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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
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type of literature, or you are under age,
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The Voice Within
by Dave (ufpe@go2netmail.com)
***
A janitor receives a life altering implant. (MF, sci-
fi)
***
The success of Gruber's Labs newest contribution to the
scientific community reverberated through the sterile
halls unchecked as the revelers downed their
intoxicating concoctions in wild abandon. Apparently
the small gelatinous mass I irreverently referred to as
flubber, had been successful in restoring the
neurological damage an ambulatory construction worker
sustained during a substantial fall some months back.
I guess I should have been happy too, but had declined
the party invitation in hopes of completing my rounds
early to catch the tail end of the Raiders game. With
virtually no idea of the ramifications of the
experiments success, I chose to remain blissfully
ignorant knowing that too much knowledge can be a
dangerous thing to a tired mind as my own.
Old man Gruber had hired me right after my accounting
position of 28-long years had been downsized into a
miniscule pension. My wife left shortly thereafter with
a smooth talking real estate agent who probably got his
start selling hot cars. She left me with ungodly
payments on our maxed out credit cards and the certain
knowledge that my genitalia was at the bottom of the
under privileged pile in her opinion.
Bitter yet relieved, I set about quietly restoring my
financial credibility while attempting to smother my
deflated ego. That was four years ago, and although
I've secured my financial respectability again, my ego
never fully recovered. Several frustrating nights at
the local strip clubs had convinced me that my personal
life was best left to my imagination.
Working as a custodian has its perks; although the
hours are long at times, there's relatively little
pressure and plenty of free time to converse with the
menagerie of scientists and lab techs that scurry to
and fro. At times condescending, they seem to enjoy
their coexistence with a subservient lower life form,
and often bestow whatever leftovers they possessed from
food to technological trinkets.
Several other coworkers - like the secretary Susan, a
middle aged mother with three kids and a no load mate;
Roger, my counterpart and great friend; and of course
Mr. Druber, the head of the think tank and his somewhat
ditzy niece Dawn, who had just gotten hired on out of
some University back east - all treated me as a real
person.
The events that were to change my life began to unfold
early the next morning as a dark overcast began to
drizzle. The street lights were beginning to flick off
as I unlocked the front door and sloshed into the
lounge with a dripping coat and squeaky shoes. Roger
was sitting at one of the shiny tables savoring a warm
cup of Joe with his eyes half closed. Roger and I had
bonded almost immediately and spent much of our free
time together as he lived just a few doors away from me
in the apartments that had seen better days.
We spent many long hours together tapping brews while
enjoying football games on the tube as his "main
squeeze" terrorized the bargain bins at the nearby
mall. An avid reader, Roger was always interesting with
his witty anecdotes and philosophical revelations of
the meaning of life. We talked about the persistent
recurring stain under the long stainless work table in
lab two, and the problem light fixture on the second
floor before excusing ourselves to our separate paths
Roger to his pre-warmed bed with Gladys and me to the
second floor buffing duties.
Absent mindedly, I went through my well rehearsed
procedure of making a new pot of coffee for the crew;
especially Susan, who could easily down half the pot
before her eyelids remained open. As I turned, there
stood Dawn with the most bloodshot eyes I had ever
seen. Her reputation as a hardcore party babe would
definitely be in question when her coworkers saw her
this morning.
It wasn't until later that I learned the old man had
given everyone a day off to recover from their brain
numbing binge the evening before. Dawn had confided in
me on several occasions on her life's inconsistencies
as I was non-threatening and could truly feign interest
while staring at the two perky globes that pushed her
lab coat away from her otherwise anorexic figure. I
kept her confidence while realizing many of her
dilemmas were self-induced brain fade so inherent in
the young.
"Hiya Bob," she slurred as she pulled the oversized
sunglasses from her pale face.
"Morning Dawn," I drawled trying to conceal the snicker
that was forming in my throat. "Raining yet?"
