Never Try to Trick a Trickster

by Dmuk

Here is the next installment in the 'Trick or ???' story arc; this one picks up the briefest of fleeting instants after 'Another Fine Trick', which you can read by clicking here. You can also begin at the beginning by clicking here.

Stacy stepped out from a blank concrete wall, a vision of loveliness wrapped in skintight, shiny red spandex. Teetering on 4-inch high-heeled ankle boots, she stumbled for a moment as if exiting a moving stairway before regaining her composure. Primping her henna-red hair, she quickly made sure the rest of her striking costume had survived the passage. Everything seemed perfect, down to the pointy tip of the short devil tail that embellished her shapely lycra-coated ass.

"Yee, hoo!" Them's some jazzy stems, girl," one of the young men who had almost bowled into her blurted out. She hadn't been there a second ago, he would have noticed such a spectacular figure; it was if a supermodel had appeared out nowhere, which was almost precisely true. The other seemed speechless, but after a second or two managed, "Where you been all my life?" which had to be one of the lamest chat-up lines Stacy had ever heard. Their costumes were equally lacking, being merely some sort of caped latino and a generic superhero.

She merely smiled saucily at them, all the time thinking 'Standing in a floor display, stiff as a statue, mostly,' which reminded her of a recent past existence she didn't want to relive. Or return to.

She was on a mission now, one that she could not fail at. "Which way to that new bar, Duffy McGuffins, boys?" she purred, "I seem to have gotten myself turned around somehow.."

"You go'in the right way, babe, only Guff's been around for as long as I kin remember," the first one replied. "Want me to get you a drink there?" he ventured.

"Why not, it's Halloween after all. You can all buy me drinks," Stacy chuckled with an inviting smile, thinking 'This is gonna be even easier than I thought...'

The pulsing music seemed to power the people who were dancing to the beat, bobbing and writhing in the bar's miniscule parquet-tiled floor, mixed in with a growing crowd of revelers, voyeurs, and hard-core drinkers that filled the grungy establishment. One half-bagged old coot leered at her while wearing a T-shirt that read: "Please tell your BOOBs to stop staring at my eyes!" In fact, just about everyone seemed to be stealing glances at the lithe shapely form wrapped in red from head to toe that commanded attention with every sensuous move of her exquisite body. Stacy let the rhythm drive her, entranced by the sheer joy of mobility, of life, noise and companionship. Doubtless she had been drinking, probably more than was sensible; that didn't slow her down in the least. If anything, the intoxication fueled the wild passion of her sexy choreography. On top of everything else, she was celebrating her first conquest.

Closing her eyes, she thought back over the events of the delicious past hour or so:

Soon after arriving and ditching those two losers who had been hitting on her, Stacy soon found and struck up a conversation with the second prettiest girl in the place, an innocent-looking young lady with the unusual name of Gwendolyn Prong. Vacationing from overseas, Gwenny, as she called herself, was quickly becoming bored with the Halloween shindig, mostly because she hadn't gotten laid in an hour and was feeling horny again. Not being one to let a simple thing like gender stand in the way of a good time, she had focused on the prettiest girl in the place — Stacy — in the hope that the spandex-clad vixen might be of the same inclination. This tête-à-tête was accomplished mostly by the use of hand gestures and heavy petting since it was all but impossible to hear each other's voices over the volume of the music. Arms wrapped around each other's waists, they slipped off to 'someplace quiet' as Stacy tried to tell her.

An instant later, Gwenny felt an odd twist in her stomach and a moment's disorientation before they both stepped into a large cool shadowy space, stark contrast to the noisy crowded Duffy McGuff's saloon.

"Good God," gasped the surprised British beauty. "Where are we?..."

"A quiet place I know, like I told you," mumbled Stacy, who was concentrating on finding the end of the mostly transparent bandage that Gwenny had wrapped herself in for her costume as 'The Mummy'. They had appeared in the middle of a display diorama of a sleep room set that featured a pillow-strewn, down-comfortered bed and had promptly plopped themselves on it, kissing passionately as their hands got busy.

