I'm not sure what I was expecting from Bianca's. Perhaps a roadhouse with a flashing neon sign and some tinny music coming from a jukebox. But instead, it's a Victorian style house, three-stories high, with a turret on the right rising higher than the rest of the roof. It has white siding and fancy gingerbread cutouts around the porch. Some but not all of the windows show gentle, flickering light. The strangest thing about it is that it's siting in the middle of a swamp like it was dropped there by a magical tornado.

I catch up to Marie before she can open the door and slip in behind her. The room we enter is narrow and seems to only have a small bar in it. There are candles everywhere, but mostly around these weird shrines. They're made from tangled branches and have stones and other things tied to them.

Seriously, if I'd seen anything like that in the swamp, I would have turned around and ran the other way.

But what's really unsettling is how dark it is. My night-vision is pretty good, but I feel almost blind in here. The walls are black and bleed gloom and shadows. Even the candlelight only serves to make everything else around the wan flames darker.

The bartender yells out, "My lordy, if it isn't the sexiest swamp witch in all The Mire." The woman's voice is light and amiable. The four people standing at the bar all turn and raise their glasses. "Marie!" they cheer.

She walks up to them and takes a position at the end. I stand behind her and off to the side, hoping not to be noticed. 

"What'll it be? The usual?" The bartender asks. She's an Asian woman, tall and thin. A tattoo of demonic hannya mask marks both her forearms.

"Later. Do you know if Magnolia is here?"

The bartender shrugs. "She's about somewhere."

The man drinking from a tankard next to Marie says, "Last saw her in the Red Bar." He's burly, nearly seven feet tall, with a bushy brown beard. He's wearing a sky-blue princess dress and has a necklace with a unicorn pendant. Marie gives him a nod of thanks.

I look down the bar and take in the other patrons. After the gigantic man, there's a small dark-haired woman, shorter than even me. Her features are incredibly fine and delicate, and she stares down at her drink, making a point of minding her own business. Then there's a glamorous femme-fatale looking woman in a low-cut crimson velvet dress and a black cape or cloak. Her skin is as pale as a ghoul's. Lastly, is a face that makes me shrink back in terror. It looks like a cross between a cat and a housefly with big, bulging yellow eyes and a round mouth full of needle-like teeth. Whatever the hell it is, it's staring right at me. Or maybe it's just those freaky eyes that makes it seem so.

"Wait here for me," Marie says. "I'm going to see about a room for us."

"Who's your little friend," the man in the dress asks.

"Pierre, Sabina. Sabina, Pierre." After the quick introduction, Marie takes her leave, while the man shakes my hand. His paw entirely engulfs mine as though I'm a munchkin or he's a giant. The bartender sets a glass down in front of me and pours a lavender colored liquid into it from a foggy bottle that looks like it's been around for centuries. 

"I didn't order this," I say.

"It's a welcome drink. We're always accommodating to first-timers here at Bianca's," the bartender says. And goes of to get another drink for the weird creature at the end of the bar.

I lift the glass and give it a sniff. It's sweet and floral. While it's still at my nose, Pierre clinks his tankard against it and says, "Welcome!"

The drink doesn't burn like the wart-berry liquor. It's actually quite flavorful and tickles slightly going down. I take another sip and another, until it's empty. The glass is quickly refilled.

"What is this stuff?" I ask. 

Pierre replies, "It's called moonglow. It erases inhibitions. So, what's your story? Where did you come from?"

I'm not so sure about that inhibition thing, but damn is it ever tasty. It's really hard to stop drinking it. I answer, "I'm not sure what the place was called, but it was a graveyard. Kind of looked like New England, but obviously not. I had to cross an area filled with crypts and ghouls to get to the swamp."

Pierre gives a low whistle. "How did you get past the lake?"

"Walked."

The little woman, looks up, no longer minding her own business. "Oh, are you the girl who fucked Big Bertha?"

