6 comments/ 43872 views/ 47 favorites A Successful Experiment By: lustache69 Day 0 Greg was unpacking his fourth box of books when someone knocked on the front door of his apartment. "Just a minute!" he called, then set down his copy of The Impending Crisis on an empty bit of bookshelf. He had no idea who this could be. After all, he'd just moved in, and he didn't know anyone here to begin with. Still, it was best not to be impolite. Making his way through his piles of crap, he finally reached the door and opened it. "Hi, neighbor!" said a cheerful young blond woman. "I just moved in next door, and I wanted to just get to know you a little bit." She looked past Greg and saw the clutter inside. "Or, you know, if you're busy, I can come back later." "No, no, I'm not that busy," Greg said. "I just overpacked, that's all. Do you want to come in?" He stepped aside and looked back for any clear areas. "Um, I can clear off a chair for you." "Oh, you don't need to do that. Here, I can help you unpack," the young woman said. "My name's Cecilia Parsons, by the way." She held out a hand. Greg shook it. "I'm a sophomore, probably majoring in pre-med." "Greg Wilson," he replied. "I'm a history grad student. Hopefully, I'll be able to turn a doctorate into a job as a professor." "Okay," Cecilia replied. "Have fun with trying. My mom's a professor here, and she says the job market's always bad. And she's a biochem professor, so there's a bit more of a market for that. But if you're a grad student, why rent an apartment here? Most of the people around here are undergrads." "They offered me a nice discount for being a graduate student," Greg said. He made his way back over to the bookshelf and continued shelving books. Cecilia looked down at some of the trash on the floor, and started gathering up. "That's always something I have to consider. My parents are helping me move and get settled, but I'll have to pay for this myself in a few months." "Oh, so you need a job?" Something in Cecilia's voice made Greg look over his shoulder at her. She gave an awkward smile. "My mom is working on a new drug, and she's just gotten approval for clinical trials. She said that if I asked around for people who've been treated for depression in the last six months, and referred them to her, she might get me a new laptop." She shrugged, and added, "And you get some money for doing the trial, but I can't remember how much." Greg rubbed his chin, considering what she'd said. He actually had been treated for depression in the last six months. The fact that his therapist had given him a clean bill of mental health four months ago was a little awkward, but the prospect of getting paid for it... Cecilia seemed to take his silence for something else. "Sorry if I offended you, or if I was too... um, upfront about it," she said. "I'm just really bad at social things, and... I'm sorry." "No, there's no need to worry," Greg said, shelving This Republic of Suffering. "I think I might be the man for the job. I have been treated for depression in the last six months. How do I get in contact with your mother?" "I've got a leaflet back in my room," she replied. "Let me go get it." She disappeared through the door, and, less than a minute later, came back. "Here you go," she said, working her way through the clutter. She handed him a piece of paper. "Heck, she'll probably be in the office tomorrow, even though she theoretically has Saturdays off." He must've looked a little odd at that, because Cecilia waved her hands dismissively. "Sorry, I think my sour grapes are showing. Mother isn't always terribly good at being a mom, as opposed to a Very Important professor and researcher. And without Dad, I haven't had anyone around recently." She blinked a bit, then smiled apologetically. "I shouldn't be talking about this, it's all personal stuff that you don't care about." "There's no need to apologize," Greg said. He hesitated, then confessed, "My twin sister died in a car crash a couple years ago. That's why I was in therapy. It's not a bad thing to be open about problems." "Oh," Cecilia said. She blushed. "The thing is, I think part of why I'm so annoyed at Mother is that Dad left me a big pile of money, but it's in a trust fund. And she's the trustee. So, technically I'm a multimillionaire, but every time my computer craps out, or I need a car, Mother has a say over whether or not I can get what I need." "Hey, I don't know a person in the world who doesn't resent their parents at least once in a while," Greg said. He finished shelving the fourth box of books with Battle Cry of Freedom, and opened up his fifth box. "My parents have a good bit of money, but they're barely helping me with anything here. I think they could be a little more generous, but they decided that I need to get out on my own. I mean, she's still your Mother, right? You'll get through this, and as long as you still love her, it should all be fine." "Thanks," Cecilia said, smiling. She looked very nice when she smiled, even if she wasn't exactly a bombshell, all in all. Not really Greg's type of girl, but he could appreciate her looks. She opened a box of dishes and started taking them out. "I needed that," she added. Day 1 "Hi, are you Greg Wilson?" a dumpy Japanese girl asked him. She squinted at him through thick glasses, then scratched something on the back of her head. "Yes, I am," Greg replied. "Dr. Parsons will see you now," she told him. She looked at his unkempt hair and unshaven face and sniffed censoriously. She seriously stuck her nose in the air! The only response Greg could think of was, "Well, you're not exactly