"Haven't noticed," she offered meekly as she moved
towards the coffee maker like a fly towards the porch
light.
"I got some pills down at Hanks pharmacy that just
might help if you'd like me to get them for you," I
offered; "They're all natural and non-addicting."
She studied me for a moment and licked her lips slowly
as she struggled to stay on her feet. "Yeah, I'd like
that."
I was able to suppress my laughter once out of the
lounge, but couldn't help but think of what an easy lay
she'd be under the influence. Although skinny by most
any frame of reference, she still was attractive with
her delicate features and long blond hair. I grabbed
the pill bottle that was safely nestled between my
vitamins and ibuprofen and returned to find the same
pale figure losing the balance battle.
Helping her to the nearest chair I shook a couple of
pills into her palm and handed her the coffee. With
nary a glance she downed the pharmaceuticals and chased
them with a noisy slurp of Joe emitting a barely
audible burp to complete the performance. I smiled and
patted her hand in a fatherly way, as she stared at the
concentric circles the coffee was making in the small
Styrofoam cup.
As I turned to leave her to her misery, she blurted out
"Don't go just yet Bob... please?" The pain in her
voice was unmistakable. I temporarily abandoned my
thoughts and warily sat across from her hoping secretly
her stomach was settled and her resolve sound. She
started sobbing softly, and my nurturing instincts
kicked in.
"What's happing, Dawn," I queried sincerely.
She sniffled and produced a wrinkled hanky, taking a
lifetime to blow out her nasal passages before letting
her red eyes meet mine.
"I'm sorry," she muttered.
I paused for a moment, trying to analyze the best
approach as a therapist, a friend, or as father
easily being twice her age.
"I'm afraid the BSP is a long way from perfection, and
I'm responsible," she blurted.
Forget the therapist and sibling approach; I'm going to
tackle this as a friend, I thought. "OK Dawn," I
sighed, "let's get to the bottom of this but try to
keep your terminology on the secondary level, would
you? What is a BSP?" I reached out slowly and took her
hands in mine.
She hesitated and wiped her nose sloppily as if she was
more accustomed to a sleeve than a hanky.
"Three years ago," she began, "My Uncle, your boss,
discovered the proper chemical sequencing in the human
neurological system and through gene splicing was able
to perfect a compound that would repair the damaged
neural sequencing required to effect movement.
"When I joined on, I had a theory for creating a
symbiotic life form that could live on the unused
chemicals the human body normally stores hence the
term biological symbiotic parasite or BSP. We hoped to
create a life form that could be applied to skin near
the damaged neural system, for example on the spinal
column, and once the BSP integrated with the hosts
unique chemistry, the integrated neural compounds would
repair and sustain the damaged system, restoring the
subject to their former levels of dexterity. The
ramifications of such a discovery are staggering."
She paused to slurp down some more Joe and continued;
"Just recently, our grants have expired and we've been
operating on borrowed funds which will soon be
exhausted. In an effort to accelerate our research, I
incorporated several untested theories into the life
form. For several weeks, the subject showed
unparalleled recovery, but this morning when I made my
rounds, I found he had regressed to his former state
and the BSP was lifeless on the chair next to him.
"Sure it wasn't sleeping?"
"Yes, the normal gelatinous mass was dried and
shriveled."
"Maybe it's malnourished."
She paused, "I never thought of that."
"Look Dawn, before you start playing the blame game,
why don't you get that hunk of dried goo into the lab,
and find out what really happened - like maybe the host
rejected it, or accidentally leaned up against an
electric transformer or something."
A small smile slowly stretched across the scowl she had
been wearing and the color noticeably returned to her
face although her hands were still as cold as an arctic
glacier.
"I'll do that," she quipped and with a quick peck on my
cheek, she was on her way to the lab. I'll never fathom
the recuperative powers of the young, only look upon
them with envy. With a feeling of relief, I staggered
up the stairs to the second floor on my quest for a
shiny floor, realizing how drained I felt from
concentrating on her explanations of something I really
didn't want to know and that my current employment was
in question.
