[Cowprobe]

“How the F do I get myself into this crap?” Tommy thought as the Dodo light plane he was attempting to pilot ejected its powdery contraband crop-dusting over HIS city. Yeah? How the hell DOES he find trouble so large not even a tank can kill it? Well in order to know the problem you gotta know the man kapesh? Best way to do that is to start at the beginning, you know what they say the first hit’s free..

VICE CITY Early 1980’s

The heat came on so strong you would shoot it if you could. Locals always at this time of year decided to use each other for target practice, since firing at the heat was about as much of a use as pissing in a hurricane. The greater island city of Viceroy, later shortened to Vice cause it sounded too Kraut back in WW2, sat like an enormous neon turd on the gulf coast just waiting to be flushed. Speaking of stuffing waste places, the cocaine trade was in full swing. Without any inane hold-ups from the little bickering gangs that helped make it flourish if you know what Im sayin?. This was because of the now legendary efforts of one man. A Thomas John Vercetti. But like most things in this former convict’s life it was going to take a turn for the fucked

Tommy’s mansion was his castle, armed cronies patrolled with badly concealed machine guns under even worse aftershave and hair gel. He had the pick of the litter in terms of women, wine and cars. The first was always easy to come by, since Tommy’s mysterious sociopath demeanor attracted the jaded local dolls like cops to a Rusty Brown Hole donut-shop. The second was often avoided, not because of his health but because Mr.Vercetti’s current hold on power only came after a chorus line of betrayals and he couldn’t afford to be nursing a hangover when some asshole came in trying to take his turf. The third, cars or anything else with a seat and a wheel, was secretly even more important to Tommy than power, money and possibly even respect. He always wanted to be a race car driver, that love led him to getting his hands on anything fast and flashy any way he could. Which eventually led him to getting in on the Liberty City auto chop shop racket which later led him to becoming a made man. Which was why he ended up keeping his mouth shut and taking the full prison sentence to cover his “family’s” collective ass. Even while he was dodging shanks and wanks the 15 years he spent in prison the thought of one day being able to cruise down the avenue kept him sane and focused. His psychotic need to protect what was his actually was a real case of overcompensation for his auto-fetish.

To cut this down to what you need to know after a double-cross that landed him in Vice City he proceeded to cater to the illegal elite in the city until much to their surprise he owned it. In between him coming to the island metropolis penniless and eventually running it he committed enough acts of theft, assault, arson, hit & run, extortion, and drug trafficking to single handedly take credit for Vice City being named “The best place to take a vacation, the worst to be on foot outdoors”. After the FBI and National Guard failed to kill or even find him his rule was assured.

Now that you know where our boy is coming from time to see how things could get so bad he’d get into a plane and dust his clientele with prime Brazilian snort.

Vice City was taking a dance with the ceiling fan WAY before Tommy got wind of it. At the city’s largest radio station formerly owned by Pastor Roberts, a televangelist that loved the money as much as the interns, certain adjustments were being made that would have given the FCC a heart attack. The pastor’s rumored son Ralph Roberts actually Ravil Radimov, was up on the tower adding some undemocratic piece of hardware that looked like Sputnik crossed with Betamax. Chuckling like a movie prizefighter or bad Bond villain ‘Ralph’ rubbed his hands together eagerly “All is in readiness now to contact my superiors”. Taking a moment to fiddle with the towers insides and attaching a headset somewhere in the mess of wires he made to do just that. What the Soviet bastich forgot was the different electrical standards between the Land Of The Free and the Iron Curtain. The electrical shock didn’t kill the Commie as much as the sudden stop from landing ass first on the gigantic pointing statue of his ‘pappy’ that still straddled the radio grounds. Trust me this will be important later.

Tommy was passing the time celebrating both the birthday, and now truly legal status, of his ward/hostess Miss Mercedes Cortez. “MMMmm sweets for a little thing you sure have a mouthful” Tommy managed to say between making Mercedes left tit his tasters choice. She looked at him through eyes that said “Come hither and not on my face, peasant” in person and on the cover of the best seller out of Interglobal films, owned by Tommy, adults videotape market two months running. She raised her cocoa colored arms over her head and puffed out her lower lip and her chest “They were a Sweet sixteen present from my father”. Tommy didn’t know what to say really, he was in the big house till a few months ago and was still trying to catch up on things… “What?” he said as well as he could. Her dad used to be the Columbian cartels’ contact into Vice City, a position Tommy had now, from the way she was going on he hoped that his current physical position wasn’t one he also shared with Mercedes Cortez’s father. “No my little errand boy, not THAT way.. they were shall we say” as she cupped them and teased the nipples to their full height “Purchased”.