"You... don't... say.." said Gwen between caresses. "Is this a merchandiser's? Ooh my, that saves us some bother..." she exclaimed when Stacy, tired of unwrapping her prize, snapped her fingers and the bandages vanished completely along with her own spandex catsuit. "MMmmmm, that's perfectly splendid!" she exclaimed upon feeling the first licks of Stacy's tongue. For the next several minutes neither of them said very much at all beyond their moans of ecstasy and the cries of passion when they reached their climaxes, either singly or together. Gradually their lovemaking subsided, more from exhaustion than any lack of desire to continue. Silence seemed wonderful in the warm afterglow.

Laying on her back, looking up into the arched ceiling of the enormous department store, Gwendolyn thought it almost seemed like they were outside under the stars but instead there were constellations of early christmas ornaments decorating the display floor and hung high above. "That was... delicious..." she said at last. "I wish I could stay here forever with you, dear."

"Yeah, it was a blast," Stacy agreed. "What was that you said about staying around?"

"Oh, it's but a silly thing, really, but I do love it here in this place; the quiet and stillness. I wish the feeling would never end."

"You know, Gwenny, I think that's a wish I can grant you," Stacy replied with a devilish grin. Before the other woman could say anything to spoil the request, Stacy snapped her fingers again.

The British beauty felt the baffling erotic stirrings of another orgasm starting as a warmth, then building quickly, growing stronger and more concentrated in her sex with every second. She sighed in infinite pleasure, a whimper of "Ahhhnnnnh" escaping her lips as she stretched convulsively, holding her arms out and her legs straightening. Then a very odd thing happened. She seemed to stiffen and freeze into position instantly, held rigid in a climactic moment that could last forever.

"So how does it feel now?" Stacy asked with a knowing smirk.

Gwendolyn didn't say anything more, because she could not move or speak. In the time following that finger-snap, her body had changed into a hollow fiberglass display figure, her eyes becoming colored glass orbs that vacantly gazed upwards. Only her thoughts expressed her surprise, fear, and outrage at the transformation: Bloody hell, you should have let me finish!

"Think of it this way, girl; now you've got something to remember me by, always..." Stacy replied to the unspoken words. Reaching down to the immobilized figure, she began to wrap her arms around Gwen's plasticized torso when she brushed a hand against the girl's breasts, mounds of once pillowy flesh that were now solid and unyielding with nipples that had smoothed into barely noticeable peaks. "Hmm, you're still quite a handful," she quipped as she ran her fingers over them. before starting to caress Gwen's frozen curves. Stacy's breathing quickened as she was beginning to get aroused by fondling a mannequin, feeling how perfect the swell of the stiffened butt blended into the back and the precise detailing of the labia. Stacy's hand strayed to her own crotch, stroking and fingering herself to increase her own pleasure. Too bad your hadn't stuck your tongue out at me before you turned to plastic... she thought, then her eyes caught sight of Gwen's outstretched fingers, which if she moved up and down at just the right location provided exactly the right stimulation in exactly the right places.

"oooOHHHHHhhhhhhh!" she screamed again, loud enough to ring an echo throughout the vast hall.

Resting for a brief time afterward, Stacy's conscious mind finally pushed its way back into her thoughts, dislodging her erotic kinky urges and satiated bliss with the boring realization that time was passing and she needed another volunteer to avoid joining her recent lover in motionless oblivion. "Right, then, better get going," she said to herself. Seconds later, the devil costume reappeared on her svelte figure, if anything tighter and shinier than before. Stepping up on tip-toe she felt her boots materialize under and around her feet. Hmm, a little sorcery sure saves time fumbling with zippers... she smiled with bravado.

Stacy lifted the much lighter body of the new mannequin upright, avoiding being distracted this time, placing Gwenny onto the square chrome rod of a display stand that was placed conveniently close to the diorama as if by magic. Somehow, the mannequin's feet had frozen at just the proper angle for wearing high-heeled shoes as a standing figure. Likewise, her hands ended up being posed in a graceful way to complement her display stance. Gwenny looked no worse for wear, even if her fingers were damp and her blonde wig more than a little mussed.

"Later on, I'll introduce you to my boss, and your new boss, Mr. Damon. He's going to love you," she said to the motionless British lass, planting one last kiss on her hard plastic lips. "But for now, as you UK folks say, cheerio!"

