After AnimeCon 2: Meeting her Maker

    “So, uh,” Brian let out an awkward laugh. “I probably already asked this before, but what does your father actually do for a living?”

    “When I was little, I thought he was a security guard,” Christine admitted with a small laugh. “Because my mom always said he worked in securities. He works in financial securities, hah. Even throughout my teens I didn’t really understand what he actually did, besides play with other people’s money. But, I guess—well, he’s good at playing with other people’s money. He’s a senior trader at a pretty big firm. Or, he was. I haven’t been the best at keeping up with him for the past few years. Could be CFO by now, for all I know.”

    “Okay,” Brian nodded. “So. Money stuff. Good to know.”

    “Yeah,” Christine let out a dismissive snort. “Money stuff. Trading. Rather than have Kelly cheat at playing the lottery or something like that, we should probably have her get into that sort of finance.”

    “Ehh,” Brian shrugged. “I honestly don’t think we need too much money to live comfortably and be happy. The pursuit of money as a lifestyle just kind of always rubbed me the wrong way? My dad and stepmom were uh, pretty well off, and it wasn’t doing them any favors.”

    “Insurance, right?” Christine asked.

    “Yeah, but not like—salespeople or entry level,” Brian said. “Higher end of middle level? They were both specialized claims adjusters, and pretty high up. In the top percent of… well, finding ways to deny insurance claims and make sure the company doesn’t have to ever actually pay anyone insurance. I think at first they were probably just cynical because they were seeing fraud cases all the time nonstop, but eventually, over time? I think that kind of position turns the people who naturally excel at that kind of thing into genuine psychopaths.”

    “Hm,” Christine responded. “With my dad, to me he was always just messing around with… imaginary numbers? Like, he’s playing a big game with all sorts of rules and terminology and rates and percentages to understand, and if you’re really good at it, you get really good numbers. I do think that kind of work also had him start to detach from what those numbers actually represent to people. Like, yeah he does what he does legally, but with the way those people move money around, by its very nature there’s ‘winners’ and ‘losers.’ The unaware get robbed blind, or have their company’s net worth swept out from under them, or what have you.”

    “Whereas, I… drive a forklift,” Brian shook his head with a wry smile. “So, by comparison I’m some sort of ignorant caveman. Heavy stuff need go places! Lift pallets into truck. Lift pallets out of truck! Stack heavy stuff in warehouse, for smart peoples to figure out.”

    “Honest work,” Christine shrugged. “Before I stopped putting in actual effort towards everything, I was on track to leverage sociology and business management degrees into some cushy HR job, somewhere down the line. HR. Can you imagine what kind of psychopaths you find in that field?”

    “I think… that Chloe would have done very well in human resources,” Brian answered in a diplomatic tone. “Maybe too well? Yikes, I get shivers just imagining.”

    “Yeah,” Christine said. “I… I don’t really know what I’m going to do with my life now.”

    “What did you want to do, uh, before?” Brian asked, giving her a glance. “Before you really started to lean into the whole Chloe thing, I mean. Surely you had like, childhood dreams? Naive aspirations, of some sort?”

    “Anime voice actress,” Christine shrugged. “I was a total weeb when I was a teenager. But, turns out I’m not very good with putting on different voices, or even getting into roles. ‘Chloe’ or not, I’m not a super empathetic person, I guess. I can’t study characters or get into their headspace or mindsets or whatever, not naturally. I think if I hadn’t fallen down the ‘Chloe’ rabbithole, as Christine I would have just drifted from job to job following whatever was the path of least resistance… and eventually found myself working somewhere simply because they were the ones who happened to be hiring. That sort of thing.”

    “I wanted to be in the military,” Brian admitted. “When I was younger—well, much younger. That was my childhood dream, I guess? Think I tried to tell you about this a while back when we were first dating, but you uh, even then you weren’t really receptive or listening at the time. Don’t even blame you—it was just a childish or maybe young-teens thing. Too many action movies rotting my brain, making me want to be the big hero. But, then I think I ran afoul of the wrong kind of Truliet ROTC douches and some wannabe jarhead types at some point, and then had a very, ah, sobering look at the reality of that kind of life and all of the training and tedium and it just… yeah, I don’t know. Seemed like a whole lifestyle that didn’t mesh with where I wanted to be?”

