Chapter Five

Castle von Crackenshteen was never meant to echo with the sound of giggling.

Screams, yes. The resonant hum of machinery doing Things To Nature That Gods Would Object To, certainly. But giggling? That was a personal affront.

Doctor Johann Doofenshmirtz, journeyman diabolist, five-time winner of the bombardier bowling league, and ostracized member of the London horticultural community, stood in the middle of his laboratory. His sanctum sanctorum, his engine-room of genius, the last chamber of the castle uncolonised by satin cushions and impractical furniture—fuming as his wife and daughter rifled through his life’s work like bargain-hunters at a jumble sale.

“Is this one supposed to vibrate?” Liselotte asked, holding up a component meant to destabilise the weather. She shook it in a manner that would have made the Royal Society faint dead away.

“That’s part of my climate dominator!” Johann barked, snatching it from her. “It will literally take the world by—”

“Yes, yes, storm, doom, fear my power. We’ve heard it all before,” Magdela interrupted with the practiced patience of someone who had been married to the same boring speech for twenty years. She lifted the copper coils of his magno-induction array and appraised them like a necklace she might wear to supper.

The outrage boiled in Johann’s chest until it was in grave danger of being upgraded to a heart attack.

Did they not understand? Did they not comprehend the scale of his brilliance? This machine—this machine could bend the jet stream to his will, rewrite the seasons, and probably win him a small but tasteful entry in the history books.

And here they were, picking over his contraptions as if they were toys in a sex shop.

“Oh, what’s this one do?” Liselotte sang, prodding the ominously glowing core of his thunder condenser.

Johann flapped his arms. “What does it do? WHAT DOES IT DO?! It unmakes summers, girl! It—”

His fury was cut short by a sound that was not of the storm outside, nor the cackle of his domestic tormentors—the booming toll of a **** knell.

Ding Dong!

His doorbell.

It rang rarely—and never for good reasons—but this time Johann felt a slow, treacherous bloom of hope. Could it be? Could the useless, limping embarrassment he called a son have finally returned with the…

He stopped and took a moment to actively lower his expectations.

If the incompetent boy returned with the stolen anatomical marvels required for his metamorphosis, only then would he, Doctor Johann Doofenshmirtz, become the foremost specimen of masculinity—a paragon of sinew and bone, the envy of gods and tailors alike.

It was too much!

Unsquashable hope eclipsed his reservations and indignation in a swift, traitorous swoop. Without another word, Johann swept from the lab, his coat flaring dramatically in a way that would have been far more satisfying if anyone bothered to pay attention.

Somewhere behind him, Magdela laughed. It was the kind of mocking laughter that didn’t just know where all his buttons were, but had them wired into a switchboard and was idly pushing them in sequence.

Johann ignored her. There was a door to answer.

And perhaps, destiny awaited on the other side.

Heinrich stood impatiently before the formidable castle doors–fifteen feet of steel-reinforced oak–and considered simply battering them down with his fists.

Days ago, he’d hobbled out those same doors, a shambling, wheezing heap of rusted biology who could trip over a shadow.

Now he returned as a new man. A better man. The surgically enhanced culmination of collected machismo. An inhumanly virile musclebound monstrosity stitched together from the best parts of the manliest men Varnholt Valley could boast.

His impromptu orgy in the brothel had merely been a trial run. A final test to ensure everything was shipshape and in fit, fighting condition. The platoon of thoroughly exhausted (and wholly satisfied) scarlet women he’d left scattered like deflowered roses about the bordello was a testament to his success.

Heinrich had remade himself into the Ulti-Mate. The absolute zenith of male evolution. The kind of walking, grinning blasphemy that could offend heaven, hell, and at least four major religions simply by flexing.

Such a man did not wait on doorsteps.

He lifted a ham hock-sized fist, ready to breach Castle von Crackenshteen’s outer defenses, when the heavy doors swung open of their own accord, hinges groaning with the kind of creak which had clearly read the script.

Within stood his father—that detestable old scarecrow, draped in his habitual lab coat. Goggles were snarled in the wild white undergrowth sprouting from his skull, dry-washing bony hands like a miser surveying his hoarded wealth.

