WARNING: This story is intended for mature audiences over the age of 18 (or whatever age is legal for viewing adult material where you live). This story is entirely fictional in every conceivable way, including within the bounds of our reality, so don’t believe that a word of it is true, ever.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is part three of a series. Read the first two, or you’ll be totally lost. Also, this episode gets even more squicky than the last. Like, squicky-squicky. It’s gonna escalate like that. Enjoy.
(MC, BE, MF, oral, anal, M+F+, nc->cons, inc, tent, lact, sci-fi)
Commander Jack Phillips slammed his fist on his desk as the feed from his operative turned to yet another depraved sex nightmare. He could hardly keep from crying; Samantha Bristow was his best agent, and he loved her like a daughter. He thought she could make it, thought she could get out.
It had been two weeks of this. Ever since that party at the warehouse. The next day, reports, countless calls of missing celebrities, missing human beings. Only one person had managed to escape, a young actress who’d run when she saw the bizarrely transformed figures of the Deschanel sisters on that stage. She told him the whole story. He couldn’t stop hearing it.
‘Now, Miss Winstead,’ he’d said.
‘Call me Mary,’ she’d requested shakily. She needed that comfort.
‘Of course,’ he corrected. ‘Mary, you understand how this sounds.’
She nodded. ‘After what I saw, maybe I am crazy.’
He gripped her hand. ‘Don’t say that. No one is saying that. It’s just so…’
No word could have captured it. Strange? Frightening? Mind-boggling?
He’d tried to press her. ‘Mary, do you have any idea where they all went?’
From helicopters they could see through the few high windows of the old warehouse, most blacked out but a few left cracked open. The main room was totally empty, but whoever had taken them had barred the doors tight and, short of crashing through the roof, they couldn’t find a good way in to search for clues.
Mary had nodded. ‘The basement.’
‘There were stairs that led down. My friend Amanda snuck down there when we got in, just to see what it was like. She said it was too dark to see, but she could tell it was just as big as the main floor. I’d bet anything that’s where they are.’
She had begun to weep, for her friend, for all those people. He wanted to weep with her, wished he didn’t have to be strong. But he did. For her. For them.
Since then, everything had gone from bad to worse. They finally made enough room breaking a few windows to get a small team inside to assess the situation. That team never returned.
The last radio signals they received described some bizarre, ritualistic fuckfest. People with their bodies distorted, blown up. None of it made sense. Then, their point man was heard muttering, “What’s that smell?”
That was the last they heard.
A full-scale raid was proposed, but Phillips had reservations. If what they heard from that signal was real, this was more than some orgy gone too far. This smacked of something sinister, some kind of dark magic shit. A cult. And the last thing the U.S. government needed was another massive cult suicide, especially with so many famous and innocent people caught in the crossfire.
So they told him to send his best. Get some proof, some idea of what the fuck was going on. He sent in Bristow. And in minutes, she’d stripped out of her clothing, the moans of a few hundred people fucking in the background as her voice echoed through the wire she’d been wearing. “Yes,” he’d heard her say, “the Goo, yes, please.”
He shut it off, even though it kept recording. He couldn’t bear to hear it. Leave it to the analysts to tell him the horrible details. He couldn’t do it.
Phillips looked at his phone. He picked up the receiver, punched in the number.
“It’s a failure,” he said. “I was right, but the mission failed.”
On the other end of the line, the president paused.
“This is not good,” he finally said.
“Sir,” Phillips sighed, “if this audio is any indication, this is much worse than we could have thought.”
Phillips rolled a pencil between his fingers. “We’ll play you the tape, but, sir, we need to take care of this before it escalates. I’ve got a proposal, and neither of us will like it, but I think it’s the only way to get to the bottom of this.”
Both men felt frozen in time. When the world caught up, they could hear the ticking of the clock in every second.
Emily groaned as she ground her pussy on the face of young Summer Glau, the eager girl’s engorged tongue disappearing deep into the hole before her, as Emily’s enhanced cunt squeezed and pulled her deeper, as though trying to milk her tongue with her sex.
“Oh, fuck yes baby, that’s, like, so good!” the former ‘Bones’ star shrieked as she came, squirting all over Summer’s face, the spray dripping down the girl’s face and onto her bubbling breasts, jutting lewdly from her once-lithe frame.
Emily gripped Summer’s hair and brought her up for a sloppy, passionate kiss. The taste of herself was as sweet and effervescent as ever.
‘Still got it,’ she thought.
Deep laughter brought her out of her reverie. She gazed up from her prone position on the soaked mattresses to the stage, and the throne where her little sister sat, a face buried between her spread legs. A woman was being plowed by a well-built man into lapping Zooey’s pussy.
She could hear Zooey goading the girl as she wrapped her legs around the sexy woman’s shoulders.
“Yeah, that’s it,” she sneered. “You like getting fucked by your little brother, don’t you? You like fucking your flesh and blood for my amusement?”
Emily suddenly recognized the sweaty man as Jake Gyllenhaal, which would have made the woman in the sandwich his sister, Maggie Gyllenhaal. Emily licked her lips. Jake had always been a celebrity crush of hers, always hunky in his own way. Now he was powerful, delectable, and watching him fuck his own sister’s balloon-round ass should have been the hottest thing she’d seen all day.
But something about Zooey’s forcefulness, the way she was able to speak in complete sentences after being a giggling bimbo for weeks, the way people had begun to call her “Mistress,” as even Emily did sometimes…it was all a little unnerving.
Emily glanced over at the grand mahogany table where sat two very odd sights indeed: One, the white-eyed sex doll that had been sweet Olivia Thirlby, her exaggerated tits bobbing miraculously as she was fucked again by yet another man, Zooey having ordered every cock in attendance to feed her battered orifice at least once each. It was something to do with the anointing, she’d said. An initiation into what she’d begun to call the Cult of the Goo. And as yet another male let free his jets of cum into her over-stretched fuckhole, Olivia offered no resistance, no joy, no emotion at all. Just blankness.
The other thing on the table weirded her out much more, however. In a makeshift bed of Goo-soaked clothes from the dance floor above their heads was a perfectly white egg larger than her head. It was the same egg that had, somehow, squeezed out of the mindfucked Olivia just a couple weeks prior.
Emily still couldn’t believe it, couldn’t…well, understand it, really. None of it made sense. How does a person lay an egg? How did Zooey know how to make it happen?
And, scariest of all, what was inside that egg?
Maggie Gyllenhaal’s mad screams tore her out of her thoughts. Zooey had pulled the actress’s hair back so she could look into her ecstatic face while her brother came deep inside of her.
“Oh fuck, OH FUCK!” Maggie cried, her own orgasm brimming.