The doors to Broad Horizons cosmetic Surgery Boutique were closed unreasonably early today. Their biggest customer in both saline content and altered proportions, now second billing to the unusually nubile Mercedes (she said she was eighteen on her contract), Candy Suxx jiggled nervously at the front entrance. “Hurry up pretty pretty PUHleese” she stamped her foot and then in desperation got her face as close to the glass doors as she could, with all that front it sure was difficult, and peered inside. “Hmm as IF this is Not happening!!” she could see boxes packed away and the front waiting area’s Andy Warhol prints were taken down. “They’re skipping town!! Wait until Tommy hears about this!!” . Her minder, a thick headed goomba from Liberty City that Tommy didn’t so much trust as not consider a threat, tried to reason with the incensed semi plastic bombshell “Look baby. I can get us in just stop your mouth”. Going to the back of the Sentinel he drove all the way down to Vice City in, the mook gave the tire iron a heave and threw it through the window. “Oh MY GAD! I can’t believe you did that I am so gonna get in trouble” Candy chirped, the mook shrugged cleared the glass and opened the door from the inside to let Miss Suxx into her surgical nirvana. “Look baby it was easy, all the lights are off on a Monday? You think the freakin alarm is gonna be on?”. Candy may have looked like a bimbo and over the past few years done her best to play the part but she wasn’t a complete idiot. “Ooohh Thank you” she brushed against the bad fashion that this goomba thought was styling to keep him in line and then pursued her objective: Exactly WHY her cup size had shrunk over three inches and she had gained as many pounds in the last few hours.

The Pole Position, also owned by Mr.Vercetti, was a strip club if you didn’t pick that up by the name. The talent though were having the same troubles as Miss Suxx and the elderly pervert retirees and random bikers were having none of it. “BOOooo we wanted to see ass AND Tits!!” cried one golf garbed geezer. “Damn hon you need some red beans and rich Pronto how’s the hell I gonna go back to the Overlook without bustin a nut eh?” an elderly brother shouted. “Man I see better bodies on my bike calendars!” a cyclist cretin cried. The girls were getting as rowdy as the clientele and the bouncers soon had to wade into the near riot wielding baseball bats. One of the barkeeps, a pretty thing in a zebra striped dress grabbed the phone and punched the number to the people she paid protection to just as a scream was heard from the back “Private Area” rooms.

“Yeah this is Tommy?” something about a crazy person on ‘ludes tearing up one his properties made our boy squirm out from under his second favorite Mercedes and start getting his ‘street clothes’ on. Taking a long look at his Lolita-no-longer lover Tommy thought something was wrong with the way she was taking up space on the bed, almost as if there was less on her chest and more of her everywhere else. But after finding out that nearly nine out of ten of the beach goddesses he openly hit on using someone else’s wheels were less than truthful about their bazooms being born that way, Tommy filed it neatly under “Women” problems in his predatory brain and got some wheels. The Infernus was a lean piece of automotive majesty and it took a madman to peal out and over the neighbor’s hedges and possibly gardener. In the ruckus that Tommy left in his wake the weak moans coming from the plush mansion’s bedroom were left unheard.

Cowprobe and Rockstar present GROWTH THEFT AUTO: Where’s The Beef Tommy?

Candy was making the mook a shade of coward over at the broken into Broad Horizons Cosmetic Surgery Boutique. While she wasn’t really one to keep covered Candy made an exception today on account of her rapidly diminishing assets her tight hot pants though were more torture and less titillation and were getting more painted on by the moment. What was really giving the thug from Liberty City pause was how much Candy was beginning to fill her jean jacket. Even though she only had the hooters of a normal chick now instead of the life preserver watermelons from yesterday, her torso filled the jacket completely. “Are you going to help me or what!” Candy snapped as she rifled through files and cabinets totally unaware of how easily she tossed back breaking bureaus to the side. “Uhhh” the leg breaker hesitated, not surprising since Candy’s eyes were worse than bloodshot now and her iris’ looked like a wolves’, yellow and reflective. Candy stopped for a moment as she lifted one of the desks to rummage through the document shredder. “Look you want a piece of me?” she tried in her best sex Kitten Natividad voice and attempted to saunter over to the brute who for some reason still carried the tire iron. It didn’t quite work out and planned at first but after a short feeling of warmth she heard a RIIIIIIPPPP and felt cool air on her outer thighs and ass. Having to concentrate on being a slut more than usual for some reason Candy kicked off her now too tight flip-flops with one foot and attempted to slowly cross the distance between her and her minder. “Uhhhh Get back baby I don’t wanna hurt you!” the thug was out of his gourd and was holding the tire iron like the guy from that Fright Night monster movie television show. Candy stopped for a moment “Are you getting high on the boss’s supply or something” she rolled her shoulders and a sound like torn bed sheets pierced her ears, but at least she was able to breathe better. Still attempting to ‘act’ at wanting the brute’s rod so he’d help her find where her plastic surgeon was at, all her powers of observation were focused on the now hysterical dego. “What” she cooed as her neck popped for some reason that her walnut brain couldn’t get a handle on.

