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Had Manute bothered to look his right as he followed Honey Potts and the promise of her plump backside he would’ve spotted a second group of Bimbotech Technicians working around a freshly scrubbed Body Modification tank.
There were two men, one was in the tank checking the different tubes and sensors while the other stood on the outside, running diagnostics from a small flat touch screen on the right tank, nearer to the top.
The men were methodical, but moved quickly getting the tank ready for its next occupant---
Victoria Hand, who was about to give that ‘Look’ Manute so loves.
Victoria Hand was jello. She was a pool of hot butter ready melt.
If not for the restraints of the Conversion Chair she would slipped to the floor an exhausted heap.
She had a mounted a mighty mental defense against the chair--her self-righteous stubbornness and inherent authoritarian streak, both personality traits which at one time made her such an attractive candidate to Osborne as his number 2 in H.A.M.M.E.R
had provided her mind a natural barrier to the chair. It was this that kept her from breaking, from being overwhelmed and there were times when she came close--too close. There was a name--Vicky Handjob--it kept trying assert its self over her being.
But she beat it back. It was the valiant heroic struggle she secretly always wanted in her life.
But it was all for naught. As powerful as Victoria's mental barrier was, it was finite and fleeting and the chair was remorseless and unyielding--a perpetual engine plugging away. It was only a matter of time for Victoria Hand. Her body bucked
at the endless orgasms, sweat poured like Niagara falls soaking her clothes.
Her eyes were screwed shut, her glasses having slipped to the tip of her nose.
Victoria was speaking to herself, an internal conversation, that would have reminded an outside observer of Gollum:
“I’m…lesbian……no……clit….like…..vag—cunt…cunt….love-eee girls….pussy nice…..cock….is fun…….handjob…..Vicky…..Noooo……”
As Victoria Hand began her final moments with the Conversion Chair, her S.H.I.E.L.D colleague Maria Hill was just starting.
Still in the grips of her exposure to the Happy Gas, the infamous hard-ass offered no resistance as she was strapped into a Conversion Chair.
Maria was content to float dumbly in a world of pink happiness, it was only after the last strap was tighten did the effects begin to dissipate.
Very soon Maria Hill would join Victoria Hand, following Pepper Potts and the Black Widow on the road to Bimbo-dom.
And befitting her Type-A personality she would be prompt about it.
The same couldn’t be said about Carol Danvers aka’ Ms. Marvel.
In a room just above Maria, Ms. Marvel was tied down in a Conversion Chair of her own.
It hadn’t been activated because as Dr. Kinky, who was currently pacing angrily in front of the incapacitated heroine, first realized: it would have no effect.
Which is why at the moment to keep her sedated, Dr. Kinky attached an oxygen mask to Carols’ face.
The mask pumped a steady stream of Happy Gas into Ms. Marvel’s system, just enough to make her docile.
The problem Dr. Kinky had discovered was twofold. First Ms. Marvels’ Kree DNA was too good of an energy conductor---it could literally absorb the energy the chair produced to over-stimulate its victims faster than the chair could generate more of it.
The eastern seaboard would run out of juice before they would be able to pump enough power to have an effect.
The other issue was the unique build of Ms. Marvel’s mind. This was due the little known fact that in the beginning ‘Ms. Marvel’ was a separate identity to ‘Carol Danvers’.
Like Jekyll and Hyde they were two beings sharing one body. There was also the fact that the current Ms. Marvel identity wasn’t the original personality, it was the one that had been re-built after that the incident with the Mutant Rogue.
Who had stolen not just Ms. Marvel’s powers but her whole memories as well, leaving a blank slate needing to be re-built from the ground up.
This all had accumulative effect of giving Ms. Marvel a mind that was inherently disconnected.
Even if the Conversion Chair was able to insert a new Bimbo identity, Ms. Marvels’ brain could compartmentalize it away.
Dr. Kinky had already run a dozen computer models trying to lick the problem, but each one failed after the other.
Kinky cursed Lorenz for taking Mistress Mindfuck with her, such mental power should be reserved for the true power houses not squandered on mere spies.
No matter how good they looked in a black cat suit! Dr. Kinky shook her hands in frustration, she hated failure.
Further compounding the pressure she felt was her knowledge that at this very moment Norman Osborne was video conferencing with some of the biggest big-wigs on the planet (and maybe off the planet).
Selling them on the value and promise of Bimbotech. What good would it be if they couldn’t deliver the big names?
Dr. Kinky didn’t want to find out what they would do to him if they were disappointed.
Hell-she didn’t want to find out what Osborne would do to him if he didn’t clear this hump.
And just like that, Dr. Kinky had a flash of inspiration. She looked down at Ms. Marvel and smiled.
If Dr. Kinky was worried about what Norman Osborne would do to her if she failed, perhaps she would find some small comfort in the fact that his video conference had given the former Green Goblin his own problems do deal with.
Which is why Mr. Fink found him sitting alone in the conference room in the dark, the only light coming from the screen of an I pad he held in his hands.
The CEO of Bimbotech asked Osborne what had happened. Norman explained everything started off great, the easiest fucking sales pitch he’d ever made in his life.
When suddenly everything was interrupted by a pirate signal straight from that Latvarian son of a Bitch himself--Doctor Doom!
“It seems the good Doctor knows all about Bimbotech” Osborne explained to Fink, “He’s made a demand of our services….a test to prove its’ self. Dram Queen.
Now no one will do anything till we see if we pass Doom’s test.
Subdue the one he’s chosen!”
'Supervillains' Fink snidely thought, then he asked, “Doesn’t he have a thing for Sue Storm.
Does he know we already got plans to neutralize the Fantastic 4.”
Osborne chuckle. “If only he wanted the Invisible Woman.” He handed his I Pad to Fink, and pointed to the image it displayed.
“He wants her. He wants the Squirrel!!”
A single thought crossed Finks’ mind. ‘Who the fuck is Squirrel Girl?’
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