The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chapter 1

The unfortunate reality of pharmaceutical trials is that most of them fail. If you’re lucky, they fail at the computer simulation stage—no harm done, perhaps some useful knowledge gained, and the failure is relatively inexpensive.

Some of the time, your trials fail at the animal testing stage. At this point you’ve probably spunked millions up the wall, not to mention countless hours in the lab. But that’s how it works: for every antibiotic, every vaccine, every oncological miracle, there are hundreds or thousands of dead ends. It happens all the time; you learn what you can and move on to the next candidate.

If you’re less fortunate, the wheels come off when you start testing your drug on humans. When this occurs, the best you can hope for is that you don’t do any damage and wind up in court (or jumping off a roof). We start with a very small test pool and very low dosages, but unforeseen side-effects are still an ever-present risk.

I was either moderately unlucky or fantastically lucky beyond my wildest dreams, depending on how you look at it. Trametrazine was a promising female contraceptive that, we hoped, would carry fewer side-effects than the usual monophasic pills that just pump women full of hormones. The computer models were positive, the chimps displayed no apparent adverse reactions—and they didn’t get pregnant, either. It was looking good; and while a successful product doesn’t directly enrich the humble lab tech supervisor, it’s certainly a career boost.

The initial human trials also went well. The dosage was far too small to have any significant contraceptive efficacy and there were no adverse side-effects, so we incrementally stepped up the dose—and that’s when things started going wrong.

We demonstrated that Trametrazine is indeed a highly efficacious contraceptive even at a low dosage (which, as it turns out, is just as well). But we also found that all of the human test subjects displayed what our final report described as “an increased suggestibility and a reduction in social inhibitory behaviours”. In layman’s terms: the hard girls became easy, the easy girls became sluts, and the sluts—well, like I said, it’s a good thing the contraceptive worked. And there was a secondary effect that was redacted from the report, but we’ll get to that later.

The suits briefly discussed the possibility of marketing Trametrazine to the huge market of socially awkward people who need a little help to loosen up, but were immediately shut down by the legal guys who told them, in no uncertain terms, that we would emphatically not be marketing a substance that might turn women into cock-crazed suggestible obsessives. So the whole thing was shut down, the women were paid off (without any admission of wrong-doing or negligence on our part, naturally) and that was the end of it.

Right?

Well, no, of course it fucking wasn’t. Trametrazine is straightforward to manufacture—you could practically knock it up in your kitchen sink, if you had access to a few restricted substances—and I, at the time, was a reasonably young man without a girlfriend. Sure, our lab has strict rules and regulations but, as with any organisation with strict rules and regulations, they are routinely flouted in the name of laziness and expediency. Give me a couple of hours with a centrifuge and the key to the storage rooms and I could knock up a batch without anyone raising an eyebrow. And that’s exactly what I did.

Chapter 2

I put a great deal of thought into my initial private ‘experiment’.

First of all, the dosage had to be correct. Our trial was aborted while we were still using a relatively low dosage, and even at that level the effects were significant. But I didn’t want an easy girl, I wanted one of the cock-crazed suggestible obsessives that Legal had been worried about. So I decided to triple the dose to begin with, and leave myself the option of increasing it in subsequent experiments if necessary.

Second, how to administer it? That was easy enough: Trametrazine has a slightly bitter taste, but it’s easily masked by strongly flavoured food and drinks. A cup of coffee would do the trick nicely, and since Trametrazine had no effect on men—or so the computer models and chimp experiments predicted—I could prepare the pot in advance, avoiding the risk of any sleight-of-hand mishaps.

Third, who would be the subject of this experiment? That was a tricky one. My sister has a couple of very cute friends, but how would I engineer a situation where they’re alone with me in my apartment? That was perhaps better as a longer-term goal. A friend from work? Possible, but most of my friends at work are on my team, and they’d know immediately what was happening if they started experiencing the symptoms of Trametrazine. I wanted to get laid, yes, but not by large, violent men in prison.

Maggie? Oh, yes indeed, Maggie would do very nicely.

Margaret Kemp—she prefers to be addressed as Mrs Kemp, so I call her Maggie—is my landlady. She’s in her early forties, reasonably pretty with long brown hair and a fantastic cleavage, and while she’s a bit on the plump side she could be better described as ‘curvaceous’ rather than ‘fat’. She is also a complete fucking bitch.

