Catching the Starflake Girls Ch. 02

The Mad Scientist had captured the girls in the dead of night on a Saturday, after he had watched them sneak out of their dorm, meet, and walk to a keg party. He knew them well, and had picked them for capture and sexual brainwashing because they were his favorites. The older, Jodi, was every inch the tantalizing brat: on the way to the party she'd kept strutting ahead of her more inhibited friend and walking backward in strides, taunting her. "C'mon," she had said. "Keep up, or I'll leave you out here alone and somebody'll"—she had stopped, clinched her hands fretfully in front of her and looked both ways, mock frightened—"attack you."

Jodi had recently gotten her kinky black hair cut into a bob that barely covered the top of her neck in back and kept dangling from behind her ear over her eye. It made her look even brattier. So did her white T-shirt. Easily a size too small, it bore the words "SNOTTY BITCH!" stitched across the chest. The "BITCH" curved over her middling, upturned breasts and dipped into the shallow between them. She wore a bra—its straps were visible through the shirt's thin fabric and made a tiny bump on each of her shoulders—but her teats still poked small wrinkles in the shirt's emblazoned "I" and "C".

Under her naked midriff, she wore a pair of hand-cutoff shorts, button-fly, out of the pocket of which stuck a torn and half-smoked pack of Marlboro Lights. Her belly was slim and smooth and dark. Sometimes the light of a streetlamp would catch on her naked waist, and crouched in the nearby bushes, the Mad Scientist would watch her. He would rub the crotch of his trousers and gnash his teeth in anticipation. When the girls passed he'd watched Jodi's slim hips swing with her walk. It was awkward for her, a trick she'd seen women do on TV but couldn't quite get the hang of. The Scientist had gazed hungrily at the swinging bottomside, all the more prim and delicious for the awkwardness with which she worked it. Her clumsy, faux-sophisticated gait made her flesh seem firmer, younger, more unplumbed. She didn't know what to do with what she had, and he would teach her what it was to be fucked, in a way that she would remember not as she remembered other things, but solely in her flesh and in her lower belly.

At length she'd tired of the swinging walk, shrugged, and bounded off ahead of Tiffany. Her slim bottom had pumped in rhythm with her feet and had shaken a little. She had bounced on her heels.

"C'mon," she had said. "Or I'll leave you here."

Later, he'd peered at them as they'd talked and drunk around the keg, laughing, getting dizzier. By the time they'd left the party to go back to the dorm, they were nice and woozy. Jodi staggered and chain-smoked. The womanly high heels that had caused Tiffany so much trouble on the way to the party completely defeated her on the way back, and after a few ankle-twisting stumbles she'd taken the shoes off and carried them.

Easy marks.

He'd caught Jodi handily; she'd been so sloshed that she'd barely even known what was happening when he snuck up from behind and shoved her off the sidewalk into a nearby thicket of low bushes. She had flopped to the ground like a sack of mulch and lay in drunken, half-conscious passivity as the Mad Scientist went off to fetch her partner.

Tiffany had been a different matter. She'd gone on the hoof, scurrying away in her stockinged feet, and he had needed to fell her with a dart from his tranquilizer gun. This wasn't what he'd expected, the Mad Scientist had mused as he'd dragged an insensate Tiffany back to the station wagon's open liftgate, leaving shoes and a spilled purse behind on the sidewalk. He'd foreseen a drawn-out game of snatch-and-grab with the snotty spitfire Jodi, and had thought that the prim Tiffany would succumb at the first sign of trouble. But then he'd remembered how much more talkative Jodi had been at the party—and how much more time she'd spent by the cask of beer in the backyard, drinking and running her mouth absent-mindedly.

The dart that had shot paralyzer into Tiffany's buttock stuck out the seat of her skirt, making her look like wild game, tagged and snagged.

He had fetched Jodi out of the underbrush and dragged her back to the station wagon, draping her over the open loading door. Tiffany he'd left propped up against a tree trunk. She'd sat unmoving but could see, and understood everything she saw. "When you watch what happens to your friend," the Mad Scientist had said, "imagine what will happen to you." Tiffany's disposition, which had to slog through the murk in which the tranquilizer had enveloped her, showed only in a faint, despondent upturn of her brow.

Meanwhile Jodi had lolled, half-on and half-off the liftgate. The Mad Scientist had pushed her up into the back of the station wagon and spread her knees to bend her face-down over the liftgate, her upper body lying limp in the wagon's bed. He'd reached around her and squeezed his hand under her waist to unpop the top three buttons of her denim shorts and pull her little pants down carefully over her hips. That's when he first saw the freckled globes of Jodi's nineteen-year-old bum, wrapped in a pair of light blue satin panties fringed with a pink elastic band. They were low and generous and covered Jody's bottom well in the seat, but they barely concealed the tops of the rosy young chick's tasty hillocks. The dimples in the small of her back shifted as she got comfortable, wallowing quietly in her alcoholic haze.

Groping, squeezing, frotteurizing, and smelling Jodi's ass, while shooting a menacing glance from time to time at his other young, immobilized captive—who remained slumped against the tree, pouting sullenly—sparked an enraged lecherousness that threatened to overpower the Mad Scientist. He groped Jodi's fanny and pinched it. This was enough to draw Jodi momentarily out of her drunken stupor. "Hey," she had said dreamily, turning with a start in the general direction of her backside. But she drifted away again.

Fevered pictures sizzled in the Mad Scientist's mind: of tearing off Jodi's panties, grasping her by the haunches and plunging his cock in her, usurping her right then and there, and ruining everything for a moment's tingling bliss. In his agitated state he would leave a great heaving sperm glob in the creamsleeve of Jodi's fleshy fuckpillow. The next day neither girl would recall what had happened, but Jodi would surely wonder at the strange oily slick in her virgin womb. It would be something she had never felt before.

Expelling his pleasure load in groping, hasty greed inside Jodi's supine, uncorrupted body would be such gratification. He could pump all of his obsession and unholy madness into Jodi's unspoiled pussy, inflict a trauma on her—pollute and destroy her emotional purity, her happy life. Gain relief from his own psychosis' suffocating grip, through the protracted, exorcizing spasm of filling poor Jodi's ripe sex with come, seeding her hilly buttocks.

But, in time, there would be so many more mouth-watering and delicious ways to corrupt these fresh little fleshmaids, find and bleed out the full yield of their bodies. It would take only time and planning. The focused study that had led him to this intermediate reward would take him ultimately to even greater ones. He needed to be patient.