Some military guys try to get Jonny to stay inside.

Jonny strutted his sexy new body out of the house as he stroked and patted his bloated belly. He began a strange and lonely walk down the street, passing houses and beholding a strange sight--nothing. Occasionally, a mother or father would pop out of a house just long enough to grab a kid playing innocently outside, scurry back in, and promptly shut and lock the door. Jonny smiled as he sensed the mayhem, the fear, the confusion that he had wrought. "Your momma did that, little one, yes she did," he said with a sick smile to his host's unborn child. What was once a bustling street filled with townhouses and neighbors pleasantly passing by had become a ghost town because of Jonny. People fled. They shut themselves up in their houses. The strutting, sexily clad Jonny drunk in the eerie silence like it was nectar from the gods themselves.

He walked down the street for a block or two, hearing eerie silence that sometimes was sliced open by the loud wail of a siren some place within earshot. Jonny enjoyed the slow and steady bounce of his host's boobs and her plump, bloated stomach as her entire form strained against the leather in which he had clothed her. Suddenly, Jonny came to a stop. "Well I'll be damned," he marveled to himself as he looked across the street and saw a lone gas station chocked full of candy, beer, and, rather notably, a person who seemed to be in a hurry to lock up and go home as she frantically darted about behind the counter of the place. "Not so fast, bitch," Jonny sad as he headed in the direction of the gas station to play around a bit.

Jonny heard the tiny ring of a bell above his head as he stepped into the gas station. The attendant at the gas station looked up in surprise. "Got the call from corporate to close up for the day at 5 . . . that's only a few minutes away," she began, "so get what you need and then head home sweetie!" the young woman said as she scribbled some things on a notepad. Jonny strolled leisurely through the small gas station glancing at pop and candy of various types. Jonny's host's belly growled loudly. "Patience is a virtue, you little fuck," Jonny said as he patted his stomach soothingly. The gas station attendant gave him a very strange look indeed. Jonny reached down and grabbed a Three Musketeers bar off the shelf and tore open the rapper, beginning to scarf down the sugary confection. He simply tossed the rapper aside when he was done. "Not my body anyway . . . why the fuck would I care," Jonny said, casting a short glance in the direction of the gas station attendant, who regarded him suspiciously.

The gas station attendant in question was 19-year-old Marcy White, a college freshman who worked this job when she was not in class simply because she needed the money. She was a fairly short girl with black hair held back by a headband. Marcy was a heavy-set young woman whose belly stuck out a bit before her and shook as she walked, straining against her cute pink sweater. Her arms and fingers too were plump, and her thighs rubbed together has her blubber-filled lower body carried her about rather ungracefully, her tight skirt struggling to contain her girth. The young Ms. White had a double chin and a plain face save for nose and lip piercings that tended to attract a certain measure of attention.

"You're going to have to pay for that!" Marcy yelled as she quickly and awkwardly shuffled around the counter and made her way in the direction of the possessed body of Angela Donovan, whose inhabitant had just scarfed down the candy bar and tossed the wrapper aside. The pregnant woman just laughed as she grabbed for a small bag of Doritos, ripped it open, and began stuffing the cheesy chips into her mouth, leaving powdered cheese smeared about the outside of her mouth. "Honey, never get between a pregnant bitch and her food," Jonny said with a smile as he gorged on the sweets. "I said you gotta pay for those!" Marcy said, more forceful this time, reaching out and grabbing Jonny's borrowed body by the shoulder. Without a word, Jonny spun around, his eyes flashing red as his demonic powers welled up within his pregnant host. "NO!" he said as he reached out and grabbed the unsuspecting chubby coed, spinning around and hurling her into the glass doors for the refrigerators at the back of the station. Marcy flew through the air and slammed into the doors, caving in the glass and knocking over a large number of Cokes and Diet Cokes and such. The girl had a shocked look on her face as she slid down the broken door, a couple drops of blood visible where she had cut herself on the glass.

Jonny's eyes returned to their normal color, or at least the color that was normal for Angela Donovan. He shook his head as if to clear her blonde hair out of his eyes. "I warned you, dear," he said as he strutted his bloated body toward the young Marcy, who lay limply upon the now-messy floor, "Don't ever stop me from having fun inside one of my meat suits," Jonny said as he got down on his knees and looked into the terrified eyes of Marcy White. Jonny knelt, his host's bloated stomach and leather-clad body just a few inches from Marcy White's trembling body, over his prey. He smiled. "I think I have plans for you, cutie," he said as he set his hands upon Marcy's pudgy belly. Jonny's host's eyes glowed red, and Marcy's followed suit. "I don't like this body of yours much, so you're going to get a new one," Jonny began as a plan took shape in his head. "This body of yours will transform into that of Brad Wilford, a moderately successful accountant whose life has recently gone terribly awry," Jonny commanded as Marcy's body began to twist and reshape itself.

"FREEZE BITCH!" came a sudden male voice screaming at Jonny from up by the counter, and then there came the sudden cocking of a gun. The red glow faded from Jonny's eyes as he looked up at his new guest. A look of surprise crossed his face as he looked at the young man with the gun. He smiled and slowly put his hands up as he stood, leaving the terrified Marcy White on the ground. "Hey there you handsome boy," Jonny said to the officer who had found him.

That officer was 20-year-old Billy Green, a member of the **** so new that even Jonny's time inside Selina's body had not alerted him as to who this young man was. The young and motivated Mr. Green had sought a career in law enforcement all his life and just recently passed the necessary exams that resulted in his assignment to Selina's command. Of course, given the emergency now gripping the city, one wondered whether it would have been possible for him to pick a more dangerous time to show up. Green was about five feet seven inches tall with a fairly frail body and thin appearance. His face was smooth, either because he shaved thoroughly or because he simply struggled to grow facial hair--perhaps some of both. A thin and nerdy pair of glasses rested upon his nose, and his uniform was the traditional policeman's garb, his shirt and pants very neatly pressed and his belt holding the hole ensemble very close to the young man's small frame.

Sweat ran down Mr. Green's face, and his eyes were wide with fear. The gun he had pointed at Jonny shook as tremors besieged the young man's hands. This was not the sort of thing that one could train for at the academy. Billy Green had never had to pull his gun in a genuine confrontation; he was like a first-time fisherman who had gone fishing and caught a shark he could not hope to reel in, and it showed.

"You--you criminals nnnnnn--need to learn that an emergency ain't a license for you to do what--what--whatever you please," he stammered. Jonny just smiled as he slowly approached the frightened young man. "Do we now?" Jonny asked with a mocking tone. Billy Green nodded furiously as Jonny reached up and set his hands upon the cop's gun. He leaned in closer, host's tongue licking his lips, as he put Green's gun in his own mouth. He closed Angela Donovan's lips around the cold metal of the pistol and moved the weapon's barrel around inside his mouth, making the whole even look like a sudden, unexpected, and strikingly dangerous erotic display--giving a gun a blow job is not something one sees every day.