In an empty building, cleaning is a snap, and before I
knew it, I had finished up the second deck as well as
thoroughly cleaned the restrooms and vacated offices.
It's Miller time! I stuck my head into Dawn's lab as I
was donning my rain attire to see how she was doing and
let her know of my departure. She was humming while
shaking beakers and tubes filled with heaven knows
what. I had a gallery view of a mad scientist at work!
"Come in, Bob," she quipped happily; "It appears as if
the BSP was starved! Keep this up and you'll be working
here instead of cleaning the johns!"
"Great, Dawn I'm done here so I'll see you bright..."
"Wait; you gotta see this!" She held up a large beaker
and nestled in the bottom was a translucent blob of
flubber.
"Looks like a booger," I mumbled.
She snickered and waved me off. I was gratified and
headed for the door thanking all that is great for not
being drawn into another scientific discourse about
what life could be with the miracle of modern science.
Further, I didn't want to get too close to this young
gal either as the consequences could be terminal if old
man Gruber thought I might be doing something I ought
not in the confines of his lab.
"Bob?"
I knew things were going too well.
"Could I talk to you?"
I paused, and finally nodded, "What is it Dawn?"
"Let's go into the lounge I need some more coffee."
"OK, but let's not mess it up for Roger!"
I eyed her warily as she dumped enough sugar in her mug
to sustain a junk food junkie for a week. Topping it of
with a few spoonfuls of coffee, she glided over to the
opposing chair and landed with uncharacteristic abandon
throwing my personnel folder on the table in front of
us. The grating noises of spoon stirring raw sugar were
irritating. She cleared her throat and assured eye
contact before continuing.
"When I applied the BSP to the subject's epidermis, it
was unable to sustain itself, but as soon as I exposed
it to an open wound it thrived." She pulled up the
sleeve to her stained lab coat to reveal a small
incision on her wrist.
"What we need," she continued, "Is to implant the BSP
surgically to insure it may obtain its nutrients
directly." She paused for a pregnant moment allowing me
to decipher her latest conclusion before continuing. "I
see that you suffer from frequent bouts of sciatica and
would like to implant the BSP to see if it would..."
"Whoa Roger Ramjet; you're not suggesting you stick
that slime onto my spine?"
She giggled intoxicatingly; "Gee, poetry! And in a
word, yes!"
"In another word, NO," I stated emphatically.
"Why not aw common Bob, this could help you with your
backaches and quite possibly give the project the boost
it so desperately needs now."
"Thanks for the opportunity, Dawn, but I'm not into
S&M."
"Bob, I'll be with you every step of the way and after
you've been host for a few days I can remove it, if
you'd like."
"Why not do your little surgical thing on one of the
other scientists; like Doc Muskwicz (the oldest
scientist that suffered a terminal case of grumpiness)
or maybe the Hunchback of Notre Dame? Look the Doc said
my condition is quite normal and with a shot of
steroids ever once in awhile, I'm just fine."
"Bob, please do this for us, you're the most likely in-
house candidate and the easiest to talk with. I'd
monitor your progress every step of the way and we'd
terminate the experiment the moment you request it.
Tell me, do you like your job?"
It took a moment for the implications to set in
without the success of the BSP; I'd be drawing my
second miniscule pension along with Roger and all the
others I'd come to know so well. In an instant I saw
myself morph from a lowly shit sweeper to a real
somebody with press conferences, interviews, and maybe
even TV commercials (as long as they weren't for
hemorrhoids or tampons). One look into her eyes assured
me of her sincerity, and the remote possibility of
painless work was tempting. "How long will the
procedure take, Doc?"
The way she flew over the table and hugged me dispelled
the last of my fears. "Five minutes under a local.
Common let's prep!" She sailed out of the lounge
babbling like a five year old with a new Barbie while I
removed my outer wraps and wondered if this was how
Frankenstein might have felt.
