Quantum Tatas Pt. 01

Two men in expensive Mafia suits struggled against duct tape wrapping their bodies. A short distance separated them, but there was no hope of moving an inch to get help from the other. Mummified with tape and left in upright sitting positions, their shoulders banged against a wall of metal computer cabinets behind them. Hundreds of surrounding rack mounted CPU cabinets created a maze of narrow pathways. The men found themselves lost in the deadly center portion ruled over by the labyrinth's deadly minotaur, standing before them - and her name was Dixie.

They both surely knew they had more than screwed up. Their occasional double takes and looks of confusion on their gagged faces seemed to show that they just didn't know how they messed up so badly. How had it come to this?

"Stop hitting the thingy-thing-ma-bob wall thingy!" yelled Dixie, a tall blonde bombshell, aiming her anger at the hoodlums. She huffed. "Can't you see I'm trying to hear?"

A yoke of a child's pink plastic stethoscope hung from her ears. She unbuttoned her blouse a bit more and pressed the listening end a few times against different places on her bosom.

"Say it louder!" she yelled down at her pillowy breasts. "I know it's hard for you to hear me. It's noisy and these two assholes won't stop banging things." She pressed the pink stethoscope's diaphragm against her left breast and then her right.

"What!" she yelled in protest. "Don't you two talk to each other? Gees." She let go of the pink flexible tube letting it nest in between her boobs as she squeezed them together. The blouse and bra struggled to contain her modesty as she lifted her buxom heft up a bit pressing the two volumes closer and closer, deepening her already notable cleavage. She cringed when her arms began to tire while she waited a few more seconds.

She looked down into her deep central valley between her two smooth rolling hills - mountains actually. "There. Now can you two just agree for once?" She gave her arms a rest, letting her bosom bounce down into her bra.

The two gunmen stared at each other then back at her. Their faces showed their conclusion and then their disappointment in themselves. Once again their eyes should how they just asked themselves: but how? How had they let a complete wacko woman capture them?

Dixie looked up at the two men. "Stop looking at me like that! You look like you're judging me. I hate that!" She squeezed her boobs together again. "Can't you see Lefty and Righty are having a hard time hearing each other as it is?"

The faces on the men contorted as they struggled to think with the constant noise from thousands of spinning harddrives and whirring fans and pumping climate control systems. The blondie had taken a tactical advantage even though she didn't seem to have the cognitive skills for it at all. Maybe that was her power. There were no real thoughts in her head that the constant din would interfere with. Her empty mind left her immune to the room's cacophony.

The guys returned to twisting their shoulders trying to free their arms. She had taped both men with the deft handy work of a dominatrix. They both looked at each other again as if they had the same thought. They silently questioned it. But no. Dominatrix? Her? She didn't seem the type. Then again...

Dixie pressed the little horn end of her silly pink stethoscope to the top of "Lefty." She then moved it over to "Righty."

Both men sighed, loathing themselves as they struggled against layers of duct tape.

She stared down at her boobs as she lifted them and then angrily let go giving herself another wonderful bounce.

The two men helplessly stopped their struggles long enough to enjoy the view as her heft's jiggling finally settled.

"Fuck you two," she said, listening to her stethoscope. She looked at the guys, "and fuck you two too." Back at her boobs, "You want a scan! I'm here with two guys and bunch of loud machines with a bazillion little flashy reddy greeny lighty thingies. What more do you need to know!" She paused. "Ok, but I get to blindfold them first. What do you mean there is no time?" She stomped her right high heeled shoe and pouted, "There's always time for a blindfold! I'm not a hooker!" She flashed a look of disgust at the two duct taped men.

Whatever she was thinking made the men want to escape even more. The way she held her eyes scared them. She had that Fatal Attraction look. The guys knew then that other men on dates with her must have wanted to run away as well. Those previous guys probably never got tied up though. They were lucky. In short, they had been allowed a chance.

She pouted as she pondered something about the men. The crazy blonde looked like Marilyn Monroe's younger bustier sister - just a bit dumber, if that were possible, but then again Marilyn was said to be smart, separating her persona from real herself, but the hoodlums understood in their guts that Dixie was just dumb.