With that, Stacy waved her hand in a circle above her own head and vanished in a cloud of magical sprites, a move she had seen once in an old TV show. In no time at all, she had returned to the crush of dancers at the bar, savoring her conquest, letting the music move her, knowing that this experience too could not go on much longer. There was much more to accomplish before mid-night.

"Excuse, me, fellahs, but where can a lady find a really fancy Halloween Ball in this town?" she queried, moving among the throng at McGuff's so they could get a good look at her and maybe cop a feel or two. Stacy was loving the attention she was attracting tonight, and maybe starting to yearn for it, just a little. It only took her a few minutes to find her next location.


The party in the penthouse at the Mason's tower is where she decided to be, thinking that beautiful vain people - like Gwenny had been - would be good candidates for wanting to stay that way. Stacy appeared on the sidewalk a block or so before the guarded entrance, more sure of herself and not caring who saw her materialize; this time, there was no one near. Of course there was a queue of people waiting to gain admittance; she swept past them to the front of the line with bold steps, batted her long eyelashes at the bouncer guarding the door and was allowed behind the velvet rope with no hesitation at all. Prancing through the ornately decorated lobby toward the elevator bay, she showed them what the slinky backside of a true VIP looked like.

Stacy was alone, riding up to the sky in the glass walled elevator. It reflected her luscious figure like the tri-mirror alcove in a dressing room would, showing her side and front views all at once. Holy shit, she realized, the whole damn elevator is glass— what's holding it up? She didn't have to worry long; with a gravity-cancelling deceleration, the elevator stopped at the top and the door seemed to vanish. Outside in the penthouse garden was a fairyland.

It was almost a different world, plush yet understated in elegance, compared to the scene at the bar she had just abandoned. The courtyard was an atrium; open to the heavens in the center with sculpted trees and shrubbery bordering a polished dance floor that seemed about the size of a basketball court. There were probably more guests here, too, but the space still looked almost empty. Light classical music, a waltz maybe, was being created by a live quartet costumed and made up as convincing zombies. So good was the effect that Stacy didn't notice for some time the cellist seemed to be missing a leg...

Two hunky doormen (What do they do when there's no doors to open? she mused) in harlequin livery flanked the entryway; they smiled at her politely but she didn't sense them ogling her as she passed. Seems like some things haven't changed, she smiled, as they appeared more interested in each other.

I'm still the prettiest girl in the room, Stacy thought, but by a narrower marginthe bar had just been raised considerably. Guests milled about, flutes of champagne in hand, all looking at least appealing and more than a few outright dazzling or unbelievably handsome. There had to have been several fortunes spent on plastic surgery, she guessed, thinking at least my makeover was free, and painless! Everyone seemed to be in Halloween costumes, too, unlike previously where most of the revelers had made a half-hearted effort at best. Here the masquerades were perfect, though she didn't recognize half the characters represented.

There were the expected Marilyns and Elvises, most sporting some sort of faked ghastly injuries, but one tarty young lady obviously impersonating a pop star (complete with headset mike and navel jewel) wasn't anyone Stacy recognized. Traditional horror figures were well represented too, with Draculas (of both genders) and Frankensteins (or brides of) in abundance with the occasional Mummy, Werewolf, or Kong standing out. Females seemed to favor Elvira or Djinni, with a few Lizzy Bordens and Lucretia Borgias for the more literary minded. A few stood out enough to catch even Stacy's jaded eye: A lissome lass in a bodystocking (?) and flowing blonde wig that had to be Lady Godiva despite the jewels she wore. Two carbon-copy (twins, or... clones?) bimbos in matching Playboy Bunny costumes made her wonder where the sugar daddy dressed up as Hef was. Approaching now was a well-shaped redhead in lacy lingerie, high heels, and a long strand of pearls that Stacy took to be a supermodel until her heavy body, face, and eye makeup (and the price tags clipped to the lady's garments) led her to recognize Wow! This one's come as a mannequin; not a bad paint job either... and I should know!