Necks among other things were being popped over at the Pole Position as the place was surrounded by VCPD cruisers. This didn’t stop Tommy from getting in though: all it meant was that he’d have to steal another Infernus after ghost-riding this one into the police cordon and then running past the bbq’ed pigs into the club. “What the Hell?” it seemed that there were linebackers in women’s panties with tits so big the pasties that Vice City law required only covered the nipples leaving palm sized aureoles. Taking a second look at the size of the hairdos on the transvestite football players he realized that they were his girls, either that or Lou Ferregno in drag. Tommy was able to spend those few seconds relatively unharmed on account of the knife fight that broke out between one of his now behemoth dancing girls and about five of the bikers left conscious. What used to be Trixy Hamilton was now roughly seven feet tall of rippling she-meat. Her shoulders looked as if they’d have trouble making it through the doorway, they being so wide and overdeveloped. It was not as if she was small to begin with after all that’s why right after Tommy bought the place he increased the girls wages, as a result of Mercedes’ nagging, for “Medical Needs”. But now her legs were like tree trunks and her arms were so overpacked with sinew she couldn’t completely bend them around the head of the Morley Richardson Biker guy she was squishing in a half nelson. Her waist was like one of those bikes leather seats except smooth and without little brass buttons in each of the speed bumps of her abs. Her hands and feet had stayed proportional to her head which looked like a sexy circus freak being it was the same size as yesterday. Her eyes were what made Tommy reach for his Colt Python tucked behind his waistband under his shirt. They were yellow iris’ rimmed with worse than bloodshot red where the white used to be. Then Tommy’s foot caught on the imploded skull of one of the bouncers who also had a crumpled piece of metal in what used to be his hand. “Holy shit!” Vercetti then gave up all hope of sorting out this mess from within his establishment, remembering the ‘gift’ he left for the VCPD out front that left him one choice: to make it out the back past the “Private Area” rooms.

Miss Cortez was sleeping almost soundly as the tunes from the guard’s ghettoblaster outside the mansion barely filtered in. Then the annoying technological dohicky leftover from the estate’s previous coked out owner blared to full clock/radio alarm life right next to her head. The tunes from V-Rock pulsed through louder than the Jap radio shoulda been able to put out. As the shrieking man-bitches of Love Fist tore up the airwaves Mercedes Cortez was shocked to wakefulness. Mercedes screamed for about a full minute then staggered to her feet. “My bosom” she didn’t cry but instead made it to the locker room sized mansion bathroom to take account of the damage. The massive mirrors that made up the wall above the four marble sinks gave her all the information she needed. “Where did my tits go? E.T.?” she felt around… still sensitive that was a good sign. Then she pushed in on her chest a little more it was WARM like she had a fever right there. To make matters odd it was firmer like she had been doing aerobics instead of occasionally dancing at Tommy’s club. Her brow crossed and she pouted, then the first convulsion went through her. She landed on the polished stone floor in a heap as her every fiber realigned themselves. Through gritted teeth she attempted to make it to the door latch, the last thing she wanted was one of the shoe polish stinking savages Tommy called ‘armed help’ coming in and seeing HER at a disadvantage. Propelled by her pride she strained for the door and like some Interglobal Films plot her shoulder stayed in the same place but her arm lengthened towards the door. Mercedes may have been a spoiled little rich girl but she was also the daughter of a militant coke dealer. She had enough spunk to make it to the doorknob and then pull the rest of herself against the door. With her head there the caustic tunes of V-rock favorite Judas Priest pounded against her forehead like the flat side of a shovel.

