F.U.L.L. M.O.O.N. W.E.R.E.W.O.L.F.
A Novel of the B.A.B.E.S. Megaverse
by
Jacob M. Drake
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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Published by Crescent Suns eBooks on Smashwords
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
First Edition License Notes
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****EDITOR'S NOTE****
Please remember that this is a work of ADULT FICTION. If scenes of an adult nature (graphic sex or violence) upset you in any way OR if you are not at least eighteen (18) years of age, please read no further. This story is intended for adult readers for entertainment purposes only and is not meant to upset or offend anyone. You HAVE been warned.
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FORWARD
When I made the decision to publish a book containing the short stories I had written concerning the misadventures, misfortunes and sexual antics of the superheroines from B.A.B.E.S. I had no idea they would enjoy such popularity among readers of erotica. Fortunately I had enough stories remaining to publish my second book, which I titled S.T.U.D.S., even though the agents of S.T.U.D.S., unlike those from B.A.B.E.S. were only included within the first story of that collection. As it turned out, S.T.U.D.S. has been as popular as B.A.B.E.S. and so I find myself faced with the task of writing an entirely new book concerning these haplessly oversexed men and women with super powers and technology so scientifically advanced each item requires an entire acronym in order to describe its function and use. Maybe it's simply the fact that I enjoy the challenge of creating a wide variety of acronyms that convey the meaning of that to which it is affixed. In any case, I found I had to write a new book and that meant many more short stories.
Or did it?
Instead my overactive imagination settled upon a singular topic for serving as the main plot to a full-blown novel involving these men and women (mostly the women, of course) along with a sub-plot that would pervade throughout the book and cause everything to become ever more convoluted and intriguing (though many of the B.A.B.E.S. operatives couldn't begin to tell you what those words mean). My fertile imagination eventually came up with W.E.R.E.W.O.L.F. as the motivation for the main plot and Korn Hole (Don't ask, just read) as the motivation for the sub-plot. Then I found two more sub-plots waiting - begging - to be added in and realized I had an even more intricate storyline developing than previously intended. The title then became F.U.L.L. M.O.O.N. W.E.R.E.W.O.L.F., which meant I had to build valid acronyms for all these words (Oy vey!) or drive myself insane through trying.
What you hold in your hands...er, I mean to say, are reading upon the screen of your e-reader is the result of those efforts.
Enjoy.
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CHAPTER ONE
"How's the new experiment coming along?" Derek Manning, the CEO of S.T.U.D.S., the privately funded and covertly operative organization, which was dedicated to making the world a better place to live for everyone on the planet Earth, entered the laboratory where all the approved volunteers were transformed into super-powered agents. These agents were then trained in using their newly gained abilities for the aforementioned betterment of mankind.
The experimental process used in S.T.U.D.S., which stood for Seminal Technology of Ultrons Dynamically Sequenced, was an astounding development within the field of genetics which acted upon the male DNA through Ultrons that had been sequenced dynamically in order to interact by way of the seminal fluid existent within the male reproductive system, thus it genetically altered and enhanced men with the Ultra-X gene the process singled out and cultivated. The only drawback to the original process was that it over stimulated the male sex organ, causing the organ to grow to many times its normal size. That in itself would not have been a necessarily unwelcome side-effect, except that in growing the organ to gargantuan size it also caused the rest of the male subjects' bodies to become diminutive in stature, reducing them all to the size of Pygmies - if not even smaller - located in Central Africa. This initial process also gave these males an inferiority complex that caused them to kidnap women and brutalize them sexually in order to prove their dominance over them.
Once the process was redesigned in order to eliminate this unwelcome effect, it was still found that the dynamically sequenced Ultrons caused the male sex organ to grow to an astounding size, though nowhere near as large as the previous experimentation had. None of the new batch of volunteers had minded or objected in the least. They objected even less when they learned that along with schlongs that were big enough to ream the ass of an elephant and make it beg for more (though all agreed they had no desire to do that to such an animal), each operative developed a special power unique to him alone.
After much research the decision was made to continue in redesigning this process in order to eventually find a procedure that would imbue each operative with more than merely one unique power apiece. This was what was currently underway when CEO Derek Manning entered the testing laboratory of the S.T.U.D.S. facilities on this particular morning.
"Everything's moving along exactly as predicted, Mr. Manning," Simon Kravitz, the head of Research and Development called back without looking up from his seat before the monitors.
Manning stopped next to Kravitz's station and looked out through the large Plexiglas window at the man who was strapped down upon the table in what had come to be called the transformation chamber. It was, after all, within this very room that all agents of S.T.U.D.S. went through the process which altered their DNA and allowed them to become the powered individuals that made them invaluable to the S.T.U.D.S. organization.
As Manning watched the process being placed in operation he glanced back-and-forth between what was actually going on within the chamber and what was being displayed upon the various monitors that Kravitz himself observed. He thought it odd that with the test subject directly in front of him with only a two-inch thick sheet of superior-reinforced Plexiglas separating the two rooms, Simon Kravitz never looked up from the monitors he so astutely kept his eyes upon, as though a mother hawk watching her young as they developed, ever mindful that a different species of predator might enter into the nest in order to make off with her precious babies. Never in the entire time since the experimentation on humans had begun in these labs had Kravitz ever looked up to see the test results directly in front of him. It simply seemed more comforting and analytical to him to watch everything as it was broadcast over his monitors.
