All Things to All People Ch. 02

A thought tickled Dave's mind. "How sis Rob smell?"

"He had the most fabulous cologne on. It had me horny as hell within minutes."

"Go on."

"I don't remember the movie much. I do remember that they must have changed brands of popcorn. It was the best I've ever had."

"It had a wonderful aroma?"

"Yes! Absolutely fabulous."

Dave's thoughts raced. "Smell. A heightened sense of smell. She was working with a pheromonal hormone and experienced increased smell after the accident." To her he asked, "Has anything smelled wonderful today, like at the restaurant?"

"No. Nothing unusual."

Dave was remembering something from an internet article he had read last year. The article claimed that odor detectors were the next step in lie detectors. A person's moods affected how he smelled. Only in minute ways, beyond the ability to detect with the human olfactory system, but detectable with modern electronic sniffers. Animals could sense the differences. It's why some breeds of dog had such a good sense of judgment about people. The article theorized that ones thoughts, possibly unconscious thoughts caused very subtle changes in body odor as an explanation of why changes were detected even when one slept. "If her sense of smell has been heightened to the point where she can pick up on subconscious thoughts, she could be pulling out people's unrealized fantasies and acting on them. Wait a minute. She didn't want sex with Rod at the frat house."

"Cynthia, at the frat house, when Rob rescued you, did you come on to him?"

"No. I did earlier, but not then. Of course, he was furious. Slammed one guys head into the plaster."

Back inside his thoughts, "Mmmmm. Overpowering scents. Anger and rage would flood Rob's aroma with testosterone. Maybe blocking out the pheromonal response."

"Cynthia, suck on one of these." He said, giving her an extra strength menthol cough drop.

Meekly, she did what she was told. As the eucalyptus vapors filled her nasal passages, Cynthia became agitated. Did Dave know what he was doing?

"Dave, is this such a good idea? The clinic may not have any men, but the streets do. We're heading into the heart of the red light district. Turn back! I don't want to start acting like a whore!"

Dave smiled, his theory being confirmed. "That won't happen, not as long as you're sucking on one of those cough drops."

"Are you out of your mind?! This won't be cured by a cough drop! Don't make me do this."

"Think it though. That first day, all the smells were stronger than normal, as if you could smell better. You were working with a pheromonal hormone. Rob was wearing the best cologne ever. And, you're no longer meek towards me. Its odors. Somehow you're picking up people's scents and responding to them on some basic level. I don't know why you lose control, but we will figure it out. Until then, we need to get you an extra large bag of cough drops, or give you a head cold."

"I'm not sure, but it does make a sort of sense. You certainly don't seem like God's gift to women anymore. No offense."

"None taken."

He pulled off the freeway and navigated the streets to the clinic lot. A couple of guys were hanging about the clinic, waiting for something. He parked as close to the door as he could.

"Take another lozenge. I think we want to avoid what ever those two are dreaming of."

"Yeah, I agree."

They got out, quickly moving to the doorway and into the lobby. The clinic managed to survive in this area because the locals knew that it had no serious stocks of drugs and that you could get a condom here anytime you wanted for free. The hookers knew they could get free STD and pregnancy testing here, even if they didn't offer abortions.

Dave saw the doctor in the lobby, chatting with a nurse and receptionist. "Dr. Kilco. Can I talk with you a minute?"

"Dave Reston? What are you doing here? Did you get into trouble?"

"No and yes. There's a problem, but it's not what you think. I need you to read a CT scan and tell us what we're seeing."

"Why didn't the doctor who ordered it tell you anything?"

"A doctor didn't order it. We did it ourselves."

"Mr. Reston. Just what is going on?"

"I'll explain everything. In private. After you tell us what's with these scans. Please."

The doctor looked at the pair for a moment. She knew Dave and trusted him. The girl was a stranger, and while she had no reason to trust her, she looked frightened, as if a no would be the end of the world. "Okay. Come back to my office"

In the office, Cynthia popped another cough drop. The doctor looked over the scans silently. She checked a couple of references online. After 30 minutes, she looked up. "Whose scans are these? If you don't tell me, we'll call the police."

Cynthia looked up, frightened, "They're mine."

