Thomas grimaces in frustration while rebalancing the uncomfortable eagle feathered headdress crowning long jet-black curly locks. Glancing at a pricy Swiss Army timepiece- only part of his attire out of character for the New Year’s Eve party scheduled to begin in thirty minute’s time- he shakes his head and peeps through an open sliding pocket door between the apartment’s bedroom and bathroom. Inside sit and scurry within various states of costume completion three beautiful ladies. Ashley leans forward across tiled countertop, her visage only inches from the mirror, putting dainty finishing makeup touches upon whiskers, big brown pug nose and other exaggerated canine features providing the shapely blonde with a distinctive golden retriever appearance. Tom lets his view glide languidly upward from Ash’s costume foot paws over nicely-proportioned gams displayed in this twenty-something’s tip-toed perching position. A hanging cream colored floppy mop tail rivets the graduate student’s attention as it dangles deliciously across taut derriere curvatures and nestles amid the crevice between apple-round cheeks placed on tantalizing display by the stretchy fabric of Ashley’s outfit and her bent-forward orientation. A sideways glance by the hazel-eyed cutie catches the biochemistry major openly ogling wares, causing a frown of disapproval to appear across her doggy features, while generating a bright blush from Thomas (embarrassed at his school- boy behavior). The best he can do is to make a wisecrack and change the subject quickly:
“Ummmm... nice tail, Ash. Say... about how much longer before you gals are ready to go”?
A slinky brunette arises purposefully from her perch on the bathtub edge while grabbing a disheveled brown fur wig (accompanying droopy dog ears) accessorizing the puppy bodysuit. With a naughty giggle, Madison stuffs this scruffy headgear roughly and rudely over and atop Ashley’s wavy blonde tresses. This gives her tall sexy friend the momentary appearance of a woman struck in mid-transformation between human to hapless dumb animal. With a sultry, flirtatious reply to Tom’s stumbling query, Madison performs an arresting arms-lifted pirouette to present her own costume for appreciation, then chides this brown-eyed Indian Brave-clad handsome intruder for his trespassing into their private ladies-only dressing area domain:
“Show a little patience, Tommy. Everybody isn’t going to the party in next-to-nothing like you are. Feathers, leather vest, mocs, beads and a loincloth?? You’re showing almost as much skin as youthful Yvette over there... not that I’m complaining about the improved scenery, mind you, but...”
If Ashley’s attire is fairly described as skintight, then sexy statuesque Madison’s at best can be called barely skin deep. The essence of her costume is a strapless alabaster white one- piece hugging sculpted breasts, toned torso and breathtaking buns. A quite unusual abstract burgundy veining punctuates her thin garment fabric: wandering and intertwining red streaks that vary in width, color depth and intensity. Yet this is the merest foundation to an incredible overall effect that highlights her remarkable curves and trim, athletic physique. From head to toe, complex body painting identical in color and texture to her unitard has been painstakingly applied, now giving the stately vixen a striking appearance as a nude (or nearly so, upon close examination) living statue. Exotic olive-skinned arms and legs, shoulders and face... even the luxuriant strands and raven locks upon her head... have been worked and permeated with the water-based paint mixture, and now only dark smoldering pupils of seductive Madison’s eyes betray animation as she strikes a motionless pose for the inquisitive Thomas: arms raised akimbo and toward the ceiling, legs spread slightly (better to accentuate their lovely undulating musculature) and head tilted upward with a dreamy faraway expression cemented across her countenance. Tom’s jaw drops open in amazement and appreciation, with more than a bit of an anatomical stir rustling and rearranging folds of his loincloth. This involuntary reaction to her body painted friend’s antics does not go unnoticed by the voluptuous third lady occupying the apartment dressing area. Yvette’s (deliberately un-makeuped, to emphasize a desired childish appearance) eyebrows shoot up at notice of Tom’s stiffening circumstances: a welcome warm flush racing over her chest with nipples plumping slightly. Twin slight protuberances become obvious on a foot-wide “2006” torso banner draped as flimsy covering across her impressive cleavage. Wrapped as an oval between right shoulder and left hip (where it remains in proper G-rated position with help from a safety pin affixing it to a tightly-folded cloth baby diaper), then up around a lovely arching back, the beauty-contestant-like decoration seems only attire this striking early-twenties blonde siren wears above the waist, save a multi-striped beanie with propeller hair pinned atop golden pulled-up shoulder length tresses. This most flirtatious of our feminine trio takes the baton from Madison and runs with it while grabbing a rattle, oral pacifier and huge peppermint striped lollipop completing her infantile outfit and sacheting from the bathroom. Friction due to natural bounce and sway of unconstrained magnificent melons against her cloth banner sends short shrill sensations of electric pleasure throughout a perfect hourglass figure and frame, thereby fueling and bolstering her sexual courage and playfulness:
“Looks like statues are your thing, Chief. Ummm... Sitting Bull seems to be trying to stand”?!
Thomas’ beet-red facial expression and look of utter discombobulation would have likely sent all three girls to the floor in doubled-over laughter, were it not for the pompous (and quite impressive) swaggering entrance of Ashley’s masculine companion for the evening. Vincent’s “Prince Charming” getup was a sight to behold: purple velvet vest and overcoat trimmed in faux ermine and studded with C-Z buttons and cufflinks. An imperial gilded crown straight out of the 1970’s margarine TV commercials adorns a blonde crew cut; he also sports curly-toed Renaissance black leather boot wear with intricate moccasin lacing. The midriff portion of the costume, however, is severely out of character. Beneath his broad black belt and lavish oversized silver buckle, form-fitting scaly bright green leotards flatter powerful legs and show off an athletic, weight-trained dimpled butt from which one might be capable of bouncing off quarters. Full thought of such an experiment briefly crosses revved-up Yvette’s playful imagination, until complaints about Vince’s costume incongruity begin from Madison:
“What’s with the lizard-skin pants, Vinny?? Are you supposed to be King of the Amphibians”?
Vince merely shrugs off this vain criticism: “Hey, I dunnno... It’s what came in the package from the Professor. Ask Tommy what the $!#@%&! is goin’ on... I just wanna get to the party before 2005 is over! And I’m feelin’ really thirsty tonight: kinda like a fish outa water maybe”.
“Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth, everybody”, was Thomas’ reply. “My thesis advisor is a brilliant scientist... if a little bit eccentric, and something of a loner. Dr. Rodinsky’s been really depressed lately after the University turned down the formal request for human subject testing of his new biochemical mutating formula. He thinks that all he has to do is prove that the stuff is safe for consumers, then he can isolate mutagenic combinations to cure cancer”!
Looks of confusion and skepticism were exchanged all around by the four listeners to his tale.
“I was surprised and delighted when he- totally out of the blue- offered me those five tickets to the swanky celebration at the Starlight Room tonight, and I’m happy to see him coming back out of his shell after that major professional and career disappointment. If that means HE goes to the costume rental store and picks out what we wear, that’s OK by me...”, Tom concluded.
“Easy for you to say, Chief. You’re not facing indecency charges with the first strong breeze”, Yvette sarcastically counters. Actually, fabulous physique of this vivacious straw-blonde was covered beneath her meticulously folded and pinned diaper and “2005” New Year’s banner with the tiniest yellow micro bikini as backup to possible public wardrobe malfunction. But past history had taught this naughty night owl that such precautions had a tendency to slide to the ballroom floor somewhere between her third and fourth champagne cocktail. “And how’d I get so lucky to be this old geezer’s date, for cryin’ out loud”?! I’m not sure even the Starlight’s...”