"Say what? no...who? What?"

The creature at the end says, "The guardian of the lake. Huge. Lots of tentacles. Her real name is something like: Berbulubahlbaruba. But who's got time for that? Everyone just calls her Big Bertha."

"When I was coming here, I had a visit with her," the small woman says. "She mentioned a cute girl who walked across the bottom of the lake and helped her get off by taking in all her tentacles. She sounded smitten."

"Wow," Pierre says. "I'm impressed. To screw Bertha like that. I mean all those tentacles. Wow!"

"That not exactly how that happened." I notice Marie is back and beside me listening attentively. "That's not what it happened. I mean, it was more like she fucked me. No, wait! What I meant to say is..."

"Either way," the glamorous woman says. "I had you pegged as some stuck-up priss. But that is some grade-A sluttery." She holds up her coupé cocktail glass and her companions bring all their glasses together for another cheers, yelling out, "To Sabina the Slut!"

If I wasn't already dead, I'd die of embarrassment. I say to Marie, "Let me explain—"

She cuts me off. "I think it's kind of sweet."

"You do?"

"Sure. Poor Bertha. Most people who go into the lake try and fight her. She's so lonely and pent up. I've often thought about helping her out, but I've never been into that whole cross-species thing. But I think it's awesome that you are." She pats my arm.

I don't know how to respond to this. What are all these people thinking of me?

To do something and to ease the sudden dryness of my throat, I down the rest of the moonglow.

And do you know what? Who cares what they think of me. That tentacle sex felt great. I silently add to their toast, "To me!" and slam the glass back down on the bar.

I'm planning on ordering another, but Marie says, "Why don't you go to the room and freshen up. Third floor, second on the left. When you're done, meet me in the Red Bar."

She directs me to the stairs, so hidden by the deep shadows, I hadn't noticed them before. There's an uncommon strut in my walk as I head away from my new friends.

---

---

The door has a wooden tag on it that says, "Occupied." As does the others on the floor. I knock before entering, but there's no one inside and Marie's rucksack is on the bed, letting me know I'm in the right place. The single candle isn't very bright, so I use the light spell Marie taught me and make my hand glow. The room's small and is mostly taken up by a four-poster bed. There's no bath or shower, but there is a washstand with a basin and a large mirror. 

I peer into it and see my new face for the first time. It's smeared with mud and sweat, but it's true: I am cute. Anxious to see it more clearly, I wash up. I take off all my rings to get to the grime that's gotten underneath the metal. It's the first time my fingers have been free of them, and I luxuriate in the feeling of flexing and unflexing my slender feminine fingers. Plunging them into the cool water is heavenly. 

When they're clean, I scrub my face and use the fix-it spell to straighten out my hair. Next, I really need to address my nasty bits, the parts that feel sticky and gritty from traveling. Namely my pits, groin, and under my breasts. I disrobe and give them as well as the rest of me a good wipe-down with a washcloth.

I lean into the mirror pressing my breasts together creating deep cleavage and stare at myself. With a pert nose, wide gray eyes, round cherubic face, I'm not just cute but beautiful. I run my tongue along my lips seductively and draw a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

Hell, if I saw this girl in a bar, I wouldn't be able to resist her.

I stand back with my hands on my hips admiring my form. It's nice being naked like this, and I can't help caressing my smooth skin. I began feeling warm and tingly. Did my old body hum to the touch like this? 

I stroke my silky thighs and tease myself by reaching around to my ass rather than continuing up to my delta. Two handfuls of tush fill my grasp, and I clutch them hard, gasping at the sensation of the full and total groping. Why the fuck haven't I been playing with my ass the whole time? It's amazing. I spanked myself. A shiver shoots through me and settles in my pussy, which grows hot and hungry.

Yes, I was right: it is amazing.

My roaming hands move up and cup my breast. Another part I should have been giving a lot more attention than I have been. I run a finger over each areola and moisture escapes my nether lips sending a burning dew drop down my thigh.

