Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Coercion, Hypnosis, Heterosexual, Science Fiction, Orgy, Interracial, Black Male, White Female, Lactation, Pregnancy, Transformation,
Desc: Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - The Fountain of Youth in a syringe. It's real, and several women have taken the shot. But the government wasn't lying about the side-effects. After showing themelves off to the world, After days of toe-curling, pussy-moistening sex, they'll learn that rabid nymphomania is only the beginning!
They had warned her about the dreams; prolonged, frightening, and erotic. Like ten-thousand hands caressing her at once forever. And the moans, cries and ululations that were at the cusp between fear and ecstasy. Yes, they warned her about the dreams.
In the end, she slept for nearly three days; but that was not unexpected. When she did awake, she almost tripped. Her muscles responded so smoothly, so quickly! Her old equilibrium was out of balance. Old ... old everything ... or was it?
Mabel's heart thudded in her chest; could it be true — really true? For months, countless news stories had trumpeted that the cocktail really was all it was supposed to be — but the risks...
Damn the risks. What else did Mabel have to live for? What did the rest of her life matter at this point. Maybe a lot. Maybe it had all changed.
Fearing even to look down at herself, she stumbled to the wide mirror above her mahogany Vanity and dresser. And she almost gagged. They had warned her.
She really should not be surprised.
Just once, just this once, the hype was real!
A face smooth as powdered porcelain stared back at Mabel as her green eyes widened in shock. Her ripe, full lips opened wide — the face of a goddess-in-flesh, the sculpted beauty to provoke the envy of a supermodel, framed by a frolicsome cascade of loosely curled hair the color of a rusty sunset. No ... no this ... this was more; she — Mabel had NEVER looked this good!
The only factor that might detract from her beauty was the stripe of silvery gray from her temple all the way down in a distinctive stripe. Incongruous with the rest of her color, but perhaps it added a touch of uniqueness, excitement. And ... they said that would happen.
She giggled, and then laughed in a voice more vigorous than any she'd been capable of in decades. She twirled herself, catching a glimpse of the bed behind her and — ah yes ... there on the pillow were the shed leftovers; silver-white strands all in a tangle, detached from the rest. They also said that would happen.
She didn't think her eyes could grow any wider as her graceful hands explored her flesh. Trim and taut and lithe — but more robust than willowy; and her breasts ... she cupped her perky, plump mounds like a farmer caressing his blue-ribbon cantaloupe — and they were not far off in size. She flicked her taut nipples, fascinated by the jiggling grandeur of her proud, youthful mammaries.
Her hands swept lower, past toned valleys of soft, nude womanflesh — so tight and firm. It was almost ... eerie how there was not a trace of wrinkle or blemish in the least. And her feet, her legs and feet were sleek, statuesque and powerful in a way that she'd forgotten was possible. On a sudden, giggling whim she lashed out with a raucous kick to a wheelchair positioned near the bed, overturning the vehicle to test her strength symbolically.
"Young ... young ... I'm young again ... It was all true!"
Mabel was almost suspicious when she first heard the voice that spoke to her over the phone — did she know anyone on intimate terms who sounded that young? She did now!
"I called you before, but you didn't answer; still sleeping it off I suppose." said a youngish female voice that seemed tingling with excitement.
"Yes I ... I've been asleep ... for days." Mabel answered into the receiver.
"It depends, It can take up to 96 hours for some gals. Took me almost that long."
"And ... and I doubted you, Ethel. For awhile it just seemed too fantastic."
"And we're both living proof! As soon as I can get a hold of Bertha, the three of us will have the Girl's Night Out we never thought was possible!" Ethel insisted.
"But ... how long has it been so far for Bertha?" Mabel asked.
"Two days for her; give her time. The drug is making every cell in her body is fired up like the Old South during Sherman's March. Just like it was with us two."
"I ... I dunno I feel like I ... should have made plans - " Mabel began, mind awhirl. " A whole new shot at life! My youth back after all these years. I ... we had all resigned ourselves to growing old gracefully but now..."
"Now that this little miracle cocktail has hit the streets, we ain't old biddies playing Bingo anymore! We can go anywhere! Do anything! We can have it all! The three of us; like old times again!" Ethel's voice over the phone was practically quivering with excitement.
"I almost ... don't want to get too anxious; it seems like a dream — the kind of thing that has to have a catch..." Ethel seemed almost to hiss over the phone.
"Now don't be getting all antsy over the talk about the side-effects and symptoms! That sort of thing is just too incredible! Don't spoil what we've got now by worrying yourself sick!"
"Ethel, I've just survived a mutagenic compound that forced my body to grow fifty years younger! I don't think anything is too incredible after this!" And again, her hand began to explore buoyant, glorious tits and the athletic curvature of her belly and thighs down to her sleek, perfect legs.
"Well, nothin' is going to spoil this for me. And there's no backing out now! Think about it sweetie, if you hadn't taken the SilverFox what would you really have to look forward to?
"Maybe three months spendin' every day in your wheelchair watching Oprah, waitin' on the CandyStripers to get around to driving you to Bingo night at the Senior Home. And after that; probably six more months of Chemo — and we all know what the docs said about how likely you'd be to survive another round!"
"And that's why SilverFox will keep spreading," Mabel reasoned. "It's supposed to have a greater effect on those with the poorest health — women like us, getting to be our age. Women at the age where — where risks just don't have any meaning."
" ... legacy of the exiled Korean Scientist discredited by persistent, illegal human cloning and stem-cell experiments." came the perky, yet professional voice of the announcer as Mabel lounged, nude in her easy chair — still taking it in, still absorbing the magnitude of the potential before her. Ethel wanted to wait until Bertha was finished with her own transformation, so Mabel would give her old friends that, for a little while.
Their was something else familiar about the announcing Anchorette that was narrating an evening news documentary about the ongoing phenomenon-crisis that had so many curious, so many fearful, and so many joyous. What was it about the anonymous newscaster that Mabel recognized? Smooth, shoulder-length auburn hair, clear and flawless face doused in makeup, plump red lips ... nothing unusual about the newscaster, was there?
"But it is now known that this scientist was forced to become a doctor for a wealthy, Columbian drug-lord after all other professional doors were closed to him." The T.V. Showed an aerial view of the dense jungles of South America where presumably drug lords and the dangerous men who served them were concealed.
