The Slime Man Comeths

Jack's room was a festering pit of depravity, a shrine to his twisted ambitions. The air reeked--a rancid cocktail of chemicals, sweat, and something ranker, like rotting meat trapped in the walls. His desk, a scarred slab of wood, groaned under a mess of clinking vials, cum-stained notebooks, and a Bunsen burner spitting weak, blue flames. He hunched over it, shirt plastered to his scrawny frame with sweat, greasy hair dangling in his bloodshot eyes. His trembling fingers, slick with desperation, toyed with a syringe--its sickly green contents swirling like liquid sin. This wasn't just some junkie's fix; it was his unholy escape, a dripping middle finger to the world that had chewed him up and spat him out. Especially her--Jenna, his bitch of a mother.

He'd hated her for years, ever since he was old enough to see her for what she was: a cold, cock-teasing tyrant who'd fucked her way to the top and left him drowning in her shadow. Growing up, he'd watched her parade around the house in lingerie that barely contained her curves, flirting with every sleazy businessman she dragged home--men who'd leer at her tits while she laughed and tossed her hair, ignoring Jack like he was some stray mutt. She'd belittle him, call him weak, useless, a limp-dicked disappointment who'd never measure up to her parade of lovers. Once, when he was sixteen, he'd caught her screwing some asshole in the living room--her moans loud enough to wake the neighbors, her heels still on as she rode him. She'd seen Jack watching, smirked, and kept going. That smirk had burned into his soul, fueling a hatred so deep it festered into obsession. Now, he'd make her pay.

For months, he'd slaved over his secret project, scribbling formulas in the witching hours, jerking off to the thought of her begging at his feet. He'd tested his batches on alley rats--pathetic little fucks that squealed as their fur melted, their bodies erupting in oozing sores until they dissolved into puddles of bubbling filth. Each failure got him harder, closer to the prize. This batch, though--this was the one. A mutant serum, a perverse elixir to twist him into something godlike, something to shove down her throat and choke her with. He could feel it in his balls: this was his ticket to revenge.

The door slammed open, ripping him from his filthy reverie. Jenna stormed in, a storm of sharp edges and raw sex appeal. She was a walking wet dream--black blazer clinging to her hourglass frame, skirt so tight it hugged her thick thighs like a second skin, her severe bun screaming control. Blood-red lipstick stained her full lips, and her steel-cold eyes glinted with disgust. She froze, taking in the chaos--vials of green sludge, crusty tissues, the stench of his unwashed body--then locked her gaze on him.

"Jack," she snapped, her voice a lash of contempt that made his cock twitch despite himself. "What the fuck is this? Still jerking off to your little science projects? You're twenty-five, you pathetic shit, and you're hunched here like some drooling basement perv." Her heels clicked closer, predatory, each step a taunt. "Look at you--sweaty, greasy, stinking up my house like a rutting pig. You're a walking cum stain, an embarrassment I should've aborted."

Jack's jaw clenched, his grip on the syringe tightening until his knuckles whitened. The needle gleamed, a promise of retribution.

"You think this is funny?" she sneered, folding her arms under her heavy breasts, pushing them up like an offering she'd never let him touch. "I'm off to the office--real work, something your tiny dick wouldn't comprehend. Meanwhile, you're wasting your sad little life on this... this garbage." She kicked a vial off the desk; it shattered, green slime splattering her glossy stilettos. She didn't flinch--just smirked, daring him. "Clean this shit up, Jack, or I'll ram it down your throat myself. And trust me, I won't be gentle."

She spun to leave, hips swaying like a pendulum of dominance, but paused at the door. Glancing back, she purred, "You're nothing, you know that? A limp little boy who'll never fill a woman's cunt, let alone my shoes. Wallow in your mess, loser." The door slammed, the bang echoing like a whip across his balls.

Jack sat there, panting, rage and lust boiling in his gut. Her words--pathetic, nothing, embarrassment--dug into him like claws, but today they lit a fire. Today, he had the power to fuck her world raw. "You'll see, you bitch," he growled, voice thick with venom and arousal. "I'll make you choke on it."

He snatched the syringe, staring at the green liquid sloshing inside--his cum, his creation, his vengeance. No more waiting, no more teasing himself with rats. He tore his sleeve up, exposing a pale, veiny arm crisscrossed with scars from old tests--little jerk-off sessions with needles that never satisfied. He plunged the syringe in, the sting hitting like a lover's bite. Heat exploded through him, a molten rush that made his dick throb as his veins burned. He gasped, the syringe clattering as his body seized--skin bubbling, bones melting, flesh liquefying into a slick, pulsing mass.