“Cum for me, slut, cum for your mistress,” Zooey commanded.
“Yes! Yes, Mistress, yes! Thank you, Mistress!”
Zooey slapped her. “You know who to thank, whore!”
Jake grunted as he pushed himself fully into his sister, her plump ass barely holding his muscular weight as he slumped forward and pumped her full of hot baby batter, all while she screamed at the top of her lungs, “Thank you GOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”
Zooey leapt up in her throne and threw her hands high. “PRAISE THE GOO!” she cried to the heavens, and her congregation joined her, little by little until they had formed a gathering ring of prostrating bodies.
Emily watched as Summer wrenched herself from her arms and began calling out in blessed passion to her liquid god. Zooey caught her eyes and the two shared in a brief distant adulation that left both quaking.
It had been like this, pretty much once a day or more, since the anointing. Zooey had become the leader of the Cult, and now every particularly powerful orgasm brought grand group prayers, as though each man and woman was nearly exploding from their love and lust for this mystical force that had remade them.
Emily couldn’t help but find it hot, all the sweaty bodies and heaving bosoms and flapping penises waving and undulating in their shared joy, as though they were fucking the air around them with every moan and call. And she joined in, gladly. But whenever she saw Zooey, she couldn’t compare, couldn’t begin to feel the profound emotion the younger Deschanel seemed to exude every single time.
In a way, Emily feared she could never live up to what her sister was becoming.
At Zooey’s feet, Maggie’s body twitched and happy drool dribbled from her lips as she smiled in her well-screwed haze.
Charlize Theron liked to listen to the radio in the shower, but the news stories lately had left her feeling a bit ill.
“Experts of all kinds continue to be absolutely baffled by the sudden disappearance of an entire party full of Hollywood’s famous elite,” the anchorwoman said. “And while theories abound as to what happened and where they are, no evidence of the recently vanished cadre of celebrities has been dredged up in the last two weeks.”
Charlize had heard all this before, but hearing it again made it no less terrifying. Her friends, her idols, dozens, hundreds, all gone, just like that, and no one knew where or why.
Or, at least, they weren’t saying they knew.
Charlize couldn’t shake the strange feeling that this was all part of something bigger, that it wouldn’t stop here but would just grow and grow until it was right in their faces.
And as an Oscar-winning actress with a reputation for her beauty, she wasn’t taking any chances. No parties, no food she didn’t know the source of, no visitors except people she knew for certain were safe. Which, if she really admitted it to herself, was no one.
She hadn’t even left her apartment in three days, an insane feat for the busy star.
But, as she wrung the shampoo from her dripping hair, Charlize started to feel like maybe everything would be alright. Maybe things would get better, and soon. Maybe all her troubles would go away.
She squirted the soap into her hands, and found she couldn’t help but lathering up her tits first.
‘Is the water getting warmer,’ she thought, ‘or is it just me?’
Charlize rubbed at her smooth and tight breasts, realizing her nipples were rock-hard.
‘That’s good. That feels good.’
Everything suddenly felt good, she realized. Her hands, her tits, the steam rising up into her pussy, the water.
As it cascaded down her front, Charlize grew more and more to love the feel of the water on her skin. Even when all the soap washed away, she kept rubbing it in, absorbing every rushing bead into her breasts, her stomach, her moist slit, she rubbed it all.
‘Oh god, what is that SMELL?’ she thought, catching a whiff of something so sweet and delicious she licked her lips.
It wasn’t her shampoo, or her soap. This was a thousand times better than either of those. In fact, if they’d bottled this scent in a shampoo, Charlize would have bought enough to last her a lifetime.
“Ahhh,” she sighed contentedly. And that’s when some water made it into her mouth.
Charlize was instantly alert, her mouth and eyes open wide as she began lapping at the water bursting forth from her shower head like a dying fish thrust back into the ocean.
‘That tastes amazing!’
She couldn’t help it. Every sip of the water was driving Charlize wild, easily topping the greatest flavors she’d ever tasted and then some, bringing her more pleasure than any drink ought to be able to do.
She plunged three fingers into her suddenly needy cunt and tipped her head back, gathering water straight down her gullet. She tried drinking so fast she nearly drowned.
Had her mind been clearer, she would have noticed that the “water” was suddenly milky white and thicker than it had been before, her shower now drizzling over her like a creamy glaze. But her mind was just as opaque as the liquid, clouded by the need to drink, to taste, to feel this, all of this.
She wrapped her lips around as many holes of the shower head as she could manage, the remainder spraying out over her exposed titflesh, dripping down into her left hand, which was buried deep inside herself, her moans only opening her mouth further to let more water in.
Eventually, Charlize stopped struggling and just stood, statuesque, as her body was covered in liquid happiness that seeped into her pores and left her thinking mind totally blank.
Commander Phillips handed his newest recruit her sidearm. “You might need this,” he advised.
Mary Elizabeth Winstead, decked in black spy gear, could only shift nervously where she stood.
“I still don’t understand,” she protested awkwardly.
He rested a hand on her shoulder gently. “Look, we’re sending in a small team. We need to know what’s going on in there, and you’re the only one who’s been there and come out of it…normal.”
She looked at the gun in his hand. “But I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re just a scout on this mission. If things get too dangerous, let the others handle it. They’re professionals. And besides, you’ll be protected. Gas masks, the whole deal. But we need someone on the inside to tell us what’s going on.”
She hesitated. Then, she took the gun from him, and fumbled with getting it into her holster.
“That’s right,” he said. “And don’t worry, we don’t want anything to happen to you on this mission. This is just recon, just to find out what we’re dealing with. We need eyes and ears. That’s where you come in.”
Eyes covered her quite well, Phillips noted. Mary had the biggest, most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen on a real woman, and, in person, they were more striking from all angles.
He began to lead her into the next room, then stopped.
“Wait, almost forgot. Mask on.”
He handed her a high-tech gas mask that sealed into her suit to prevent leaks.
“Why now?” she asked.
He waved dismissively. “In the field it’ll be too unpredictable, you might not have time to put it on, and this is the kind of thing you don’t want to screw up with shaky hands.”
He motioned for her to turn around and began the process of wrapping, tying, and sealing the mask in place. When she turned back, he couldn’t see her nose or mouth. But he did see those big beautiful eyes through their glass-covered holes.
“Perfect,” he said, and led her into the other room.
The next room was a large hangar of sorts, with a helicopter waiting beneath a retractable dome. Phillips introduced the team, two men and a woman, all already decked in their matching spy outfits and gas masks.
“Agent M,” he said to Mary, “this is your team. This is Agent T.”
A tall, well-built African-American man nodded.
“And Agent C.”
