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Belle of the Ball

Belle of the Ball
By TeraS

 

It really wasn’t the best Halloween costume ever, Belle knew. In truth, she hadn’t really wanted to go out anyway. She was far too old to be trick-or-treating, for one, and, for the other, she really didn’t enjoy going to those sorts of parties.

Those sorts of parties? You know the ones. The ones where it seemed the only point was to get drunk—Belle didn’t drink—or to wind up with someone else in a costume—with her luck, probably someone in a bed-sheet, and that didn’t interest Belle either, because she hadn’t had a lot of luck with her love life.

For that matter, she hadn’t really had a lot of luck with any sort of social life. Though her name was Belle, she knew she wasn’t going to be the belle of the ball by any means. Her main problem was that she didn’t have the looks, or the boobs, for that matter. Her personality was too timid, she being far more comfortable being a wall flower and keeping out of sight.

However, she was pushed and prodded by her friends to join them at what they promised was going to be a tame—though, in that, Belle knew they were really thinking “lame”—party. She had gone to a costume store in the mall and wandered the isles looking for something that she wouldn’t be totally embarrassed to wear, something that wouldn’t make her stand out, and, she hoped, something that wouldn’t make her be laughed at.

But, even after looking through everything there, she hadn’t found a single thing that she could bring herself to wear. Belle saw a clearance bin of various accessories, and, after poking through them all in a last-ditch effort, found a pair of red plastic devil horns, a flimsy looking tail that came with a strap to tie around her waist, and a tiny, pathetic, plastic pitchfork with some feathers on it.

After taking one more good look around the store, she started to make her way towards the cashier, rummaging around in her purse for the twelve dollars and twenty-two cents her costume was going to cost. She wasn’t even going to bother with anything else, intending to wear only her new collection of devilish things and an unflattering dress and running shoes.

At least, that was her plan … until she bumped into someone and all of her costume pieces clattered to the floor.

As Belle knelt down to pick up her things, she didn’t glance at whoever it was, but she did express, in a very apologetic way: “I’m so sorry, this is my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.”

As Belle picked up her things, she noticed that she had bumped into a woman; the red open-toed heels she was wearing made that very clear. Looking a little further upwards, Belle then noticed a pair of shapely calves that led towards some very curvy thighs that were draped by a very tight, very red, dress.

As Belle continued to pick up her things, she stopped looking upwards, turning her attention back towards the costume bits that seemed to be a little more flimsy, a little more trashy looking.

She was just picking up the pitchfork when the woman spoke to her: “I think you weren’t paying a lot of attention when you were looking for your costume, either, sweetie.”

Now while the words might have been a little bit odd, the hot flash that Belle felt tickling up her legs, then between them, then settling into her core was slightly more concerning. She nibbled her lip as she looked upwards once more. The red dress seemed to be almost making love to the woman it was caressing. As her eyes moved up over the woman’s hips, Belle wished that she could be even slightly that shapely. Once her eyes slipped over the woman’s chest, Belle knew that she’d never look anything like her, and so she paused there, not wanting to look further upwards.

A slim hand and arm, covered in red latex, was offered to her: “Up you come now. Let’s have a look at you, hmm?”

When Belle took that hand, her legs felt like mush, her breath caught. She felt herself shiver at the touch, not knowing why this woman had such an effect on her … at least not until Belle stood up and looked into the eyes of the woman. She fell into a pair of so-green eyes surrounded by ebon hair, tanned skin, and lips as red, if not redder, than the dress the woman was wearing. Belle almost missed the two small horns in the woman’s hair, but not the red tail whose heart-shaped tip was hovering over her right shoulder.

Belle was at a loss for words as the woman looked at her, looked into her eyes, looked at her while moving her hands over Belle’s shoulders and arms, looked at her while touching her hips and moving her this way and that before finally stepping back.

Belle did—just barely—manage to hold in the whimper that came at that moment.

She then watched as the woman’s smile became a little less so as she looked at the meager things that Belle considered a costume with a critical eye.

