The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Fuck Bomb City: Chapter 4

Tags: mc, gr, mf, ff

Synopsis: Academics in a university are researching an innovative medical treatment, which turns out to have powerful side-effects on sexual appetites and on the body, and to be contagious. This story follows their attempts to control their libidos and the condition they have created, before the city is transformed into one rolling orgy.

The story is set in Liverpool, England. That fact makes a slight intrusion into the narrative from time to time.

Disclaimer: Any resemblance between institutions or individuals in this story and any real-life institutions or individuals is entirely coincidental. This story is not intended to refer to or satirise real people or situations.

* * *

Christ thought Tim, as he looked at Markus. The dour, grizzled German’s face was obscured by the radiation suit, but the man still was able to radiate pessimism even through a helmet and layers of baggy rubber. We look like the bloody Ghostbusters.

They had the emitter mounted in a cleaners’ cart, with a layer of car batteries at the bottom, all connected with a tangle of wires. They lifted it down out of the van, parked in the student housing tower’s underground car park, and Tim quickly checked to see that it was still hooked up.

“Ready?” he asked, and then realised that Markus couldn’t hear him through the suit, so he gestured towards the elevator. They wrestled the machine in, and sent the lift up to the top floor, using the override key Stewart had given them.

Tim switched on the meter; he’d modified it so that the unactivated condition registered with a flashing red light, and the activated one in green; on this floor there was a modest amount of red coming through the walls. They pulled up outside the apartment with the highest reading, and switched on the machine. It hummed into life, and after a few moments, Tim hit the button.

The buzz wasn’t too loud, but in the dead of the night, and especially given that they’d turned up the power, the crack was deafening.

Tim and Markus stared at each other through the helmets, then as one, pegged it in the direction of the lift, bringing the machine with them; or rather tried to, clattering into walls and each other in their haste. Tim jabbed the call button, frantically, and as they crammed themselves into the elevator, the machine bumped into the elevator doors, knocking one of the batteries off the cart. Markus lifted it back on and pushed the trolley into the lift as Tim, inside, hit the ground floor button. They heard an apartment door open, and then another; the lift doors closed in before anyone made it out into the corridor, and they slumped against the sides of the elevator as it started to move.

Sheesh, thought Tim, first Ghostbusters, now Laurel and Hardy.

As the elevator descended, he checked over the connections. Well, it seemed to all be hooked up and the machine was still, running, so…

When the lift hit the bottom, he pressed the second from top button and they rode up.

* * *

Andrew was, by now, immersed in erotic stories of orgies and sexual hypnosis. His fist pumped freely, as new ideas burned themselves into his brain. He pictured the fucking that he imagined must be taking place below, in the lab; a mass of bodies writhing together… those three second-year cuties; the incredible south American girl; the hot professor; combinations flicked through his mind. And at the heart of them all, that magnetic, incredible PhD student, Jenny; drawing the men into her, over and over again, inexorably, irresistibly; staring—in his fantasy—straight into his eyes. Calling him.

He knew he must answer. He knew she was corrupted, and it was God’s will that he should save her; and she would be his reward. All of them would. Why should the others have all the fun?

He imagined himself at the centre of a circle of fucking, women crawling over him, over each other to get to him.

He deserved that. It was his right.

* * *

Gina gripped the corners of the desk, her knuckles white, as she fought to resist plunging her fingers into her desperate cunt.

Please God, she begged, Help me! Why? she sobbed. Why torment me like this?

Was He testing her? Was this like the Book of Job? Suffering, through which she could prove her love for, and loyalty to, her God?

She had ten minutes until she was supposed to submit the next reading. Using the meter on herself every half-hour, seeing the number only rise, was terrifying to her. But the ritual gave her a task to focus on.

But why give me these organs, if to touch them would be a sin? She thought. “Why give me these feelings, if to… succumb to them would be wrong? I am your perfect Creation. I am your… perfect… creation.

On the second perfect, a wave grew within her, swelled, almost peaked, and then sank back into itself. A burst of tension rippled through her perfect muscles. Tears streamed down her perfect face. One hand slipped on the table: moved, then relaxed and fell back towards her crotch. She slapped it back onto the table, gripped the edge with her thumb; the effort caused her to grunt.

She shook her head, her eyes fixated on the meter. Help me. Help me.

