Teuser's Formula

Part 4

AUTHOR'S NOTE: All of my stories have been written for an exclusively adult audience. They contain descriptions of violence, some of it of a sexual nature. They also include other sexually explicit depictions. They are in no way suitable for minors. Furthermore it is against the law in many parts of the world for this type of material to be read, either by minors or by minors and adults. Please make sure you are not acting contrary to local legislation before reading on and please do not read any further if you find this type of material offensive in any way. This is a work of fiction and any similarity between the characters and events depicted and any people/events in real-life, past or present, is purely co-incidence. A number of the characters and events portrayed are inspired by, or based upon, existing works of fiction. Although I have made every effort to keep plagiarism to a minimum, I must acknowledge a debt of thanks to the many artists and writers who have shared their talents with the public. I've released my stories to the public domain to make sure that as many people as possible who share my interest in this type of fiction can enjoy them. Please feel free to re-distribute them by whatever means you like, provided you respect the following points: (1) The stories will be re-distributed exactly as they are - unchanged and unedited. (2) No other person will claim authorship of any of these stories or any part of them. (3) The stories will not be distributed for profit, either on their own or as part of a group of other works. Lastly, thank you for your interest in this story. I hope you enjoy it!


The cubicle stank of disinfectant and the overhead strip-light was headache-making harsh. Danny sat on the trolley, plastic sheets rustling uncomfortably beneath him, his elbows resting on his thighs, pulverised hands hanging from his wrists. He hated hospitals. He'd already been there nearly three hours and he knew he was no-where near done. Why did they always have to take so long? He was about to stand up and set off in search of a member of staff when the splash-proof curtain at the front of the cubicle was pulled open and a young doctor strolled in, clutching a small, thin, cardboard folder.

"Danny, isn't it?" asked the doctor.

"Yeah. What took you so long?"

"Sorry about that. We're busy this morning - and it does take a while to develop these.." as he spoke he pulled two large X-ray photographs from the folder. He fixed them to a light panel on the wall so that they were clearly visible. Danny hadn't seen many X-rays of hands before, but even he knew that something was very wrong. Too many small, jagged bits in there...

"Is.. is it as bad as it..." Danny began.

"It's too early to be sure." answered the doctor. "Right now, we've got to find you a bed. I've booked you in for emergency surgery tomorrow afternoon. Best if you stay here 'till then. We'll know more once the specialist has had a good look."

"Oh fuck." muttered Danny. Then, louder he asked: "Doc.. I'm a builder. Will I be able to use my hands again properly?"

"I.. I don't know. It'll take time before anyone can answer that question."

Danny hung his head. His career - his whole way of life - had been thrown out of balance. He thought of the gorgeous young woman who had done this to him. How the hell had a girl who looked so delicate and petite caused so much damage with her bare hands?



Lynne carried the two cups of tea upstairs just as she had done a thousand mornings before. Today seemed no different. She walked carefully into the bedroom, anxious not to spill any of the warm, fresh brews. As quietly as possible, she set one mug down on the bedside table next to where her husband lay softly snoring. Then she walked around the big matrimonial bed and placed the other mug on the matching table on the other side. Climbing back into bed, she arranged the pillows so that she could sit up comfortably and took a couple of sips of her drink. For a moment, she thought she could detect a hint of a peculiar taste in the liquid. She hoped that the milk was alright and took another swallow to put her mind at ease.

She leant over towards Gary, laying her hand gently on his shoulder which was exposed above the top edge of the duvet. He didn't stir. "Gary," she whispered in his ear. No response. Moving her hand delicately up and down on his shoulder she tried again, a little louder. "Gary?"

"Huh?" he mumbled.

"It's eight o'clock, love."


"Eight o'clock. I've brought you your tea."

"Uhh." That was as close to a "thank you" that she would get. Slowly, he sat up, rubbing his eyes before blinking them open. He looked rough. He reached for the hot drink his wife had prepared and took a big gulp.

"Did you sleep alright, dear?" Lynne asked.

"Yeah." he replied, curtly. She knew that meant he didn't want her to talk anymore for a while. Over the years, she'd become well accustomed to his moods and mannerisms and she knew when it was best - for her sake - to keep her mouth shut. The two of them sat up on the bed, drinking their mugs of tea in silence.



The cafe's windows were filthy and partially steamed up but it still somehow looked welcoming. More welcoming at any rate than the street where all there was were puddles and commuters scurrying to work. She pushed on the door and walked into the warm, greasy atmosphere of the interior. The place smelt of fat and the sound of bubbling oil was an underscore to the half-dozen or so conversations taking place at the occupied tables. She found an unoccupied seat and sat down, throwing her newspaper on the table. She would take a look at the "Situations Vacant" once she'd had some coffee. Not that there'd be any job in there that she'd actually want, she thought. But she knew that she had to find some paid work and soon. She found it hard to think of herself as "Claire the Office Assistant" or "Claire the Cashier", but at least those were better prospects than the only other employment offer she'd ever had. She shuddered thinking of the slimy photographer. If he had his way, she'd be "Claire the Topless Model."

She left her paper and her bag on the table and made her way to the counter. "What'll it be?" asked a huge-bellied man with a shiny, tomato-red face. He'd tied a frayed, dirty apron on himself, but it barely covered his massive gut. She stared at his great round stomach for a moment too long before embarrassedly looking up at his face. He hadn't noticed. He was far too wrapped up in the task of gawking at the front of her T-shirt. She was used to that. She knew she had the sort of chest that men love - large and firm - and she didn't see the point of hiding it inside loose-fitting clothes. Instead she let him look as she answered.

"Coffee, please. White, 2 sugars."

"Certainly, darlin'." He was fairly dextrous for such a big man, and twenty seconds later, he was pushing a large, steaming cup across the counter towards her. "Sixty." he said simply. She counted the coins from her purse and laid them down on the greasy surface. The she took her drink back to her table and sat down. Yawning, she began to search for the Jobs section of the newspaper.



Whatever anyone says on the subject, having lots of money is wonderful. Having even more is even more wonderful. Harry Williams found that out when he made his first hundred thousand, twenty years before. Now he had several million in the bank just earning interest and that maxim was truer than ever. Money meant he didn't have to take a bus or a train or even walk like everybody else. Money meant he didn't even have to drive his own car. No, he had Jimmy to do that for him. Harry just relaxed on the luxurious back seat and let his Chauffeur get on with it. He loved it all; the big car, the staff who hung on his every word, waiting for his instructions, and touching their caps in greeting. All because he had money.