That whimper Belle didn’t manage to hold inside herself.

The woman then took Belle’s hand and led her through the costume shop, past the other customers, both in and out of costume, with determination. Belle expected that they would be bumping into people, but it was like the parting of the Red Sea. The crowds moved out of the way. She was sure some of them bowed, but that couldn’t possibly be.

As they walked, the woman spoke: “If there is one thing I cannot stand, it is all of the poor attempts at costume design there are … especially those pretend to have a clue as to what seductive is. They seem to always get trashy and seductive mixed all up.” She turned her head, and gave Belle a look that made her tremble in hot, wet need: “I think someone needs a lesson in what the difference is, don’t you agree, sweetling?”

Belle’s mind was awash in the thoughts of how she was so turned on at that moment that she’d happily walk around in a string bikini and a collar if she was asked. That thought brought her out of the almost-trance she was in long enough to answer: “I … I don’t know. I’m not either.”

The woman stopped and touched a red-covered hand to Belle’s chin, raising her dull blue eyes to look up into the woman’s so-green pair: “You aren’t trashy, pet, and you shouldn’t be wearing trashy things.”

Belle continued to clutch her assembled costume pieces, feeling very ashamed now of what she had been planning to do: “Sorry …”

The woman smiled, and then Belle found herself being kissed—a long, slow, wet kiss that made her toes curl, her pussy moisten and her nipples ache; a kiss like the ones she’d imagined that the sexy, hot girls got all of the time, and it only made her so needy and wanting to do whatever …

“Tera. But you will call me ‘Mistress’ won’t you, pet?”

The shiver turned into a hot need that settled in Belle’s sex and mind, pushing out all of her concerns about not being good enough. Mistress said she was, and Mistress was never wrong. It was then, in that moment, when Belle realized that they had walked through the store and into the back where the changing rooms were. She continued to clutch the little bits of red that seemed so insignificant next to the red of Mistress, somehow needing them.

Belle didn’t resist as Mistress walked towards one of the larger rooms, guided Belle inside, and then spoke to her again: “Now, you go on and take off those clothes and put on your costume. I don’t want to see you wearing anything else, pet. When you are done, just call for me.”

As the door to the changing room was closed, Belle felt lost, needy, but at the same time she knew that she was going to do exactly as she was told. All of the worry about how she looked, what she thought of herself, were pushed aside for the words of Mistress: “You aren’t trashy.”

Just before the door closed, Belle whispered: “But I only have trashy things.”

Mistress opened the door and smiled: “Trust in me, pet. You won’t disappoint me. I shall make sure of that.”

After the door closed again, Belle stood, looking into the mirror. She looked … ordinary. She felt … not so much so. Yet Mistress said she wouldn’t be disappointed

With a sigh, her clothing went on the bench and, after a slight hesitation, so did her bra and panties. The cheap-looking horns went into her short, sandy blond hair, the poor excuse for a tail wrapped around her waist and, finally, she picked up that sad thing someone decided was a pitchfork and held it in both hands in front of her.

She sighed before calling out: “Ready … Mistress.” Then, several things happened. Belle was looking right into the mirror as they happened, mesmerized by them.

First, her pale blue eyes changed colour. Before, they were unremarkable, ordinary. Now they were deep sea blue, the kind of blue that one could get lost in if they looked into them for too long.

Belle found herself staring into them, being held by them as the second thing happened: she heard a voice. It was her own voice, but sexier, purring, seductive: “We’re not going to disappoint Mistress. We are going to be everything she wants us to be, Belle.”

Belle managed to nod, once, not trusting herself to speak. As she watched, the third thing happened: the red horns in her hair turned a deep brunette colour, then melted into her hair, changing its colour to match them. Her hair then began to lengthen, becoming a wave of rich brunette locks that cascaded along her shoulders, draped down her back, and spilled over her chest, framing her face and bust on either side.

