Hot Flash! The Call

Kyra nearly tripped over the package left on her doorstep, the box hidden by the careful balance of attache, travel coffee mug and purse in her arms.  She took an awkward step past it as the tip of her heel caught the edge of the package, causing her to stagger and lose the attache on the floor of the hallway before her apartment door.  She cursed to herself, blowing a tangled strand of dark brown hair from her eyes as she knelt to retrieve the attache and the documents inside, easily the most important stack of paper in her relatively young life.  While the rest of the office – a collection of real estate attorneys and a few old-timers who still took on a smattering of criminal cases – seemed to move at the casual and steady pace of a forest stream, Kyra could not afford to be quite so relaxed.  As the youngest attorney, not the flirty law students or interns the older partners brought on, seemingly for their own puerile enjoyment, Kyra had to prove that she was not only capable as a lawyer, but that she was more than one of the sorority girls who looked more at home in miniskirts and halter tops than in the low-cut business attire they wore.

Kyra resented her femininity at times.  She knew she was attractive, and she had used her beauty to get her foot in the door at her first job interview, wearing a black, pin-striped skirt that hugged her waist and showed off her lean runners’ legs and toned ass.  The top, too, had been scoop-necked to the point of near-inappropriateness, but she had wowed Carlin, the junior partner who conducted the interview, with her legal acumen as much as her body.  In truth, Kyra was pleased that her breasts had never developed into the mountainous flesh that seemed so prevalent among the interns in the office, and treasured her barely-B cups as a sign that she was more than a pretty face.

So enthusiastic was she in her pursuit of validation as a professional, she refused to take even the most mundane tasks with any less seriousness.  She buzzed about the office, ensuring that her work was beyond reproach and that none of her peers could come close to matching her productivity and intensity.  One of her co-workers, a haughty and boastful young lawyer whom everyone called Brad, often gave her a baleful look during the Monday and Friday organizational meetings when she cataloged her list of achievements and plans for the coming days.  The partners, especially the older men, were finally coming around to the idea that her contribution to the company could extend beyond mere eye candy for the boys’ club entrenched in the firm.  With his pale blue eyes and Northeastern chiseled features, he looked as if he could have stepped from the pages of a J. Crew ad.  When confronted with a true competitor, someone driven far past the limits of normalcy, poor Brad faltered.  It was clear he came from money, and struggle and adversity must have been as foreign to him as charity and coasting into success would have been for Kyra.

She gathered the attache with the latest estate case back into her arms, kicking the package – a gift box, she realized now – over the doorway and into her living room.  Dumping the contents of her arms onto the table by the door, she turned her attention to the box.  It was bright pink with a white bow on top and criss-crossing white ribbons forming an off-centered T over the top.  She wrinkled her nose as she picked it up and walked across the room to deposit the box on the dining room table, an item that was more decoration than functional furniture.  She cooked rarely, preferring the ease of take-out on long nights working.

As she slid off the jacket she wore and folded it over the back of the chair, she absently rubbed her arm.  She was still sore from the procedure two days before, a new security measure enacted by the older partners to prevent access to the most sensitive of files.  Each of the senior lawyers had been implanted with an RFID chip, one that would be unique to them, and was injected into the upper arm.  It was small, and Kyra was already forgetting its presence until her arm rose just so or turned just right to aggravate the injection point.  Worse, the initiative had been spearheaded by Brad, he of the sharp features and lazy smile.  While the nurse – who was barely squeezed into her uniform, nearly exploding through the buttoned white dress with her impossibly curvy body – swabbed Kyra’s arm, Brad sat in the corner of the office used as a makeshift medical room, arms folded over his chest, grinning at her in a maddeningly confident way.

“Something wrong?” Kyra asked him pointedly, then winced as the chip was forced under her skin.

“Not at all, Kyra.  Everything is just right.”

The nurse folded a piece of gauze over the insertion point and taped it into place and, just like that, it was done.  Kyra eased her arm back into the suit jacket and adjusted herself, never losing eye contact with Brad, who kept up his mad-jester grinning.

As she eased the ribbons down and placed the bow on top of the flattened ribbons, arranged just as meticulously as everything else in Kyra’s life, she dismissed any thoughts of the chip again, allowing her curiosity to generate question after question.  What was inside?  Who had sent it?  It had clearly been left at the door for her, but why?

