Devi Does Dallas           by: Roy Del Frink

 

The old Tamil master painter was applying the finishing strokes to his latest masterpiece. It was a picture of the Hindu goddess Devi, sitting on a silky purple pillow and wearing yellow garments that almost shone of solid gold. As usually appears in these paintings of Hindu deities, Devi held an object in each of her supple arms: a white conch shell in her upper left arm, a golden scepter in her upper right, a purple flower in her lower left, and a mysterious floating golden ring, the size of what a Christian would call a halo, hovered over her lower right index finger, which pointed towards the heavens.

"There," the aging master said in Tamil, as he applied his last brush-stroke. "It is a perfect painting, as perfect as Devi herself. Alas, it shall never appear in real life." After sipping a glass of water, he yelled out, "It is finished, my model. You can move now."

Off to the side, near the back wall of the painter’s studio, Devi heaved a sigh of relief. She put down the chintzy shell sculpture, plastic scepter, and artificial purple rose in her hands, and brought the king-sized onion ring back to earth. She used her right hands to wipe the sweat off her brow, then asked the artist, "Are you sure that onion ring was fried in vegetable oil? Because I’d like to try it, and you know I’m a strict vegetarian."

"But of course, my dear goddess," he replied, bowing down before her in obedience. "Only the best for the Goddess of Goddesses."

"Whatever works," Devi replied, taking a huge bite from the ring. "Yuck! I shall have to alter the time line so that whoever baked this cursed thing was never born!" Turning back to her picture, she smiled at the artist and said, "I am pleased. Even if your cheapness shows in the poor imitations props you purchased, I shall hang it in my shine within the hour." She kissed the old Tamil painter, who blushed, then returned to her shrine with the portrait.

Though she’d had a fun time since gaining her divinity, and had no desire to become David Johnson again, the goddess was getting restless with her life. She was beautiful, and blessed with eternal youth. Her holy body needed no food or water, though she could still eat all she wanted without gaining any weight or needed to use the facilities. (Considering what those poor Indians had to use, Devi thought it just as well.) She did sometimes sweat, but it always smelled of flowers and other heavenly scents. She could shape her body into whatever form she wanted. Her body wasn’t built for child-bearing (even if some did consult her to have children themselves), so she didn’t have to suffer the indignity of periods. Also, she was capable of having wondrous sex, even experiencing more orgasms than any ordinary human could. But best of all, she was adulated and cared for by nearly one billion Hindus. Actually, that was what bothered Devi. She was tired of all these people doing everything for her. She wanted to use her powers without the support of her throngs of adorers. And even if she was no longer David Johnson, American, she still had David Johnson’s memories. The David inside of her was getting homesick for the US. She hadn’t left the Indian subcontinent in months. Sure, occasionally an ethnic Indian living in South America, East Africa, or Southeast Asia would call for her help, but there weren’t very many believers over in the States, and they seemed content. Poor Devi would just have to wait until the need for her to visit North America arose.

The following day (a minute or two later for Devi, for whom time moves much slower than humans), she heard a faint call for help. "Save me, oh great Goddess! I am being photographed in sexually compromising positions, and several large men are raping me for money!" Devi quickly realized the call was coming from - Dallas, Texas! She immediately prepared for her long-distance journey, running faster than a train. As Devi bolted off, she started flapping all four of her arms like a bird. After running a mile or so, the divine one took off, and flapped her arms all the way to Dallas, in a matter of minutes.

She found the source of the call, a discreet warehouse in the middle of town. Devi gently brought herself in for a landing, then brushed off her long black hair and red dress. Then she entered the building from behind. Devi found a young Indian girl, only 16 years of age, malnourished and tied up. She released her bonds and asked, "Are you alright? I hope you know what I’m doing for you. I just flew in from India, and boy, are my arms tired."

"Oh, Devi," the girl explained in her native tongue, "I’ve been kidnaped by those nasty goons. They took me from my home in Pondicherry. Now they take pictures of me and sell them in magazines and Web pages. They beat me up and prevent me from escape. And I don’t get a dime."

"Really?" Devi was furious when she heard this. Forming her upper left hand into a fist and pounding it into her upper right hand, she told the girl, "I think it’s about time I settled a score with our thugs. Where are they?"

"They’re over there, in the corner." She pointed at a stack of crates. "They hide behind those so the cops don’t find them."

