XXXecil's: Silverfox Ch. 02byxxxecil©
It was getting easier for Bertha. Yes, in the beginning she had been shocked by her own desires, the terrible and lusty things she did with that handsome, young Jason person. And... that was the last name she could remember from the evening. That was one of the side-effects of getting her youth back with the new Silverfox drug; the craving for men - for sex it had built up inside her like a volcanic flow of feminine wetness that erupted in explosive, fiery orgasms.
She didn't really remember how she got here - or where here was. It seemed to be some sort of...eh...frat house? Apparently. Greek symbols on the walls, dirty laundry and crooked furniture littered a communal living room, and four naked young men lay sprawled in exhaustion upon the floor, their penises painfully erect even though they were unconscious. Young college kids - far younger than her - these boys would be flabbergasted had they guessed the truth. That this lusty little nymph they had so eagerly mated with was already old enough to collect social security. Yet they could have been forgiven for not imagining such a thing - the healthiest, most gorgeous co-ed could not have had a more perfect, silk-smooth complexion, nor a firmness of skin and muscle to rival a teenager's.
Bertha was living the impossible dream that woman had craved age unto age. What women would have given a Queen's ransom to possess - and indeed, the silvery vial of Cis-sulphonamide Xanoxylate had not come cheap, but no price was too high to pay.
The miracle drug had been kind to her; giving her jutting hips and a wide bosom that pronounced her own voluptuousness even without the jiggles she made to entice the boys to gaze upon her tremulous, female charms. And her face was smooth, young, and perfect. A round and pleasant face, comforting without being shockingly exotic. Hers was the sort of form that made men snarl with lust and lay claim to her, thrusting into her womanly depths with raging, vigorous thrusts.
And there was a time when her shame would have stymied even the thought of the excesses she had just indulged herself in. Yet sex too, was far better for a woman with Silverfox in her veins, orgasms were almost instantaneous; and just the proximity of a man sent jolts of pleasure searing her nerves that she knew she would no longer be able to do without.
It was with greed that she slipped her well-used, but still aching pussy over the rigid shaft of a nameless frat-boy whom she had already exhausted hours ago. What amazed her was the fact that men no longer went limp inside her after ejaculating. Must be a side-effect of the Silverfox chemical reactions, she mused. She placed his hands upon her hard-nippled breasts as she ground herself upon his paralyzed member.
"Slut..." she spoke, testing the word. She knew that she would not give up the explosive pleasure that came from exploiting her new beauty to fuck young men, she knew that this is what she would become. And it was becoming alright now. Alright to be a slut, and she rutted and thrashed atop the nameless college-kids perpetually hard cock.
It was a form of revenge, in a way. It began as her own idea, but that strange, hallucination that her plaqued her lately had also contributed to the idea. She was like the distillation of every hedonistic and lusty thought Mabel had ever had, and the ghostly presence was covered in legions of salacious tattoos that almost resembled clothing. That was just one more side-effect of the Silverfox drug; it had changed her mind as well, giving her hallucinations of this she-devil that represented all of Mabel's most venal urges. And so Mabel knew what she had to do; it was sort of like - revenge on Mother Nature for making her ever grow old in the first place.
"I'm sorry miss, but the details of that investment account can only be given out to the title holder herself -" explained a portly, but strongly-built man with a bushy, brown moustache and a cleanly shaven head. He was the advisor assigned to manage all of Mabel's retirement accounts - but that was in the past - when she'd needed to worry about retirement.
Now, anyone who saw the sleek, busty redhead would have been amazed if she'd claimed to be close to fifty - much less past that. The only real clue was a thin streak of grey-white hair near her temple - in contrast with the rest of her fiery red mane.
"Yes...the account holder... you see there's been... a special circumstance in that regard that I... I need to discuss with you in private, in your office." She was playing well the role of the bereaved younger daughter, intimating that there was some sensitive, family matter to discuss. The banker shrugged, nodded and escorted her into his corner office.
"Alright Miss, what's this all about?" She responded by tearing open the subdued, black funeral-appropriate dress-suit that she wore, releasing into the light her spectacular pair of perky-nippled Triple-D's. Despite the girth of her endowments, they remained remarkably firm and upright, like sexually aroused grape-fruits that gleamed with pink aureoled magnificence in the florescent office light.
