The Nervejack finished its infiltration of her vertebrae, cracking and fracturing them as it took the space of her spinal fluid. Each one sparked with communicative signals, making Cleo’s body dance and shudder. Even though she couldn’t control it, she could still feel everything; every painful convulsive squeeze of her thighs, every disc that was popped in her back, and the shameful piss running down her legs and squirting out her unused virgin pussy.

Cleo’s tumbled head over heels to the wooden dock, smacking the thick clamshell, that covered her face, against the logs. It wouldn’t be long now before her pretty tanned body became the Clam’s in perpetuity.