The suited thugs kept a close eye on her, no longer spending all their thoughts on the shape of her ass as she paced, but more on escape. It was her appearance that gave her an advantage over men in general. Anyone would underestimate this one. And certainly for that one unforeseen second that led to their present predicament, they did too.

She glanced at the wide-eyed men as they scooted back, pressing their sitting pose harder against the computer racks.

"Fine," she said to her chest. She began unbuttoning her white silk blouse and pulling the shirttails free from her tight black pencil skirt waist.

The men's startled looks led to a more relaxed fascination.

She then reached behind under the back of her blouse and popped her bra. Her breasts lifted and jiggled, returning to their perfect pyramid built out position as she freed them. Her arms struggled with the bra shoulder straps and then she realized she'd have to take her blouse off entirely, which she did with an angry fling, throwing her garment to the floor.

Her dainty hands cupped underneath her perfectly round orbs, lifting them just a tad and, oddly, aiming them.

The guys squinted in disbelief watching her point her tatas right at them. She then turned slowly, like she was doing a panoramic video with her areoles as a stereo camera rig.

The men flinched as a high pitch sound hit them as her nipples pointed right at their faces. The sound hurt, even in the noisy environment of the datacenter. Of course, maybe the noise was just some random motor whirring that coincidentally went off during the peep show. The guys checked with each other for a second time and then back at the perfect blondie's body.

"There," she said loudly as she looked down at her boobs. "You happy? You know the layout of the place now? Like it wasn't obvious." She made a comment at the men, "Boobs, they're so hard to work with." She shrugged and then grabbed her bra off the floor. She stayed bent over enough to dip her tits back into the bra cups, but then stopped, reconsidered, stood straight and pressed the stethoscope down on them again.

Dixie listened for a few seconds, standing there topless.

Despite the distracting view, the two men returned to struggling against their thick tape traps. While the minx talked to herself, they both clearly desired that she would put on a tin foil hat to block whatever alien messages from entering her crazy little, but sexy, blonde head. They each knew that the other guy had just added the same condescending vindictive details to their thoughts. She was dangerously crazy - but of course, once again, so satisfying to look at. Any captain would crash a ship for this siren.

"Don't dress?" she said with frustration. "My tits are hanging out here. It's cold." She paused. "Their still my tits, they're not you or yours. Let's get that straight. I can't walk around like this. No, I don't care if you like to scan more." She paused with her eyes rolling up to the ceiling struggling to listen to the pink earpieces. She looked down and yelled over the noise. "What! You want to read their minds! That didn't work so well for that nurse." Another pause. "You don't care! Easy for you to say. She's a vegetable now." Pause. "Fuck you lefty, until you can scan someone without fucking them up, you better keep away from my mind too." She switched to the right breast. "Yeah, Lefty is like such a selfish asshole." She switched to the left boob. "Ok, I know. I know. This is a bad time and you're trying your best." Another switch of the stethoscope end piece. "Tell your friend to chill. And I need my clothes! But fine! I'll do it just one more time."

She looked at the men and approached them.

Both guys just starred, eyes wide, rapt at her magnificent breasts.

She knelt before one of the guys and pulled the tape off his mouth and then extracted a rag from between his lips.

"Stay away, you wack job," he yelled.

Her breasts perched right at his eye level.

"Mmmm," said his gagged cohort, who returned an envious gawk.

The ungagged man then almost spoke again, but she gently put her index finger against his lips.

"Shh," she said so lusciously.

The ungagged man watched silently.

The gagged one stayed motionless. He added a wishful moan.

She took a deep breath. "Suckle on me." She cringed and looked away in disgust in having to do this coerced act of offering up her boobs to his face. She waited a second, looked down at the top of his balding head and smacked his skull. "Suck it! We don't have all day."

The guy's mouth wrapped around the full round plump nipple she offered him.

"That wasn't so hard now was it?" she said.

The other guy sighed through his gag and almost whimpered, as if to say he could do it better.

Dixie listened to her pink stethoscope as the guy's tongue circled and circled her tit making it flush and warm. He suddenly stopped. His head jerked a bit and then he froze.

"Uh huh, really? Yeah. Yep. Oh," she said with the stethoscope still in her ears.

