The people of Wallachia do not fear the night, but when the purple sky fades to cold grey and the night goes deathly quiet, even the bravest of the Romani people are wise to retreat home. Most don’t lock their doors, but even in the sultry nights of summer, you won’t find a window left unshuttered.
The vampire didn’t begrudge them their illusion of safety. These were his people, and wasn’t this ritual an act of worship in a way? He would avoid drinking from the ones who showed him proper deference, and there was never a shortage of those too bold or too naive to lock themselves away. Normally he could wait for the inevitable careless youth or a foreigner to flaut the old customs, but tonight he was hungry, and he was not used to denying himself.
He passed over the old town in a cloud of bats that moved with leathery precision through the cloudless sky. As the village shrunk behind him and the forest spread before him he allowed bats to spread from their formation. He rarely strayed this far from the cold earth in which he’d been buried, and so much could change so quickly in this modern world. But there was no reason to waste one of the faithful. After all, an ounce of sweat was worth a gallon of blood.
Each tiny creature related back to him their surroundings. Trees that he’d last seen as saplings and earth that had flowed like water over the decades of slumber were the first things to catch his attention. The land itself was a living thing. He tried not to resent it for that.
On the edge of a shallow stream, far from the village, sat a cottage that was squat and round, free from any of the modern inconveniences. The forest had accepted the structure. Moss and ivy coated the walls, and outside, the caretaker had curated a selection of herbs and root vegetables which flourished despite the canopy of leaves which blocked out the sun. Inside, there was warmth; there was light; there was a woman.
The cloud of wings and teeth descended, and, as it kissed the ground, a boot made contact with the rocky earth. He was soundless; an extension of the night itself in his approach. It was true that a vampire could not enter a dwelling without permission, but these lands were his. Did he need an invitation to enter his own home?
Long, slender fingers grasped the door knob. The elegant hands were just as at home holding the shaft of a spear as they would be on the woman’s flesh. The handle turned. The door opened. The vampire stepped inside.
At first, the woman didn’t seem to notice him. She had her back to him as she tended to a planter of mushrooms she’d been cultivating. She was youthful and plump. That much was evident even from behind. Wine-dark hair rolled down over her back in waves. It was kept out of her face by a red scarf, but allowed to flow freely behind her where it reached nearly to her ample hips. Her behind was soft and round even under the loose fabric of her violet skirt.
“Do not be afraid.” His voice was deep and strong. It came from somewhere far within him, completely independent of the lungs in his chest that had drawn their last breaths centuries ago. The woman stopped tending to the mushrooms, and her head tilted upward, but she didn’t turn around.
“Do as I say and you will experience joy untold.” Lust tinged his words as he ventured deeper into the bungalow. “Your will is mine. Your soul is forfeit. Your body is mine to do with as I please.” He reached out, inches away from her. He could trace the lines of her arteries by the warmth they radiated under her skin--
“Alright, that’s more than enough of that.” The voice came from behind him. The vampire spun only to see the same woman. It was the first time he’d seen her face, but her silhouette was unmistakable. She stood with her hands on her hips, plump lips painted the color of oxblood turned up into a look of smug satisfaction. “So that’s the famous ‘vampire hypnosis?’ Can’t say that I’m impressed.”
The vampire blinked. He wasn’t used to people speaking to him this way, but he responded the way he usually would: with unwavering confidence.
“Do not mock me, thrall! You are under my command, and I command you to be silent!” He had meant to say more, but his mouth snapped shut. Suddenly, he couldn’t speak.
“You might want to avoid shouting out orders until you know what’s going on. Why don’t you go ahead and turn around?”
The vampire turned, hesitant to let the strange woman out of his sight, but compelled to follow her commands. Behind him, where the women had been mere moments ago. Stood a full-length mirror, and much to the vampire’s shock, his own reflection.
“Do you like it?” The woman asked, placing her hands on his shoulders and standing on her tip-toes to look over his shoulder. “It took me ages to get the enchantment right. Reversing a mesmerizing gaze with a mirror is text-book, but it’s not that simple when your target doesn’t have a reflection.”