Figuring that someone who liked to (un)dress up as a display dummy might be inclined to try it more permanently, Stacy came up and complemented her. It turned out she was a model and actually had done some freeze-fashion posing in the past; that's what gave Zini the idea for her unique costume. She talked and talked, describing her adventures on photo shoots in Fiji and Cozumel, pausing only to sip more bubbly and gossip to Stacy in great detail about the sexual preferences, skills, kinks, and her preferred lovemaking technique with almost every guest at the party. As quickly became clear, Zini was a high-ticket call girl (or, as she referred to herself, 'intimate escort') who was sizing up her own possibilities for the rest of the evening.

"You see that Pirate over there in the poufy shirt and red party hat, Stace?" she was rattling on, pointing out one of the less undesirable older men at the party, "He made his main bundle in — get this, uninet gambling futures — and likes to have his balls in..."

"Oh, Shut Up, Zini", Stacy thought to herself. The statuesque redhead immediately went quiet. Hmm, did I do that? Stacy pondered for a second; it didn't seem like a coincidence. "Cat got your tongue, Zini?" she said out loud.

"No, uh, just resting." Those were the fewest words she'd said at one time all night. Sipping her drink, Zini seemed reflective.

"Say, you know, that mannequin modeling you did before? Would you like to try it for a longer period?" Like, forever? You have the right looks and could pick up some easy extra cash. I can help you out; I know some tricks... Yeah, the ones I showed Gwenny, Stacy said and projected the thought "You should really say 'yes'; tell me you want to more than anything..."

"I don't think so," Zini replied assertively. "Just between you and me, I'll probably score thirty thousand credits tonight, more if I can talk one of those jokers at the door to do a triad with me and good old Daddy Warbucks over there." Sure enough, there was a mature man costumed as the legendary cartoon tycoon character leaning on a table, casually chatting up one of the Bunnies. "I don't think...."

"Yes, that's right, Zini, you don't think right now", Stacy commanded, more strongly than before, and the model's mind went totally blank; she couldn't remember the next thing she was going to say. "Now, step over here by the corner", Stacy ordered her as the redheaded mannequin wanna-be obeyed her every word like a living puppet. "That's right, go ahead, pose yourself like you did in the window. Excellent. Now, freeze!" The redheaded model stiffened instantly; she really looked like a plastic display figure posed there. "You're going to take some time out, Zini; you can't move or speak at all, at least until dawn's first light or I tell you otherwise. Oh, and you're having a deep, grinding, orgasm that doesn't stop..." Zini remained frozen, her breathing barely visible, not blinking hardly at all, though her green eyes did widen with pleasure. Stacy reflected that the immobilized hooker really had missed her true calling; maybe Mr. Damon could be more 'persuasive'.

Leaving the posed faux display figure in place, Stacy mingled again. She'd spent a lot of time on Zini and hadn't gotten her to say the binding words. It was all for naught, as promising as she'd seemed to start with. With practice, she'd gotten better at projecting her mind into others, to make them do things or merely to answer questions with absolute truthfulness. That way, she knew without asking whether they might agree to her strange proposition. She was rapidly running out of opportunities when she spied a flash of silvery white and a flowing gown on the other side of the suite.

At first she took the woman to be another Marilyn, but that hair was like true platinum, with enough sparkle to be a wig. She was facing away but even from the back Stacy could tell the woman had an impressive body; tall, long-necked, and regal. Her dazzling costume consisted of a corseted, silver-hued bustier that gave her an hourglass figure, spun-silver panties, and sheer, diamond-flecked hose that flattered her legs as did the silver-dusted platform heels. Her smooth skin was pale, creamy, and did not seem to have a wrinkle or blemish. The white-plumed wings resting on her shoulderblades brought the rest of her guise into clarity. An angel, yet rather more the Viveca's Secret kind than something out of the gospels. The young woman did look heavenly. Here's hoping she's equally conceited, Stacy thought, working her way over towards the mystery beauty who was attracting a throng of male admirers and a few females as well. She was within a few feet at the point the striking platinum blonde turned around. Her skin was flawless, glitter-flecked and heavenly. Her face...

Stacy gasped; momentarily speechless. It was Jackie! Her friend, the one she had double-crossed and left as a plastic dummy back at the boutique.

"Well, speak of the devil," Jackie got in the first word with a wry grin. This gave Stacy time to gather her wits.

