EPISODE 4256: An Unexpectedly Cold Shoulder
It took some time for the police to interview all the unwilling participants(i.e., statued victims) of the Mall Office robbery attempt. Some of the witnesses were much ‘harder’ to debrief than others! For example, the cute leggy secretary caught (literally) in the act of shouldering a file up to the top cabinet drawer had been struck by not one but three errant chuffs from Inga and her mob’s cross-fire exchange with an unexpectedly-freed and armed Harriet. Caroline (as the honey blonde had later been identified by a reanimated co-worker) thus remained poised on tip-toe atop her stool, unable to shake off the stiffening effects from heavy overdoses of the criminals’ paralyzing gas. Not that Rick disliked the ongoing show, mind you. Now as Diane and Rebecca queried the receptionist (who had heroically tripped a catsuit-clad villainess at the last possible moment- thus saving them all from permanent immobility as wax dummies), he found himself casting sideways longing glances toward an enticing peach-colored gap between the tops of Caroline’s stay-up suntan hosiery and the hemline of her upraised aqua pleated mini-skirt. A delightful indented crease delineated where the stilled office temp’s left leg ended and nicely- rounded derriere began. Were those blonde crinkles peeking out from beneath the diagonal edge of her exposed pink lacy panty? Rick fought strong stirrings inside his trousers as he half-listened to a disappointed Becky’s conversation.
“You mean those catalog modeling positions have been filled already?”, our tall redhead with fashion-show curves asks.
“Yes. I’m afraid there are just two model opportunities now listed anywhere on the premises”, Jessie, the Mall’s perky curly-haired public-relations specialist replies. “As luck would have it, though, both the businesses are next to our food court wing. An independent high-tech auto manufacturer and distributor is looking for their “Thunker Girl”; while Maxwell’s is searching for the right ‘floor representative’ in their Nouveau Art gallery. You’ve got both ends of the business spectrum there, I’m afraid. Thunker sedans are selling on a pre-manufactured basis like hotcakes; while Maxwell’s has been struggling as of late. Attractive gals such as yourselves(Jessie eyed both Diane and Becky as she spoke) should check out these openings. You’re naturals”.
The brunette and redhead’s curiosities pique. They exchange wide-eyed glances, as a bored-looking Harriet and Rick hang back. While turning to leave, Rick’s foot nudges a small 3-inch-long green canister which has gone unnoticed beneath an overturned trash can. Not sure what he has discovered, our young hero stoops to examine an object reminiscent of a seltzer bottle pressure booster. He slyly pockets the can.
Harriet glances at Rick (who sighs deeply while sneaking one final peek in the teetering Caroline’s direction) and spies the Mall Office’s big announcement-bulletin board. Posted thereupon is one of the “Have You Seen Me?” notices commonly found in Post Offices and Libraries. One Barbara Fenton- a long-time Mall Office employee and occupant of the position which Caroline now holds (not literally!)- had gone AWOL this week during her lunch break. A flattering photo on the missing person’s flyer illustrated a bright and elegant countenance: high forehead and cheekbones, dark straight page-boy shoulder length hair and penetrating blue eyes. Height: 5’11”; Weight: 125 ; Build: slender; Age: 29.
What happens next?
1. Diane and Rebecca tear off toward possible auto modeling jobs, leaving Rick and Harriet behind.
2. All three girls venture toward the far Mall wing as Rick discovers how to discharge Inga’s misplaced petrifying gas canister in short directed bursts.
3. Diane wows and bedazzles Hymie, the on-sight sales manager for Thunker Motors’ direct marketing division.
4. Becky’s hopes to work (pose?) for an artist are dashed as she finds Maxwell’s being emptied by repossession company agents enacting a court-ordered liquidation.
5. Harriet spies Rick’s discovery and tries to snatch it out of his hands, whereby it expels into his face and back inside the Mall Office ventilation system.
6. Something unexpected…
EPISODE 4884: Not Your Daddy’s Automobile…
Diane rockets through the Mall common areas far ahead of any of her companions. Walking very briskly, not only does she leave all her friends in a distant wake, but the busty brunette also provides quite a front view: overly-generous boobs veritably bursting out of her yellow half-top and the confines of her beige full-figure brassiere. Three teenage boys grin widely, their rude stares fixed on the determined beauty’s bouncing cleavage as she passes by. The transfixed trio’s heads bob up-and-down in unison to the very sexy rhythm of our heroine’s progress toward the food court.
I’ve got a chance to become an automotive model!! That’s something I’ve dreamed about since Daddy took us to the ’91 Detroit Auto Show. Knockout pinup gals up there on display next to those sexy hot-rods and sports cars… being stared at and admired by thousands of guys… WOW!! She thinks to herself. As far back as she could remember, Diane held a ‘thing’ over fast cars- she often fantasized about speeding along winding country lanes to a secluded woodscape, where she and her handsome driver-escort would pull off the road and… Yummm!! Suffice it to say that this physically-fit gal with the ‘California Girl’ beach-bunny’s body had lost her virginity astride leather bucket seats of a ’65 Stingray. Almost anything related to fast cars(and fast times) roused a sexual thrill, and the possibility of combining a four-wheeled fantasy with showing off her taut bod gives Diane an electric on-the-edge sense of power & control over men.
Then she sees IT in full splendor, parked out in the Mall.
It was a half-dozen of history’s most seductive dream-cars all rolled into one! Hinted lines from those 1950’s Thunderbirds were there, and the Nash Rambler, Jaguar XKE, 1970’s Corvettes, and Porshe 911. Yet there was an elegant sophistication and a 21st-Century languid smoothness that screamed ‘aerodynamics’ in a future-retro sort of way. Her knees went a little bit wobbly, and she stopped in her tracks to ogle the metallic gray Thunker 321 Roadster- top down, of course. (Her arrested progress gave the teenage male trio chance to catch up and switch their ogling from the brunette’s settling tank top to frayed denim cutoffs. Halting abruptly in mid-stride had done some very nice curvy-stretchy things to Diane’s tanned & toned glutes).
“HEY!! Beat it, you overgrown hormones!!”, Di yells once the car’s spell subsides enough for her to notice the heavy breathing behind her. The boys turn attentions to a pair of junior college cheerleaders who are window shopping for funky arsty-farsty knick-knacks at Maxwell’s next door.
“Those are breath-taking curves, wouldn’t you say Miss?”, implies an absolutely monotone voice from directly beside a startled brunette. Diane twists back round to discover a big stocky non-descript middle-aged man with slick dark hair dressed in a business suit straight out of the 1960’s. His left hand gestures toward the Thunker 321 Roadster; yet Di is almost certain as she spins round that she caught this car salesman surveying the lay of the land over her chest. She shoots him a dirty look, but an expressionless face did not hint at either cheap sexual gratification or any embarrassment at his being caught. So she lets it go.
“Umm… Why, Yes, they certainly are impressive lines, Mr.??”
“Hymie. I’m Thunker’s direct marketing manager here at the Mall”, he replies, coldly reinstating his glassy unreadable gaze: moving unmistakably and unabashedly back and forth between Di’s wide azure eyes and her low-cut half-tank. Our heroine feels color rise to her cheeks, and she now fights an urge to land a well-placed knee on the sleazebag vendor.
However (in something of a blow to her not-inconsiderable vanity), the guy’s interest in her 38DD-25-37 features is apparently ‘purely professional’- like a tailor sizing up a new customer for a fitting. Hymie is as cool as a mountain lake, despite Di’s scanty summer attire-even in his crotch. Next, it seems as if a tape recorder flips on inside his throat, as his sales pitch begins- all the while still eye-balling a buxom brunette as if storing critical datapoints.
“Perhaps you have heard of our new Company’s philosophy to evoke auto’s past and blend it with the future? The retro styling is obvious- and undeniably stunning! But it’s what’s inside our roadster that counts. Safety without peer in the industry, and untouchable gas mileage. We take a lightweight aluminum body and make it as impenetrable as tank armor, thanks to our patented ‘molecular condensing’ process. Imagine aluminum side-beams with the density of depleted uranium. We’ve taken materials science almost to the brink of alchemy! And consumer-friendly technology?? This is THE car of the future today. Our ‘autointellichip’ interfaces with onboard GPS and proximity radar to take over the driving for you. It’s voice-activated, so all you have to do is tell the car’s ‘brain’ your exact destination and necessary time-frame, and away you go. Thunker takes over completely. Gives ‘cruise control’ new meaning, eh?”
What happens next?
1. Diane enquires about the “Thunker Girl” position
2. She notices the roadster is missing its hood ornament
3. Hymie offers Di a demonstration of the autointellichip
4. Rebecca arrives and asks her to go over to Maxwell’s
5. The cheerleader’s butt in and flirt hard with Hymie
6. something else…
EPISODE 4889: Design Oversight… Explained!!
Our slightly dull-witted brunette is not exactly up to speed with the latest automotive technological innovations- quite alot of Hymie’s pitch sails straight over her pretty head. But Diane knows this gleaming prototype vehicle sure LOOKS good. Following years of fantasizing about cars, her mind drifts to a day-dream about her and Rick on a moonlit summer night, parked anonymously among Malibu sand dunes…
Our heroine stares rapturously at the 321’s sumptuous gray leather seats, imagining their feel against her bare buns. In her flight-of-fancy Rick has pulled up her frilly skirt and tugged lacy blue thong briefs down below the crooks in her knees. Of course, her partner’s fly would be wide open by now: Rick’s impressive dick giving the 10-inch gearshift a run for its money… Her hands subconsciously move upwards to(inconspicuously?) caress tender breast undersides and…
“MISS!!?? Are you OK!!?? You haven’t heard a word I’ve said for the past two minutes”! Di snaps back to the cold harsh reality of the shopping Mall, noticing that Hymie’s unceremonious stare is affixed to contact points of her massaging fingertips beneath her loose hanging half-top.
The beauty slaps her hands to her sides, cheeks now turning bright red in a combination of arousal and embarrassment. She desperately attempts to shift attention by asking about the car. “Uhmm, well… OH! Isn’t there supposed to be a hood emblem?”(Thunkers were already famous for their sexy ones).
“Quite right, Miss. We’ve taken our cue from Rolls Royce and Nash ornaments from the 1940’s and 50’s. Statuesque goddesses will adorn every one of our Roadsters. But the specific figure emphasis will be chosen by the particular buyer, according to his or her own individual tastes”.
“You mean whether he’s a leg man, an ass man, or whatever?”
“A bit too-crudely put, perhaps,” Answers Hymie, but not altogether inaccurate. No two emblems will be the same”.
“But what if the owner is a lady? Do you make male hood ornaments?”, the incredulous devil’s advocate asks.
“That can be accomplished as well. Our molecular condenser process is applied to this feature as well. There is a considerable flexibility in our shaping of emblem molds”.
1. Diane notices the blank featureless “Thunker Girl” standup cardboard cutout next to the roadster
2. Meanwhile, back at the Mall Office…
3. “Allow me to demo our MC process in the workshop”
4. Now the cheerleaders come up to apply as models!
5. Rebecca arrives upon the scene. [Originally option 4 from 4256 -Ed.]
6. Something else
Episode 4885: Old Spies Never Die...
