[As promised, Sally gets a story of her own. Continuity undetermined.]
Thursday night, the Baroness’ study in Schloss Schreckhausen:
“You called, Your Excellency?”
“Sally, get out of that ridiculous outfit and get into some spandex. I’ve got a job for you.”
“Not tonight, your Baroness-ship. I’m taking off.”
“What do you mean, ‘taking off’? The Lynchpin’s bringing in a cargo of laser components just so he can blast me off the face of the earth, and I need you to infiltrate. Not to mention that it’s time to foul up Adele Jerkson’s plumbing again.”
“Sorry, you’ll just have to hire some muscle. I’m going to Arachknight City.”
“You’re not trying to seduce Brad Pitt again, are you? Remember last time? You got stretched a full half-mile after you got snagged on Leo’s Ferrari.”
Silicone Sally winced.
The Baroness pressed her advantage. “And the smog. Remember when you went out there during the air pollution alert? You came back looking like pond scum. We had to melt you down and centrifuge out the crap. You loved that, didn’t you?”
“I was dizzy for two weeks, I know. But I’m going to Arachknight City. Can I take the bizjet? Please?”
“No way. I’m paying you enough for you to charter your own Challenger. But don’t slide off the subject. I need you tonight – right now. Now take a look at the plans for the airport cargo warehouse, here. “ Elizabeth brought up a maze of blueprints on the monitor.
“I’ve got a photo session for Casanova! Sally pleaded.
“So they finally decided to go all the way with an all-silicone bimbo?”
“It’s just a test session. To see if I have the Casanova look.”
“I thought with 30 seconds you could have any look you wanted.”
“It’s not my physical appearance, it’s whether I have the look, the attitude of total hotness combined with a pretense of erotic subservience. “
“I keep forgetting that you were a grad student too.”
“So can I go? Please? I’ll do the snaky thing for you when I come back.” Sally’s eyes became misty and demure and she thrust her chest forward ever so slightly.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened for a moment and her lower lip trembled. “Good work on the subservience, Sally. All right, get out of here. You’ll snatch the Lynchpin’s stuff after he finishes gloating over it sometime next week. But you don’t get the bizjet.”
“I’ll stretch my tongue.” Sally poured on the heat.
“Uh . . . err . . . yes! I mean no! Take the bizjet! Now go!”
Friday at the Casanova Castle, Beverly Hills:
“Hi, I’m Kimberly, Mr. Pother’s second assistant,” the tall blonde chirped. “You got here a bit early. Hughie really doesn’t get out of bed until one p.m. – if he ever does. Hee, hee.”
Sally hardly heard Kimberly’s explanation. Her eyes were riveted on Kimberly’s bust line. Sally’s normal profile was impressive, to be sure, but Kimberly looked as if she was in imminent danger of losing her balance.
In an envious daze, the malleable minion was ushered into Hughie Pother’s inner sanctum, the most coveted bedroom on earth. Gold and vermeil framed mirrors lined the walls and ceiling, the hot pink carpeting was so luxurious Sally’s feet sank in ankle deep, an extravagant hot tub burbled away in a corner and a ten foot wide, heart shaped bed arrayed in satins and pillows completed the ensemble. On long, plush couches four more lanky, exceptionally endowed blondes lounged, twiddling their hair or reading fashion magazines.
“Hughie,” Kimberly wheedled. “Hughie, the new girl’s here for you. Come on, Hughie, time to come out.”
“Awww, can’t it wait?” came a muffled, boyish voice from beneath the satins.
“Yeah, can’t it wait?” one of the pneumatic blondes echoed in a high-pitched squeak that was followed moments later by a howl from the Dobermans outside. “I haven’t had my turn yet, and I’m bored.”
“Yes, dahlink, vy must ve have anodder greenhorn in here vanting time vith Hughie,” another blonde growled in a deep Slavic voice. She placed her hands behind her head and indulged in an isometric exercise, causing her biceps and pectoral muscles to bulge.
