Francesca Sandringham sighed as she hopped out of the golf buggy that had transported her from the make-up studio to the location of the video shoot. It was only a short walk in reality, but for the 23-year old, currently dressed in a low cut, figure hugging black dress and high heels, she figured it simply wasn't practical.

Typical, she mused. Our first visit to a Caribbean island, and we're stuck in this smelly old aircraft hangar for days on end.

Francesca would never admit it, but the truth was, she was homesick. There wasn't much in the way of reliable communications out here, and so the only messages she and her fellow band-mates had received were strange, garbled reports of quite major, world-changing events happening back home.

Not that you could tell, from the attitudes of those around Francesca. She entered through a metal door cut into the side of the cavernous structure. Inside, it was pretty much pitch black, except for the lighting rigs that had been set up in the far left-hand corner. A silver sheet covered just under a quarter of the hangar's floor surface, and, beneath the lighting rig, lay soft, pillowy beanbags, sofas and rugs. All designed to give off the appearance of heavenly clouds.

Perched precariously on the side of two of these beanbags, not wanting to mess up their perfect hair or make-up, sat Monica Queen and Veronica Green. Veronica, the youngest of the group, sat in silence, examining her nails. Francesca could tell she was nervous. Monica, meanwhile, the blonde bombshell, was flipping through the latest news on her iPhone.

“What's up, girls? Where are the others?” said Francesca, as she tottered over to join her band-mates.

“Late, as usual.” sighed Veronica, looking up and smiling at Francesca, her closest friend in the group.

“Never mind that, you two, have you seen the news? Earthquakes in the US and UK, reports of alien invasions, biological warfare, it's madness!” Monica stood up, and practically thrust the phone in Francesca's face.

Francesca laughed. “Nonsense! It's just tabloid crap. You know what they're like. Must be a really slow summer of news.”

“I guess…” Monica replied. The girls all sat down, and fell into conversation about the hotel, the video shoot. All the while, Paul, the director of the video shoot busied himself with camera and lighting positions, trying desperately not to combine the images he'd seen on the TV back in his hotel room with the nubile popstars who sat in front of him.

According to the reports, the ground had somehow begun spewing out a strange, gloomy liquid, that most seemed to be referring to as ‘the Goo’. It was apparently a powerful psychotropic, affecting the human body as well as the mind. His eyes had opened wide as he saw reports showing the effect on women. Not only did it turn every single woman into a stunning creature of beauty, the Goo made them ravenous - for more Goo, and, far more interestingly for him, for sex.

The reports came with a warning, though. The Goo was highly adaptable, almost like a virus, and its' scent was enough to push you over the edge. He'd turned off after that, assuming that there was no more to be learnt.

Paul liked to take a walk, early in the morning. A little off the beaten track, very different from the direct, cosy route that Francesca preferred. And so, with the news reports in the back of his mind, when he saw a small plume of smoke rising from within the overgrowth, Paul guessed what might be responsible.
Holding his nose, just in case, he scrambled within the bushes, and found what he was looking for. A small geyser, bubbling quietly away - no longer with water, but with this thick, off-white liquid. This must be it, he thought.

An evil thought played across his mind, and instinctively, he scooped the Goo into his empty water bottle. He was surprised at how warm it felt, but he managed to keep a hold of his senses, tightened the stopper on the bottle, and ran from the bushes.

Back in the hangar, Paul put an end to his reverie. The evil thought from this morning had blossomed into what was surely an insane, impossible plot in the back of his mind. Perhaps it was the heat, the distance from home, and the frankly incredibly frustrating situation of spending a week in the sun with a group of naive young popstars, but, he thought to himself, why not give it a try?

“Alright, girls. It seems that Oona and Rachel have decided not to grace us with their presence this morning, so we'll have to work on some shots with the three of you. Now I know it's hot and humid out there, so I thought we'd get the ‘rainfall’ part of the video out the way, you know, when you're in heaven but oh so sad because your boyfriends aren't there with you…”

“Tired and emotional? Yeah, I think I can manage that..” Francesca interrupted.

“OK, so let's go for a take. I'll just start the cameras rolling…”

The girls assumed their positions, and waited for the music to come in, from which point they could begin their miming and gyrating. Veronica stole a nervous glance at the rig above her. The lights were bright, so bright she could hardly see what was in front of her, but she could just about make out the set of sprinklers that would soon rain a cold shower down on the girls.

“…and we're set. Quiet, everyone, and let's begin.” Paul shouted. Behind the camera, he fiddled around with the makeshift mask he'd prepared. It should be enough to protect him, he thought. He hit the switch, and the rains began to fall.

Monica smiled as the droplets fell on her hair and her chest. The water felt surprisingly warm, for fake rain. Pleasingly, too, the rain seemed to be perfumed, enough to distract from the hard industrial smell that plagued the airy hangar. But what was that scent?

Where her skin had been touched *(no, blessed?)* by the rain, Monica felt it begin to tingle, pleasingly. She breathed in deeply as the rain began to fall harder, and racked her brains to identify the scent. 

“Strawberries…” she smiled. Without thinking, Monica raised her head to the sky, and opened her mouth wide to receive the purifying rain.

