CW: BE, breast expansion, height growth, curves expansion, humiliation, violence.
“For the last time, I’m sorry but it’s just too dangerous!”
“Yeah, like, totally the big Shred-head himself is gonna be there, babe.”
“It’s best if you stay here and provide us with remote reconnaissance.”
“Besides, Ape, you’re just not cut out for this crime fighting stuff. You might break a nail. What are you gonna do? Report him to death?”
Casey Jones listened as the reptilian teenagers each said their piece and disappeared down the tunnels of the sewers, melding into the gloom like, well, ninjas. April O’Neil stood alone, visibly upset in the downcast light of some sewer grating in the street above. She seemed beyond petite, infinitesimal is the word Casey might use to describe her if he had anyone to try to impress with the big word.
The cavernous central hub of the sewer network where they stood, where the turtles made part of their home, surrounded her like the walls of a vast dungeon and she seemed to shiver in her yellow jumpsuit and white boots like a small, frightened, but angry bunny rabbit. Casey could see her grinding her foot into the grimy pavement, frowning in the dim criss-cross light. She was cute even when she frowned, but in a childish way, though he knew it wasn’t the time to patronize her with well-rehearsed compliments or put her at ease with his masculine charms.
“I know it hurts, but they’re right, girl,” he tried to say, tough guy voice coming through a little harsher than intended through his white ice hockey mask, “You could get killed out there. Leave it to us to find Splinter and take down Shredder.”
“You mean leave it to the men,” she shot back, folding her arms across her very modest bust.
Like a kid being told she wasn’t old enough to ride.
“I can help,” April protested, stamping her foot, “I’ve been watching my martial arts training VHS tapes! I’ve been following the story of Shredder’s underground crime empire for a year, too. And I know all about the gadgets the turtles use. Splinter could–”
“The rat would say the same thing,” Casey replied. He knew he needed to get going if he was going to catch up with the turtles–they were fast. Trying to explain all this to a woman merely tried his patience, though he prided himself in believing he could endure more of O’Neil’s tantrums than even Leo could. He turned to leave. “Stay.”
“I’m not your dog, Case. You can’t tell me where I can and can’t go.”
Casey looked over his shoulder and in the faded light saw her take something cylindrical and green out of one of the oversized pockets of that goofy yellow jumpsuit she always wore. She stuck her chin out at him, gazing at him confidently down the length of her lightly freckled nose. Her round face took on a defiant look.
“This just in…” she mocked, “one of Master Splinter’s confiscated vials of green ooze, the biological mutagen that transforms animals into monsters, turned the ordinary pet shop turtles into the teenage mutant ninja vigilantes, and pumped up Shredder into Super Shredder seems to have gone missing! Oh no!”
“That’s not a toy, O’Neil!” Casey Jones spun on her and whipped out his hockey stick as if he was ready to knock the dangerous chemical right out of her tiny hand. He loomed over her, trying to make her feel small and give up this act. It worked.
“I… I just wanna help.” When all else had failed, she resorted to pouting, holding the vial away from him in a white-knuckled grip. She had this irresistible sulk like a little girl’s but Casey did his best to ignore it.
“Don’t. Mess. With. It. That stuff could turn you into a hairy baboon, April the Ape, you’d like that, huh? Or how’s about a big fat ugly pig?”
“Splinter said it’s ‘sposed to mutate humans based on the last animal they touched,” and she reached out and pushed against his chest, “so I guess now it would turn me into a pig.”
Under his hockey mask, Casey was almost chuckling, but he didn’t have time for this. “Seriously, April, please. Leave the crime fighting to the actual crime fighters.”
Quick as a shuriken, he lashed out and snatched the vial of ooze from her hand. She was no match for his superior reach and he relished the embarrassment and excitement on her face when his muscled body and musk filled her personal space. But he turned away and put the vial into the golf bag of baseball bats, hockey sticks, and golf clubs on his back.
“That wasn’t f–” she began.
“Go home,” Casey commanded, then in a softer voice, “Sigh… Look, I’ll visit you when we’re through surveying the south end of the city. I’ll meet you at your apartment. Ciao.”
And a moment later, he vanished down the tunnels, leaving her all alone in the cold, vast, subterranean labyrinth. He didn’t look back.
As you can hear from the crowd that has gathered behind me, the people of New York couldn’t be happier. The Shredder’s crime wave has come to an end. The martial artist gang leader is being taken into custody by New York’s finest. The streets are cleaner. The days are brighter. And all it took…? A quartet of teenagers! Yes, the youth of this fair city have risen to the occasion. It doesn’t matter if they’re green or have shells… it…
April…?
