[ENF] Fixer (Story with pictures)

[FLP00]

St. Petersburg, Russia. Autumn of 2022



Natalya loved attention.


Not that she couldn't get it; tall, brown eyed and pretty, with a figure that had turned heads since gymnasium, Natalya was the sort of woman who could have walked into any bar in town without getting carded as long as she didn't go too crazy on the alcohol. And that was good; she liked to be noticed, especially by guys. Her regular use of tight leather skirts was an excellent way to show off her toned legs, curvaceous hips and ample yet shapely ass. She preferred wearing her brown straight hair down, so that it fell down to her upper back in a soft and shinny cascade.


Natalya worked as at a high-end clothing boutique on, where her job consisted mostly of trying to sell expensive clothes to people who already had everything they needed in life. But she enjoyed the work for its own sake; it ensured that she got plenty of attention from male customers, mostly good. The good kind made her feel like a sexy goddess, alluring and desirable. It was fun to tease men; Natalya found it easy to flirt with them, and most were happy to give her what she wanted. Some of the bolder ones even tried to get her to come home with them; Natalya always politely declined, not wanting to mess up her reputation at work.


Outside work, things were a little different though. Attention was still welcome, but only from certain men. The good-looking ones were preferred, followed closely by those who had money. At 28 she could take care of herself, and did, but it was nice to have someone else do some of the heavy lifting. And of course, attention from good-looking men with money meant the most for her. Too bad these types of men were so hard to find. Natalya had dated a couple of them before, but none of them ever lasted more than half a year; these guys usually had no incentive to settle down and of course they never did. As for the less attractive men, not only Natalya wasn't interested in them, but she also felt she was above them. They weren't worth her time, and as the sexy diva she thought of herself as, she felt entitled to being openly rude and disrespectful towards them. After all, she had the looks, the money, the status, and the power. She was superior to them, especially if besides ugly they also happened to be poor. That was life; some are meant to be rich while others are destined to live in poverty. Ones are on top, others below.


No less than a a dozen of ugly or poor men (or a mix of both) had politely approached Natalya in cafes, bars or even at the supermarket only to be rejected so callously that ended up walking away with their heads hanging low, fighting their tears and wondering why they even bothered. Natalya enjoyed humiliating such men and shattering their often already low self-esteem. She'd keep these instances as a laughing matter with friends later, making sure to tell them how much she enjoyed embarrassing these pathetic losers. In some rare moments she caught herself feeling a sliver of guilt for this treatment, but then she would remind herself that she was just doing her part to help society. If these men wanted a girlfriend, they could always find themselves broke and ugly desperate girls at anime conventions or whatever nerdy crap these walking human failures liked. If anything, Natalya was making them a favor. The sooner they learned to accept reality and stay in their lane, the better for them.

***

That evening Natalya left work at 5pm sharp. Her home was at a just a twenty minute walk from the store, and except for winters she often left her silver gray BMW at her residential parking spot in favor of the exercise. It was a neat way to keep fit, and with the added bonus of saving money. That late September day wasn't particularly sunny, but the cloudy sky offered enough light to make it pleasant. And the air wasn't cold at all, which invited to walk and enjoy the freshness of the crisp autumn evening. Natalya chose to take a detour from her usual route, heading instead to a city park where she'd often gone to relax and unwind after a hard day's work. A walk around the lake there would be a perfect way to end the day.


And Natalya, walking with her head high and proud in her elegant white shirt, black leather pencil skirt, with her stockings-encased legs running in black leather boots with high heels and her expensive black leather handbag dangling from her shoulder, certainly attracted attention. There in the park she could feast herself in the attention of men, many of whom looked at her with lust. She was tall, slim but curvy and with a blue-eyed visage that made her look like the angel she wasn't. Most of the men who saw her couldn't help but stare, and she took full advantage of their stares. As for the ones that didn't? They must be blind, or gay.


"Hey!"


A red head man that looked in his early thirties sitting on a bench greeted her. Natalya knew, at first glance, that she wasn't going to like him. He was kind of handsome, and had a decent smile but he was scruffy looking. His beard looked unkempt, his unruly hair screamed for a haircut, and his clothes were too big for his body. With his black hoodie and his faded jeans ripped at the knees, Natalya bet that he was one of these progressive, anti-government types that hated everything about social hyerarchies and was against the war. Or maybe a drug addict. Probably both. At least he wasn't smelly.


