The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Hour 20

The two had forgotten their names long before. Such knowledge was extinguished before the all-consuming heat of the virus throbbing through their blood, fueling their lust.

They were in a car somehow. Where they drove to was anyone’s guess. They themselves no longer really had the ability to guess. All their brainpower had been rededicated to mindless, endless rutting.

The woman sucked at the man’s cock in fervent bobs as he gripped the wheel and kept them safe on the road. In all truth, she had forgotten more than just her name. She had forgotten that there was ever a time in existence when she hadn’t had her mouth mindlessly attached to his cock. She had forgotten that other men existed. She had forgotten there was anything to living other than blindly moaning on a thick, ripped shaft of a masculine being, sucking him down and praying for another glorious spurt of his load down her eager, needy throat.

And he, in turn, had forgotten that women were ever used for anything else. He had forgotten everything but the need to protect, to provide, and to breed. That’s all he was anymore. That’s all life was for him—the human brain, once the co-model of life’s evolution, had been downgraded to those three simple tasks.

And for his complete embrace of his true role, nature had rewarded him with a pretty young cocksucking female, whose other half of that model brain in turn only knew two roles of her own: to please and to breed.

“Is it the same as before?” asked Pruitt. “I haven’t ducked in here in a couple of months.”

“Of course not.” Martinez shook his head. “We’ve already got the control case. We’re experimenting now.”

“Is it still transferable by contact? Kissing, licking, fucking…?”

“Transferable, totally. They’ll be in a clean room. No contact from the professionals unless there’s trouble. Or until they die from overheating.”

“Overheating?”

Pruitt shrugged. “They fuck too often and they overheat. It’s happened with all of them so far. Within about twenty-four hours of initial contact.”

“And we’re trying to stop that?”

“Well, it’s no use as a weapon if they die too soon to spread it. Ideally, they’d be alive for about a week or so. Even a month.”

“A month is too long. It would get way out of control if it was a month.”

“Well, three weeks, then. I don’t know. I’m not the tactical guy. I’m just a chemist. They want people to last longer, so it’s going to be longer. Or, that’s the idea, anyway.”

“So what else is different? From last time I was here?”

“Smell.”

“Smell?”

“Of emissions. Pheromones. It was in the last batch, but it’ll be more potent this time around. To help with the transfer.”

“How long do you think before they start fucking?”

Martinez shrugged. “Maybe three hours? It was five last time.”

“With a twenty-four hour life expectancy?”

“I’m hoping to bump it up to thirty. But more or less.”

“Twenty-seven hours of fucking.” Pruitt whistled. “What a way to go.”

“Wait till you see the chick. We got a beauty this time.”

Hour -2

Frank entered the small room with some trepidation. There was a table in the middle, and a heavyset middle-aged man sitting down on one side of it. He had his arms crossed, a pleasant smile on his face.

“Please, take a seat.” The man spread his hands.

The chair was metal and hard. Frank disliked interviews. One of the perks of running his own handyman business was that he never had to sit through any sort of job interview. Another perk, though, was that he made his own schedule, and this institute was offering five thousand dollars to qualified applicants for three days of their time.

Frank, a larger man, didn’t fit all the way on the chair beneath him, and shifted uncomfortably, trying to find his seat. He’d had problems with his back for nearly a year now—common in his line of work—but the pain it caused combined with his relatively young age gave him worry.

The man spoke into a small recorder on the table. “Frank Tasset. Thirty-two years old.”

“That’s me.”

“We’ve just got a few questions here, Frank. We want to make sure you’re who we’re looking for.”

“I figured.”

“You’re uncomfortable.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I’m all right. It’s a little cold in here, is all. And you got us wearing these jumpsuits.”

He tugged at the paper-thin fabric that they had put him in. The outfit was a light teal. Easy to see in the bright lights of the large complex where they had brought him and several others. It was like the sort of scrubs a doctor might wear, except the material thinner, like what a hospital gown was made from.

“They’re necessary. Sorry.”

“You’re not wearing one.”

The man wore a lab coat over a collared shirt and slacks. He shrugged. “We have different roles. May we approach the questions at hand?”

“Sure.”

“What do you do, Mister Tasset?”

That was all on the forms Frank had filled out. He figured the question was just to get him talking. That was fine. After four hours of waiting around in a cell, he was happy to gab a little.

“I run a small handyman business in my hometown. There’s a few other people in town that do it, but I’m the honest one. Of course,” he laughed, “they say that too. So who knows.”

“Are you honest?”

“My word is my bond, I’ll tell you that. That’s why I couldn’t ever get married.”

“How do you mean?”

“I’d cheat on her. I like to fuck around. There’s no getting around it. I don’t believe in sticking with just one person. Doesn’t make any goddamn sense.”

The man shuffled his papers for a few moments, ticking off marks on the paper with his pen.

“What’s your sex life like?”

Frank laughed again. It was a harsh, rough sound that reverberated against the walls of the small room. “Wow. Right into it, huh?”

The man didn’t answer, waiting.

“All right. It’s pretty good. I haven’t been laid in, I don’t know, three days. Today’s Wednesday? So three days. Late Saturday. Or early Sunday. It was okay. She went down…do you want to know all this?”

“Any detail you provide will be helpful.”

“She went down on me and then after a couple of hours we screwed in the back of her car when I drove her home. I’d had too much to drink before then, was why we waited.”

“And before that? Was your sex life regular?”

“Sure. I’d say every other weekend or so. I got money and I spend it, so girls come around. I’m not particular in who I go out with. Sometimes it’s the same lady as some other night. There’s sort of a crowd, if you catch my meaning.”

“What’s your ideal woman?”

“Ideal woman?” he snorted. “I don’t really think there is one.”

“You’re straight, aren’t you? Heterosexual?”

“Of course I am. But you’re talking about ideal woman like I’m supposed to fall in love some day. Get shacked up.” He shook his head. “Not gonna happen. I’ve got a vasectomy. I only ever shoot blanks.”

“The vasectomy,” said the man. “That was your idea?”

