The Adventures of the Golden Goose

Chapter 5: The Specials Strike Back

By FermiRefuted

(With thanks and apologies to Mr X for all the tropes below, the tentacle monster digression concludes)

Our story thus far: The Golden Goose and True Blue have been captured and impregnated by Emeric Spendlove, the “Bad Doctor” of Gruntham-on-Sleet. Chained together in the sewers for days on end, the heroines have incubated an endless torrent of eggs for the hideous Growlers – deep-sea tentacle monsters which consume only heat. Meanwhile, on the surface, international thief and sometime villainess Madame Razor has decided she doesn’t want the Bad Doctor’s monstrous army infesting her adopted home town…

Part one: Nadir

The Sleetside Specials, booted legs spread wide above the broken storm drain, strained and groaned with a herculean effort. Naked except for their masks, handcuffs and thigh boots, both heroines were prostrated on the stone floor of the oldest section of the Runs, cushioned only by their matronly chests and stomachs. The short chain linking their bondage collars clinked taut as each luscious vigilante thrashed and kicked with the exertion. From their red, devastated and exhausted vaginas and anuses, both heroines gave birth to Growler egg after slick purple Growler egg.

“How many… UUUH… how many have you got left, Blue?” wheezed The Golden Goose, her feathery mask crumpled and stained, hair soiled and bedraggled and only a few orange patches of fake tan left in her most intimate crevices.

“Can’t… be more than a dozen now, Goose, AAAH… AAAAH!” panted True Blue, her pale cheek pressed into the filthy stone as her body was rocked by contractions.

Their combined sweat and the juices spurting from their wombs eased the passage of the eggs as they rolled off and into the maelstrom of the storm drain below. This close to the river, the old medieval stonework of The Runs had given way in numerous places. The River Sleet churned deafeningly into the fathomless, lightless limestone caverns below the town’s drainage system.

“Remember what the Rat King said…” grunted The Golden Goose. “Just keep pushing… Get them in the water… And we’ll finally have our cunts to ourselves.”

“That… that’s a pity….” Groaned True Blue. “I thought… I heard some of those creatures heading down the tunnels… to the left… a few minutes ago.”

“Ooooh yesss…” panted the Golden Goose, as the thought of being fucked senseless once again by the slithering Growlers paraded through her mind. “We might still catch them… you think you can stand up, babes?”

“I don’t think so, Goosie…” said True Blue. “Not for a few minutes at least… UUURGH…”

The two heroines birthed the last of the Growler spawn, which splashed into the cold waters of the river below. Utterly spent, the curvaceous duo splayed out their legs and let the chilly air cool their sore vulvas, still glistening with the eggs’ natural lubricant.

It didn’t take long for the hairs to rise on the back of their necks as they realised their dripping love tunnels were being watched from the shadows.

The voice, when it spoke, was American… and familiar.

“So you two finally worked out how to catch a break.” Said Madame Razor sardonically. “Chill the eggs as soon as you pop them out. Took you long enough.”

Madame Razor stepped out of the shadows, smirking with pursed scarlet lips beneath a gleaming red-visored helmet which encased the rest of her head. Tall and lean, she showed off her athletic figure in tight red spandex leggings cut so low that her bare pubic mound thrust forward in a shameless cameltoe. Her steely abs were exposed in an alabaster wall up to her modest, tight chest, entirely concealed by a Kevlar-padded sports bra. Bulging muscles stood out in her long, white-marble arms as she flexed broad hands in heavy armoured gauntlets. At 6’ 2” she didn’t need any artificial heels in her reinforced boots to tower over the two zaftig heroines.

The Golden Goose gasped and tried fruitlessly to close her exhausted, trembling thighs. Legs still tightly encased in gold-painted pleather platform heels, she lacked the strength to lift them. With her inflamed, pink, gaping vagina fully on display, she bit her lip and blinked up at the spandex-clad villainess through her soiled fringe. Her face almost completely untanned, there was no hiding her blush.

“Madame Razor… how… how are you down here?” she stuttered.

“We’ve had sightings of growling tentacle monsters all over town. The kind of creatures you only get when a couple of dumb bimbos get knocked up by some disgusting monster with a libido.”

“Doctor Spendlove trapped us down here!” blustered True Blue. “We didn’t plan on being manhandled and… defiled… and impregnated!”

“And then same dumb bimbos have so much fun they let themselves be fucked senseless over and over by any appendage they can find, and before you know it, the city’s in crisis and monsters are crawling around on.”

“Yeah, alright, touché.” Said the Golden Goose.

“Someone’s been sending photos of your preggo adventures down here to the Daily Grind. They couldn’t sit on it any more. Your mommy milkers are all over the funny pages.”

“Oh, bollocks.” Said True Blue. The beldame heroine quailed at the thought of her naked photos being linked to her true identity as town Mayor Lola Muirhead. “Pictures of… everything?”

“Everything.” Said Madame Razor.

“You… buy the Grind?” asked The Golden Goose. In her day job as the Daily Grind’s top news reporter Tanya J. Harrow, it was always flattering to meet a reader.

Especially one with the same powerful, dominating physique as her boss and editor, U.S. expatriate Karen Roth.

There was a pause.

“I… buy cod and chips on Fridays.” Said Madame Razor. “Can’t avoid that rag.”

“The only chippie in Sleetside that still uses actual newspaper to wrap fish is Guy’s Fries next to Bodkin Wharf”, shot back the Golden Goose.

“Then I guess that’s where I’m on the lam.” Growled Madame Razor. “Nice deduction, Sherlock.”

“And Guy’s hasn’t had cod in since the start of the Blockade.”

“Oh, god damn.” Said Madame Razor. “Saveloy and chips. Let me live.”

Leaping gracefully over the roaring storm drain, the lithe villainess slid one heavy toecap up to the throbbing outer lip of the Golden Goose’s trembling cunt, caressing the tender flesh with the cold leather surface. The blonde squealed and kicked her legs, but was still too weak to close them.

“Remember this, Goose?” said Madame Razor, tracing the pink, quivering mandorla of the heroine’s labia.

“Yes… YES!” whined the Golden Goose.

“Do my boot and your slutty little snatch have unfinished business, do you think?”

“Yes!” squeaked the Golden Goose. “Finish it, babes, FINISH ME!”

“Oh, I will.” Hissed Madame Razor.

The Golden Goose’s cellulite rump quivered and rolled as Madame Razor pushed her toe into the heroine’s yawning, distended vulva. The blonde was quickly reduced to gasping, ragged breaths as her exhausted hips spasmed and pumped against the hard steel-reinforced surface.

“Don’t hurt her!” said True Blue. “She’s exhausted… we all need to get out of this ghastly place!”

“Look, silver dollar, we haven’t met.” Said Madame Razor. “But in the interest of making a good first impression, let me do my job.”

The Golden Goose let out a tearful moan as Madame Razor’s foot slipped fully inside her ravaged cunt.

“If I’m going to get the most insatiable whore in this shithole country out of a nest of tentacle monsters.” Said the red-helmed villainess, “we need to re-establish baseline normalcy. This,” She said, brutally pistoning her boot in and out of the Golden Goose, “Is a grounding exercise.”

The Golden Goose began to squeal with every thrust as she approached orgasm.

“Alright, Goose.” said Madame Razor. “I’m pulling your fat, skanky ass out of this dump. What are you?”

“The most insatiable whore in this shithole country, babes!” sobbed the Golden Goose.

“That’s right. And what am I gonna do?”

“You’re going to pull my fat skanky arse out… out of… UUUUHHH!” said the Golden Goose, every roll of cellulite flesh trembling on her body as the climax rocked her from head to toe.

There was a wet sucking noise as Madame Razor extracted her boot from the Golden Goose’s vulva. The blonde continued to whine and squirm as her hips bucked out the last pleasurable tension from her abdomen.

“You good girls are all the same.” Leered Madame Razor. “One sniff from a goddess and you’re begging to be tamed.”

“You’re absolutely right…” panted True Blue, her face flushed with vicarious excitement. Rolling onto her back she spread her legs, revealing her own inflamed labia, visibly trickling with desire. “I’m just as skanky as she is and you must ground me too.”

Madame Razor thought for a moment and bit her lower lip as she revelled in the horny pleas of the Sleetside Specials.

With an elegant hand motion, she flicked out tiny twin blades on her thumb and forefinger. True Blue gasped, her brown eyes widening.

Madame Razor flipped the brunette onto her stomach and expertly picked the lock of her blue-enamelled handcuffs. True Blue exhaled with mixed relief and disappointment. Then, as she stretched out her arms for the first time in weeks, she felt cool air lick around her throat. Madame Razor peeled away the leather collar from the mature heroine’s sweat-sticky neck and True Blue tentatively, unsteadily clambered back upright on her precarious blue platform heels and turned to face her saviour.

“Er, thank you…” said True Blue. “Now it’s off I can feel the chafing… But I think… I still need a little attention…”

“Oh, we’re not done, slut.” Said Madame Razor. “show me those overgrown udders.”

Cupping her drooping breasts, True Blue tried to lift them. Her wrist muscles, stiff and sore after being locked in place for her whole sojourn in the sewers, trembled with the effort.

The pale, pendulous milkbags shivered in the brunette heroine’s palms, a hypnotic effect she accentuated by rubbing them gently together. Cupping them, she tilted her naturally shy downward-facing nipples upward to nuzzle their sensitive tips together.

“Damn, girl! All this from pregnancy hormones, huh?

“Don’t you dare try to shame me, Madame Razor”, she said huskily, as drops of milk began to bead and fall from her teats. “My breasts are the biggest they’ve ever been… Goosie’s been suckling me for days… I’ve never felt so productive.”

“I’ll bet”, said Madame Razor, bringing a palm back and slapping one of True Blue’s quivering tits, which collided with the other she tremulously held in place. Milk gushed from both and the mature heroine’s legs almost gave as the sensation shot through her.

“OOH!” exclaimed True Blue. “You’re so cruel, but I… I won’t break…”

“Not yet, anyway.”, said Madame Razor, backhanding the other breast and watching it distend and squirt like a punctured balloon.

“AAAAH!”

It was the Golden Goose’s turn to roll over and watch as Madame Razor spanked True Blue’s breasts over and over, watching the forty-something vigilante quake and twist as pints of milk were battered out of her. A splash of her sidekick’s hot white cream dashed into the blonde heroine’s face and she blinked away the hormonal fog that still seemed to drift through the whole sewer system.

“Madame Razor… did you… did you say you’re here to rescue us?”

“That’s the plan, Goose.” Said the Villainess.

“Then we need to get back to base, babes.” Said the Golden Goose. “Blue and I are in a right old two* and we, er... we need to clean up and, you know, think.”

“Oh, really?” laughed Madame Razor, grappling True Blue around the waist. The mature Brunette’s cheeks and tits both flushed a bright pink. Her thighs glistened with liquid desire as she valiantly continued to hold up her bruised tits for the villainess’ abuse. “Cause I think auntie Blue here wants to go a couple more rounds. Right, milady?”

“Yes… yes…” gasped the knock-kneed True Blue, “Just be patient, Goosie darling… I need to show this awful colonial vixen what I’m made of…”

“Oh, sugar and spice, I bet, sweetcheeks!” grinned Madame Razor, squeezing a long stream of milk out of the raddled brunette’s tit.

