Recollections – first four chapters

Here’s a story I’ve been working on. The first chapter has already been posted to Transvigor, but the next three are brand new.

Recollections of a Pheromonic Female Growth Catalyst

By Lingster

Chapter 1 – The Ambush

The cat jerked his head back and forth, intently watching my limp penis as I slapped it between my thighs.

“Don’choo go clawing ‘Jean-Luc Picard’, Napoleon, or I’ll bop you. I will most certainly bop you!” I said – in baby-talk – to my manhood’s would-be tormentor. Though even if he could understand my speech, a suspicion I’ve never ruled out where cats are concerned, my girlfriend’s year-old tabby was far too preoccupied with my playfully dancing dick to be paying attention to my warning.

As expected, the tabby reached out tentatively with his left paw, about to attack. I struck first: rolling him over with my right hand, and yelling, “Bop time! Bop time!” He wrestled and fought, imagining a great battle with a powerful foe, I expect. He couldn’t fool me, though, he kept purring throughout.

Napoleon was an interesting distraction, but even his precocious sparring couldn’t take my mind off the unpleasant chore that lay ahead. Napoleon’s owner, my girlfriend Cheryl, had to be disposed of. It was time. It was PAST time. And the danger grew with each passing day. Literally.

I stood up, leaving the little male cat (I never date women with female pets) baffled at his sudden abandonment, and walked over to the armoire in which I kept my few belongings. I travel light, never staying in one place too long, to avoid becoming a lab experiment or a love slave.

Cheryl knew me as “Alan Noseworthy”, but in the past I’ve gone by such diverse names as “Hans Uberfinkel” and “Sal Pentangelo”. My real name isn’t important; I haven’t used it in years, not since college. Fate made me a freak, and circumstance has necessarily made me a wanderer. I know no home; I keep no friends.

Slipping my pants on, I decided that I would confront Cheryl, rather than simply run away in the night. I truly cared about her, and she deserved at least that much. Besides, this one time I might be able to have sex with her without a condom, a rare treat. I hadn’t decided yet.

“I’m sorry, Cheryl, but I’m breaking up with you,” I said, practicing.

“Cheryl, we’ve had a good run, but…” Nah.

“I think you’re the most wonderful and sexy woman I’ve ever known, but the time has come for me to vamoose.” Cliched.

“Cheryl, what we’ve had has been very special, but I feel as if…” Sappy.

“Honey, I love you. I want to stay with you, but we’ve both known for over two months that eventually I would have to leave.” Well – it would do.

I packed my things and got dressed, and went to the living room to wait for her to get home from work. Cheryl’s life history could be read from the photos on the table next to me – First Communion, High School Prom and Graduation, and the boyfriends along the way. In all of them Cheryl was the center of attention: gorgeous but perhaps too-thin, her fragile beauty forever pulling men into her orbit.

Ruefully I examined a revealing picture of her from last summer, her 24th. The bikini seemed almost baggy on her slender (a crueler person might say ‘underdeveloped’) body, as she held her skinny, soft arms behind her back and out of sight of the camera. I knew she was as embarrassed about her small frame as she was about her small breasts, back in those days.

If she’d stayed that way, I thought, she could still be mine. But they never do.

There were no pictures of me on the table. I try not to allow people to photograph me, just as I do not allow them to know my true name.

I sat staring at the pictures of weak, frail, lovely Cheryl until I heard her key in the lock.

She opened the door and smiled, but after a second her expression turned to one of suspicion. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Just…sitting,” I responded.

As she walked in, I grasped the full effect of her change for probably the first time. These days, when Cheryl hid her arms from view, it wasn’t because she was embarrassed at how weak, frail, and underdeveloped she was – it was because she was embarrassed at how relatively puny and under-muscled other women, and many men, were by comparison. She wasn’t embarrassed very often.

With her windbreaker open and posture perfect, her firm, large breasts jutted forward, swaying left to right and shimmying up and down as she walked across the room towards me. She slowed to pull off her windbreaker, and I noticed she had some difficulty freeing herself from it – it was taut across her shoulders and nearly so around her upper arms. “Outgrown another one,” I thought. On her essentially-slender frame, her muscular shoulders seemed incredibly broad and powerful, and the meaty arms which hung from them seemed similarly overdeveloped. Cheryl had grown 5 inches and 5 bra cups since we’d started dating six months ago, but the most incredible part of her transformation had to be the muscles.