The other man, white and not as tall as Agent T but much thicker in the arms, waved hello.
“And finally, Agent G.”
Agent G was clearly in shape and athletic like her male counterparts but she was obviously a woman, with surprisingly robust curves considering her hard stature. She gave a curt nod, which Mary returned. Seeing the others in such good shape gave her a brief sense of relief that maybe this wouldn’t be a total nightmare, that maybe she would be kept safe after all.
“Team,” Phillips called, and the others stood at attention, a move Mary quickly tried to replicate.
“We need to make this fast and quiet,” he continued. “Your masks are outfitted with hidden cameras and microphones which will work even if you take them off or for whatever reason lose them. But whatever happens, don’t lose them. We need to know what, if anything, is going on inside that warehouse. This is not a lethal mission, no casualties expected, but discretion and vigilance are key if we are to determine whether or not we’re dealing with a credible threat. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir!” the team members, minus Mary, responded.
Phillips looked at her specifically. “I said, do you understand?”
This time they all replied: “Yes sir!”
He nodded. “Good luck.”
And with that, they boarded the helicopter, Mary needing a hand to get inside. As the dome opened and the blades began to turn, Phillips looked up into her shining eyes one more time.
‘Shame,’ he thought.
Jennifer Garner bounced her baby in her arms and smiled for the first time in weeks.
Ever since the disappearances, she couldn’t bear to be happy about anything, secretly ashamed that she should be allowed to be happy and free while her friends were somewhere, scared or dead or…
The only thing that could keep her sane at a time like this was her family, her sweet babies and her adoring husband.
Ben was in the next room, flipping through the channels for anything that would make him forget about what was happening. So far, no luck.
But for some reason, Jennifer was starting to feel better. ‘Must be something in the air,’ she thought.
The microwave beeped long and loudly, and Jennifer carefully pulled out the baby bottle. Her non-acting friends had insisted that bottle feeding was unhealthy, but with her career at such an uneven stage, she couldn’t afford any major physical changes like the sag and droop that breast feeding would bring. Now she eyed the formula with suspicion.
‘It looks…thicker than usual.’
Along with her usual check, dabbing droplets on her wrist to test the temperature, she resolved to taste it, to make sure it hadn’t gone bad, or something.
She squeezed the drops from the nipple. The warmth was just right. She lifted her wrist to her face as though testing a new perfume. And something was definitely different.
‘Oh my god,’ she thought. ‘It…it smells like heaven!’
Cautiously, she stuck out her tongue and let the droplets roll into her mouth. She looked at the can of formula powder and her eyes widened.
‘Since when does this stuff taste so amazing?’
She had to try it again. It must have been her imagination; after all, how could her baby’s formula suddenly taste so rich and eye-opening after only a couple scant drops?
This time a small stream of the fake milk dribbled onto her forearm, and she didn’t even need to lift it to her face to breathe in its electrifying aroma. She sucked it from her skin wildly, couldn’t possibly stop there.
Jennifer lifted the nipple to her lips and began to suckle for all she had.
The taste was one thing, but the feeling of the formula pouring down her throat was even more satisfying. It tingled and hummed in her mouth, like her gums were playing a brass symphony to an audience of her entire body.
Liquid formula spilled out of the corners of her mouth, dripping down to her light white tanktop and staining, ironically, close to her aching, engorged nipples. She set down the emptied bottle with a belch and a gasp.
She had to have more. Quickly she ran to the can of powder and inhaled, but hacked and wheezed at the bland, unpleasant scent. That couldn’t have been the source of that incredible flavor, she realized.
Jennifer’s free hand flung the facet’s handle and, as the water began shooting out, she caught the smell again, that wonderful, heady, sweet, delicious fragrance. She studied the water for only a second. ‘Why is it white?’ she thought, but abandoned thinking all together as she dove her face into the running tap and began to chug the flowing liquid.
The creamy nectar that spewed from her pipes gave Jennifer a feeling of wholeness and completion that nothing else in her life had ever given her. Absently, she realized her baby was crying, the messy splashing of her animalistic drinking making his diaper wet and patchy.
She didn’t stop drinking, couldn’t dare give up something so good, but she knew she had to feed her child. She glanced at the stains on her top and, carefully maneuvering the child and her pursed, thirsty lips, tore it apart and threw it away, leaving her soft, milk-laden breasts aching in the open air.
‘Just once,’ she thought. ‘Worth it, just once.’
She brought her baby to her chest and, as though honed to it through magic, he latched instantly.
Jennifer’s knees went weak. Never had she expected the feeling of nursing to be so incredible, so instantly rewarding. She pulled out the extending faucet like a hose and let it pour into her mouth so she could give her child better access to her protruding nipples.
As he sucked, her aim for her mouth got sloppier, spilling the white fluid down herself, some of it collecting in her baby’s mouth, if anything making him suck even harder. The sheer joy of tasting and being tasted made her swoon, but she couldn’t stop, couldn’t give it up.
She wasn’t sure at what point she managed to peel off her sweatpants and her thong, the spray of the white water making pools at her feet, or when she began aiming the head of the faucet at her private areas, one arm holding her baby as best she could to her throbbing nipples while the other let the water pleasure her and cleanse her and coat her, until, cradling her child tenderly, she just stopped and stood perfectly still and content.
Ben heard the faucet running and figured something had been wrong with how Jennifer had mixed the formula. A simple mistake. He thought nothing of it. Then he noticed the water was streaming longer and longer.
‘Is there something wrong with the pipes?’ he thought.
Still, he left his wife to her own devices, never wanting to step on her routine when she fed the baby.
Then he heard splashing, the sound of water pooling in surely large quantities, and, weirdest of all, deep moans of satisfaction.
Ben leapt to his feet.
‘Is something wrong with her?’ he thought.
What he saw, he never expected.
Jennifer stood motionless in the middle of a flooding kitchen, covered head to toe, just like almost every other surface in the room, with a thick white glaze, which was still spraying wildly out of the loose faucet hose. Their baby was covered equally, and for a brief panicked moment Ben wondered if it could breathe.
Then he smelled the tremendous bouquet, a thousand olfactory memories collapsing into one another and exploding through his eager nose, and nothing he saw mattered nearly as much as his new favorite smell.
“Minty,” he whispered.
In seconds, Ben was padding through the milky substance, reveling in the way it tingled on his bare feet. In moments, he was drinking from the hose like a man parched in the desert. Soon after, he was naked on the floor, sucking at the pools and rolling in the irresistible flavor. In time, he lay still.
Jennifer awoke to a paradise.
Everywhere she looked, the room was basked a dripping white. She shut off the still-running faucet, and noticed, as she moved, the new weight on her chest.