“OOOH!” moaned True Blue, struggling helplessly in the villainess’ grasp. “Let me handle her, Goose… I’m sure I can turn the tables on her…”

“Well… er… alright…” said the Golden Goose, rolling across the grimy floor into the milky spray arc and licking her lips in anticipation. “Go Blue!”

The smack of leather gauntlet on quaking bare flesh and squeals of feminine delight echoed down the tunnels after that, for quite some time.

Part two: Silk swingers

Justice stirred inside Gruntham’s old police house.

From the outside, the soot-blackened ruin overlooking the Market Square was just a vacant plot surrounded by Heras fencing. Its old ground floor, once the nerve centre of law and order for the whole Non-Metropolitan Borough of Sleetside, was choked with weeds and carpeted with an ever-growing heap of discarded syringes, empty beer cans and crisp packets.

Behind the graffiti-tagged steel door down the basement stairs off Jamboree Road, however, was the Sleetside Specials’ best-kept secret.

The strip-lit emergency bunker was originally designed for civil defence in the 1960s. Its chilly concrete walls were now accented with velvet and silk hangings, and the claustrophobic central office was now a potpourri-scented boudoir for the town’s vigilante duo.**

“Ok, wow.” Said Madame Razor. This is actually… pretty impressive.”

On desks and surrounding walls, police operations maps dominated the office with yellow and blue pins marking recent operations. Dusty late-2000s desktop computer equipment was piled in the corners of the room, but a few clean and evidently used units still stood on the desks closest to the bed. The a fully operational server stack hummed somewhere else in the building.

“Yeah, we do our best with the resources available, babes.” Smirked the Golden Goose, peeling off her sticky, thoroughly soiled thigh-high platforms.

Madame Razor examined enormous heap of crisp medication boxes piled high in the old post room, many with return addresses still printed to the most advanced research laboratories in the country.

“Damn, that’s a lot of meds. How much of this are you on?”

“Depends on the night.” Said the Golden Goose, pointing out the sections. “That wall’s just for painkillers and anti-inflammatories, that’s uppers, downers, and, like, proper medicine, and the black boxes are the experimental psionics the government and Big Pharma think they keep secret from each other. I’d give those a miss if I were you.”

“And all the old hardware was just… left running?” asked the villainess.

“There was hardly any hacking to do, really”, said True Blue, tentatively taking a few wobbly steps on feet which had been bent into a harsh vertical for days. “All the passwords for the entire database were set to ‘Password’ or ‘1234’ or written on post-it notes on the monitor. Goosie inherited… more or less everything.”

Madame Razor ran her hands over the silk sheets of the double bed which formed the centrepiece of the old police bullpen. An exotic variety of sex toys, bottles of lube and various oils were scattered across the mattress, on side tables and strewn over the floor of the bunker.

“I guess this bed sees a lot of action, huh?” said the lanky villainess.

The Golden Goose and True Blue’s hands entwined affectionately, and the two heroines simpered and blushed as Madame Razor smirked down at them. Naked and entirely exposed on the bed, both were suddenly acutely conscious of how utterly they were at the mercy of their lithe and domineering saviour.

“Girl’s time is so important, Raze…” murmured the Golden Goose. “The gangsters in town can be really rough with us…”

“So we help each other get a little satisfaction…” said True Blue, biting her lip at the memories. “A little tenderness. We get so terribly tender down here.”

Both vigilantes apparently unconsciously, reached up to gently tweak and tease their own hardening nipples, moaning softly as hot milk began to bead and trickle down the rounded underside of their tits.

“And you a married woman, huh?” said Madame Razor, picking up the gold wedding band discarded on one of the coffee-ring encrusted desks.

“Oh. That old thing.” Said True Blue, with a haughty toss of her head.

Madame Razor took in the awe-inspiringly pneumatic sight of the Sleetside Specials primping and stretching, shaking their enormously rounded maternal hips and letting out little gasps as their stiff engorged nipples brushed against one another.

“Now Raze”, breathed the Golden Goose invitingly. “You should know we shower together after nights like this… and we always agreed if the bad boys ever managed to break in and catch us here… naked and defenceless… we’d have to surrender and offer them our bodies… for as long as they like…”

“And you’re a bad girl.” Said True Blue. “Maybe the most dangerous in town… so we couldn’t possibly resist you…”

The two heroines jiggled over to Madame Razor and began to run their hands all over her firm, supple shoulders and abs wherever her pale skin and toned body was exposed. The villainess, registering no threat, found herself relaxing into their attentive embrace.

“I guess I am feeling a little dirty… after all that time down in the dirt with you sluts…” the towering master thief sighed, shimmying her shoulders to help True Blue slip off the stiff plates of her Kevlar-lined red sports bra. She purred with feline enjoyment as the mature brunette gently stroked the firm round half-moons of her a-cup breasts.

“It’s true… we’re such sluts…” grunted the Golden Goose, tracing the glossy, hairless line of Madame Razor’s pubic delta and slipping a long fingernail with flaking pink gloss into the deep-cut crimson spandex leggings which hugged the villainess’ legs like a second skin.

Madame Razor gasped and tensed as she felt the heroine’s curious fingers delve into her smooth and delicately moist vulva. For a second the cocky powerhouse stammered wordlessly as the expert touch of the excited blonde teased her into a state of quivering arousal. Meanwhile, True Blue peeled the villainess’ skintight leggings down her long, taut thighs, pausing every few inches to feel the firm muscles surge and ripple beneath Madame Razor’s alabaster skin.

“Uh… oh…” gasped Madame Razor, as she struggled to contain her joy at being serviced by the two voluptuous, submissive heroines. “If I… uh… If I get too wound up… I might not be able to control myself…”

“Oh no, Blue!” squeaked the Golden Goose. “She’ll spank us… and finger us… and devastate our pussies!”

“She’ll have to catch us first!” giggled True Blue, pinching Madame Razor’s tiny, sensitive nipples and scampered toward the corridor marked ‘showers & changing rooms’.

“Wait for me, Blue!” squealed the Golden Goose.

Panting, half-stripped and as wet and frothy as Niagara Falls, Madame Razor tore off her gauntlets and boots, and pursued the bouncing bottoms of the two curvy nymphs into the showers.

***

The scent of soap and body lotion carried on clouds of steam, billowed through the shower block. The hiss of piping hot water mingled with the moans of two curvaceous heroines given a chance to freshen up for the first time in days.

Madame Razor held Sleetside Specials under the warm, soothing deluge of the monsoon showers as the three women lathered each other up. Her strong fingers sank deeply into the fleshy hips of the two heroines, shoving the two of them tightly together, face-to-face, like life-size Barbie dolls.

True Blue’s soft, slack breasts, already refilling with fresh milk, squeezed together with the painfully inflated tits of the Golden Goose. Their leaking nipples brushed together over and over again, prompting delighted groans and gasps and further encouraging pinches and tweaks from Madame Razor.

“How… how long are you going to keep us in here, Raze?” panted the Golden Goose, her peroxide hair plastered down her back.

“Until I get tired of the show, Goose.” Purred the villainess. “Those boobs of yours must be getting real sore around now. ”

“Well, milk me then, babes!” begged the Golden Goose. “How many times do you want me to ask?”

“She’s so full…” said True Blue sympathetically. “Please milk her, you can see how desperate she is!”

“Hmm…” said Madame Razor, enjoying the soft sensation of the Golden Goose’s flesh squirming against her and the folorn rebukes of the jiggly heroine and her motherly sidekick. “I think she could be a little more desperate.”

True Blue squirmed free from the helmeted villainess and strutted to the lockers, where she swung open the doors to reveal stacks and stacks of cardboard medication boxes, still more bottles of lube and exotically-shaped sex toys.

Madame Razor spun the Golden Goose, easily pushing around the five-foot heroine and holding her tightly under the stream of the shower. The heroine squealed, growing pinker and more flushed with the hot water and the increasing pressure in her mammaries.

“You’re being heartless, Madame Razor.” Scolded True Blue. “We’ve got quite a few ways to punish you down here, you know.”

“Oh, please, do try, Blue”, said Madame Razor, without looking round. “And I’ll spank those saggy tits into next week.”

True Blue bit her lip and trembled at the thought. She watched the villainess’ back muscles and steely buttocks flex with delight as she played with the squeaking Golden Goose.

Selecting a long, slender vibrator, the middle-aged brunette crept up trepidatiously on the lithe helmeted powerhouse and her struggling captive.

“I’m… I’m warning you, Madame…” quavered True Blue

“Bring it.” Laughed Madame Razor. “And let’s… OOOFF!”

With an unexpected burst of strength, the Golden Goose thrust back her broad hips, bumping Madame Razor off-balance and bending the two of them into an L-shape. Madame Razor whipped out both hands to steady herself, instinctively clutching around the Golden Goose’s chest and clamping around the heroine’s flushed, heavy jugs. The heroine cried out with pleasure as the sudden pressure caused her milk to gush out in a white torrent onto the tiled floor of the showers.

True Blue fired up the vibrator and touched the buzzing tip of the toy to the bare lips of Madame Razor’s snatch. The villainess’ narrow hips jerked in response and her labia pouted open instinctively, revealing a tight, slick tunnel of love. She gave a momentary squeak as she tried to cover up her sudden weakness and only forced out a few drops of her own hot sexual fluid. True Blue gently began to work the shaft into the villainess and the Golden Goose howled again as Madame Razor’s mighty palms pulverised her boobs again.

“Uhhh… ooooh… wait… wait up Blue…” whined Madame Razor as she instinctively clutched at the soft heroine beneath her. “I’m… I’m wet, ok… don’t… don’t push me… OOOH!”

Thrilled by the sensations of her toned adversary’s muscles massaging against her back, and in ecstasy from the sudden relief of being milked, The Golden Goose began to thrust back with her gigantic rump, pushing Madame Razor further down True Blue’s tingling phallus.

“You missed out on the Growlers, babes…” panted the blonde, “Just let yourself have some fun!”

“No… you don’t get it…” groaned Madame Razor, gritting her teeth and clenching her kegel muscles around the encroaching silicone toy. “Please… this… this doesn’t happen to me… I’ve… I’ve never been penetrated before!”

True Blue and the Golden Goose froze.

“This… this is your first time… getting railed?” exclaimed the Golden Goose.

“Y…. yeah…” murmured Madame Razor haltingly.

“But… I thought Starforce worshipped at this… this marble altar…” said True Blue, running a delicate finger along the smooth skin of Madame Razor’s mons while the villainess mewed like a kitten.

“She did…” said Madame Razor. “But… but I was the boss… I never… I never let her…”

“Do you want…” said the Golden Goose delicately, “Do you want us to stop?”

Madame Razor’s head span.

“I… I don’t KNOW!” she blurted.

“Nobody here but us chickens, darling.” Soothed True Blue. “You can do whatever you like with us…”

“You’ll… you’ll be… gentle with me?” stammered Madame Razor.

“Long as you promise to be rough with us…” breathed the Golden Goose.

The villainess took a deep breath, felt the surging sensation in her vulva, and then squeezed the Golden Goose’s squirting udders with all her might. The blonde heroine squawked and bucked, trembling from head to foot as her breast-milk gushed inexhaustibly from her raw nipples.

“Damn it… RAIL me Blue!” Madame Razor groaned, arching her back. She gasped, stars bursting in her loins and brain, as the mature heroine slid the phallus up to the hilt.

