Justin MacCormack is back with another sexy and hilarious tale of intrepid young Englishman Jonathan Woodcock! Having just escaped the clutches of the evil (and hedonistic) Count Shagula, Jonathan is trying to get back home to England. On a pause in his travels, he gets caught up in the madness (and hedonism) of Doctor Wankenstein.
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I inhaled sharply as a rush of horror filled me, gazing upon what lay on the slab. It was what appeared to be a large figure, heavily muscular and powerful. The sheet lay folded down, allowing me to witness the figure’s taut, muscular chest. His face was magnificent. He was marvellously beautiful, one of the most handsome men that I had ever laid my eyes upon.
“You are impressed,” said the doctor. “I have chosen the best parts for him.”
I glanced up from the man on the slab. “The best p-p-p-arts?” I stuttered.
The doctor nodded, drawing his hands along the figure’s muscular chest. “He has the Charles Atlas seal of approval, Igor. And lay your eyes on this.”
Pulling the sheet lower, the doctor revealed the figure’s crotch.
“Good Lord!” I gasped. “It’s almost as if he has three legs!”
While I attempted to compose myself, a low rumble of thunder rolled overhead. I barely noticed. My mind still reeled from witnessing the figure’s mammoth-like trunk — I didn’t even see as the doctor waltzed away from me, clambering up a tall ladder to our side. Pausing for only a moment to check the view through the skyline high above us, the doctor began to pull on a large wheel.
I stumbled back. Several chains rattled across the floor, tensing as they were yanked upwards by Wankenstein’s turning of the wheel. The slab rattled as the chains tensed around it, dragging the slab upwards, swaying unsteadily, up into the open rafters of the tower.
“Now!” he called. “Before the lightning starts, Igor! Man the controls!”
I glanced back and forth. “How?” I asked.
“Damn it,” he barked, “I explained this to you before, didn’t I? Oh, no, wait, that was the other Igor.”
I folded my arms, unimpressed. In the distance, a low rumble of thunder bellowed.
Winding one of the chains in place around the wheel, the doctor threw back his trailing laboratory coat. With a nimble leap, he jumped from the platform over to the slab, landing upon it as it swayed and rocked back and forth. “Pull that lever!” he barked.
Rushing over to it, I gave the lever a strong yank. As it slid into place with a dull click, a large metallic object clattered into view high above us. I watched as the doctor retrieved a syringe from his coat, filling it with several concoctions from his pockets. He jammed the liquid into the body before him, throwing the empty bottles to the floor.
Lightning snapped through the air, illuminating the tower.
“Turn that wheel!” he barked.
I hurried over, doing just that. A series of other metallic objects swung into view, and I determined their function was to capture the lightning. Snatch it from the air like some kind of electric rod. “I say,” I said, “this definitely contravenes some kind of health and safety regulation. Has this place been checked for fire safety?”
Wankenstein didn’t answer me. Instead, he reached up into the rafters above him, grabbing hold of one of the sharp metal items. With a decisive thrust, he jammed it into the creature’s chest. Another rumble of thunder echoed through the air.
The doctor cackled, and the air seemed to snap with energy. Whatever he had planned, the time had come.
“Now!” he screamed. “Throw open the switches on the sonic oscillator!”
I looked around. “Is this it?” I asked, hurrying over to a large bank of whirring machines.
“No, you damn fool, Igor!” he snapped. “That’s the trans-dimensional warp configuration dynamo. Damn it, Igor, why did I ever decide it was a good idea to split your brain with the cat?”
I hurried over to the next machine.
“Yes,” he said, “that’s it. And while you’re at it, step up the reactor input three more points.”
Grumbling about all of the manual labor, I hurried around the chamber. “Hope I’ll be getting paid for this,” I complained.
With an excited cheer, the doctor threw off his laboratory coat, throwing it carelessly behind him. The lightning crackled through the air. With barely a second to spare, the doctor hurled himself from the slab, landing back on the platform. The blazing electricity seared through the air, connecting with the metallic apparatus. Writhing like a snake, the electric current passed through the channels, engulfing the slab in a vibrating hue.
The doctor pulled himself to his knees, his hair standing on end. Sliding down his goggles over his eyes, he yanked free the chain, sending the slab crashing down to the floor below him. He dove down the stairway, missing every other step as he did. “Now!” he announced. “Pump out the aqua vitae!”
I stumbled out from where I had hid behind the machinery. “The aquavi-wha?”
“Aqua vitae!” he declared. “The water of life. My God, man, did you not study alchemy?” He pushed forward, grabbing me by the shoulder. “Pump it. Fast!”
I looked down at the creature on the slab. My eyes widened. Even though it was still lifeless, he bore the largest piece of morning wood that I had ever seen.
I glanced back to the doctor, but he had already hurried off to some other higher part of the chamber. Hesitantly, I wrapped my hand around the creature’s thick shaft. My fingers felt a heavy, deep throb pass along the wrist-thick organ. Tentatively, I gave it a squeeze. To my amazement, a low groan echoed from the creature’s throat.
I pulled my hands back, shocked beyond belief. I looked up into the rafters. “Good God,” I declared, shouting to the doctor. “It’s alive! It’s alive!!”
“Yes, yes,” echoed the doctor’s reply, “but not for much longer if you don’t empty its balls!”
Glancing up, I cried out, “But why? Why, for goodness sake?”
The doctor shrugged. “It makes the story more interesting. Now, pump!”
I shrugged. Why did I always wind up doing the dirty work?
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