Nicotina: Part One – Origins
By Smokewriter
It was late, past midnight, and it was a Friday so Christina Warner was doing the same thing she did every Friday; work late at Ramjac Biopharmaceuticals. When all that was waiting for the plain twenty something lab assistant was a cat, a microwaved meal and whatever reality show was in season, working late didn’t seem like much of a chore. Even her pet cat Willow seemed to hold her in vague disdain for her pathetic social life. Her co-workers knew this too and all too eagerly dumped their own work on her, knowing that Christina, like all good but spineless people, would pick up the slack herself. And so it was that late on a Friday Christina was the last person left in the “Batcave”, the research team’s name for the system of laboratories where the company’s experiments were conducted.
The experiment Christina was monitoring was potentially the greatest asset of the upstart biopharmaceuticals company. It was a huge vat of bubbling green liquid that had been distilled from a newly discovered plant found in the Amazon. Chemicals n the plant were found to miraculously slow down or even reverse the aging process as well as improve the sexual characteristics of the insects that had come into contact with the plant. Unfortunately, the plant was so rare the contents of the current experiment represented the sum total of all the plants Ramjac had been able to recover after years of expeditions. While the compound in its current condition was too unstable for human testing, the company’s executives believed the applications for its use in the cosmetics industry were practically limitless.
With such a revolutionary product on the horizon, however, it was impossible to keep word from leaking within the industry. Hearing word of a modern day fountain of youth, competitors waited jealously for word on what exactly it was that Ramjac had discovered. The most ruthless competitor, controlled by an aging matriarch, decided to engage in a spot of industrial espionage. Her mistake was to hire two thieves, Vince and Lance, who were closer to street thugs than James Bond. Having managed to disable the security systems and believing the building to be empty they walked through Ramjac HQ with a cocky impunity. Following the plans provided to them they were soon in the labs where their job was to secure a sample of the miraculous plant extract.
Christina, engrossed in her work on a platform overlooking the experiment, never noticed the two men approach so she dropped her clipboard to the ground when a burly hand grabbed her lab coat. Instinct rather than rational thought caused her to fight back, kicking and flailing wildly and, ultimately, ineffectively. The larger of the two wrenched her neck from behind and held her immobile as she faced off with the smaller one. A professional thief would have then proceeded with the robbery but these men were vicious and cruel by nature. Seeing the helpless and mousy Christina ensnared in his buddy Lance’s grasp awakened the predatory instinct in his cohort. Vince was a sadistic and swarthy man in his mid thirties who had a long record of sex offences to his name. He decided to have some fun with his quarry. Casually lighting a cigarette as though he had all the time in the world, he blew a long stream of smoke in the helpless girl’s face and roughly fondled her small breasts through her clothes. Christina, a non-smoker, coughed and redoubled her efforts to escape Lance’s vice-like grip.
“I hope you keep struggling, bitch, I like it better when they fight back,” Vince said and smiled, a shark toothed rapacious thing, and slapped her hard across the face. Both men laughed as Vince slowly began to undo his zipper. It mattered not to him that Christina wasn’t pretty, that she had an odd shaped nose and skin bearing the scars of a battle with acne in her youth. What he craved in his dark heart was domination over women.
Terrified, Christina scanned the lab for any chance of escape. First she needed to free herself from the powerful arm of the man mountain that held her from behind. She bit down on Lance’s forearm as hard as she could.
“You little bitch!” Lance roared. He released his grip and held his forearm where she had managed to draw blood.
Though still trapped and powerless Christina looked defiantly at the man and was glad that she had inflicted pain on him. She and Lance locked eyes for a heartbeat and then he roared angrily like a primitive beast and lunged towards her.
The enraged man reared back, gathering all the power in his massive frame and attempted to unleash all his brutish strength on the tiny woman. But his blow, while powerful, was also clumsy and awkward. Christina was able to dodge most of the impact. Instead of flooring her, the momentum caused her to reel backwards off balance toward the edge of the platform. Time slowed down almost to a stop as Christina teetered helplessly on the brink of falling into the boiling liquid below. As he watched, some inkling of humanity that remained in Vince caused him to reach out to stop Christina’s inevitable fall. But as Christina struggled desperately to regain her balance all she succeeded in doing was knocking the cigarette from Vince’s hand. The thin white cylinder spun in a perfect arc before sinking into the unstable liquid below. A split second later, accompanied by a large splash, Christina followed it.
Christina screamed horribly in pain as she thrashed about in the liquid. Soon the screams became whimpers as the life ebbed from her body and she began to sink limply into the vat.
Lance and Vince took one look at each other, realised the situation was fucked up, and decided to get the hell out of there. Quickly Vince dashed down to floor level and filled a small vial with the green fluid that contained Christina. Seconds later both were fleeing from the laboratory, leaving the girl for dead.