You know what? Maybe it’s because they’re green and have shells that they get to fight crime. After all, why can’t an ordinary woman do the same job? Maybe it’s just too dangerous? This isn’t 1987 anymore! Maybe it’s just the fucking male privilege at work, look I’m sorry I can’t do this shut it off shut it–
When Casey Jones slipped through the apartment window, he heard April sobbing and his first instinct was to bail. He knew she’d never hear him dive out back the way he came–he was too good for that. He could scramble down the fire escape and head back underground with the turtles to enjoy some hard-earned celebratory pizza. Extra wide supreme pies with the works. He’d even take anchovies over this. She sounded inconsolable.
He mentally kicked himself but thought better of it, climbed in, and shut the window behind him. He had given her his word and he told himself If there’s one thing you do well, Mister Jones, it’s keeping your word. A self-satisfied smile creased his face under his hockey mask.
He found April in the kitchen. Alone. Bawling. The sound was like razor blades in a blender between his ears.
Irma was nowhere in sight. Relief. Casey never would’ve risked making an appearance with that bookish nerd around anyway–she made him limper than boiled spaghetti just to look at her–and he didn’t spot her car in the port on the way up. Breathing a silent sigh that April’s roommate was absent, he stalked through the shadows toward the table under the hanging lamp where the weeping woman sat.
April was hunched over the table, her small shoulders shaking with her sobs. Her whole body looked like a yellow leaf gripping onto a twig, whipping back and forth in the wind. Casey tip-toed behind her, ready to give her a jump and a laugh. See if she was ticklish.
“Not now, Casey Jones!”
She didn’t even turn to look at him.
How’d she hear me?
“You’ll wreck your pretty face with the waterworks, Ape,” Casey gave up and slid his golf bag of baseball bats and hockey sticks off his shoulder, dropping into a chair opposite April across the table, undoing the buckles around his fingerless gloves and regarding her with cautious eyes behind his mask.
She looked up at him, bringing her face up from her forearms. Flushed red and smeared with makeup and mascara. A wreck.
“Woof.” Casey audibly winced.
“Sorry I don’t have my game face on to cheer you up, dirtbag,” she muttered and dropped her head again.
“Oh come on, April. Don’t you think you’re taking this a bit too far?” Casey jumped up. His chair scooted backward noisily. He leaned over the table, throwing his shadow over her, and said, “It’s just Shredder and there’ll be other bad guys! We all have to do our part–”
“I got fired.”
Her statement hung in the air.
“...What?”
He might have sounded just as surprised if she had told him she was pregnant.
“I said Channel 6 gave me the boot. I’ve been dumped, sacked, canned, axed, eighty-sixed, dehired and decruited!” her voice rose to a shrill pitch.
“April, I’m–”
“Destaffed, discharged, discontinued! I’ve been let go, outplaced, released, relieved of duties! An early retirement opportunity!” As she railed on, she got to her feet and propped herself up against the edge of the table with her hands, leaning in toward Casey’s face to blast her euphemisms at him full force.
He relented.
“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” he came around the table and reached for her.
Sobbing even louder, she fell into his embrace and buried her face in his chest where the tears of her dismissal mingled with the sweat of his crime fighting. His thick fingers stroked her auburn hair, setting back into place the strands disarrayed by her distress. He muttered a few sweet nothings he knew–things he’d read in storefront windows and on the covers of greeting cards–in his own crude way, utterly confident that his manliness was more than enough to comfort her.
“You’ll bounce right back, Ape. You’re the face of news in this town.”
She sniffed and sputtered, “You… you really think so?”
“Babe.” He said, cupping her chin to look into her eyes, pulling his mask back over his head with the other, “I know so.” And he gave her a good smolder, the kind that used to melt the college girls back in the day. “Channel 6 doesn’t deserve you.”
Her eyes searched his face but he was good at lying–he’d been doing it all his life, which is why he always kept his mask on, to protect others from his mastery of deception. Her eyes twinkled with her tears and then with a smile that slowly spread over her face. He caught himself thinking the smudgy makeup, bleary eyes, and bangs plastered over her forehead had dropped her a level. She was usually a 5, now she was more like a 4. A low 4. He twisted the frown that had made its way unsummoned to his lips and turned it into a smile he could return to hers.
Oh, she was leaning in for a kiss. Time to make his move.
Casey reached for her waist and pulled her into himself, craning his neck to offer her his lips–god, she was short. His fingers pressed her yellow jumpsuit and sank into the flesh underneath. He had to fight himself from recoiling. Why did she always feel so pudgy when she was actually so slim? She felt like mud.
Her hands were cold, too. Clammy wet sausage fingers ran stumpy and skeletal down the back of his neck. His hair stood on end.
He dragged her too soft body into his, trying to find the bones underneath to get a grip on, and he angled his own hips to ensure she got a feel for the boner he was attempting to cook up. He saw her eyes flutter and roll back like she’d pass out. It was all he could do not to break off the kiss at the sight of her sickly expression, like she was about to slip into a coma at the mere touch of a man–just how bad could a chick stand to get laid?–and the taste of her lips was completely plain.