“Oh so hot no time to take a rest yeah

Act tough ain’t room for second best

Real strong got me some security

Hey I’m a big smash I’m goin’ for infinity yeah “

As the radio filleted Mercedes braincase she could feel her shoulders begin sliding up the door. “Ehhhh rrrggggghhhHHHHH” by the time the crook of her neck reached the door knob her red bra was straining from her body’s added girth. She shook like she had snorted bad nitro-cut-coke and sweat began to pour out of her. Her rapidly widening ass moved with no problems along the floor as from her position she could see her legs begin to lengthen. Pops of joints trying to figure out where to go next made her roll her eyes back into her head and in one practiced wave of nausea she up-chucked last night’s gourmet salad in a projectile stream that landed well within the sink. Gasping for air her arms began to twitch as veins that made her look like a heroin junkie began to pulse to the surface widening and making highways for blood to pump through. Her teeth ground in place and a heaviness landed on her like the hangover after spending all night on XTC. Her arms and legs started to get huge like Italian sausage. It was as if her body was becoming a weightlifter, boxer, swimmer and Mary Lou Rettin all rolled into one. First they bulked up like that guy in ‘Exploder’ then the skin stopped being able to hold the muscle in and her fat just boiled off. Her panties were doing the ‘Goonies’ in her asscrack and her box was getting creased as well. “MMmmmm” she mewled like a cat in heat as her bra dug deliciously into her skin and the warmth pooled there like an oil spill. Her back suddenly blew up like one of those new air bag things and forced her face to stare at her desolate chest. Just then it began to start resembling a phone book in thickness and her bra split down the middle exposing nipples that were three times as long as she remembered. Then a churning like the feel of a boat in choppy weather explored her chest. An almost liquid feeling saturated her now impressive pectorals as her non existent teats began to pour back out from where ever they left to. First it reached her original b’s then they just cleared her surgical benchmark C/D and surged to an ample G. Her nipples now brushed her greater thighs but interior crunching like a Bloodring Racer demolition derby going on in her spine made her torso longer and her youth tightened smooth belly began to look like an Eggo Waffle.

Candy recoiled from the tire iron making itself known to her upper brainlocker. The mook looked on in disbelief as she took all that he put into the swing with only a slight trickle of blood and a confused expression to show for it. “That was SO lame” Candy retorted and turned back to the rest of Broad Horizons in pursuit of her plastic surgeon. The thug took one look at his dented tire iron muttered a prayer and hightailed it out of there and into his Sentinel. Candy heard the car speed off and the surprised cry of a pedestrian from outside the Boutique but she could care less. By now her tits had entirely disappeared and when she turned on the lights to the examination room instead of the pathetic stick she expected to see there was something else. First of all her piled hairdo now brushed against the doorframe which elicited an “As IF”. Secondly her so rad jean Love Fist concert jacket given to her by that upstart Mercedes was oh SO torn which was cool, the bigger problem was what had done the tearing in the first place. The entirety of her body below her ears couldn’t be hers but it moved when she wanted it to. Her hourglass figure had gotten widened at the top and bottom while the middle stayed the same thickness. Putting her hands, around her waist and squeezing there was absolutely no give. Bringing one hand up to grope her arm she noticed its new heft and width. There was a pair of massive veins underneath her skin that when she moved her arm suddenly came into relief and branched out all over. The ditches of tissue cast a variety of shadows from the harsh overhead lights. She couldn’t believe what she saw. And almost as if touching her larger body wasn’t enough she stomped over to the full length mirror and crouched down a little so she could see herself. Closer now so that every breath could make her now salsbury steak thick chest heave and the line of definition that went from below her neck past her navel and stopping just above her shaven woman hood. She had forgotten to take off her pasties not that it mattered since her implants had disappeared along with all her dreams of becoming a real serious actress. She noticed her eyes but thought that the yellow iris’s and blood red sclera was just pink eye. Then a jackpot of sensations clutched her once deadened nipples and a avalanche of flesh just oozed from those meat slabs she now had for chest muscles. Warm pillowy Ta Ta’s lunged forth with a ferocity that smashed the mirror she was standing so close next to and buried themselves slightly in the plaster wall behind. “Whoa what’s going on” Candy noticed her slim stems were unable to squeeze together as close as before due to the Jaws Of Death that her thighs had developed into. Giving her teats a gentle squeeze a flood of emotions, lubrication, and joy poured forth from their proper exits. As she began to play with herself her expansion continued. Shoulders got so large as to make distinguishing them from her head difficult. Her neck muscles and lats made a halo of femuscle acreage that reached from behind her ears to her waist making her look like a Bimbette cobra on legs. Her upper and lower limbs were fighting for size as if it was personal. Her hands and feet lengthened into dinner plate piledrivers. Her head actually expanded a little bit as well from the added muscle but given her mane of Sissy Spritz teased locks it actually made her noggin seem proportional. Outside on the streets of Vice Point smashing sounds could be heard from within the Broad Horizons cosmetic Surgery Boutique.