"I see. Is this true Dave?"

"Yes doctor."

"Mmmmm. The person whose scans these are should be dead. Two specific areas of the brain have been affected. This area here," pointing to the medulla, "controls the sense of smell. It has been hyper-activated. Your sense of smell should be so strong that it is painful to be here. Yet, the activity is highly regimented, as if geared for something in particular. This other area, that is where our sense of self is located. It is dying, 75% dead to be exact. Without a sense of self, you wither and die. Patients with brain damage here spend what little life they have left as conscious coma patients. So young lady, if this is your scan, why are you still standing, breathing and lucid?" The doctor's hand was near the phone, waiting for an excuse to call the police.

Dave started to answer, "Okay. It will be hard to believe, but I did promise an explanation. You see, Cynthia was working..."

"Wait. It'll be better if I tell it." Cynthia interrupted. Popping another cough drop, she started. "I was trying to develop a new fertility drug, one that doesn't cause excessive multiple births when we had a lab accident. I was poisoned with a compound containing a pheromonal hormone and potassium chlorinate. I guess the gas was odorless and colorless. Since then, I've had an almost, no a totally uncontrollable urge to fuck every man I come into close proximity with. Rob had just figured out that my sense of smell has been heightened somehow and that I was reacting to the subtle changes in men's bodily aromas. Somehow, the smell carries a detectable clue to the sex that men want."

"Is that why you're popping cough drops like candy?"

"Yes. It seems to deaden my sense of smell. Thinking back, my sense of smell seems to be getting better and more refined. The day of the accident, I wanted sex with my boyfriend. I've been putting him off. But there were no specifics in what I wanted. The next day, I went into a frat house to deliver paperwork and wanted the exact same sex that each boy wanted before he expressed his wishes. Now it seems I want sex that the guys aren't even thinking about, but want unconsciously. I don't know why, but Dave is the only guy I haven't wanted to fuck right away, though when I'm not breathing massive amounts of eucalyptus, he seems like the perfect man and I get very meek around him.

"The results you describe make sense as far as the smell thing. But why do I have no control. Every time I get near a guy, it's like the rational part of my brain recedes into the background, letting the sex maniac take complete control."

The doctor thought a moment. "First, give me the cough drops." When she hesitated, she explained, "The protective effect will diminish with constant use. You need to save them for absolute need. Since you don't try to bed Dave, you can hold off while you're in the clinic. Plus, I need to see this effect. Now, I think, assuming you're not shining me on, I can explain the loss of control. Our sense of smell, while not our most powerful sense, is the only one directly connected to our brain, no filtering. The dream of advertisers has been to discover sub-olfactory scents, similar to subliminal messages. Now, with your sense of self destroyed for the most part, your mind, trying to survive, is adapting to use what ever sense of being is out there to grasp. With the scents carrying the desires of nearby men, those are substituting for your sense of self. While inconvenient, it has saved your life. That's the other reason you can't afford to deaden your sense of smell for prolonged periods. It will literally kill you. If your theories are right, Dave, your friend will have to either be a sex maniac for the rest of her life, or die, withering in a loss of self."

As she talked, she observed Cynthia dropping into a mild stupor, edging closer to Dave, seeming to depend on him for sustenance. Dave noticed that the effect was getting worse. He was not sure she would do anything without guidance from him.

"Doc, how do we fix it?"

"I'm not sure it can be fixed. We're talking dead brain cells. They don't regrow. All we can hope for is to halt the progress. But she doesn't have much time. 75% in two days? Depending on speed of effect, she could already be too far gone. The only hope I have for you is that the scan seems to indicate that the speed of die off has spurts. There has been two massive die offs with slight die offs before and after. Is there anything she's done only twice since the accident?"

"I'm not sure. Cynthia, will you answer all of the doctor's questions as best you can?"

"Yes, I can do that." There was an almost dreamy quality to her voice.

"Describe the last two days briefly."

After being guided away from recounting the sex itself, things fell into place for both Dave and the doctor. "Sleep." They said together.

