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FIVE YEARS PART 5 OF 5: YEAR FIVE by Limerick

YEAR FIVE.

“So we are pushing for a MODIFIED vote,” Jocey said. She looked around to make sure the group had heard her use the word ‘modified’ successfully. “Not the boring-ass old vote where you had to figure out what boy got to be in charge, like it fuckin mattered. This is gonna be a vote for girls only!”

The group listened, attentively. The Women’s Auxiliary Meeting had just six girls attending, but they were a very impressive six.

“Like, what about boys just coming into the girl’s room for fucks? That’s not okay! Unless it is! We need one fuckin’ place where boys can’t just come in and fuck us! We can umm…” Jocey chewed her fat lip. Where was she? Stupid train of thought. “Oh, right, vote that boys have to stay outside unless they’re really horny! And vote on stuff like clothes and shit! And free vibrators!”

Free vibrators made a stir. There was another round of applause.

The group consisted of Mrs. Tanaka, who had her legs splayed and was working on a brand new lollipop, in one of her usual rainbow-slut outfits. There were two college girls, Terri and Andie, who were actually attending classes as well as working as dorm toys. Well, A class, but it was the hardest math they could find, and they were totally sitting through the entire thing.

And there was Pauline! Her old friend had disappeared for nearly two years, after announcing her plan to fuck her way around the earth. She had left, heading east, penniless and unafraid, and dropped off the map. Often Jocey had thought of her, and hoped she was making her way east, or north, or whatever it was, sucking some Russian engineer on a furiously steaming train.

She had returned more suffused wtih NN-HANC-F then any girl Jocey had ever seen. She practically glowed pink. Pauline had the most incredible tits, which gushed milk, her fucking TONGUE was longer, and when she entered a room this sweet funk of horny mist started to fill it. Pauline didn’t even wear clothes, anymore. Her eyes were, Jocey thought, wise with the wisdom borne of fucking every color of dick around the whole planet, although, frankly, she was a little dim.

And Pauline wasn’t even the jewel of the team. They had a real-life unicorn, a bonafide, certified, 100% NN-HANC free FEMALE! Her name was Candace.

Jocey privately thought she was probably out of a fairy tale.

Candace listened to Jocey talk with her typical deadpan expression. She wore heavy gloves and a breathing mask, and a thick woolen sweater. She never touched any food. A little water and booze, out of respect for Jocey. Her hair was dark black and in a prim ponytail. She was asian, not that it really mattered, set up against pill-free or no.

“...and that’s all I got. Thanks!” Jocey concluded. She sat back down. It was a relief to be back in her pre-pregnancy spandex and socks, her underwear and signature choker, although her boobs had somehow gone up another cup size. “Uhhhh, Candace, you were going to read something?”

“Yes,” Candace said. “Next chapter of A Handmaid’s Tale.”

“Ooh, that sounds like fun,” Jocey said, encouraging. Candace gave her a look that Jocey struggled to identify. She liked Candace’s readings, they were a great time to space out and think a few thoughts. After this book Candace had promised to read some Charles Dickens, who Jocey vaguely remembered hearing some good things about.

It had been a good year. Abby had moved smoothly into the role of second-wife, and was distinctly subordinate in the best way. Jocey had encouraged her to become Luke’s personal ass slut. Abby had probably thought it was a good way to show her commitment. She didn’t know that Luke just wasn’t a big buttfucker. He liked blowjobs and long lazy fucks on rainy afternoons. Now she was pigeonholed in the role and in doing the more unpleasant chores. But she hadn’t complained.

Jocey had her on baby duty. That was gonna be a thing. Luke had been entranced with her big round belly and had told her that he was gonna put 6-7-8 or 9 babies in there, time permitting. So she was gonna have to get used to that, but, okay.

The girls had actually had some pretty interesting debates about what it meant to be a girl, five years into NN-HANC. Jocey kinda went for the Beast Theory, which was that boys and girls were at heart raging primal fucking machines that needed to get each other off constantly. That was a HOT theory. Pauline, when she talked, was all about the quasi-religious Vessel movement, which meant she was basically a receptacle for “precious seed”. Fair enough. And Candace’s theory that this was “a nightmare, a nightmare every day I wake” was a downer but had a lot of good points.

Jocey was still holding on. She really was. She sent out Christmas Cards to friends and family, a nice big shot of her naked body and big preggo stomach wrapped in a red bow. She still wore underwear. She was aces at addition and could even manage subtraction. She was jogging again, a big thick vision in lycra, reducing SOME of the extra bimbo pounds.

“The end,” Candace said. She shut the book. Jocey looked up and applauded wildly. “That was so much fun!” she said.

Candace sighed.

* * *

They broke for snacks. Mrs. Tanaka always catered. She had made miso-glazed tofu squares and tempura bites, plus hand-made toasted pita chips and hummus.

“Superb,” Jocey told her. Mrs. Tanaka looked at her, bleary-eyed, her mouth encrusted with sugar, and nodded.

The co-eds were talking with Pauline about her trip around the world. “So I was like, in India? I think? Is there an India?”

The co-eds conferred and said they thought so.

“And I’m like, should I fuck an elephant? I’m HERE. I’ve fucked everyone else. And the guys are like, really? They take me out to the fields and there’s an elephant there with like, a HUGE dick. You have NO IDEA. And I can’t like suck or fuck it obviously so I’m like, alright Pauline, it’s been a long time but you’ve got to give an actual HANDJOB. So I get in there and I’m cranking and cranking this big elephant when SPLOOSH. Like a FIREHOSE. It let out a huge trumpet when he came! And this entire crowd is cheering for me! It was such a special moment!”

The co-eds stared at her.

“Wow,” said Andie.

Suddenly Jocey was drawn into the closet. Candace shut the door.

It was just the two of them.

Jocey was overjoyed. She had had so many sweaty fantasies of this day. Candace overcome with the hornies, desperate to feel a real orgasm, kissing her while her tits started to swell. Begging Jocey for the secret of how she had kept it together despite so many years of chemical snacks, so many brain-rattling orgasms, so many mouthfuls of sperm. She leaned forwards and licked her lips.

“Jocelyn. No,” said Candace. “I want you to listen to me.”

“Oh,” Jocey said. Jocelyn, right. That was her name.

“Listen, Jocelyn. You’ve resisted NN-HANC as well as anyone. I want to make you an offer. We have a detox facility. It’s well-hidden.”

“In Narnia? You’re taking me to Narnia?” Jocey said, overjoyed.

“No. Not… okay, you’re resisting as well as you can. Look, we have detoxed girls there, dozens of them. Even some men, who liked the way things were before. You can join us. No NN-HANC for three, four months. You’ll have a BODY again. Not just this big… whatever you are.”

Detox. My god, detox. “And then I’ll be super-smart again?” Jocey said.

Candace took in her friend’s exaggerated form, her open mouth, her plush lips. She put her hand out and wiggled it noncommittally. “Ehhhhhhhhhhh. But, you know, more.”

Jocey considered it. It was HARD to consider it. Frankly, Candace seemed like something out a storybook, with these sad little bags of boob and her closed mouth and her sensible clothing. Female solidarity, and all that, but she couldn’t help feeling like Candace was version 1 of females, and she was on version 2. And Pauline, perhaps, was version… she looked at her fingers… 3. 3 was next.

But it would be nice, right? To read without moving her lips? To not get most of her calories from sucking sperm out of a penis? She could eat regular food again, on a regular basis! And think all sorts of interesting thoughts! All she’d have to do is spend months and months in the fucking WOODS, sweating out years of hormones suffusing her body. And abandon her husband of many years. And everything she had. All the little things…

This was a super-hard decision. She wanted to talk it over with Luke, and realized she couldn’t. Gosh! And she had the nagging feeling she was forgetting something.

“You can bring the baby,” Candace said, misreading her expression.

“Oh right, the baby!” Jocey said. A boy, she had given Luke. Right, gosh.

No, she couldn’t. She couldn’t do it. She was too deep in, had built too much. “I can’t,” she said, apologetic.