But this particular morning, Harry had a problem. Something that Jimmy couldn't take care of for him. Something that he couldn't pay anyone else to do. Maybe it was his advancing age. Maybe it was the extra cup of freshly roasted coffee he'd told the cook to bring him at breakfast-time. Whatever the reason, the effects were getting worse. He was becoming uncomfortable. It wasn't going to wait. Harry had to piss. "Jimmy," he announced. "stop at the first public toilet you see."

"OK, Mr. Williams."



Bright. Very bright. Too bright. It hurt. No, it wasn't the light that hurt. It was his head. The light was strong, but normal for a morning this time of year. Teuser blinked repetitively until his pupils adjusted. It made no difference to his head. His mouth was dry too. Unpleasantly dry. And it tasted like someone had been shovelling dirt in there all night long. He had to wash that hateful taste out. He gathered his legs and prepared to stand up. Looking down he noticed he'd slept almost fully clothed. He saw the cast on his arm, and slowly recalled the events of the past few days. "What I need," he thought, "is a drink. That'll clear up this hangover and get rid of the awful taste in my mouth." Unsteadily, he stood up. His head pounded. The room spun slightly. "Fuck." he said.

He managed to make it across the room to the side table where he'd left the remnants of a bottle of whisky before falling onto the bed a few hours before. Picking it up, he parted his cracked, dry lips in preparation but then stopped. He couldn't go on like this. He couldn't spend every waking moment drunk. Not when he had half-a-gallon of his wonderful formula sitting in the cupboard, waiting to be tested. San Teuser put the bottle down again and made his way awkwardly into the bathroom. He splashed his face with cold water and cleaned his mouth with a toothbrush. Studying his face in the bathroom mirror he saw bloodshot eyes and pale skin. He turned away from the sight in disgust.

He felt awful. His arm still hurt and his headache showed no sign of receding. Remembering his days as a student, he recalled how he and his colleagues would always eat a huge breakfast when they woke hung-over. It had always made him feel better in the past. Why should now be any different? He thought of the cafe on the corner of his street; he'd walked past it a thousand times without entering. They had to do a decent fried breakfast there. The thought suddenly made him realise that he was ravenously hungry. He felt in his pockets and found sufficient money for even the most expensive of greasy-spoons. All he needed now was a change of clothes.



Like Teuser, Rodney Mrytle had also fallen asleep in his clothes. His trousers, torn at the waist, were around his knees but his grubby shirt was still properly done-up. As he made heavy work of breathing in his sleep, his flabby chest rose and feel, lifting and lowering the scrap of handwritten note and the shiny new key that Ivana had placed on him the night before. Still on his tenant's bed and still no nearer to waking up, the landlord dreamed of the moments just before he had fallen asleep. His subconscious mind replayed the moment when Ivana had taken his throbbing erection into her soft hot mouth causing him to smile, even as he snored ever louder.



Myrtle was blissfully unaware of the fact that the owner of that mouth was in a completely different part of the city at that moment. Ivana had always had a morning exercise regime - it was essential in her line of work to stay fit. She'd usually take a short run, perhaps a mile or so and then force herself to do a couple of dozen sit-ups. This morning she'd set out for her jog as usual. She had thought it strange that she hadn't felt tired despite not sleeping all night - how could she with her fat old landlord taking up her bed? - but had attributed that to the other strange changes that she had undergone in the past few days. But the run was weird. She felt herself going much faster than she was used to. Not only that, but her legs seemed to be doing much less work to achieve the increased pace. It all felt so easy, so natural. She reached the point where she would normally turn around and head back home and decided to keep on going.

She exhilarated in the way her long strides ate up the ground, amazed at the way her breaths came easily despite the exertion. She just could not get over the general effortlessness of running. She wasn't even sweating! She found herself getting further and further away from her flat. Soon, she'd run the kind of distance she would normally only travel by bus. But still, she wasn't tired. Partly out of curiosity and partly because she was enjoying the feeling so much, she decided to keep going. She knew she was getting appreciative glances from many of the men she passed, but she'd long since learnt to ignore that kind of attention. Unless, of course, her admirers were willing to pay in advance. This morning, however, she wasn't prepared to stop for anyone.

After a while, she noticed that there was something familiar about the street she was running along. She had been here before - recently probably. Then she recalled: she had come this way looking for the bastard who had beaten her up. The address on the driving license she had stolen - it was nearby. She stopped dead in her tracks, the sudden deceleration not disturbing her balance at all, although it should have done. Six miles! She knew her geography. That was the distance between her flat and where she was now. Half-a-dozen miles. She had jogged that distance in.... She checked her watch. Half-an-hour! And she wasn't even short of breath! "Oh my God!" she muttered to herself. "I'm becoming superhuman!"

That last word made her think of the incredible events of the previous night. How she had hurt a big man and lifted a huge wardrobe with nothing but her lovely hands. And then there was the run she had just completed. She really was gaining incredible physical powers. Yet she her appearance wasn't changing - she wasn't growing huge muscles. She was as slender, feminine and desirable as ever. But now... now she wouldn't be beaten up any more. She thought of the last guy who had slapped her about. How she had been coming to see him when things had first started getting weird for her. She'd ended up going down on a kindly old man who'd stopped to help her. What if she were to try again to get her revenge on the bastard who hit her? After all, she was in the area. And she seemed to be stronger than when she was last here. A lot stronger.

She didn't have the guy's driving license on her. It was back at her flat. She tried to remember the address, but held little hope of success.

She'd never been any good at memorising that kind of thing. Yet, suddenly, she did recall the house number and street name. She could actually picture the entire license in her mind - even the serial number. It was fantastic. Even her brain seemed to be getting more powerful. Excited by the thought that she was steadily turning into a superwoman, her mind turned again to revenge. Now she knew his exact address there was no reason not to pop 'round and re-introduce herself to the bastard. She'd show him what it meant to be knocked about. There was only one thing that worried her: the urges she kept getting. The inexplicable, all-consuming desire to take a man's penis in her mouth and swallow his ejaculation. What if she felt that way with this - she recalled the name on the license - Gary Bowyer? What kind of revenge would it be if she ended up on her knees sucking the bastard off? Pulling him into her mouth, tasting his cock, feeling him against her lips, licking his...