The questionable ethics of my little experiment didn’t concern me too much. Okay, so they’re not remotely questionable and my intentions were entirely unethical, but nobody was going to get hurt (or pregnant, hah!) as a result of this adventure. The Trametrazine would wear off in a week or two with no harm done, and perhaps my test subject would even gain some long-term benefit from engaging in behaviours outside her usual comfort zone.

I know, I know; that’s a self-indulgent rationalisation of the first order. The truth is that I just wasn’t thinking too hard about anything other than how to execute my plan. Still, the fact that Maggie is indisputably awful was helpful in fending off the feeble qualms of my lazy conscience. She was also a great candidate simply because she frequently visited my apartment to complain about one thing or another, and I would need only minor subterfuge to be alone with her.

The next evening I made a pot of coffee, complete with three millilitres of Trametrazine, cranked up the central heating to its maximum setting and turned on the television. The volume wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. Sure enough, less than two minutes later the door was quivering in its frame as Maggie pounded upon it.

“Edward!” she yelled through the door, “we need to have another little talk about respecting our neighbours!”

Under normal circumstances that would be my cue to yell back something along the lines of “That’s rich, coming from you!” but this time I plastered a smile onto my face as I opened the door. Maggie was wearing an appalling pink knitted cardigan, a full-length grey skirt, green house slippers and a ferocious scowl.

“Mrs Kemp! This is a pleasant surprise—please, will you come in?”

She looked at me suspiciously, but evidently decided that accepting my invitation would provide her with the opportunity to scold me at length for my various shortcomings. She marched stiffly into the living room and pointed at the television, her nostrils flaring with outrage.

“Edward, this is clearly unacceptable! I can hear that racket from downstairs!”

Burn in hell, you miserable witch, I didn’t say. Instead, I adopted a more conciliatory tone.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry; I didn’t realise it was so loud. Here, let me turn it off.”

I did so, gesturing her towards the sofa. “Actually, I’m glad you came over, Mrs Kemp, because I’ve been wanting to talk to you. I’m thinking of redecorating the flat, if you don’t mind, and it would be great to get your opinion of my plans. I’ve just made a pot of coffee—would you like some?”

Her suspicion deepened to hitherto unplumbed levels, but the lure of having the apartment decorated by her tenant—for free!—won out over her well-founded concern. Maggie grudgingly sank into the sofa and indicated that she might even be prepared to consider drinking some of my coffee. My heart raced as I busied myself with the coffee pot and arranged some biscuits on a plate, placing them on the low table in front of her, next to the Ideal Home magazine that I had purchased as a prop.

As I’d hoped, she lunged for the biscuits and began shovelling them into her mouth, washing them down with a large swig of my coffee/Trametrazine cocktail. My cock lurched into action at the sight and I swiftly sat down next to her before she could see the swelling forming at my crotch. I flashed her another fake smile and pretended to care about home furnishings.

Chapter 3

Trametrazine is fast-acting. We deliberately designed it that way, at great effort and expense, so that it could be used shortly before a sexual encounter by women who weren’t necessarily taking it every day. The unintended side-effects—the increased suggestibility and lowered inhibitory function—kick in equally quickly. As we ate our biscuits and drank our coffee, discussing outrageously-priced curtains, Maggie visibly relaxed and became positively chatty. She also started to perspire as the temperature of the room began to climb.

“I’m sorry it’s so warm in here,” I said, “I think the thermostat’s broken. Would you like me to take your cardigan?”

“That’s a great idea!” she enthused, unbuttoning her revolting cardigan to reveal a yellow blouse underneath. I slung the thing over the arm of the sofa and we turned our attention to scatter cushions. Maggie’s taste in fabrics is as terrible as her taste in clothing, but interior design is a subject close to her heart. She rambled on for a few more minutes as the temperature continued to rise, about the merits of paisley and the importance of rug placement, and tried valiantly to convince me that I should give serious consideration to floral wallpaper. I shuddered inwardly but maintained my fixed grin, and topped up her coffee.

