Transformations: Latigo Key Ch. 02

The round had also parted his scalp and dug a nice trench in the underlying bone of his skull, leaving him prone to migraines. That bullet also gave him a ticket back to the states and Cathy found herself in the strange position of owing how her life turned out to an enemy soldier with a rifle hiding in the jungle.

It would be funny if not for the fact Dan had been in a coma for three months and suffered two or three days of excruciating headaches per month ever since.

They had come back to the island where Cathy had been born when she became...

Cathy paused in mid-step.

Became? Became what?

Disillusioned with school. Yes, that was it.

She didn't want to work in business anyway. Besides, Dan had this idea for a security company. He hired some of his buddies when they got back from the war, and they provided protection for rich executives.

It paid the bills and then some.

Cathy stared down at her feet.

That was why she left school, right? In 1975, both she and Dan dropped out of FSU and moved to Latigo Key.

"Must be quite a question on your mind for that much wool gathering," a man's voice said.

She looked above her head.

The scruffy blond man who had been eyeballing her earlier was in the cherry picker bucket of a CoM truck. He was attaching some sort of device to the telephone pole two houses down from her home.

He smiled. "Beautiful island you people got here."

"Thanks," Cathy said.

His smile was small and thin.

"CoM? What does that mean?" Cathy asked. The truck was rusty and very old, probably from the late 50s or early 60s.

"Oh, um, 'City of Miami," the man said. "I'm Ed Porter."

"Cathy. Mrs. Cathy Greene," Cathy said. She did a mental eye roll. She tacked on the 'Mrs' like some housewife on Leave it to Beaver. Just letting him know she was taken.

She felt like a horse's ass talking like June Cleaver in 1989.

He chuckled.

Cathy nodded at the speaker-like devices. "What are those things, anyway?"

He scratched his scruffy beard and nodded at the gray device he had bolted onto the pole. "This is an early warning siren for tidal waves."

Cathy shook her head. "Town council never mentioned anything about tidal wave horns. I didn't even know they had such a thing."

"The state's mandating them. Tied into a computer in Tallahassee, they say. I just screw them in and wire them up."

"Porter!" A man yelled from down the street. He was much bigger than porter - a bald man in a yellow hard hat. "Less jaw, more elbow grease. We're on a schedule!"

"His master's voice," Porter said quietly.

The man in the yellow hard hat walked up to the telephone pole and glared up at Porter. Then he turned to Cathy and tipped his hat. "Sorry, Ma'am. Our contractors are supposed to be seen and not heard. My apologies."

"No, no," Cathy said. "I was the one bothering him. I just wanted to know what the devices are." She looked up at Porter and nodded. "Nice to meet you. Both of you." She walked on toward her house.

***

Behind Cathy, Ed Porter leaned back in the cherry picker bucket and stared at her ass. "Goddamn, you people sure know how to shape a chick's ass," he said when he was sure she was out of ear shot.

The lead agent stared up at him. Then he looked around to make sure no one was looking. "Listen to me, you degenerate. You are here to install the devices. In two days, this will be over, and we'll be on our way back to Cuba. Stay the fuck away from the Latigo Key people. Understand?"

"Easy there, agent," Porter laughed. "Man can appreciate a nice piece of ass. Not a fucking crime, is it? I mean, damn son... that's prime pussy right there."

"Porter, fuck up. Fuck up one goddamned time. I will personally put the needle in your eye and smile while I do it."

Porter laughed. "You know, I believe you would. You a prison guard before the Church filled you full of Ambrosia? You'd have been right at home in San Quentin."

"No. I was a cop. I used to beat shit birds like you to death in back alleys. Now fix the goddamned speaker and move on," the lead agent turned and walked away.

Porter smiled after him and then gave a crisp salute. Then he stole another glance at Cathy Greene as she unlocked her door and went inside. "Yes, sir. That's prime."

***

Dr. Balenger's nurse / wife, Constance smiled up at Deborah as she walked into the clinic on Main Street.

Deborah was never comfortable around Constance Balenger. There was something 'off' about her. She always sat or stood ramrod straight as if she weren't used to bending.

She also dressed like a nurse from the 1950s in a crisp white uniform, white shoes, and even the little nurse's hat pinned in her hair.

"He's waiting for you," Constance said. She moved her arm and pointed toward the examination room - only her arms. Her shoulder and torso remained as motionless as a statue.