“Oh yeah. I don’t like kids. Don’t want any. Never have. It’s just easier this way.”

“I see. But all of that means you don’t have an ideal woman? Don’t you like sex?”

“Hell, I love to screw. But if that’s what you’re looking for, fine. My ideal woman is, I don’t know. Big-breasted. Red hair. Thick red lips. Like that girl from that business show? The one where they’re in the fifties or whatever and they sell stuff. That one. I fuck her, I leave her, she doesn’t whine or complain the entire time. She’s got a nice smile on her face for me when I arrive, while we’re together, and when I leave. That’s all.”

“You’d never stay with a woman?”

“I stayed with a girl for a few years once. We got on each other’s nerves after just a couple of months. I don’t see why it would be any different with anyone else.”

The man shuffled his papers again and then stood up. Behind Frank, the door opened. The man held out a hand.

“Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Tasset. I think you’ll be of great use to us here.”

“Yeah, what’s that about? Is it some kind of sex drug? Like the little blue pills? I don’t need that shit. I get hard on my own.” He considered for a moment. “But I’d try it.”

“All will be revealed in time.”

Another man in a lab coat stood at the door, gesturing for Frank to follow him out. Frank, sighing, exited the room and returned back to the holding area.

Hour -1

Rebecca entered the room with a smile on her face. Presenting. Always presenting. They would be interviewing her and she could really use the money, as her new independent law firm wasn’t quite where she wanted it yet. It was tough, gathering clients, and tougher still since those bastards at Locke & Powers had dragged her name through the mud for months now. And for what? Because she’d spoken her mind, because she’d told them that she was quitting because of the way they wouldn’t stop telling her to smile and dress nicer.

Pigs. She was better without them.

There was a woman at the table—older than Rebecca by about ten years, into her forties. Her hair was tied in a bun, and she wore a lab coat over a pair of faded slacks.

She spoke into a recorder on the table. “Rebecca Heberson. Age twenty-nine.” With a small smile, he looked up to Rebecca. “Have a seat.”

Rebecca sat. The chair was hard and uncomfortable. She shifted for a moment, finding her posture. Posture was important. Her shoulder blades flexed together, spreading her shoulders wide. The natural veer of her hands was to come together and cross against her modestly sized chest. She had spent many years convincing herself not to do just that—and instead to sit openly, relaxed but attentive, her body language ready for any discussion.

“I’m ready,” Rebecca said, smiling. “What is it you would like to know?”

The woman raised an eyebrow slightly and then read from the page in front of her. “What do you do, Miss Heberson?”

“I’m a lawyer. I practice law.”

“Civil? Criminal?”

“Real estate, mostly. It’s a growing business. We have a small clientele at the moment, but we’re gaining steam.”

“I see.” The woman ticked a mark or two. “And do you have any romantic involvements?”

“The application said that we had to consider ourselves single.”

She nodded. “Yes, but people lie. We’re offering a lot of money for very little time invested.”

That made sense enough. Rebecca shook her head. “No. I’m not romantically involved.”

“And your sex life? What’s that like?”

“Well, as I said, I’m not romantically involved, so…”

The woman gestured for her to go on. “So…?”

“I’m not the sort to just sleep around.” She laughed, as if the accusation—and that’s what it was, wasn’t it?—was ridiculous. Which it was. “I don’t go to bars and look around for men, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I didn’t mean to imply anything.” The woman smiled. She set her papers down. “I apologize if I offended. We’re merely trying to get the full shape of you, that’s all. Many people are not romantically involved and still have sex with high frequency, and—”

“And many don’t, thank you very much.”

“Yes. And many don’t.” The woman nodded. “It’s all kosher here. We’re just trying to see what’s what before we move forward.”

They were quiet for a moment. Rebecca felt as if the woman was allowing her to cool down, which immediately she resented. She wasn’t upset. And anyway even if she was it was this horrible woman’s fault, asking her all those classless questions.

“I couldn’t sleep with someone who I didn’t know intimately already,” she explicated. If she said enough, surely the woman would concede the point and realize Rebecca was right. “I couldn’t possibly. It’s too…I just couldn’t.”

“That’s fine, Miss Heberson. That’s all very fine.”

“Thank you.”

She had won that little battle. She straightened in her chair, wiggling upward and pressing her butt outward so that she could push her chest forward more. Authoritative. In control. This little outfit was so uncomfortable. Why were they dressed in paper, anyway?

“Another question, if that’s all right?”

“Of course.”

“What’s your ideal mate like?”

This was an easy one. She had thought this through many times.

“He is tall. Taller than me. Wiry, though. Not too muscular. Like, not bulky or anything. Thin. Looks good in a suit. Wears a lot of suits. Rich. Funny. Loves commitment. Responsibilities. Wants a family some day—but not too soon! God, I’ve got my own career to worry about. And he should respect that. And love that, in fact. He should be something of a crusader for rights.”

“Whose rights?”

“Who have you got? There’s not enough going around. Anyone in the LGBT community. Minorities. Women. Everyone.”

“So, an outspoken man?”

“Very much so. Except, articulate too. A way with words. No crass language.” Her nose drew up. “I despise men who swear. Women too. It’s so classless.”

“I see. And sexually? Any preferences there?”

“How do you mean? He would be straight, of course.”

“No,” the woman shook her head. “I mean in bed. Is there any particular manner you are fond of there?”

“I’m not sure I understand the question.” She raised an eyebrow. “I mean, you just get in there and do it, and that’s all. To be honest, that’s not all that important to me.”

“I see.”

The woman ticked a few more marks on her sheet and then stood up. The door behind Rebecca opened.

“That’s all?” asked Rebecca.

She had much more to say. She was a mine of valuable information about every sort of topic. Didn’t they want to know about her cats or her knitting? Wouldn’t they like to hear what she thought of that idiot senator in her home state? What if she had valuable ways of framing her pet peeves?

“Oh yes,” said the woman. “You’ve been very helpful. I think you’re going to be a perfect fit, Miss Heberson.”