"Getting ready to begin the DSU irradiation," Kravitz warned his direct superior, referring to the Dynamically Sequenced Ultrons process. "You might want to put some goggles over your eyes if you're going to watch the actual event through the window."
Manning nodded his head, although as usual, the scientist never once looked up from his monitors as he gave out his warning advice to the CEO.
Manning reached over and lifted a set of goggles off a hook nearby, placing the elastic strap about his head so the dark lenses covered his face in what made him appear as an owl with large, round eyes.
"Ready on the sequencing," one of the other technicians called out as his monitors displayed the graphs he was expecting at this point in the process.
"All ready on the irradiation technology," another technician called out his portion of the same process.
"We have green lights all across the board," the head technician called out so everyone would know the process had reached the "line of no return". There was no actual line, but having heard the phrase in a movie many years back the head technician had implemented it as a part of their own process terminology. Geeks tended to have their own idea of how everything should work.
"Go with the green," Kravitz himself called out the order to activate the process.
Instantly the transformation chamber became a vibrant glow of verdancy that would have put the Emerald City in the Wizard of Oz movie to shame. The bright green hue held for more than fifteen seconds at which point it shifted to golden, the very air within the chamber seeming as though it had thickened so that everyone observing could see each tiny molecule of air that floated about. Only with the irradiation process active the air molecules didn't float, they danced erratically, bouncing all about the chamber as though balls in a pin ball machine that had nowhere to go except zigzagging all about the confines of the room they were limited to.
"Zenith reached," the technician who had called out the sequencing warning bellowed out loudly, as though somehow there was a need to speak in a stronger voice with the process activated. The sequencing of the Ultrons made virtually no sound and in fact seemed to absorb even the tiniest bit of "white noise" existent within the room. Within the chamber the test subject heard no noise of any kind. It was even more silent as the proverbially tomb. The technicians simply utilized such outward affectations in order to make everything more dramatically exciting. Refer above to the statement on geeks.
They needn't have bothered. This process was about to present more excitement than any of them had expected.
The technician who had called out about reaching the zenith found his features growing perplexed. This was due to the fact that on his monitor the levels of radiation showed that zenith had most definitely not been reached by virtue of the fact that as the numbers achieved what should have been the zenith before leveling off and then dropping back down, they instead continued climbing, so rapidly in fact that they were well outside of accepted parameters long before the technician could realize a problem had begun.
"Zenith exceeded," he called out in a high-pitched tone his voice was definitely not comfortable in speaking with. "Suggest system abort..."
Before the words could complete the circuit of moving from the technician's brain to his vocal chords and through his opened lips, however, the DSU technology exploded within the chamber.
Manning, standing up straight this entire time in order to watch intently as the process developed, found himself with his arms thrown up in front of his face as protective barriers even as he hunched over to his right side and turned as far in that direction away from the window as he could. It was not enough movement to take him out of the way of the shards of Plexiglas as the force of the explosion struck the thick window material and pushed it rapidly and randomly into the room filled with the technicians who were supposed to be alert enough so that something of this nature never happened.
The CEO of S.T.U.D.S. found his forearms, even through the suit coat he wore, pierced with various sized chunks of Plexiglas shrapnel. He glanced down as the force of the explosion subsided and found that his chest and abdomen were likewise imbedded with shrapnel.
It was at that moment his body reacted to being so heavily punctured by so many shards of the tough and now sharp material and fell backward to the floor. Manning lost consciousness. At least he'd been wearing the goggles and his eyes had remained unharmed. Blood seeping from various openings in his torso began to pool about Manning's body.
For long minutes no one in the room noticed the serious condition of the CEO, simply because they were all so busy dealing with the fire that had broken out within the transformation chamber and making sure the test subject hadn't been harmed in any way. It wasn't until one of the technicians had rushed toward the chamber to check on the volunteer that she tripped over the body lying prostrate on the floor in her way and fell across it.
The technician began to scream as she realized she was now covered in blood. Even after she began to understand that it wasn't her blood she still kept on screaming; it wasn't an easy thing to turn off once started.
Others rushed to her to see what was wrong and discovered her lying spread out across the bloodied body of Derek Manning. Emergency services had already been alerted and were on the way. Moments later Manning was rushed out of the laboratory and into the Intensive Care Unit. Had it not been for Manning's predicament the fate of the test subject might have been better. As it was the emergency service personnel who had been summoned to rush the volunteer to ICU had taken care of their organization's CEO first. Priorities are after all priorities. New volunteers could always be located; a new CEO as good at his job as was Derek Manning was a lot more difficult to come by.
So it was that Hector Silva, the current test subject of the day, lay amidst the shrapnel-strewn chamber, his body strapped securely to the table so that he couldn't possibly move on his own even had he not been heavily sedated, was left to stew in the radiation-induced molecularization that continued to scramble his DNA in a manner not conducive to accepted parameters for this particular process. Similar to how a terrarium will hold in the heat once it has accumulated so that the interior of the enclosed environment remains toasty warm for a longer period of time, so also did Hector Silva's body continue its genetic alteration process once the DNA stimulation and the Dynamic Sequencing of Ultrons had begun their work. Outwardly the flesh body appeared unscathed; inwardly it was like a steaming cauldron about to boil over from too intense heat applied at too long a period of time.