“Oh, yes, that would look lovely,” I lied, beaming at her and placing my hand on her knee in what I hoped would be interpreted as a fond gesture. She didn’t flinch, and beamed back at me. “You really are great at this; I’m so glad you visited! But it really is getting very hot in here—would you mind if I took off my t-shirt?”

“Of course not!” she gushed. I shucked off my t-shirt and gave an exaggerated sigh of relief as she looked on jealously, perspiration trickling down her neck. Dare I push this? Oh, what the hell.

“Umm…I don’t mean to be forward, but would you like to take off your blouse? You may be a little more comfortable that way.”

I immediately started mentally berating myself for pushing too quickly but, to my amazement and delight, Maggie cheerfully agreed that she would be much more comfortable sitting next to me in her bra.

“I really don’t know what’s got into me today, Edward,” she said, shrugging off her blouse to reveal a magnificent pair of breasts restrained by a pink reinforced bra. “Here I am in a bachelor’s living room, sitting on his sofa in my underwear!” She gave a wholly uncharacteristic giggle, and having successfully pushed my luck this far, I decided to take another gamble.

“I think it’s the heat,” I replied. “I don’t know about you, but I find that it always gets the sap rising.” I followed this up with a sly wink to make sure that my meaning was unmistakeable. She giggled again, nodding hesitantly, and I noticed her breathing quicken. And was it a trick of the light, or could I now make out the tips of her nipples pressing through her bra? I put my hand back on her knee and caressed it softly, inching slowly, very slowly, up her thigh.

“You know,” I continued, “I’m still absolutely boiling. Would it be okay with you if I took off my shorts too? And perhaps you might be a little cooler without that skirt? We can pretend that we’re sitting on the beach!”

It was clumsy as hell and she hesitated a little, but only briefly, as the Trametrazine continued its sterling work on her brain chemistry. I quickly wriggled out of my shorts as Maggie stood up and yanked the zipper down her skirt, and I stared fixedly at the pale, fleshy globes of her arse as the skirt dropped to the floor. I was pleasantly taken aback to see that she was wearing not the grey granny knickers that I’d been expecting, but a rather appealing black thong which nestled snugly around her hips and disappeared into the shadowy crack of her buttocks. My cock twitched at the sight and I squirmed on the sofa, discreetly rearranging my briefs in a largely unsuccessful attempt to conceal my drooling erection.

Scrap that: an entirely unsuccessful attempt. She sat back down and turned back towards me, her eyes widening and her vacant smile suddenly freezing on her face as her attention was drawn instantly towards my bulging crotch.

“It’s fine, Mrs Kemp,” I said soothingly. “Everything’s fine. You’re happy and relaxed, and we’re just having a nice conversation. In fact, I think you’re gratified to see the effect you’re having on me—it proves that you’ve still got it, after all.” I put my hand back on her thigh, further up than before, and smiled reassuringly at her. She relaxed and breathed deeply, grinning back at me with two rather cute dimples appearing at her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Edward,” she apologised, “it’s just been a while since I…well…since I had that effect on a man.”

That’s because you’re a horrible banshee who blights the life of everyone who crosses your path, I thought; but my heart wasn’t really in it—to my surprise, I rather liked this version of Maggie. I maintained my smile and gently caressed her inner thigh. “That’s completely fine,” I replied, “it’s perfectly natural. In fact, everything we’re doing is perfectly natural, isn’t it.” I phrased it as a statement rather than a question and she nodded vigorously, still starting at my dick as though she could see through my underpants.

We made a brief attempt to continue the redecorating conversation, but it was clear that both our minds were elsewhere. The pretence collapsed entirely when my straining cock burst its way out of my fly as I leaned over to pour yet another cup of coffee. Maggie drew her breath sharply, her face colouring as she gazed at my twitching erection, visibly conflicted. I guessed that she needed a final, gentle push to overcome years of inhibition, so I put the suggestibility effect of Trametrazine to another test.

“Your breasts really are lovely, Mrs Kemp,” I said softly. “Why don’t you take off your bra and show them to me properly? They’re far too lovely to be hidden away like that”.