“It’s an honor and a privilege to spend time with the Professor. He’s been twice nominated for the Nobel Prize in Medicine. Besides, the two of you are a perfect match for each other, babe. You’ll see exactly what I mean when we meet up with him in the lobby of the Ritz. Let’s GO”!!
Tom’s authoritative and knowledgeable tone seem to settle all arguments, and so the diverse- almost motley- cast of characters cuts quite a swath through the high-rise lobby as they exit and pile like sardines into Ashley’s fire-engine-red Shelby Cobra GT convertible. Sight of a distinctly feminine puppy being led in collar and leash by royalty in slimy green pants, bronzed Indian warrior arm-in-arm with a nude marble statue, and scantily-clad blonde bombshell masquerading as the incoming infant New Year leave their building doorman’s head shaking, tongue wagging, and pants inseam quite ill-fitting as a sports car speeds along Ventura Drive.
Yvette’s hesitations did not diminish as the Lotus screeches to a halt in front of the Ritz-Carlton Hotel some fifteen minutes later. The crazily-attired quintet had been forced to stop twice: once for a puppy bathroom emergency (suggestions that Ashley pull over and use the nearest fire hydrant had been rejected!), and once to collect the faux golden and bejeweled crown windblown off from atop Vincent’s dishwater-blonde crew cut... without any apparent damage to His Majesty’s headgear. Squeezing her diapered bottom out from between Tom and Madison in a miniature back seat without losing any of her abbreviated attire, our knockout party-goer’s anticipation and excitement hang by a thread. Would her assigned egghead date for the evening turn out to be a flop? Perching pretty posterior momentarily atop the car boot, Yvette lifts her stylish Bollé shades, depositing them anchored against the front of her kiddie beanie. Surveying hotel front steps and foyer with piercing blue eyes, she espies a tall thin distinguished man in his early 40’s waiting in an imperfectly-tailored tuxedo with both hands clasped behind his back. His expression is thoughtful- almost pensive- and with a mixture of sadness and hopeful anticipation furrowing a high brow. Large circular horn-rim and metal spectacles betray his academic demeanor as he shuffles nervously from foot-to-foot beside the revolving Ritz front doorway. It was impossible to tell whether this top-hatted gentleman was handsome or not: a three-foot-long false white beard and mustache hid much of his facial features, save for perplexing blue-gray eyes. The end of a doddering old man’s cane stuck out into view from behind him. A dead giveaway, however, was bookend ‘2005’ sash adorning the front of his tux... perfect complement to the one Yvette now wore across her own ample chest. The older man spots the red sports car with all its frenetic occupants struggling to disgorge themselves from confinement. Their eyes meet, and the lanky geek smiles meekly. She sighs.
Scepters, tomahawks, lollipops, rattles, leashes & collars collected: celebrants-to-be arrive.
Introductions and pleasantries were exchanged between Professor Arthur Rodinsky and his five invited guests... thanks to deft assistance from his graduate student Tom. Each one of these party-goers have individual engraved invitations sealed in a thick cardboard envelope decorated with the Starlight Room insignia. Upon the Prof’s disbursement, these were opened on the spot. As each guy and gal tears open respective invitations and extracted personalized entrance tickets from inside, it becomes apparent that each is “packaged” differently. Tom’s coupon, for example, seems to be buried inside its envelope container surrounded and swathed with a thick layer of dark woody sawdust. Yvette’s entry pass is submerged inside a generous coating of what smelled like baby powder. Vince’s ticket was soaking wet: slathered with an oozy green slime which carried the dank odor of swamp water. Ashley’s is immersed in a flea powder mixture! Madison’s envelope was the heaviest, containing a glittering white substance which bore resemblance to pulverized quartz or stone. Wiping away mysterious concoctions as best they could from their tickets and hands, five attractive young specimens and the man who brought them to this brink of revelry head across the R-C hotel lobby toward the rooftop elevator. They were suddenly and brusquely shoved aside by a burly bald bodyguard whose job it was to make way for his VIP boss arriving out front. A huge motorcycle roars to a stop.
Dismounting from the hog was the most spectacular cross between beauty and evil any of the five companions had ever seen. She was dressed in a leather tube top (despite sultry Southern heat) that highlighted extraordinary porcelain cleavage and flat tummy to advantage. The degree and exaggeration of torso curvatures was breathtaking: almost like those of some comic book character super villainess. Both Thomas and Vince couldn’t help but intake breath sharply as the woman slithered through the revolving doors into the lighted lobby. Chandelier lights danced across her reflective mirror sunglasses and burnished black riding helmet. This she removed as she walked (in a supermodel’s haughty prance!) to release and reveal flowing purple frosted tresses which tossed and waved like some alien grain field all the way down to her waist. Riding low across impossibly-curvaceous hips were the tops of black leather riding chaps matching the beauty queen’s busty halter top. A slight glance and quick lowering of high cheekbones in Professor Rodinsky’s direction suggests some confidential acknowledgment. Toward the five young New Year’s Eve guests she gives a condescending, knowing smile. All eyes in the lobby cannot avert from her progress as she wriggles past and gains the rooftop elevator doors. With multiple male gasps, it became obvious through the cut-out seat of her chaps that this temptress wore nothing more below her waist than the tiniest of purple thongs.
An abrupt SNAAPP!! of her vicious riding crop against long leathered leg harshly summons her bald (incredibly masculine and sexy) bodyguard, who shoves a few ogling fools coming a bit too close to Miss Miyama back from the elevator doors... then the two of them are gone.
“You can pick your eyeballs back up off the floor now, fellas”, Ashley blurted in disgust while giving Vince more than a gentle poke in the ribs to break a spell cast over him (and the room). “What exactly was that? Looked like some sorta weird cross between Peter Fonda from Easy Rider and Jane Fonda in Barbarella’s opening sequence. Who the hell does she think she is, wriggling that bare ass- perfect though it is, I’ll have to admit- around town anyway”?
“That, young lady, is the host of tonight’s party, owner of this hotel and patron of the Arts and physical Sciences”, the Professor interjects. “Kirusaki Miyama is one of the world’s richest, most famous sculptors; as well as a philanthropist whose kind generosity has helped my research through countless technical bottlenecks and funding shortfalls, never before asking anything in return. Some day history books may credit her with defeat of cancer or AIDS...”
“Just what do you mean, ‘never before’, Doc?” asks baby Yvette suspiciously. He didn’t reply.
His name was Brutus and he looked like he could bench press an armored car. Miyama’s powerful bodyguard has assumed costume character upon arrival at the Starlight Room front entrance, serving as both greeter and bouncer. He is dressed as an 1880’s buccaneer, having removed his shirt(oiled rippling pecs and washboard abs were quite the show!) strapping on a scimitar, polka dot kerchief skullcap and eye patch to get more fully into swing of the evening. All three ladies could barely contain themselves: staring and giggling as they proudly present him sticky tickets (ooze and powders refused to fully come off from their fingers and hands!). This rough-and-ready combination between Fabio and Yul Brenner seems to take a particular fancy to unaccompanied Yvette (where was Professor Rodinsky?) as she passes into the posh and upscale dinner club: affixing her with a broad wolfish grin and knowing wink that makes her blush and generating a warm glow sensation below the waist. As the nerdy distracted and absent-minded ‘Old Year’ Prof catches up with his counterpoint costumed date, Brutus leans in close to whisper, “I dig your outfit- what there is of it- but my boss says that I’m too old for you”. Yvette’s face screws up in concern and confusion: this fireplug-built Adonis couldn’t be more than twenty-one years old!? His parting look conveys: ‘you’ll find out what I mean later’.