Diane had left Rebecca in her dust... the sleek brunette really wanting first crack at the automobile spokesmodeling job, for some reason. Despite her longer fashion-runway legs, our striding redhead was some thirty paces behind her friend when the Thunker Motor Company salesman stepped up to chat with her.
Look's like I'd be better off trying for the job in Maxwell's. Di's already got a jump on me with the car guy. He looks like pretty much of a dud, anyway, Becky now reasons. And so, as luck would have it, the tall auburn-haired beauty proceeds toward the front door of a Noveau Art shop. Yet things aren't going well there, it seems.
An ongoing procession of repossession agents dressed in gray coveralls marches in and out of the beleaguered store with a bunch of knick-knacks and other larger inventory in tow: paintings, sculptures, antique weaponry 1960's retro-techno gadgetry, music instruments...you name it, Maxwell's sells it! OK, at least until today. All that remains inside the store at this point are scattered window display items and a handful of bizarre junk along the far left wall. The space is otherwise completely picked clean. Even the back-room manager's office is on its last legs, with the sofa, desk chair and bookcase departed for 'greener'(i.e., more monetary) pastures.
The store's owner and namesake, a short dweezil of a guy with a whiny voice and salt-and-pepper haircut, is arguing with the head repo man. "WOULD YOU BELIEVE that I've just been approved for a $100,000 emergency line of credit with the Mall Front Office?", he intones, his nasal lilting voice sounding slightly more than a little bit desperate.
"Actually, Sir, no. We've been over this ground be..", attempts the guy in coveralls
"Then WOULD YOU BELIEVE that I've just inherited half a million dollars from my late uncle?", the flim-flam artist interrupts.
"Well, ah, that's a more than a bit hard to swall...", the repo agent tries to say, but is once again cut off by,
"HOW ABOUT I just managed to sell this last sculpture here (pointing to an elegant female semi-nude currently passing by in the grasp of two movers) for $75,000??"
This meets with a shaken head 'no' and disapproving stare.
"WHAT IF I TOLD YOU that I'm gonna be a contestant on Jeopardy! next week??" The repo manager motions to his crew to continue, mumbling as he departs.
Rebecca is more than a little bit amused by Max's comical nature and personality, and she would probably laugh out loud had the circumstances underlying a recent conversation been any less sad. Two junior college cheerleaders window-shopping nearby can't help themselves, though, and their giggling catches the disconsolate store owner's attention. This is indeed unfortunate, because as Samantha and Julie avert their gazes away from the funny guy's pained expression, they both catch a nearly-unbelievable sight:
The statue being carted off is a marble likeness of a tall classically-featured (perhaps a little on the thin side) woman with shoulder-length hair whose breasts and pubic region are draped with a carved stone cloth. Until just a few moments ago this eternal Venus stood with one leg slightly forward upon a foot-tall stone pedestal inside the art store. Her hands are upraised above her shoulders, palms up and out in an encouraging (almost entreating) gesture. She stares blankly up-off into space, her eyes following the line of her fingertips.
And so 'Susan' (as store regulars had come to nick-name her) had stood for more than twenty-five years. But as she departs Maxwell's to take her place among the upcoming liquidation auction's inventory in the city bankruptcy courthouse basement, our two attractive cheerleaders notice the extremely life-like soles of her feet! A matching set of peach-shaded heels, arches and toe- bottoms stick out from beyond the moving-man's grasp. This stark contrast to the white-veined exterior found elsewhere across her features causes a stunned Samantha to emit a brief frightened shriek, which doesn't go unnoticed by the already-staring store owner. Max frowns in deep thought.
He quickly approaches the young women (who have apparently just arrived from a ball game -- still in full regalia, including crimson, gold and white pom-poms). "Hello, ladies... SO nice to see you! Have you come to enquire about the floor representative position? It's still available".
The twenty-somethings treat Max with complete disdain. "No S%@!*T, Sherlock"!, Julie scornfully answers, "Who would want to work for a LOSER like you?? And what's with that statue-lady over there? Is she ali..." A desperate store owner cuts her off before she can continue with, "PLEASE, why don't you step inside and take a look at our few remaining items. I guarantee you some excellent bargains! Perhaps you two chatty-Kathys might be interested in the ultimate privacy offered by my Cone of Silence!?".
As Maxwell skillfully maneuvers the leggy miniskirted gals inside, Rebecca feels a pang in the pit of her stomach. Her Irish temper flares, and she too angrily speeds to the Art Store's front door.
In the next installment:
1. The cheerleaders are turned into marble-coated statuary.
2. Diane’s entrapment begins in earnest! [Originally option 1 from 4889... Ed.]
3. Becky learns Max is Control agent #86 the 'hard' way.
4. Circumstances surrounding #99's petrifaction are explained.
5. Max reveals a cache of old Control gadgetry, many with ASFR-like applications.
6. Something else...
EPISODE 4894: Fickle Fate and Fleeting Fame.
“Allow me to demo our MC process in the dealer workshop?”, Hymie boldly encourages, while taking a step toward the open door of his storefront. One eyebrow is raised up in a paltry mechanical-like excuse for personality and verve.
Somehow, a warning bell rings loudly in Di’s slower-than-average head. She now hesitates against his suggestion, instead asking about the life-size nondescript cardboard cutout of the mysterious yet-to-be-named “Thunker Girl” spokes-model standing precariously on 2-D feet by the car.
YOU CAN BE HER!! is emblazoned over featureless mammaries.
“Ummm… yeah, but I really came by to ask about THAT job”!
A moment of nonsequitor data processing causes interruption in Hymie’s behavior- not that you can tell from the stone-like expression affixed(seemingly permanently) on his face.
Only a slight stutter in his step betrays the uncertainty.
“Understood, Miss. The position is 90% filled- as of two days ago, in fact”. Diane looks completely crestfallen and starts to walk off toward the food court, so ‘slick’ amends his story to thus keep a brunette bombshell ‘on the hook’.
”Yes, well, we were going for somebody a little more into the educated-sophisticated-elegant look rather than raw sex appeal; BUT I guess it won’t hurt to compare-and-contrast”.
“Goody, Goody, GOODY!!”, our bubble-head blurts gleefully.
“First of all, let’s see how you look in our logo baseball cap. If you land the job, you’ll wear it in public all the time!” Diane thinks she hears a change in his voice tone.
Nonetheless she accepts the bright green cap handed to her.
Intricately hand-stitched onto the front panel is a 3” square silicon processing chip (the autointellichip Hymie had mentioned earlier?) overwritten with the company’s now-well-worn marketing slogan (about their cruise control?): “Thunker Will Take You Anywhere, Anytime!” The late-night talk show comedians had great fun with that one already.
With her biggest cheese-eating grin planted onto her face, Diane puts the baseball cap atop her chestnut-brown waves- a cute look of entreaty set deep into sparkling blue eyes.
She is too busy kissing up to the manager to pay any heed to a slight pang from an electric spark made by connection between her epidermis and a REAL autointellichip secretly woven into the hat’s sweatband. That is, until too late.
“I may have neglected to mention that certain sacrifices will be necessary from our spokes-model, Miss. You see, we’ve had legal employment difficulties in the past with our gals. All of them a bit too independent for our needs. Our solution- you may already have guessed- is very novel”.
Diane needs to ask a dozen questions. Make clarifications.
What did he mean, ‘sacrifices’? Solution to independence?
That alarm bell in her head sounded like Big Ben at this point. She wants to run as fast as possible back to Rick. All these proposals are abruptly short-circuited, though, by the activating autointellichip steadily over-riding her voluntary thought processes and willpower. The chip’s initial ‘Pause for Command’ function tingles through our heroine’s well-proportioned body, placing her under arrest.
Arrested motion, that is. Every effort to struggle: wiggle her fingers or toes, cry out for help, or shake her head in feeble protest, bring a swift countermand from the high-tech artificial brain bombarding her dizzy skull. Inwardly she screams HELP ME SOMEBODY!! I’M FROZEN!!; yet Di’s easy-on-the-eyes exterior can’t so much as twitch. Her dopey grin and pleading stare cement onto a helpless countenance.
“It’s time now for you to meet your competition for our Thunker Girl position. But first, I must convince you of the hopelessness of your predicament. You belong to the company now, young lady. Every whim or whimsy we desire from you will be carried out with alacrity and glee. Your free will has been cowed… stamped out… pulverized! Allow me to demonstrate”. Hymie looks around the immediate Mall vicinity, and seeing only one repo man entering Maxwell’s and the three teenage boys (who drooled over Di before), the demonstration takes shape inside his own circuitry. He wasn’t a bad Control Robot, after all. Just a radically- reprogrammed one. Old Mr. Thunker had seen to that. So…
“The autointellichip controlling you has two modes. The first is its ‘on-the-fly’ voice-activation programming. That chip is currently set to my speech patterns. For example, when I say Enable Command-alpha!! My very next instructions will become predominant in your brain. And absolutely irresistible to obey. You’re fully programmed!
Diane is unsure and skeptical about Hymie’s science-fiction tale, and still optimistic about somehow managing to effect an escape or rescue… until this enabling code is uttered. After that, an electric jolt sears through her still-free thoughts to rewrite her synapses and ganglia according to plan. Memories erased. Emotions suppressed. One simple phrase looping though an otherwise-vacuum-cleaned head:
AWAITING DIRECTIVE… AWAITING DIRECTIVE… AWAITING DIRECTIVE…
A veritable craving to be commanded- and comply without the slightest hesitation- swarms thru her body. Always a tad leaning toward the ‘aggressive’ side in her few boyfriend relations over the years, Di discovers at a base-instinct level (since higher level thoughts are turned off now) that she thoroughly revels in being dominated by a man- even a sleazy car dealer! Her nipples perk and shorts grow damp. To her surprise(and secret thrill), Hymie next pronounces:
“Tempt those boys in your naughtiest mooning pose. DO IT!”
Spinning about with speed and determination, our hapless heroine aims her backsided charms directly at the trio of pimply-faced nerds. Whereas she had been revolted by their adolescent leering before the reprogramming; Diane yearns desperately to provide them with ten-times the cheap thrill they had stolen earlier. Flexing her knees slightly, she pops the waistband button atop her frayed denim cutoffs and wriggles seductively to-and-fro: the fabric sliding (with an audible whoosh!) down across toned thighs to mid-calf. Her spaghetti strap thong undies- already slightly damp and a bit sticky- come along for the ride. Glancing back over her shoulder with the same goofy wide-eyed grin stuck onto her face, Diane zeroes in upon her trio of targets. With a three-quarters-deep knee bend, the enticing tan-lined oval of her exposed ass takes center stage: fully-flexed half globes punctuated by a C-shaped dark crack which merges at her luscious bronzed thighs amid a tangled mass of chestnut brown nether-hairs. A moist slightly-parted pink Tantalus lies beneath. Diane helplessly-completely obeys her master!