Natalya decided not to ignore him. Delivering some humiliation would be fun. Great way to cap off a great day.


"Excuse me", she began. "Do I look like I can be addressed to with jusy 'hey'?"


The guy was surprised by her tone and demeanor, per the raise of his eyebrows. But he didn't seem really fazed. If anything, he seemed amused. He smiled again, and said:


"I'm sorry, perhaps her Royal Highness requires a more exquisite and refined form of address?"


"Oh, so you're a funny guy", Natalya replied with a sarcastic grin. "You know what? Actually, I think I should. Because by standing next to me you're making me look like an English princess vacationing in Monaco". She smiled sardonically and continued. "Yes, the bar is that low, peasant".


He briefly chuckled out loud, and Natalya found herself feeling... challenged. He was cool, calm and collected. Maybe more than she thought.


"Well, if you insist..." he started, "I just wanted to get to know you, but now that you've provided me with a decidedly conspicuous display of aristocratic superiority, perhaps I should retract myself from my preliminary invitation for a donkey ride around the lake. Your Royal Highness is indubitably deserving of someting on par with your exquisite cultivation, however it's with great dismay and deference that I'm apprising you of the lack of a suitable equine selection. May I instead suggest a modest but invigorating perambulation within the boundaries of these bucolic commons, where we may enjoy the serenity of nature without any further interruptions from the plebian rabble? If you agree, I'll gladly provide you with a gratifying exposition apropos of some of the finer points of our local flora and fauna."


The guy gestured every concept with such eloquence that he wouldn't have looked out of place among playwrights. Who knows, he could very well be one. These artsy types with a flair for words tended to hate social structures and have a difficult relationship with showers or soaps.


Great, a smart-aleck buffoon with a penchant for flowery language. Natalya began feeling frustrated with his smile, so unashamedly arrogant and sarcastic, as if he was trying to show how clever he was. The guy was clearly mocking her, and she couldn't stand it. He, an unmistakable loser, was refusing to accept her social superiority. And he was doing this in front of all the people that passed by! How dare he?!


"Alright, cut that crap", she told him. "If you want to talk like that, then you'd better back it up with some style." Natalya's scanned his wardrobe with evident disapproval, from his worn out sneakers to his cheap hoodie and passing by his frayed jeans. "And those clothes are not gonna do it. You need to dress like a real man, not a pimp. Or maybe you're a pimp? Either way, if you had at least a bit of brains and taste you'd realize that we proper Russians look at you like you're a piece of manure."


That packed some punch... and missed. The redheaded young man raised his eyebrows again while his eyes gazed at his left and lips protuded outwards. If you say so, Miss...


Natalya's gaze was firmly fixed on his eyes, trying her best to command submission from them. She felt it was a bit unladylike, but she knew that there was no other way. It was time to show him who was boss.


"Listen, you pompous bum", she said, "I don't care if you secretly are a prince on a junkie costume. What were you thinking when you addressed me like that? Do you even think you deserve that I even look in your general direction?"


"Well, to be honest, I have to confess I didn't expect you to take me seriously", the guy answered. "But now that you've mentioned it, I guess you're right. Through our conversation I'm finding that I had a set of expectations about you that unfortunately turned out to be quite erroneous. I apologize for being presumptuous."


Did that perpetually smiling clown just insult her? Natalya was caught of guard; that statement was so ambiguous... Or wasn't it? Why did he sound apologetic? Was he actually apologizing or was he just delivering a witty jab at her? He was so confident in his nonsense, so brazenly unapologetic and unrepentant about his refusal to let Natalya's higher status go unchallenged, yet at the same time so collected and composed. This guy was getting under her skin effortlessly, and Natalya hated it. She hated herself for having been drawn into this.


Some of Natalya's latest thoughts must have reflected in her expression because the guy suddenly broke into laughter. He had caught her off-guard and he was clearly enjoying the score. His relaxed attitude however did not break his composure; this wasn't his first rodeo. How many other respectable people had had their minds played with by him before? And here she was, falling for it.