"Yet this exile gave him even more freedom; with a billionaire patron and no ethical restraints; dangerous experiments that would be illegal in a dozen countries led to a discovery that would rock the foundations of society and capture the human imagination." Next, the slim young Anchorette was walking in a clinical laboratory apparently about to interview a scientist. Mabel chuckled, as if the penultimate dream of eons of women would be forestalled by cold feet at the F.D.A. Her own feet, slim and youthful, caressed each other and slid up her own nude legs luxuriously as the T.V. Interview continued.
" ... and no one should regard this as some kind of — 'Fountain of Youth' answer to prayer. The fact remains that Cis-sulphonamide Xanoxylate has a number of extreme side effects that have doctors all over the world deeply concerned." Insisted an erudite-looking, white-haired doctor with a stethescope around his neck. "It was created by manipulating mutant stem-cells using toxic processes that have never been approved by the F.D.A."
"But surely, the alleged promise of regaining her youth would entice many women to take on the risks. Do you seriously expect most women to ignore the potential?" The doctor raised his hands in a pleading gesture.
"No one's denying that this is the greatest breakthrough in a century — maybe more, but it will take many, many years of development before this drug can be made safe. And I'm sure there are women out there that will take the risk, but they're risking a lot more than they were told by the drug-pushers that gave them access." His white-browed eyes widened for emphasis
"And so for now, Cis-sulphonamide Xanoxylate is a controlled substance, and you support that doctor?"
"Yes; for those women contemplating dumping their retirement savings on a vial of this stuff, The best course of action is simply to wait. Give us time to develop the drug's potential safely!"
"Alright. So give us some real facts; help us to dispel some of the myths surrounding SilverFox." The newscaster asked the doctor.
"First, why does it seem not to affect younger women?"
"The cascade reactions that the Xanoxylate sets up in the body are disrupted by ... what you might call growth and repair resources. The healthier and younger you are, the more growth and healing potential you have, the less effective the drug is."
"And so the reverse would be true?" asked anchorbabe.
"Yes, those who have aged significantly, or those whose bodies have degraded in health for other reasons are more susceptible. A thirty-something housewife might lose some lines around her eyes, but for someone much older, maybe grandma in a nursing home, the Xanoxylate sets off a chain reaction of regeneration the final results of which ... we're not really sure of."
"It doesn't sound so bad, Doctor."
"Maybe not, but the greater effect the drug has, the greater the potential for side-effects. Just looking at the data I've seen will curl your hair! And if you've had the occasion to witness the full chain-reaction — when the process continues non-stop, the consequences are..." At this, the doctor seemed truly worried, he shook his white-haired head in dismay.
"Tell us more, Doctor." Anchorbabe prompted. Mabel snarled, in displeasure. Grasped up the remote, and flicked it off. Ethel was right; what's done is done and there was no room for regrets. She wouldn't let fear and hype diminish the possibilities now before her. Listening to their pessimism would only spoil the joy that was now hers.
In a flash, Mabel realized the truth. She understood why the anchor-woman seemed familiar. No, she hadn't seen the person before; but after looking at herself in the mirror — studying the news-woman; she knew the truth.
"Hahah! Miss Objective-Investigator has used it herself!" Mabel was sure. "That face; when I studied mine, I recognized the same pattern in hers. In almost anyone alive, even a young women, there should be some wear and tear, but her..." Mabel again checked herself in the mirror. Her complexion was like silk-woven porcelain, so soft and perfect that it was almost unreal — something like the results you might achieve after five hours in a world-class salon. And ... her hair ... the newsbabe had a thin, barely noticeable patch of gray roots near her ears. Oh yes; she too had joined the sisterhood; probably changed all the dates on her resume — and now she can be the fresh, attractive face of the news hour again.
It was a new world, and Mabel was sure that almost no one was going to 'wait'. She wouldn't. She couldn't. She stood near her thinly curtained windows as the sun went down, aware that her fresh, glorious body was still naked. And she had a thought — an insight that had not troubled her in decades.
Her new body was like that of a cheerleader-pornstar at the Double-D maximum of her natural fertility. "If a man saw me now, completely naked — he would be overwhelmed with desire." She hissed to herself, eyes closing as she began to revel in the knowledge. "Just the sight of me, my tits my face, my abs, my hips — almost any red-blooded American male would become hard as a rock." She began to caress her ample chest. "To see me, his instincts would take over and he'd risk anything to possess me, to take me up in his strong arms and ravish me!"
Mabel sank to the floor, a hand cupping her hot pussy, lips already engorging. "I would ... uhhhh ... feel the crush of his strength against my soft, sweet breasts — his animal need would overpower me, and I would feel it — feel him spear me with his meat! His desire! A passion that neither of us could control..." she gurgled, flesh beginning to sweat as she thrashed nude upon the floor. Her breasts were warm, taut, and she felt a subtle pulsing, a quivering in her cunt, like an abortive orgasm. In her rational mind, she knew that was one of the warning signs. But she thrust that thought aside and felt her heart swell with pleasure at the thought of being a leaf in the wind of unrestrained male lust.
"So easy ... all I have to do..." she stood again, pussy plastering her firm inner thighs with hot, female wetness. "Is open the door; let them see me. The men ... ooooh ... will see me ... naked ... and the pleasure ... haven't had in decades ... will be mine again!" Her hands closed around the doorknob...
"Do it!" came a sly, whispering voice.
Mabel looked around, confused. What? Who said that? There was no one else around. No family, no friends, no pets in her lonely house. But she'd heard something ... she thought. But there was no one there. No one she could see.
"What ... what am I doing? I'm about to ... expose myself to the whole neighborhood? That's ... that's just crazy. I've got to get a hold of myself! They did say ... that increased libido was a symptom but ... wow...
"I've never felt so ... so dirty! So wild and randy! Gotta be more careful!" But it felt good. It felt great! Having a burning core of such fiery passion inside her was a pleasure in itself. There was a tingling need in her pussy, and dwelling on it, trying to satisfy it even in part brought profound pleasure! It was fun to lust! But ... not fun to get busted for indecent exposure. She'd be more cautious; but nothing would stop her. This new life would be lived to the fullest! No one now to judge her, gainsay her, and she had no personal responsibilities to impede her. It would be glorious. But she had nothing to wear...
The passersby on the Strip could have been forgiven for believing that the three women were a little crazy, or tipsy. Some of them, of course would have recognized that all three of the women parading themselves through Kansas city's most elite shopping thoroughfare were Silverfoxes reveling in their neo-youth, and all that went with it.
It was business and pleasure both for Mabel and her life-long friends. She really didn't have anything to wear that would suit her new lifestyle. They had all had to start off wearing shapeless, long floral-print dresses that pleasantly concealed withering bodies — but now those bodies were ripe, young, and smooth.
