From Cure to Sweet Corruption
Chapter 1

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Ma/ft, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Mind Control, Heterosexual, Science Fiction, Group Sex, Harem, Pregnancy,

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - My semen can cure cancer. I could have earned a halo for offering it for free, but market forces allowed me to charge a steep price. I collected in the form of sex with the patient's nubile relatives in a tropical paradise, where I allowed myself the satisfaction every whim. Best of all, I got the girls to love it.

It was a stunning breakthrough. A cure for cancer! The scientists found it by searching through the DNA sequences of millions of people, studying thousands of genes. I don't know the details; I don't want to know. After the basic discovery, what they needed to develop a practical therapy was people with a very rare combination of genes that would produce a protein that would cure the cancer.

They came up with a test. Given a saliva sample, the lab could within a few weeks determine whether a person had the magic set of genes or not. They set up mobile stations at events frequented by the public, so volunteers could easily get tested. Two people were identified that way, but they needed a lot more. So they offered a $10,000 reward if you took the test and it turned out you had the Right Stuff.

That was incentive enough for me to stop by the station on the street corner instead of walking by: a lottery with free tickets. And naturally, because I am writing this, I was a winner. I produce factor K374-trans-cys-34-oxy-blah-35. Right. We just call it K374.

So I went into Mass General, gave some blood, and came out with $10,000. Well, actually the fine print said I had to give blood three times, a month apart. Then I got the money. It was convenient for me because I lived right in Boston. But already by my second visit, the bigwigs in the plush conference room told me that I held out hope for mankind, and if I volunteered to help them I would surely earn a place in heaven. They didn't use those words, but that was the gist of it. They also offered me $200 a day for my troubles, and suggested they would need me perhaps 40 days a year. $8,000 before taxes. It seemed fair.

But I hated my day job as a telemarketer, and the $8,000 was hardly enough to let me quit my job. I decided to try bargaining. I told them that I might keep doing this for $100,000 a year. They were sorry, but policy did not allow them to pay anywhere near that. I decided to call their bluff, figuring I was a rare enough commodity that they wouldn't hold it against me if decided later I really missed the extra income and was willing to work on their terms.

The hospital's research program ground to a halt, putting careers in jeopardy. Where there's a will, there's a way, and they found an outside foundation willing to cough up the money. $100K a year? Goodbye telemarketing!

But naturally they wanted a fair amount of my time for that sum. They wanted urine samples, stool samples, saliva samples, tissue samples, bone marrow samples, and semen samples. After a few weeks, they decided the semen samples were what they were most interested in. Well, those were more fun to give than any of the others.

I was 25, single, and not sure what I was going to do with my life. So I had time to sleep late, surf the web, go out drinking, hang with friends, watch TV, and jerk off to earn my living.

In the hospital, first I masturbated in a small room and left the little plastic cup on the counter. Then they moved me to a room with a small door in the wall. They asked me to push the little plastic cup through the little door just as soon as possible. I said fine. So after my orgasm was finished and I cleaned my penis off, I passed the cup through the little door. The instant I passed it through, I could hear quick scurrying around on the other side of the wall. Next, they said they didn't mean to be indelicate, but could I in fact provide it any faster? That is, minimize the time between emission of the semen (their terminology) and passing the sample to them?

Well, OK. So I jerked off standing up, right next to the door, and as soon as the second spurt was in the cup, I put the lid on and passed it through. But that still apparently was enough. They brought in a new device. It was a little funnel connected to a short tube leading through the wall. It had a constant mild suction. They wanted me to ejaculate into the funnel. This wasn't so much fun any more. I asked them what the heck was going on. They were evasive, and when pressed said it was right in my contract that they didn't have to tell me anything. I decided to hire a private investigator with some of my $100,000 a year, and he had quite an easy time collecting the info.

What they were discovering was that this precious K374 was very tricky and unstable. It lasted longest in semen, but it still didn't last long. The semen I put in the little funnel was being sucked straight into the rectum of a terminally ill man or woman. No wonder they didn't want to tell me. The idea was to get it in contact with the patient's mucus membranes in seconds. They also tried sucking it right into a woman's vagina. That worked even better, though still not all that well. But then these test subjects were women in their 60s or 70s. So next they had started with women in their 30s who had terminal cancer, women whose reproductive systems were still up and running. I joked to the PI that I could just fuck the woman outright instead of pussyfooting around with tubes. Of course, a woman with advanced cancer might not be such an appealing partner.