“Cut it out, Tatyana, you’ve already had three spreads this year,” Kimberly snapped back. “The acne set wants to see somebody who isn’t quite so . . . over powering.”
“Overpowering? Gud idea. Hughie dahlink, vould you like to vrestle again, gudjink? I’ll let you have the first takedown.”
“Ahh, ooh . . . pant . . . not right . . . now, Tati,” came the muffled reply.
“Hmmph,” murmured Tatyana, and turned away.
“Come on, Hughie, tell Lisa to stop, and meet Sally here. You remember, she’s the stretchy one.”
“Oh, right, quite right. Lisa, darling, huff, be a good bird and save it for later, huh? Thanks, sweetums.” A moment later a fifth well-developed, tall blonde wriggled her way from under the covers and scampered off to one of the adjoining bathrooms. Moments later the sound of gargling was heard.
“I GET HIM NEXT!” announced the blonde with the chalk-scraping-the-blackboard voice, launching herself at the bed. The Dobermans responded with a volley of sharp barks.
“No, Chrissie! We’ll never get done today! Bambi, Thumper, get her!” The remaining two buxom blondes scampered over to the bed and grasped Chrissie’s ankles as she frantically searched for her quarry through the thicket of pillows and tangled sheets on the enormous bed. With ruthless dispatch, they dragged their colleague away from Hughie’s hiding place underneath the piled fabrics and removed her from the room seconds later.
“They were bodyguards?” Sally asked.
“Yep, black belts and all that. Hughie has a thing for old James Bond movies. She’s gone now, Hughie. Here, I’ll throw you a robe.”
A head of tousled black hair poked its way out of the tangled sheets. An odd crooked scar was emblazoned on the forehead, and a boyish face was underneath. A gangly neck and a lanky right arm were next to emerge.
“Here’s your robe. Everything’s in the pockets. Catch!” called Kimberly.
The boy snatched the robe tossed to him and scooted the rest of himself out of the piled sheets. A few moments later he had donned the dark robe and extracted a pair of black-framed eyeglasses from a pocket. He then sat on the bed, cross-legged, and scanned Sally from top to bottom – especially the bottom.
“Hughie Pother, this is Sally Rezilyant. Sally, this is my boss, the Casanova Man himself, Hughie Pother.”
“You mean that’s his son. Hughie Pother is almost 80 years old.”
“It’s amazing what really good makeup can do, what?” the robed man said in a middle-class English accent.
“You’re Hughie Pother?”
“In the flesh, miss. Almost magical, aren’t I?”
“Er . . .”
“Well, let’s have a look at you, right?” Hughie slid from the bed and stepped over to Sally, scoping her out at close range. “Nice bit of crumpet, right, Kimmie, but needs a bit more, what?” He reached into his robe, scrambling for something in an inner pocket.
That’s an odd sort of robe, thought Silicone Sally. Too elaborate for a bathrobe. I’ve seen something like it in a movie.
“Got it! Now just stand still, my dear, and don’t shake, whatever you do.” The soft porn magnate withdrew a short, black stick, pointed it at Sally’s breasts, and intoned, “Expansio titiorium!”
Sally’s breasts at first ballooned to the size of Kimberly’s and Tati’s. And then they kept going, as her rubbery mass was far more responsive than mere flesh to the wizard’s spell. In fact, her rapidly swelling chest burgeoned right at Hughie Pother, bouncing into his face and chest. He rebounded, stumbled backward and crashed to the carpet as Silicone Sally fell dramatically on top of him, rebounding herself and toppling to the floor, face down, as her chest continued expanding to prop her up at nearly a 45 degree angle.
The ever-resourceful Kimberly fished a walkie-talkie out of her diminutive purse and thumbed the button. “Someone find Hermie fast and get her to the gold bedroom! We’ve got a rogue spell on our hands!”
Will Silicone Sally stop expanding before she fills up the room? What are the secrets of the Casanova Castle? We’ll find out in the next scene.
Playing the part of Baroness Elizabeth Zemo
J. Jonah Jerkson
VOICE OF THE PEOPLE
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