The gagged guy watched her getting more dialog from her crazy invisible world. She switched her pink plastic communication to her right boob. "So they're alone. Got it. No, they didn't. It was them? Shit. Really? No. So, they're not alone. Well of course, they're alone here!"

As she pulled away, the breast-mind-fucked gunman began to shake violently and fell unconscious. His bound hands and arms, still pulled behind his back, prevented his limp body from dropping forward. Instead his sagging body collapsed with a slow tilting slide against the computer wall as he rolled onto his side.

"Yeah. I think you cooked his brain too," she said to her cleavage. She studied his convulsions. "Just like the nurse. I told you."

Dixie got off her knees. She walked to a table, her quick long strides pressing thighs taunt against her skirt. She picked-up one of the men's guns from a display of their belongs dump across a table.

The gagged guy looked incredulously at his cohort convulsing on the floor.

"You don't understand," she said, all the while using a hand to keep her stethoscope in contact with her make-believe Mission Command. "Humans can't just do that." She looked at the conscious gagged gunman and nodded at him with raised eyebrows as if a phone call was awkwardly taking too long. She returned to her private conversation. Her other hand swung the gun wildly about in casual to sometimes annoyed gestures. She stopped.

Shit: he didn't like that look. He panicked especially when she pointed the gun at him while she talked to the crazy world of her far off voices. Her aim held steady as she considered or, maybe, as her pink plastic toy fed her further instructions from alien radio waves entering her head.

"Mmmm!" he yelled in to his gag. He knew she was totally schizo. Regret for being there that day painted his face.

She pulled the gun away. "Can you just scramble his brain too?" Pause. "I don't care if its not energy efficient. I'll shock my tits again for you two. We'll get another MRI for dessert! Look, I've done everything else you wanted. Don't make me shoot a person - even a low life scum bag."

The gun raised and lowered again.

The guy kicked his tied ankles trying to reposition himself and free his hands from behind. Panic made him press his back harder against the wall as if that would help to get away.

When she set the gun down on table, the guy sighed with relief until she started approaching and then kneeling. With a tug up on her snug skirt, raising the material up her legs, she sat before him. She ripped the tap off his mouth, and pushed her boobs into his face.

"Oh, I forgot," she said, leaning back to use her long painted fingernails to pull out his rag. Her tit pressed forward again.

His eyes kept searching the room desperate to avoid the carnal treasure chest in front of him. He turned away looking at his partner, now drooling on the floor with madly flickering eyes.

"Wait," he said.

"It's like instinct for a man," she said, calmly running her hands through his hair and pulling his face harder into her chest. A plump firm nipple popped immediately into his mouth. "See, I didn't do that. You men are just bred to turn straight into it and line-up perfectly. Why can't you find the other place just as easily?" She starred off into space thinking about that question: why couldn't guys ever figure out female anatomy - at least a little bit better? Her stethoscope dangled behind her, lining the spine of her bare back.

The guy gagged on soft flesh, almost smothered in it, his thoughts most likely melted away like his partner, fading to a wonderful ecstasy of blackness.

On a video screen, a man and woman watched. They replayed a few seconds here and there, scrubbing the images for details.

"Marcy," said the man, "that bimbo has to be an agent. I mean that's real tradecraft, tying those guys up."

"Impossible, Bob," said Marcy. "She was totally random. Think about the odds of that." She looked at the unconscious duct taped gunmen. "Oh god, what have we gotten ourselves into?"

Rewinding the final bit of the security tape turned snuff film, they watched the last bit one more time. It took a full minute of breast mind pumping before Dixie stood and grabbed her bra. The second hoodlum then keeled over.

Both gunmen now shook violently on the floor in epileptic fits. Slowly, life left their bodies.

Dixie fumbled with her pink toy stethoscope and reestablished communication with the mothership.

"Shut up lefty," she yelled down to her breast. "You know I'm beginning to like Righty's ideas a lot more. Yes, I'll find a keyboard now, but I'm warning the both of you, I type really, really slow." She walked away heading down another corridor of computer racks.

"You're sure," asked Marcy, "your sound reconstruction is right. I mean that security camera didn't have a microphone."

"Yes Marcy," said Bob. "With the lip tracking software and using three different camera angles - it's right. Looking at this video without sound, the cops probably think she's just a wacko. But this is what was being said. We've got to find her first."