The private investigator offered me a bit of free advice, which set me on my path. The scientists had found only twelve people in the US who made K374, and seven of them were women, who were just not very good at producing semen. I had a huge amount of leverage if I chose to use it. I decided to pay him to find out a little more. There were six other hospitals that were salivating for the opportunity to work with a K374-producing man just as soon as another could be found. Research ethics prohibited any of them contacting me. I had been allocated to Mass General, and that was that. But two of those other hospitals were also in Boston. The PI suggested I contact a high-class agent, because there was a lot of money in it. He found me Frank.

After Frank completed his preliminary investigation, he met with me in person. I'll always remember his broad smile. He said I could get as rich as I wanted. All I had to do was open the bidding for my services and the cash would pour in, some under the table and some legal. He was into the money, because he was getting a cut. In no time we had offers of $5 million a year. But Mass General won the bidding war to keep me, and I moved to a luxurious townhouse on Beacon Hill, an easy walk away. So for a few months I lived it up, had friends over, and blew lots of cash.

But there was something unsatisfying about ejaculating into a little plastic funnel, knowing that the semen was being whisked into a vagina. I liked vaginas, and I liked the idea of ejaculating into them directly. I told Frank, and he gave me a little smirk before investigating the possibilities.

There were all sorts of legal and ethical problems with a hospital letting a guy fuck the patients, even for therapeutic purposes. But once more, where there's a will there's a way. Many women facing a death sentence were willing to have sex with a strange man to save their lives. Arrangements were made for the hospital to look the other way. But I didn't want to fuck just any fat dog or emaciated wizened old hag. According to the law, discriminating on that basis was illegal, but since we were already operating off the regulations, it wasn't that hard to get around that obstacle too.

I could choose the candidates myself, looking at nude pictures and videos prepared for that purpose. It amused me to learn that it would mean a great deal to them if I agreed to meet only half the women I selected, randomly chosen by them, since the others were going to be in a control group. But that was fine. There are an astonishing number of attractive young women with life-threatening cancer diagnoses in New England!

I was nervous meeting my first woman, Linda. I closed the door while an aide stood guard against any interruptions. The woman was in a kind of drab nightgown, sitting up on her hospital bed. She was as attractive as her pictures promised, but the setting wasn't exactly romantic. Neither of us really knew what to do. It seemed unlikely we were supposed to kiss. Was I supposed to engage in foreplay? She smiled, shrugged, looked sheepish, and then pulled up her nightgown, pulled down her panties, and spread her legs apart. There's less motivation to be coy when your life is at stake.

I took off my shoes, pants and underpants, but left my shirt on -- if she wasn't going to be naked from the waist up, I didn't see why I should be. Socially awkward or not, there was a lovely young woman who wanted to be fucked, and my body responded. She held her labia apart, and I slid my penis in. She was kind of dry, but then this was business, not pleasure. I wasn't trying to hold back, but under the circumstances it took me 30 seconds to come. I allowed myself a little "Ahh", but more did not seem like very good decorum. I mean, she's probably dying, and I'm going to advertise just how much fun it was to fuck her? I pulled out. We smiled at each other kind of guiltily. I got dressed. She thanked me, I said she was welcome, and that was that.

So, I had scored. It wasn't exactly thrilling, though. Frank reminded me that I could write my own ticket. So they quickly created for me a plush bedroom on the top floor of the hospital with a view of the Charles and Cambridge. We asked the women to dress in something alluring, at least get themselves lubricated before I arrived, and make me feel truly welcome.

The women were very cooperative, not wanting to blow a chance at living instead of dying. They were willing to do anything, but they usually weren't good enough actresses to come across as if they really enjoyed it. If a woman was just in it for her health, I would tend to mount her from the rear and thrust away as long as my inner doggy wanted to before extending my thrust way up inside her to come. I loved fucking sexy women. To hell with her pleasure; I could be as quick as I wanted.

But some women saw this as a mystical experience and were very much into it sexually. If the chemistry felt right, I would make a little creative move, and if she responded, we ended up making love. The doctors let me do up to two women a day, but if I did more my precious K374 would get too diluted. That was fine with me.

After six months, preliminary results were very promising indeed. There was something like 50% remission from metastasized cancers. Frank pointed out that I now had it made. There were now millions of women in the country who would do just about anything if I would only fuck them. He said we should go into business on the side, so I cut back my schedule at Mass General.

We set up our own requirements for pictures and videos, since I could now afford to be very picky indeed.