"I'm looking, Mr. Williams." said Jimmy. "But there doesn't seem to be one around here."

"Then, you'd better look harder," retorted Harry, a man not accustomed to having to wait for what he wanted. He crossed his legs and felt a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. What was the point of having a chauffeur if the idiot couldn't even locate a toilet?



Teuser bent over awkwardly, gasping as the rush of blood to his brain made his headache throb for a few moments. His swirling vision settled and he was able to pick up his jacket from where he'd dropped it on the floor the night before. He put his uninjured arm through one sleeve and let the other hang free. It would involve too much pain to squeeze his plastered arm through. He needed someone to take care of him. A woman. He glanced up at the cupboard where he had stashed his large bottle of formula. All that work and he had yet to test it! He could really benefit from a bit of the sort of tender care that the special liquid was supposed to guarantee.

He rummaged around in a drawer until he found a small cardboard box. Opening it, he extracted a single, empty glass phial. This he filled with a few drops from the big container and then sealed. Then, with great care, he returned the beaker to its home in the cupboard and dropped the now-full phial into his jacket pocket. He was ready to leave the flat. He made a promise to himself: he would not drink. He would get a decent breakfast, and then he would not rest until he had found a suitable test subject. If he was right about his formula, then he would feel a hell of a lot better soon after he had given a few drops to the right person. First, though, he needed to eat. Slowly, he made his way down to the street.



Gary sipped his tea in silence, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. He'd been out late, teaching a cheap tart a lesson or two so he hadn't slept enough and he felt rough. Of course, he wasn't about to share any of that with his wife. He glanced over at her, sitting next to him on the bed. She had no idea where he had been last night or what he had done. She'd never guess and she knew better than to ask. She was so meek. He had chosen well when he picked her - the perfect little woman to stay at home, make sure everything was clean and bring him his tea in the morning. Not that she'd done a great job of it today. She'd left the bag in too long or something - there was a strange aftertaste with each sip he took. But it wasn't enough for him to complain and he was too tired to make an issue of it. If she did anything else to piss him off later, he decided, he'd bring it up and give her a little slap to teach her a lesson.

He was interrupted in his thoughts by the sound of her dropping her half-finished tea onto the duvet, the liquid quickly soaking into the material "You dozy bitch!" Gary chastised, but she didn't respond. He would have expected the usual "I'm sorry Gary.", but she was quiet. He looked at her. Her head was bowed, her chin resting on her chest. Her eyes were closed. The stupid cow had fallen asleep holding her mug. "Lynne!" he shouted. Still no response. "Wake up, you fucking cow! You've spilt the tea everywhere! For fuck's sake!" But his wife didn't move. He reached over, grabbing her shoulders with his big, rough hands and shook her violently for several seconds, making her head bounce about. But her eyes remained closed and her breathing slow. Taking his right hand from her shoulder, he swiped the back of it across her cheek. The blow was enough to make a sound, and a bruise began to form on her skin almost immediately, but still she seemed asleep. "For crying out loud you lazy bitch!" he yelled, getting ready to hit her again.



It was just as she had feared. There were no decent jobs in the paper. Only low-paid positions that all seemed to involve an awful lot of work. Certainly nothing along the lines of what she was looking for - something that rewarded generously for very little effort. She got up to carry her now empty coffee mug back to the sweaty fat man at the counter. As soon as she stood, she could almost feel his eyes focussing on her. She knew he was staring at her top where it stretched to accommodate her breasts. It always seemed to happen to her. Men just couldn't help themselves. She thought about what the photographer had told her - how she could make pots of money just by taking her clothes off and letting a pervert like him take a few photos of her. She didn't doubt that it was true. She obviously had something that appealed to the opposite sex.

But Claire knew she couldn't stomach the thought of thousands of men clutching her picture in one hand, tongues hanging out of their mouths as their other hands frantically worked on their organs. She shuddered at the repulsive image, only to be brought back to reality by the almost equally unpleasant sight of the fat man leering at her chest. "'Nother cup, love?" he enquired.

"Thanks." said Claire, already placing the correct change on the counter, eager to hasten the moment when she could turn her back. Once again, he proved himself efficient at his job, even though he barely looked at what he was doing, so intent as he was to study the shape of her upper body. When he was done, she took her cup back to her table and sat down, pushing the newspaper away. There had to be something she could do to make a few quid that wasn't either demeaning or back-breaking.



He couldn't take it any longer. He was at the point now when he would gladly have swapped half his wealth for a vacant lavatory. "Jimmy!" he yelled. "I'm bursting!" It was humiliating to have to share such intimate information with his employee, but what else could he do? "Stop the car. I'm going to go into that alley." Harry pointed at a narrow lane that ran between two buildings on the left-hand side of the road. The chauffeur eased on the brakes as sharply as he could without discomforting his passenger before pulling over to the kerb and cutting the engine. Before he could get out and walk around to open the door, Harry had already flung it open and dashed - fairly quickly for a man of his age who did so little physical exercise - towards the alley.

With a chuckle at the unfortunate situation of the rich man, Jimmy reached beneath his seat and pulled out a folded tabloid newspaper. Turning to the back, he quickly immersed himself in the sports news. He had no idea how long it would take the guy to have his slash, and besides, he never knew when he'd have another opportunity to have a read. Lost in a report of the previous night's big match, he completely failed to see the beautiful brunette strolling purposefully down the pavement towards where he was parked, her eyes flicking to the left and the right as though she was urgently looking for something.



Sam Teuser pushed open the cafe door with his good arm and shuffled painfully up to the counter. A grossly overweight man wearing a ridiculously tight apron caught his eye at the last moment and walked over, a grease-stained notepad dwarfed in his podgy hand. "Whaddya want, mate?" he asked.

"Er.. two eggs, bacon and sausages please." The words were almost lost amidst a rising tide of phlegm and Teuser cleared his throat before continuing. "And chips, mushrooms, beans, two slices of toast, and a pot of tea."

"Heavy session last night mate?" smiled the big guy.

"Uh-huh." The man in the apron began totalling the cost of the meal, moving his pencil stub up and down the page he had scribbled.