***

Some hours later, a flushed Madame Razor luxuriated on the silk sheets as the Golden Goose and True Blue squirmed and rubbed their tender bodies against hers. Snuggled in the crooks of her arms, the tousled hair of both the blonde and the brunette fell over the villainess’ muscular shoulders and all three panted from the exertion of multiple climaxes.

Heroines and villainess were entirely naked except for their identity-concealing masks and Madame Razor’s helmet. The Golden Goose, her skin at long last restored to a proud orange hue with a quick spray-tanning session between orgasms, blew blue smoke-rings from a post-coital Golden Virginia, while True Blue simply enjoyed the subtle flexing of the villainess’ powerful musculature against her cheek, her eyes closed in bliss.

Madame Razor, meanwhile, stared up at the Growler Map the three of them had populated with pins and string in their refractory periods.

The situation looked bleak. Growler sightings spread out across the map of east-central Gruntham like herpes through a Faith-based Sixth Form college.

“No surprises there, then.” Said the Golden Goose. “It all follows the line of the river.”

“What’s that one you marked up with the glittery pin in Market Square?” said True Blue.

“The largest attack so far.” Said Madame Razor. “A whole army of Growlers came to the surface and attacked the Daily Grind yesterday.”

“Fuck! Fucking… shit!” exclaimed the Golden Goose. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Oh, no.” said True Blue.

“Is everyone alright?” gasped the Golden Goose, clutching Madame Razor’s ropey arm imploringly.

“Everyone got out fine. Even that idiot photographer.” Said Madame Razor.

“Oh, thank fuck. I never would have… I’ve got a lot of friends at the Grind. I don’t know what I would have done if…”

“Yeah, well they were more worried about your buddy Tanya. She wasn’t there. Not for a couple weeks. She been out of town lately or something?”

“Erm…” mumbled the Golden Goose. “Something like that… Family funeral or something… I’ll text her later…”

“Girls, this is terrible.” Said True Blue. “Market Square is just up the road from the St Joan’s Priory Academy. It’s a private school. The parents make political donations. If those creatures get into…”

“Yeah.” Said Madame Razor. “A couple hundred deflowered tweens ain’t exactly the kind of brand you want to build a class system on.”

“And I suppose.” Said True Blue, resignedly, “The Council haven’t taken any action?”

“The Daily Grind guys tried to contact Mayor Muirhead, but she’s disappeared too.” Said Madame Razor. “They called her asshole husband at home, but he just screamed down the phone about a bunch of by-election results and the Ultra-Low Emissions Zone in London and hung up. He didn’t even listen to the questions.”

“I should have known this would happen.” Said True Blue, nodding solemnly. “Sorry about this, Goosie. I need to make a… slightly embarrassing call.”

Rummaging in an old police desk, she retrieved a blue Nokia burner phone and called the first number on her contact list.

The booming drawl of Rex ‘Tex’ Danderville, CEO of Danderville Oil and joint chair of the Gruntham-on-Sleet Freeport Board of Trade, could easily be heard down the speaker without True Blue putting it on hands-free.

“Well howdy-do to you, Mrs Muirhead. Haven’t heard from you for a long San Antonio minute. I was getting worried.”

True Blue’s voice rose to a girlish pitch as she played with the curl of her inverted bob and simpered down the line.

“Oh, Tex, how many times must I tell you… call me Lola.”

The Golden Goose and Madame Razor gasped, simultaneously, in horror. Madame Razor clapped a hand over the blonde’s puffy pink mouth to silence her.

“How about Madam Mayor?” purred Tex amorously. “You do look mighty fine when you wear the chain with your wedding lingerie.”

“Don’t tease, Texy. I’ve missed you awfully for the past few days. Jerry’s being such a prig about you helping me mount Inferno the other day.”

“That horse has too much fight in him, Lola baby.” Said Tex. “I don’t like to see a fine lady like you bucking on a young colt like that.”

“You were very good at soothing him at the time, sweetie.”

“Well, shucks” said the oil executive. “We all got a talent. I guess I’m a wrangler. Inferno’s a runner. You, sweet-cheeks… you’re a rider. In more ways than one!”

“I was hoping to make use of one of your other talents today, Texy dear. You know we’ve had all these Growler tentacle things springing up all over town?”

“I heard some urban legend from the local hillbillies. It ain’t exactly Defcon One, Lola.”

“It’s a more than a legend, Texy. I think the Growlers might really be causing trouble. Do you think you could spare a few of your DOGs to come and clear them out of the sewers?”

“You want me to put fully trained DOGS employees on my medical insurance into your godforsaken sewer system to hunt down a bunch of land squid with Danderville ammunition? Lola honey, you’re a Georgia peach in the sack but I ain’t doing it.”

“Oh…” sighed True Blue, her voice catching. “But Texy, I’m… I’m worried that they’ve been assaulting ladies in the town… you know, respectable Christian ladies… the Growlers are all terribly long, thick and dark, and they’re penetrating every English rose they can get their swarthy tentacles on…”

“What…” huffed Tex, “What exactly are you trying to tell me?”

“I was just talking to True Blue – you remember, my friend, the vigilante – and she says she saw the Growlers taking the knee down there. And some of them were even chanting ‘From the river to the sea.’ She’s terribly concerned about the threat to law and order.”

“Shit. Hellfire and brimstone, Lola, these things are Antifa!”

“I… I don’t know”, whimpered True Blue. “But I daren’t leave the house right now. With the Growlers packing such powerful, lusty, dark meat… if someone doesn’t do something I’m certain I’ll be ravished… in my own marital bed… with Jerry watching!”

“Hot diggedy-dog!” Bellowed Tex. “It’s the goddamned Boogaloo! I’ll get a fireteam and a burning cross down to the town centre inside an hour!”

“I’ll meet… I mean True Blue will meet you on the steps of County Hall, Texy. She’s… er… in town, and she can show you the way… You’re an angel. Kisses. Ciao.”

True Blue hung up.

The Golden Goose and Madame Razor stood in frozen horror.

“Mayor… Muirhead?” stuttered Madame Razor.

“Your… your secret identity…” gasped the Golden Goose.

True Blue shrugged at them, her pendulous, milky breasts swinging free.

“Oh, honestly, girls.” She tutted. “This is an emergency. I think the premise can withstand this.”

“You’ve been having it off with… with Big Daddy Tex?” asked the Golden Goose plaintively.

“He’s rather charming, socially.” said True Blue. “And he knows his country sports very well.”

“I thought… I was his fucktoy…” said the Golden Goose, raising her blue eyes bashfully to Madame Razor for support.

“You are, dear, but he knows every drug addict and petty thief in Gruntham can have your knickers on the floor for the asking. Tex flies Business Class.

I… that is to say, Lola… can give him romance. Sophistication. You understand.”

“I need another fag.” Said the Golden Goose, groping for her cigarette packet with a trembling hand.

“Yeah, count me in.” said Madame Razor.

“Excuse me.” said True Blue. “I think it’s high time you two got on top of this thing. Texy and I can clear the Growlers out of the Runs, but someone’s got to find and eliminate Doctor Spendlove, and I’m going to need time to find a bra. Goosie, you’re the only one who’s seen his hidden lair.”

Madame Razor placed a broad but gentle hand on the Golden Goose’s plump shoulder.

“She’s right, Golden Goose. You know what we’re looking for. I can take out this Bad Doctor guy, but you’ve got to get us to the roost.”

“It feels like a dream.” Said the Golden Goose. “There was this giant glass tank with… with a Growler in it the size of a transit van. Just drifting and floating…”

“So… an aquarium?” Said Madame Razor.

“Bigger.” Said the Golden Goose. “At least… twenty feet high. Christ knows the volume of it.”

“And this tank.” Said True Blue, “It was underground?”

“I think so.” Said the Golden Goose. “There were no windows, just, like, a big concourse around the whole thing where the Relentless boys had all their gear.”

There was a silence as Madame Razor and the Golden Goose filled the air with a grey-blue tobacco fog and True Blue re-applied her scarlet lipstick, deep in thought.

“The Dolphinarium!” Said True Blue, suddenly.

“What?” said Madame Razor.

“Rocco’s Dolphinarium. Off the D103.” Said True Blue, with more certainty. “That’s where they buried it.”

“Hang on…” said the Golden Goose. “The big park they built for Rocco the Rapey Dolphin? Blimey, I thought the whole thing was destroyed!”

True Blue bounced over to a map of the Upper Sleetside district. In grid square C4 she pointed to a dotted circle off the D103 marked ‘fmr. leisure park (derelict)’.

“We kept the truth from the children, Goose, but it’s definitely here.”

“I feel like I’m missing context.” Said Madame Razor.

“It was back in the ‘90s.” said True Blue. “Goosie would have been a little girl at the time. Rocco the Rapey Dolpin was a wild bottlenose. He used to swim up the Sleet every morning and, er, relieve himself with the local swimmers by the Gruntham docks. People used to come and watch from miles around.”

“And the town built a Dolphinarium for him.” Said the Golden Goose. “So he could stay with us, always.”

“But it never opened”, said True Blue, with a faraway look. “Rocco got on the wrong side of Sir Sunny Smith.”

“He was the local gang kingpin in those days.” Said the Golden Goose. “Retired to Benidorm after the Cash-For-Honours scandal.”

“Sir Sunny came home one evening to find his wife in the jacuzzi with Rocco in flagrante delphino.” Said True Blue. “So the Smith boys deep-fried Rocco in a cement mixer and left him out on the Esplanade as a warning to the other cetaceans.”

“In school we got told he was hit by a speedboat and had to be put down.” Said the Golden Goose. “I didn’t hear the whole story until I was 23.”

Madame Razor lit another cigarette and tried to process all this.

“The point is.” Said True Blue, “This is the only place in Gruntham we’ve ever had a water tank large enough for what Goosie saw.”

“And that’s bad news for us.” Said The Golden Goose. “Because there was another landslide around here about six months ago. Took out most of the Guinevak’s Mounds picnic area and destroyed the footpath through the woods.”

“And what… what the hell does that mean, ladies?” said Madame Razor, swinging her powerful legs out of bed and striding over to examine the geography of the district map.

“It means…” said True Blue, rolling her eyes in distaste, “That the only way into the old quarry where they buried the Dolphinarium…”

“…Is through Muirhead’s Gash.” Finished the Golden Goose.

Part 3: Campbell’s Abyss

The highway obstruction known to officials as The D103 Pothole, and to residents of Gruntham-on-Sleet as Muirhead’s Gash was first reported in February 2018, when it ripped the axle off a National Express coach, killing the driver and 28 passengers in the ensuing crash.

Over the following six years, the Borough Council spared no effort to deliver tax cuts for the wealthy. Now half a mile across and over thirty feet deep, the Gash had become an infamous refuge for smugglers and outlaws.

The Golden Goose and Madame Razor dismounted the gilded Vespa and gazed down into the ragged asphalt cleft in the earth. The roofs of static caravans lined the bottom of the pit where the more established ne’er-do-well camp was established. On the far side was a new drift of scree where the old gravel quarry had fallen in.

“That’s it!” said the Golden Goose, pointing a fresh pink false nail at the cave in the wall of the Gash. “Pound to a penny Rocco’s old Dolphinarium was buried up there.”

“Ok.” Said Madame Razor, bounding down the slope with the agility of a Kashmir goat. “I can freeclimb around the rim and take out any guards without raising the alarm. You… uh…”

“Oh, I’m coming with you, babes.” Said the Golden Goose. “I am not your taxi service. We bust the Bad Doctor together.”

Madame Razor spent about a picosecond trying to be polite.

