Help! My Bimbo Erotica is Coming to Life!
Lacey Liu
Chapter 6
The situation downstairs had deteriorated some. There were crowds massing outside. Crowds of people, almost people, and things that slithered in midnight masturbation sessions.
Jerome cleared his throat, unfurled his chest, thrust his bulge ever-so-subtly.
“Call me Shaka Boom.” Jerome insisted. “Cuz I know how to wield my spear to make you go boom.”
Despite the fear chilling her veins, Lucy found it in her to roll her eyes.
“Sure, I’ll call you Shaka Boom...when I go by Bang-Bang Mi, the Wanton Wonton.” She blinked. That was ...actually a pretty good name for something!
Lucy shook her head. What was she thinking? Had she been infected or corrupted or attacked or whatever, too?
She felt her engorged breast as she peered through the store window, over Jerome’s improvised barricades.
It made her eyes hurt to see, and her brain hurt to contemplate. The bimbos were crossbreeding.
Barely legal MILFs eyed the bookstore hungrily. Tentacle-spewing werewolves waved in the windless night. A harem of diverse identical drones only stood and waited, each more identical than the last. Somewhere in the shadows, Mister Tang’s green gaze glinted.
And then, all in a moment, the tension broke.
“GET ’EM, GIRLS!” Someone cried. Breathily.
They thundered across City Park like a herd of unintentionally sexy buffalo.
“Get the door!” Lucy cried. “Block the windows!”
Jerome was on it before she or Scarlett had even moved. He’d shoved the back counter up against the door and had a heavy oak shelf full of books up against the front window just in time.
That left the other front window. RACONTEUR hit the window display in a shatter of glass as a slavering, dull-eyed cheerleader picked herself up off the ground.
“Back!” Scarlett cried, whipping something long and black and thin against the teenage terror with the perfect hair.
The end connected with the girl and a funny thing happened. She shivered, visibly dripped on the latest Presidential memoir, made a funny burbling noise, and fell backward into her squadmates trying to climb in behind her. She kept the cheer squad occupied in a lesbian lickfest as the three hid behind an endcap display of hastily-replaced YA fantasy fiction.
Others were already stepping over the lesbianized pile of writhing cheerleader, reaching over the overturned shelf. They could hear the moans.
“What the fuck is that?” Lucy gasped. Scarlett eyed the weapon in her hand. Long. Black. Leather. Telescoping. And with a powerful pink business end that looked like nothing less than a mounted attack clit.
“It says...tasp?” Scarlett wondered aloud.
Jerome gulped.
“Jerome...” Lucy gritted.
“It do be...a tasp.” He cleared his throat. “Applied pleasure. Drops ’em like you tased ’em and leaves ’em in a pool of they own juices to marinate. Ain’t no one gets up from a tasping in a hurry. Even when they see a big Black cock in need of some TLC.”
Scarlett looked down at the weapon in her hand, her eyes aglow with wonder.
She rose up like she was Charlize Theron in a too-tight skirt, let out a wild war-whoop, and swung it around in broad strokes. Lucy and Jerome heard the tasp going off—surprisingly quiet, polite little buzzes—and then the drowning sound of sticky moans as her victims fell to the carpet. Through it all, Scarlett cackled madly, occasionally exclaiming “BITCH!” at some particularly evasive mass of tentacles or cheerleader/succubus/BBW/futa/MILF/fireman.
At the door, a terrible crash. A bear shifter had reduced the front door to splinters, and was trying to make good over the counter.
“Sup, yo.” Jerome rumbled. “I got this.”
He beat feet, and Lucy squashed herself down, overhearing the combined sounds of a cash register ringing and a thick thud. Jerome’s holler of victory was like nothing she’d ever heard, half Black stud, half wolfman, all sexy.
The door...
The door!
The back door!
Lacey sprang to her feet, dove behind the wobbly postcard rack that constituted her only cover since Jerome had one-handed the counter to the front door. And just in time—the doorknob was turning!
It opened slowly. Just a hair.
Lacey sprang and shoved her D-cup rack directly into it, forcing the door closed long enough for her to slip the deadbolt.
What she’d seen...
A sheer wall of flesh, all of it female, all of it once human, now just ...the writhing...
And the ache in her cunt to join it. How her thick brown nipples ached for warm wet mouths and strong fingers and whatever appendages they’d grown, she’d grow...
A crash.
“EVERYBODY DUCK!” Scarlett’s voice.
Lucy hit the ground. Ass up, face down, ready and dripping to service any cock that came along. It would only be a matter of ripping away her overstrained panties and sliding home like a deadbolt lock. But she was also safe.
The scream of pleasure was deafening. The quiet after, even moreso.
Lucy opened her eyes into unsexy carpet pattern and scattered postcards. She slowly rose up, peeked over.
Jerome was just getting to his feet. Scarlett stood in the middle of the bookstore, her cock threatening to rip open her cocktail dress, a shit-eating grin on her face, the tasp dangling from her hand.
“It had a buckshot setting.” She panted, high on life.
One of the flawless bodies on the floor stirred from its puddle of pleasure and fluid.
“Quick!” Lucy cried.
She and Jerome tossed the half dozen or so remaining bodies, squirming in their arms, out through the broken window, into the growing puddle of lesbionic squirming. Lucy stared in horror, unsure where one cheerleader ended and another began.
At last, the job was done, all that was left of the assault were some wet stains in the carpet and Lacey’s firm new rack built for tittyfucks.