Lifting the lid, Kyra blinked and turned her head sharply away from the heavily perfumed contents.  There was something sickly sweet about the smell, like cotton candy with an aftertaste like formaldehyde.  It faded quickly as if pulled by a breeze, but the odor lingered in her nose and mouth, making her roll her tongue along the roof of her mouth.  She felt, or perhaps only imagined she felt, a coarseness there, a granularity that made her wince a little, even as the newly-implanted chip in her arm seemed to vibrate beneath the skin.  The combined effect was to make Kyra suddenly very uncomfortable in her skin, distracting her in a way that made it difficult to complete a complex thought.  When she had shaken away the fog as best she could, mouth still scratchy and bitter, her arm grown quiet again, she examined the contents of the box.

Within, beneath pink-and-white wrapping paper that matched the box and ribbons, Kyra found a satiny black garment.  She lifted it, holding it at arm’s length as she inspected it.  She felt her cheeks burn crimson as she realized that it wasn’t an article of clothing after all, at least not in the strictest sense.  It was a maid’s apron, but brief, silky to the touch.  This was some fetishist’s idea of a maid’s apron, nothing used in practice.  She let it slip from her fingers where it pooled on the dining room table in a heap of black cloth.  She turned back to the box and found two more items inside.  These were more traditional, but only barely.  Inside was matching underwear, a pink lacy bra, far too large for her more modest assets, and a pair of pink panties.  They were lacy and wide-knit, allowing more than a glimpse of any flesh beneath.  It was the sort of lingerie one might wear with a lover during a wild evening, entirely impractical for day-to-day wear.

Kyra left the underwear in the box, the mystery of her gifts only growing now that they had been revealed.  Surely these were gifts intended for someone else, left for her by mistake.  Puzzling over the strange clothes, she was startled by the ring of her cell phone, instinctively checking the face for the caller ID.  It was a local number, but one she didn’t recognize.  As she slid her thumb over the screen to answer, she wondered if this might be from the mysterious benefactor.  When the phone pressed to her ear, she frowned and stood preternaturally still.

It was a computer tone, a steady hum filled with barely audible scratches.  The sound of it froze her in place, and Kyra realized with alarm that she stood with the phone to her ear, unable to force her hand away from her head.  All through her body she could feel an eerie itching, a crawling sensation that exploded through her in an instant, a tissue-deep instability in every inch of her small frame.

Finally, the tone ended and the call disconnected, but Kyra was no more in control of her body than she had been before.  How long had the tone and the furious itching beneath her skin gone on?  It felt like a matter of seconds, but she couldn’t be certain.  Along with the uncertainty of how long this petrification had gone on, she found it difficult, as before, to put her thoughts together in an organized fashion, and the buzzing that invaded her body had crept into her mind, too.

Standing with her back to the door, a fierce panic rose as the sound of her front door opening and closing came from behind her.  She heard the rustling of clothing and footsteps on the carpet as someone approached, and still she was incapable of turning the slightest bit to find her intruder.

“Hello, Kyra,” a familiar voice whispered behind her, breath close to her ear.  “Don’t bother trying to speak.  You can’t.  Not until I say so, anyway.”

Then he was before her – Brad.  His smile was less aggravating than predatory and the nonchalance of his motions as he pulled a chair from the dining room table and sat facing her was infuriating and humiliating.

“For someone so smart, you sure are stupid,” he laughed, glancing around the well-furnished apartment.  “Nice place, by the way.”

Kyra’s eyes burned with drought, her muscles beginning to ache from the pose she held.  Worse, the buzzing behind her eyes was growing more insistent, filling her head with a dull cacophony.

“I mean, security implants?  Come on.  I thought you were better than that.”  He clapped his hands together, leaning forward as if to share a secret.  “But, here we are.  I could explain all of this, how we did it, what’s going to happen to you, but you won’t remember by the time we’re finished.  I’d hoped you’d try my gifts on, but I see you’re just as ungrateful and bitchy as ever.  Nothing we can’t fix.”  He smiled that serpentine smile again, and Kyra wanted to strangle him, to bash his chiseled face in.

“You should be feeling an itching sensation.  That’s the nanites.  You got a big whiff of the tiny guys when you opened the package, otherwise you’d be able to move.  Right now they’re multiplying until there are enough to do the job they came to do.  They’re going to help us do all sorts of wonderful things.  For starters, we’re going to crank down that IQ of yours until you’re barely able to remember your own name.  And then you’re going to get a little makeover.  Won’t that be nice?”