When the second team of Emergency Services personnel arrived to rush Hector to ICU they unfastened the straps only to have the supposedly unconscious man before them leap upwards, bypassing the sitting position and moving directly into the standing broad jump position. The twisting motion Silva made in order to clear the heads of the EMTs bent over his form was enough to cause a lesser man to acquire a hernia simply from observing.
Silva landed on the balls of his feet on the other side of the EMTs, spinning about as though prepared to fight against adversaries, which the small team of medical personnel certainly was not.
"Just calm down there, fella," the lead EMT on the team held up a hand in a soft position in order to aide in calming the obviously distraught and anxious volunteer. "We're here to take you to the ICU so we can check you over and..."
He never got the chance to complete his sentence, since his face was busy being pushed in by the massive fist covered in hair that hadn't been attached to Silva's arm only a moment previously.
The other EMTs stared wide-eyed at the sight before them. Where a scant second ago a naked male test subject had stood, there now existed a much larger and much more muscular specimen, also male as evinced from the fact that the sexual organ dangling between his legs had suddenly sprouted from a moderate five inches while flaccid to an enormous fourteen inches if not more, still flaccid. The long schlong, however, wasn't the subject of great concern, nor was the fact that the volunteer's body suddenly grew thick hair similar in consistency with that of a wild canine, possibly a wolf; what was a concern was the fact that the subject was now more than seven feet tall and had muscles spreading and rippling across his entire body that looked as though they could enable him to tear all of them apart without coming close to breaking a sweat.
Then the facial features elongated into those determinedly recognizable as belonging to a canine and the rows of teeth within the now open mouth longer than any respectable specimen of the Canis Lupus family could ever expect to own.
The EMTs who had been trying to remain calm and still so as not to excite the subject undergoing this unexpected transformation suddenly watched their lives flash before each of their minds. Each one's fight or flight reflex activated and adrenalin surged throughout their bodies.
Then the large humanly-erect wolf creature growled in warning as it sensed the testosterone being produced in levels it recognized as threatening. Each of the EMTs fight or flight reflexes immediately altered to fright instead; they all suddenly lost consciousness and fell to the floor.
The werewolf crouched over the prone bodies and sniffed them thoroughly, ensuring that neither of them was attempting to feign unconsciousness. Satisfied that none of those before him were of any present danger, the werewolf stood to its full height, sniffed the air, scanned the chamber for any other signs of imminent danger, then fled the chamber and the laboratories surrounding the chamber, seeking a way out of this enclosed building where it knew it did not belong.
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CHAPTER TWO
The crowd gathered throughout the large arena roared their approval when their favorite wrestler, Road Slaughter, entered the ring by placing his hands atop the uppermost rope and pushing downward on it even as he leapt upward so that his legs cleared the ropes in one easy motion. This was his trademark entrance and his fans all loved it, ate it up, went wild over this and everything else their "hero" did while in the ring where he performed as a professional wrestler for the Raunchy World Wrestling Association, so named due to the fact that unlike all other professional wrestling organizations, the RWWA held nothing back, placed no restrictions upon its wrestlers. Within the ring of a RWWA event anything could and did happen. Every time someone entered the ring for a match.
The crowds were far larger at RWWA events than at any other venue for professional wrestling. They loved the fact that in these bouts it was nothing to see a wrestler's costume totally stripped from his or even her body, leaving the wrestler completely naked so that not only did the crowd get a welcome eyeful, even if the wrestler wasn't of the sex that particular fan would like to have sex with, but mostly due to the fact that such nudity spiced the bouts up so that there was always the expectation that one of the male wrestlers could possibly "jam his sham" up the puss of one of the female wrestlers. Since the tag teams were all comprised of one male and one female wrestler and since the tag team events were the most popular for this one fact alone, such a spearing of male to female could and did happen at any time.
There were even bouts wherein the female on one team had gotten the male of the opposing team on his back and leapt so that with her legs spread and knees bent she landed so that her vaginal lips engulfed the opponent's shaft. Some would say this gave the male the upper hand, while others contested that with the female taking the offensive with the move that resulted in the skewering, the female had the upper hand, even though in either case the physical contact ended up the same.
The fans didn't care either way; all they were concerned with was that the bout proceeded so that they always saw parts of the wrestlers' anatomy and actions of a sexual nature that could be viewed nowhere but at one of the RWWA events.
Today Road Slaughter, so named because, as he stated, when he put an opponent down for the count it wasn't a road kill because his opponent didn't just get beaten, he got slaughtered, was the featured wrestler. His fans went enthusiastic each and every time he won, which was almost all the time. Road Slaughter was the best the RWWA had to offer and he knew it. So did his fans. In tag team events he always managed to pierce the flesh of his female opponents, only he didn't simply shove it in so he could prove he had won, oh no; Road Slaughter lived up to his name especially in the tag team events. Once his schlong had been rammed within the pussy of an opponent he held her to the mat and rammed his flesh in-and-out until she kicked and screamed and clawed at him, calling him every filthy and obscene name she could think of until Road Slaughter finally lifted her off the mat with his hands pressed against her bare breasts, his organ yet jammed within her puss. In this manner he paraded his beaten opponent about so that all the fans on all sides of the arena had equal opportunity to see how well he had pierced his foe.