The transformation was a sick orgasm of pain and pleasure. His form collapsed into a quivering pile of green-black slime, wet and obscene, dripping with power. He laughed--a guttural, dripping sound--as he tested his new body, oozing across the floor, seeping into cracks, reforming into grotesque shapes. It was raw, unrestrained, a fuck-you to nature itself. And it was time to use it on her.

He slithered toward the door, leaving a glistening trail of filth like cum on a whore's back. Downstairs, Jenna was primping for her precious office job--probably fingering her ego in front of the mirror. He'd start there. She'd humiliated him too long, and now he'd make her scream.

In her bedroom, Jenna stood before her full-length mirror, adjusting gold hoop earrings that dangled like fuck-me signals. She smoothed her skirt over her plump ass, oblivious to the faint ripple in the carpet behind her. Jack's slime form slid under the door, pooling near her feet--close enough to smell her musky perfume, the bitch-scent he'd jacked off to and hated in equal measure. He watched her reflection--perfect, untouchable, a cunt on a pedestal. Not anymore.

With a surge, he attacked. His slime lunged, tendrils wrapping her legs like eager cocks, seeping into her skin--hot, invasive, defiling. She stiffened, a choked moan slipping from her lips as her eyes widened in the mirror, pupils dilating with terror and something darker. He pushed deeper, violating her pores, her bloodstream, her fucking soul. Her body jerked--once, twice--then slumped, her eyes dulling before snapping back, alive with Jack's malice.

He tilted her head, staring at her reflection with her own face. "Hey, Mommy," he rasped, her voice warped into his sneer, dripping with cum-soaked spite. "Not so high and mighty now, huh?" He slid her hands up her chest, groping her fat tits through the blouse, squeezing until the fabric strained, her nipples hardening under his control. "Time to play, you fucking slut."

Her lips curled into his grin as he forced her hands lower, hiking her skirt to expose the black lace thong beneath. He made her stroke herself, fingers slipping under the fabric, her body trembling as he hijacked her nerves. "You like that, don't you?" he purred through her throat, her voice a mockery of seduction. "Always such a tease--now I'll fuck you inside out."

He'd only just begun. Jenna's body was his playground now, and he'd twist it into every depraved fantasy he'd ever jerked off to--until she was nothing but his whimpering, dripping puppet.

Jack stood in Jenna's pristine bedroom, her hijacked body now his personal fuck-toy, a trembling slab of flesh and slime bowing to his every sick whim. The full-length mirror threw back her image--blazer flapping open like a slut's invitation, skirt strangling her hips, her smug corporate mask warped by his leering, slime-shot eyes. He flexed her fingers, relishing the feel--those prissy manicured nails, her silky skin, the pathetic twitch of muscles fighting his takeover. The slime throbbed under her surface, a pulsing river of hate and horniness, wiring him into her every nerve like a goddamn puppet master. "You're my bitch now, Mommy," he rasped through her lips, her voice twisted into a guttural, cum-drenched growl. "Let's rip off that stuck-up shell and dig into the nasty cunt underneath."

He swaggered her closer to the mirror, cocking her head to eye-fuck her reflection. Her dark hair was still pinned up, all tight-ass and professional, but he ripped the pins out with her hands, letting it spill down her shoulders in a sweaty, tangled mess. "Years of acting like you're too good for me," he snarled, dragging her tongue over her teeth, tasting mint toothpaste cut with the sour rot of his slime. "Bet you're a filthy fucking pig when the suits aren't watching, huh? Bet that tight skirt's hiding a dripping snatch full of secrets." He clamped her jaw with her own hands, squeezing till her cheeks bloomed red, her blood-red lipstick smearing into a sloppy, whorish streak. "Gonna root 'em all out, you arrogant old slag."

His gaze dropped to her chest, the blouse already gaping from earlier when he'd clawed it open. He tore it wider, buttons popping like little cumshots, the fabric shredding until it dangled in tatters, exposing a black lace bra that barely held her fat tits. "Fancy fuck-gear," he muttered, hooking her fingers under the cups and yanking them down hard. Her breasts flopped out--pale, heavy, nipples stiffening in the chilly air like they were begging for it. He pinched them brutal-hard, twisting until her body bucked under his grip, a choked whimper slipping out even though her will was gagged. "Check these udders," he growled, glaring into the mirror. "Bet you've been shoving 'em in every office dick's face, huh? Slutting it up while calling me a worthless freak."

