Transformations - Were-Bimbo Ch. 06-07

"Look at me, Edwin."

Edwin looked up her long legs at her wet sex.

"You are like ants to us. I could kill you with a thought."

"I know. I'm sorry. Just don't hurt her. Hurt me if you want." He sighed. "You can have Liz. Just, not Karen. Please. I won't fail you again."

Maria smiled. "One last chance, Edwin. We'll return Karen to Harvard. She won't remember anything about this evening."

"Thank you!" He kissed her white latex boot.

"But, we're leaving her bisexual - her future husband will thank us later," Maria said.

Edwin sobbed.

"Do not disappoint me again, Mr. Secretary."

***

"Do not disappoint me again, Mr. Secretary..."

Menser watched the monitor with its grainy image of Maria Marapova having her boots licked by the President's primary cabinet member. "How'd you get this?"

"Drone, sir," Gilder said.

"Drone?! You sent a drone over the Secretary of State's house?! What the hell did you tell the Air Force?"

"Umm, not a military drone, sir," Rosen said. He pointed at a plastic quadcopter sitting in a box in the back of the van.

"A toy? You used a fifty dollar toy to spy on the Secretary of State?!"

"$800," Gilder said. "It's... not a toy, sir."

Menser laughed. "Goddamn."

"What are we going to do, sir?" Rosen asked.

"Do? Well, son, the first thing you're going to do is put a copy of that footage on a USB thingy for me. And, then you're going to erase all the other footage. And, you two aren't going to say jack shit to anybody about what you saw." He pointed at the monitor. "Just knowing about that is enough to get you killed - if not by Miller, then you can bet your ass by that Ice Cold Bitch."

"But, he's a traitor, Colonel!"

"Yes, Mr. Gilder, he is. You know what we do to traitors?"

"Execute them?"

"Fuck no. We use them."

***

While Alex, Gwen, and Lita made love throughout the night, Heather Kincaid and Bear Bruner drove back from self-imposed exile in Montana.

Colonel Menser planned.

New York mourned the deaths at a burned out nightclub.

A girl named Lulu laughed while she watched her aunt grow younger as the injections took hold.

Amy Lynn showed off her lack of a gag reflex on the fat owner of a strip joint while Eddie counted their money.

Chad dreamed of a better future as he listened to the smokey bass beat of the strip club.

High above the Northeast, Maria Marapova looked out the window of the Learjet as Brittney sang sweetly to the coed sleeping on her lap.

In Ithaca, Bull Drummond left the bed he shared with his wives.

From the other rooms, loud moans and cries echoed down the darkened halls as the Worker Caste used the girls.

Bull walked silently down the hall.

He didn't know why he descended to the basement. Maybe he secretly hoped to find the bald priest, Cain, down there, alone.

If he did, the man would be the victim of a construction accident.

A wall would fall on him.

Maybe two.

He paused outside the frosted glass door that read "Surgery".

A warm glow emanated from inside.

Bull smiled. Maybe it was his lucky night. He opened the door.

The room was dark except for a small desk lamp that lit only the top of a nearly empty desk.

A bottle of Scotch sat on the desk and, beside it, a simple glass with about an inch of the amber liquid.

As Bull watched, a massive hand nearly the size of a manhole cover reached out of the gloom behind the desk and set a second glass down beside the first.

"Good," a deep bass voice said in the darkness. "I hate to drink alone."

Bull squinted into the dark.

Someone was sitting at the desk.

Or, rather, something. It was huge and bulky, but completely obscured by the inky darkness.

Bull reached for the light switch.

"If it's all the same with you, I prefer the darkness."

Bull stopped.

"Have a seat. You're Mr. Drummond, aren't you?"

Bull stepped forward and sat down in a wooden chair. "Bull. They call me Bull."

"Dr. Everett Thompson. I'm your surgeon."

Bull squinted, trying to take in the massive bulk of the man behind the voice. "You're a Whoremaster, aren't you?"

Thompson laughed. "I'm the first. The prototype." He picked up the partially filled glass, which looked like a thimble in his massive paw. The glass disappeared into the darkness. "The first victim."

He set his empty glass back on the desk and picked up the bottle. He poured two fingers of Scotch in the other glass and nudged it toward Bull.

"I don't drink."

"You better learn."

Bull picked up the glass and took a sip. It was old and smooth.

Thompson poured himself another. "You met Cain?"

"Yeah, I met him."

"Want to kill him?"

Bull peered into the darkness.

Thompson laughed. "Me too."

"Are you one of them?" Bull asked.

"The Church? Once. Not now. What are your intentions, Mr. Drummond?"

Bull took another drink. "I'm going to put a stop to them."

Everett Thompson leaned forward into the light showing a massive face that looked to be carved from flesh colored stone. "Then, Bull, we're going to get along just fine. Finish your drink. I'll pour you another. We have a lot to talk about."

The End

The Story Continues in Transformations: Visions of Sugarplums