The 57% Solution free porn video

I awoke strapped to a metal chair in an operating theater. I was gagged. Above me in the auditorium sat row upon row of serious-looking men. They stared down at me intently. I tried to say something, but of course a gag has a way of preventing that. This was clearly not the IRS audit I had been "invited" to that morning. After a few minutes a man dressed in a strange uniform arrived in the theater. He looked up at the crowd of men and began to speak. "Steve Harlin could be described as a typical loser." I tried to yell out "hey," but it came out "aryymm." I objected to being called a loser, although to admit the truth, I wasn't much of a winner by any stretch. The uniformed stranger looked at me rather contemptuously. "Steve Harlin could be described as a typical loser," he repeated. This time I just rolled my eyes. "He's 37 years old, overweight, single, and marginally employed as a... retail clerk." He said these last two words with sneering disdain. He bent down to meet my gaze and said in his sarcastic voice, loud enough for the crowd to hear, "Steve, do you remember Adam Ratliff from high school? Do you Steve? Adam's a surgeon now. A surgeon Steve." This guy sounded like my mother. He turned back to the crowd and began again. "Gentlemen, as you know, we are in something of a crisis in this country. Unemployment is up. Birthrate down. Women are graduating college in larger numbers than men. Men are losing their control position in the professions. Soon men will be the minority of doctors, lawyers, and other professions in this nation. They'll become second-class citizens. You know all this. And you know that there are some within this government who are quite concerned about the future. That's why my agency, among many others, has been tasked with helping to reverse this trend." "The technology for genetic transformation has long been within our grasp." I made an odd sort of questioning sound, but the man rather callously, violently and quite obviously backhanded me. "Genetic transformation," he continued, "has been almost perfected, thanks to our boys over at Area 51 Research. What my agency has proposed, and what the operatives at the highest levels of government have approved, is what we call 'The 57% Solution.' "Our research indicates that where 57% of the population is women, competition for mating will become so intense that women will quite naturally concede the field of the labor market to concentrate on increasing chances for attracting a man. The 57% Solution works even better when the female population is given a certain chemical push to elevate already natural biological incentives." I had no idea what this man was prattling on about or why I was there. I tried to talk again, but it was useless. I tried to bang the chair up and down, but from somewhere behind me a rather strong restraining arm pushed back against my shoulders. "Now, in time we can selective eliminate male babies from the birth population or for more immediate impact we could selectively eliminate male adults through incarceration or... ahem... "labor" camps. While both of these policies are in limited use, the current position of our government is that neither policy is particularly in line with the guiding principles of this nation. However it is quite feasible, and perfectly acceptable to transform a sufficient number of men into healthy women using our genetic transformation technology for this purpose. Previously this technology has only really be tested for the... enhancement... of military personnel. However, we have made successful tests towards gender transformation as part of our pilot project for the 57% Solution. Today you will witness one of these tests to prove to you the feasibility of this project." I'm not a complete idiot. I finally realized what was happening and I began to shout and squirm, but with the gag and the restraints, it must have seemed like a pathetic performance of resistance. "We have chosen for our subject a particularly average looking man of average intelligence whose contribution to society has thus far been of limited value. I expect you will be quite impressed with the technology. Now, I know some of you are doubters out there. Even though the technology works, you realize that up here" -- the man pointed to his head -- "the newly transformed attractive young lady will still be a marginally thoughtful retail clerk, quite resistant to the changes he has undergone, and still very much oriented towards male sexual thought patterns. You are absolutely right. Our tests with thought control have met with limited success. But we have found a very effective work around. "Rather than attempting to rewire the entire brain, we have bypassed all of that by combining our efforts with one of the drug addiction study teams. As you may be aware, a drug addict will do or say almost anything, act almost any way, in order to get a fix. They may quite detest the behavior they are exhibiting, but they will behave the way they need in order to obtain the drug that matches their addiction. We are able to make the subject addicted to sperm." A muttering and gasping sound came from the audience. Someone stood up and said something I couldn't hear over the sound of my own muffled screaming. "Oh, it's quite safe