Naturally, the ones I wanted most were young, often under 25. I called them 'girls', and not too surprisingly, not one gave me a feminist lecture on why I should refer to them as 'women'. We rented a nice big house out in Weston, and I happily gave up my Beacon Hill digs to live there. One thing the hospital had provided was all those careful STD checks. An immediate solution for our side business was to use a special condom with a hole in the end. It would protect me from the girls, even if it didn't protect the girls from me. With the alternative being a death sentence, it was a risk they were willing to take. But we also took to requiring STD tests and some pledge of celibacy in the recent past. Girls with a fatal cancer diagnosis don't tend to sleep around much anyway.

Frank started out suggesting a price: $30,000, he said. It struck me as high, but but he explained that was the sort of price you'd expect as a bare minimum for a high-probability life-saving procedure, even if insurance didn't cover it. With cash rolling in, I was ready to quit the work at the hospital, but Frank pointed out that what would make the business really boom was a definitive controlled study from the medical establishment, and my continued work there would let them finish. When it did, the result was that getting a dose of semen from me was 95% effective as a cure for a great many cancers, and studies from the hospitals where the other guys were ejaculating earnestly for science showed similar results. The potential was truly unlimited.

What we were doing was strictly speaking illegal, if construed as sex for money. So the money became a "suggested donation." We could mix it up a little. I could take a few charity cases to show it wasn't really a requirement. But we were flooded by so many applications that instead of setting a price we accepted bids. A multimillionaire whose beloved wife is dying of cancer will pay a million easily to save her life. But of course she might not be all that attractive. For some, the solution was for her to get in doggy position in the total dark. I could look at some alluring porn to get it up before going into the room, then find the pre-lubricated rear end in the dark, shove into her from the rear, and do my best doggy-humping -- a $1,000,000 fuck. We were pulling in huge amounts of dough.

Two complications came up. We had our first pregnancy -- just because a woman had cancer didn't mean she couldn't get pregnant. That raised issues of child support, though I could afford a generous payment with no noticeable effect on my finances.

The second was age. Teenagers are some of the most attractive girls, of course. Eighteen was our limit, but some girls sure seemed younger than that, and upon a little discreet investigation it turned out that many parents were fudging the ages of their daughters. Who could blame them? "So mom, you're saying that I either let this random guy fuck me once, or else I die? That's the choice? Well, duh!" But it still raised the matter of statutory rape if others found out.

Frank suggested that these issues could be avoided if we moved offshore. In time there would be legislation protecting me, but in the short term it was best to move beyond the reach of the law. So we did. We bought our own tiny Caribbean island, just off Cuba and part of its territory. It was just a short ferry ride away, and they were entirely happy to provide us with military protection and legal cover in return for the generous payments we offered.

What about the other men in the US with the magic semen? They had found seven by that time. Two were wearing halos, masturbating into little tubes to save the people the government decided were most needy -- including men who got the semen anally. Two did more or less what I did. One refused on grounds of morality, since even masturbation was a sin. And two went back and forth, doing some for charity and some for money in haphazard fashion. We all had far more business than we could handle.

I wonder how things would have developed if it was my blood that saved lives instead of semen. Would I have been happy just accumulating large piles of cash? I have fairly simple tastes, and quickly ran out of luxuries I wanted to spend money on.

The fact that the vital fluid was semen was the first in a series of steps along a road of sexuality. 'Semen' implies sex -- it's part of what makes parents blush when they give The Talk. The need to get it into a vagina very quickly led naturally to intercourse. The huge demand and limited supply naturally led to selection based on attractiveness. And once I was looking for attractive sex partners, it was a small step to younger relatives offering themselves as substitutes for the patients.

Ensconced safely offshore, I could indulge my fantasies. I wanted gorgeous girls, the younger the better. I wanted to be able to do just about anything with them. And that first pregnancy got me to realize that I liked the idea of fathering lots of children. Frank said we might as well tell the prospective applicants what I wanted, and the applications changed accordingly.

One of the happiest developments in proposals from my point of view was the separation of the attractive woman from the cancer patient. Most 55-year-old women are not particularly attractive, and they'd have no chance at being selected. But if the woman's stunning 25-year-old daughter offered herself for sex if I would cure her 55-year-old mother -- well, that was something else entirely. I happily agreed to save the mother by using the little plastic tube with suction if I could have the 25-year-old in the flesh. And for the first time men were eligible to receive treatment if they had attractive women to offer, though the anal administration route was less effective.