Once her jacket was off, Cheryl’s bulging upper-body seemed about to explode the seams of the blue-green nurse’s t-shirt she wore everyday to work. Her medical-issue trousers were tight across her muscled thighs, and were only truly loose at the ankle. Recent growth in her legs had made them a bit too short for her.

She held her arms up in the air and flexed, and two large, pumped biceps slipped free as the fabric settled down into the separations between her biceps and shoulders. Her breasts, nearly as abundantly overdeveloped as her titanic muscles, had regularly stretched the front so much that if any other nurse tried to wear the shirt, she would look as though she’d deflated.

“You know what?”, she asked, “My patients keep getting lighter.”

I smiled and sighed. Not since the original incident that forced me to go underground had I let one get so big and strong.

“What’s the MATTER?” she asked, suddenly. “You seem upset.”

“I am upset,” I said. “I think…I think it’s time we broke up.”

“You want to break up?” she asked, “W-why?”

I walked over to her and put my hands on her shoulders. She was nearly as tall as me, now, so I was looking her in the eye.

“Cheryl, darling, how much bigger do you want to get? We both know full-well I’m causing it. If I leave NOW, within a month your growth will stop. I know, I’ve seen it before. And you’ll still be able to function as a normal person – not a freak.”

I slid my hands down her powerful arms. As a general rule I always left before my partner became stronger than me. Rubbing my fingers between her lats and triceps, it was clear that rule had slipped by the wayside weeks earlier – I’d never touched flesh so firm and tight as Cheryl’s, nor seen a woman so powerfully built. My musculature was soft and small in comparison with hers.

“Why should you care? I’m the one who has to live with the consequences of…of this,” she said, her voice becoming louder. “Besides,” she continued, “what makes you think I’ll let you go?”

“Cheryl…” I began, but she cut me off,

“Damnit! Alright, alright. You’re right, goddamnit. But Alan, I love you. And I love these muscles, and,” she grabbed and hoisted her enormous breasts with her hands, “I love these.”

“I used to hate Mondays,” she added, “but ever since I started growing, I adore going in to work. I have the whole weekend to eat, to work out and gain weight. Come Monday morning I have to stretch my work clothes over my bigger breasts and my swollen muscles, and it makes me feel so sexy and strong. And when I arrive at work, I feel more powerful. Each Monday, the other nurses seem so much smaller and weaker compared to me. And they’re so jealous!”

“I think I’m even stronger than most of the orderlies, now. Some of them seem to like having me around, but others are afraid of me. Before you came into my life, I never intimidated anybody! I love it when men notice my muscles. At first they just notice my tits, you know? But I can see them swallow hard when they realize that the tight, bunched-up meat on my arms or legs makes me as strong or stronger than them. I love it!”

“Cheryl…” I began again, only to be interrupted again.

“No, wait, Alan. YOU made this possible for me, and I hate to see it end, but isn’t there something we can do to extend it? I accept that our relationship is over, but can’t you leave me something to remember you by? Can we…have sex WITHOUT any protection?”

“You know what that will do?” I asked.

“It will make me bigger and stronger,” she responded.

“Yeah, but that’s an understatement. You’ll grow faster than you ever have before. If my semen gets inside you, it will trigger colossal growth over the following few days. I’ve seen it, it’s amazing.”

“Right now, Cheryl, you’re about 5’9”, 160 pounds. If we do this, your body will just explode with new muscle and tit-flesh.”

“Please?” she asked.

“Well…I…maybe. I’d really like to…REALLY like to…but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

She sighed and looked down. “One last kiss, then?”

I smiled and nodded.

She clenched my upper arms with her hands and leaned in to kiss me.

“You used to delight in how small and frail I was,” Cheryl said, after breaking off the kiss, “But now you’re the one who’s weak, huh?”

Her tone had changed – no longer pleading, her voice now held an element of menace. And I was suddenly scared.

She increased the pressure on my arms, pressing me back against the wall, hard.

I couldn’t believe the crushing force she was delivering through her hands. I choked out gasps of pain.

“The last three weeks…I haven’t been going to work. I lied to you. I had vacation time coming. I’ve just been going to the gym, working out, ingesting three, four hundred grams of protein per day, force feeding myself 4500 calories a day. And not that ladies’ gym I used to belong to, either. I joined the Powerhouse Gym, over in Wickville. I’m benching 450 for reps! For REPS, Alan. People just stand around and stare, I’ve gotten so fucking strong! I’ve tripled my strength in three weeks!” She smiled. I was in agony, pins and needles spreading through my arms.