“It’s fine,” Candace said. “I understand.”

“I mean, I still haven’t taken a single pill,” Jocey said. “Well, half of one, once. I think that’s pretty good!”

“Sure.”

“And even if I did, it’s only minor cognitive effects.”

Candace only slowly realized that Jocey had actually made a joke. She was impressed.

Then the front door opened, and Jocey bolted out of the closet. Oh god, she hadn’t seen or heard his car coming up! Usually she was right there, mouth open, welcoming her husband—she slid on her knees the last five feet.

“Hey baby,” Luke said.

“Soooo sorry I’m late!” she said, getting his belt undone.

“Five seconds late, how did I survive,” he said. She fished out his dick. It had finally stopped growing at a healthy 11 inches or so. Jocey slid it into her mouth. Thank god. She needed a suck to calm down after the talk of exile and revolution. The big hunk in her mouth was comforting, relaxing. The precum started to flow. Sweet strawberries in her mouth.

No, she couldn’t ever leave this. She had made her major decisions in life. Besides, she bet the boys in the forest barely had 8 inches.

* * *

They finished in the bedroom. That was the usual routine. A welcome-home suck and then a relaxing welcome-even-more-home fuck.

“Is your friend Candace here?” Luke asked, surprising her. He rarely took an interest in her political activities.

“Ummmm…. Yes,” Jocey moaned. “She wants me to abandon you and come live in fairy land with her and fly around with fairy wings.” Oh, was that a secret? Oh well.

“Yeah, I’ve heard about that going around,” Luke said. “About that.” His strokes picked up tempo. “You like Candace, huh? I guess not enough to leave me forever, but you like her?”

“Oh she is the BEST! She is such a good reader and stuff!”

“Uh-huh. Third wife, like her?”

Jocey lost her rhythm. She fought to get it back. Gosh, so many startling offers today!

“What?” she said.

Luke explored her ass with his big, strong hands. His familiar, comforting smell surrounded her. “It’s a little awkward but I’ve been asked to do a favor. I was thinking you could make margaritas for the girls? And I’ve got something for her, and then she can come live with us. It’ll be... good for my career.”

Luke picked her up and maneuvered over to the bedstand while still fucking her. He picked a small vial out of the drawer and put it in front of her, so she could read while they banged. It took awhile, but she managed to engage the reading portions of her brain.

“NN-HANC-FF. MAJOR cognitive effects,” she read, looking at the pink goo inside. “Dang.”

“You can do that for me, right, baby?” Luke said. He shoved it extra deep inside of her, casually wriggled his hips. “For your husband? Make Candace into your and my own little toy? It’ll be, remember, good for my career.”

* * *

“Margaritas!” Jocey announced. The other girls were watching a documentary the co-eds had made about their college exploits. So far it was just various shots of them fucking boys, but there would probably be some political content sooner or later. Although there were like five guys waiting their turn. “Watermelon margaritas!”

The others took their drinks. They probably expected it to contain NN-HANC in some way. Getting dosed was not unusual. Their tits just could not get any bigger, they could not really get any hornier, their bimbo brains couldn’t be any more fixated on fucking. Who cared. Although Pauline looked like she was getting close to growing cow ears and a tail, with how much she had taken in. Milk trickled from her friend’s nipples, even now.

“It’s clean,” Jocey said, winking to Candace. The unmodified, unsexed girl hesitantly took one of the pink drinks, and sniffed it. A little sweet. But not very much. She trusted Jocey. She took a sip.

Jocey watched her.

Gawd, so hot, that moment when Candace would realize something was up. That she was feeling super warm, way too warm. That endless years of avoiding NN-HANC were all up, she had been caught, flooded with bimboizing hormones in frankly insane quantities, her body already betraying her. That familiar dull-eyed, half-lidded look taking over her expression as her mouth started to hang half-open, breathing hard. Her hand moving down to her crotch to confirm that, yep, she was getting damp. No, wet. No, gushing. No, she needed a dick in her, right fucking now. Something to fuck while her tits came in, in one hyper-abbreviated transformative late afternoon. Her and Candace and Abby she guessed all kneeling together, a bimbo sisterhood, jism trickling down all of their boobs. It’d be soooooo hot.

But she had given the drugged drink to Pauline, instead.

“Damn this is pretty fuckin good!” Pauline said, draining it.

Big fuckin’ day for choices.

* * *

Jocey saw the Women’s Auxiliary out, later. Luke was waiting for her in the living room.

“Well?” he said. He looked a little sheepish, ordering her to bimboize another girl.

“I’m super-sorry, Lukey,” Jocey said, looking down. “I sorta fucked up and gave it to Pauline instead! I’ve been suuuuuper stupid today.”

Luke looked at her. She waited to be yelled at, or something. Had he ever yelled at her? She didn’t remember it. But that didn’t mean much.

He let out a long breath. “Well, maybe that’s for the best,” he said. He smiled at her. “You always know what’s best, Jocey.”

“Uh, of COURSE I do, honey,” Jocey said. “Ummm… Pauline is still here. She says she’s SUPER horny.”

“Oh god. Pauline drank—wow,” Luke said.

“You know she’s fucked an elephant?” Jocey said.

Jocey withdrew just for a moment, and came back leading Pauline. Her chest was oversized, her tits beach-ball shaped. Pussy juice streamed down her thighs. Her skin looked practically plastic, blemish-free and taut. Long blonde hair streamed down her back. The air around her was like breathing through a candy cane, mixed with a sticky musk. It made Jocey super horny. She couldn’t even imagine how it’d affect a man.

“Honey, lie down, I’ll put her on top of you,” she said. Her man laid down, and she maneuvered the big-titted bimbo onto his dick.

“I can’t even see her face,” he said, enchanted, starting to hump. “She’s all tits.”

Jocey watched him go. She put her hand between her legs. Part of her wondered, idly, how their next year together would go.

Probably pretty hot.

FIVE YEARS PART 4 OF 5: YEAR FOUR by Limerick

YEAR FOUR.

Jocelyn had Luke’s fly unzipped as soon as he parked the car. His cock sprang up into the air, and she went right down on it as he turned the motor off. It was all one smooth motion.

She sucked steadily. God, they were so in synch, these days. This is what a marriage should look like—absolute anticipation and fulfillment of Luke’s constant bestial sexual needs. They fit together so well, remade into an elite breeding pair, her holes practically designed to squeeze every drop out of his big, full balls.

Luke stroked her hair. He didn’t say much when she blew him. But she knew exactly what he liked. Not a lot of mouth movement, a ton of tongue along the underside. A warm home, a cheerful receptacle for his jizz. She was his stress reliever, and hey, otherwise they’d be practically bathing in his copious amounts of cum.

Jocelyn could tell he was tense. His scent was sharp, anxious. He was utterly still as she sucked at him, and he was taking longer to cum. He had only recently joined the practice group, the fledgling doctor, and tonight was a major social event. Meet his colleagues, their wives, their other wives, their collected other girls. Introduce them to Jocelyn.

Jocelyn was tense, too, although she didn’t think Luke had noticed. She had her own agenda.

Tonight she had to find out who the utter bitch was that was fucking her husband.

She had THOUGHT that everything was fine, their marriage pristine, that they were that super-rare specimen, the monogamous couple. Luke had seemed happy, undemanding. All he seemed to want out of her was a hot mouth and a cheerful pussy, and she was dedicated to both. Jocelyn kept a clean home. She made an effort to cook. And even with Luke’s seeming contentment to just continually pound her pussy doggy-style she made sure to dress hot, to surprise him with super-sexy outfits, to fuck in all new positions, new rooms. For their anniversary she had gotten under the table in a crowded restaurant and blown him during dessert while the violinist played. It had been SUPER classy.

Another time she had unearthed some old clothes, and he had come home to College Jocelyn. Blue jeans straining to cover her enhanced ass, a cardigan about to pop keeping her tits in. College Jocelyn had kept her legs demurely shut and complained bitterly about “ummm… all the politics and stuff out there” plus the worldwide boy conspiracy to make girls into big happy cumwhores. “So mean!” Luke had gotten into it and they had watched Game of Thrones together until the tension got to great. Then they had both exploded into lust, their sluttified bodies bursting out of the old dumb clothes, to rut furiously in front of a forgotten TV.