Younger girls were more attractive as surrogates, just as they were more attractive as patients. Some of them were way younger than 18. But if they showed well in the videos and I wanted them, I took them, without asking many questions. Below a certain age no one could pretend a girl was 18, so then the girls were offered to come visit me for a private "conversation." I accepted a few, and the conversation often turned very intimate indeed. You know how child abusers tell their victims that if they don't cooperate, their parents will die? Here it was the honest truth.

Daughters were a rich source of surrogates, but far from the only ones. It's been a pattern for decades that young and popular people who get cancer inspire others to do fundraising to help them get their treatment money. Now instead of raising money they recruited attractive young women, and combined them into a package they hoped I'd accept. It was sometimes a matter for negotiation. My staff would indicate that we almost had a deal, but they needed to add one more person, or a little more money.

These girls were not making one-night stands. First, they had to fit into my busy schedule. They flew in, took the ferry over, and spent a couple weeks in a quarantine facility to make sure they were clean -- no more condoms with holes for me! And I wanted the opportunity to have them around for a few weeks.

Once they had passed quarantine, each girl got her own room. Then they would wait.

By arrangement, I went into Alicia's room and shut the door behind me. She was as gorgeous as the video indicated. Black hair, brown eyes, oriental. She was sitting nervously in a chair, legs crossed and hands folded. I asked how the flight and quarantine had been. She started telling me, and got the feeling she would have gone on indefinitely because she was dreading what came next. I held up my hand to stop her.

I couldn't quite say why, but I didn't like her, though I found her very sexy. I gave her my sweetest smile, and was surprised to hear myself say, "OK, you've got 30 seconds to get all your clothes off or your mother's dead."

She looked startled, but immediately starting taking everything off, first her blouse, then a shoe there, a sock there, her bra flying across the room one way, her panties the other.

"Come here, sit on my lap," I said. "No, not that way, facing me. One leg on each side." She did, but with a sort of dull distaste on her face. It was hard to imagine kissing someone like that, but I ran my fingers all over her breasts, her back, between her legs. My penis started bulging uncomfortably in my pants.

"Lie on the bed, legs wide apart."

She did, but then looked toward the wall, as if she was preparing for an unpleasant operation. I slid out of my clothes, and my penis was much happier with the freedom to rise to its accustomed size without constraint. Then I got out my heavy duty vibrator, and held it right at her upper labia where her clitoris was hiding beneath its hood and turned it on. This was a moment of truth. Girls didn't expect this. She quickly started getting lubricated, which I could tell with the finger I was gently pushing in and out of her. But even as a minute went by, she was clearly fighting any pleasure. Well, fuck her! I realized with a smile that both meanings applied.

I put the vibrator aside, raised myself above her, and slid in. I pounded for a good long while. I didn't actually enjoy having power over her, did I? I wasn't quite that mean? I decided I could ponder that later. In the meantime, she was mine, she was ready, and I settled into my final approach, at the end giving ten deep, hard jabs and shooting her full of semen.

Eleanor was another story. When I went to her room, she was sitting on the bed with her legs apart a little, and she gave me a bashful smile.

I sat beside her on the bed, also smiled, and began moving my hands all over her, starting with face and neck and back, but progressing to breasts and thighs. I started taking off her blouse, then bra. Her jeans she had to do herself while I stripped naked. She was stealing glances at my hardening penis. I pushed her back on the bed and kissed her lips, then her breasts, and moved my hand between her legs, where we both knew I was headed. After a little massaging I could slide my finger into her vagina, which was wet enough. So I lifted myself up above her and moved the tip of my penis to its primal goal.

As I slid in, she gave a little gasp. I started pumping her and was delighted to see her responding with pleasure. But my loins wanted to finish, to ejaculate up inside this eager gorgeous young thing, so I did, with a flurry of strokes and a big "Yes!" And after a few seconds I pulled out.

I felt a little guilty that she hadn't come. I wasn't up for being a patient lover right then, but I had shortcuts. I found the vibrator. After a puzzled look, she gave a big smile, and I pressed it between her legs. I felt her relax, but then she started tensing with excitement. She smiled at me, but then got lost in her own pleasure. After a few minutes she started moaning and straining against the vibrator, and then finally yelped and shuddered. Chest heaving, she looked at me with a big smile.

My penis had risen again. I turned her on her side, away from me. Lying behind her, I dove into her totally welcoming vagina from the rear. I thrust urgently for maybe a minute and then spurted inside her again.

But encounters in bedrooms of the sort I had with Alicia and Eleanor were just the very beginning. The possibilities for pleasure were far more expansive.

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