I struggled with all my strength to escape her, but barely budged her.

She laughed.

“You’re so weak! The last few weeks, it’s been apparent to me when we made love, but you didn’t even notice that I was on my way to being the strongest women on Earth. And now I am, or nearly enough. But I’m not done! I need you for a little while longer.”

My hands and arms hung at my sides, numb from lack of circulation. I’d stopped struggling. She grabbed me at the waist and flung me over her shoulder, then carried me downstairs into the basement. She dropped me gently on an old cot in the corner and then, to my surprise, handcuffed my right wrist to an iron pipe between the oil tank and furnace.

I looked up and saw that the basement windows had been covered with soundproofing foam. Also, jugs of water and meal replacement bars were stacked within reach of my left hand.

Cheryl grimaced, “I hate to do this, but it’s been obvious for over a week that you were planning to leave – luckily I took the time yesterday to set this place up when you were at the laundromat. You’re going to be here for a while, but when we’re done with you, you’ll be free to leave.”

I stared at her – trying to think of something I could say to convince her to let me go. But the only word that passed my lips was “We?”

Chapter 2 – The Deal

For the next month, I only saw Cheryl for a few minutes each day, when she brought my meals and cleaned out my bedpan. Just having me in the house would be enough for my pheromones to continue to catalyze her growth, and that was apparently enough to satisfy her.

Finally, one morning she came down into the cellar with my breakfast but hesitated before leaving. She’d taped over the windows to block prying eyes, and so even with two incandescent bulbs it was still pretty dark down there, but the ongoing changes to her physique were still evident. At a guess I’d put her height at 5’11”, and her weight at nearly 200 pounds – two inches and almost forty pounds more than when she first confined me to her little dungeon. Cheryl’s muscles had a firmness and fullness to them that suggested extraordinary strength, and I knew from brief snippets of conversation that she was still working out every night at a hardcore iron gym in the next town.

As she lingered near the bottom of the stairs, I asked, “Have you decided to let me go?”

“No,” she replied, “at least, I’m not letting you go just yet.”

“Well, what do you have planned for me? You could have taken a sample of my semen and gotten as much growth out of it as you’ve gotten in the last month. This whole thing is just so, so stupid.”

Cheryl frowned, but looked away from me for a moment. She took a deep breath – the fabric of her scrubs pulled taut over her large breasts – and then she started to speak. “Alan, what you’ve got is so valuable. Y’know, at first I imagined building a whole corps of amazons, tilting the balance of power in the “battle of the sexes”, that sort of thing. ‘Girl Power!’ and all that. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it would never work.”

“First off,” she continued, “if I tried to bottle whatever it is about you that does this, it wouldn’t be long before somebody figured out how to make it work for men, too. Then I’d be back where I started, relatively speaking. And second, I’d go to jail for keeping you down here. I mean, I’m not going to kill you; that would just be…crazy. Also, I kind of like the prospect of being stronger than everybody, anyway, and don’t want really to share it.”

I nodded, happy to hear all of the things she’d just said.

“But! But!”, she continued, “I still want to use you to get some other things I want. Like some money, for one thing. And I think I know a way to use you to get a promotion at work.”

“OK…” I said, still not entirely displeased with the direction things were going in, if they led to Cheryl freeing me within the near-term.

“So you’re going to have a visitor this afternoon. Dr. Ramcharan, from the hospital – she’s the director of oncology at the hospital and has the ability to get me promoted to the head of my floor.”

“And what do you want me to do, Cheryl?” I asked.

“Let her…ummm…let her give you a blow job?” she responded, half-asking.

My mouth must have dropped open, because Cheryl started speaking really quickly to assuage my doubt. “Look, she’s fucking TINY. She grew up in Banga, umm, Bangolar?”

“Bangalore?” I asked.

“Yeah, that’s it – and she’s like four-foot-nine, 70 pounds – no shit! But she’s really smart, and she’s kind of pretty, and she thinks she needs to be bigger to really make career strides, plus she’s got some other personal reasons, I think. She’s about 35.”

“How did she find out about…” I began before cutting my question short as Cheryl gestured at her own powerful physique.