"This... is about... my tits...and your cock..." she hissed wickedly as she sauntered towards him, the rest of her outfit peeling away; she wore neither bra nor panties.
"This... you can't...seduce me into...b-betraying... account information.." The bald banker stammered.
"You're not betraying anything;" Mabel replied, jiggling her chest at him. "Y'see, I really am Mabel Hayworth." She began stroking the pale, grey streak through her sunset-red hair.
"But what're you... that's not possible it's..."then Banker's eyes widened. He would have remembered all the news reports... they would have discussed symptoms of the Silverfox contamination. Recognition would be dawning. "It's... you really are....her?" He was expecting a senior citizen, what was now almost naked before him was a nymphomaniac with a body as firm and smooth as a high-school senior.
"That's right; and you're hornier for me right now than you ever were for your wife." She sneered, as she swept the papers, books, ledgers, and keyboard of his desk with a wave of her youthfully strong arm.
With the dexterity of a much younger woman, Mabel swung her hips up onto the desk; pussy thrusting towards him.
"And I'm not here to check my account status...." The reddening of his face, the tenting of his pants, the stammering in his throat; they were music to Mabel's ears.
As he scrambled atop her, and began to slide eagerly, earnestly into her cunt - she gasped with a delight that was not so much the achievement of pleasure, but more the relief of a pressing, pussy-moistening need. She pressed her lips to his own moustached ones to stifle her scream of pleasure as the pulsing fire of xanoxylate-enhanced sexual excitement coursed through her.
But there was more; Mabel was a woman on a mission. She wore a spicy, brilliant red dress that pumped up her ample breasts, draped around her legs and opened to allow the creamy curves of her toned thighs and calves to reach the gaze of admirers. As she strode into the sleazy, singles bar her heart skipped a beat in delight as she felt so many eyes on her. It was milk to her soul to be so craved again - after so many decades. She could not suppress a brilliant, teeth-flashing smile as she approached the nearest bar-stool.
"Don't you just hate it..." Mabel began in a voice that dripped with sultry appeal. "When women dress in super-skimpy outfits that expose everything... and then get angry when men are attracted?" She angled her chest so that the red dress allowed a deep view into valleys of bouncy cleavage. He didn't even pretend not to stare.
"Errh... yeah....I...know what you mean." He was a thick-browed man with a broad shoulders and a hawk-like nose, with salt-and-pepper iron-gray hair in a crew-cut. And it was no coincidence. She was here, at this stool, talking to this man for a very particular reason.
"Just burns me up..." she cooed, flicking her hair and arching her back. "You wouldn't do that to a woman, would you?" She asked flirtatiously, a hand rubbing his thick shoulder.
"I'm not sure if I..."
"It's obvious what a handsome, attractive man you are. You wouldn't get angry... if a woman were to...admire you?"
The blushing. How sweet. She grinned inwardly and outwardly.
"I....I've got a hotel room... if you're...interested?
She had to restrain him and herself, she didn't want him to throw her down onto the bed and begin the main event - before he knew. He had to be told who she was. And her had to want her anyway.
"Pretty snazzy suite," Mabel remarked. "With Susan changing all the locks with the divorce and all, I thought you'd be strapped for cash." She appraised the lavish, beige-carpeted room with a jacuzzi and four-post bed.
"Say wha..?" His mouth opened in an abortive query.
"I admit," Mabel said, kicking off her panties while still wearing her dress. "It was exciting hearing all the gritty details of the marriage. Me being your next-door neighbor, I guess it was natural that you ask me for impartial advice."
"What the Hell - the only person I ever talked to my marriage about..." His brow darkened, his hands pausing in the midst of unknotting his tie. "only.... Mabel Hayworth."
She giggled and nodded. His eyes darkened - then widened.
"No only...but you...wait...that silver-streak in your hair...the news...they said that was one of the signs to look for... is it... are you?" He wasn't sure he wanted to form the question.
"Yes, yes, and yes." And the dress had fallen. "Young... gloriously young again..." She was ecstatic!
"And you want...?"
"It's what you want, stud. You're a man, and even though you knew me when I was old; you...are so turned on.... that you can't resist fucking me!" Brazenly, with a wicked gleam she began to play with her naked breasts, kneading them right in front of him.
"But I'm not...you aren't..."