    “Hm,” Christine made a noise of acknowledgement. “That makes sense, but also—isn’t your warehouse job pretty tedious?”

    “It is, but—yeah, I don’t know,” Brian sighed. “It’s not really super structured? There’s not a huge chain of command full of people constantly telling me what to do or how to do it. I go in and know my job, and I do my job. Like, yeah I have a manager above me, but he isn’t really in a position to spend all day trying to tell me how to do what I do? I know what I’m doing better than he does. I get all my pallets moved to where they need to be on time, and so he stays out of my business. I can spend all day just sort of on my own for my shifts, getting my stuff done. Focused, and in the zone. I like that.”

    “Makes sense,” Christine commented, sitting up in her seat. “Okay, here. It’s this one, and then take the next left—and then we’re pretty much there. The GPS has it. We’ll just need to maybe find parking.”

    The building where Mr. Weschler worked turned out to be a high rise in the middle of Winneport’s financial district. Brian followed the GPS instructions from Christine’s phone to a parking lot barrier pavilion just outside the looming structure, and so he pulled to a stop and rolled down his window. A man in a dark security jacket and cap stepped up to the gatehouse glass with a frown upon not seeing whatever correct ID stickers were supposed to be affixed to his windshield, but Christine leaned across the center console and addressed him.

    “Christine Weschler, I’m here to see my dad—Bryan Weschler. I called ahead.”

    “Wait, sorry?” The guard said after sliding his window open. “Here to see who?”

    “Bryan Weschler,” Christine repeated. “My dad. I called ahead.”

    “Okay, give me a minute to call up and check,” The guard said, disappearing back into the gatehouse.

    Having Christine get close and utter the name out loud like that was an uncomfortable reminder, and Brian had to take a moment to readjust his mindset and not let himself be too weirded out. He’d been aware that Christine’s father had basically the same first name as him—it was one of those things he just kept putting out of mind, so that he didn’t have to deal with it. How did you even deal with that? The fact that it had somehow been a factor when Chloe set her eyes on dating him wasn’t something he even knew how to digest. There was a lot to unpack there, and it was easy enough to joke about a girl having daddy issues… until it came time to pay the piper and he found himself about to meet the apparent source of the issues in person.

    It didn’t help that he could see the lovely and elegant Christine was also visibly nervous and struggling to keep her composure—her posture seemed to have her frozen in an uncomfortable perch at the very edge of her seat. Several long minutes passed in silence to allow them to stew in their thoughts, with Brian examining his fingers as they gripped the steering wheel and then eventually looking past them to study the black and yellow stripes of the barrier beam swung down to block their path. Glances to his side showed the security guy was standing with a phone but turned the other way—they couldn’t tell if he was speaking with someone, or waiting to hear back.

    “Kind of nerve-wracking?” Brian muttered. “I suddenly feel underdressed to meet your dad…”

    “Y-you’re fine,” Christine let out a nervous laugh. “I’m not fine, though. I feel like I’m going to throw up. I have to tell my dad, who does money stuff for a living, that I’ve been extorting him for money. Basically. That I’ve been—”

    “Hey,” Brian interrupted. “That wasn’t you. Not exactly. We’re going to get it over with and put it behind us, and then you’ll never have to worry about it again. And I’ll be right here with you the whole way.”

    “Yeah. Yeah…” Christine sighed. “I just—”

    “Okay folks, you’re gonna want to follow this lane here,” The security guard returned with instructions. “Down inside the garage sublevel. Got two visitor’s passes for you, you’re going to need to keep these on you. Alright? You get yourself parked, and from there the elevators are going to be over on the far side—on the west end. From the elevators, you go up to the main lobby, and show them your passes at reception there. Elevators won’t take you anywhere else without an access card. Someone will be down in the next five, maybe ten minutes to meet you and get you to where you need to go. Sound good?”