Mabel had been especially impressed with Bertha; who'd once been a dumpy, sixty-ish butterball of a woman. But the Xanoxylate cascade that had torn through her body was apparently very hostile to fat. Bertha's form was now pinched-in voluptuous. She had lost everywhere except her chest. Shorter than the rest of them, but with bulging, jutting curves of hip and breast that would trigger a man's most primal urges. Her dark hair was lustrous and smooth, with her silver-white stripe above her left ear — marking what she once was. And she was laughing, they all were — at the indescribable joy of this new existence.
Starting from the old-lady floral print dresses, credit cards and retirement savings were being consumed in favor of mini-skirts, an unnecessary profusion of high-heeled shoes, and ever-flashier ear-rings. But as the reality of their new beauty sunk in, Mabel and friends began to feel that it ... it wasn't enough. She wanted more glamor, more sex-appeal. So they continued, refilling wardrobes that had gone by the wayside decades ago.
Mabel was equally impressed with the changes in her old friend Ethel. The old Southern Belle had youthened into a statuesque, almost regal figure. Lean and tall with a runway-model willowy build, and smaller but proudly jutting breasts that accentuated her sleek bearing. The Xanoxylate reactions had whipped her cells into shape, remaking her into the spitting-image of the shapely, professional urban-socialite woman of beauty and dignity that so many of the new generation aspired to become.
Mabel thought that the touch of white near the center of Ethel's coppery coif of stylish, shoulder-length hair added a touch of distinction — making it less likely that she, and the rest of the them would be perceived as bimbos.
And she felt it. Mabel felt male eyes on her — not in pity or revulsion as before, but surreptitiously. A forty-something guy in a blue suit and tie glared at her chest for a brief, electrifying moment before dropping his gaze to prevent his young date from noticing. A bearded man in a Ford Chevy deliberately slowed down as he drove past, and she knew he was staring at her. At her! Her tits seemed to tingle at the thought. Desire. Power. Pleasure. They were hers again. And Mabel felt an awakening within her. She felt like a great, old oak that had lost its leaves and grayed during the winter months. But now, she was blooming, blossoming — not just her body; but her soul as well. Emotions and opinions began to rise up inside her — not really new sensations — but rather forgotten ones.
A powerful urge to travel, see, feel, and love swept over her suddenly. Desires that had been decades buried. But overlaid over everything was a sense of urgency. What if the hype was true? What if the Silverfox effect wasn't a fountain of youth; what if there were consequences that would come back to bite her? She felt a potent need to cram her time with pleasure and living. A young girl or boy might have a bright-eyed, youthful curiosity to see it all and do it all, giving little thought to the future — thinking they have all the time in the world.
Yes, Mabel was young, but would she pay a price? She needed to live faster! The excesses of Jim Morrison wedded to the zany irresponsibility of Britney Spears. And she liked it. Desire was a blessing for the gratification of its fulfillment. Her eyes widened and her smile brightened at the thought of all the love and adventure that was in her reach!
On it went, Ethel at first picked out a neat, beige business-like dress, until she realized her towering long legs were the best feature of her Silverfox-enhanced body, and began purchasing an ever skimpier series of miniskirts.
Mabel herself was trying a series of freakishly-colored cocktail dresses that she never would have dreamed of wearing in her old life. From neon-pink lycra, to a microdress in lavender, to a hip-hugging silver-metallic vinyl ultrashort miniskirt. Her card was swiped and swiped and swiped again.
"Wow, spending more tonight than in a whole year most of the time." Bertha remarked, arching her back so that the spaghetti-strap bright red top she wore would pump up her creamy, full boobs to best effect.
"We don't need retirement accounts anymore. I could have a ... a ... sugar-daddy!" Never had Mabel imagined that those words would cross her lips, nor that it was anything remotely possible. Until now.
"I could work again..." Ethel remarked, eyes wistful. " I have — we all have so much experience..."
"I plan to enjoy myself ... REALLY enjoy myself!" shorter Bertha replied, eyes scanning the passersby. There was a hunger in the voluptuous woman's eyes, a hunger for attention, a hunger to-be-hungered-for. She and Bertha had purchased and now wore neon-pink mesh-tops that both covered and displayed bikini-clad tits that jutted forth with callimastian curvaceousness. Bertha's endowments were slightly larger, closer to cantaloupe girth, but Mabel's feminine orbs were soft, jiggly perfect handfuls. They both wore cut-off half-skirts deliberately tight around the ass, Mabel's a wild, spicy pink, Bertha's a glossy black.
Mabel let out a wild whoop of delight as she reflected how unthinkable all this was back when she'd been a married housewife so many decades ago. What would her old, dead husband think if he could see her now? She used to be so modest. She paused a moment to ponder how much she had changed in just a few short days. There was a delicious thrill in so flagrantly defying her old propriety. New, fresh ... everything felt so new.
Ethel for her part, was now wearing a scandalously short, sleeveless rhinestone miniskirt pulled up so high it was almost crotch level, both to display her spectacular legs to best effect, while at the same time riveting attention to her sex. Mabel and Ethel shared a glance and a smile, and there was an unspoken mutual desire. The thought of men staring into her cleavage or hoping to catch a peak up her skirt would now fill both of them with an empowered thrill of electrifying joy. Let them stare; they both wanted it — craved that irresistible attention that the beautiful could not help but attract.
"You girls worked out a strategy, yet?" came a purring voice to Bertha's left. Sitting on a sidewalk bench reading a paper was a bosomy, gorgeous woman who seemed to have the exotic elegance of an Asian beauty wedded to the robust hips and plump breasts of mixed black or possibly Hispanic ancestry, a rare and exotic beauty, and all three could tell by the air-brushed suppleness of her complexion and the gray streak draping over her eyes that she too, had taken the shot.
"You can't just run around, showing off cleavage forever. There's a price to pay for what we've gained; and each of us has to work out a long-term strategy to avoid the side-effects." The newcomer herself was dressed in a more subdued, navy blue business dress, parted in the front where she salaciously wore a bra as a top over her bare skin.
"Do we know you?" Ethel asked.
"We've never met; but ... I think we all know each other very well." She flicked a finger through Ethel's white streak. Point taken.
I frowned, and folded my arms. "I'm not listening to the F.D.A.'s propaganda; they're just upset that the underworld controls Silverfox, and they can't find a way to tax it." The exotic beauty turned to me.
"That all may be, but the stories you've heard — are true. You'll soon find that the urges will become ... beyond overwhelming. You need a plan."