"Look, you moron", she said. "You might have a sense of humor and a way with words. I give you that. But I'm not some punk chick, and I'm certainly not impressed by your lame attempts at flirting. A real man wouldn't have even dared to look at me before getting his life together. Which includes dressing like a real man, having a real man's job, and most importantly, knowing your place in society. You're nothing more than a pathetic loser, and you should know that. You're not a real man, you're just some dumbass kid delusions of grandeur!"


The guy's demeanor remained unchanged as he listened to what she had to say. Doesn't he have an ego anywhere?


He seemed to find her rant amusing, and nothing of what Natalya said seemed to affect him in any way. It was clear that she was wasting her time. No, HE was wasting HER time. She could have left and ignored him ages ago but no, she had to have a go at breaking his spirit and that's why she'd been standing in front of that bum in the bench for quite a while.


The guy laid back in the bench, his back resting on the wooden frame. He placed his hand with their interlaced fingers on the back of his head. Cool as a cucumber. "If you don't mind, I feel compelled to ask you what led you to believe I don't have a respectable job or a proper social position".


Natalya was taken aback by the sudden change in subject. Plus, was it her, or the air around them had begun to feel like electrically charged? The guy was still sitting up straight, his face completely devoid of any stress except for that smile, so it must have been her for sure...


But she wasn't feeling that confident anymore. She had started to doubt herself, and her doubts were growing stronger. She knew that somewhere in their conversation he probably had been wrong, but she couldn't shake the feeling that this bum was getting the best of her. And he must have known that she was losing her cool. Natalya was starting to think that maybe she had misjudged him. Maybe he wasn't such a loser after all. Or if he was a loser, then he was a damn smart one.


The air feels weird, like it was about to zap them in the face. She began to fear they were going to be struck by a lightning.


"What job could you possibly have other than begging or drug dealing?" Natalya asked with a sardonic smile. "I mean, assuming you no longer live with your parents. Which I hate to say, it's doubtful. So unless you've somehow managed to climb up the social ladder in spite of looking like a homeless bum, if I were you, I'd refrain from trying to boast about any accomplishments you think you may have."


It had sounded great in her mind, but now that she had actually spoken it out loud, Natalya realized that it fell short, very short. Natalia felt uncomfortable. Trying to beat this guy at mind games felt like playing a tennis match against a brick wall and expecting to win. He didn't seem to care, nothing stuck to him, and she was beginning to lose confidence. Natalya was feeling unsure of herself. Weak, in fact.


The man placed one his hands in front of him and seemed to observe it thoughtfully. "Oh, I do have them", he said. "I am a... well, let's call it someone that make things happen. I see the need for certain things in this world and" he snapped his fingers, and Natalya's eyes opened wide when a purple spark flared up from them. "I fill those needs. That's how I make a living. I can't tell you much about myself because I prefer to keep it secret, but I assure you that I'm not a bum." He chuckled subtely. "Or at least not an unresourceful bum."


The electric current running through the air was getting stronger. It was almost palpable. The man was smiling again. He was enjoying himself. He was winning. And had his fingers really produced a spark? A purple spark?


Natalya looked away, unable to look at him anymore. Her eyes wandered over the benches, the people walking by, the trees, the sky, anything else but the guy in front of her. She was beginning to wish she hadn't spoken to him at all. But at the same time she couldn't stop herself from trying to get the last word in.


"You're lying, aren't you?" Natalya asked. "You are a bum. You probably don't even know where your next meal is coming from. Your clothes are dirty, your hair is greasy. Are you trying to tell me that despite having a proper job you still haven't bothered to take care of your appearance?" She smirked, but it felt forced. "I bet you haven't changed your underpants in weeks either. Is your job so important that you don't even have time to take a quick shower?"


She was hoping that would hit home. If only she could see some emotion in his face. His face was blank, like a mask.


"Well, I do have a job", the man replied calmly. "And I do shower regularly. And I do change my underwear. And I do eat properly. And I do have friends who I hang out with. And I do have a family. And I do have a place to sleep. And I do have a car. Is there anything else you want to know? Because I can answer all these questions for you."


Natalya was shocked. She couldn't believe he had answered her question without hesitation. Was this guy a mind reader? It felt like he was always one step ahead of her.


And that pissed Natalya off, which seemed to be exactly what he wanted.


"And about 'making things happen', what sort of crap is that?" she asked. "How does that work? Do you just go around making up stuff? Like, hey, I made something happen today, I made a sandwich."