The interior of the swanky Starlight Room was decked out for New Year’s festivities with all the usual glitz and glamour. Banners and streamers adorned the upper fringes of its all-glass walls, but were careful not to obstruct the breathtaking 270-degree panoramic cityscape view unveiled in twinkling twilight splendor some thousand-plus feet below them. One-by-one city lights popped on in adjacent skyscrapers, streetlights and headlights blazed forth, and daylight succumbed to magical darkness of the final evening of the year. A horseshoe wooden mosaic dance floor stood closest to the outer windows, with buffet and dining tables crowded toward the restaurant interior(and closer to the kitchen). A long 1920’s art-deco style bar stood off to the left, with a 20-player live band in counterpoint to the other side of the room. Still tuning up atop their raised platform... several band members looked already as if they’d been smoking something to bolster their ‘creativity’. The architectural feature for which this Ritzy rooftop restaurant had been named was its 25-foot-high opaque dome which majestically crowned the establishment in azure splendor. Not only did the cupola provide a feeling of airy freedom to the patrons; thousands of hand-painted (real 24-karat gold!) stars glittered and flickered with randomized fiber-optic filaments providing their spark. The effect was astonishing: Madison was struck still as a statue... finding herself gazing appreciatively upward in rapt silence for several minutes before the sound of a heavily-accented Asian voice caught her attention.
Conversation over canapés and cocktails between Yvette and the Professor was strained and halting. Widowed some years back, the academic was clearly uncomfortable making chit- chat with a voluptuous mostly-naked blue eyed blonde barely half his age. But she drew him out of his shell by asking about his work. “Tommy says that you’re trying to cure cancer?”. she prodded. “Ummm, well, yes, actually, young lady”, he began. “My approach is a careful combination of holistic medicine, ground-breaking genetic chemotherapy and radiation. I call it together my ‘CAPTURE’ oncology: Chemical Activation of Promoted Thoughts Using Radiated Emissions. It is designed to warp and mutate human cells- specifically targeted cancer cells, for example- turning them back into harmless benign protoplasm. A powerful treatment to be sure; yet one which I am having trouble convincing my colleagues and superiors will be safe for humans. So I find myself at a professional stalemate: unless I can somehow demonstrate...
Miss Miyama descends upon the foursome of Thomas, Madison, Vince and Ashley with an impressive trophy in tow. NFL quarterback Donovan Culpepper (all 6’6” and chiseled 235 lbs. of him!) follows the ultra-chic Japanese beauty a respectful three paces behind. She didn’t even bother to introduce herself or her famous football companion, instead unceremoniously
striking up a flirtatious conversation with both young male companions... much to the chagrin and consternation of canine Ashley and statuesque Madison. Sitting Bull and Prince Charming are immediately enraptured and enthralled by their exotic hostess: something about the lilt in her foreign accent, or perhaps the twinkle deep within her compelling chocolate eyes, holds them in dutiful, spellbound attention to hang on every word slipping from delicious coral lips.
When Miyama asks both of them to accompany her in an inaugural dance of the evening, this is simply too much insult!! Both women step brazenly in front of the departing threesome, their way blocked. An instant of thunderstorm-caliber electricity dances between twin costumed guests and their hostess... our Asian seductress’ eyes narrowing evilly for a second or two. Then the moment passes. Miyama smiles politely and spoke kindly and generously to jealous
scorned females in a soft accent: “Here... take Mr. Quarterback while I’m gone with your two. He’s quite broken in and well trained at this point... he’ll do anything that you say”! And with that arresting thought, the leather-clad temptress was gone with Thomas and Vincent right behind her (nothing to do with unbelievable rear-view MM’s chaps & thong combo offered!).
The trio proceed out onto the dance floor, gyrating between twin curving translucent 9x12’ acrylic monoliths connected to some battery of intricate electronics. As the threesome spin and dance, a futuristic multihued light show springs to life from its thick convoluted interior.
The optical effect(even on this lowest setting) is purely hypnotic... all eyes are drawn to it.
“What in the %!$@!*& IS that thing, anyway?”, queries Madison in stark dazed disbelief. She is having quite a bit of trouble taking her eyes off of it and the attractive bodies in between.
“Mistress Miyama’s latest sculpture and invention”, replies a blank-faced Donovan Culpepper. Standing erect at formal attention: ramrod straight and staring directly ahead into nothingness like some soldier awaiting military inspection. Both girls whirl about and consider this cocoa skinned hunk standing stiffly beside them, dressed in a flawless Hugo Boss tuxedo. “Professor Rodinsky and she collaborated to create it over the past eighteen months”, he continued. “She calls it her ‘Field of Dreams’... says that inside there anything she wishes for can come true”.
The two lovely female companions exchange looks of bewilderment, for a second. Naughty smiles next pass over both pretty faces, as Ash and Madison recall Miyama’s very last words.
“How do you know about all this, Mr. QB?”, asks the lithe athletic living statue. Maddy had worshipped this guy from afar during last year’s Super Bowl. Now he’s right beside her.
“Mistress Miyama flashed some sort of ancient jade medallion before my eyes over at the bar. Ever since, my mind’s been a complete blank slate. I do as I’m told, speak only when spoken to. I’ve been her boy-toy for the past hour now... standing silent while she chats with dinner guests, then retiring into alcoves and coat room for some serious personal consideration...”
This confession- combined with multiple Mimosas consumed by the gals- pushes them beyond edges of ration and reason. Ashley feels a distinct dampness between her thighs while asking:
“My friend and I have this running bet going. She says that in football, Tight Ends are most appropriately named; we disagree. I think quarterbacks have a better backfield. Would you...”
The question wasn’t even out of her mouth before tux trousers and boxers had hit the floor.
Warning bells should have been going off inside Vince’s head by now... unfortunately, his thoughts were elsewhere (mostly below the waist). Three gin and tonics hadn’t put him in a good starting place to begin with, but these $#!% beams glowing out from huge serpentine clear plastic walls on either side of this part of the dance floor are really getting on his nerves.
It had started as a rainbow of colors: sparks, halos and starbursts which caught his eye and wouldn’t let go. Coherent thoughts and everyday concerns spun off quickly into oblivion after that, and his focus affixed onto a leather-encased supermodel partner dancing, wriggling and teasing him with that scantily covered backside. Its curves, crevices and gyrations called to him... pulling him ever deeper into their Siren’s song. He couldn’t help it: he longed to caress those buns- so tempting and squeezable soft- then kiss and lick them in dutiful appreciation until the cows came home. His amphibian leotards were fitting less-and-less comfortably by the second. Nearby plodded a similarly spellbound Thomas, whose ogling wild-eyed stare and lolling wet tongue suggest that his manipulated mind was strolling down the same path as his.
Abruptly, the seductive Black Widow threw them a curve... and the ballgame was over.
Having maneuvered her dancing duo with subtle angles and reorientations, she now had both Tom and Vincent with their backs to the exterior windows. MM was herself quite lathered up as well, if not simply by the thrill of sexually exciting two young muscular hunks. The moment was fast approaching where a year and a half’s efforts and experimentation would be put to the test. Rodinsky hovered nearby at the CAPTURE instrumentation. Yet nothing would be left to chance. This was, after all, a controlled experiment. That’s when Miss Miyama flashed them.
Facing her first guinea pigs pinned against the windows (no other witnesses in the Starlight Room could see her chest), a Japanese beauty yanked down the front of her tube top, pushing very impressive cleavage up and into full view with one swift skillful motion. The expressions on cute faces of already dazed-and-confused men was priceless! It seemed as if both were jolted with 1000 volts of electricity for an instant, before wanton lust replaces total surprise. Between oversized rosy aureoles and thimble-sized hardening nubs, however, lay her trap.