indeed," the man continued. "Moreover, although the subject will have an addiction to sperm, we can also code the subject so that a full high can not be obtained unless he - or she - ingests the sperm of a particular individual. So, sperm from any man will give an adequate, but ultimately unsatisfying high, but sperm from the coded individual will give a complete high." "But wait... there's more." The man smiled. "We are also able to give the subject a longing for reproduction. That, ultimately here, is our goal. That longing can be quite intense and works very well with the addiction to coerce a standard of behavior that accepts a large degree of suggestion and conditioning. The subject, rather than being brainwashed - a technique with doubtful results anyway - will really want to behave the way we suggest, in order to fill biologically encoded needs. Today you will witness the initial transformation and over the coming weeks you will be able to see for yourselves how this process works. You will even be invited to interact with the subject to test the process. We want this to work and desire complete transparency in this research test. Be reminded, however, that this is a top secret project. And now, shall we begin??" There was a dimming of the lights in the theater and the light above the pit began to glow brighter. The uniformed man stepped into the shadows as the presence behind me strapped my chair more securely to the floor and then disappeared himself. I began to yell. The uniformed man's voice came back from the depths. "Don't worry, the processs itself is quite painless." His comment seemed directed more at appeasing the audience than me. There was a loud hum and a brilliant flash of light and then my body began to feel incredibly hot. I squirmed and yelled, but the restraints were effective. I itched but couldn't scratch. I felt parched. And then I felt my skin literally crawl. The man was right, it wasn't exactly painful. But it was very, very discomforting. I stopped screaming, mostly from shock. I couldn't see much, but I knew my body was changing. My weight was being redistributed, slowly at first, but then very quickly. I felt my gut flatten and move upwards and downwards simultaneously. I felt a weight emerging in my pectoral region - why beat around the bush, I felt breasts growing. Speaking of bush, it was about this time that I distinctly felt my penis turn inward and begin to crawl right back into my body. I bean to breath very quickly through my nose, in and out, like a dog sniffing steak. I felt my genitalia change and somehow knew very, very clearly the creation of a vagina, a uterus, fallopian tubes, ovaries. It was all happening. I gave out another muffled shriek and fainted. I awoke what must have been only a few minutes later. The uniformed man was speaking quite gently to me. The audience was still there. "You've been transformed, Steven," he said. "I'm going to take the gag out of your mouth, but you must be warned that I have given you a powerful sedative. This will inhibit screaming or kicking about. If you try to scream, it will be very, very difficult. Are you ready for the gag to come out, Steven?" "Mmmph." "Very good," he said. He removed the gag. I licked my lips and groaned. He snapped his fingers and a bottle of water appeared. He raised it to my mouth and let me take a sip. "How do you feel, Steven?" he asked. "I feel... really tired." My voice was soft and high pitched. I coughed and tried again. "Tired," I repeated. The man held up a mirror and I focused on it. In the mirror I saw a young woman, possibly in her early twenties. She had shoulder length dirty blonde hair that was a bit messy, large green eyes, a pert nose, high cheek bones, a slightly too large mouth with full lips the color of rose petals. She had fine, beautifully toned skin with a few little freckles. Oh, what's the use. Of course the woman in the mirror was me. "Oh god," I groaned again. The man backed up the mirror a bit and I could see a fuller picture. The restraints around my midriff actually accentuated my new ample breasts, but the rest of me was quite small. Small enough that I could feel the other unseen man now adjusting the restraints to tighten them according to my new smaller frame. I felt he had done this before. "Now Steven," the man said, "please open up your mouth and stick out your tongue." I didn't do it. I clamped my mouth tightly shut. He looked slightly perturbed, but without much anger forcefully grabbed my chin with one hand and yanked it down. He pulled at my tongue, and before I knew it, he was dumping the contents of a vial down my throat. He just as forcefully clamped my mouth back shut and began to massage the front of my neck. Eventually I swallowed. Whatever it was tasted slightly salty. Then the man injected me with a needle from a tray nearby. I thought he was knocking me out, but really the sensation was pretty limited. Actually, in a moment or two I began to feel good. Really, really good. I can't describe it. It felt sort of like I had a hard-on, but I was clear-headed enough to realize I no longer had a penis. Whatever the feeling was, the man was right to say this wasn't painful. It was like the pleasure center of my brain was relaxing in a hot tub. I must have smiled because in a moment the man