The Sissy Prince and The Witch

You’re traveling through another realm of experience, a realm not only of the senses but of thought; you’re on a journey into a fantastic world whose limits are those of imagination. There’s the signpost up ahead – your next stop, the Limbo Zone.

The party has ended and the hostess is bidding good night to her guests. She asks several friends about a curly-haired young man who had left earlier, but none knew him. As she locked up and went around the house turning out lights she sees the young man just as he breaks down the back door and storms into her kitchen with an enraged look warping his face. Angrily he comes toward her and then seems to freeze solid with splinters of wood and fragments of glass floating around him.

Presented for your consideration: Eristein Scheisskopf (yes, I give my characters stupid names, largely so that real people won’t be associated, even accidentally, with these, uh, “entertainments” – PC), a true hater of women. A true momma’s boy who was conditioned from early childhood to expect all girls and women to indulge his slightest whim, he has devoted his life to putting women in what he believes is their proper place. A self-appointed urban avenger, he prowls his world meting out punishment to women who have failed to cater to him. But now he’s met his match... in the Limbo Zone.

Eristein was intensely angry at this woman; she had so much good stuff and she had not offered to share them with him. Enraging him even further, the woman stared at him without showing him the slightest sign of fear. Women were supposed to show fear, even terror, when he showed his displeasure with them, but this woman simply ignored him. With her right hand on her heart, she sketched glowing, glittering patterns in the air with her left hand. Those patterns swept up the wood and glass from the shattered door and carried them around him and behind him. Suddenly the shattered door reformed itself. Then the witch turned her attention to Eristein.

“Don’t worry,” she said with a reassuring smile that was not the least bit reassuring. “Nobody heard you break in, so there won’t be any police showing up to spoil our little party.”

Eristein’s cold, hard rage melted like a snowball in Hell and he began to tremble with intense fear. He struggled to move, but he remained immobile. Then he saw her sketch another glowing pattern in the air in front of him. Terror made him want to void his bladder and his bowels but nothing inside him moved except his heart, which pounded wildly like an animal striving to burst out of his chest, and his lungs, which pumped rapidly. A high-pitched squeal escaped through his lips when he saw the shimmering pattern approach him. Then he felt something warm and soothing soak into his body and he knew that he was now able to move, though he didn’t want to.

“Come with me,” the witch said, then turned and walked away.

Completely helpless to stop himself, Eristein obeyed like a well-trained puppy. Following the witch, he saw her pick up a plastic apron off the kitchen’s central island and then turn out the light as she left the kitchen. Walking through the house, turning out lights as she went, she led Eristein upstairs to her bedroom and through it to her bathroom.

“Take off all of your clothes and take a shower,” she told him.

He tried to resist, tried to tell the witch to get stuffed, but he failed. He seemed to be standing outside himself, watching himself obey the witch like a puppet. He laid his clothes on the counter by the sink, turned the water on in the shower, then got into the shower to bathe himself. As he pulled the shower curtain closed he noticed the image of an apple tree printed on the soft, smooth, transparent-white plastic and he noticed that the apples seemed to shimmer and glow. He then bathed himself.

While he bathed the witch put on the apron she had brought from the kitchen, then took his wallet from his pants and examined its contents. She found a thick wad of “dead scientists”, 1-, 4-, 8-, and 16-thaler bills. She even found two 64-thaler bills, easily identifiable by the portrait of Thomas Edison on the front. She put the wallet and bills into a drawer next to the sink and sent his clothes swirling down the toilet in a vortex of dust. From another drawer she took a cellophane packet and laid it on the counter by the sink.

When he was through bathing she cast a spell that dried him, one that made the residual water on his body puff off of him in a mist that then swirled down the drain. She then commanded him to step out of the shower and she picked up the cellophane package by the sink.

