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Axel Hoffmann approached the tied up man. When he grabbed his arm and
inspected it for good veins to inject the magic liquid into, the prisoner
tried to beg him to stop. But trying to make yourself understood with a
pair of dirty socks in your mouth and several layers of adhesive tape
around it is not an easy task.

Axel stuck the needle into the man's arm. He did not enjoy this, nor
did he feel any remorse. He was paid for doing what he did. Or at least
he would be when he had perfected the potion. These rich women had offered
him, one of Europe's finest scientists, a five million dollar reward when
he handed them the formula. Until then he lived in luxury in this
grandiose mansion that he didn't even know the exact location of. They had
brought him here blindfolded in a car, six or seven hours away from Sao
Paulo airport, Brazil.

He wasn't allowed to leave the premises, and was at all times escorted
by an armed female guard when he strolled around the small lake or the
magnificent garden. They assured him that the guard was there to protect
him, but he sensed she was there to make sure he didn't flee the coup
before his mission was completed.

His working days were long, between twelve and fourteen hours, six days
a week. Every Sunday morning, and only then, his concubine of choice
entered his bedroom to temporarily erase all the chemical formulas from his
mind. She stayed with him until early Monday morning, making damn sure his
batteries had been recharged so he could endure another week of hard labor
for his boss-ladies.

His sensational discovery six years ago had made him the laughing-stock
of his trade. The idea was so outrageous that nobody even bothered to
check whether or not his theories could hold water. A colleague had
adviced him to write a movie script and send it to Hollywood, and then
laughed him straight in the face. But they didn't realize that he could
actually prove everything he claimed was true. At least in theory. And
the hundreds of failed experiments over the years had taken him so close to
the ultimate solution that all he needed to do now was make the necessary

The problem was not deciding which drugs to mix, but how the exact
proportions should be. Even that problem was about to be solved. His
latest experiments with the male prisoners had been really satisfying. The
only problem was the final stages. The human lab rats had some sort of
attacks in which they started shaking uncontrollably, then collapsed and
finally died between five minutes and two hours later. It was all a matter
of proportions. The latest two cases had lasted much longer than the
earlier ones. He was getting closer. Everything else had been figured
out. He changed the formula once again.

In suburban Rio de Janeiro Carmelita Rosario returned to her crummy
apartment after work as usual. She was cleaning offices downtown for a
large European company and hated it. The wages, the arrogant pale-faced
employees, the way her body hurt after every long hard days work.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead and began unpacking the groceries
she had bought on the way home. The only objects left on the kitchen table
when she was done was a transparent plastic bag that contained three lively
two-inch long goldfish and some water. Beside it there was a black plastic

Carmelita was still an attractive woman at the age of 38. She could
have any man she wanted, and knew that life would be a whole lot more
comfortable for her if she found herself a wealthy husband. But doing that
would make her feel like a Puta, a prostitute. And her gorgeous body was
not for sale.

She had left her lazy, no-good husband of almost twenty years as soon as
their two children had grown up and moved away, and was in no hurry to tie
herself up again.

Carmelita poured the fish into a soup-bowl and sensed the sweet
expectation as she watched the three rapidly moving bodies crossing each
other's paths again and again. Ever since she was a little girl she had
had this strange desire that nobody, not even the few men in her life, had
known anything about.

She silently removed her yellow cotton dress. With nothing more than a
pair of white panties to cover her dark brown and very appetizing body she
switched on the TV and sat down in the sofa. She caught one of the fish
with her fingers and lifted her mature, round ass from the seat. She
watched its silly eyes and pretended it was that obnoxious Walter Brennan
at the office.

"I'm sorry mister Brennan! I'm so sorry I forgot to empty your ashtray
at exactly three o'clock as usual. It must be very hard for you. Yes, how
stupid I am! Please, allow me to sit on you!" The wiggling little creature
soon found itself trapped under a huge mass of soft, sweaty flesh inside
the back of her panties.

As Carmelita applied more pressure, the little fish could do no more
than massage the sensitive nerves in her left ass-cheek. But that was more
than enough for her. She wet her fingertips with saliva and began playing
with her large black nipples, at first very gently and slowly, knowing from
experience the value of a good foreplay.

The pleasure the little fish gave her while being slowly smothered to
death under he ass was immense, almost painful. As the first wave of
orgasms started running through her trembling body, she applied full
pressure, letting the fish take her full weight. If only I could do this
to a man instead, she thought as she squashed the goldfish with grinding
hip movements. She often fantasized about shrinking one of those boring
Europeans at work, to bring him home tucked in between her large and heavy
breasts, or wearing him inside her panties all the way home on the bus,
letting him smell and taste his upcoming, cruel destiny.

Sometimes the dreams ended with the victim being smothered to death
inside her pussy; sometimes she would shove his head into her asshole and
strangle him with her rim. But more often she would play with him like a
cat with a mouse, hurting him a bit, but not too much, humiliate him in
almost unthinkable ways, fucking herself silly with his helpless, stiff
body and then licking her own love juice off him, before sucking him into
her mouth. She would do anything for that moment of total power and
control... To be able to suck on the executive like he was a piece of
food, a living sausage.

Carmelita woke up from her trance-like state of mind and caught the
remaining two fish. The first one disappeared between her thick lips and
the second one slipped inside her tight panties. She pressed it firmly
against her second most sensitive spot, the place between her pussy and
asshole, then secured it in that position by pulling the cotton material
real hard upwards.

"I'm sorry if you feel a bit uncomfortable down there, Mr. Roberts. I
know how much you English people appreciate comfort," she spoke between her
teeth. "Mr. Roberts" was far better than any of the vibrators she had
tried in her life. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine that sorry
excuse for a man struggling for his pathetic life in her crotch.

She had several quick orgasms as she rubbed the goldfish to death, back
and forth between her two pleasure-holes.

The fish in her mouth was getting slightly weaker, so she decided to
wash him down with a mouthful of spit. The small creature went down like a
champion, fighting and resisting until the very end. Carmelita always had
her finest orgasms when she felt something living flopping around in her
belly. She usually didn't even have to rub her pussy to achieve the golden
goal at those precious moments.

She went to the bathroom and dropped the two small corpses down the bowl
and urinated all over them. She glanced down just before she flushed and
thought that golden water was a fitting grave for a couple of goldfish.
Then she remembered to check her lottery ticket. This might be her lucky


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