Maggie hesitated for the briefest moment, still staring at my cock, and then, almost as if hypnotised, nodded slowly and unclasped her bra, letting it fall into her lap. Her full, heavy tits jiggled gloriously, the long, thick red nipples fully erect. I moved my hand still further along her thigh, now so close to her crotch that I thought I could sense the heat emanating from it, and she gave a slow, quiet sigh. This was the moment of truth: if the next suggestion worked, it would surely be game, set and match to Edward.

“Your nipples are beautiful, Mrs Kemp. Why don’t I suck them for you? I think you’d enjoy that a lot.”

Another brief pause and then, practically whispered, her response: “Yes, please.”

My cock jerked and for a terrible moment I feared that I was about to come all over the carpet, which would be a disastrous blow to my experiment. I managed to summon enough self-control to quench the immediate threat and, my hand inching its way towards her crotch, leaned over to take one of those strawberry nipples into my mouth.

Maggie whimpered as I licked and sucked, twirling my tongue around one nipple while my right hand reached up to pull at the other. And she moaned when my left hand finally reached its destination and slipped beneath her panties, the tips of my fingers tracing a line up her lips of her dripping cunt and coming to rest on her clit. I took my mouth away from her tits long enough to say: “You’re clearly very aroused, Mrs Kemp. Would you like me to lick you? I expect that that will make you come very quickly, and then you’ll be much more relaxed.”

It was really a rhetorical question. By this point I had no doubt that I had correctly estimated the dosage required to provide the increased suggestibility and lowered inhibition that I needed. It was nearly time for stage two of the experiment: the addiction.

Interlude

I mentioned earlier that Trametrazine had a second side-effect that was quietly dropped from the test report. The suggestibility and inhibitory effects alone were enough to kill the project, but there was another problem: most of the women in our subject pool reported a greatly elevated libido. They found sex significantly more enjoyable, and orgasmed much more quickly, but would soon crave more. These women displayed anxiety and an inability to concentrate—classic symptoms of withdrawal—until they had sex again.

It took us a while to determine why this effect was not felt by all of our subjects. We eventually discovered that the presence of Trametrazine in the body causes semen to react with natural vaginal secretions in very interesting ways, and while the specific biochemical mechanisms are complicated, the end result is an enormous slug of serotonin and dopamine that hits the brain’s pleasure centres with a hell of a firework display. And the unaffected women? In any clinical trial there are subjects who won’t do what they’re told, and we had a few that were using condoms—during an oral contraceptive trial, for fuck’s sake—just to make sure that they didn’t get pregnant if the Trametrazine failed to work.

Our test subjects were literally getting high from being pumped full of spunk. In fact they didn’t even need to be pumped full: just the presence of pre-ejaculatory fluid alone was enough to trigger a minor reaction. And once they’d received the first load, that was the start of a vicious circle. The women could function normally for a couple of days but would then start to long for more of those firework shows, and that itch would grow and grow until they scratched it, before the Trametrazine wore off a couple of weeks later.

Maggie, with her triple dose of Trametrazine, was about to have a very eventful few weeks.

Chapter 4

She didn’t technically accept my selfless offer; she just groaned and pushed her wet twat into my fingers. I decided to take that as a “Yes, please!” and roughly yanked the thong out from under her backside and down to her ankles. Her glistening cunt opened like a flower before me as she spread her knees wide, the low-hanging labia parting stickily as she thrust her crotch towards me. Maggie panted and moaned as I plunged two fingers inside her snatch, fastening my mouth onto her swollen clit—this was no exhibition of oral finesse but, thanks to Trametrazine, no subtlety was required. She jerked on my sofa as I slurped and sucked at the little bud, before arching off the seat and emitting a series of yelps that would have had the pre-Trametrazine Maggie banging on the door and delivering a lecture about Consideration For The Neighbours.

By this point I was on the verge of exploding and my universe had shrunk to my cock and her cunt. I left my fingers inside her for a few moments to give her a little time to come down, and then swivelled her legs over so that she was lying on her back along the sofa. I clumsily clambered on top of her and positioned myself at the entrance to her gaping slit.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Maggie,” I muttered hoarsely, barely aware of my own words in my all-consuming longing to come. “I’m going to fuck you and I’m going to pump a week’s worth of spunk into that gorgeous pussy. I’m going to fill your slut cunt so full of my come that you’ll be leaking for a month.”