* * *

Sarah was awoken by the muffled sounds of orgasm. She lay, for a while, pretending to sleep, as whoever was fucking, fucked, evidently trying to be quiet; the sex infiltrated her consciousness: energy, tension and a desire to participate crackled through her. The more she tried to ignore it, the more her senses searched the darkness, leaving her mind to fill the gaps. Her body responded, alert, aroused, primed. She sat up, and looked around the lab, a visual composition in almost-black purple, orange from the streetlights and the faint green glow of the emergency exit signs. The workbenches in clusters left clearings between them, in which the lab’s overnight guests were grouped; so they blocked Sarah’s view. She slipped, naked, from the bed she and Matt had made on the floor, and stood.

Of course it was Jenny: grinding on Dave’s cock, almost feral, convulsing as he fucked upwards into her from beneath. Something drew her across the lab to them, and as she approached, Jenny saw her. Their eyes met, and, deliberately, the younger woman stood, panting, her body magnificent, fragments of moonlight and streetlight glinting off her huge breasts, below which her body crashed down to an impossible waist, then flared at her beautiful, round hips. Dave’s cock glistened, vertical; as Jenny moved aside, the invitation was irresistible, and acting as if she were on rails, Sarah lowered herself onto Dave. A feeling like electricity fired through her, triggering a small orgasm straight away, and, losing control, she humped, delirious from the fullness. Dave came, or rather, continued coming: he seemed to be in a state of rolling, continuous bliss.

Aoife appeared, and the blonde Irish girl knelt over his face, and lowered her lower lips to his mouth.

Sarah rode him until she collapsed; as she fell to the side, someone else dived in, taking him into her mouth. Sarah didn’t know or care who it was: she lay, shuddering and satisfied, until she gathered the strength to crawl back to Matt, who, by now at least partially awake, penetrated her, and fucked her soaking pussy from behind as she drifted out of consciousness.

* * *

Dave became aware that it was morning. The night had passed in a succession of dreamlike vignettes as one mouth or vagina attended his cock after another, and one pussy after another ground on his face. Even now, Lina sucked him, and even now his cock twitched and jumped and oozed come into her mouth.

He raised himself up with his elbows, and looked around the room. From the floor, he couldn’t see much of the room, his view blocked by workbenches, but he could hear: it was surprisingly calm, a rhythmic slapping sound that had to be body parts, a few grunts and moans, Sarah’s voice, in quiet conversation with a man and a woman, and—quite possibly, he realised, this being the sound that had woken him, in the almost supernatural way some sounds cut through anything—the sound of a kettle.

“Good morning,” he told Lina, groggily.

“Oh!” she replied, pausing her blowjob for a moment. “Sleep well?”

He laughed. “Well… not really.”

She giggled. “You want some tea?” She gave him one last suck, then, pulling her mouth off his cock, sprang up and wandered out of sight, her beautiful, small, pert breasts bouncing as she moved.

He heard Lina say, “Tea for Dave!”

Sarah broke off her conversation. “Oh, he’s awake?” she asked, and then moments later appeared in his field of view. “How are you?” She asked.

He was, by now, leaning against a workbench, looking down at his straining cock.

“Good. Not really tired. I feel… stoned.”

Sarah’s eyes were drawn to his erection, too.

“Any… discomfort?”

“Huh… no.”

“Impressive. I think we’ve all had something out of you overnight. Some of us twice.”

“Wow.” Even as they spoke, a bead of ejaculate pushed itself out, at the tip.

“Dave, is that bigger? I mean I only saw it yesterday, but it looks bigger to me.”

He scrutinised it. Given that it had been basically the same size for at least two decades now, the change was noticeable. It was somewhat longer and definitely fatter, and the head looked larger and shinier too. “Yes,” he replied, simply.

Lina returned with the tea, and handed it to him. She, too, stared at his cock before looking at Sarah and asking, “Do you mind if I carry on sucking him?”

The professor rolled her eyes, and shrugged. Lina giggled and wrapped her lips around his member.

A thought occurred to Dave. “Where’s Jenny?

Sarah made a face. “You, uh, do you remember what she did to you?”

The syringe flashed through his mind. “Yeah.”