What the fans didn't know was that behind the scenes all the female wrestlers couldn't wait to let this hottest of all the RWWA wrestlers jam his rod inside of them and pump until he came. He was the king of cum and they all knew it.
Today he had been challenged by a newcomer, a complete unknown to the wrestling world in general and RWWA specifically. The new man called himself Korn Hole and vowed to ram himself up the ass of this pretentious faker who couldn't "do the deed" if he was strapped to the ass of a sheep and left there for a solid month.
Even though "talking smack" was the accepted way in all venues of professional wrestling, not just the RWWA, Road Slaughter had become incensed that a rank beginner would dare to make such statements against the renowned King of the Ring in the RWWA and had accepted the challenge, knowing he would make this upstart eat his words, as well as his own dick, before the final bell was rung.
When the challenger, Korn Hole, entered the arena the crowd all stood and booed louder than they had for any of the other opponents and challengers to the title when they had entered the ring against these fans' favorite. Korn Hole never took his eyes off the ring, where stood his opponent, the one wrestler in all the world he knew he had to beat in order to gain the respect of this and very other crowd as well as all the wrestlers within the RWWA.
When he approached the ring Korn Hole simply separated the top rope from the one below it and squeezed through with no discernable flamboyance. The crowd booed louder. They liked their wrestlers to be showmen. To them showmanship was the one true sign of a professional. This newcomer was going down hard.
Korn Hole turned and faced the crowd once he was inside the ring, his arms held high in a V, indicating he would be victorious. They booed even louder and began to throw things, popcorn boxes, beer cups, not always empty, uneaten hot dogs and hamburgers; anything a fan could find to throw they threw at that moment to let this faker know he wasn't wanted and he certainly wasn't liked - by anyone.
Korn Hole grinned so broadly it incensed the fans even more and they began to call for the referee to throw him out of the ring. Naturally the referee did no such thing. A challenge had been made between wrestlers; a bout had been scheduled and would continue until one of the participants was flat on his back for the accepted amount of time, making the other one the winner.
As the referee was about to initiate the bout the challenger stepped up and took hold of the official's arm, calling for silence. Knowing that at this moment in the bout many wrestlers called for the opportunity to say something either to his opponent or to the gathered crowd, the referee acceded to the challenger and stepped back so he could have his say.
Only Korn Hole didn't make a speech, he simply reached over the ropes to his manager standing down on the floor next to the ring and retrieved a single paper which he handed over to Road Slaughter.
"What the fuck's this?" Road Slaughter thundered loud enough for the crowd to hear him. "Your last will and testament?"
The crowd cheered their hero. He was a showman and they always showed their collected support for him.
"Read the top of the paper," Korn Hole jabbed an index finger so it almost tore a hole in the paper. "It's a release of liability."
"A release of what?" Road Slaughter shouted loudly once more. "You afraid I might hurt you, little guy?"
The crowd erupted once more. They loved this shit and Road Slaughter knew it.
"It's so that when I beat your ass and shove my rod up your asshole you can't sue me for damages." Korn Hole grinned evilly. "Though by now you must know what it's like to take it up the ass."
At the unexpected remark Road Slaughter almost lost his professionalism and leapt toward the smarmy newcomer. The referee stepped between them and told them to get the signing over with so the bout could proceed.
Without another word Road Slaughter hastily scrawled his signature across the bottom line and tossed the paper back into Korn Hole's face where the challenger had to snatch it from floating to the floor. He handed the single paper back to his manager and turned to his opponent, his leer evident for all to easily see.
The bout began and the opponents moved about the ring looking for any opening the other gave. Several times Road Slaughter moved in to take advantage of a suspected opening only to have Korn Hole turn it around so that he was the one getting a grip on Road Slaughter and slamming him to the mat, his body whumping hard and making the canvas platform shake as though it might cave in from the sudden pressure. Each time their hero bit canvas the crowd booed the challenger, but each time they booed the sound grew less and less, as though even the gathered fans couldn't believe their favorite was being bested by a newcomer.
Road Slaughter grew angrier with each slam his body made against the mat. He wasn't used to losing and although the bout wasn't over yet, if one of them didn't pin the other soon the bout would end in a technical win for Korn Hole. His points had grown throughout the bout and Road Slaughter knew he hadn't come close to matching the points accrued. The fans knew it, too. Their uncharacteristically quiet attitude proved this fact.
Suddenly Korn Hole threw himself at Road Slaughter's legs, bowling his opponent over so that he fell to the mat even as Korn Hole got his own feet under him and spun about, his muscular bulk slamming hard against the front of his opponent's body. With his full weight on top of Road Slaughter Korn Hole forced the other into the canvas by keeping on his feet and shoving time and again in order to keep a constant pressure against Road Slaughter's body.
The referee counted down on the pin and announced a pin as official. Only when Korn Hole released his opponent and extended a hand in order to help him up from the mat, Road Slaughter slapped Korn Hole's hand away and thrust his shoulder into his opponent's chest, knocking Korn Hole backwards in a highly illegal action, since the bout had already been called.