"Well, what's it to you?" Ethel asked pointedly.
"There's still a lot of controversy ... fears and misinformation. There are some of us who appreciate the value of solidarity." Speaking of solidarity...
"Where's Bertha?" Mabel wondered, eyes scanning.
The guy was putting his hands down her cleavage! Not only was she allowing it — Bertha had taken hold of a horny young yuppie and was actually guiding his touch!
"You ever spend the night alone — just you and your left hand?" She indecently asked the young, blond professional.
"I ... I ... you..."
"What would you do..." she purred. "Where would your hand go if it could go anywhere... ?" The man gulped. "Show me..." Bertha commanded, thrusting her jutting chest up again his palms, her eyes smoldering, a craving inside that was manic in intensity.
This was unthinkable! "We don't need guys for a Girl's Night Out! It was supposed to be just us, out by ourselves, proving we didn't need men to have a good time; and now this?" Back in the old days ... literally ... even back when men had desired them no one would have ditched her girlfriends to throw herself at a man, especially one she didn't know. And yet...
Mabel's breath quickened as she thought about what Bertha was about to allow. It could be her. Why not her? She could pick up a guy just as young and hot. To be desired, lusted, craved again ... She felt her pussy throbbing in a series of mini-orgasms ... breasts warm, almost hot.
"Here." The newcomer handed Mabel an oval-shaped plastic case of pink pills. Mabel dimly recognized them as some kind of popular birth control pill. "You my friend, can already feel what I'm talking about, and it gets worse."
"Feels ... so good." Mabel caressed her own bikini and mesh-clad chest as burning desires flared within.
"Fight it," said a new voice. She approached the Asian beauty and stood next to her with a posture that spoke of a close familiarity. "The nymphomania is part of the package; but indulging it only strengthens it." She was a sleek, platinum blond beauty with an impressive bosom that was still pronounced even inside of her dark, buttoned up jacket. She was salon-caliber beautiful, but wore long, dark pants to hide her figure. In the dim light, her white streak near the crown of her head was hard to see with such a bright natural color. "You can only remain young and free so long as you resist the cravings." But the Asian woman rolled her amber eyes.
"Total abstinence? Be realistic Jane. That's just not going to happen."
"It had better Jade, if they want to prevent the side-effects." This was a little weird.
"Uhh ... thanks for the birth control uh ... I gotta go; you two sort it out between yourselves, bye!" Mabel had to get out of there!
"Pull over! Now!" she sounded urgent, so Jason slowed down. "I can't wait to get back to your place ... I gotta have you now!!" Her face was a pleasing oval, and smooth, it almost made Jason wonder if she was on that new super-youth drug they mentioned on the radio.
The woman he ... he never really caught her name, tore at his tie with her teeth in her desperation. Jason was generally thought of as a handsome man, nice square-chin, strong and prominent nose and clear, blue eyes, young enough for a bright future and ambitious enough for a good shot at it — but ... no woman had ever reacted to him like this! Maybe it really was true that this new, anti-aging magic bullet turned women into mega-nymphos, well he'd find out soon en -
"WHOAAAAA!!" The gorgeous, buxom woman thrust her hand down his pants, moaning in delight as she felt his hard cock rising to life. She put his hands on her chest again, and began pressing herself against him. And he knew that she was expecting him to rip off her bikini-top himself!
In moments, vast orbs filled his grip, breasts plump enough that he could cover both tits with both hands, with still an inch of cleavage separating his two thumbs, he teased her nipples as she wailed in yearning. Strange, her nipples were almost ... moist? And so hot! Almost feverishly hot.
But soon, Jason's attention was distracted by her naked pussy, quivering and dripping as it enveloped his meaty rod as his paramour flipped a switch and pushed the front seat backwards, allowing a make-shift bed for the frenzied mating to begin in earnest.
They were in public! On a crowded street! Grunting and moaning and thrusting into each other, and at any moment a cop could stop by ... heh! This slut would probably seduce him! But then, the Kansas City police were never around when you needed them.
And Jason knew this would be no ordinary lay; if he could satisfy her enough to actually drive back to his place, he sensed that he and this curvaceous mad-woman would be rutting like animals for days!
"This is fer all you girls about Forty-Twooo ... tossin' pennies into the Fountain of Youth ... Every laugh, line on your face ... Made you who you are today..."
Her eyes shot open, then she laughed at the singing voice on the radio. And laughed.
And then clutched her head. Ohhhhh ... and waited for the room to stop spinning.
Apparently, Ethel and Mabel had gone out drinking after satisfying (temporarily) their wardrobe needs. Apparently, because Mabel found it difficult to remember much after those strangers had told her to control the desires of her new, gloriously young body. There had been a bar ... there had been Martinis, and Tequilas ... and fruity Margaritas with salt on the rim ... ohhh ... and neither she nor Ethel had had to buy any of them! Men were such dupes sometimes! She promised them nothing, yet the old ploy of buying her a drink was a constant. Of course, just a week ago, it never would have happened. Her whole world had turned upside down and...
"What was that?" She could see in the mirror on her dresser a strange mark on the small of her back. A tattoo. During the small hours of the morning, fueled by cheap liquor, overconfidence, and cash burning a whole in her purse, she'd gone out and gotten a tattoo.
It was an image of a cute, cherubic cupid seemingly raising his middle finger defiantly towards the viewer, with a 'you can all go to hell' sneer on his plump face. How deliciously wicked.
"That was my idea." Came a sibilant, yet familiar voice. Who else would be in the house with her? But standing near the bedroom door was a fiery, gorgeous woman that reminded Mabel of her new self. Red hair, but straighter than Mabel's own, that swept down in sharp bangs to cover her left eye for a sultry/mysterious air. It took a moment before she realized that the mystery woman was completely naked. Her flesh was covered in a vast spread of interlinked tattoos, showing symbols of freedom and defiance, and lovers intertwining. She had a pattern like rose-vines that obscured her full, jutting breasts and nipples, but there was no actual clothing. There were images of a volcano above a flooding ocean that obscured the stranger's crotch. Trails of naked women in flight twined around her slim, shapely legs.
"How did - "
"Think about it, Mabel ... do you believe that anything that could so totally transform your body wouldn't change your mind too?"
"You mean - "
"Yeah, yeah, honestly I'm a hallucination — a figment of your own imagination, and I'm everything you were always afraid to become!" The ghost-woman hissed as she glared at Mabel like a piece of meat.
