Quinn looked up from her magazine (Woman to Doll monthly, it was always good to stay abreast of the collector’s market) at the chime of her shop’s door.  The afternoon rush had just passed, although on days like today it seemed overly generous to call it a rush.  She’d sold a few knickknacks; a couple decorative statuettes produced by a local artist, a few skirts and shirts that had come from a local academy (practice garments, with multiple items made from the same individual, good for building a sorcerer’s skill, less-so for market), and a handful of erotic items to some furtive customers, most notably a double-ended dildo that used to be a pair of lesbians to a couple young women who were blushing scarlet at the counter.

It hadn’t been a bad day.  The upside to terrible hours was little overhead, so about half of each sale would probably be profit once she’d tallied up everything and evened out her books.  Better than expected for a week day in the off-season.  But the afternoon rush had died down half an hour ago, so this new client could receive her undivided attention.

He was young, twenty-something, in a buttoned-up polo shirt and pair of slacks.  Sensible haircut, features that were well on their way to maturing toward dignified, but still had a youthful handsomeness to them.  Hair cut short, combed in a fashion popular with young office workers, just now.  He carried a cardboard tube, maybe two and a half feet wide, in his right hand.

“Welcome to the Magic Lamp,” Quinn said, putting down her magazine, a pen wedged between the pages on the article she’d been reading (Pool-Time Inflatable’s: Exploring the Sex Dolls who Double as Flotation Devices).  She raised an eyebrow at the tube in his hand.

“Ah, ‘afternoon.  I’d like to, well, I think you should see her, first.  The name’s Erik, by the way.”  With that, he approached the counter, popped open a cap at the end of the tube, and carefully removed a long rolled tube of paper.

The unrolled tube proved to be a life-sized poster of a rather attractive and extraordinarily flirty young woman.  She was probably in her late teens or early twenties, of east-Asian descent, likely Cathayan or Nipponese in background, with shoulder length silky dark hair, creamy white skin, and inviting red lips.  She wore form-fitting lingerie, dark, rose-red and largely transparent, with just the right amount of see-through gossamer and frilly lace to make the image more sensual and refined without cutting down on its overt erotic power.  Her hips were cocked, her breasts were presented prominently, and her mouth was curved into one of the most lascivious smiles Quinn had ever seen.  Even though the image remained still, she got the impression that the girl was licking her lips.

“Wow, that’s… quite a piece,” Quinn said, taking in the poster-girl.  There was definitely a transformed person, made into the image.  The image radiated sexuality, and Quinn found herself growing warm and wet as she examined the flattened woman.  She made certain not shift herself, rub her thighs together, or do anything that might betray her budding arousal; it was never a good idea to let the customer know you’re horny. 

“Yeah, she’s a beauty.  Renki, by the way.  Her name was, er… is, Renki Zhao Yang.  She was my girlfriend senior year of high school.  Well, we were heading off to different colleges, and she decided to give me a special gift, a farewell present, and it turns out she gave me herself.  Her mother was an Enchantress, you see, so she convinced her to turn her into something I could keep in college, and, well, she’s been a poster ever since.  Or, maybe I should say they have been.”

“They?”  Quinn asked.  That was interesting, but it made so much sense.  The aura of the poster was intense.  An actual Cathayan enchantress, even an expatriate, could make a real quality piece, but for something like this…

“Yeah, ‘hey’,” Erik continued, casting a fond glance on Renki’s flirty, immobile form, “one of her sisters is the lingerie.  I never met her, not while she was animate, but I heard that the mother decided to turn her into clothing for a while as a lesson, and Renki just loved how she turned out.  Couldn’t resist the opportunity to wear her when her picture was being made.”

“But you said the mother did this transformation,” Quinn replied, trying to examine the piece critically, ignoring how delightful its subject looked.  The background was a satin-draped room that could easily have been a boudoir or particularly racy parlor.  Well done, not overwhelming, but lending the piece full ambience.  Quality work.

Eric shrugged, “I guess she liked the idea?  I’m not sure what it would have done to the lingerie transformation, but I learned that the poster change was reversible.  For a while, at any rate.  I didn’t actually learn that until several months after the point where it became irreversible.  Renki didn’t give me any instructions, just a flirty note that said I should post her in my dorm room.”

Under normal circumstances that would be a hell of a fishy story… but for a Cathayan family, it wouldn’t be out of the normal.  Hell, there were at least a half-dozen pieces in the shop right now with similar backgrounds. 

“So… would you like to pawn or sell it?” Quinn asked after a moment’s pause.

“Oh, I have to, ah, sell her… my fiance doesn’t like a poster of one of my exes flirting from the wall.”  Erik looked down, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.  “Do… do you think she minds?”

Ah, this was familiar territory.  All part of the job, really. 

“How often did you used to masturbate to her when you were in college?”