Two of the boys trip over each other, landing in a lanky tangled sprawl upon the tiled Mall floor. The last boy halts agog- his hand moving irrepressibly down to his crowding pants crotch, where it begins rubbing furiously.
And with Hymie’s voice command now fully obeyed, Diane’s hat-chip once more ‘pauses’, leaving her mentally suspended in an R-rated crouch.
What Happens Next?
1. Harriet and Rick have their own difficulties [Originally option 5 from 4256... Ed.]
2. The nerds recover sufficiently to investigate
3. Hymie takes the robotic Diane to meet Barbara Fenton
4. Cheerleaders leave Maxwells, laugh themselves silly-until Hymie offers them souvenir baseball caps…
5. Mooner meets Molecular Condenser
6. something even more incredible…
EPISODE 4886: Get Smart!!
Diane and Rebecca had already flown off through the Mall corridors before Rick and Harriet finished saying their goodbyes to the receptionist. Jessie is quite warm and friendly- a spirit of camaraderie has flowered as a result of their harrowing struggles against evil Inga and her bungling henchmen. Yet Harriet feels that there might even be a little bit more going on upstairs underneath those cute raven permed curls. As the bubbly mid-twenties blonde waves goodbye(a pose very reminiscent of the gal’s statued state when Harriet first laid eyes upon her), she can swear that Jessie actually was winking at her while forming cranberry-painted lips into a quick-blown kiss! Our heroine is at once confused, flattered and slightly repulsed by this femme-a-femme interplay. But thoughts related to such possibilities had crossed her mind before… To steady herself emotionally, she turns attention to her hunk (and secret heartthrob) walking out the Office door.
Unfortunately, no consolation is to be found there. Rick has pulled some sort of green canister out of his pocket and is casting parting glances back not at a waving Jessie, but rather at the tall frozen secretary showing her legs off (all the way to the top!) upon a low foot-stool. Pangs of jealousy swell in Harriet’s breast as our girl-next-door heroine keenly assesses a scenario spinning through Rick’s stereotypically-male brain. Her anger is only made worse by a realization that his green cartridge looks exactly like the ones attached to the back of that hoodlum’s gas gun she had momentarily borrowed (without success). This guy was actually enjoying the concept of trapping women into a helplessly immobile state! And he held the means to do it again in his grubby little hands. Well, that simply WASN’T going to happen if SHE had anything to say about it.
“HEY!! Gimmee that thing, Rick. That’s evidence for the police. It’s NOT some toy for you to play around with”.
Rick freezes in shock, realizing his dirty little secret is blown. Having examined the silver connection valve at the canister’s end (how does this work??), his index finger rests on a pencil-lead-thin interface tube top. Mustering a nonchalant smile, he plays dumb: “What IS this Harriet”?
“You know DAMN WELL what it is,” she angrily retorts. “I saw you checking out Miss Stiffy-Sweet-Cheeks over there (pointing at Caroline). Anybody could see the wheels turning in your head from fifty paces. FORK IT OVER!!”
“NO WAY, babe! Finder’s Keeper’s”. Rick is thinking with his dick at this point- rationality long since gone out the Office door ahead of him. Why did Harriet have to be so #@!%^& smart? She was always figuring out his plans before getting away with them! Maybe I can convince her being frozen and at my mercy isn’t such a bad thing! he plots. Turning the canister about, he points it straight at her.
A look of disbelief passes over Harriet’s face as she realizes her friend’s intent. In frantic self-defense, our heroine grabs for the paralyzing gas canister and a loud struggle ensues. Shouting and swearing from both parties punctuates the altercation. Fond farewells from playful Jessie(behind the office counter) turn to haughty critique: “HEY, you guys! This just plain won’t DO!! Your language and behavior belong in reform school, not out in public. The curly-haired cutie wags a scolding finger at them.
1. Rick nails Harriet with concentrated gas right between the eyes, and she once again becomes a living statue.
2. Harriet ‘turns the tables’ on Rick by depressing the connection valve in his direction, much to the delight of an on-looking Jessie(who joins in the Rick-pranks).
3. Now that Rick is out of the picture as a stiffened hunk, our two young ladies seek out privacy of the manager’s office (canister comes along).
4. Harriet accidentally blasts the entire office.
5. Suddenly Electricity Woman and Dynamite Girl show up!
6. Something else…
EPISODE 4912: Once More… With Feeling!
Hands and fingers bend, strain, knot and cross in the furious struggle to control the paralyzing gas canister. Brute force is beginning to win the day, and thoughts begin to creep into Harriet’s head like maybe I better compose myself- look good for the inevitable? Rick’s much stronger than me, and if he gasses me like this I’m gonna look damned awful and awkward as a statue. My hair and make-up are a complete mess! Her salvation comes as a surprise.
Attempting to pry all the feminine parts away from the gyrating clump of wrists and knuckles manipulating that small green casing, Rick shoves Harriet’s pinky up against the interfacing tube top. Like a cigarette lighter butane refill, its silver tip is pressure-sensitive. So, without ceremony or prejudice, out spews a concentrated aerosol-like purple powder from its protective confines. As luck would have it, the tip happens to be pointing toward the stronger sex at that moment. Rick bears the full brunt of this two-second burst quite stoically. He really doesn’t have much choice, given the powder’s petrifying influence.
Even before the broadside is completed, Rick’s movements slow to a crawl. The bizarre expression on his stilled features might have been taken straight from a comic book. Most of his face is ‘scrunched up’ and straining from the efforts put forth in their tug-of-war for the canister; yet in the last instant of mobility, his big brown eyes had ‘bugged out’ in shocked realization of his imminent fate. Victorious Harriet sees his face and starts to guffaw and giggle uncontrollably. But only for a moment. “OH SH*%!T”!
Rick’s hands (along with the rest of his musculature) had fully succumbed to the tetanizing-contracting effects of cruel Inga’s gas… which was, of course a relief to our heroine. But with his arms locked rigidly into place, he can no longer offer counter-force reaction to any pushing or shoving Harriet applies. And in the astonishment at her heartthrob’s return to a statue-like state, our clever blonde has accidentally continued to pull ferociously at the green canister. As a result, the entire knotted mass of hands and arms spins violently to the right, a dainty pinky again applying pressure to the nozzle tip. With tremendous physical-chemical force, the casing jettisons its remaining contents in a 25-foot-long arcing purplish stream, three feet directly over Jessie’s curly head! A misty rainbow descends into the Mall Office area with such sudden speed that none of its occupants have any time to realize what was happening, much less react to it. Harriet herself is so shocked and engrossed while envisioning the consequences of this bizarre dousing that she doesn’t yet notice the stream also briefly sweeps across a cold-air- intake duct leading deeper-further back into other rooms.
The contents of this reservoir had not been properly mixed and diluted with compressed air and other ingredients inside one of the gangster’s weapon chambers: this was pure concentrated “juice” with effects upon humans immediate and unpredictably-long-lasting. To Caroline, however, this was yesterday’s news, as she had already been zapped four times before. But for Jessie and an early-40’s Asian-Indian clerk typist sitting at a computer behind her, their very first whiffs from the inexorably-descending purple halo trigger deja-vu of events perhaps best left forgotten. OH MY GOSH… NOT AGAIN!! our hapless receptionist mentally shouts as she stares blankly forward past her index finger halted in mid-waggle. And Sudhara Vishnaswamy is in somewhat more of a compromising position. By kindness of Shiva, PLEASE don’t leave me like this!! But the gods show no consideration.
Rick knew he was in for some serious payback. His lust for the frozen lady secretary had now snowballed into a full-blown disaster. Of course, if HE-rather than Harriet- dodged the purple bullet, things might be looking better.
“SEE what you’ve done, you IDIOT!!”, our heroine screams, before realizing the absurdity of the statement under these circumstances. “OH… guess you can’t look, you statued bozo”
Our blonde steps back to better scrutinize her companion.
With her own hands and the green gas canister removed, Rick hunches slightly forward with legs widespread and arms held at a stiff angle in front of him- just below waist height. His hands are shoved open, but fingers slightly curled. His pose reminds her of a high-school football quarterback as he awaits the ‘hike’ from beneath some center’s hamstrings.
A twinge of sexy glee shoots across her body in realization that she suddenly has a life-sized, fully featured Ken doll to play with. Nah, too many witnesses, she decides. But he certainly needs to be taught a harsh lesson about this frozen woman fetish. “Well Mister, since your overly-active dick got us all into this, I think IT will pay the price”. With a naughty smile, Harriet lunges for his pants crotch. “My, my, MY! We’re already at half-salute, I see? Did that secretary get you going before the gas, or do you actually enjoy being my own personal toy? Within an altered reality among a groggy purplish haze, Rick has to admit That’s a tough question! His next sensations are a mixture of great pleasure and great pain. The gas seems to heighten certain sensations- particularly touch- while decreasing his visual acuity, hearing and smell. So as a certain famous author named Charles once said, “It was the best of times… It was the worst of times” as our clever and mischievous Harriet begins to rhythmically stroke the front of his button-fly jeans. OH YEAH, DOLL… That’s GOOD soon turns to OUCH!!! HEY, WATCH IT… THAT HURTS!! Now standing directly in front of his static gaze, Rick sees the cruel lusty leer upon our brunette heroine’s face, and realizes what she’s up to.
“Poor Baby!! Are we getting a little cramped down here?? YIKES, you’re HUGE! Maybe being frozen isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, honey”? Rick would scream if he could.
What Happens Next?
1. Harriet notices Jessie’s frozen stare upon them, and turns attentions to the receptionist.
2. Rick’s manhood pops out of his jeans, and Harriet simply can’t resist.
3. Rick and Caroline finally meet (frozen), although there’s not a lot either of them can DO right now.
4. We discover what the clerk-typist is upset about.
5. Something else…
EPISODE 4915: Dr. Freud?… Paging Dr. Freud…
Harriet giggles again as she examines her handiwork in Rick’s crotch. “Now EVERYWHERE on you is fully stiffened, darling!”, she taunts. His big aching member is bulging diagonally sideways across the inseam, trying to gather space down toward his left pants leg. “GOTCHA!!” Our trapped hero is in too much agony to come up with any sort of pithy reply- and wouldn’t be able to speak it anyway…
Just then our clever girl-next-door perceives an intent blue-eyed stare: evaluating every movement in the step-by-step torment of her companion. Jessie hovers over the top of her receptionist’s counter, one finger upraised as she condescendingly attempted to referee the scuffle with Rick. The animate blonde recalls a nearly-subliminal come-on proffered by this perky curly-raven-haired cutie moments before… and Harriet is mildly intrigued! Basking in a new-found sense of power and control(bolstered greatly by her success in teaching Rick a lesson), our heroine now jauntily prances around the Office partitioning to stand immediately next to an immobilized Mall employee. Unknown until now (due to the height of the countertop) Jessie sports a very fashionable-but-flirty dress suit with a rather daring mid-thigh hemline. And Harriet could see why! This 5’5” mid-twenties gal wants the outfit to show off her best features: a pair of perfectly-sculpted legs (Hari guesses she had probably been a classical or jazz dancer of some sort at an earlier age) encased in pale sheer cream-colored pantyhose. Smart and functional 2” business pumps help to accentuate the gracious turns and curvatures of her ankles, calves and thighs: seemingly a quintessential balance of sturdy musculature and graceful leg height! Harriet doesn’t yet fully understand what is influencing her thoughts, but she knows that she just HAS to run her fingertips up all along the back seams of such gorgeous gams as these! “I’m guessing that wink you gave me before means you’re enjoying this as much me, Jessie”, she offers as explanation. Oh yes!! That feels absolutely scrumptious… but don’t stop there, Hari”, pleads a helpless “bi” gal whose recent daydreams are rapidly coming true.
