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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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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2007.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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A Reasonable Man
by Boris Ludmemkov (borisl@room3b.demon.co.uk)

***

A top secret nano-technology program or a man's 
personal vendetta, which is it? (MF, mc, nc, drugs)

***

You'll have heard of me, of course. You've seen me on 
the cover of magazines that nominated me as Greatest 
Human Being of the Century (and stuff like that there). 
But you won't (I hope) know what I'm going to tell you 
now. I intend to keep this quiet until I am nicely dead 
and all the praises have been sung to the man who gave 
the world the Fountain of Youth and Health. I'm not 
planning to die for a long while yet either. 

But you never know, even with the medical miracles I've 
wrought with the Nano Revolution. I could still die in 
a plane or car crash or run up against some disease my 
clever little machines can't fix. So I'm writing this 
down to let the world know (when I'm safely gone) who 
and what I really was.

I don't think that what I've done is very evil. Perhaps 
a little. But I've done so much good (for the world as 
well as for myself) that I feel that I'm due a little, 
let us say, self-indulgence in exchange. I can keep my 
private life out of the papers (even media barons won't 
upset the man who can give them centuries more of life 
and youth) and when I'm gone I won't care what the 
historians say about the contrast between Mankind's 
Benefactor and the private face my... little hobby 
reveals.

I was at my desk dictating to my private secretary when 
the direct line phone rang.

"Adams."

"Sir, this is Jessica down in Main Processing. I have a 
Code Red for you."

I felt myself tense. Not with fear: with anticipation. 
Despite the alarming sounding name, a Code Red means 
that one of my personal targets has come in. A subject 
I had ordered investigated and then drawn into my net. 
If she had said 'Code Blue' it would have meant a 
subject she thought I might be interested in 
collecting. Jessica herself had been a Code Blue once. 
I had gone down to look her over, ordered a background 
investigation to ensure that she would not be missed 
and then had her processed.

But a Code Red was intentional. A Code Red was 
personal. Always.

"The name, Jessica?"

"Jenny Barkworth, Sir. Born Jenny Davies."

I felt my face split into a very nasty grin indeed. 
Jenny. At last.

"Where have you put her?"

"Consulting room 7, Sir. Doctor Harmsworth is with her 
now."

"Good. Alert the tag team to go on standby for when she 
leaves. I want her followed from now until she's 
ready."

"Sir."

I hung up and turned to my secretary. Sugar was a Code 
Red too: one of the earliest ones. Not her original 
name: nor her original body. Now she was a lovely black 
woman with lips that could suck the juice out of a man 
and frequently did. Then he had been my business 
partner. But that's another story.

"Leave that for now, Sugar and fetch me the Jenny 
Davies file."

"Yes, sir." She rose and went to the walk-in safe only 
she and I can open. I turned to the television monitor 
by my desk and tuned it to give a view of Consulting 
Room 7.

Jenny was laying on one of the scanning decks, 
listening to Old Harmsworth give her the standard 
spiel. She was still lovely. Although it had been 
twenty years since we last met.

Twenty years. Long enough for me to change from the 
pudgy, bespectacled nerd that Jenny Davies had laughed 
at (in front of everyone!) to the Nobel Prize winning 
scientist. Long enough for me to create the NanoDoc and 
make a fortune bringing health, beauty and long, long 
life to whoever can afford the not unreasonable price I 
put on them. Long enough for Jenny to marry her rugby-
player (what was his name?) grow bored with him, 
divorce him and start a career for herself as a 
journalist.

But not long enough for me to forget. Or to forgive. I 
watched as Dr Harmsworth went through the routine 
questions, enter the data into the computers and wait 
for the dispenser to create the NanoDocs needed for the 
first treatment. I reached over to my terminal and 
entered some codes. I had the data already prepared on 
how I wanted Jenny treated. Or rather transformed.

