The Pink Lab: Untitled Bimbo Superhero Commission Pt. 2

Gadget looked through the one-way glass, the other members of the team behind him. None could look away from the buxom woman in pink latex presently rubbing her crotch and moaning loud enough to be heard outside her padded cell. Her lower lips was caught between her teeth and the hand not manipulating her pussy through the latex was twisting her pointed nipple, also latex-coated. 

“How did she get that outfit on?” Tinderbox wondered.

“It’s not fashion,” Gadget corrected, “it is a living skin. Latex that bonds with its wearer. The thigh-high boots and spike heels are just as much a part of her as her hair or her kidneys.”

“How do we fix her?” Aida asked. 

The rest of the team remained focused on the pink-covered bimbo rather than look at their teammate, whose outfit was differentiated only by its purple color.

“Sorry, Psi-Wave, the skin has eluded my attempts to remove it. A few more days, maybe.”

“So, why is Psi-Wave still Psi-Wave and the other people are… like her?” Zephyr looked at his teammate, then quickly away. The sight of the bimbofied Psi-Wave, already a  beautiful woman, had Zephyr more than distracted. He was afraid he might leer.

Aida didn’t want to tell the others that mere existence was an incredible turn-on since her transformation. Like the atoms of the air were strumming over her clit not that the sensitivity of that pretty flower spread to every inch of her. 

“I don’t know for sure, but I do have a theory. Psi-Wave, I hate to ask you such a sensitive question, but there’s no way around it.”

“Go on, Gadget,” she urged.

“Did you have an orgasm when you were in the creature’s grip?”

Aida had to think. There was an overwhelming wave of pleasure, but she hadn’t cum. 

“No,” she said ponderously. 

“I think that’s our answer. The release of an orgasm allows the symbiote to bond fully.”

“Does that mean-?” Specter began.

“Psi-Wave cannot orgasm until we get the thing off her,” Gadget finished.

“Whoa!” Tinderbox’s eyes were wide as he contemplated the repercussions. 

“So, if I were to accidentally orgasm…?”

“It would literally blow your mind,” Gadget answered. 

“Huh,” Zephyr uttered contemplatively. “That sucks.”

It did. Oh did it. Psi-Wave’s body conspired against her. The purple latex was as sensitive as her skin, which was cranked to eleven. The weight of he body on her spiked geet as she moved sent rockets of pleasure up her heels to her pussy, and that traitor broadcast it to every other nerve. Nothing she did could dampen the sensations. And she was supposed to somehow make it through a day without diving a finger into her slit?

While her legs and pelvis were sealed inside (made of?) the purple latex, when she became especially horny, a slit would open between her legs and drip sticky lube down her thigh. It begged for something to plunge inside. In her most experimental moments, Aida could not bring herself to touch the latex-llipped hole. She assumed any insertion would result in the brainwashing climax Gadget warned of. 

While Gadget searched for a way to unwind the latex from the bodies of the transformees, Specter was scouring the city for any of the bimbos they might have missed. They should have been easy to spot, Aida decided, and then shoved the thought away as the image of the platinum-maned sluts fucking and fingering each other threatened to break her control. Zephyr was sleeping, which would put him down for hours. One of the disadvantages of his speed was the hangover: a coma-like sleep that could last for a day or more. Tinderbox was probably off chasing women, his typical comedown after one of their battles. That left Aida largely alone, though she would send thoughts of her well-being to Gadget to ease his worry. 

A buzz sounded at the door of the brownstone that served as their headquarters in Monument City. Nondescript, but known. Few villains dared strike at the home turf of the City’s finest. Those that dared had found its defenses strong and its defenders swift in their retribution. 

The figure at the door was wearing  bright yellow hazmat suit. When Aida asked for identification, a badge was thrust at the lens. CDC. They would have some questions about how the bimbos were being detained, Aida assumed. This was more Gadget’s territory, but every second he was putting up with bureaucratic nonsense was one he was not separating the latex symbiote from her enhanced body. She hoped that she could lose the double-Ds when this was all over. They weighed a ton and begged her to touch and fondle them. She noticed how Tinderbox’s view of her changed suddenly, and even Gadget found it hard to resist staring at her shapely new body. 

She trundled down the steps to meet the representative from the Center for Disease Control, hoping the distraction could pull her mind away from how perilously good all the bounces and quivers and shakes were when she moved. The figure said nothing when she opened the door, so Aida ushered him inside.

“I know how I look. Sorry. The creature affected me, but I haven’t been contaminated in the same way as the others. Let me show you where they’re being kept. You’ll see that we are taking every precaution to prevent any further infection.”

Aida was busy talking to keep herself from wondering what the guy from the CDC looked like under the mirrored visor and the bright yellow jumpsuit. That, naturally, led to thoughts of what his cock might look like. Or taste like. Or feel like buried in her cunt. 

She shook her head. “Did you say something?”

“Nope.” The guy from the CDC turned out to be a gal from the CDC, which, in turn, led to a new array of fantasies about what lurked beneath the suit.

Aida sent an a–clear thought to Gadget and left out the CDC rep’s presence. No distractions until he could make Aida whole again. She could handle one CDC representative.

Only what lurked under the hazmat suit wasn’t some nebbishy woman in taped glasses with social anxiety. As the yellow vinyl was torn away, Aida found herself staring into the deep blue eyes of one of the transformed citizens. Pale hair flowed around her round face with its full lips and thin nose, the expression of helpless hunger.

“Queenie!”

Aida stared, shocked. She should have run or blasted the thing with her mental concussion, but she was frozen in place by the sight of the voluptuous bimbo, her joyous exclamation adding to the surreal moment unfolding.

Before she could send up the mental flare for help, the bimbo was on her, gripping Aida’s inflated breasts while forcing a deep kiss to accompany the grope. Walls crumbled in Aida’s mind and she embraced the slut, deepening the kiss. Her hands found the ripe tits of the invading bimbo and, for a second, they were almost a perfect mirror of one another’s lust, one in purple, the other pink.