I do have a habit of becoming somewhat obscene in my language when I’m on the edge. I’m not sure whether it was my choice of words or the fact that I called her “Maggie” instead of “Mrs Kemp”, or indeed the fact that she was about to be used as a spunk dump by one of her despised tenants, but something percolated through her post-orgasmic fog and activated an alarm inside her head. Her eyes fluttered open and she murmured something that sounded horribly like “…condom”.

Sorry Maggie, but that would entirely defeat the purpose of this experiment. I thrust my hips forward, groaning as the steel bar of my cock slid effortlessly into her oozing cunt, and Maggie—

Well, you know what I said about pre-ejaculatory fluid triggering the reaction? I’d been leaking for the last half-hour and my dick was slimy with the stuff. The moment that I entered her, Maggie’s eyelids slammed shut, then opened wide, and then closed tightly again as that insidious cocktail of our combined fluids mixed with the Trametrazine in her body. A shuddering orgasm ripped through her, her fingernails digging painfully into my back as she wailed wordlessly into my ear. And I’d love to tell you that I rode her masterfully for an hour, but in all honesty it was only seconds before my long-awaiting climax surged up through the base of my spine and I blasted seemingly gallons of my juice into her yielding cunt. And for a moment I thought that I’d inadvertently brought about the Apocalypse.

It turns out that pre-ejaculatory fluid, or pre-cum, or whatever you want to call it, is nothing, absolutely nothing in comparison to a full load of the real thing. Maggie shrieked—there’s no other word for it—as the fireworks already in her head were dwarfed by a supernova, a thousand million supernovas, all mercilessly hammering at her brain’s reward system, saturating the pleasure centres with the good stuff. She shrieked and she howled like a woman being violently attacked, bucking madly and tearing strips of skin unnoticed from my back until, quite suddenly, she spasmed yet harder and collapsed back onto the couch, unmoving and silent, like a puppet whose strings have been abruptly severed.

My spent cock gave its final feeble twitches as I spurted the last few drops into Maggie’s cunt, and I lay on top for a minute or two, gasping and increasingly terrified. Was she dead? Had I killed her? Thoughts of the autopsy and inevitable life sentence flashed through my mind until, finally, I regained some of my wits and checked her breathing.

She’s alive! Oh thank you god thank you she’s alive I’m not going to prison she’s alive thank you oh thank fuck for that!

I gibbered with relief for a little while as my heart gradually returned to its normal pace. You must understand that I’ve never claimed to be a great lover; it’s true to say that the few girlfriends I’ve fucked have generally been more indulgent than enthusiastic. I had certainly never brought a woman to an orgasm of such intensity that she fainted! My panic turned to pride as I congratulated myself on having conducted such a stunningly successful experiment—an experiment that had vastly surpassed my fondest hopes.

As I slowly heaved myself off Maggie’s comatose body, my cock reluctantly popped out from her slippery warmth. I perched on the arm of the sofa and admired her naked body—heavy breasts glistening with perspiration; parted legs open in a spectacularly lewd display of her engorged lips with a cascade of my spunk oozing from them, trickling down the crack of her arse and pooling on the seat of my sofa. And what a pool! I had certainly never produced this sort of volume before; she looked like the final result of one of my cherished creampie gangbang video clips.

Reaching out a finger to toy with her flooded cunt, I thought about what would happen next. According to the research, Maggie’s inner suggestible slut would persist for at least a couple of weeks, which was more than enough time for me to administer another surreptitious dose. OF more immediate interest was the addictive quality that semen now possessed for her. Our trials had found that the cravings peaked at an average of two days after the first spunk injection was received, before gradually subsiding, but Maggie had unwittingly taken a triple dose of Trametrazine. How would that affect her cycle of craving? No way to be sure, but I would soon find out—and I suspected that I’d better get some sleep while I had the chance.

I withdrew my finger from her clutching snatch and went to bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

Chapter 5

It was the sobbing that finally woke me up, at around six o’clock in the morning. The heating was still on its maximum setting and I’d tossed the covers off the bed, which had allowed Maggie easy access to my cock. As I groggily emerged from a deeply satisfying slumber I realised that she was straddling my crotch and attempting to stuff my flaccid dick into a slit that was still smeared with my come, the slimy folds gleaming enticingly. She was having little success, and tears of frustration poured down her face. Her eyes flicked to my face as I stirred, and our gazes briefly met, but she looked away and continued her efforts.