“Heinrich, my boy, you’ve returned at last!” He cackled, the laugh ricocheting off the stone walls like an escaped lunatic. “Not a moment too soon. These vile harridans are driving me to the brink! Come, come, let’s take a gander at the merchandise…”

Heinrich almost recoiled from the clammy talons that reached for him. Before, this had been an imposing patriarch—a looming presence who could command with a glance. Now he was a brittle relic: all angles, no substance. A buzzing gnat in a lab coat, circling him, pawing reverently at what muscles it could reach from so far beneath his Herculean stature.

“Yes, yes. Shoulders worthy of carrying cathedrals, a chest that could host diplomatic summits! Splendid!” Johann enthused, plucking and patting. “Legs like marble pillars—a reminder to lazy youths that leg day is not optional. Magnificent!”

The man’s eyes flitted like a magpie among treasures, cataloguing each asset. Heinrich frowned, already weary of the inspection. Even the castle seemed diminished—smaller, shabbier—as though his new height and fresh eyes (stolen from a skilled hunter) saw through every pretence.

“A lantern jaw… perfect! Its original owner probably enjoys soup through a straw by now, but no matter. Cheese-grater abdominals, fantastic! And those mitts and trotters — you know what the ladies say about a man with large feet…” Johann winked. “They whisper he wears large shoes! Mwahahahaha! Now, onto the slab. Chop-chop! I want my new body in time for supper.”

Heinrich let the decrepit buzzard lead him inward, taking stock. The faded finery galled him. Cables and conduits crawled across the ceiling and walls like ivy—the air stank of scorched rubber and over-boiled alchemy. Acid burns pocked the carpet. Tapestries of past glory hung in mothman-gnawed surrender.

What had become of his ancestral seat?

How had this shrivelled custodian let it rot into such squalor?

Breathy giggles and pleasurable sighs wafted down from the north tower, each sound a hot needle to Heinrich’s concentration. His britches felt suddenly taut.

“Quit dawdling, runt!” Johann snapped, puffing himself up. “My patience wears thinner than your wits. Obey your betters and move your lazy—huuurk!”

The demand collapsed into a gurgle as Heinrich seized him by the collar and, without apparent effort, lifted him clean off the ground.

“Call me ‘runt’ again,” Heinrich growled into the reddening face, “and I’ll mount your head on the weather vane.”

Johann flailed ineffectually at the arm that held him, finding it as unyielding as a steel girder. “Wh-what is the meaning of this? Put me down! You can’t—”

“Oh, I can,” Heinrich said, voice loaded with promise. “You thought me an inconvenient errand boy. Despite all your exalted intellect, you sent a cripple to do your dirty work, never imagining that same wretch might have the spleen to turn your little scheme on its head. Well, I stole that spleen. And the lungs. And the heart. And if you think I’m giving them up, you’re a bigger fool than even I imagined.”

He marched up the tower stairs, the scarecrow flapping in his grip like an indignant bedsheet. The laughter and moans above grew louder.

“You… used… my surgical… techniques?” Johann wheezed, his face shading from plum to aubergine. “H-how?”

“Your arrogance is almost impressive, old man,” Heinrich replied. “Rejoice, for the apple has fallen close to the tree. I learned every trick you had, kept the useful bits, and discarded the rest. My mind is as sharp as your scalpels ever were, and my ambitions are sharper still. Now…” His mouth curved into something between a smile and a feral baring of teeth. “…I shall claim what’s rightfully mine.”

Using his father like a battering ram, he smashed through a door and emerged onto a scene of consummate carnality.

The laboratory was much transformed, as were the two young women pruriently preoccupied on the central platform.

Magdela and Liselotte were locked in a sixty-nine, their naked bodies glistening with sweat and arousal under the erratic flashes of the Tesla coils. Magdela straddled her daughter on the surgical table. Her red and blonde hair was trapped between Liselotte’s thighs, while those bubblegum pink locks bobbed between her mother’s in turn.