"Thanks, my loyal believer," Devi replied. She gently embraced the girl, then kissed her on the cheek. "I shall make it up to you later." The goddess now wandered off towards the crates. Using her shape-shifting abilities, Devi turned herself into the girl’s clone, even changing her outfit to what the girl was wearing. She turned the corner, and saw the men in their lair.

There were five of them, staring at a computer monitor and chatting. One typed at the computer and said, "There we go, putting the finishing touches on the web page. Now with the phony ‘All models are of legal age’ crap, to keep the FBI off our cases." He was totally bald, and had a red mustache and goatee. He was tall and fat, and wore a tweed business suit. Without the suit, this fellow would have resembled a burly, muscular head of a motorcycle gang.

"Heh heh, we sure put a number over on those legal boys, didn’t we?" a second member of the group said. This one was short and overweight, with no hair whatsoever on his head. He wore a bowler and a white tux with cummerbund, smoked a cigar, and attached three jewel-coated rings on each of his fingers. The sartorial image was completed with two black Italian loafers, complete with metal tips.

"Sure thing, Boss," a third guy said. The one was about average height, and fairly skinny. His blonde hair fellow to the bottom of this ears, and his blue suit clashed with his Jordache sneakers.

"We’re doing so well, we could start up a Web Cam, showing one of our girls getting raped live!" The man who said this was about six feet tall, portly but not overweight. He had a red crew-cut on top of his head. This guy also wore a black three-piece suit, but was barefoot.

"Nobody will ever be able to stop us," the last one chimed in. He had long black hair tied into a pony-tail. His outfit was a cheesy polyester suit and penny loafers. Like all the others, he appeared to be about 45 years old, and had been making a mint off of this porn.

After hearing these goons talk, Devi sprang into action. She entered the area, asking the men, "How much longer until I eat again?"

The fashion-conscious midget yelled, "Shut up, babe! We just fed you two days ago! Just for that, we’ll have to punish you!" The other men snickered, and pulled out a yard of thick, coarse rope. They stripped Devi, then used the rope to hog-tie her. Although Devi cannot feel pain, she almost certainly would have otherwise bled from the prickers cutting into her delicate skin. The men gathered around her, and raped her one by one. "Damn, I wish we’d already set up that Web Cam for this. Aw, well. Now it’s time for your forty lashes," the leader explained. As he pulled out a cat-o-nine-tails, Devi decided she’d had enough. She gradually returned to her normal form. As soon as the lower arms returned, the thugs got worried.

"Oh shit, we picked the wrong cunt to screw," the programmer uttered, as the men cowered in fear, trembling before the Hindu goddesses’ awesome power.

"That’s right, you sure did," Devi replied as her transformation finished. "I read all your minds while you raped me, and I know what you think of me and all your gals. I also know the cops have been trying to arrest you for ages. But now you shall pay. Jail isn’t good enough for you guys; I’m going to punish you by turning you into the unfortunate teenage gals you’ve exploited illegally all these years." With a simple swivel motion in all for of her arms, the gang froze, unable to move a muscle, turn away from Devi, or even blink. She winked her eyes, and their outfits disappeared without a trace.

Devi turned first towards the programmer. "Thomas Parker, I know you like screwing with teenage or even pre-teenage girls. And I know that four 12-year-old girls had children as a result of your coercing them into letting you enter. But you refused to pay them child support, and the ladies were helpless to collect payment from the ‘deadbeat dad,’ as they were under the age of consent. But you shall have plenty of children, and you will take care of all of them!" Immediately, the men stared in shock as Thomas was turned into a 16-year-old girl with an enormous stomach. "Now, Mommy, as you shall be hereafter known, you are eight months pregnant with triplets. Soon you will experience PAINFUL labor. And once those babies are born, the rest of your eggs will become fertilized and delivered, one by one, until all of them are born. Despite your pregnancies, you will continue to have monthly periods." Devi left Mommy standing there, with a belly two feet across, and moved to the next gang member.

She stopped at the blonde. "Paul Smith, you like breasts. The bigger, the better. One of your clients even died under the knife while getting silicone breast implants. And two others got involved in the class-action lawsuit against those unnatural abominations. Yet they’ve been unable to collect, because you siphoned your money into secret Cayman Islands bank accounts. Well, Paul, you’re in luck. You’ll soon be able to have all the breasts you can handle, and they’ll never be able to touch your money, either!" Devi slapped his back with all four hands - HARD - at the same time. She spat on his sneakers, and Paul became a 15-year-old beautiful blonde girl with enormous breasts. Each had to be ten feet around. Poor Paul was pinned to the ground, and felt a painful chafing inside. "From now on, your only name is Boobs. And that pain is the paper from your laundered money inside your breasts. That’s right, Boobs, you have dollar-bill implants. The best money can buy!" Snickering, Devi moved on.