"Thanks," Deborah said as she went to the examination room door and opened it.

Dr. Balenger sat in his white lab coat studying her chart. "Come in, Deborah. How was your trip to Miami?"

"It was fine," Deborah said. Her anxiety was coming back. Just stepping into the room...

"Any anxiety during your visit with your sister?"

"No, doctor... well, a few times. Noises again, setting it off." She sat down on the examination table, the paper sheet crinkling as she settled into position.

"Describe the noise?"

"Buzzing. Any kind of buzzing."

Balenger never looked up from her chart. "Yes, you've said that before. Any nausea this time?"

Deborah shook her head. "No, no, that seems to be getting better. I just... my heart starts pounding..."

"Like it is now?"

Deborah swallowed, "Yes, doctor."

"And were you sexually active in Miami?"

Deborah blinked. "What?"

He was still staring at her chart. "Did you have sex in Miami?"

"Why would you ask me that?"

Balenger hissed. There was a tape recorder on his desk. He reached over and pressed the record button. "Subject Foster, Deborah, continues to resist conditioning." There was a dial on a switch plate on the wall behind his desk. He twisted it slightly clockwise.

"Subject? What are you talking about?" Deborah said.

A gentle hum filled the room.

Deborah nearly collapsed. She clapped her hands over her ears.

"Hands to your side, slut."

Deborah immediately lowered her arms. The hum filled her head, and she blacked out, her head nodding forward.

***

A few seconds later Deborah raised her head and smiled.

"How are you 'Double Penetration Deborah'?" Balenger asked as he scribbled notes on her chart.

Deborah stretched and lay back on the exam table. She began stroking her pussy through the crotch of her jeans. "Wet," she giggled. "I'm wet."

Balenger stood up. He walked to her side and began undoing her jeans. "How many men did you fuck in Miami?"

"Eight," DP Deborah giggled as Balenger pulled down her jeans.

The crotch of her cotton panties was soaked to the point of being translucent.

Balenger stripped them off revealing her pink, hairless pussy. He did a double take at what he saw. "A tattoo?"

Just above her clit was a simple tattoo done in black ink: WHORE.

DP Deborah giggled. "You like it?" She reached up and ran her finger down Balenger's cheek.

He pulled away. "I warned you - do not leave messages for your body's original mind. What will happen if Deborah sees this when she undresses?"

"She doesn't notice anything," DP Deborah pouted. "I was hoping she would see it this morning when she took a shower but it's like she can't even see the fucking thing. I'll have to do all the after care for the tattoo after she falls asleep. Honestly, I don't even think she noticed her cunt hairs have fallen out."

He turned back to his desk and ran his fingers through his thin blond hair.

Balenger was growing more and more frustrated. He had thought the merging of the whore personalities with their host personalities would be seamless.

So far, he had only one real success on the entire island.

And, he was running out of time - the Church of Morpheus trucks were already installing the sound equipment for the harvest.

Balenger opened his lab coat revealing his exposed pale, white cock. He slipped the plastic sleeve of his milker over his cock and pressed the button on the box attached to his belt. The cock sleeve began to throb and vibrate as it 'sucked' him off.

DP Deborah was moaning as her fingers diddled her clit. "Mmm, she did fuck somebody all on her own, though."

Balenger turned back toward her, the milker making his erect cock swing left and right. "What was that?"

"Hmm? She fucked someone. I helped her, of course. She's a bit... dim."

Balenger pulled DP Deborah's fingers away from her pussy. "DP? Tell me what happened."

DP Deborah rolled her eyes. "Okay, so like the second night, we got really horny. I think you might have her hormones adjusted too high, doc."

"Never mind that - she went looking for sex?"

"Yeah. I kind of guided her to this bar in downtown Miami. She... well we... picked up this guy. He took her... us... this is fucking confusing..."

"DP! Details," Balenger hissed.

"He took her to this motel and fucked her... our... brains out. I've never felt closer to her," DP Deborah said and giggled. "I took control later that night and that's when we got the tattoo. The artist loved fucking us, but, of course, Deborah was out like a light from the guy in the bar. She doesn't have a lot of stamina."

"Were you present in her conscious mind for the bar guy tryst?"

DP Deborah looked deep in thought. She wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips. Then she smiled. "Absolutely. I taught her how to do that thing with our muscles to squeeze the guy's cock - makes them hold back. You can keep a guy fucking all night with a good cunny squeeze now and then!"