    “Perfect,” Brian answered, accepting a pair of laminated cards from the man. “Thank you.”

    The man gave them a wave and hit a button on his console, causing the barrier beam to swing up and out of their way.

* * *

    Fuck fuck fuck this can’t be happening, Christine wanted to moan. I so don’t want to be here doing this. What the FUCK was I thinking, lying to my own fucking dad for all that time? About money that I didn’t even fucking need in the first place?! FUCK!

    She hadn’t been this nervous even back then when she was about to face down against the Masters. They had been surreal abstractions, caricatures, especially in the case of ‘Chad’ who had quite literally modeled himself after that stupid bodybuilder masculinity meme. This today was different, it was deeply, intensely personal, and Christine felt her stomach wrench into knots at the prospect of disappointing her dad like this. Especially after putting off seeing him again for so long.

    It was moments like these where she really envied her time as Chloe, because Chloe didn’t feel shame, or guilt and remorse, she was a being utterly impervious to the moral discomforts Christine found herself stricken with right now. Some grim part of her had been hoping there would be some sort of miscommunication or scheduling mishap that saw them turned away at the gate, so that they could put this off for another day—when Brian began pulling them into the parking garage level, she felt like slinking down deep into her seat and disappearing beneath the smothering sense of dread.

    I’m almost about to have a panic attack? Christine was starting to feel hysterical, and it was a brutal, savage fight to maintain a calm appearance. My heart’s fucking pounding. I can’t breathe. I-I wish I was a fucking vampire again for this. Near-vampire. Whatever the fuck I was.

    That eerie and inhuman span of time where she had experienced a strange juxtaposition of incredible, impossible power at the same time as a gnawing and hopeless powerlessness in the form of relentless thirst. There was a grim simplicity in that she missed, though, because when she had been like that, there was an omnipresent clarity of purpose guiding her every action. She had needed to feed, because she was incomplete down to a cellular level and needed blood. Her source for all of that, the wellspring from which her blessing and curse derived from, Brian, had been in danger, and she protected him from those disgusting interlopers.

    Everything had been so straightforward.

    Now, she was in the embarrassing position of having her boyfriend and father meet for the first time… while also making amends by confessing the extent to which she had been extorting them both—except not really, because that had been a twisted previous her borne from some sort of traumatic episode and years of gaslighting herself into a malicious psychopath. But, also Brian was maybe her ex-boyfriend, although they were also sort of lovers because he had fucked an absolutely religious experience into her last night, which was awkward because she couldn’t stop mentally reliving it at the most inappropriate and inopportune times, but also maybe she was going to be acting as his sex-slave or maid, to help atone for everthing she had done. Because they were also entangled in some sort of ridiculous… romcom magical harem nonsense that defied rational explanation.

    Yeah. YEAH JUST GREAT. Simple! Of course. Yeah.

    Even just one of those factors would have been more than enough for her to mentally wrestle with for months, and all of those things in confluence twisted her thoughts into a hopeless mire she had no idea how to power through. Mirror magic forcing her into reflecting on everything made her fixate on her wrongdoings specifically, but then also experiencing real feelings for Brian like this sent a number of those other emotional gut punches into overdrive, and kept making her just want to submit to his will.

    Like—am I going through with this today because I SHOULD? Christine asked herself. Or, is it just because Brian wants me to, and all of the sudden yeah it’s like I would do ANYTHING to please him. Because, that’s definitely what gets my rocks off, now. I want to say that this is all just the result of me suddenly growing a conscience, but in the end does it even matter? When things wind up exactly the same as if the charm DID magically mind control me into obedience for him.

    It was hard for her to justify the rationale for what she was deciding to do when the urges took hold of her and just wouldn’t let go. Christine had experienced crushes before in the past throughout her teens, but this time it was love. She was deeply, hopelessly in love, and every facet of her thinking was colored with all of the emotion tied to that. Which happened to be the color silver, because she was in a magic love thing. The question was—was her love real, or was it a product of the magic fuckery?

    It’s both? I think? Christine mentally floundered as Brian pulled them into an empty parking spot and turned off the ignition. The two concepts certainly aren’t exclusive. They seem to just keep reinforcing each other.