The doctor continued, "When she sleeps the chemical goes into over drive, killing cells left right and sideways. The longer she stays awake, the more time we have. I'm going to write you a prescription for a stimulant. Ignore the dosage on the prescription. Have her take one every four hours. This is a stopgap measure though. She can't keep this level of stimulation for more that 36 hours. After that, the stimulants will kill her. Once she comes off of them, she will crash for 12 or more hours, enough to finish the damage completely. You have 36+ hours to find a way to neutralize the chemicals doing this, after that, she will have no rational personality to take over when she's not near men. She will likely be a sex fiend who slips into a coma when ever there are no men nearby."

"Thanks doc. 40 hours. I don't know if that will be enough time. We're not even certain how the compound was created. It escaped in the middle of a chemical process, not as a finished product. I know Cynthia. She will not want to wake up once she crashes and the damage finishes. A coma bound sex maniac or dead. She'll choose dead."

"I thought as much. Cynthia, have a cough drop."

A few minutes later, the real Cynthia was back.

The doctor had a stern look on her face. "Did you follow our discussion."

"Yes doctor. Once the stimulants wear off, I'll sleep and awaken with no sense of who I am except as a sex toy for any man who happens to be nearby."

"Would you rather die, or keep living under those circumstances?"

"Die. It wouldn't be me any more. I would already be dead, the part that matters. My body should join my self if that happens."

"This is a prescription for hydrocodone patches. If the end comes and you know you're going to sleep, put them all on. You won't wake up. It'll be written off as a suicide. Once they autopsy you and see the brain damage, they will assume a virulent cancer or some such disease. No one will think twice about your decision."

"Thank you doctor. Will you get in trouble for writing the prescription?"

"Probably, but not irrecoverably. I'll be reprimanded, have to attend a training course on assisted suicide, possibly have my license suspended. I'll live. It's my hope you won't need to. Find a cure for yourselves."

When they got outside, Dave had a feeling of panic. One tire was flat. This was not the part of town to get a flat in. He put Cynthia in the car and started the process to change the tire. He did not see the two youths wearing gang colors sneak up and hit him across the back of the head with a baseball bat. A sickening crunch was shortly followed by his body's collapse to the ground. The people inside the clinic saw what happened and called the police and medics, but they did not get there in time for Cynthia. The criminals grabbed her out of the car and dragged her away screaming. When the police and ambulance arrived, the only sign that Cynthia had been there was a spilled bag of cough drops.

Cynthia, taken by surprise as well, had just popped a cough drop when the car door was yanked open and an arm reached in a dragged her out, causing her to drop the bag. When she tried to scream, a fist hit her face and a voice yelled, "Quiet bitch! Make another sound and we'll cut your tongue out!" A switchblade appeared in front of her face. She whimpered, terrified of these two and what they would do, as well as what she would want when the cough drop in her mouth was gone.

Dragging her to a beat up chevy, they threw her in the back and peeled out of the parking lot. Several hookers and their clients watched the scene with little interest, not wanting to get involved. The gang member that wasn't driving, the black one (the other was white, with blond hair) turned around and spoke in a deep threatening voice, "Listen up whore. You cooperate and we have some fun and you go relatively unharmed in a day or two. You fight us and you get hurt and maybe we keep you for bonuses to our boys. So, you gonna play nice or play bad?"

"Please don't. I... I just want to go home. Please just let me go."

"Oh we let you go, some time. Now, no trying to get out. This be an old cop car. No back handles." He said laughing uproariously.

They drove for about fifteen minutes before driving up to a run down house in a dilapidated neighborhood. The last of Cynthia's cough drop had dissolved and the eucalyptus was fading from her nose. She braced herself for the feelings that were to come, thinking, "If I lose control, it won't feel as horrible when they rape me, because I'll want it."

They dragged her out of the car and towards the house. She was just beginning to notice how sexy the two looked when they went in and her nose was assaulted by a foul stench, provoking a sneezing fit from her. All sexy thoughts flew from her mind as she took in the contents of the front room. Hotplate, bottles of cleaning fluid, packages of allergy medicine. She was in a crack house. The chemist in her head imagined it could already feel the noxious chemical poisons seeping into her skin, beginning their assault on her health.

A shove towards the back of the house punctuated a command, "Get back to the bedroom bitch. You stay there. Anyone come in, you give them what they want."

