Pangolins are mammals of the order Pholidota. The one extant family, Manidae, has three genera: Manis, which comprises four species living in Asia, Phataginus, which comprises two species living in Africa, and Smutsia, which comprises two species also living in Africa. These species range in size from 30 to 100 cm (12 to 39 in). A number of extinct pangolin species are also known.
Pangolins have large, protective keratin scales covering their skin; they are the only known mammals with this adaptation. They live in hollow trees or burrows, depending on the species. Pangolins are nocturnal, and their diet consists of mainly ants and termites which they capture using their long tongues. They tend to be solitary animals, meeting only to mate and produce a litter of one to three offspring which are raised for about two years. Pangolins are threatened by hunting (for their meat and scales) and heavy deforestation of their natural habitats, and are the most trafficked mammals in the world. Of the eight species of pangolin, four (Phataginus tetradactyla, P. tricuspis, Smutsia gigantea, and S. temminckii) are listed as vulnerable, two (Manis crassicaudata and M. culionensis) are listed as endangered, and two (M. pentadactyla and M. javanica) are listed as critically endangered on the International Union for Conservation of Nature Red List of Threatened Species.
“May I call you Andy, now that we’ve screwed each other’s brains out, and shared needles of reagent and two bottles of everclear to lay waste to our sobriety?”
“No. But, you can continue to call me Ms. Toulon. And, I will continue to call you Miss Kane.”
They’re stretched out on Toulon’s bed. Naked except of their perls and their uncircumcised Parts. Toulon’s modest living quarters are in the apartment annex to the library. Two librarians and six book loaders, all of them are spinsters like Toulon, call the annex home too.
The two junkies have fucked hard, and shot themselves up with some of the good stuff [i.e., reanimation reagent] and emptied two bottles of Everclear from Toulon’s private stash. They are high as kites, drunk as skunks, and still so horny they’re groping each other. They’re also well on their way to getting totally wasted. Maybe they’ll do the nasty again.
Toulon’s suit stands in a corner, empty eyes staring at them. A naked woman in her early twenties, the wearable used to be a chic stockbroker who ran marathons as a hobby before Toulon got hold of her. The suit has a ravaged face, and is emaciated. A strong, sour body odor of having gone a very long time unwashed. Head lice, fleas, and crabs. Dirty skin. A filthy mouth—her crooked teeth are so filthy they look rotten and her tongue is so filthy it’s slimy—a big, ugly mouth that used to be small and neat, filled with straight, white teeth—receded gums that used to not be receded.
Toulon has only owned the girl for two months. The Pango is very hard on her suits—i.e., ride them hard and put them up wet, over and over again. She’s also very fickle about them, trading them in on a whim.
“Were you always a book loader, or did you get busted down from librarian?”
“Talk less, touch me more.”
“As a librarian, I was beyond category—I was really that good. But. In my personal life, I was always a train wreck waiting to happen, and that bled into my professional life once too often.”
“I used to be the head librarian here. I’m a Skinwalker and a junkie, not to mention a drunken whore, and on more than the odd occasion while on duty I’ve been known to be hungover or strung out or been caught fucking someone/something in the subbasement of the library archives. So. Take your pick as to why I got busted and will remain in this lowered station of life for the rest of my existence.”
“Do you miss being the HL?”
“Nope. I prefer to wallow in depravity and debauchery. When you’re an HL you work very long hours and don’t get a lot of time to indulge your recreational proclivities to their fullest extent.”
Toulon’s eyes fluoresce. The suit starts choking herself. She’s making loud gurgling sounds as she drops to the floor dead. But. That wretched creature wasn’t the only one effected.
Mondo, who has been worn extensively before, responds in kind. The girl’s Id again betrays her. Toulon takes her. The Voices that suddenly fill her head are deafening, wiping her Ego and Super Ego like blank slates. Her conscious mind erased. Mondo lies motionless on the bed. Legs spread widely. Arms held at her sides. Empty eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Mouth open slackly drooling. Toulon sits up and gestures arcane over the girl’s body. Mondo’s hair yanks back into a sternka. Her hair goes geriatric, thus it goes to being yellow-blonde liberally streaked with grey and a “dirty” white bordering on grey. Harsh, unbecoming makeup applies itself heavily to the girl’s face. Then. A pair of sternns slip on the girl’s face. These are not Mondo’s sternns. They belong to Toulon, and they are quite insidious. The eyeglasses reprogram the Borg drone with a new personality. It’s the same depraved personality that the dead stockbroker mind’s was imprinted with. It’s the same drunken junkie whore personality that Toulon’s suits always get imprinted with, a personality that’s very close to Mondo’s and Toulon’s own personalities.
Toulon gets off the bed, smiling broadly. Her eyes are still glowing. She’s sporting an erection.
Mondo obeys Toulon’s command and gets off the bed. Toulon’s eyes begin to glow much brighter. In response to this added fluoresce, Mondo’s mouth, nose, eyes, and ears start bleeding. She too is now sporting an erection. Her hands klaw. The girl ejaculates.
Toulon ejaculates in response to her new suits’ jism gusher.
“You will help me dispose of your predecessor’s body. We’re going to eat her. Afterwards, I will try you out on for a short spin. For obvious reasons, I will only be wearing you in my apartment. Later, I will box you. From now on, your name is Slut, which is the name I always give to my suits.”
The erasure and imprinting is permanent for mortals. For supernaturals, the Puppet Master has to keep repeating the erasure and imprinting, else, eventually, the supernatural will revert to type and become themselves again. That’s the purpose of Toulon’s specially-modified sternns. As long as the girl is either wearing them or is within close proximity of them [i.e., a thirty foot radius], they will continually refresh her erasure and imprinting. And. Only Toulon, or someone else who knows the correct [reversal] cipher, can remove the cursed eyeglasses from Mondo’s face.
From there. It goes from bad to worse.
The dreadful makeup is Toulon’s backup for the sternns. Minus the control of the eyeglasses, as long as the girl is wearing the makeup, she’ll remain erased and imprinted. And. Only Toulon, or someone else who knows the correct [Pond’s cold cream] cipher, can remove the cursed makeup. Additionally, the makeup is a pernicious parasite which feeds on her face, and it will ravage her looks, much to the glee of the vain-and-envious Toulon, because those ravaged looks will no longer be competition for Toulon’s. These caustic cosmetics are what ravaged the looks of the once-beautiful, now deceased stockbroker.
“First things first. Now, come over here, Slut, get on your knees and please your new mistress. Hand job. Blow job. Then, you eat me out—pussy and anus.”
Hand job. Blow job. Eating out pussy and anus. Et al. All things Mondo would have gladly done to Toulon of her own volition. With zero coercion applied.
But. That’s the point. Toulon, being a Crone, can’t enjoy any of that being done to her by Mondo half as much if Mondo does them voluntarily. The application of coercion allows Toulon to achieve orgasm beyond compare—i.e., the ultimate “O”. Sick does as sick is.
Worst: the eyeglasses and makeup work in concert, doubling the effect of the erasure and imprinting. The girl’s erasure and imprinting, might as well be permanent. It seems that Toulon has thought of everything. Or. Has she? Mondo’s own Id is more or less that of the pseudonym’s—i.e., people of the girl’s ilk are serial kallers. This means than any erasure and imprinting that Mondo is subjected to amounts to Id sequencing on a serial kaller, which makes subjugation increasingly problematic the longer the girl is enslaved. For an enslavement virtuoso who’s so anal retentive this is a glaring oversight on Toulon’s part. Then again. Maybe, it’s not an oversight, because maybe it’s intentional?