This drew her attention to her breasts, her hands moving to cup them when the third thing happened. She felt a warmth spread through her body, her skin tanning, her body gaining curves, her hips and chest becoming more than they were before. A shiver rolled up from her sex, now bare, like fingers tickling up from her heat, exploring every curve, finally settling around her slim, shapely throat.

Then the fourth something: the slight, simulated, scarlet tail turned golden, drawing itself against Belle’s new form, wandering over her body, tracing over her curves, becoming a gold bandeau that tightly held her now well more than a handful breasts perfectly, a golden loop in the middle holding the two halves together. Another stream of gold curled around her hips, cupping her now needful sex, teasing it, before moving behind, returning to its source at her perky, sexy rear.

For the last something, the pitchfork changed to gold, then some of it dribbled out of Belle’s hand, falling onto her shapely toes. Belle wobbled, slightly, as she found her balance now on a pair of golden heels, higher than the old Belle would have ever considered wearing, if she had ever even considered before. Her voice was wanton, needful as she moaned, gasping as the last of the golden liquid on her skin moved towards her neck: a golden collar formed there, and the thoughts of obeying Mistress cemented themselves in her mind, body and soul. The voice from before was now fully hers as she mewled needfully: “Anything … please … Mistress …”

Pet—she didn’t think of herself as Belle now—continued to mewl in need as she dropped to her knees, needing to obey, needing to serve. When the door opened, Mistress smiled: “Much better, pet. I am so very pleased with you.”

Pet arched her neck, displaying the collar, the ring attached to the front. She licked her lips as Mistress attached her red leash there. Pet melted as Mistress kissed her lips and caressed her cheek: “They will love you, pet. You’ll be the belle of the ball …” The words spoken made her cum, crying out in pleasure, her mind blanking out as she felt Mistress’ touch upon her, felt the promise of being her pleasure for the night.

The following morning, Belle came back to her senses when the morning light came calling through her window. She laid there for a time as flashes of memory came to her.

An amazingly hot brunette … lots of red.

A leash … kneeling … her tongue lapping … so wet … soaking … the orgasms.

Her fingers trailed down under the covers, playing there until a knock at the door startled her. As she scrambled to find something to wear she called out: “Hang on! I’m not decent!”

She paused as she saw Belle in the mirror: sandy blond hair, looking ordinary. She sighed, disappointed. It was only a dream. She hadn’t gone to a party, hadn’t gone to find a costume, hadn’t been found by Mistress … The last thought both confused and bothered Belle, and she didn’t quite know why. She ran to the door, wearing an old T-shirt that was long enough to hide that she was otherwise nude underneath, her bare feet padding on the floor. A quick twist of the door handle … and … and Belle didn’t know what to say next.

There, standing on the other side was … Mistress? Tera? Belle’s thoughts were confused. The woman stood there in a long red jacket, with black jeans, ankle boots, and bandeau top. But no horns or tail, and that just seemed very odd.

Belle didn’t know what to say, and her thoughts were confused, but, somehow, she knew Pet would be clear, Pet would know, Pet would … would …

Tera smiled: “I think you are more than decent, Belle. Did you have a nice time at the party?”

Belle didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. The memories buried in her mind came out in a rush, overwhelming her and leaving her thighs quite damp. She swallowed, carefully: “I … Yes … ummm … Thank you.”

Tera didn’t say anything, and Belle started to close the door, to return to her life as it was, the night of passion, pleasure, and more a memory, possibly a dream.

Just before it closed completely, Tera asked: “Would you like to be that way always?”

Belle thought about her life, who she was, who Tera had made her be, at least for a time. The door remained almost closed for a long time, neither woman saying anything.

Then Belle opened the door: “Would you like to come in, Tera? I’d … like to ask some questions before I make up my mind.”

Tera smiled as she walked past Belle, her tail and horns appearing out of thin air, then her Tail giving Belle a hug around her waist: “Anything you’d like to, Belle, anything at all. Even if all you want is to be the belle of the ball.”