I do not own these characters, and am only using them for a not for profit tale for amusement only.
Kim Possible: 666'd
Original Story By Twisted-Wun & LJ58
Edited and Reposted (With Permission) by LJ58
Kim lay back on the wide bed, feeling both rather surprised, and a little embarrassed at the mirror on the bed's canopy. Their host had said this was her daughter's bedroom, but looking around she had to wonder about the woman's daughter. The mirror was one thing, but only after she had lain down did she notice there were covertly placed rings on the posts of the headboard that looked as if someone might use them for something rather naughty.
Not that she was going to judge the woman that put her, and her friends up after a long, exhausting mission.
First, there had been four long days hunting down Drakken and Shego, followed by a surprisingly hard fight, another close escape, and then the car they had borrowed from Drakken's lair to get back after the lunatic had literally run away again actually ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere.
She, Monique, and Ron had walked for what felt hours, unable to get in contact with Wade since Drakken's exploding lair magnetized her Kimmunicator yet again, and left the device useless. Ron had apologized every step of the way, but it was hardly his fault. This time. She doubted even Wade could have foreseen Drakken's equipment setting off a weak EMP when it exploded. They were just lucky to find the old manor house setting out in the middle of nowhere just before a storm had started rumbling ominously overhead, virtually drenching them before they got near the house.
For once, they had enjoyed a bit of luck as the older woman they found at home welcomed the three of them inside, and even made a very nice meal for them before putting them up for the night. The only thing she had been unable to offer was a phone, as she had told them that regrettably the approaching storm already rattling windows and doors with loud peals of thunder after they reached shelter had apparently downed the lines.
Kim had felt sure they would be fine tomorrow, though, even if the lines were still down.
The older woman with silvering-black hair and bright green eyes had told them one of her children was bound to show up to check on her after the storm, and would be able to help them get sorted out.
Ron had decided it sounded better than walking in the rain through a dark forest.
Monique heartily agreed.
Now, laying in a borrowed bed, in a borrowed gown that seemed rather naughty even by her standards, she felt surprisingly awake and alert despite her earlier fatigue as she stared up her reflection that stared back down at her with a curiously bemused expression.
Her lithe, nineteen year old body was wiry, fit, and well toned, and while her breasts had never been centerfold material, she was comfortable with her self image. In fact, she rather liked her body just as it was. So did Ron, who while he was no longer actually dating her this year due to his own personal issues, remained her best friend, and most fervent admirer.
He had also, to her dismay, predicted Drakken and Shego's return to villainy not long after the pair found themselves unemployable despite their pardon in the wake of saving the world at their sides a little over a year ago when Lorwardian invaders conquered the planet, and wanted to turn them all into trophies.
She had hopes the pair would genuinely reform back then, but as Shego herself put it best, she was evil at heart.
Then noticed something odd.
The redhead in the mirror had red eyes.
How was that possible?
Red hair. Peach nightie that ended just high enough to reveal her borrowed cotton panties. Long, lithe legs. Same familiar features.
Only the eyes looking down from that mirror gleamed scarlet.
Like a bad vampire movie.
Then, almost belatedly, she realized something else.
Her reflection's breasts were somehow larger than normal.
In fact, they were still swelling before her eyes. And as they did, Kim felt her own modest bra growing uncomfortably tight. She gasped, starting to reach for the now overly snug garment now straining against the weird swelling, and abruptly realized her hands would not move. Could not move.
Her eyes flashed to the reflection again, and she saw that red-eyed girl was now bound spread-eagle upon the bed by chains attached to those rings she had noticed earlier in the bedposts. She gasped, crying out in fear and confusion, and noticing her parted lips betrayed surprisingly sharp fangs that glistened brightly behind gleaming, scarlet lips.
She cried out again at the image that seemed to be hazy of a sudden, and realized it looked not unlike the double-exposure on an old photo as if something were being superimposed atop her own reflection in the mirror.
No, not just in the mirror.
Somehow, impossible as it might seem, she herself was somehow being…..changed.
But spirits weren't real.
She focused on the mirror again, and noticed the bed around her now seemed to be part of dreary, gray backdrop lit by tendrils of dark flame. No fiery red landscape, as one might imagine was expected by such glimpses of hell, but cold, cheerless, and unrelentingly despairing all the same. She felt the icy grasp of skeletal fingers clawing more at heart and mind than flesh for a moment, and then she screamed in fear as she realized the image was all too real, and something was actually trying to enter her body.
