The Mammarian Candy Date: Part 1
By Zuiderzee: zuiderzee@yahoo.com
Super-Equipped, Super-Endowed She-Spy prepares to neutralize her opposite number--who is more than ready to pry into her designer genes.     

       m, F, size,BE,PE,reluc,Scfi,fembot,virg,voy 


            Disclaimer:  Intended for non-bioengineered
       forms who have reached the adult stage in their
       life-cycles.         




          Note:  Material for this story has been largely
       inspired by the Body Inflation stories of Chris
       (where are you?) Helmare, but sufficiently parodied,
       warped, embroidered, diddled-with, jumbled-around,
       renamed and semi-pirated so that it can almost be
       considered an original work.
            For those of you who may be offended by such
       shameless theft and perversion, believe me, I did
       my best.









          So, I thought, this is what the enemy
     calls an Amazon.  Bah!  A real Amazon would have
     swam the distance from port.  And she would have
     come alone.  Whatever marvels her body had in store,
     I was certain I could meet or exceed them.  Only
     the cold realization that she was genetically
     engineered--loosely, my sister, or more accurately
     stated, my step-sister--stopped me from destroying
     her and her fellow spy with a CO2 bubble discharge
     that would have surged up under their small boat,
     robbing it of its bouyancy and dragging it under
     without the explosion of a torpedo that would have
     been easily noticed.
          I had used such attacks before to quietly get
     rid of snoopers; just another mysterious boat
     accident/disappearance in the Bermuda Triangle!
          Little did she know the hell she had just been
     spared!
  
          Kiki Vale was looking almost directly
     into Surface Camera 3-5-1. From her position
     at the prow-rail of the anchored cabin cruiser,
     she was regarding the little cluster of bubbles
     on the water's surface as nothing more than
     the results of normal agitation.
          I knew about Super Agent Vale of ICU2.
          This was the first time I had gotten such a
     clear image.
          Topside, the winds were gentle, the sea calm.
     A typically balmy day in the tropics.  
          King of Nassau, that lamely-disguised fiberglass
     sham, had cut its engines.  ICU2 had, to its credit,
     employed numerous means to scramble its transmissions,
     but their science was safely behind mine.  The hyper-
     attenae appeared to the untrained eye as just so much
     chrome trim and railing.  The modified sonar listening
     device incorporated into the cabin cruiser's anchor
     was something out of the 1960's.
          Pitted against pirates and smugglers, ICU2's
     infiltration methods, disguises and vehicles
     would have been impessive, but compared to the 
     devices and intelligence at my disposal, they might
     as well have been using 18th century telescopes,
     signal mirrors, and log rafts!  
          If they possessed superior resources, at least
     they were clever enough to keep them in the developmental
     stage or in their vaults.  Any mass production would be
     noted by my spies.
          I laughed.

          Far below, sheltered by reefs and rocks
     was my underwater complex.  Activity on the surface
     came down with little degradation of signal and
     the images 3-5-1 captured inspired new sensations
     in my physiology.  Monitoring devices contained within
     my tissues fed their data into physiological computers,
     checking every parameter from temperature to blood
     pressure to glandular activity.  Ever since I had been
     given confirmation of Super Agent Vale's identity,
     I had been making the recording devices sing with new
     readings.  Before today, I had never reacted so powefully.
          Soon, I calculated, I could leave all these new
     records behind me. 
          Super Agent Vale had an operating number within
     ICU2, but we had never learned it.
          Arbitrarily, I designated her: Experiment G1-EVE-
     XXXX.  
          She appeared young, and would for decades yet to
     come.  Genetic engineering would give her superbly
     elastic tissue that would defy wrinkles and signs of
     aging.  25 years had passed since her conception--she 
     still resembled images of a healthy female of 17, 
     albeit with enormous, round breasts.
          I could see beyond such...distractions, of course.
          She had grown into a wide set of hips.  Her glutes
     and thighs were curvaceous, that pelvis roomy--a fine,
     expansive, child-bearing pelvis that would serve her well
     in her near future.  Always, those thighs seemed to be 
     parted.  Not just parted--spread wide in a loose, slutty
     fashion that kept her crotch exposed to view.  Any ladylike
     behavior she displayed in my presence would be affected.
         This was a female who liked sex and who had enjoyed a
     vast secondary career as a seductress!
          Those breasts!
          No, no, those details didn't affect me.
          I was a scientist.
          Reading my response, several of the bio-readout meters
     went redline, spiking and causing additional software to 
     kick into life to assure more accuracy.
          It would be a nipple matter--a simple matter--to caress.
     To address!  I would begin with a titty suckle--a tissue sample!
     Meanwhile, my focus was riveted on her impressive derriere.
          DOSSIER!         
          