Alone and slipping from consciousness, strange images flashed through Christina’s mind as she sank deeper into the strange fluid. The scalding unstable liquid invaded her every orifice but she was beyond mere pain and her body was shutting down, heading towards a grim and seemingly inevitable death. It was then that something truly strange happened. The chemical compound began to bond to Christina, becoming part of her and suffusing her with new strength. From her rapidly firing synapses it took her ideals of beauty and began to transform her dying flesh. Submerged deep in the fluid Christina began to writhe almost wantonly as images of the most beautiful raven haired girl flashed through her mind – green expressive eyes, perfectly tanned skin, cute nose, bright white teeth – the face of a fashion model but the body of a girl built for action – long toned powerful legs, wide hips, small waist and perfectly shaped C-cup breasts that rode high on her chest. The girl looked at her with a fierce intellect undercut by a playful look in her eyes.
“Come here silly,” the girl said and reached out to her, “You want this, you’ve always wanted this.”
Although Christina never considered herself gay and she had been with men before, nobody she had ever met had caused her to stir deep down like this girl, this unknowing goddess. With her last physical effort Christina reached out like Michelangelo’s Adam and received her gift.
Life! It flowed suddenly back into Christina’s body, causing her to spasm within her glass womb. She thrashed about in the throes of change, her mind became numb with pain as her bones changed – reformed and lengthened, her hips pushing outward, pressure building in her chest. The fluid bubbled and foamed, some leaking over the top, and then all was still for a moment. A perfectly manicured hand knocked against the side and, unbelievably for a blow by such a delicate thing, it impacted the glass with a mighty force. A spider web of cracks spread from the point of impact as the container groaned with the strain for a second before shattering, the liquid and the naked body spilling from within. Coughing and retching green fluid from her lungs, Christina pulled herself from the concrete floor.
The Christina that stood trembling in the lab was not the same woman that she had been moments before. The new Christina was the physical embodiment of her dying mind’s idea of physical perfection. She had grown at least six inches in height, causing her clothes to shred, and her body was hard and soft in all the right places. Christina, still suffering not only from pain as the mutation spread through her but also from the trauma of the attack, noticed precisely none of the physical changes. Mindlessly her shapely athletic legs carried her to her spare lab coat, which she was unable to button across her expanded breasts, and it clung awkwardly to her wet dusky skin. Then she made her way to her car on autopilot and somehow managed to make it to her apartment in the way that it is possible to drive a familiar route and remember none of your journey after reaching your destination. Still wearing the ill-fitting lab coat she collapsed on her bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.
A large black cat, who had been following the strange woman since she entered the cat’s home, sniffed at her prone form and somehow knew that this was the same silly human who fed her. Satisfied, the cat relaxed and soon it too fell asleep. As Christina slept the compound continued to alter her, now internally, right down to the genetic level. Her genes were shredded and recoded to the point where they were as removed from an average person as humans were beyond apes.
Some time later, in the last hours of darkness, Christina awoke feeling better than she ever had. Her body positively sang with energy and her mind felt clear and removed from the dull cloud of the past hours.
“The robbery,” she thought, “I have to report it.” And then as the memories of what the men had tried to do to her flooded back she thought that the men needed to pay for their actions and that she had to make sure they would. Immediately she sprang from the bed, almost flipping to her feet with a fluid grace and then she saw her and froze in her tracks. The picture of feminine perfection stared at her from the full-length mirror in her semi-darkened bedroom. The dark haired beauty froze in her steps too. She also bared her teeth comically when Christina willed her mouth to do the same and then stuck her tongue out of her mouth in time with Christina. As astonishment slowly turned to realization, Christina knew that the perfectly toned body, the generous breasts, and the traffic stopping face from the girl of her dreams were all now hers.
It was then that the first terrible hunger pangs hit her like a bad cramp. Except the cramps weren’t emanating from her stomach, they came from behind her perfectly proportioned breasts.
She rushed the short distance to the kitchen and the fridge door smacked noisily against the wall as Christina shoved a handful of cold cuts into her mouth in a very unladylike manner. Then milk streamed from the side of her mouth as she gulped noisily from an open carton.
The food did not sit well. Seconds later it resided on the floor as Christina disgorged the contents of her stomach. Instinctively knowing she needed some other form of sustenance she hurriedly threw on an old pair of sweat bottoms and an oversized old t-shirt, the only items of clothing that could contain her new statuesque figure, and bounded out into the night.
Christina, like most young lab assistants, wasn’t exactly paid well and her folks, though good people weren’t wealthy, so she resided in what real estate agents would describe as one of the more “colourful” areas of the city. Soon she found herself walking alone through dangerous alleys and streets she would normally avoid. Prostitutes were eyeing her with hard dead eyes. The resident ladies of the night wondered whether this was fresh competition, a woman with whose natural beauty they couldn’t compare.