The vampire stared. Eras had passed since he’d last seen his own reflection, but his body hadn’t aged a day. He was tall, with broad shoulders and thick black hair slicked back against his scalp with only a few obsidian ringlets refusing to be tamed. It matched the dark beard, impeccably groomed and cropped close to his face. His clothing had been designed to accentuate the lines of his body. His doublet was sinched tight against his waist and his dark leather boots reached nearly to his knees. Even before his transformation, he had been the masculine ideal. Now, with winter-crystal eyes and alabaster skin, he was a god in human form.
“How long does your hypnosis typically last?” The woman asked. The vampire remained silent. “You can speak.”
“A thrall is under my control until I release them,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I see. Then I forbid you to release yourself… ever. Can’t have you trying to get revenge on me.”
That was wise. Right now, the vampire wanted nothing more but to turn on the woman and suck the life out of her blood-flushed neck, but under the control of his own hypnosis, he was helpless to resist her.
“What manner of creature are you?” He demanded. Fingers clenched; nails digging into his palms.
“I’m a witch,”
“Impossible,” he spat “Witches are a myth. They don’t exist.”
“Some people might say the same about vampires.” She turned him around again to face her. She wore jewelry on her fingers and in her ears with a variety of stones, and her white cotton top was adorned with colorful text which he recognized as the Japanese imperial script. Was she from the orient?
Her dark hair and wide eyes led him to believe that she was Romani, much like himself, but the more he examined her cottage the more confused he became. The shelves were lined with colorful figurines made of resin or vinyl depicting strange characters in a variety of poses--most of them provocative. The walls were lined with paper tapestries, many of which featured illustrations of the same characters and more Japanese script. Finally, his eyes landed on a familiar language: Another paper tapestry displayed a family crest and featured a large black bird over English script.
“Ravenclaw?” He read. “Is that the name of your house?”
“Yeah, at least according to the quiz I took.” She seemed distracted as she examined his clothing. “What sort of abilities do vampires have?”
“We are beyond humans in every way, We have superior strength, speed, and longevity. You’ll become familiar with my abilities when I use them to take your life.” He gave her his most threatening hiss, but the witch seemed unphased.
“Well, we can’t have that. No vampire powers without my permission, got it? What about shapeshifting?”
The vampire grumbled but was compelled to answer. “I’ve taken a variety of forms to hunt my prey: A cloud of bats, a mighty wolf--”
“--A man with terrible fashion sense.” She picked at his cloak and let it drop.
The vampire balked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s cute in a Middle-Ages, renaissance fair sort of way, but I was hoping that my vampire familiar would be more my type. Can you change the way you look?”
“I am the master of my form, and I can appear however I wish.”
“Wrong. If I remember correctly, you said, and I quote, ‘Your body is mine to do with as I please.’” She gave him a wry smile. “And I think you should be about a foot and a half shorter.”
The vampire was about to protest, but he felt his power begin to stir against his will. The witch seemed to grow taller as the cabin expanded around him. Soon, she was at eye level with him, but his shrinking didn’t stop. He grew shorter and shorter until his eyes were level with her collar bone.
He yelped in alarm. “What did you do to me?” His rich baritone now reduced to a tenor by his sudden reduction. He stomped toward her, only for his formerly knee-high boots to stop him in his tracks and cause him to topple over. He attempted to return to his true height, but the magic just wouldn’t flow. Without the witch’s explicit permission, he was unable to use any of his vampiric abilities.
“Much better, but we’ll have to do something about the beard.” She leaned down and placed a finger under his chin, tilting his head upward. “You don’t need any hair besides those gorgeous locks on top of your head.”
“W-what?” But already he could feel the beard falling from his face, leaving only smooth cheeks. If he still had blood, he was sure he’d be blushing. He remembered hating his face as a living man. He was all cheekbones and plump lips, looking far younger than he would have liked. Without the beard, he felt childish and small.
“You will release me at once!” The vampire demanded, struggling to his feet, despite the too high boots.
