Game Piece (non-graphic, vaguely mature themes) chapter 1

(This story has some TG themes, maybe more heavily than LG or even ABDL in general, I don’t know yet honestly.)

Samuel sat in his apartment, alone for the third Friday in a row, watching Bollywood movies he bought from the Indian grocery store around the corner. It was about seven in the evening; half a bowl of curry sat in front of him, long lukewarm.

The window was open and he was catching a breeze.

From the window he could hear, as every evening, excited conversations rising from a bar across the street. The introduction of outdoor seating, which he wasn’t even sure was legal for liquor sales, only made the establishment more popular since Spring started. He glanced out of the window as some popular Indian singer danced with a scantily-clad white blonde on the television. It wouldn’t be too awful to make himself presentable and go down, would it?

He looked around. Dishes were left lying all over the place, and there were socks on top of the television.

Well, he could go and just make a point not to bring anyone back. If anything that would make him a more respectable gentleman, surely.

Becoming more dedicated to the idea by the minute Sam turned off the television and went into another room to consult his closet. He found one clean dress shirt, green with purple pinstripes. It was not his favorite, but he would have to settle, and started buttoning it over the plain white T he wore previously.

Pants. There was a curry stain all down the thighs on these. No clean pants, Sam noticed. Laundry day would be tomorrow, then. In the meantime he went into the bathroom and set to work scrubbing off the jeans he wore, and then blow-drying them.

One day, he thought as he looked at his apartment before leaving, I’ll actually sort you out.

At the bar across the street, which was known as the Capering Berry for reasons beholden only to the proprietor, he saw a larger evening rush than the noise made him anticipate. The joint was popular, he had to grant it that.

Every table was taken by youngsters discussing politics, bros watching the game, and the horny making puppy dogs eyes at whoever they could see.

Then he saw her, the girl who was to change his life. She was staring right at him, between the thick layers of makeup covering her face and eyelids. Her hair was black, presumably dyed, and she was wearing a dark blue velvet Victorian-styled dress. Classic Goth fashion, at least for people with enough money to burn to go beyond ordinary black clothing.

He thought it was a little funny, especially considering he expected her to sneer at him rather than give him the come-on he was receiving.

In spite, however, of her obvious willingness to speak to him, he opened with a vague insult. “Let me guess, your name is Raven.”

She did not smile. “Erica.”

“Erica Blackwell? Erica Morningstar? Erica Darkcrystal?” Sam was glib; he always got that way after a long time spent without people. This would show itself to be a pity.

She developed the sneer he expected. “It’s not really a good idea to stereotype people like that.”

“What do you mean? You’re dressed like a hardcore Goth, it’s not ludicrous to expect that that’s because you have something for Goth culture.”

“Some of us like the look but not the self-imposed exile,” she said quietly, or as quietly as speech can be in a crowded bar.

Sam smiled in spite of himself. “I guess that was a little rude of me. I’m sorry.”

“Water under the bridge,” she said, almost-smiling back. She motioned for the stool next to her. “Sit.”

He did. He found himself more attracted to her than he expected; she had lovely eyes – fortunate, given he could not be sure of the rest of her cosmetically-altered face.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” she prompted him.

“Sam,” he whispered, increasingly distracted.

“Well, Sam,” she said, beginning to develop the exact smirk he expected, “let’s get down to brass tacks. You came here trolling for sex. I’m looking for some… companionship, too. How about we go to my place and you show me if you’re man enough?”

Sam stammered, “I came here looking to meet people, but I had no goal of -”

“Don’t play dumb, boy,” she smirked as he became more and dumbfounded. “You’re barely more developed than a prepubescent trying desperately to get a woman to look at you.”

She shifted and drew Sam’s attention to her quite considerable bust. If he had been feeling more cognizant he would have been wondering if she rehearsed her insults or just had a preternatural command of spoken English. As it was, all he could think to say in response was, “I’m sorry.”

It’s okay," she said, patting his head. Then she stood up and straightened her ornamented dress before taking his hand. Without another word on the matter they left the building.

She had a car parked nearby, a black (of course) convertible. She made him sit in the back, opened the door for him and fastened his seat belt for him.