“Everybody at the hospital’s been whispering about it behind my back. I’ve grown more than six inches in the last seven months, plus y’know these,” she said as she raised her arms to show off the enormous muscles she’d developed, “And these,” propping up the melon-sized breasts that had sprung from the peaches she’d had last summer. “Anyway, I’ve tested negative for steroids twice and one doctor even wants to write a paper on me – that’s what he says anyway, I see him staring – and so finally Dr. Ramcharan approached me and asked some of the right questions. Once we’d developed some trust I told her I’d share the secret with her, for a price.”

“Does she know what the secret is?” I asked.

“You mean does she know that this afternoon she’s going to have to climb down into my basement and suck sperm out of the penis of my captive ex-lover?”

“Yes, that’s what I mean.”

“She has no fucking idea. And she won’t know until it’s too late for her to back out, and then she’s an accessory. Dude, if I get caught and she’s even implicated in this…pfft, her ass is back in Bombay. And she doesn’t want that. She’s gotten used to things not smelling like B.O. And I know YOU don’t want me to get caught because then your secret is out, too. So we’ll all be on the same page with this.”

I nodded.

“So…you’re OK with this?”

“Like I have a choice.”

Chapter 3 – Dr. Shanti Ramcharan

Dr. Shanti Ramcharan wasn’t an unattractive woman, despite being undersized and puny. She had the pointy, delicate, permanently adolescent features so common to people raised in third world conditions – her diet had likely been too low in protein and calories as a child for her body to fully mature.

Ramcharan was looking back over her shoulder at Cheryl as she began to walk down the stairs, before turning her head to look where she was going. She stopped midway down the stairs, frozen when she realized she was looking at a man who was chained to a pipe and confined to a cellar.

“Cheryl! What is this!? And why have you brought me HERE?” she shouted, in her child-pitched, accented voice.

Cheryl explained the situation for the next few minutes, concluding, “There’s just something about him that makes women get bigger and stronger. And whatever it is, it’s especially concentrated in his semen.”

“So,” Dr. Ramcharan asked, her eyes wide, “I am to perform oral sex on this man, periodically over the course of several weeks, and my body will become taller and better developed? This is what you expect me to believe? This is your crazy plan?”

“Yes,” Cheryl said, with a slight amount of menace in her voice.

“OK, then,” Dr. Ramcharan said, “Let’s get going.”

I never did get around to calling her anything but Dr. Ramcharan, not that first time and not in all our successive “sessions,” as she called them. She first came to see me on a Tuesday, and then she came Friday, and then each successive Tuesday and Friday for two months, always at 2 o’clock.

At first she was very shy about it – didn’t even take off her jacket, and I didn’t even touch her. She blew me and then left.

But on the fourth session, she took off her jacket, revealing a sleeveless blouse. I noticed slight but solid-looking biceps development in her arm when she wiped her mouth.

I asked, “Is that new?”

She smiled and raised her right arm – a tiny little rock of a bicep popped up. “Brand new!” she said, “I’ve gained twelve pounds in the last two weeks, and grown a full two inches! It’s amazing! All my muscles are getting so hard and strong – I never would have believed it possible. Oh, and I even had to buy some bras! I never even needed one before.”

I asked if I could feel her arm, and she proudly tightened and relaxed her small, hard muscle for me. Something caught her eye then, so I suddenly grabbed her in close and kissed her, fondling the small, firm breasts that were blossoming on her chest. I had begun to find her alluring as her body filled in, but mainly I wanted to keep her from realizing that someone was watching us through a crack in the window covering.

A week later, during our sixth session, Dr. Ramcharan was wearing make-up for the first time, and had obviously had her hair done. This was probably partly for my benefit, but perhaps due more to Dr. Ramcharan’s awakening sense of sexuality. She was now just a hair over five foot one in height, 93 pounds, and had already purchased and partly outgrown a B cup brassiere – a fact she gleefully demonstrated for me by first stripping off all her outer clothes, and then stripping off her underclothes. Truly, I was astonished at the fullness of her breasts – on her still-petite figure they actually seemed quite large.

She mounted me and began unbuttoning my shirt, rather than my trousers, and asked, “How enzymatically active is your saliva? And does it work locally?”

“What?”

“Does your saliva do the same thing as your semen, dummy? And does it work locally or all over the body?”

“Um…yes, it works like the semen but not as strong. And, um, I don’t know about the other thing.”

“Did Cheryl always have such full, beautiful lips?” She asked.

“Umm…now that you mention it, no she didn’t.”

