Legal disclaimer: The following story is a work of parody, and is not
intended to be an infringement on the copyrights of the various names and
characters used herewith. Readers must be of legal age of majority in their
respective jurisdictions.

Story codes: (F-best, ws, nc-cons)

Hulk: The Poodle Demonic (And His Vicious, Rabid Friends)
by Joseph Argent ([email protected])

Dr. Betty Ross gripped her pencil tightly. She tried to concentrate on the
sketch on the floor in front of her, but her mind was dominated by thoughts
of the man she had met earlier in the day. The scruffy-looking man, whom
she had seen working as the new janitor at the Berkeley lab, had claimed to
be Bruce's father. Betty could not tell if he was telling the truth, but
from their brief conversation during what she felt was a generally unsettling
encounter, she was almost certain that the man knew more about Bruce than
perhaps Bruce himself. Beyond the air of eccentricity exhibited by the
grizzled old man, there was a mind sharp as a knife, and twice as dangerous;
Betty was sure of it. But was he responsible for what had occurred at the
laboratory? Or was it really Bruce, who had somehow trashed the place and
left his wallet behind in the process?

She dropped her pencil to scratch an itch around her neck. Her scarf! The
memory of it hit her with a spine-chilling jolt. Had she been so disturbed
by the man that she had left her scarf behind? A pang of loss passed over
her heart and disappeared; she was not about to pay another visit to the
man's home just to reclaim something so insignificant.

As Betty reached down for her pencil, a loud crash from outside her window
drew her attention. Her head perked in alarm, her body froze as she strained
to hear in the dead silence that followed. When her ears caught all but the
hollow echo of nothingness, she pushed herself off the floor and grabbed a
flashlight from inside a nearby drawer. The cabin which she called her home
practically was in the middle of nowhere, and few people knew where she
lived. She did not think it was Bruce -- he would have called beforehand --
but she could not shake the feeling that the commotion outside had something
to do with him. Whatever it was, if it had a hand in the destruction of the
Berkeley lab, her cabin was not going to stop it if she was its target. That
was how she reasoned to herself as she turned the knob on her front door and
stepped outside.

It was pitch dark outside, and Betty could see little even with the aid of
her flashlight. She directed the beam towards the clump of gnarled, old trees
immediately to the right of the cabin, feeling her heart beat faster as the
monstrous trees revealed themselves ominously under the illumination of her
torch. Feeling more than a bit silly, she was nonetheless relieved to find
nothing hiding there. She closed the door behind her and stepped through the
porch, sweeping her flashlight from right to left as she continued down the
few steps before her.

The thought that her torch's beam was shining upon the contorted face of a
dog did not immediately register in Betty's mind. It was out-of-place, an
impossibility, something the mind quickly dismisses as a trick of the light
under these conditions. But when the thing that looked like a too-big dog's
face snarled at her, she jumped, and screamed. She turned and started up the
steps, and would have made it safely back into her house had she taken her
time -- for the dog-thing did not attack her at once -- but in her haste she
tripped over one of the steps and fell to her hands and knees, dropping her
torch in the process. Sensing her weakness, the dog-thing made its move,
leading two other similarly-mutated canines out of the shadows. Betty Ross
had barely gotten to her feet when the first beast pounced on her, knocking
her flat on her stomach.

The steps dug into Betty's midsection and drove the wind out of her body;
she winced, screaming breathlessly as she felt the thing's breath upon her
neck. A dribble of hot saliva fell onto her scalp, producing a most
disgusting sensation as it soaked into her hair and trickled onto her skin.
The low, rumbling growl which filled her ears seemed to come from more than
one direction, and when a separate beast poked its deformed face into her
cheek, Betty realized she was being attacked by more than one monster. Her
nerves appeared to leave her then, and she squeezed her eyes shut, refusing
even to acknowledge the sight of her threat even as she felt its slick
tongue upon her skin. There was no doubt these were dogs of some kind, now,
as they exhibited all the characteristics of such an animal between their
sniffing and their vocal emanations. Their immense size, however, spoke of
something as big as a black bear.