Something that wanted her very soul!
She bucked and writhed in vain as she tried to resist. To fight. To deny this impossible fate. But the shadowy chains were as strong as any she had ever been bound with before. Even as she tried too late to resist, and in vain to scream, that unnatural reflection was now solidifying, sinking down into her very flesh, and for one of the few times in her life, Kim Possible was completely helpless. Completely unable to conjure a means of escaping this mad nightmare turned real.
Ron sighed, stretching out on the bed as he reveled in the silk sheets of the wide, soft bed.
The borrowed pajamas were a bit snug, so he only wore the bottoms, but he didn't even bother to climb under the covers, as the night was warm despite the chilling rain they had only recently escaped.
He felt it was too bad his aging buddy Rufus wasn't here to enjoy this rare moment of luxury, but his naked mole rat now enjoyed spending most of his time with Hanna when he wasn't sleeping away most of the day. Smart and clever as he was, Rufus was still a mortal animal with a limited life span. He was getting too old for the kinds of adventures they had shared for years now, and he couldn't risk him getting hurt as they faced not only the usual foes, but some far more dangerous than even Drakken could ever be.
There was that weird man calling himself Outcast who had genuine telekinetic powers, and could also induce illusions so real you could literally kill yourself if you weren't careful. Not to mention the new crop of homegrown terrorists who suddenly decided being common serial killers and thugs were not enough for them any longer. They had to try to take out buildings, and blocks, and cities. Not in the name of some god, or even politics, but in the name of the five o'clock news, and all the sound bites they could ever crave. Sometimes, Ron felt, technology was not a good thing.
He sighed, and felt his right foot cramp a little as he lay there.
He frowned, and looked down.
Just as his left foot cramped.
He sat up in bed, looking down at his feet even as he felt his entire lower body spasm violently.
What the heck!?
He stared at his pajamas, black as night, that were suddenly skintight, and looked as if they were somehow sprouting hair.
Thick, coarse hair that covered him from his hips down.
Then he yelped as he fell over on his side, his hands going helplessly to his muscular backside that now felt just as hairy as his legs as he felt something thin and ropy pushing out from the cleft of his buttocks.
He tried to scream as he felt his feet cramp violently this time, knotting so hard, and so suddenly he felt they had been caught in a vise of some kind. He could barely see the ends of his now darkened limbs, though, as the tears of pain blinded him as he felt something flop at the sides of his skull that throbbed unmercifully now as he sensed something else that seemed to be tearing at his temples from within his own head.
He tried to scream, and to his shock, heard only a lowing bawl escape his wide-stretched lips.
He bawled again, in fear and panic, and rolled off the bed to land hard on his face, his transformed lower body jerking convulsively as he felt his upper body swell with muscle even as his arms thickened and tightened with unnatural muscle. Even as they did, he caught glimpses of his fingers melding, forming two thick digits rather than four even as his thumbs lengthened, and thickened, too.
"Kim," he tried to scream, but only bawled again.
Then he saw himself in the dark glass of the nearby window, and bawled in soul-numbing fear.
Right before he fainted.
Monique sighed as she stepped out of the bath, feeling quite warm, relaxed, and very content.
She walked into her room from the attached bath, and dropped her towel to stare at her voluptuously rounded form she stared at her reflection without shame or modesty. She knew herself well, and she didn't dislike a single inch of her mocha-cream body built for fun, and fashion.
She flicked a finger over a dark nipple, and smiled, telling her reflection, "Girl, you have got it going on," even as she beamed.
"First official mission with KP, and we kicked butt," she grinned, knowing that while she was still not ready to face Greenie, she had held off the usual lackeys with surprising ease considering she had only just gotten out of GJ's training academy.
She was just one of many new recruits inspired to serve their country, and the world in the cause of justice after Kim Possible had helped dropkick the green giants back up their interstellar beanstalk but good.
She brushed a hand through her dark, surprisingly soft hair, her one vanity since very few knew that a Japanese ancestor diluted her African blood back in what her gramps called WWII, the last real war. Gramps had shocked quite a few people back then by bringing home a living souvenir from Tokyo in the form of a young bride.