          In contrast, I was only one year younger than she,
     but due to additional containment within the nutrient
     tanks during which I was given extensive subliminal
     education, my development was arrested.  I remained
     within the womb-like environ with an artifical umbilical
     feeding me oxygen and nutrients while vast amounts of
     audio-taped information was fed into my brain.
          When I was deemed ready to emerge from that state,
     after more than a full decade of delicate refinements,
     I was an educated infant. Physical growth was assured,
     and I was by no means weak.  The nutrients given me were
     often of a slow-acting sort.  I had latent energy and
     modified glands and unique hormones--even though outwardly,
     I resembled a male of only four or so years of age.
         Since then, I have grown at a steady rate, but well
     behind natural boys of the same age.

          Kiki Vale was introduced to outside life as a natural
     girl child and permitted to grow alongside them as though
     she had been produced by purely sexual means.  Unlike myself,
     she grew up without the knowledge of her origins and only
     recently was isolated and informed and brought into the fold
     of ICU2--a corrupt agency.
         I am now only four feet, eleven inches tall and my weight
     is considered ideal by our medical staff.
          Agent Vale on the other hand is six feet, two inches tall,
     athletic, and other than her ballooning breasts is proportinate.

          Growing up without the company of real women
     had given me peace and time to conduct my experiments
     without their interaction.
          My mounting sexual needs were satisfied, but only
     satisfied with the production of human-like "fembots"
     whose pliable, penetrable bodies replicated those of
     natural women insofar as our research and manufacturing
     skills and materials could permit.
          I was more than willing to make an abrupt
     transfer from the obliging bevy of fembots and into the
     realm of flesh and blood.
          Agent Vale's timely arrival would facilitate that
     breakthrough quite nicely.  Quite, quite nicely.
          The anticipation of touching her skin caused lights
     to flare on my bodily-monitoring apparatus.  This was
     something new to the equipment, both mine and the machine.
          My gonads shifted, almost breaking the contact of
     the sensitive pads affixed to the skin of my naked,
     hairless scrotum.
          After a minute, the flaring lights became constant,
     signaling a new phase of growth and hormone production
     that would not abate.  There would be no resumption of
     my previous level.  Whatever I could do now was markedly
     better than what I'd thought as my record when the day
     began.  All this from the mere sight of a woman!
          A pity she did not know of my progress. 
  
          I could see her clearly through the fish-eye
     lenses of that camera.  Software of my own
     design corrected the convex distortion and I
     saw her with something more resembling normal
     human sight on my series of surveillance screens.
     So far, there were ten such cameras of identical
     manufacture surrounding the cabin cruiser at
     varying distances.
          By all accounts, even from satellite and my
     own agents who'd watched the boat leave dock, they
     had arrived alone.
          A small seaplane had veered away from this
     sector four hours before.  It, too was being tracked
     and once it landed, it would get the same inspection
     I was giving this deceptively innocent-looking pleasure
     craft.
          Her fellow agent, 1088 on our files, was looking
     at the woman with the same sort of eagerness I was. 
     He had an erection of a sort deemed appreciable for
     natural males of his age, but went through absurd means
     to hide his arousal from his agent as if he didn't
     trust her and visa versa.
          Realistically, 1088 probably had orders not
     to engage in sexual activity with the Super Agent and
     she was likely reserving her body for me, whether she
     was truly prepared for me or not.
          And how could she be? 