"Six forty-five." he finally announced. Teuser placed a crumpled tenner on the counter whilst the fat man filled a metal pot from a huge urn. He placed the pot in front of Sam and then filled a smaller vessel with milk. This, and an empty mug, joined the big pot. Teuser started to reach for them, and realised that he couldn't carry all three items with just one hand. The big man noticed it too. "Don't worry about it mate. I'll bring 'em over with your change."

"Thanks." said Sam, genuinely grateful. He turned around to find a seat. There were no empty tables - he would have to share. He noticed one table with only one person seated at it. A girl with a lovely face. She looked lost in her thoughts, staring into space, a folded-up newspaper abandoned in front of her. Teuser couldn't help but notice that the paper was partially obscuring her chest, but the little glimpse of curve he got stimulated his curiosity for more. He made his way over to her table and, without asking, sat down opposite her. She didn't acknowledge him.

A few moments later, the fat man came over with a tray and placed the tea-pot, milk-jug and mug down in front of him, together with a small pile of change. "Thank you." said Sam.

"No problem." the big guy answered, although he seemed to be looking more at the girl than at him. Teuser couldn't blame the guy. She was extremely good-looking. He poured himself the first mug, stealing the odd glance at her. No doubt about it. She was gorgeous. He took a sip and then, as subtly as he could, put his hand in his jacket pocket to feel the little phial of formula he'd stashed in there.



She'd had this feeling several times now, but it still confused her. One moment, she was feeling incredibly powerful, the next she was being controlled by this compulsion to "service" a man. All she knew was that she could not fight it. She had to yield to it as quickly as possible before it consumed her. But she was stuck on the street in the morning in a residential area. Where was she going to find a man? Her eyes were drawn to the gleaming form of a freshly polished silver Jaguar parked a dozen or so yards ahead of her. The car looked completely out of place on the modest street. She noticed someone at the wheel, reading a newspaper. Excited, she sped up. Chances were, it would turn out to be a man behind the wheel of such a vehicle.

She was almost level with the car when she heard a sound to her right. Her head spun, and she found herself looking down a tiny alley - more of a gap between two buildings than a side-street. There, at the far end, leaning against a featureless brick wall, was a man wearing what she instantly recognised was an expensive suit. His back was to her, but she saw the jet of liquid arcing from his groin and the puddle growing at his feet around his shiny black shoes. The guy in the car was too engrossed in his paper to notice her as she turned on her heels, and, smiling, started to walk down the alley.

The pissing man had finally emptied his bladder and was obviously shaking the last few drops from his member. He hunched in preparation for manipulating it back inside his underwear and readjusting his trousers. With no thought for how she might sound, she called out cheerfully "Don't put that away yet!"

The man spun around, astonished. He was still holding himself in his right hand. Seeing her, his face turned the bright crimson of the highly embarrassed as he began awkwardly trying to stuff himself back into his pants. "I.. I.. er.." Ivana broke into a trot towards him, dropping gracefully down onto her knees at his feet while he was still struggling with his flies. Shocked, he tried to back away from her, only for his back to press up against the wall. The seat of his trousers touched the newly-wetted brick and he spring forward in disgust, only to find that Ivana had grabbed hold of his waistband. "Wh... what.. the..." he started to say, as she pulled her hands apart and the expensive tailored material of his suit tore noisily. She opened her hands and his trousers fell immediately around his ankles. Her finger was already curling around the elastic of his underpants. Ivana tugged and they too came away to fall to the ground.



Suddenly he was naked from the waist down. He had no idea how the girl had removed his clothes so quickly, but there was no doubting that she had. What was she planning to do? Was this some kind of elaborate kidnap or robbery plot? A man of his standing was always going to be a target. He opened his mouth to yell, to summon Jimmy or whoever might be around, but just as he was about to shout, he was stunned by the sensation of something incredibly smooth yet tight closing around his penis. He looked down to see that the girl had taken him in her mouth. Surprised, he hesitated for a moment, just long enough to see her luscious, thick lips wrapped around his shaft and to feel the strong, insistent pull she was exerting. That moment was enough for a whole row of switches in his brain to be flicked.

Suddenly, he wasn't scared anymore. He was incredibly turned on. He had, on occasion, used some of his wealth to indulge his baser desires with women - professional women who charged huge sums for their expertise and discretion. But none of them had ever made him feel like this. There was something about the way her lips gripped him - the astonishing, almost painful force of it - that made him instantly aroused. He could practically feel the blood rushing into his organ, inflating it in seconds. He was becoming hard in her mouth, pressing more an more against her remarkable, unyielding lips. It felt wonderful. He forgot all about the strangeness of the encounter and shut his eyes, lost in the most pleasurable feeling of his life. Then, she started to move, taking him in and out of her mouth with real expertise. The way she squeezed him was indescribable. It was so tight it almost hurt and yet.. and yet... Within seconds, he was on the brink of his orgasm.



Gary slapped his wife for a fourth time. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he screamed, the veins in his temples were beginning to stand out. Both her cheeks were now turning blue, but still her head just flopped down as if she had been given a knock-out drug. He grabbed her face aggressively between her palms and lifted it towards his own. Her eyes were still shut. Her breathing was steady, if a little slow. "Wake up!" he shouted into her face, little dots of his spittle appearing on her lovely features. He released her, letting her slump down again. "Useless fucking cow!" he growled. "You'll be sorry if I have to call a doctor for you."



It hadn't taken long - from him being flaccid to this glorious moment when her burning urge would be fulfilled. Ivana took him deep into her mouth, ready for the moment when he would shoot his load. He shuddered dramatically as the first burst of hot fluid flew down her throat, thrilling her as it did. She swallowed down the next three jets with relish and then began to suck on him to make sure she extracted every last drop he could offer. She heard a gargled scream above her and realised that she might have sucked a little to hard for his liking. No matter; she had to make certain that nothing went to waste. Without warning, the man fell forward, his head crashing down on her back, his stomach resting on the back of her head. She realised that only her body was stopping him falling flat on his face on the ground, yet she could barely feel his weight as she supported it. He was no longer producing any fluid, so she opened her mouth wide and stepped back away from him, letting him collapse onto the filthy street, face down with his pants and trousers still around his ankles.