smiled too. It was the first sign of emotion I'd seen on him. The restraints were loosened. The man told me to stand up but not try to run or make any sudden moves. I did as he said. My shapeless hospital gown fell down and I was naked, but as I reached down to get it, the man from the shadows held me back again. I stood there for a moment and then, after what seemed a very awkward silence there came the sound of thunderous applause. The lights got brighter again, and I was aware that people in the auditorium were talking, clapping, getting up and moving about. The uniformed man led me out of the theater and into an adjoining room. The man who I couldn't see followed and waited outside the door of the room. I sat down on a small sofa, naked, trying to cover up my new breasts which seemed very large to me. I don't know what about the situation was making me not freak out completely, but as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, my only thought was "I would do me." Clearly I was in shock of some sort. I had no idea why I wasn't vomiting or screaming or trying to kill the uniformed man. "What did you do to me?" I asked. "Please," he replied condescendingly. "You heard my speech. I'm sure you're well-aware of the details." I pouted for a moment. "What was that stuff you gave me?" I asked quietly. "The injection?" "The injection was nothing," he said. "Just a locking mechanism, so to speak." "Well, that vial thing. What was that?" "Oh, I think you have an idea what that was," he said. I paused and thought about this for a while. It disgusted me. How could I? Ugh. I opened my mouth to protest. "Can I get some more," I asked with my new soft pleading voice. Only after I said it did I realize it was true. I really wanted more. "Of course," he smiled. "But first, go though that closet, find some clothes and get dressed. As much as you are very attractive, I'm not a pervert. I would prefer to see you dressed at this moment." I went to the closet and looked through an assortment of clothes. Of course it was mostly women's clothes. Eventually, I found a tank top and some sweat pants. The tank top was a bit small and accentuated my breasts and there was a gap of taut, slim skin showing between the bottom of the shirt and my sweats. I looked at it and smiled. I hadn't seen a flat tummy on me for 20 years. I went back to the sofa and sat down and looked at the man with what I thought would be my most agreeable look. He just shook his head with a sad look. "If you're going to want to get a man's attention, you're going to have to learn to dress better than that." "Why would I want a man's..." I stopped suddenly. "Oh. Ohhh. Ewww. Ugh." "Can you please stop making those cartoon noises and go put on something a little more appealing," he said. While I went back to the closet he explained to me what was going to happen over the next few weeks. I was in a secured facility where I would be given temporary quarters. I was going to undergo observation but to make things less onerous on me (he made himself sound sooo generous here), I would be allowed to live in a simulated work and home environment. I would be placed at a reception area in the facility and all I would have to do for the next few weeks would be to greet staff and officials visiting the facility, ask them to wait, check with employees about staff meetings, answer the phones now and then. I told the man it sounded like I was going to be a receptionist. "I guess that's one way to describe it," he said. "Not much different than a retail clerk," I snidely replied, sticking my face out of the closet. The man glowered fiercely at me and then laughed awkwardly. "Yes, but now we all have diminished professional expectations of you," he said ominously. I emerged from the closet wearing a puffed sleeve blue satin blouse, a wide black leather belt, an above the knee black skirt, and black patent leather shoes. I tried to brush my hair into some semblance of a style. "Much better," he said. "Can I get some..." I pleaded. I wanted another vial. "Follow me," he said. We went out of the room and into a complex of hallways that, in my fog of desire, I would have gotten lost in had it not been for the man. He led me to what seemed like a studio apartment decorated like any corporate hotel room and directed me inside. I went in but he waited at the door. He handed me two vials. "You won't get any more until tomorrow night," he said. "Unless you procure it some other way. Someone will come at 7:45 tomorrow morning to lead you to the observation area. You are to dress similar to this and you'll find a variety of clothes in the closet, some like this but some that may be less appropriate for observation. Dress as you might think a young lady in an office might dress. There are a variety of videos and instruction manuals that you might like to peruse in there for more orientation. I'm not interested in, nor qualified to, train you to act like a woman." He left and the door closed behind him. I tried it and found it locked from the other side. There were no windows, although there were blinds and lighting to make it look like there were windows. I sat down on the couch in the living area and looked at the two vials in my hand for about three seconds. Then I opened them both up and drank them down in about the