          I had studied Agent Vale's suit to the
     minutest detail.  The form-scanning laser
     array installed at Airlock Gamma was the
     best our scientists could devise, but on a
     moving subject, there were always sections
     the sweeping scanners missed.
          She was still on her descent, dropping
     down through the water past the point where
     sunlight could reach.  Her diving suit for
     the most part did little more than keep her
     body warm and dry in the marine environment.
          If she was stripped of it, she would
     by no means be as vulernable as a normal
     female.
          I found that salutory.
          Those massive, bloated pulmonary sacs on
     her chest held more than enough air to survive
     the underwater free-fall.  Weights held in her
     hands provided negative bouyancy. 
          The curves of her form were asthetically
     pleasing, even arousing, but I had been
     trained to think scientifically first and 
     foremost--baser lusts had their place, but
     first, I had to make sure she was not going to
     compromise this base with smuggled technology.
     The sophomoric technicians at ICU2 had no
     doubt tampered with her body medically, implanting
     it with sensors, power cells, recording devices
     and myriad micro-scale communicators.  
          Leaving extrapolation to amateurs, I
     decided to leave the cyberspace images to
     the cold hands of technology.  What was 
     required here was a more intimate approach.

          A hands-on approach.  My hands. 

          That intimate touch would have to wait
     an hour or so.  My self-designed coital unit
     was engaged in draining my over-active gonads
     of normal spermatazoa.  Naked, I was mounted
     atop the bucking automoton while it ran through
     its programs of intimate sexual behavior.
     Boasting only a handful of stainless steel 
     compontents which were housed deep within its
     thorax, the body of this machine--which was
     designed to copy the body of a young human
     female--was warm and pliant to my touch.
          The yielding, fleshy body was perhaps
     too gelatinous, but this was a limiation of
     our technology.  Once Agent Vale's genetic
     material was sampled, a far more vital phase
     of my project could begin.

          The chief surgeon was initially startled
     beyond the composure expected of his profession
     when I masturbated to climax for the first time
     a year ago--prematurely providing him with the
     sperm sample he had planned to extract from me by  
     medical means.  The electrical stimulation of my
     scrotum with a probe didn't appeal to me.
          I borrowed a redundantly-inscribed beaker
     from the lab and brought it with to my private
     quarters where I stripped, manipulated my penis
     to full erection and stroked with mildly-lubricated
     hands until I swooned and ejaculated.
         Due to the intensity of the first spasms, most
     of my ejected semen wound up on various surfaces
     of my quarters, but I brought the wide mouth of the
     beaker into position in time to collect what I
     supposed was a generous amount.  Enough to dissuade
     him or anyone else on the staff from collecting this
     fluid with electrial stimulation.
          DNA tests proved the fluid was all mine, but
     many on the staff were unwilling to take my word on
     faith that the sample I had provided had been produced
     from a single orgasm.  I was simulataneously
     disappointed that I had no real equal to allow me to
     relate to my unexpected virility and
     conceited that no other male in the organization no
     matter what his age or physical conditioning could 
     match or hope to match my seminal productivity.
          I made frequent inquiries as to the development
     of other genetically enhanced humans, only to be told
     the engineers had to watch my progress carefully
     before they went ahead and fashioned a subrace of
     supermen and superwomen.
          The more time passed, the more I realized if I
     was to see more of my kind, I would be forced to 
     produce them MYSELF!
          To my frustration, the medical staff did not
     do anything more with my spectacular fluid than run
     tests and store small amounts in cryogenic freeze
     cannisters "for later".  
          Perhaps I couldn't produce them strictly by
     myself--going to natural route of sexual reproduction
     made more and more sense despite the fact the staff
     of the complex was %100 male.
          Not a single frozen human ovum was kept in the
     lab despite my numerous searches.  If one had, I
     would have certainly have used it.
          Yes, the mating urge had hit me.  And I was sure
     that just one session with a capable female would 
     bring about a successful fertilization.
     
     The magnitude of my semen assured me this was not
     only possible, but inevitable and absolutely vital.
          When finally they told me about Kiki Vale, I
     knew I had to arrange a meeting, no matter how
     vastly different our bodies were.
          The differences would only make the pooling of our
     resources more rewarding.