a prize either, lady," but he kept his mouth shut. It wasn't his business, and he didn't want to jeopardize his chance at being in the trial. They entered a laboratory area, skirting along the edge, until they reached a door. The girl knocked, and a female voice said, "Come in," from beyond. The girl pushed the door open, and Greg stepped inside. "Hello, you must be Greg," said Dr. Parsons, standing up behind a large, cluttered desk. He could see an older version of Cecilia in her face. "Thank you, Michelle. That will be all." Michelle gave him a hard look and left the room. "That girl," Dr. Parsons said, chuckling and shaking her head. "She's far too concerned about my welfare. So, Greg, you're here to sign up for the trial? If my offspring was correct?" "Yes, I am." Greg wasn't sure he liked Dr. Parsons. She seemed all too willing to put down anyone who might be close to her, and she just generally seemed indifferent to what the consequences of that might be. Even the good mood she was in now seemed a bit too mean-spirited. "Well, before I determine your eligibility for the trial, I need you to fill out some papers." She pulled out a few pieces of paper and handed them across the desk. "You can use that table over there. I'll find you a pen." She pointed at a table that was mostly covered by piles of journals, but there were a few bare spots. Greg pulled out the chair, which turned out to also hold a stack of journals. "Here's your pen," Dr. Parsons said, as he moved the stack of journals. The physical exertion, particular after all the work he'd done yesterday, was almost painful. He set the stack of journals down on the floor, took the offered pen, and sat down on the chair. "Make sure you fill out everything," she told him. "If there's something you don't feel comfortable sharing, you can leave without participating. All of your data will be anonymous, and no one but myself or Michelle will handle the raw data." Greg wondered what exactly she was asking for, if she had to give that kind of a disclaimer. Not that far into it, he figured it out. The questionnaire had started off asking fairly simple personal questions. Name, address, age, hair color, skin color, that kind of thing. But just after asking for his height (5'10"), it asked for the length of his penis. Both erect and flaccid. "Um, Dr. Parsons," he said, looking over his shoulder. "There's a question that's, um... it seems a bit intrusive, that's all." "Ah, yes, I know what you're referring to," she said. "Trust me, it's absolutely essential to the experimental design. As I said, all raw data will be strictly confidential. You'll find everything in the paper on the bottom. Remember, you're not required to participate in this experiment, and you will be compensated for your troubles. If you can't bring yourself to finish the questionnaire, you can leave at any time." "But I don't even know what to put down," Greg protested. "Should I whip it out and measure it right now? Or just put in a best estimate?" "Best estimate, please." Dr. Parsons was drier than the Atacama Desert. "I might not be able to stand the temptation." Greg sighed and turned back to the papers. He spread his hands to what he thought was about a foot apart from each other. Maybe five or five and a half inches, fully erect? Flaccid, it was probably two inches, at most. It was hard for him to be sure. Measuring his dick was not something Greg had ever been interested in doing. The rest of the questionnaire turned out to be far less intimate. Most of it was about his depression. List at least two primary causes for your depression? Describe your worst feelings ever? Compared to questions about the size of his dick, these questions were practically reticent. No, he wasn't currently taking medication to manage his depression. Dr. Khan had been opposed to referring him to a psychiatrist, and Greg had agreed. Anti-depressants hadn't ever seemed like they'd be useful for his depression. Yes, he had seen a mental health professional for treatment of depression within the last six months. After that, it asked for the name, address, and phone number of the person treating him. Greg couldn't remember Dr. Khan's phone number, and he barely remembered the address. So he just scribbled down "Dr. Suhail Khan, Duluth, GA". Dr. Parsons (or, more likely, Michelle) could look that up herself. He finished the questionnaire and set it aside. The piece of paper on the bottom was printed in tiny letters, and it was hard to read some of it. Perhaps Dr. Parsons could've sprung for a few more pages of paper, so that the information about her trials would actually be readable. There was at least one thing that was clear enough when he read it. "500 dollars a day?" he said out loud. For fourteen days of a trial, that came out to... "7000 dollars?" "I felt that, due to the intimate nature of some of the questions, a larger amount of compensation was due," Dr. Parsons informed him. He looked back at her, and she shrugged. "Besides, these are initial trials. They're intended to be small. When we ramp up the size of the trials, we won't pay that much as compensation." "Okay," Greg said dubiously. He wasn't a scientist, but he had minored in psychology. And part of that had been learning how you set up an experiment with other humans. He wasn't exactly an expert, even so, but compensation this high didn't seem normal. On the other hand, he'd never done a drug trial before. Maybe the rules were different for those. He tried to read everything on the paper, but there was probably a lot of things he'd missed. Still, when he came to the end, he