Erica owned an entire house at age 23. Sam never thought to ask how she was able to afford it, but was duly impressed anyway. It wasn’t in the absolute best neighborhood and Sam tripped over a massive crack in the sidewalk but was still impressive. The screen door squeaked as she led him into her living room. A couch lay off to the side of the door, facing a television unit.

Erica lowered the venetian blinds, although it was already dark out, and locked the door. Sam sat on the couch. Erica began to unlace her corsetted dress and placed one kneel on the sofa next to Sam, widening her legs and facing Sam.

“You look gorgeous,” he informed her.

“I know,” she reassured him. Then, finishing her work, she opened the corset from behind, removed the entire dress, and revealed quite an impressive endowment. Her breasts had no need for the corset’s support, and all of her skin, though pale, had a flawless nature to it, smooth like the silky skirt she was lowering, revealing a black thong so small as to be redundantly negligible negligee, running above her hips but dipping just a centimeter over what Sam wanted so badly to see, or to feel.

As his hands rose to cup those breasts hers lowered and began to unbutton his shirt. They’d barely shared a word, certainly not a kind one, and he felt absolutely natural at the moment. A little self-conscious, given that omnipresent sneer, but certainly not uncomfortable.

They began to kiss rather passionately, and Sam learned that he was in fact quite fond of being “on the bottom,” even though every other time he had been intimate with a lady in that permutation it was somewhat unsatisfying.

They did not make love that night, but only because Sam barely knew her and she was not inclined to love anybody. While unromantically enjoying one another’s company (“doin’ it”) they moved between three different rooms, the living room, the bedroom, and ended up in a storage closet in which Erica had set up a few dozen candles. Sam never really saw the appeal of candles, but did not have the heart to tell her while she set to work lighting them all. He was too concerned with their proximity to ecstasy.

They fell asleep shortly after finishing. Sam felt like they ought to have talked more, but she scoffed and rolled her eyes when he tried to kiss her goodnight.

Sam woke up spooning with Erica on the floor of the closet. He was the little spoon for the first time in his life. He tried to move his head to look at Erica but when he did she stirred. “Are you still here?” she mumbled, not even opening her eyes.

He frowned. He had never before been treated so unceremoniously in a post-coital situation. “I really enjoyed last night,” he stammered, turning and putting his more mobile arm around her naked torso. “Will I see you again?”

She groaned. “You’re such a girl, you know that?”

There seemed to be a leak. The floor in front of Sam was wet. He ignored her chiding and looked for his telephone. “Can I get your number?”

“I’ve got yours. We’ll be in touch,” she said.

He did not remember telling her his number, but did not want to further incite her anger. He went back to the living room to find his clothes. They were all gone.

“I did some work after you fell asleep,” Erica said, coming up behind Sam quietly and tousling his long, silky hair. “There were some changes I wanted to make.”

Sam turned to look at her, not comprehending.

She rolled her eyes for probably the twelfth time that morning, assuming you counted faces made in dreams. “Look down.”

Sam looked down and realized he had the body of a young woman. Breasts he had never seen before, but which felt perfectly natural if he did not think about them. Hips wider than before, waist skinnier, less-toned. He slowly reached down between his legs and gasped in terrified amazement at the loss of his man-hood.

“What.” It was all Sam could think to say.

“I’m a succubus,” Erica said, as if to the air, hopping and sitting on the top of the couch, feet on the cushions. She looked more energetic than she had last night and he noticed for the first time tiny horns hidden under her hair on her forehead. “I took your life overnight.”

Sam frowned and realized he and Erica were suddenly almost the same size, in fact he felt a little shorter than she looked now. He could not even count on physically overpowering her if she really was a murdering helldemon. “You took my life so now I’m a woman.”

“Well, now that it’s mine, I decided to have some fun with it, so now your life is that of a young girl your age, mostly the same as you were before. I gave you some other surprises though, don’t worry about it, I’ll call you when you need to know about them. Now buck up and make some lemonade,” she said, smacking Sam on her suddenly-pronounced bottom.

