A Reasonable Man

Breast Expansion Mind Control NanoTech

Author: Ludmenkov, Boris

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.


“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.”


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

“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 lying 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

I listend 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

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 ofice 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 bedsheets 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



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 were 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 aganst 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 noticably 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,

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.

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 brouught 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 carressed her body, she felt that heat and that tingling
within her and knew that she was changing. Becoming something new. Someone

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

“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

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,
witth 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 judgement 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

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

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 for. 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 and why.

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