‘Oh wow,’ she thought, ‘now THOSE are milk titties!’
Fat and heavy, Jennifer’s new tits were like udders, full and firm with just enough sag to show the sheer volume of all the fresh milk they bore, and with nipples that proudly stood like straws for a waiting mouth.
She looked into the darling eyes of her precious baby. And saw that they were glowing and bright white.
Jennifer beamed. ‘Mother’s milk,’ she thought. ‘There will always be more where that came from!’
With a now-natural swing in her now-wide hips, Jennifer brought the baby into the living room, where a basket was set to help the baby sleep. She set him inside, and, though they retained their internal glow, the baby’s eyes drooped and blinked and finally closed as he settled down for his nap.
She heard a groan from the kitchen.
“Ben?” she said, and went to investigate.
She gasped. Ben was still on the floor, rolled from his side onto his back.
Three things immediately struck Jennifer. One, Ben was lying in a puddle of the wonderful Goo. Two, his muscles had suddenly grown and defined, rippling toned bulges cascading over his every inch. And three, his cock, standing at full attention, was enormous.
She licked her plump lips and smiled. “Hi, baby.”
Mary tried not to burst into tears at the sight of the dance floor.
Their team had made it through the high windows and rappelled into the large room, much more ominous-looking now without the signs of life that had inhabited it that fateful night.
It had been so surreal, yet it made so much sense at the time. She and Amanda Seyfried had decided to “celebrate their singlehood,” as Amanda had said. Amanda had always loved to go against the grain, loved to explore new possibilities for the world around her. That’s why one of the first things she did when they got there was sneak down to the basement. She’d come back looking spooked.
“It’s creepy down there,” she said. “It was pitch black, but I swear it was like I heard some kind of whispering.”
Just as Mary was about to ask more, Amanda snatched a drink from a passing server’s tray and downed it in one gulp.
“Better!” she’d said, with a gleam in her eye.
Then they danced. And danced. Mary didn’t remember ever being so turned on by dancing before. Or by Amanda’s beautiful breasts, which brushed hers more and more as they began to sway towards one another, first with their bodies, then their hands, then their mouths wrapped together. It all happened so fast, the first and only time they’d ever done anything like it, but it seemed so right, so real.
They’d ended up naked on the floor, their soaked pussies rubbing, squishing together with aplomb, their moans drowned out by music and their eyes, their big almond eyes, locked in shared lust.
Then the music came off, the lights on stage came up, and, snapping back to reality, Mary saw a nightmare and ran. Ran into the desert air, the dust clinging to her sweating body, no one following or noticing her, and she wept as she ran to the nearest town.
Mary shook her head. There was no time to think of that now. Already her team seemed increasingly impatient with her slow, untrained movements.
She glanced around at the scattered clothing, the love stains on the floor.
With a motion of her hand, she pointed them to the stairwell.
Carefully, silently pushing open the black-painted door, the team moved down into a darkened stairway. Their masks came equipped with night vision, casting a green glow on each step. Looking down the rails, Mary saw they were going at least three stories into the ground.
‘That’s not terrifying at all,’ she thought.
Finally, they reached the bottom, greeted by a crack of light under another black door. Already they heard strange sounds, squeaks and moans and wails. Mary wanted nothing more than to turn and run.
“Systems check,” a voice crackled into her earpiece.
Agent T held up his fist and the others focused on it.
Miles away, Commander Phillips saw through four screens the four cameras on their masks, heard from four separate headsets the eerie sounds.
“All go,” he said into his walkie talkie. “Good luck.”
Phillips rubbed his hands with an agonized feeling of dread.
Nodding, Agent T motioned for Agent C to open the door a crack so they could see inside.
They tensed as he peeled it back to reveal…a hallway. With three branching paths.
“Shit,” hissed Agent G.
“Alright team, this is how it has to be,” Agent T said. “We need to divide up.
Agent C tapped Mary’s arm, making her jump.
“Agent M,” he said. “You stick with me. We’ll get you out of this no matter what.”
His voice was calm and reassuring, but Mary still knew that splitting up sounded like a terrible idea.
‘They know what they’re doing,’ she re-assured herself. ‘They’re professionals.’
With militaristic precision, Agent T and Agent G took separate paths, turning in different directions almost immediately, sidearms unlocked on their belts.
Mary and Agent C carefully stepped into the last branch, the gaping hole in the wall reminding Mary of a jaw trying to swallow them up. Eventually the path deviated and they turned to the right. Then to the left. Then in a long curve.
It seemed to be taking them to the other side of the building, maybe a direct route to the opposite end of the warehouse. It didn’t make sense to Mary (‘Why would there be a maze built into a warehouse basement?’) but it seemed purposeful, and deserted.
Just as they were about to round another corner, a bright yellow sign loomed overhead.
“TOP SECRET” it read in yellow lettering. “AUTHORIZED CLEARANCE LEVEL 9 REQUIRED BEYOND THIS POINT.”
“What is this place?” Mary asked.
“I don’t know,” Agent C replied. “Looks military.”
Commander Phillips recognized the sign in their view screens. It was a clearance level even he wasn’t privy to. ‘Why didn’t I know about this?’ he wondered.
But before he could find out, Agent T stepped into the main room. And what his screen showed was madness.
‘Holy fucking fuck,’ Agent T thought.
He couldn’t even move out of sheer shock at what he was seeing. The room was huge, almost as big as the dance floor upstairs, and packed to the walls with thrusting, heaving, hugely proportioned naked bodies.
Even weirder were the faces. People he recognized, famous, beautiful people, their entire beings seemingly transformed into something primal. Inhuman.
He tried to scan the room. Large, square lights dangled from the rafters. Scattered throughout the area were troughs filled only with some strange white liquid. He noticed there was nowhere to go to the bathroom, but that there didn’t seem to be any signs that anyone had, or needed to, go at all. Everything, even the mattresses that lined the floor, seemed stained only by white, either that liquid or…
Suddenly, Agent T felt a pair of arms wrap around him from behind, not forcefully, but as though searching him for something, and what felt like two warm pillows were pressed against his back.
“Hey there, big boy,” a lustful voice moaned into him.
He spun around and nearly fainted. There, grinning her winning smile, was Jennifer Aniston.
A lump jumped into his throat. Jennifer had always been a huge celebrity crush of his, her bright face and tight figure always begging to be touched. Now, her breasts shifted up and down as she breathed, as large as her head, big enough to smother a man to death or feed an army. He couldn’t even see the rest of her body past the mountainous cleavage, but guessed, based on the rest of her, that she was totally naked.
Her hand suddenly stroked his crotch and he remembered where he was.
“Miss Aniston,” he began, swatting her arms away.
She giggled and cut him off. “Call me Jenny,” she said huskily.