"But I didn't - "
"Yes, you did ... because I'm something that you need. The deep, boiling desires you've tried to sweep under the rug during your marriage, and your entire widow-hood. You always wanted me, to be me. I wouldn't be here otherwise. I am what you crave; what you want to become." And she turned and walked through the solid door.
Curious, shocked, and worried, Mabel followed, not sure what she hoped to find.
Out in her living room, it was mid-day already — she must have slept for ... who knows how long! She could hear a lawn-mower in the front. Ah, it was Jamal. He was a good kid; he had hired on with a landscaping service to try and same up enough cash to put himself through college. As an elderly widow, she had admired his reliable work-ethic, as he tended to the hedges and did the work to keep the place presentable that an older woman could never do. But now ... as a Silverfox she admired his corded muscles, the raw, earthy sheen of his black skin, the powerful muscles in his bare back as he pushed the mower. And a seething heat began to throb in her groin.
"Don't you remember?" whispered her tattooed ghost. "When you were ... so much younger ... before you were married, you were always curious about black men. Remember the feelings that came to you when you watched them?"
"I ... I it was ... at that time ... where we lived it was just ... unthinkable — even to acknowledge feelings like that ... for a white girl like me ... at that time, I couldn't even consider it, not where I grew up."
"And so you denied yourself. Suppressed the urges that boiled in your blood to fit in with the silly proprieties of the day. But the urges that you resisted are a part of you, a true and natural part. Now! Now is the time to release your desires! Your old life, your old family is long gone!" But it was all too strange for Mabel.
"What are you supposed to be, my Id?" Freud would have a field day with her, she was sure.
"I am the Truth. The Truth of your own nature." responded the crazy, tattooed fantasy woman. And Mabel grunted, pressing her hands against the glass as her gut twisted.
"The hormones burning inside you are sexual ... the others you met last night ... they lie ... the more your suppress your urges, the stronger they will become. You are a hyper-feminine goddess with needs that cannot be restrained by petty morality!" Mabel groaned and arched her back as obscene urges tingled their way from groin to gullet, as her brain was being pickled in sex-hormones. Her Id put her lips to Mabel's ear as she continued her enticement.
"He knew you ... when you were old. What might happen if he saw you now?"
She beckoned to him. But the sight of a porn-worthy redhead dressed in a skimpy white T-shirt and lacy panties (And with a tall, cool glass of lemonade) certainly attracted Jamal's attention. But he would need a little bit of a push. The lawnmower slowed to a stop as he came to see what she wanted.
"Uh ... hey ... is Mrs. Hayworth doing alright?" He asked.
"She's resting. I'm her daughter ... Maven. Stopped by for a visit." Jamal's dark, sweaty brow furrowed.
"That's strange; she's mentioned her sons to me before; shown me a lot of photo albums ... but never once mentioned a daughter." His ebony muscles tensed.
"Yeah, see that's because she's a little bit ashamed of me. You see, I'm a total nymphomaniac!" At that, she poured the tall, cool glass of lemonade down the front of her white T-shirt, plastering the flimsy garment to the buxom curves of her overflowing breasts.
"Whoopsie..." she said insincerely. "Look what you made me do ... I'm afraid it's up to you to clean me up..." She laced her arms around his neck. "Every ... inch ... of my body..." she growled, glaring at him with open-mouthed, panting hunger.
He didn't need much more prompting after that, they stumbled backwards into her house, kissing and fondling each other in passion. Her hands roved between cupping his massive cock, to squeezing his beefy ass. He was mainly content with caressing her breasts.
They made it as far as her living room couch. It wasn't clear which of them had finally succeeded in tearing off her wet T-shirt, both of them attacked the garment. She assaulted him with her breasts, giggling as her nipples swelled even harder than she thought possible. Jamal quivered in delight as his face was buried in mountainous tits that easily obscured his face. "Maven" reached down and with a smooth hand began to jack him off. His great, dark, bull-cock flared to life; larger and more powerful by far than anything she'd felt between the legs of her long-dead husband. She openly drooled as her breasts were suckled.
She swayed and moaned, tickling his sensitive manhood, then vigorously pumping his meaty shaft to prepare it. Jamal was gurgling all over, quivering and growling as his urges were stoked to a fever pitch.
"I ... can't!" she moaned as she pushed him away from her, backing off. The two of them nude, sweaty aroused. She could see the frustration in his eyes, the disappointment and most of all ... the aggression.
"You forgot to trim around the bush ... Jay-Jay." He was puzzled. Then his eyes widened.
"That was what ... Mrs. Hayworth ... always reminded me of ... and it ... that name ... nick-name ... when I was growing up ... only she called me - " And then his eyes, already dilating, widened again. He would be remembering news reports about some strange new, illegal, super-youth drug that so far only worked on women. And how the government was afraid of it.
"Mrs ... Hayworth?" he was stunned, but his penis was still ram-rod rigid. She laughed triumphantly and grinned sharkishly.
"It must feel awful, Jay-Jay ... to be teased like this — for a naked woman to get you so hot and bothered, and then to tell you no..." She paced in a circle around him, nude ... wet ... dripping; but not from the lemonade.
"A man can go crazy when a woman does that to him! So frustrating ... makes you so angry ... so aggressive." Her green eyes stared pointedly into his. " A lot of men wouldn't tolerate what I just did to you. What about you? Are you going to let me treat you like that? Are you just gonna walk away with your tail between your legs?" It was working, she had stoked the fires of his lust, and now provoked his aggression.
Jamal roared and grasped up his shapely tormentor by her hips and pressed her firm, young body against his own. She felt the full press of his virile strength against her, and there was no escape for her. Mabel's voluptuous assets were now captive to his hard, black, relentless manhood. Here in his grip, she was helpless before his feverish lusts, and the thought made her gurgle with ecstasy. Pressed into the couch, he pinned her beneath him, her pussy quivered beneath his pelvis, and he paused as if to make certain he had her secured beneath his manly strength.
Though caught in his grip, she arched her back and postured her nude, massive breasts towards him, instinctively hoping to inflame his urges even further.
"Your lips ... on my nipples ... I want to feel your strength upon me ... want you inside me ... I need to feel you force yourself into my pussy ... I want to feel you explode inside me! I want it, I need it. Your male power ... Thrust! Thrust inside me and penetrate me with your seed!" Face contorting in lusting disbelief, Jamal could only murmur:
"Mrs. Hayworth... ?"
"Call me Mabel."
The sex was better than sex. The unearthly changes wrought upon Mabel by the Xanoxylate chemistry enhanced the experience in ways she did not imagine possible.