That had been nice.

Overall, not a single drop of his jizz, his super-yummy cum, went anywhere but her mouth or her pussy. So she had thought. She was on quintuple birth control to keep it from knocking her up, although they were talking super serious about stopping that. Letting him jizz her pregnant.

Speaking of which, he started to cum. Jocelyn tensed her bulbous lips against his cock, and kept her throat open. Long gone was the little salty squirt. Luke’s cum was thick, creamy, nutritious, delicious. A mild strawberry flavor. She was thoroughly addicted to it and probably drank 4-5 loads a day.

The good news was that her dedication to cum guzzling had helped her break the dependency on shitty bimboizing junk food and drinks. Now she stuck firmly to a small line of totally unenhanced foods.

The bad news was that drinking Luke’s jizz was pretty much as bad as turning a bottle of NN-HANC-D upside down and gargling the pills.

Oh well.

“Good girl,” Luke murmured. It took him not very long to empty out. And as before, Jocelyn detected the scent of Another Woman. Part of becoming a breeding animal was, as a side effect, a very sensitive sense of smell. Someone else’s pussy had been there, had impaled itself on his dick, rubbed its scent into his pubic hair. Marked her territory.

Jocelyn was going to FUCK UP whoever was responsible.

The house was palatial. It belonged to the senior doctor in the group. They all of them were rich men. The birthrate had exploded and their practice was incredibly busy. Luke worked long hours. Sometimes he went home and emptied out into her, sometimes he didn’t. And someone else had seized a chance, inserted herself, literally, into the fuck schedule.

Jocelyn tugged her skirt up, remembered this was a formal event, and tugged it down. She wore a dark red minidress with a fur fringe. Lately she wore a red choker practically around the clock, a personal signature. She was taking a daring fashion risk by wearing underwear, and, anxious about making a good impression, had put on her highest white heels.

The door was answered by an asian girl in a multicolored bandage dress with a deep, plunging neckline. She had her hair in multiple pigtails, and had on so much makeup it was difficult to tell her expression. The girl held a big comical lollipop.

Jocelyn was nearly about to ask where her parents were when Luke spoke up.

“Very nice to see you Mrs. Tanaka,” he said, inclining his head.

“Come on in!” the girl chirped. Mrs. Tanaka. So she was over fifty-five. “Girls over here! Boys are in the pool room!”

Mrs. Tanaka stopped, gave Jocelyn a quizzical look, and stepped close to her. She felt underneath Jocelyn’s dress. This was a minor social faux pas but it was Mrs. Tanaka’s home. “Panties?!” the girl said, and giggled. “Oh my gosh, that’s so funny! Come on in! You must be Jocelyn! That is a hoot!”

Jocelyn took the opportunity to sniff the girl’s hair. No, not this one, not that she thought Luke would be fucking his boss’ wife.

She led Jocelyn through the house. There was a pre-pill portrait of the family up along the wall, with an austere Mrs. Tanaka, her face well-lined, gazed at by a number of children. Now she had been revised into a teen slut with a lollipop as a prop. Oh well.

The girls were hanging out in a colorful room, with shag carpeting, large beanbags, and a massive TV along the wall. There was a tasteful array of sex toys and water bottles along one edge of the room on the counter, and lots of alcohol. A few of the girls were getting high, which always seemed to Jocelyn to be bizarre. You want to be EVEN DUMBER? Everyone was in similar tightly wrapped dresses, and about half had bothered to pull them down over their pussies.

Ordinarily Jocelyn hated these events. They were boring as hell. Typically they either degenerated into a half-hearted orgy, because that’s kind of what the boys expected, or desultory tedious small-talk about clothes and sex and hair and sex. Would it hurt them to TRY to do something different? Jocelyn still painted, and not just with her boobs, using an actual brush. She was involved with a number of charity groups. Finding spare sexy clothes and men for needy girls primarily. Her activism continued albeit in more of a “lets get together and drink and talk daringly about disobeying boys” sense. You could BE MORE than just a BUNCH OF HOLES. It wasn’t that hard!

“Jocelyn, this is Melissa, this is Abby, this is—” Jocelyn stopped paying attention to any names after leaning in for the peck on the cheek with Abby.

It was HER.

It was not a scent that she could put into words, but it was unmistakeable. Jocelyn had sniffed this woman’s pussy on her husband’s crotch. And of course she was a bright blonde with a winning smile, her tits larger than reason with ridiculous nipples. She wore a shiny yellow dress.

BITCH!

As soon as she could Jocelyn maneuvered the homewrecker away from the group, who were starting up the inevitable game of twister.

“So, you work with Luke?” Jocelyn said, all smiles. Haha, all smiles, just two chemically altered girls chatting, how fun.

“Oh, yes!” Abby said, eagerly. She bobbed her head. Her breath was sweet. That and the boobs pointed to a pill-snorter. “Luke is great! I’m so glad he’s with the team!”

Jocelyn surprised herself with her remaining vocabulary of invective. It was nice, sometimes, to see what emerged out the pink soup. She kept up her smile. “You’re… married?”

“Oh! Oh, no. I’m a doctor!” said the big bleached bimbo.

Of course she was a doctor.

“I mean, I… ummmmm… I don’t see a lot of patients I guess lately….” she said. “I mostly assist the dads in the waiting room!”

Jocelyn motioned for Abby to sit down. She felt a little more sure of herself. As a married woman, she outranked Abby.

“Yeah?” she said, and pulled out a vibrator she had picked up from the table. It was an enormous black dildo. She dialed it up to “FULL SPEED”. “And the doctors, too?”

Abby’s eyes locked on the vibrator. Jocelyn casually lowered it between the girl’s legs. Abby made way. It wasn’t like any girls remembered how to close their thighs. Jocelyn examined her rival’s face. A few beads of sweat appeared. That was gratifying.

“Ummm.. a little bit,” Abby said. “If they need… ummm… ohh… medical assistance.”

“Oh, sure, medical assistance,” Jocelyn said, nodding. She shoved the vibrator in. Say this for Abby, she took ten inches without more than a meep. “Like if they’re working late, right? And they have really heavy balls? They have to do something. They can’t exactly masturbate.” Unthinkable.

“R...right,” Abby whispered. Her smile faded. The other girls noticed the action, and giggled. Okay, it was going to be that kind of night. Jocelyn was hard core, despite the weirdo panties.

“Are you fucking my husband, Abby?” Jocelyn said.

“J..just a little!” Abby said. “H..he works so hard! He’s so nice! I could tell his balls were hurting him! I.. he had SO much cum! So much!”

“Yeah, he does,” Jocelyn said. She gave a twist, and Abby came, moaning and squeaking. She collapsed onto a beanbag chair.

Well, shit.

At least she remembered ‘shit’.

* * *

Dinner was excellent. Jocelyn’s opinion of Mrs. Tanaka kept going up. The woman really knew how to throw a dinner party—delicate oriental salads followed by colorful sushi rolls and then big bowls of teriyaki noodles topped with sirloin. “Compliments to the cook,” said Doctor Tanaka, smiling at his wife. She had her legs up on the table, beaver casually visible, and was licking the lollipop with total fervor. Jocelyn made a note to see if she wanted to join the Women’s Auxiliary. This was a girl with hidden reserves. Abby, she noted with satisfaction, was consigned to the single girls table.

On the other hand, conversation was grim. The men discussed the severe, even frightening, world stage. Jocelyn paid no attention whatsoever. If the boys didn’t want to deal with the issues of making half the population over into bimbosluts, they should not have changed half the population into bimbosluts.

She excused herself to go to the bathroom. The girl in the mirror frowned. An entire year of eagerly guzzling a chemical and hormone white batter had taken its toll. She wasn’t even close to her mildly bimboized body of her working days, when she could justifiably call her boobs “moderately sized.” Now she had the cartoonish tits with the oversized, supersensitive nipples, the puffy lips, her fucking HIP BONES had shifted and altered just so she’d have a bigger ass.

