volunteer. I was lucky enough to be selected for the opportunity.”

“OK. But like, what do you get out of it?” 

“I’m a beauty blogger. This is going to be huge for my metrics.” 

She handed Fighter a bright pink card with the eldritch formula https://www.GlamazonGenie.com embossed upon it. Fighter peered between the card and the efreeti, quirked her lips, and finally shrugged. 

“That checks out. You aren’t setting off any Insight check alarm bells anyway. So what are we doing here?”

The genie grinned. Fighter gulped. What followed was a whirlwind of powders and unguents. Combs and curlers. There were golden cuffs, golden chains, a healthy dose of body glitter, and far less clothing than a gender-swapped manly man might have preferred. Fighter tried to imagine a badass training montage, complete with blood, sweat and tears. There would be explosions and sick guitar riffs… But somehow the background music didn’t quite line up in her head. 

“Do not be so modest. You have a lovely figure,” purred the stylist. “You would be the very jewel of any harem in the City of Brass.”

“Great,” said Fighter glumly. “Just what I always wanted.” The girl in the vanity looked more like she belonged on a centerfold than the side of a van. The longer Fighter remained a woman, the more it seemed the universe was conspiring to turn her from warrior chick to girly girl. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Very well then,” replied the stylist. “I believe we are up next in any case. Arms up.” 

And without thinking, Fighter obeyed. 

Perhaps she’d been lulled into a false sense of security by the previous half hour of primping. Perhaps her mind was filled with hope for a hard-won wish. Or with disbelief at the vision of femininity she’d become. Or with the dreadful certainty of coming embarrassment, when she would have to appear before the raucous crowd and the judgmental gaze of the panelists, naked body on full display. More likely, she just wasn’t ready for the surprise round. 

Fighter felt huge hands close around her waist from behind, lifting her up and off her feet. There was a rustle of skirts, a grunt of effort from the stylist… And before Fighter could take so much as a free action, her world exploded into pleasure. She sank inch by agonizing inch, settling into place on the efreeti’s costume. The sound of golden chains tinkled merrily all around.

“Perfect!” cried the genie. “Are you comfortable?” 

“Uh-wuh. Ugf fa, ah!” said Fighter eloquently. 

“Most excellent! Just keep that same vacant expression. The judges eat that up.” 

They were walking then, moving step by torturous step through the backstage halls. Each jouncing stride sent another wave of ecstasy shooting through Fighter’s transfixed body. Each stagehand or contestant they passed, eyeing the pair with appreciation or with lust, left another catcall in their wake. 

“Lucky. You always get the best humans!” 

“I love your jewelry.” 

“Now I see why you wanted to try this adventure. You big size queen, you.” This last came from Magus, grinning her cat grin beside the stage door. The other members of Team Bounty Hunter stood beside her, giving their thumbs-up in support of their brave front-liner, charging into battle ahead of the rest of the party. 

“Nuh-uh,” Fighter managed, the last of the stunned condition finally beginning to dissipate. “I dont… I can’t….” 

But then they were walking out onto the stage. A voice was announcing someone named “Hetwa the Twice-Blessed,” and expounding at length upon her daring decision to “wear mortal” this season. All the rest disappeared into spotlights and haze, the appreciative murmur of the crowd, and the clink of golden chains.