    Both of them unbuckled their seatbelts, and she exchanged a look with him before opening her door and getting out. She didn’t even know herself if she had been pleading with her eyes to release her from this onerous daunting task of coming clean to her father, or if she was begging him to pin her against the seat and savagely fuck her, or if she was simply despairing at all of the years she had wasted with her head caught up in stupid power plays and gender culture mind games.

    I do know I’m in love with him, Christine decided.

    I know the magic also feeds into—and feeds off of—that specific emotional connection. Logically, I think, I couldn’t NOT be in love with him? He’s objectively handsome, and a very attractive partner prospect. I got to know him superficially when I wasn’t even capable of love, and then from that point I obsessed over the IDEA OF him in extremely unhealthy ways. So when the situation with that um, CLEARED UP and got resolved—feelings for him hit like a fucking truck. Of course they would. Because, now that my eyes are actually open to see the real him, I just get drawn deeper and deeper with every little thing about him that gets revealed.

    It also didn’t hurt that he was capable of folding her into a pretzel and fucking her into an oblivious lusty incoherent silver mess of mirror shards.

    Christine was honestly still a little sore from last night, but it was the kind of little painful pangs that just made her eager for more. Sex like that was simply game-changing, and a part of her wanted to say that if she had been dicked down by Brian like that back when she was Chloe, maybe even her obsessive insanity would have crumbled down to nothing and she would have become his obedient fucktoy.

    I… I need to stop thinking about last night, Christine swallowed. And ESPECIALLY not thinking about how it mentally connected with. Seeing my dad fuck Claire like that back then. Because—just, no. NOPE. No no no. Not going there. Bad brain, BAD.

    “Are we good?” Brian asked, offering her his hand.

    “Uh,” Christine snapped out of her thoughts with a jolt. “Yes? I mean. As good as I’ll get. Considering everything.”

    To her absolute mortification, she realized her palm was already a little clammy with sweat when it slipped into his, while naturally Brian’s grip was neat and dry, and also being large, strong, and somehow comforting. Holding hands with him while they walked across the parking lot was a couples thing, something she had avoided as Chloe, and was only really discovering the merit of now. The casual intimacy of the action was making her giddy in the worst kind of ways, and she had to clamp down upon the bad horny thoughts flashing by through her inner mirrors all over again.

    Lurid fantasies about what two young people might get up to down here in the dark recesses of the building’s parking garage flitted through her head in flashes as they walked together down the row of cars towards the elevators at the far end. It wasn’t fair—it was too hard for Christine to properly focus on the conflict and anguish she was supposed to be centered in on when little jolts of silver kept reacting to Brian and throwing her libido back into overdrive.

    He’s… he’s done a lot for me, though, Christine told herself as her mouth filled with saliva all over again. After this—you should reward him. When we get back down here afterwards, maybe. Can crouch down between cars here and blow him. As Chloe I never gave him proper head, even though he went down on me time and time again—so many times. I owe him a really good blowjob. A lot of them, really. Whenever we can find a chance.

    Subservient and on her knees before him, her head bobbing with gentle motion and making discreet slurps, noises of suction, and humming out moans as she slobbered up and down that prodigious dick of his and lavished it with affection. The pane of that ever-present self-reflection hanging over her head was all but fogging over with a silver sheen as Christine allowed Brian to lead her over towards the elevator and hit the button. Dread and anticipation created a rather vulgar crack splitting across her mirror—the man who had pinned her and fucked her senseless just hours ago was bringing her to meet her father; the very origin of her twisted formative issues with sexuality.

    Something about that shameful dynamic had her wanting to squirm with eager energy, and she couldn’t stop the stubborn imagery of wild and perverse fornication from bucking through the funhouse maze of her mind like a bull in a china shop. Christine was turned on in the most inappropriate way and at the most inappropriate time, and keeping her composure throughout this whole ordeal was going to be a bust if Brian kept acting like he was.

