And Morgan knew that she would only need to give in one time for the whole mess to come tumbling down around her.
With nowhere to go—being suspended from her job at The Edition—Morgan took it upon herself to still establish some sort of routine. The first part of that, every day, was to take a long cold shower. Usually that brought her need to cum down to a low boil. Not entirely possible to ignore, but enough to let her know she could control it somewhat.
Her phone buzzed wildly as she dried herself off. When she took a look, she quickly wished she hadn’t.
It was a series of pictures, taken again and again, of Colette.
The first few were of her face, beautified and enhanced in every erotic way, just as Morgan’s had been. These were enough to show the tops of the slippery hot lace on Colette’s sexy, sweaty body.
That Colette was this sexy was Morgan's fault, sort of. It was the elixir and Braddock's influence that had made Morgan give Colette the dosage to change her body and mind. But still...that didn't stop Morgan's dreams of being full of Colette's sexy body. It didn't stop her memories from being ripe with thoughts of Colette's tongue on Morgan's tits, on her abs, on her cunt...
The pictures only got more erotic from there. The photos slipped downward, sliding to the tops of Colette’s suddenly very full, very large breasts. She had been close to flat-chested before, and now her tits were properly tits, easily 36E though her frame had stayed just as skinny and trim as before, if not more so. In fact, the supple, tanned, toned nature of her skin was doing as much to turn Morgan on as every other part of her friend’s body.
Long blond hair was in every shot as the breasts were revealed in their tiny lace lingerie and beyond, down to the tight abdomen with its perfectly formed fuck-me muscles. The hair would never need a comb, never need any sort of solution in it. Morgan remembered. The hair simply did as told, arranging itself in whatever sexy way she wanted without the need for any sprays or gels.
And then the images stopped. Morgan was soaking. Her every atom pulsed with the need to see more.
The text came in: Want it?
Colette was toying with her.
And then another image—below the magic area between the upper thighs and the lower abdomen, below the crotch where no doubt Colette’s brilliantly naked, perfectly trimmed pussy waited for hard fucking and long nights of licking. Instead, she showed the tops of her tight blue fishnet stockings wrapping around her thighs, and another at her knees, and another still at her calves, finally ending in the long red platform heels of the young beauty decorating her body.
Another text: I know you want it. You can’t help yourself.
Morgan really couldn’t. Her cunt was dripping down her naked thighs. The towel she had brought with her out from the shower was long forgotten and discarded on the floor. Hands, soft and insistent, spread across her body. Squeezing her tits, sliding down to her eager, sopping pussy.
It took her several moments to realize these were her own hands, and several more to realize that perhaps she ought to stop.
But as soon as the thought occurred to her, a final photo came in—Colette’s pussy at last. Gleaming and wet, spread open by gentle fingers, eager to be filled and fucked and licked and owned just like Morgan’s and oh-oh-ohfuck—fuck!
Her fingers pushed up hard into her pussy and she was off to the races. There was nothing that could slow her down, no way to stop the flood of sensations that she had destroying all sense, all reason, all logic with a steady artillery barrage of endless lust and a need to cum.
Morgan didn’t care about her quarantine, didn’t care about her three days clean from orgasms; all she cared about was indulging herself just like she knew she deserved.
She dropped to her knees, thrusting her hips down and forward into her fingers, knowing exactly where to hit her g-spot to bring on a cum before she could second-guess herself. And the entire time, she was looking down at her phone at that sweet, hot young pussy.
When her orgasm finally arrived, she was entirely on the floor. Her legs had scaled up the bed, pulling down the sheets over her body. A pillow fell on her face and she bit it hard, screaming in pleasure as shock waves of bliss powered through her body.
That was a good cum, she thought. A very good cum.
But she still...she felt like herself.
Hope sprang in her body, filling her with an urgent desire to dance, to cry out. She had cum and she was herself. She had orgasmed—held out for as long as she could!—and she was still herself. She could do it whenever she wanted now.
