On the Way to Amber Room

Part 1

"If I had known things would go this far, then..." — Private detective Harry cut himself off, choking on another wave of panic.

The dark leather seats of the expensive SUV rubbed against his bare skin. Too much bare skin. His gaze dropped down to his chest, confined in a red bikini. God. The slight shaking of the road made his breasts bounce with every bump, a constant reminder of the new weight on his body. It was driving him insane.

He gritted his teeth, trying to focus. All of this—this was the result of that damned deal with that strange guy who had promised him cover. A curse? An experiment? Magic? He hadn’t figured it out yet, but the fact remained: he, Harry Drake, a detective with ten years of experience, was now trapped in this body and was finally being taken to the infamous elite club, Amber Room—a place so secretive that even the most powerful people barely knew of its existence. A place where reality disappeared, and power and debauchery mixed with occult rituals.

Harry was certain this was connected to the media mogul’s heiress, who had mysteriously vanished under unexplained circumstances.

— Relax, baby. — The driver chuckled, keeping his eyes on the road. — Stop squirming like you’re sitting on needles.

Harry pressed his knees together, feeling heat rise to his face. "Fuck, pull yourself together!" he barked at himself mentally. But it was harder than expected when his body betrayed him, reacting to every single movement.

— Why the hell did I even have to strip? And why take all my stuff? — Harry muttered, glancing down again.

The panties were tight, digging into his skin, their thin straps pulled so taut they felt like they’d snap at any moment. Every movement brought unfamiliar sensations—his skin was too sensitive, his body felt strangely light and yet… uncomfortable.

He clenched his teeth as his breasts jiggled again when the car made a sharp turn.

The driver shot him a quick glance through the rearview mirror—assessing, predatory.

— Listen, doll, you really don’t get it, do you? Your stuff? Your past? No one gives a shit about that anymore. Forget it. You’re just here to look pretty, got it?

Harry froze. His heart pounded wildly. "Fuck, why the hell am I freaking out so much? I knew what I was getting into, and yet I feel like some scared little girl."

He was a detective, for fuck’s sake! Ten years in this dirty business, working with dangerous people, bullets, chases. He had been through the hell of investigations and betrayals, but now… Now he felt something spreading inside him—it wasn’t just panic. It was vulnerability. He wanted to shrink, to close himself off, but every fiber of this new body was reacting too emotionally, too… femininely.

Harry clenched his jaw, forcing himself to regain control, to prove—if only to himself—that he was still in charge.

— The deal was… — Harry struggled to keep the tremor out of his voice, but it still sounded too… feminine, with an almost pleading undertone. — Completely different. I was just supposed to… talk, find out where we… — He swallowed hard. His voice betrayed him: high, too soft, too… fragile.

The driver snorted, flashing a grin as he turned onto a narrower road. Dense trees lined the sides. It felt like an eternity as his gaze lingered on Harry’s exposed body, but then, suddenly, the brakes screeched, and the car came to an abrupt stop. Harry felt his body lurch forward helplessly.

— Listen up, doll, — the driver finally turned, resting his elbow on the headrest, his stare sharp, piercing, drilling into him. — You really don’t understand where you’re going, do you? Or how things work there. So open those cute little ears: you don’t ask questions, you don’t argue. You’re just decoration. Got it?

A black velvet blindfold appeared in his hands.

— Hey, what the… — Harry flinched, but the driver was already reaching out, gripping his chin.

— If you don’t want things to get rough, put the blindfold on. Or I’ll do it myself… and it won’t be gentle.

His heart pounded harder. Harry swallowed, clinging to the last shreds of his dignity. "Come on, it’s just part of the cover. Just part of the game," he reminded himself, tying the blindfold over his eyes.

Darkness.

Only his own ragged breathing and the distant sound of raindrops against the window.

A soft click of the car door. Someone slid in beside him. The faint scent of musk and light cigarettes drifted through the air as a hand slowly trailed down his thigh, sending an involuntary shiver through him.

The smell. Cigarette smoke, but light, thin, with a musky undertone. A man. His palm rested lightly, almost carelessly, on Harry’s thigh, skimming over smooth skin. His body betrayed him again—every nerve seemed to hold its breath, waiting.

Harry bit his lip instinctively, not even realizing it, as a cold shudder ran down his spine. Controlling this body was harder than he thought.

— Relax, baby. It’s just… an interview. — The voice was velvety, warm, but with an undertone of icy confidence.

He took Harry’s wrist, guiding his hand downward, toward something hard, long, and… warm. Harry felt his fingers tremble as they brushed against something solid, hot. Inside, everything clenched with panic and disgust.