“Goose, if I wait for you to haul your lard ass and heels down the Gash we’re going to be here all night.”

The Golden Goose’s eyes flashed with defiance.

“That’s why you’re carrying me all the way, Raze.”

Madame Razor snorted a laugh and abruptly swallowed it with a choking cough as The Golden Goose began to peel her overloaded thong down her meaty thighs with a voluptuous wiggle of her hips.

“What… what are you…” blurted the villainess.

“My knickers are coming off tonight one way or another, babes. This way you can get to Spendlove through the front door. I’ll do the talking. You tie me up.”

The Golden Goose lifted her leg behind her, the sparkly thong dangling from one stiletto heel. With a winsome glance over her shoulder, she crossed her wrists expectantly above her bulbous rear end.

Madame Razor struggled with her survival instinct for a moment, but the blonde’s fluttering eyelashes and exaggerated pout released something hot and wet within her loins. With an incoherent grumble she whipped the gold undergarment off the Golden Goose’s heel and knotted it as tightly as she could around the vigilante’s delicate wrists. The heroine squeaked with excitement as the lanky villainess threw her over one shoulder with the ease of lifting a sack of flour.

Madame Razor’s gauntleted finger’s kept a tight grip on the Golden Goose’s russet thunder thighs and began to pick her way down the side of Muirhead’s Gash. The soft, enveloping flesh of the rotund heroine’s belly and hips was deliciously warm on her neck and shoulder.

The Blonde wriggled and squirmed, testing the strength of her bonds and gasping for air as the villainess’ muscular shoulder bounced her with every heavy step. The crimson-clad thief became increasingly conscious of the musky scent wafting from the heroine’s glistening, inflamed vulva. She jogged the heroine who responded with a wheezing gasp.

“God damn it Goose, what are you now, three hundred pounds?” growled Madame Razor.

“I wish, babes”, sighed the Golden Goose wistfully. “Doctor Cruise says I’ll get a bonus when I make it to 25 Stone.”

“Let me guess”, said Madame Razor “He’ll get all his guys running a train on you. Again.”

“He knows what I like.” Sniffed the Golden Goose. “And after our little party in the showers I reckon you could lose some of the judgement.”

There was a silence as Madame Razor shifted the hefty heroine to a more comfortable position on her shoulder.

“Tanya caught me up with the Grind Staff Whatsapps while we were back at base.” Said the Golden Goose. “They say you were there to take revenge on our boss. Ms Roth. Or something?”

“Oh. Oh. Yeah, Roth. We… uh… we have. A history.” said Madame Razor, momentarily off guard.

“I bet you do.” Said the Golden Goose. “I bet you caught her right off guard.”

“I guess…” said Madame Razor.

“She was coming back from a workout and she was just in her tight little hotpants and that sports bra she wears to the gym.” Said the blonde dreamily. “And bobby socks.”

“Well that’s not exactly how…” mumbled Madame Razor.

“And she tried to wrestle with you.” Breathed the Golden Goose. “And you had to hold her down while… while she struggled on top of the desk. She tried to get her legs underneath you but you… you held them apart and she was moaning and…”

Approaching the rocky floor of Muirhead’s Gash, Madame Razor was starting to feel light-headed. The soft coos and gyrations of the Golden Goose on her shoulder and the constant pungent smell of the heroine’s increasingly moist snatch just inches from her nose finally became overwhelming and the villainess took a false step.

With a squeal the Golden Goose felt her world give way as Madame Razor rolled down the slope cursing and clattering. Fortunately, she landed soft, face-first in a heap of old car seats and with her arms still securely bound with her own thong.

The crimson villainess dusted herself off, carefully tugged up the shallow waistband of her spandex leggings to ensure it still concealed the very base of her bare mons, and looked around at the dim twilight of the pit. A glow of life could be seen behind the blinds and net curtains of the smuggler’s shanties, but no life had yet stirred.

“Goose.” She hissed up at the Golden Goose as the heroine struggled to haul herself upright.

The Blonde thrust her wobbling orange rear up toward Madame Razor, her slick, puffy labial lips gaping for attention. A droplet of hot feminine juice slid down the pink pulsating edge of the heroine’s love tunnel.

“Oh, help me out here, Raze, you got me so hot and bothered on the way down...”

“You’re… you’re just horny, damn it. Get up.”

“Please babes, after all the EGGS and the BREEDING I’m feeling SO lonely and abandoned, you know you want to. Eat me. EAT. ME.”

Madame Razor, her steaming blush of desire concealed behind the glossy red visor of her helmet, practically fell forward, gobbling up the Golden Goose’s drooling snatch. The Heroine whooped as she felt the hot, slick tongue of the villainess searching her inner walls, licking and gorging on all the wet desire of the past few hours and planting deliriously sweet kisses on her spasming vaginal opening. Grinding her hefty, lactating tits into the car seats beneath, the Golden Goose bent herself double and thrust her throbbing clit as far back as she could. Madame Razor latched on and worked the pink nub playfully with her lips and tongue.

Shrieking and moaning, for the next ten minutes the heroine gushed orgasm after musky orgasm onto the heap of foam beneath them. After each sweaty, shuddering climax Madame Razor would nip harder on the Golden Goose’s Clit or inner labia or thrust her tongue deeper into her vagina to immediately jump-start her libido again. The blonde was in a daze, her tongue lolling out and only the whites of her eyes showing as the she blindly thrust her hips back to receive more pleasure.

Madame Razor for her part had soaked through her spandex leggings and had crammed her hand down into the low-cut crotch. She was desperately tweaking her own clit into a frenzy, her moans adding further vibration and agitation to the Golden Goose’s richly plundered cunt. With every climax of her own she grabbed a soft handful of the blonde’s tawny love handles and squeezed like grim death.

With a final groan and squirt of pleasure, The Golden Goose collapsed, entirely spent, in a quivering heap. The costumed lovers gradually became aware that hundreds of eyes were on them.

From the windows and roofs of the shanties, grey-haired truckers and tattoed mariners peeked out at the half-naked heroine and her sinewy lover. Grinning they came, reeking of cannabis and cheap vodka.

As Madame Razor spotted them, the human flotsam of Muirhead’s Gash shover their smartphones back into their stained trouser pockets, videos already uploaded to the cloud for future perusal and dissemination. The Golden Goose gasped as she recognised several tall, steroidally-muscular Relentless Boys in the leering crowd.

“Well, boys.” Said Madame Razor, arching one slinky leg and licking her red lips with satisfaction. “You got the free show, but I’m afraid dinner was all mine.”

“Er… we don’t want trouble, Madame Razor.” gurgled the hunched form of Misdiagnosis Phil, leaning on a stubby cane and peering from beneath the ragged tarpaulin he had wrapped around his permanently broken body since his last brutal encounter with the powerhouse villainess.*** “The Bad Doctor just wants the Golden Goose back. She’s missed a whole breeding cycle and we’re really behind schedule.”

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty head about it”, smirked Madame Razor. “Why do you thought I brought her back here? I wanted to see my favourite little shortstack get knocked up live by a whole pack of Growlers like the slut she is. You can take her in, fellas, but the Doctor and I need a chat about his OpSec.”

The Golden Goose shivered with helpless agitation as the Relentless Boys closed in.

“Raze… I don’t believe this! BETRAYING me like this to the BAD DOCTOR…”

“Oh, don’t sound so surprised, Goose.” Shrugged Madame Razor with a broad grin of Schadenfreude as she watched the heroine struggle fruitlessly between two of Spendlove’s vascular minions. “Fellas, I got this featherbrained hoochie mama to drive us here! you should have seen the look on her face when I tied her up with her own panties!

Raspy laugher from a hundred throats bounced off the walls of Muirhead’s Gash. Even Misdiagnosis Phil retched out a guffaw. The Golden Goose’s cheeks burned with humiliation as she strained pathetically against the tiny spaghetti straps of her thong where they bound her fast.

As the laughter died down the Golden Goose raised abashed blue eyes to look at the thick, throbbing bulges which tented the trousers of her Relentless Boys captors.

“At least… at least let me finish off the lads down here, Madame Razor”, she whimpered. “We’ve got them all excited… they at least deserve… OW!”

Madame Razor swatted the Golden Goose’s bulging backside, forcing her into a trot toward the cleft where the old Dolphinarium had been buried.

“You’ll get a nice bellyful of cum when you’re done being a brood mare for Doctor Spendlove”, purred Madame Razor into the blonde’s ear. “Don’t worry Goose, should only be about another fifteen years.”

“She’s right.” Choked out Misdiagnosis Phil, wagging a dislocated finger at the crusty denizens of the Gash. “Remember what the Bad Doctor says about blowing your load.”

“Purity of essence… natural bodily fluids… every sperm is sacred… yeah… yeah…” grumbled the smugglers as they slouched back to their static caravans for another night of chain-smoking spliffs and ennui.

***

The jackhammer rattle of automatic gunfire shook through the Runs. Mortar cracked and crumbled as sharp volleys from HK416 assault rifles cut deep into the aged brickwork.

Danderville Oil Group Security (known to Gruntham residents as the DOGS) worked like Trojans, blasting every writhing, scrabbling Growler they could spot in the murky tunnels. The mercenary fireteam methodically shot up the Runs corner by corner, grate by grate, exterminating the tentacled horrors with cold determination.

“Hell and tarnation, fellas!” whooped Tex Danderville, his usual white suit switched out for even more heavily-rhinestoned tan leathers. “These are the ugliest damn critters I’ve ever seen!”

Twin diamond-encrusted revolvers thundered in his ham fists, sending a hail of lead into the pulsing heap of eggs clustered at the dead end of the sewer.

A foetid gruel of shredded Growler tissue and fluid oozed down the central channel like undercooked Irish stew. The DOGS, all hardened veterans from a dozen armies, nonetheless recoiled at the spatter of ichor with every fresh kill. Bound by their exploitatively broad terms of employment, they pressed on into the dark.

“That’s a cistern, boys.” Shouted True Blue at Volpino and Ridgeback.

The two mercenaries closed in on what appeared to be another dead end. The sheer drop into a soup of human waste and growler tissue was hidden in shadow.

“BOYS. That’s a CISTERN. I SAID WATCH YOUR BLOODY FEET!”

Snatching one of Tex’s jewelled pistols, True Blue fired a tight grouping of shots between the two DOGS and into the stagnant water of the cistern. With an agonised screech, a large, mature Growler flailed its tentacles. In its death throes, it made one final lurch out of the water, stretching for the human heat sources before it.

Volpino and Ridgeback recoiled in disgust from the gouting, writhing mass and curtailed its final moments on full auto.

“Damn, girl.” Said Tex admiringly, when their ears stopped ringing. “So you know the whole network down here, huh?”

“After the last few weeks? Intimately, Mr. Danderville.” Said True Blue, suppressing a shudder.

“And you and that Golden Goose chick were popping out those critter’s eggs the whole time?”

True Blue’s opera-gloved hand rubbed tenderly over the fresh stretch marks which traced her abdomen.

“It’s so terribly embarrassing.” she sighed, “we were defiled… and seeded… over and over again, by those filthy animals… and all I can think about is how much I want them inside me again.”

“Oh, you rest easy, sweetheart. Many’s the time I’ve dropped ten bucks to watch the same thing at the Lee County Fair.”

“But then I suppose it was worth it…” she sighed, “for the sake of protecting the town.”