Erik looked taken aback, likely more from Quinn’s directness than the content of her abrupt question.  “Uh, as often as I could, I think.  Whenever my roommate wasn’t around, I guess?  Jeeze, there were… eh, it happened a lot.”  After a heartbeat’s pause, “more than a lot, and more than just masturbating.  I don’t know why, but having her there helped me get lucky with a lot of dates…”

Quinn nodded her head.  “And how often do you wank to her now?”

“Uh… less so?  I mean, usually once every week or so, I guess… she still kind of inspires, uh, inspiriation…”

“The thing you need to understand,” Quinn began with practiced casualness, “is that she isn’t a human being anymore.  She’s a poster, and she’s actually sharing that space with at least one other former-person.  It can be a touching gesture, but you can’t have a serious relationship with a poster.  She’s still in there, but she’s very different from the girl you knew however many years ago.  She wants to be looked at, to be lusted at, and she loves nothing more than for people to cum while staring at her.  She may have done it for you, but she’ll be happier now somewhere where she can be used and appreciated like the sexy pinup she is.” 

She made eye-contact with Erik and offered her most reassuring smile.  A fair amount of her business came from gifts like these, grand personal gestures that didn’t have quite the timeless effect their participants probably intended.  The speech about objectification really helped the cases with sentimental value, and it had the added bonus of being true, at least insofar as she could understand the metaphysics on the subject.

The annoying cases were the quick turn-arounds.  Girl gets herself turned into a beautiful cameo, or a guy becomes a lovely ruby necklace, and their partner pawns them off here a week later for some quick cash.  Of course, Quinn still accepted those cases when she could, but she hated dealing with those customers.  On top of just being terrible people, they tended to drive a hard bargain for their former paramours. 

“You’re right,” Erik said, nodding.  The smile he gave the flirting poster was sad, but also warm; the expression of a man knowing his cherished keepsake would be better loved and appreciated in its new home.  The sale was already made.

“How much do you want?” Quinn asked, careful to avoid using the pronouns ‘her’ or ‘it’.  ‘Her’ would enforce the old personal connoation, and likely drive up the price.  ‘It’ would make the item seem too inhuman, and would chill Erik’s attitude towards her and the transaction.  It was best to walk the middle path with caution.

“Uh… how much do you usually do?”

“Well… she wasn’t a porn star, or famous, so she doesn’t have a reputation to increase her price.  But she is a very beautiful piece, exquisitely done… do you have documentation?”

Erik looked blank for a moment before realization settled in.  “Oh!  Yes, well… kind of.  It was a family thing, so there wasn’t a receipt on my end, but… here!” he fished out a folded envelope and placed it on the counter. 

Quinn quickly opened it and nodded with satisfaction.  The envelope was a note, penned by the working Enchantress, and signed by her and properly notarized by a witness, confirming the voluntary nature and legal age of all parties involved.  Not strictly necessary, but always useful in cases like this.

“Alright… not the best documentation, but better than most.”

“Oh, I suppose I should mention, she changes poses.”

This took Quinn by surprise.  “What?” she asked, momentarily shocked. 

Erik shrugged.  “I’ve never seen her actually move, but every few days I walk in and she’s in a different pose.  There seem to be about a dozen.  Some are rather… well, let me show you.”  He took his phone from his pocket, pulled up a small gallery of pictures, and placed it next to the poster.  The pictures were all snapshots of Renki, but in a handful of different poses.  Some had her turned against the viewer, coquettishly teasing, others had arms and legs open, fully embracing, and in at least two others she was visibly masturbating, her hands buried beneath her sheer bra and panties.

“Wow.  That’s… that’s impressive,” Quinn muttered, despite herself.  “Okay… she’s not famous, but she’s decently documented, and with this…” she gestured towards the phone.  Supposedly this could be a fake, but she doubted it; she could still feel the arousal radiating from the poster, magic like that, with at least two people, certainly could manage something like that.  It could be photoshop, but at this point, especially given how Erik presented himself, that seemed unlikely.  “I’ll give you four hundred dollars.”

Erik’s lips curved into a grin and he nodded his head.  With this type of customer, in this time of situation, moving the item was more important than money.  Really, the money Renki would earn him was just a little bonus on top of the personal and relational objectives of this whole affair.  That’s why guys and girls like Erik were her favorite customers.  Four-hundred dollars was the minimal amount of money she could offer with a good conscience, and she knew Erik would accept.

“Deal,” he said, extending his hand to shake on it. 

 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Turns out $400 was a steal.  It required some digging, but some research was usually a good idea for pieces like this.  A little internet searching with the information on the document yielded the fact that the enchantress/mother of the piece, Cheonsang Zhou Yang, was still in business.  A quick call to her work phone and she had a very enlightening conversation with the enchantress.  She fondly remembered the poster and daughter, and seemed happy to learn that it was still in such excellent condition.  She confirmed almost every event that Erik mentioned, but was eager to embellish. 