Rebecca smiled at that. A little bounce joined her steps as she headed back to her holding area.

“These two? Really?” Pruitt shook his head.

“They’re perfect for each other.”

“What? Didn’t you hear the interviews? They’d hate one another.”

“Oh, they’ll definitely hate one another. That’s why they’re perfect for one another.”

“What do you mean? I thought—”

“How do you suppose, Pruitt, that we test this fuck drug without making sure it really, truly works? That’s what the personality test is for. We put opposites in the same room together. If they truly hate another, and they fuck, then the drug is working. It’s that simple.”

“Is that why the boys bet? Because if that’s why they bet, I want to put money down saying they’ll never fuck.”

Martinez snorted. “Man, you got it all wrong. Nobody makes that bet. Well, one guy did, but he lost all his damn money. They bet on how long it takes for them to start screwing. Smart money is around the three hour mark, like I told you. My bet is on minute one-sixty.”

Hour 1

A few hours after the interview a nurse arrived at his door and escorted Frank down through the hallways of the complex. They follow a bright teal line, the same color as his jumpsuit.

“What’s this about, now? Can you tell me?”

“Of course,” said the nurse. “You’ve been selected. You’re going to earn your money, Mister Tasset.”

“Oh.” He straightened slightly. “Well, that’s great.”

The nurse was pretty good looking, he thought. Nice red hair. Did they give him a red-haired nurse because he had said how he liked red hair?

“You know a good place to spend five thousand dollars on?”

She smiled. “I can think of a few.”

“How about I take you there?”

Her laugh was mild—the sort that meant she didn’t really mean it. They stopped in the middle of the hallway. The line had run out. She pressed a panel on the wall, and the wall opened.

“What’s this?” he asked.

It looked like a cell. As he looked in, the nurse poked him, hard, with some kind of syringe.

“Ah, jeezus, what’s the—”

Unceremoniously, she shoved him into the cell. He stumbled forward, off-balance. Moments later, the door shut behind him.

“Hey!”

He banged against the wall panel to no avail.

What had she stuck him with? He felt…he felt fine. Was that the experiment? They said it wouldn’t be anything dangerous, but how would they know? That’s why they were experimenting, right, to find out everything it did? God, what if he had a condition? What if it wasn’t okay?

He took a moment, breathing. Calming. Probably the nurse would have told him more if he hadn’t hit on her. Ah, well. Can’t say nothing to a broad these days.

It took him a few moments more, but he calmed down. They had guaranteed his safety. Everybody here was a professional. He wouldn’t be any good to them if nothing happened. And so, fear assuaged for the moment, he took a look around.

In every corner of the room was a camera. Two of them slowly whirred, following his movements. Overhead was a distant skylight, except it wasn’t natural light coming in. There was a difference in the frequency of the light waves, somehow. Frank had worked with enough lights to know the difference between almost sunlight and real sunlight.

At one side of the room, there was a small bed, featureless. It was just a plain white mattress on a plain white slab. It didn’t even have any sheets or pillows. He sat uneasily, waiting.

“Is this it?”

There was a small washbasin in the corner, two bottles, and an extra tap to fill up the bottles of water. At least he wouldn’t be thirsty. He was a little hungry, but not really. There had been a big steak lunch they brought to him. He had finished just before the nurse showed up.

The wall opened up again. A woman stepped inside to the room—the cell, really. She was on the tall side, a little gangly, with breasts that Frank measured at around a handful or so. Maybe a little less. Her body in shape. Not great, but nothing to ignore, neither. She had blond hair—the prettiest thing about her—and blue eyes that quickly scanned the room.

“Thank you,” she said, turning to the door panel—but it was already closed.

She wore the same outfit as him, only hers had shorts instead of the pants he had. Why was that? Did they want him to look at her legs? They were nice enough. Shaved. A nice natural color.

“Hey there,” said Frank. “Who are you?”

“I’m Rebecca,” she said, holding her arms against herself.

“Frank.”

It seemed like she felt overexposed in the small cell.

She approached him with a hand out. “I suppose we should tell each other it’s nice to meet one another?”

“Sure.”

Her handshake was firm—really firm. Trying-to-prove-something firm.

“I don’t know what we’re doing in here,” she said, stepping away and wiping her hand on her shorts. “It all seems so mysterious. Do you know?”

Frank was still considering her looks. She was pretty enough, though she looked like a total bitch. Her hair all bunned up like that. Her nose was large—not gross or anything, but prominent. Her skin all freckled and pale. He wanted a tanned woman. A woman who spent real time on herself. Why didn’t this broad get a nose job or something. Didn’t she know what men liked?

Ah, whatever. No reason to be unpleasant.

“Couldn’t tell you, lady.” He shrugged. “I think it’s sex stuff, though.”

“Sex stuff?”

“They asked me all these questions. Didn’t they ask you questions about sex?”

“They did, yes. But I made it very clear that I only enter into that sort of entanglement with someone I feel very strongly about.”

He shrugged again. “I don’t know what to tell you. They injected you with something, right?”

She rubbed her arm. “Yes. A little roughly, too.”

Tinges of pity pushed onto his heart. “Me too.”

“That doesn’t make us alike, or anything.” She held her nose up. “That doesn’t mean we’re going to sleep together.”

“The hell are you talking about?”

“You may think everything is about sex. Being a man. But I’m a serious woman, all right? Just because we both are here, and there’s a bed, and we’re just stuck together doesn’t mean anything outside of those facts, got it?”

She was in his face now, waving her finger up toward his nose.

“Sure, lady. Whatever. You asked what I thought this about. I told you.”

“Well.” She crossed her arms and walked to the other side of the room, huffing. “I didn’t know you would be so crude, that’s all. ”

Frank rolled his eyes and sat down, leaning slightly on the sink.

A few minutes passed.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “I was terse there. I can see that. I’m not used to this. Any of this. And it’s...I don’t talk about sex, often.”

Frank shrugged. “’S’okay.”

Another few moments passed, both of them idly kicking the floor.

“I’m cold,” she complained.