He knew what was happening. He knew this was part of the cover, but his brain refused to accept reality.

His fingers tensed, hesitated, barely touching—he was about to pull back when the man’s warm, strong hand covered his own, forcing his grip to tighten.

— That’s it, — the voice was low, velvety, almost gentle. — Just be a good girl, show me what you can do. It’s important for the job.

Harry tried to speak, but his voice got stuck in his throat. Only a weak breath escaped his lips. He could feel the heat creeping up his cheeks, how his body—this alien body—reacted too… unpredictably.

— But I already… I already spoke with that guy… The interview… it was already… — Harry trailed off. His voice sounded too whimpering, too soft, almost pleading. Like it wasn’t even his. "Fuck, what’s happening to me? I’m—"

— Shhh… You’re in the middle of it, baby, — the man leaned in closer, his breath burning against his ear. — Just nice and slow… up. And down. Yeah, just like that.

The stranger adjusted his grip, guiding his movements.

Part 2

A warm, heavy hand slid from behind, wrapping around his shoulders. Fingers slowly squeezed his narrow, fragile shoulders, as if testing how pliable he was. Harry flinched when the man pulled him closer, forcing him to press his back against the firm chest. The warmth of the other man's body enveloped him, and the chest… Breasts pressed softly between them, sending an unwelcome wave of heat through him, an unsettling sensation that made him want to shrink even more, but the space between them simply disappeared.

— Everything is going perfectly. — The man's voice was soft, almost hypnotic, and his fingers squeezed Harry's palm slightly, setting the rhythm. — You do want to get the job, don’t you?

Harry shuddered, his lips involuntarily parting as his hand kept moving up and down, obeying the stranger’s rhythm. This was madness. He knew what he was doing. He understood what was happening. But…

The man leaned in almost lazily, his breath scorching Harry’s skin, and then soft, warm lips brushed against his cheek. A light, barely perceptible kiss, but that only sent a stronger shiver through him.

— Mmm, good girl… — the voice almost whispered. Then those lips touched his ear, burning him with hot breath.

The next moment, the lips slid further, finding the corner of Harry’s mouth. He wanted to pull away, to say something, anything, but his body—traitorous, unfamiliar—seemed to freeze, seized by an anxious, unexplainable anticipation.

The man didn’t stop. The kiss deepened, grew more insistent, lips pressing harder, and then a warm, demanding tongue slid inside, tasting, claiming. It was too much—too close, too hot. Harry could feel his heart pounding desperately in his chest, and his breasts… His nipples tightened, pressing against the thin fabric of the bikini, highlighting the frightening sensitivity of this new body. It was too much—too real, too sharp.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to cope with the sensation, but his breathing hitched, and his lips, betraying him, parted even more. A soft, almost whimpering sigh escaped them as the man’s tongue slid deeper, completely taking control.

The kiss ended as abruptly as it had started, leaving Harry breathless, his cheeks burning, his whole body trembling strangely. He could feel his breasts betraying him with every breath, his nipples still painfully stiff against the fabric.

The man pulled back for just a fraction of a second but remained too close—his lips brushed against the skin near Harry’s ear, his breath a hot phantom against the sensitive flesh.

— What’s your name, baby? — His voice was low, lazy, but beneath the softness, there was iron-clad confidence.

Harry opened his mouth to say his name.

— Har… — The word caught in his throat. He froze, feeling his mind race frantically. No, no! Saying his real name—stupid. But… what was it now…? Damn it, at the most crucial moment, it all slipped from his head. This guy had obviously thrown Harry off balance.

The man leaned in a little more, his fingers sliding along Harry’s thigh, forcing him to continue those humiliating movements with his hand. His voice dropped lower, becoming more insistent.

— What’s wrong, sweetheart? I asked your name.

Harry barely managed to swallow the lump in his throat. Think. Passport. The new passport. It flashed before his eyes—pink, with stupid swirls and a photo of his… her—fuck, this feminine body. The name was so… obscene, ridiculous, almost a parody. He hated the way it sounded, but he had no choice.

— Mmm... Candy Lo... Love. — Shame clenched inside him, and it came out sounding… too soft, too sultry, as if this body had decided on its own to make his voice sweet and spoiled.

He shuddered. Why the fuck did he say it like THAT? But his body… treacherous, flexible, it seemed to be adapting to the situation.

— Candy, — the man repeated, as if tasting the name, and squeezed Harry’s wrist slightly, guiding his hand more confidently. — Suits you. You’re… sweet.