same amount of time. I felt great. I tried to block from my mind what was in those vials, but I knew. And it didn't matter. Once I swallowed the contents I calmed down significantly. I felt happy and contented. Like things were going to be ok. I lay down on the bed with my hands behind my head and looked up at the ceiling with a smile on my face. Bliss. The next morning I woke up early and dressed in a similar outfit. I somehow struggled to put on a bra to contain my extraordinarily nice pair of breasts, pulled my hair into a pony tail (after spending what seemed like an eternity trying to blow it dry), and then put on a white short-sleeved cotton blouse, a tan, ankle-length skirt, and a pair of flats. At 7:45 on the dot there was a knock on the door. I was already on edge anyway and the knock made me jump. A bland looking young man was at the door dressed not unlike a hospital orderly. "I'm supposed to take you to the office for observation," he said dully. "Do you have any... any vials for me?" He handed me a vial and I drank it greedily. Then he handed me a cell phone with instructions to call the one programmed number if I was having problems. He warned me to use it sparingly. The bliss came back quickly and the edge was off. Without any anxiety, I followed him to what looked like an office reception area. There another bland looking man came out of an office to greet me. His name was Winthrop and he told me that I would be performing the duties of a receptionist. Answer the phones, greet people, arrange conference rooms for meetings, etc. He gave me a run down on all the people there - they seemed to be doctors and engineers, and other people like that. It was not brain surgery. In fact, it was kind of dull. I sat at the desk for half an hour at a time without interruption from the phone or a visitor. All the while I was getting more anxious by the minute. I couldn't deal with it. First I was fidgeting, then I was scratching my head, then my arms. I started to bite my lip and then my tongue. I knew what I needed. By 11:00 I was at wits end. I used the phone. Someone answered. "Please. I know you're watching. Somewhere. I ... I need a vial of the stuff." The voice responded coldly. "Eve, you know exactly what is going on here. Let's not play games." "My name is Steve," I said. I may not have looked like a Steve, but I still had an identity. "We want to help you, Eve. But you're making it difficult for us. Things would be much simpler if you cooperated. Now, tell us your name again?" I paused. "Steve," I murmured. "You really don't want to help us, do you? How can we give you another vial if you don't cooperate? We're not asking for very much. Horrible things will happen to you if you don't get that vial - or procure the substance another way. You'll have no control over yourself. It won't be pretty." I imagined what the drug addicts who wandered the ally near my old apartment looked like. It made me cringe. "My name is... it's... Eve." I closed my eyed. "Please send someone quick. Please." "Eve, we will help you today. Someone is on the way. But you know as well as we do that we can't keep just supplying this to you. Good behavior will be rewarded, Eve." The voice sounded clinical. Why did it keep saying "we?" I wanted to make a snide comment, but I didn't. I just asked what kind of good behavior would be rewarded. "Take a good look at yourself, Eve. You're supposed to look a certain way. Take a look at yourself and be honest. As a man what would you have told you as a woman to do? Think about that today and if you're good you'll get some more vials. Remember, there are resources in your apartment to help you." I knew what the voice meant. But I went on a bathroom break anyway and took a good look at myself in the mirror. I had been given a very cute face. I was tanned and naturally pretty with big, blue eyes, a small nose that was just a bit too sharp, an adorable mouth that was a bit too small but with large, naturally plump lips. With my hair pulled back in a pony tail and no make-up on, I was cute, but if I were a guy I would have advised this woman to learn to make these assets really work. And speaking of assets, I had a tiny frame with large breasts and a beautiful heart-shaped ass, but the clothes I was wearing were a bit prim. Frankly they did nothing to convey my beauty, even if they couldn't hide the fact entirely. When I came out of the bathroom I saw an orderly by the elevator and almost attacked him for the vial. As its effects washed over me I vowed to do whatever it took to keep getting the stuff. I was addicted. And what was so bad about that. They wanted me addicted. I felt good addicted. It made me forget what was happening. When I got back to the apartment that evening, there was a vial waiting for me. It was not so subtly placed on top of a DVD of "What Not to Wear." That night I studied hard. The next day I put on make up the way I had studied. I darkened my eyes with eyeliner and accentuated my big blues. I put on foundation and powder and rouge and lip gloss. I patiently styled my hair so that it framed my face just so. I dressed in a low-cut satin blouse that showed off my cleavage, an above the knee skirt, and three inch heels. And then I waited for the orderly. For the next several weeks I followed the same