Grinning at the way he had gotten to his opponent and knowing that Road Slaughter had opened the bout for post-bout fighting, always acceptable in the RWWA, Korn Hole wasted no time in hurling himself against the other wrestler, enfolding Road Slaughter within his arms and applying so much pressure that Slaughter couldn't find any way to wriggle out of the hold. Korn Hole pressed Road Slaughter against the ropes so that his front was bent over with his head hanging out of the ring. Korn Hole leaned his body against his opponent's body, holding him against the ropes while his right hand came down and took hold of the top of his trunks. With one quick motion Korn Hole unsnapped his frontispiece, revealing his enormous organ for all the crowd to see plainly.
The crowd gasped as they beheld a cock so huge none of them could recall ever seeing anything like it before, even in a porn video.
Korn Hole then grabbed hold of Road Slaughter's trunks and yanked them down about the man's thighs, exposing his bare ass. Without another second elapsing Korn Hole slammed his body against that of his opponent, his huge cock pushing within and passed the twin cheeks that concealed Road Slaughters' anus.
With a loud roar as from a wounded bull moose Road Slaughter bucked backwards, trying mightily to unseat this upstart, but the cock rammed within his anus was so huge it seated itself well within the other's poop-shoot and was impervious to being removed by anyone other than its owner. And he wasn't budging, other than to make short, sudden thrusts that proved he was making good on his vow to ram his cock up Road Slaughter's asshole, Korn Hole's massive arms wrapped about his opponent's body, holding them snuggly together.
Half a dozen more thrusts were made before Korn Hole Slammed himself so hard against his opponent's ass that Road Slaughter almost went over the ropes and down onto the audience on the other side. Korn Hole kept his hold on the other wrestler so his body never went more than halfway over the ropes as he held his loins pressed against Road Slaughter's bare ass.
When Korn Hole finally released his opponent and stepped quickly back so that Road Slaughter had no opportunity to spin about in order to make any move against the victor, the huge cock hung spent with semen dripping from its tip. Those who were too far back to see this plainly looked over to one of the many monitors spread across the arena for just such close-up viewing and gasped as they realized that not only had their hero been ass-fucked, but that the newcomer, this one who called himself Korn Hole, had cum inside of their hero's anus, proving once and for all time that Korn Hole not only was the better wrestler, but a better man than Road Slaughter as well.
The beaten wrestler didn't wait for the post-bout activities to finish. He leapt between the ropes and rushed off to his dressing room so he could take a shower and try to rid himself of the worst upset he had ever taken. Many times in professional wrestling it could be said of a brutally beaten opponent that he had "taken it up the ass" on the mat, but never before had it been more literally true than at this moment.
Korn Hole stood in the center of the ring with the flap to his trunks yet hanging down, his spent organ yet exposed for the crowd to view. He turned in all directions with his arms held upward in the V sign once more, turning about so everyone could see that he definitely was the victor.
Suddenly, the crowd that had been deathly quiet ever since realization had set in that Road Slaughter was no longer the King of the Ring erupted into the most raucous cheering and shouting this arena had ever heard; and it was all in support of Korn Hole, the new King of the Ring.
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CHAPTER THREE
My name is Gina Oldani. But I guess my real name isn't all that important anymore. I'm told that soon I'll be able to choose my new code name and my original name will mostly cease to be. That's going to seem real strange. I'm kinda used to that name.
I was told to keep a journal of my time here, beginning with today, my first day since moving into the B.A.B.E.S. organization residence module. I guess this is because there are a lot of changes coming in my life and those in charge here want to be able to read through my journal in order to check on anything that might cause problems with my transformational process. I've never kept a journal before; never really wrote anything much, except email, texts and tweets. Yeah, I'm big on tweets, or I was until now. I don't have my cell phone anymore and I was told to always write in real words, not the abbreviations I'm used to using in tweets and email and online sorta stuff. I guess it has something to do with the process I'm about to go through. I need to be more focused than when I'm busy writing out texts and tweets and stuff.
I guess to anyone not informed about the process I'm talking about that might sound weird. I know it would have to me if I hadn't gone through such detailed indoctrination and assessment meetings with the people who are in charge here at B.A.B.E.S. HQ.
B.A.B.E.S. It's an acronym. It stands for Bioenergized Alpha Beta Electrolyte Stimulation, the genetic alteration process which takes a person's - well, more than just a person, since it only works on the female of our species - so it takes a female's DNA and alters it in substantial ways that cause each one of us as B.A.B.E.S. operatives to develop a special and unique power. That's right. Once I undergo this process I will develop a special power that will enable me to fight crime alongside all the rest of these unique individuals who comprise the B.A.B.E.S. organization here in Chicago, Illinois in the United States of America.
I've met a few of the B.A.B.E.S., ah, babes already. Two of them greeted me when I first arrived and showed me to my private living quarters. It's a pretty small space, but it's only temporary until after I finish the process and develop my powers. Then I'm told I'll be assigned quarters that I'll share with another of the babes living here. That's both awesome and scary at the same time - like everything else I've already experienced and know I'll be experiencing at this place.