And she knew she would want to do it a lot because cumming was terrific and even that one, after days of build-up, wasn’t nearly as hot or good as even the lightest orgasm she’d had when she was...
When she was under the influence of the elixir.
Her elation left her. She truly was back to normal. Normal body. Normal thoughts. Normal orgasms. Was all of that truly what she wanted? Yes, she was in control, but god, when she had been manipulating men and women left and right, she’d felt very in control then.
There was a knock at the door. Morgan approached rapidly, half-expecting and half-hoping that it was Colette, wearing nothing but a trench coat and that scandalously hot lingerie. But instead it was a package. Though she had answered as quick as she could, there was no sign of the deliverer.
Inside her kitchen, sitting down at her table, she opened the package.
Beyond a mess of packing peanuts and newspaper wrapping was a small vial and a tight, sexy red outfit. The one she had left behind—the one that all those basketball players had fucked her in. It had been cleaned, but when she held her nose to it, she could still smell the cum.
The memory rushed through her senses quickly, making a soft moan escape her lips.
There was no question about what the vial was, naturally. It was the elixir, contained behind that small glass vial with all of its occult symbols scribbled up and down its surface Braddock was clearly having fun with her.
Attached with the vial and outfit was a note. It read:
You are missed. We could use your mind for our cause.
Their cause. The cause of unmitigated lust, adultery, cumming, fucks, and every kind of depravity.
Morgan stared down at the vial, her fingers hovering over the stopper.
And she knew what she would do.
* * * * *
Some hours later, she had cleaned herself up and dressed and, with nothing on her schedule for the day, easily made the time to go to Braddock’s house once more.
She dressed conservatively. Her hope was that it would heighten the effect, to present herself as a composed, self-contained woman who knew exactly what her business was. Her drab brown sweater was contained under a bulky dark jacket, baggy jeans hiding her form. She didn’t want to be sexualized or presented in any way.
She made her way inside, expecting to knock down every door in order to find Braddock. Morgan was surprised, then, when the lovely dark-skinned Yolena in the entryway, apparently waiting for her. She wore a tight maid's outfit, her tits practically spilling out from it.
“Welcome back, my dear,” she said, that exotic accent ringing her words. “You want to speak with the Master of the House?”
“...yes,” said Morgan, after a moment.
At every turn, all her energy with this case was subverted. Just a few days before she had worked herself up into a frenzy to crash the first Lust Party she went to, only to find out that all were welcome. Now, she was ready to tear down this house to confront Braddock, only to find him perfectly willing to speak with her. It was as if he could read her mind, almost, and knew how to make all her energies and desires seem useless.
Useless...or girlish. Like she was a little girl throwing a tantrum.
That was how his attitude, his methods made her feel.
It was too bad that it sort of turned her on, being second-guessed and controlled like that.
Yolena led her to a large waiting room toward the
back of the house. After finding a seat, Morgan watched with some amazement as the wall opened up. Very briefly, she saw an intricate and expensive laboratory through the opening. White tables, clean walls and floors, all manner of lab equipment sitting in rows. The instant Braddock stepped through, however, it all disappeared behind the wall again.
“That’s a neat trick,” said Morgan.
Right away, she tried to hide the instant and total heat her body felt for Braddock. Whatever was happening to her, whatever he was responsible for, perhaps that’s what she hated the most. She couldn’t stop feeling turned on by the whole affair...or by him.
He was masculinity incarnate. She couldn't be around him without thinking of him being fucked and served by a multitude of fertile women, each more willing and desperate than the last.
“Oh, that?” He shrugged. “With as many amorous party guests as I have looking for private rooms, it only makes sense not to have the lab in an area where they can easily access it. Thus, secret entrance. Though not really a secret. I don’t mind people knowing about it. I just don’t want anyone to start rutting so hard they ruin all my work.”