As her dark lover pressed her into the cushions, there was an eerie, odd pulsing sensation. It was as if she was feeling, sensing his energy ... his maleness. Strange pulses of raw sensation seemed to emanate from him, electrifying her erogenous zones. It was as if her new body had a primal awareness of his masculine essence, and it was reacting with increasingly feverish passion.
And when the moment of truth at last arrived, when his beefy rod of dark meat at last speared into her wet, white sanctum — she discovered that her sensitivity had been effectively multiplied. Grunting, straining Jamal had barely managed two stroked through her slippery cunt before a hot knot of seething passion burned deep in her groin, and waves of euphoric delight radiated outwards from her sexual core. She wrapped her legs and feet tightly around his pumping hips, snarling as she forced his sausage-thick eight-inches into her quivering womb yet deeper. Jamal emitted a wail of delight as he slid into her to the hilt, their bushes merging in heat and wetness.
With her hands, she tried to push up and manhandle her own tits, in a belated attempt to incite even greater lust in him. Years ago, she would have been fearful and suspicious of the male libido, but now the lusts of men seemed to Mabel precious and fleeting, a commodity that must be nurtured.
Jamal took the cue and roughly sunk his calloused grip into her pillows of bobbing, jiggling titflesh. He teased her engorged nipples with the right amount of pain and pleasure to send shivers of delight arching through her.
The first orgasm did not subside. As her body was pummeled with searing waves of sensual delight, the deep ache in her groin only grew stronger. It was as if each climax reverberated through her being, sending continuous echoes of sublime pleasure that had her scratching Jamal's back and cackling like a madwoman.
Soon, he bent her over the arm of the couch, and slammed into her doggie-style. She undulated, shrieking her delight and wiggling her ass back towards his mighty meat for encouragement. As he reamed her from behind, his hands continued their sensual onslaught upon her tremulous breasts, and while she tried her best to support herself with her arms, the pleasure of the building, cascading orgasms made her every joint weak.
But she discovered a new joy of sex under the influence of Cis-sulphonamide Xanoxylate. After several glorious minutes of white-knuckled thrusting, at last Jamal orgasmed, jetting his manseed deep into her womb, this intensified the pulsing stimulation she felt at his maleness, but as she relaxed and prepared for him to disengage, the two of them made a new discovery.
Jamal slowed, gripping the naked ass of his lover, who was still quivering in reverberating orgasm, he moaned, sweat pouring down his black, lean face — but he would not release Mabel's hips — his cock still buried deep. Instead, he continued to thrust. His cock just as hard and horny as before. His dark, corded ebony muscles seemed to strain, and his face was contorted under extreme stress and greater pleasure — but the mating did not end merely because he had cum. There was no change in his potency, he just continued to pound away, just a few minutes more of savage pumping into a cunt even hotter and wetter than before produced another climax, yet it was more of a dry-heave, her Xanoxylate-laden pussy had a side-effect that thwarted the natural tendency of a man to go limp after blowing his load.
"C-can't s-s-stop ... fucking... "
"Harder; deeper..." Mabel ordered. Jamal hoisted her back up clutching her ass as he stood away from the couch. She wrapped her slim, pale arms and legs around her ebon-skinned mate, still grinding her pelvis against his.
"C-can't get enough of you ... Mrs. Hayworth." With a rattling moan, his lips began plastering her breasts, throat and belly with licks, kisses, and love-bites. He could not consummate his lust in the way that men were used to; the chemical reactions in her pussy locked him into constant arousal, and his continued spearing of her womanly slit, as he fondled her breasts served only to amplify his desire. Soon, his sexual craving for her had flown far past any sane limit. Not being able to go limp meant that he could drive himself to unwholesome extremes of libido not possible under normal sex.
And now, his arousal had been multiplied far beyond the level that caused him to first climax, so much so that he didn't have the willpower to stop wallowing in her soft, naked flesh. And Mabel howled in delight. The pair of them stumbled through the house, thudding into walls as Jamal tried to find a better place to copulate.
"Can't ... stop..." his lip quivered as their bodies locked together.
"It's fair this way..." Mabel whispered, her lips to his ear as she wrapped herself around him. "You're quite the fit young stud, Jay-Jay. How many girls have you gotten all hot and bothered, only to cum too soon? Happens a lot with young men. You get us all excited, blow your load, and then you're useless the rest of the night. Not anymore." Deliberately, she squeezed his thick, black cock with her inner pussy muscles as if to lock him into her tighter.
"You, young man are going to fuck me for hours ... and then hours more ... you're so hot for my pussy that your body won't let you walk away! Harder ... and deeper... " she nibbled on his earlobe.
Somehow; they made it to her bedroom.
But hours was not enough. When Jamal became too exhausted, Mabel simply took over and climbed on top of her ebony lover. Most of the time she preferred to provoke the man into making the first move, but the sex itself was so sweet, that she found a delicious thrill in being the aggressor. As Jamal moaned in her bed, penis still erect (was it bigger?) She pushed his meaty rod into her still-wet womanhood. She was on the verge of another of her super-sensitivity orgasms by the time his full nine-inches of dark manhood bottomed out to the hilt inside her deep, hot womb. Again, there was that pulsating sense of his innate male energy, the sense that his body was radiating something that her own over-sexed flesh was reacting to. Just his nearness sent her nipples to tingling and her cunt to contracting. And so she reveled in the sensation as she thrashed atop his member, amidst his exhausted moans.
Mabel ignored the sun as it slipped from the sky into darkness. But she received a pleasant gift as Jamal's long-suffering penis delighted her with another creamy blast of manly cum to bathe her cervix. His body was still producing sperm, but the effects of Silverfox forced him to remain hard even when his body had no more sperm to give. This time, his manly gush was even greater, and having sperm inside her intensified the her body's reaction to his maleness — throwing her into yet another ass-clenching orgasm that seemed to repeat itself.
But when the sun re-emerged with the coming of the dawn, and she still thrust her sopping pussy atop him, Jamal wakened. Eyes bleary, speech slurred. He grasped her around her waspish waist, and tossed her to the side, his male aggression and some of his endurance returned as he arose. Mabel moaned in delight with the knowledge that his libido had strengthened to the point that he was going to forcibly ravish her again, and she caressed herself while groaning sensuously to encourage him.
He was slower and sluggish; probably had no idea how much time had passed; but if anything his penis was only larger, harder — as he battered into her throbbing sex yet again.
"Yoouuu're ... such a slut ... Mrs. Hayworth..." he slurred in his aroused delirium.
