Bimboquill: The Secret Files of Dr. Funkenstein — Part 2

Didi’s addiction disturbed me, but I also had no idea what would happen if I took the Bimboquill away. How bad would the withdrawals be? Would she die? Sean suggested I ease her off by cutting her pills with something else, but when I tried she just took more. A lot more. Her dosage went up every day, and she kept changing. Tits ballooned on Didi’s tiny frame. Her ass molded slowly into a beautiful bubble shape. It seemed almost a shame to try and stop her from taking the pills, but when her name started appearing on men’s room walls I knew it couldn’t be good. The clothes she wore grew tight and revealing, and when she showed up in my alley now her neck was always covered in purple hickeys. In fact, it wasn’t just Didi. All the girls ramped up their intake, and I noticed a similar transformation take each of them. Krystal, especially, showed up religiously. If not for the looming financial deadline, I’d have stopped selling Bimboquill right then and there.

* * *

A knock pulled me from my dreams. I stirred and rolled out of bed, rubbing the sand from my eyes and tripping over a pile of dirty clothes. Whoever was on the other side of the door, they had serious energy. The knocks came loud and insistent. I pulled on a pair of shorts and a white t-shirt that smelled like body odor and mustard and cracked open the door. Light streamed through the crack from the fluorescent bulb on my deck. I live in a cabin deep in the woods, and it was unusual to receive visitors. “Yes,” I groaned, squinting against the light. “Dr. Funkenstein, what did you do to my friend?” Sophia asked. “That crap you sell her has her all messed up.” “What’s wrong with Krystal?” I asked, still drowsy. My brain hadn’t quite finished its boot sequence yet. “She’s back at the dorm masturbating! It’s been three solid hours. She’s just lying there moaning and writhing in her sheets. She keeps begging me for Bimboquill, but I don’t have any. What is in that pink shit?!” I opened the door wide and flicked on the lights in my cabin. “Come on in. I don’t want to talk about this on the porch.” Sophia followed me. Her eyes flicked from a stack of old Chinese takeout cartons that rotted into my kitchen counter, to my dining room table groaning under countless beakers and chemicals. I pulled a wet shower towel off my chair and offered her a seat. She took it and grimaced at the dampness. “Start at the beginning,” I said. “It started a few days after she bought that crap,” Sophia began. “Krystal’s always been sexual, but she was normal, y’know? But when dildos showed up on her desk and in the couch cushions and in the sink, I knew something was going on. The dorm reeked of sex. And there she sat, stuffing those pills into her mouth like tic-tacs. Claimed they helped her concentrate.” I nodded and went to my table of chemicals, opening a brown bottle. “Then she brought a guy home, someone she met at the library. I thought, ‘Good, finally. Maybe now she’ll stop frigging herself every time I leave the room.’ But no, she didn’t even slow down. She just stopped hiding it.” “That must have been rough,” I said. “You have no idea! The men just kept coming. One after another. One a day, then two a day, and before I knew it, my dorm became a nonstop orgy. I couldn’t come home without finding her with somebody new. I don’t know where she got them all.” Clear fluid spilled from the brown bottle onto the shower towel. My fingers grew wet under the chemicals. I stepped back to Sophia and stood behind her. “So what’re you going to do?” “I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Sophia said. “I suppose I should call the police. What you’re selling has to be illegal, right?” “Seems logical. That’s probably what I would do if I were in your position,” I answered with a nod. “So you thought it would be a good idea to come to a drug dealer’s isolated cabin in the woods and tell him you’re going to call the police?” “Well, when you put it that way it does seem kind of foolish.” “Yeah, pretty stupid,” I said. “Hey, silly question, but does this thing smell like chloroform to you?” I wrapped the soaked towel around Sophia’s face and held her until she went limp.

* * *

Bondage was never my thing. When I screw a woman, I want her wet and wiggling, not tied up and screaming. That said, while I wrapped the orange extension cord around Sophia’s sleeping body, I felt myself stir a little. Sophia’s pudgy Asian features weren’t attractive, but there’s something to be said about the way flesh bulges around bindings. Like fishnet stockings on a properly thick woman, skin bubbling through fabric. It can be intensely erotic. I had no endgame. There is no endgame when it comes to kidnapping—not when the kidnaped knows your face. You either kill them or let them go, but letting them go obviously leads the police right back to you. So I said ‘screw it’ and force fed her Bimboquill. I jammed open her teeth with a funnel and shoved the pills down her throat by the dozen. The reason I subjected her to such a high dosage, the reason I told myself anyway, was that I needed to study Bimboquill’s effects close up. The unspoken reason, though, was that I hoped Bimboquill would accomplish what I was too much of a pussy to. Maybe if she swallowed enough of those little pink pills something would happen. Something awful. Overdoses happen all the time. The changes were slow at first. Even on an advanced dosage, it took a few days before Sophia’s body changed. A slight drop in her weight, a healthier shine to her hair, and an almost immediate clearing of complexion. Sophia’s skin was sickly and pale, but after a week of Bimboquill it took on a healthy almond color. Then the addiction started. True, she still choked and sputtered and spat insults every chance she got, but an eagerness took root in her. Sophia watched me as I counted out her daily dosage, wiggling against her bonds in uncomfortable arousal. Her curses took on an almost perfunctory tone. When she stopped fighting the funnel, I judged the time was right.

* * *

My cabin door shut behind me with a click. I dropped the shopping bag on the kitchen counter, pushing moldy takeout boxes to the floor where they landed with a wet plop. I reached into the bag and pulled out spiked collar with a thick leather leash. “For you,” I said. “Because I know sitting in that chair all day cannot be comfortable.” Sophia spat a fat loogie into my eye. “You’re a piece of shit.” “You try to do something nice for someone and this is what you get,” I said, wiping the spit away with an old sock I found in my microwave. “If you want to do something nice then let me go.” I ignored her and grabbed her chair, dragging it to an old radiator that lay bolted to my dining room floor. With all the weight she’d lost the spiked collar fit around her neck perfectly. Looping the leash around the radiator, I locked it in place with a thick padlock. “A leash?” she said, stretching her joints. “Am I your pet?” “More like a lab rat,” I answered simply. “Alas, I cannot give you freedom, but I can make a promise: I will no longer force feed you Bimboquill.” “And the catch?” “No catch. I just had a moral epiphany: it’s wrong to drug people, and I don’t want to be that kind of guy.” “It’s wrong to keep people captive. I guess your epiphany didn’t extend to human bondage?” “Well, I’m not Gandhi.”

* * *