Tex briefly considered challenging her on this framing of events, but contented himself with watching the mature heroine thoughtfully caress her motherly curves.

“I gotta say, True Blue, you are a hell of a woman.” Said Tex, “I’ve lived a bad life in a lot of ways. But damned if I could gun down my own kids fresh out of the oven.”

“Tex. Darling.” Said True Blue, with a condescending raise of her eyebrows. “To hear you talk, I would believe you were never a landlord.”

Part four: death grip

The Golden Goose once again endured the jeers of the Relentless Boys as she was herded like a prize heifer through the gullies of Muirhead’s Gash. The dim tunnel smelled powerfully of masculine hormones and Lynx. Madame Razor stalked behind her, laughing and jabbing a humiliating finger deep into the Golden Goose’s soft thighs or buttocks whenever the heroine stumbled in her glittering six-inch heels. Her squeals of protest only prompted another wave of taunting mirth from her captors.

Soon, the spray-tanned vigilante saw a familiar blue glow in the tunnel up ahead and felt her anxiety build. The rough walls, compacted gravel and cement cracked open by repeated landslides, led to the atrium of an old concrete building, buried underground and forming a natural cavern.

The light was stronger now, and peeling aquatic murals on the walls of the could be dimly seen. Rocco the rapey dolphin, painted in lifelike detail and fully tumescent, jumped out of crystal-clear water in an idyllic antediluvian seascape. Rainbows stretched from ocean to sky, crabs and starfish smiled up from the sandy seabed, and Noah’s Ark was under construction on the painted shoreline. A tarnished brass plaque set deep into the wall read:

THIS FACILITY FUNDED BY

THE ROMAN CATHOLIC DIOCESE OF SNARKSBURY

“Blue was right…” breathed the Golden Goose. “They really built the whole thing.”

The giant central dolphin tank was a true feat of engineering, looming over the old viewing concourse. Its thick walls and cast concrete supports had withstood the pressure of being buried and forgotten for thirty years.

It was the tank’s contents that confirmed the Golden Goose had returned to Spendlove’s lair. Floating in the tank, its cartilaginous flesh death pale, was the giant Growler whose seed had first impregnated the heroine. The water was clearer now, and the creature’s tentacles swirled and undulated aimlessly.

After days of extremely close encounters with hundreds of Growlers, the listlessness of their primogenitor made the blonde uneasy.

“Oi. Ben”, said the Golden Goose to Terminal Ben, who was injecting himself with something in the shadows of a concrete pillar. “Has it always been like that? Just… floating around?”

“We’re not supposed to talk to you, Golden Goose.” Muttered Ben, his neck veins popping with tension as the contents of the syringe kicked in. “The Doctor says you’ll just get inside our heads.”

“Mate, you don’t even have any allergies. Just tell me about the big boy in the tank.” Said the Golden Goose irritably. “It just doesn’t look… EEEEK!”

The heroine leaped off her feet, her mouth dropping open in shock, as Madame Razor pinched her bottom sharply.

“Now hush, Goose”, said the helmeted villainess with a mocking smile. “Don’t embarrass yourself by trying to be smart. Just be the chubby little airhead you are.”

The Golden Goose opened her pink glossy lips to answer, and felt the eager eyes of a dozen tall, muscular gangsters on her. Blushing and speechless, she looked up at Madame Razor’s perfect white tombstone teeth, then lowered her gaze to the villainess’ flat, toned stomach and pristine pubic mound. The thrill of submission smouldered in her crotch.

“Yes, Madame Razor.” She sighed, batting her eyes and looking around anxiously at the hooting Relentless Boys as they grinned and nudged each other with laddish enthusiasm.

“Oh Doctor Spendlove!” called the crimson villainess. “I found a little lost goose of yours and I brought her back for you!”

Gruff, indistinct ranting could be heard from somewhere in the heights above the tank. With heavy, clanking steps on a perforated steel spiral staircase, the Bad Doctor descended from on high.

“YOU!” he fulminated, his bloodshot eyes fixing on Madame Razor. “How DARE you show your face in MY surgery?”

“Relax, Doc.” Smirked Madame Razor. “I’ve been keeping track of your heroine breeding project in the Daily Grind.”

“You read the Grind, Raze?” gasped the Golden Goose.

“Absolutely.” Said Madame Razor. “It’s only fifty-five pence from all reputable newsagents in Sleetside, after all. There’s no better way to keep up with local news.”

“That’s bloody good value”, whispered Terminal Ben thoughtfully.

“It’s less than two Freddos is what it is.”, said the Golden Goose. “And they just launched a new community diary supplement where you can post your own public events and get bookings well in advance.”

“We should try that for the next beer festival.” muttered Scrumpy Jeff to Homebrew Rob.

“You absolutely should, and there’s a discount for annual renewals.” Said Madame Razor. “Anyway, Doc, I found the Golden Goose escaping from a storm drain down by the river and figured you’d probably want her back. But I missed the best part, Doc. I want to see you pump her guts full of eggs. I want to see you stretch out that slutty pussy of hers until she pops. I want in.”

“Oh, do you?” sneered Spendlove, cocking a haughty eyebrow. “Well, you found my lair and breached my security again, Madame. Perhaps we can come to an… agreement if you… ah… step into my office.”

A ripple of muffled laughter rolled over the Relentless Boys as Doctor Spendlove theatrically beckoned the muscular villainess up the spiral staircase to the chamber above the Growler tank.

“Babes, don’t do it!” blurted the Golden Goose. “It’s a trap!”

Madame Razor slipped her hand into the waistband of her low-cut red spandex leggings and delved deep into the wet crevice of her snatch.

“Hush.” She said in a low, soothing voice. “The grown-ups are talking.”

Withdrawing her fingers, she popped a glistening thumb into the Golden Goose’s mouth. The blonde squeaked in surprise, but as the tang of Madame Razor’s vaginal juice hit the back of her throat, her eyelids fluttered and she began to suckle the villainess’ digit. The wolf-whistles of the Relentless Boys rose as Madame Razor mounted the stairs, with the plump heroine trotting after her and lapping enthusiastically at her sticky fingers.

As the doctor, the villainess and the heroine climbed up past the pale, drooping tentacles of the giant growler, the lumpen beast barely stirred. Despite the rising noise, it merely undulated sleepily. The Golden Goose, her unconscious mind busy savouring the musky taste of Madame Razor, tried again to puzzle out just why – apart from its obvious hideousness – the overgrown creature bothered her so much.

The doctor’s lair combined the horrendous smells of brine, expired dairy products and one unhygienic man. A concrete shelf, once an elaborate viewing platform, surrounded the articulated iris cover of the dolphin tank. Scientific equipment of the Sherlock Holmes home chemistry set variety steamed and bubbled against the back walls, lit with UV lamps. A filthy coffee machine surrounded by unwashed mugs could be seen next to a disordered camp bed in one corner. Half-smoked joints were stubbed out in an overflowing ashtray. The doctor opened a large domestic fridge filled with glass sample bottles and withdrew a handful of vials from the door.

“I should thank you for returning the Goose to me.” said the Bad Doctor, an unsettling irony in his voice. “Bottling and selling her produce on Tor has significantly improved my cashflow. I’ve already ordered an industrial milker from the U.S. specifically designed for heroines. Would you like some?”

“I drink my coffee black, thanks.” Said Madame Razor. “I have to say, Doc, I’m impressed. This is high-end supervillain shit. Most of my contacts stateside would have needed ten times your budget to run this op.”

“Thank you.” Preened Spendlove, picking over a table of medical instruments and making some adjustments.

“See, that’s what I like about this country.” Said Madame Razor, watching the Golden Goose run a pink tongue tentatively over the spring-loaded blades on the back of her crimson gauntlet. “You blow millions on warships that don’t float and bullet trains to nowhere, and then on the weekend some asshole figures out cold fusion in his back yard.”

The Golden Goose shrugged, carefully keeping the Bad Doctor in her sightline. The motion sent a bounce through her plush breasts, and dark wet spots began to appear where the gold lame fabric of her bra covered her ripe nipples.

“One thing I don’t get, though.” Said the villainess, intently watching the milk-stains spread. “You enslave the local masks, you hatch an army of hentai monsters all over the city… what’s the endgame, here, Doc? What next?”

“I don’t think I understand the question.” Said the Bad Doctor.

“Oh.” Said Madame Razor with a hint of regret. “You’re one of those villains.”

“I could have told you that, babes.” Said the Golden Goose, licking the last of the villainess’ residue off her pink glossy lips.

“But you’re certainly welcome to join my enterprise for the next round of experiments…” said Spendlove, cocking his dart gun. “AS MY LATEST BROOD MARE!”

With an insane cackle, the Bad Doctor opened up with a volley of darts into Madame Razor’s exposed midriff and upper arms.

There was a pause as the villainess plucked out the darts and tossed them aside.

“Oh. Oh shit.” Stammered Spendlove, checking the labels on his darts.

“Nobody tranqs Madame Razor, Doc.” Grinned the crimson powerhouse. “Not since that Wintour bitch at the ’16 Met Gala. I’m riding on twenty tabs of the Goose’s Nullatonin supplements right now.”

“Twenty?” exclaimed the Golden Goose. “You’re going to be absolutely buzzing. You won’t sleep for days.”

“It’s fine.” Said Madame Razor. “I normally power through until Friday night anyway.”

The Golden Goose clucked in disapproval.

“That’s really not healthy, Raze. Word to the wise.”

“So now I’m taking health advice from the town cum dumpster.”

“Oh, I don’t know, you’re taking her fucking meds.”, said the Golden Goose, tartly.

“Banter? CONCORD?” Roared the Bad Doctor. He grabbed at a Tannoy microphone on his desk. The walls shook with his amplified voice. “RELENTLESS BOYS, TO ARMS!” he screeched. “IT’S A RUSE! SEIZE THEM!”

Madame Razor flicked out her talons and cut through the knotted thong binding the Golden Goose’s arms. The Relentless Boys clattered up the stairs to the Doctor’s lair as Spendlove fled into a back room.

First up the stairs, Rude Ernie was knocked sprawling by a spinning kick from Madame Razor. She then slashed Basildon Daz’s face open with a clean stroke and slammed her knee into Hobnob’s head as he stumbled over Ernie. Within a matter of seconds, a growing pile of Relentless Boys blocked the gantry to the Doctor’s office and blood washed over the iris of the dolphin tank.

Then, the staircase screeching under his weight, Terminal Ben charged through, kicking his comrades’ bodies aside and bearing Madame Razor to the floor in a rugby tackle. The villainess spat and slashed at the steroidal henchman, squirming out of his grasp and retreating to the far wall.

The remaining mass of the Doctor’s minions surged into the office after Ben. Stepping out in front of the crowd, the Golden Goose’s lips trembled, she teasingly traced her fingers over her swelling curves, and desire beaded on her pink cunt lips and blonde pubic bush.

“Lads, I haven’t had a real cock for so long… just those… rank tentacles… and I know the Doctor’s been keeping you all pent up and frustrated. How long has it been since you rubbed one out? Four days? Five?”

“I lost track, Goose.” Said Leave It Out Kevin, muscles trembling and visibly sweating through his tight tank top. “Feels like forever.”

The Relentless boys crowded behind him nodded desperately. Every man’s cock surged and strained in the tight denim prison of their jeans.

“Oh you poor things… I want it all, babes,” said the Golden Goose, tracing a pink fingernail across Kevin’s collarbone. “Please fill me up.” She begged, pressing her soft, aching breasts to his chest, and tilting her head back to receive a kiss.

