Catching the Starflake Girls Ch. 01

The Mad Scientist's genetically engineered, pus-expelling fuckbeast was performing better than expected. So too were the array of impulse-inhibiting and mood-influencing injections he'd spent so long concocting. He knew this because he had tried them out a week earlier on the Parker family daughter Irene, a besequined co-ed freshman at nearby Starflake College whom he'd snatched off a back street in a flurry of curls, perfume, and palm-muffled cries.

That was a fine memory. He'd used his EMP box, a fruit of his twisted brilliance, to catch her. To stalk her, he had used his high-tech "peeper," an infrared camera and spectrum corrector that had allowed him to peer into Irene's powder-room as though its walls were made of glass. One Sunday morning he watched her freshen up and this was how he knew that she had run out of lip gloss and that, when she skipped with pink purse bouncing at her hip down daddy's long, swept driveway and started up her Glow Worm, it was to scoot over to the drugstore for some more.

He tailed her and when she followed her usual shortcut through a back neighborhood, he switched on the EMP box next to him in his black station wagon, shutting down her Glow Worm's engine and scrambling her cell phone. He made the block and pounced on the girl in broad daylight as she padded up a front walk to knock on a stranger's door. She pumped her legs and twisted her hips for purchase as he dragged her back to his waiting station wagon. But once he gave her the sleeping gas, her irritating fight for freedom subsided. None of the suburbanites, presumably lost in their own homes, took notice as Irene was kidnapped and sedated.

Back at his lab, the Mad Scientist cinched Irene down and used an array of drugs on her, all of which coaxed the exact effect intended from the pert and healthy but diminutive little maid. From the tranquilizer that made her dreamy and subdued, but just mildly enough that she still quaked with revulsion against her bonds when the Mad Scientist or the shriveled, sinewy fuckbeast groped her, to the impulse suppressant that enfeebled and physically exhausted her, quieting the twitching shudders that overtook her body and enervating her struggles against the ropes that pinned her down.

The oleaginous sperm creature performed successfully as well with the one slime-engorged cocksac the Mad Scientist stitched to it, following an implanted impulse to massage its greasy, unctuous organ on the pinioned college girl until the cocksac shot its foul load. The sexbeast did this hungrily, without even bothering to first strip Irene all the way down. It burrowed its cocksac in the narrow seat of Irene's panties, stimulating itself in her underwear's downy, satin fabric, luxuriating in the warm caress of her bobbing haunches against its belly. It stroked its organ in the soft furrow between the young filly's powdered buttocks. Then it held her upright by the neck, on her toes, and humped her like she was a stubborn mule. Its thrusts bumped her body, which rocked back and forth. It growled dully and salivated, groaning, "Some oil for your saddle," as it gave two jamming thrusts against Irene's bouncing bottom, spurting a cascade of quivering cocksac slop onto the small of her back.

Later on the Mad Scientist had marveled at the volume of creamy seed drying in the crack of Irene's supple, slapped ass as he'd left her—naked, shivering with cold, groggy, and disoriented from induced amnesia—on a grimy patch of pebbles under a highway bridge. He'd taken a moment to dip his finger in it, dig into the furrow and fondle the warm swells of Irene's haunches, and the thick splat of slippery ooze drying in her bottomcrease.

So much wasted fuckpudding. That this first experiment was successful, he had mused, only meant that now much more needed to be tested. Such as how the creature would react when given more than one pod to shoot off, and whether the inseminant—a foul, gelatinous suspension for a long-living, psychoactive micro-organism, a sexually transmitted mental illness—would really leave an adult human female with a morbid fixation on the orifice it was squirted into.

All he'd have to do is test the fuckbeast and then let it loose. It would pump the Starflake girls' wombs and mouths until they bubbled and foamed, full of creamy ooze. Abject servility and debilitating sexual obsession would spread among them like plague. If this worked, he could make a stable of them all, turn them into submissive, melancholy pleasuredolls.

As additional subjects for this ambitious experiment—or, to be more precise, sacrifices to it, for if it succeeded they would never be the same—the Mad Scientist had picked and procured two of the neighborhood's more savory co-eds, the black-haired Jodi and her naifish sidekick Tiffany. He was currently letting the fuckbeast at the latter one, who looked on in dim disbelief and writhed pitifully against the leather straps that held her wrists, neck, waist, and ankles in place as the creature molested her. The Mad Scientist had undressed her for the sexbeast, but hastily: her silky, scant white panties stretched across her legs mid-length down her thighs, baring her peach-frilled frizzy and her smooth lap.

The fetid sexbeast was nuzzling at Tiffany's pubis and the perspirant region around it. The beast's nostrils were beginning to dilate and flare as they breathed in the musk of her blooming, rosy twat. It sniffed so hard at her that her pussylips, and a snatch of pale blonde, downy pubic hair, snaked into its greasy nasum. The creature savored the tickle in its nose, then pulled back from Tiffany slowly, stretching the sucked-up bit of the lithesome young co-ed until it popped free, caked in a ring of dark, crusty mucus. The chain of canine genes that the Scientist had spliced into the creature's DNA blueprint was the cause of its obsession with Tiffany's scent; it had been studying the odor of her vagina for a long time now, memorizing her distinctness so that it could pinpoint and close in on her in the wild.

All this was as the Mad Scientist had programmed the fuckbeast to do. But his unothodox methods of genetic engineering had an unpleasantly messy side-effect: the creature was riddled with infection. A streak of snotty black clumps spurted out of its filthy nose, clinging stringily to clean Tiffany's pubis and the inside of her thigh. A snotplop dangled from the delicate tuft of fur that crowned the dripping lips of her puckered, pink labia. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth in shock and disgust.

"Ohhh," she groaned, wrenching her hips back and forth to try and shake the vile snot off of her. "What's it doing to me?" Her struggle only splattered the speckles of snot around on her lap and her upper legs.

The Mad Scientist plied at the inside of her left thigh to better expose her flush-rose vulva. The sexbeast, meanwhile, snuffled at the uppermost of her right leg. Its snorts were wetter, congested, slickening Tiffany's creamy flesh. Soiling it. Oily.

"Oooohhhhh, god," she pleaded. "Jodi, please... do something..."

Jodi was in no position to help, of course. The Mad Scientist had already stripped her to her frilly intimates and immobilized her but turned the other way, the way he'd tied up the other girl, Irene. She was bent severely over the same rack the scientist had used to strap his earlier captive down, back arched, the block under her lifting her ass into the air. He could watch Jodi shake as she gaped on helplessly, aghast at what revolting thing was happening to her little friend, poisoned with dread that her own violation would be as awful.