He’d kissed more than his fair share of women in his wild vigilante life. Nothing caused a woman to open her legs quicker than getting rescued from a burning building or a gang of thugs or a rampaging cowboy bull-mutant–he smirked at the memory. The Southern darling he’d saved made for a good night. But this? It was like kissing a puddle of Elmer’s glue, all sticky in the worst possible way with nothing but a whitish chalky flavor.
Blech…
His hands sank down to the jello mold of her ass. He squeezed and for a moment he thought he might pop the two saggy water balloons of her ass cheeks with his fingers. As his tongue slid over her chapped lips, he idly wondered how she could possibly be in such terrible shape with all the running around she did across the city covering stories, returning to Channel 6 HQ, retreating to the sewers… or how she could possibly imagine she could contribute anything of crime fighting value. She’d be breathless and winded in a fight, no doubt. Her reach was terrible, she had no muscle definition, she was a stubborn emotional donkey… it was like all she ate was pizza–
Oh! She’s unzipping her top, here we go.
April broke off their kiss with a loud wet smack and licked her lips. Casey dropped his mask back over his face.
As she leaned back against the table, she undid her white belt and then reached up. Her fingers, blue white in the kitchen light, tugged at the zipper at the top of her jumpsuit’s collar. With an irritating metallic buzzing sound like a big fat horsefly zooming around your ears, the zipper came undone. She pulled it all the way down just past her navel, revealing the lumpy texture of her featureless stomach–no lumpy cellulite but no definition either. She was too much of a stick for any real curves, too out of shape for anything resembling abs, and too soft to come off as tight. You couldn’t even see her rib cage, somehow.
And then there were the breasts–barf, Casey thought. She followed his gaze to her own chest. Casey felt a moment of relief that he had remembered to put his mask back on. He didn’t think he could have faked his way through this point, even with his impressive skills.
“Magnificent.” He stated it as fact. White trash, he thought, Why didn’t I remember to get drunk for this?
Her bobs were anything but magnificent. Two fleshy sacks looked dry and lifeless where they hung from her chest, a gap as wide as a freeway between them, pale nipples pointing down. Casey realized at that moment that she probably stuffed her bra when on TV. Sad. Kind pathetic, actually. As if that was all there was to being a babe, Casey scoffed, looking at the sag of a woman facing menopause with the size of a girl that had just started to develop. They were tiny, covered with blue veins that looked like dark spiderwebs under her pallid skin.
She mistook his attention and giggled.
Casey thought his estimate of 4 should really have been a 3. Maybe he was a bit too drunk last time. That could explain the misstep. But he’d had nothing to drink tonight. He came straight from the fight with Shredder and the Foot… he had no defense except for his imagination. That would have to suffice for a half chub before sensation did the rest.
C’mon, c’mon, Jones… think!
His brain muttered to itself as he moved closer, groping in the misty, muddled halls of memory for something, anything, to transport his attention somewhere else and, simultaneously, blood to his member. He mentally stumbled across Megan Fox.
She was so hot in Jennifer’s Body!
April was trying to get her heel up on the edge of the table, supporting herself with her hands splayed against the tabletop behind her. Trying to look inviting. Casey thought ain’t no he’d go down on that without the edge taken off by some serious booze.
She was making a dumb airhead kind of a face, mouth loose and slack, heavy eyelids, but Casey only saw Megan Fox’s oval face, perfect cheekbones, and kissable pursed lips, those piercing blue eyes like stars winking at him from under the elegant arcs of her eyebrows. A face that oozed sex appeal from her ski slope nose to her jawline to her warm, healthy complexion. Her hair, jet black in the soft light, fell in crests of evening waves, never obscuring her gorgeous face in their wild, shimmering journey past her shoulders, but tumbling down across the right side of her face, an asymmetric waterfall of moonless midnight. The best part: all the jacked-up makeup April wore had been replaced by the perfection of a professional beautician, the best makeup in the world applied to enhance the beauty of one hell of a fine-looking woman.
Casey Jones lifted his mask again and closed his eyes and let the fingers of his left hand slide into the inviting refuge of Fox’s luxurious hair, cradling the back of his skull gently, pulling her in to taste her lips. Youth. Honey. Milk. Cherry-flavored chapstick. Their tongues met and a jolt of electricity lit up his mouth, traveling through his body, doing the job down yonder that he needed his imagination to do.
“Mmmm, baby…” he groaned.
He pulled back, let his right hand cup her graceful jawline, then he traced his fingers slowly down the slender pinnacle of her neck. Her head tilted back and her eyes shut, a sexual sigh parting those full pink lips. He ran his thumb down her throat, then across the smooth ridge of her clavicle, until his hand came to a rest on her shoulder.