"No, no", the man replied. "I work for, uh, very high entities. I won't get into details, but I can assure you that my job is..."


"'High entities'. You mean stoners. Just as I thought!" Natalya interrupted him, which laughing. She thought she had scored a point, but then she saw his face, and she knew she had been wrong. The man lifted his hand and showed her the palm in disapproval about the interruption. Natalya noticed the purple sparks again, this time hopping between his fingers. She felt a shiver run down her spine.


"Don't interrupt me again, miss", he said. "If you want to talk, wait until I finish speaking. As I was saying, my work belongs to very high entities. They give me missions and a target, and I deliver. That's all there is to it. I can't reveal more than that, but if you want to get a clue you can think of me as a kind of... errr... I guess you'd say a fixer. The world is full of things that need fixing, and that's where I come in. I make sure that things get fixed, for those that deserve it". He smiled; "For better or worse".


His smile was unsettling. It was too big, too bright, too... non-human? Natalya didn't trust it. She wasn't ready to believe in something like that but, at the same time, something inside her was telling her to walk away now. Something was telling her that she shouldn't speak to this guy anymore. And that he had, in a way, found a target in her.


Natalya shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She needed to project confidence, as hard as it has become.


"And who has earned a fix today?" she asked sarcastically. But after a couple of seconds in silence she couldn't help but raise the question that had been bothering her since he started talking about deserving a fix. "Me?"


Her voice had cracked. She tried to cover it up by coughing. But the man clearly didn't buy it. Instead, he nodded slowly, without taking his eyes off her. And he was still smiling. Natalya had butterflies in her stomach, not exactly in a romantic way, but certainly in a worrying way. She was starting to panic, and she knew that unless she left right now she might end up freaking out in front of the many witnesses at the park.


"Yeah, you", the man said. "You've definitely earned a fix today. A fix that has been due for a while".


This is it, Natalya thought. Go leave now, forget about your ego and get away from this creep. Don't let him mess with you any further.


But before walking away, she decided to stand her ground, to say the last word. To show this guy how superior to him she really was.


"Well, then, fix yourself a blowup doll, because that's all you're going to get with that attitude", she said.


The man's smile didn't fade at all. Unfazed, he pointed his finger at Natalya. A purple spark appeared on its tip, and a second later a purple lightning shot towards her and landed on her stomach.


Natalya jolted back, startled. She looked down at herself, expecting to see some sort of mark on her shirt or the top of her skirt. Nothing had happened to any of these though. She had felt nothing. Not even a tingle. Natalya raised her gaze back to the man, confused. He gave her a wink, with that sardonic smile still on his face.


"You..." she began, but fear took over. Natalya turned around and walked away briskly, heading straight for the park's exit. She heard the man chuckle behind her. She didn't look back.

***

Natalya slowed down after a minute. Her heart was beating fast, and her hands were shaking. She was breathing heavily, but she could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

What the hell was that?


A few minutes ago she would have laughed at the idea of a man being able to zap people with electricity, but now that she had experienced it firsthand, she understood why people believed in such things. Even if it hadn't hurt, it had scared the shit out of her. What if he had done something else instead, like burned her skin, or made her intestines play tug-of-war with each other?


It was stupid of her to think about such things, but Natalya couldn't help it. She had looked many times down to check her stomach, and nothing had changed. She wanted to believe that he had meant to scare her -congratulations, Mr. Creep, you sure made your mark!- but something in the back of her mind whispered to her that it hadn't been a warning. He had done something to her, even though she had felt nothing. That was enough reason to be afraid. She didn't know what it was, nor when it would happen, and that was the worst. It was impossible to prepare for an event that you didn't understand.


Natalya caught herself walking fast again.


She felt embarrassed, hurt in her pride. He was gone, yet he still had that effect on her! How pathetic was that?


Natalya forced herself to slow down and take deep breaths. She needed to calm down, and soon. Otherwise, next time another lazy bum might decide to pick a fight with her, thinking that he could intimidate her. And she couldn't afford to lose her cool, especially not here, where there were so many witnesses.


Natalya noticed she was walking fast again. To her surprise and horror, she found herself unable to slow down. It was like someone had put a leash around her waist, forcing her to walk at a constant pace. No matter how much she tried to resist, she couldn't stop moving forward.