'Oh God!' Betty thought desperately, 'Help me, please -- Bruce, Daddy --
anyone!' As hard as she tried to remain motionless, to appear as small and
insignificant a target as possible, she could not stop her teeth from
chattering. She was scared to death, more afraid than she could remember
from any point in her life. Worse than her dream of being left alone in
that diner as a kid, and being strangled by a fierce-looking Bruce Krenzler.

The constricting feeling in Betty's throat became too great, and she began
to wail in earnest at the top of her lungs. When the weight on her back
lifted suddenly, she shot to her feet and let her momentum carry her forward.
She chose not to go for the door, knowing the split second it takes for her
to turn the knob would be a moment too long, and instead darted to her right
and vaulted smoothly over the railing around the porch. Her only chance was
to get to her Toyota -- where, thankfully, she had left a spare set of
keys -- and get the hell out of here. The red sport-utility vehicle was only
a few feet away, and if she could just yank the door open and dive inside
before the monsters could catch up --

-- but Betty had underestimated the over-grown, mutated dogs. One of them
landed in front of her abruptly, cutting off her route to the car even as
two more dogs bounded to her flanks. The young woman skidded to a halt, and
for the first time she saw her assailants in all their glory: three beasts
that looked every bit like canines, except they were the size of ponies and
grotesquely deformed. She could even tell what breed of dogs they were; the
beast directly in front of her was covered in silver, fluffy hair, with long
ears that dangled beside its elongated snout, and if Betty's fear-filled
heart had any room for humor, she would have laughed at the disheveled state
of that over-sized, demonic poodle. The remaining dogs were not so
caricatured in appearance. The drooling, rabid-looking pair formerly were a
pit bull terrier and a mastiff, and they looked even more menacing than their
accomplice as they lacked its comical disposition. Choking back a terrified
sob, Betty took a step backward and found herself on her back, her quivering
knees having buckled under fear. She could not bear to countenance the
horrific beasts any longer, and squeezed her eyes shut as they loomed over
her helpless body. Please God, she prayed, let it be quick.

Betty could not help but jerk and whimper when she felt one of their claws
press down on her chest. She did not realize it immediately, but believing
she was about to be disemboweled by the dogs, she lost control of her bladder
and began to wet herself. The curious scent gave pause to the demon-poodle,
causing it to stop and sniff at her groin. Demon-terrier and Demon-mastiff
also began to sniff at the air above Betty's urine-soaked pants, and the
three dogs continued their exploration for a long, torturous minute before
one of them made the first move. Demon-poodle, whose paw was still lying on
Betty's chest, raked it across her clothes in a downward stroke, splitting
her sweater apart and just missed rending open the poor scientist herself.
As it were, its claws left behind a row of angry red marks on her pale skin.
Screaming as though she had actually been shredded to ribbons, Betty threw
out her arms defensively, then put them on her abdomen as if she meant to
keep her guts from spilling out. Gradually she came to realize she had not
been eviscerated, only to have those thoughts replaced then by the daunting
knowledge that it may have been the dog's intention to keep her alive. The
cool night air chilling the sweat on her breasts alarmed her; she refused
to think about what might be happening as she slowly reached up to pull her
jacket closed.

The dogs growled in unison above Betty, causing her to wince and her body
to tense. She dared not move a muscle, but when one of their wet muzzles
nudged at her arms insistently, she was forced to let go of her jacket and
return her hands meekly to her sides. Something wet and rough in texture
made contact with her skin and slid over her exposed breasts, making her
groan partly in fear but more so in revulsion. She steeled herself as best
she could in anticipation of having one of her breasts bitten off, but the
dog did no more than lick at her firm young mammaries. Betty never would
have believed that the beasts could be sexually attracted to her in any
way, yet in truth her sheer beauty as a specimen of humanity was not lost
on the beasts' primal sensibilities, and the musky scent she had given off
when she peed herself was perceived by the mutant dogs as a sign that she
was in heat. If she had opened her eyes and seen the gigantic, knotted
erections growing out of the furry sheaths between the dogs' legs, she
surely would have thrown up her dinner. But she was too afraid, too
disturbed by what the dogs were doing to her to do much more than keep her
eyes shut, and hope that the worst was come. Soon all three dogs were
lapping at her, dragging their vile tongues over her face, her neck and
her nipples, coating her in a layer of saliva.