The table was already prepared and before I could
mutter any last words, she had me sprawled out face
down with my Dickies around my ankles and my shirt
scrunched around my neck. Why do medical professionals
always refer to a needle prick as a pinch and any type
of pain as a little pressure?
Fear can play strange tricks to an otherwise well
organized mind, and although the "procedure" was almost
over before it started, I was still in the throes of
high anxiety. Her deft and delicate hands were gentler
than a Mother's caress and her soothing encouragements
kept me from bolting for the door and screaming
obscenities in wild abandon.
With the stinging prick of a syringe in my right
buttock, I was on my way to a dream land, barely aware
of her struggles to cover me in my conventional attire
or scribble her procedure on a tattered clipboard. My
head was still spinning when, with a quick peck to my
cheek and a packet of Demerol, I was floating out the
door towards the ultimate comfort of my unmade bed. The
evening fell and night passed without once interrupting
the most peaceful sleep ever.
Normally, the electronic buzz of my alarm would throw
me into spasms of my fight or flight reflex but the
dawn came and the buzzer went off unnoticed. When I
finally did stir, any thoughts of an unblemished on-
time record had sailed into the clear morning air as I
eased myself from the comfort of my down comforter into
the familiar recesses of my poorly vented water closet
sporting the biggest woody I'd carried in years!
I stared at the throbbing appendage amazed by its
miraculous rejuvenation and the feelings of desire it
was pumping through my torso into my still somewhat
drug-clouded brain. Amazingly my back, knees and feet
were completely devoid of the normal ache that was a
constant reminder of my aging process.
There was a knock on the door; and here I was sporting
my first erection in years with my mind, my only
bastion of defense, swaggering in a pool of ecstatic
confusion. I threw a towel around my torso and stumbled
out to investigate the offensive clatter. It was
darling Dawn who pushed herself past me and marched
into the small studio apartment, throwing her coat
unceremoniously over my over worked captains chair. Her
eyes immediately landed on the bulge tenting my towel
in unspoken awe.
"Why Bob, are you glad to see me?"
I couldn't even mutter a response.
She bounced lightly onto the bed with a small medical
bag and patted the blanket next to her. "Let's see how
your implant is adapting this morning."
"Ah, don't worry about it, I'm fine," I muttered trying
to hide my embarrassment.
"C'mon Bob," she stressed with a hint of urgency in her
voice.
I complied gingerly, awash in emotions that were, for
the most part, less than honorable. As her gentle hands
swept the towel away from my torso and she began to
caress the slight bulge in my lower back, her whole
demeanor changed abruptly.
What once was a look of professional curiosity was
suddenly overcome by unmistakable unbridled lust
complete with dilated pupils, flaring nostrils, and
drool. In one swift motion I was on my back and she was
pawing my torso like a woman repossessed. Fondling my
engorged organ with the inquisitiveness of a virgin and
the urgency of a nymphomaniac, her body began to gyrate
in the unmistakable throes of arousal.
Her grip tightened suddenly squeezing the living life
out of my tool as she emitted a low "Uuuuummmmmmmmmph,"
and her body began jerking uncontrollably. She wrapped
her legs around my own and began humped my kneecap with
wild abandon as I watched her orgasmic throes with
suspect curiosity and delight.
About the time my kneecap was about ready to slide to
safety around the backside of my leg, she rolled onto
her knees and pulled her calf length skirt up around
her waist. In an instant, she tore away her frilly
white panties and, grabbing my glistening penis she
guided herself onto me with a swift well rehearsed
motion. Ecstasy poured through every fiber of my torso
as she grunted with each forceful thrust.
Before I could fully savor the warmth of our intimacy,
her whole body stiffened and she fell backwards onto
her elbows with a long screech as an explosive fountain
of her essence shot across by chest and onto the
headboard. I was stunned. Dawn rolled off me exhausted;
droplets of her essence still clinging to the trimmed
downy muff that only partial hid the inflamed lips of
her sexuality.