“Come with me!” she commanded and she led Eristein into her bedroom. There she commanded him to stand on a shimmering gold-and-violet pattern that spread two feet wide on the carpet by the foot of her bed. She held up the cellophane package so that Eristein could see it.

The package bore the familiar PlastiFemme™ logo. She opened the package and took out what the label on the package identified as PlastiFemme™’s “Princess Catherine” shower cap. Made of a disc of transparent pale blue plastic film on which silver stars were printed in a tiara pattern, it had been formed into a beret-style shower cap by the addition of a blue rubber headband. The witch handed it to Eristein and told him to put it on.

Blushing with embarrassment, he obeyed the command, deftly tucking his hair up into the plastic beret. As he adjusted the shower cap he saw the witch go to her dresser and take from a drawer a thing that appeared to be a two-foot section of cable woven of glass vines. At one end it tapered to a blunt tip that seemed to emit sparks in all the colors of the rainbow. The witch held it up as she approached him.

“Now you’re about to have the best sex ever,” she said, “so get your penis up and hard! When you’re just about to squirt puff out your belly!”

Helpless to resist her commands, Eristein felt his penis swelling and stiffening. Sexual desire flared up within him and he felt his penis come fully erect and the pressure inside in continue to increase. Soon he felt a tickling in its tip and he huffed in a deep breath and puffed out his belly.

At the same instant, striking like a snake, the witch reached out and touched the tip of her wand to the left side of Eristein’s neck, about an inch below and behind his ear. Suddenly he felt a jolt shake his body, as if something had exploded inside him, and he heard a loud thump. Then he noticed that his mind had cleared: he was free of the witch’s commands. He willed himself to move and found that he couldn’t. Something that felt rubbery against his skin was holding him immobile. He also noticed that the tickle in his penis had gone away, but not the intense arousal and the erection. He also noticed that the witch seemed especially pleased about something.

“There,” she said. “Now you’re my inflated plastic prisoner. My helpless balloon doll.” She put the glass wand back in its drawer and from another drawer took something he couldn’t quite make out, a packet that gave off a plastic sheen.

He felt humiliated. There he was, standing naked with his penis sticking up erect and he was unable to move. Adding to his embarrassment was the fact that he was wearing a girlie shower cap. But it got worse.

To his horror he saw the witch shake out the packet and approach him holding up a plastic serving apron. Made of silk-soft, skin-smooth, transparent-green plastic, it had a pattern of pink rosebuds printed on it and it was long enough that would hang a good six inches below his knees. With an evil grin twisting her mouth, she went behind him and put the apron on him. She knotted the ties behind his back in a neat bow and then went around him to stand in front of him.

She looked him up and down and then abruptly threw a quick jab into his chest. He felt a jolt, heard a soft rubbery thump, and tipped over backward. Desperately he tried to windmill his arms to regain his balance, but he could not move his arms away from his sides. More horrifying, he felt his penis slap against the apron and slide across its plastic. As he tipped briskly back upright he felt the apron stroke his penis again.

“Oh, yes,” she said with a giggle. “You make a good punching bag,” she added as she jabbed him again. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll let you wear your apron when I punch you.”

He wondered why she thought that he would want to wear an apron at all. But then the warm plastic sliding over his penis brought back the tickle and soon he was climaxing long and hard, bucking and writhing as he felt the pleasant sensation of squirting semen onto the apron. Of course, nothing was coming out of him, but the sensation felt authentic nonetheless. For half an hour the witch continued to punch him, filling the room with a series of rubbery thumps and the swish of plastic sliding on plastic, keeping him bouncing and bucking for her amusement.

Then she stopped and watched him bounce back up at her and wobble to a stop. He actually felt regret when she took the apron off him and tossed it onto a chair. Still standing in front of him, she then began to take off her own clothes. After taking off her bra she jiggled her breasts at him.