But she had held on, despite it all—she even still read Agatha Christie, in the abridged, albeit with a dictionary nearby, and with frequent hand-play breaks.

She had to do something about this Abby situation. Jocelyn heaved a big sigh. Coming up with a plan was gonna cost her. She’d be mindfucked and dull for weeks, exhausted by the effort. But sometimes a girl had to be honest about her future and what was the right decision, as difficult as it was. Body protesting, she THOUGHT.

* * *

“Scattergories?” Dr. Tanaka suggested, breaking up the solemn politics.

The boys brightened visibly. Jocelyn would NEVER roll her eyes at a boy, but it was so typical. Greek demi-gods, with ten inch dicks, supporting huge harems of first and second wives, and at heart they were still med school nerds who liked playing Catan.

“Can I play?” she said, to Luke. She looked him right in the eyes, and winked at him. He smiled back, nervously. The other men watched them.

“Of course,” he said. The boys took note. So, the new doctor was a huge liberal, maybe even a radical. Good to know.

The doctors rolled an S. Jocelyn stared at her game card. She froze.

This had been a bad idea. She had been so eager to get back at Luke for banging the former doctor, now lobby toy. To prove her value. Now she had to think on the CLOCK when she struggled to do so on her own time. S. S. S. She had an English PhD or Master’s or something, for god’s sake. S-sports. Nothing came to mind. Books. Yeah, no. Animals. S. She knew an S animal! She did!

She waited patiently and passed for the first four rounds. “Jocelyn, nothing for you again?” said Dr. Tanaka, smiling, in round 5. He had played Snakes.

“Umm… actually I do have something,” she said, blushing. So many male eyes on her. God, she was getting so warm. Luke waited, expectantly.

“Sperm whale!” she said, triumphant.

There was a pause, and then the assembled doctors burst out laughing. Their assembled scents battered at her loosening self-control, and Jocelyn looked back to Luke. He was smiling that familiar indulgent smile. Thank god.

Time for part two.

* * *

“Honey… can we go upstairs?” she said, post-game. Jocelyn hadn’t bothered with the other rounds. She had scored her point for women’s rights, and made her point to hubby-wubby. Now she could be the horny and wet wife drained by intellectual effort. Which was good because that’s what she was.

“Sure,” Luke said, affable. The night had already been a success. He was a little drunk, pleasantly buzzed. Jocelyn had been judged by the men and declared ‘delightfully novel’ as opposed to ‘tiresomely subversive.’

“Ummmm… can I ask something? A favor?” Jocelyn said. She licked her lips. This was a big step, in a marriage.

“Of course.”

“Can we have another girl too? There’s this one girl I met. I thought it might be… fun.”

Luke’s smile froze. Whoops.

“Sure. Sure,” He said. Was he really hoping it was someone else? Oh, men. Always sure they’d get away with everything. “What’s her name?”

He mouthed it along with Jocelyn. “Abby. I think she works with you?”

* * *

Jocelyn settled in to watch her husband fuck his sidepiece.

It was a strange, unsettl—ah, hell. No it wasn’t. Stupid chemicals telling her how to feel. It was incredibly hot, watching that familiar cock sink deep within a gasping, quivering blonde. To see her husband start to slowly fuck Abby, giving her looks from time to time. That sheepish look.

Abby hadn’t protested when Jocelyn grabbed her. Did she realize the stakes? Probably, given that she was fucking Luke for all that she was worth. He had put her on the bed ass-up, Jocelyn’s usual position, and sank his cock deep in her. Jocelyn could tell her rival was squeezing hard, moaning with abandon, pushing back until his pubic hairs scratched her perfect white ass.

Jocelyn started to finger herself, regardless of the stakes. She sort of HAD to touch herself. This was HOT as HELL. The little adulterer was writhing and wriggling as her husband put the wood in. His wedding ring shone underneath the lights. It was a very nice guest bed, albeit mussed from previous husbands fucking various girls. The air was mingled sweet and dark. Jocelyn watched with her mouth open.

It was hard to think of The Strategy and risks, given that they were rutting mindlessly three feet from her. Anyway, it was up to Luke, now. She waited, breathless, for the small grunt Luke gave when he nutted, for the telltale white sploosh.

Abby’s moans grew fevered and hot, and then she was cumming, losing her rhythm.

Luke came to a halt. Jocelyn looked at him. She had never been so turned on. She would do whatever he asked. Anything.

“Jocey, I’ll finish in you,” he instructed.

Her world practically exploded. Jocelyn hopped next to the spasming, defeated hussy, bent over just how Luke liked, purred just how he liked when he pulled down her panties. Gave him that nice little squeeze when he pushed in.

Although it was a little scary when he came so quickly. Abby must’ve had him on the edge. And he had held off for her.

She looked over smugly at Abby, bereft of jizz, her medical degree in ruins in her pill-addled brain. Jocelyn gave her a big kiss on the lips.

Things were going to work out perfectly.

FIVE YEARS PART 3 OF 5: YEAR THREE by Limerick

YEAR THREE.

“Stop FUCKING!” Jocelyn said, loudly. Jesus christ!

The happy couple were about 18 or so. The girl had dusky dark skin, medium-mocha, and the standard set of bulbous boobs still encased in a little blue dress. She wore what Jocelyn thought of as the standard look—a little dazed, a little happy, a little horny, all capped with a pleased tiny smile and dull eyes. She had her hands up on the bookshelf, three levels up, and had her back arched to present her sex to her boyfriend, or guy she had just met, or whatever he was. The boy was rail-thin, and was minimally disrobed—he had only bothered to pull his jeans down enough to pull out his cock. He hadn’t even pulled down his boxers.

They didn’t stop when Jocelyn yelled at them. She watched his cock pistoning out of the girlfriend’s eager, young slit with real enthusiasm. He still had the rough strokes of a teenager. No real sense of rhythm. Not that it wasn’t hot to watch him tense and shove balls-deep inside of the girl. At any moment he could blow off, flooding the girl with baby batter. A sort of male jack-in-the-box.

Jocelyn licked her lips. They were bigger than before. She was still pill-free, though, proud of herself and the owner of a bunch of “THIS IS WHAT A PILL-FREE GIRL LOOKS LIKE” t-shirts. Outside of the half snorted post-wedding pill she had never taken a pink doll-maker.

“C’mon guys… stop fucking....” she pleaded, watching them go at it. God, he was really fucking the hell out of her. The kid’s stamina was surprising. What a fuck. The pleased tiny smile on the girlfriend’s face was ticking over into something much more serious.

Jocelyn slumped against another bookcase. She was getting pretty horny. Not that she was exactly able to avoid NN-HANC-F these days. The pharmaceutical… and food and beverage… and pretty much everyone had figured out the active ingredients and chemistry and put it in just about everything there was. NN-HANC glazed almonds, milk chugs, all sorts of alcohol, string cheese, fruits and vegetables with a tit-enhancing spray, so many different candies and chocolates with bimboizing effects, breakfast cereal that made you horny and dumb, sunscreens that both protected and enhanced your tits, even NN-HANC-F toothpaste, of all the fucking things. Titpaste.

Sure, they all promised all of the good and none of the bad. Well, less of the bad. REDUCED minor cognitive effects, it said on the label. SOME minor libido effects. Now with LESS vaginal wetness. All of the tits, none of the daze! Okay, some of the daze.

But Jocelyn was on top of it. She was. It was just a matter of self-control and discipline and self-awareness. Use tit size as a guide. Watch to see how tempted she was to sit in front of the TV and squeeze tubes of drugged sugar goo down her throat. Was she so horny she’d juice through a standard pair of panties, or could she go the whole day just mildly damp?

She was going through a three-day fast, at the moment, dipping in to her ever-thinner supplies of NN-HANC free materials. Old gatorades to drink, long-expired, cereal boxes from long ago before they were enhanced with Vitamin NN. It was hard going, harder every time. The sense of well-being and serenity went away but the horniness, the distraction, that took so much longer to fade. She was so randy.