“Fuck… fucking hell.” Groaned Kevin, giving in and snogging the Golden Goose with feverish passion.

The Golden Goose writhed and rubbed her tits and belly against him as Kevin sank his fingers into her fleshy waist. Her lips and tongue eagerly explored his. With expert technique she unzipped his fly, fished out his cock and began to pump it into a raging erection. With her free hand, she gently tugged one of her puffy, leaking breasts out of its golden cup.

“Oh please, Kevin… don’t squeeze me too hard”. She panted. “My boobs are still so full… so sore… I’m leaking all the time now…”

“I can help you there, Goose.” volunteered Purple Shane, grabbing at her heavy tit like a bag of candyfloss at the fair. Kneeling down, he pressed his lips to the swollen teat and began to gulp down the heroine’s milk, kneading her mammary flesh to accelerate the flow. The Golden Goose’s coos were swallowed as Kevin kissed her again.

The remaining Relentless Boys crowded in around the Golden Goose and she was soon her favourite position, bent over, rump in the air and penetrated on all sides by drug dealers. Hands and mouth occupied with turgid, throbbing cocks, she allowed herself to be taken from behind, two more hard penises jostling for attention inside her dripping and swollen cunt. She rolled her hips in double-time to keep up with the competing thrusts of Mike the Mask and Skunk Lee, who grunted and moaned as their spurting semen and the heroine’s sloppy juices mingled together in the melting-pot of her snatch.

Meanwhile, Madame Razor ducked and weaved as Terminal Ben swung rock-solid fists and steel toe-capped boots at her with increasing desperation. Like a bullfighter, she cut and sliced at the musclebound henchman, wearing him down as he struggled to connect. Ben staggered and lurched, just barely keeping upright, until with a final flying kick Madame Razor dropped him, with a crash, at the feet of the freshly re-appeared Bad Doctor.

“I was going to make an obvious crack about monkeys and organ grinders.” Said Madame Razor with a sweaty grimace. “But it feels a little on the nose for your buddy here.”

Terminal Ben twitched at Spendlove’s feet, His arms and torso an abattoir of bleeding lesions. The Bad Doctor stared down at him with mingled hatred and disappointment.

“Again you fail me, Benjamin.” He sighed. “The next round of modifications will not be so gentle. One day… one of these days I will make a man of you.”

“I’m sorry, doctor…” wheezed Ben, who was 37.

The Bad Doctor lunged repeatedly at Madame Razor with a giant syringe almost five feet long. The device was so heavy it was slung from a leather strap over his shoulder. The villainess easily sidestepped the clumsy blows, toying with her opponent as she backed over the iris cover of the tank.

By the time the Golden Goose spotted the Doctor’s plan, it was too late.

“Raze!”, she blurted, spitting out Kevin’s cock. “Watch out!”

Like quicksilver, the leering physician plunged a hand into his black leather jacket to hit a remote control.

With a mechanical lurch, the iris sprang open and Madame Razor was pitched into the dolphin tank, sending up a salty plume of spray.

Doctor Spendlove raised his syringe in triumph as Madame Razor thrashed and splashed in the stagnant water and pale tentacles began to reach up toward her. With a scream, the villainess was dragged kicking into the depths by a flabby, anemic tendril.

“So that’s how you got the eggs, you prick!” yelled the Golden Goose. “Sucking them out of that poor thing’s gonads!”

“Not exactly brain surgery, Golden Goose”, leered the Bad Doctor, “But yes – growth hormones and carefully chilled needles have enabled me to harvest all the eggs I could possibly need from this disgusting thing. I’d planned to keep seeding you myself, but the breeding cycle that you and True Blue bootstrapped was an unexpectedly productive bonus.”

“They’re supposed to breed and die.” Said the Golden Goose. “But you’ve been edging this one for months to keep it growing. Just like you edge the Relentless Boys.”

“That’s despicable.” Said Purple Shane, tearing his mouth from the blonde’s gushing nipple.

“It’s heinous…” said Kevin, now masturbating his own shaft in a desperate attempt to climax before the Golden Goose moved on.

“And now your skinny friend will be forced to take the nut of the most unsatisfied creature THE BOROUGH HAS EVER SEEN!” cackled the Bad Doctor.

“Not on my watch!” Said the Golden Goose. Rolling out of the tangle of horny, straining relentless boys like shedding a snakeskin, the nearly-naked heroine kicked off her high heels and sprinted on bare feet for the dolphin tank.

The blonde’s thunder thighs jiggled dramatically as she launched herself into a perfect dive from the concrete lip of the viewing deck, flipping Spendlove the middle finger just before she hit the water.

The splash threw a plume of water almost six feet into the air and the horny relentless boys reluctantly zipped up and staggered downstairs to watch the show as the former River Sleet wild swimming champion prepared to match strokes with the Ultimate Growler.

Said Ultimate Growler was now a surging, squirming morass of tentacles around the frantic struggles of Madame Razor. Its pale, understimulated flesh fluctuated from fish-white to bruise-purple and back again as it tried to absorb the villainess’ body heat. Its floppy tentacles, their sheer number and weight compensating for their feeble grip strength, held the crimson-clad master thief underwater even as she hacked blindly with her talons at the few groping digits she could still resist.

Weightless in the water, the Golden Goose was as agile as a seal as she kicked her way from one end of the dolphinarium to the other, rubbing her warm soft flesh against the chilly, pale cartilage of the Ultimate Growler. One by one the creature’s tentacles detached from the struggling villainess and lethargically pursued the bleach-blonde swimmer.

The Golden Goose, pushing off from the side of the tank, dived for the Ultimate Growler’s centre mass and tried to ignore the oxygen deprivation pounding in her ears. She was enfolded by limp, clinging tentacles and felt the warm sting of their secretions flood her body and ignite a new pitch of lust in her pink, swollen vulva as the creature bore down on her, its stringy tendrils gently winding around her limbs and holding her trembling and kicking beneath its flabby bulk.

Bubbles sprayed from Madame Razor’s nose and mouth as she desperately wriggled free and thrashed to the surface of the tank. Breaking the surface as the brown-out clouds gathered around her vision, she gulped down a ragged breath and floated for a moment on the surface of the pool, her tight chest heaving in her red-kevlar sports bra.

“GLUTEN!” shrieked the Bad Doctor, firing allergen darts into Madame Razor’s exposed skin. “SHELLFISH!”

“I don’t… have any allergies either… you weird little man…” huffed Madame Razor, jerkily swimming to the side of the tank and belly-flopping over the lip like a half-drowned rat and coughing up about a pint of stale brine.

A mass of colour-shifting tentacles boiled up out of the water, spattering salty spray everywhere, waving and threshing with overstimulated glee. The Golden Goose was bound tight in its centre, her limbs hog-tied and thick pallid tubes of flesh plugging and pulsing in her vagina and anus. Wordlessly she gulped down a mouthful of air before the Ultimate Growler dived back into the water with the most vigour it had ever displayed or experienced in its life.

Madame Razor sprang to her feet, seized the Bad Doctor by the throat and mashed his face up against the red visor of her helmet.

“Here’s how this is gonna go, you little shit.” She rasped. “You’re gonna show me where you keep the sledgehammers and then you’re gonna run. And you’re gonna keep running! Because when I catch you, I will dislocate all your joints and you will never doctor in this town again. Are we good?”

“Er… yes, Madame.” Croaked Spendlove.

The Golden Goose, writhing at the freezing-cold bottom of the dolphinarium, was getting the reaming of her life. The Ultimate Growler completely enveloped her, its tentacles pumping in and out of her snatch, anus and mouth with jerky, uncontrolled vigour as she tried desperately to hold her breath and ignore the closing darkness of suffocation. Her quivering bronze flesh bulged out between the ropes of tentacles tightening around her soft arms, thighs and abdomen. With its body fuelled by natural heat for the first time ever, the Prime Growler had no instinct but to squeeze its prey like a living fleshlight.

The Golden Goose focused on home as the drums of her failing heartbeat started to pound in her head. A thousand memories of thrilling encounters on damp, filthy mattresses down at the docks. The taste of a cold lager after a hot night on her knees gulping down criminal semen. The sharp crack of Karen Roth’s palm on her quaking buttocks and the hot surge of humiliation which burned in her snatch as her co-workers watched, mortified. All of these merged together in the thrusting, salty orgy that occupied her conscious and subconscious mind every minute of the day.

The drumbeat got louder and the world got darker as the Golden Goose felt nothing but the surging, expanding fleshy rods of the Ultimate Growler stretching her inside and out. She could feel it was close to climax. Close, but too far. Too far…

There was a single loud “pop” somewhere in the water of the tank, and something around her shifted. From feeling weightless and out-of-body, suddenly gravity returned and the flaccid, writhing mass of tentacles that enfolded her began to press down with new force. The heroine’s lungs took over. She breathed. Instead of cold water and death, she took in damp, musty air. Sensations began to return to her body as her muscles jerked and tensed and the pins and needles disappeared. The throbbing sensation of the piledrivers blasting away in her vulva gradually massaged life back into her whole body.

The surging, slithering pile of tentacles lay on top of the Golden Goose in a heap. The heroine wheezed and coughed up saltwater with every jerky, autonomic thrust of the Ultimate Growler’s clammy digits into her exhausted cunt. Enormous chunks of crystal-clear glass littered the floor along with the ankle-high pool of stagnant brine. Madame Razor dropped the sledgehammer with a clang and splashed over to the blonde. She flicked a long carving blade out of her gauntlet and prepared to flense.

“Goose, hold still and I’ll get you out of there.”

“Wait, Raze…” croaked the Golden Goose. “Let him… let him finish.”

Slowly, with a deep, irregular purr which bubbled and frothed in the shallow pool of water which dripped off it, the Ultimate Growler built to a thrashing, squirting climax. The Golden Goose, feeling the bulge of eggs finally swelling at the hot gates of her vagina, began to pant and gasp herself. Her blue, bloodshot eyes went wide as the prolonged climax approached.

“OOOH… oooh RAZE… He’s so EXCITED… you should… you should get IN ON THIS BABES…” the heroine moaned.

“God damn it, Goose.” Muttered Madame Razor in a trembling voice, “I used to have standards…”

The villainess, sheathing her claws, once again rubbed a hand down her smooth, bare pubic mound and slipped her fingers between her tight labia as she watched the rotund blonde get utterly wrecked by the polypus monstrosity.

With her orange flesh jiggling and quivering in time with the beast’s ever-quickening thrusts, The Golden Goose’s moans became longer and more desperate. Madame Razor’s lithe wrist sped up, pleasuring herself with her mighty legs splayed wide as she bent down to look the heroine straight in the eye. The Golden Goose’s cheeks were streaked with running mascara behind her indescribably soiled gold mask.

“You… uuuh… you…” Madame Razor said huskily into the slime-covered heroine’s face, “Have got to be the skankiest bitch I have ever worked with. God! You watch me get thrown to this thing and your… ooooh yes… you dive in to take my spot?”

“Someone… UUUUH…. Someone had to… OOOOH! OOOOH! Had to protect that gold STAR of yours Raze!”

Her lips quivering with arousal, Madame Razor kissed the Golden Goose deeply on her collagen-swollen lips. There was an indescribably vile gargling sound from the Ultimate Growler and a long moan from the blonde heroine and her villainous ally as all three of them came simultaneously.

