Melanie's Conversion Ch. 01

CHAPTER 1: A MAGICAL QUEST

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PLEASE NOTE: Chapter 1 is largely setting up the story. More sexual depiction with be contained in the rest of the story. Thanks.

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Melanie was becoming desperate. The idea that had come to her earlier and had been merely something of a curiosity in her life had, over time, become a desperate search. That desperation pushed her to consider many avenues for the change she desired. The avenue of hope she now pursued had initially surprised even Melanie when she considered it. Now, she was actively pursuing it.

Melanie was a single white woman, 26 years of age. She had long, blonde hair that almost appeared to shine in the sunlight, and hung to the middle of her back. Her eyes shone with a bewitching hazel color in the rare moments when she managed to focus long enough for someone to notice. She stood a petite 5'2" in her bare feet, if she stood tall, but her lack of personal confidence in her appearance usually had her a bit slouched. Her body shape was considered curvy or voluptuous, but not as overweight. Her breasts were D-cup, her hips were full, and her waist was slim in comparison. Her height was the only way she might be considered petite. Her overall body shape was classical beauty.

So it would seem unlikely a beauty like Melanie could be unaware of how she appeared to others, or could take confidence from it. Melanie grew up on the outside of everything, it seemed. But, even struggling through a childhood in 'the system' after her parents died, and ending up with a tolerant, if unloving, older couple, Melanie excelled in everything. Her grades in public school were stellar. She excelled in college, near the top of her class, and went on to get her MBA. She was highly recruited after college and rose quickly through the ranks in her company.

It seemed that Melanie had her life in full control, and nothing about it was beyond her capability. In Melanie's mind, though, her success and capability were always a struggle. Her lack of firm guidance, influence, encouragement, and support had forced her to succeed on her own. The most striking aspect of her struggle was in her own perception of herself. Despite the affirmations of her educational successes and business success, her personal life was a mess. She drew the inevitable attention from numerous men, but her lack of self-awareness quickly ended any further attention as they took her unresponsiveness as a lack of interest. What Melanie could not seem to master, perhaps the only thing, was her own life, fulfillment, and happiness.

Melanie's desperation was to find a way, any way, that would end her inability to experience life beyond her mental existence. She was desperate to experience what the body could provide. She was desperate to be able to freely give into the pleasures of the body she had never experienced and could barely even imagine, given her restricted life participation. The kindly encouragement and suggestion from acquaintances had been wholly inadequate. She needed something bold. She needed something outside the mind and concepts of willpower to successfully and finally open herself to experiences. She sensed there was something amazing, magnificent, and otherworldly yet for her to achieve, if only she could open herself to it.

She had wandered through so many bookstores and online book reviews in search of help. Nothing mattered, nothing helped, nothing could penetrate the mental aspect of her resistance. Nothing, that is, until she had wandered into a funky little book and novelty store specializing in the occult. There on the community bulletin board was tacked a worn and faded business card touting potions and spells, something that had clearly been lost, given that it was barely visible beneath other cards and notices covering it.

Melanie raised several other notices to read the entire card. It wasn't very professionally conceived or formed. Perhaps that was why it was ignored. She pulled the tack and held the card in her fingers. 'Potions and spells' were the words that held her attention. If her mind couldn't lead her to what she pursued, could something out of her mind be the solution? Of course, logically, that made no sense. 'Potions and spells'. Such things weren't real. They weren't real in the real world, anyway. Are they?

She discreetly used her smartphone to take a pic of the card and found herself pulling it up to gaze at it frequently in quiet moments in the office, at lunch (invariably alone), and at night in her apartment. The card became an increasing curiosity for her. What could be the harm, she mused?

Melanie held her phone with the card's pic showing on the screen. The building at 632 Crest Street was one of many on the street that hinted that it might have had much better times in the forgotten past. It was a storefront with a faded, peeling painted sign reading 'Pagan Enchantment'. The storefront window was covered nearly completely by fliers and posters. The front door had enough crystals, dream catchers, and totems stuck to it to also block almost all of any view inside. Nonetheless, she turned the door handle and pushed the door as it stuck against the door sill below before finally screeching open. A tinny bell rattled above her as the door hit it.

She paused for a moment just inside as the door didn't quite close all the way, again because of the rubbing on the door sill. She absently reached back to press the door shut as her eyes adjusted to the very subdued lighting of the also very empty shop. The room smelled of old things, yet not moldy or bothersome. Shelves were jammed with books on the occult, witchcraft and wizardry, crystals, totems, and symbols of various cults. A display case contained crystals of various sizes, shapes, and colors. It had totems from a variety of backgrounds, intricately or crudely carved symbols and figurines.