“Well, I found it, when I was on my, uh, second lap… figured out what had happened, and, uh…” Sarah was clearly uncomfortable with what she had to say. Dave waited, absent-mindedly stroking Lina’s head as she bobbed on his cock. “She crumbled. Begged us to restrain her. She said she was worried she might run off again. So, uh, we did. In the lab next door. The guys have been… keeping her ticking over.”

“Wow,” said Dave, again. “Is she… OK?”

“Well, she hasn’t asked to be untied. She’s been asking for you. I need to figure out if we need to restrain you too.”

Dave steeled himself to attempt a longer sentence. “Do you think… it’s needed?”

“Well, we certainly need to figure out what’s changed. You’re not metering as contagious. But, uh…” she paused again. “I have noticed that I feel drawn to you.”

Dave raised his eyebrows.

“It’s, uh, it’s definitely a change from yesterday. And all the other girls seem to be… affected in the same way too. It’s like what I said to you the first day. But more so. My body thinks you’re the source. It wants… it wants you.”

“Don’t hold back on my account.”

Lina cheekily waved his cock at Sarah. Sarah eyed it, the temptation obvious. “I’m OK for now, thanks. Maybe later.” She shook her head. “Who am I kidding? Definitely later. It is good though,” she continued. “It’s not just the sex. I’m pretty sure I got a hit off you. Both times.”

Lina said, “Me too! This is sooooo nice. Do you mind if I fuck him?”

Sarah made a gesture that said, be my guest,, and the Chinese girl gave a squeak, and mounted him. Her tight little pussy gripped him. It felt divine.

“But I’m not contagious any more?”

“Not as far as I can tell. My doctor friend is going to send a patient, probably tomorrow, so that we can see if they get infected.”

“Right.” A memory came back to him. “What about the two other students—the Christians?”

“When I checked my emails an hour or so ago, I had one from Andrew. He was… demanding to be activated. Aoife has taken him down to the machine.”

“And the girl?”

“She stopped posting her meter readings after 3.30. Maybe she managed to get some sleep.”

* * *

Gina was sleeping, fitfully. As she drifted in and out of sleep, visions danced across her consciousness: visions of sex, of course; of a world of depravity, through which she moved effortlessly, a gleaming angel of purity, touched but never stained by the filth around her.

A succession of faces paraded before her, faces contorted with denial and frustration. As each one passed, she touched it on the forehead, or the cheek—or even, occasionally, slipping her thumb into the mouth—and as they touched, light would radiate from her into the man or woman before her. The fury would dissolve into blissful orgasm. But not for her. Not until a voice spoke to her, directly into her brain.

Everything is my creation, it told her. You are my creation, my perfect, beautiful creation. He is my creation. She is my creation. This condition, this treatment, is my creation. It is my answer, my cure and my repayment for the ills of the world. You will redeem my children.

The touches in her vision became more erotic, more wonderful. When she touched their lips, it was as if they touched hers. When she touched their nipples, her nipples sung back. When her thumb sank into a mouth, it was as if her mouth was alive to the touch of a thumb, or a penis. When she slid her fingers inside a vagina she felt hers respond to the penetration: driving, stroking, strumming, pounding as she surged upwards, blossoming towards a glorious orgasm.

She awoke before she peaked, one hand frigging away inside her sore, chafed pussy. The dirty colours of reality seeped across the vision of purity around her, and it soaked them in, bonded with them, became richer for their taint. The ruined orgasm creaked and tumbled around her. She surfaced in disappointment and near-despair, panting for breath. But she knew, she knew what she had to do.

If it was done with the love of God, then it would contain the love of God, be God’s act. She would be His angel, bringing love to the darkest places.

She sent an email to Sarah, asking to be activated.

* * *

When he managed to prise Lina off him, Dave, chaperoned by Carolina, went next door to see Jenny.

Her hands were tied behind her back; she lay bent face down over a workbench, getting reamed by Rob. Her face rested on the surface, looking towards the door, so as Dave entered, her eyes met his instantly.

He was almost overwhelmed by the desire to ram his cock down her throat; so much so that he hardly noticed her pleading, “Dave! I’m sorry.”

Instead, he knelt, his face close to hers, as it jolted with Rob’s thrusts. Dave stroked Jenny’s tear-stained cheek with one hand. “Shhhh,” he told her. “You did it out of love.”

“I did it out of arousal.”

Dave smiled. “Yes, but loving arousal.”