To Betty's misfortune, the dogs were not content with slavering over her
body. When they could find no suitable hole in which to insert their aching
cocks -- for the young woman had clamped her lips shut to keep out their
slime -- it dawned on them to look in a previously unexplored place. Growling
in mild frustration, they began to tug at the material of her pants, pawing
at the piece of garment and seizing the cloth with their sharp teeth. Ripping
open her sweater had been easy, but her trousers were made of a sturdier
fabric, so in order to save her legs from harm, Betty reluctantly complied
with the dogs' intentions by undoing the button and zipper on her fly.
Nonetheless, she gasped in surprise when the dogs yanked her trousers down to
her knees, allowing their tongues to dart between her sticky, urine-stained
thighs at once. They seemed to relish the taste of her drying piss, but it
was all Betty could do to suppress the bile in her throat, so disgusted was
the young woman by the feeling of
worm-like tongues writhing over the font of dampness at the crotch of her
panties. Her soaked underwear clung snugly to the contours of her vulva,
to the point where the dogs might as well have been performing cunnilingus
directly on her vagina, unwanted as the attention might be. Thus the
offense to her personal modesty grew beyond her tolerance, and in spite of
her mortal fear she began to sob openly in shame.

Betty Ross had never been one to indulge in sexual fantasies of any kind.
She was no virgin, but not once in her life had she found herself wanting
to be tied up, or to dress entirely in leather, or to participate in an
orgy. In fact, under the influence of her regimented father, she was
devoutly religious. A lesser person in her current predicament would find
it unbearably degrading; Betty just wanted to die. She wished the dogs
would have killed her sooner, but not only did she now have to deal with
the humiliation of being assaulted by them, she also was fighting
tooth-and-nail to keep her rising arousal, which had crept up on her without
warning, at bay. She could not believe the way her body was betraying her,
the way her clitoris was responding to the stimulation of the dogs' tongues,
while ignoring completely her pleas for calm. It was very much like the time
when she lubricated involuntarily during a check-up at the gynecologist's,
but at least the doctor had been a man.

These are dogs for Heaven's sakes, Betty loudly reminded herself, mutant
dogs! But her vagina took its cue from her straining clitoris and began to
moisten with sexual fluids -- "pussy juice" was the term that jumped into
her head, popping up from a curious jumble of college memories. Despite her
fiercest mental protestations, the constant probing of the dogs' tongues
actually were making her feel good. She shuddered each time her clit was
caught up in their licking motions, and soon she was forced to bite her lip
to keep from crying out; she was loathe to hear the kind of noise she would

Betty's eyes flew open when she felt her panties being pulled off. She
screamed as soon as she saw the ugly faces of the three dogs crammed together
near her crotch, and although she knew it could elicit a deadly response from
the monsters, she kicked her legs out at the slavering things, then flipped
onto her stomach in an attempt to crawl to her hands and knees. It was an
ill-conceived plan, for she had forgotten her legs were constricted by the
pants around her knees, and as quickly as she had stood up, she came crashing
back to the ground. In this way she positioned herself unintentionally in a
stance which the dogs understood, crouching as a bitch would and offering her
rear to the amorous beasts. She felt them tugging at her panties again, and
she had only the time to turn and watch as they were torn away from her
pelvis. The fact that she was now utterly vulnerable gripped her in
paralyzing fear, and while her thoughts urged her to get up and run, her
limbs refused to budge even as she felt the demon poodle's prickly fur brush
against her skin. She grimaced and wailed aloud as the dog brought its weight
down on her back, threatening to crush her underneath before the pressure

In the chaos of her mind, Betty knew all too clearly what was coming. The
monster was mounting her. She was about to become a mutant dog's bitch, but
still her arms and legs would -- not -- move. She felt something warm press
against her outer lips and, pitifully, the most she could do was turn her
head slowly to look at something she dreaded with all her soul.

God have mercy on me! Betty Ross cried inwardly as she laid her bulging eyes
on the beast's imposing cock. The glistening organ was about the size of her
arm, except its immense girth was magnified by the voluminous knot near its
furry sheath. Its raw, slimy exterior, coupled with the throbbing map of
arteries and veins on its surface, made it look like the most disgusting
thing she had ever seen -- and it was about to penetrate her, she knew,
whether she could accommodate it or otherwise.

