Part 1: Rewritten Loyalties

"Is she still at it?" Private Matthew Bellows asked the security officer, a Corporal, in the chair beside him, as both of the blond, crew-cut soldiers glared with unabashed delight at the image displayed in one of dozens of screens linking every security camera in the east wing of the lonely, black-budget bunker. One of the screens, on the upper left corner in the 3rd row displayed the inside of a holding cell more secret than Top-Secret. Bellows nearly gagged on his coffee; ice blue eyes widening as he beheld the occupant.

It wasn't their fault; the Quartermaster had more than enough of the flimsy, hospital-style gowns for everyone, yet she absolutely refused to wear them, or anything for that matter. Her toned arms violently shredded the garments as if the mere notion that she should cover up her nudity was an affront. But she was cunning, with a wily intelligence burning behind those jade-green eyes which were only occasionally opened as the prisoner writhed in her self-inflicted ecstasy. The cloth they had wanted her to wear, along with strips of smooth plastic and other unidentified objects had all been woven together into an simple but effective dildo, which she used upon her naked flesh with a relish even greater than those who voyeuristically observed her.

Her nude form had an oiled sleekness common amongst competitive body-builders and some professional models to emphasize their curves and muscles, yet the ripeness of her upraised ass and the rippling bounce of healthy breasts gave an impression quite different from that of an athlete. An obscene rhythm began; from the hastily cobbled sex-toy grinding a liquid path through the gaping welcome of her womanhood, and between the sway of those glistening breasts as the prisoner squatted on all fours; masturbating herself furiously amidst feral grunts. At first, as Private Bellows watched wide-eyed, it seemed as though there were two jiggles of her bosom with each hard thrust into an ever moistening cunt. But as the lurid captive spread her legs further upon her simple bunk, the pattern of her indecent exercise changed more towards rapid thrusts, a quicker grinding of her dildo, so that the jiggling, throbbing action of her slick, naked boobs had almost been outpaced by the frenzy between her legs.

"And I thought I'd seen it all; what's the story on this piece of ass?" Bellows asked Security Officer Maxwell.

"Ehhh... access to her files..." one of the screens lit up with plain, white text on a black background. "Jane Louise Simcox, of Phoenix Arizona... Age... age 59... ?"

" 'The Hell? You got the right file?" Bellows crinkled his brow with incredulity. "Look at that slut! Not a wrinkle, not a grey hair, no sagging, she's got the body of a porn-star! Err... maybe a runway model... either one! There's no way she's a day over thirty!"

"I hear you, but that's the file on the prisoner in this cell." Maxwell added defensively. "Think about it," he mused. "This bunker is out in the middle of nowhere, and Uncle Sam uses this dump to lock up all the deepest, darkest secrets that can't be allowed to see the light of day."

"Yeah, I guess so. But... wow... Lookit her, I mean that face alone could get her a modeling contract in a snap!" The young private observed.

"Naw... check out those tits; I'm sure they're real, but those prissy weirdo fashion model types don't like girls with anything over a C-cup." Officer Maxwell sagely noted. "Our gal has at least five... maybe six inches of pure boob jiggling around on her chest, D-cup for sure. Maybe double D."

"Soooo... there's something out there that turns 59-year old grandmothers into randy little exhibitionists with bodies like college Co-eds, supermodel faces, and the sex-drives of... of... some... way horny nymphomaniac slut." Matthew concluded.

"And it's a threat to National Security."

"Heh! A part o' me kinda hopes we've got a pandemic!"

Her orgasm was, in a word - transcendent. There was no doubt when the climax seized her; her ample hips leaped, and her toned and taut belly rippled as she humped the shaft and hand that held it. The expression in her green - too green eyes was like religious conversion. The glistening sparkle of her moist skin seemed more pronounced as she blushed and flushed with erotic fever. Where her breasts jiggling only from her own thrashing upon the bed, or where her twin mammaries possessed of some sexual energy all their own? Matthew Bellows unconsciously allowed his jaw to droop, filled with a sudden instinct to kiss, fondle, and suckle these succulent gems of womanhood bobbing and wobbling before him.

Not until the orgasm had fully subsided did she seem to notice them. Yet both young men had a sense that the entire display was for their own benefit. Her green... green eyes stared fixedly at the security camera in her cell, as if to announce her awareness, her eagerness to whomever might be watching.

And she began to dance; yet... it was more than dance. It was primal, scintillating rhythm of thrusts, grinds, and caresses of her skin that seemed to touch something inside each male. From the first shifting of her round, shapely ass, it was apparent that this was no less than a mating dance; yet somehow more.

"Ha, the slut knows we're watching and... and she thinks... she thinks we're gonna let her go?" Maxwell was incredulous; it was a ridiculous notion!

"Are... are we supposed ta get so horny that we'll let her out of her cell? What a stupid... slut..." But Bellows' voice had begun to trail off as his eyes riveted his attention to the screen where the creature that had been Janet Simcox gyrated with indecent abandon. Her movements were far more than what they appeared to be; as both soldiers leered at her, something had clicked inside their minds. The Dance awakened a baser, primitive cycle that went beyond reason, or logic. How could the mere swaying and turning of her broad, womanly hips seduce them so?

"She's... crazy... we won't... let her go... not... for a dance..." slurred Maxwell, the agonizing tightness in his uniform pants almost, but not quite enough to rouse his drugged mind to full consciousness.

"Won't... let her... go... won't..." droned Private Bellows.

In fact, the instincts being awakened by her mating dance began to shut down their minds. They didn't know it, couldn't explain when and where the shift happened, yet soon they were no longer thinking, no longer reasoning. All they could see was the careening throb of delectably buxom D-cups, their minds held no thoughts save the joys that could be found between her naked, gyrating thighs.

They didn't remember leaving their posts, didn't remember shuffling down the blank, concrete corridor. A potent, overwhelming instinct had strangled their minds, leaving behind only images of breast... lips... cunt...

Perhaps if some of the other guards had challenged them, demanded identification they might have awakened. Yet they were well known, and neither Private Bellows nor Officer Maxwell were restricted from this part of the Bunker. Wordlessly they passed... down into an elevator... down into holding cells... past disembodied brains sealed in vats... past cages with animals long believed to be extinct... past cells that contained human prisoners the public believed had been assassinated... The two blond, wiry-muscled soldiers saw none of it, comprehended none of it. In their world, there was only Breast... Lips... Cunt...

Maxwell tore upon the door as if the answer to all of life's mysteries was within, and for these two it was indeed.

The she-creature had once been Janet Simcox, but she had grown so far beyond that menial identity. Now she was whole... now she was complete; and soon every human on this base would find similar fulfillment. But she needed to plan carefully. As the lust-addled soldiers burst into her cell, she immediately selected the younger Private to be her mate, and her delicate hands tore effortlessly through his uniform as her cunt widened on instinct to accept his meaty reward. But the other...