But she had found herself puzzling how to read a book, eventually realizing she was holding it upside down, and declared an immediate detox.

The boy was learning his rhythm. Or maybe the girl had just learned to match his eager, unready strokes. Whatever it was, they were locked in, making beautiful music, her hips stride for stride with his thrusting, beet-red dick. Jocelyn’s right hand reached down and started to stroke. Her mouth was watering.

She was sensibly dressed in abbreviated yoga pants and a similar sports tank, in blue and pink lycra. That was usually what Jocelyn went with—activewear of some kind. They wiped clean, always a concern, they made it easy to monitor tit size, they made it simple to access whatever needy part of her could use stimulation. It wasn’t super obvious when she soaked through her pants. Her ensembles were way better than the pill girls, who loved minidresses or miniskirts and tubetops that could quickly be pulled down, in fluorescent colors.

The boy started to come. It wasn’t immediately clear, since the girl had him buried to the hilt, but then the overflow flood of pearl-white jizz came pouring out. Jocelyn watched it pool on the store carpet. God damn it. This was her section. The last thing she needed was to have a cum puddle in it. The girl, at least, came quietly, with a quiet, senseless murmur. When the boy let her go she collapsed, brain turned off momentarily.

“Motherfucker,” Jocelyn murmured. She pulled her hand away from her own honeypot. She hadn’t even cum. And when she licked her fingers her juice was still sugar-sweet, a sure sign that she was still riding too high on NN-HANC derivatives. It had just been so easy to let her tits fill out, to indulge in a brand new chewing gum, to take a nice lil’ break from the pressures of the world, and she had come this close to being full fuckdoll.

Well, the cum wasn’t going anywhere. Or maybe it was, if some female customer decided to lick it up. Jocelyn decided she needed some coffee. It had just a tiny bit of NN-HANC in it. Hardly enough to matter.

She had been working at the book store for about six months. Getting the job had been tough—companies were quite reluctant to hire girls, and were legally allowed to discriminate—but she spent a week beforehand fasting and was bright and determined. Plus she did have that Masters in English Literature. So while girls exited the workforce in an unending flood she had stood against and joined it, handling “Women’s Lit.”

It had been good to be at work. For the first six months after they had moved she had been bored and chafed at home. They were in a new city and state per Luke’s residency. She had paced around a huge house, fighting a losing battle against her body, against society, betrayed by groceries as her waifish, trim figure slowly and surely acquired thicker curves. Her boobs were now pretty fucking big, even if not as huge as a bonafide pill girl. That sense of horniness, that she could really use a dick in her, had gone from a very occasional tingle to an enormous presence, while her ass had gotten swollen and tight.

For awhile she had been quite unable to figure out where she was getting regular doses of breast enhancement, until she had worked out that it was in fucking MILK, of all places. Boring jugs of white milk.

But she could’ve fought it more, could’ve grown her own fruits and vegetables, gotten into the wheat-thresher underground, and she hadn’t. How could she, when Luke was so into her? So eager to fuck her immediately after he got home, to even slip out on lunch breaks to put his cock in her mouth? Her big manly doctor, still in his so-sexy scrubs and white doctor’s coat, giving her a truly wonderful trio of orgasms? She knew he was surrounded by dim, fuckable nurses, and his constancy was something she had to ensure. So she let herself titter and start to drool a little and grow big pendulous breasts—plus, FuckMe Chocolates were god damned delicious, especially when eaten an entire bag at a time. And she had enjoyed long lazy days sitting on the couch, snacking and stroking, watching the new porn soaps while waiting for hubby to return.

Jocelyn hesitated. She really had to go talk to Peter, her boss. There was an assistant manager position available and she wanted it real bad. To not only be hired but promoted—the girls in her local Women’s Rights group would really appreciate that. But she was horny and buzzing for release. The professional thing to do would be to finger herself.

But first—right—coffee. God, the scatter-brained shit was so fucking real. It was just so easy to tune out higher brain functions, such an effort to force them to work against a big pink haze. It was scary how much doofier she was, how little she remembered about shit like Tale of Two Cities and that Dickens guy and stuff. She had written a thesis or something about him, right? Something like that. Jocelyn stopped, knitting her brow together in furious thought. Right… he had written… uhhhhhh…. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…. UHHHHHHHHH….. A Muppet Christmas Story. There, she was still smart. That had been a fun movie.

“Can I get a coffee, Ashley?” Jocelyn said, to the only other female employee.

The woman looked back at her, puzzled.

“Can you?” she said.

This was her main competition for the assistant manager job, and it pained her.

Ashley was a pill girl, for certain. She wasn’t fighting anything. Whatever the future held for big-titted brainless bimbos with enormous sex drives, fertile as farms, she was there for it. She favored a modified Teen Sexpot look, short shirts with underboob hanging out, and a huge array of stripy socks. She made terrible coffee.

Ashley held on to her job for a few reasons. One was that she was 6′2″. The pill bolted on tits and asses to whatever dimension you were, which meant she was now a towering giant of boob, with legs extending from about 5′5″ and working their way down very slowly. Even today, that was novel, and men hungry for anything different flocked to the coffee section of the bookstore. Second, she was energetic even for a pill girl, and methodical provided she had a well-written list of instructions in large type. And, of course, she was aided by a staff of enchanted teenage boys who were happy to service and be serviced by their amazon princess.

Also she made her own milk.

“So… the promotion,” Jocelyn said, hanging around the counter. She looked up into two big mounds. It could be hard to find Ashley’s face from close up.

“Yeah?” Ashley said.

“You know. The Assistant Manager position. Peter said it was opening up.”

Ashley opened her mouth, and Jocelyn anticipated her. “NOT an ass manager,” she said. “Assistant. Manager.”

“Oh. Okay,” Ashley said.

“Didn’t you apply for it? You said you were going to, last week,” Jocelyn prompted. Belatedly she realized that this was not in her own best interest. The dumb bimbo had just forgotten to apply. Jocelyn kept making these kinds of mistakes when she had penis on the brain.

Ashley considered this, slowly. It was sort of magnificent to see her ponder matters, her proportions statuesque, weighty. “Did I? I could use the money,” she said, eventually. “Socks are super-duper pricey these days. Okay, yeah. I’ll apply.”

“I… uh.” Jocelyn stopped talking. How dumb had she gotten, recently? She searched for words that would encourage her rival to withdraw, or forget all about the job once more, and came up totally empty. The hornies were surging again. She took a sip of coffee, made a face. Chock full of Ashley milk. That was like a SHITLOAD of NN-HANC-F. It didn’t metab—metabo—whatever. God DAMN it. She was already at her self-imposed tit limit.

This fucking week!

It had been frustrating all week. First she had realized she was on the verge of forgetting long division and had to declare a sudden diet. Then Luke had disappeared on a 48-hour rotation.

Plus the protest on Tuesday had been a DISASTER.

It had started so well. They had gotten 15, maybe 20 girls, outraged at losing the right to drive cars. The latest indignity of the Female Protection Act. They had even gotten a few boys, that vanishingly small male contingent against easy lays for whatever reason. And best of all, three Clean Girls, totally NN-HANC-F untouched, looking like pictures from a history textbook with their little busts and short, sensible haircuts. Jocelyn had figured they lived in the woods or something. The little group had marched around City Hall, waving posters with the spelling double-checked to prevent embarrassment—NN-HANC—DRIVING GIRLS LAZY; GIRLS CAN DRIVE BOYS CRAZY; LET ME DRIVE A CAR.

But then it had fallen apart. Maybe it always would’ve. There was something sad about most of the girls in the group, hauling out their old clothes from past identities and stuffing bimbo bodies into them. Alabaster tits practically ripping apart denim jackets, punk rock gear over slutty asses and pink-slathered lips, feminist t-shirts and slogans distended and riding up on voluptuous curves. Playing dress-up and pretend, the visual evidence of their total failure bobbling just under their chins.

