69 Cloverfield Lane (Futa TF, egg, mind control, corruption)

When we sit down for dinner, our girl brings it to the table. It's something she did with scrambled eggs and steak, which just happens to be one of my favorite meals. I dig in, then I notice that she's not eating.

"Not hungry?"

"Already ate."

The big guy eats more cautiously. Chews, swallows, takes a swig of his soda.

"Tastes good," he says. "What's in it?"

"Just my cum," she says.

I stop eating.

He looks at her. "What?"

She stands up, and pulls her pretty little sundress up how did I not notice that before? Is she on hormones? Didn't he notice them in her purse? Maybe she forgot them or ran out or they got lost in the crash-

I can hear his fork dropping at the other end of the table.

Wait. Cocks aren't supposed to be greyish-blue.

I know I should be gagging right now, but I'm not feeling anything but shock. Don't trannies they usually get the new plumbing installed after they get done with all the hormones and stuff? Should she get a refund, or did she want some kinda weird animal dick?

"Where did you get that?" he says, like he's just stepped in dog crap.

She sashayed over to the jukebox, poked at it, and it started to play Always On my Mind. Then she leaned against it.

"You know that door upstairs? Turns out you didn't seal it quite as well as you thought."

She pushed off and raised a finger. "Now, it wasn't enough to cause any immediate changes. Way I figure it, you send in the smallpox blankets, and of anyone survives that, now they're a carrier."

She was still smiling, even though she was talking about billions of people dead. Her face should be hurting by now.

I didn't even have to look at him to get this stormclouds-gathering feel. I knew that if I looked his way, he'd have that frown on his face, maybe flexing his hands to try and keep calm-

Now, it's a stereotype that Southerner boys all wear John Deere caps and drive pickups with a gun rack and bang their sisters. My sister moved to California and was in some weird three-way relationship - I didn't ask if the other two were men, and I don't want to know - I drove a Mazda, and I didn't own a gun.

But I had taken a potshot or two at an empty beer bottle, and I figure that's how I recognized the sound of him pulling his gun.

She stopped smiling.

"Me-Michelle, are you saying...that we're going to turn into some kind of freak, like you?"

She reaches up, without breaking eye contact, and jiggles her chest. "Well, no. Your boobs'll be bigger."

He cocks the hammer. "Answer the question!"

This one time at school I asked Ronnie Naughton out and she looked at me like I was lower than dirt. That's how she looks at him now, like he weren't nothing. I think that shook him some.

She walks to the table, and just climbs on top of it, staring at him the whole way. She's on all fours, which means her backside is facing me. And then I realize that he's still pointing his gun at her head, and I need to get out of the line of fire-

"Sit," she says.

I sit.

When I lean over, I can see that he has the revolver about an inch from her face, and she does not give a crap.

"Dump it."

And then he snaps out the cylinder and shakes out the rounds. They make little ping noises as they bounce off the table and the tile. Then he returns it to battery, like grandpa used to say.

She sticks her mouth over it like she's sucking a big fat cock. She bobs back and forth, back and forth. And then I see something coming out the fast end of the barrel, like a worm-no, like an anteater tongue. It warships around the frame, and -

I can feel myself getting hard.

She pulls herself off of the gunjob. The tongue, her tongue, pulls out of it slowly, and for a second I can almost feel the rifling, the grooves on the inside of the barrel. I can taste the gun oil.

Her tongue flops out before she reels it in. She sits back on her haunches.

"You're going to be a freak."

She puts her hand on the gun and weighs it down.

"You're going to be all filled up with eggs and gas."

He's breathing heavy now, looking at nothing. Something's going on with his face, and some wet stuff is dripping from his lips.

"Every time someone gets closer to you, breathes you in, they'll start to change."

He bends over the table, holding the sides. She leans forward again, touches his face.

"Poor baby." Then she looks over

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