He smashed her face against the glass, her hot breath fogging it, her nose leaving a greasy smear. "Gonna turn you into my filthy little cum-dump now," he hissed, her voice oozing venom and lust. "Gonna fuck you so raw you'll puke at your own reflection." He dragged her tongue across the mirror, leaving a slobbering streak of spit, then cackled--a wet, slimy gurgle that bubbled in her chest. Spinning her body around, he let her hands claw at the skirt, hiking it up slow and dirty, savoring the striptease--her thighs, thick and smooth, then the black lace panties clinging to her hips, the crotch soaked dark with her shame. His grin split wide, feral as a rabid dog.

"Oh, you're a sopping wet hag, aren't you?" he sneered, jamming her fingers against the lace, grinding until the juices seeped through, slick and hot. "What's this shit, huh? Been creaming yourself while screaming at me?" He rubbed harder, then ripped the panties down with a savage tug--lace tearing, threads snapping as they hit the floor in a damp heap around her ankles. He made her kick them off, her bare feet scuffing the carpet, and snatched them up, shoving them to her face like a trophy. The stench hit like a punch--musk, sweat, the sharp bite of her ripe pussy, fermented from a day of strutting her ass around. He mashed them under her nose, forcing her to suck in the reek. "Fuck, Mommy, you smell like a back-alley whore," he groaned, cramming the crotch into her mouth. Her tongue slurped the sour, salty muck, and he moaned loud, the slime pulsing like a second dick inside her. "Suck it down, you prissy bitch. Choke on your own cunt-juice."

He yanked the panties out, dripping with her spit, and dangled them in front of the mirror, admiring the slimy mess. "Not enough," he grunted, tossing them aside like used rubbers. "Gotta dig into your dirty shit." He turned her to the laundry hamper--white wicker, all prim and proper like her fake-ass life, but he knew it was a goldmine of filth. He tipped it over with her hands, spilling a jackpot of crusty clothes--blouses wrinkled from boardroom bullshit, stockings with laddered runs, and a pair of gym shorts stinking of old sweat and desperation. He dropped her to her knees in the pile, her fingers rooting like a pig in shit, until he snagged the shorts--gray, damp, the crotch stained yellow with her workout grime.

"Holy fuck, jackpot," he crowed, holding them up to the light. The fabric was rank--sweat-soaked, piss-tinged, a testament to her gym-whore days. He stretched them over her face like a mask, pulling tight until the sour crotch smothered her nose and mouth. "Perfect fucking fit," he snarled, sucking in a deep lungful through her, her chest heaving with the rancid stink. "Goddamn, you're a sweaty old skank," he said, licking the shorts through her lips, tasting the salty crust of her exertion. "Been grinding your snatch in these, huh? Too busy being a cunt to wash 'em?" He rubbed them harder, smearing the stench across her face, then stuffed them into her bra, letting the damp fabric chafe her stiff nipples.

He wasn't done. Digging deeper, he fished out a pair of red satin panties--crumpled, crusty, the crotch a map of stains from days of wear. "Oh, you've been a busy little slut," he said, pressing them to her nose, inhaling the stale, pissy musk. "Leaking all over yourself, Mommy? Too high and mighty to wipe?" He dragged them across her tongue, tasting the rancid satin, then yanked them over her head like a crown, the soiled crotch perched on her forehead. "Queen of the cum-rags," he laughed, snapping the elastic against her skin until it stung red.

He stumbled her back to the mirror, her face a grotesque mash-up--gym shorts dangling from her bra, red satin crowning her, spit and slime streaking her cheeks. It was fucking obscene--Jenna, the untouchable ice-bitch, turned into a panting, panty-stuffed wreck. He smeared the spit-soaked black lace panties across her tits, leaving wet, sticky trails, then slapped her ass hard through the hiked-up skirt, the crack ringing out like a gunshot. "Nice fat ass," he growled, spanking again, watching her flesh jiggle and blush. "Been shaking this at every cock in the building, huh? Time to work it." He ripped the red satin off her head, wiped it across her stinging cheeks, then gagged her with it, shoving the stained crotch deep into her mouth.

Dropping her to all fours, he crawled her through the laundry pile, her hands snatching more filth. A white cotton pair--basic, worn, the crotch yellowed and stiff with old piss and pussy juice. "You've been pissing yourself silly," he sneered, mashing them against her face, rubbing the crust into her skin. He stuffed them down her bra next to the shorts, letting the rough fabric scrape her nipples raw. Then a purple silk thong--dainty, musky, reeking of her date-night fucks. "Wore this to get railed, huh?" he taunted, twirling it on her finger before dragging it over her tongue, tasting the silk and sweat. He pulled it over her head, layering it with the satin, the crotch settling over her eyes like a blindfold. "Slut royalty," he cackled, snapping it tight.