"Oh c'mon Bruce; I've seen your wife. And you've seen the new me. And I want you even more than you want me...Are you going to pass up a shot at this?" Arching her back fully, voluptuous spheres to make a god blush bounced free in the air. Lusciously round mammaries as plump as honey-dew melons yet softer than a pillow. Her endowments screamed out for a man's lusting touch. She was so brazen! Bruce had never met any one so wanton as this crazed she-devil that had once been his modestly polite, elderly neighbor. Moaning with awesome longing, his hand closed around a full, fertile breast.
It was all a question of time. Not that she didn't enjoy the savage reaming that Bruce gave her wet, hot xanoxylate-laden pussy; but as the pair savagely mated all through the night and past the dawn, Mabel knew that she had to leave to reach her next.... appointment. It was an erotic thrill far in excess of natural coitus. The man's inability to go limp after plastering her womb with his jetting seed allowed his arousal to amplify into a feral madness. The bed-springs had creaked and the walls had shook as the burly neighbor jack-hammered her inviting pussy like lightning driven insane. And his own empowered thrusting only magnified her own pleasure.
Mabel drifted in and out of conscious awareness, and an animal craving that knew nothing but the thrill of the rut.
As before, the man exhausted far too easily. And Bruce lay there moaning in a helpless heap after a mere five hours of toe-curling, sheet-moistening, pelvis-slamming fucking. But oh! The benefits of the Silverfox chemistry! Now, whenever male endurance failed, Mabel could climb atop her spent lover and use his hyper-erect rod as a living dildo for hours more!
It was disappointing that she only got two full loads of cum before she needed to leave. But convenient in other ways. If any one man got too possessive, she just had to fuck him to exhaustion for a few hours, and he would collapse in helpless bliss and allow her to go on about her business.
"And I just need the recipient's signature here..." said Brad, the UPS deliveryman that had made innumerable deliveries to Mabel's house over the years. As an old woman, she was delighted to have visitors for any reason, or not at all. Anything to break the lonely monotony of the geriatric exile imposed by time. As a busty Silverfox clad in a terricloth bathrobe, she was glad to see him for a much different reason. MAbel took the clunky digital manifest device with the smart pen and signed her full name.
"Oh no, I apologize for the misunderstanding ma'am." Brad began, adjusting his brown hat. "This package can only be received by the named recipient, it's been labeled sensitive."
"That's right. And I'm the named recipient." Behind his sunglasses, she could see Brad's eyebrows lifting.
"I'm afraid not ma'am. I've made many deliveries to this address and I'm quite sure you aren't Mabel Hayworth."
"Not without a fantastic little chemical cocktail known on the street as...Silverfox." She purred. He started.
"Oh my... I didn't think that the hype was..." He took off his sunglasses, flinty-blue eyes appraised her; she parted her bathroom, inwardly exulting when she sensed that Brad was plundering her with his eyes.
"You're... Our p-procedures don't cover...this type of situation..."
"But you know what to do..." She grasped him by his brown uniform shirt and pulled him to her clutches. "Your cock, my asshole! NOW!" She handed him a jar of Vaseline.
It was something she'd always been intensely curious about, but was too afraid to even admit it too herself before. But now... Now her female assets were so great that scarcely a man alive could resist her. Brad was a fit, firm, clean-shaven, square-chinned working man. With his physique at least, he should have had no trouble impressing the ladies. Yet his male opportunism could not pass up a chance at those tits, that round ass, those legs, those lips...
Grunting as he frantically sodomized her, Mabel emitted a cry that was half squeal, and half moan. It was her pussy that craved the penetration - taking it up the ass was both stimulating and frustrating all at once. She exulted in the pleasure of his vaseline-slicked member gliding through her insides rhythmically, yet the cravings inside her pussy throbbed ever stronger, the gratification combined with tantalization drove her into a drooling frenzy! But all good things must come to an end - it hadn't even been an hour before Brad had fearfully departed, in fear of his job.
But it was enough. Mabel lay sprawled, body pulsing, sweat dribbling down her sumptuous curves. All of them. Every man that had had contact with her in her everyday life when she was old, had been seduced. Oh yes, her vagina burned with a manic craving for male penetration, but her mind....her ego hungered to... avenge herself on the ravages of age. All of the men had known who she was. And her sex appeal had been so great that any unease or trepidation had just been pushed aside.