Francesca was frozen to the spot, as the rain poured forth from the ceiling. This wasn't rain. This wasn't even water. It was…it was…

But before she could finish that thought, she felt something tugging at the hem of her (very short) dress. Looking down, she saw Veronica, eyes wide, the top of her dress hanging limply, torn to shreds. Veronica's lips and naked breasts were covered in this off-white, sticky substance.

“The Goo…gotta have…the Goo…Francesca…help me…the Gooooo…”

Francesca recoiled in horror, stumbling backwards. Her heel caught in the fluffy carpet, and she fell into the embrace of a Goo-covered beanbag. Her skin crawled and buzzed and vibrated, almost like a machine, as the Goo feasted upon her.

“No..please, no, I don't…I don't want to…to be…” Francesca gasped, as the shadows of her fellow band-mates, flanked by the studio lights, loomed above her. Veronica, her hair tangled and flecked with the Goo, straddled Francesca, and began to massage the stricken beauty's breasts.

Meanwhile, Monica stood, imperious, naked, eyes shining with the gift of the Goo.

“You will join us, Francesca. It is impossible to resist. All hail the Goo.”

“Mmmmm, all hail the Goo!” smiled Veronica, as her tongue slavered and licked at Francesca's neck.

Monica knelt at Francesca's feet. The blonde thrust her hands into the air, so that her palms became covered in an inch-thick layer of Goo. Gently, she parted the brunette's legs, slowly smothering them in the Goo, as if they were clay to be moulded at will.

A single finger entered Francesca's cunt, and in that moment, she knew all hope was lost. Hope would be replaced by Goo, Francesca's increasingly addled mind reasoned. And soon Goo would replace them all. 

Paul, behind the camera, with his mask intact, shut the rain system down. He couldn't believe it. The crazy plan had actually worked. Stepping out from behind the camera, he surveyed the scene. It was astonishing.

Three women, in the prime of their sexual life, lay naked, almost sleeping, before him. He could hear them softly chant songs of praise to the Goo. As they did so, their bodies began to alter. They were already beautiful, of course, but the Goo seemed to somehow know exactly what needed enhancing.

They grew taller, almost statuesque, and their hair became long and luscious. Their eyes seemed to widen, as if they were becoming drowning pools for anyone who looked long enough into them. And their lips became soft and pillowy, perfectly suited to the tasks that would become their staple diet from this moment on.

Their breasts expanded, not to a ridiculous size, but large enough that they became almost glowing orbs of soft, succulent goodness, filled with the Goo. That must be how the Goo keeps going, thought Paul. An infected girl becomes a willing factory for the Goo.

He waited. Soon, he imagined, the trio would wake, and at last his plan would come to fruition, his frustration could find release. They'd be his sex crazed slaves, and together they could live out their days on this remote, tropical paradise. If only he'd been able to ensnare Oona and Rachel. Then everything would have been perfect.

A sharp blow to the back of his head put paid to any ambition Paul had had of taking the three starlets that lay before him.

“Now, now, boy. You do as you're fucking told…” giggled the husky, sensual tones of the transformed Rachel Roberts.

“Yeah…” grinned Oona Dooley, the stunning Irish redhead. “You'll do what the Goo wants..”

Groggily, Paul tried to stumble to his feet, but he could only find himself scrambling backwards. He was no match for the two beauties who stood before him.

“The Goo is Good. The Goo is All!” exclaimed Oona, as she straddled his prone body. With uncommon strength, she tore Paul's make-shift mask aside.

“Give in to the Goo, baby…” she kissed him passionately, her Goo enhanced tongue whirring, expanding and exploring his mouth. Rachel knelt next to him, her breasts already producing the milk of Goo. Lazily, she groped at a breast, and then smeared the creamy substance all over his exposed chest. “Fuck me…” she whispered.

Paul's head was spinning. His fantasy was coming true, but not how he'd intended it. Rachel and Oona were like feral beasts, their touch, their sight, their smell, their taste, overwhelming his senses.

“Chocolate…it tastes..like…chocolate..” he gasped, as the girls began to take turns in filling his mouth with the Goo, like doting parents, preparing their beloved son for a rite of passage. Every now and again, a dollop of Goo would miss his mouth, land on his chest, and so Oona and Rachel would dive in, licking and sucking, often ending up kissing each other. He smiled, and passed out.

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After a while, he woke. Regaining his senses, Paul stood before the five naked Goo-sluts. Each of them, himself included, had been completely transformed by the Goo. Their eyes shone with the milky white goodness - a blinding clarity which would inform their actions from now on. This was evolution, not invasion. This was simply the next step in the journey. Humans had been superseded at the top of the tree. The Goo was King, Queen, and Ruler of them all. And their duty was to spread the seed, until no corner of the Earth was left untouched.

“Well then.” smiled Francesca, her eyes shining bright, brighter than all of the rest of the girls put together. “Shall we begin?”

Oona, Rachel, Veronica and Monica grinned wildly, and practically rugby-tackled him to the ground.

“Fuck us…” they begged. “Fill us with your babies…”

“All praise the Goo!” he replied, simply.

And the sounds of their moans, gasps, and pure, Unadulterated pleasure, filled the echoed aircraft hangar. All the while, the camera continued to film.