Tommy got to see Miss Hamilton give a braindead throaty penis-breath roar as she released the now rag doll Marley Richardson ex-biker and advanced on his mates. They took out larger machetes, she grabbed the bikers and gave a luggage stomping toss that placed both of them back-first onto one of the dance poles. “This just gets better and better” there wasn’t any way Tommy could think of getting past her without putting himself, arguably the most important person in his life, in more danger. Shrugging “Hey Trixy! Your shoes’ untied!” the now giant poledancer looked down for a moment more that enough time for Tommy to take a running leap off the raised dance platform land one foot on her slab of a back and slide down past her. She spun with a confused look on her face and her mouth attempted to form words. That’s when Tommy fired on the overhead lighting system causing it to spark and shudder then threw the fire alarm. Not trusting himself to have an actual working sprinkler Tommy was pleased to hear a scream and smell burnt hair back from the whence he booked. Making it to the ‘Private Area’ portion of the club he wanted to see if any of his investments made their way out of the mess in back alive. “Hey any of you not dead?” Tommy yelled. There was a fluttering at one of the back stalls, the same one where he got into the good graces of the help and ended up buying the place. His hopes were halfway right as a much smaller than Cindy though still capable of beating him at armwrestling Becky Cornhoosen ambled out of the stall covered in blood and coke. “You look terrible” Tommy mentioned as he kept his Luger trained on her in case of any Wonderwoman bullshit was to be pulled. “I feel worse” Becky replied “First my chest vanishes and then I felt so bad I just had to have some blow and then when I came to the man I shared the snort with was Oh my god” the woman who now topped Tommy by a few inches barreled into his shoulder sobbing “How am I ever going to save for veterinary school?”. Trying to keep the blood and contraband off his newest Hawaiian print shirt Tommy said “Come with me if you want to live”.

Mercedes was three seconds from tearing Ken Rosenburg’s face off his head when the small mirror of powdery wealth he was holding went flying into her own. The frizzy haired lawyer had already wet himself in fear after seeing the doors to the master bedroom go flying down the hall and seeing someone whose suitable cleavage he could stare down only yesterday now wearing the body of an action hero and Dolly Parton combined was almost enough to make him faint in fear. “What the hell happened to you!” Ken wailed as he backpedaled from the distorted yet undeniably bang-able monstrosity that had Miss Cortez’s head attached to it. Mercedes though was riding the high and becoming sober at the same time which was both a letdown and relief. Ken was looking over Mercedes now 6’ 2” frame as it expanded and twitched to her every whim she tried acting as if she was in charge instead of just looking it. “Put your eyes back into your head this doesn’t concern you, lawyer” she said in her best employer to housekeeper voice. Ken was too busy noticing she was naked and sex without heels to give a response other than “Uh sure thing M, I was just coming up to tell Tommy that there’s trouble all over the place” which for Rosenburg was quick and to the point.

Candy was no longer herself, as if all the bottled up rage and regret at having to chop herself up and lie spread eagle on producers couches just to get parts in dirty porn came rushing out and knocked the star-struck side of Miss Suxx right out of the drivers seat. Everything looked smaller now, she couldn’t tell why with the need to smash and rend pretty much putting her in a killfrenzy. But to let you in on the secret it was because she was eight feet tall and every pound a brick shithouse. Since we’re on the subject of secrets the plastic surgeon who had done all the work on her chest also happened to be a Communist sleeper agent. His line of expertise was surgery and the emerging realm of microtechnology. The gelatin love-bags that the Soviet surgeon installed in the flat trophy wives, up and coming Yuppie chicks, and occasional ecdysiast had a cocktail of devices invisible to the naked eye. These do-dads basically acted as a sort of super PCP that made whoever they inhabited freak out and get big enough to do some damage. Given that the test subjects in Russia were malnourished political dissidents the dosage was high even on normal bust brokerings. The idea of ‘breast augmentation’ gets even more scary when you factor in the well fed, mostly healthy, products of the Land Of The Free. Candy had been a three-way-woman wielding fun bags that carried enough of those widgets to make the Swedish Bikini Team into an NFL property. Now her frame shrugged off bullets from the local fauna of both the “Shark’s” gang and the Vice City PD. She was soon scaling buildings in order to get to her preprogrammed objective as were her other ‘enhanced bust’ sisters.