Immediately, the familiar, wonderful glowing sensation appeared in her belly, spreading rapidly outwards into every single part of her. She stood up effortlessly, marvelling at the way she felt even lighter and more supple than before. It was amazing. She was as fresh as she had been before her remarkable run, the frantic efforts of the past minute apparently having given her even more energy. How was it possible to feel so good? She stretched out her arms, enjoying the way her body felt. Now, she was ready for the bastard who had beaten her up. His house had to be nearby. Just a matter of finding the right street.



The beautiful girl had picked up her paper and was reading the local news intently. Sam took a big swallow of his tea, put the mug down and fished once again for his phial. She really was lovely. And this was a great chance. After all, she was completely absorbed in her paper. In front of her, her half-drunk coffee seemed to be calling to him. He glanced awkwardly around him. No-one else was paying them any attention. He used his thumb to break the seal on the tiny glass tube and, with a shaking hand, tipped a few drops of the colourless liquid inside into the coffee. He was so nervous, he pulled his hand away a little too quickly, making the girl look up at him for a moment. She caught his eye. Teuser was stunned by the beauty of her face. He smiled at her, as warmly as he could. She scowled back, clearly disgusted.



Jimmy was still reading the match report when the girl emerged from the alley, bounding lightly on her feet, her expression a mixture of intent and satisfaction. He went on to read about a couple of the other games. Then he stopped and folded the paper. How long had he been reading? He glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes. A quarter of an hour! No-one needed that long to have a piss, no matter how much cash they had in the bank. Something was wrong. He cursed - if he hadn't been so engrossed in the paper he might have seen something, or at least noticed that something was up sooner. He jumped out of the car and trotted around to the mouth of the alley. "Oh, fuck!" he spluttered as he saw his employer lying on the ground, his face against the concrete. "Mr. Williams!" he called, rushing to the man, "Mr. Williams!"

The chauffeur rolled Harry over onto his back. No injuries to his face and he seemed to be breathing fine. "Thank fuck!" he thought. "He's not dead." Then he noticed the man's trousers and underpants had been torn and were now rolled up around his lower legs. He gasped. He'd never seen Williams' penis before, but he was pretty sure its natural colour was not dark blue all over. What the fuck had happened? He leant over the man's face and called his name a couple more times "Mr. Williams? Mr. Williams!" No answer. Jimmy plunged his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a mobile phone, dialling a three-digit number.

"Ambulance." he spoke into the mouthpiece. "Quickly please! I think my boss has had a heart attack or something."



Gary's clenched fist hung eight inches above Lynne's nose, ready to crash down and flatten it. "This'll teach you to ignore me you fucking rude bitch" he hissed through clenched teeth. Just as he was about to let fly with all his considerable anger, he heard the incongruously charming ding-dong of the front door bell. "Oh for fuck's sake!" he spluttered. "You'd better be up by the time I get back or I swear I'm gonna knock you into next week." he told his unconscious wife before getting out of bed and grabbing his dressing gown from its hook on the back of the bedroom door. He tied the chord around his waist as he stamped furiously down the stairs, already demanding "Who's there?"



It had been quite a few minutes since the girl had sipped her coffee. The formula had to have kicked in by now. With a quiver of excitement, Teuser imagined what the lovely girl would shortly be doing to him. Full of anticipation, he forgot himself and laid his palm under the table onto her tight jeans, grasping her thigh. Immediately her hand pulled on his. "What the hell do you think you're doing, pervert?" she shrieked, standing up. All eyes in the cafe turned accusingly towards Sam. He swallowed hard. The fat man came over to their table.

"Are you alright, miss?" he asked, sounding truly concerned.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." she answered, regaining her composure. "Um.. where's your toilet?"

"Through there." said the fat man, pointing to a door marked "Toilets.". "Go through the kitchen and then turn left."

"Thanks," said the girl, already on her way. As she pushed open the door, the sound of frying grew loud until it faded as the door closed behind her.



"I said: Who's there?" demanded the man inside the house. Ivana recognised the voice instantly. It was definitely him. The aggressive bastard.

"Post." she lied, and was rewarded with the sound of a bolt being drawn. Then the door was flung open and there he was. In the flesh. Or rather the flesh covered with a towelling robe. The bastard who had slapped her about. He looked at her curiously, obviously trying to place her. He recognised her alright, but he couldn't work out where from. Ivana opened her mouth, about to launch into a short speech she had prepared about scum who love dishing it out but can't handle it themselves. But the words stuck in her throat. The mere sight of the guy made her anger boil up to the surface. She had no language to express her emotions.

Before she even realised what she was doing, she had extended her right arm, palm towards him and shoved him in the belly with all her strength. Her new strength. And her fury made certain that she didn't hold back even an ounce of it. The shove doubled him over and sent him backwards. His feet left the ground as a shocked "Oooff" sound left his lips and he flew into the house, his entire heavy frame thrown back by her single, petite hand. Ivana watched, partly in delighted pride at her power and partly in utter surprise at her lack of control. The big man flew backwards about ten yards before crashing down onto his rear. The momentum she had transferred from her slender arm sent him sliding a further three yards on his backside until his movement was stopped as his back hit the far wall.

Ivana gasped at what she had done. The bastard's head was lowered, but even from that distance, she had no trouble seeing that he was still breathing. That, at least, was a relief. But she was annoyed with herself. She hadn't even told him who she was and why she had come to see him. And she was disappointed. She had intended to cause him a lot more pain. But now it was all over. One push and he was out cold. Fuck, she was getting strong! She was going to have to learn to be more careful when she beat up men in future. She took a step into the house, intending to see if she could revive her unconscious host, then froze in her tracks.

She'd heard something. Movement or something from upstairs. There was someone else in the house! She panicked. Maybe this other person was calling the police, or worse grabbing a weapon and preparing to attack her. She turned on her heels and ran out, pausing only to shut the front door behind her as quietly as she could. Then she sprinted down the street, amazed at the pace her long legs immediately achieved.