routine. Each morning I would make myself up as sexily as I could and each day I "worked" at the office, answer phones and doing menial tasks. As the week wore on I found that my assigned duties were not so bad and that I even got a little pleasure from fulfilling what I might have thought were relatively simple tasks. By this time I was able to go from my apartment to the office without escort, although I never tried to explore the complex for some reason. I was settling into routine and had stopped asking myself questions. I liked the feeling I got from the stuff and it was awful to not be on it. Life was that simple. Whatever kept the supply up, I would keep doing it. And my suppliers seemed happy. One morning I arrived at the reception area to find another girl there. A second desk area had been added to mine and she sat there with an odd, stupid expression on her face. She was a mousy thing, cute in her way, with a brown bob, and green eyes. "I'm Eve," I said, in not the most friendly way. "I'm Charlie... Charlene," she said downcast. At that moment, I knew. "You're like me?" I whispered. "You were, um, converted?" "Yes," she said sadly. "Shit, it's not that bad," I replied. "Half the world survives as a woman. It's not undoable. Besides, if you're on the sauce - I assume you are - it's really pretty nice." "Soon to be more than half," she muttered. "You don't understand, I'm not some expendable loser like you. I'm the one who actually did this to you. Or I was." I began to laugh loudly and uncontrollably. "Oh my god," I said, "you're the so-called doctor? Why the hell would you have this done to you?" "I didn't," she said. "Once I perfected the technique there was no need for me. So they turned my work against me." I smiled. "It's worse than you think," she said. And then she just sat there and pouted. Throughout the morning I could tell she was beginning to break. She was shaking and scratching herself. She even got up from the reception area and began to pace around, which annoyed the few people who did come in. I was extra sweet to them. At ten I really needed to pee and went off to the restroom. When I came back Charlene was sitting in her chair, looking surprisingly calm. It took me about half an hour to realize what she'd done. I rummaged through my purse and couldn't find my lunchtime vial. "You stole my vial," I nearly shouted at her. She just looked at me calmly, with her big green eyes dilated, and smiled. Then she denied it. "Yes you did!" This time I shouted. I lunged for her and tried to wrestle her to the floor. I had already starting to jones myself a bit, and was looking forward to my lunchtime hit. Now, this bitch had stolen my vial. I lost myself and began to slap her and scratch at her. I may have even broken one of my nails, one of my beautifully polished long nails. I felt a strong hand pull me away. It was Mr. Winthrop, one of the engineers. He always seemed slightly amused by me, but now he was stern. "This is not good office behavior, ladies," he said seriously. I began to well up. Tears started to form in my eyes and I was shaking. "She stole my... my ... oooooh!" I began to struggle to get at Charlene. Winthrop pulled me away. "Why don't you come to my office for a bit and calm down," he said. We went to his office and I sat down on the couch and he sat next to me. I didn't know what I'd do without a fix for lunch. I couldn't get another vial. I didn't even have the cell phone they had given me a few weeks before. I was getting regular vials now. But what was that thing the "voice" was always saying. Something about procuring the stuff another way. Another way. Perhaps I could get some from the source? I looked at Winthrop with new eyes. Almost greedily. Perhaps I could con him into... "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along," I said. I moved closer to him. I was still shaky. "I don't know how to thank you. I'm so glad you got me away from that lunatic." I put my hand on his leg. "I can't imagine where a girl would be in this world without a man like you around to protect her." Winthrop laughed uneasily. I looked up at him, giving him the full bore of my big baby blues. I began to cry, just a little, not so much as my mascara would run. "You know," I sniffed, "you always look so tense and you're work is so hard, and here I have my little troubles and you go out of your way to take some time to calm me down when you have so many more important things to do!" Winthrop smiled a little, then tried to make it seem like nothing. "No," I insisted tearfully. It's not nothing. It's a big deal. To me, at least." I wiped my eyes a little and smiled softly. "You're so tense," I repeated. "Maybe there's something I could do to calm you down." My hand moved closer to his penis. It was getting hard. I looked down and could see it swelling in his pants. Winthrop breathed faster. I moved closer to him, unzipped his zipper, undid his belt and watch his cock pop right up through his briefs, to attention. I smiled, bent down and kissed his cock. I took it in my hands and guided it into my mouth. I began to lick it and then suck it wildly. Winthrop leaned back and moaned. It was quick, it was awkward, but within two minutes a hot load of cum was shooting down my throat. Instantly I knew this is what the voice had