“It won’t go in,” she choked between sobs. “Why isn’t it hard? I need it to be hard!” Her voice rose to a plaintive wail and I felt a brief and unaccustomed pang of guilt.

“It’s fine, Maggie,” I said soothingly, as if comforting a child. “It will be hard soon, and then you can have what you need.”

She sagged with relief at this assurance and sure enough, the unfamiliar situation was having a predictable effect on me. As you’ve probably guessed by now, I don’t routinely have to put up with women trying to rape me in my sleep, and I was enjoying the novelty. My dick jerked quickly into action and, with a small gasp of satisfaction, Maggie gratefully sank down upon it. She rode me hard, picking up the pace and reaching around with one hand to gently stroke my balls, as I reached up to squeeze her engorged nipples.

“Do it for me, Edward!” she growled. “I want you to do it…I want you to ejaculate in my vagina again!”

Wait, what? Ejaculate in her vagina? That was about as erotic as a medical examination. I had to nip that sort of language in the bud before it became a terrible habit.

“You don’t really mean that, Maggie,” I said sternly. “That’s the old Mrs Kemp talking. My sexy Maggie doesn’t want me to ejaculate in her vagina: she wants me to come inside her cunt. If you really want it you’ll have to turn me on, and that means talking like the lovely little slut that you really are.”

To her great credit, she didn’t even hesitate this time. She just bounced even faster upon my cock as she unleashed a speculator volley of filth.

“Yes, Edward, come in me! Use my dirty slut cunt as your toilet and empty your balls into me!” she hissed. “Make me your bareback whore and fill my pussy with that lovely thick creamy spunk!” Her eyes rolled as the pre-cum began to leak out of me, hitting those sensitive internal tissues, mixing with her own juices and reacting with the Trametrazine, tiny bolts of lightning sparking through her nervous system.

“Fill your bareback cumslut, Edward! Come in my whore cunt, piss inside it, rent it out to your friends, treat me like a mobile cunt and just fill it all day and all night with spunk and cum and….”

She trailed off into incoherence as her orgasm overtook her, and her grasping twat began to milk my cock like an udder as she groaned. Between the milking and the deliciously obscene verbal assault I stood no chance. Within moments I felt the familiar tightening of my sack and took a plump nipple into my mouth, biting it gently, grunting into her tit as I shot my second load into her shameless snatch. Maggie screamed as my spunk jetted into her hungry cunt, jerking and shuddering as the supernovas resumed the celestial display that they’d started last night. She ground her hips into mine, striving to take every inch of my cock inside her, mewing with bliss as the final spurts slammed against the entrance to her cervix.

Finally she slowed to a halt and sighed like a deflating balloon, collapsing against my chest and panting heavily. I stroked her hair, surprised by my own tenderness, and noted approvingly that she’d managed to stay vaguely conscious this time—she was clearly getting better at handling her orgasms.

So. Her first orgasm had been at approximately ten o’clock the previous evening. It was now about six in the morning. If the pattern held, then Maggie would require her next spunk injection at about two o’clock this afternoon. Under normal circumstances I would have been a little daunted at the prospect but I found myself looking forward to it, even as my iron-hard dick remained firmly embedded inside her slobbering cunt, my spunk dribbling slowly out of her and running down my shaft towards my balls.

I frowned, suddenly suspicious. It’s the scientist in me, I suppose, noting cause and effect even through the post-orgasmic haze. “Normal circumstances,” indeed. Under normal circumstances I’d be spent after shooting a couple of massive loads within eight hours, and I’d have no sexual appetite for at least a day or so. Now…well, now my cock clearly had other ideas, and I had little doubt that I’d be more than able to give Maggie her lunchtime special this afternoon. Was this just down to the novelty of the situation and the excitement of the preceding days, or…

Fuck. Some scientist I am! In my eagerness to test Trametrazine on the unsuspecting populace of my home town I had blithely ignored the potential of male side-effects. OK; I hadn’t exactly ignored them, but I’d convinced myself that the negative computer simulations and chimp experiments provided a sufficient safeguard. And I had merrily drank from the same coffeepot that I’d used to dose Maggie. My self-delusion was now rapidly becoming buried beneath an avalanche of panic. As my cock started to deflate and popped out of Maggie’s twat, followed by a satisfying gush of spunk, I forced myself to relax and think this through.