The ambulance pulled up at the top of the alley. The man in the chauffeur's uniform ran up to the two medics who jumped out, babbling and frantically pointing to a fourth man who was lying, semi-naked, on the ground. One of the doctors tried to calm the chauffeur whilst the other crouched by the side of the unconscious man. None of them noticed the girl running past the at the speed of an Olympic sprinter, her large bust bouncing enticingly beneath her sweatshirt. She turned as she passed, but still none of the men saw her, or the look of surprise that crossed her stunning face when her eyes lit upon the man in a suit flat out on the concrete. A couple of seconds later, she ran around a corner and disappeared from sight altogether.

"He's unconscious but I don't think it was his heart." one of the ambulance men explained to the Chauffeur after he had examined his patient for couple of minutes. "More likely is that he's suffering the after-effects of some major trauma, which would be consistent with his injuries. Any idea of how he sustained them?"

"Er, no." the driver answered. "I was waiting in the car at the time. I didn't see anything. I.. er..."

"OK. We've got to take him to the hospital for checks. I imagine the police are going to want to ask you a few questions, too."

"What kind of questions?"

"Well, like how he was hurt."

"I told you. I didn't see, I -"

"Save it for the police, mate. We're taking him to hospital. You can follow in your car if you like."

"Er, yeah, sure."

The two medics lifted the patient onto a trolley and wheeled it up to the back of the ambulance. The chauffeur watched as they carefully transferred him into the vehicle.



It was pretty clear that the lavatory was there because the owner of the cafe was obliged by law to provide facilities to both his staff and his customers. It was just the right side of the line that separated "unfit for use" from "barely tolerable". Claire had had to walk through the kitchen to reach it. She was feeling a little unsteady, as though the touch of that weirdo's hand on her leg had made her physically dizzy. She totally ignored the way the chef - a small, wiry man with South American features - looked up from his frying pan to stare at her as she passed by, but once she was inside the cubicle, she made doubly sure that the door was locked. Before she could start undoing her jeans, however, she felt her legs wobbling beneath her. She sat down on the closed lid of the toilet as the unpleasant surroundings appeared to spin around her. Then, her head and body fell limply against the graffiti-covered wall.



Lynne sat up in bed, confused. She didn't remember falling asleep. The duvet was soaked with tea. Her face stung, as though her husband had just imparted another of his "lessons." She turned to see if he was still next to her on the bed, but saw no-one. Slowly she got out of bed. She didn't feel groggy at all, in fact, she felt quite good. Her arms and legs felt fine. Only her face hurt slightly. Walking over to the mirror, she studied her reflection and saw the fresh bruises on her cheeks. She knew immediately how they had been made. Why did he do things like that? She had obviously passed out - why did he have to be so angry all the time? And where was he now?

"Gary?" she called, although her voice was barely above a whisper. "Gary?" A little louder this time. The third was almost a shout. "Gary?" Had he gone out? She left the bedroom and headed for the stairs. Maybe he was in the kitchen or the living-room.



The formula should have kicked in by now. Teuser sat at his table in the cafe, his huge fried breakfast barely touched on the plate in front of him. He paid no attention to the accusatory glances he was still getting from the other customers and the fat man in the apron. Why did the girl have to make such a scene? Why couldn't he have waited a few minutes before he touched her? Why was she taking so long on the loo?



Ivana was a dozen streets away from the house where she'd committed the assault. She was still running at a pace very few other women in the world could match, but her breathing was calm and easy and she felt she could have sustained the effort for quite a while longer. As she crossed a quiet residential road, she looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was following her, but saw no-one. She also didn't see the cyclist freewheeling down the street towards her. The young man on the bike, however, did see the girl. It didn't matter; he miscalculated the speed at which she was travelling. He thought he would pass a yard away from her, but she was far too fast. He only realised when it was too late. He barely even had time to yell when his front wheel smashed into her leg.

What happened next was totally unexpected. Ivana whirled around as the bike hit her, but her leg remained planted on the street. It did not move where the tyre smashed into it. Instead, the wheel bent almost double against her and the rider was thrown from his seat, over his handle bars. He flew head first, straight into the side of her generous right breast which proved only slightly softer than her leg. Her womanly flesh absorbed much of the force of the impact, saving him from serious injury, but she stayed upright and he bounced from her to land with a loud crash on top of his battered bicycle. She bent over him immediately and saw that he didn't look too badly hurt. "Are you alright?" she asked him.

"Um... I.. think so. Er.. are you OK?"

"Fine, thanks. Let me help you up." She reached out her hand and the young man took it. He was still trying to gather his legs beneath him when she yanked him effortlessly and fluidly upright.

"Wow!" he gasped. "You must be pretty fit! What's your secret?"



The girl had been in there for at least six minutes. He'd fried up a dozen eggs and already started on a packet of sausages in that time. He didn't like it generally when customers used the toilet, especially when they stayed there for so long. It usually meant they were doing drugs in there. The last thing he needed was anyone in authority poking around in his kitchen. Who knew what they might find this time. He went over to the door and thumped on it three times. "Hello?" Hs accent was strong. "How are you?" and his command of the language wasn't great. "What is passing there? Do you have the drugs?"

"Er.. I'm fine." the girl answered. There was a series of shuffling sounds from inside the cubicle and then the bolt was drawn and the door opened. The chef had forgotten how attractive she was and his eyes grew wide as they took her in. "I'm sorry," she said. "I felt a bit dizzy, and I guess I kind of blacked out for a minute, but I'm cool now. Actually, I feel terrific."

"You making the drugs, no?" accused the chef.

"Oh, no, no!" she protested. They were about the same height and she stared straight into his eyes, perhaps so that he would be more likely to believe her. He stared back, captured now by her physical beauty. And something seemed to have caught her attention too. She was looking at him in a peculiar way. Almost mischievous, like a child eyeing up a forbidden sweet she was just about to steal.



"Gary! What happened?" Lynne rushed over to her husband who was still slumped against the wall. He blinked his eyes open as she bent over him.

"Lynne? You awake now?"

"What happened Gary? Did someone attack you."

"It was - " he started to say something then stopped. "It was an accident. I, er, fell over."

"Are you OK?"

"Course I fucking am!" he snapped. He moved to stand up but fell back against the wall. Lynne looked at him. He looked so.. so.. defeated and helpless. This wasn't the Gary she knew. He was weak. She stared down at him, suddenly aware that for the first time in years, she briefly held the upper hand in the relationship. It was strange. But it was also exciting. A peculiar thought entered her mind. A deed. Something that she suddenly wanted to do more than anything else in the world. She dropped down onto all fours beside him and began loosening the chord of his dressing gown.