Suspended from a golden chain hung a thick square jade pendant of intricate oriental carving. Ancient runes and symbols dance in the reflected illumination from overhead chandeliers and the high-tech pulsating brightness surrounding them. Miyama now recites a short incantation, and the pendant ejects a brilliant green-white flash which envelops both Indian and Royalty.
Immediately four eyes go totally blank: their jaws slackened and drooling tongues hanging limply out the sides of their mouths. They were mere puppets... completely and utterly at her beck and call. MM had nicknamed this magical jewelry the ‘brain drain’, and it lived up to its reputation now. With a gleeful giggle of triumph, she saunters toward her latest acquisitions.
They had both stopped dancing now: slumped into sagging slouches with arms limp at their sides. As Kirusaki slithers to Thomas’ side, she gleefully notices his eyes severely crossed.
“I INSIST that you two boys keep on dancing, while I go check my face and lipstick, OK?”
Completely beyond reason or any power to resist, blank-faced victims of MM’s mystical power resume their rhythmic revolutions in time to lively band music- unable to help themselves. It was as if they’d become robots, freshly programmed by new compelling downloaded software. Stifling back peals of wicked laughter, our oriental viper flees from between twin thick acrylic emitters while nodding toward the Professor. Seconds later, a thick yellowish haze immerses both costumed companions, creating a weird tingling sensation across exposed skin surfaces...
“WHAT the $#@!&*! do you two think you’re doing??”, Yvette exclaims in shocked surprise.
Slurping down her fifth (maybe sixth?) Mimosa and rattling its empty fluted glass onto the polished art deco black mica bar countertop, intoxicated- by the thrill of her control over a muscular bottomless sports icon as much as by the liquor flowing in her veins- Ash replies:
“Whoa there- Yvette, Babe! I’ve got a sight for you that’ll make you warm and tingly all over”.
Without further ceremony or prelude, a hazel-eyed puppy grabs an old fashioned ice crusher from the bar top(little more than weighty dimpled metal circle at end of a flexible steel shaft) and WHACKKS!! right side of Donovan Culpepper’s taut bent-round bared brown buttocks. True to form, our NFL superstar remains dutifully poised in a full mooning posture: head down with both hands grasping the backs of downy shins just above his ankles. Yvette cannot help but gape at the hypnotizing physics display of transferred kinetic energy laid before her baby blues. Impact of her companion’s blow generates fascinating waves of jiggled beefcake that swim from one sculpted caramel cheek to the other... and back again! Guffaws and giggles from Madison and Ash fill the nightclub’s air: distinctly audible over the strains of Take Five emanating at 80 decibels from a live band off to their right. The infant-clad partygoer had wanted to scold her cohorts for their shenanigans, but she too found herself temporarily struck dumb and totally enraptured by the surprising delectable sight of gorgeous gyrating glutes. At last Yvette is able to break the spell... eager to question her furry and stony friends exactly HOW they’d been able to find themselves with a NFL quarterback under total control... when a brilliant white barrier of light erupts from the 9-foot curving glass sculpture bisecting a mosaic wooden dance floor in front of Starlight Room picture windows. Yvette whips out pair of Bollés once more from inside her ‘2006’ sash; yet even this protection will not allow penetration of the supernova-like illumination generated by the high-tech monoliths some thirty feet away. Virtually all of the revelers and workers inside the rooftop restaurant surrender to a vicious overwhelming assault upon their retinas: shielding their eyes with hands and arms while also turning away. Our buxom blonde bombshell holds her visual ground with aid from sunglasses, however, thereby glimpsing a trio of figures at outer perimeter of this dazzling display. Alone stands her date, Professor Rodinsky, manning the dials, knobs and switches for a battery of controls and electronic terminals adjacent to the walls of light. Passing him by was their party host, Miyama, slinking confidently back between her sculpture creations while administering one final coat of lipstick to her drop-dead delicious full lips... now curled up into an evil grin.
Finally- and most perplexing of all- she was able to make out Brutus abandoning his post at the nightclub front door and heading straight for the blinding sculpture as well. Yvette didn’t have the faintest idea why MM’s bodyguard and faithful servant wheeled a hand truck before him with one hand, while sporting a glass, moist fern-adorned terrarium under his left arm.
Psi radiation had performed its inevitable and insidious chore: bathing Vince and Tom while they twisted and twirled according to irresistible commands from their lovely Mistress, then morphing into a thin concentrated opaque white perimeter under the skilled, practiced hand of Dr. Rodinsky, where it formed an effective visual barrier which precluded witness to events about to unfold. Both young men were completely clueless as to their imminent fate: their minds awhirl in sexual arousal, dizzying optical stimulation and now partly under influence of (as yet still inert) Stoichiologiated Yttrium chemicals inserted into their invitation envelopes.
The Professor watched- partly with the excited anticipation of a hypothesis testing scientist, but also with solemn knowledge of the price his research financier would now extract in return for proof of an oncology protocol’s mutating safety- as Miyama entered her ‘Field of Dreams’. The CAPTURE process was nearly complete: only extra-special finishing touches remained.
Powerful irradiated energy had stolen all strength from both of MM’s handsome guinea pigs... who now stood still as statues: caught and frozen amid frenetic dance steps. Like shooting fish in a barrel, thought our pretty villainess as she slinks and saunters up next to the Prince.
“I won’t bore you with all the technical details, Your Majesty”, she begins in a sexy Asian lilt. “Suffice to say that you are now upon the brink of a major career change. You’ve just received a powerful radiation dose (looking in the direction of Rodinsky with a smile) to go with the first batch of mutating chemicals enclosed within your party invitation. Specific direction of your particular change is being subliminally promoted by that very costume you wear! One last bio- chemical ingredient- a fast acting catalyst to begin transformation- is contained in this tube of lipstick brand which I’ve aptly dubbed Circe’s Choice”. Pausing for theatrical effect, Miyama gleefully peers into dull glazed eyes of a hunk standing stiffly, helplessly before her. Vince’s frozen look of confusion and fear immediately made both nipples hardened pebbles beneath her leather tube top. Friction between its heavy material and hyper-sensitive nubs heightens the level of sensual electricity inside this sprung techno-trap of her own making. Saki now has to fight off strong urges already coaxing descent of left fingertips down into her moist panties.
Pulling a tiny replica of the faux crown atop her victim’s blonde crew cut (the miniature comes with a small elastic chin-strap as well!) from outstretched hand of her bodyguard now standing beside her with open terrarium at his feet, the cruel temptress utters last goodbyes to royalty:
“I’m sure, sweetie, that you’ve heard fairytales about the Princess rescuing handsome Prince Charming from a witch who’d turned him into a frog? One kiss, and it’s happily ever after?! Well, tonight I’m afraid that we’re about to turn that little story on its head. Mmmwwaahh”!!
With a big wet kiss onto his limply-parted lips, Miss Miyama begins to cackle uncontrollably: peals of her laughter washing over masculine moans of pain as flesh and blood, sinew and bone warp and writhe. It was over in seconds. From somewhere beneath a vacated royal costume now sprawled over the mosaic dance floor, distinct, repeated cries of rrrrebbbitttt! are heard.