Harry clenched his teeth, but his fingers kept moving up and down, sliding over the man's hot, rigid flesh. Every motion was humiliatingly obvious, every second stretched into a torturous eternity. He felt like the rhythm of the car wheels had synchronized with the movement of his breasts, which kept bouncing slightly with every jolt of the vehicle. Fuck. His whole body felt too sensitive, every nerve pulsing with this strange, foreign arousal.

"Pull yourself together, Harry… pull yourself together, damn it! This is just cover. It’s part of the job..."

But even his inner voice sounded too strained. He could feel his face burning, his breath hitching, his nipples aching unbearably under the thin bikini fabric.

— Shh… Good girl, — the man whispered again, leaning toward his ear. — Relax, you’re doing fine.

The car slowed down. There was no more road noise outside—just muffled silence and the traitorous pounding of his heart.

Harry felt the man's lips brush against his neck again, hot, searing, but before he could pull away, the man's hand squeezed his wrist slightly, urging him on.

— Faster, baby, time to finish up.

The words, murmured right against his ear, sent a cold shiver down his spine. He didn’t want to, he couldn’t… but his body obeyed. His hand moved faster, sliding up and down, the tension in the man’s body growing more evident.

"Fuck, this is really happening… God, what the fuck… but it’s just part of the game… part of the cover… cover..."

And then, suddenly, it was over. A hot wave spilled over his palm—warm, sticky, disgusting, emphasizing the finality of his humiliation.

Harry froze, his heart hammering wildly. The thin bikini strings dug painfully into his skin, his breasts still trembling slightly with every shaky breath.

A seatbelt clicked open. The car came to a stop. The man exhaled heavily, and for a split second, everything was silent.

— We’re here, — he said hoarsely, and the sound of the car door opening scraped against Harry’s nerves. — You made a bit of a mess, Candy. Gotta lick it all up.

Harry, still trying to catch his breath, slowly uncurled his fingers, feeling the stickiness on his palm, still so close to the man's thigh. The warmth of his skin, the disgusting wetness of his release, and the scent—mixing with the faint traces of cigarettes—sent a fresh wave of revulsion through Harry.

But instead of pulling away, he sat frozen, paralyzed. The blindfold was still on him, and in some twisted way, he was almost grateful he couldn’t see any of it.

Part 3

— Come on, baby, don’t make me repeat myself, — the man’s voice carried a lazy but chilling threat. His hand roughly grabbed Harry’s chin, forcing his face to turn slightly. — If you don’t want this to be your last outing, do as you’re told.

Harry felt everything inside him clench, rage and humiliation tearing at him from within. He swallowed softly, barely making a sound, not knowing where this sudden weakness had come from. Slowly, he leaned down toward the spot where his hand had just been, and the scent grew stronger. Harry shut his eyes behind the blindfold, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw ached. He had to pull himself together. Get this over with. Just part of the cover, he reminded himself over and over. But every time he got closer, his body rebelled—not physically, but deep inside, sending waves of humiliation crashing through him.

Slowly, almost mechanically, he let his tongue touch the foreign trace left behind. The salty taste made his fists clench, and his insides twisted with revulsion. Harry’s face burned, every nerve screaming at him to stop, but instead, he obeyed. "Just a job, just a job…" he repeated endlessly in his mind, but the words were losing all meaning.

— That’s it, good girl, — the man murmured approvingly, just as the car door suddenly burst open with a sharp sound. A rush of cold air flooded in, along with an irritated female voice.

— What the hell is going on here? — a demanding voice snapped from outside. It was sharp, laced with undeniable superiority.

Harry froze, feeling the man practically thrown out of his personal space.

— Lilith? — The man’s voice shifted instantly, growing tense, almost defensive. — I was just…

— You were just overstepping your damn role as an escort! — The woman’s cold, cutting tone instantly reshaped the atmosphere inside the car. — Get your hands off her. Now.

Harry could still feel his hand on his head, fingers digging roughly into his hair, keeping him in a degrading position. His lips brushed against the tip of the man’s cock, the disgusting salty taste lingering in his mouth, filling him with revulsion and a wave of helplessness. The woman’s icy voice sliced through the thick tension in the air like a knife.

— I said, take your hands off her, — she repeated, this time with such a freezing edge that the man holding Harry went rigid. His fingers trembled before finally loosening, and Harry jerked back, his whole body shaking.

— Alright, alright, don’t get worked up, Lilith. I was just… having a little fun, — the man muttered, and Harry felt his hand finally disappear from his hair. He straightened up, struggling to catch his breath, his lips still trembling from the humiliation.