Madame Razor splashed onto her knees with the wet, hot intensity of her climax, her whole body and back tensed as she kept her eyes on the helplessly squirming Golden Goose. The heroine writhed in her slimy captor’s grip, but screamed with delight when she felt the enormous surge of warm, fecund sludge pump into her womb. Her belly swelled up to capacity like a water balloon, and the remainder of the purple gunk sprayed out onto the briny floor.

The Ultimate Growler went completely limp, shrivelling and twitching on the concrete and glass wreckage as all of its energy was expended. Its first and last orgasm pooled around the gravid, quivering and utterly spent Golden Goose. Its pale, superannuated flesh puckered and sagged, and within moments the whole mass of tendrils was translucent and petrified, like an enormous pile of shed snakeskin.

The Golden Goose brought her grimy fingers to her lips and blew a final kiss to what was left of the Ultimate Growler. The ossified remains of the creature crumbled away at the touch of her breath.

“Well I hope you’re proud of yourself.” Groaned Madame Razor. “You’re going to have to pop out all those eggs yet again…”

Shivering like a beached whale on the shore, The Golden Goose gently rubbed and caressed her hugely bloated stomach as she cooed soothingly to the growing spawn within her.

“I couldn’t be prouder, Raze…” sighed the blonde. “I… I think I’m in love…”

Epilogue One: Regeneration

Horizontal drizzle blew in cold off the Sleet Estuary, and the Emeric Spendlove M.D. pulled his hood tighter around his reddening ears.

“Next time, Philip… NEXT TIME!” He grumbled, splashing through the standing water which filled Snipe Alley. “The Golden Goose will suffer and Gruntham WILL be mine!”

Misdiagnosis Phil hobbled after him, his tarpaulin dripping wet and his crutches

“Doctor… the lads aren’t answering my texts!” He complained. “We’ve been locked out of all the safehouses left since you made Viz the Wiz eat cheese the other day and his spleen exploded!”

His sunglasses too fogged up to see through, the Bad Doctor turned baleful eyes on his minion and seized him by the throat.

“Are you blaming ME for that FOOL’s lactose intolerance, PHILIP? Perhaps YOU know better than GOD, DARWIN and THE GREATEST PHYSICIAN SINCE ROBERT LISTON!”

“Doctor… look out!” wheezed Phil. Spendlove looked round, white with rage, as a Black Jeep Gladiator screeched to a halt at the far end of Snipe Lane.

Blocking his escape.

Spendlove snatched Misdiagnosis Phil’s crutch, kicking his underling out of the way, and fled back the way he had come.

A second Jeep blocked the route. The walls seemed to close in on the Bad Doctor, and he started to hyperventilate, sinking to his knees and feeling the ice-cold water soak into his jeans.

The door to the first jeep popped open, revealing a warm, dry interior. All that could be seen of the passenger was an elegant, pale foot in a midnight-blue 3-inch slingback heel.

“Doctor Spendlove?” said a refined voice from within the Jeep. “I was hoping we could have a little chat.”

The Bad Doctor hesitantly approached the massive black truck, pausing only to hit Misdiagnosis Phil as hard as he could with his own crutch. As the Relentless Boy howled, Spendlove looked up into the sardonic brown eyes of the Mayor, lounging in the back of the Gladiator, apparently sipping a gin and tonic at ten in the morning.

“Ah. Councillor Muirhead.” He said, his eye twitching violently as he struggled to contain years of complicated feelings toward authority figures. “What… what could you possibly want with… with a simple unemployed, betrayed, traduced medical professional such as myself?”

Lola Muirhead shrugged and motioned for him to climb in and sit down. The Bad Doctor clambered up into the Gladiator and slumped into a passenger seat facing the mayor. In addition to her heels and silky stockings, the brunette politician wore a thick rope of pearls around her neck. She had wore a blue bodycon dress with a skirt so short she kept her knees clamped tight together through their interview. The skintight fabric hugged her generous figure, squeezing her breasts up and her middle down into a soft hourglass shape. Spendlove stared at her plush curves with a butcher’s eye. She had put on a… significant… amount of weight since he had last seen her photo in the newspaper.

Lola took another sip of the liquor in her glass, which was starting to look like it had very little if any tonic in it at all.

“Doctor Spendlove. I understand you’re quite a talented man.”

Spendlove felt as if he was about to both vomit and shit blood at this shameless understatement. Mastering himself, he only spat on the floor and screamed wordlessly at the mayor for about seven seconds.

“I wonder…” said Lola, unperturbed, “If you’re familiar with the increased funding pledged for Physician Associates on the NHS at the moment?”

Spendlove wiped his mouth and sat up straight.

“I beg your pardon, Councillor, what… what are you getting at.”

“Just that there’s no sense in a man of your talents sleeping on the streets when Gruntham has no working General Practitioner.”, said Lola.

“HAH!” barked Spendlove, “Old Bunbury at the Boarback Surgery struggling to clear the waiting list, is he? That old fool was at death’s door when I was still…”

“No, he died of Covid complications in 2021.” Interrupted Lola. “And the Boarback is currently untenanted. I can’t get you back on the medical register officially, Doctor, but there are several loyal party donors who need the kind of prescriptions that only a man of your experience and sound judgement could be expected to provide.”

“I would… I would have a practice? A real practice?”

“As real as you like.” Said Lola.

“And privacy?” said Spendlove intently. “I would require… privacy. To conduct vital research. There is … equipment I must have installed to further my experiments.”

Lola laughed musically again.

“I was rather counting on it. I wouldn’t have considered you as a candidate if the Council were unwilling to consider your… eccentricities.”

Spendlove rocked over his knees and stared at his sodden trainers, lost in thought. Then he looked directly at Lola with an animal gleam in his eye.

“WHY, Councillor? Why NOW? Why give ME unfettered access to taxpayer’s money and resources? What do YOU get from this?”

“Well, apart from the remote possibility that sick residents might be able to see an actual medical professional again… I did mention your talents. Well, I seem to have developed a couple of my own.”

Unzipping her dress, Lola shrugged the taut fabric over her shoulders to reveal her pendulous breasts quivering and unprotected without a bra. The mayor gasped as she gently lifted her tits up for The Bad Doctor’s inspection, and a trickle of milk ran down from each aching pink teat.

“I see…” grinned Spendlove, delicately probing the gaping mouth of an inflamed nipple with his finger. He was rewarded by a reflexive squirt of milk. “And you want my help to… cultivate these talents?”

Mayor Lola Muirhead moaned and squirmed in her seat, her already-short skirt riding up far enough for Spendlove to see that she hadn’t bothered with underwear. He could smell the tang of her desire and pushed his finger a little deeper into the tight, hot tunnel of her engorged nipple.

“Oh, yes, Doctor…” she said. “You… ooooh… you scratch my back… aah… and I’ll scratch yours…”

“I can see plenty of potential for scratching here…”, leered the doctor, hooking his dirty fingernails into Lola’s tender breast-flesh. The Mayor’s ecstatic moan was silenced by Molosse slamming the door and signalling the far Jeep to roll out. Engines bellowing like blast furnaces, the DOGS decamped, their recruitment mission complete.

Epilogue Two: Life finds a way

Damon Cruise PhD, a.k.a. the Good Doctor, carefully avoided putting his caramel suede loafers into the cloudy, dank puddles which had formed in the dunes on the headland beyond the grim grey piers of the Duke of York Bridge. He was already bitterly regretting wearing bespoke today, and the salt spray was going to play havoc with his afro. The sea wind was harsh this far out into the estuary, and his electric-blue Lotus Emira was too far back among the dunes for an easy retreat and a change of shirt.

The Golden Goose trotted slowly and daintily beside him in her sand wedges, her head thrown back and her bleach-blonde hair streaming out behind her and glimmering in the occasional rays of sun. The masked vigilante’s skin glowed with a freshly applied layer of Miami Mandarin self-tan, and she had draped a gold lamé robe around her shoulders as a concession to modesty, although now it hung open to reveal the fertile bounty of her vastly expanded body.

Her belly, packed to bursting with ripe Growler eggs, bounced and shook with each step she took, and her impending labour was heralded by the constant stream of juice leaking from her gaping, puffy vulva. Her breasts, too, squirted and sloshed as they jostled together.

The heroine, breathless with the effort of bearing her precious burden to safety, could barely keep her footing and kept one golden-gloved hand clasped in the Good Doctor’s. The other stroked gentle circles over her enormously distended stomach, instinctively trying to calm the rumbling, squamous mass of tentacled embryos inside her.

“I think we’re here, Goose.”

“Oh, thank you, Doctor… put the towel down and get the lads ready, yeah?”

The Good Doctor helped the gravid, wobbling heroine to squat over the broken concrete trunking where the culvert of Gruffle Creek surged and rolled into a muddy foam beneath them. Her enormously ample bottom spread out underneath her as the Golden Goose rocked back, bracing on both hands and began to breathe rhythmically, her cellulite thighs parted for the incoming rolls of the tidal inlet.

Cruise waved up at the dunes and the minibus-load of Cruisers disembarked, hoodies pulled tight against the wind and a cloud of ganja smoke billowing from a couple of dozen shared blunts. Jostling each other for position, they formed an orderly queue behind the Golden Goose.

“Alright” said Cruise, “And you’re sure the river’s cold enough to keep the eggs from spawning? Cause we don’t need another million new growlers coming back on the morning tide.”

“Sure as I can be…” grunted the Golden Goose. “The Rat King told us… when we’d been down there the third day, I think…”

“The Rat King doesn’t lie.” Said Paranoia Kyle, at the front of the queue, his erection tenting his faded sweatpants.

“Not when it counts.” Said the Good Doctor, grimly.

The Golden Goose suddenly convulsed and squirted a clear fluid from her cunt. Her jaw dropped, pink-glossed lips trembling, as she gave a deep groan and attempted to push out an egg.

“Uuuh… Damon, please, I need you…”

“Yeah?” said Cruise, visions of the custom detailing on his cuffs flashing before his eyes.

“They don’t want to leave their mum… please help… help me squeeze them out.”

Carefully taking off his Ozwald Boateng jacket, the Good Doctor rolled up his sleeves to reveal perfectly manicured hands and lean black forearms. Crouching down beside the Golden Goose, he began gently to rub the heroine’s quivering belly. He steeled himself as he felt motion beneath her superannuated flesh.

“Now come on, Goose.” Said Cruise, waving over the greasy phalanx of his men. “You’ve had a rough old time of it, so for every egg, the lads’ll blow a load inside you, like we agreed. Kyle?”

Paranoia Kyle hurriedly fished out his pulsing cock, already dripping with precum, and hurriedly began to pump his shaft to climax.

“Oh, yes… YES DOCTOR!” whooped the Golden Goose as her whole body tensed and she pushed a single egg about the size of a ping-pong ball between her labia to plop into the salty water below.

The Good Doctor proceeded to rub, stroke and tickle the Golden Goose for two sweaty, orgasmic hours. The Golden Goose’s ever-sensitive libido, pushed to its maximum by her pregnancy hormones, completely took over and she sprawled, writhed and moaned above Gruffle Creek with every egg she pushed out of her, each with a burst of fragrant liquid pleasure.

Before long, Cruise was probing her vulva, pushing first fingers, and eventually his whole hand inside her slick vaginal passage to make more room for the eggs she expelled. Each crook of his ebony digits inside her produced another lustful cry from the heroine.