Our evil villainess re-applies a coating of Circe’s Choice onto her lips (curled in a sexy pout) as she considers the nearby static Indian Brave’s alluring loincloth. A now-enticing method of catalyst application would cause complications in Thomas’ case, so she turns to bark orders in the direction of her pirate-clad assistant. “Give me your sword!... return to us in exactly ten minutes time, understand”? Brutus was at that moment in process of securing the miniature crown atop a slippery amphibian head until recently belonging to Vince. He places the now- appropriately-attired Frog Prince down into his terrarium, then hastily departs from the scene.
It is fifteen minutes to midnight inside the blazingly illuminated interior of the Starlight Room when the bizarre wall of light began to fade. Yvette, Madison and Ashley pounce on the opportunity to charge and surround Dr. Rodinsky, still manning the CAPTURE device controls. Although now turned down, the contraption’s brightness dims relatively slowly: still emitting equivalence of a cloudless Australian Outback mid-summer’s high noon as they approach him.
Hot-tempered Ashley is the first to arrive, and wastes no time in landing an uppercut into the tuxedo clad gentleman’s cumberbund region. Statuesque Madison reaches the scene an instant later, towering above the doubled-over egghead in a classic superheroine’s pose: legs spread wide and clenched fists hooked onto curvaceous hips. But for intricate wonderful bodypainting, we would more clearly see the red-faced furious scowl contorting usually breath-taking facial features. Our living statue demands explanation for circumstances in a husky, luscious voice:
“Alright, Doc... Tell us RIGHT NOW what the #@!*?%! is going on , or I’ll rip your nuts off”!!
The expression of sadness deep within the Professor’s blue-gray eyes intensifies, combining with just a hint of fear for the trio of beauties surrounding him. Yet this was absolutely nothing compared to his terror of retribution from MM, should he betray her or not follow through on her orders at the last moment. I could end up just like one of these poor fools... OR WORSE!! Yet Arthur Rodinsky wasn’t an evil man... merely a frustrated scientist left with no good option besides chucking away 30 years of research effort. Out of sheer pity, he considers that now.
It was at this exact moment when Brutus appears out of the fading brilliance to place Vincent (safely ensconced in his new home between two slimy rocks under a dripping wet fern) onto a nearby table. Her eyes blinking wide from optical strain and confusion, Ashley’s gaze switches back and forth between the flattened, empty royal costume sprawled across the dance floor and the mini-crowned amphibian cowering inside its glass terrarium. Unblinking green eyes convey a dumb look of utter hopelessness somehow familiar to the victim’s ex-girlfriend...
“VINNY!?!?... Is that YOU down in there? Whadda they DONE to ya”?
Yvette bounds (and jiggles) out onto the wooden dance floor, her bare foot probing the purple velvet and ermine-trimmed costume for any sign of life... yet there is no clue or evidence as to Vince the Frog Prince’s prior existence. Madison was openly weeping now, pleading with the dejected and guilt-racked Rodinsky for a rationale or assistance. He stares glumly at the floor.
Saki Miyama’s cruel reply to Ashley’s question was as succinct as it was cold-bloodedly true:
“Do not fret your pretty little head about HIM, Dearie... you shall be joining him soon enough”!
As she pronounces this menacing prediction, all eyes are drawn to MM and bizarre activity taking place a few feet away from her. Brutus the Buccaneer is carefully loading vertically onto his hand truck a wooden Indian figure... very much like those which used to be found at the entrance to old-fashioned tobacco stores. Carved from polished reddish cedar or redwood, his life-likeness was uncanny: almost unnerving. Muscle tone of the statue’s legs and torso, veins prominent in his crossed forearms... even intricacy of individually defined petrified hair strands suggest that a Native American master craftsman dedicated his lifetime to creation of this single treasure. The expression chiseled onto the Brave’s handsome features mixes pure delight and shocked surprise: fixed eyes saucer wide and his mouth shaped in an agape “O”.
It was the clothing and accessories which gave it away. Beads, leather vest and mocs, feather headdress and loincloth exactly as Tom had been attired. Yvette recognized it all- even the tomahawk squeezed upright in the crook of his petrified wooden arm- and screamed.
This rallying cry brought Ashley and Madison- with the Professor leading their charge- inside the high-tech sculpture’s interior amid a full-frontal assault of the evil sorceress. But she was more than ready for them. A glint of ballroom lighting across the scimitar blade held in her left hand notified all attackers at once that their demented quarry was armed and ready to defend. An even more potent weapon she held clenched in her right hand, however... one which would strike disgust and total horror into hearts of her next intended victims. Cruelly and casually, she tosses this cylindrical-shaped object (smothered and caked with her own very special Circe’s Choice lipstick brand) in direction of the advancing Professor, who catches it by reflex.
Holding it up to scrutiny for only a moment, the turncoat academic suddenly gasps and lets go of the object, whereupon it clatters onto the floor with the series of staccato click-clacks of wood upon wood. Three lovely costumed ladies close in about the severed erect eight inches lying on the dance floor at their feet... not quite able to fully process what had now transpired. Spinning emotions and cloudy thoughts allow Miyama and Brutus chance to escape: the latter rolling petrified Brave Thomas(or most of him) atop hand truck toward a service elevator, and the former prancing triumphantly to CAPTURE controls, promptly spinning buttons and dials.
What began as a pleasant tickling sensation rapidly turned ugly. As the dazzling thick yellow haze of Miyama’s and Rodinsky’s Psi radiation engulfing her fabulous frame grew to full concentration and potency, it seemed that her very life force was being sucked from the marrow of her bones. The simultaneous stimulation of a thousand ants dancing across every inch of her tanned smooth soft skin and feeling that she was being cooked from the inside-out like a frozen dinner in a microwave made her sense of balance reel and her stomach turn. The two guys were gone... transformed into a helpless dumb animal and an inanimate object. Last sight burned onto Yvette’s retinas before everything went blazingly-bright-white blank was poor Thomas’ disconnected dick- proof positive of MM’s evil intent and CAPTURE’s effects. Her mind spun in fear and confusion: all three gals foolishly had charged their enemies when flight had been called for, and now they would pay the price for underestimating the power and cleverness (and sheer malice) of their foes. A moment’s hesitation of shocked revelation as to the fate of their male friends, and BLAMMO!! Trapped like rats! She wonders, in fact, if that might exactly be her imminent fate... horrible visions of whiskers and tail erupting out of her shrinking grey-skinned nude body flooded her brain. She wanted to emit an EEEP! of terror.
Then- after what seemed an eternity in her high-tech imprisonment, but was only a moment- intensity of the mutating energy began to subside. To her further astonishment and dismay, the buxom blonde babe now discovered that Psi waves had inexplicably stolen all power of movement from her body. There she stood: like an overpriced department store mannequin, dumbly gaping down at a sliced-off (impressive!) wooden cock slathered in pink lipstick. She wanted to turn away, but couldn’t. Her immobility and fixed stare at such a bizarre sight only magnified a severe feeling of helplessness. She now couldn’t so much as bat an eyelash!
Bones inside her frame felt soft- almost jelly like. Deep down, she knew she was malleable.
Was there any hope for them? Perhaps Professor Rodinsky knew of some way to break free.
Sounds and syllables spoken with devilish intonation a few feet away crushed Yvette’s last remaining prospects for escape. Miyama was addressing the good Doc himself: gloating over his capture and imminent demise just as surely as she would soon do for all the others:
“Well, Arthur... my fears, I see, have come true. You ultimately lacked the courage to see our little experiment through to its conclusion. I always worried you were never fully committed to doing whatever was necessary to achieve our mutual goals. You wanted to be famous in your field and win the Nobel Prize... curing cancer and AIDS and all that jazz. Look at you now!