"Having fun?" I'm sure the boss won't like that, — the woman’s voice turned even sharper. — You know his rules. This is your last warning, or you’ll be wiped out just like that dumb bitch who tried sneaking in with fake papers.

Harry couldn’t see her, but he felt the way the air in the car tightened. The man mumbled something, but it sounded more like an excuse. A light slam of the door made Harry flinch—that was probably the bastard leaving the car.

Soon, the door on the other side opened, and a wave of cold air hit him, making him shiver even more.

— You. Get out, — Lilith’s sharp command left no room for argument.

Harry swallowed, his throat tightening with anger and shame. Slowly, he climbed out, his steps unsteady on the cold asphalt. The breeze brushed against his bare skin, playing with the long strands of hair that whipped around his face, tickling his neck. His breasts, heavy and unfamiliar, moved with every step, forcing him to constantly remind himself: "Don’t think about it. Just walk."

Lilith grabbed his wrist, squeezing the delicate arm so tightly that it was clear—resisting was pointless.

His ears were ringing. Harry tried to focus, to shut out the humiliation still burning inside him, and switch into professional mode. "Alright. High-end place, so the security must be tight. This isn’t just some criminal hideout—more like something much deeper. No street noise… trees… a forest. Remote location. Well hidden. But where the hell are they taking me?"

With his eyes still covered, he felt completely helpless. Each step, the clicking of high heels against a hard surface, only made it more obvious—his current body was absolutely unfit for quick reactions. What used to be automatic now required effort: his steps were uncertain, his balance off due to the unfamiliar gait, and the firm grip on his wrist made it clear—he wasn’t in control here.

— Keep up, — Lilith ordered coldly, pulling him through a long corridor. The echo of their steps suggested the space was large, high-ceilinged, possibly stone walls. Harry caught a faint scent—wood smoke, spices, something metallic… blood, maybe?

The footsteps stopped. Lilith gave a curt command:

— Stand here. Wait.

He froze, feeling his legs tremble with tension. His whole body was wound tight. Harry strained to pick up any sounds around him—the faint trickle of water, like a fountain or a pool nearby. Whispered voices in the distance, the scents growing richer. Musk, spices, something sweet, mixed with a faint trace of sweat. "Amber Room… Just like the reports described. Fucking weird place, where power and twisted secrets blend together. The media mogul’s heiress is supposed to be here…"

Lilith’s hand suddenly clamped around his wrist again, yanking him forward. A few more steps, and then—he was shoved forward so roughly he barely stayed on his feet, his thighs slamming into something soft with a loud crack. The smells grew stronger, almost suffocatingly intense.

Lilith let go of him, then issued a dry command:

— Take off the blindfold.

Harry ripped it off quickly, his eyes adjusting to the dim, muted lighting. The room was small, with dark velvet walls and a low ceiling. In the center stood something like a massage table, covered in deep red leather, and beside it—trays of tools. Metal, sharp—tattoo machine, inks, needles. The sight of it all sent a bad feeling crawling up his spine.

— Lie down, — Lilith’s voice left no room for argument. She gave him a look that felt like it pierced right through him. — On your stomach. Hands at your sides. Don’t move.

Part 4

— What are you going to do? — Harry’s voice trembled, sounding almost too high. He wanted to sound determined, but it came out completely wrong.

Lilith scoffed, walking around the table. Her eyes gleamed coldly as she leaned in closer.

— You’re not here to ask questions, "Candy." You need to be "processed." Standard procedure. If you behave, it’ll be over quickly. If not… — She picked something up from the tray, the light reflecting off a thin steel needle. — Trust me, it’ll hurt either way.

Harry clenched his teeth, cursing everything happening, but obeyed, slowly lowering himself onto his stomach. The cold surface of the table pressed against his chest, making him shiver instinctively. His thighs felt an uncomfortable pressure as he had to tuck his legs to lie flat.

— Good girl, — Lilith muttered, giving a signal to someone behind her. The door opened, and another person entered the room — tall, dressed in a black shirt, his arms covered in tattoos. He gave Harry a careful look before smirking lazily and started preparing the machine.

— No need to be scared, — he murmured, his voice surprisingly soft, with a slight rasp. — I work fast. Usually.

— Usually? — The word slipped from Harry’s lips before he could stop himself. But his question was ignored.

Lilith smirked, her heels clicking against the floor as she stepped closer, fingers brushing through Harry’s long hair.

— New ones are always so nervous. — She suddenly swept his hair aside, exposing his back. — But you’re lucky, "Candy." This is the start of your new life. A mark is a sign of belonging. Now you’re part of our club. And you should be grateful you were accepted.