I listened to Old Harmsworth reassuring her and her 
chatting back, telling him that she hadn't planned to 
get treatment just yet but there had been a special 
offer (a very special offer, had she but known, special 
to a few special ladies) and she had decided... And 
then the dispenser beeped to say it was ready and Old 
Doc Harmsworth administered what he thought was the 
first of a routine set of treatments to hold off aging, 
illness and other physical problems ("Now you may feel 
a little strange over the next few days... It's just 
the little machines getting set up and ready... Come 
back next week and we'll see how they are doing.")

The doctors just administer the nanos that the machines 
fabricate for them: and it is not uncommon for clients 
to see a different doctor at each appointment.

No-one notices if a few clients don't return for their 
second appointments.

I watched her dress and leave and found that I had 
grown quite hard thinking about what she would be 
experiencing over the next few days. I signalled to 
Sugar and she knelt before me and undid the sash of my 
silk dressing gown. Hungrily, she brought her talented 
mouth to my sex. Absently, I patted her head, like the 
trained pet she was, thinking of Jenny, mine at last.

She began to notice the changes the day after her visit 
to NanoHealth.

At first it was just an unusually healthy appetite: she 
had an extra helping of dessert in the canteen and 
during the afternoon kept nipping to the snack machine 
for munchies. The office jester joked she must be 
'eating for two' and she felt vaguely guilty about 
calories.

That night she slept unusually deeply and her dreams 
were vivid and disturbing, although she couldn't hold 
on to them as the alarm woke her. For a few moments she 
lay in bed, lazing, trying to recapture the bright 
images that had seemed so important a moment before. A 
memory of school... Had she been having the old 'back 
in school again' nightmare?

Then in the shower, she felt a tingling, an energy in 
her skin that was strange but not unpleasant. When she 
dressed for work her clothes felt strange on her and 
she thought for a moment of wearing something lighter, 
less formal. She let the thought slip from her mind.

Then at her desk, her attention kept slipping away from 
the stories she was writing and the background stuff 
she was reading. Her mind went... somewhere else and 
when she tried to concentrate she found she was 
developing a headache.

That night, her dreams were disturbed again. She was in 
school and found herself in front of the class. Miss 
Burton, the biology teacher was using her for a sex 
education lesson. She invited a boy up (what was his 
name? the one they said was so clever: he kept looking 
at her during classes: what was his name?) and told him 
to feel how Jenny grew excited when he touched her 
breasts, when he touched her lower lips, when his 
finger slipped deep inside her...

She tried to speak but could not. She tried to move, to 
cry out... And she awoke to find her hands at her 
breasts, at her cunt. She was moist and excited and her 
bed sheets were swimming with her sweat. Almost without 
willing it she brought herself to a climax and then lay 
there for a long while trying to recapture the dream, 
while her skin cooled in the night air.

***

In the morning, the tingling in her skin was stronger 
still and as she dried herself from her shower she 
looked in the mirror. Her breasts seemed especially 
full today, her nipples were erect and seemed longer, 
thicker than they normally were. She stood for a long 
time, watching herself, moving the towel across her 
skin, feeling good, feeling strange.

That day she chose to yield to her impulse of the 
previous day and wear a dress, summery and not quite 
suitable to the September day. Her editor, old Mr. 
Radcliffe, complemented her on it and she found herself 
actually blushing and then thanking him with a stammer 
in her voice. He was a balding, harmless, middle-aged 
man. And yet when he complimented her, she felt a hot 
rush in her blood and a giddiness in her head.

At lunchtime she ate hearty again and then in the 
afternoon she found her bra had grown uncomfortable. It 
felt too tight. She went to the ladies to remove it and 
saw herself again in the mirror. Her breasts were 
definitely fuller. For the rest of the afternoon she 
felt her nipples erect against the fabric of her dress, 
sending shivers through her at each movement.

("Now you may feel a little strange over the next few 
days... It's just the little machines getting set up 
and ready...")