    Acting like WHAT, even?! Christine chastised herself. Firm and unyielding? Supportive? Dominant, masculine? He knows doing this will be difficult but he also knows it’s necessary—so he’s just going to be right here with me, guiding me through it? Protecting me, encouraging me?

    The elevator doors finally opened, and when they stepped inside the small enclosure together, all of those lurid fantasies escalated. The doors closing behind them and trapping them in made it even worse, and Christine forced her body to still even though she was starting to feel out of breath. Her panties felt sopping wet and warm, and in her imagination Brian could detect hints of her out of control arousal wafting into the air. Silver energy shimmered up and down her long legs and she had to clench her fists closed to keep errant fingers from wandering. Her entire body was aching for action, and it was as though each and every collective mirror shard suffused throughout her body had all decided in unison to illuminate and amplify only her most fervid desires.

    The character flaws they normally focused on exposing grew dim and distant, the regret and guilt became hazy and ephemeral. Brian of all people bringing her before her father felt like fingers parting wet folds to reveal her deepest secrets—it was as though the pages of time turned back to the very first embarrassing explorative night she had tried masturbating, and bared that private moment for the whole dreamscape to see. Although it was surely impossible, Christine felt like any casual passerby would somehow intuit just by glancing at her and Brian standing together that his cock had been savagely pistoning in and out of her last night while she moaned and squealed with total abandon.

    No one else can even see what my stupid fucking mirror magic is doing to my mind right now! Christine told herself as her thighs clenched and trembled.

    With an awkward movement she scuffed one foot against the elevator floor and then stomped it in an attempt to still her rebellious legs, and then she froze in absolute mortification when Brian turned a curious look in her direction.

    I’m wearing pants! It’s like all of the sudden it FEELS like there’s bright red hand prints of his all over my bottom that everyone else can plainly see. Even though they can’t. Even though THAT was from yesterday. Jesus, was that really only yesterday?! So much has happened in such a short time…

    Brian’s lips fighting to free her, from where Chloe was trying to drag everyone down into that deep grave the day before yesterday—then, the warm luscious creamy salvation sliding down her all too eager throat just shortly after that, followed by the sudden and intense attraction to not just Brian, but to all of the young women attached to him. Yesterday afternoon in the car she had volunteered herself across his lap and surrendered her naked buttocks up to him to play with however he pleased, and the feel of those meaty smacks and spanks and caresses was still absurdly fresh in her mind.

    Sharing a few minutes with Brian in the little bathroom of his apartment as she applied false bruising—that one wasn’t even sexual, technically, but the sheer intimacy of that moment bubbled up within her like mercury anyways. Kelly kissing her in front of the others last night just before they arrived at the bonfire felt like a symbolic show for the others—representing ‘Chloe’ being conquered by Brian’s group, of her submitting to them. Then, LATE LAST NIGHT…

    Stop thinking about it! Christine inwardly shrieked at herself. Stop stop stop thinking—

    She couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It felt like it was so recent that it was almost still happening, that the rough, intense sex had just ever-so-momentarily paused for them to adjust this other insignificant part of their lives, and that it would then resume with immediacy directly after. Christine wanted this visit with her dad to be over with already so that Brian could wrench down her pants, smash her face up against the wall of this elevator and plunge himself deep inside of her. The prospect of him ravaging her again with animalistic ferocity until the elevator shook clouded her thoughts with silver. Afterwards, he could bend her over the hood of a car in the parking garage below and fuck her stupid. If they eventually made it into their vehicle? It would hopefully be the backseat, with her legs thrown open wide and Brian pressing cockmeat deep into her guts and thrusting with nonstop sexual violence. And, after that—

    “You alrigh—?” Brian started to ask.

    “Yes, yes I’m fine!” Christine’s blurted answer cut him off before he could finish. “Just fine. Everything is normal.”

    She didn’t know what was wrong with her.

    She couldn’t even begin to imagine what might be wrong with her—something as trivial and seemingly inconsequential as Brian meeting her dad was throwing her through a loop and had her so impossibly turned on that a slick line was inching down her inner thigh, her tummy was thrumming with manic energy, and she felt like she was indiscriminately sweating all over. Something about all of this meeting today felt weirdly pivotal. As though large aspects of her personality had up until this moment been codified as I guess I’m a spoiled princess daddy’s girl after all and was now officially transitioning her identity to my body belongs to Brian. 