They had to have her! They HAD to have HER! It was a conquest, a victory of the sort she'd never dreamed possible. The power of desire and to be desired made her soul sing and her lips laugh as she sprawled nude on her living room carpet before the window - almost daring a peeping tom to gaze upon her female splendour.
"A handful of deaths reported has been blamed on the side-effects of Cis-sulphonamide Xanoxylate; if you have young children listening, you may wish to briefly change the channel." But there was something suspicious about perky sweet young anchorwoman, the same one that Mabel remembered from the newscast days before. Strange how....disheveled she looked. Her auburn hair had numerous misplaced strands, and looked mashed near the side. And...was her lipstick slightly smeared? How odd.
"Five incidents in New York, Kansas City, and San Diego have prompted the F.D.A. to issue renewed warnings on the dangers of the so-called Silverfox illegal narcotic that has begun to spread through our communities." Anchorbabe reported in her news-neutral tone. Next to her, as the camera angle switched, was a prim and preppy young man with brownish-blond hair, a prominent brow, and a commanding voice.
"There are unfortunate side-effects for the male partners that engage in unprotected sexual activity with women contaminated with the drug." Strange, why was his tie crooked? What was going on in the news room these days? Why would these two be allowed on the air looking so ruffled?
"Men are reported to... I quote, Enter a persistent frenzy of sexual stimulation, - unquote. Apparently, there are cases of death by exhaustion. In a New York story, a forty-five year old man was discovered dead in his Lower Manhattan apartment after what doctors estimate to be thirty-six hours of non-stop sexual activity. The young brownish-blond guy took a deep breath, looked as if he wanted to say something, then changed his mind.
"The suspect in the death is eighty-six year old Gertrude Fritz, formerly of Sunnyside Nursing Home." The screen showed a side-by-side before and after picture of a pleasant, elderly old woman with skin the consistency of smashed tin-foil. The after-portrait displayed someone with the looks of a runway model with gold-flecked dark hair. Something like a fuller-lipped version of Cindy Crawford with a wild gleam in her sparkling, green eyes. "Authorities are charging her with 2nd degree Manslaughter and possession of a controlled substance. Gertrude met her victim at the Nursing Home, where he was a staff member."
"Idiots," thought Mabel. "Showing comparisons like that is going to ensure that every woman over fifty will sell her soul to get a dose!" Mabel was no exception.
The Female Anchorbabe took up the reporting as the camera switched to her. "Medical Experts have issued a statement explaining that Cis-sulphonamide Xanoxylate is not simply an 'anti-aging' drug, it triggers a transformation both physical and psychological, it will not 'turn you back' to what you were as a younger woman, the alterations will remake their victims into something that has never been before."
"Never before..." Mabel whispered, mind racing.
"In local news, Police have made a series of arrests for public indecency; the latest occured at 3:30 pm on Troost street. The rates of these disturbances have been noticeably increasing lately. The Kansas City Police Department has no comment." That was strange, there was a brief scene of a wide range of people, male and female alike, some young, some middle-aged. None of those shown had the ravishing sex-goddess glamor of a Silverfox, yet they were struggling with police, and pixelation was used to blot out their crotches. How strange.
"It is not known whether there is any connection between these indecent public displays and the increased use of Xanoxylate in our community." Anchorette brushed a loose strand out of her eye. And then it was obvious. The pieces fit together, and Mabel laughed uproariously.
"They did it, the two of them." She had already become convinced that the anchorwoman herself must have used the drug, and now the effects were becoming apparent. Right before the show, that was why they both seemed so crumpled and sloppy. No time for makeup to fix things. Too late by the time they went live. She had probably attacked him in the hallway, with boobs and body exposed, arousing his manhood above and beyond his professionalism.
Yes, the reports about the increases in female libido were undeniable. There was that price to pay for the youth. And Mabel was convinced that it was no longer possible to consider any abstinent course. She'd been warned that the Xanoxylate doesn't pass through the body, it stays and sets up sustained chemical cycles that only grow stronger. Mabel began to rub her own pussy as it throbbed sympathetically with Gertrude in New York. It was more than lust; an alchemical nymphomania that would grow ever stronger unless the demand for cock was fed. A woman's sexual madness would grow ever greater, and her need would simply keep growing until it outweighed morality, decency, and shame. The need would increase, until the woman became a sexual predator. And if the guy couldn't stand up to three days of constant sex - well, at least they died happy. Mabel had surprisingly little pity for the men in the reports.