meant by "alternate methods." The high was the same as with the vial, but more intense by ten times at least. It was like I was hearing angels and seeing stars. I caressed Winthrop's cock and kissed it and gave thanks to it like it was a little religious icon. When I returned to the reception station I must have had a smile ten feet wide because Charlene hissed at me, "Well, now you've really done it, haven't you?" That night, back at my room I used the cell phone again. "It's Eve," I said before the voice could answer. I wanted to please them. There was a name for this behavior, I knew it. Something about Stockholm or Helsinki or something. But I didn't care. I wanted them happy. "It's Eve." "Yes, Eve," the voice said. "We're happy to hear from you. You've been making such good progress." I beamed at this. "Well, this is hard to explain, but I am getting very frustrated at reception. I don't want you to think I'm not grateful. I like my job and the men are very kind to me." I thought of Winthrop. "But frankly, I'd like to be in some situation where I could meet more people." I thought of how the voice might react to this. "More men, to be honest." "Yes, Eve. That's VERY positive thinking. We agree that you should be somewhere to meet more men. We think we may have something to make you quite happy. We'll send someone over right away." In a few minutes there was a knock at the door. A man handed me a bag with clothes in it and instructed me to put them on and follow him. I put on the clothes - a denim miniskirt with a white push-up tube top and high-heeled cowboy boots. Then I followed the man through a maze of halls that confused me and down an elevator through a hotel building. We walked through a bar where all cocktail waitresses were dressed like me and to a back office. The man had a hushed conversation with another man who was clearly the bar manager, a mustached guy with steel grey eyes who must have been about a foot and a half taller than my five feet two inches. I gazed at his crotch for a moment, a gesture he caught. We ran down the basics. I had a new job now, as a cocktail waitress. It wasn't easy work, but it wasn't rocket science. I'd be hurrying back and forth with drinks all night on these high-heeled boots, keeping the customers happy and of course flirting with all the guys. The man who led me down to the bar started to go, but I asked how I would get back to my room. I was a bit lost. He just smiled and told me he thought I'd find someone to lead me back, if not to my room, at least to somewhere with a warm bed. I stood there confused for a moment after he left. Once the door closed, the man with the mustached looked at me up and down. "You're a little one," he said, "but you've got a pretty mouth." With that he unzipped his pants and let them drop to the floor. My eyes widened, I walked over to him and kneeled down and got my second incredible hit that day. I don't know how long it was. A month? Two months? I worked every night in the bar and on nights when I couldn't flirt enough with a customer to grab a quick blow-job up in his hotel room, I would easily find Jim the mustached manager and slurp down a load of cum. I thought at the time it was the happiest time of my life. It never crossed my mind that I was addicted to cum and that behaving like a dimwitted bimbo cocktail waitress in order to get cock every night might be a bad thing. As far as I was concerned, it wasn't. I loved how I felt. If this was the price of feeling this good, so be it. I'd act like a monkey and fling crap out of a cage if it meant getting a fat hit of sweet cum once or twice a night. But as the weeks wore on, I began to feel odd. Like something was missing. Like there was a void somewhere that just wasn't being filled right. It nagged at me and worried me a little. And then a little more. One night I was sashaying and batting my eyelashes and acting like a giggling bimbo and thrusting my cleavage around the bar as good as I did every night when I came to a booth where a big, dopey looking guy was sitting with a mousy cute girl. It took a second, but I realized it was Charlene. She looked even dumber than before, if that was possible. "Oh My God," she shrieked happily. "Eve! Oh My God!" She was bouncing and clapping and saying my name like we were old friends. "Oh my god, Rod, this is Eve. Like, Eve and I go way back! Oh my god, Eve, look!" Charlene pointed down at her stomach. It was swollen out to a bump. "I'm pregnant!!!" She practically broke the glasses on the table with her high-pitched scream. I looked down at her belly and instantly my eyes widened. I knew what was missing. I bent down to look. "Wowwwww," I said with honest awe. "That is so cool. Can I touch?" I touched her belly and it felt really nice. Nice like those first vials I had. Not a fantastic high, like sucking cock, but nice. "They accel... accel....um, made me go faster," Charlene said. "Me an' Rod got married like right after you left the office. It was love at first sight!" She looked at Rod and, by God, it was a look of adoration. "I get wet, just looking at him," she whispered to me and laughed. He wasn't really a looker, but granted, I would suck his cock. It looked like he had a big one. "Me and Rod are going to have LOTS of babies!" "Oh, god," I admitted to