“You women,” he laughed. “Always cold. You should dress warmer.”

“How can you—that doesn’t even—you’re an idiot!”

“Already? Already, I’m an idiot?”

“I’m dressed in what you’re dressed in!”

“And I’m fine with it. I guess that means I’m winning, huh?”

She glared at him. She looked kinda hot when she was angry, Frank thought. Too bad she didn’t know how to act like a real woman.

“Listen,” she said finally, straightening up. “I don’t like you very much. I could tell straightaway I didn’t, and that comment just seals it. I tried to be civil to you, and now you’ve just continued being a dunce. So, for however long this goes on, you just stand over there and I’ll stand over here, and that’s that! We each get our half.”

She had given Frank the side with the bed. Fine by him. He walked over to it and kicked it slightly, as if it were the tire of a car.

“Do we have to stand? Is sitting allowed, your highness?”

“You know what I mean!” She let out a strangled cry. “You’re impossible.”

Frank didn’t know how much longer he would last in this tiny room with this lady. But it seemed they didn’t have any choice.

“Now they’re not even talking,” said Pruitt.

“They don’t need to talk out loud. Their bodies are doing all the talking now.”

“Did you see how they acted? They hate each other. Just like I said.”

“Just wait.”

“They hated each other right away, too. I don’t think I’ve seen people react like that.”

“It’s chemical.” Martinez tapped the monitor. “Those two? They’ll be fucking in no time. It’s just chemicals acting up right now. Out there in the real world, their own chemical dislike for one another would have kept them from ever being around each other. The injection accelerated that process. It has to burn them out, you see? So it gets them all out there and then starts its own stuff.”

“That’s the scientific term? ‘Starts its own stuff?’”

Martinez ruffled slightly.“Shut up.”

Hour 2

They continued to pass the time on opposite sides of the room. Rebecca had a hard time not pacing. What were they supposed to do here? Was this some kind of psychological experiment? To figure out how long two people could last in a room without killing each other? She wasn’t sure it would go on much longer in that case.

The cold of the room had left her, which surprised her. She felt like they had turned the temperature up quite a bit—maybe she shouldn’t have complained. Maybe she should stop pacing? She was sweating. Her entire body felt hot. It was getting hard to think with all the heat sweltering up in the room.

Taking a break, she slid against the wall. The wall was cold, somehow, even with the heat of the room.

Wait, though—if the room felt hot but the walls felt cold, didn’t that mean that she was...oh god.

“What. The fuck. Is that?” she pointed to Frank’s pants.

He snorted. “What are you, a dyke?”

“A dyke?”

“You don’t know what a boner is, you must be a dyke.”

“How is that…” she shuddered and stamped her foot. “That is not how the world works!”

“Whatever. It’s a boner, all right? Grade A. I’ve had it for like, I don’t know. An hour now.”

He gripped it for a second and shuddered. Then, as if slightly afraid, he let it go.

“From what?”

“What?”

“What did you get a boner from?”

“I don’t know. Where did you get tits from?”

“You were born with a boner, is that what you’re telling me?”

He started laughing, as if he thought it was funny that she kept saying “boner” over and over again. She herself didn’t know why the semi-swear came so easily. Normally, she never would have used such a filthy term.

“Yeah,” he said, chuckling. “Sure. Born with it.”

“You weren’t born with a boner, Frank. Come on. Why are you laughing? Stop laughing.”

What an ignoramus. When he had himself back under control, he still had the boner sticking hard out from his pants. What was that all about? Where had it come from?

She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen a boner up close. Maybe back in school, when men still had a lot of trouble controlling their hormones. The businessmen she saw all week long never really seemed to be all that aroused.

Which was sort of insulting, wasn’t it? Why weren’t they aroused? Wasn’t she a perfectly attractive young woman? Wasn’t she perfectly sexual? She kept herself in good shape. She was no model, but she was lovely enough. And fertile. Why wouldn’t she inspire a big hard cock now and again?

She shook her head. Her thoughts felt…strange. Fuzzy.

“Come on,” she said, trying to stay on task. “Do you have porn or something?”

“Porn?”

“Your cock. Dick.” She shook her head. “Your penis. Hard penis. Why is it hard?”

“I don’t know. It feels good though. And it’s not going away.”

His hand wrapped again around the shaft, thumbing it slowly through his jumpsuit. A stain started to form at the front end of the paper trousers.

“Can’t you make it go away?”

“Make a boner go away?” he laughed. “Sure. But I’m guessing you would want to turn around if I did.”

“Why would I want to turn—oh.” Her nose wrinkled. “That’s gross.”

“That’s not gross. That’s the most natural thing in the world.”

“Masturbating is the most natural thing in the world for you?” she scoffed. “That explains a lot about…” she waved a hand up and down.

“About what?”

“Well, you’re clearly single.” She gestured. “Look at you.”

“I’m clearly single? Why is that?”

“You obviously don’t take care of yourself.”

“Let me ask you this. Do you take care of yourself, princess?”

She scoffed. “Obviously.”

“And are you single?”

“Well, currently, I am, but—”

“And when’s the last time you were laid?”

“Not that long ago.”

“What does that mean? A week? A couple days? I got laid three days ago. I’m itching for another. Can’t wait to be out of here and rid of you.”

“It was…”

“What? Was it a month? That long? Jesus. You’re not that bitchy. You could get laid more than once a month if you smiled every so often.”

She wanted to protest—that it wasn’t just about sex. That she knew she could get laid whenever she wanted. That she shouldn’t have to smile and look pretty just to fulfill some idiotic standard that this primitive neanderthal laid down.

But instead what she said was, “…three years.”

“Three years what?”

The admission startled her. Her voice was soft, even deferential as she said it.

“That’s…that’s how long it’s been since I’ve been laid.”

“Three years?”

She gulped and nodded, feeling weirdly ashamed. A hot flush spread across her body, fueling the heat already attending her sweating body. There was real compassion in his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“It’s okay.”

“You’re not like, diseased or nothing, are you?”