Caught in my spider’s web just like all these other pitiable insects. I’m no longer a young lady, you see... nearly eight hundred years old, thanks to longevity’s sustenance from all my previous petrified victims. But my powers grow weaker now with age. You’ve provided me with novel method to continue with statue creations, while broadening my horizons into brand-spanking- new opportunities. This machine still allows me to dine upon their severed life forces while transforming them into virtually ANYTHING my wish or whimsy might desire. Scrumptious”!!
Miss Miyama next took the opportunity to gloat: slithering and dancing between her quartet of stiffened victims... fondling and caressing them, even grinding sexy derriere into Doc’s groin.
Ash, Madison and Yvette stood dazed and confused, unable to respond or to resist advances.
Boobs were massaged and nipples tweaked, inner thighs stroked and frozen fannies fondled.
Our villainess picked up Tom’s petrified penis, licking and sucking its tip and broad glans. The tongue massage seemed to intensify her sexual arousal even further. Kirusaki began stripping away her leather attire, leaving only matching abbreviated lavender bra and panties ensemble.
“This young man certainly enjoyed his transformation”, the Asian temptress continued. “as you can see from his enthusiastic response to my application of chemical reaction catalyst. But we couldn’t place him in front of my Hotel sundries and tobacco shop downstairs in his aroused state, so fairly drastic measures were called for(she glances at her sword). I also took the precaution, Professor, of placing Stoichiologiated Yttrium onto the outside- as well as the inside- of our honored guests’ invitation envelopes. Envelopes composed of poster cardboard. See what I’m getting at? It appears as if your fate will fit your quite boring, one-dimensional personality, Arthur. You always were too much of a shallow stiff for my tastes. Bye-bye now!!
Instead of planting the expected kiss upon her former partner’s lips, the evil villainess instead loosens our helpless academic’s trousers belt and zipper. Yanking back on the rear elastic of his boxers, she deftly and unceremoniously inserts the lipstick-coated member into his region where the sun never shines. Loud sounds of crackling and scrunching like paper being rumpled and compressed fill the Starlight Room dance floor, along with Saki’s heartless laughter. In a minute or two these noises stop, and Rodinsky looks obviously surprised, but seems otherwise unharmed. That is, however, until MM gives his balding forehead a vicious index finger flick.
His squashed, quarter-inch thick poster cutout figure- all that’s left of his former self- rotates over and THWACKS! onto dance floor mosaic. Loose fitting clothes surround flattened frame. Straddling her latest victim’s body and staring into his shocked vacant stare, Miyama releases the hooks of her brassiere, allowing it to fall onto Rodinsky as she fondles her ample cleavage:
“Congratulations, Arthur!... your wacky invention is a complete success”.
Bulked-up, bulging Brutus was done in by his own libido. As the Starlight Room clock now struck midnight to usher in the New Year, Miss Miyama’s buff bodyguard struck the CAPTURE control keys and toggled switches in an exact sequence that now-defunct Professor Rodinsky had tutored, generating the sinister Psi wave frequency causing immediate unconsciousness to anybody located outside perimeter of the contraption’s iridescent sparkling acrylic-like walls. The effect of the short burst of purplish light as it swept across occupants of the posh night club was astonishing. Singles and couples on the dance floor, at their dining tables, straining to see and hear Times Square festivities on a TV hoisted in the far bar corner- more than 200 people including guests and staff- toppled over in mid-cheer and mid-kiss welcoming 2006. It was if all inhabitants of the 101st floor establishment had become puppets: marionettes whose operating strings were instantly cut without ceremony or forewarning. Faces- some heavily adorned in costume makeup or elaborate jewelry- plopped into Baked Alaska and Cherries Jubilee. Stranger collapsed atop stranger... sometimes with amusing results. One partygoer dressed up as a gorilla fell face-first into open lap of a sprawled, spread-eagled Cinderella princess. The radiation overdose had sent Penelope Clearwater swiftly into happy dreamland, and the sly smile plastered across her royal face complemented well apparently excellent personal services being provided to her. One of the waiters had lasted a few seconds longer than most against the evil anesthetizing radiation overdose, dropping his tray of canapés and grasping desperately about him for balance as he toppled onto the wooden mosaic at edge of the dance floor. His semi-conscious flail had latched onto a mid-40’s self absorbed debutante type who’d tried to look years younger by squeezing herself into a Las Vegas Showgirl outfit. Marilyn Cleveland lost consciousness doubled-over a guitar player’s music stand, her slightly oversized, feather-adorned rump aloft in the air. It was this large stationary target the waiter grasped as he went down, taking Marilyn’s panties and hose all the way to the floor. Brutus chuckles at the dark C-shaped crack smiling out from Ms. Cleveland’s involuntary full moon.
In the ensuing sudden near silence, Brutus strode confidently and purposefully across the ten feet between CAPTURE emitter walls as three lovely victims stood stilled in gaping confusion, attempting to come to mental terms with the incredible medical technology combined with the horrific cruel intent of its application. This CAN’T be happening... I’m going to wake up from this nightmare any second and everything’s gonna be OK, Yvette pleaded to herself as she stood frozen in mid-stomp over Vince’s empty costume attire which had collapsed into a lump when he exited humanity to take up residence in another corner of the animal kingdom. It all came crashing down over her pretty straw-blonde tresses upon the twelfth stroke of the clock suspended in the top of restaurant’s azure overhead dome just for this very special occasion. That’s when Brutus- without permission or consent from his boss- grabbed our infant-clad guest and dipped her stilled frame into a fabulous, passionate first kiss of the New Year. She is at once excited and repulsed by this unwelcome and untoward advance from an sick criminal’s henchman. These people turned Vinny into a toad and Tommy into a wooden Indian statue!! were only thoughts spinning through her pretty head as Brutus held her tight, kisses her hard while copping cheap feel of her shapely, diaper-clad backside. Yvette is completely helpless.
Strangely, it is Miss Miyama herself who comes to her rescue. The Asian beauty screams:
“Get AWAY from her, you Swine. She must be kept totally pure and untouched to become my familiar to full effect! I’ve HAD IT with your insolence. You held those Yttrium envelopes too”.
Gravity of Brutus’ peril hit him like a ton of bricks. He drops the energy-sapped straw blonde bombshell onto the floor, backing up and away from MM while shaking his head ‘no’ over and over again. But the evil peal of Miyama’s triumphant laughter fills the Starlight Room again:
“That’s right, fool... you’re being replaced by Mr. Quarterback over there. He follows orders to the letter- not to mention giving great head. As I just said: you’re nothing more than swine “!
From her collapsed prone position, Yvette didn’t have a clear view of what was now happening. There are sounds of a few dainty footsteps, followed by a pffffttttt! gentle whooshing noise, and then baritone human moans and groans. The transformation process seems to take even longer than with Dr. Rodinsky: our heroine glimpses nude grunting! Snorting! oinking! Brutus scramble by her on his hands and knees several times before sight of a bristly pink 300-lb. fattened hog scurries off toward the restaurant kitchen with a convincing departing Squeal.
Sight of his cute dimpled backside turning into fleshy haunches and sprouting a curly-Q tail were the last young Yvette would ever see of the insubordinate, heretofore hunky bodyguard.
Amid sounds of Brutus rooting around among food trays awaiting distribution, Yvette makes another feeble attempt to gain freedom: gathering last strength to crawl for the elevator door.
It is in this posture and manner that the voluptuous blonde runs headlong into a pink cloud dispensed by Miss Miyama about her head and neck from an old-fashioned perfume sprayer (complete with attached tiny hose and spray bulb!). The odor of the fumes is sickly-sweet, making her head spin. Feeling briefly nauseous, her eyes involuntarily follow the purple thong clad cruel villainess as she similarly blasts Ashley and Madison with this perfume sprayer.