Yet Harriet suffers a moment of reluctance to proceed down a road so unfamiliar to her. Thoughts about massaging Jessie’s ample bustline(presented temptingly in a slightly-leaning-forward stance across the counter) cause pangs of awkward embarrassment. What about the other Office workers? she worries. Kissing Jessie tenderly in the stilled hollow of her left cheek(berry-red lips agape, halted in mid-word) she decides to investigate the whereabouts and conditions of the others inside this Mall Office. Caroline was no surprise(at first), since she’d been stuck in that same leggy pose for more than an hour now. Harriet wonders exactly when the folder-filing beauty will escape from her rather aesthetic imprisonment. After all, contents of the gas canister had sprayed mostly on the far side of the room from Caroline. Had she avoided further chemical paralysis? Time would tell. She IS awfully pretty in that pose, though our heroine catches herself thinking while surveying this gal with fashion-show curves from top to bottom. Speaking of bottoms, our blonde’s eye catches something unexpected there. A somewhat darker pink splotch of dampness has now roiled up at the bottom of Caroline’s exposed lace panties. Harriet caresses strands of long honey-blonde hair flowing down over the secretary’s shoulder and comments, “Well, my lovely friend, you seem to be enjoying yourself after all. Does your freeze cater to the submissive side in you?” No reply, of course. Without consciously realizing it, our girl-next-door heroine is getting more-and-more excited. “What’s the matter, sugar, the cat got your tongue?” As a parting gesture Hari gives Caroline’s tush a playful swat.
Almost toppling off balance, the frozen girl thinks “OWWW!”
Pieces of this psychological puzzle are beginning to fall into place in Harriet’s intuitive head. First a cute girl winks at me to get me going; then I massage a guy’s crotch… I’m feeling downright horny!! Jessie and Caroline seem to be experiencing these same feelings too. What the #!@%&* is going ON here?!?, she reasons. Then a faint old memory from last semester’s psych course hits home like a ton of bricks. The Sarajevo Syndrome, OF COURSE!! NATO and UN doctors in Bosnia during the 1990’s had documented this phenomenon. People placed under ongoing dangerous and life-threatening circumstances often respond via a strong sexual frenzy in the aftermath- sort of the body’s way of stating ‘I’m Still Alive’, and celebrating the fact in no uncertain terms. Birth rates in Sarajevo quadrupled after that war.
This bright student simply HAD to test out her theory- and the fact that it meant getting up-close and personal with Jessie didn’t present a problem, either. Marching back to the stilled receptionist, Harriet matter-of-factly opens Jess’ top three blouse buttons, stretches a lacy cream bra forward, and peeks down inside. Two pert thimble-sized nipples protrude proudly out from huge chocolate aureoles.
“Looks like you’re a lab-rat offering a big fat YES to my hypothesis, Jess”. Anything else I can do for you? curly tries to transmit telepathically, and I DO mean ANYTHING!
Only the clerk-typist remains a mystery. Sudhara surely looks innocent enough from the ten-foot distance between the counter and her computer workstation. But as Harriet approaches the copper-bronze-skinned Office worker, she notices that the woman is upraised ever-so-slightly from her adjustable seat: leaning forward towards the monitor screen at the tiniest of angles. Initially, our heroine believes the Asian-Indian gal is merely scrutinizing her spell-checking work from point-blank range. But then the approaching brunette realizes Sue is working with one hand only, the other apparently doing extra-curricular checking of another kind. As proof, the animated brunette grabs the inanimate clerk-typist under the armpits, tilting her far forward until her forehead top rests against the CRT glass.
The paralyzed woman pivots stiffly, maintaining her seated posture and locked arm positioning. Hari follows the trail of a heretofore-unseen left arm downwards. Looking beneath the woman’s plaid skirt hem, Harriet gasps in total shock, almost dropping her charge onto the floor. What a sight!
Bronze bare buns are rotated upward and outward into the glare of the fluorescent lighting. At some point following the criminals’ capture by police, Sudhara had apparently snuck off to the restroom to remove her panties. But this was no mere R-rated moon. A sexual fervor had propelled the office worker significantly past public exhibitionism.
Squarely in the middle of the dark crevice bisecting frozen glutes sits Sue’s upturned left hand, caught in the act of furiously diddling herself! Two fingers twiddle and spread soaking nether-lips amid a jumble of coal-black pubic hair, while a third presses hard down upon her clit. The piece-de-resistance to this wild scene is the thumb stuck way up her ass. Shock gives way to humorous relief, as Hari finds her Sarajevo Syndrome theory fully confirmed by evidence. “How were you keeping a straight face with all THAT going on under your skirt, M’am?” our brunette inquires of an exposed statue. A deeply-embarrassed Sue cannot respond- beyond the tiniest hints of a smile cemented in the corners of her brown lips and at the edges of her exotic eyes.
1. Harriet is overcome with lust and adjourns with Jessie to the manager’s office (whew, is she heavy!)
2. Frozen Rick and Caroline finally meet
3. Doesn’t it seem wise to track down all other workers before any shenanigans commence?
4. Better late than never, Electricity Woman and Dynamite Girl arrive on the scene(the Zap-mobile wouldn’t start!)
5. Something else… [Originally option 3 from 4894... Ed.]
EPISODE 4901: Some Very Stiff Competition.
"Would you getta load of those bumpers on that brunette chick!", Diane hears echoing throughout the Mall common area. Her body's compliance with the Thunker Motor Corp.’s autointellichip's stimulation of her cerebral cortex had been so swift, our heroine is only now beginning to fully appreciate her dire plight. Hymie the boring car salesman had bellowed a sleazy voice command at her from point-blank range, and seconds later here she stood- or squatted to be more exact- with her shorts and undies yanked down to her calves! What the $!&%# am I doing mooning those teenage jerkoffs? Why can't I pull my pants up??, she mentally cries. Although these circumstances are clearly quite new to our air-headed brunette, Hymie seems experienced and knowledgeable. Been there, done that. In fact, he's able to anticipate Diane's very thoughts:
"You are probably wondering, Miss, what has happened to your willpower and control over your actions? Suffice to say that a thorough answer would be quite technical, and at a biomedical electro-chemical level taking the better part of the next half-hour if speaking to a MD/Ph.D. I shall go out on a limb here and guess that I am not addressing one? So, young lady, it's best to simply let actions speak louder than words. Enable Command Beta!"
Once more an uncontrollable craving to obey this new-found superior sweeps through a numbed brain, washing her own thoughts out to sea and leaving her more-than-eagerly anticipating his next words. Yet before Hymie can fulfill Di's fondest wish by commanding her, our hapless heroine feels a pair of grimy adolescent hands clamping firmly onto her bare backside.
"OOoohh... squeezeably soft, baby! Your cheeks are one sweet invitation I just couldn't pass up."
Crude juvenile chatter and loud approaching footsteps hint to the immobile gal that her degradation at the hands of these nerds is not yet complete. "My name's Keith, honey, and I’d lov… WHAaaa...??"
Diane's fixed stare catches a glimpse of a pimply-faced punk with a crew cut and thick glasses hurtling toward the Mall's marble tiling. With a loud Thunk! and a pathetic gasp, Keith slumps unconscious into a wide sprawl.
"You have trespassed onto Thunker Motor Company's private property, Sir. That is not allowed".
At sight of their buddy's demise in the super-strength hands of our intrepid auto dealer, the other teenagers place two expectant lascivious tails between their legs and head for the exit. Yet close-up examination of her sexy frame(bent into what looks like an enticing peach shaded question mark from side view) is far from over. The Thunker manager produces a tailor's cloth tape measure and proceeds to wrap it tightly about our frozen heroine's waist, bustline, hips... He also calculates Diane's height by measuring distance from the top of her chestnut-brown wedge to the mid-point of the crack in her protruding buns, and then from there to her sneaker heels. Diane's scorched intellect(all the while begging for Hymie's next directive) is finally rewarded:
"Stand up straight at strict military attention, then follow me to the showroom as best you can"!
Two repossession agents hauling an oversized desk out the front door of adjacent Maxwell's are the only witnesses to the bizarre resulting scene. First our poor gal relaxes from her paralyzed deep-knee-bend while surrendering her grip upon the waistband of her frayed denim cutoffs. She then assumes a ramrod-straight posture with her hands veritably super-glued to sides of her hips. One of the repo men carefully appreciates deep taut dimples in Di's pale cheeks as she assumes the iron-firm leg stance required of Hymie's imperative, then herky-jerky wobbles forward in pursuit of her pin-striped boss. Short steps(constrained by the leg holes of shorts and panties dropped around her socks and sneakers) create a stiff, clumsy, side-to-side gait reminiscent of a robot. Exclamations by the gray- coveralled repo men turn from amazement to anger and pain as one of them drops his side of the heavy desk directly onto the toes of his own left foot. Our fanny-wiggling gal disappears inside the showroom door, and the Mall common area returns to normal (for now).
There is not the slightest hesitation in our empty-headed heroine movements as the command FOLLOW HIM... FOLLOW HIM... FOLLOW HIM.. cruelly musters her into the company's backroom workshop. Either Hymie works alone, or the other employees are out on lunch break... nobody else is to be seen in the dealership- that is, until Diane waddles like a penguin through the shoproom door. A sparkling effervescence floods this workspace, providing an eerie otherworldly atmosphere to the chamber. Crackling and buzzing emanate from a hulking Rube-Goldberg-looking contraption(about the size of a small basement chest freezer) sitting in the room's far corner. An auto dealer walks confidently toward the nearer corner to stand next to the room's only other occupant before ordering Diane to halt. Which, of course, she does (in mid-step) holding the same silly wide-eyed grin she had used to convince Hymie of her good looks as reason to hire her as their 'Thunker Girl' spokesmodel. Next to the former Control Robot, however, is the front-runner for that position. Bathed in the pulsating glow of a blue electrical energy field punctuated by thousands of shimmering sparks is Barbara Fenton- the Mall worker missing from her Office job over the past several days! The pretty straight-haired brunette sports a company logo baseball cap identical to Diane's own (right down to its thought over-riding intellichip) along with a very skimpy short-sleeved version of a racing car driver's sleek jumpsuit. Posed like a showcase model framing the evening's best prizes on The Price is Right, Barbara teeters atop one four-inch silver heel with bare bent left leg raised in counterbalance(the graceful pose reminding Di of a flamingo). Both elbow-crooked arms sweep out sideways-leftwards, parallel to the ground: a gesture probably intended to draw future customers' attentions toward some spectacular Thunker vehicle beside her. The tall leggy model doesn't seem the least bit concerned, though, that only a pegboard of wrenches and screwdrivers occupies that space at present. In fact, she seems quite pleased. Her stiffened grin is ever wider than Diane's.