Those other ladies of fashion had similar dispositions, though none were as broadside of a barn HUGE as Candy had exploded to. Then again 7 foot tall amazon Jewish American Princesses, Yuppiette’s, and lapdancers going hogwild in the lush tourist section of Vice City’s Washington beach was sure to cause some chaos. As it was these ladies were also bulletproof , tireless, and stronger than Christopher Reeves latest movie showing. PMS was a mild trickle compared to the bloodletting they were painting the pastel of Vice City red with. News teams frantically fought for airspace to get a better view only to drop like rocks by tossed light posts, signals and occasional joggers. To be perfectly honest most were looking for footage for the VCR porno industry. What with these very same bodies also having the proportions of the entire Sport’s Illustrated Swimsuit edition standing on the same pair of feet the footage was worth the danger.

Vice port was located on the transportation hub of Vice City a little over from Escobar Airport and right next to the Havanan ghetto. Now what wasn’t usually part of the scenery of shipping crates, cranes and cargo liners were the trio of submerged Soviet U-boats lurking just below the waterline outside of the port. As the tit-bombed bulky sex-hemoths raged up-town those communist bastich’s put up their antennae from below the depths and led the strapping sirens of carnage across the city.

As the bridge collapsed from a thrown fuel tanker too close for comfort Tommy forgot to swear out loud. The road was a tangle of strewn riceburners and good old fashioned American automobile. Also his passenger was beginning to get on his nerves from the way she was moaning every time he turned on the radio. “Look it calms me down, something we both want!” he was trying to be gentle but obviously Becky Cornhoosen was too thick in the head to deal with so Mr Vercetti just ignored her and turned it way up.

Cum on feel the noise

Girls rock your boys

We’ll get wild, wild, wild,

Wild, wild, wild,

Quiet Riot bounced through the interior of the Romero Hearse Tommy ripped off outside of the Pole Position. By now the sirens had reached a different sort of wail “Firetrucks what are they gonna do against Trixy-zilla”. Looking back for a moment where the employee of the month Becky Cornhoosen was sprawled out, Tommy noticed her feet were touching the Romero Hearse’s back door. Adjusting the rearview so as to a both keep an eye on the expansion in back and the explosions out front Tommy began to get distracted from the road. Becky’s chest seemed to grow with each fevered pitch of the music over the radio. First full, round comfortable breasts murmured forth becoming impacted by her string bikini. Then the flesh started to pile on, while she looked a lot more fit when he first rescued her from the club, Tommy could begin to see striations that looked like the sides of slaughter house bulls. His mouth was dry as he missed the turn and barreled full force into a cement ramp.

Mercedes had a strict catholic schoolgirl upbringing and some of those instincts survived her rebellious ways of late. She was trying to find threads to cover her now positively intimidating body. While more of an economy class chassis mutated by Russian sabotage her thickly muscled frame and pendulous breastesses were still unbelievable. The fact that she had a ‘real’ figure now all curves and dangerous ones at that made Mercedes less of a slave to fashion. She found some oversized clothing that would have barely fit the fat-ass that used to own Tommy’s mansion. The intials of ‘RD’ could easily be reinterpreted as ‘Ripped Delts’ instead of those of their former owner Ricardo Diaz. “Uh? Should I go?” Ken Rosenburg was an easily worried man, it often kept him alive. Knowing that Mercedes wasn’t even trying to bust her way out of the tacky shirt and stale slack combination yet was nearly doing so just by breathing almost had Ken wishing he was back in law school. “Look we better get scarce from what’s going on the news. If what I’ve seen out on the balcony is any clue the shit hitting the fan over at Washington Beach we better get off Starfish Island and get to Esco.BMMPH:” Ken was interrupted by the cleavage that enveloped his head. “Were you suggesting we abandon Tommy?” Mercedes asked while flexing her pectorials one at a time as the miracles of probably reversed engineered Russian science massaged his head Ken answered after coming up for air “Well how are we going to find him?”

Candy just snowplowed through the National Guard unit holding the bridge to Starfish Island and was making her way to the preprogrammed goal that was flashing its nefarious Cyrillic text across her scrambled “This is your brain on drugs” mental state: Fort Baxter Air force Base. As her body withstood blasts from the Rhino tanks that had been spared to defend the homes of “The Rich and Famous” on Starfish Island Candy began to throatily howl her approval “Oh YEss YESS MORE MORE MORE”.

As Tommy floated through the air within the Romero Hearse as it made its way across the barricade, via the concrete stunt ramp he previously drove blind into, a thought crossed his mind “Maybe Twiggy isn’t THAT cute”. After landing on a few obliging palm trees Tommy bailed as the flaming wreck exploded “Sorry babe I shoulda kept the radio off”. One of the local rubberneckers turned up his own radio in response with Amy Holland’s recent playing hit.