“Hmmm… I don’t think I will. I’ve got big plans for you, and I very much prefer you this way.” She admired her handiwork before tousling his hair. The vampire sputtered and pushed her away. His strength was only human but it was still enough to throw the witch back.
“Don’t you touch me, wench!” He spat. “I am the rightful ruler of these lands! I have commanded armies, killed men by the thousands! This land is fed by the graves of those I’ve slain and those who live on it do so by my mercy! You have no right to treat me this way! Bow before your better, or face my wrath!”
For a moment, the witch actually seemed startled, perhaps even afraid of him, but then she rose to her feet, and frustration replaced her fear. She towered above the five-foot-tall vampire and advanced upon him.
“Your wrath?” She grabbed his wrist. “You came here to eat me! You’re lucky I don’t command you to sunbathe, or take a long bath in some holy water, or eat a heaping helping of garlic bread!” She pushed him back against the mirror and the vampire hissed as he felt the proximity between his skin and the layer of silver behind the thin pane of glass.
“I could turn you into a robot that does exactly what I tell you to do, but I don’t want a robot. I want a familiar. Let me remind you who’s in charge here.” Her smile tightened into an evil grin. “I want you chubby.”
“W-what?” The vampire asked, but his body was already complying with her demand. He softened, filling what little space there was in the form-fitting clothing as his chiseled physique gave way to something with considerably less resistance. His muscles faded away and the witch’s fingers sunk deeper into his puffy wrist.
“Bigger,” she demanded, and there was another surge of growth. The vampire’s doublet grew tight as the strings up the back began to strain against his bubbling fat. The wrinkles in his pants flattened as his thighs inflated and filled his leather boots.
He snarled at his tormentor, but still, he grew fatter. Seams burst and popped, but the doublet stayed on, confining his growing gut and forcing the diminutive vampire to become more bottom-heavy. He groped at his behind with his free hand as the billowing tush forced his fingers apart.
“Fatter, you wanna-be Dracula. You're not done until that fancy shirt pops off.”
The vampire squealed involuntarily as another surge of growth wracked his body. This was impossible! He was a prince of darkness. A creature of the night. How could he let this woman turn him into such a… such a... marshmallow? The pressure became too much and the lacing up the back of his doublet finally burst in a series of percussive snaps. His gut, finally free, spilled forward on top of his thighs as he jiggled against the glass.
“There, I think you’ve learned your lesson. Here, let me help you out of those clothes.”
The doublet was mostly ruined and slipped off, exposing the vampire boy’s fattened tummy and perky moobs. He lifted them experimentally and played with them a bit, watching them bounce, barely able to believe that they were his.
The witch set to work on his boots, ultimately having to cut them out where the vampire’s thighs bubbled out like biscuit dough. Free from the boots the vampire stumbled forward, nearly tripping on his pant legs which hung several inches over his pudgy feet.
“Careful. You’re not going anywhere in these trousers. Give me a sec to cut them off.” The vampire wanted to back away, to go somewhere dark and hidden to regroup, but he was stopped by his own hypnosis. The woman had issued an order, and he had no choice but to comply. She turned him around and he was finally able to get a good look at himself in the mirror.
Chubby cheeks were framed by messy black hair. His broad shoulders had been softened by his transformation, and his arms were pillowy and thick. Even his hands had been fattened. His dexterous fingers were shorter on his puffy hand, and he had soft indents where his knuckles used to be.
Small breasts had formed over his chest and were capped with pink nipples twice as wide as he remembered. They rested on a large, round gut which hung over his privates and was indented by a deep navel. He squeezed it in his hands. It was soft. All of him was soft.
Gone was the lord of darkness. All hail the new prince of softness.
The witch, sitting on the floor, finally managed to cut his trousers off, and they burst from his thighs, revealing that his lower half was the real star of the show. His hips were wider than his shoulders, and his butt was the biggest he’d ever seen. He felt himself tense, again feeling that he would be blushing if he had the requisite blood.
“There we go. Out of those dusty old… Oh my…” The witch trailed off, still seated below his belly. The vampire lifted his gut to get a better look.