— A mark? — A chill ran down Harry’s spine. He tried to lift himself up, but Lilith’s strong hand immediately pressed him back down.

— I said don’t move, — her tone turned threatening. — Your new name and your mark are all you need now.

The buzzing of the machine filled the room, and then Harry felt the first touch of the needle. A sharp, searing pain tore through the skin of his lower back, just below his shoulder blades, closer to his hip. He gritted his teeth but stayed silent. The pain was intense but manageable. However, the very thought of being branded like property sent waves of rage and humiliation through him.

— Your name… Your name will go right here, — Lilith’s voice carried twisted delight, as if she was enjoying this. — "Candy Love." You know what that means, don’t you? You must, otherwise you wouldn’t have picked such a name.

Harry remained silent, focusing on the pain. But Lilith wasn’t done.

— You’ll be a sweet little treat for anyone who walks through that door. For those who pay.

The machine paused for a moment, and the tattooist spoke lazily:

— Done. But we still have space for a symbol. Lilith, what do you prefer? Wings? A heart? Maybe a fucking star?

— Wings, — Lilith smirked. — Let her know that in this place, all angels fall.

Harry closed his eyes, humiliation burning through his body. "This isn’t the end," he told himself.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady himself, to suppress the tremor running through his body from the pain, the humiliation, and the sheer realization that he had just been branded like an object. A deep breath. A slow exhale. He was a detective. This was just part of the case. He had to figure things out, uncover the truth, find the kidnapped daughter of the media mogul—not give in to fear, humiliation, or any other useless emotions.

But before he could react, a strong hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him up from the massage table. The thin straps of his bikini dug painfully into his skin, and to his horror, his breasts bounced with the sudden movement.

— Get that sweet ass up, Candy, — Lilith’s voice was mocking, full of superiority. — And get to the wall.

She shoved him forward, then… slapped his ass. A loud, sharp smack echoed through the room, and Harry flinched as the stinging pain spread across his skin. He spun around sharply, feeling his cheeks burn.

— What the hell is all this?! — His voice broke, angry, but still… feminine. He clenched his teeth.

Lilith only chuckled, playing with her thin gloves.

— What a silly question, sweetheart. A new life requires a special touch.

Harry clenched his fists, feeling rage boiling inside him. God, he wanted to punch this bitch so badly. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to suppress the urge to swing at her face.

— Come on now, to the wall, — the tattooist added with a lazy chuckle. — The fun part’s just starting.

Harry turned slowly and, gritting his teeth, walked toward the wall. The surface was cool, smooth, with something that felt like metallic inlays. An instinctive tension ran through his body. What the hell were they planning now? He had already been humiliated in the car, he had just been branded… What else could they possibly do? But there was no choice. Still burning with fury, he took a few cautious steps forward, stopping by the wall, and threw a tense glance at Lilith.

— And now what?

Lilith only scoffed and didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to the tattooist, who was lounging casually on the edge of the table, eyeing Harry with lazy amusement.

— So, Lilith, what do we make of this little one? — The tattooist’s voice was dripping with amusement, his confidence clear. He was enjoying himself. — We need to pick… something special.

Harry tensed. "Make of me? What the hell are they talking about?"

— A vampire, maybe? — the tattooist mused, twirling the needle between his fingers. — They’re classy, elegant. Fangs, hypnosis, dominance. Candy could make a cute little predator…

Lilith just snorted.

— She’s not fit for that, — the woman cut him off coldly. — Too soft, too… submissive. Different energy.

— Then maybe a succubus? — he continued lazily, as if discussing a new dish at a restaurant. — They’re great. Hungry, insatiable, eternal playthings in bed.

Lilith tapped her fingernail against the tray of tools, thoughtful.

— No, not that either, — she finally decided. — Succubi are too demanding. We need something more pliant… something light…

Harry clenched his teeth, feeling the anger rise inside him. "What is this, some kind of twisted costume party? Are they going to dress me up for their sick games? Then again, what else could I expect from these freaks?" He focused, trying to catch every word.

Part 5

— What are you talking about? — Harry's voice was quiet but tense, breaking from his lips as he felt his own body betray him with a tremble. He felt cornered, like a mouse before a snake. What were they planning? And why did the words "who we'll make you into" sound so… literal?

Lilith and the tattoo artist exchanged glances, and whatever passed between them made Harry feel even more uneasy. Then the man smirked, lazily twirling the needle between his fingers, and chuckled:

— Yeah… that's it. This is just perfect for you, Candy.

Lilith leaned in closer, her voice turning smooth, almost hypnotic.