"Lynne!" he wheezed. "What are you doing you daft bitch?"

"Shhh." she said. "I'm going to make you feel better."

"Don't tell me to shhh, you stupid-" he broke into a cough, struggling for air.

"Shhh." she repeated, taking his flaccid organ between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand.

"Lynne - not now." he spluttered.

"It's OK, darling." she said, slowly beginning to stroke him into erectness.



Ivana looked both ways up the street. There didn't seem to be anyone else around. She spotted a laundrette on the other side of the road. She couldn't see anyone inside. She bent down and curled the fingers of her left hand around the bent frame of the bicycle. When she stood up, the bike came up with her, hanging from her hand as though it were weightless. She turned to its owner. "You should come with me," she told him.

"What?" he asked. She smiled her warmest smile, locking her eyes on his.

"Come on," she said, "Over there." she pointed to the empty laundrette. "You can sit down for a bit and maybe, y'know, relax." The way she said the word "relax" filled the word with a hundred new meanings. They walked side by side over the road.



Claire had never done this before. Not even with her boyfriends. It had never appealed to her. After all, she had always thought "what's in it for me?". But now as she knelt in front of the small cook and took his rapidly enlarging penis into her mouth, she felt a thrill of electricity running through her body. She wondered why she had never done it before, and then she wondered why she was suddenly doing it now. But he tasted so delicious and felt so good in there that she soon forgot her concerns. She closed her lips tightly around him, pulling her head back, letting his shaft slide part of the way out of her mouth. Then she brought herself forward again until his shaft was buried inside her. The tip of her long, soft tongue flicked repeatedly all over his hot organ, touching. licking and stroking it until it quivered.

Bringing her teeth into play, she let them scrape lightly over his length, enjoying the way the light touch of her jaws made his whole body shake. She began taking him in and out of her mouth faster and faster, biting down gently on him, her tongue attacking him with increasing vigour. She knew what was going to happen and welcomed it. The chef let out a low moan of pleasure and convulsed, sending a violent jet of his fluid deep into her throat. Reflexes made her swallow, but the warm tingling feeling as the liquid entered her stomach made her want more. She sucked hard on him, trying to draw as much of the wonderful fluid as possible into her gut, until he was finally dry. Then she parted her lips and let him out, throwing her head back as a wonderful feeling grew within her, reaching out like the branches of a tree into her every extremity.

The chef took a few unsteady steps, a smile fixed on his face. He sat down on a stool, leaning against the work surface. On the stove, oil spat furiously as black smoke began to curl upwards from the sausages he was cooking there, but when Claire tried to warn him, his only response was to close his eyes, rest his head on his hands and start snoring. Claire went over to the cooker and turned off the gas. He looked like he would be asleep for a while, and she feared the whole place might burn down. As she moved, she marvelled at how revitalised she now felt. It was weird - almost as if the chef's seed had contained energy boosters. She had been so tired a few minutes before, but now she felt terrific. Was this how every woman felt after giving head?



Teuser knew that women sometimes took a very long time in the loo, but this was ridiculous. She'd been gone ten minutes! By now the formula would have started working for certain. Where the hell was she?



The medic shook his head and chuckled. Five years he had worked in the emergency service. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd sat in the back of an ambulance accompanying a patient to hospital. But this time was unique. He'd never seen an injury quite like this guy's - his body apparently completely untouched except for the fact that his dick had somehow become so badly bruised it was dark blue all over. And that wasn't the only thing. The medic had never heard a patient on his way to hospital snoring as contentedly as this man was.



Lynne's tongue worked its way around the tip of her husband's penis, removing the last few drops of his cum. She'd done this to him before, but she'd never enjoyed it so much. There was just something about the way he tasted today - it made her want more and more. She'd always seen oral sex as a duty - especially because it was always Gary who initiated it, who bullied her into doing it for him. But this time, she had instigated the act and she had loved every moment of it. She couldn't explain it, but seeing her husband hurt and too weakened to harm her even if he wanted to had really turned her on. Then as she had started to take him in her mouth, she had lost herself in the sheer pleasure of the process.

Now, as she was finishing, she felt fabulous. Whatever it was that had made her fall asleep was now well and truly out of her system, because she had never felt more awake in her life. Even her face where the bruises had stung a couple of minutes earlier now seemed better, as though someone had turned a dial, dramatically lowering the pain. She watched as Gary's eyelids appeared to grow heavy and stroked his arm. "That's alright, dear." she said, softly, "You sleep now. I'll be here when you wake up." She shifted her position so that her back was next to his, against the wall. As his breathing grew slower and deeper she smiled. She wasn't going anywhere. She wanted to be right there when he awoke, ready to do it all over again.



Inside the deserted laundrette, Ivana sat next to the cyclist who had crashed into her. His twisted bike was propped up against a washing machine and the two of them were on a bench at the back of the shop, hidden from the street by a row of ancient-looking dryers. They had sat some distance apart, but over the past moments, she had slowly shuffled closer and closer to him until now when their legs were touching. The guy kept looking at her as though he were trying to ascertain what she was up to. She kept smiling at him. She leant in close, almost whispering into his ear as she spoke, letting her large breasts brush against his sleeve. Each time there was contact, he shuddered as if he had received an electric shock but the bulge in his trousers told her that she was getting through to him.

"So," she breathed, "you want to know my secret, do you?"

"Um... er..." he blushed crimson. A natural with the ladies he was not.

"Shall I tell you?" she teased, stroking the straining front of his trousers with her finger.

"Ah... um..."

"Not a man of many words, are you?" she joked, laughing so that her breath washing over his face. He swallowed hard. She took a hold of his fly and slowly began to lower his zip. Immediately he brought his hands to his groin, trying to shield his manhood from her. She took her left hand and used it to hold on to his two wrists. Then she carefully began pulling his hands away from his crotch. He started to resist her, the muscles on his arms bulging with the effort. The look of astonishment that filled his face when he realised how easily she was overpowering him made her chuckle. "Strong, aren't I?" Ivana said, proudly.

"How... how..." he spluttered.