She timidly walked around the rubbish in the house and followed the hall to the back room. A plain mattress was there, soiled with who knows what. Sniffing, she realized that the chemical stench was less, the smell of other things being noticeable. With a sense of detachment, she watched the change in her thinking from the inside. She felt a need for sex. She was disappointed that she had missed it earlier. She could tell, this room was sexy and erotic. Fantasy visions formed before her eyes. She could almost feel the cocks in her body, several at once (this part of her did not wonder how five cocks cold fit in her cunt and ass at the same time). Her pussy was getting wet, signaling intense desire, the need for cocks, as many as possible.

She lay down on the mattress, reveling in simply being close to them, all of them. Her hand reached down her pants and began to caress her pussy. Sliding her hand in the juices flooding her pussy, she lay back and moaned, wishing one of them were here to take her and use her. Feeling stifled, she opened her pants and pulled them down around her knees, giving herself better access to her cunt and clit. Plunging fingers in, she fucked her hand, moaning and screaming with abandon.

Her cries reached the front room, causing a stir. "Who in bed with the white bitch?" Everyone shook their head. The guy who had spoken got up and wandered back. "Homies! That scared whore is gone crazy. She be friggin herself wild. I goin to screw her since she want it so bad."

He walked in and Cynthia looked up, a smile plastered over her face. "Oh please. Fuck me with that cock of yours." She felt a craving develop. A burning need. Getting up on all fours, she growled in the back of her throat. "I've been bad. I need to be put into my place. Can you teach me a lesson?"

"You bet bitch! You stay right there." He had his shirt off while he answered her. Sanding above her, he pulled his belt off, wrapping the end around his hand. "Beg for it bitch."

"Oh please, you gotta beat me. Make me regret being bad. Knock some sense into me."

He brought his belt down across her back, leaving a deep red mark. He was shocked when her cry of pain was almost ecstatic in nature. He hit her again and again, each slap of the belt across her back, ass or legs accompanied by scream of pleasure rather than pain. "Shit, this bitch get off on bein whipped." He said out loud. As he beat her, his cock grew and hardened., straining at his pants. Her whole backside from knees to neck had been bruised deep red and purple, a few cuts forming and leaking blood.

Finally, he cold take it no more. Dropping the belt, he dropped his pants, grabbed her head that was already rising and shoved his cock down her throat. He was too far gone to notice that she never once gagged when his tip pounded the back of her throat. Her hands reached down and stroked her clit, extracting moans from her that pushed his arousal even higher. With a cry of pleasure, he pulled out and shot his load all over her face and shirt. The craving for his cum overwhelmed her and she used her hands to scoop up what had landed on her and devour it like candy.

The sounds of the sex in the back room drew the other gang bangers to the bed room. Cynthia looked up at them, feeling the desire in her change. She stuck her lower lip out and pouted, "Gee guys, I want to have a party and you're all out there. Doesn't anyone want to party with me?"

Not needing a second invitation, the other four poured into the room, stripping clothes as they moved. Cynthia shed the remains of her clothes and stood up wrapping herself around one of them, whispering, "Fuck me big boy, fuck me until I'm raw and sore. Fuck me while your friend rapes my ass" She pulled herself up and sat down on his thirteen inch cock. The black man who had threatened her in the car, plunged his cock into her ass, eliciting a cry of pain that was replaced by moans of pleasure. Her rectum was torn in several places, the blood providing the only lubricant for the sodomy she was undergoing.

The two men pounded into her over and over again with unbridled cruelty, caring nothing for Cynthia's pleasure. Her gyrations made short work of their self control, each cumming within a couple of minutes of entering her. She came as well at the feel of hot cum pumping into her cunt and ass, crying loudly, begging them for more.

Turning to the last two, she crawled over to a short Latino and took is cock into her mouth, wriggling her butt at the blond driver. Taking his cue, her plunged into her pussy from behind, pounding her with a vengeance. She rolled her tongue around the cock in her mouth, savoring the taste of him. He as content to let her give him the blowjob to end all blowjobs. He tried to hold off as much as possible, but the show she had given was too powerful and he shot his wad down her throat, feeling her jaws clench and unclench as she swallowed every drop.