And then the cops had played unfair, sending out the sexiest guys to observe, the chants audibly falling apart as the big authority biceps made their appearance. A few of the girls had simply walked over to say hi to the boys in blue, just dropping their signs.

All had broken apart in confusion when a couple of guys doused in NN-HANC-M cologne had walked by as a gag. God, it made Jocelyn so angry and wet just to think about it.

Plus Katelyn had gotten into a pretty bad accident driving home.

She came to a decision. She needed to just big-girl up and talk to Peter. Declare that she wanted the job, that she was a valued team member, that she was always on-time and ready to go. That she had never complained as her women’s literature section had shrunk and shrunk, collapsing from a quarter of the store into two sets of shelves. Now it was a few sad, remaining titles uncomfortably lumped together—The Feminine Mystique next to Harlequin novels next to The Girl On The Train next to Doris Lessing.

Pre-job Jocelyn had turned her increasing fascination with all things penis into a brief and productive career churning out erotica. She had determined to combine her penchant for long, sweaty fuck scenes with five or six participants and her refusal to give in to the new regime, to write stories set in a better past, with women who had ordinary tits and character development and interests outside of blowjobs. And for a brief, sweaty period it had been good. She had sold well off of amazon, writing long scenes of fading favorites like male pussy-licking and cowgirl position for an imagined audience of rebels.

But then sales started to flag, droop. Jocelyn had written more and more, stemming her fear with milkshakes and candies and chocolates and energy bars and chips and all sorts of trash. Ending each long sex scene with a loud finger-fuck, her body stuffed with treats. Justifying her simplifying vocabulary, her increasingly tawdry fuck-focused plots, as responding to her readers. Pacing her house in a horny haze, her body thicker and sluttier, touching herself as she ginned up outre bang sessions to write down.

Until she had been forced to admit the obvious: girls weren’t reading shit anymore and her writing career was helping to slut her up.

So she had gone to get a job.

“Peter, I… uhhh…” she said, dropping in. Oh, gawd. She was already starting to flag, to stare, slack-jawed at the male in the chair.

“Yeah, Jocey?” Peter said. He turned around, crossed his legs, and gave her a cheerful smile. He wore light-tan khakis and a polo shirt. Jocelyn’s mouth filled with spit, and she was super aware that her knees bent. “Jocelyn,” she said, automatically. She was NOT taking on a bimbo name.

She took a big step back, to get out of his range. It just wasn’t fair, not at all fucking fair. NN-HANC-M made a boy muscle-hard, smell so fucking good, gave them horse cocks, and not a single word on the box or elsewhere about MINOR COGNITIVE EFFECTS. Peter was a huge user. He had been a slight bespectacled comic book geek not long ago. Now he was a big slab of beef.

And of course, OF COURSE, NN-HANC-M boy body fluids had a slight effect on the girls. Minor cognitive effects.

“I wanted to ask about the… assistant manager position, SIR,” Jocelyn said, swallowing a huge gob of spit. THERE! She had gotten it out. She took a deep breath, and regretted it. Peter smelled like an oak tree, like leather and licorice. It was too much in an enclosed room. “I really want the… uh… position. THAT position. The job one! Not the… the position where I have sex… the position with ass! ASSISTANT MANAGER!” There!

“Oh,” Peter said. He started to push up glasses he didn’t wear anymore, and caught himself. “Well, this is kind of awkward.”

Jocelyn’s heart sank. Oh no, being horny and disappointed was never good for her bustline. “You gave the job to Ashley,” she guessed.

Peter laughed. “Ashley? No, no. I’m getting MARRIED to Ashley. Didn’t she mention it? Craig got the job. Shoot, Jocey, I didn’t mean to get your hopes up but… well, there’s a huge puddle of jizz in your section and you haven’t sold a book in three weeks. And you haven’t shelved anything alphabetically in a month. Do you still know how?”

Jocelyn was seized by the urge to answer him. He was a man, after all. If he wanted her to recite the alphabet then okay.

“This is… sexism,” Jocelyn said, summoning reserves of anger. “I’ll.. um… sue and stuff. For sex-having discrimination! And it’s JOCELYN!”

Peter spread his hands apologetically. She hated herself for noticing his big brawny biceps, the tufts of dark hair that had sprouted along them. She caught another whiff of him. Her libido decided to take charge, since nothing else in the brain had any willpower. “Is this because I’m not giving you free sucks and fucks? Because I’m a MARRIED WOMAN? You think I don’t have a tight fuckin pussy?” Jocelyn fell to her knees. No, no. She couldn’t do this. She was monogamous. She might be the only one left in the state. She couldn’t waddle towards him, licking her lips. She couldn’t stop herself.

“Hey, hey, whoa,” Peter said. He put out a hand to stop her. Jocelyn stopped, confused. He was turning her down? Was that still a thing? “Hold on, you had me make a recording for you in case this happened. Just a second.”

She waited, horny and dazed, while her boss thumbed through his phone. “Okay. Okay. Here it is.”

He showed her his phone. Jocelyn popped up. A version of her with somewhat smaller boobs, less lush lips, wearing an actual cotton blouse. “Jocelyn, if you are seeing this, you are about to try to fuck your boss. DO NOT DO THIS. I will be EXTREMELY DISAPPOINTED if you do. Go outside, calm down, and remember: YOU CAN BEAT THIS! This is you as of March 28th. DO NOT FUCK YOUR BOSS! Also thanks Peter for agreeing to this, you are a super sweetheart!”

Oh, right, she remembered making that.

“Ummmmmmm. I quit,” Jocelyn said.

Peter nodded, sincerely. “Sorry to see you go. You were a valued team member. If you want to clean up the jizz puddle on your way out, feel free.”

* * *

Jocelyn got home.

She was so achingly aware of the bottles and bags that would make her feel so much better. The crunches and chews and chugs. She could pour a big bottle of milk right down her throat and all her worries would speed away, turned into titflesh. Hell, she didn’t need to worry about anything, ever again, if she simply drank enough. She could be a happily married tittering little thing. She could make a career out of cocksucking. Jocelyn stared at the fridge, a big frosty treasure chest of drugged food. She could have some MAMMOTH titties.

No. NO. “No!” Jocelyn said. She threw herself on the couch, pulled down her soaked shorts, and rubbed furiously at her puffy pussy.

It was a point of pride that she didn’t use a vibrator. Just her fingers. Vibrators as a personal accessory, like a purse, was a thing—evening vibes in black, big pink dildos for co-eds, sensible hitachi wands for the budget-conscious fuckdoll housewife. Not her. She rubbed at her clit and felt the tension drain away.

There, that was the key. The little things. Whatever else happened she would hold on to the little things. SHE wouldn’t walk around with visible cum stains on her shirts. SHE wouldn’t masturbate on public transportation. SHE would wear underwear no matter how inconvenient. SHE would read a book, somehow, at LEAST every three months or so. SHE would do some MATH.

An orgasm flooded her. With the momentary release non-sex concepts came flooding back. “Great Expectations, Bleak House, Oliver Twist, Les Miserables, LITTLE FUCKING DORRITT!” she said. THERE. It was all still there.

She was halfway done tossing away every piece of junk shit when Luke got home.

Finally. “I’m in the kitchen!” she called out, happily. Thank god. She put her hands on the kitchen counter and braced her feet apart. Arched her back up in the air. A heavy pair of hands slid down her shorts, and then—mmm—casually tore her underpants in shreds. God, that was hot. She could just imagine her husband back there, in his doctor clothes, his cock rising to full-mast.

A cockhead started to explore her well-lubed slit. “I quit my job,” Jocelyn said, as it slid in. “I’m gonna… umm… get back to… um… my writing and activism and stuff. And no more junk shit.”

“Oh?” Luke said. “Alright, if that’s what you want.”

He pushed all the way in. God, he was so big, so thick. There was so much wonderful cock in her. Jocelyn delighted in it, the friction, the closeness. She could camp out, REALLY detox, really find a way to fight back. Get in touch with the no-pill girls out in their mountain fastness or whatever. The Resistance, something like tha—oh gawdddd Luke was big.