He kissed her; she came, explosively, bringing Rob to a climax too. He filled her cunt, then withdrew. Rob said, “I’ll leave you guys to it.”

“If you’re going next door,” said Carolina, “Send someone through for me. I don’t want to be left out.”

Rob laughed, and left the room, as Dave lined himself up behind Jenny. As the head of his cock entered her, he felt a surge of energy, and immediately shot the first of many loads into her.

* * *

Markus and Tim had completed a sweep of the tower without being seen, despite a couple of close calls. As they had progressed down through the building they’d noticed the red, unactivated readings being replaced by green, activated ones from the floors above, and when they’d left the building, in the small hours, they were only picking up green, and, thankfully, nothing from themselves.

They had managed to get a few hours’ sleep, and by the time they checked back in the morning, the green readings were much fainter. It looked like the plan had worked. At this rate, by the time anyone would be leaving the building, there was a strong chance they’d be clear.

“The only doubt,” Markus told Sarah, when he called to report in, “Is whether anybody else, in the general public, was infected while the carriers were on their way home. But I don’t see a way we can search for that.”

He had checked the houses around all the various apartments where people had stayed in the early stages of yesterday, but hadn’t got a reading from any of them. Of course, this didn’t prove they’d got away with it, or indeed that no reading meant no contagiousness, but at least no evidence to the contrary was presented.

He’d taken a food order to the lab, then went home to sleep.

* * *

“So here’s the thing,” Sarah told everyone; “After activation, the contagiousness of the condition seems to decrease. According to the meters, none of us apart from Andrew, Aoife, and Gina are radiating now.” After Aoife had taken Andrew to the machine, she had metered again: obviously the emitter reactivated the radiation. So when Gina had emailed, she sent Andrew and Aoife to take her down to the basement—no sense in recontaminating someone else, and she couldn’t bring herself to send Andrew on his own. There was something about him she just didn’t feel good about. “However, she continued, “We can’t be certain that this means we won’t pass it on. Until we test it.”

“Does this mean we can go home?” asked Rob.

“Not yet. I don’t think it would be responsible. Of course, since whoever we test it on will be at a risk of exposure, we need to find someone who would at least benefit from the potential healing effects of the condition. My friend, Karen, is going to try to find a patient with a serious, terminal medical condition, and send them in here for ‘tests’. This could well take a few days.”

“But what about the student housing?” asked Colin. “You’re not quarantining them.” There were murmurs of agreement from around the room.

“Well, that’s partly because we can’t. Not without going the full hog, involving the police, and all kinds of officialdom. I can’t help thinking that that would be a mistake. For now we have this situation kind of under wraps, and at least we can trust each other.” Again, she tried not to think too deeply about Andrew. “But since we have control of ourselves, it would be irresponsible to increase the risk. So anyone who has work today, we need you to phone in sick. Say that you have potentially been exposed to meningitis, and you have been advised to stay in isolation, but you’ll know within the next few days. I’d be grateful if you could use that same line with any family members or romantic partners. In the meantime of course we’ll monitor what happens over at the tower, so we might get a steer from them too. I’m pretty hopeful,” she added, “That we’ll be able to go back to normal in a couple of days. Well, almost normal.”

“I hope so,” said Rob. “My band has a gig on Friday.”

Again, there was agreement from around the room. Various people had appointments or commitments.

“Well,” said Sarah, “Fingers crossed, then.”

* * *

So all eyes were on the student housing. Markus and Tim changed into overalls, and Stewart briefed campus security that they were electricians doing some tests to figure out what had caused the building’s electronic locks, lifts, and cameras to go offline last night (the cameras were a little touch he’d thrown in for good measure—seemed like a good idea). They installed meters in the elevators, and in the foyer and car park, and retired to a safe distance to monitor the results, and, on their laptops, with the help of Stewart, the security camera footage.

The meters showed nothing. The real test came in late morning, when a woman in her 40s showed up, buzzed a doorbell, and was admitted to the building. Tim watched the readings as she rode up in the lift; nothing. Markus followed her up with a meter, and walked up and down the corridor, scanning each apartment. He tuned the sensitivity, and the filters, so that it was hunting exclusively for the green reading—and got finally got a faint result, presumably from the student who had buzzed in the lady, presumably their mother. But he only saw the one reading. There had to be two people inside that apartment, but there was only one reading.