A lingering squeeze of my nipples and I'm stumbling backward to the bed. As soon as my amazing ass hits the mattress, I scoot up onto it spreading my legs. Foreplay is over. Both my hands move by muscle memory or perhaps divine inspiration to service my pussy. The right, digs at the slit with two fingers and plunges in up past the knuckles. My left, massages my clit.

My voice echoes off the walls and it sounds like someone else, all husky and needy. It says, "Yes. Yes. Deeper. Deeper!" It's as if some little slut is getting vigorously fucked in the next room. It only makes me want it more.

I'm rubbing at my nub fast a furiously as though it is the most important thing I've ever done in my life or my afterlife. All four of my fingers are inside of me now, and the only thing keeping my pussy from taking the entire hand is the thumb that slams against the tender skin of my groin. My whole existence is this moment.

"Fuck me. Fuck me!" The bitch next-door moans. Part of me knows it's me, but it's somehow easier thinking this woman who has given into her most wanton, base desires is someone else.

But, oh God, yes, I love fucking myself!

When I'm not squealing and grunting, all that can be heard is the squelch of my fingers driving into me and the slap of my palm on my inner thigh.

My orgasmic hits, and my back arcs off the bed as though I've just been electrocuted. A gushing squirt fountains out of me soaking the bedspread and the floor. If anyone was trying to sleep, my scream has surely woken them. Dazed with pleasure, I bring my hand to my mouth and lick my juices off.

"Yes, I am yummy," I say, remembering what Marie had told me. When I'm clean, I go back and gather more. I suck on two fingers and enjoy the sensation on my lips as I run them in and out of my mouth. I start to contemplate going for round two, when I remember Marie is waiting for me.

My actual thought is something like: I need Marie here, now. It will be a lot more fun with someone else. Although, from what I just experienced that seems like an impossibility.

I almost head out into the hall stark naked, my crotch still glistening with love juice, when it strikes me that I'm missing something.

Of course, my rings!

I put them on a little surprised that I remember which ones go one what fingers. As a finishing touch, I get my necklace and make sure the red stone is sitting right between my breasts. It's symmetrical with my nipples, which I think is a pleasant coincidence that elevates the fashion choice.

I'm ready to go out again, when a small, struggling part of my brain gives me a mental slap. My body goes cold and my arms involuntary wrap around my chest. Suddenly, I remember my clothes and how much shame I'd feel going out in public naked. 

---

---

Dressed now, except for the thigh-highs which are still too hot to wear, I go in search of Marie. After a bit of asking about, someone tells me the Red Bar is on the second floor, near the back of the building. They also compliment me on my "singing." Which brings a flush of deep pink to my face.

The Red Bar obviously gets it's name from the paint choice. Unlike the first room, the candles here reflect off the brightly colored walls making them gleam like wet, raw meat. It gives me the rather uncomfortable sensation that I'm stepping into a living body. I rush up to Marie. The words I have ready are: "We have to go back to the room and fuck. It's urgent." But now that I'm here, they seem strange, and I'm mortified to say them aloud.

When Marie sees me standing there dumb, she introduces me to a big woman, buxom with dishwater blond hair and an eye patch. It's her friend, Magnolia. She sizes me up like a predator wondering if she could eat me in one bite or if it would take two.

Marie says, "Magnolia's heard of your Dusty Road."

"Know how you can find it too," the big woman says in a voice that suggest a carton-a-day cigarette habit. 

"How?" I ask.

She gives a gruff laugh. "It ain't that easy. Nothing is free, sweetheart. If you want me to spill my secrets, you'll have to participate in the little game of poker I'm putting together."

"But I don't have anything?" Was there even money in the Underworld? I hadn't seen any.

"Oh, you have plenty for our game," Magnolia says appraising me again.

Marie whispers in my ear, "Don't worry. It's just a game of strip-poker."