Completely naked, she went to her dresser and from one of the upper drawers took a short strap that looked like the sash-style belt of a plastic raincoat, though it was too short to serve that function. It had been made of transparent-black plastic, of the kind used to make raincoats, that had been doubled over to form an inch-wide strap and then welded together to form the strap.

The strap had magnetic patches at each end and Eristein quickly found out what they were for. The witch pulled the patches at one end of the strap apart, wrapped that end of the strap around Eristein’s left wrist, and then put the patches together to bind the strap to Eristein’s wrist. Then the witch pulled both of Eristein’s hands behind his back and fastened the other end of the strap around his right wrist.

Embracing him from behind, she pulled him off the holding spot and took him to her bed. She shoved him under the covers and went into her bathroom.

Eristein tried to break the soft plastic handcuffs that she had put on him, but he failed. He was a balloon, so he didn’t have the strength. All he could do was to watch passively as the witch came back into the bedroom and turned out the room light. In the soft glow coming through the window from a streetlight he saw her approach the bed.

He felt the bed move as she climbed into it and pulled the covers over herself. She slid herself over next to him and put her right hand on his chest. He tried to squirm away from her, but she held him down easily. He was about to get fucked and he was completely helpless to avoid the humiliation.

“You’re such a pretty sissy boy,” she said as she mounted him. “Oh yes,” she panted as she pressed her legs between his and brought her crotch down on his penis. Her soft rubbery-smooth skin pressed hot and heavy against him. She wrapped her arms around him and began to rub herself against him.

He felt her clitoris swell and stiffen, a quarter-inch nub pressing against the shaft of his penis. Again and again he felt the nub stroke his penis from base to glans. Desperately he squirmed, trying to get away from her, an effort that was simply futile.

Then he felt her climax. With his penis pressed into her crotch he felt the pulsations of her clitoris getting pulled into her body and released by the spasms of the muscles around it. Unable to stop himself, he climaxed at the same time, bucking and writhing under his captress. He felt as if his penis were gushing gallons of jizz, though he knew that nothing was coming out of him.

It was no good, though. She wasn’t crying and begging for mercy. She wasn’t making him feel like A Big Man. She was actually having fun and that was no fun at all for Eristein. It was clear that she regarded him as nothing more than a toy, a helpless fucking bag.

When she was through playing with him she simply went limp. Her breathing slowed and shallowed as she went to sleep on him. He tried to roll over to get her off of him, but he failed: as an inflated balloon he was too weak. Finally he drifted off to sleep himself and he slipped into a dream:

He was standing naked in what looked like a girl’s bedroom and he felt the pressure exerted on his forehead and around to just above the nape of his neck by the rubber headband of a shower cap. He also found that he could not move, but only stand helplessly with his arms pressed against his sides. Then his captor came into view and confronted him.

It was Bobo, the happy, grinning clown whose image had been printed on the plastic of the inflatable punching bag he had enjoyed as a child. But instead of the skinny character wearing a shabby suit that had appeared on the punching bag, Eristein saw his captor was a pudgier version of the clown and that he was wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist and a transparent-white plastic shower cap over his curly blond hair. The differences made the clown seem even more effeminate and, given the ways in which teenaged Eristein had used his toy, that seemed especially appropriate.

Yes, Eristein had played out imaginary boxing matches with the punching bag, pretending that he was defeating female boxers. But he had also taken the bouncy plastic bag into the shower with him. He had obtained a girl’s shower cap to put on the bag to enhance the character’s femininity and in the shower he had masturbated on the bag.

He had fantasized that he had discovered Bobo’s little secret, that he was actually a she. He had then blackmailed the hapless clown and demanded sexual favors for keeping the secret safe. He had come to climax when he came to the part of the fantasy in which he betrayed his victim and was able to watch the clown being humiliated and destroyed. Years of playing with that fantasy and others like it had conditioned Eristein’s mind to associate sexual pleasure, not with romantic love, but with nasty assertions of dominance over others.