"What are you seeking, young lady?" The voice caused her to flinch. She turned to find a man, an older, disheveled man, yet somehow still with an air of ... what? ... being distinguished?

"Come, my dear," he continued, "you've been inspecting book titles and gazing intently at figurines and symbols for some minutes. You don't appear to have been doing so out of mere curiosity." He chuckled, "Nobody finds my shop out of mere curiosity or happenstance."

She found that easy to believe. Even if someone wandered by on the street outside, the sign advertising 'Pagan Enchantment' was so worn and weathered it would unlikely catch anyone's attention.

He was watching her closely. As curious as she found him and his appearance, he probably found her just as curious. He could see she was a stunningly attractive young woman, though she hid that beneath no makeup, a simple, conservative dress buttoned to her neck and hanging below her knees, and a manner that indicated that casual engagement was difficult and awkward.

"Tell me, dear, what brings you to my shop. You didn't wander by, so you came here for a purpose," he continued to push.

Melanie paused, breathed, and glanced nervously around her as if someone might have entered the shop without her knowing or the door might have opened without sounding the tinny bell.

"I ... I need ... ughm, I mean I want ..." she stammered, "is there something that can help me ... ah ... experience things?"

"Experience things," he repeated. "I'm afraid that isn't very helpful, my dear. There are lots of ways to experience things and lots of things to experience." He stood gazing at her across the counter.

"I ... I want ..." but she quickly stopped. He stared at her. It was clear to her that he wasn't going to continue with her indefinitely. She came this far, she scolded herself, take the step. "I want to experience pleasure. I want to experience what normal people can experience."

"Pleasure," he repeated as he fixed his gaze even more intently on her. "Pleasure," he repeated, "should be an easy experience for you, dear." He paused as he took in her lack of reaction. "Do you not realize how attractive you are? How appealing and beautiful you are! If you dressed differently ..." and he stopped. He saw it in her muted response. She didn't see it in herself.

She backed up a few steps and appeared on the verge of losing any nerve she might have mustered to enter the shop. In hopes of stopping her retreat, "Tell me about yourself," he began again. "If there is any possibility of helping you, I must know a little more about you."

She sucked in a huge breath and slowly exhaled. Then, again. She struggled to control her impulse to flee. She pushed herself to take steps forward, nearer the counter where he stood with the same, unchanging expression of peace and control.

She began her explanation. Her childhood. Her adopted parents. Her successes. Finally, her desperation. Her loneliness. Her emptiness of experience in any physical way.

"You are a mentalist," he uttered it almost to himself. She looked at him, puzzled. "I don't mean as a psychic or anything of the sort. No ... no, I mean you experience life in your mind, only. The world comes to you through dissection and understanding. You look at everything unemotionally to understand and, only then, to react."

Melanie was focused on the man in a way that ... she chuckled to herself ... in a way she might not have ever done. His words, his description, his assessment of her hit a cord of understanding. A faint smile formed at her mouth, and he saw it.

"That's why you are here. Even if you weren't entirely sure of why you came to seek out something foreign to you, you knew it couldn't be anything your mind would comprehend and consider, at least not consider being real. Am I correct?" She returned a slight nod. He turned in a tight circle as if scanning his shop. "No ... no, I need to know more. I need to understand exactly how deeply your desire for experiences truly is." He held her eyes, "Would you consent to hypnosis?"

"I ... don't ... think that would be wise," she muttered.

He chuckled disarmingly, "I'm not that kind of hypnotist, dear. I might not be a hypnotist at all. What I do is help a person relax so they are freer to respond to questions." She was still reluctant, he saw. He rummaged around the counter and found an old business card. He turned it over and added a phone number. "Here, you think about it. If you decide this might be your only way, call me."

She took the card and held it in her fingers so she could see the phone number scribbled in pencil. She backed away while glancing back and forth from the card to the man. Then, she was back outside with the sound of the door scraping on the door sill as she tugged to close it. She stood for a moment just outside the door on the cracked sidewalk. Across the street was her car. She didn't dare go back into the shop. But ... what if he was right? What if he was the only possible way?

* * * *

It was a couple of weeks before she took the card from under the small magnet on the refrigerator door, where it sat staring at her every time she ventured into the kitchen. The man answered on the fourth ring just before she thought it wouldn't be.

