Transformations: Sinful Suburbia Ch. 5
This is the final chapter of Sinful Suburbia. Thanks for reading!
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Dean Spencer sat in the safe house and took a sip of vodka.
His life had become a nightmare.
Two months ago, he and his wife, Erin, had decided to take a wild vacation to Cuba. They had all heard the rumors: wild orgies, plastic bimbo hookers on every corner. The entire island was a red light district.
They hadn't gone there to take part in any of it. They just wanted to see it. Something they could tell their friends about with giggles and laughs at dinner parties.
There was a complete news blackout in the new Cuba. No video, no pictures, only wild stories from people who went there for a 'sexcation'.
The trick, they had been told, was don't drink. Take a suitcase with sodas and bottled water. Don't get drunk. Don't wander down strange alleys, and, whatever you do, don't talk to the hookers. Keep your distance - gawk, but don't get too close.
And, stay away from the nuns, the priests, the perverters - beautiful women in white latex, and the massive bodybuilder looking whoremasters. Steer clear of all of them, and you could return safely.
He and Erin were in their early forties, married for twenty years, with no kids. It had been a mind blowing experience. The stories were true. Seconds after getting off the plane, they saw a man taking one of the tall, black latex clothed bimbos in the middle of the airport.
Throughout the week, they managed to avoid all the dangers.
It was difficult, not that they were tempted by the sex at all. No, the difficulty came from avoiding the alcoholic drinks that were constantly being offered to them. At least a hundred times a day, they were offered Pink Panty Soakers and Blue Pile Drivers.
Anyone who drank them joined the party.
They had seen mild mannered people suddenly dive into piles of tangled bodies in street orgies after imbibing.
He lost Erin at the airport, ten minutes before they were to board their plane.
It was stupid. He hadn't left her side the entire week.
But, they were in the terminal, they were safe, and Erin needed to pee.
She had gone into the crowded restroom.
Dean stood outside and waited.
Ten minutes went by. Fifteen.
And, then Erin came out.
But, she wasn't alone. A tall woman in white latex had her arm around her.
Erin was looking at her in rapt adoration.
"Erin?" Dean had asked.
The woman in white led her right by him without pausing.
"Hey, that's my wife! What are you doing?" Dean had yelled.
People stopped and looked at him as he chased after the towering woman who held his wife in an embrace.
Then, Dean saw him.
He was huge, nearly seven feet tall and almost as wide, wearing nothing but baggy shorts. His body was hairless and chiseled with muscles.
"Look what I found in the loo, Luv," the woman in white said to the towering behemoth. Her accent was British.
He looked down and smiled, caressing Erin's face with a hand bigger than a bear's paw. "Beautiful little thing."
"Take your hands off her!" Dean yelled as he grabbed Erin's hand.
The woman in white looked over her shoulder at him. She smiled. "Pain."
Dean screamed as every nerve in his body fired in agony. He dropped to his knees.
The giant picked Erin up with his hands around her waist. "What's your name, little one?"
She stared into his eyes and smiled. "Erin." Her eyes were half closed.
"Erin. That's a lovely name. What do you think, Renee? Sub slut or cheerleader whore?"
"Sub slut, I think. Imagine her in bondage gear? She'll be very popular with the dominants, I think." The woman in white, Renee, reached out and unsnapped Erin's shorts, sliding them along with her panties down her legs. "Nice and shaved, this one." Then she reached up and ripped off Erin's blouse and broke the back of her bra, leaving her naked as Erin's clothes fell on the floor.
Dean struggled to move, but it was impossible. All he could do was grovel as the pain lanced through him.
The giant pushed Erin up against the wall and pawed at her pert breasts. "We'll give you a proper rack." Then he reached down and slid a finger bigger than Dean's cock deep inside her. "Lengthen this little pussy as well."
Erin moaned and rocked her hips against him.
"Mark her," the giant said.
Dean screamed not just from his own pain, but from the sight of Erin's skin sizzling.
Renee held a small metal box and aimed it at Erin's left thigh. A laser light flickered and drew a barcode on her thigh in smoking black lines.
Erin moaned, seemingly oblivious to the branding.
Below the barcode, the words: RAUNCHY ERIN, PROPERTY OF MAGNUS, SUB SLUT, G CUP, DOUBLE SLUTIFIER, were etched into her skin.
The giant smiled. "Can't be too careful. The temple is full of people waiting for transformation at this time of day. Can't have you getting lost in the crowd, now can we? Smile, darling, you're the seventh whore in my coven."
He slung her over his shoulder and walked away.
Dean watched helplessly. Erin smiled at him as the Whoremaster carried her away out of the terminal.
Renee knelt beside him. She tore open his shirt and then undid his pants, feeling for his cock. "Too small. I'm throwing you back, dearie."
She had turned and walked away, wide hips swiveling in her rubber skirt. "You can go now," she said as she disappeared into the crowd.
The pain stopped. Dean struggled to his feet, his pants around his ankles.
People passed by and ignored him for the most part. Some laughed, but most just looked mildly amused - just another weird happening in a weird place where erotic dreams came true.
And, nightmares.
He yanked his pants up and fastened them, then he ran into the crowd looking for them.
They had vanished, taking the only woman he had ever loved.
Now, he sat in the apartment provided by his lawyers for his protection.
Two detectives played cards in the living room.
And, Dean drank. Because there was nothing else to do.
All he wanted was to have Erin back. The state department had done nothing, especially after Erin had recorded a video deposition telling them she had left Dean of her own free will.
He could still see her face - this wasn't his Erin. This woman was wearing too much makeup, and, though the camera was only showing her from the shoulders up, he could tell that this Erin had breasts much larger than
his
Erin.
So, he had filed suit against the Church of Morpheus for wrecking his marriage.
He downed the vodka and poured another. The bottle was empty. They were only lasting about a day and a half now.
Dean got up and walked out of the bedroom. "Hey, I need another bottle."
His guards were standing in the living room looking out the window. They said nothing.
"Hey, fellows? Is there any more vodka?"
They stood motionless.
"They can't hear you," a man said.
Dean almost jumped out of his skin. He turned to the left to see a tall man with thinning blond hair sitting at the kitchen table.
He was thin, his skin was pale, and he wore dark sunglasses even though it was night.
The man wore a black leather coat over a black suit.
Around his neck was a white clerical collar.
Dean took a step back. He had seen enough priests of Morpheus in Cuba to know one when he saw one. He turned to the detectives who still faced the window. "Help!"
"They can't help you, Mr. Spencer," the priest said. "Please have a seat."
Dean faced the priest.
The priest motioned to a chair on the opposite side of the table.
Dean looked over his shoulder at the guards. Both wore shoulder holsters. He could see the butts of the nine millimeters under their arms.
"No, Mr. Spencer. I won't allow that. I'm here for a civilized conversation, but if you want to turn it barbaric, I'm more than your match. Now, please, have a seat."
Dean sat down in the chair and stared at the man in sunglasses. "How did you find me?"
The priest smiled with thin lips. "No great feat, I assure you."
"Where's my wife?"