Then when it came time for her to go home she stepped 
into the lift headed for the ground floor, crowded with 
people heading for their cars and trains. And then 
suddenly this short journey, one that she had taken a 
thousand times before, changed its meaning completely 
and she felt the pressure of the bodies of the men 
around her, the scent of them swimming in her head. She 
was uncomfortably aware of the size of them, their bulk 
towering over her, unaware of her. She felt 
insignificant, unworthy, small and helpless. And 
aroused. She felt her lower lips moisten and it seemed 
to her that the smell of her arousal must be filling 
the cramped space.

But when they reached the ground floor the crowd poured 
out and she stood in the corridor, leaning against the 
wall and trying to catch her breath.

The journey home on the Tube was worse. There was no 
place for her to sit and she felt herself crowded 
against the bodies of the other strap-hangars. One 
young man, wearing a leather jacket whose rich organic 
scent filled her nostrils, kept her pressed up against 
a partition for three stops. She fought down the urge 
that filled up her mind, to push herself forward and 
press her body against his, to rub her nipples, so 
hard, so achingly hard, against his jacket.

When she got home she tried to ring the Institute but 
was told that her doctor was away at a conference but 
would be back on Monday. She thought about insisting on 
speaking to someone else but hesitated and then the man 
at the other end rang off. She couldn't bring herself 
to ring back.

That evening she sat around in her silk dressing gown, 
feeling the heat in her body. She tried to work at her 
word-processor but found she couldn't concentrate. She 
tried watching the television but found herself loosing 
the plot of even the simplest sit-coms. She went to bed 
early but could not sleep for a long time. The cool 
sheets felt wonderful against her skin.

In her dreams she was back on the tube again. Except 
she was naked and when she went to the seated man in 
the leather jacket he wouldn't give up his seat but let 
her sit on his lap where he played with her breasts and 
pussy. Then he passed her along the rows of seated 
commuters who used her too until she ended up on the 
lap of a man (she knew him: she had seen him: they had 
been at school together) who opened his fly and brought 
her mouth to his erection.

She awoke with the taste of cum still on her lips and 
sweat once again soaking her bedding. She changed the 
sheets but it was a long, long time before she found 
sleep again.

The next morning she looked at herself in the long 
mirror in the front of her wardrobe. Fresh from the 
shower, her hair looked lighter, shot through with 
golden tones. Her breasts were noticeably larger and 
her nipples longer, thicker. It looked to her as though 
her clit was enlarging too: it peeped out from behind 
its hood.

Her skin was more golden in colour and imperfections 
such as freckles and spots had vanished over night. Her 
eyes seem wider and her lips fuller, pouting.

She could not face the office. Her head ached at the 
thought of sitting and reading, writing. She rang, 
having some difficulty recalling the number and told 
them she was sick, nothing serious. She would be in on 
Monday. Perhaps.

She could not bear the touch of even her finest 
undergarments. Her skin was burning with the change. 
She put on her lightest summery frock and went out to 
the supermarket for supplies for the weekend.

She knew that what was happening to her was odd. But 
she felt so good, so alive. A part of her mind felt 
concern but she could not say about what. As she walked 
around the supermarket she could feel the eyes of the 
young men who stocked the shelves on her and she walked 
with a sway in her hips for them. One of them carried 
her bags to her car and she smiled at him. She felt 
herself flush as he smiled back and had to sit at the 
wheel letting her blood stop racing for five minutes 
before pulling away.

Back in her flat she put her purchases away and then 
gorged herself on sandwiches filled with every strange 
pickle, cheese and meat she could find in her fridge. 
The thought of pregnant women craving for strange foods 
crossed her mind and she went again to the bathroom and 
pulled her dress off and stood examining herself in the 
mirror. She wondered what it would feel like to have 
her breasts swell with milk, to feel a baby's mouth 
sucking it's nourishment from her. She cupped her 
breasts and felt them heavy in her hands. She bent to 
see if she could get her nipple in her mouth. Not 
quite.