Dr. Ramcharan smiled, leaned down and kissed me. We made out for at least twenty minutes, her hands were all over my body, mine spent most of it caressing her ass, which had gone from bony and soft to full and solid in just three weeks. After months of being locked up down in the cellar, if felt tremendous to be able to cut loose and be truly intimate with a woman. And she was definitely a woman now – her stunted figure of just three weeks earlier had given way to curves and womanliness in abundance.

Finally I said, “I’m going to come!”

Genuine alarm flashed in her eyes. Without fumbling she had my zipper down in seconds and my penis in her mouth, just in time to catch what had to be the biggest load since I was a teenager. It went on and on, through three or four spurts. She held it in her mouth for a while, grinning at me, before slowly swallowing it a bit at a time. Then she bent back over and cleaned me up with her tongue, even getting the pre-come on my belly.

Next she leaned out of the bed and pulled out a bottle, labeled “ABB Extreme XXL Dietary Supplement – Strawberry Banana”. She popped it and began drinking.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“A bodybuilding weight-gain formula. 1100 calories and 50 grams of protein. My theory is that my body begins to grow as soon as it has your pheromones inside it. I drank one of these two hours ago, and one now. Then I will go to the gym and have another one after I finish working out. I am trying to consume 4000 calories a day – 5500 on days when I visit you. That’s my new diet, starting two days ago.”

“My God,” I responded.

After finishing another gulp, she continued, “I never could have eaten so much before, but now I am hungry all the time! And it is working so well! Look at my muscles now!”

She flexed, and I was amazed to see that the hard little biceps had nearly doubled in size over just the last week. They actually seemed a bit large for her frame. I get stronger every day! Soon I’ll be able to show her!”

“Who?” I asked.

“Oh…anybody who bothers me.” She paused, frowned, and then said, “That reminds me, would you like to lick my breasts while I drink this? I want them to grow very, very large.”

After briefly considering it, I agreed that I would in fact be pleased to lick her breasts. Dr. Ramcharan was sitting up on my cot for this, while I leaned over and slowly massaged her breasts with my tongue. Between slurps of her drink, she was careful to remind me to spend an equal quantity of saliva on each one, because she didn’t want them to be different sizes.

As she finished the drink, a slight belch erupted from her. She began to speak, but after just a few words, her voice cracked. She reached for her throat and said, “What was that?”, but even as the words came out her eyes went wide, as did mine. Her voice had changed! Dropped perhaps a quarter of an octave.

“La la la!” she sang, in a suddenly more womanly voice. She was still a soprano, but didn’t sound like a child anymore.

“This is wonderful! I can’t believe it happened, just like that! Oh, I was hoping my voice would get deeper. I finally sound like a grown-up!”

She got up off the bed and began to redress. Out of the corner of my eye I verified that just as with the last two times, someone was watching us from outside. As a result I didn’t notice the fumbling that was going on to my left, as Dr. Ramcharan was struggling to attach the hooks of her bra. Finally I looked over, and realized that they were more than an inch apart.

She asked for my help, but as I brought the hooks together, she gave out a little gasp. She turned around and said, “What are you doing? That hurts!”

But with the brassiere now clasped around her chest, the problem was obvious – she’d barely fit into it when she arrived, and now, 90 minutes later, it was at least a cup size too small. During the course of our lovemaking, 5’1” (or was it now 5’2”?) Dr. Shanti Ramcharan had gained at least an inch and a half on her bustline. She was an honest-to-God D-cup now, and the only reason he hadn’t noticed it was that she’d gotten bigger all over. It was only standing up that it was evident. Her whole body seemed “pumped” – muscles that had seemed toned when she arrived now seemed fuller and harder. She noticed this, too, and he smiled when she flexed her right arm let out a little yelp – it seemed, for the first time, to be the arm of a serious weight trainer.

She was able to get her clothes on, though when she flexed the fabric of her jacket sleeve seemed almost ready to burst, and began moving toward the stairs as if lost in thought. I smiled when her blouse came untucked as her big breasts swayed back and forth.

Talking to herself, she said, “I need to get to the gym to capitalize on this growth window, and I’m going to have to consume more protein. If we assume the effect on adipose tissues is more rapid but no more pronounced than on the musculo-skeletal system, I could easily gain ten pounds of muscle, and perhaps two inches in height before the next session, assuming sufficient calorie and protein intake. And then I’ll show her.”