“No!” she shook her head. She felt it important to reassure him, for some reason, that her body was clean. “Nothing like that. I’m just—I’ve—you know how it is.”

“I really don’t.”

“I’ve prioritized other things.”

God, it was hot in here. She tugged at the tiny paper shirt. Her sweat had started to make the outfit stick to her breasts. They felt heavy. Itchy. She rubbed them, not aware of how erotic the action was for Frank.

“What could be a priority over sex?” asked Frank.

“Living well? Having a career?”

“God, all that’s going away, lady. You’re gonna die. Don’t you know that?”

“Sure I do.”

“You’re gonna die. We all are. You gotta get all the fucking you can jammed in there.” He laughed. “Poor choice of words. Sorry.”

That he apologized for the double entendre surprised her. He was, even in his own stupid, idiot-man way, trying to be sensitive.

After a moment of watching her rub her tits together in her tight, sweaty top, he licked his lips. “You want to see it?”

She knew right away what he meant.

“Do I want to see your cock?” She shuddered. “Your penis, I mean?”

“You can mean whatever you like if it means you want to see it.”

Saliva wet her mouth. She didn’t know it right away, but her nipples began to tent in her jumpsuit. She touched one with her forearm, and the sensation was...electrifying.

“I…I mean…”

“Have you seen a cock, a real cock, out in the light ever? I don’t think you have. I think all your sex has been in the dark. I bet it’s only lasted five minutes at a time.”

Her tongue darted out across her lips. The top row of her teeth raked across her bottom lip and she suppressed a low, galvanizing shudder.

“Show me.”

Within a moment, he dropped his pants. His cock was completely hard, standing horizontally in front of him. It was so lovely. There was a slight bend to it. His hair around it was thick and bushy and dark.

A bead of precum sat on the tip. Waiting, it looked like. Patient like a pearl. Crafted by eons of evolution. Designed entirely for the tongue of a young, pretty woman to lick it up and ask for more, please, Sir? More?

Suddenly she wished there was some kind of partition in the room. She wasn’t skilled with playing with herself but she very much thought she could learn. Maybe once she was out of here…yes. That would be wonderful. Once she was out of here, then she would spend the entire day or week or month, maybe, in her apartment and just sliding her thumb against her clit the entire time.

The entire time...thinking about that cock.

“Thank you.” She gulped. “You can put it away now.”

And he did, a knowing smile on his face.

“You said they’d be fucking by now.”

“I know what I said.”

“They’re not fucking.”

Martinez sighed. “I know what they’re doing.”

“This is like foreplay, sort of. But it’s not fucking.”

“I know. Okay? Do you hear me? I’m watching with you. Jesus Christ. Shut up already.”

“Is that guy still going around with the hat? I want to change my bet.”

“Every hour passes, he takes new bets. Just wait a while. He’ll come around.”

Hour 4

He didn’t really put his cock away, the scoundrel.

While Rebecca, sweating and heated, had pushed herself into the corner for the last couple of hours, desperate to ignore the barrage of arousal on her senses, Frank had been in the opposite corner, jerking off.

She caught him just in time to see it happen. The big it. The cumming, the orgasm, the huge load. She giggled slightly at all the filth filling her mind.

The spray pasted against the lower edge of the wall where it met the floor. It looked like an entire cup of masculine product spilled out like a jet from a hose.

“Shit, Frank!” she shook her head. “What the fuck?”

He stood over the new puddle for several moments, breathing and stroking out any last squirts of cum. Rebecca licked her lips as she watched. Her pussy burned with need, though she didn’t know what that meant.

“I was...I had to.” He shrugged. “I had to.”

“You were jerking off? This whole time?”

“Yeah.”

“Were you…were you doing it to me?”

There was a strange tint of hope to her voice. Even she was surprised she said it so openly.

“I didn’t think—” he coughed. “I thought you’d be mad if I looked at you while I did it.”

“Oh.”

He seemed to sense her disappointment. “I was thinking about you, though. Yeah, I was. Thinking about your legs. I didn’t know I liked legs so much. But you got ’em. Damn.”

“I see.” She struggled, trying to find her resolve. Her legs were sweaty and long. Wet. Shiny. Why was her sweat so shiny? It was like it was trying to show off her body. “Well. You’re…um, a pig. Then. Yes. A pig.”

Even she thought her words were hollow. She left them behind her in the corner, standing up and rapidly approaching the mess he’d made against the wall and floor. There was nothing to clean it with that she could see. The smell was intoxicating.

“It’s…god. There’s so much of it.”

“I know.”

“No, but I mean, look at it.” She shook her head, kneeling down. “There’s…god. There’s so much of it.”

“You said that.”

“But it’s like a centimeter thick. And it’s just…it’s like thick. Like dense. It’s just sitting there. Standing up. God.”

Her mouth hung open as she breathed between words. Her eyes were wide, her lips wet. Almost glossy.

She seemed pained—and strangely, Frank took pity on her.

“Here,” he said, stripping off his shirt.

In a moment he had cleaned up the entire puddle. It stuck easily to his shirt, completely clingy. It was hard not to think of how his cum could stick so easily to her insides. It would slide up right into her canal, easily going all the way. Filling her fertile womb with a perfect concoction of potency and warmth. Look at how it stuck, how it weighed his shirt down! She would be pregnant in minutes. On the first try, without a doubt.

Pregnant on the first time inside me.

A wave of heat attacked her brain. That would be so perfect. That would be so perfect. That would mean they were meant together, and weren’t they already? Locked here in this room and feeling this tangible fucking fuck-heat between them. It would be so right, so right, so so right…

Then, for the first time, she looked at his shirtless body. He was…

Well. He was in rather good shape, wasn’t he? Not just a smoking big pole to boast about. He had a body to match. Sure, he wasn’t like, carved from marble, or anything, but he had plenty of muscles. His shoulders nice and broad, his stomach flat. Bulky. Burly, even. The kind of build you might imagine a caveman had. Lots of dense musculature and hair around his chest. A dark happy trail leading to his cock, which still bulged in his pants.