He stood her up, swaying like a drunk bitch, and grabbed a sheer pink pair from the pile--barely worn but still ripe with her scent. He stretched them over her face, doubling up the mask, the mingled stench of sweat, piss, and pussy juice hitting like a drug. "Fuck, you're a walking cum-pit," he groaned, breathing hard through the layers, her voice shaking with his raging hard-on. He shoved her hands between her thighs, spreading her legs wide like a cheap whore, and plunged her fingers into her dripping slit--three, then four, ramming deep while her thumb mashed her swollen clit. "Hear that, you sloppy cunt?" he hissed, the room echoing with wet, squelching slaps. "Dripping like a fucked-out tap. Been begging for this, you lying sack of shit." He smeared the mess across her panty-masked face, soaking the fabric until it clung like a second skin.

He hauled her to the dresser, yanking open her sacred panty drawer--rows of lace and silk, her prissy little stash--and dumped it onto the floor in a heap. "Fucking treasure trove," he grunted, snagging a black garter belt and clipping it around her waist, letting it dangle loose and useless. He found crotchless red panties--slutty as hell, the slit framing her sopping hole--and yanked them on, slapping her thighs hard. "Saving these for some dick, huh? Too bad it's mine now." He piled on more--blue lace over the crotchless pair, white satin briefs on top, layering until her hips bulged like a panty-stuffed pig. "Look at you, you overstuffed cum-sow," he sneered, rubbing her through the mess, the friction rough and nasty, her body jerking under his assault.

He buried her face in the dresser pile, snorting the clean musk of her drawer like a junkie, then grabbed handfuls--stuffing them into her mouth, her bra, down the front of the layered panties until she was a bloated, dripping mess. "Gonna wear you raw," he snarled, dragging her back to the mirror. He bent her over, ass high, and spanked her through the fabric, each muffled smack leaving her cheeks raw and red beneath the chaos. "Feel that, you dirty old bitch? That's every filthy lie you've ever told, fucking you back."

He dropped her to the floor, straddling her reflection, and ground her hips into the carpet, the layered panties soaking through with her juices. "Cum for me, you rancid hag," he growled, staring into her panty-veiled eyes as he worked her clit through the fabric, relentless until her body convulsed--her orgasm exploding like a geyser, a muffled scream choking on the wadded satin. Wetness flooded, drenching the layers, pooling on the carpet, her thighs quaking as he rode it out, laughing like a fucking maniac.

She slumped, chest heaving, the pink and purple panties clinging to her face, now a sodden mess. The room stank like a sewer--her filth, the laundry, the slime's chemical tang. He straightened her up, smoothing the skirt over the bulging panty disaster, wiping her hands on her shredded blouse. "Time to strut this shitshow," he said, fluffing her hair with a mocking pat. "Office is calling, Mommy. Let's see how they handle the new, fucked-up you." He grabbed her purse, cramming the original black lace panties inside, and marched her out the door, her body a staggering monument to his sick, slimy triumph.

Jack swaggered out of the house in Jenna's stolen skin, her stiletto heels stabbing the pavement with a rhythm too harsh, too fucking horny--nothing like her usual prissy strut. The morning air was sharp, but he didn't give a shit; the slime pumping through her veins kept her hot, sizzling with his twisted, cock-throbbing energy. Her purse swung from her shoulder, the torn blazer still smeared with spit and pussy juice from her bedroom fuck-fest. He'd smoothed her skirt over the bulging panty mess, tucked the shredded blouse back together, but those red satin panties--crusty with her stink--were crammed in the purse, his slimy little prize. He grinned with her lips, the smirk cutting sharp and wrong across her ice-queen face. Time to ram a dick through her perfect little world and watch it bleed.

The office loomed ahead--a shiny prick of glass and steel, all corporate bullshit and dead-eyed drones. Jack shoved through the revolving doors, flashing Jenna's ID like a loaded gun. The receptionist, some mousy bitch with goofy glasses, looked up and chirped, "Morning, Jenna. You're early today."

"Morning, sugar-tits," he growled back, her voice a husky, cum-soaked drawl he couldn't rein in. He loitered at her desk, letting Jenna's eyes rake over the chick's blouse, picturing those perky little mounds bouncing free. "You look like a tasty fuck-snack today," he purred, dragging her tongue slow and wet across her lips. The receptionist blinked, her cheeks going pink, and he barked a laugh--short, nasty--before strutting to the elevators, her flustered stammering music to his ears.