As he was on the phone to Tim, relaying this information, the door opened suddenly and two people came out: the mother, and a young woman who was presumably her daughter. The daughter showed up on the scanner, with a faint green pulse. The mother, nothing.

Markus pretended to be engaged in some technical activity with the device in his hand as they swept past him. His heart pounding, he waited till they had passed, and then scanned himself. Nothing. Still nothing.

“Well?” asked Tim, who had been watching the corridor’s security camera.

“Nothing,” Markus told him. “I don’t seem to have the condition.”

“I can see them in the lift,” Tim said. “The daughter’s got it, the mother hasn’t. It doesn’t seem to be passing on.”

“And we can imagine,” Markus muttered, still sotto voce, mindful of any other residents who might be around, “That they might have hugged when they met.”

“It’s a fair shout. Still clean. What do you think? Do we let them leave?”

“I think we have to, isn’t it,” said the German.

“OK, I agree.” Tim watched them as they descended to the foyer, and crossed it, and left the building and his field of view. Well, he thought, this is it. We’re locked in now. Either this has worked or it hasn’t.

* * *

“Are you ready?” asked Aoife.

Gina nodded. “I think so.”

Andrew placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s God’s will.”

Aoife frowned at him. He’d done this before, when she activated him: started telling her that it was God’s will for her to fuck him, that it was all in God’s plan, and it had creeped her out. Sure, she’d fucked him anyway, but that sort of carry on didn’t feel right. She was about as lapsed as an Irish Catholic girl could get, what with all the sex and the drugs and the like, but although you can take the girl out of the convent, you can never take the convent out of the girl, and she knew very well that the nuns who ran her school wouldn’t have seen it that way.

“I don’t know about that,” was all she said.

“She doesn’t believe, yet,” said Andrew, to Gina, “But she will.”

“Well. We’ll see,” Aoife responded. “Let’s get this over with.”

She pressed the button. Gina orgasmed immediately, collapsing, quivering, to her knees.

Andrew opened his trousers and offered his penis to her mouth.

Gina opened her lips and took it in, feeling, as she did so, a glorious rush of arousal. She held one hand out to Aoife, and the Irish girl took it, her other hand inside her jeans.

Gina had never sucked a cock before; she let go of her conscious thought and allowed the force driving her to take over. Andrew held her head, shoved his member into her throat, and came. “Swallow it,” he told her, and she tried.

Andrew knelt, and kissed her forehead, then, still erect, lay on his back. “Let God’s will take over. Do what you are here to do.” He pulled her forwards, and placed his cock at the mouth of her vagina. “Do it.”

She lowered herself onto him, and felt whole.

“Feel God’s love entering you,” he intoned.

“Ah Jaysus,” said Aoife, and mounted his face, as much to shut him up as anything.

Gina was in a world of her own; walking through a sea of depravity, pure of soul, a beacon amidst the sin.

* * *

Dave’s head didn’t start to clear until mid-afternoon.

It had become apparent by then that everyone wanted to engage with his penis; all the ladies, anyway. As Sarah had observed before, it was like a magnetism: as soon as one decided she’d had enough, the next took her place. At around one or two someone brought him a sandwich, which he ate, distractedly, while Vicky sucked him enthusiastically. Sarah gave him updates in the cowgirl position. He enjoyed Carolina: there was an intensity, a fury to her fucking. It was at this point that he started to notice Andrew’s occasional, maybe more than occasional glances.

He wasn’t sure whether the guy might want a turn himself; Dave wondered whether maybe a latent homosexuality, interacting with the younger man’s religious beliefs, was creating the hint of bitterness in his expression. As the afternoon wore on, he changed his mind; he didn’t think that was it.

When Gina rode him, and came endlessly on top of him, like she was having some kind of revelation, the sharpening of Andrew’s expression told him the answer. It wasn’t frustrated desire, it was jealousy.

Which was absurd, of course: There was more than enough to go round for everyone. Between Jenny, who seemed to be constantly occupying several guys at any one time, and all the others, Andrew certainly wasn’t going without. It did seem though that there was something about him that spooked people. At times it had seemed that they were fucking him out of politeness; Aoife certainly seemed to be avoiding him. Dave passively observed.