    Christine frantically tried to stamp out these perversely patriarchal thoughts the moment she realized them for what they were—but instead they surged and multiplied. They had that unique peculiar flavor of fetish to them, and although she was aghast, she had to admit that it made an awful sort of sense. For years as Chloe her thoughts were often on those terrible sexist patriarchal norms she was set on opposing and defying, and now that lingered on in the worst possible way as a sexual fixation.

    I’m obviously not an object whose ownership is being passed from my father to Brian, Christine told herself. That’s insane. I’m just saying that IF I WAS, that would be sort of hot. That… would be really fucking hot. The idea of it. FUCK. I am so fucking cooked. Maybe this is just temporary and I’ll get over it, or get it all fucked out of my system? This is maybe just the pendulum swinging too far out away from the path I was on as Chloe, and it will correct itself and get back to something more normal? Because… I feel like IF I LET THEM, some absolutely VULGAR fantasies are about to start coursing through every facet of my broken mirrors—

    The short ascent from the garage sublevel to the building’s lobby reception area felt far longer than it should have, and yet still when an electronic DING sounded and the door slid back Christine found herself jolting with surprise. Brian led her forward and together they were making their way over to the front desk counter—when one of the other elevators sounded, and its door opened to reveal a familiar face.

    Claire.

    Time had been kind to Claire, and once again Christine found herself almost gawking at the older woman’s good looks—she had fine features and carried a sexy presence of ingrained sophistication that it felt like Christine had been trying to ape with clumsy mannerisms for the past several years. Her father’s personal assistant was the origin she had been attempting to imitate however, and she couldn’t help but marvel at the way Claire absolutely oozed style even with her hair cut much much shorter than she remembered. Unlike Emily’s shaggier unkempt cut which looked ‘cute,’ Claire’s pixie cut was cropped even closer and came off as business-chic—it drew attention to her sensual neck in a way that was sexy professional. For a fleeting instant Christine wanted nothing else but to immediately copy that exact hairstyle for herself, but a certain specific drastic other change to the woman’s appearance was a difference so bold that all of Christine’s thoughts tumbled and crashed to a shattering silvery stop.

    “Christine—it’s so good to see you again,” Claire greeted her with a small smile. “I can take you both right up.”

    An expensive-looking black button-up blouse and long gray skirt did nothing to disguise the fact that Claire was now heavily pregnant, to that stage where this otherwise slender woman was forced to keep one hand upon her protruding belly to help maintain her balance. The sight short-circuited Christine’s brain, because the preconception she had of a driven and no-nonsense career woman who would do anything to get ahead, and this softly smiling soon mother-to-be could not coexist without significant mental rearrangement. The non-zero chance that Claire might actually be carrying Christine’s little brother or sister there certainly did not help her keep her composure.

    “Uh, Claire,” Christine finally found words. “...Hi. This is Brian, my b-boyfriend?”

    There was a small mental stumble there, as Christine wasn’t sure if that was technically true or not anymore or what their specific relationship would be labeled as—but he was holding her hand right now, and she didn’t know how else to explain that. To her surprise, when she saw that Claire had turned her full attention to appraise Brian, a whole surge of discordant different emotions cascaded throughout Christine in a jumble of shock and intense jealousy and even a sick sexual hunger that was strangely close to the thirst she’d experienced as an almost-vampire.

    “‘Brian?’” Claire asked with a small quirk of her lip.

    “Uhhh— it’s not, um, he’s B-R-I-A-N, not—not Bryan with a Y,” Christine felt herself suffocating with absolute embarrassment. “It’s, it’s not really the same! At all.”

    “Ah,” Claire gave her answer a nod of acceptance. “That’s funny, though. It’s nice to meet you, Brian.”

    “Likewise,” Brian said.

    “Right this way,” Claire gestured, stepping the whole way back into her elevator to make room for them. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

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