He was strong. He could protect her.

He tossed the shirt off to one side, and wordlessly, Rebecca followed it and crouched over it.

“What are you doing?” Frank asked.

“Nothing. I’m just…it…smells.”

“So you’re getting closer to it?”

She couldn’t explain it. But yes, it smelled, and yes, she was getting closer to it. It was an intoxicating smell. Her head felt dizzy, but she didn’t care. It was as if all her life, she had been living behind a window, and now all of sudden she was in front it. Sounds were more real. Sights more vivid. Every smell like someone had dumped a load of pheromones into her brain. All sensations were magnified, complexified, sexified. They all led directly to her pussy, dripping hopelessly down her legs, needing a firm cock to show her which way was right. She held the shirt up to her nose, taking in the deep, woodsy, campfire-musk of her man. Of…of the man, rather. Of Frank.

“You’ve got…” he gulped, gaping a bit. “You’ve got a little, there. On your nose.”

“Oh,” she said, distant. Without thinking to do it, she slid her tongue upward, gently licking it off the tip. The taste was still warm, even though it had been a few minutes since he had cum.

Suddenly, she was on the floor. Her legs not working quite right. Everything spun. Her body felt wet from head to toe, and warmth spilled over her entire being. Was this an orgasm? Was this how they were supposed to feel?

“Are you all right?”

His hands were on her. Big, strong, man hands. God, she loved his man hands. His man arms. His man shoulders. Everything about him was so brilliantly manly. How had she ignored that before? That thick cut of his jaw. The thickness of his hair. Those big, sexy muscles that could just hold her down and fuck her until she was brimming over with his cum.

Until she was pregnant.

She moaned at the thought. As the little droplet of cum slid further down her esophagus, leaving a hot wet trail all the way down, her skin absorbing more and more of the precious manly material, her thoughts became a train track along which every stop was that: he would get her pregnant.

She couldn’t get rid of it. It was all she could think of.

They would escape, distract the guard, run away from this place, and then he’d get her pregnant.

Or they would be stuck there forever, rutting like maniacs, and then he’d get her pregnant.

Or the authorities would let them out, and she’d follow him home and beg to be filled with his cum, and he’d get her pregnant.

Or there would be some emergency, a fire maybe, and everyone would have to be evacuated, and he’d pin her against a table and shove his cock into her sloppy wet slit and then he’d get her pregnant.

Yes, he’d get her pregnant. He’d fuck her against the wall, hold her down, not let her get away (not that she would want to), claim his territory and mark her as hers.

And what would that leave her with?

“Babies,” she said softly. “Lots of babies.”

“What was that?”

Slowly, the haze lifted. Frank was holding her, sitting her against the wall under the sink. She ignored, violently, how much that turned her on, pushing away from him and scrambling to the other side of the cell.

“You stay over there, you fucking maniac,” she warned him. “You’re not going to get me pregnant. No fucking way!”

For his part, Frank looked rather confused, especially as she had her fingers buried in her dripping snatch the entire time she made her speech.

Hour 6

Sleep gave him respite for a time. It was not good rest, nor consistent, but at least it was there. He had vivid dreams of fucking—fucking everyone he’d ever fucked in the past and everyone he’d ever wanted to fuck.

Frank fucked his two ex-wives—including the girl he’d married only for a few weeks in Vegas. He fucked her until drool spilled out of her mouth, until she was unable to say anything but “cock” and “more.” He fucked every celebrity he’d ever jerked off to, every woman in the streets that he’d ever lusted after. Other images faded away—how to fix a pipe, or how to close a live wire’s circuit, or how to jimmy a stubborn lugnut off of its base.

These thoughts and memories were replaced instead with magnified visions of every hot, lusty thought his mind could manage, until he saw all those women—an army of them, an army of sluts that existed in every horny man’s mind—as vividly in his troubled sleep as if they were standing in front of him.

Waking approached slow. The first thing he felt was his hard-on, undeterred by his sleep and more active than any other part of his body. The thick meat of his cock pressed hard against the thin material of his outfit. It pushed against the floor. The floor itself was warm—it should have been cold. So much tile. But it was warm instead, and growing warmer still.

In fact, it was wet and warm. Something wet and warm surrounded him. Groggily, he pushed upward, and found his hand covered newly in the same warm wet substance.

It was his cum. He lay next to a puddle of his own cum. It was everywhere in front of him, spurted outward from the constant wet dreams from the night.

Across from him, Rebecca was on the floor, fingering her pussy madly.

“It’s s-so much,” she moaned. “So much. S-so m-much. And you wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t stop. Oh god.”

Her fingers rubbed intently over her pussy. She seemed to be cumming every few seconds, but he couldn’t tell for sure—her pleasure looked constant. Her top was plastered against her tits—the material totally see-through now. See-through and wet. All of her body so very wet. Her tiny shorts were captured under her knees, and her feet splayed wildly across the floor. As such, he could see all of her pussy.

Her pussy was hot. He could tell it was hot just from looking at it. Not just “hot,” like attractive, but actually warm, actually having an oven-like temperature that wouldn’t cool anytime soon.

“God, you know. Rebecca. I could…uh…I could really help you out.”

Despite all his cumming, his cock was hard as a rock. He let his pants fall down into the puddle of cum. They were sticky and wet anyway.

“N-no. No.” She shook her head. “Stay back. We have to…we have to resist. We can’t fuck.”

She might as well have been reciting a calculus equation. “We can’t?”

“No. If we fuck, then…then they win. We have to resist,” she huffed again. “We have to resist.”

Resist? She didn’t understand. That was idiot talk. Stupid dumb slut words. She really needed to figure out what the world was about. Frank would teach her.

“But your pussy.” He had a hand on his cock now, stroking slow. Her eyes lit up at the sight, and he watched as another orgasm rollicked through her body. “Your pussy needs me.”

“No!” She put up a hand, the other still firmly in her cunt. “No. Stay back, okay? I don’t want that. I don’t want you. I just need to—nnngh.” She bit her lip, cumming once more. Her voice became quiet, but she kept fingering herself. “I just need to keep cumming. Cumming and resisting.”