The words carried Morgan’s thoughts away for a moment. She thought of Braddock lifting her up on the table, her legs wrapped around his hips, thick cock planted hard inside her and driving her closer and closer to orgasm, closer and closer to getting pregnant, closer and closer...
“—I said, what is it you would like to talk to me about?” Braddock asked.
Morgan’s mind was clearly not as together as she would have liked.
“I want to talk about this.” She procured the vial from her purse. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“It’s a gift,” he shrugged. “Most take it. In fact, I have to admit, I am surprised to see you here in this state. I was certain you would have taken it.”
“I don’t care right now whether you’re surprised or not,” Morgan snapped. “I am not here in a personal capacity. I’m here in a professional one.”
Braddock raised an eyebrow, nodding slightly. “You’re a reporter, isn’t that right? So you want to...investigate? Report?”
“Yes.”
“I am busy. I don’t have much time for any dilly-dallying with reporter types. Even if they are lovely. I have many other lovelies hanging around.”
“I’ve noticed.”
As if on cue, his wife Eleanor appeared at the door to the waiting room. She wore nothing but black and white lingerie, smoky stockings covering her startlingly sexy legs. She was busty, blond, and extraordinarily young...looking no older than perhaps twenty or twenty-one. She minced forward for a few steps and then began to crawl—a gesture from Braddock allowed her to continue.
Morgan knew Braddock had used his serum to change his wife too. She had looked her up online—a former trial lawyer, and a very successful one at that. Her actual age was close to seventy-one.
“I hope you don’t mind,” said Braddock. “But she hasn’t had a drop all day, and she gets antsy if she goes too long.”
At first, Morgan didn’t understand what he meant. Then Eleanor, without even turning to Morgan, pulled out her husband’s cock from his pants. It was long and thick, the kind of cock that women dream about.
Morgan felt a clamor of drool gathering in her mouth. Eleanor beat her to the punch, apparently, slobbering on her husband’s heavy meat before sinking her lips across the head and shaft. Braddock let out a long sigh, clearly enjoying himself.
Morgan gathered herself. If that was how he wanted to play, that was fine. She could roll with the punches. Clearly this was a tactic to scare her off—but she was not running.
“That’s my first question. Did you do this out of sexual frustration?”
He smirked. “Beg your pardon?”
“You won’t have it. You clearly had a tough time getting laid before creating the elixir. Isn’t that why you started this whole sex virus business?”
“Sex virus?” He snorted. “How droll. Who would enjoy a sex virus? This isn’t even a sex elixir. It’s a youth elixir, as I have said in the past. Sexual energy and proclivity is part of the side effects.”
“And having a devastatingly beautiful body? That’s a side-effect too?”
“In a way. It’s a result of the elixir’s ability to make you young. You stay young better with a body in tip-top shape. It perpetuates itself, in some ways, with sex. So, it encourages sex with aesthetics. If you have enough doses of this latest batch of elixir, all you need to remain young afterward is enough sex.”
“And if you won’t? Will you die?”
“Die?” He looked mortified. “Heavens, no. I’m not a monster. You’re free to go, as you found out. The only thing that would trouble you would be your memories. It’s hard to let go of the memory of feeling this good.”
Of this, she was well aware.
“The elixir,” he continued, “has three basic waves. The first is what I have come to call the Heat. This is when you feel drunk, high, and as if you're tripping all at once. You feel invincible and turned on. You can’t remember much or make many decisions, all you can do is fuck. Then comes the High. You experienced this also. Confidence and desire, the need to control others to spread the Heat and the High become the foremost concerns.”
“Like a virus.”
Eleanor was becoming loud and enthusiastic in the sucking of her husband's cock. A wet puddle of drool and precum gathered on the floor, dripping down from Eleanor's mouth and tits.
“It’s not a virus,” insisted Braddock. “It’s a...it’s a movement, shall we say? To focus on what really matters in life. Fucking and reproduction. That’s all.”
Eleanor, earnestly sucking his cock, let out a happy moan of approval.
“You’re certainly taking advantage.”