"Miss Fenton here volunteered to take our "Thunker Girl" position some days ago, and has been preparing for that role ever since- with assistance from our molecular condenser", begins Hymie. "Old Mr. Thunker himself selected the appropriate pose and placed it into chip memory. Allow me- no, correct that, allow YOU- to demonstrate. Initiate T-Girl Sequence Gamma-prime!!", he shouts.
Thus our helpless heroine is introduced to the second, pre-programmed method of implementing the TMC company's autointellichip device. Without a further spoken word, the brunette knows what she must do. In contrast to the nature of the 'on-the-fly' voice command mode, auto-programming leaves Di in a relatively free-thinking state. On a conscious level, in fact, this is now about as clear-headed as she's been since donning that $#@!& baseball cap. She coolly evaluates the situation.
It is as if her mind and body have been disconnected from one another(this autointellichip is quite a 'cruise control', indeed!), and although she is free to consider and criticize her step-by-step redecoration from frozen mid-stride bottomless babe to perfectly-posed Thunker spokes-gal, there is absolutely nothing she can seemingly do to interrupt the process.
"What is happening to me now? Why am I pulling off my shoes... my socks... my top and... Ohmygoshh! I'm NUDE!!" Diane verbally protests. As if on cue, Hymie produces a familiar-looking silver and red-stripe-accented racer's jumpsuit out of a nearby workbench drawer, along with ankle-strapped four inch heels. Her body's auto-pilot doesn't miss a beat, however, and she feels herself inexorably dragged along for the ride while striding automaton-like over to accept these minimal duds.
"You want me to go out in public with just THIS on"!?" our heroine pleads.
But Diane suddenly notices that the tone in her voice is becoming decidedly more deep- flattened and monotonous. Inflection and spacing between her syllables is breaking apart from typical English into a more artificial-mechanical output:
"help... me... some... body..... I... have... lost..... con....trol... ov.........er. ..............."
Slipping suntanned legs through the seat of the high-side-cut hot pants portion of her metallic silver race-suit, our heroine realizes (to her shock and dismay) that the chip's pre-programming sequence has now shut down her vocal chords and speaking ability. An expression of disbelief and horror upon her comely countenance begins to erase, starting to build into a spokesmodel's huge sales-promoting smile. Tugging the abbreviated sleeves of her one-piece up over her arms and shoulders, Diane is expecting to watch her arms reach down to raise the suit's front zipper; but instead realizes that both elbows are crooking left... hands widespread... fingers pointing. As one spiked-heel foot raises, the ankle curling round to rest behind the back of her other knee, she realizes that 'sequence gamma-prime' is placing her into the very same exact position as the stiffened model nearby her! This is going to be one hellava stiff and boring beauty contest, she groans.
Thunker's on-site manager of direct marketing is making final touch-up adjustments to this new applicant's pose... slightly lowering the height of her right forearm to pass seductively beneath the swales and valleys of an audaciously-presented bustline; pushing the cap on her head back to a more rakish and sexy angle. He does little with the front zipper, however, raising it just an inch or two and leaving several generous chestnut-brown tufts from her pubic triangle exposed. Reaching inside her skintight silver top, Hymie primps and plumps Diane's voluptuous cleavage upward-outwards, rearranging both edges of the 'V' formed by her open zipper directly across and atop her nipples. Nearly one-half of her dark pink aureoles are thus left on display.
"Mr. Thunker advises me that you can never underestimate the power of sex-appeal with the public"!
Having accomplished the task of creating near-identical wavy-haired twin to the molecularly-condensing Barbara Fenton, Hymie then grabs our job candidate about the hips and unceremoniously plunks Diane down right beside her glowing competition. Once inside the blue crackling energy field, Di is overpowered by a titanic external crushing force: fibers and sinews from head to toe bombarded by relentless artificial gravity which she hasn't the strength to resist. Even without the mind-controlling effects from the TMC autointellichip, our heroine would be powerless. Held rigidly into her sexy advertising stance, she notices that her foremost(nipples) and rearmost(ass) body parts are bearing the brunt of the condenser's compressing powers. She's starting to become flatter!!
Suddenly the workshop door flings open, and an elderly bearded Teutonic gentleman saunters boldly into the room. "Uund Vhaat eggsactly doo vee haff zere? Achh!! Undother Thunker Poster Fraulein?"
1. Diane wins the beauty contest and replaces the
cardboard cutout beside the Mall roadster.
2. Sigfreid Thunker has a strong desire to enact his company’s slogan by ‘taking’ Diane
3. Meanwhile, back at the Mall Office… [Originally option 3 of 4915... Ed.]
4. Barbara Fenton retains her ‘Thunker Girl’ modeling position; Diane becomes a hood ornament.
5. Electricity Woman and Dynamite Girl save the day!
6. Something even less believable.
EPISODE 4943: Vault-Halt (or, Safe ‘n Solid in Sarajevo)
Gently settling Sudhara
back down onto her swivel-seat (atop a busy subterranean left hand), Harriet
recognizes the likelihood that she too is succumbing to the psychological
pressures and effects of the classic Sarajevo Syndrome. And who could
blame her? Scanning a now totally-quieted (thanks
to Rick's gas canister fiasco) Mall Office interior, her heart beats faster
and faster as she appraises a semi-erect would-be-boyfriend, as well as Sue,
Jessie and Caroline: all of them attractive desirable living statues, helpless
against any advances she might make! Yummy up-close-and-personal flashes
of frenetic sexual fantasy breeze past her mind's eye, each vision with a differing
partner. So many gas victims, so little time... A flush rises to
the blonde's pretty face as the dam holding back a pent-up libido nears its
bursting point. Then alarm: What if the Office Manager or the other clerk
typist catches me playing with these guys??, she worries. Deciding to scout
the remainder of the Office complex, our heroine checks the bathroom, manager's
suite and copy/mail room, discovering they are all vacant. Where the @#!&
ARE they?? she wonders.
Then Harriet notices the
giant reinforced steel door to the walk-in safe stands slightly ajar- its interior
light shining out through the tiny crack at the opening along an eight-foot-high
Can anybody breathe in there with the door nearly closed? Apparently yes, given a ventilator intake grating centered directly over the massive metallic door frame(the very same one Hari and Rick had accidentally blasted during their earlier struggles with the paralyzing gas canister). Slowly, cautiously, the blonde approaches the huge vault entrance and exerts all her strength to swing the two-foot-thick portal back upon its hinges. With a faint creaking squeal, the door surrenders to view an amazing tableau held inside. Harriet herself now squeals out with delight!
It's as if the vault door frame represented borders of a giant television screen
connected to a videocassette recorder set in playback... but now temporarily
placed into "pause" mode by an omnipotent viewer. An extremely
lascivious viewer, most likely, wishing to soak up every curve and angle of
this risqué scene halted in mid-action. Too obsessed within their own(very)
personal responses to the Sarajevo Syndrome, Ted and Anita had never even noticed
the purple immobilizing powder as it swirled downward out of the ventilation
system. Until too late, that is. Not that they were unhappy with the circumstances
they found themselves stuck in. Quite to the contrary. As that stupid
beer commercial had said, "It just doesn't get any better than this".
If either contributor to this erotic sculpture had been in a condition to comment
on the appropriateness and applicability of that slogan to their situation,
they would have enthusiastically agreed. But, of course, they couldn't
comment... or budge... or blink. This made Hari giggle... and very
For standing smack in the middle of the room is the coffee-skinned Anita: a beautiful, busty African American lady in her early thirties. She sports a conservative knee length gray woman's business suit with a frilly white ruffled blouse underneath. Dark brown clogs and sheer olive green stockings accentuate the ensemble, along with matching diamond earrings and tennis bracelet which sparkle brilliantly beneath the harsh glare of the safe lighting. Our heroine is fascinated by the interplay between these huge 'rock' earrings and the dense curly jet-black ringlets that cascade down and back over her neck and shoulders. As Harriet moves slowly around the tall frozen female, her mostly afro-like hairdo(a throwback to the 1960's?) alternately reveals and hides the gleam and shimmer from hundreds of interior facet angles atop her earlobes. "WOW!! Nice pair of 'rings there, lady", the mobile female exclaims to the immobile one.
"I'm betting you've got one well heeled boyfriend- maybe YOU mister?- and you definitely appear to be his favorite here in the office, too"!
Well, Anita was certainly Ted's favorite at the moment, anyway. You could tell.
Harriet is now reminded of one of her striking 'flash' memories from childhood
days. Thinking back to those Superman movies of the 1970's and 80's,
she mentally zeroes in upon the classic instant when the Man of Steel recognizes
imminent peril and takes a very first step into action. Just thinking
about it makes our blonde warm and squishy down between her legs. That
fleet second when- disguised as Clark Kent- the powerful superhero clenches
both hands onto his shirt button line and wrenches violently sideways-outwards
to reveal his barrel-chested "S" insignia. Everybody remembers
it. Hari has often fantasized about it. But now Anita was really
Her pretty face and head thrown back toward the vault ceiling, the dark beauty has ripped wide open her own delicate blouse- nearly a dozen buttons strewn everywhere across a metal safe floor. One of her ruby-nailed hands still clenches desperately onto the left side of the open blouse front, while the other has apparently moved onto more interesting areas. The textbook frenzy Hari learned about in the cold antiseptic classroom environment last Spring never seemed likely to cause SUCH ferocity and lust! The impressed and aroused schoolgirl makes a mental note to sign up for several more psych classes in the Fall! She closes her eyes-momentarily matching Anita's- to try to visualize the naughty thrill of sexual glee she's now experiencing...and experiencing...and Of course, Ted the Office manager is certainly doing his part. His outrageous behavior belies that 6'4" clean-shaven no-nonsense business facade outwardly portrayed. Since, given his pretty friend's encouragement in the vicinity of her chest, Ted had run with the ball. Headed for a long touchdown, apparently. Anita's fire-engine-red brassiere has been yanked and rolled forward and down away from her ample coffee-colored Jamaicas. The lacy silk material currently lies twisted among Ted's clenched knuckles, which are resting-undercupping fully exposed mounds. With such delicious appetizers as these presented to him on the proverbial silver platter, our Office head-honcho has been definitely enjoying the feast... going for every last crumb and morsel, so to speak. His sandy blonde head (with a touch of gray at his early-40's temples) is veritably swallowed up within voluminous 39DD cleavage thrust out to play. Ted's moistened lips are stilled in a gaping- sideways 'O' shape, halted in mid-reposition to apply suction on Anita's fudge-shade left aureole.