Still amazed at my new found dexterity, I easily rolled
off the bed as Dawn continued to shake, quake and
squirt. Her face was contorted in erotic ecstasy as her
body continued to cope with her orgasmic overload; her
beautiful legs twitching sporadically while her
delicate fingers continued to knead the center of her
lust. Ah the unspoken beauty of youth.
Once in the shower, I allowed the warm soothing stream
to bring me back to my senses a liberty I was soon to
regret. Questions soon tumbled onto my psychic like a
rock avalanche punctuated by why and what if. She was
my only contact with the little bundle that had
restored part of me to my youth and she was also the
boss's niece. This was one fine mess. My penis, now
shriveled to its normal size felt mauled yet, for the
first time in my life, fulfilled. Should I go to work;
should I run away, should I tell someone about my
dilemma, or should I just pretend nothing happened? In
the end prudence won out, and I decided to run away.
Drying off quickly as Dawn moaned incomprehensible
expletives on the bed, I grabbed a few changes of
clothes and some important papers and headed out the
door for a new life; heaven knows the life I had known
was all but ended. As I reached the bottom of the
stairs I heard the voice within for the first time.
"Well how did you like that?"
I whipped around quickly trying to locate the source of
the unmistakable feminine voice. There was none. Again
with more persistence: "How did you like that?"
I froze and whispered, "Who are you?" Here I am talking
to myself.
"I'm your better half now Bob compliments of that
depleted hulk you ravished this morning."
"What the f..."
"Come on Bob, you can't really expect a one way
symbiotic relationship, can you?"
Pieces were coming together. "It would be nice."
"Listen, I probably could have done a lot better with
someone other than yourself, you know?"
"Well, why don't you," I snarled.
"Like, I really had a choice. Now are we going to try
to get along or what?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not really."
"Maybe I'll just get Joe Quack doctor to give me a dose
of radiation therapy and short out your brain mass, or
whatever you might be."
"You'll never walk again much less carry on a normal
conversation."
I turned and started back up the stairs. "Maybe your
creator has some answers."
"The way I cranked up your pheromones, you won't be
able to get near her before she ravishes that little
package you're packing into oblivion. Did you ever pack
socks into your shorts to increase the proportions of
your little Willie?"
"Hey that's a hit below the belt, Sister."
"Sorry, so what do you want to do?"
"Well you seem to have all the answers, you tell me!"
"Let's talk about it while you're getting some new
rags."
"Right!"
***
Several weeks have passed since I first heard the voice
of the parasite the dwells within and I'm delighted it
harbors no jealousy even after sharing my most intimate
thoughts and moments. It thrives on my fulfillment and
chocolate while unselfishly renewing my confidence.
As I lay in the arms of Miss K., a universally
celebrated vocalist, I reflect back on those I have
come to know intimately; all fulfilled beyond my (and
their) wildest dreams. I've been with spinsters so
frigid they could evoke a new ice age, and virgins so
naοve that a mere touch could bring them to ecstasy.
Disguised in all sizes and shapes, I entertained the
essence of human existence up to several times a day.
My resurrected equipment survived the test never
wavering once in its pleasure packing destiny. Hoping
we could patent the secrets of my allure, I was quickly
stymied by my co-inhabitant for fear of "flooding" the
market.
Turning to me with eyes filled with fathomless passion,
Miss K. asked me to stay for awhile, and with her
millions, I reckon a few moments of passion will reap
the dividends I require to enhance my financial
security. Further, living in a beautiful condo on the
beach with unlimited access to the club house offered
endless possibilities at procreation. I held her
tightly, marveling in the smooth alabaster skin and
wondered briefly how I had ever lived before. For an
instant, I even thought of Dawn until my alter ego, the
voice within, chided me gently and goaded me on to the
task at hand.
It was to be an experience I'd never forget!
End?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 39