Though he struggled, she managed to get a hold of the zipper on the crotch of his suit and pulled. Unfortunately for Agent T, seeing his wet dream in front of him, her body even sexier than it was in his fantasies, had left him in a state of uncontrolled hardness, and before he could do anything, his erection sprang free and Jenny leaned over and sucked him into her mouth.
The sensation was unbelievable. Agent T’s protests died on his lips, or died on hers, he wasn’t sure, because her mouth was making him crazy. Her tongue buzzed like it was electric, her suction like a vacuum, pulling him endlessly into her hot maw. Nothing he thought to say could make her stop, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to say anything at all.
Just as suddenly as she began, Jenny pulled off, keeping her fist tight around his shaft.
“Huh,” she said. “You taste kinda funny. Let’s, you know, fix that.”
She stood and began pulling Agent T by his dick towards a nearby trough of white liquid. With each step she took, her ass jiggled and even from behind he saw the sides of her tits sway.
Agent T remembered to try to fight, to try to push Jenny away, but her grip was almost superhuman, and with each gentle tug he felt like a cattle being prodded.
“No,” he grunted. “Stop it, let go of me!”
Jenny reached her free hand into the trough and scooped out the liquid, a gooey, creamy substance that looked like a cross between icing and whole milk, and, with Agent T’s cries for help totally ignored, slathered it on his open dick before popping it back into her mouth.
There was no fighting now. The instant it touched his skin, Agent T knew he never wanted the feeling to go away. Every nerve and synapse felt holy, and Jenny’s persistent sucking did nothing to alleviate the golden, religious epiphany of it.
A hand brushed his shoulder and reached up to the back of her head.
“Come on, lover,” another woman said, “take off this silly thing and kiss me.”
Agent T, lost in a haze of lust, could barely believe it when he opened his eyes and saw Rhianna smiling up at him, her short stature making her new, bountiful treasures all the more uncommon and exciting. Without giving it another thought, he reached up and, carefully unfastening his safety-sealed mask, peeled it away, breathing in the odious aroma of fuck fumes and…something so incredibly sweet.
“Hey,” Rhianna said as she pulled him in for a deep kiss, “don’t I, like, know you from somewhere?”
Commander Phillips gritted his teeth as he watched actor Taye Diggs remove his mask, carelessly tossing it to the floor where, luckily or unluckily, it landed with the hidden camera facing his actions.
Things were just as they’d been described by his other teams, but Phillips could hardly believe what he was seeing in front of him. Hundreds of celebrities, their bodies distorted, their minds seeming to think only of rutting and screaming and breeding. It didn’t seem real and yet, here it was.
He could only watch with a heavy heart as Taye was moved to the floor, a busty version of pop star Rhianna force-feeding a white Goo into his mouth in between his laps of her pussy, all while a transformed Jennifer Aniston gleefully bounced on his cock, her hands doing their best to help Rhianna in coating the actor with Goo even as her fingers kept straying to her booming breasts.
As terrible as Digg’s fate was, Phillips knew, with a heavy sigh, he was not to be the last.
Gina Carano was losing grip on her sanity.
The MMA fighter-turned-actress couldn’t believe her eyes, started to believe they were lying to her, as though her mind and body were on a different page.
When she’d been approached for this mission, she’d been told that her physical, militaristic movie and fitness training would keep her safe as a special agent embedded in a team of soldiers. It sounded far-fetched, but then they told her where they’d be going and who they’d be trying to rescue.
The rest of her team seemed legitimate. She hadn’t seen their faces or learned their real names, but they seemed sure of themselves, and she’d been told the others wouldn’t know that she was a celebrity, so she had to blend in. She just fell into ranks, and it seemed to be going alright.
She managed to stare past the rippling mass of tangled, fucking bodies to the platform in the room’s center. Managed to capture footage of the empty thrones, the table, what looked like a giant white egg, and a body…it looked familiar, even if its parts were so exaggerated they barely looked human. The blank white eyes of a woman’s bizarrely expanded body as a line of men fucked her, one at a time.
Then she glanced around and spotted a familiar face nearby, and despite herself she was relieved.
She’d met Beyonce through Jay-Z’s famous Las Vegas hotel parties, where female wrestlers and fighters were always encouraged to put on a private show. But when she’d given him a look that told him she wouldn’t be one of those girls, he was impressed, and had even invited him to join his wife for dinner. After that, they’d become friends, and, once, they’d played around a bit, nothing serious, but it had left a distinctive impression on the athlete, one she’d not forgotten.
Now, she saw Beyonce’s face, her eyes not blanked out but perfectly healthy, though she couldn’t see below her neck because of the bodies between them. The singer looked pained, as though she were being tortured. Gina had a flash of thought: “Rescue.”
Gina sprang into action, getting a running start and leaping a mattress where a trio of women that looked an awful lot like Avril Lavigne, Elisha Cuthbert, and Selena Gomez was worshipping a monolithic cock while playing with each other’s fully fattened tits, then sprinting past a bed where, with a few sets of helping hands, a monstrously inflated Christina Hendricks was force-feeding her insane globes to an almost equally chesty Kat Dennings, the latter suckling on the huge nipples like a baby drinking its fill.
Just as Gina reached her friend, the latter woman’s face changed, from one of pain to one of ecstasy. Then she looked down at Beyonce’s body. And she realized her mistake.
Beyonce had always been gifted with a fine, curvy body. But now, with her legs hoisted up up against her prodigiously pillowed breasts and a foot-long dick plunging in and out of her once exotic and now titanic ass, she resembled less the healthy popstar Gina knew and more a walking, quivering mass of pure sex.
Gina didn’t recognize the man fucking Beyonce at first, but as her eyes adjusted to the light through her mask, she realized that Beyonce’s husband had changed as well, his already notably large penis now twice as long and thick, and as it stretched the singer’s rosebud, she wailed in bliss.
Gina could hardly breathe.
“Be-beyonce?!” she gasped before she could stop herself.
Beyonce turned her head lazily, her husband never stopping his ministrations.
“Hi!” she called cheerfully. “Do I, like, know you?”
It was too late to stop now. She’d been made.
“It’s me, Gina,” she whispered.
“Oh, hey Gina!” Beyonce practically yelled. “You want in on this? It’s sooooooo hot!”
Gina began backing away, slowly at first, then at a hurried pace, not even looking. Sure enough, her heel caught on a mattress where, in the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a rapid and quivering three-way between a hulking Kanye West and the planetary of asses of Nicki Minaj and Kim Kardashian. The rapper wasn’t even fucking the women in their holes, Gina noted, instead just thrusting up from the ground as they pressed their buttcheeks together and stroked him with their overgrown cracks.