Before his very eyes, April’s sad bags turned from old sacks into suckable, perky, gravity-defying 32B cup breasts. He’d never seen pictures of Megan Fox naked and he wondered idly for a moment if any existed, or if there was like a sex scene tape like Pamela Anderson’s or something–though the next moment he prided himself on being able to get laid so easily that he didn’t have to resort to beating his meat to digital images on a computer screen. He wasn’t no basement-dwelling loser.
Casey stopped himself from touching April’s limp lumps and decided to keep on picturing she was really Megan Fox, Hollywood superstar.
Her sweet-smelling skin was pulled tight over her slim muscular definition and visible ribs, presenting those twin globes like they were jewels just begging to be stolen. But Casey thought 32B was such a terrible size, a bit too small for his taste. Nothing a little imagination couldn’t fix.
As if being smacked by a sudden fluctuation in their own personal gravity, Megan Fox’s 32B cup tits bounced, bobbed, and wobbled in place, and then they began to swell. Casey pictured April’s boring piss-colored jumpsuit bending out of the way as Megan’s chest expanded well past C. They expanded like melons ripening in a time-lapse video, getting bigger with every low, erotic breath. Even her nipples swelled up larger and larger. But nothing about them showed a sign of sagging, no, they projected from her body like bolted-on cantaloupe topped with cherries that pointed toward his head. Nothing like a good ol’ American pair of triple D’s! She was perfect, the body of an athlete, the tummy of a teenager, the legs of a sprinter, the face of a starlet, the breasts of a nursing mother and a cosmetic surgery patient, the perfect mix of natural and fake.
Damn, he felt his own cock trying its hardest to bust through the front of his sweatpants. Looking down, the waistband was pushed away by his engorged manhood. It was time.
He picked Apr– err Megan Fox up off the table as if she was light as a feather, grabbing her from under her arms, hoisting her into the air, and letting her come down against him. His body slid against his and when she found her feet, he placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed, softly but with determination. She yielded, getting to her knees.
He watched her pull down his waistband a little too quickly and his boxers went with the sweatpants. Smack! The look on her face! His cock sprang out like a jack-in-the-box and slapped her right in the cheek. She looked both frightened and aroused.
Somehow, though Casey Jones didn’t dare think it was possible, Megan Fox seemed even sexier holding his tool at the ready. She already had a kind of uncanny plastic perfection of a porn star look about her. Something slutty about her eyes. The penis–and her gaping mouth–just topped off the whole ensemble.
Next to her greedy blue eyes and blushing face, his cock looked like two cans of coke stacked end to end. Her fingers–he hardly felt their cold touch–couldn’t hope to wrap around its girth. He grinned the smug grin of a man who knew he was well-endowed enough to impress just about any girl that wasn’t a prostitute. Hell, he’d even impressed prostitutes.
For April–try as he might he was just too good a guy to completely forget that he was ultimately doing this for April–his was more manhood than she had ever known. They’d messed around a few times together, though they never went all the way. She gave good head, he had to admit, especially when she looked like Megan Fox with a few extra boob jobs.
First her tongue, then her lips, softly kissing his inflating cock head. He was getting to full mast. Her mouth was warm, wet, but small. She never deepthroated, probably had no idea how. She’d probably choke on it, anyway.
That didn’t stop him from trying.
The things I have to put up with just to cheer somebody up.
Casey Jones, reached down, grabbing two handfuls of her thick auburn hair at either side of her head with his gloved fists. Without the buzz of alcohol, he figured he’d get bored if he didn’t do something different. Then, as he rocked his hips back and forth to a slow, undulating rhythm, he tested the elasticity of her lips and the depth of her mouth, thrusting his dick toward her tiny throat. He hit a wall almost immediately, pulled back and thrust again, made it a little further. He felt some give, like her throat was opening up to receive its masculine gift. Hot. Then Megan Fox winced. April gagged.
The illusion was shattered. Imagination peeled away and there was scared little April with her cheap makeup plastered and runny all over her coughing, reddened face. She looked like a pale doll, half-dressed, sitting crumpled on the floor trying to catch her breath and not puke.
“Sigh…” he didn’t stop himself.
Almost on hands and knees, April scrambled like a dog with her tail between her legs around the spot where Casey stood. She was staggering to her feet and Casey heard the bathroom door shut behind him, though not hard enough to latch. He shrugged and snorted, then bent at the waist and pulled up his boxers and sweatpants from his ankles.
What a damn waste, he thought, but he was sporting a major hard on. He realized trying to plug up her throat had been a little more exciting than he anticipated. He had half a mind to just leave, beat himself off from the rooftop over the traffic below, then catch up with the turtles for some pizza time. Then he figured he should really hang around. She wasn’t crying anymore, so that was a good sign, but when she came out, he’d let her finish him off so she could get her reward.
Hopefully she’ll take the time to redo her makeup while she’s in there. He chuckled. And probably put her in a better mood once we’re all done. Get that afterglow on.
So he threw himself down on the couch, put his sewer-smeared sneakers up on her glass coffee table, and reached for the remote. He hit ON and tossed it on the seat beside him.
