PsiCATs Ch. 05: Hunter

"Why, officer," said Bobby, "are you in some sort of distress?"

The officer made a futile attempt to turn her head, but her neck was locked in place. Then the stiffness spread its way down her legs.

Bobby opened the car door and stepped out, eyes still glittering. "Have I mentioned," said Bobby, "that I don't like cops?"

The officer's knees locked, effectively trapping the officer in a position that made her look as if she were standing at attention.

Bobby made a show of being in deep thought. "Hmmm," he said. "That's not bad, but it lacks something. What could it be?"

He walked over and stood in front of the officer. "Oh, I know what it is!" he said. "You look too uptight! You need to relax."

He reached out with a finger and touched her nose. As soon as he did, the officer shifted weight imperceptibly and her shined boots separated until her feet were just over shoulder-width apart. Her knees bent slightly then, and her hands separated from her hips until they were also just over shoulder-width apart.

"Much better," said Bobby. "Now for the final touch."

He put two fingers together and kissed them. Then he pressed those fingers to the officer's lips. The officer's lips slowly formed a perfect "O".

"Now, that's more like it," said Bobby. He reached out and placed his hands on the officer's breasts. Then he gave her a light push.

Unable to move or make any effort to retain her balance, the officer tilted and fell backward onto the street with an exhale of breath. She remained locked in the same position.

"I never did find out your name," said Bobby, "but that doesn't matter, because I have a name for you anyway. Officer Fuckdoll. It has a ring to it."

A crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, trying to watch the dual phenomenas of a naked woman trying desperately to blow a stranger on the sidewalk and a man preparing to mount a police officer who had apparently been turned into a fuckdoll. This was strange, even for Chrystal Heights.

Traffic was backed up, as the police officer was laying in the street. Horns blared and the crowd on the sidewalk grew larger. The four men on the motorcycles- realizing something was going on between Bobby and the officer- dismounted and approached the scene.

"Hey," said the leader, "why don't you leave that cop alone, man?"

"I don't think so," said Bobby. "Why don't you make me stop?"

"We're gonna hurt you, man,"

"C'mon, then," said Bobby. "What are you waiting for? Are your pussies hurting?"

And that was when Bobby saw a man exit a black pickup truck far back in the traffic jam. The man was walking between cars in Bobby's direction. A tall, muscular man with an eye patch covering his left eye.

Bobby blinked. "Holy shit!" he said. "Hunter! The Trope himself!"

The four bikers, having no idea who Bobby was talking to, paused for a moment. Then they resumed their approach.

Bobby ignored the bikers and stared at Hunter, eyes glittering. Then the sound of sirens blared in the distance.

"Fuck!" said Bobby. "That's too bad." He lifted his voice. "Maybe next time, Hunter!"

Bobby looked at the bikers. "Sorry, boys. No time," he said. "Besides, Charlie is coming." Then his eyes narrowed.

The bikers stopped walking. Their thoughts became sludgy and slow. All they knew is that they had thick, rock-hard erections and a fuckdoll cop waiting for them.

Bobby turned his attention to the crowd surrounding Kathy. In moments, fist fights were breaking out and pandemonium was spreading.

Bobby looked down the street at Hunter. He smiled and extended a middle finger in Hunter's direction. Then he slid into the front seat of the car and put it in gear.

*****

Director Pinkerton rubbed his temples.

"Status report, Jackson?"

"Well, sir," said Jackson. "The situation seems to be back under control."

"Details, man," said Pinkerton.

"Well, sir," said Jackson, "it was touch-and-go for a little while. Hunter had Bobby in sight, but Bobby sparked off a riot to cover his escape."

"Damn."

"Yes," said Jackson. "The girl whose car Bobby stole now suffers from a delusion in which she has to have a, ah, penis in her mouth in order for her respiratory system to function."

"Explain."

"Bobby apparently interfered with her ability to breath by making it dependent on having a penis in her mouth."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, sir," said Jackson. "That trigger couldn't hold once she passed out from lack of oxygen, obviously, but the girl didn't know that. She thought she was going to suffocate."

"But she could have."

"No, sir, she couldn't," said Jackson. "Once she passed out, her subconscious wiped out the physical cause-and-effect relationship. Not even an Original can create a potentially fatal trigger like that."

"I see. So, she's all right now?"

"Not really, sir," said Jackson. "Intellectually, she understands that she doesn't actually need to have a...have anything in her mouth to breath. However, because Bobby locked it in her head that she does, she subconsciously feels she has to give a blow...er, perform oral sex on a man every hour or so. When she doesn't, she feels horribly short of breath and has a full-blown panic attack."