‘The ultimate ass-play,’ Gina thought.
But before she could fall into the fray, to hopefully cushioned by the extraordinary round softness of the stars’ plush behinds, Gina felt a bear-strong pair of arms wrapping her in a vice grip.
As Gina was lifted and squeezed from behind, the muscles on the man’s arms threatened to break every bone in her body, his bulk and girth easily outsizing any man she’d ever seen even just in his biceps. As he began to crush her in his grip, all Gina could think was, ‘Well, at least I’ll die. Better than some things.’
“Franc, that’s enough, let her breathe,” she heard a voice say at last.
The arms loosened their hold, just enough so Gina could survive but not enough for her to slip away. The beast’s giant hands spun her around. What she saw made her want to scream. And, as his great fists peeled away her gas mask, that’s exactly what she did.
“Have you heard anything from the others, or am I the only one who’s in the dark?” Mary asked.
Agent C shook his head. There had been no peep since they started through the hallways.
“Maybe their equipment is malfunctioning,” he offered weakly.
They were both dubious.
Suddenly, as they were approaching the source of the noises, they heard a scream.
It echoed off every wall and, to their credit, both Mary and Agent C began to run towards the sound, hoping they could help, to save someone who might be hurt.
What they saw, instead, was a room full of fucking and, right in front of them, as if expecting their entrance, a red-haired young woman with her fist practically buried in her own cunt while her tits shook and swayed.
“Wait-“ Mary started.
That wasn’t just any girl. That was Lindsay Lohan.
The movie star was playing with herself wantonly, displaying her wide-legged stance as she stared at the two intruders with unveiled need and an unnerving playfulness. Mary couldn’t make sense of it. After all the talk of this girl’s seeming loss of weight, here she was, full-breasted, her body soft and doughy and moldable.
“Like what you see?” the girl asked with a chuckle.
Agent C suddenly gave a choked gasp. “Lindsay?”
Mary glanced at him suspiciously and saw a light fog forming on the glass of his gas mask as his eyes welled with tears.
“Hold on, how do you-“ Mary started.
Lindsay slid up to Agent C, wrapping her hands around his head and pressing herself to him.
“I know, baby, I missed you so much,” she moaned into his ear. “And I need you. I need you right now.”
“Jesus,” he sputtered out. “What the fuck happened to you?”
Mary couldn’t take her eyes off the spectacle of these two bodies together.
“I’m sorry,” Mary asked finally, “what’s going on?”
Agent C didn’t look away from the eyes of the woman hugging him.
“We were together before,” he explained. “I wanted…I wanted her to run away with me. And now…”
Lindsay put a finger to his mouth to silence him.
“We’re here now, Channing. We can be together. For as long as we want. In any way we want. No career. No families. We can have our own life. Just like you dreamed.”
He seemed confused as to what to think, his hands first rising, then falling, and on and on, an agonizing question racing through his head: ‘Can we?’
Mary shook her head. “Channing?”
Suddenly the pieces began to fit together.
“Channing Tatum? The actor?”
He turned to her and nodded sadly.
Just as she was about to protest, Lindsay pulled Channing’s head back to face her.
“Stay with me baby,” she implored. “Please. We can be happy together. You just need to let go.”
There was a long pause.
Channing’s hands reached up to his mask.
“No, don’t!” Mary cried.
Channing merely looked at her with a sad acceptance.
“Go on without me,” he said sadly. “I need this.”
He pulled off his mask and took in a deep lungful of sweet, Goo-filled air.
Mary started to panic, turning to run back to the entrance in fear.
“Phillips!” she shouted into her intercom, not caring who might hear. “You bastard, you lied to me!”
That’s when she ran head-first into a wickedly grinning Zooey Deschanel, and felt a dozen hands pulling her back into the horror show.
Commander Phillips’s sincere tears stained his paperwork.
It was true, he’d set them all up. It was planned to be a suicide mission, a sacrifice to try and find a way in. They’d used celebrities because they thought they could slip in the Cult more easily. Thinking it was just some crazed wingnuts too obsessed with their sex drives, Phillips hoped maybe the team could make their way in and, even if they were captured, the bugs in their clothes would be planted, and they could keep eyes on what was happening. Getting actors with experienced military training just made the whole thing more convincing.
Mary was the hardest point in the plan. She’d already been through so much. But Phillips had hoped that her experience in the nightclub would lead them closer to figuring out what was going on.
But they’d been wrong. So very, very wrong.
And now they were all about to pay the price.
Mary flailed and shrieked as she was dragged to the center of the sexual madhouse, passing countless enjoined couples who unspooled from their tight lovemaking to watch her go by, some even coming to aid in the girl’s capture.
Zooey was calling out to her followers. “Gather, it’s time! Time to anoint!”
A mighty roar went up from the excited throngs. Mary’s screams for help were being drowned in their adulation. She kicked and elbowed and bit at the hands carrying her, but for each set of fingers she dislodged from her body, more replaced them. Her hands snaked down to her gun, but it was pulled loose and tossed aside uselessly before she could manage.
“No!” she cried, tears dripping into her suit from her gas mask. “What are you going to do to me?!”
They finally reached the platform, hoisting her body into the air and tossing her face-first before the empty thrones. Dazed, muscles aching from the struggle, Mary tried desperately to push herself up, to take advantage of her momentary freedom to break into a sprint.
But then a dainty pair of naked feet stood in front of her eyes. And as she gazed up at the person before her, she saw a neatly trimmed blonde bush poking out the front of a wide pair of birthing hips. She saw a grotesquely grand and pert set of orbs, their stiff nips peaking at attention anxiously. And she saw a flowing mane of golden hair.
“Oh god no,” she whispered.
Amanda Seyfried smiled lovingly at her lost friend, her bee-stung lips curling around her perfect white teeth. Her eyes glinted with happy recognition, like she’d reunited with a long-away lover. Mary’s eyes met hers not with glee but with awe-filled terror.
“Amanda,” she choked, “jesus, what did they do to you?”
“Shhh,” Amanda said. “Don’t worry about me. I’m happy. I know it seems weird. But trust me, you’ll be happy too, oh-so-soon. I promise.”
Mary sprang to her feet, noticing that no one was trying to stop her. No one except-
Amanda reached out and put her hands on her friend’s shoulders.
“Don’t go,” she said. “You can’t, not until the anointing.”
Mary so desperately wanted to hear her friend reassure her like this for real, wanted to know everything would be alright. But this wasn’t her friend. Her friend didn’t look like a blow-up doll, didn’t look at the world through fuck-colored glasses. Her friend was gone.
“What are you talking about?” Mary raged, pulling away from Amanda. “How did this happen to you?”