"You're looking — angelic — tonight, I must say. And, a lot more flesh and blood than when I saw you last."

"Why should I let you steal all the fun tonight?" she answered, the sarcasm more obvious in her voice.

"Indeed. So, did Damon have a change of heart — didn't think he had a heart?" Stacy commented, trying to be glib.

"Not exactly. Let's just say a 'higher power' intervened," Jackie noted, smiling beatifically, raising her arms so the wings on her back appeared to stretch.

"You don't....?"

"I do."

"Did he...?"

"Not on your life. But, it seems the high and mighty like to do a little betting on the side. She got wind of your little 'task' from Damon, and what you did to me, then decided to even the odds a tad. She's good about that sort of thing. Fairness, you know. Or, maybe you don't know..."

"Hey, Jackie, I'm sorry. Really am, but it seemed like it was going to be you or me earlier, and..."

"You chose you," her co-worker concluded, coldly.

"Yeah." Stacy didn't say any more. Her actions had already spoken.

"At least now I gotta chance," Jackie stated, "I'm still gonna get stuck back in that window, unless..."

"...You recruit another person to take your place as a mannequin."

"Another two, actually. Same proposition as you have from Damon. We're equal."

"Maybe not; I've got one convert already," Stacy boasted, referring to Gwenny.

"Still equal. I just got my first a couple of minutes ago. Can you believe it, there was a cute girl already posing as a live mannequin over by the entryway. Probably a street performer or someone like that. When I asked her to relax, she almost fell to her knees. That lady was en-joying herself, if you take my meaning. Anyway, she practically begged me to put her in a display! How could I refuse?"

Fooey; Zini! Stacy thought. I put in all the prep work on her, Jackie poached the prize. Not fair; not fair at all.

"You never asked me if what you did to me back at the boutique was 'fair' either," Jackie replied.

"Would you please stop harping on that?" Stacy seethed, partly to mask her thought: She can read my mind!

[Sure can, Stace! We're equal in this; same powers, same goal. The only difference is: I'm good, and...]

I'm evil, Stacy's thoughts concluded, accurately. "So, it's time for you to go back on display: You're turning to a mannequin!" she commanded magically, invoking transformational powers with a snap of her fingers.

Jackie chucked. "No way! I told you, Stacy, we're on equal ground; you can't control me and I can't control you. Time out."

Suddenly it became very quiet; the music stopped along with the conversations around the two rivals. Everyone and everything else was frozen in mid-moment; the second hand on the clock was stilled and aircraft hung motionless in the sky.

"What did you just do?" Stacy gasped.

"Gave us some privacy. You mean Damon didn't show you that trick? A shame, really, it's very useful." She stepped carefully around the immobilized onlookers and casually swapped drinks, taking a full glass from the stiffened fingers of a Marilyn clone and putting her empty one back in its place. "Look, we shouldn't be fighting each other, Stacy. We both want the same thing. Let's work together and figure a way out of this situation. Please?"

"But I lied before, and hurt you; I think I am becoming evil..."

"You were just seduced, deluded, by a master; in your heart you're still my friend," she said, coming closer. "I forgive you."

"Stop being so.. so angelic!" Stacy blushed, feeling for the first time self-conscious. "I don't deserve your kindness."

"Sure you do; this is just like when I was late for class and you covered for me even though I was hanging out with your boyfriend; that's what friends do — help each other out."

Stacy blushed more deeply; it was barely noticeable against the red of her costume and hairdo. "That was different; we hadn't been captured by a dark lord, changed into display dummies, given magical powers, or been able to stop time then..."

"Yeah," Jackie agreed, taking in the frozen rooftop scene around them, their own fantastic appearance and costumes, "but that doesn't change the essence of who we are, just gives us a little bigger challenge. How about a hug?"


The two embraced closely, forming an odd pair: Angel and Demon, good and evil, white and red. They did not notice as a cloud of sparkling light enveloped them both, brightened until the two young women could not be seen, then vanished taking them with it. An instant later time started again; the frozen party scene resumed just where it had been suspended. None of the guests would later remember two attractive costumed young women who the instant before had been so unforgettable.