Casey started laughing.
On the TV screen, actress Megan Fox bent over the hot car engine under the hood, lit from behind by a golden afternoon, the skin of her tight midriff shimmering with tiny beads of sweat. Transformers.
What are the odds? Casey chuckled to himself and shook his head, watching idly. His brain teased the fabric of her clinging orange tank and the hem of her denim skirt. She was hot, but not hot enough to keep him fully hard. Especially when mixed with shots of Shia LaBeouf…
Casey glared at the bathroom door from where he sat. It stood slightly cracked, opening into the living area, though it was too dark to see inside. She didn’t even have the light on. What could be taking her so long? Maybe she did decide to redo her makeup. That’d be just like her.
Now he waffled between watching the rest of the popcorn flick without popcorn or getting up to see if she really had choked to death. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and drummed his fingers on the coffee table. He didn’t hear her coughing.
“Hey, Ape,” he shouted from the sofa, “Yo, April!”
No answer.
He made a gruff grumbling noise in his throat and threw himself to his feet.
“Ape! Can’t you hear me calling? You alright or what?”
Still nothing.
As he approached the door, he reached for the handle and then pulled back his hand. He decided to go the peeping Tom route–she might get a kick out of that. He slid up against the wall, swift and soft as a ninja, and, with his mask still raised up over the top of his scalp, pushed one eye up between the crack of the door and the doorframe. Peering into the darkness, he saw her, but just barely.
From this angle, her back was turned toward him. He could see her in the mirror from the top of her head to her waist, but she couldn’t (or didn’t) see him. She’d zipped herself back up–thankfully, Casey thought.
It was dark in there, but there was some kind of unusual light coming from the counter in front of her. Maybe from the sink itself, it was hard to tell. It wasn’t very bright. Almost a kind of pale, sickly green.
The glow lit up her face in the mirror… she’d wiped away her tears, the smudged makeup, and applied a fresh coat of paint. Maybe because of the weakness of the glow illuminating her features… or the curiosity and bravery filling her eyes… but she looked better to Casey than she had all night.
Suddenly, she moved. Still as a statue, now determined. She reached down into the sink and lifted something gray, silver. It shone green like an old glow-in-the-dark toy. Something cylindrical.
Maybe a little too much blood had run out of his brain to his dick, but Casey Jones didn’t realize what it was until it was too late. She lifted the container above her head, twisted the lid, and let a few drops of luminous ooze fall into her open mouth, right on her tongue.
April shuddered and folded up, dropping the canister of mutagenic slime back into the sink with a loud crack. She let out a dry heave and looked as if she would spit it all up again and flush it down the drain, when she suddenly froze. Her hands, no longer gripping her sides, scrambled for the edge of the counter to prop her body up, and then she stood up… and up… and up.
Casey Jones swallowed a small boyish shriek as he watched. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Soundless, utterly silent, the yellow jumpsuit creased and pulled tight across April’s stretching body. She was rising like a sunflower toward the sun. Her yellow sleeves crawled up her wrists, then her forearms, pulling snugly where they widened. The crease of fabric on her back pulled taut until it was a perfect v, a sling of wrinkles caught tight in her ass, pulled harder and harder by her rising shoulders. For a single, pregnant moment, everything seemed to hang motionless, breathless in the still air.
Then there was a riot of noises.
The flapping of the tall laces of her boots coming undone. The sound of her feet bursting through the white leather. The elastic whisper of her socks struggling to cling to suddenly elegant and shapely legs. Seams splitting, creating long almond-shaped rents by her thighs and hips. The whine of her belt as her waist adjusted, imperceptible among the other noises, but still there. Her slowly transforming hourglass figure took her from forgettable white trash to curvaceous celebrity socialite.
As her ass lifted and firmed, her jumpsuit pulled so tight across her cheeks that they looked like two puffy loaves of bread with yellow cheese melted all over them. The fabric between them was yanked harder than a wedgie on a g-string. April spread her legs apart, widening the widening gap between her thighs, leaned into the sink and let out a low, guttural, werewolvish moan so bestial and animalistic that Casey’s half mast went flaccid in a single heartbeat. A chill of fear ran down his spine for the first time that night.
But it was the look on her face that was truly frightening.
April never took her sight off her own reflection. Her eyes, shimmering green with the bathing glow of the ooze in the sink, or perhaps filled now with their own emerald luminescence, echoed that green with a look of pure greed. Casey thought often she had looked like a spoiled, petulant brat when they spoke with each other and the turtles weren’t around and the cameras weren’t rolling, but now that spoiled brat had become a queen. It was as if you handed a crown to a child and said they could do anything, have anything, be anything they wanted, without consequences, without repercussions, without limitation.