The two babes I met were called Aqua Babe and Spyder Babe. I guess everyone has the suffix designation of "Babe" at the end of their code name and unofficially each one goes by just the first part of the name, like Aqua Babe is just Aqua, or if you ask some of the others, I'm told, H2O or one of several other nicknames, which I guess each of the operatives has. I'm told Spyder Babe is simply Spyder or Web or Spy. They're both very nice girls for people who have already undergone the alteration process and have their own power. I would think having a special power might give a girl a swelled head, but neither of these two is anything but friendly and nice. I hope all of them are like that.
So here I am, sitting in my tiny room, waiting for the pre-processing procedure to begin, typing away on this mini-netbook that was given to me as part of my indoctrination and induction proceeding.
Oh. There's a knock on the door. Guess I'll see what else B.A.B.E.S. has in store for me.
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CHAPTER FOUR
Swinging about the city of Chicago on her late night rounds the B.A.B.E.S. operative known formally as Spyder Babe, but familiarly among her companions in the covert organization as "Web Twat," "Silk Spit," "Titty Twiner," or just plain old "Spyder," smiled to herself as her mind busily imagined the many things she was planning to do on her well-deserved vacation. There had been so much criminal activity of late that all the Babes had begun to grouse about never getting any time off and had begun to petition their CEO, Chronos Babe, about each of them being given a paid vacation time.
Spyder Babe wasn't so sure she agreed with the griping sentiments, after all, she knew that crime never took a holiday, so why should they? Besides, she enjoyed being able to swing about through the jungle of skyscrapers, shooting her webs so that she was able to move about with such great ease it almost felt as though she were flying. Sure, her method of travel wasn't nearly as fast as those Babes who actually could fly, and she used a lot more muscles, especially in her arms from swinging about on her webbing, but still the weaving about in the open air, seeing sights that most people would never see, since they were land-bound and would never get off the street level unless it was inside of one of the many high rises that filled the landscape, was all the most thrilling part of each of her days.
Spyder, though, could easily bypass all the traffic jams and never had to wait in line for a subway or bus; never had to carry around a bunch of tokens to use on the subway - not that she had any pockets to hold tokens in or even a small clutch purse, for that matter - all the Babes wearing nothing other than the P.I.P. coating that adhered right to their flesh, making them look effectively naked to anyone not in the know about such things, and just think of all the money she saved on cab fare. The P.I.P. coating was a pretty cool way to "dress", if it could be called "dressing", since it wasn't made of any kind of cloth, just a spray-on adhesive that was done in a different design for each of the Babes. Spyder's was a webbing design, naturally, that crisscrossed her body both front and back, covering only the necessary parts and leaving the rest open to viewing by the general public and perverts alike. The "strands" of webbing were mostly black, but with some of them having silver or blue highlights so they shimmered differently depending upon the light she was seen in. Night-time lights, like right now, made the silver shimmer most exotically. She loved the effect it gave off, which always aided in catching criminals who were too busy ogling her nearly naked flesh to even think about escaping.
No, she was fine with working nearly every day, although if those in charge of their organization decided on doling out paid vacations she wasn't about to turn hers down. Indeed, the decision had finally been made and each of the female operatives had been scheduled with a one-week vacation period that would allow each of them to leave the facility and go somewhere, anywhere they wanted, within limits, and relax however they saw fit, all at the expense of the B.A.B.E.S. organization. Spyder couldn't wait for her vacation time to start.
As she ruminated over the many possibilities of where she might spend her well-earned vacation a sound caught her ears and pulled her attention back to the night and the many eerie things that happened to creep up whenever she least expected it. Like that sound. If she didn't know any better she would swear that sounded like a wolf. But just when was the last time anyone saw a wolf in downtown Chicago? Wasn't too likely, but she swung off in the direction it sounded as though it had originated from.
Turning a corner she glanced about, her keen eyesight surveying the landscape on the ground, knowing that if a wolf had somehow gotten loose from wherever it had been contained it would have to be on the street level. How many wolves knew enough to use elevators?
Then she swung past a high rise and came upon a building that was only half the height of most of those surrounding it. There, perched on the top of the building stood what looked like it could be a wolf, only so much larger than any wolf she had ever seen, though she had to admit that being raised in the city she hadn't seen a lot of wolves, other than on TV or at a movie. This didn't look quite like those wolves, either. What it did look like in her mind was a werewolf, but she knew that wasn't even remotely possible. Werewolves didn't actually exist, right?
Spyder swung closer to get a better view of the creature, if creature it truly was and not some demented human decked out in a crummy costume to make himself look like a wolf. She had grown seriously weary of all the wannabe villains out there who thought that by having a costume made or throwing one together from whatever odds and ends could be found in granny's attic or the local Goodwill store, he would instantly transform himself into the next super-villain who could conquer the world simply by sneering the right way.
She'd punched the lights out of too many of these wannabes and had turned them over to the cops all bound up tighter than a virgin's snatch in a Muslim nation. Those psychos were the easiest to catch and from the looks of this guy crouched up on the parapet of the roof across the way he was going to be no different.
Swinging closer made Spyder want to rethink her conclusion concerning this guy. At least he had a damn good physique, as attested to by what she saw when he reared up onto his feet, his arms stretched out above his head so his body displayed a full frontal view. Either he was too hairy for his own good or he was wearing a costume that made him appear hairy. She hoped for his sake it was the latter, but secretly she longed to see a guy this muscular in his altogether. It had been too long since she'd had a good hard look at a physically perfect man, let alone had sex with the same, though she certainly wasn't complaining about the girl-on-girl sex all the B.A.B.E.S. operatives enjoyed so thoroughly on such a regular basis. If this guy wasn't a total psycho maybe she had a chance.