"And you love it. Call me Mabel." His thrusts were slower, deeper, but more deliberate. Her pussy squeezed tightly, and she savored each manly grind more thoroughly as he ravished her on his own schedule.
It was good that she genuinely liked this young man. Her affection combined with her fiery new passions for an experience of electrifying bliss. In time, as the mating couple writhed against each other, their haphazard tumblings took them from the bed, to the carpet, and soon dangerously close to the still-open door where they might be seen in their nude bliss.
She thrust her tongue down his throat as she reveled in his wiry male strength, arms encircling him as she sought to get the most out of their coupling. Jamal's hands roved over the toned sleekness of her back and buttocks, and sometimes inside her thighs. It was as if he was concerned that he'd spent too much time fondling her spectacular, jiggling breasts and wanted to enjoy the rest of her as well.
In their days-long copulation, they had worked out an intimate sub-language of grunts and quivers that allowed either of them to tell when the other was close to orgasm. Mabel, after the second day of non-stop sex, was able to tell when his next burst would be one of his many dry-heaves, or whether he had real cum to give. And this one was real. It was ... maybe the six ... seventh true orgasm? And it heightened her own pleasure beyond all reason as he spurted into her yet again.
But then Mabel made a mistake. More than three days of sex later, she was finally driven to grab a bit of food — followed by a shower as Jamal lay sprawled and insensate on her living room floor, damp with sweat and their combined sexual juices. The meal and the shower gave time for his mind-boggling libido to diminish, enough so that when she presented her wet, dripping body before him, all gleaming and slick and ready, his willpower was stronger at last, than his lust.
"-n-no more ... Mrs. Hayworth..." He looked ashen and pale, with dark circles under his eyes. And afraid. "You're more beautiful than Ms. July; but I just ... can't take it anymore..."He scrambled naked towards the door as if to save his own life. Yet his cock was still hard.
"CALL ME MABEL!" But she decided to let him go; even though his parting comment about her looks brought a smile to her face and a tingle to her pussy, she had proven her point. A young stud that had known her when she was old could now be driven insane with lust for her. As he hobbled weakly outside, to her porch and freedom, she followed him to the door, opened it wide, exposing her slick, dripping, gorgeous nudity to the neighborhood with a chuckle.
"TELL YOUR FRIENDS!"
But Jamal wasn't the only one who needed rest. Mabel had collapsed into her recliner soon after, too tired to masturbate, and lacking the drive or emotional energy to berate herself for her slutty behavior. Yes, a part of her was still shocked at what she'd done, but she was unsure if she could ... muster up enough shame to deny herself the narcotic pleasure of such a coupling in he future.
So she watched T.V., not for any reason, but because there was nothing else to do at the moment. Just rest, eat, recover. Soon it was late night. And the public-service announcements appeared. It used to be that these sorts of things would be on primetime, but now; with this one particular issue concerning the government, there was a new campaign. Ad campaigns that had to be shown very late, when the kids would be asleep.
THE FOLLOWING IS A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT FROM THE F.D.A.
Her screen told her. A nondescript, thirty-something man with traces of male-pattern baldness in a simple black suit was looking towards the camera as he walked through some sort of sterile hallway that one might find in a hospital.
"Thinking about wasting your life-savings and buying an illegal dose of Silverfox? Then you need to see what I'm about to show you." Mabel's face perked up. She was curious...
"This controlled substance made from illegal stem-cell lines has not been safely tested or approved for human use; and you're about to see why." He came upon a cell built into the sterile, white wall guarded by a clear, plexiglass wall. Inside was an Asian woman of slender build wearing a skimpy blue surgery gown that covered almost nothing. She was dark-haired and exotically gorgeous, with that ageless, porcelain-perfect complexion that Mabel had come to recognize. She was heavily pregnant, posture adjusting to support her gravid womb, at least nine-months if she was a day. Her dark eyes widened as she pressed herself to the glass at the sight of a man.
"This woman is eighty-six years old; looks good for her age, doesn't she? But there's a price to pay for her good looks." The balding man did nothing but stand there with a blank expression, and the Asian woman thrashed where she stood, then turned and pulled up her gown to expose her pale ass-cheeks and engorged pussy. She waved her naked assets towards the man, heedless of the camera. Finally humping the glass wall, pressing — squeezing her ass and drooling sex against the barrier as her plump womb shook slightly.
"Lucky for us the plexiglass is sound-proof or we'd hear an earful of inappropriate proposals. But I think you do need to hear what these women have to say; to truly understand the danger to yourself." The man pointed at the viewer as he walked to the next cell.
The next woman wasn't pregnant, obvious because she tore off her hospital gown the moment a man came into sight and began to strut and posture for his benefit. And everyone could see her perfect curves and taut physique.
She was a coppery-haired sex-goddess with a white streak near her left ear that immediately began stripper-like movements to seduce the male announcer.
"This woman is 102 years old. Looks good for her age, doesn't she?" A high-school cheerleader could not have had smoother, softer skin or a more toned physique. Her face was a hauntingly elegant picture of aquiline beauty with kissable lips, a perky, upturned nose and thin, arching eyebrows for a sultry cast to her crazed expression.
Taking in the entirety of her body, Mabel was reminded of one of those ancient fetish-idols that primitive cultures used to encourage fertility magic. Her breasts were trembling mountains of hard-nippled over-endowments that pressed against each other with natural cleavage even when nude. The full length and girth of her melons would have stretched the distance from the woman's shoulders to elbow, wide enough that Mabel could have covered her entire face in either of them should she be pressed up against so prodigious a bosom. From her brown aureoles, white trails of what must be breast-milk left marks down her more than ample teats.
Her hips jutted impossibly, widening into a pelvis that would have rivaled a car-tire for girth. Hips that seemed to scream out for childbirth. By her appearance alone, her true age could not be placed; no woman young enough to have such moist, perfect skin could have been able to grow such impossibly fertile sexual features.
Her blue eyes narrowed with cunning when the captive sex-goddess realized that the mere appearance of her charms would not be enough to secure what she craved. She stood tall and began to sway and thrust her pelvis in a good approximation of a Middle-Eastern belly-dance, moving with a sensuous, agile grace that would have been difficult even for a middle-aged woman. The man swallowed as she thrust her groin at him. Pixellation effects on the screen were almost, but not quite enough to conceal her flagrant indecency.
The captive switched to a more submissive posture, she hunched down backwards in sort of a crab-walk, bent knees spread and wide hips moving in a hypnotic circle that drew attention to her wet and ready cunt. Her face was contorted in pleasure as she began to speak.