          In the meantime, the bio-engineers and cybernetic
     experts had created outlets for my sexual needs.
     Their harem of fembots were tailor made for my lust,
     capable of mating with me in various positions while
     their interior cavities captured my ejaculations, only
     to flush the fluid later on like bodily wastes.
          I used various means to save my semen, laying it by
     like medicine for "whenever".
          A mere week of coupling with the new fembots had
     awakened my augmented glands and hormones.  When I grew
     tired of six hours of sexual activity, I cleaned and
     stored them, retiring to my quarters to have the latest
     scientific information insinuated into my subconscious
     in mute layers via cranial receptors.
          I could shut these off when I pleased.  And I
     frequently did as my interests with my reproductive
     system and capabilities increased.
          Well rested and inspired to an appropriate mood, I
     could, without the aid of fembot stimulation, pump out a
     total amount of pre-seminal fluid and spermatazoa-rich
     ejaculate to the 85cc mark on the beaker.  I never had an
     audience to these sessions, at least I didn't let it
     worry me.
          I used the swimming pool and sauna baths at the
     complex with the other males, unhindered by my nudity.
     I had been conditioned without modesty concerning my
     body and grew up without a qualm at being naked in
     front of others.  
          Evidently, it was not normal or natural, but somehow
     desired that males possess a phallus such as I had been
     engineered to grow.
          I grew accustomed to the stares of the normal men
     as they evauluated my unique physique.  Men new to the
     complex seemed always to be disturbed and distracted by
     the display of my phallus when I stripped down to swim
     or relax in the spa.  One thing I was certain of, not one of
     them had a set of genitals as large as mine even though I
     had the overall form of a child for far more years than
     normal.
          When I first measured my penis, both flaccid and erect,
     I thought little of the fact it spanned a full nine inches
     when dormant and slightly over twelve when ready to erupt.
          This was at the age of fifteen, but as I should have
     stated already, my growth had been arrested for years and my
     resumption of normal human development slow and beind my
     chronological age. It was generally said I looked (other than
     my genitals) like a "kid".
          The fembots which were presented to me as a
     birthday present when I reached thirteen, were the
     only toys I ever had to play with. 
          Every member of the medical staff as well as the support
     staff, revolving agents, cleaning crew, communications,
     engineers and undesignateds knew about the fembots, but they
     never touched them.  The fembots had non-discretely been made
     for my use.  They were confined to my level of the complex and
     even then rarely ventured anywhere beyond the four chambers
     which comprised my unit. 
       

          Monitors 1 through 42 showed Agent Vale
     submerged in 50 fathoms of water, needing no
     specialized breathing apparatus other than the
     bulging pair of pulmonary sacs which were her
     most conspicuous feature. Having begun their
     lives as ordinary-looking female breasts,
     puberty had transformed those outward-thrusting
     hemispheres into dynamic, specialized organs
     which drew air from her lungs and contained 
     remarkable volumes in a network of innumerable
     hollow cysts.  
          File images from still photographs to 
     video segments documented her astounding growth
     over the years.
          To her, these genetically imbued features
     were little more than lures to sex-engrossed
     males of her aquaintaince, including the son of
     her adoptive parents.  That familial coupling had
     been the last act of sex she'd engaged in before          *
     ICU2 operatives were dispatched to claim her. 
          




   

          My own exo-dermal suit was ahead of 
     Agent Vale's in design; I regarded with 
     some conceited amusement at the crude
     "zip" fasteners which provided closure to
     her wetsuit--an outdated, unreliable design.
     Hadn't ICU2 employed their accumulated
     knowledge of magnetism to invent fasteners
     which relied on more sophisticated means
     of sealing and releasing?  
          We had moved far beyond rudimentary
     magnetism and had made reflex-action
     fasteners practical. With micro-sensors
     built into the suit and relying on the
     pulses of the wearer's nervous system
     to activate them, I could activate the
     personal safety measures built into the
     exo-dermal suit even with my hands 
     securely bound!

          In contrast, her "mission-specific"
     outfit was little more than an off-the-rack
     wetsuit, augmented only in certain places
     with specialty fabrics and expansion joints
     which were decades behind our simplest diving
     gear--and Agent Vale was designated a
     Super-Agent.  Was this how ICU2 chose to equip
     their elite operatives?  They didn't realize
     her potential!

          I did.

          From the moment the ICU2-dispatched boat
      anchored over my installment, mobile remote
      cameras were swarming the sector, capturing
      images from all angles.
      The fiber-optic periscopes which were
      designed to rememble surface bubbles had done
      their work spectacularly.  Long before she had
      gone into the cabin of the disguised fishing
      boat to change into her crude wetsuit, I had
      seen the outward results of one of the century's
      most daring genetic experiments.
           

           In approximately sixty minutes, I would get
      to show Super-Agent Vale my idea of genetic
      superiority.  And I wouldn't stop with a mere show.
      She was bringing me her body, and that was the missing
      element in my plans to dominate the world!


                   TO BE CONTINUED