Himself and Jenny apart, everyone made some efforts to do something productive; in particular Sarah, of course, kept in touch with the outside world. Aoife, Dan and Carolina worked through various tests; Becky, Lucy and Amy (who seemed to be doing everything, and everyone, as a triple-act) helped them, as did Colin, who, it turned out, was a chemistry PhD student. Greg, the computer scientist, occupied himself by making a database of everyone’s results, and then by calling Tim, and finding out as much as he could about the emitter. Paul, Lina, Rob and Vicky, along with Sarah’s husband Matt, found games to play.

When Gina collapsed off Dave, Andrew took her aside. Dave didn’t hear what was said, but after that, she seemed cowed.

The meter results continued on a downwards trend. When Tim contacted Sarah, later in the day, it was to say that none of the meters in the student building had registered any signs of contagion. The security cameras had registered, once they came back online, many incidents of heavy flirtation in the public areas. Most people had managed to make it to their apartments but some had not: the system had captured a couple of stairwell rendezdous, several incidents of elevator sex, and one massive orgy in a corridor, which seemed to draw in participants from most of the apartments on that floor. As well as being entertaining viewing, this was notable in that when he dialled in the meters to their most sensitive, Tim could see that, while most of the participants registered as having an active condition, confined within their own bodies, many of them did not: they must have been acting on something else. Drawn into the fucking as enthusiastically as anyone else, they must either have been following entirely normal sexual responses to a highly sexual situation, or normal responses heightened by some other mechanism. Tim checked it repeatedly: there was no sign of contagion, no further passing of the condition from one subject to another, and yet, they were all fucking like minks. This, when he reported it, gave Sarah food for thought.

And the treatment seemed to be working. The tests they were able to run on Jenny showed her cancer retreating. And little things: Sarah noticed, when she looked in the mirror, that some of the wrinkles on her face had started to fade. Paul looked decidedly trimmer; Greg seemed less scrawny, and instead, lean. Vicky announced around lunchtime that her breasts had grown, and insisted on getting everyone else’s opinion, both on their appearance and their texture. Dave’s opinion was that they were beautiful; still small, but firm and perky. Whether they had grown was impossible for him to say, but the general consensus was that they were lovely.

Karen, Sarah’s doctor friend, told her that she had a patient with a serious heart condition, whose only option remaining was a risky operation, who was willing to come and take some tests for a new treatment that could avoid that risk. He had been told as a child that his heart could give out at any time, and had already had a couple of near-misses, so anything that had the potential to defuse the time-bomb inside his chest was of great interest to him. She’d arranged that Chris could come in early tomorrow morning.

The rest of the day passed in much the same pattern as before. Bouts of group sex sporadically erupted. Andrew, Gina and Aoife’s radiation counts all declined to match the status of the rest of the group. Once Tim had explained to Sarah how to tune the meters to detect an active but non-contagious condition, everyone present registered at this level. Jenny did not ask to be released. Since she seemed happy enough, and everyone was kind of getting a kick out of the bondage thing, she remained restrained all day, taking one cock after another, or two or three at once.

Dave and Jenny both remained in a state of near-constant sexual activity, almost fulfilling the role of lightning rods for everyone else’s arousal. When night came, the two of them were locked in the other lab together, it having been stripped of any conceivable tools for mischief.

They curled up together in the bed they had made on the floor, and fucked for several hours, both achieving a state of constant, rolling orgasm, until they passed out in spoons, his cock still buried in her cunt, still, sporadically pumping or oozing come; her, periodically shuddering and clenching with orgasm in her sleep.

* * *

Dave awoke, still inside her, still bathed in the sticky wetness they had produced in their loins. The first thing he noticed was that his head seemed clearer; the second was that his cock was still rock hard, and, upon examination, was now inside her ass; she must have switched holes during the night.

He gently withdrew, triggering another round of clamping, writhing and groaning from the still-sleeping woman, which drew, in turn, another few spurts of come from his balls. Having managed to get it out, he examined the baton of meat in his hands. It was still rock hard, and was now clearly larger than it had been on Dave’s last birthday. “Unrealistic” was the word that came to mind. He found it astonishing that it hadn’t broken apart some of the girls who had enjoyed it; he remembered little blonde Amy, the pretty, submissive one of the three student girls, writhing and straining on top of him last night. But, she had taken it all, before long had been bouncing furiously on top of him, and hadn’t mentioned any injury afterwards; at least, nothing that stopped her fucking several more times before the night was out.