— Relax, baby. It'll be over soon… and just beginning. Just breathe.

Harry didn’t even get a chance to respond. The very next second, the skin around his fresh tattoo flared with a burning pain, as if he were being branded with red-hot iron. He screamed, instinctively jerking away, but Lilith instantly shoved him back against the wall, pinning his shoulders down. Her fingers were ice-cold, but that was nothing compared to what was happening to his back.

The pain intensified, shifting into something else—not just burning, but the sensation of his body melting, reshaping under some foreign will. Harry gasped for air, desperately trying to understand what they were doing to him. A hot wave surged from his lower back up his spine, spreading through his entire body, and then… his skin began to tingle, as if sprinkled with a thousand tiny needles.

The burning at the tattoo site grew worse, becoming unbearable. Harry cried out, jerking again, but Lilith’s hands held him in place, giving him no escape. Inside his chest, it felt like a bubble had burst, flooding him with a surge of energy—something alien, wild, alive. His heart pounded at an insane speed, his muscles clenched in a spasm, and then… a sharp pull downward.

Something was happening to his body. It was shrinking.

Harry felt his skin tighten, his muscles twitch, and then… everything around him became gigantic. The world seemed to swell while he… shrank. His chest, once heavy and unfamiliar, suddenly became compact, light—but its sensitivity only grew. His skin… it started to glow, covered in a pearlescent shimmer, as if his very flesh no longer belonged to the world of ordinary humans.

— Aaaaaah! — Harry gasped, his voice thinner, higher, more melodic. He grabbed onto the wall, but his fingers were now tiny, delicate, with elongated nails shimmering with a soft golden glow. Heat pulsed in his lower back, like liquid pleasure spreading inside him. He wanted to… no, he needed to surrender to these feelings.

'What… what is happening?!'

But even that thought barely had time to form before the next transformation struck.

Wings.

His skin tore open from within, and something soft, yet incredibly strong, burst forth. Delicate, transparent wings emerged from his back, trembling with a faint chime. They were so sensitive that even the slightest movement of air sent waves of pleasure through him. Harry moaned, clutching himself, feeling every inch of his body fill with an intoxicating, piercing desire.

— Ah…! — the sound escaped his lips.

His voice. It was… different. Higher. Purer. 'What… what did they do to me?!'

Harry moaned, gripping himself with his tiny hands, feeling the pulsing energy spread through his body, making him shiver. Everything around him seemed enormous—the walls, the furniture, even Lilith, who now towered over him like a goddess. She gazed down at him with an icy smirk, her bright red lips curling in a condescending chuckle.

— Oh, just look at this little thing, — she purred, leaning in slowly.

She reached out, and Harry felt her long fingers approaching like massive columns. He tried to recoil, but in an instant, his tiny body was caught between her fingers.

— Hard to believe this was once the fierce little detective who wanted to track us down.

Harry gasped as Lilith lifted him up, examining him under the dim light, not even seeming surprised that his disguise had been completely useless—she had known all along.

— Ah, you’re just adorable, — she whispered, running a fingernail over his wings.

Harry jerked, and at that moment, a shockwave of pleasure surged through his body from the wings, spreading everywhere. It was like being struck by lightning—gentle, warm, but obscenely intense. His lips parted on their own, a soft moan slipping out before he could stop it.

Harry panted, curling helplessly in her palm. He felt powerless, tiny… everything around him was massive. Lilith looked like a goddess, her lips, her eyes—everything about her was overwhelmingly large. Even the patterns on her skin, the lines he had never noticed before, were now strikingly detailed.

— W-what did you do to me?! — his tiny voice cracked into a high-pitched, almost childlike squeak, while the transparent wings behind his back trembled.

Lilith narrowed her eyes, gently rocking the glowing, fragile little creature in her palm, as if testing its weight. Her lips curled into a satisfied smirk as Harry—or was it now truly Candy?—shivered helplessly in her grasp, his tiny, transparent wings quivering with a faint luminescence.

— Ah, just the most precious little thing, — Lilith purred, brushing her fingernail over his tiny belly. — So delicate, so fragile… nothing like what you used to be. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?

Part 6

Harry tensed up, trying to hold on to the last remnants of his composure. He was a detective. Damn it, he was supposed to think, analyze! This was impossible. It had to be a dream or a hallucination. There was no way he had... become this creature.

That eerie woman, her massive face, those fingers like steel columns holding him in place. This was madness, pure madness!