"Are you telling me that girl has to swallow semen or she panics?"

"Yes, sir. They're keeping her under sedation as much as possible. HR is rotating male staff until a solution is found."

"I see."

"Yes, sir. Several of the male staff are voluntarily working late shifts, even when off the clock."

"I imagine so."

"Staff morale is high."

"All right, all right. I get it. The officer?"

"The officer's condition is unchanged," said Jackson. "They weren't able to stop the bikers from stripping her and taking advantage of her condition, but she appears to be fine otherwise. She is awake and aware of her surroundings, but she is unable to communicate in any way. She is still a doll, so to speak."

"That doesn't sound 'fine' to me, Jackson,"

"It's not, sir," said Jackson, "but it's all we can do at the moment."

"True," said Pinkerton. "All right, Jackson. What else?"

"Not much else to tell, sir," said Jackson. "Several arrests were made during the riot, but nobody's being charged with anything, as we already know it was caused by Bobby. Still, the situation is becoming critical."

"Yes," said Pinkerton. "All right, keep me informed, Jackson."

"Yes, sir."

Part 4- Conclusion

It's a small diner, barely within the city limits of Chrystal Heights proper. It has the unimaginative name of The Chrystal Diner, although if you drive past it at night, you would think it was named The Ch y tal Din r, as several bulbs are burned out in the letters on the roof. It's a clichéd diner, but it suits the customers- and, therefore, the owner- just fine. The meatloaf even has a fan club, of sorts.

This diner rests on the road that runs east-west between Chrystal Heights and Darkview. Chrystal Heights has a reputation for strangeness; Darkview has a reputation for darkness. Or, to put it idiomatically, Chrystal Heights has mystery; Darkview has secrets. Because the diner sits along this direct path, odd characters often drop in for a cup of coffee and a slice of pie before quietly hitting the road again. Or, occasionally, not so quietly. But those times are rare, and memories are short here. Besides, the coffee is strong and usually fresh. Also, nobody asks questions at this diner.

*****

"Getcha something???" asked Claire, working her gum. The redhead was a clichéd waitress in a clichéd diner, and she played her role to the hilt.

"Is Charlie here?" asked the man.

"Sorry, honey," said Claire. "I don't know a Charlie."

The man grunted.

"Anything else I can get for you?" asked the waitress.

"Yeah," said the man. "Gimme a cup of your gorram coffee."

Claire made a note. "One cup of our gorram coffee," she said. "Got it."

Claire turned to the girl. The thin teen's hand was thrust down the front of her unbuttoned Daisy Duke denim shorts and she was fingering herself furiously. Her breath was coming in short gasps and her cheeks were wet with tears.

"How 'bout you, sweetie?" said Claire. "Getcha anything? We got a meatloaf special tonight."

"Please," said the girl between gasps, fingers working her clit. "Please help. I can't stop. I keep trying, but I can't stop."

"Well, I'm trying to help, honey," said Claire. "If you don't want the meatloaf, how 'bout some nice apple pie?"

"Please...!" said the girl

"Well, ain't that sweet," said Claire. "Your mama taught you manners and you actually remember them! You said 'please.' Apple pie it is, then. Back in a jiff."

Claire walked toward the kitchen smiling. Such a nice young girl! There was something off about her, but the waitress couldn't quite put her finger on it. Still, the girl had to be a sweetie or that nice man wouldn't be with her. Now, *he* was something special.

Bobby watched the waitress walk away, then turned to the thin teen.

"Why, Fingerslut," said Bobby, "Just thirty orgasms and you're crying like a little girl."

"It hurts!" said the girl. "And my name is Isobel, not Fingerslut!"

"You're whiny, Fingerslut," said Bobby. "I should have left your ass on the side of the road."

"I wish you had!" said Isobel.

"Well, you shouldn't be hitchhiking anyway, Fingerslut. Now you can just rub your pussy raw for all I care."

"It hurts!" said Isobel.

"Wah wah wah," said Bobby, making mocking baby-crying sounds. "Want me to call you a waaaaaambulance?"

"You're a bastard!" said Isobel, shoving the plastic sugar packet container at Bobby with her free hand.

"Stupid brat," said Bobby, grabbing Isobel's arm and pulling the surprised teen over his lap. "I didn't tell you to pass the fucking sugar."

Claire arrived with the order then. "Here you go," she said. "Coffee for you and an apple pie for the sweet young lady."

Isobel squirmed and wriggled as Bobby casually spanked her now-bared ass.