The beast was savage in its urgency to fuck; having found a proper orifice,
the demon poodle lurched forward and drove as much of its cock into Betty
Ross' vagina as the unyielding passage could take at once. Whimpering in
pain as she mouthed the word no, the young woman was nonetheless thankful
that she was still wet from being stimulated previously, and while the first
thrust of the beast's penis caused her a good deal of discomfort, it was not
the gut-splitting, searing agony she had braced for. It was only slightly
worse than losing her virginity. Even when the next powerful stab portended
to crush her cervix, Betty was able to bear the pain by rolling with the
impact. She was yet wary of the possibility of being run through by the
mutant dog's formidable penis, if its owner's lust should be enflamed to
such a degree, but when the beast began to rock into a steady rhythm, she
was able to overcome partially the crippling effects of her fear. With this
limited control, she resolved to make herself a more pleasant mate for the
monster in hopes of inducing it to orgasm quickly. Perhaps, then, the
monsters would leave her alone, or present her with an opportunity to escape.

As her rape began in earnest, Betty's arms quickly turned to water. The
beast's weight on her back kept her from being lifted off the ground with
each thrust of its cock, but it also put an enormous strain on her muscles.
Soon she was forced to prostrate herself to quiet their screams of exertion,
and fortunately for her the mutant dog did not choose to put its claws on
her back, which might have torn through her jacket and into her flesh or
broken her spine. Without the immediate distraction of her aching arms,
Betty had no defense against the shame that welled in her heart. Inside, she
lashed out at the people she loved, accusing them of having abandoned her to
this fate, but it was the kind of futile anger which turns easily into
despair. When it came, she reverted to the helpless child, begging for any
sign of salvation. Please! she cried, What have I done to deserve to be
raped by a mutant dog? But apart from the low, contented growl of the dog,
the snorting of its nostrils, and the lewd spatter of their meeting genitals,
the night seemed as dead as her hopes.

Betty's reluctant surrender made the sensations between her legs sovereign
over her weakened resistance. The way her body was positioned left her clit
more susceptible to the tireless ravishment of the dog's penis, and placed
her vaginal canal at a better angle in which to absorb its jabs. Instead of
being preoccupied with minimizing the potential for damage from her rape,
her body actually was warming to the feeling of being filled to the brim. No
longer was Betty consciously moving her body in a way to protect her cervix;
now she welcomed the concussive explosion at the entrance to her womb each
time the demon poodle drove its organ deep inside her pussy. Her burning
genitalia, particularly her clitoris, seemed electrified by a kind of
salacity which made the memory of her first ever orgasm pale in comparison.
When her conscience finally awoke to combat her simmering lust, its screams
were drowned in a rising tide of sexual desire. In spite of all the effort
she had put into fighting the dogs, she was fast becoming their little bitch
in heat.

Betty shoved a knuckle into her mouth and bit down hard on it, just in time
to keep a moan from escaping her throat. If she had allowed it to come out,
she might as well have begged the dog verbally to fuck the shit out of her.
She was glad that neither Bruce nor her father were there to witness her
transformation from rape victim to wanton slut; there was not a hole in the
world deep enough in which to hide her face afterwards. But there was nobody
around to hear Betty whimper, "Ohhhh....God, please, fuck me harder!" when
she let go of her hand, planting it instead in the ground to use it as
leverage against the mutant dog's pistoning cock.

The demon poodle needed no prompting from Betty. It was fucking her with such
force that her hips and legs as a unit oscillated like the crank on a wheel,
driven by the powerful engine of the monster's organ to rise and fall
rapidly; her stiff nipples dragged along the dirt as her breasts swayed with
the momentum. She loved every minute of it, and even craned her neck to kiss
the dog's dribbling snout as it brushed against her scattered raven hair.
Then, when her genitals tensed in preparation for its ultimate release, she
let herself go in a catharsis of unabashed lechery. The beautiful and
renowned nuclear bio-physicist, Dr. Betty Ross -- daughter of United States
army four-star general Thaddeus Ross -- exploded in an earth-shattering
orgasm underneath her canine lover.