But then all of their bodies would be changing, he thought. He looked across at Jenny, whose physique was now something out of a comic book or a Japanese animation: unbelievably large breasts, unbelievably tiny waist, unbelievably pert, round ass. Even her face had changed, subtly; she was still recognisably herself, but was an incredibly hot version of herself. Still wearing clothes that the chubby, unglamorous version of herself had worn. He grinned, and his cock leapt, at the thought of what she would look like in full battle dress.

He texted Sarah, to let her know that he was awake. She texted right back, saying that she and Matt would be around directly.

And Matt? He replied.

To keep Jenny occupied, came the response.

* * *

Chris arrived at the department 9am prompt. The doors were locked up, so he rang the number he’d been given. A female voice answered, and told him she’d be down to let him in in a minute.

When the door opened, it was an extremely attractive black-haired woman, who looked to be in her early-to-mid 30s. “Hi, she said. “I’m Professor Gray. You can call me Sarah. You must be Chris.

Young to be a Professor, he thought. “Hi.”

“Come with me,” she told him. Even through the labcoat, the curve of her body looked delicious. Her hips swung as she led him into the building. “So did Dr Palmer tell you what we’re doing here?”

“She said you were working on a new treatment that might…” he didn’t want to say it aloud; “Might repair my heart permanently.”

“With any luck,” she said. “It works by… by encouraging the body to repair itself.”

As they climbed the stairs, he had to struggle to keep his eyes off her ass. When they entered the lab it was no better. Inside were four people, all wearing labcoats: two girls—a pretty, short blonde with a massive smile and a prominent chest, and tall, gorgeous Latin lady—plus a youngish, dark-haired guy with a clipboard, and another guy sitting at a computer.

Sarah led him over to a workbench where the blonde introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Aoife,” she told him, in a rich Irish accent. “You must be Chris.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your condition,” she said, as she began to unbutton his shirtsleeve. “Tell me about it.”

“Well,” he said gathering his thoughts as she rolled up his sleeve, surely more slowly and attentively than was necessary. “When I was seven, I was taken ill with some kind of problem with my chest. The doctors diagnosed a weakness in my heart, and told my parents I wouldn’t live beyond my early teens. I’m twenty-four now.” She paused, the shirt at his bicep, and both hands rested on his muscle; she looked up at him, and her eyes widened, drawing him in. As he continued, she slipped a heart rate monitor onto his arm and began to inflate it, only looking away when necessary, then meeting his eyes again; pumping the bulb gently in one hand, her other, resting on his arm.

“I’ve had two scares, where I had to be rushed to hospital. I’m not allowed to live more than two hours from a major heart hospital. I’m living under a clock; I could go at any moment. So every moment is precious.”

Her eyes had moistened. She said, “Well, sure I hope we can do something for you.” She blinked, and looked away, at her screen. “Your heart rate is… elevated.”

It wasn’t the only thing that was elevated; Chris noticed a bulge forming in his pants. Before he had chance to think of a reply, though, the other girl, the Latina, said, “Let me put this on you,” adding, “I’m Carolina.” She opened his shirt, and taped a monitor to his chest.

Wires ran back to the computer; the man sitting there—a young, slim man, with blond hair—said, “I’m getting that.”

Sarah asked him, “And?”

“All good so far.”

They kept him there for half an hour or so, the Irish girl chatting away, while the rest of them seemed fascinated by the readings from various sensors they attached, or held near him. He asked what they were doing, and Sarah—Professor Gray—told him, “We’re measuring the way your body is responding to various stimuli.” The vagueness of this answer didn’t really satisfy his curiosity, but she didn’t elaborate further, and Aoife got him talking on something else.

Eventually Sarah seemed satisfied with the data, and told him, “OK, I think that ought to do it.”

Chris was desperate to know, but almost afraid to ask. “Do you think you can help me?”

Everyone’s eyes went to Sarah. Aoife seemed almost to be pleading. The Professor said “I… I’m not sure yet. We need to check a few more things and talk to your doctor. We’ll let you know in a couple of days.” She collected her thoughts. “We’ll send someone to check some readings with you a couple of times a day for the next few days.”

Aoife said, “That means…”

“I’ll discuss this with the rest of you later,” Sarah told them, then said to Chris, “OK, great. I’ll call Dr. Palmer and we’ll see what we can do.”