His own cock, always hard in the presence of the meaty heroine, was thick and heavy in his trousers as he watched first Paranoia Kyle, then Snorkers, then Ernie the Blunt take up their position and thrust their erect cocks down the wet and willing gullet of the Golden Goose. Desperate for at least something approximating a hot dinner, the heroine gratefully gulped down the constant stream of semen that was spaffed into her mouth.

The long ordeal came to a close, eventually. When the last egg dropped from her pink labia and was lost in the scud below, The Golden Goose fell back against the Good Doctor with a sigh, her face red and her hair matted.

“Oh, Damon…” she said softly, “I missed you down in the sewers. I missed you all. Spendlove had us drinking smoothies.”

Cruise retrieved two long Havana cigars and a butane lighter from his jacket. The Golden Goose murmured agreeably as he pushed one between her cum-glazed lips. She expertly bit the end off, and his lighter blazed in the deepening dusk.

The cruisers sidled off back to the minibus as heroine and drug lord enjoyed the world’s finest tobacco overlooking one of the world’s most disfigured coastlines.

“I was worried when you missed weighing-in. Thought you were getting tired of our little arrangement.” Said the Good Doctor.

“Damon, I would never!” said the Golden Goose, grinding her plush bottom up against him, as her belly sloshed, swollen with cum. “Plumping up for you and the boys is my top priority! And I’ll keep on all this baby weight. Promise.”

“See that you do”, grinned Cruise, squeezing the heroine’s pudgy love handles until she cood with affection.

There was a pause as the tide rolled below. They puffed out a few more wreaths of tobacco mist.

“Did you catch that bloke from Columbia in the end?” asked the Golden Goose.

“I did.” Said the Good Doctor. “No-one pushes pure coke in this town. If 40% brick dust is good enough for the old dears at Cortina Towers, it’s good enough for old man Danderville. Shame about Snorkers’ angle grinder but sometimes you have to send a message.”

“Oh.” Said the Golden Goose. “So he’s…”

“Yeah. Sent him back to Los Culebras with a polite reminder to sell through the proper channels next time. 60% of him, anyway. I sent the rest down to Tower Gateway Tariq down in the Smoke. That bloke seriously needs to get his act together. At least he owes us both a favour now.”

“And True Blue, right Doctor?”

“Hmm.” Said Cruise.

“She’s really sorry about Big Daddy Tex being, you know. In the Klan.”

“I kind of knew he was the first time I saw him, Goose. It’s fine.” Said Cruise. “On the other hand, this does kind of accelerate the need for Operation Shannon.”

“SHH! Damon!”

The Golden Goose looked frantically around the pebbly deserted beach for eavesdroppers. Only a few lairy seagulls and crabs carcasses shared the cooling evening with them.

“You really don’t want to get caught this time, do you?” said Cruise, with genuine surprise. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before.”

“Just indulge me, Damon…” pouted the Golden Goose. “And keep it all on the need-to-know, yeah?”

“Course I will, Goose.” Said the Good Doctor, gently tracing her soft chin with a long finger. “I know you’ll only indulge yourself otherwise.”

“You know it, babes”, The Golden Goose giggled, guiding his hand back down to the hot wet channel between her thighs.

Epilogue Three: Debriefing

There was a cheer from the newsroom. Tanya J. Harrow was back.

“Oh, you lucky tart”, said Val Diamond, beaming as she pulled Tanya into a tight, protective embrace. “What a fortnight to get the trots.”

“That was supposed to be private, Val.” Laughed Tanya, nervously.

“Never mind, Tanya”, said Des Hambone, slipping a hand under the curvaceous blonde’s miniskirt. “I’ll show you just what the Growlers were like.”

“Oh, Des!” gasped Tanya, adjusting her ample rear to guide him into an interesting crevice. “Tell me everything!”

The staff of the Daily Grind surged around the curvaceous prodigal journalist, hugging, kissing, and beginning the long process of catching her up on their own heroics through the Growler Crisis.

Karen Roth, Editor-in-Chief, stood behind the blinds of her office, wrestling with a tidal wave of feelings.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit, she took the job. She’s leaving us. She looks great. She’s glowing, damn it. I shouldn’t have held back her story… This is it. Here she comes. She’s quitting. This is…

Tanya knocked on the door. Karen froze, unblinking, stifling even her breath.

“Ms Roth”, said Tanya, looking directly at Karen through the glass office wall. “I… wanted to talk?”

After a long moment, Karen hesitantly opened the door and ushered Tanya inside.

Tanya took a seat at the desk, without waiting to be asked. Silently, Karen took up the editor’s chair.

Further silence ensued as the blonde, spray-tanned journalist regarded the lean, muscular redhead across three feet of oak-effect desktop.

“I’m sorry to have been away so long, Ms Roth.” Said Tanya. “I really was… quite ill.”

“God damn it, Titania, If you were sick I would have helped you!” burst out Karen. “I can’t believe you… you’re still bullshitting me about this stupid Reuters internship!”

Tanya’s mouth opened and closed in mute amazement. Karen leaped over her desk, her chair tipping onto the floor with a crash. Pinning Tanya’s arms to her sides, she buried her sharp nose and solid jaw deep in the blonde’s cleavage.

“You don’t have to leave me, Titania. Don’t do it.” Groaned Karen into Tanya’s chest. “I want you. Here. With me. Double your salary. Promise you’ll stay.”

Tanya squirmed uncomfortably, finding herself unable to rise with Karen’s vice-like grip pinning her to the chair. Worse, she could feel her breasts, still agonisingly engorged from weeks of forced pregnancy, leaking into the cotton pads in her bra. She estimated less than thirty seconds to get free before they were soaked through and she was openly lactating in front of her boss.

“Ms Roth, I… really was just sick at home… please… my boobs are still sore from the… the virus...”

Instantly she regretted it. Karen let go of her arms, and seized her sensitive tits. The editor-in-chief kneaded Tanya’s pillowy udders like a pair of watermelon-sized stress balls, ignoring her junior’s moans of dismay.

“I’ll make you feel better, Titania. My God, these puppies have gotten fat.” Breathed Karen, eyes wide with delight.

Tanya gasped and shivered as she felt damp spreading summoning the courage to drop the bomb.

“Ms Roth… Karen…” she squeaked, “I know about you and Madame Razor!”

“Madame… what?” exclaimed Karen, jerking away from Tanya and banging her head on the side of the desk.

The blonde clasped her hands protectively over her sore nipples, her chest heaving as she felt the warm sodden padding underneath her tight jumper just reach saturation point.

“I worked it out, Ms Roth. You and Madame Razor. Always in the same place at the same time. Your career in journalism, like… mirrors hers in the criminal underworld.”

“You’ll never prove anything!” shrieked Karen, horror draining all the blood from her face.

“You’re her nemesis, right?”

Karen’s shoulders slumped as she exhaled.

“Oh.” She stammered. “Oh. Titania. You… you figured it out.”

Tanya reached out for the brawny hand of her boss and held it tight.

“I understand, Karen. You find yourself thrown together with… someone. By chance. Time after time. Maybe you’re too different… maybe you’re too similar… but you can’t seem to let go of them, or ever really see eye to eye either. That kind of relationship… that intensity… I don’t think there’s anything like it.”

“You’re absolutely right”, said Karen, raising shining emerald eyes to meet Tanya’s sparkling blue.

“And then one day it all spills over. You finally get them alone. Everything comes tumbling out. She throws you over the desk and shags your brains out while you moan and beg and finally… finally let go and let yourself get absolutely wrecked.”

“Oh God.” Murmured Karen, lips trembling, feeling the heat rise in her snatch as she was again tantalised with the image of being fucked mercilessly by her own alter ego.

“Believe me, I understand.” Said Tanya. “But you know something, Karen? I’m really proud of you. The Golden Goose told me all about what happened. How you and Madame Razor put aside your differences and rescued the Specials together.”

“I just… I just wanted to help.” Said Karen. Almost as quickly as she said it, Karen realised she meant it.

“You risked a hell of a lot for the Golden Goose. And as you know… we’re very close. So you helped me too. Ta. I really mean it. Ta.”

“You’re welcome, Tanya.” Said Karen, earnestly.

The itch deep in her vulva continued to torment her. The lanky editor picked herself up, straightened out her disordered clothes, and retreated behind her desk where she settled back into her chair and endeavoured to crush the blossoming desire which had, unusually, risen up from her cunt to her heart and was now reddening her cheeks.

“Honestly, I feel bad for Madame Razor.” Said Tanya, unconsciously stroking her own tender breasts. “The Ultimate Growler had its tentacles all over her at the end.”

“She got free, though, right?”

“Right.” Said Tanya. “But the Growlers release this, like, toxin. It doesn’t hurt, it just makes you really, really horny. That’s why The Golden Goose and True Blue let themselves get shagged and knocked up over and over again. They were gagging for it.”

Karen replayed her last few sleepless nights in her mind, sweating through her sheets, rubbing her clit raw.

“I guess that, uh… that would be really tough to deal with.”

“Yeah.” Said Tanya. “She’s a trooper but that venom must be driving her bonkers. Anyway, I’ve got plenty of notes to write up. We still need to talk about the Danderville Oil story. Trenton One’s going to start fracking next week.”

Karen swallowed.

“Tanya, I thought I was clear. We need to present a balanced story and give Tex Danderville the right to reply to any accusations we print. He did his part to deal with the Growlers too. I guess he’s a Gruntham guy too now. Right?”

“Dunno. We’ll see.” Said Tanya.

She strutted to the door, swinging her round hips with characteristic confidence. At the door she turned back to look at her boss, whose cheeks still bloomed with a hint of suppressed desire.

“Ms. Roth.” She said, running her tongue over her pink lips, “I know… when you have the kind of relationship with Madame Razor… that I have with the Golden Goose….”

“It’s not the same.” Said Karen. “I hate that bitch. Hate her.”

“But you can sometimes… get the word out to her? If you need to?”

Karen blinked. Her silence invited Tanya to continue.

“The Golden Goose… told me to tell you… to tell Madame Razor… that she’ll be patrolling out by the old Calabash Barracks tonight. All alone. And she said to say… she can’t fit into any of her costumes right now… so, er, please don’t come and chase her and tease her because she’s only just got back her new butt plug and collar and handcuffs and the little nipple bells so she doesn’t want any trouble. Alright? She’ll be there from around 2230.”

“If I see Madame Razor.” Said Karen, her voice quavering, “I’ll try to remember all that.”

The End.

Footnotes

*Cockney Rhyming Slang: Two-and-eight = state. To be in a “right old state” is to be in disarray.

**Readers may recall that The Golden Goose inherited the keys to the old Police House in the very first scene of Golden Goose Ch. 1: Moonriver

***As per the events of Golden Goose Ch. 2: New Management.

Tags:

BBW, lactation, impregnation, cumflation, gangbang, bestiality, dubcon, tentacles

Disclaimer

This is a work of fantasy fiction for entertainment purposes only. The author does not condone violence against women, drug dealing, or organised crime.

All characters, events, and locations depicted (apart from HM United Kingdom which is, at time of writing, a real place, and sundry other real-world individuals referenced here solely for comic effect) are entirely fictional, original creations by the author, FermiRefuted. If you enjoyed this story, I’d love to hear from you at FermiRefuted@hotmail.com.

I also now have a DeviantArt Page where for my own edification I have commissioned some renders of the Golden Goose from one of my favourite artists in the genre. I like his version of our heroine and you can see her here: https://www.deviantart.com/fermirefuted