The buzzing!  It was so loud, so all-consuming!

Brad leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs casually.  “I think I’m going to enjoy watching this.  I sure paid enough for it.”

The noise in her head rose to a hiss, like static from a television until she begged for the ability to scream, if only to block it out for a moment.  And then, nothing.  A silence filled her mind, a stillness unlike any she had previously experienced.  No random firings of thought no sensation, only the superficial awareness of herself as a living creature, of the clothes pressing against her flesh, of a man sitting across from her.  No evaluation, no judgement, only sensory input acknowledged and discarded.

Brad leaned forward, fascinated by the sudden vacancy behind Kyra’s eyes, the anger and fear and frustration that had burned there was gone, leaving behind a doll-like quiet.  If the promises made by Landers, one of his father’s R & D men, were accurate, the first stage would be nearing completion.  The old neural pathways formed by a short lifetime of decisions and experiences were being reforged into something new, associations disconnected and reapplied, rewriting the ambitious young woman’s whole history, generating false memories and an entirely new manner of thinking.  The research was cutting edge and Landers warned Brad against the dangers.

“She could become a drooling idiot,” the gray-bearded scientist chided, giving the implant a final test for response from the tone.

“That wouldn’t be a huge step down,” Brad replied, the smile on his face unsavory.

Landers had initially balked at his request, but the bonus Brad promised him on behalf of his father had several zeroes behind it, and the scientist would have been a liar to deny his curiosity at how the implant and nanotechnology would affect a human subject.

Kyra blinked, the first sign of movement from the frozen woman, and Brad’s anticipation grew.  He felt the first stirrings of his erection and shifted in the dining room chair.  There was something arousing to him about his former rival’s loss of control, and the confused look in her eyes suggested that the process was working.  He only hoped it wouldn’t work too well.

Within Kyra, a dawn was coming, brightening with every passing second.  She could now feel a vague sense of alarm and being unable to move her body, but a different sensation was shouting over that worry.  She tried to put a name to it and finally one came… horny.  Yes, that was it.  Kyra was hornier than she could ever recall, though placing an individual memory was difficult.  She remembered school… the way all the boys looked at her and how she loved that attention, loved seeing their yummy… the word escaped her again.  Cocks!  Yes, cocks, the way their yummy cocks pushed at their shorts when she bent over for them and giggled, knowing how her impossibly round ass was driving them wild.  It was all Kyra had ever known, teasing the boys to get what she wanted.  At least,  before she met Brad.  Brad was a real man, one who knew how to handle a sweet little cocktease like Kyra.  It was Brad that first called her Kiki and made her titter at the silliness of the name.  Brad understood her, knew how she needed to be treated… like a princess, like servant, like a whore.

A smile spread on Kyra’s face, a somewhat dim expression on her face.  Brad wondered as he watched if she would be able to recall her promising law career, or even a small fragment of her life before this moment.

She blinked, focusing on Brad, her eyes widening with surprise and then she giggled again.  Her body seemed to sag, the phone dropping from her hand and bouncing on the floor, forgotten.  Her hands were preoccupied with her own body, cupping her small breasts and running them down her belly, the smart blouse she wore little more than an inconvenience.  This top, she thought, did nothing to show off her best assets, and she loved it when boys stared.

“Hey, Brad,” she said, and giggled again.

Brad wasn’t sure, but he thought her voice sounded higher and smokier at once, like warm honey.  If that was true, the physical changes should be eminent, though it was almost enough to the see the glazed and seductive look in her eyes.  No matter what came next, he believed the bitch named Kyra had been brought appropriately to heel.

He nearly gasped when he saw the suddenness of the next change, her dark hair lightening at the roots and growing outward as the very structure was changed from follicle to tip to reflect a glossy blonde color.  It twisted into curls at the ends, resting on Kyra’s chest and cascading between her shoulders.  Her skin rippled, like watching beetles skitter beneath a blanket, and Brad could tell the skin had lightened, taking on an almost pinkish hue.  He marveled at how a thin scar near the corner of Kyra’s mouth undulated and faded until her face, as the rest of her, he assumed, grew flawless and more vibrant.