The hunger hit her again. Hard. Her chest cramping badly she fell pathetically to the ground, moaning and clutching her arms around her chest willing the pain to subside.
“What the fuck is wrong with me!” she screamed desperately, tears streaking down her cheeks, and attracting the attention of all the nightwalkers on the unlit street.
Momentarily she lay there in a filthy gutter and contemplated giving up. Really it had all been simply too much for a girl to take – robbery, attempted rape, near death, a strange and wondrous physical metamorphosis, and now this unbearable gnawing hunger all in the space of a few hours. She squeezed her emerald eyes shut tightly and wished it all gone, her life back to normal.
“Are you okay hun’?”
The scantily clad prostitute that leaned over her prone form had seen better days. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties but years of hard living and a fondness for the needle had etched severe lines into what must once have been an attractive face. Now it was creased and she looked tired and weary despite the heavy make-up and bad blonde dye job. The woman’s appearance, though, was not what roused Christina.
“You smell … good. Really good,” Christina mumbled, almost whispered, to the woman.
“Cold turkey’s not they way to go darlin’,” the woman drawled, mistaking Christina’s behaviour for something else, before taking a long drag from the cigarette she held by her side.
Christina watched the woman inhale the smoke as if in slow motion. The smoke hung temptingly in the prostitute’s mouth before being sucked deep into her lungs in a single satisfying breath. Christina’s pupils dilated. Seconds later the cloud of smoke reappeared, cascading from the woman’s thin painted lips.
Christina’s skin flushed at the sensation the mere smell of the exhaled smoke provided as it swept over her.
“Need …,” she moaned softly, dreamily returning to her feet.
“Hun’, you don’t need to be anywhere near here. A model junkie like you should be riding millionaires in limousines to get her fix, not wondering these streets alone. You gonna get yourself in all kinds of trouble.”
The prostitute paused her lecture to take another drag off the long all-white cigarette.
It was more than Christina could bear.
“Need – the – smoke!” she cried almost petulantly. Instinctively and with blinding speed she clasped the woman’s head in her hands and wrapped her own plump lips against those thin lips. Greedily she sucked the smoke from the prostitute’s mouth and into her own virgin lungs.
Fireworks, a chocolate fudge sundae, a choir of angels singing Handel’s “Messiah.” Christina had heard the phrase “better than sex” before but she had no reference for it, it was just an empty saying. But this, this was better then any sex she had experienced. Better by an order of magnitude. This was right; it was genetically coded into her new body. It was who she was.
Christina knew that smoking wasn’t like this for other people. It couldn’t be like this or else everyone would smoke, and they would do little else but repeatedly partake of the smoke and let the nicotine gently caress their lungs and from there spread wave after wave of pleasure through their bodies.
Reluctantly she exhaled the smoke, pursing her fleshy lips into a round shape and wreathing her head in the delicious smoke. The prostitute’s face contorted as Christina released her grasp, changing from shock to anger, and then as Christina’s exhale hit her, finally turning to confusion.
“Here,” the streetwalker dumbly offered Christina the half smoked cigarette knowing that she needed it.
The newly formed beauty looked at the ephemeral object, regarding it with awe and desire before consuming the rest of the cigarette with a single powerful draw. Salty juices stained the front of her sweat pants as she exhaled joyously, holding her arms aloft and expelling such plumes of smoke that she was almost obscured from sight.
Her midnight hair glistened with an inhuman vitality and her flawless skin paled to the point where it was as if her skin glowed from a light within.
“I want more,” she said more confidently, rejoicing in the new truth that she, Christina Warner, was a smoker—had been reborn to be a smoker.
The other prostitutes that occupied a corner further down the block looked at this display and backed up, deciding that this new girl was obviously some sort of crazy bitch who should not be messed with. But the one who had helped her had caught the full force of her exhale and now she knelt before her new smoking goddess and looked upon her with reverence and devotion.
“Please, take these humble offerings … Mistress,” she said and produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
The shock of the woman kneeling before her and addressing her as mistress brought Christina abruptly out of the rapture of the moment. She stopped and stared at the woman gazing up beatifically at her and digested what had happened. A single burst of smoke from her lips had turned a stranger into a devoted servant. It was too much to take in just then, and she needed time to ponder what exactly was happening to her.
She grasped the woman’s offerings and turned, running back to her apartment and covering the distance with an ease and speed she had not previously possessed. She felt alive and vibrant and chuckled to herself as she thought of the government warnings about cigarettes damaging your health. She could feel her lungs working, processing the nicotine into nourishment for her new body.
Once home the fledgling desire to light up again overwhelmed her. The door of the bedroom slammed behind her as she lit a hastily extracted cigarette with one hand, her other hand roughly pulling her sweats and panties down. Her fingers darted for her newly bald pussy, her labial lips already glistening with her dew in the last of the moonlight.