The sheer savage intensity of this(literally) 'caught-in-the-act' couple is too much for our heroine to now withstand. Both of Hari's hands quickly rise to her own breasts, the fingertips gently probe and spin about concealed pink puckering nubs. Our gal's tight bra soon becomes more of an encumbrance, and she thinks seriously about removing it altogether. Then she sees the 'topper'. Perhaps by instinct(since both living statues' eyes are closed), this duo had managed to move decidedly past second base before being 'thrown out' by Inga's gas canister. Anita's right hand has seductively snaked down underneath her lurching-forward male partner's suit coat to target his pants zipper. Bullseye. Her stiffened hand grasps Ted's raw protruding even stiffer eight inches! As you might guess, this is the point of no return for Harriet, and a wild brazen plan surfaces in her sex-crazed head. Releasing screamingly-sensitve boobs from her own massaging grasp, the bold curly-blonde approaches the tall dark-skinned lovely and apologizes for her indiscretion to come:
"I'm SO sorry, Miss, but if I don't do something- QUICK- I think my privates are gonna explode!!"
disengaging Anita's long nailed fingers from their adoring gift-wrap positioning
about Ted's proud pointing manhood, our sexually overcharged heroine tilts the
tall clerk typist back onto her solidified heels. Using a cross-chest-carry
from behind, Harriet gently scoots the dark beauty (eyes closed while face aimed
straight toward the vault ceiling lights) over to the safety deposit box wall.
Captured within this contracted tetanized state, there's not much Anita can
say or do about it. She doesn't fully grasp what is happening... just the disappointment
of leaving her highly pleasurable circumstances whirls through her mind. Anxious
to 'cut in' upon the lusty vault room dance, Harriet now leaves the immobilized
gal precariously balanced: back upon her heels with the pate of her skull propped
on box #289. Anitas's hand curls about thin air!
Hastening toward the very-nicely-posed
Ted doll, Hari stumbles badly over popped-off brown clogs. Seconds after recovering
her balance, the blonde's dress top is fully unbuttoned and bra flung to the
vault floor. With the Sarajevo Syndrome fully in control of her actions
now, she gasps in sheer delight while planting her own modest mammaries where
the clerk typist's had been: adjoining onto the eagerly-worshipping Office Manager's
lips and mouth. Shifting her balance slightly from left to right, Harriet
succeeds in roaming her own jiggling boobs and hardening nipples around this
sandy haired handsome playground. Heavy breathing and moans exit the safe door
out into the Office.
Harriet's libido is quickly reaching its boiling(or is that 'boinking'?) point as her cotton panties rapidly moisten. It takes less than five minutes for a lusty blonde to concede to the inevitable. Removing her well-consoled breasts from Ted's lips and tongue(his eyes closed and face affixed into a delightful expression of intent adoration!), our gal spins 180 degrees round while tugging moistened blue panties down from beneath a summery flower print dress to mid-thigh. Yet here is when this express train to Nirvana derails. Flipping a rear hemline up to hang over the small of her back, Hari bends down while reverse-inching toward Ted's pole... but she's just too short!! The Manager's 6'4" stature makes capturing his big dick problematic for the 5"4' gal. However, lascivity is the mother of invention. Our ingenious heroine soon seizes onto an idea. Closing back up the top of her dress(yet kicking undies off her ankles to join her bra on the safe floor), Harriet strides determinedly back out into the front Office area. All remains as it was, of course, thanks to the paralysis gas. Gait almost reaching a trot, the curly-blonde nears Caroline.
"I think it's more than time that you finally met your good-looking secret admirer", she explains.
We've all heard about individuals possessing super-human strength during dire emergencies. For frenetic and frustrated Harriet, this was one of those times. Perhaps this offers sufficient explanation as to how and why the average-sized woman was able to lift down and drag the tall honey-blonde some thirty feet from the filing cabinets to the Office front door. Perhaps not... (maybe Hari will learn more about this phenomenon in one of her future psychology classes?). In any event, Rick soon discovers his earlier object of affection's up-extended arms encircling his neck. It had been something of a chore to squeeze Caroline's trim waistline through the small opening between the hunched hunk's slightly parted hands, but the efforts ultimately had paid off.
"Caroline, I'd like you to Rick... Rick, meet Caroline. He's been worshipping you from afar, sweetie, so it seemed only natural to bring the two of you together. Besides, I have urgent need for that stool you’re balancing on, dear".
As a final parting
shot Hari pulls the lovely secretary's rigid feet and legs slightly back away
from Rick's body. Now the stiff hero's hands are in just the right
placement. Almost. Lifting the back panel on the leggy honey-blonde's miniskirt,
our heroine adroitly slips Rick's half-clenched palms and fingers past the waistband
of Caroline's lacy pink panties to greedily cup the half-globes of her butt
cheeks. Silent rude exclamations of shock and surprise reverberate within
each of the stiffened partners' heads. A huge grin spreads across Harriet's
face as she unbuttons her heartthrob's fly and he bursts free.
"PERFECT!! Awwww.... Can't say the two of you look 'natural' together like that, but I think you certainly DO make such a cute couple"! Harriet's uncontrolled mischievous giggling fades from Rick's hearing as she grabs Caroline's low stool and gleefully prances back into the open vault.
1. Caroline regains mobility before Rick and knocks his block off!
2. A soon-to-be-fully-satisfied Hari departs in search of her two girlfriends.
3. Electricity Woman and Dynamite Girl arrest Rick for indecent exposure and sexual assault.
4. We kick back into a ringside seat to watch further vault shenanigans
5. Something Else… [Originally option 4 from 4901... Ed.]
Episode 5080: Design Oversight...Corrected!!
Diane maintains her spokesmodel's pose flawlessly as the tall elderly gray-bearded villain approaches. His gait is extremely formal (vaguely reminiscent of a goose-step?!) and his heels click loudly together as this late-70's owner and founder of a maverick high-tech auto company halts abruptly in front of a condensing heroine. Standing just outside the crackling-sparkling blue energy sphere generated by the large electronic contraption in the far workroom corner, Sigfreid Thunker places a huge old-fashioned glass monocle up to his left eye and squints to get a better look at our helpless wedge-cut brunette. Scrunching his face up into a stereotypical expression of surprised confusion, this new-on-the-scene nemesis (sporting an evil scientist's classic white laboratory coat) addresses the former Control Robot:
"Und vhy haff vee produced an eggsaact replica uff our Thunker Girl Barbara, Hymie??", this criminal boss with severe German features asks in an annoyed voice.
His unflappable monotone rising to the occasion, the company Sales Director replies, "Sir, this young woman enquired directly about the position as advertised on the cardboard cutout next to the Roadster. I am fully programmed to respond to ALL employment enquiries- and particularly those made by women and minorities- with due concern and consideration. Upon initial overview and survey, my ocular sensory inputs recorded a 94.37% composite comeliness coefficient, which is considerably above your stated statistical threshold for Thunker Girl candidacy. And since Ms. Fenton over here has not yet fully condensed along her Z-axis to your stated maximum- allowable dimension of three centimeters (or less), I interpreted this other female's request to apply for the position as legitimate and actionable. Her raw sex appeal is..."
"SILENCE!!!", Sigfreid screams to cut off the mechanical (yet imminently-logical) drivel rushing forth from between Hymie's artificial lips. "Aaach!! Zis brunette IS zexy, to be sure. But she is not the type of woman vee are looking for to be my company's global representative". The evil genius pauses momentarily to reach inside Diane's mostly-unzippered racing suit top and playfully squeeze her plump melons. The action is as much of a bio-physics test of an ongoing flattening process caused by molecular condenser beams as it is the antics of a very dirty old man. Amid the discomfort and disorientation of slowly transforming from three shapely dimensions into (mostly) two, Diane's poor brain is not yet too far overwhelmed to not register a mental protest: Hey!! Get your grubby hands off me, you goon!! The irrepressible blue energy field aids the brunette's silent request, as Sigfreid is forced to quickly remove already-compressing hands and fingers to avoid injury.
"Thunker promotes an air of zophistication and elegance to its upzcale clientele! Zis female- although lovely- is all wrong for zat. Squash her just like the others!"
With old-world flair, the former KAOS mastermind briefly stoops forward to kiss the back of our frozen heroine's leftwards-outstretched hand. Then he allows his monocle to drop to the bottom of a leather cord and marches stiffly back out through the workroom door. Loud crackling of the MC field punctuates the silence. Even the indefatigable Hymie is left in a state of uncertainty for a moment with the abruptness of his boss' imperative. Our bubble-headed blonde, of course, is now completely clueless as to her imminent fate.
SQUASH me!? What am I... some sort of annoying bug to be gotten rid of?? All I did was apply for a job...".
This ever-slowing train of thought is interrupted by super-strength hands snatching Diane around her waist and hoisting her in a horizontal carry (parallel to the floor) some 3-4 feet above the ground. Thanks to the Thunker autointellichip's overriding 'cruise control' of her movements, she has no choice but to remain within her rock-solid modeling pose. Helplessly staring at the passing toolboxes and shelves, Di realizes she's being moved to an opposite corner from Barbara. Free from the dizzy numbing effects of the cruel condensing process (momentarily), her mind starts to clear while Hymie plunks her back down to a flamingo-imitating one leg balancing act. Wobbling slightly for several subsequent seconds, a sense of foreboding dread creeps back into her mind. Whatever 'squashing' means, it CAN'T be good.
Diane's idea is more than a bit of an understatement. She is now teetering right next to a one-foot-diameter shiny metallic column which rises up from its bolted flange at floor level to some four feet in height. The polished gleam of the support pole is lost within a slight concavity in its circular crown. Unable to look down and examine this object (thereby perhaps determine its purpose or intent?), our heroine can merely sense its proximity by the harsh coldness of the column as it brushes the outer edge of her bent-round right knee. Meanwhile, our automaton-salesman continues to follow his orders to the letter-adjusting buttons dials, levers and various settings on the face of the molecular condenser control panel. With a slight grunt of satisfaction about his momentary adjustments, Hymie now turns attention back to our runner-up in the Thunker Girl spokesmodel contest. And yet his words are not as much directed at the rigid victim as at the logo cap she is wearing atop her cute brunette wedge-cut. "It seems, Miss, that Mr. Thunker has something of a more decorative role for you to play.
Initiate Command Sequence Object-Delta!!"
An intense, almost out-of-body experience ensues as the would-be spokesgal's brain is once again completely disconnected from physical responses to Hymie's command. The intellichip sewn into the sweatband of her baseball cap unceremoniously triggers a series of unstoppable adjustments to attire and body positioning. Briefly beginning to travel down a road to recovery from her exposure to the crushing impacts of the bizarre MC device (just seconds before Di had experienced true relief as her partly-squashed boobs and tush inflated back to usual flattering fully-round dimensions), our hapless heroine now begins to recognize respite to be very short-lived.