“She’s on fire, fire, fire”

“Well somehow that’s appropriate” Tommy reflected, just as the back of the smoking wreck of the Romero shot out like a cannonball followed by a soot covered leg. Tommy was already riding the Sanchez Dirtbike of a stunned onlooker towards the airport as an enraged she-thing that was once Becky loped out. He had an idea.

Mercedes had strode past the goggling goons up the stairs to the helipad on the roof. She grabbed a sniper rifle from one of the look outs and scanned the shore of the opposite West Bank. IT was odd to be so tall Miss Cortez mused and then the wind off the Gulf caused her nipples to expand, which in turn busted her shirt wide open. Ken almost had an embolism he didn’t even TRY to explain to himself what the hell happened to Mercedes over the last 24 hours he was too preoccupied with the notion that now that her tits were free of the tacky shirt’s confines they stood even higher! Her every movement gave clues to the awe inspiring development underneath the rest of her windswept leisure garment. All of a sudden a throaty voice now amplified through a larger diaphragm screamed “MORE Oh YeS For LENIN MoreEEE!!” as the concussion of tank shells exploding knocked everyone off their feet except Mercedes. “Was that..?” having experienced several intimate, though taped and privately sold, moments with a certain top heavy co-star Mercedes had an idea who that voice belonged to.

Within the lead sub Naval Captain first rank, Velin Komorov MADE orders to make sure the perestroika overtures of Gorbechev were shattered like bad porcelain. The plan among Komorov’s faction of the Soviet military machine was to show The Party that a war against the US was winnable and failing that make it so they at least kept their enemies and their jobs. Part of this was the utilization of the project. The secret mammary espionage codename “Baba Yaga” had come to its fruition with the ‘noble’ actions of that asshole Ravil Radimov way at the beginning of this story.

Tommy had the layout of the airport burnt into his brain like the numbers on his prison uniform. He was gonna make it out with enough product to start again. Maybe in Los Santos. anywhere but Vice City. Once the lapdancers start turning into the Abominable Women it was high time to go somewhere a little more sane. But he couldn’t leave his sweets Mercedes behind. Both her magnetic ass and the rest of her presence made him feel whole in a way maiming pedestrians just couldn’t cover. As he managed to bypass the streams of Air Force and National Guard personnel he began piecing together a rescue for Miss Cortez. After a quick change into Escobar International Airport duds Tommy was unbothered with on his way to hanger ‘69’. Getting the piece of shit seaplane started all by himself wasn’t a problem and neither was loading it after convincing some bored airport personnel at imaginary, wonders will happen with a good bad rep and a long index finger, gunpoint.

“Wait here I’m going to see to THAT” Mercedes said in no bullshit manner that would have made the Sisters back at her strict school envious. Ken risked a look over the roof’s edge at the furnace of destruction that was, according to M, formerly his favorite wank-target: Miss Candy Suxx. “Uh” Ken was raised off his feet by his thick medallion chain and brought to eye level by Mercedes. “If I do not see you again” she then used the strength in a muscle Rosenburg wasn’t expecting to nearly unblock his sinuses and clean his dental work. Putting the coiled lubricator of a tongue back into her throat she smiled for the first time in his presence “That was for Tommy”. She then grasped him by either side of the skull with her dainty yet power packed hands and brought him from frenching angle to straight eyes on eyes “THIS is for you”.

Candy was winded, taking all those rounds of ammunition had pelted her tanned flesh and the shrapnel while not damaging her would have felt like a thousand paper cuts if she was aware. Her body oriented itself to the new magnetic north of her existence Fort Baxter. Soon the path she opened up in the blockade would be swarmed by the 40 or so lesser but no less dangerous cosmetic surgery spawned hell-bitches of Project “Baba Yaga”. Then she felt a palm tree impact her shelf like chest throwing off her balance and making her go face first into some yuppie’s sand garden. The unfamiliar feeling of actually being picked up and manhandled was almost enough to rouse the little bit of cotton left in Candy. But the submerged Soviet masters were impatient and what once may have been cotton soon turned to rock Candy with an increased signal from Pastor Roberts altered radio tower.

Mercedes was a little frightened by her new strength although she almost knew this was a sign from above cause there was no way, even for their wicked size, that her rad new muscles could be doing so much with the scenery. Before the giant that was a porn queen regained her bearings Mercedes put her skills of boarding school locker fights to good use. Mercedes wrapped her comparatively thin legs around the head, since the neck was conjecture by this point, of Candy Suxx and applied sinew made from the best stuff in the USSR.