Balenger smiled. "Oh, DP, I could kiss you."

DP Deborah sat up on her elbows and stared at his cock in its plastic sleeve. "I was hoping for something a little more substantial than a kiss, doc."

"Constance!" Balenger yelled.

Constance Balenger opened the door to the exam room and walked stiffly inside. She had re-attached the chrome spreader bar to her ankle restraints, forcing her to walk with her feet three feet apart.

She jerked periodically as the electrodes running from her belt pack to her clit and both nipples discharged current.

"Yes... doctor," Constance moaned.

"Service the whore."

"Yes, doctor," Constance said. She smiled at DP Deborah and licked her lips.

DP Deborah smiled back and spread her thighs wide.

Constance took the woman's ankles and guided them into the gynecological stirrups.

Then she leaned forward and began to gently lick DP Deborah's swollen clit.

"Like my tattoo?" DP Deborah whispered.

"Mmm, hmm," Constance mumbled as she began sucking her clit.

DP Deborah leaned her head back and laughed.

Balenger sat down at his desk and began writing on the chart again. He groaned as he shot his load into the cock sleeve. His cum traveled up the clear tube attached to the front of the sleeve and into the box at his belt - collected Ambrosia for his experiments.

"You said she fucked eight. The man in the bar, the tattoo artist... whom else?" Balenger asked.

"The rest were all mine." She held up her fingers and began to count. "One guy in the mens room on the ferry. Then the cab driver. Her sister's next door neighbor and his wife..."

"Does the neighbor's wife count as one of the eight?" Balenger asked.

"Oh! No... I didn't count women. There were four of them - definitely all my work... ooo, Constance, I love that thing you're doing!"

"DP, concentrate or I'll make Constance stop," Balenger warned.

DP Deborah sighed. "Fine. As I was saying, I keep trying to get her to notice women, but she fights against it. The only one she's into is Cathy Greene and she hasn't even thought about kissing her..."

"Back to the men," Balenger said.

"Let's see: after the neighbor there was a waiter at a restaurant." She lay back on exam table.

"And?"

"You're going to be so proud of me," DP Deborah giggled.

Balenger smiled. "You accomplished your mission?"

DP Deborah held up her arm and gave him a thumbs up.

"Both?!"

She gave him two thumbs up. "Dear sweet Deborah seduced her sister's husband and her sister's twenty year old stepson on the same night," DP Deborah said as she sat up and began running her hands through Constance's dark hair. "Well... technically, I did it. But I made Deborah live it as a dream. God, I think she was ready to get an exorcism when she woke up!"

DP Deborah broke into a fit of laughter.

She winked at Balenger. "Oh, and the best part? The next morning at the breakfast table? When Deborah's sister left the room? I took control of Deborah's body, looked at both men and said, 'Next time I want you both at the same time...'." She began to giggle. "I don't think Auntie Deborah is getting a Christmas card this year."

Balenger walked over to the table.

He pulled Constance away from DP Deborah's pussy by her hair.

Then he leaned between DP Deborah's wide spread thighs. He pulled off the cock sleeve and guided his big cock into the woman's pussy.

"Ooo! Fuck yes! That's what I wanted."

***

"I may want to run more tests on you, Deborah," Dr. Balenger said.

She opened her eyes. "What? How...?" She was lying on her back on the exam table.

"You passed out. What do you remember?" Balenger asked as he scribbled notes.

"A humming sound. You were asking me questions and I... I can't remember."

Dr. Balenger rolled on his stool over to the examination table. "Deborah, we have to deal with this anxiety. I believe all your symptoms are tied back to it."

Deborah sobbed. "I don't know what to do. I feel like a stranger in my own skin."

"Deborah, you need to start listening more to your id - you're familiar with the concept?"

"You mean my imagination?"

Balenger shrugged. "To an extent. Your id is the adventurous part of your personality. Yours is so controlled by your ego and super-ego that it is causing anxiety. You need to let go. Listen to that little adventurous voice in your head. Have fun."

Deborah's eyes widened. "Oh... I don't think that's a good idea."

"Honestly, Deborah, I fear for your sanity. You need to let your hair down or you might have a break of some sort."

Deborah sat up and sobbed. "I.. did let go. In Miami, I picked up a strange man in a bar and we... you know."

"You had sex with him?"

"Yes."

"That's wonderful! Deborah, you're making progress. Give in to your urges."

