THE MAGIC CLOAK: Chapter VIII (Patreon)

Chapter VIII: THE WINGS OF PROFESSOR BOLTA

Rosebud and Slick had plenty to occupy themselves in the Princess Consort’s quarters. The nine maidens had dressed themselves in beautiful gowns all dainty and sweet and of rich material, and of all colors and shades. The gowns were gay with bright ribbons and jeweled buttons and clasps; and each one had its hat and hosiery and slippers to match. The group were trading a set of dice back and forth, rolling to see how many items they could request one of the others to remove, all revelling in the slow game of stripping.

As more and more skin was revealed, and the assembled ladies grew more and more eager, Rosebud made an observation.

“Do you know, Slick,” said the queen, “there isn’t a single toy or sexy plaything in this whole palace?”

“I suppose the old queen didn’t care for such playthings,” replied Slick, thoughtfully.

While this had been going on Professor Bolta had counted the money and was preparing to go shopping with it. Opening the door of her room she found a guard on the other side of it, who put out her hand.

“One moment there, you are not dressed as the Queen commanded.”

Bolta looked down at herself, still dressed as she’d been when she arrived.

“I am going out to purchase the bikinis now!” Bolta barked, knees knocking as her words played between her thighs, but the guard was steadfast.

“The Queen said you will always dress in the finest, but skimpiest, of bikinis. And so I will not let you cross the grounds until you have satisfied that.”

“But in order to wear a bikini...I have to go buy one!” Bolta angrily retorted.

“But I can’t let you out until you wear one!”

“This is mmmmadness!” the professor exclaimed, squeezing her legs together and practically courseying. And then a thought struck her. Bolta quickly stripped down until she was in nothing more than her bra and panties. “Is this...oh...close enough?”

The guard thought a moment.

“Good enough to take you to the Queen to find out.”

A knock at the door had interrupted Rosebud and Slick’s discussion regarding the lack of erotic playthings, and Violet opened it. Bolta and the guard pushed each other inside.

“My queen!” exclaimed the guard, “She desires to leave the castle without wearing a bikini!”

“But I nnnneed to do that to buy uuhhhh bikini!” Bolta again growled, her slit hot and wet from all her talking, her panties nearing the point of staining, “I wasn’t allowed to leave uuuuuntil I had stripped down as I ammmmmm now.”

“Of course she can leave as she is to go shopping,” Rosebud explained, “Bikinis must start somewhere!”

“Although it is a little cruel to send her in her underwear,” Slick added. She went to her closet and pulled out the cloak Areal had given her and threw it over Bolta to provide a little more coverage.

“There. Walking about in a bikini is one thing, underthings are another.”

Before Rosebud could have a chance to object - although she did not - Bolta left the palace and walked as fast as her bare legs and feet would carry her down the street in the direction of the shops. I’ll buy one of yellow silk, she thought to herself, and a white velvet, and a purple latex! And won’t they all stare then? If I could only walk faster! And the shops are so far! At this moment she had to step around some twigs and felt a pebble under her foot, and in frustration exclaimed, “I wish I were mmmmore like a bird and could fly!”

Now she was wearing the magic cloak when she expressed this wish, and no sooner had Bolta spoken than two great feathery wings grew from her shoulders. At the same time the hairs across her head transformed into long feathers as white as her wings, and the tuft of hair above her horny slit also burst into similar plumage.

The skin of her hands and feet, from the wrists and ankles respectively, toughened. Her nails became darker and lightly pointed. Bolta felt her nose curve and harden above her upper lip, her nostrils shifting upwards upon it. Within her lower belly there was a light gurgle that meant nothing to Bolta at the moment.

The professor stopped short from the sensation of growth behind her, turned her head, and saw the wings; and then she gave a scream and a jump and began waving her arms frantically. The wings flapped at the same time, raising her slowly from the ground, and she began to soar gracefully above the heads of the astonished people, who thronged the streets below.

Bolta shrieked, kicking her slightly taloned feet in great agitation, and at the same time flapping nervously her new wings. Her breasts bounced to and fro in her bra. She held up her toughened hands and stared at them.

“Save me, some one! Save me!”

“Why don’t you save yourself?” asked a man below. “Stop flying, if you want to reach the earth again!”

This struck Bolta as a sensible suggestion. She was quite a distance in the air by this time; but she tried to hold her wings steady and not flap them, and the result was that she began to float slowly downward. Then, with horror, she saw she was sinking directly upon the branches of a prickly-pear tree; so she screamed and began flying again, and the swift movement of her wings sent her high into the air.

So great was her terror that she nearly fainted; but she shut her eyes so that she might not see how high up she was, and held her wings rigid and began gracefully to float downward again.

By and by she opened her eyes and found she was just missing the sharp point of a lightning-rod on a tower of the palace. So she began struggling and flapping anew, and, almost before she knew it, Professor Bolta had descended to the roof of the royal stables. Here she sat down and began to scream, while a great crowd gathered below and watched her.

“Get a ladder! Please get a ladder!” begged the bird-like Bolta, her nose-beak slightly blocking the center over her vision. She was so wound up that even the play of her words on her pussy would not stop the exclamations. “If you don’t, I shall fall and break my neck!”

By this time Rosebud and Slick had come out to see what caused the excitement; and, to their amazement they found the professor perched high up on the stable roof, with two great wings growing out from her back and long feathers swept back over her head.

“Help! Help! Get a ladder!” wailed Bolta once more.

“Well, you do appear to be a bird now, Professor Bolta!” shouted Rosebud, gleefully, for she was in a teasing mood. “You don’t need a ladder! I don’t see why you can’t fly down the same way you flew up.”

And all the people shouted: “Yes, yes! The queen is right! Fly down!”

Bolta was still not quite certain how to use her reskinned feet, or how to properly grip the shingles with her pointed toes. So her feet began to slip on the sloping roof, and she made a wild struggle to save herself, and the result was that she fluttered her wings in just exactly the right way to sink down gradually to the ground.

“You’ll be alright as soon as you know how to use your new wings,” said Rosebud, with a laugh. “But where did you get ’em, anyhow?”

“I don’t know,” said Professor Bolta, much relieved to be on earth again, and rather pleased to have attracted so much attention. Now, calmer, she once again noticed the trill over her lower lips as she spoke. “Aaare the wings pretty?”

“They are perfectly lovely!” cried Slick, clapping her hands in glee. “Why, Professor Bolta, I do believe you must be the only person in all the world who can fly!”

“But I think you look like an overgrown buzzard,” said Rosebud.

Now it happened that all this praise, and the wondering looks of the people, did a great deal to reconcile Bolta to her new wings, feathers, and other birdly features. Indeed, she began to feel a certain pride and distinction in them, flexing her pointed hands and feeling quite strong. Finding she had through all the excitement retained her grasp on the purse of gold, she now wrapped the magic cloak around her and walked away to the shops, followed by a crowd.