Before Amanda could answer, Zooey’s voice cut through the air.
“It happened to her as it happened to all of us,” the young starlet boomed. “As it has happened to your teammates. They experienced the blissful power of the Goo. And that has been wonderful for them. For us.”
Mary turned and saw Zooey behind her, a look not unlike a children’s school teacher on her face, kind yet stern, explaining her world as one explains the world to a baby.
“Is…is that what you’re going to do to me?” Mary asked, trembling.
Zooey shook her head. “Oh no, dear,” she said. “You get a much more special gift. You see everyone here was a willing recipient of the Goo’s love and mercy. It’s time for the next phase of the Cult’s purpose. You see, we’re going to fix the world. Whether they like it-“
Suddenly, a towering man, larger and more horrifyingly muscular than Mary had ever dreamed, stomped onto the stage, his size dwarfing the twisting woman he carried and threw onto the table’s surface.
Mary recognized the nude woman as Gina Carano. She’d seen her movie, knew her face. But she looked normal, beautiful still, but not an abomination like the creature holding her in place.
“Agent G,” she gasped in recognition.
“What the fuck is that?!” Gina screamed. “What is it? What’s happening?”
Zooey stepped forward and looked into the thrashing fighter’s eyes as Franc kept her firmly secured.
“This one,” she announced to her masses, “has breathed in the essence of the Goo, but has been denied its wonderful taste, its glorious touch. She’s going mad from the want and need of it.”
Zooey stood and pulled a vial from her deep within bare vagina.
“Lovers of the Goo, you’ve witnessed a willing sacrifice and its holy gifts.”
She waved a hand and for the first time Mary noticed the giant egg and the prone body of a white-eyed, unmoving woman.
“Now,” Zooey called, opening the vial and holding it above her head, “witness the unwilling sacrifice, and praise the Goo as it anoints an unbeliever.”
She walked forward, waving the vial under Gina’s nose. Gina moaned involuntarily, the intoxicating smell making her mad with hunger.
“What is it?” she asked weakly.
Zooey ignored her, instead moving to Franc, and pouring the vial’s contents on the head of his cock, so large it looked to Mary like it could split Gina in half.
Gina suddenly realized what was going to happen and began to buck in terror like a mule.
“No! No! Stay away from me, I can’t, I won’t!”
Franc positioned his prick at her entrance and, despite herself, the Goo’s tingle invaded the rim of her hole and she squealed. Still, she knew what was coming, and screamed.
Franc pushed forward with just a fraction of his strength, more than enough for his fist-sized cockhead to squeeze into the straining sex of the frightened woman bent over the table.
Every part of Gina’s body tensed, the wrong reaction to her forced invasion, as it only made Franc’s continued violation more punishing. A sound between a beast’s howl and an eagle’s screech escaped her gaping jaw. Inch by inch of Franc’s immense member penetrated her, and Gina’s mind began to snap.
“Ohhhhh gooooodddddd!” she groaned, the last complete words she could manage as her pussy was torn apart by a monster.
Inside of her, the Goo was working, repairing the torn tissue of her womanhood and re-shaping it, expanding it to receive and survive the treatment of Franc’s protrusion, all while preparing her insides for what was to come.
The more Franc entered Gina’s cunt, the easier it was for her to accept the gift of his dick, and, eventually, she began to enjoy it. Drool puddled on the table before her. Her retinas turned in towards her skull and she began heaving with the effort of trying to push herself back onto Franc’s cock.
Her fresh ministrations and extraordinary tightness were making Franc wild. His cinder-block palm came down and struck her toned ass, smaller than the women he was used to enjoying but still with a pleasant jiggle as she quaked under his might.
“Cum! Slut!” he shouted primitively.
Gina could only bay in response like an animal, her thinking, resistant mind reduced to empty jelly floating through her ears and leaking out her battered pussy. If she’d had the ability to count, she would have lost track of how many times she’d cum, though really, she’d been cumming continuously for what seemed like ages.
Now she didn’t care. About anything. She couldn’t.
Gina finally worked herself down to Franc’s base, and the hard feeling Franc felt, as though he’d nearly poked through his new toy’s stomach, sent the behemoth over the edge.
Cum shot from Franc so hard he thought he might shoot through her front and onto the wood that was squashing her aching tits. If he hadn’t had such a profound grip on her cracking, suddenly burgeoning hips, she would have been thrown off of him from the sheer force of his final thrust.
Instead, she took it all deep into her, cum seeming to fill her every internal cell, and Mary could only watch as Gina’s upturned eyes became blank and pearly white.
“Dear god,” she whispered.
Zooey worked quickly, moving Franc out of the drooped, empty body that was once Gina Carano, pulling her up and propping her as she had Olivia Thirlby before her, on her knees with her legs splayed.
It was indescribable, the stillness in the air. Mary could hardly breathe, the camera in her mask capturing the scene as Gina’s body suddenly began to shiver and twitch. Her changes were far more dramatic than those that Olivia’s body had experienced, her still-normal figure suddenly exploding outwards, making her expansion all the more graphic as she became yet another thick wet dream of a creature.
And sure enough, as if on cue, a crown peaked out from her expanded vagina, coming out large and solid and round. Without so much as a squeak, Gina gave birth to a large egg, this one a deep crimson flecked with black, as though harboring a demon, or a dragon.
Zooey raised her arms to begin the celebration, when she heard a crackling sound.
The whole Cult gave a startled gasp as she turned and found the first, white egg suddenly cracked. As she watched, mouth agape, spiderweb fissures appeared all over the shell, beginning to peel away and giving off the strongest, most potent whiff of Goo she’d ever inhaled.
Pieces of egg shell fell away, little by little. Something was curled up inside, starting to squirm and rise.
Suddenly, the cracking stopped. Then, peeking over the side of its fetal home, was what appeared to be a cream-colored, slime-drenched tail. As more and more of it appeared, Zooey realized it wasn’t a tail.
It was a huge worm. No, not a worm: A larva.
Zooey walked tentatively to the astonishing being, her hands outstretched in a sign of good will.
As she reached it, her body snapped stock-straight.
‘YOU ARE THE ZOOEY?’ an echoing, cacophonous voice shot through her mind.
“Yes,” she managed to whisper.
Without control of her own body, Zooey spread her legs apart, and the creature lunged out, stretching and wrapping itself around her leg. It slithered and slimed its way up, reaching into her open slit.
For the briefest moment, Mary saw a flash on Zooey’s face of pure realization and horror, as though what had happened to her body, to her sister, to all these people finally came into focus, as if she suddenly remembered everything about her life and what it had become.
But then the creature crawled into her cunt, moving further and further upwards until it disappeared completely, and the look was replaced by one of absolute joy.