She suddenly managed to stop. That was weird, she thought. It was like some force pushed her forward. Like gravity. But that wasn't possible. There was nothing that could explain such thing. In all her life, she had never seen...


Her thoughts were cut short as she noticed she was walking again, against her will.


"No!", she muttered. "Stop!"


Natalya tried to stop herseld, but the mysterious force only grew stronger. Her struggle only resulted in a noticeably weird gait that to her horror had begun to attract the attention of passersby. It wasn't the kind of attention Natalya liked to get. People kept looking at her, their eyes wide open in shock. Some of them pointed at her, others just stared. They were probably wondering what was wrong with her.


Natalya kept trying to control her body in vain. She only managed to make herself look weirder in front of everyone. Most onlookers would've described her walking as that of someone who has been forced to catwalk against their will while drunk. What the hell was happening? She didn't want to walk like that, so why were her legs doing it anyway?


Suddenly she came to a stop again. It seemed that whatever force was controlling her was losing interest. But then she felt a sudden pressure in her tummy and before she knew Natalya was waling backwards, with her butt sticking out. It was a truly bizarre sight. And ridiculous too. She began hearing the first snickering sounds from the crowd. The hot feeling in her cheeks was getting worse by the second.


"What the..." she started, but no words came out while she tried to stop herself from doing these weird movements. She was failing miserably, however, and soon she was walking sideways while swinging her hips like a stripper.


More and more people gathered noticed Natalya, watching her in awe and disbelief. And amusement too. Her handbag was bouncing up and down all around her, and Natalya was frantically trying to grab it without succeess. She noticed that a trio of teenage boys with skateboards had already begun recording her strange performance on their phones.


She placed her hands on her hips and pressed inwards in an attempt to contain her seemingly possessed hips. It was a futile effort, but it gave her a clue of what was going on. Natalya noticed the leather of her skirt seemed to twitch and move on its own accord under her fingers. She then came to a frightening realization; her skirt was alive!


The crowd had grown larger than ever. Now they were laughing at her, making rude comments and pointing at her. She heard a couple of people say something about her being a bait for a hidden camera show. By now Natalya was moving forward with her back arched backwards, like trying to sneak under a limbo bar only her could see. For a brief moment she seriously considered yelling for help, but she didn't. Natalya's ego was already bruised enough.


The skirt became inert again, and Natalya retrieved control over her body. She looked around, and saw that some people had stopped staring at her, but many still did. She noticed one woman with a disapproving frown. She was probably judging her, thinking she was a freak or something. A family of four was standing nearby, and the mother was giving her daughter a lecture on how not to behave in public while pointing her finger at Natalya. Embarrassement was crushing her.


And then it happened again.


Natalya was walking forward, when suddenly she found herself walking backwards again. Her hips moved on the pencil skirt's own accord, and she was walking sideways with her ass sticking out. Natalya began to feel she was at sleeping at home and having a nightmare. A long and vivid one! The skirt pushed her towards an old gentleman sitting on a bench. He was staring at her with his mouth open.


Natalya was panicking again. She was again the center of attention, and this time she it was worse. She ended up shaking her butt in front of the astonished man, who if he would've welcome a booty dance he certainly didn't feel comfortable being honored with one in public.


"This is not what it seems, sir!" Natalya shouted, trying to explain herself. "I don't know what's happening to me, but please believe me!"


The old man didn't reply. It's not like he would have been able to anyway, because at that point the skirt had shoved Natalya's large buttocks against the man's face. Bursts of laughter and wolf-whistles filled the park. Natalya couldn't take her butt away from the old man no matter how hard she tried to get her legs moving. All she could do was to cover her burning-red face with her hands and hope whatever was granting her skirt volition would get bored of playing with her.


After a few seconds the skirt finally lost interest in her improvised facial lapdance and let her go. Natalya walked away, embarrassed beyond belief, while the crowd continued to laugh. This time her quick pace was her own. She walked for three minutes in which the skirt behaved like a normal skirt, thank God. Her face was still beetroot red, but she was beginning to calm down. Her mind was racing. How many people had recorded her embarrassing display? Would the video be uploaded on YouTube and go viral within hours? Would she become into a meme? If so, how long until she was the subject of a sketch on live TV? Or a blooper reel? How long until her unwelcome fame was gone, and she was just another woman living in St. Petersburg?