"Yessssss!" Betty howled into the night, trembling rapturously in the throes
of her climax. To say she had never came so hard would be akin to saying she
had never died and been reborn. For a moment she could do little else but let
herself lie slack-jawed on the ground, drooling as the dog above her was
doing because she lacked even the will to swallow, fearing she might
interrupt the exquisite pleasure coursing through her body. She did not have
to worry about a reprieve from the ecstasy, however, as the next thing which
occurred served only to intensify her experience. Before she knew what was
happening, the mutant dog's pulsing cock had begun to pump into her womb
every drop of foul semen in its bloated scrotum, flooding her ravaged sex
with its vile, corrupted seed, where it was quickly expelled and displaced by
the very organ from which it came. Driven out by the dog's thrusting, jets of
searing cum flew in every direction out of her overflowing cunt, filling the
air with its obscene ovation and impregnating it with a bestial stench. Soon,
the young physicist's pussy had grown so thick with mutant dog ejaculate that
it became too slick, even for the demon poodle's giant phallus, to keep its
paltry foothold within that limited space. When next the dog drew back for
its forward stroke, it slipped out of her vagina completely.

Betty Ross was utterly possessed; ignoring the signs that the dog still was
ejaculating, perhaps even taking delight from it, she spun around and lunged
at the beast's spasming cock, taking a blast of hot semen square in the face.
Her conscience recoiled in horror at the sight of her rapist-lover's brutish
organ, at the smell of sun-baked rot which assaulted her nostrils, yet her
newfound craving for debasement spurred her on, propelled her tongue towards
the source of that acerbic taste which flowed into her lips. With nothing but
the vile thoughts in her mind to stimulate her, she felt herself nearing
another orgasm. She did come when her mouth caught the bulbous head of the
dog's shaft, feeling momentarily its raw texture on her tongue before she had
to gasp for air, squealing helplessly as semen rained upon her face and hair
while she climaxed.

I just put a dog's penis in my mouth, Betty cried balefully within herself.
Not just any dog, but a screwed-up mutant poodle with God-knows-how many
diseases crawling all over it's dick. Her gorge rose briefly at the
realization of what she had done, and she started to both laugh and sob at
once, so overwhelmed was she by a clashing mixture of lust and loathing. Her
yearning carnality soon won out over the other, and as the mutant dog above
her backed away, having spent its load and become sated for the time being,
the young woman reached between her legs and began to rub its seed all over
her aching clitoris. Regardless of whether the semen's chemical properties
had any real effect on her nerves, the tactile sensations it generated as she
slathered it over her genitals, coupled with the sheer depravity of the act,
made her explode again and again. Oblivious to the shifting of the animals
about her, she masturbated feverishly, spooning mouthfuls of steaming cum
into her mouth, swallowing the revolting liquid as though it were the elixir
to sin. When she felt the bulk of another dog press against her upturned
rear, she quickly reached back to spread open her labia, welcoming its cock
as it impaled her.

"Unnnghhh, yesss, fuck me, please...." Betty moaned deliriously, keeping one
arm planted on the ground while she groped for her new lover's head with the
other. She desperately wanted to kiss it, to reciprocate the loveless mating
fervor exhibited by its rabid rutting. She wanted to pass her saliva on to
it, and in turn suck down the infectious spittle running down its snout; she
desired to be nothing more than their living sex toy, to be a part of their
basic eat-sleep-fuck cycle. If possible, she would gladly have borne litters
of mutant offspring for her husbands. She did not care which of the two
remaining dogs was inside her at the moment, because she knew the time would
come when it too would find pleasure inside her, and reward her with orgasms
and rivers of noxious cum, just as her current lover was doing. Her only
regret was that there was not enough room for her to be double-, or even
triple-penetrated by all three of her rapists at once.

Perhaps Betty would not have responded in this shameful manner if the
circumstances had been less depraved -- being gang raped by several men might
not have been enough -- but the crisis brought upon her was so extreme that
her psyche had to adapt quickly or be crushed entirely. Thus, when Bruce
Banner's big green self finally arrived, he found his one true love kneeling
under the demon mastiff, licking hungrily at its bloated knot. She was soaked
from head to toe in stale urine, no doubt sprayed onto her when one of the
dogs decided that she had become worthy of being marked as its property.
There was not much of Betty Ross the nuclear bio-physicist, the precious
only-daughter of a U.S. army general, left to save.

That made him very, very angry.

The End


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