Charlene, "I want one too." I cooed over her baby bump and she looked at me sadly and said, "I wasn't very nice." I asked her if she meant stealing my vial and she explained, no, not about that. She explained that she wasn't very nice because when she was a doctor she had coded my fertility to one particular individual. He was a maintenance guy who worked at the installation but lived off base. "He's not nearly as good looking as my Rod," she said and smiled again at her husband. "I don't care," I replied. That night I used the phone again. "This is Eve," I said breathlessly. Before the voice could even respond I was begging for a baby. "I want one so badly," I cried. The voice explained that the experiment was proving more successful than they anticipated. There were already many thousands of converts, and quite a few past my stage of conversion. "But you haven't even had proper sex with a man yet," the voice explained. "We're still experimenting and would certainly like to see..." I cut the voice off. "Oh please, please, please. You accelerated Charlene. Accelerate me. You've got me acting the way you want, thinking the way you want, feeling the way you want. Can't you see you've got what you want?? Please, just give me what I want. I want a baby. Don't you want that for me, too?" An hour later, there was a knock on my door. I opened it up. A man in a blue jump suit with a nametag that read "Donnie" on it stood there. He had five o'clock shadow, no chin, bags under his eyes, a missing front tooth, a beer gut and a slouch. "Somebody called 'bout the toilet needin' fixin'" he intoned dully. I invited him in and led him to the bathroom. I hiked up my minskirt to reveal that I wasn't wearing any underwear and sat down on the toilet facing him. "So, when I sit down on it like this, something goes wrong and I hear the water in the tank start running. It's probably nothing for you, but this thing's very complicated to me. I couldn't even begin to figure out how one of these things works." Donnie smiled, showing off his missing tooth. "Aw, woman lak you shouldn't worry her pretty head 'bout a toilet none." I gasped. "You think I'm pretty? That's so sweet of you. Men never tell me I'm pretty." "Oh, you sure are pretty," Donnie said. "Don't know why a man wouldn't tell you." I stood up, still holding my skirt up to show off my snatch. "Men never tell me I'm pretty," I lied. "Least not men as big and strong as you. I mean look at your arms! You have such big biceps. I felt his arm with one hand, my other hand still holding up my skirt. Then I fell toward him and he caught me. "Oh, I lost my balance," I giggled. "I feel so stupid." Donnie was harder than a petrified log and I began to brush up against his dick. "Why don't we go into the bedroom and you can take this thing off," I said. "I don't care about the toilet anymore." Donnie dragged me over to the bed like a caveman and in his rough way got my clothes off, got his clothes off and got on top of me in the bed. There was no nuance to him. He went at it like an animal and as soon as he was inside my pussy, I began to feel like I had a vial, then two, then three, then it was as good as sucking cock, then ten times as good. He pumped at me, grunting and grinding and I began to feel like the central power grid of a giant pleasure generating station. I started screaming, "fill me up, Donnie, fuck me Donnie, fill me up" over and over again. When he came inside me, my eyes rolled into the back of my head, my body shook all over for what seemed like an hour, and my constant screaming and moaning was making my throat sore. I passed out. Over the course of the next few weeks, Donnie came to me every night and fucked my brains out. Quite literally. Charlene told me that the more I fucked, the more addicted I was to the stuff, the more my brain got fried, at least until I finally got pregnant. Then my brain chemistry would stabilize. Donnie explained to me one night that some men had contacted him and told him that he would either have to marry me or not see me anymore. I jumped up and down on the bed screaming with joy. "Yes, yes, yes, now!!!!!" He looked dumbfounded and confused, and as ugly as ever with that stupid look on his face, but I didn't care. I made him get dressed, I called the cell phone and said, "It's Eve. I want to be married NOW!" There wasn't even a ceremony. An orderly handed Donnie a piece of paper, gave me a vial of some substance that definitely wasn't cum - which I drank - and then told Donnie I was his and to take me home. He led me off the installation, to a shabby apartment building in town. When we arrived at his messy little apartment, a parade of the building's residents came by to greet him and me. Every dumpy little loser in the complex had a ravishing pregnant bride and they all smiled at me knowingly. As soon as the little welcoming party had gone away, I pushed the beer cans and ash trays off the banquette in the dining area, got on top of Donnie, lowered my pussy over his raging cock, pounded up and down until he began to cum and the walls of that building shook to the foundations, and I yelled the whole time, "fill me up Donnie, fuck me Donnie." This time when he shot his load inside me, a universe exploded within. I knew what had been done to me and didn't care. None of us do.