Her instincts went into overdrive, however, as she swung over into a trajectory that took her across the roof of the building in question not twenty feet to the right of the "wolf-man". As her legs swung up and over, clearing the parapet, the guy in the wolf suit seemed to lift his muzzle into the air and sniff as though something had caught his attention. He then lunged straight toward her, his hands upraised as though he meant her harm. The snapping and snarling he elicited as he drew nearer didn't encourage her to want to make reservations at a five-star hotel for the two of them anytime soon.
"Damn. Just when I had my hopes up, too," she sighed, her feet touching lightly down upon the tar and gravel encrusted rooftop. Spyder turned her upper torso in the direction of the onrushing "wolf" and noticed there was something not quite contrived about the way his eyes flashed, just like the way the eyes of animals did when the lights from an oncoming car caught them late at night. She couldn't recall what type of ocular effect it was called, but she knew it was just like what she saw in the eyes of this creature moving rapidly her direction.
Her arms stretched out to her sides for balance, Spyder aimed both her breasts and released twin strands of webbing that spewed forth from her nipples. The webbing expanded as it spread over the onrushing canine-thing, the stickiness of the webbing catching tightly about the guy's body and adhering to his fur.
Spyder reached forward with both hands and grabbed hold of the nearest point of the webbing, yanking inward on what she held within her grasp so that it would pull her opponent down to the rooftop so she could wrap him up and leave him for the cops.
Only this guy had a lot more strength than the average Joe she ran into out here at night. It was strength similar to what she and all the other Babes had and she wasn't certain it wasn't a lot more than what she had.
The wolf-man snarled menacingly as he continued onward, the webbing slowing him not at all, since both his arms stretched through the webbing allowing the claws on each of his fingers to be exposed so he could rip her to shreds once he came within range.
Just as he was about to bear down upon her, Spyder managed to push up from the rooftop with her legs, springing up and over the head of the wolf-beast high enough so he wasn't able to grab hold of her and pull her back down.
She landed less than ten feet behind him, but by the time she had spun about, so had he. They faced each other even as the werewolf lunged forward once more, his own legs pushing him off with more speed than Spyder had suspected he had within his body. Though she had to admit he was lean and muscular, the combination being perfect for fast and unexpected movement.
Spyder went into a back flip at full speed, somersaulting time and again in order to keep away from the onrushing creature that was too much a part wolf for her taste. Wolves were known to be carnivorous, weren't they? She knew from all the current PC information on Little Red Riding Hood that wolves weren't the aggressors Little Red made them out to be, but considering the way in which this guy kept coming after her, when all she had done was try to land on the roof and talk to him...
She noticed she was quickly running out of rooftop to back flip on. The edge of the roof came up too soon and Spyder Babe made a quick decision to flip over across the alley that separated this building from the next, her body slamming against the brick wall of the next building. Her hands and feet stuck tight to the wall, her ability to cling to any surface allowing her to adhere to this one.
The werewolf barely paused as he noticed what his adversary had done in order to get away from him. He knew he couldn't do the same, but he had caught her scent and decided he liked it. He wasn't about to allow this one to get away from him. His pause was so slight that as Spyder looked back over her shoulder at the beast she only saw him hesitate briefly, then continue moving forward where one leg lifted up so that he could place his over-sized foot on top of the parapet and push off. His tall, lanky, leanly muscular body rippled with energy as he quickly closed the distance between them.
Werewolves couldn't stick to walls the way spiders could, right? Spyder thought just before she also thought, Oh shit! At that moment the werewolf's body slammed against her own, flattening her to the wall. Only with his extra added weight on top of hers it was too much for her sticking power. Spyder felt her fingers and toes losing their purchase on the wall and she began sliding straight down, the werewolf still clinging to her back.
As the incongruent couple picked up speed on their downward slide Spyder noticed something else wasn't quite right about her "passenger" on her back. She grew momentarily puzzled over the feeling she experienced before her eyes lit up and she understood that he was trying his damndest to ram his erect organ between her legs up and inside of her body.
Fortunately all B.A.B.E.S. operatives had begun being coated with what had been called a Psycho Interactive Polymer or P.I.P. coat for short. The polymer adhered directly to an agent's flesh so that not only could it be applied in whatever style and design the agent chose, allowing her to wear whatever wild design she could conceive of as an action outfit, but it also covered her body openings, such as her anus and vagina, preventing anything or anyone from penetrating them until such time as she herself decided she wanted that someone to pierce her flesh; then she was able to kinetically lessen the effect of the polymer upon that particular portion of her body to allow access. That meant no criminal types could make use of a Babes' opening for sexual or any other purpose. Before the P.I.P. coating was developed some of the girls had been raped - some repeatedly. Spyder knew too well how that felt. She had fallen prey to a villain she herself had nicknamed "Doc Cock", because of the fact that he had eight long schlongs the length of an average octopus' tentacles that had sprouted out from his body and each of them was equally as operative as anything any other human male had. Now, with the P.I.P. coating in place only the Babe wearing it could telekinetically cause an opening in her body to be accessible, and they didn't do that for just anyone.