“How can I–” Sam started to ask Erica more but couldn’t phrase what she wanted to know. Her whole life was different. “What do I do now?”

“Well, first you might want to get a mop into the other room. I made you a chronic bed-wetter and you sort of ruined my chalk pentagram. It was very rude of you.”

Sam went into a coughing fit.

Re: Game Piece (non-graphic, vaguely mature themes) chapter 1

Normally any time I review a story, there tends to be something wrong with the big picture (it was rushed, all the grammar was bad, etc) but with you, it seems the picture is just fine. The only way I can think to give any critique is to point out the little things and while it may seem like nitpicking, these are the only things that caught my attention and a little more detail to the simple aesthetics of the story could help tremendously (i.e., I’m not doing this to be a dick, so I apologize if it comes off as offensive, I’m a blunt person afterall and don’t review stories often because of this). So here we go-

Samuel sat in his apartment, alone for the third Friday in a row, watching Bollywood movies he bought from the Indian grocery store around the corner

Some things don’t need explaining but this would. Here’s my problem with it, we don’t have much of a setting for the overall location in the world, which is fine but in some cases it sounds like the character is in India and in others it sounds like India-town in some American state. Since we can’t tell either, nor is Bollywood movies or why they’d be in an Indian grocery store a common subject, I think this needs more explaining.

Pants. There was a curry stain all down the thighs on these. No clean pants, Sam noticed. Laundry day would be tomorrow, then. In the meantime he went into the bathroom and set to work scrubbing off the jeans he wore, and then blow-drying them.

This whole paragraph needs some work. Pants would make a better exclamation of dialog from Sam as opposed to a statement that leads us to the next portion of him getting dressed. It would feel more like he’s shocked about his pants and ‘noticed’ the curry stain, as the rest of the sentence implies. And “no clean pants, sam noticed. Laundry day would be tomorrow, then.” I’m not sure what the technical term or phrase would be to describe this but it basically doesn’t make sense semantically. On one hand, sam notices he has no clean pants even though he needs them right now if he’s to visit the bar. Yet, on the other hand, the laundry day sentiment seems to imply that he’ll just take care of it all tomorrow. Maybe something like “No clean pants, Sam noticed. And Laundry day’s not until tomorrow.” Barely any changing in wording and it would flow much better.

Then he saw her, the girl who was to change his life. She was staring right at him

This is simply a preference but for me, this has always been -way- too direct a form of foreshadowing for past tense. It’s usually too cliche.

“What do you mean? You’re dressed like a hardcore Goth, it’s not ludicrous to expect that that’s because you have something for Goth culture.”

“Some of us like the look but not the self-imposed exile,” she said quietly, or as quietly as speech can be in a crowded bar.

Sam smiled in spite of himself. “I guess that was a little rude of me. I’m sorry.”

Something about this conversation is off to me. It seems too formally worded, scripted if you will for what is supposedly a bar conversation.

Sam stammered, “I came here looking to meet people, but I had no goal of -”

Also a bit too formal, especially as an impromptu and surprised reaction to her statement about sex.

She had a car parked nearby, a black (of course) convertible. She made him sit in the back, opened the door for him and fastened his seat belt for him.

First off, I wouldn’t recommend including (of course) in with that statement. Why is it “of course?” Earlier it was suggested that she simply enjoyed the clothing style but isn’t goth herself, so that can’t apply to vehicle choices. Secondly, are black convertible even a stereotypical vehicle for goth/goth-wannabes?

Secondly, no matter how dominate she is as a person (as it’s quite clear you’re going for a dominate/submissive personality with Erica and Sam respectively), I would think that any normal adult living on his own would be quite offended at someone else fastening their seatbelt for them. Yes, it makes sense as foreshadowing to an ABDL story but there should have been some reaction or even an explanation to not having a reaction. Perhaps he was offended but kept his mouth shut to ensure he got to have sex, I know plenty of “Guys” who would do exactly that if a woman wanted to be condescending to him.

Erica owned an entire house at age 23. Sam never thought to ask how she was able to afford it, but was duly impressed anyway. It wasn’t in the absolute best neighborhood and Sam tripped over a massive crack in the sidewalk but was still impressive. The screen door squeaked as she led him into her living room. A couch lay off to the side of the door, facing a television unit.