A glinting smile crept across her enraptured face, baring teeth white and straight and perfect–with canines looking a little on the long side? With every passing second as her body continued to respond to the mutagen, growing at an alarming rate as if passing through a second puberty all in the space of a single evening, her eyes and grin got wider. The light from her eyes became the light of her face: radiant, the beacon of a lighthouse.
The pale greenish glow became a verdant luster just beneath her skin, then a burning viridescence that lit up the whole bathroom.
April leaned back, throwing her head backward letting out a sudden, brutal laugh as the greenish light consumed her face, shooting in brilliant rays and causing her hair to dance as if blown in an impossible wind. As her body arced, she arched her back and the real strain on her whole costume began…
Casey stared in utter disbelief–roaring instantly back to full attention so quickly that his bulge battered against the doorframe, painfully–as April’s bustline filled out. The creases across her chest deepened into valleys. The sides of her jumpsuit bulged. Even her collar strained as a deluge of womanly breast flesh poured from her once scrawny torso. It was clearly more than that poor zipper could handle, but it did its best. The yellow fabric gave up first, seams and stitches popping like microwaved popcorn, exposing bulging heaps of boobage. Her left chest pocket exploded into bits of thread, revealing a soft pink nipple mounted on the huge saucer of her areola. Perhaps instinctively, she raised a hand to cover her nudity and as her hand brushed the rock-hard teat, everything happened at once.
Her whole body shuddered. There was a tremendous tearing sound. The zipper burst. The greenish light became an inferno. The explosion of radiance seared the bathroom. Casey’s eye peering through the doorway was blinded by it. He fell onto the floor.
Wiping away tears and blinking, Casey looked up from where he sat on the carpet. Through his blurred eyesight, he could see that the light had gone out. The green glow had died.
Before he could call for help or shout April’s name, the bathroom door cracked in half, detonating into a shower of splinters and chunks of broken wood. Casey ducked under his forearms, gripping his skull with his gloved hands, tiny shards of wood stabbing into his skin. When he looked up, he saw a foot and a long, toned leg draped in tattered white leather and strips of yellow clothing sticking out through the doorway where the door used to be. The top hinge broke off and thudded decisively on the floor. The leg, womanly in its grace, bent at the knee and slowly came down with a discipline that matches its healthy fitness. Strips of yellow fabric fell off of it like flower petals.
Then she appeared out of the shadows.
Casey couldn’t believe what he saw.
A woman that looked like the embodiment of every teenage wet dream filled his vision. But she wasn’t just any woman. She was impossibly womanly, insanely feminine, femininity incarnated like an ancient goddess of lust and sexuality carved out of sweat-slick flesh instead of marble. Beads of moisture dripped from every curve, and what curves! She was positively cartoonish, yet fully realized, fully realistic, in total defiance of gravity and the laws of physics.
So tall! She had to duck her head to come through the doorway.
The ivory goddess towered over Casey on two perfect columns, each leg seeming taller than he was if he were standing. Those dainty feet (despite their size), shimmering shins, flexing calves, sculpted knee caps leading up to an arresting pair of thighs as thick around as a normal woman’s waist. Her ruined clothing caught around her legs like tiny fingers gripping hard, her thighs bulging around them. Despite their heaviness, she was gifted with an inviting thigh gap that left nothing to the imagination about her womanhood. Only the shredded remains of her faded pink panties concealed the wet mound of her vagina from his stares.
Her long legs terminated in the wide swivel of her hips, swaying rhythmically like the bottom of a round pendulum as she strode out into the living area. They were positively hypnotic, muscular yet soft, voluptuous, not bony. Her hips gave her body the shape of a cello as her waist tapered in, irresistibly wasp-like. Her flat stomach rippled with every moment as the defined yet feminine abdominals flexed and unflexed beneath her velvety pink skin. Her belly button pulled taut into a small vertical oval topped off the vase of her waist like it was a decorated Grecian urn.
A single droplet of sweat traced the central line of her abs like a wandering figure exploring a vast landscape of hills and valleys.
As if this temptation wasn’t enough, the real surreal blow to the senses came next: the rest of her body was completely naked, revealing two perfect boobs–if “boobs” were even the right word anymore. Never in all of Casey’s debased fantasies, nightly flings, one-night stands, and aloof examination of adult literature had he ever encountered a pair like hers. They projected from her visible rib cage like torpedoes but hung from her body like they were completely natural, as if there was anything natural about tits that were likely too engorged, too swollen, too full and majestic and downright massive for any brassiere in Manhattan, or New York State for that matter!
They combined the best attributes of natural home-grown tits and over-pumped silicone melons. Her twin melons held their shape, a mixture of the classic teardrop with what could only be compared to wrecking balls. Together, her titanic hooters were wider around than the span of her shoulders. Each boob was twice as wide as her unthinkably tiny waist. Her lovely arms were hidden behind those monsters from the elbows up!