“Allow me to introduce you ladies to Circe’s Choice in its more diluted aerosol form. A little bit more entertaining, this way: the victim’s mind succumbs before the body transforms. Lovely”!
And so the protocol was completed for Ashley, Madison and Yvette. Their minds coaxed and cajoled by the costumed roles selected for them that evening; mutating chemicals and Psi wave radiation readying their curvaceous forms for the final diabolical blow which they now inhaled. The slow acting catalyst performed as promised, just as it had moments before on bold Brutus. Each gal was ‘treated’ to the inescapable panorama of the mental-then-physical enslavement of the other two. All this was accompanied by sadistic, sick taunts and teasing from Miyama:
Madison gave in first to the CAPTURE procedure, with deft assistance from her evil hostess. Guided down from her limp weakened standing position, Miyama placed the tall physically-fit brunette into a ‘down on one knee’ orientation vaguely similar to a baseball catcher’s crouch: legs slightly apart and posture relatively upright. From this basic starting point, however, the gifted (and practiced!) sculptress works her craft with precision and skill. Leaving Maddy’s left knee bent and her weight upon foot and toes, MM stretched the right leg back and straight into an artistic curving arc. From there, she angles the young woman’s spine into a modest U-shape, uplifting both arms outstretched with palms up and fingers splayed. The statuesque beauty’s ample chest is thus coaxed forward, her apple-sized breasts thrust outwards onto more prominent display. Head and neck thrown back into a skyward gazing alignment, the exotic, olive-skinned temptress seems to respond and encourage various manipulations and ministrations from her captor: holding her commanded pose without so much as a quiver or shake... Rock Solid was the description that came to Yvette’s own dwindling assaulted mind. And indeed this was an accurate and appropriate description, for- true to MM’s sinister plans- the young woman was slowly but surely in process of becoming a still-as-stone statue. This is made obvious to all as the villainess gleefully cut away Madison’s white and burgundy- striped unitard to place her delicious olive-skinned curvatures onto full display. Where her mind had already gone, soft desirable flesh was quickly following. As Yvette stares in total disbelief and horror (and Miyama whispers sexy taunts into Maddy’s ears, licks both nipples into full rigidity and massages her labia from behind into a slickened, parted near-nirvana) the complexion of newly-revealed skin not bodypainted for the evening fades and loses its color by the moment. Artfully-curved lower back becomes pale, then chalky, then milky white. Both delicious dangling breasts stop their slight swaying from Madison’s slowing heartbeat and breath, then take upon a glossy alabaster sheen. After another moment it is no longer easy- or even possible- to tell where the marble paint ended and actual skin began. And it no longer mattered, for now helpless Madison kneels splayed and inert amid a sexy floor pose, composed entirely of veined stone... once-living beauty changed forever into intimately detailed artwork.
The statuesque brunette very soon had company. Ashley was beginning to act quite strangely, even while Madison’s stiff sentence was carried out. The irresistible impact of CAPTURE technology hit hard. Her supermodel-esque frame helplessly dropping onto all fours, the tall blonde’s facial features take on a dull, blank expression: eyes slightly crossing in a stupefied stare. Lithe limbs (although still encased inside her costume) began to tweak and itch as body hair matted and multiplied uncontrollably: genuine fur sprouting slowly but surely as her mind succumbs into its assigned role. Mouth dropping open and tongue lolling downwards, Ashley begins to pant and drool slightly, protesting feebly and finally as all power of speech dwindles:
“this... haw,haw,haw CAN’T... thwaa,thwaa,thwaa,thwwaa really be happ,,, What’s?... slurp wha...whooo, whooo, huff,huff,huff,huff... HELP!... WOOF, WOOOOF, WOOOOOF, WOOF...”
Saki Miyama’s coal-black eyes blaze with evil amusement at the transforming gal’s futile pleas and protests, waist length purple hair shimmering in ballroom lighting as our voluptuous villainess doubles over in heartless laughter. Striding over in a lace lavender panties and black leather boots ensemble, MM pats an obedient Ash atop thickening/shortening blonde locks and quickly (completely) unzips back of her canine costume while catching one back paw under a four inch heel spike. “Good puppy”, she praises the dumb(and getting dumber!) blonde. “That’s a good girl. I think you’re finding my aerosol Circe has a slight aphrodisiac effect”. SPANK!!!
With genuine animal howls of protest against punishment inflicted on bare bended buttocks perched prettily in the air, Ashley the bitch scampers on hands and knees straight out of her costume in the direction of the stock-stilled Madison statue some ten feet away. Something about the prettily-posed plaything glittering in marble splendor beneath Starlight Room star twinkling halts her crawl. Tongue wagging and drooling in one last hesitating doggie moment, Ashley’s mental defenses finally collapse completely: she scrambles headlong between spread alabaster limbs and begins slurping furiously along many lower crevices and curvatures of stiff Madison’s exposed backside like a thirst-parched Golden Retriever...which she would soon be.
“I’ve saved best for last... Yes, I mean YOU, my curvaceous cutie. A special place of honor”
Miss Miyama bends over to address lovely Yvette where she lies huddled in a fetal position on the wooden mosaic dance floor where Brutus dropped her from his bold, dipping midnight kiss. From here our knockout blonde has watched with horror (and strange, unexplained excitement) processes of transformation engulf her feminine friends. View of lovely lithe Ashley providing delicious doggie services to immobile Madison is temporarily cut off by dangling purple strands framing an upside-down Asian grin. Suddenly, another pfffttt spritz of Circe’s Choice catalyst encircles the blonde babe’s head, strangely sweet chemical tastes and aromas filling her mouth and lungs. A double-dose to ensure swift, complete CAPTURE! There is no escape- or even resistance- now for the pretty last remaining guest of the evening. Her mind spins and whirls.
In one last attempt to flee, Yvette manages to struggle to her hands and knees, but discovers upon trying to stand and run that walking is a skill no longer retained in her thought processes.
She crawls with increasing difficulty (and decreasing speed) in her diaper costume toward the restaurant elevators. Suddenly, a black leather spiked heel catches the dangling 2006 torso banner as it drags across the floor, rudely and abruptly separating it from the rest of Yvette’s clothing, where it remains as a torn, tangled mass on the floor behind the scrambling victim. Ties of the yellow micro bikini make short work for the powerful villainess, and within mere seconds a buxom young lady crawls totally topless across the Starlight Room dance floor. At this moment familiar peals of evil triumphant laughter are met with our lovely lady’s last words (for quite some time to come), even as the scrambling woman feels her stature begin to shrink:
“HEY!!... what... the #@!%$.....gnuk-nunk..... are...... mee go-go bye-bye... agaabaa, ooogoooo”
At Yvette’s loss of power of speech and commencement of infantile babbling, Miyama’s purple panties slide down to crumple on the wood floor, as she steps out of them wearing only boots. Fondling and fingering herself furiously into a slickened froth of sexy near-nirvana, the Asian vixen watches the ongoing final transformation with a mixture of dominant glee and pleasure.
A wave of ecstasy swallows the mutating woman as well, encouraged by chemical receptors and cleverly-mixed pheromone combinations concocted by MM and Professor Rodinsky. So- as with the delightful duo of friends before her- electric warmth now emanates from between the buxom blonde victim’s upper thighs. As her juvenile crawling pauses momentarily to now consider this development, Miyama grabs dwindling Yvette by the waist and spins her to face her party-going companions. Sight of marble Madison’s delightfully dangling breasts seems to entrance and enrapture our heroine even further- she begins to creep ahead while muttering:
“WAAAH! mee hungwy... mama, mama, mama... gggoood... ooooog!!”