It is as if she views her final circumstances from several feet away, appraising the humiliating process of (once again) removing all of her clothing in front of a total stranger with unnaturally-calm analytical skills. Unable to speak or cry out for help, she mentally queries What NOW? He's making me doff my shoes... and next the hot-pants/racing suit... all that's left is the stupid hat. If I could just knock THAT off my head I'd make a break for the door and get help... Yet any and all efforts to regain control of her limbs- even for just an instant needed to remove the cap- prove futile. With shapely curves fully on display: next comes a total surprise. To her shock and dismay, the almost-naked gal finds herself toppling down onto the nearby metallic pedestal- its foot-wide round indented crown cupping that natural feminine small protrusion of her lower abdomen. With navel almost exactly centered on an uncomfortable steel base (a slight sensation of electric shock emits up from it into out-of-her-control body), Hymie’s sequence object-delta continues on course. Slowly but inexorably, Diane's world-class legs leave the floor to rise up-out in rearwards counterbalance to her head and torso. Calves and thighs press prettily together as the TMC intellichip poses them gracefully in full extension behind her:, toes pointed up and back in termination of(almost aerodynamic) flesh-toned liquid curves. And yet the cruise control program is still only just beginning.. working its sway ever-forward to sculpt modeling clay into a voluptuous masterpiece. Our heroine's buns tighten, her back fully arches and legs rise higher-and-higher until posture reaches a very shallow U-shape from shoulders to toe. Ample breasts suspend pendulum-like beneath her up-outthrust chest. Now any casual observer would think Hymie (with assistance from his company's evil logo cap) perhaps to be a world-famous hypnotist demonstrating amazing powers from inducing a deep somnambulistic state upon this curvaceous nude subject, such is the impressive rigidity of Diane's gravity-defying arching atop the steel support column. But for her own part, the air-headed bimbo's muscles and sinews seems unnaturally light, bowing to the strong determination of the auto-intellichip's influence. Soon, however, the laws of physics and limits to physical endurance would take their toll upon this awkward statuesque positioning. Yet Hymie already has the answer to that problem.
The reprogrammed robot watches without emotion as final subroutines from the chip's pre-programmed sequence act out over the malleable gal's delectable upper body.
Palms facing down toward the workroom floor, pretty pink-nailed fingers interlace together and slide beneath our heroine's upraised chin to provide support under her craning-forward neck. As she is forced to stare up-outwards into the indefinite distance (toward the intersection of wall and ceiling), both elbows rotate out to create counterpoint and give side-to-side definition to an otherwise front-to-back streamlined sculpture. Diane fights muscle fatigue: straining to hold this pose:
Geez this REALLY hurts to be stretched out up here like this... What in the %$@!&*! does this guy think he's doing to me? I can't STAY like this long...
"A near-perfect replica of the 1954 Nash hood ornament, Miss. I commend you upon your dexterity and flexibility. Allow me now to assist you in your struggles"
Flipping a series of switches atop the MC, a second separate sphere of blue electromagnetic quantum energy bursts forth to engulf our pained and perplexed gal. Di's body is immediately reacquainted with a condenser's compressing effects. Yet this time the sensation of flattening and becoming smaller (as the very atoms of her base composition decrease their electron orbital radii and begin to recombine at an elemental level) crushes upon her beautifully-poised features over all three dimensions this time- rather than simply the Z-axis as before. Immediately, her muscle pain stops, as the out-to-in pressure from the device makes holding such an unnatural pose a breeze... WAIT! NO! a requirement!! Panic sets in, of course, but Thunker's latest ‘hire’ has no outward means now of expressing her state of mind.
A distinct sense of immediate surroundings growing ever-larger (and slightly less distinct) overwhelms her. And as MC begins to interfere with various her synapse connections between ganglia and brain components, fear and other emotions begin to fade, leaving our gal in something of a semi-conscious dream state. Di fancies herself immersed into Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking Glass, herself playing the feminine lead who has just nibbled a piece of the tardy Rabbit's candy labeled ‘Eat Me’. Everything is suddenly getting MUCH too big... she loses all sense of equilibria and perspective, now falling further and further from reality as the transformation process picks up momentum. In Diane’s solidifying mind's eye she is swan-diving now... hurtling downward into a blissful pool of comforting blue cloudy warmth. And finally, the absolute last words Diane's metallicizing hammer, anvil and stirrup can process (before deadening with a dull clang!) is Hymie's matter-of-fact explanation:
"Carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen and oxygen inside your body’s systems are now condensing and recombining to molecules comprised of atomic weight #57. That is, of Chromium"
Strolling casually round a shrinking female form, Hymie frowns as he discovers a large butterfly tattoo inscribed on the outside of our heroine's left shin, just above the ankle. With TMC’s molecular condensation at the atom-by-atom level, such features would be perfectly preserved-even after Di's body had completely finished its metamorphosis. Hymie doesn't know whether his newest creation could still hear him or not, but blurts out, "OH MY! such imperfections as this tattoo must be addressed. Nobody will buy a $39,000 Roadster with such an anomaly. I'm afraid we're going to have to sacrifice some degree of realism and detail, young lady. I only hope that the 3-D condensing process- which has much simpler reduction algorithms than the one that is ever-so-slowly reducing Ms. Fenton over there- has not yet advanced to an indelible point where complete erasure is impossible". Hymie quickly and determinedly strides back over to the MC and throws a switch marked: ABSTRACT.
At some base instinctual level, our heroine slowly feels a change in the forces swirling about and through her frame. An intense roiling heat begins to build at the periphery of her features, yet she feels little or no pain since most dermal and epidermal sensory points have long since turned fully to chrome. And yet there is an intuitive reaction inside her hallucinating (and not fully faded) thought processes. Di imagines herself to be an erotic waxwork candle, slowly succumbing to the cruel heating process as a wick planted inside her body rapidly burns from head to toe. And as a dull drowsy nothingness sweeps her final mental attempts away for good, one last glimpse of that victory scene from the Wizard of Oz wafts through her head as the wicked witch bemoans and wails Ohhh! !'m melting.... melting.......
Standing over a completing fourteen-inch gleaming statuette cupped in the shallow bowl of the support stand crown, Hymie smiles with appreciation as Thunker’s latest victim's features blur and grow less precise: the crease between her pressed-together legs mellows and softens, smoothing and fusing gorgeous gams into a undulating solid mass. Only a slight dent remains where a distinct ass-crack and nether region had shone forth only seconds before. Diane' cleavage also alters, the delightful crevice between dangling boobs shifting and filling... her nipples losing definition while swallowed into one big oval mound. Even the thousands of strands in her pretty chestnut wedge melt into an wavy-blown swept-back elongated skull cap. The former Control Robot remembers at the last possible moment to remove a now-loosened tiny chrome Thunker logo cap. But in entering the blue energy sphere to do so, he leaves his right hand exposed just-a-hair too long. 1960's transistor-based circuitry is suddenly disrupted, cascade failing all up-and-down his right arm. The heartless automaton stares blankly at the malfunctions, attempting to recover via self-diagnostics.
Using a still-functioning left hand, he returns to the MC and shuts down its Chroming-condensing beams. Gingerly lifting out a brand-spanking-new luscious hood ornament (quite heavy for its size!) from the top of the steel support column-base, he scrutinizes his handiwork. Judging from Diane's gray shiny featureless countenance and rounded-but-not-too-detailed body parts, adaptation to her new job seems ended. Illogically but ironically, the robot addresses his victim with one last taunt:
"Well, Miss... you DID express interest in promoting Thunker automobiles. Now you'll have the exclusive opportunity to help market ONE of them, at least".
Grabbing a small portable soldering iron and placing it into his coat pocket, Hymie and (what used to be) Diane head out the workroom door. In his haste to attach the newest company acquisition to the hood of their flagship Roadster, the Sales Director neglects to notice a still-barely-etched outline of a butterfly on Di's left shin.
What happens next?
1. Diane and Barbara are put on display atop/next to the Thunker Roadster in the Mall common area.
2. Two junior college cheerleaders (in full uniform- pom poms and all) enter the company showroom.
3. Maxwell Smart manages a bungling rescue of damsels in distress.
4. Harriet will soon discover that her friend has been imprisoned as a chrome hood ornament. [Originally option 2 from 4943... Ed.]
5. And now for something completely different...
The hinges on the vault door creaked and squealed as Harriet pulled the safe mostly-shut behind her. Just as Anita and Ted sought privacy amid their Sarajevo Syndrome -induced burst of passion; so our frenzied curly blonde wanted no witnesses to her own impending shenanigans. The beautiful busty secretary and her now-not-so-secret admirer inside the walk-in safe wouldn't see anything more, thanks to their eyes-closed positioning while inhaling whiffs of evil Inga's petrifying gas. The clever heroine now had free reign behind a fourteen-inch-thick massive steel portal left open by only a crack. Placing Caroline's borrowed footstool directly in front of the fully-stiffened Office Manager, Hari hoists her hemline upwards while spinning round to face away from the blonde physically-fit mid-40's hunk. Bra and now-soaked blue panties already discarded onto the cold steel floor, all that's left to do is strategically bend down and over... her rear end crack eagerly seeking Ted's pole. Bracing slightly-spread legs with hands clasped behind each crook of a knee, our libidinous gal rocks backward into sheer delight. Her own squeals become louder than the door's.
The sexual sound effects wafting out through the vault door and ventilation grating only add to Rick's predicament. Harriet's earlier tortures to his bulging crotch, combined with a recent repositioning of the ravishing Caroline within his grasp- literally- had placed his own lust into serious overdrive. Standing stiffly half-crouched with a frozen honey blonde's lovely green-eyed countenance now at point-blank range, our hero teeters on the brink of losing control over nine-plus thickened inches that his mischievous friend Hari had playfully released straight out from his boxers and jeans. And a delicious sensation of cupping Caroline's soft warm buns (from inside those same lacy pink panties Rick had ogled from across the Office) pushed him past a point of no return. A sudden intense tickling tightness means he would soon have some significant explaining to do. Ohh, man.... this is gonna be embarrass... Ahh, Ahhhh, Ahhhh...Uhnnkkkk..Goooooodd!!! Rick checks out.
The Sarajevo Syndrome 'bomb' has done its full damage. Rick and Caroline embracing near the front door... clothes disheveled and soiled. Perky Jessie gaping wordlessly upon the cute exposed couple: her paralyzed index finger halted in mid-waggle and pointy nipples screaming for attentions from Harriet. Sudhara stuck squirming upon her own very busy subterranean left hand. And as the last-remaining moveable participant redresses herself and exits the Office vault, we catch a glimpse of Anita- perched back upon olive stocking heels, gigantic tits spread apart by gravity as she tilts with her wrenched-open shirt toward the lighted vault ceiling. Ted and his well-exercised manhood are just beyond view in the safe's back left corner. With a satisfied smile and glowing cheeks, Harriet plants a deep passionate kiss onto Jessie's 'O' shaped parted lips as fond farewell. Passing a slowly-deflating Rick on her way out of the Office, our heroine chuckles uncontrollably at sight of the mess spread over the front of Caroline's frilly blue miniskirt. Ruffling her frozen would-be-boyfriend's hair as a final prank, the cute brunette departs to the Mall.