Fact 1: We tested Trametrazine in the simulations and upon adult male chimpanzees. No effect was expected or observed.

Fact 2: I had just undergone the erotic experience of a lifetime, and my hormones would be inevitably affected.

Fact 3: Even if the Trametrazine was having an unforeseen effect on me, it had hitherto only manifested itself in an elevated libido and an increased rate of semen production.

Fact 4: I could live with that.

Perhaps it wasn’t the disaster that I had briefly feared, but I needed to head back to the office to check over the research again. I quickly showered and dressed, left the spare key to my flat by the door so that Maggie could lock up, and jogged down the stairs to the car park.

Chapter 6

Arriving at work ridiculously early, I spent a frustrating morning poring over the data that we had acquired on male subjects. Trametrazine was specifically designed as a female contraceptive, so our testing had naturally focused on its effect on women. We had performed cursory research to make sure that there were no obvious and devastating effects on men, in case of accidental exposure, but our trial had ended prematurely before we spent much research time on that angle.

A morning of furious research turned up little information that I didn’t already know, and I was left with a choice. I could discontinue my private experiment entirely; I could carry on but refrain from ingesting Trametrazine myself; or I could stay the course and hope for the best. The first option was unthinkable—having had such riotous success with Maggie, there was no way that I was going to stop now. Option two was the obvious choice but…if Trametrazine really was increasing my sex drive, not to mention churning out my little swimmers at an accelerated rate, I couldn’t help thinking that option three might be worth the risk.

My contemplation was interrupted when the alarm on my mobile phone went off. I’d set it for 2 o’clock to remind me to check on Maggie’s whereabouts, so that I could administer her afternoon “injection”. I looked up her mobile number on my phone, hit the dial button, and waited impatiently for her to answer.

I’d expected her to pick up immediately, demanding to know where my cock was, so I was a little anxious when the phone continued to ring. Eventually it was answered—but not by Maggie.

“Erm…hello?” asked a tentative voice. An unmistakably male voice. It sounded as though he was outside, and I could hear the background murmur of people talking a short distance away. But who the fuck was he, and why did he have Maggie’s phone?

“Who is this?” I asked. “Where’s Mrs Kemp?”

“Oh, is that her name? Are you a friend of hers?”

“No! I mean, yes! Look, who are you, and where is Maggie?”

There was a brief pause. Punctuated by a scream.

“Uh, well, I think you might want to come down here. She’s acting a bit…weird. Do you know the apartment block on Fairmont Drive?”

Do I know the… ”Yes, I know it. I live there,” I snapped, gathering my keys and heading towards the lab exit. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes”. I hung up, jumped into the car and headed for home.

Twelve minutes later I screeched to a halt outside the block. I parked haphazardly, more or less next to the kerb, and jogged towards the entrance. Then I stopped in my tracks as, drifting from the back of the building, I heard the distant but unmistakable sound of Margaret Kemp getting thoroughly fucked. My neighbour Martin, a retired teacher who lives in a bungalow across the street, was outside tending to his flowerbeds. Martin and I exchanged glances and both made a beeline towards the back of the apartment block. We arrived at the rear corner simultaneously, and we both stopped in our tracks.

There, splayed out on the lawn, stark naked save for a pair of knickers dangling from one ankle, was Maggie Kemp. Her legs were held wide open by a pair of men that I hadn’t seen before, each holding one knee back to expose her crotch. A crowd of at least fifteen men stood in a rough semicircle around her, their dicks in their hands, tugging away. And a balding, middle-aged man was kneeling before her, stuffing a deflating cock back into his trousers before rising to his feet. He looked around and I saw that it was Adrian, another neighbour with two young children, happily married to his wife of eight years.