"Hello, sorry," he offered upon answering. "I don't get many calls on this phone, and I couldn't find the darn thing under the mess here." After an awkward pause, "Sorry again," he chuckled, "you didn't need to know that. What can I do for you?"

"Yes, well ... this is Melanie, I was in your shop a couple weeks ago looking for ... maybe ... ughm ..."

"A potion or spell, am I right?" he responded warmly.

* * * *

When she arrived back at the old shop, the old man looked almost exactly as he had on the previous visit. She undoubtedly looked very much like she had then, too: conservatively dressed and meek in attitude.

"Are you ready?" he asked her upon entering the once again deserted shop.

"Yes," she replied, firmly nodding her head. "I want this. If it is at all possible, I want to change. I want to experience what I have been otherwise unable to."

"Let's get to work, then," he said with a reassuring smile as he locked the door. He then led her into the back of the shop to another door. When he opened it, she saw that it led down into a basement. "We can avoid distractions down here," he reassured her as he led her down the stairs, turning an old-fashioned light switch as he passed. The room below was only partially furnished, looking like he used it as a quiet space, as he said, and for business, as she noted a computer station on an old, heavily marked and dented wooden desk. Along one wall were bookcases of old books and manuscripts, some bound in leather covers. Glass-fronted cabinets on another wall contained vials and other bottles.

She was shown to an old sofa and asked to lie comfortably. As she sat on it, she could smell the dust rising from the piece of furniture, perhaps not used for quite a long time.

"As I said before, Melanie, I am not skilled enough as a hypnotist for you to be concerned. I want only to help you relax. I need to ask you questions, and the answers will guide me in determining whether I have any means to assist you in moving in the direction you seek. Are you okay?"

"I am. Thank you. Please, let's begin," she said with a strained smile, and more self-assurance than she really felt. This made no sense to her when she rationally and critically thought about what she was entering into. Part of that was that she didn't know what she was entering into. Her brain had controlled her life long enough, though, she had decided. It was time to experience the physical side of life, too. She wanted it all. The idea of it had become consuming. Her brain would never see the sense in releasing to emotion, sensations, and thrills. "Yes, I'm ready."

He began. In truth, he was skilled in hypnotism more than he said. He chuckled. He also considered himself somewhat skilled in the dark arts, or so it seemed from his recent experimentation and conjuring.

My, he thought, for someone so deep into the mental side of life, she went under easily. Now, he thought, find what you need. See if she truly is one who could be used. The goo is waiting for you to investigate further, he reminded himself.

His questions revealed a young woman with very conflicting pulls in her soul. She was definitely highly intelligent and thoughtful. Trapped inside her and tightly controlled by her mind's dominance was a very real desire for release. If only she truly realized what was inside her, he thought, she wouldn't need any assistance from anyone.

He was able to get her to release details from what had to have been hours and hours of 'research' on the internet, scouring erotica and porn. Exhibitionism. Fucking. Sucking cock. Anal. Double penetration. Deep throat. Air-tight. Group sex. Gang bang. Big cock. It all poured out of her, all the experiences she imagined but were beyond her capability within her tightly constricted life.

In addition to everything he learned about her desires, she was single with no family. She lived alone in a modest apartment. Her place of work provided her with no real friends, merely work associates. She had no outside friends or close acquaintances. She truly was alone in the world.

Yes, he thought with an evil chuckle, she very definitely was right for what he had in mind for his experiment with the goo-thing he trapped in the sub-basement, the result of a conjuring from one of his latest manuscript discoveries.

Once ready, the man knew he had to move before she began coming out of the hypnosis. It occurred to him that a critical detail of his plan had escaped him: how was he going to move her to the sub-basement? She was only 5'2" but quite curvy. He guessed she was in the healthy BMI range but likely on the upper end: 125 to 130 pounds. He was an older man more used to moving books and manuscripts than a limp 125-pound woman.

He managed to sit her upright, then pull her upper body forward, get his shoulder into her waist while on a knee, and press himself upright to standing. He was sure he was going to regret that last effort later, but it worked. He struggled to the next door, clumsily managed to open it, bumped his way from one wall to the other down the stairs to the landing below, and then to another door. And, another detail: getting her inside.