She confirmed Quinn’s suspicion that there was another person in the piece.  Turns out that the paper itself had been a person too, who had herself transformed as a gift to one of Zhou’s sons.  Erik was wrong about one point; the negligee his girlfriend had worn to her photo-shoot had actually been a brother, not a sister.  When Zhou learned that her daughter wanted to wear him for her own posterfication, she recycled the poster that had been given to him to create a more powerful magical foundation.  That explained the poster’s properties.  It also added a full digit to the piece’s asking price. 

 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Epilogue: Four Days Later

 

Quinn was opening up shop on Friday, bright and early at six in the morning and desperately hoping someone would answer her help-wanted ad, when the door run and her first customer stepped in.

She was a bombshell; curly blonde hair cascading past her shoulders, heaving melon-sized breasts barely contained in a skimpy yellow tank-top, curvy hips and full, round ass, the works.  Her face was just as pretty, with full lips, wide eyes, and prominent cheekbones, although the overall softness of its structure made it a lot more homey and less striking.  She walked up to Quinn’s counter with an exaggerated sway of her hips, rolling and jiggling with every step.  She wore the aforementioned tank-top with a pair of denim hot-pants.

“Like, hello!  Again!” the woman giggled.

Quinn, groggy and still waiting to brew her first cup of coffee (she’d come into the possession of a lovely espresso machine that had been a barista.  She’d bought it for the shop, but the thing was just too useful to let go) blinked her eyes trying to remember where she’d seen this woman. 

Then she realized she’d never seen this woman before, per se, but she’d been seeing women like her, in one form or another, ever since she set up shop.  “Venus of Fortune Casino?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

The blonde’s eyes went wide, like a deer caught in a pair of headlights.  “Ohmygosh!  How did you know where I worked!?”

Quinn nodded and tried to recall her previous customers.  The Venus of Fortune Casino was an institution, filled with tables, slot machines, and very pretty women.  Usually a specific type of pretty, though, with big butts, boobs, and bimbo-ish personalities to match.  Most of their floor girls, whose primary job was to be pretty and available for their clients, were recruited from vacationers and tourists.  People come, gamble, get distracted by the pretty (and very easy) women, loose too much, and were offered various payment plans by the house, including an offer of employment, along with the suitable, required transformation. 

“What was your name?  I mean, before you worked there?”

She giggled again, the sound quickly growing annoying.  “I’m Kandi now!  But, uh, a few days ago I was a guy, I guess.  I came in here, like, on Monday?  You probably don’t remember be, cause I was all flat and boring and junk, but uh… oh, I did something here, didn’t I?” she pouted as she tried to remember… or, more likely, she just pouted because she liked how it made her look.

Recollection kindled.  “Oh… you came here to pawn your daughter, didn’t you?” Quinn asked, glancing up to the shelf where Amanda was still packed in her tight plastic bag, full latex lips still in their inviting frozen ‘o’ shape.  “You still have a couple days to-”

“Oh, no,” Kandi giggled, “I don’t get paid ‘til the twentieth!  And I had to spend my hiring money on clothes!  Nothing I used to have fits anymore.”  She cupped her own breasts to emphasize the point. 

Quinn nodded.  Par for the course, really, as far as the Venus of Fortune went.  “So you’re going to default on the loan?”

“’Fraid so, honey,” Kandi said, entirely too chipper and bubbly.  She waved at her packaged daughter, beaming the inanimate girl with a smile. 

“No, I came here cause Jenni said you have the best dildos in town!”  She licked her lips, “I still have a hundred and twenty dollars from my hiring bonus, and I gotta get my cooch ready!” 

Prostitution was still illegal in this state, but employing perpetually horny bimbos who frequently fuck clients out of their own volition was still technically fine, and the floor girls of the Venus of Fortune were exceptionally horny bimbos.  Evidently, it was exceptionally good for business, too. 

Five minutes later and Kandi was cooing over a ten inch nubbed and textured phallus that had been a disillusioned English Lit major.  She was showering the purple member with kisses, pausing only to blow a good bye kiss to her packaged, dollified daughter (and waving good bye with the hand that still held the dildo, to boot).  She left, her butt wriggling and drawing the eye of passers-by on the street. 

Quinn sighed.  She picked up Amanda from her place on the ‘pending’ shelf and moved her to the merchandise section.  “Congratulations, kid; you’re officially for sale.  Tough break with your dad, but on the plus side, the Venus of Fortune has a terrible retention problem.  She’ll probably wind up turned into condoms, or made into someone’s gaudy souvenir in a month.  You, on the other hand, are an exceptionally sexy doll that will be bringing pleasure to people for decades to come.  In fact, you’re guaranteed to last for over a century.”

She turned away from the doll shelf and looked back over her shop.  “The tourist season will begin soon, and things will pick up.” 

Quinn gave Amanda another glance, and smiled. “Tourist season begins soon.  I bet you’ll sell in a week, and for twice what I loaned Kandi.”