I was a bit sleepy, but just as I dozed off, I heard a firm-but-lyrical woman’s voice ask, “So are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on here, or am I going to have to beat it out of you?”

Chapter 4 – Leelendra Ramcharan

I looked up to see a woman who seemed to be a younger, taller, much better-looking and – even after today’s events – noticeably bustier version of Dr. Ramcharan.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I’m Leelendra, Shanti’s sister. Now what’s going on here? Why are you chained down here? Why does my sister come to visit you twice a week for sex? And…and…”

“Why is she getting bigger and stronger?” I offered.

“Yes! Why is that happening?”

So I told her the whole story. The whole thing. She didn’t believe me at first, so I said, “If you have an alternate explanation for how a 35-year-old, 4’10” weakling has grown three and a half inches, gained a lot of muscle and developed D-cup breasts in three weeks, I’d love to hear it.”

“You got a point. OK. I suppose I believe you,” she said after a moment.

“Great! Now – since she seems to be mostly motivated by a desire to get bigger, stronger and bustier than someone whom I presume to be you. And since you probably don’t want that to happen, and also because my very large and very strong ex-girlfriend and current jailer is going to be arriving home in about 90 minutes, why don’t you help me get out of here and we can all go back to our normal lives.”

Leelendra smiled at me then, and said, “Don’t you have any imagination at all?”

I sighed and said, “So you’re not going to release me.”

“Oh, I’ll release you, but in about a month. First off I want some of that voodoo you do, and secondly I want to have some fun at my sister’s expense.”

Leelendra went on to explain that her family in India had been poor vegetarian, and that coupled with a famine in their village had caused her oldest siblings to suffer malnourishment for almost two years, permanently (she thought) stunting their growth. The family moved to Bangalore before she was born, and when her mother died when Leelendra was just 8 months old, her father’s older sister moved in with them to look after the children. Her aunt convinced Leelendra’s father to begin feeding the children meat, so that they would have greater size to improve their status – her older brother Mahesh was just 5’ tall, and Shanti, the oldest, had been even smaller until recently. Leelendra had been raised on meat, then, and had grown taller and stronger than anyone in her family, reaching an almost unheard of 5’9”.

Mahesh and Shanti had sent money back – just a little, but it made an enormous difference in India, enabling their father to feed the children amply, and also to send them to better schools. Leelendra was able to go to an American school, which left her with almost no accent, and she had access to sports programs. She nearly made the Indian women’s basketball team in the 2000 Olympics, despite being only 15.

She was in the U.S. on a partial basketball scholarship, beginning last September, and living with Shanti. It wasn’t going well – for one thing she used her size to intimidate Shanti all the time. They’d even had a confrontation when Leelendra had wanted to go out one night, very late, to meet a boy. Shanti blocked the door, but Leelendra picked her up, and tucked her diminutive older sister under one arm, carried her kicking and screaming to her bedroom, wrapped her up in the comforter and was out the door before Shanti had managed to untangle herself.

They’d hardly spoken since then, but Leelendra had immediately noticed Shanti’s growth spurt, grown suspicious and began following her. Now she knew the truth.

“So,” I asked when she was done, “what kind of ‘fun’ do you want to have at your sister’s expense?”

“Well,” she began, “she gets here at 2pm every Tuesday and Friday?”

“That’s right.”

“And your amazon ex is never here for the session?”

“Just the first one – she’s been at work for all the rest,” I assured her.

“Well, then,” Leelendra continued, “I figure I’ll just show up here at 1pm on Tuesdays and Fridays – just for the next month – and suck and fuck you dry as a bone. My sister can have whatever leftovers dribble out.”

“And then you’ll help me escape?”

“Absolutely – if you can get me into the size range for the WNBA, I’ll be set for life. Four inches, or better yet, six? With my looks I will be set for life.”

She was right – Leelendra was really something to look at – coffee-colored skin, big, brown eyes and a body that was like something out of Hindu mythology. She was incredibly curvaceous, but years of athletic training had given her muscular arms and shoulders, too. She was probably already as strong or stronger than most American men – and if all went according to plan she’d soon have WNBA stature and IFBB muscles. She’d be unstoppable on the court and unbeatable in the broadcast booth.

“Alright, then,” I said, “We’re agreed.”

She smiled, lifted off her form-fitting turtlneck and said, “Let’s get started. What do you know about the Kama Sutra, and have you ever heard of something called ‘Sucking the mango fruit’?”[/b]