Stacy and Jackie reappeared in a familiar place, the boutique where their adventure had started. Continuing their embrace, they felt the presence of someone else and separated, a little embarrassed, glancing around. In front of them stood their wizened sinister boss, Mr. Damon while to either side were two mannequin-still, posed young women they recognized as Gwendolyn and Zini.

"Ladies, you appear to have failed in your assignment, or should I say, assignments?"

Stacy spoke first. "Sir, it's not midnight yet, we have more time!" she protested. Jackie nodded.

"Perhaps," he wheezed. "Perhaps not. When one alters the temporal stream, that concept — a deadline — becomes moot. All bets, as you say, are off at that point."

"That was my idea, Mr. Damon. I didn't know there would be consequences," Jackie spoke up.

"How gallant," he observed, with that hacking laugh of his. "However, that is of no matter to me. You still have failed."

"Not entirely, sir; we did bring you two new replacements," Stacy piped up, moving towards him. "Doesn't that count for something? She batted her long lashes at him, moving sensuously, not realizing that trying to seduce his kind was utterly pointless.

"That was the original understanding, Miss Dubrowski, before another..." he cast his rheumy eyes upward briefly "...meddled in the matter."

"Please, Mr. Damon, don't put me back on that pole," Jackie broke down and begged, before realizing it was useless to argue.

"I have made my decision, with some consultation, and will grant you this: Since the task is half complete, one of you will remain in my service." He stared at Jackie and Stacy, in turn. "Which one of you will that be?"

"Take me!" blurted Stacy, not thinking about what she had just committed herself to. "I was the one who lied about Jackie and double-crossed her."

"No, I should be the one. Stacy would have gotten her two volunteers if I hadn't sneaked in and ran away with Zini," Jackie divulged.

"That was my fault, though. I wasted time playing with her because I thought she was prettier than me..." Stacy added. "Besides, after all I did to Jackie, she forgave me and was willing to be friends, even now."

"Very well, Miss Dubrowski, you appear to have some honor remaining; nobody is perfect. Assume the position..."

Stacy stepped towards the clear glass plate that was about to become her prison once more. "Mr. Damon, sir? Let me pick my own pose, please?" she implored her dour boss. Before he could deny her, she moved to stand with her legs well apart, placed one arm on her hip and raised the other over her head. The stance brought out the curve of her torso and breasts. She held her head high. With a smile and the slightest of nods she indicated she was ready, then seemed to tense up as her eyes glazed into a vacant stare and her exposed skin took on the painted sheen of decorated fiberglas. Stacy had become a mannequin figure once more. This time, the support rod was almost invisible as it entered her through the sole of her high-heeled boot.

"Well played, Miss Wilson," Damon said with a grimace that might have been a smile.

"Can she hear us?" Jackie asked, looking up at her plasticized hollow rival. I can't believe she fell for it!

"She can not," Mr Damon concluded.

"Thank you so much for going along with that whole 'higher power' bit. It really sold the whole story," Jackie gushed, relieved that the ordeal was finally over. She had made the classic deal with the devil, promising three mannequins instead of two if he let her go free to try the gambit. The idea of the angel costume had been hers, as well. With a wide smile, she started for the door after one last glace back at the rigid pose and frozen features of her onetime friend that she had just deceived.

"There was nothing to 'go along' with, Miss Wilson, merely your own ignorance," Damon said with a shake of his head.

"Huh?" Jackie said, surprised, turning around and feeling herself compelled to walk back to the platform. "What... what's happening to me?" She suddenly felt the urge to lie down at the feet of the Stacy-mannequin and prop her torso up on one elbow, then flex her left leg forward to highlight her supple musculature. Her body was quickly stiffening up; it was as if.. "NOooo...!" her voice faded out as her lungs disappeared when the transformation into a display figure overcame her. In seconds she was as rigid and artificial-looking as Stacy was.

"Merely your own ignorance," the ancient Damon repeated. "Take some solace that your earlier request was granted," he said to the reclining mannequin figure that would not need a support rod, ever.

A weary mature female voice echoed in Jackie's hollow fiberglass head just before her mind vanished into a frozen timeless limbo:
    It's not nice to fool Mother Nature!...


Is that all there is? ... Let's gather 'round for A Christmas Treat!

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