Is this serious? Is the Zpunk dangerous? Surely it can't transform people the same way Richard Holland had become that massive breasted vixen... could it?
Cautiously, you rise from the couch and cross the room. The five boxes sit in the sunshine streaming through the window. One of the boxes has already been ripped open, and you can see about thirty or forty cans of the stuff inside, though there is a space where one has clearly been removed.
You check the name of the can. Zpunk: Bitch juice. The image on the side shows a man holding a dog leash, leading around two beautiful, naked women in collars, who walk on their hands and knees at his heels, tongues lolling out like dogs as they gaze lovingly up at their master. Zpunk has never been one for subtlety. Their marketing strategy is to blast young men with as much explicit sexual content and crude slogans that they can get under the radar of the advertising agency.
'Zpunk: Put bitches in heat,' is the slogan.
You lift out one of the cans. The metal is warm under the touch. You're just about the squeeze the nozzle and give it a tentative sniff when your mobile rings.
"Hello?"
"Robbie! Don't go near the Zpunk, it's dangerous!"
"Huh? Who is this?" you ask.
"It's me, Robbie, your dad." Funny, you can barely recognize him. His panicked voice sounds high yet husky. Must be a bad connection. "Listen, I'm coming home as fast as I can. Stay away from Zpunk. Keep your brother away from it too. It only affects men. I'll be there soon. I can sort everything out. And Robbie..."
"Yeah?"
"Don't panic if I look a little... different."
Strange, but two warnings is quite enough. Placing the Zpunk can down, you step far away from it.
A few minutes later, there comes a squeal of tyres. Your dad's car careens around the corner of the road, hurtles down the street, and comes to a screeching stop on the front lawn, leaving deep brown smears in the grass. The door flies open and... something climbs out.
A dog? No. A woman then? A woman covered in thick brown fur like a dog, with a long shaggy tail emerging from the torn seat of her trousers. Her hands are half-human paws, which might explain the driving, and her face has a long muzzle, with two floppy ears poking out the top of her head. She wears a ragged business suit and clutches a briefcase to her chest. Your dad's briefcase. She's eaten him!
She seems to be having trouble walking, staggering as though in great distress. Her clawed fingers tear at the shirt and tie at her throat, ripping away the cloth to liberate a pair of shapely DD-breasts. "...can't...breath..." she rasps, wild-eyed. "...this...heat..."
The animal... thing begins to move for the front door. You get there just in time, slamming your body against it as the handle turns.
"Stay the hell out! What the hell are you, and what have you done with my dad?"
"Robbie," the creature on the other side of the door growls. "Let me in, it's me, your father. Listen, you have to let me in. It's in the air now. You have to let me in so that I can immunize you."
"You're not my dad!"
"Trust me, I am. There's been a terrible mistake. The Zpunk is dangerous, it transforms people, and it got me too." The hatch of the letterbox swings open. "Robbie, down here. Look at my eyes. Ignore everything else and just look at my eyes. You recognise me, now, don't you, son?"
As you let go of the handle and crouch to look into the eyes peering through the letterbox, the dog-woman on the other side throws herself against the door with a triumphant cry, flinging it open in your face and knocking you off your feet. You end up sprawling on the floor, clutching your smarting nose.
"Got you good there, boy!" the dog grins as she stands above you, her magnificent tits standing proudly from her chest. You'd recognise that look of gloating any time. "Now stay still, I need to get you immunized." Her dextrous paws fumble with the briefcase for a moment and it pops open, a bundle of lose paperwork and three fluid-filled syringes falling out. She grabs one of the syringes and plunges the needle into your thigh without so much as a by-your-leave. You howl in pain as the fluid is injected, but her arms are strong, pinning your upper body, while her lower half straddles your legs, stopping you from kicking her off.
She relaxes a little as the syringe finishes administering its payload, giving you the opportunity to kick her away with your non-impaled leg and pull the syringe free. "Well that's gratitude for you right there," she winces, picking herself up. "I just saved you from a life as a horny slut, son."
"What the hell is going on?"
"I'll tell you everything, but first I need you to..."
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