"I found what you wanted," the man announced at the door with his mind. The goo-thing didn't speak verbally, at least not as far as the man had heard. It was capable of talking by giving thoughts. How that worked, he had no clue, but it was just one of a long list of things he hoped to learn about the goo-thing. For now, he was satisfying what he understood to be its curiosity about his species. Fair was fair, he thought. Let it learn while he learns. After all, he had it trapped, not the other way around. There was a camera mounted in one of the ceiling corners, the result of a period when he was a member of a crazy cult-like group involved in witchcraft and the excuse for group sex. He had installed the camera to record events and their titillation later. So far, the camera had not yielded much in the way of observation of the goo-thing's actions.

He carefully lay the young woman, Melanie, on the stone floor at the locked, heavy wooden door to the stone chamber on the other side. It had asked for a female of its species for its study. To what end the study would go, he wasn't sure, but he could assume it wanted to understand differences, so he proceeded in undressing the young woman. He unbuttoned the conservative dress, pulled her arms from the short sleeves, and sat back on his heels. It had been a very long time since seeing a young woman, hell, any woman, undressed. No, he chided himself, hurry before she comes out of it.

He could have sworn he heard a derisive laugh, but he discounted that as his own imagination chiding him to hurry. He removed her shoes and socks, then considered her body once again. Her panties were plain, white, cotton briefs. He wasn't surprised. He tugged the panties past her hips and off, gazing at her pubic hair, which matched her head hair. He would have been surprised if this woman had been vain enough to dye her hair. He parted her legs just enough to see her pussy. The pubic hair was very sparse, and her pussy was evident between her slightly parted thighs. He reached out to press his fingers between her thighs and touch her pussy slit. Dry and tight. No surprise. How could it have been otherwise? He wanted to feel her more and even maybe penetrate her virginal pussy, but his mind chided him, 'No time ... hurry.' His mind or ...?

He shook his head. He knew he had to hurry. There may be time for her, yet, but that would be later, after the goo-thing had its study of her. He pulled the woman to sit, resting her against his chest and shoulders as he reached behind her. Damn, her breasts looked huge in her small frame, and the damn bra had four hooks. Even as a younger man, he was never adept at removing bras, and he now struggled clumsily.

He couldn't resist her breasts, either. So full on her chest sagging to the sides as she lay on her back, with the soft nipples sitting on top like ... he shook his head again after an exploratory fondle.

He was going to have to drag her inside. The stone floor was mostly worn smooth from years and years of traffic, but it was still stone. He put her shoes back on before opening the door and hefting her from behind under her arms. The goo-thing, he called it that because ... well, it only seemed like goo that moved. When it had first appeared to him in the chamber, he had been startled into flight. It had been a conjuring found in an old manuscript, and he had no expectation of that one producing anything, either. When the thing had appeared suddenly, words like 'startled' and 'flight' were gross understatements. He had been relieved to discover the camera still worked, and later to discover the mental communication.

The thing seemed to move slowly, so he risked entering with the woman. Once inside the chamber, he quickly glanced around the room and didn't find it. Not surprising, though. It was black as tar, and was able to make volume changes and shapes at will, and the chamber was largely deep in shadow. The man quickly removed the shoes he had used for protecting her heels as he had dragged her over the stone floor, and even more quickly retreated through the door, which he locked again behind himself with a deep sigh of relief.

The room was stone, originally constructed for unknown reasons, but he envisioned it used for something illicit, perhaps bootlegging back in the day. He didn't know if the goo-thing might be dangerous, but the walls were stone, and the door was solid wood and four inches thick.

He had done his part. Now, as he scrambled back up to the basement level and his computer, what was the goo-thing's intention for the female of his species? What could a thing, a species that only resembled flowing tar, possibly want with a human female? The thing had been specific, though. It wanted a specimen (it even used the term, specimen) with physical desires. Did it matter that this woman, this Melanie, possessed only latent desires?

As he opened the link to the camera and found the woman still unmoving, he wished he had changed the camera out for a modern version with more clarity and rotational capabilities. Too late now, though. How long would it take for something to happen? What was the thing going to do? Perhaps, nothing more than communication. That would be disappointing.

He remembered the hours of reviewing saved video, no sound, of the group activities. After the dancing and swaying and chanting, though, it was the shared sex on bare mattresses that he had been interested in. That the sub-basement had the feel of a dungeon had been the appeal for such events to be available for his camera recordings. He relived that erotic anticipation of prying and voyeurism again. She lay there naked in a locked chamber with an unknown species ... an unknown thing. For what? Oh, yes, curvy and voluptuous. He wished he had more time, himself. Maybe later. Yes, definitely later.