And now he was standing naked and helpless in Bobo’s bedroom and Bobo, fresh out of his shower, was standing in front of him and looking him over. He seemed to feel the heat radiating off Bobo’s body as the clown stepped closer to him.

“My plastic prisoner at last,” Bobo gloated as he threw a gentle jab into Eristein’s chest, making Eristein rock to and fro. “I’ve waited so long to have my revenge on you and now my time has come.” He began bopping Eristein more vigorously, making his prisoner bounce gaily for him. To and fro Eristein rocked as rubbery thumps filled the room, punctuated by Bobo’s soft grunts. For several minutes the one-sided sparring match went on and then Bobo stopped punching his toy and allowed Eristein to wobble to a stop.

Bobo went to his bed and picked up a schoolgirl’s plastic raincape. He then went behind Eristein and put the raincape on him. Eristein felt the soft-as-silk, transparent-red plastic warm instantly where it touched his skin and heard a soft swish when the skin-smooth plastic slid across his body. Hanging to just above his knees, the raincape was so tight on him that the magnetic patches down the front barely closed.

Next Bobo pulled Eristein off the holding spot and carried him to the bed. Eristein saw that he had been turned into a plastic girl and he squirmed in Bobo’s embrace in a desperate effort to escape. But he didn’t have the strength and had to endure being shoved into Bobo’s bed. Lying on his back, he felt a frisson of excitement as the clown loomed over him.

“Be hot for me!” Bobo said as he patted Eristein’s belly. Then he went around to his own side of the bed.

He took off the towel and dropped it onto the floor and Eristein saw his penis standing up fully erect. The clown’s smooth, translucent-white skin made his penis resemble a wax candle. As Bobo got into bed Eristein noticed that he wasn’t wearing a condom and a mixture of disgust and dread swept through him as he assumed that he was going to have to sleep in a pool of wetness when the clown was through playing with him.

Bobo mounted Eristein and pushed his penis into Eristein’s pseudo-vagina. Because the pseudo-vagina was simply Eristein’s inverted erect penis, the penetration stimulated Eristein’s sexual arousal. As Bobo pumped his penis in and out of his prisoner, Eristein did, indeed, get hot for him. Soon Bobo came to climax and Eristein felt something hot blossom inside him in long, hard spurts as Bobo grunted into his left ear. Eristein climaxed at the same moment, bucking and squirming under Bobo. In the soft, warm afterglow of the orgasm Eristein drifted off to sleep.

The next morning the witch played with her plastic bride again. The land was just beginning to fill with light and to spill some into the witch’s bedroom when the witch mounted her hapless toy again and rode him to pleasure.

“It’s like fucking an air mattress,” she commented as she lay on him and rested after coming to climax. She patted his shoulder and added, “Now it’s time for you to be my punching bag again.”

After getting out of bed she put him back onto the strange pattern, the holding pattern, woven into the carpet at the foot of her bed and left him. Unable to move, he heard her going through her morning ritual of dressing and grooming herself.

When she came back to confront him she put his apron on him and began punching him again. For about fifteen minutes she used him for her morning exercise, filling her bedroom with a series of soft rubbery thumps as she made Eristein bounce for her. Again and again she brought him to climax.

Suddenly a transparent-golden bird flew into the room and landed on her right shoulder. Eristein gained the impression that it was whispering something into the witch’s ear. He saw a look of concern cross the witch’s face, then she looked at him with a strangely twisted smile.

She came to him and pulled him off the holding spot. She left his hands tied behind his back, tied his ankles together, then tied his wrists to his ankles so that he was forced to kneel. She took him into her walk-in closet, opened a hidden panel, and put him into a small chamber. Then she left and he heard the closet door close.

A short time later he heard the sound of someone knocking on a door. He heard her answer the door and talk to a man who identified himself as a police detective. Fear shot through him when the detective identified him as a suspect in several brutal rapes, but then he understood that the cop was his friend. The cops would rescue him from this crazy woman and then, as usual, he could lie his way out of whatever it was that the cops wanted to pin on him.