Urges? Oh, God, if he knew some of the things that went through her head! "I have to... take it slow. Some of these urges are... they're sick, Dr. Balenger."

Balenger shook his head. "If you don't explore them, Deborah? I'm... concerned."

***

Willy had stopped running by the time he reached 'Snobs Knob'. The only high ground on the island was a small hill on the northwest end overlooking the sea.

There were only two homes there - two small mansions, hence the name 'Snobs Knob' which the islanders had attached to it.

The Simms family had built the first mansion there in the 1920s. The patriarch had made a fortune when he sold his fish business to Bird's Eye. The Simms had started out as fishermen like most of the families on the island in those days. Today, Roslyn and Emmet Simms were business leaders in Miami, neither having ever set foot on a fishing boat in their lives.

The other home belonged to Jennifer and Larry Larsen. New money. Honest, hard working, fishing money. Larry Larsen had expanded his one fishing boat into a dozen.

He had built a mansion on 'Snobs Knob' for his teacher bride. After that, the term 'Snobs Knob' was said with a smile on the face of the people who said it.

Everyone liked the Larsens.

And, when Larry Larsen had disappeared on his boat while sport fishing one May afternoon, the entire island had taken to sea to search for him.

He was never seen again.

Jenny Larsen became the island's project. Setting her up with a cousin or brother was an island tradition.

But Jenny Larsen focused on her students in the small schoolhouse and no match, no matter how perfect in the eyes of the matchmaker, had ever worked out.

Willy worried about her. He was the last fledgling to leave the island nest and, once he was gone, he worried about her being locked away in that big, empty house overlooking the western coastline.

The sun was beginning to set when Willy reached the Larsen house. Looking at the dark red sun coming to rest on the emerald waves illustrated why Larry Larsen had built a mansion for his young bride on 'Snobs Knob'.

It wasn't fair. Life sucked. Jenny Larsen shouldn't be alone.

That she was beautiful with her dark, wavy hair and huge eyes made it worse somehow.

He paused on the lawn and collected his thoughts.

Yes, he was in love with her. He was sixteen years younger than Jenny Larsen and he doubted she saw him that way. Willy had no illusions - he wasn't a love struck teenager. Would she be flattered to know how he dreamed about her? Or, would she think he was a child?

Willy would be fighting a monumental age difference and the ghost of a man who built her a palace and then disappeared into the depths.

No, Willy had no illusions.

So, he would show her how much he loved her by going to her for tutoring he did not need, and asking for help with problems he could solve himself.

She needed to be needed. Willy could sense it in her.

So, he made sure she was needed.

If only for a few months more.

***

A few dozen yards away, Jenny Larsen looked at herself in the mirror.

Jeans and a t-shirt? She bit her lip. He was an adult and so was she so why not be dressed like anyone else on the island?

She didn't have to wear a sundress every time Willy came for tutoring. She could look younger, couldn't she?

She sighed.

It was getting harder to have him come over.

Willy was maturing. He was no longer the gangly boy from years before.

She had no doubt he would be playing football when he finally went to Florida State. He was now tall and muscular with only the golden curls and innocent face to give away his gentle nature.

A tighter t-shirt? He would like her in a tighter t-shirt...

She stopped as she was pulling off the one she had on.

What was she doing?

She pulled the t-shirt back down.

She was wearing make-up. Was there time to remove it? Perfume, too. She had put on perfume. Why had she done that?

She read an article in Cosmopolitan once that said women reached their peak in their mid-thirties.

Men reached their peak much earlier.

"Stop... stop, stop, stop," she whispered in her empty bedroom. She had to get control of herself.

"Missus Larsen?" Willy called out from the foyer.

She jumped.

He had let himself in. He always did.

She looked at her makeup in the mirror. "Harlot... Jesus, I'm a harlot."

***

Jenny Larsen came down the staircase in jeans and a t-shirt and Willy had to look away.

She never did that.

Always a sundress. She had four and she cycled through them.

Jenny Larsen should definitely wear jeans and a t-shirt more often.

He smiled up at her. "You look great, Missus Larsen."

She blushed.

Heart racing, mouth dry, skin flushed, her pussy lubricating, and she keeps looking at my cutoffs trying to figure out how big I am...

Willy winced. Sometimes he had these thoughts that popped into his head when he looked at someone. Was it just fantasy? I mean he had known Diana was gay before she had told him - that hadn't been fantasy.