Mere seconds later, a squabbling duo materializes at the Office front door threshold and halt in amazed mid-step. Their conversation- which had til now centered on technical difficulties associated with failing to get their famous Zap-mobile to start upon notice of this bizarre burglary more than an hour ago- also stops in an instant. As both lovely ladies gape in astonishment at the immobilized scenery spread out before them, we have opportunity to examine these new participants in the drama. The elder of the two women is a six-foot-tall fair skinned blonde with thick shoulder-length tresses. Somewhere in her mid-thirties, the hazel-eyed beauty exudes confidence and ingenuity as she surveys the crime scene. Powerful shoulders thrown back in an elegant carriage reminiscent of royalty long ago, she places knuckles onto her curvaceous hips and establishes a legs widespread stance of a stereotypical superheroine. The skintight salmon lycra bodysuit accentuated by yellow-gold long boots, gauntlets and glossy cape (reaching to a delightful lower crease separating luscious long legs from her taut toned backside) screams out her identity to any and all passersby. Electricity Woman has pounced upon the scene... more than a little bit late! EW's younger sidekick is less successful at disguising her emotions washing over a late-teens frame as a result of the tableau vivant in front of her. Her collarless red two-piece tight jumpsuit(bare midriff from just below her perky conical mid-size boobs to an almost-too-low-cut half leotard crossing several inches below her navel) leaves virtually nothing to the imagination as Dynamite Girl gazes wide eyed around the room... taking in the embarrassing circumstances of many of the criminals' gas victims. The 5'6" olive-skinned cutie with wiry brunette locks pulled up into girlish pigtails, her adolescent brown irises keep returning to Rick's thick exposed dick. Overwhelmed by surprise and the absurd circumstances:
"Holy Human Popsicles, Ma'm!! All of these people are frozen stiff as statues!", she cries.
Almost subconsciously, DG rocks her weight back and forth between thigh-high silver boots... thus causing a pleasing rhythmic friction down in certain key areas. At this very moment, long-immobilized filing secretary Caroline begins to stir from her stretching reaching-upwards pose. Dropping the manila file folder which had been affixed between her left thumb and index finger for the better part of the last ninety minutes, this tall supermodel-ish Office employee blinks several times and shakes her pretty head in an effort to regain full awareness and clear her thoughts. As flowing straight blonde locks ruffle and shimmer in front of the pair of newly arrived superheroines, Electricity Woman notices the now-mobilizing young lady's expression rapidly turn from bewilderment to extreme anger as she glances down the front of her outfit. Whether it is Rick's proximity, the rather rude placement of his hands down the back of her panties, or his exposed manhood (which by now has left ample 'souvenirs' on the front of her miniskirt) our world-famous blonde crimefighter can’t determine, yet the physical reaction to Caroline's displeasure is obvious. Recoiling-twisting back and away from the presumptuous male 'partner' Hari had provided, the svelte secretary rocks onto her backstepping right pump and uses it as pivot point to propel a jarring right cross onto the left side of Rick's goofy-looking face. Force from the blow sends him toppling stiffly down to the Office floor!. “CREEP!!” A deep crimson color spreading rapidly over her lovely countenance, this reanimated clerical worker attempts to straighten her outfit while heading for the restroom. The dynamic duo exchanges a wordless glance mixing surprised disbelief and amused hilarity. Their expressions seem to say: what could possibly happen next?
Electricity Woman recovers first from the shock of Caroline's venting, boldly striding into the reception area to stop point-blank in front of the attractive frozen Jessie. Testing the rigidity of her tetanized condition by attempting to curl down her extended index finger (without success... she's rock-solid), EW lifts Jess' wire-rim spectacles to examine her glassy stare from mere inches away. Truly mannequin-like in her non-responsiveness to these stimuli, the courageous blonde emits a harumph of satisfaction as she deduces her first correct conclusion from the available evidence. Turning to her younger companion in red (who has now reachedand bent down partly while astride our battered young hero to examine a rapidly-surfacing shiner around his left eye), the clever older good-gal now exclaims:
"This is obviously the handiwork of ingenious 'Inga the Immobilizer' and her cruel henchman. So she has finally come out of hiding after her prison break last year!"
"If that's true, Inga's developed a new weapon to replace that super-holding hairspray she used to kidnap wealthy women at her beauty salon hideout-trap", says DG. "We DID confiscate all necessary chemicals and equipment to produce their old stiffening-encasing technology, but a paralyzing motis operandi still screams out as I I's. Maybe we'd better take a thorough look around and check the condition of all her victims. This receptionist looks to still be deeply under Inga's spell . I..."
Electricity Woman is about to head over to the hand-sitting Sudhara and leave Rick to her younger partner, when she notices something out of the ordinary. As DG bends further over the still-exposed handsome crime statistic, her waist length silver metallic cape slides somewhat forward across the middle of her slender back. This, in turn, fully exposes the apple-round curvatures of Dynamite Girl's bent athletic ass, shown in breath- taking detail through tightly stretched red spandex. At the lower end of an impressive crevice between youthful cheeks, a tiny blotch of moisture has become visible as a slightly darker-red area. A Sherlock Holmesian intellect beneath EW's wavy blonde tresses puts 2 plus 2 together immediately... this teenager is getting turned on by the helpless half-hard hunk beneath her!
"Uhh... Wait a minute!! Perhaps it would be best if YOU scout out the rest of the office while I assist that unfortunate-but obviously healthy- male victim", EW says.
In a disappointed girlish tone, the pig-tailed brunette bemoans, "Awwh... geez, M'am. Why do I ALWAYS get the boring assignments? You gotta admit, he's kinda cute!"
Standing straight up onto powerful calves and thighs, the disconsolate DG moves off in the direction of the pass-through to the middle Office and vault area. Meanwhile, EW strides over to squat next to our fallen hero, who lies bruised and bumped upon his back- blankly facing the overhead florescent lighting. Hazel bright eyes betraying an extraordinary intelligence beneath her Miss America-like countenance, she dutifully informs our final unmoving member of the Medusa Chronicles fab four:
"I'm sorry, Sir, but you are currently in violation of section 342-Z of public decency ordinance #212 prohibiting display of genitalia for urination or other purposes..."
Yeah, yeah, yeah, lady... Cut the chatter and just BE GENTLE while putting my toys back into the toybox. Any special attentions would be appreciated! thinks our partly-embarrassed guy who is obviously still suffering from some of the wishful sexual thinking classically inherent in the textbook Sarajevo Syndrome. Stuffing his semi-erect arsenal back inside his button-fly jeans, The knockout crimefighter hears an unexpected suction noise coming from in the Office vault. Fearful of a possible trap or ambush left behind by Inga's criminal gang, EW creeps cautiously back around and behind a leaning forward stiffened Jessie (nice legs, she thinks) and peeks past the partly-opened safe door. Lusty shock and total surprise assaulting her senses, all the elder superheroine can utter is "OH MY GOD!!"
Kneeling upon a low wood utility stool teeters a crouching Dynamite Girl. Directly before her is a still-paralyzed fully erect Ted, who maintains his mid-sucking pose and adoring facial expression that cemented while lavishing attentions onto his girlfriend-du-jour Anita's Jamaicas. An overly excited teenage heroine has now taken full advantage of the pretty African-American woman's far repositioning by Harriet along the safety deposit box wall: craning her own youthful neck forward to encircle the tip of his stately eight inches inside her energetic pink lips! The onset of this 'super-blow' apparently has pushed the brunette into sexual overdrive... a silver gloved left hand firmly planted at the base of his impressive member, and a bare right hand slid down the back of her red half-leotard into a moistening nether region. As EW enters fully into the vault chamber, DG's manipulations of exploring fingers and thumb shoves down her waistband to halfway reveal a delicious tan-lined olive moon. At sight of the younger gal's attentions to an oversized dick, and frenetically-probing fingers sliding over a delectable rear-end, Electricity Woman's own nipples pucker slightly.
"Ummm.... Ahhh... Unhhhh.. Mmmmmm... Dynamite Girl, GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF!!"
Had either Ted or Anita's eyes been open to observe the X-rated activity of a young superheroine sidekick before them, they might well have detected a certain irony within the words loudly blurted out by her senior partner. After all, it seems as if the excited brunette already has a pretty significant hold of herself... Caught in the act, DG hurriedly scrambles to her feet and readjusts the lower half of her costume. Wiping perspiration from her creased brow (and excess moisture from her lips), this bubble-headed slightly –sleazy gal tries to regain some degree of composure and decency. But she must first listen to EW’s lecture!
(insert moralistic pronouncements and hypocritical sermonizing reminiscent of an era long-gone-by- except in the delusions of far-right-wing Republicans- here)
The tongue-lashing completed from a matronly superheroine to a little-bit-too-naughty one, they make one final sweep of the entire Mall Office suite area. Neither Inga nor her known henchman can be found anywhere, so the delectable duo now determines to strike out in pursuit of a crime they've arrived at a little-bit-too-late:
"Alright, young lady.... if you'll just keep your pants up, maybe we can catch these crooks? Let's follow that curly blonde woman leaving the Office as we arrived".
As Rick, Jessie and the other Office employees begin to break free from their paralytic imprisonment, the Lycra-Spandex clad newcomers vanish out the door. A few more minutes pass... Shaking off the effects of Inga the Immobilizer's dastardly new weaponry, The personable (and still sexually-charged) receptionist Jessie veritably trots around from behind her front desk (we appreciate toned calf and thigh muscles flexing and wriggling beneath sheer pantyhose!) to scrunch down onto hands and knees beside an injured hero down for the count. Jessie's round fanny rises upward as she leans forward to place a delicate kiss onto Rick's bruised left eyelid.
"Poor Baby!! You've had SUCH a hard time of it ever since you brightened up my day by walking through that door.", the brunette consoles with a wink and sly smile.
Spinning around while still upon all fours, this curly-haired cutie reaches up-over to a nearby cabinet drawer to extract the Office first-aid kit. Slowly freeing himself from the absurd paralyzed positioning he has been forced to maintain since his struggles with Harriet over the green gas canister, Rick notices the hemline on Jess' prim-and-proper women's business suit is proving just-a-hair too short! A dense dampened darkness is plainly visible at the intersection point of this raven-locked angel of mercy's perfectly-proportioned upper thighs. Rick's newly-mobile eyebrows shoot up in recognition of the intoxicating new sight, and his crotch begins to stir once more.
1. Harriet catches Diane’s hood ornament debut.
2. A TV news reporter discovers Rick and Jessie in behind-the-counter lusty play.
3. EW and DG stumble upon Inga’s gang- just escaped from the Paddy Wagon.
4. Rick ignores Jessie’s overtures to seek his friends.
5. something unexpected…
Where should this complex
story go next? Maybe one of the readers would like to have a try at writing
the next episode!
Click here to continue at the highlighted option (may have already been taken; in which case, write on from there) Ed.