"I've never been so humiliated in my life," she said quietly. "It can't get any worse. It just can't."


Later that evening at home Natalia would dearly regret saying that. A s soon as she said these words, the skirt seemed to decide to prove her wrong. This time it didn't push her forwards, nor backwards, nor made her walk sideways. It simply began unzipping itself.


"Oh, hell no!" Natalya exclaimed. She knew what that would entail, and she didn't think could bear it. Her hands flew to the zipper in the back of her skirt, and she quickly grabbed the flat zip puller to zip the skirt back up. However, the force controlling her skirt was really strong and the puller didn't move a single milimeter.


"No! No, no, no, NO!" Natalya screamed. She no longer cared about being heard, she only cared about not enduring the worst possible humiliation. She pulled harder, but the skirt remained stubbornly half zipped. To make things worse, the skirt began moving on its own again and pushed Natalya forwards. The young Russian woman had now earned a honorary place on the Ministry of Silly walks, hands down and no discussion about it. Her legs took long steps while her back was arched backwards with her hands on the zipper, trying to retain her skirt and the very little dignity she had left. And then...


SHHWWWOOSSSHHH!!!!


The skirt went down like a sack of potatoes, leaving Natalya's legs and buttocks exposed to the autumn air. The only things covering these parts were the black stockings with lacy tops and a very classy pair of teal-colored panties, high bikini cut made of stretchy nylon and with a lace trim. Natalya's face turned beetroot red again. She felt her cheeks burning, and she wished she could hide under the bed like she did as a young girl. She wanted to run away, but there was no way to do it with the wicked skirt down around her ankles.

She was standing in the middle of the park, in her underwear, in front of laughing onlookers. She was utterly mortified. But then reflexes kicked in and Natalya bent over to pick up the skirt -noticing the way her large buttocks pressed against the soft and snug nylon as she did, hating how much these laughing wankers around her enjoyed the show. It was futile, the skirt could've very well weighed a ton; it didn't move back up, at all, and soon Natalya was making an even bigger fool of herself by trying to pull the skirt back up while stumbling around with her legs together.


"Please, please, please..." she whispered, praying for whatever cruel deity might be behind the skirt's volition to stop this madness. "Just let me go home,please!"


But the skirt wouldn't listen, or did it? While still wrapped arund her ankles, the leather garment seemed to gain momentum and then again;


SSSWWWHHOOSSSHH!!!


It sprung forward so violently that it dropped Natalya on her ass. As soon as it did, it slipped away off Natalya's ankles. She had been left skirtless in the middle of the park!


"No, no, no, no, NO!" Natalya cried out again, but nobody paid attention to her cries anymore. They were too busy laughing their asses off at her. The skirt had won. It had humiliated her and it floated away triumphantly. Natalya, now laying on her left side, could only watch it go, powerless. The embarrassement was overwhelming. She couldn't believe that this had happened to her.


Dejected, Natalya followed the skirt with her gaze. The garment seemed to approach someone there in the background. Her eyes grew wide once she realized who that person was, and for a moment she didn't hear the laughter around her. It was the bum she had tried to one-up before! He was standing there, still with that smile on his face, looking down at the skirt. The garment came to rest on his hand, and he folded it neatly. He turned around to leave with Natalya's pencil skirt, but before giving her back to her the bum raised his finger upwards like the barrel of a a smoky gun. Another purple flash of light from his finger, which he blew with a little puff of smoke. Then he left.


Natalya rose back to her feet, surrunded by people snickering, laughing, and pointing at her. She didn't dare to look at them, instead focusing on thinking how to get back home withouther skirt. She ended up walking away with her red-faced head hanging low. Her left hand gripping the hem of her white shirt and pulling it down to cover her nylon-encased crotch, her right hand holding her handbag tightly against her underwear-clad ass.


Natalya tried reminding herself that it really wasn't that different from the many times she had walked around Sochi's beaches in her bikini, if she thought about it. But that did nothing to ease the horrible humiliation, and the sixteen minutes it took her to reach her apartment (where she'd indulge in a chocolate and red wine frenzy) seemed like sixteen hours!



THE END