He strove to get the cop’s attention. He was mute, so he couldn’t yell for help. He tried making noise by bumping himself against the walls of his prison, but he had the mass of an air mattress, so he had all the impact of a beach ball. Even knowing that he was mute, he strove to scream when he heard the cop bid the witch goodbye and heard the front door close. A deep sense of abandonment swept over him and he couldn’t even cry.

Too soon she came back and took him out of the hidden chamber. She untied him and shoved him back onto the holding spot.

“Time to have a little chat,” she said.

From a drawer in her dresser she took a thing that looked like a circular box with toggle switches on one side of it. Something made of soft, smooth cream-white plastic with little blue starburst patterns printed on it lay on and covered the top of the box. The witch then held the box in front of Eristein and then took her hands away from it, leaving it floating in place. She flipped a switch and a thing that resembled a thin, translucent-violet snake slithered out of a hole in the side of the box and elongated itself to plug into a wall socket. She lifted the plastic something off the top of the box and Eristein saw that it resembled the bonnet of a hair dryer, the more so because it was connected to the box through a long, inch-wide plastic hose that uncoiled as the witch brought the bonnet toward her victim.

Eristein felt the witch put the bonnet on him, slipping it over his shower cap, and then saw her return to the box and flip another toggle. He saw the hose become distended as air began to flow through it and he felt the bonnet puff up. The witch then twisted a knob in the center of the top of the box.

“Now,” she said, “the vocalizer will enable you to speak to me.”

“Huh?” Eristein heard himself say.

“Brilliant,” the witch said sarcastically. “Let’s see if we can find out what you are in addition to a stupid burglar.”

“You got me all wrong,” he said. “I wasn’t gonna hurt you. I’m outa work and I just wanted to take some small stuff.”

She let out an exasperated sigh and took the bonnet off his head. “Lies bore me,” she said.

For the rest of the day she left him standing at the foot of her bed, helpless to move. For a psychopath boredom is the greatest torture. And to a mind empty of knowledge of anything that does not immediately gratify its desires and devoid of any desire to help others boredom comes readily and easily. When she put the vocalizer on him again he was a gibbering, blubbering wreck. He cried and begged, but to no avail. He may have been psychopathic, but she was psychotic.

“What’s an alternate name for a gassy Belgian politician?” she asked.

“I...I...I d...don’t know,” he stammered. Suddenly he felt afraid. She was clearly giving him some kind of test and now he was going to fail it, just as he failed all of those stupid tests they gave in school.

“Not even enough to guess?” she asked.

“N...n...no,” he replied. He had a feeling something bad was about to happen... and it did.

“A hot-air Walloon,” she said.

He didn’t get it, of course. She was just being a smartass as far as he was concerned, just trying to make him look stupid as all women did. That, of course, was his way of justifying his hatred of women. And, like all women, she wasn’t satisfied: she just had to humiliate him again.

“Have you ever been to that evangelical deli downtown?” she asked.

“N...n...no,” he stammered. “I... I ... didn’t even know we h... h... had one.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you have never heard of Cheeses Christ?” she said with a wicked grin.

Now he was getting angry. “Is that supposed to be funny?” he asked indignantly. “You’re just like all those damned teachers – always trying to make me look stupid!”

“Yeah, imagine that,” she said, “people dumb enough to think that you’re actually capable of learning something from them.”

“Hey, I don’t have to learn anything from anybody,” he said. “I can figure it all out on my own.”

“Wow! That’s amazing! Howdoyou do it?!” she asked.

“D...do what?” he asked warily.

“Kiss your own ass,” she replied, “and do it twenty-four/seven. You must be an incredible contortionist.” Then she added with a wicked grin, “Do you give yourself a blow job on the way down?”

“You know, why don’t you just kill me,” he said. “I’d rather be dead than have to listen to your lectures.”