But when Lilith’s long nail lazily slid down his thighs, over his pearlescent skin, Harry felt something explode inside him. It was as if a thousand invisible needles ran through his nerves, filling him with a strange, unbearable, piercing pleasure. His tiny wings quivered, his lips parted, and a moan escaped his throat—a high, feminine moan, full of obscene pleading.

— Ah…! — Harry immediately bit his lip, trying to hold himself together, but his body betrayed him, trembling as something unexplainable flared up inside him. Something foreign.

"No, no, this isn’t me! This… this is just a transformation effect. Just a side effect. I mustn’t… I have to resist…"

— Oh, you feel that, don’t you? — Lilith smirked, her fingers once again brushing against his tiny body, making Harry shudder. — Ah, little one, you have no idea what you’ve become. A true Fairy of Pleasure. One simple touch, and a man will melt in your hands. One breath of your enchanted air, and he’ll beg for more. You’re now… our little toy.

Harry gasped, something inside him boiling with fear, humiliation, and… something else. This was impossible. This was magic. Shit, he had never believed in this kind of thing! Never! And yet he couldn’t… he couldn’t…

But then his gaze fell on the tattooist.

"Fuck, she actually looks kinda… appetizing now," he smirked, running his tongue over his lips. Harry felt something tighten inside him. No… No, no, no…

But still… God. God, he was magnificent. Huge, massive, smelling of something warm, masculine, rough. Harry swallowed hard, feeling his new body pulse. His nipples stiffened, every cell of his body craved… touch, sensation.

"No… no, this isn’t me! This… this…" But his thoughts tangled, and the desire grew, flared up inside him, burning, breaking him.

He no longer felt disgust for that fat, repulsive man. Now it was… hunger. He wanted him. He wanted to be closer to him.

— Wh-what’s… happening to me… — he breathed out, his tiny body arching involuntarily in Lilith’s palm. He needed to press against that man, to feel him, to please him. The very thought of it was tearing his mind apart, turning into a feverish, desperate need.

Lilith tilted her head slightly, watching as her new toy’s tiny body writhed in her hand, desperately trying to resist the madness taking over. She dragged her nail over Harry’s minuscule chest, and he jerked again, as if struck by an electric current. His delicate wings quivered, radiating a warm golden light, and his lips parted in a silent cry.

— What’s wrong, little one? — her voice was silky, hypnotic, laced with a warm amusement that seeped under the skin. — You’re simply starting to feel what it’s like to be a true Fairy of Pleasure.

Harry gasped for air, feeling the heat inside him intensify. He tried to suppress this flood of… thoughts, sensations, this searing desire, but it spread like a plague through his tiny body. He swallowed hard, desperately trying to regain what was left of his self-control. You’re a detective, Harry. You came here to investigate, not to… not to…

— Hah, she’s already dripping, — came the tattooist’s raspy laughter. He lazily twirled the tattoo machine in his fingers, squinting. — Look at her, Lilith, she’s glowing. So tiny, yet already burning up! Ha! Hey, Lilith, what if we put her on a chain? — the tattooist burst into laughter. — She’d spin on the ceiling like a damn lightbulb.

Harry scoffed—then suddenly heard his own laughter. Shrill, light, feminine, melodic. Shit, what’s wrong with me?! Why am I laughing?! But the joke was just so… funny! So stupid that it became perfect! He felt his lips curl into a smile, and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out of his mouth:

— Hee-hee… O-oh, you’re just delightful! So witty… — his voice purred sweetly, almost flirtatiously. — I’d love to sit on your chain… as long as my master is someone so… mmm… big and strong…

What?!

Harry’s mind froze after what he had just said. And yet… he had wanted to say it. The words had come naturally, without force, without hesitation. The joke had seemed so amusing, and at the same time, almost unconsciously, he had said it with intent—to please this man. His tiny wings fluttered, his skin glowing with a faint blush, and his gaze was drawn to the tattooist’s face.

God, how he… WHAT? NO! NO! GET A GRIP, DRAKE!

But Harry already caught himself looking at him with admiration, with hunger, with want…

The tattooist snorted, clearly pleased with the reaction.

— Well, would you look at that? This is getting better. — He stretched lazily, showing off his large, powerful arms. — Looks like our little candy is starting to get a taste for it.

Lilith smirked, her nail tracing over Harry’s fragile, minuscule thigh, making him arch in her palm and let out a shaky breath.

Oh, God… why does this feel so…

Part 7

— And now, sweetie, it’s time for you to go to your new home, — Lilith rolled her eyes tiredly, holding Harry by his tiny waist between her fingers. — We still have work to do here, and you’re distracting us.

