A noise from outside catches your attention. It's drunken singing, a crowd of revellers are singing loudly, badly a racist song as they walk down the street.
"The world could do with fewer assholes, and more bimbos. At least improve the scenery." You scowl at them. Looking at the gift pack of Zpunk Africa sitting innocently in their presentation box, you think about setting them up as a trap.. a booby trap.
- - - - -
It's a matter of only a few minutes to set up a trip wire. Half afraid, this is all a joke being played on you, or accidentally triggering it yourself. You retreat slowly, from it. At the sound of more drunks approaching, you race back to your house. Kneeling on the floor, your head barely above the base of the window frame, you see the same party staggering back. Your hands tremble as you check the window if fully closed. You don't want to risk contamination yourself.
Almost bouncing on your heels, you see them approach the tree where the trap is set.
=-Whooosh-=
The spray shoots forth, a thick cloud hiding the drunks from sight. The singing stops immediately, replaced with incoherent outrage... expressed in voices that rise as the smoke thins.
Seeing the impact, you see even their clothes have changed. A mix of giggles and gasps comes from the girls as they explore their bodies. The exaggerated curves pleasurably mauled, tweaked, twisted and slapped.
You smirk, at the racists, now going to be the target instead of the thugs. Smirking once again, you imagine they'll probably face sexism as a bigger issue. Confused, but incapable of rational thought, the girls continue along their way. The tipsy girls singing out pop songs rather than racist chants.
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