"So, you do want to know my secret." she said, lifting his hands above his head despite his struggles and leaning in so that her chest pressed against his. With no hands, he tried to push her away by sitting forward, but soon gave up when he found he couldn't shift her even an inch. She leant further into him, enjoying the sensation of her breasts pushing against him. Her free hand ventured expertly into his underwear and emerged triumphantly clutching his already fully aroused sexual organ.

He protested. "Please, no. Don't. My girlfriend, she-"

"-isn't here." Ivana completed the sentence for him. She slid off the bench, dragging her chest down his body as she did so until she was on her knees in front of him, her shapely breasts resting on his knees. She still held both his hands in one of her own, keeping them immobile above his head.

"Please!" he begged, but she was completely ignoring him now. She lowered her head towards his waiting erection.

She spoke, letting her hot breath warm his penis. "This is my secret, lover. I get stronger every time I do this." Then she opened her mouth and slowly extended her tongue. Sensuously, almost tortuously, she licked his length. "I hope you enjoy this half as much as I'm going to." she said.



Claire glanced at the sleeping chef. The wonderful feeling in her guts had faded slightly and she was just beginning to wonder at the events of the past few minutes. Part of her was shocked by what she had done. He was a total stranger and not that attractive either. And yet she had happily done something for him that she had refused even her lovers in the past. She was embarrassed. What would she say to him if he woke up - "Thanks, that was nice"? or "Sorry, I don't normally do that."? And what if someone came into the kitchen and asked why the guy seemed out for the count. Should she tell them? "Oh, he's fine. I've just gone down on him, that's all." It was all too awkward. She didn't want to have to see or speak to anyone from the cafe. Her eyes were drawn to the sign reading "Fire Exit" that was affixed to a partially open door at the far end of the kitchen. Twenty seconds later, she was walking down the street.

She wasn't there to see the man who had been sitting opposite her in the restaurant entering the kitchen. He pushed the toilet door and found it open. Confused, he shook the sleeping chef's shoulder using his good arm. "Hey! Wake up!!"

"Ugh?" he looked as though he was still asleep.

"The girl!" shouted the customer. "Where is she?"

"Girl?" asked the chef, his eyes still firmly shut. He smiled. "Oh, the girl. Mmmm. The girl. Yes. Girl."

"Where is she?"

"Oh, she... she gone. Nice. Nice girl. She gone..." the chef lapsed into heavy snoring. The man with the injured arm ran out of the kitchen back into the seating area and straight out through the front door. Once on the street he looked left and right before hesitating and turning left.



"Ow! Please! You're hurting me! Please! Aaaagggghhhhhh!"

Ivana couldn't tell if the final yell was one of agony, ecstasy or both. All she cared about was that it heralded the cyclist's orgasm. Evidently, he'd been saving himself for a while because he came in great, violent waves, filling her mouth with delicious juices. She swallowed again and again, drawing every single fluid ounce into her stomach, using her tongue to clear up any clinging particles until she was absolutely certain that she had cleaned him dry. When she lifted her head from his lap, his eyes were already closed. His organ deflated almost the second it left her mouth, its deep purplish colour indicative of severe bruising. She stood up, leaving him where he sat with his sore penis on display. Turning on her heels, she walked calmly out of the laundrette without throwing the cyclist so much as a glance.

Outside she quickly checked the street to be sure that no-one had seen her leave. "Fucking hell!" she muttered to herself. "It just gets better and better every time!" It was as though she was walking on air. The energy flowing through every corner of her body excited her. She felt fantastic.



Gary snored. His wife sat dutifully next to him, their backs against the wall, legs stretched out on the carpet. She stroked his hair. "Come on, darling." she said softly. "Wake up. I want to make you feel better again." Then, after a pause she added. "I want to make me feel better again."



Teuser stopped and leant against a lamppost, gasping for breath. He'd run the length of the street in both directions, desperately hoping that he would see the girl from the cafe again, but it was all in vain. She had vanished into thin air. He cursed. He'd seen her swallowing the coffee he'd laced with his formula. She had to be feeling the effects of it by now. Where was she? Was some other bastard now enjoying the effects of the magical compound he'd spent so much time perfecting? Why did nothing seem to work out the way he planned it these days? He needed a break. A way of escaping from himself and his troubles. At the edge of his field of vision, he caught sight of a large wood and glass door opening on to the street. The sign above it said "Rose and Crown". He checked his watch. Eleven a.m. He checked his pockets for money. Eight pounds thirty-six pence. He crossed the road and headed through the newly opened door. As he approached the bar, the landlord smiled. "Starting early. eh? What can I get you?"

"Large whisky, please." said Teuser.



Claire ran down the stairs into the Tube station. She couldn't get over how good she felt. It was so strange. She was a little guilty over what she had done with the chef in the cafe, but it had left her feeling so wonderful that she wasn't sure she didn't want to do it again. Though next time, she vowed, she'd find a guy she really liked the look of.



She couldn't help smiling. It had been a good morning. She'd hurt the man who had hurt her, although perhaps not seriously enough. Every molecule of her body glowed with health and vitality, more now than ever. Could she really be even more supercharged than earlier? If she had lifted a wardrobe eight hours before, how strong would she be now that she had "recharged" twice more? Ivana was desperate to investigate. She wanted somewhere to experiment, somewhere where she could test herself without drawing any attention. Somewhere where she could be alone, to plan her next move. She headed for home. With a inner chuckle she thought, "No-one better get in my way this afternoon!"



Rod Mrytle sat up yawning on Ivana's bed. Tiredly, he noticed his trousers and pants were round his ankles. He smiled, thinking of how they had gotten there. He tried to pull them up, and found that they were torn beyond repair. Something fell off his chest. Reaching down he retrieved the new front door key and the note that had been left with it. He read the scrap of paper and then placed it in his shirt pocket with the key. Then he yawned again. Why was he so tired? He lay down on his tenant's bed once again. Seconds later, he was deeply asleep.



It was twenty past eleven in the morning. Claire and Ivana made their respective ways home, both bounding with energy as Lynne sat patiently, enjoying the warm glow still spreading outwards from her belly. Meanwhile, the chef slept in the kitchen of the cafe, the cyclist slept in the laundrette, Harry Williams slept on his hospital bed and Gary Bowyer slept in the entrance hall of his house. And in the Rose and Crown, Sam Teuser took the last swallow from his second double whisky.


Conceptfan, Jul. 2003.