Their moans and giggles filled the tower, a hedonistic symphony that made Heinrich’s cock throb against the tight confines of his pants.

Their already gorgeous figures, somehow refined into goddess-like perfection since Heinrich had last seen them. Their breasts were fuller, rounder, defying gravity in ways that seemed almost unnatural. Their waists were impossibly narrow, their hips and asses ripe and inviting, their skin smooth and flawless like porcelain.

They were Valkyries, sculpted by science and lust, and Heinrich felt a swell of pride at the sight.

Magdela broke away from her daughter’s pussy with a wet mewl, her chin glistening with Liselotte’s juices.

Tools, gadgets, machine parts, and at least three portable **** rays lay scattered around their makeshift altar to incestuous delight. Cylindrical in shape, each glistened wetly as though dipped in aloe. She reached for a foot-long shock baton, pressing it against her daughter’s swollen clit with a devilish grin.

“That’s it, darling. Mmm-hmm… right there. You’re licking Mama so good.” Her voice was sultry, dripping with desire. “Make Mama cum again, and she’ll give you a special treat.”

Liselotte’s muffled moan was lost in her mother’s thighs, but her body shuddered in response. Magdela activated the baton with a flick of her wrist, and both women convulsed as electricity surged through them. Sparks danced across their skin, their muscles contracting and releasing in waves of ecstasy. They clung to each other, cries of pleasure mingling with the crackle of electricity spitting from their neck bolts…

“Fuck yeah.” Heinrich tossed his sagging scion into a half-built contrivance of brass gears and copper wiring, his stare never leaving the two women. “This is worth all the pain and suffering. What’s up, bitches?”

Magdela’s head snapped up, her bleary gaze landing on Heinrich.

Her eyes widened as she took in his towering form—muscles rippling under the straining shirt, broad shoulders that seemed to fill the room, and a bulge in his britches that promised untold pleasures.

“Wha–? Who are you?” She gasped, voice trembling with awe. “Look at that bod—carved from marble and hung like a bull! Have the heavens finally answered our prayers?”

Liselotte wriggled out from beneath her mother, pink hair disheveled and eyes wide with wonder. She licked her lips as she took in Heinrich’s imposing figure, nipples hardening at the sight of him.

“Oh my… he’s magnificent.” She breathed, barely more than a whisper. “Mama, look at him! He’s everything Johann could never be.”

“It’s me, mother. Your son. Liselotte’s brother. The new lord of Castle von Crackenshteen and everything within these walls.”

Magdela was already on her feet, her jaw-dropping figure swaying as she approached Heinrich. Reaching out, she traced the contours of his chest, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. In a single rough yank, she ripped away his shirt.

“The new lord, you say? My, my… So strong… so powerful,” She murmured in admiration. “You are a masterpiece, Heinrich. A hunky hero among mice.”

Heinrich smirked, grabbing Magdela by the waist and drawing her close. His big hands roamed over her lean lines and full curves, squeezing her thick breasts and groping her peachy rear as he rumbled in her ear.

“Indeed. And you, Mother… you’ve never looked better.” He turned to Liselotte, who was watching them with hungry eyes. “Both of you… purest perfection.”

Liselotte crawled towards them, her lithe body moving with feline grace. She reached for Heinrich’s waistband, trembling with anticipation as she undid the laces to free his massive brotherhood.

“Oh God, Big Bro… you’re even larger than I imagined!” She moaned, wrapping delicate fingers around his shaft and stroking him luxuriously. “It’s so heavy… and girthy! I can barely manage it using two hands!”

Magdela slid to her knees beside her daughter, tongue darting out to lick the tip of Heinrich’s lordly length.

“I can help with that, daughter. Let us worship our new man.” She purred, plush lips closing around the head to begin sucking him avidly.

Heinrich groaned, his hands raking their lustrous curtains of hair as they both took turns teasing him. Their tongues swirled around his corpulent crown, their lips sucking and kissing every inch of him. He relished the heat of his magnificent mother's and sexy sister’s mouths, the wetness of their tongues, and the shivers of forbidden indulgence coursing through him.

“I think NOT!”

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