Wait, he wasn’t this big.

And there was a distinct and hot smell in the air, filling the kitchen. Luke started to pick up the pace, slamming her ass, and Jocelyn struggled to hang on, find her rhythm. He was harsh, fast, and it was hard to keep from falling over. Eventually he just picked her up, using her as a hole, and her orgasm was coming fast, holding off the realization that something was different—something was going on… Her orgasm took her like a train.

Jocelyn blacked out.

When she woke up she was on the couch. There was a bucket of cum dribbling out of her. She felt groggy, distracted by the sexy scent right next to her. Luke was admiring his heavier horse-cock, with its brand new inches, still squirting jizz out onto her nice clean floor.

“I’ve been taking a little NN-HANC-M,” he admitted, sheepish. His face was grizzled with beard fuzz.

“Oh,” Jocelyn said. What else was there to say?

FIVE YEARS PART 2 OF 5: YEAR TWO by Limerick

YEAR TWO.

Glass broke. “Mazel tov!”

Jocelyn turned to face the crowd. Beaming friends and family looked back at her. She soaked in the triumph. It had been hard as hell getting to the wedding and she permitted herself a smug sense of superiority. Available doctor-to-be and she had snagged him unenhanced. Not a single pill.

Hell, she was flaunting it, in a weird way. Her wedding gown was high-necked, with bare arms—a shimmering sheet of white on white brocade that went down to her toes. No cleavage on view. Practically unheard of these days. She had needed to trawl vintage clothing stores, most of whom were on the very verge of tossing out any fabric designed to cover up a girl’s chest. She had discovered her gown in a musty rack of faded antiques. The busty proprietor, wearing a GOT MILK? T-shirt and depending on a very simple pricing sheet, had giggled at it.

She preceded down the aisle with her husband.

They barely ever talked about NN-HANC-F directly. They talked about his oncoming residency—they were moving cross-country—they talked about the rash of NC-17-rated fall shows, they talked about the porn movies in major cineplexes, they talked about all the new laws coping with legions of women leaving the work force for new opportunities on their knees.

She was afraid to broach the topic directly, just in case he looked at her and said something like “couldn’t hurt, huh?” She was afraid to know if he was going to prescribe the stuff because some girl had anxiety issues, and big tits were a known cure.

But now they were married, thank fucking god. She had WORKED for the wedding ring on her left hand, a small silver band. It hadn’t escaped her notice that Luke had gotten down on a knee less than two weeks after she had offered up her ass, waggled it in his face and said “hmm? Hmmmm?” And even with the gemstones on, god, how many spurts of spunk had she taken in the past year? How many hot loads trickling inside of her? Had she EVER said no to him, when he tickled her ribs? What was the total amount of time she had spent between his legs, hours? A day total of cock-sucking? He rarely bothered to initiate sex. Sex would happen, Jocelyn made sure of it.

It had been a rough year on a national level. Movement feminism was shocked, defensive, and starting to get collectively horny. There were inumerable “My Experiment With NN-HANC As A Feminist” essay writers that ended on day seven with “BRB got a boy cuming over lol.”

Her Mom beamed from the front row, thrilled and shocked that her pill-free daughter was married, and to a budding pediatrician, no less. Her new knockers shook and jiggled as she clapped, in a wine-red dress with a reasonable hemline that Jocelyn had needed to argue her into. Mom had picked out for herself a bandage wrap thing made out of cheap plastic. She had started NN-HANC-F for her arthritis. For the first week she had called to report happily how much better her joints were feeling, how much more range of movement she had. Then she had started to call to report about her increasingly acrobatic sex acts with Dad.

“Against the WALL, Jocelyn! Against the WALL!” MOM GIGGLING “Oh my goodness, I could not believe your Father! He was like a beastman. Did I mention how BIG I’ve gotten up top?”

Jocelyn held the phone away from her head, afraid she could catch bimbo through the line. Mom kept using the word “clench” and it was gross.

When Mom had called to report on their purchase and use of some kind of… fuck swing… Jocelyn had put down the phone and walked away. When she had returned, ten minutes later, Mom was still in the middle of a lusty recollection of getting noisily pounded with her legs splayed “ALL THE WAY APART! LIKE A CHEERLEADER! IN THE NFL!”

Not to mention the urgent advice for how to please a man, which got more and more nasty and explicit the more Mom settled in to her cheerful new life. “DEEP, honey. So deep. Any girl can suck, not every girl can deepthroat. He’s testing your commitment with every inch, oh yeah. You’re swallowing, right?”

“Mom. Please,” Jocelyn said. “Don’t ask me if I’m swallowing Luke’s jizz!”

“Okay, but you are, right?” Mom persisted.

She sighed. There was no help for it. “Yes.”

“Good girl!”

And yet… even so… with everything she had done… there was still that sense of jealousy, that low-grade worry. Was he REALLY being faithful to her? What the hell had happened on his bachelor party? He had refused her the next morning, which never happened, and it had put her on DefCon 1. It wasn’t like the “boys” needed to hire a stripper, these days. Just invite in some girls off the street. Hell, they’d pay the boys. It was hard to imagine a bachelor party without a casual fuck and suck, honestly. New laws had legalized a ton of casual sexual content. Bars and restaurants were experimenting with Pressure Rooms for that quick release. It wasn’t like a pill girl minded a fast bang up against a dirty wall, her hands on a courtesy bench. They thought that sounded like a great night out.

Not to leave aside the total fucking fiasco of her own bachelorette party.

She had nearly refused. Pauline had insisted and insisted. They were still friends, even if Jocelyn mostly listened while Pauline babbled on about her insane and insanely happy new life. She was a Swiper, these days. She’d wait, patient and sure, until some boy swiped right on an app, and then she’d go fuck him, and sleep in his bed. Night after night after night of one-night stands, an incredible collection of different mattresses. The app team had recently removed the limit on number of girls per boy, and Pauline was THRILLED at all the new girlfriends she was fucking.

There she was in the middle-back, in a dress so low-cut her nipples peeked out with every cheer, as she applauded wildly at the new happy couple.

They had first gone to a bar, and collected Sahar. She was a slight Indian girl who had escaped NN-HANC-F by apparently being too small and shy to be noticed by the bimbo hordes. She was in Jocelyn’s program. They weren’t exactly close, but pill-deniers had to stick together. The bar had been fine, except when Pauline excused herself to “freshen up,” and had her vibrator in her hand before she was in the restroom.

The problem had been the bar afterwards.

First, they had collected Jocelyn’s cousins, Tammy and Sarah. Dressed for a night out in matching rubber tube tops that highlighted their still-growing chests. And little denim skirts.

It was sort of funny, in a sad way, to see them dressed identically. They had always been competitive twins. Tammy had captain’d the debate team, so Sarah had started a literary magazine. Tammy had gotten into UCLA which meant that Sarah seethed at attending USC. When they talked to big cousin Jocelyn they had competed to show off—oh yes, Sarah was reading Margaret Atwood, and not just Handmaid’s Tale. Tammy had organized an anti-NN-HANC protest at the High School.

And then Sarah had taken just a little dose because she thought Tammy had slightly bigger boobs then she did. That her TWIN had bigger boobs.

“It’s like a boob arms race,” her Aunt had related, despairing. “They KNEW the risks. But you know how they are. Tammy took an entire pill. When you’re 18 you think you can handle anything. Sarah took two pills right in front of her. Tammy stole her boyfriend by—god, Jocelyn, you’re the only one I can tell these things to—giving him a blowjob on Sarah’s bed. And then Sarah sucked off Tammy’s history teacher. I’m not even sure what that’s supposed to accomplish. I’ve been taking them bra-shopping every other day! They’re so big! And then they wander off and come home with these—slutty clothes!”

Jocelyn had just sighed it off. She had tried, really tried, to talk to the girls. They had popped bubble gum at her and stared at their phones, uncaring, until she went away. They were both in thigh-highs and had put their hair in pigtails. At least the competition part was over—they had realized that they could get some AMAZING guys by going in as a double package, and had never fought again. Hell, Tammy had told her, turned out Sarah was an INCREDIBLE kisser. How were their grades? Well they were both getting DDs.