Her tiddies began just under her collar bones, jutted out and downward, and their bottoms dangled swinging with drops of sweat dripping from all that sweet underboob. They pressed together in the middle, creasing a cavernous chasm of cleavage that looks like it could swallow a man’s head, shoulders, and chest whole with room to spare. Every jiggle, every bounce, every jostle sent the slightest balloon-like bobs through her boobs, almost as if they were floating on invisible water. They were each topped by nipples the size of quarters, cherries on their respective cakes, rosy and begging to be suckled.
She’d never wear size 34B again. Those globes made even her wide hips and huge ass look minuscule. Her chest was so dominating, in fact, that her breasts had been the first part of her body to breach the shadows of the bathroom alongside her first step outward. Above them, her girlish shoulders and head seemed smaller (by comparison) than they were mere minutes ago. It was only then that Casey noticed how much her face had changed since he last saw it shining in the mirror’s reflection.
She still looked like herself and yet… every possible change that could happen to a woman’s face to emphasize conventional beauty had occurred. Her chin, lips, cheekbones, brow, eyebrows, eyelashes, and nose… all of it completely renovated, rebuilt, almost alien in the picture of otherworldly beauty they possessed. Her large eyes looked as if they’d been animated not by the West but by Japan. Even her makeup looked deeper, more luxurious, more enhancing rather than distracting. Her hair, seeming somehow longer, fuller, its volume and color enhanced, came down just over her eyes, casting them in auburn shadow, highlighting her feral appearance.
“A-April…?” his dry throat stammered.
That was when April’s wild, voracious, hungry eyes turned upon him. He realized she had been looking at her own apartment like it belonged to herself in another life. Had her body and her mind both undergone a metamorphosis? In those piercing green and hazel eyes, stabbing straight through him, he saw a fire burning. He gulped noisily.
In a blink of an eye, she leaped like a jaguar. Nothing about her whip-tight body, not her insanely long legs or mind-shattering bust, betrayed her speed. Casey had nothing but his nerves and wits to thank for getting out of the way before she came crashing down where he was sitting. She was on all fours like a dog, turning her head toward him. The glare she gave with those thirsty eyes and bared fangs made Casey feel sick… He felt like a piece of meat being sized up.
“April…” he tried again, raising up his hands, “April, stop. You don’t–”
She leaped again.
He spun in place and crouched, and she barely missed him. She crashed against the TV set and it tumbled on the floor with a smash and a billow of smoke, but she vaulted over it and was in the air again, growling behind him. Casey had no time to dodge!
She was on top of his back, pinned his stomach to the ground. Her pelvis smashed his into the carpet.
“Apri–” he started, before his head was crushed into the fibers of the rug. His mask busted, its shards stabbing his face. Her breasts had come down over the back of his head and they were much heavier than he would’ve guessed. Under normal circumstances, being pinned down by a woman’s gargantuan assets might’ve sent his cock into overdrive, but the breath had been knocked out of him and he was gasping to get it back, thrashing his neck and head from side to side, turning to find a gulp of air under the avalanche of her bosom.
He felt her fingers, incredibly strong, tearing the back of his shirt clean open. Her fingernails felt like claws. Ouch! She was cutting his back open, lacerating him as if his skin and muscle were soft as butter. He had to move. Now.
His hands flailed about, trying to find their marks. Aha! She screamed in a beastly combo of pain and pleasure as her fists found her nipples in what felt like miles of breast flesh. He squeezed as hard as she could until he felt her weight lift, then he got his knees under him and he pushed. She fell off his back and landed on hers, but he made the mistake of looking back.
April O’Neil, completely transformed into a buxom goddess, lay with her legs spread open, completely soaked from her quivering pussy to her inner thighs to even her lower legs, licking her lips with a long wet long, wearing a devilish look on her entrancing countenance. Like a snake overwhelming its prey with its serpentine mesmerism, her glare delayed Casey long enough to prevent his escape. A wild drumming rhythm beat to the theme of her jungle hunger–the neighbors below hollering and banging the ceiling with a broomstick.
Casey should’ve dashed straight for the window, found the turtles, found the police, heck… found Shredder! He needed help!
She was on her feet, quick as lightning. No, quick as a ninja!
How could she be so fast? He lashed out, too.
The lamp he grabbed and threw burst in mid-air as it collided with her face, stunning her and bringing her leap to a standstill. One of her feet went through the glass coffee table, sparkling shards tinkling against each other along the carpet. Just long enough…
“Don’t make me do this, April…” he said, close enough to the kitchen table now to reach his golf bag of weapons. Behind him, his fingers closed around the neck of a baseball bat, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off of her as she gathered her strength again, shaking the dust from the broken lamp off her face and out of her hair.
When she looked at him again, chin down, eyes up, the glare had turned from hunger to sadism. Casey’s fear turned to terror. He could die tonight. He had never felt horror like this on the streets fighting gangs and anthropomorphic animals.