The Narrator pressed an intercom button on the side of the cell, to allow her words to be heard.
" ... look at me! These tits! This body! I swear to you; you will LOVE my pussy! All men do! Just open the door; I'm not teasing you! It's all yours ... I'm all yours! I just need to feel your big, beefy, virile cock blasting off inside my hot, wet pussy! You'll love my pussy! You'll love me! I'm the best lay you've EVER had!" her insistence became almost angry as the man made no move to release her. It wasn't working. Mabel could see in the woman's face, that her mind was calculating, scheming to get at this man's cock.
"Ohhh ... I see how it is..." sex-goddess began. "You want a relationship ... a man your age ... probably looking to settle down ... that's good! Look no further! I just need you to f@$k me." There was BEEP as her indecencies were censored. "I just need your manly rod inside me. I just want to bear your seed in my fertile belly.
"I Swear! I Swear I will marry you this instant if you whip out that cock and f@&k your baby into me! Knock me up and I'm yours!" She began panting heavily, continuing to wave her engorged sex before the camera. "Think about it; a wife who never gets a headache! You can give it to me in any hole! Anytime! And ... and I'll cook and clean for you!" She stood on her knees now, thrusting her vast bosom against the glass as she masturbated her own throbbing pussy with her middle finger.
"These young girls today, they don't know domestic duties like me! I'm better! So much better!" The glass was starting to fog up with her incessant panting. "I know ... I know I've been a bad girl, but ... I just need a man like you to keep me in line! I need a man with a hard cock to straighten me out! Just cum in my pussy! Once you've f@$ked me pregnant with your baby, I'll be good! That's all I need! I'll do ... I'll be anything you want me to be, just knock me up! And I'm yours! I'm YOURS!" she howled. The balding man, now more red-faced than before, clicked off the intercom button.
"I would remind you that these women are not actors. That patient has been on Silverfox for a long time, but that's what's so insidious about the drug.
"It only takes one dose; and instead of passing through your system over time, it sets up a self-sustaining cascade in every cell of your body, so the effects will only grow stronger over time. Ask yourself how much of your sanity, your dignity are you willing to give up? Think about the price of losing a few stretch marks." He continued, until he reached a larger cell, this one had a full bed with room for medical equipment and nurses.
"If the previous patient had been granted her wish, she might have ended up a lot like ... this patient."
There upon the bed was a writhing mountain of womanhood. Her skin had the glossy suppleness that was expected in Silverfox women, but this strawberry-blond creature had them all beat. To say she was pregnant was an understatement. Her gravid mound must have contained at least quadruplets, and that was probably a low estimate. Her womb rippled and throbbed with her own contractions and the kicks from her innumerable brood.
She was tended by three nurses all wearing gas-masks, one of them was reaching between her outspread legs to help deliver yet another infant. The Silverfox's naked breasts wobbled and pulsed, easily the size of school-yard dodge-balls, another nurse was securing plastic caps onto her thumb-like nipples that secured through suction. And every few seconds, the clear tubes whitened with gushes of hot, white mother's milk that spewed off into containers somewhere. A third nurse was cleaning off two more infants that she had already delivered.
No sound could be heard, but the woman's deceptively young face was almost ... exultant? There did not seem to be any pain associated with her hyper-fertility, she seemed to be drenched in sensual ecstasy despite her travails. Then, she noticed the announcer watching impassively as she thrashed, birthed, and lactated.
Her hazel eyes widened and she tried to smile flirtatiously, her perfect, naked leg slid towards the glass and tried to beckon him towards her. It was absurd the way she tried to blow him a kiss.
"This woman is in the midst of giving birth; yet her unnatural sex-drive has been so heightened that she still attempts to seduce any male that happens by." He smirked. "The moment when she should be hating all men, yet she can't control her baser urges even here, even now." He glanced back at the over-ripe Silverfox as a stronger gush of breastmilk filled the tubes.
"Thirty children before her ninety-fifth birthday; at it would have been more had she not been given into our custody. Sex and pregnancy only accelerate the Cis-sulphonamide Xanoxylate chemical cascade. After this patient finishes giving birth, if anything her reproductive system will only become stronger and more fertile, and she'll be consumed with a desire to repeat the process yet again.
"Left to her own devices, she would go out and seduce new fathers to breed yet another litter of children. No, these women you see here will not die of old-age, they'll die from increasingly difficult births each time they entice a man to impregnate them. There's no rhyme or reason to it, no higher purpose. They've become pure sexual animals, living only for their primal instincts." The slim, graceful foot of the pregnant woman could be seen caressing the glass near the announcer's groin, as if to punctuate his statement. No doubt she hoped to make him the father of her next brood.
"Worse, we don't really know what the long-term consequences will be for children born to Silverfox-contaminated mothers. Who would want the risk for their own children? I'm Todd Glasscox, and I hope this message has been as informative as it was troubling."
But the follow-up and contact information displayed at the end was lost to Mabel as a jolt of painful pleasure shot through her lower body. She thrashed naked on her recliner. The sensation was coming from her hips.
Her skin was reddening, and she could feel an aching ... a pressure from inside — much like ... long, long ago ... decades ago when she'd been young ... she remembered the growing pains of adolescence ... it was like that ... just like that. But centered around her hips.
"You know what that feeling means..." Her Id whispered in her ear, materializing behind the recliner with a chessire-cat grin.
"G-growing pains ... in my hips ... they're getting wider, stronger ... so I can better give birth to more and more babies."
"Sexier too ... more power over men..." her Id hissed.
"I should be ... scared, at the public service message. The thought of becoming like those captive women ... should frighten me ... instead, it just makes me hot! It just makes me feel more sexual, and beautiful. It makes me wish I could get Jamal back here..."
"He's just one man; you can have many!" her Id reminded her.
"Yes ... many men..." Mabel groaned, flicking her clit. "But ... one thing ... that does bother me ... I've heard a lot of rumors about the side-effects. And I know that what they've shown us here isn't the real danger. There's a good reason, a very good reason why those women are locked up.
"Their nymphomania is embarrassing, but if the rumors are true, there's a much more powerful reason why those women have to be contained ... They haven't told us the full truth; there's a lot more than meets the eye..."
"And nipple..." the hallucinatory woman leaned over and began to suck on Mabel's nipple; it felt real enough, and she moaned in ecstasy, putting out of her mind the risk, the danger, and the real story that she knew the government wanted to hide...
What will happen to Mabel's other girlfriends?
What terrible truth is the government afraid of?