It took a bit longer than Miyama expected, given the second dose of catalyst accelerated Yvette’s transformation process slightly, and her physical characteristics had already begun to shift: arms and legs shortening from their flattering, fully grown size and curvatures, bustline slightly shrinking from its impressive dimensions. Yet in little more than a minute, one final piece of MM’s sculpture was complete, and young Yvette found herself helplessly attached to Madison’s left stone breast, grunting, suckling and licking furiously like a malnourished babe.
With each slurping attempt to obtain milk from her former friend, the regressing woman felt more and more higher-level thoughts and reasoning drain away: soon she cared about very little except basic, baby-like needs and cravings such as food, parental comforting and sleep. It was as if somebody had opened the stopper on the bathtub which was her brain... complex desires and thoughts swirling out and away from her pretty head with increasing speed. Even though wishing to scream- a desperate want to protest against imminent fate- all she did was:
FLASH!! FLASH! FLASH!! Kirusaki takes photos of the incredible trio now enjoined before her from every possible angle: close-ups of Yvette’s infantile suckling and Ash’s puppy slurps among her personal favorites; yet overall combination of statue, dog and babe quite striking.
The perfectly posed statue that once was Madison (of course) thinks of nothing; Ashley and Yvette deeply lost among promoted antics and thoughts of their assigned character roles, and so disinterested- and uncomprehending of something so complex as photography- to the light.
With all other guests still knocked unconscious by Brutus’ Psi wave radiation blast, only the sounds of her camera punctuate the lusty licks and slurps our partially transformed victims (save for occasional crashes! or squealing oinks! coming from Brutus rooting about in the kitchen; or delicious, satisfied squeals of our self-motivated Miyama bringing about orgasm).
At the very last moment, Miyama whispers desired commands into busy Ashley’s right ear, and her transformation takes a slightly different direction. Ginger-colored fur fades to become fluffy white, tightly-cropped locks. Mouth and nose lengthen and narrow to more pronounced snoot, limbs becoming spindly and delicate. Producing a large pink bow from discarded leather chaps, Miyama attaches it to a once-beautiful female’s head between pointy pink ears, saying:
“I rename you Fifi! You’ll serve as excellent decoration to my Paris studio apartment. SIT!!”
A standard French Poodle previously known as Ashley stopped her licking and obeyed, much to the cold-blooded delight of a brand-new master(or should we way mistress?) Miss Miyama.
“As for YOU, my pretty marble maiden... I’ve filled a specific special order with your medium and pose. After some drilling and interior plumbing, you’ll serve as centerpiece fountain in a
Bangkok Gentleman’s club entryway. I’m keeping 20,000,000 Thai bahts payment for you, but I expect you’ll be receiving a lot of tips, especially with all those enticing widespread orifices”!
Of the three transformed females, only Yvette possesses sufficient cognition to grasp Miyama was still gloating and taunting her victims. She blinks blankly at her Asian captor and gurgles an indistinguishable reply as her own transmogrification continues to its conclusion. Years of dieting and exercise melted away into inconsequence, as delectable curves along bust line and hips become schoolgirl flat and straight, then collapse to new stumpy baby-fatted dimensions. Beguiling bottom cheeks which- until moments ago- filled out her oversized diaper deliciously now are completely swallowed in the collapsing, clumping cloth fabric. Angular face cheeks swell to cute-but-not-sexy proportions, and the twenty-something victim fully concedes to a twenty-something weeks regression. Voluptuous woman turned back into mere babbling babe!
As final punctuation to a changing process, suspicious loud noises emanate out from beneath folds of baby Yvette’s ill-fitting diaper, a pungent aroma quickly filling the surrounding air.
“Now THAT’s a bit rude, young lady!”, quips Miss Miyama gleefully. Let’s hope that’s merely gas, and you’ve not done a doodle for Mr. Quarterback to clean up already. Toilet training will be the first along a VERY long road for you, sweetie. I’ve chosen you to become my magical Familiar. I’ve decided this high-tech approach is for the birds... besides, my scientist/consult is no longer part of the team (quick evil glance in direction of poster board-flat Dr. Rodinsky).
You must remain chaste... untouched by lusty human hands... a bit of a wallflower, I’m afraid. If so, my magic can be focused and channeled through your re-grown fabulous frame, once it is instilled with proper salves, potions and incantations. Something of a modern-day Gorgon, only better”! Our villainess sweeps five-month-old Yvette up into her arms, whereupon our brand-spanking new baby seriously considers attaching herself to the amazing cleavage there.
Miyama sees her peril, and quickly retrieves our infant-heroine’s oral pacifier and lollipop from the floor to ward off the cute thirty-inch-long wispy blonde’s unwanted toothy advances.
A reproachful look from MM finally stops the hungry babe in her tracks: she gazes blankly upward into purple hair-framed Asian face as a victorious villainess continues her soliloquy:
“And so, once you’ve reached maturity as an unspoiled and untouched virgin- if Mr. Piggy’s smooch didn’t retard the process (oinking! From the kitchen again can be heard)- sight of your bodacious bod will in and of itself force transformation upon any desired victim. For example, baring your magnificent mammaries will cause grown men to regress- at a rate and duration YOU choose- back to their own infancy. Any full-fledged moon showing off completely bared buns will petrify victims in their tracks... taking all sculpting burdens away from my old bones.
And sight of that pretty pussy will someday magically transform whoever you let glimpse it to a pussy themselves... or puppy, frog, cow, snake: whatever you command them to become. I’ve waited a very long time- hundreds of years- for my Familiar and successor to come along.
Had to deal with your four friends to finally get you free and clear, but it’s definitely worth it.
What do you have to say to all that, my lucky little lady”? Five-month-old Yvette coos shyly...
Taking a long loving lick from her swirled peppermint lollipop, one blue eye winks at Miyama.
A strange caravan crosses the Ritz-Carlton lobby few minutes later. Following respectfully three paces behind is Donovon Culpepper, pushing a luggage cart containing marbled Madison, Vince the Frog Prince (in new terrarium home) and Professor Rodinsky. The latter is swaying back and forth from the cart overhead bar, wooden clothes hangar shoved between his poster board shoulder blades and even-more-ill-fitting tuxedo. MM has ordered this sentimental old scientist to be stripped nude and then slid underneath his University President’s office door as absolute proof of Doc’s genius... and foolhardiness. A can of unopened shellac sits on this cart as well: to be applied as stiffener and hardening agent to transform Thomas’ native attire and complete his transformation to Tobacco store decoration. Saki Miyama prances victoriously over to her newly acquire wooden Indian, removing one of two-dozen-plus Romeo and Juliet Cuban cigars recently shoved into the space behind Tommy’s permanently crossed arms. She lights up and blows smoke from point-blank range into a grad assistant’s shocked frozen face.
Spinning on her spiky four-inch heels, the villainess gives a sharp pull on leash attached to the fluffy poodle Fifi (formerly vivacious beautiful Ashley), next lifting the Aprica baby carrier containing infantized Yvette up to eye level. Kissing her new Familiar on the cheek she cries:
“HAPPY NEW YEARs, my cute little one... about twenty-one of them in your particular case”!
Moments later, Miss Miyama and three pretty transformations hurtle away from hotel curbside with squeal of rubber tires and sinister laugh in her brand-spanking-new red Lotus convertible.