Adrian blushed a deep scarlet as he saw me staring at him. Breaking into a trot he made his exit, pushing past me and muttering something inaudible as he left. Meanwhile, one of the younger members of the crowd—I recognised him as Luke, a resident of my apartment block and final-year student at the local high school—grunted as a large creamy wad fountained from his hard-on and landed all over Maggie’s face and tits. And he appeared to be late to the party: her face was already a mask of jizz, dripping down her cheeks and hanging in gloopy strands from her chin. Her breasts were similarly decorated, with translucent waves oozing down her chest, pooling in her cleavage and creeping down to her navel.

And her cunt…her cunt was a boiling, gushing, cauldron of spunk. It flowed out of her, down the crack of her arse, across her thighs, over her abdomen, onto the grass beneath her. The sight was breath-taking, and even as I strode angrily forward I was dimly aware of my cock lurching into action inside my pants. Maggie herself was insensible by this point: so full of come that the supernovae inside her brain were drowning out all awareness of where she was. Of who she was. She was reduced to the role of life-support vessel for her cunt, a machine made for the singular purpose of milking cocks into her starving fuck-hole, and for a brief moment I thought that I might be falling in love with her.

How long had she been here? How many men had shot their loads today, inside that glorious slit? The crowd shuffled its collective feet and moved back as I approached, though my anger had subsided and been replaced by a curious mixture of awe and unthinking, overpowering lust.

I knelt before Maggie and wrenched my cock from my fly. It was harder—bigger?—than I had ever known it before, engorged and scarlet and dripping freely. Leaning forward, I lowered myself onto her and slammed myself into that furious cunt; into the appalling, glorious, foamy mess of other men’s mingled semen. She roused a little then, the shadow of a smile crossing her lips. “Edward…” she breathed, though her eyes will still closed. Surely she couldn’t tell who I was just by the feel of my cock, and certainly not after taking so many others inside her that day?

My inner scientist distractedly filed this away for later consideration and vanished back into my subconscious, subsumed by an overwhelming desire to displace the sea of come inside her with my own. I pistoned dementedly in and out of her snatch, whipping up the roiling mass into a bubbling froth that coated my cock and her thighs in sticky white foam. I screamed as I came furiously inside my marvellous whore’s grasping cunt, jet after scalding jet of spunk pummelling her insatiable hole. And she screamed too, loud enough to hurt my ears, before subsiding back into a juddering and teary-eyed slump.

“I can’t stop, Edward,” she panted, the tears coursing down her face to leave clear trails through her mask of spunk. “I want to stop coming but I can’t!”

That lazy conscience of mine made a brief reappearance—yes, Mrs Kemp was a bitch and a half, but I had developed a soft spot for Maggie, my fabulously wanton cumslut. She had taken so many loads today, was so full of come, that the Trametrazine reaction was firing non-stop. But I smiled, because I realised that she had already inadvertently provided me with the solution.

Fill your bareback cumslut, Edward! Come in my whore cunt, piss inside it, rent it out to your friends, treat me like a mobile cunt and just fill it all day and all night with spunk and cum and….

She’d already done most of that, albeit without my personal supervision. But one thing remained, and I relaxed my bladder, pissing long and hard inside Maggie, flushing out the hours of accumulated spunk. I stayed inside her until the last drops of piss flowed out of my cock and into her grateful cunt, and then I rolled off her and lay panting on the grass as the final dregs of piss and spunk drained out of her.

The crowd reluctantly dispersed as I waved a hand towards them and told them to fuck off—interesting, mused my inner scientist, people don’t usually do what I tell them—and I turned my head to check on Maggie. She was lying flat on her back, still wearing her knickers on one ankle, but breathing calmly and smiling serenely. She reached out a hand and entwined her fingers with mine.

“Thank you, Edward,” she breathed. It seemed a bit much to be thanking the person responsible for putting her through her ordeal, but I decided to keep that detail to myself for now. And as I lay on the grass with Maggie, holding hands and naked to the eyes of anyone who might walk past, I started to think—what next? It seemed pretty clear that I’d overdosed Maggie, and I’d have to keep a pretty close eye on her over the next few weeks to avoid any more impromptu gangbangs with the neighbours. On the other hand, I was going to have trouble keeping her satisfied by myself. I made a mental note to have a word with Luke, who was bound to have some young friends who’d do what they were told and keep their mouths shut.

And then, of course, I needed to select my test subjects. My mind wandered back to those cute friends of my sister…