Pauline took them out towards the University. Jocelyn hadn’t picked up on what she had planned until they were already there, too late to back out. An aging warehouse with some pink neon plunked out front, and two long lines of boys and girls. No visible name on the exterior. This was a bimbo bar.

The big bouncer man let Pauline and the twins pass, and held out his hand to stop Jocelyn and Sahar.

“Cover for you two,” he said. “Twenty bucks.”

“What, my tits are too small to get in?” Jocelyn said, disgusted. Sahar clung to her arm, worried.

The man’s eyes widened. Talking back to a boy! Practically unheard of, not quite illegal. Pauline came back and snuggled up against the bouncer.

“Mattttttt, come onnnnnn, let them in. I’ve given you sooo many hummers.”

Matt’s eyes indicated that blowjobs were a sharply depreciated currency. But $20 total and Pauline’s promise for a “five-some. No, a TWENTY-some. Oh my god a THIRTY-some!” got them in. Jocelyn had to admit that she was curious. The boys in the other line waited patiently. They had a $40 cover, and were clearly young college nerds—who else would need to still pay for sex?

Whatever Jocelyn had imagined, the inside was worse. It was only superficially a big dance floor, pink and blue strobes blaring, music blasting the latest Swift/Perry collaboration “Titty Clitty”. Yes, the center was a swirling mob of girls, their boobs bouncing in a near-rhythm in vinyl and plastic tops, or no top at all. There were enough glowsticks around to make it seem a little like an old-school rave.

But not really. This was a big breeding pit. You could smell it in the air, the sweet scent all pill-girls made, that telltale sugar. Hundreds of wet, needy ladies revved up as a baseline matter, and even more so by the gyrating, horny presence of so many just like them. But mostly you could tell it because people were just fucking, simply fucking. Mostly around the outskirts, where the proprietors had thoughtfully placed cheap folding chairs all over, and a few couches for the ones who wanted to fuck fancy.

Boys would descend into the girl throng, pick one or two or three girls out, and lead them over in a jiggling mob, and fuck them senseless.

Pauline and the twins had already joined the crowd, one hand in the air, the other playfully mashing a tit, or up against an ass. Sometimes a pack of women would simply stumble out of the center, hands all over each other, and form an impromptu hand-fucking conga line. Sarah and Tammy flipped up Pauline’s shirt and gave her boobs mutual kisses.

A totally naked girl came by with water bottles. Jocelyn, watching with her back against the wall, took one. She had lost track of Sahar, which was worrying. She took a swig of water.

Her eyes widened. Sweet. The water was sweet—so sweet—oh god. She spat it out. She had read about this—pills mashed up and dumped into water. Hell, the pills were starting to get into everything. The supermarket was advertising NN-HANC smoothies, coming soon. She had PILL in her MOUTH.

But not enough. It was going to be okay. Jocelyn calmed down, until she caught sight of Sahar. The little Indian girl was moshed in with the twins. In one hand she held an empty water bottle, totally drained. Tits were mashed in on all sides of her. Her eyes were wide and feverish.

Then Jocelyn lost sight of her.

That was it for her bachelorette party.

She had touched base with Sahar a few days later. The girl had sworn she was detoxing. But here she was at the wedding, clearly finding it hard going. Her obviously thicker tits were pushing hard against a thin cotton dress, and she was looking with extreme interest at the boys. She kept licking her lips.

The reception was very, very nice.

Jocelyn had spent a lot of time planning it. She had a good amount of free time. Her program was sort of a joke, these days. It was female-dominated and so she had risen to the top just because all the other girls sank. Many came to class in short mesh shorts, and bra-less tanktops, and just ogled the hotter boy professors. The seminar taught by the eminent Professor Dotori had turned into a giggle-fest halfway through as the well-known expert had sprouted melons and taught in miniskirts.

“Jocelyn, don’t worry about it,” one male professor had told her, when she visited office hours. “You get an A just for showing up and asking questions. That’s the current curve. There’s enough curves in this class, frankly.”

“Alright,” Jocelyn had said.

“Oh, and Joce, thanks for not offering to suck my cock for a grade,” he had said. Totally sincerely. The professor looked tired.

“How difficult things must’ve been for you,” Jocelyn had deadpanned.

The man wasn’t used to girl irony, anymore. “Thanks. I am raw. These male supplements need to come out, soon. I am just dry. Alright, send in Brooke.”

Brooke had been freshening her lipstick out in the hall.

The Professor had passed her on her thesis, on Gender Roles in Early Dickens. She doubted he actually read it. Who gave a crap about gender roles pre-pill.

Dinner was a success, and the speeches, although her Dad’s speech required him to fend off Mom, who kept snuggling against him and tucking her hand down his pants. Everyone was very proud of the happy couple.

Jocelyn excused herself once to go to the bathroom. She lifted up her dress and took a picture of her newly shaven slit, texted it to Luke. It helped to think ahead about these things, these days.

In fact, everything went great until the dance floor. Jocelyn had left just briefly for a drink of water—nice, dull water. And when she turned around, there were the twins, mashed up against her husband—HER HUSBAND—shoving their mammaries in his face and giggling and kissing his cheek. And he was letting them! Was dancing with them, guiding them by their ample asses, smiling indulgently at the nipples on offer. Jocelyn gripped a chair. Fucking BIMBOS. She turned and turned her engagement ring, the one that she thought of, in dark moments, as her ass-fucking ring.

Alright. Fine.

They made it to the honeymoon suite. There were rose petals on the bed and champagne in an ice bucket. They toasted each other. Jocelyn could smell twin on his cheeks. She excused herself and went into the bathroom.

She had a pill in a baggie. She wasn’t going to take the whole thing. No. But it was her wedding night, and she was so fucking tired. And it needed to be special. Memorable.

Jocelyn cut the pill in half. She had a razor blade with her. She had known this might be necessary. The pill-dust she put into a water glass, and then drank it down. It was mildly sweet. She stripped off the wedding dress and put it over the top of the shower, and then examined herself in the mirror. She would just have to use her boobs as a sort of barometer. Boob-meter. She almost giggled, and caught herself. Surely it wouldn’t work that quickly…?

What had she expected, contemplating that pink ’lil pill? A burst of horny energy, a sudden keen awareness of her erogenous zones, her mouth overflowing with spit. A lightheadness as her interest in math drained away into her tits. And that was just the first five seconds.

So the sudden sense of calm, even serenity, caught her very much by surprise.

“Oh,” she said. Jocelyn felt a sudden sense of real relief, stress falling out of her shoulders, her headache lifting. “Oh, okay.” No—she had to recognize this as insidious. It wasn’t calm, it was submissiveness. A chemically-induced willingness to say ‘yes’ to anything, because she couldn’t...

“OH,” and there came the hornies. Not the red flash she was expecting but a comfortable warmth, way deep in her privates. And then making its way upwards. For the first time she truly understood how seductive, how addictive, the pill really was. This wasn’t some brutal drug high. It was like horny weed. A gentling. She reminded herself that all of this was hormones and compounds and molecules lying to her while they made her over into a fuck toy, setting up an IV drip of endorphins.

Then Jocelyn went out to fuck the hell out of her husband, in a lacy black shift and matching panties.

He had fallen asleep in his tux on the bed. Luke was snoring.

And the most disturbing thing of all was that it was fine. Everything was fine. How could she be mad at him, or mad at anything? He was a happy male—slumbering so peacefully—and that made her, his wife, happy, by definition. No—that was the chemicals thinking. She had needs, wants, desires. She wasn’t just some vessel for his physical pleasure.

Oh god, the hornies doubled at the thought. “This was a mistake,” Jocelyn thought. Already, nerve endings were forming, her very brain chemistry altering, libido getting stronger, hindbrain taking over. Could she sit there and see her tits plump up on wedding cake? She decided to see, right after she sat in a chair and masturbated, quietly, so that she wouldn’t wake up Luke.