* * *

When he’d gone, she gathered everyone together.

“So, it looks like he didn’t pick up the condition.”

Greg said, “Nothing at all metered from him. Although from his heart rate, I’m pretty sure you two were turning him on.”

Aoife laughed. “I’d hope so!”

Rob asked the question that was on everyone’s minds. “So does that mean we can go home?”

“Well…” Sarah hesitated. “I can’t think of a reason not to. We’ve only done one test on ourselves, but from that test, and from the results from the student housing tower, it looks like we might have got away with this. Dave and Jenny will have to be careful—in fact I’d say you two should be kept under observation, and I think I will secure the emitter and the drug stocks. But as long as we’re careful, I’d say yes, we can go home.”

Everyone was pleased to hear this; there were a few whoops.

“What about reactivation?” asked Jenny.

Sarah thought for a moment. “Well, what do we know?”

“With the mice, once activated they needed regular reactivation. They all showed negative symptoms—agitation, increased stress, increased heart rate. Some of them, if kept off it, eventually recovered; as Dave said yesterday, some died.”

“OK. Then let’s keep in touch, let’s monitor our blood pressures and our moods, and let’s proceed with the idea that if needed, we’re going to all use the emitter next weekend. That will mean,” she added, “Another period of quarantine.”

“And another night of fantastic group sex,” said Aoife. “I wasn’t into that at all before this weekend, but now I can’t imagine how I’ve lived without it all these years.”

* * *

So they agreed that they were all going back to their respective lives. In keeping with the story they’d told before, Dave and Jenny had been infected with meningitis. They would stay at Jenny’s house, along with Vicky and Rob to keep an eye on them; the story was that having been exposed but not infected, they were safe and were able to look after them. The only members of the group who had serious relationships outside were Dan, Aoife and Carolina; they all agreed not to tell their partners too many details of the condition, not least since this would have also meant confessing to a fairly large amount of infidelity.

As they were leaving, Aoife asked Sarah, “What about Chris? He looked so… hopeful.”

Sarah nodded. “I know. The thing is that, of course, it’s a massive step for him. And this is not anywhere near legal as a treatment, and never will be.”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be legal. Maybe we could just do it.”

“Let’s wait to see how what we already have plays out, before we deliberately inflict it on anyone else. Besides, who knows how much we’d have to give him? Do we want to turn him into Jenny?”

* * *

Sarah managed to sell the Faculty the story that this had been an experiment that got out of hand, and the quarantine was a panic reaction that turned out to be unnecessary. A bit embarrassing, but not a serious problem. The only person outside the immediate group who knew different was Stewart, in Security, and for everyone’s sakes, he was happy enough to go along with the story.

* * *

Aoife took on the job of going back to Chris to meter him. She called by in the late afternoon to take a reading: still clean.

It turned out he had a fiancée, who seemed lovely too. He was so hopeful and positive, and Aoife really wanted to help him. It seemed, cruel, that they were sitting on something which could remove the cloud hanging over his future, but holding it back.

She wanted to bang him, too, but that would have been impolite, so she resolved to be good, and save it up for her boyfriend, when he got home from work. Poor guy isn’t going to know what hit him, she smirked.

* * *

“So what are we gonna do now?” asked Amy.

The three girls lived together, in a houseshare with a couple of arts students who were home for the summer. The day had dragged by, and it was getting into late afternoon.

“Go out hunting?” suggested Becky. “I mean you guys are lovely, but I think I’m going to need some cock.”

“It’s Tuesday night. There’s not a whole lot going on in town,” Lucy observed.

“Hmm. Well. We only need to score one guy. Between the three of us that shouldn’t be difficult. Let’s go to some bars, and see if we can pull.”

* * *

Andrew, alone among the group, had been disappointed when Chris had shown no signs of contamination. He wanted what Dave had: he wanted a roomful of women desperate to please him. For that, he would need to increase the level of his own condition, it seemed, and he would need to infect others.

The emitter. It had to start with the emitter. This was, after all, the way of making himself contagious again. But if he had his own emitter… that would change things dramatically. The news that Tim Fearon, the scatty physics professor, had managed to rig up a portable one was, therefore, of great interest to him.

It was definitely convenient that they were sent home though. It would give him time to think, and to research. And maybe, for the first time in his life, to network.