She had said no. There was a part of him that wanted to ignore that, to take her anyway, no matter what she said—but he pushed it away. That was foolish. This here was a mate. You didn’t just ignore what a mate said. You respected her, and you showed her what she needed to have until her silly little female mind finally came around and recognized that she needed to be brimming with his young.

And she would. He was certain of that. His head lolled backward and he stroked harder. God, his arms weren’t even getting tired. His muscles felt hard as rocks. He’d been jerking off for what felt like hours now—even in his sleep, his hand had been attached to his cock.

“You can…” she gulped. “You can stroke it closer to me, if you want.”

He did want to. And so, standing over her, feeling something like a lord in a manor, he stroked his huge cock over her prone, self-fingering body.

“Here we go.”

“Here we go?” Pruitt snorted. “Come on.”

“They’re about to get into it, man. I don’t know who won the bet, but it wasn’t me.”

“She’s still pushing him away.”

“Yeah, and that’s weird. Their chemical readings are off the chart. They should be on the seventh or eighth session, according to their chemistry. I don’t know why the grip is so slow on their brain. It’s like it’s…I don’t know. The effect is more symbiotic than parasitic.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“It means,” said Martinez, “that maybe this little virus is smarter than we gave it credit for. But they’re going to start soon, now. You watch. They’re going to start and they won’t be able to stop.

Hour 8

It was hard exactly to tell where the foreplay stopped and the actual sex began. After ten minutes of stroking his cock directly next to Rebecca, she had told him rather imperiously that he was doing it wrong. Directly, she began to stroke for him.

Immediately, at their touching, all their sensations magnified once again. He came instantly, spraying all over her naked thighs. Her shorts, soiled completely, had to be totally removed. It didn’t matter. They were just in the way. All their clothes were gone now.

Wherever it started, however it would be measured as beginning, they rutted now like mad meth-laden rabbits. His cock felt like an extension of Rebecca’s body, an extension of her very soul.

Somewhere in her distant past, Rebecca had lost her virginity in a college dorm room. It had been a sad little affair like so many losses of virginity tend to be. There were posters of bad bands on the walls, and one of them played on the computer sitting only a few feet away through paltry laptop speakers that had about as much business blaring music as Rebecca did playing in the NHL. Pot smoke filled the air. The boy’s face—not a boy, really, an eighteen year-old, but next to what an ungodly perfect specimen of stud Frank was, all men had started to be referred to as boys in her recollection—was pimply and awkward. Too much hair in all the wrong places. He came almost right away, and the feeling had been disappointing, covered over by a thin rubber sheet that didn’t give her any of the primal warmth that she and every heterosexual woman had been born needing to have inside of her.

He fell asleep afterward, right on top of her, and she had to suffer the indignity of feeling his cock shrink inside her barely-penetrated pussy. When he woke, he removed the sloppy condom from her, and some spilled out.

She spent the next three weeks terrified that she might have gotten accidentally pregnant. When she was sure she wasn’t, she broke up with the young disappointment, and swore off the distraction of boys until she had finished school. Then, after a similarly disappointing experience soon after her graduation, she had sworn off men until she finished her law degree. Then, after that graduation and another disappointment, she had sworn off men until she got her career on track.

Her love life could wait. Everything could wait. Sex wasn’t important. Life was important. Money was important. Owning her house—that was important.

She hadn’t ever had an orgasm until eight months ago. It was an unpleasant experience for her. Losing all that control. Not knowing where her limbs would go, how her legs would shake, how her mind would drift afterward and make it impossible to do anything else for the rest of the day. Afterward, she had written in her diary a simple note:

“Orgasmed today after playing with myself for one hundred and fifty-five minutes. One hundred fifty-five minutes! For ten seconds of pleasure that I barely even felt. Not worth it. 0/5 stars. Would not do again.”

Now, underneath Frank, her upper torso pinned in the corner of two walls and her ass jammed in between his thighs, that enormous fuckrod of his plowing into her cunt so forcefully, she came again and again. And again. And again. The pleasure was ceaseless. It replaced her thoughts, replaced her memories, replaced her morals and her ethics and everything else that wasn’t the primordial biological knowledge of how best to please a man’s cock, of how to get pregnant, of how to do anything in her power to feel cum inside of her again.

Tears dripped down her cheeks—tears of purest joy. She stared up at Frank with love in her eyes as he unleashed his strength on her comparatively tiny body.

Her tits bounced and jiggled as he drove into her body again and again. A distant part of her brain wished they were bigger for him. And then she remembered—soon, she would be pregnant. All those new curves for her man. A thick hot belly to please his view. Bigger tits filled with lifegiving milk, all just for him. She would have her entire body dedicated to his sperm. Her every cell, her every atom devoted to cultivating what his amazing manly seed had given to her. It was so perfect.

It only made sense that she served him, that she did as he said. That she submitted totally to his will. Her body was made to submit to his will—to change on a chemical basis to become the perfect vessel for the physical incarnation of his amazing masculinity. Why would her brain be any different? Why would her will?

Women were born to serve. It made total sense.

“Women are born to serve,” she moaned, testing it out.

She didn’t even know if she meant to say it to him—if she meant for him to hear. She just wanted to hear the words. But, it excited him. She could tell by how he increased the rapidity of his thrusts inside her.

“Is that right, slut? You’re born to serve?”

Rebecca nodded eagerly, a hot happy breath parting her lips. He wanted her to speak. He wanted to know what was on her mind! God, he was so magnanimous.

“Oh yes, Sir. Born for it. Born for your cock. I was made to be—oh fuck—”

She had to stop speaking because she started cumming. Her mind turned off.

When it turned back on, her mouth was moving, and words spilled from her lips, though strangely she didn’t feel like she was in control of any of them.

“Born to serve you. To suck your cock. Just your whore. Your dumb slut. Your three holes. Have to fuck you. Need to be fucked. By you. By you. By you. B-b-by y-you-oh god!”