"Oh! Ouch! Oh! Stop! Oh! Ouch! Please! Ow! Stop! Oh! Ouch! Oh!"

"Whoa!" said Claire, as a flailing hand from Isobel caught Bobby's coffee and nearly spilled it. "Careful there, honey. You don't wanna spill that coffee. It's fresh brewed."

*****

The black pickup's tires crunched gravel as it pulled to the side of the road. The engine shut off and everything was quiet.

Inside the cab, the dark-haired man lifted the eyepatch that covered his left eye. He squinted his right eye shut and studied the bluish vapor trails that he could now see.

The strength of the trail suggested that Bobby had passed down this road very recently while actively using his power. Possibly even within the last hour.

There was a diner about half a mile down the road. Perhaps someone there had seen him.

*****

"Take your medicine, Fingerslut," said Bobby.

"Ow! Ow!" said Isobel. "Stop!"

Isobel struggled and kicked, trying to get free while still fingering herself. She inadvertently kicked off one of her shoes, which flipped over into the next booth and landed on a man's plate.

The beefy man turned around. "Hey," he said. "Do you fucking mind?"

Bobby looked at the man and laughed. Then he pushed Isobel off his lap and stood up. He picked up his coffee and drank it straight down without pausing, as if it were room temperature and not fresh from the pot. Then he tossed his coffee cup to the floor.

"No, I don't mind one fucking bit," said Bobby. "How 'bout you, berk? You mind?"

"Yeah," said the man, standing as well. "I do."

"Yeah, baby!" said Bobby. He drove both palms into the man's chest, shoving him back. "C'mon, fuckhead! Let's dance!"

The man stumbled back a step from the unexpected shove. Then he stepped forward and swung a heavy fist at Bobby's head.

Bobby ducked under the punch and spun around, back-kicking the man in the stomach. The man gasped and bent over slightly, trying to catch his breath. Bobby punched the man under the jaw, making him stumble back and fall across his table on his back, dazed.

"Not bad, berk," said Bobby. "You lasted almost three seconds."

Claire walked over. "More coffee, honey?" she said.

"Nah, no more fucking coffee for me." said Bobby, "but you've been such a gorram sweetheart, I'm gonna reward you." He reached down and grabbed the waistband of the man's jeans. He pulled the button apart, tearing the man's jeans open to the crotch.

"There you go," he said. "Hop on and fucking enjoy."

The waitress pulled her skirt up to her waist and worked her way onto the table. She then straddled the dazed man and began rubbing her sex over his cock.

The man hardened and the waitress began cooing. Suddenly she raised up and then lowered herself onto his hardness.

Claire squealed and began stroking herself up and down his shaft. "Yes!" she said. "That's it, baby! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Heads began turning. At a nearby table, four college-aged girls stared, mouths agape.

"Ewwwwww!" said one of the girls. "What the hell is wrong with you people?!"

Bobby turned and stared at the girl.

All four chairs scraped and the girls stood up. Their eyes widened as their hands began stripping off each other's tops and bras. Within moments, all four were naked to the waist.

The girl who had originally spoke looked at Bobby. "H-Hey!" she said. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry!"

"Shut the fuck up," said Bobby, "and dance. Shake that hot fucking slut ass for us."

"What?" said the girl. "I don't...oh! No, please!"

While she was speaking, the girl had climbed onto the table and stood up. Now she had kicked off her shoes and was stripping off the rest of her clothing. Her friends grabbed her arms and tried to stop her.

"Stop, Katie! Fight him!" said one of the friends. The friend turned and glared at Bobby, bare breasts jiggling. "Leave her alone!" she said. "She said she was sorry!"

"Yeah, I fucking heard her," said Bobby. He narrowed his eyes.

The friend who had spoken up gasped and climbed onto the table with Katie. Her clothing joined Katie's on the floor. Moments later, both girls were naked and dancing with each other on the diner table.

"Oh, that's nice," said Bobby, "but let's add a little fucking ambiance to it."

The two friends who were topless but not on the table backed away, but it was too late. Bobby narrowed his eyes at them, and both girls turned simultaneously to each other. Then they came together and began kissing in a heated manner, their hands all over each other's bodies.

"Mmmmmpphh!" they said.

"Rock on," said Bobby.

Customers across the diner began standing and muttering. Not everybody could hear what was being said, but a waitress was riding a man on a table, a girl was playing with herself on the floor, two topless girls were kissing each other like they were alone and two naked girls were dancing on a table. A weatherman wasn't needed.