No big surprise, he was promptly disowned by his own family.
Gramps didn't care.
And Monique loved her Gran just as much as anyone else in her family.
Even if she sometimes drove her crazy with the advice she ought to marry, and devote her life to her husband as a proper woman should.
Not in this lifetime.
She was too fine for that life.
She loved her Gran, and knew that was her way, but a modern girl had to make her own way, and her own fun.
She giggled as she walked to the old-fashioned wardrobe, the old woman that called herself Sarana having told herself to feel free to borrow anything in it, as it had been left behind by an old family friend that used to board with her.
She opened the doors, and gaped.
The dresses were all short, black, and had white caps and aprons attached.
Right, lady, she thought cynically. She pulled open the bottom drawer, and saw a surprisingly erotic collection of sheer panties, thongs, demi-bras, in all colors and fabrics.
She pulled out a bikini panty, with a strapless moon-cut bra of soft white satin, and smiled. Just the touch of it made her want to try it on. It did look brand new. As if it had never even been worn. She didn't even think of size as she pulled the panty up her sleek, dark legs, snapping the elastic in place after a firm tug that cupped both bottom, and her plump, trimmed Mons.
Just the touch of the fabric sent a sensual shiver through her body, and made her nether lips swell with unexpected arousal.
"Oh, this is too nice," she cooed, and quickly put on the bra next, feeling her ample mounds lifted and caressed as if by living hands as her fat, dark nipples jutted out in genuine arousal as she turned to look at herself in the mirror. The sight of the stark, white lingerie on her dark skin made her tremble with delight. For a moment she simply stood there in front of the mirror, eyes glazed, fingers absently rubbing her right breasts and covered Mons. She never noted the smoky, gray tendrils that slowly emerged from the otherwise normal glass that showed only her own reflection stroking her responsive body just then.
She didn't feel one of the tendrils push her hand aside, sliding through the fabric of her panty to thrust up into her wet, pliant sex, impaling her with ease even as she moaned huskily as a second tendril parted, and stretched her full lips, actually sliding down into her throat as it pulsed with unnatural life once it entered her unyielding flesh. A third tendril passed though her panty from behind, working its way into her bowels even as countless others surrounded, embraced, and stroked every inch of her trembling, dark flesh from her head to her toes, stealing all conscious awareness from her as she was literally numbed with raw, unending ecstasy by their ministrations.
She stood staring blankly in front of the mirror a very long time, never once trying to escape.
"I'm telling you, I saw lights," the completely sodden Dr. Drakken grumbled as the rain fell so hard the day remained as grim and gloomy as if the sun had not even risen. "Right over that way," he pointed.
"And I told you that you're crazy."
"I'm crazy? Who crashed the hovercraft into a swamp? A swamp that isn't even on the map!"
"You did," the green-skinned woman with dripping hair spat irritably. "And if I catch cold, you are so going to have trouble sitting the next month! Maybe two!"
"It wasn't my fault. How did I know that was the power button? I thought it was the heater. Whoever made that panel should have labeled the switches better."
"You built the thing! Gah! How you can call yourself an evil genius is really beyond me. First you blunder you way through years of failure, and then you actually help save the world!"
"Shego! We agreed not to mention that," he whined.
"And what do you do for an encore," she went on indignantly. "You drag me right back into the same old tired schemes, and failures when we could have been living the good life somewhere warm and dry right now."
"This is what I do," Drew Lipski protested.
"'This is what I do,'" Shego parroted. "I swear, Drew, if I didn't…"
"Yes," he smiled, looking rather gruesome with his lank ponytail and bangs covering his pale, scarred features just then. Just ahead of them, though, she finally spotted the house herself, which was what had drawn her gaze, and stilled her complaints.
"If I didn't have a contract, I'd quit," she sputtered as she turned toward the house.
"Hey," he pointed out. "I told you I saw a house."
Shego stared, then slowly smiled.
"That's not a house, Doc," she grinned as they drew closer, and the old manor took shape in the heavy rain. "That's a frickin' mansion. Ought to be something worth stealing in a place that big. Don't you think?"
"Let's just dry off, and find a way back to civilization, if you please. This storm has given me an idea for my greatest plan ev…!"