“This?” He gestured down at his wife. “Oh, Eleanor was thirsty, that’s all, and she’s convinced she can only be sated by my cum. She’s wrong, of course, but I like to indulge her. Honestly, it gets rather in the way. I’ve got a lot of lab work to do, and it’s hard to move around in there with someone suckling at your cock all the time. Work must be done, you see, for progress to be made. Eleanor’s decided she only cares about my cock.”
Morgan shook her head, getting angry. “You made her that way.”
He shook his head. “Not at all. The third stage of the elixir’s effects is the Awakening. This is the really exciting portion, the most fun to study. Honestly, watching people have sex, even beautiful people, can become mundane after a long enough period. But what I’ve found is that, when people realize they have essentially eternal youth and beauty, their mindsets change entirely. Some very serious-minded people become entirely obsessed with frivolity and fucking. Some very light-hearted folks have become serious, sultry, and ambitious. Others remain entirely the same. It’s a way to unleash their inner desires on the world and set them free. This is what I’m offering with my elixir. That you became a sultry sexbomb during the High would suggest that there’s a part of you, a very large part, that simply wants that and nothing else. Or perhaps you want that and to also pursue...other interests. It’s all...” He was breathing heavily, his orgasm incumbent. “...’scuse me.”
Eleanor moaned again as he began to cum down her throat, her heavy slurps becoming sloppier and hotter as her lips and mouth were coated in his heavy seed. Morgan watched it all, clutching the sides of her chair desperately. She wanted more than anything to shove Eleanor off and take her place...but that would be insanity.
Finally, Eleanor's slurps slowed and she merely began to clean her husband's cock with a soft dutiful hum.
“Look,” said Braddock, starting to stand. “I have to return to work. I’m terribly sorry, but it just can’t wait. I’ll have Yolena send you my lab notes, hmm? And then you can see for yourself the relative harmlessness of what I’ve been creating.”
Naturally, Morgan didn’t agree that any sex-inducing liquid was harmless, but having her hands on his materials was a
huge get.
She nodded amiably. “That’s fine.”
He stood up and pressed a series of buttons on the wall, allowing himself to re-enter his lab. After he was gone, Eleanor stood up and stretched, a massively content smile on her lovely face. She turned to Morgan, as if noticing her for the first time, and had no little amount of condescension in her eyes for Morgan’s conservative outfit.
“We’re having a Holiday Party tomorrow night,” said Eleanor, wiping her mouth clean. Braddock had cum a lot. Much of it was still pooled in Eleanor's substantial, decorated cleavage. “It’s going to be quite a lot of fun. And there will be plenty of private rooms—it’s the Derring Center, downtown. Do you know it?”
Morgan nodded. She did indeed. It was the most luxurious event hall in town.
“We’d love to have you there,” she said. “You can even come as a reporter, if you like. We’ll be happy to answer more questions.”
“May I ask you something, Eleanor?”
Eleanor’s smile brightened the entire room. “Of course, dear. Whatever would you like to know?”
“Are you...are you happy, with this life?”
“Six months ago, I was going to die. I was seventy years old.” She smiled that flawless smile, not a wrinkle on her perfectly young skin. “I suppose I still am. I would have wasted away into nothing, my entire body decomposing before my husband’s eyes. And he saved me. He not only saved me from dying, but saved me from the last ten years of my life before that being a self-pitying waste as the disease slowly took away more and more of my vitality.” Eleanor held Morgan’s hands tightly for a moment. “Now, I get to make my husband cum whenever I want. His cock is enormous and delicious. We fuck like mad rabbits with his assistants every night. He makes me cum almost without trying. I don’t care very much about my career anymore because,” she shrugged, “I never much cared about being a lawyer. It was a good way to make money, but we don’t need that anymore. And all I really need, truly, is the cock of the love of my life.” She licked her lips, eyeing the shut entrance to the lab. “Quite badly, actually. Do you think I can convince him to give it to me again?”
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