The various men in the diner looked at each other. They knew they should do something, but none of them had any clue what. A pair of burly truck drivers glanced at each other, then at the dancing girls. Three leather-clad male bikers and a muscular female biker also watched, unsure of what to do. Three members of a local high school football team shifted uncomfortably, wanting to help the attractive girls, but realizing Bobby was bad news.

It was the female biker who finally made a move. "Hey, asshole," she said. "Why don't you just leave them the fuck alone?"

Bobby laughed. "Booya, bitch," he said. "Gonna make me?"

"Yeah, dickweed," said the biker girl. "I ain't got time for nanny nanny boo boo shit, though." She picked up a coffee cup, turned and hurled the cup at Bobby.

The diner went silent as the collective group watched the cup sail through the air. Then, galvanized by the biker girl's daring act, the group moved forward as one.

Bobby leaned to the side, laughing as the cup flew past him. Then he straightened back up. "Nice!" he said. "Very nice! I love you, ballsy slut!"

One of the bikers reached Bobby first. He reached out and grabbed the front of Bobby's shirt with both hands.

Bobby reached over the biker's right hand and grabbed his left wrist. Then he speared the biker's larynx with the stiffened fingers of his right hand. He swung his right arm around then and broke the biker's hold on his shirt in the same move. He finished with a punch to the biker's solar plexus.

Bobby laughed as the man fell gasping. Then he eyed the rest of the approaching group.

The bikers and truckers moved as one, with one group coming up one aisle and the other moving parallel in another aisle.

"Everybody at once!" said a biker. "He can't stop us all! Get him!"

"I don't think so," said Bobby, holding up his hand in a claw-like fashion.

Everybody except the female biker stopped moving. The female biker continued forward, grimly aware her compatriots had been stopped but determined to take down Bobby.

Bobby smiled at the woman, eyes glittering. "What's your name, tough girl?"

"None of your business," said the biker chick, pausing to grab a ketchup bottle. She shattered the bottle on a table and hoisted the jagged end. "But you can call me Max."

Max reached Bobby and slashed at him without preamble. Missing, she swung again, and Bobby dodged again. However, he backed up a step, seemingly respecting her speed and lack of hesitation in attempting to slice him.

"You vicious little thing," said Bobby. "We could have a future together, despite your masculine tendencies."

"Doubtful," said Max, pausing a moment to catch her breath. "I'm a vegetarian."

"A vegetarian?" said Bobby. "Oh! You mean a lesbian!"

"Right the first time," said Max, renewing her slashing attack.

"Pity," said Bobby. He waited for a moment, observing her attack patterns. Then he stepped in and caught the wrist of her hand that was holding the broken bottle. Still holding the wrist, he whirled so his back was against her. Then he elbowed her sharply in the breast with his other arm.

Max gasped and dropped the bottle reflexively. She tried to pull away, but Bobby controlled her wrist.

Bobby switched hands on her wrist, reached over his shoulder and grabbed hold of her short hair, and flipped her onto a table. Max landed flat on her back with a bone-rattling thud.

Max lay on the table, dazed. Her head lay on the edge of the table closest to Bobby. Bobby stepped forward and pressed his crotch against Max's forehead.

"Sweet stuff, babe," said Bobby. "You're a damn tough lesbian!"

"Leave her alone!" said a voice.

Bobby turned. Then he laughed.

"Awwwww, that's sweet!" said Bobby. "The cute wittle high school boys are gonna wescue the poor captured biker lesbian princess!"

"C'mon, man," said the leader of the three high schoolers. "Just leave her alone. She's a chick, y'know?"

Bobby's eyes glittered. "This chick could kick all your asses," he said. "But you're right. She deserves better. I'm going to reward her. And you guys, too."

Bobby narrowed his eyes.

The three high-schoolers' faces flushed as a sudden rush of heated lust raced through their already over over-stimulated adolescent bodies. The only thing on their collective minds now was sticking their cocks into the cum dumpster biker chick laying on the table.

It never occurred to them to ask. They raced to the far side of the table and pulled Max's tight leather pants to her ankles. Her clothing was then torn off in moments, leaving her clad in nothing but leather biker boots.

Max found herself unable to control her responses. Her body reacted to every move the boys made, her hands and hips responding to their every touch.

Within moments, she was bent over the side of the table. One boy stood behind her, driving his rigid cock into her. Another boy straddled the table, giving Max's mouth access to his cock. The lesbian biker found her mouth stroking up and down a shaft while another cock pounded her from behind. All she could do was shudder in helpless heat as Bobby ramped up her mouth and clitoral sensitivity. She had become a sex toy for hormonal teenagers.