Her body morphed before him, the lean body of a runner growing wider at the hips, her thighs softer and less defined.  Her entire body, in fact, had an air of softness and invited touch.  Kyra bent, clutching her stomach, then giggled again as her waist thinned and left her with a well-defined hourglass shape.  As her hands lifted from her belly to her chest, her breasts inflated beneath her hands, spreading her fingers apart as they pushed the blouse outward, straining the buttons.  She gave a confused look to Brad, who felt his erection aching for this blonde goddess.  When the shifts in her form stopped, she took a shaky step toward him and he rose to catch her before she fell.  She looked up at him, cradled in his arm, wrapping her arms around his neck.  He saw that her lips, more pink than before, had a sheen to them, and he assumed the nanites could affect something as simple as lip gloss if they could rewrite Kyra’s life so quickly.

“I tripped,” she giggled and he could feel her body relax in his arms.

“You okay, Kiki?”

She nodded, chirping her high-pitched giggle again, a punctuation now to every sentence.

“Did you see what I got you?”

“You got me a present?”  She stood and clapped her hands together, delighted.

“I did.  It’s right over here.”

Brad led her to the dining table where the Kyra of before had left the garments, but this Kyra was not so dismissive of his gesture.  She oohed and held the bra up, pursing her lips in a way that made Brad determined to use her soon or explode without her.  While she fawned over the underwear and offered up another IQ-defying giggle, Brad stood behind her, unbuttoning her blouse to let her new (and vastly improved, in Brad’s opinion) D-cups spill free.  He ran his hands over them, soft globes of flesh tipped by darkly pink and hard nipples.  When his fingers tripped over the tight nubs on her chest, she moaned and pressed her healthy bottom against him.  She must have felt his excitement, too, for she turned to him, naked above the waist, and pressed tight against him.

“Does my Brad need some help?” she tittered, placing a hand firmly against his crotch.  He inhaled sharply, nodding.

“Come on, then,” she said, turning away from him and marching to the open door of the bedroom.  Along the way, she paused to push her skirt down, leaving it pooled on the floor with the sensible panties she’d worn before.  Brad knew they would be the last thing she ever wore that didn’t broadcast her lust and need to be viewed as a creature of desire.

He followed her inside the bedroom, marveling at the spartan design philosophy of the Kyra-before.  He would have to make arrangements to help his Kiki decorate in a manner more befitting a woman of her tastes.  Certainly pink, perhaps with a wall of sexual accessories open to all.

She was already atop the bed, on all fours, looking over her shoulder at him.  It was clear what she wanted and Brad could resist satisfying her no longer.  With a quick whip of his belt, his fingers loosening the clasp and opening his pants like a master prestidigitator, he freed the straining erection and climbed onto the bed with the luscious blonde.  Kiki moaned with need as Brad placed a hand on her hips, positioning himself behind her.  He saw her nether lips swollen and dewy, begging silently to be spread and entered.  He obliged.

“Ooh fuck!” Kiki screamed, meeting his rhythm with her own, sending his rod plunging into her wet and eager center.  “Fuck that pussy good!”

It seemed all his requests had been fulfilled, down to her wantonness in the bedroom (or wherever Brad chose to use her).  His fantasies of seeing Kyra in this position, begging him, had all come true beyond his wildest imaginings, and the silky heat of her walls wrapped around his shaft left him gasping and grunting.  As he thrust against her, he tried to push away the wall of bliss that threatened to consume him, but a final cry of, “Oh, fuck Kiki!” sent it crashing down and he erupted inside her.  Whether it was the rush of his semen or happy coincidence, Kiki bucked beneath him, lost in a rapturous orgasm of her own.

Over the next four hours, Kiki pleasured him with her every hole, and even the tight button of her anus felt welcoming and slick.  He fell asleep as she performed yet another blowjob, spent and content.

The smell of bacon roused him the following morning, and he slid his boxer briefs, puddled with his pants by the bed, up to make himself somewhat presentable.  His concerns at being lewd made him chuckle as he saw Kiki bent over the stove, organizing breakfast for him, dressed only in the gifts he’d provided her, including the impractical, but stunning, maid apron.  When she saw him, she tittered again.

“Morning, honey!” she called, scooping bacon onto a plate with her spatula.  He sat down at the dining room table, admiring Kiki’s newfound jiggle as she served his meal.  Satisfied she had provided that service, she bent to her hands and knees and crawled beneath the table.  As he collected his first bite of a surprisingly good omelet, he felt her fingers tug at the waistband of his briefs and pull his member free.  By the time he made it to the bacon, her mouth had teased him to another aching erection.  He wondered absently if Kiki needed a sister and came again.

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