There, partially buried in a very pudgy and very smooth pubic mound, was a very erect cock. The vampire was mortified. What further indignity was this? How could he actually be enjoying this humiliation? Then he remembered the first words he’d spoken upon entering the cottage:
“Do as I say and you will experience joy untold.”
He had followed all of the witch’s commands. Now he had no choice but to enjoy it.
He felt her lips close around his cock, and he let out a quiet squeak. He tried to look over his belly, but there was just too much fat in the way. Instead, he turned his attention to the mirror. He watched the woman's head bob up and down, her cheeks pressing against his pudgy thighs. He couldn’t tear his eyes away when her head bumped his belly and sent ripples through his body and made his perky moobs bounce.
He squeaked and squealed pathetically as his hands kneaded his gut, loving and hating it at the same time. She pulled her lips away with a pop and smiled up at him.
“You’re so noisy!” She teased. “Such an adorable vampire fatty.” She finished him off with her hand, letting his cum soak the underside of his new belly. “Now…” she said, reaching over to a nearby basket of sewing supplies and withdrawing a needle. “...It’s my turn.”
She pricked her finger, letting a drop of blood form on the tip. The vampire’s eyes lit up as she offered it to him. He began to suck on the finger eagerly, hands still exploring his new breasts and belly.
She winced. “No teeth,” she chided, and he gazed at her apologetically from between black bangs as he began to suck more softly. She finally pulled the finger from his mouth and made her way to her bed, which was a nest of duvets and pillows. She dropped into it and shimmied out of her skirt in one smooth motion.
She rolled onto her back to look at him from between her open legs, baring her pussy for him to enjoy. The lower half of her belly could be seen from under the hem of her T-shirt, and her plump thighs looked so inviting, though they were nothing compared to his. She’d made him so fat. Did he want that? He couldn’t seem to remember right now.
“Come here, vampire boy.” She squeezed another drop of blood from the tip of her finger and let it drip between her legs. “If you want it, it’s yours.”
The pudgy vampire dove in eagerly. It wasn’t lost on him that she hadn’t ordered him to do this. His puffy hands gripped her thick thighs and he felt a hand press on the back of his head, pulling him in deer. She moaned and tensed and twisted as her thighs pressed into his softened body.
“Look at me.” She gasped as her hips pressed against him. “I’m supposed to be making you my slave, but here I am loving you.” She gasped again, gripping at the blankets. “It’s my own fault. You’re just my type.”
If his heart could beat, he was sure he would have felt it flutter. The witch climaxed against him, and he pulled back, tongue hanging out of his mouth between sharp teeth.
The woman let her body relax, and she smiled up at him.
The vampire sighed but willingly slipped into her arms, letting his softness merge with hers.
“So, here’s the deal...” She played with his hair as she spoke, pressing herself against him just to feel how fat he was. “... I need a familiar, and you need me to turn you back.”
“I suppose that's a fair assessment.” The vampire did his best to maintain indignance, but he was still getting used to this new higher-pitched voice.
“The lifespan of a human is nothing for you, so you agree to pal around with me for a few decades, be my body-gaurd, do my chores, and if you’re good, I’ll turn you back and let you go.”
“And what’s to stop me from killing you first chance I get?”
She looked down at him and openly laughed. “Says the fatty snuggled up to me? Well, there’s always the fact that you’re under your own spell. Killing me doesn’t break the curse. If I die, you’re stuck like this forever.”
The way the vampire’s eyes widened made it clear that he got the point.
“Do we have a deal?” She asked, extending a hand. The vampire stared a moment before accepting it and shaking.
“Perfect. I’m Aliana, by the way.”
“You may call me Lord.”
She laughed again. “No way. Your real name?”
He resisted for a moment. “L-Luca,” he finally stammered.
“Well, Luca, I think that this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship!” She smiled that mischievous smile, and Luca felt a pang of dread.
Aliana looked to be in her twenties, so fifty years seemed like a likely timeframe. After that, everything could go back to normal. Even still, Luca wasn’t sure what he dreaded most: being stuck as a marshmallow for half of a century or the fact that he might actually enjoy it.