She leant back and stood with her legs apart. Her 
clitoris too was notably longer and thicker, peeking 
out continually from between her pussy lips. She 
touched it and felt the electric shock of passion run 
through her. She watched herself in the mirror as she 
masturbated, her jaw slack, her eyes unfocussed as she 
brought herself again and again to explosive climaxes.

That night she could not sleep at all. She had spent 
the afternoon just lying on the balcony, screened from 
the sight of her neighbours by some hastily rigged 
sheets, quite naked to the touch of the early autumn 
sun. As the breezes had caressed her body, she felt 
that heat and that tingling within her and knew that 
she was changing. Becoming something new. Someone new.

Near two am she could stand lying waiting for sleep no 
longer and got up from her bed and dressed, again in 
her light summer dress. She did not feel the cold of 
the night, the heat from her body filling her with the 
warmth of hotter days. She put on her shoes and her hat 
and went walking. The streets were deserted in the 
suburban areas and she walked and walked, not paying 
any attention to where she was going until she found 
herself on a main road and heard the sound of music, 
loud and throbbing.

There was a club, still punching out music in the small 
hours and outside knots of young people talking, 
drinking, shouting. She felt herself drawn forward and 
walked past them. She could feel the eyes of the young 
men on her. She passed a group of young men all wearing 
leather jackets, like the jacket that had so fascinated 
her on the tube. They stared at her as she came up. And 
then she knew what she had been looking for, what she 
had walked so far to find.

"You, And you. And you." She pointed at them and then 
walked to the opening of an alley beside the club. 
There was an old sofa there and she took off her dress, 
lay it down over the battered leather and then lay 
herself down on top of the dress.

The three boys she had chosen had come around the 
corner and stood at the end of the alley looking down 
at her as if they could not believe their luck. One was 
black, one was Indian and one was a pudgy white boy 
with greased down red hair. Behind them a group of 
wondering faces stared at her.

"Well, boys? Do you have to be shown what to do?"

Grinning nervously, afraid to be shown inadequate in 
front of their friends, they came towards her. The 
smell of the leather mingling with their sweat, with 
the stale lager they had drunk to much of, with the 
smell of cigarettes from the black one, with the 
nameless smells of the alleyway. She reached for the 
first one to come to her, the Indian boy, and 
wordlessly undid the belt of his jeans.

He tried to pull back but she pulled his face to hers 
and with the other hand pulled down the denim that 
sheathed him. A long, thin brown cock flopped out and 
she took her mouth down from the kiss, half completed 
and down to it. The slight scent of urine as she pulled 
back the foreskin and brought the pink tip into her 
mouth.

Hands on her breasts, holding them clumsily from behind 
her. She looks down and sees the white boy's hands 
ineptly fingering her nipples. And between her legs, 
with a shock she sees the black boy, a knowing grin on 
his face, bring his thick, cunning lips to her lower 
lips. The thought crosses her mind: "He's done this 
before... " And he has. Like a gourmet eating a fine 
meal, he tastes her, sups from her, draws the deep 
juices and the heat from her.

All around her she becomes aware of a circle of boys, 
standing, watching as the three chosen ones explore 
her. They watch fascinated and jealous, some of them 
playing with themselves. She only speaks once, when the 
white boy, having shucked his trousers moves to take 
off his jacket. "No, don't. Keep it on."

Together they move through all the combinations that 
three men and one woman can take up. The black boy, 
more experienced, becomes the director of their little 
drama. She takes him, from behind, doggy style, as she 
sucks and wanks the other two. He isn't as long as the 
Indian boy but thick and hard inside her.

The white boy comes first, spraying her face with his 
come as he looses control. The Indian boy came in her 
mouth and she sucked up the cream of him, as eager as 
she had been for pickles and sour milk earlier on in 
her transformation. The black boy filled her cunt, 
bringing her to a screaming climax as heat, volcanic 
lava heat, flows into and out of her.

And then it is over. There is a moment's silence. A boy 
sobs. With shame, with regret? And as the black boy 
stands up the watching crowd starts to move forward. 
Some have come already with watching her. But some are 
still eager and want to finish what has been started.