He hefted the bat, swinging it up over his shoulder as a warning.
“Stay back!”
Her lips pulled over her teeth and she hissed, then rushed toward him.
Crack!
The bat connected with the side of her head. She stopped in place. Casey regretted pulling his punches. The ferociousness in her gaze had become hatred now.
In a flash, her hand was under his chin and he felt himself being lifted into the air. A ragdoll. A child. He didn’t even have time to grip her hand and try to pry her fingers off his neck. His head crashed through the ceiling above and then he came back down in a waterfall of dust. She twisted and threw him against the floor, facing up.
If he hadn’t felt like every bone in his body had been broken, Casey Jones, vigilante and womanizer extraordinaire, might’ve appreciated the view of this colossal, impregnable fortress of a woman stepping over him. Her entire body gloated.
April’s feet were at either side of his head. God, her legs seemed to go on forever toward the honey pot between them. Then she squatted, her immense boobage completely obscuring her face; nothing felt like it erased her humanity more than that, the faceless image of nothing but her body that screamed worship me, fuck me, please me, suck me.
With an easy twist of one of her fingers under the waistband, she snapped and tore off her undies, revealing a perfectly hairless vagina that appeared tight as a vice, glossed with her juices, sparkling with the silk of her barely perceptible peach fuzz. And then it came down over his face.
“MMmpphrrl!” he cried in vain, “Appbbrrll!”
But she was moaning louder than his muffled, suffocated voice. Sitting on her heels, the bulk of her entire weight was supported by his face and chest. Hard to breathe, but he was being drowned in an ocean of wet, warm, silken paradise. Her taste… it was ambrosia. Even if he could escape, would he want to?
Perhaps it was his life flashing before his eyes, perhaps it was his habit of thinking of other women while he fucked the ones in front of him, but he thought back to all the other times he’d eaten his girls out. The memory of their peaches made them seem like they were hard, dry, unripe rinds compared to the swimming pool that drenched his face in its sweet syrup now, covering his chin, mouth, and nose alike.
But it hurt when she began to grind. Her insane, screaming, orgasmic cries gave him no impression that she thought of him and his safety at all, not any more than a woman might think about suffocating a dildo when using one. His whole head shook, banged against the floor, bending his neck as she sat on him and face fucked him. His feeble arms made an attempt to stop her, but they only met with the steely, smooth wall of her back arched above him.
He couldn’t see but he felt like he was in a tunnel–not so literally as figuratively what people about to die might say they see–darkness closing in around him. His hands dropped to the floor. And then, as if to make his final moments even more humiliating, even more agonizing, April’s claws closed around his dick and she began jacking him off like a sledgehammer smashing a hot dog. The absurdity of what was happening to him wasn’t lost on him, even though his breath was.
He hadn’t thought about his cock once since being attacked, but now, it felt ready to blow. Without showing any signs of stopping, she brought him to a violent, pointless climax just as he felt himself slipping. She kept beating him till he felt raw. His last thought was how tragic it was that the world would lose such a great crime fighter to a crazy lady that just needed to get laid… To think, he’d be defeated by a woman. An obscenely, dementedly, irrationally womanly nympho of a woman, sure, but a woman nonetheless.
And then there was nothing.
The sound of dripping water was the first thing he heard. Casey’s eyes fluttered open, feeling as heavy as the grave. A dank smell hung in the air. He tried to move his head, lift it up, but a shock of pain screaming down his spine stopped him dead. He squinted away the swirling spots filling his vision and tried to look around. He felt water on the back of his head. Carefully turning it in place, he saw the floor was flooded, the carpet soaked.
He was lying in the tub, his neck resting haphazardly against the edge. He wasn’t on the carpet in the living room like he remembered, hazily. He had no recollection of being taken to the restroom, but if his aches and sores were any indication, April had carried him there. God, his entire lower half, especially his hips and thighs, felt as if they’d been put through a meat grinder–which probably wasn’t too far off.
He found the dripping water came from the busted faucet at the other end of the tub. He was freezing, sticky, and completely naked. The tub itself was shattered. He had been looking through a massive gaping hole in the restroom wall into the living area. He could see the busted TV, the shattered coffee table, the overturned couch, and what looked for all the world like holes made by various body parts in the drywall behind it. The living area was stained with the light of afternoon coming in through an unseen window… just how long he’d been unconscious, there was no way to tell. He seemed as cold and stiff (except where it counts) as a block of ice.
As Casey struggled to get his strength back and sit up, he allowed himself a few minutes to breathe, tilting his head back to the place he found it, gently nursing every movement. That was when he saw the wall beside the tub. Amid a few cracks and craters, a post-it note hung. It caught his eye but as it did, it dropped, falling like a leaf until it came to a rest on his face. It took every ounce of his strength to lift a hand and pick it up. He blinked at it.
It was just a note that said: Don’t ever come to see me again, Casey Jones.
(end of part 1)