And she came again, consciousness blinking out once more.

Her mind became a sort of strobe light of consciousness, flashing this way and that. She saw Frank on top of her, grunting loud in orgasm. She saw her thighs dripping with his cum and her pussy juices all mixed together.

Cum.

She heard herself shout, “Give me your fucking babies, Daddy! Please, Sir! I need them so bad!”

Cum.

And the next thought was that she was bent over onto her knees, Frank’s enormous cock fucking hard into her pussy from behind.

Cum.

Tugging at her short hair. She should have longer hair, she realized, so Frank would have more to play with. So she would have more to show off for him. Yes. That was a perfectly natural, perfectly good thing. A woman should have hot long hair so she can show off what a good little fucktoy decoration she is for her man. Why hadn’t she realized before?

Cum.

“Never done this before,” she giggled. And then she lazily slid her mouth over the top of his cock, slurping him down.

“Oh, that’s perfect, love.”

Cum.

Her head was automatically moving up and down Frank’s cock, slurping slow, but not quite fast enough. He wrapped his hair in her hand and began pumping her up and down.

He’s using me to masturbate his cock, she thought. My head, my mouth and tongue, are his lube. I’m just a fucktoy. I’m just—

Cum.

There was cum everywhere. All over her tits. All over her neck and her mouth. It tasted so good. It tasted like—

Cum.

His seed was everywhere again. All over her tits. More of it this time. Double the amount. It made her breasts stick together on her chest, like she wore some tight hot dress. He climbed on top of her and pushed his cockhead through the cleavage. Slowly, the sticky cum pushed apart like buttery spread, and his cock spurted out layers of precum onto her skin and—

Cum.

Rebecca snoozed happily, snuggling tight up against her man. God, he was such a good man. He was going to fill her with so many perfect babies. Her cunt was still on overload. Just the slightest touch would set her off. God, her thighs were covered in his cum. They just soaked in a puddle of it. What if she shifted so that—

Cum.

“What’d I tell you?”

“Shut up.”

“No, what did I tell you? I forget.”

“You didn’t forget. You’re just being an ass.”

“Yeah.” Martinez laughed. “Your report done yet?”

“Well, we gotta watch until they expire, right?”

“If they expire. I mean, we might have to terminate them eventually. I’m not sure when they’re going to let up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the virus is changing, isn’t it? It wants to keep its host body alive. And so it’s…I don’t know. This strain is mutated somehow. Beyond just what we did to it. And so it’s lasting longer. I don’t know how soon it will kill them.”

“Will it kill them?”

“I don’t know.”

“So what do we do?”

“We wait.”

Hour 16

The nurse entered the room, gingerly stepping through the piles of fluids that had gathered on the floor. Frank saw her the way that man was intended to see women—noticing only the thick width of her hips, the steadiness of her stance, the heat emanating from her pussy. It was the same hot redheaded nurse from before, though Frank didn’t remember that all that well. She wore a suit of some kind, her head in a bubble. Protected.

He could fuck her full and pregnant on the first try, he knew. He could do it in less than five minutes if she would let him.

He stood up—or tried. But his hands were bound to the railing on the side of the bed. She must have tied him up before he woke.

The nurse leaned over Rebecca, speaking into a microphone on her shoulder.

“Subject appears unconscious. Possibly comatose. I suggest—”

Beneath her, Rebecca suddenly began to shake violently.

“She’s having a seizure!” Frank said. His voice was low and gravelly, little more than guttural cavemen-like grunting. “Help her! You’re a nurse! You have to help her!”

The nurse knelt down. Thick fluids surrounded her knees. Cum, precum, pussy juice. The combination created a potent chemical mix. Frank continued to panic, tearing at his bindings. He’d gnaw through his wrists if it meant protecting his mate.

Rebecca’s eyes suddenly snapped open. She wrapped her legs around the nurse, and tore into the suit with her fingernails, detaching the bubble around her head. The nurse let out a frightened moan as her skin, her nostrils, her mouth was exposed to the heavy lust-layered air. Rebecca pulled her down and kissed her madly, pushing herself on top of the nurse’s busty body. Soon, the nurse was sliding in the collected juices on the floor, apparently forgetting how to resist—forgetting perhaps that Rebecca carried a monumentally dangerous virus transferred by any physical contact.

Finally, though, she pushed Rebecca off with a terrified cry, and stumbled out of the room, wailing. Alarms began to sound.

Rebecca, smiling, rushed to Frank and untied him, using a scalpel taken from the nurse’s belt. He took her by the hand and they rushed out of the room, blindly searching for a way to survive. The place was a maze. They rounded one corner, and there were men with guns and bio-suits on. He rushed at them, punching and elbowing, until they had scattered or were left on the floor, unconscious. Rebecca clapped her hands with glee, watching her man fight for her. His cum was everywhere.

They continued to run, paying no attention to the intercom blaring overhead, entreating them to stop. Doors began to shut all around, locking and slamming.

With no other recourse, they simply followed the lines in the hallway—a green one. Frank’s stamina felt endless. His body completely reformatted for physical activity for hours at a time. He slammed through one half-open door, and inside was a garage.

Lucky.

There was a car waiting there, a man trying to start it.

“Oh, shit. Martinez!” the man ran to the other side of the garage, banging on the door. “Martinez, you gotta let me back in there, man!”

Frank shoved him to the ground, his fingers clasping deep on his neck. Somehow, he knew the man was infected right away—even though he barely had a concept of being infected himself. He simply knew he felt correct.

“Get in, baby.”

He slapped Rebecca on the ass and pushed her inside the military car. The keys were inside—and there was enough of his brain left behind to know how to operate it. With a roar, the engine came alive, and he powered out of the garage and up into the waiting world. Bullets sang against the car, trying to stop it, but somehow they missed, or deflected off the car’s surface, or both.

Rebecca kissed him madly as he steered them to safety—protecting her—and then sank her mouth down to his waiting, spurting cock.

He came just as they powered through the closing gates. And they were out, out in the world, free.

And the virus was free with them.