“Ah, now we come to the essence of torture,” she said. “You don’t get to choose what I do to you... just as your victims didn’t get to choose what you did to them.”

“I didn’t do nothin’ bad,” he grumbled defensively.

“Well, then, my poor plastic prisoner,” she said, “I ain’t gonna do nothin’ bad to you.” She chuckled in a way that would have made his blood run cold if he had had any.

The next day the witch’s bedroom acquired another guest. He got to watch the witch inflate her new toy. It was a punching bag, shaped like an elongated pear, made of opaque-white plastic with a bright red base. And on the plastic was printed a life-sized image of a naked woman wearing only a bouffant shower cap made of transparent-white plastic over her black hair. He recognized her as Nicolleta “Snarky” Putzili. This beach balloon was from the Plastic Heating Company’s “Dimbos of Da Joisey Beaches (double entendre; wink, wink; nudge, nudge – PC)” collection. As he watched the bag fatten up as the witch blew into its valve, Eristein imagined all of the things that he would like to do to Snarky and that he could at least act out on the witch’s new toy. Then suddenly he understood: Snarky was going to watch the witch humiliate him, but he would never be allowed to touch her.

Unable to do anything else, Eristein recalled to mind the memory of one episode of Da Joisey Beaches in which Snarky got punched off a bar stool when she refused to give her drink to a drunk. Yeah, Eristein loved that episode: he believed that any woman who refused to give a man what he wanted when he wanted it deserved to get her face punched. So, as long as he had to look at the witch’s new punching bag, he would remember that episode and imagine that he was throwing the punch (Ah, the infantile pleasures of the moral imbecile! – PC).

A few days later the witch began keeping him in a guest bedroom at the back of the house. He was free to move, but unable to escape or to communicate with anyone outside his prison. All he had to wear was his own transparent-gray plastic raincoat: he wore it with its helmet-style hood to hide the feminine shower cap that was part of him. The witch didn’t tell him how she had retrieved it from his apartment and he was afraid, terrified, to ask what else she may have found.

One morning the witch took Eristein into the guest bedroom and he saw a teenaged boy still lying in bed.

“My nephew,” the witch whispered. Then she shoved Eristein into the room and quietly closed the door.

As quietly as possible Eristein went to stand by the window and look out over the back yard. He heard the sounds of the bed moving and the bedding being thrown back and he tried to will himself invisible.

“Now you’re my plastic prisoner!” the boy said quietly as he wrapped his left arm around Eristein’s chest and put his right hand on Eristein’s belly. “My plastic sex prisoner,” the boy gloated as he pulled Eristein more tightly against his body and pushed forward with his hips.

Eristein felt the boy’s rigid penis pushing the plastic of his raincoat into his butt crack and he tried desperately to squirm away from his captor. The boy simply hugged Eristein tighter. Then Eristein felt the boy’s right hand rubbing his raincoat’s plastic over his belly and then over his right thigh. In horrified desperation Eristein put his hands over his crotch, but to no avail. The boy grabbed Eristein’s penis and began to stroke it with the raincoat’s plastic.

“Yeah,” the boy said, “You know you want it.” He picked Eristein up and carried him to the bed. Facing the bed with the boy still stroking him, Eristein climaxed, bucking and squirming in the boy’s embrace. “Can’t wait for it, can you?” the boy taunted.

Eristein was both horrified and outraged. This boy was taunting him in exactly the same way he taunted his victims. It just wasn’t fair. It was OK for Eristein to taunt the women he attacked, but it certainly was not OK for this boy to taunt Eristein in the same way (ah, yes, the simple moral stupidity of the psychopath – PC). Then Eristein’s horror intensified.

The boy picked Eristein up and laid him, face down, on the bed. As soon as the boy took his hands off him Eristein tried to get up to escape, but a strong hand shoved him back down onto the bed. He heard the soft sound of the boy taking off his underpants and then felt the bed move as the boy crawled onto it. Then he felt the boy slide the skirt of his raincoat up over his buttocks.