Light emanated from Zooey’s eyes and pores, from her very soul, and she began to float in the air. Her eyes went white, but unlike the shells on the table before her, she was not motionless. On the contrary, her levitating form began swaying like an uncoiling snake as she was hoisted into the air.
She gave a great cry, and the light filled the room.
Then, silence, as she lowered gently to the stage.
The woman who stood before Mary was not Zooey Deschanel. She was hardly even a woman, in the human sense; her very skin let off light, her hair floated through the air as though in water, her pillowed bosom hovered impossibly from her chest. She couldn’t even be sure if her feet were on the ground, or if she was gliding just above it, as though the very earth were unfit for her touch.
Her arms outstretched, and a voice cascaded through the air, her mouth never even moving as they heard it.
“I AM THE ZOOEY,” it said. “I AM THE TRUE GODDESS. THE ZED. THE END. ALL ARE SLAVES TO MY WILL.”
Her hands motioned downwards forcefully, and every man and woman in the room knelt before her.
Every woman except Mary.
“What the fuck is going on?!” Mary screamed as she backed away from the inhuman deity.
Zooey turned and looked at the fearful girl. With an outstretched hand she called to her.
“YOU WILL BE THE FIRST OF MANY TO BEAR MY POWER. REJOICE, SLAVE, AND PREPARE TO RECEIVE.”
Mary reached the edge of the stage, but the kneeling forms stood and pushed her back towards their Goddess. She caught sight of two of her tormentors. The enraptured faces of Channing Tatum and Taye Diggs looked insistently towards their worship and implored Mary to go forward.
Mary was about to take a running leap into the ring of bodies when her legs were suddenly bound and pulled from under her.
“Argh!” she shrieked as she saw two cream-white tentacles wrapped around her ankles, and more creeping up to wrap her wrists.
She looked at Zooey, and saw freakish, octopus-like appendages reaching out from her cunt, the woman’s fingers pointing them in the right direction as more and more fleshy ropes appeared.
Mary could only call out in vain for help as her new Goddess tore the suit and mask from her body and tossed them aside, rushing forth with her tentacles to invade her every orifice.
Comander Phillips sobbed uncontrollably as we watched the screen. Mary’s mask landed at the stage’s edge, pointing upwards as her body was lifted into the air, thin tentacles reaching in and probing first her unguarded sex, then her ass, then stuffing her mouth to stop her screams. Her nipples were wrapped and twisted, her cheeks whipped. Even in the low-quality video, Phillips could see the outlines of the tentacles appearing through her skin, their invasion literally stretching her body to its limit.
A pair of tentacles entered the girl’s ears and wiggled into her brain. All at once, her screaming stopped, replaced by pleading moans around the ropey tangle in her throat.
A longer, much thicker tentacle snaked out from Zooey’s body, its tip leaking a viscous white fluid.
“ARE YOU READY TO RECEIVE, SLAVE?” Phillips heard the otherworldly voice ask.
The strands retreated from Mary’s mouth and the second she could breathe freely she screamed a blood-curdling “YEEEESSSSSS!!!!!”
Her screams filled the audio feed as she was violated by the fat hose, her stomach expanding as it emptied its contents into her womb.
Her speech functions began to fail. “Thank you, Goddesssssssssss” was the last thing she managed as her brain functions were erased.
Phillips saw those eyes, those perfect, perfect eyes, as they emptied of light and color, and were left horrifyingly white.
Her stomach stopped expanding as her tits began to fill like water balloons and her ass burbled out around the attacking limbs.
Then, just as quickly as it began, it was done. Mary was lowered to the table, beside the empty shells, of the egg, of Olivia Thirlby, of Gina Carano.
With disbelief and disgust, Phillips watched her stomach shrink to normal and a giant green-and-white egg spurt out of her cunt. Then the whole Cult applauded and the last thing he saw before the feed went dead was Zooey Deshanel’s floating body staring knowingly and threateningly into the camera.
Phillips was beside himself with grief and horror. What had he just seen? Was that some kind of summoning? A demon come to life? An alien invasion? It was too impossible to understand, but it was staring him right in the face, that image of Mary’s limp body being violated by some tentacle goddess forever burned into his brain.
Quickly losing his grip, he speed dialed his phone, holding it close to his face with his trembling fingers.
“What’s up?” an oddly cheery male voice said on the other end of the line.
“Mis…mister president,” Phillips began, clearing his throat. “The worst, oh god, much worse than the worst has happened. I can’t even describe it.”
A girlish giggle came from the other end, followed by the sounds of squishing and moaning.
“Mister president?” he asked with fear.
A woman picked up the phone. “Hehe, the president’s, like, oooohhh, totally fucking me right now. Can he, oh fuck, call you back?”
The president’s wife chortled like a school girl and groaned like a bitch in heat.
“Phillips, you, like, sound (yeah! Right there!) Uh, you sound, like, totally stressed out. (Mmmm, baby, yeah) You should get fucked! Everybody else is doing it!”
The phone clicked dead.
Phillips was in a state of shock. Realizing what he’d heard, he burst from the empty command center. He’d ordered everyone out so he could monitor the mission alone, not wanting to reveal the identities of his agents or what he’d sent them to do. Now he realized just how alone he was.
As he emerged into the halls of the White House, he heard the unmistakable sounds of sex from every doorway. As he ran to the Oval Office, he passed men and women of distinguished service, their bodies suddenly transformed and their decorum lost as they rutted right on the ground.
Phillips hurried past the empty receptionist’s space and burst into the president’s office.
There, on the desk, the president was roughly fucking his wife in the ass, their physical features nearly unrecognizable, young and full and round and hard and big in every way. Throughout the room, people were draped over the furniture, cocks and pussies and rosebuds in the air, in faces, in laps.
Phillips nearly collapsed into tears as he feared that there was no one who could help him now, that he was doomed.
‘Wait,’ he realized with a start, ‘I don’t smell it. Everyone who was changed smelled the Goo first. I might be immune to it!’
He turned to run to the streets, hoping to find anyone who, like him, might be free-thinking, might be able to find a way to reverse what had happened.
He bumped straight into the huge, suddenly young-looking tits of the Secretary of State, and was knocked to the floor.
The older woman looked thirty years younger than he knew she was, than she’d looked the day before.
He had no time to move, or escape, or react at all as she stooped, smiled, and poured a full glass of Goo into his shocked, open mouth.
‘No!’ he thought. ‘Anything but-‘
Then he tasted it, and his thoughts shifted completely.
‘Yes,” he said. ‘That. More of that. Goo. Need the Goo. Forever.’
NEXT – THIS DREAM 4: A WORLD MADE FOR WHORES