Dr. Wilson looked up as the door opened. "Penelope!"
Penelope Polkinghorne? Ben's brain mused to itself as the British scientist entered. As he got a better look at her this time, he noted how much she reminded him of Elizabeth Hurley -- although, astonishingly enough, even bustier.
Dr. Polkinghorne gazed soberly at Ben's mechanically nurtured erection as she spoke. "Suzy, our anecdotal data suggests that he has a capacity for nine inches, and he has already been quite ... forthcoming. Perhaps we should -- "
"Penelope, nine inches, really -- that's more for the Women's Institute for the Study of Penile Redundancy, not our Sexual Response Project. We can't seriously consider anything beyond the utilitarian maximum of eight inches for filling the vagina."
"All right -- eight, then. It will still go far in confirming the anecdotal data."
"Yes, but what if there is a ... permanent alteration? We may find that it is in this subject's best interests to remain smaller than eight inches."
"I have taken that into consideration. We have a successfully tested retraction drug, for cases like his, am I correct? We can always take back whatever is ... unwanted."
Ben scrutinized Dr. Polkinghorne: the subtle rocking of her hips, the softness of her voice, the warmth and steadiness of her eyes. There was not much mistaking it -- this calm, cool, rational babe was secretly excited by the prospect of Ben getting bigger.
What was more, the excitement proved infectious.
"You know, you make quite a persuasive case ... very well," Dr. Wilson assented. "Ben, I think we'll continue with your stimulation -- unless you mind." |