“My helpless blow-up buggerbag!” the boy gloated. He knelt between Eristein’s legs and laid himself down on him.

Eristein felt the boy’s penis slip between his buttocks, poke and then slide into his anus. He felt a soft pressure, as if he were defecating backward. Then the boy embraced him and brought his full weight down on him.

Taking Eristein in a full sexual embrace, the boy thrust his hips to and fro to pump his penis in and out of his helpless pneumatic victim. The motion made Eristein’s penis rub against the plastic of his raincoat and enhanced his arousal. Suddenly he felt something hot blossom deep inside him in long, hard spurts and he climaxed harder than he had ever climaxed before. Then the boy went limp and lay panting on him.

After the boy dismounted from him and got up off the bed to get dressed, Eristein lay on the bed in shock. He had never been raped before and he didn’t like it, no, not one little bit. Wallowing in self-pity, he worked up a proper outrage at being so mistreated. At no time, though, did he think that his own victims might have suffered similar feelings.

The boy left, presumably to have breakfast, and Eristein got up off the bed. He went to the door and tried to open it, but he failed: the spring latch was just too stiff for him. Then he saw an inflated armchair made of smooth green plastic that had images of daisies printed on it. He sat himself down in it and after a minute became aware of the fact that the heat that the boy had pumped into him had not faded. Having nothing better to do, he wanted to masturbate, but he was afraid one of his captors might walk in on him and humiliate him, so he simply sat in the chair and felt sorry for himself.

Sometime later he heard voices that seemed to come from outside the room’s window. He looked through the louvers and through the bushes could barely make out the witch and her nephew standing by a car, presumably the witch’s. They were talking about something, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Soon he heard a car door slam. He heard the car’s engine start and he relaxed. The witch and her nephew had left, so he sat down in the inflated chair and began to play with himself.

He was startled out of his masturbation fantasy by the sound of the bedroom door opening. Looking up, he saw the boy enter the room and a frisson of fear shot through him.

“This is great,” the boy said. “We’re going to be alone together for most of the day, so I can use you to practice making out with a girl.”

And that’s exactly what the boy did for the rest of the afternoon, hugging and kissing Eristein, petting him and masturbating him to climax again and again. Twice the boy put Eristein down on the bed, mounted him, and, after a minute of pumping his erect penis in and out of the helpless airbag, climaxed into him.

A few days later Eristein had a truly demoralizing confrontation with the witch. The golden bird had visited her again and now he was standing on the holding spot in her bedroom and wearing the vocalizer.

“You slut!” the witch said in mock outrage. “You seduced my nephew!”

“N-n-no,” Eristein stammered. “It... it w-w-was an ac-accident. I d-d-didn’t mean to.” He was crying now.

“What am I going to do with you?” she growled.

“P-p-please,” he begged. “K-k-keep me in here. P-p-put me in the c-closet. J-just k-keep me away from....” His voice trailed off as he sobbed uncontrollably.

“No,” the witch said slowly. “No, I think that I will let the crime produce its own punishment. Yes, that’s perfect. I will continue to keep you in the guest bedroom and I will make sure to give the boy plenty of opportunities to play with you.”

“N-n-no, p-p-please,” he begged. “Wh-why?”

“Don’t you know?” she said as she patted his belly with the back of her right hand. She put her face close to his and said quietly, “You’re pregnant.”

“WHAT?!” he yelled. “That’s impossible!!”

“Well, that wiped away the crocodile tears, now, didn’t it?” she said with a wicked grin. “As for impossible? Well, it’s no more impossible than turning a less-than-worthless sissy boy into a living balloon doll.”

“So you’re saying that in nine months I’m gonna shit out a beach ball?”