"If you say weather machine, I'm going to hurt you," Shego hissed.
"Oh…..snap. How did you know?"
"Aaaaagggghhhhhh," she cried as she stormed off ahead of him.
"What? What did I say," Drew demanded as he trotted after her.
"Do you think anyone is even here? This place looks very old."
"It looks well maintained, too. And there are lights on," Shego grumbled as they neared the door, grateful to be under the porch, and out of the rain. "That means someone one is here. Or didn't you also notice the smoke coming out of the chimney?"
"There's a chimney?"
"I swear, Drew, sometimes….."
"May I help you," a young, black woman asked as the door opened just as her hand was poised to knock.
The girl almost wore a traditional maid's dress, complete with a white apron and cap. But only almost.
The modified uniform left most of her fat, round breasts bared, and showed off her very exposed nipples that jutted out proudly. A matching silver band framed her dark throat, and Shego could only guess where the faint ringing of a bell chime was coming from when the girl stepped back to bow to them.
"The mistress will greet you in the main salon," she told them as she stood back to allow them entry as if taking it for granted they did wish to enter.
"Why, thank you, young woman," Drew smiled. "I do like your manners. I don't suppose you have a towel handy, though, do you?"
"The mistress will see to your needs after she greets you herself," the maid told them as Shego frowned at her, thinking there was something strangely familiar about the young, dark-skinned maid that was barely dressed in whatever kind of uniform that was supposed to be.
"This way," she said to them, blithely unaware of Shego's scrutiny as she closed the door to lead them down a long hall toward a room with open double doors.
"Lady Sarana," the maid bowed to an older woman sitting in the room near the hearth with an open fireplace. "Guests to see the mistress."
The stately woman with silvered temples that flowed into a wealth of long, dark hair that fell back over a perfect body in a crimson dress that hugged every curve looked up from a leather-bound book she was reading to eye them.
"I see," the woman with clear, gray eyes murmured. "How delightful. We do so seldom receive guests here. Rok," she spoke to a shadow kneeling to one side near the hearth. "Fetch your mistress. Tell her we have guests."
The floors shook as the huge, muscular giant moved from where it had hunched near the hearth feeding wood into the flames. From the hips down, the creature looked like a massive, black bull that had learned to stand upright. It even had an obscenely swollen phallus suggested under a rough loincloth that seemed to react to Shego's presence.
His torso, however, was that of a man, but his head had the look of a man's head melded somehow with a bull's, complete with horns. Only Shego would have sworn that thick, dark blonde hair atop that bizarre head looked more than familiar.
As the bare-chested manbeast on massive hooves lumbered past, his tail twitching slightly, Shego began to feel a nagging suspicion rise in the back of her mind.
Drew, for his part, simply sat down on the nearby divan heedless of his sodden clothes, and helped himself to the steaming tea on the serving tray between himself and the woman in the chair. Shego looked around after the manbeast lumbered off, and put something together that made absolutely no sense even to her addled mind.
Because now that she considered it, that fetish maid looked an awful lot like the new Kim-clone that crashed their lair with the Princess a day ago. And that bull-thing had the exact same hair color as Stoppable.
She continued to stand there, frowning, trying to understand what was going on even as her instincts suggested she should run. Very fast. Very far. But run.
She walked over to stand near Drew, and knew, absolutely knew, that if a Kim Possible proxy popped up next she was seriously going to freak.
"Tea," the older woman asked her, gesturing politely with her own cup.
"Thanks, but I'll wait for your boss," Shego drawled, not sure if she wanted to risk eating or drinking anything this weird lady offered her.
Unlike Drew, who was cramming a few of the pastries into his mouth before gulping hot tea as if they had been starving for days, instead of just a few hours.
She turned even as she heard someone walk into the room, the big bull-thingy tromping after them. She gaped as she saw the figure in the door that smirked her way.
There was no doubt.
It was Kim Possible. Only it was not a Kim she had ever seen.
Even as she gaped, Drew slowly looked up to see what had caught her gaze.
"Kim Possible," Drew spit out as he looked up to see the now over-amply endowed redhead wearing a black, satin dress with her long hair flowing like crimson silk down her back.
"A drab name, for a drab creature," the woman sighed in a sultry voice. "I much prefer Mistress Darke," she drawled.