Considering you did not give Sam an age and Erica is a demon who is probably a different age than what she dresses herself to be, “…age 23” is irrelevant.

And “Television unit” is too formal as well. I haven’t heard that kind of language since the dialog from 1984.

Erica lowered the venetian blinds, although it was already dark out, and locked the door.

This would serve to be re-organized as a sentence, where locking the door is first, closing the blinds is second and finally including “even though it’s dark out.” It doesn’t seem to flow well as it is now, though I’m no semantics major so I could be wrong.

“You look gorgeous,” he informed her.

This may be a preference but “informed” isn’t a good choice of a word.

They did not make love that night, but only because Sam barely knew her and she was not inclined to love anybody. While unromantically enjoying one another’s company (“doin’ it”) they moved between three different rooms, the living room, the bedroom, and ended up in a storage closet in which Erica had set up a few dozen candles.

The imagery here was great, it was perfect for my tastes until you included (“doin’ it”). That seemed to destroy the moment.

He ignored her chiding and looked for his telephone. “Can I get your number?”

Considering the colloquial difference between telephone and cell phone, this made me think that he was looking for his house’s telephone in her house.

Erica said, as if to the air, hopping and sitting on the top of the couch, feet on the cushions.

Don’t know what it is but this seems to be a very weird action to me.

Sam frowned and realized he and Erica were suddenly almost the same size, in fact he felt a little shorter than she looked now. He could not even count on physically overpowering her if she really was a murdering helldemon. “You took my life so now I’m a woman.”

For someone who just experienced a magic that is virtually unheard of by man, Sam seems to be taking this way too well. The statement (paraphrased) “he can’t over power her if she’s really a murdering hell demon” seems to imply he already knows quite a bit about Succubi and when this story was set up, including your pre-story notes about having some “TG” themes, it didn’t really seem like this story was going to consist of magic, demonology or anything supernatural to begin with.

“How can I–” Sam started to ask Erica more but couldn’t phrase what she wanted to know. Her whole life was different. “What do I do now?”

“Well, first you might want to get a mop into the other room. I made you a chronic bed-wetter and you sort of ruined my chalk pentagram. It was very rude of you.”

To be perfectly honest, even though it’s quite obvious the succubus is being portrayed as an absolute bitch in this statement, the whole “I made you do this and when you did it it was very rude of you to do so” statement makes her whole character less plausible, less developed or real. Even the bitchiest bitch I’ve ever known (and we’re talking about a hardcore methodist redneck who was paid about 7 bucks an hour to babysit 12 kids in a children’s home equipped with barred/lockable rooms, restraints and so on) had more rationale than that.

Sam went into a coughing fit.

This is an extremely impromptu place to end, and an extremely random and unexplained statement at that.

Re: Game Piece (non-graphic, vaguely mature themes) chapter 1

Oh man, thank you for an unexpectedly prompt response, and for possibly the best criticism I’ve gotten… ever? Maybe. Something like that. I would love to start re-writing this (and going on to the meaty bits, of course) so I have to ask, what’s the kosher way to do a second draft of a story of chapter? Edit the original post, make a new one? I feel like most prudent would be to just start rewriting after finishing it but I don’t want insult your advice by seeming to ignore it for what will probably be months.

Re: Game Piece (non-graphic, vaguely mature themes) chapter 1

You can rewrite it and edit this thread, changing to the title to include Revised or something, and then posting at the bottom to bump it. Or start a new thread. Don’t know what the admins would prefer but those are the two best ways.

Re: Game Piece (non-graphic, vaguely mature themes) chapter 1

Just read about the origins of the names in/succubus. Apparently “incubus” basically translates from “lies on top” and “succubus” “lies on bottom” so I’ll have to remember in the rewrite to include a gag about that. Since Emily quite obviously lies on top.

Re: Game Piece (non-graphic, vaguely mature themes) chapter 1

I love what you have so far, you need to explain how he became a chronic bedwetter&female, and other than that this story has no major flaws so far.