Cinderella (transformation, futa-on-everybody)

Chapter One

"I wish I had better news," Gloria said. She was short and plump and her brown eyes were sincere. That was the worst part maybe, she really did wish she had something else to tell me.

"Yeah." I looked down, turning my glass slowly. We were in a corner bar called Jonah's and I should have been on a train home from work, but I wasn't.

"The guy calls himself 'Bad Daddy' around town, but his real name is Clyde Jefferson. He did some time for a carjacking when he was eighteen." Gloria had a little notebook, but she wasn't looking at it. "Far as I can tell, she met him at the shelter a few months back, doing some kind of community service…"

"Clothing drive," I remembered. Belinda wasn't real big on charity as a general rule.

"Clothing drive?" Gloria looked at me and shrugged. "Anyway, after that he's been a regular."

"So…What?" I looked up at her. "You have evidence? Pictures or something?"

"Pictures," Gloria agreed. "They're not pretty."

"Okay," I nodded.

The woman opened a soft leather satchel, old and worn, and pulled out a large brown envelope. She put it on the table, sliding it towards me with her palm flat across it, drumming her fingers for a moment while I stared at it.

"You don't have to look," Gloria lied, both of us knowing I did.

"Yeah, I know." I pulled it out from under her hand and there were a dozen photos inside. Maybe more.

My young and attractive wife in bed with a large and rough looking black man. He had tattoos and close cropped hair and a hard face. A hard body too, big and muscular. There he was pushing his black cock into my wife's pussy. There she was sucking it. There they were smiling, kissing, laughing, fucking.

"The negatives are in there," Gloria told me. "My bill too."

"Right, okay." I swallowed hard, putting the pictures back.

"You need a lawyer? I know a couple good ones, the sooner you start…"

"No." I took a deep breath. "I'll be okay."

I picked up my drink, taking a swallow of scotch and feeling it burn all the way down.

"Right," she nodded. "Well, good luck, Mr. Patterson. I'm really sorry."

"Yeah, me too," I said. "Thanks Gloria."

She left me, leaving her drink untouched and off to do whatever it is private investigators do when they're not destroying people's lives. That wasn't fair though. I'd had my suspicions and hired her. Gloria hadn't destroyed anything, she'd merely done her job and delivered the truth. It would have been nice to have someone to blame though. Someone other than me, other than my wife.

"Why so glum, chum?" the bartender asked me ten minutes later when I pulled up a stool.

"Chivas." I waggled a finger towards the bottles behind him. "A double."

"Got it," he nodded.

"Shit." A guy sat down next to me and I barely glanced at him, minding my own business. "You know what I hate? Cigarettes. I tried quitting a hundred times…You got a light?"

"No, sorry." I looked at him and he was holding a cigarette, of course.

An older guy, older than my twenty-six years anyway, with steel gray hair and light blue eyes. A five o'clock shadow and a nice suit. He looked like a million other guys downtown. He looked like me in fifteen or twenty years.

"You want one?" he asked, and I shook my head.

"No thanks."

"They put chemicals in 'em, you know? Get you addicted. Make you do anything for a cigarette," he said, dropping it on the bar. "People kill for cigarettes."

"Double Chivas." The bartender was back, putting the drink in front of me.

"Let me get a Michelob," my new friend said. "And some matches."

"Sorry, pal. No smoking in here," the bartender said apologet

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