“No,” the witch said. “You were wearing your raincoat when Pluzzelli first had his way with you, so you’re pregnant with a copy of your raincoat. Every time someone pumps a load into your butt it will grow a little bigger and you will get a little fatter. It’ll be fun to see how much Pluzzelli can fatten you up before he goes home. I know I’m going to have fun getting on top of a pregnant man. I’m getting hot just thinking about it.”

(The boy’s name is pronounced PLOOT-sell-ee. It looks Italian, but it is actually a misspelling of the Norwegian word plutselig, which means suddenly. Have I mentioned that I like giving my characters really stupid names? – PC)

Eristein was completely horrified. He was pregnant, like a woman, a state of which he wanted desperately to be rid. But he was also going to be used like a woman by the witch’s nephew and being the boy’s sex toy was necessary to end the pregnancy. Either way Eristein was humiliated. But, as you might expect, it got worse.

The witch also wanted her slave-doll to serve her as a maid, so she instructed him to wear his apron with his raincoat and then to fold her laundry and put it away. Eristein, of course, had no tolerance for doing actual productive work, though, oddly enough, he wasn’t stupid enough to tell the witch outright. No, he would simply mess up the job, so that he would be dismissed as a worthless, good-for-nothing piece of crap, as he always did. Of course, he would still be the witch’s punching bag and sex toy, but those roles didn’t involve Eristein putting out any effort. So he screwed up the job as best he could. The witch was not pleased.

“You’re really getting to be tiresome,” she said. “I can find a better slave-doll in the local jail. So I think I may just let Pluzzelli take you home with him. You can be his plastic prisoner.”

“No, please don’t do that,” Erisein begged. “I’ll be good. I won’t cause no more trouble. I’ll do whatever you want. Please give me another chance to be... to be a good slave.”

“You know I’m going to test you on that, don’t you,” she said.

“Y... y... yes, M... Mistress,” he replied, hoping that his use of the honorific would convince her to go easy on him.

“Good,” she said. “Now take off your raincoat, put on your apron, and go offer to serve Pluzzelli!”

“B... b... but,” he said and then he stopped himself. “Yes, Mistress,” he said as he began to cry again, this time for real. Slowly, reluctantly he took off his raincoat and tossed it onto the bed where she had thrown its hood when she had put the vocalizer on him. Then he tied on his apron and left the room, the vocalizer floating along with him.

Several weeks later things were not going well with slave-doll Eristein. His belly bulged as if he had swallowed a soccer ball and his breasts had swelled to the size of tennis balls. He knew that he was close to giving birth to his new raincoat, but Pluzzelli had gone home and would not likely return before Christmas. It had happened suddenly: he had not even had an opportunity to beg the witch to let Pluzzelli take him home with him. Without the daily infusion of jizz from Pluzzelli poor slave-doll Eristein would remain pregnant until the boy or someone else gave him their sexual attention. It just seemed so unfair to him.

He still hated women with an unquenchable rage. He was still a stupid crybaby and a cowardly wimp, so he still blamed women for all of his failures, especially his failure to become a man (if he had been honest enough to admit that he was not a man at all, but a less-than-worthless disease upon Humanity). Fortunately for any women he might have encountered in the future and subjected to his tantrums, he was still the witch’s helpless inflatable toy and would be forever.

Appendix: The Twilight Zone

There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call The Twilight Zone.

—Rod Serling

In October 1959 a strange new show appeared on the CBS schedule and ran until June of 1964. A blend of science-fiction, fantasy, and horror, the show began each episode with a mundane scene that would often display some bizarre aspect. At that point the scene would freeze and Rod Serling would walk into the scene and offer a commentary on the scene and a teaser as to how it would turn out.

One common theme in the show was that of poetic justice. In one episode, for example, a gang of robbers hijacks a large shipment of gold, then uses artificially-induced hibernation to escape into the Twenty-First Century, where they discover that gold is effectively worthless.

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14.02.12