The in flight two-way radio was working for once Tommy ponderdered as he made a mainline towards Starfish Island. “Look I need to find out where Mercedes is” the radio crackled in response until a nervous voice picked up the line “Tommy?” Ken replied. Words were exchanged mostly of the variety “She told you to tell me what?!” but in those vital minutes a second far more bat-shit plan was aborted into the world.

Mercedes could feel the soft though slightly punctured flesh of her co-star begin to stir. The mountain ranges of Candy’s back began to bunch up as she realized something was wrong and attempted to remedy her problem. Mercedes could feel the warm skin bunch and engorge with the fuel of the oxygen still left in her blood. “She must be so large she can hold her breath till I’m dead” Mercedes felt mortality in that moment and it was sobering, Candy felt chemical prompted unmitigated rage at not being able to reach point B. With a series of heinous popping sounds like internal fleshy fireworks Mercedes could feel her opponent growing.

Tommy couldn’t believe it but he began doing what he was told. Uncut cocaine wafted like Blox from the window of the Dodo private plane. As his dreams of getting out of the fire and into the frying pan escaped out of his hands Tommy observed “So this is love”.

The throng of teat enhanced troopers made their way to the other bridge leading to Baxter Air force Base and were a nice little line for the Columbian signal breaker, ironically ‘snow’ to ‘smack’ them in the face. Mr.Vercetti’s aim was of course straight on, months of assassination missions made crack dusting some rabid amazons a walk in the park.

Mercedes though still had an uninterrupted Candy to deal with. And by now whatever emergency adrenalin beef augmentation cocktail that was bubbling in Suxx’s inner portions didn’t seem to be petering out. Miss Cortez desperately wished she had, barring cocaine, some Pop Rocks on hand to shove in the porn stars gullet and be done with it. A monstrous roar later and Mercedes found herself sputtering for air in a big R shaped pool. The house that blocked Mercedes from Candy’s view was soon a busted up frame as the ten foot tall, and possibly wide, Candy jiggled towards her objective. Mercedes was praying for a way out. Then she found the flamethrower wrapped in plastic with a VCPD evidence tag on it floating right next to her.

The followers of Pastor Roberts doctrine hadn’t been idle in their zeal to reach the greater glory. The promise of escaping Armageddon from within Pastor Roberts rocket powered statue had become a reality with the freeing of funds in Ravil Radimov’s attempt to make the parish into a front company. With a mighty heave the statue and Ravil’s cornholed remains began to shudder and shake.

The flame thrower managed to make Candy even LESS predictable since now her trees (yeah that’s plural, wanna make something of it?) trunk thick arms were waving about blindly. CRACK one of Suxx’s timber arms made contact and despite Mercedes endowments she was knocked out.

Tommy looked about, according to Ken’s lousy directions Mercedes would be around below. All he saw though was some impact crater and a giant boulder titted valkyrie on fire. He guessed and did a barrel roll as to properly ‘dust’ that particular flaming carrot. It worked in terms of coverage but with all that smoke and fire he didn’t know if it had any effect. He knew for sure when his plane was swatted and he had to bail. Though as the water closed in on him he knew he was gonna die. After all the things Tommy Vercetti was capable of, he never got it in his head to learn to swim.

Pastor Richard’s statue gave a miraculous heave towards the freedom of space. Then the dry ice generators failed and the fake smoke stopped the hideous effigy then crashed right into the radio tower to the wails of the psychos inside it.

Tommy awakened to an embrace of cocoa colored steel. What he originally mistook for pillows were in fact the swells of his sweet’s. The long sidewells of his bed were in fact the corrugated thighs that saved Vice City. And the wetness in the middle of his back wasn’t drool. “I need a bullet proof lifesaver next time I risk my ass for my city” Tommy grumbled. A polite tanned hand with the immovable strength of a concrete wall forced his face upwards. Secured by steely ropes of muscle a face that was his woman’s, after this no longer a girl, smiled a no longer rare smile and responded “With me you already have one”.

FADE TO BLACK

CREDITS

"Remember kids even if Soviet Amazons are destroying your city just say NO to drugs"

[Axel3.14]

That was a surreal tale of trafficking and transmongrification. I like your inclusion of the different vehicles.

[strange_unusual]

i like how tis takes place in vice city, what a classic. that game was real fun. anywho good story and details, keep up the good work

[Author]

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