Lilith turned toward the far wall, where a gilded cage stood, resembling those used for exotic birds. But this one was far more luxurious—tiny velvet cushions lined the bottom, and intricate carvings shimmered in the soft lamplight. She opened the door, and before Harry could utter a single word, his frail, now tiny body was sent flying inside.

He let out a cry as his delicate, glowing wings fluttered, and then… he plopped onto the absurdly soft cushion, sinking into it as if into a cloud.

— Oh, just marvelous! — the tattooist smirked, leaning in closer. His face now seemed GARGANTUAN. Massive, rough features, tanned skin, and eyes that burned straight through him. — Small, trembling, and radiating desire… Oh, sweetie, you’re practically glowing.

Harry, without even realizing it, fluttered his tiny wings, propping himself up on his elbows in the soft cushion. He wanted to argue, to say something sharp, something scathing, but instead, what slipped from his lips was something entirely different—sweet, languid, with a purring undertone:

— O-oh… you think so, mmm? — his voice came out tender, honeyed, lilting. — Then maybe you should… check just how sweet I am, hee-hee…

God. No. What?!

Harry froze. His lips were still slightly parted, his wings trembled, and inside, something hot and scalding spread through him. He had said that. On his own. He had wanted to say that. He wanted—

The tattooist chuckled, his large fingers barely brushing the bars of the cage, and even that was enough to send a sweet shiver running through Harry’s tiny body. Suddenly, the air around him felt heavier, thicker. The man narrowed his eyes, leaning in lower.

— Oh, you’re already getting into it, — he drawled lazily, clearly enjoying himself. — You’re glowing so much, anyone would be drooling.

Harry would have liked to say something sarcastic. He would have. But instead, he suddenly found himself pressing his palms against the cushion and arching forward just a little, as if… as if his body was reaching for the bars on its own. As if it… craved.

No. Stop. Pull yourself together, detective!

He bit his lip, but it was already too late—his voice spilled out again, seductive and sweet, like a drop of nectar:

— Mmm… and what kind of… appetite do you have, big boy?

THIS. WASN’T. HIM.

Harry felt his face flush hot, something inside him tightening with sharp, searing shame. His thighs instinctively pressed together, tiny fingers digging into the cushion as if that could keep him from falling into some unknown, depraved abyss.

The tattooist smirked wider, but before he could say anything else, Lilith shoved him aside with her elbow and scoffed irritably:

— That’s enough. Leave her. Let her heat up properly.

The man reluctantly pulled back, his gaze still locked onto Harry, who was doing everything he could not to tremble, not to show how his treacherous body leaned forward. The faint scent of tobacco still lingered in the air, intoxicating, maddening.

God, what’s happening to me? I can’t… I don’t want to… but…

His body betrayed him again, trembling as the tattooist’s gaze lingered on him. Fuck… he wanted him to come back. To lean in again. To—

— You’re already dripping, baby, — the tattooist drawled lazily, running his fingers over his lips as if pondering something. — Oh, sweet thing, you have no idea what’s coming once you fully embrace your role.

— Enough, — Lilith snapped. — You’ll have plenty of time to play with her. Now go.

The tattooist chuckled, waved a hand dismissively, and with one last, hungry look at Harry, walked out. The door slammed shut, and only then did Harry finally exhale.

His chest rose and fell heavily, tiny fists clenching into the soft cushion, and his own body… it was burning.

He was alone.

Harry tried to take a deep breath, but the air was thick. Heavy. Sweet. He could feel… every inch of his body. Every touch of the cushion, every slight flutter of his wings sent hot shivers through him. His skin was glowing—oh god, it was glowing. His chest, light but unbearably sensitive, pulsed with the slightest movement, his nipples stiff, and inside him, something wild and sticky was spreading.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Harry was a detective. He had come here to investigate. To find the kidnapped daughter of a media mogul. To figure out what the hell was going on in "Amber Room."

But his brain refused to work. Because every second, something inside him was growing, filling him.

Desire.

He wanted the man. The tattooist. His scent. His rough hands. God, he could practically feel his skin, his breath. He could imagine how it would be if he took him in his hand, pressed him to his lips…

Harry clutched his head, trembling.

This isn’t you. This isn’t you. It’s the transformation’s effect. They did something to you!

But the moment he thought of the tattooist again… the moment that rough voice echoed in his mind… his body responded immediately. A wave of heat crashed over him, his thighs pressed together in agonizing anticipation, and his breath hitched.

— Fuck… no… — he moaned, gripping his own chest, trying to get a hold of himself.

But it was too late.

Inside him, something was burning. Hot, unbearable desire.