"No, wait..." It sounds silly in her ears. Who is she 
to say no? How can she stop them?

And then a man's voice from the end of the alley.

"Alright, what's all this then?"

Boys scattering everywhere. Somehow she manages to 
stand, although her legs are weak and she is sore 
between them, stand and pull her dress over her head, 
find her shoes and run out into the street. There is a 
taxi with its motor running. She piles in and manages 
to remember her address.

When she gets home, she sleeps soundly at last.

I congratulated the team keeping an eye on her. The 
voice of the 'policeman' was one of them, using his 
judgment when it looked as if things might turn ugly. 
The taxi was one of ours too. Later I let her serve the 
entire team one evening. They deserved it.

***

She awoke only briefly during the whole of Saturday. 
She staggered to the bathroom, then to the kitchen 
where she downed milk by the pint, letting the cold 
liquid trickle down her front when it spilled. She 
gorged herself on food, not bothering to cook anything 
but just grabbing fistfuls of cheese and sliced meat 
from the fridge, chomping on apples and pears. Then 
back to bed, to a deep dreamless sleep.

She awoke early on Sunday morning and turned drowsily 
in the nest of sweaty bedclothes to the sound of a 
songbird in the square outside. She got up and 
retrieved the paper from the mat but found that the 
words no longer made sense to her. However hard she 
tried she could not squeeze any meaning from the 
letters, could not get them to form into intelligible 
phrases.

Somehow at that moment, she knew that she could no 
longer read. Overnight, she had become... dyslexic. 
That was the word. Funny, that she could remember the 
word but not how to read or right it.

Funnier still, that it did not disturb her. She let the 
paper fall unread in the hall and went to the bathroom.

The mirror confirmed to her that she had changed still 
more. Her hair was now golden and her face had changed 
to that of a woman who wanted one thing from men and 
wanted it all the time. Her skin had an olive tan and 
her body was firm and muscular without her having done 
anything to earn it. Her new breasts were both huge and 
firm and she could lift them so that the enlarged, very 
sensitive nipple could be brought to her mouth. This 
she did, first one and then the other, revelling in the 
sensations the touch brought. Again she stood before 
the mirror and brought herself to the first climax of 
the day. Later in a hot bath she pleasured herself 
again and again.

She went out and walked in the park. She watched the 
men as they watched her and knew that she could have 
any one of them she chose with a smile and a wink. But 
they did not attract her. She felt she was waiting, 
watching, searching, for one man. For something, 
someone special. She had lunch at the cafe in the park. 
Her appetite for food had returned to something like 
normal. But when she came to pay she found she could 
not work out how to make up the sum needed. She had 
lost more than the ability to read: she could no longer 
do simple arithmetic. Some part of her mind worried 
about this but most of her could not care. It wasn't 
important. She smiled at the waiter and held out the 
contents of her purse for him to take the needed cash.

When she got back to her flat there was a parcel on the 
doorstep. Tied up with a big bow. She took it in and 
opened it.

Inside was a steel collar. In bright, stainless steel 
segments with a locking mechanism that seemed to make 
no allowance for taking it off again. She took it out 
of the box and held it in her hands for a moment. There 
was writing on it but she no longer bothered about such 
things. She put it around her neck and with trembling 
hands pushed the two parts of the lock together. It 
clicked shut and she went and looked at it in the 
mirror. After a few moments she took off her dress and 
posed naked before the mirror. She liked how she 
looked. She wanted only one thing now. She went and had 
a shower and then lay on her balcony, waiting for the 
thing to make her complete. She knew he would not be 
long in coming.

The door opens gently as He comes to claim her but she 
does not miss the sound of her destiny coming. She runs 
from her balcony and falls to her knees in the hallway, 
just as she had practiced it the mirror. She looks up 
at Him and knows Who has made her this way and why.

Boris Ludmemkov
Pervert and Pornographer


May Censors everywhere have their rectal orifices 
clogged with Brillo Pads

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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