Reaching the one with the ponytail, Devi fingered him. "You too like breasts, Maury Hill. But what you really like are lactating breasts. Not only do you love to suck them, but you also drink five glasses of milk a day. But you have no respect for those ladies, any more than Mommy did pregnant gals. And you once killed a bum at a subway station to steal the cream he was about to put in his coffee. Don’t deny it, Maury! Since you like milk sooo much, I’ll give you all the milk you can possibly handle." As the others stared, Maury was turned into a 17-year-old girl with six breasts, each the size of Boobs’. Each one also had a nipple the size of a garden hose at the end. As she stood there, milk started gushing out of them. She also developed horns, long floppy ears, and a bushy tail. "Maury, I mean Cowgirl, as that will be your new name, you will just stand here and leak genuine cow milk all day. And your breasts will always have a full supply, too. Good luck finding a man to drink it, though!"

Now Devi turned to the red-haired man. "Barry McDonald, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You’re into the kinkiest fetish of all the guys here. You like bondage. To you, it ain’t sexy unless she’s screaming, and feeling, bloody murder. And you really LOVE drawing pictures of ladies leaking blood, getting their limbs chopped off, or even having their internal organs burst out of their body cavities. How disgusting! You even visit museums to further this interest of yours. But no more! From now on, your own body will be a living monument to pain!" Instantly, Barry turned into an 18-year-old girl. Her arms were severed at the elbows, and she had no legs below the knees. She was tied up with barbed wire, so she couldn’t move a muscle. She had wooden stakes driven into her heart and brain. Her ribcage was clearly visible, as the skin that should be coating it was being eaten by piranhas. Blood was sputtering all over the place. And worst of all, she could feel every single ounce of pain being inflicted upon her. "Don’t worry, Injured, which is now your name. You won’t die. In fact, none of you will sustain any death or outside pain (save Injury here), or even age a day, until Mommy delivers her last baby. And that won’t be for about a hundred thousand years. So don’t even think about trying to exit your misery by committing suicide and hoping to be reincarnated as something else."

Devi left the changed ones and turned to the ringleader, the midget chomping a cigar. "But the one I really despise is you, Charlie Fromage! Not only do you break the law, pursue pedophilia, and hurt the girls without any compensation, concern, or payment, you don’t even like your buddies here! Whenever they demane payment from you, you tell them, ‘Go fuck yourself!’ Now, Charlie, you shall take your own advice." He was turned into a 19-year-old creature of womanly beauty, except for the 20-inch long, 8-inch thick penis sticking up from the crotch. She also had an unusually long and wide vaginal canal. Suddenly, the penis got hard and erect, and started screwing her own self! "That’s right. Your new name is F-Me, and you’ll never be able to stop screwing yourself until every person you screwed is dead and buried. All of you ladies will experience painful periods every month, and as an added punishment, all of you have intact hymens except for F-Me. Whenever you have sex with a man, you’ll bleed until you can bleed no more, and you’ll wish you’d never met me. And do you think that, once you’ve done the deed, you’ll never have to worry about it again? Wrongo! Your hymen will reform the moment your orgasm subsides and the man is gone. So long, Mommy, Boobs, Cowgirl, Injury, and F-Me. Have a nice punishment." With that, Devi walked away from the freaks and returned to the girl.

"Devi! Have you saved me?"

"Yes, my child. You will no longer have to worry about those sadistic fools anymore. And I promised I’d help you, so from now on, you’re my head assistant. You will help me fight the good fight, and make the world safe for good Hindus such as yourself." Devi waved her left hands in circles, and used the right to caress every square millimeter of the girl’s body. "From now on, your name shall be Madad Gaar. You shall be granted full protection from all outsiders." Instantly, the girl’s body grew into that of a full-fledged woman. She was beautiful. She also displayed grace and suppleness.

Madad turned towards Devi and said, "Take me home with you. I want to stop the evil in this world."

"Of course, my companion. We shall return to the Ganges, and you shall live a thousand years without pain or illness. And your body will age at a tenth the rate of a normal human’s. You’re not immortal, but you will be able to cast some of my magic." Devi took her new assistant with her, and they returned to the shrine, to deal with the duties of their devotees.

 

THE END

 

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