She wasn't doing that with this werewolf and as hard as he was trying, and Spyder could tell he was trying awfully damn hard to ram himself within her vagina with the monster organ that had been dangling between his les, he wasn't about to succeed.
Unfortunately the fact that her current adversary couldn't thrust himself within his chosen sex toy of the moment caused him to become more agitated than he previously had been. His claws, both on his forepaws, er, hands, and on his feet dug themselves deeper into the parts of Spyder's body not covered by the polymer. The portions where the polymer covered acted like a thin layer of protection, making her almost invulnerable as far as body piercing went. The P.I.P. coat was that strong a material. Too bad she hadn't had it sprayed completely over her body. She was going to have to remember to tell that to the technicians responsible for applying the coating once she got back to B.A.B.E.S. HQ. If she got back in one piece.
Spyder wasn't certain how much she could do with this pervert on her back, but she knew she had to free herself from his embrace, as touching as it was to have a wild and erotic werewolf trying his best to fuck her, before they struck the ground. It was a forty-story drop and they were nearing the end of it. If she hit the ground at this velocity she seriously doubted she would be able to survive.
The only thing she could think of was to push herself away from the wall completely; severe her connection and hope the sudden move helped to free her from this savage rutting beast holding onto her back.
Moving her body first forward, so she virtually hugged the brick as she scraped against it moving downward, Spyder then pushed with all her strength - straight back. She could see the building in front of her moving away with a fair amount of speed, so the building she had previously been on top of should be coming up behind her right...
...now. She felt the impact as she and her "butt-buddy" struck the wall behind them. Good thing the werewolf had been on the receiving end of the impact so that she felt only a modicum of what it had actually been.
Spyder felt the creature's claws pulling free from her flesh. She seized the moment by snapping her head forward, her lips pursed so that a thick line of webbing issued forth from between her lips and stuck to the highest point she could reach from this angle of the wall she had just left. Her hands then grabbed hold of the webbing and jerked inward toward her body. The action resulted in pulling her free from the beast behind her, still too stunned to react when he found his prey slipping away from his grasp.
Spyder then released another strand of webbing, this time from her vulva, since her lower body was tilted at an upward angle. Her knees spread out of the way and the webbing shot straight at the lower edge of the parapet, snagging hold of it and securing perfectly, the way it always did. She leaned into her swing and grabbed hold of the new webbing, jerking back as hard as she could, which was pretty hard with her enhanced strength. Her body hurtled toward the parapet and she somersaulted forward this time, her feet landing on top of the roof's ledge.
Spinning about Spyder peered down into the alley where the werewolf had slammed against the wall. Only he was nowhere to be found.
Damn. She had taken her eyes off him too long. Now he was free in the city and she had no idea where he had gone to. He could have gone off in any direction...
Her chastisement of herself ended abruptly as her hearing picked up a deep-throated growling. She leaned over the edge of the building she stood upon and peered down - just in time to see the werewolf that had been scaling the side of this building as though it were merely hard-packed earth his talons dug into - reach the top of the building, his massive paws grabbing hold of the roof edge and yanking him up on top of it.
Spyder was forced back by this unexpected development. Had she not moved, the beast's body would have slammed into hers once more, and that was something she wanted to avoid at all cost.
She backpedaled as fast as her feet would take her, across the roof of this building and up onto the parapet once more. Damn. She was spending a lot of time living out on the edge these days.
As Spyder reached the edge of the roof she spun about and prepared to leap, only to find her path blocked by the sudden appearance of another being; a man who stood much taller than she was, but not nearly as tall as this onrushing werewolf seemed to be. He had covering his body a full suit of what looked like body armor. Either that or this guy was as much cultivated and sculpted muscle as a Greek statue sitting in front of a museum.
"Not to worry little lady," the man in the dark blue uniform spoke as Spyder veered off to her left in order to avoid slamming her body into his. What the fuck was wrong with this guy getting in her way like this? Was he trying to keep her from putting distance between her and the werewolf? Wait. What was he saying? She tuned her hearing toward the newcomer and listened to the words of condescension that nearly caused her to turn her wrath upon him instead.
"I'm here to protect you from this rampaging beast. Just get behind me and stay there. I'll make sure this monster doesn't harm a hair on that pretty little head of yours."
"You son of a bitch!" Spyder snapped, causing the intruder in blue to nearly take his attention away from the beast that was almost upon him. Women these days had no appreciation for a real man. "I can take care of myself!"
"Sure you can," his facial expression was such that he obviously thought she damn well couldn't take care of herself, otherwise why would she have been fleeing from this beast?
Without wasting another breath on conversation, which he knew had its place only after coitus ejaculatus completeus, and that for a very brief moment before falling into slumber after a deed well done in bed, he raised his right arm and aimed it at the werewolf.
A sudden spark of energy erupted from the man's outstretched hand, starting from his knuckles and moving along until the energy seemed to fire from his middle finger, striking the werewolf dead center in the beast's chest. The blue-suited man clenched the rest of his fingers into a fist just as the spark of energy released from his middle finger and snapped his wrist about in a 180 degree turn, thus forming a gesture that to most would seem quite rude, but in this instance added an extra "oomph" to the power surge as it shot forth.