thought he had a good idea of how the trial was supposed to work. He'd take a pill a day for fourteen days. Each day, he had to record the time he'd taken the pills, and how he felt. That seemed pretty reasonable, particularly if taking each pill would earn him $500. Unless, of course, the pills made him desperately ill or left him with a lifelong, chronic disability. What the hell, Greg decided. This could earn him enough money to live for the rest of the semester without a job, if he spent it right. He signed on the line at the bottom of the paper and stood up. "So, you've decided?" Dr. Parsons said, looking up from her desk. Greg just handed her the completed paperwork. She took it and looked it over while he stood there silently. "Excellent," she said, after she'd read through all the papers. "Well, now that you've given all your answers, let's start the trial." She walked back over behind her desk and opened up a safe. "Right now, this is the only supply of trimizapam in pill form, anywhere. I don't want just anyone getting their hands on it." "Oh, I nearly forgot," Dr. Parsons added, shutting the safe abruptly, and Greg looked over at her. "I assume you're not afraid of needles. Because you signed the consent form, after reading the part about the blood samples I'll need." "That must've been one of the parts that was too small to read," Greg said, frowning. "I'm not afraid of needles, but I don't understand why you need a sample of my blood." "If you show any unusual side effects, we might be able to understand that by sending a sample to the lab," Dr. Parsons explained. "To do that, we'll need several base samples of your blood before you take your first pill. And I was planning to put one sample through a full workup immediately, so that we can see the results in the end. Don't worry, I'm a certified phlebotomist. I can draw the samples perfectly safely." "Well, okay," Greg said, rolling up his sleeves. He'd given blood before, so he knew the process, roughly speaking. And it wasn't much different, except that he didn't have to fill up a whole bag with his blood. It was over fairly quickly. "Now that that's done," Dr. Parsons said, stowing the six vials of blood she'd taken in an insulated box, "we can actually get on with this." She went back over to the safe and reopened it. She took out a pill bottle and shut the safe. "You'll have to sign for this, first," she told him, and handed over a clipboard. He scribbled down his signature, and exchanged it with her for the pill bottle. "Go ahead and take the first one right now," she said. "I'll get you a trial journal." "Do I need to take it with water?" Greg asked, and Dr. Parsons nodded absently, as she sifted through a pile of paper on her desk. He picked up the water bottle he carried everywhere, and took out a pill. It looked pretty sizable. But he could handle it. He took a mouthful of water, tossed in the pill, and swallowed the lot. Then he washed it down with a good bit of water. "Here's your journal," Dr. Parsons said, coming up behind him. She handed him a large booklet. "The time now is 2:27 PM. Go ahead and write that down, and put in how you feel right now. Put in as much detail as you think necessary. But do try and be descriptive. Anything that might be pertinent." "Alright, thanks, Dr. Parsons," Greg said, taking the booklet. She'd included a pen, so he opened it up to the first page. He started scribbling down a few general sentences about how he felt. This was going to be an experience, one way or another. Day 4 Classes hadn't started yet, and it was beginning to wear on Greg just a bit. He didn't have Internet at his apartment, so his options for entertainment were drastically diminished. He tried reading some of his favorite books, but after a while, it had gotten a little stale. So he went out for a walk. Before going out, he made sure to take his daily pill, and record his feelings in his journal. Aside from restlessness, he'd been feeling a bit more... direct than before. At the grocery store yesterday, he'd cussed out an old lady who'd been blocking the aisle, when before he might've waited or gone around. That was something that definitely went in the journal. It was nice to be out and about. He was in a lovely college town, and his apartment was placed far enough away from campus that it would be a good bit of exercise to go there and back. That would take the edge off of his restlessness. And while he was walking, he could get a sense of the town. As it transpired, the area between his apartment and the university campus was very boring. The historic district was on the other side of campus, so he spent most of his time walking through the sorts of 1960s-vintage neighborhoods he could've found in any ordinary American suburb. It was so boring, he began thinking fond thoughts of his tiny, Internet deprived apartment. He came to a crosswalk over a big road just as it started flashing a red hand and counting down. If he didn't cross now, he would be stuck here for a mindnumbingly long time, watching cars whoosh by with an enviable amount of speed. But it was a really wide road, and he couldn't walk across it in time. So he picked up the pace. First he jogged, then he broke into an outright run. Greg had never been a very good athlete, but he usually had enough in him to dash across a crosswalk. This time, though, he had way more than enough. In fact, running seemed natural all of a sudden. When he reached the other side of the road, he kept up the pace. He kept running as he hit campus. Initially, he'd thought he might find a computer in the library and take it over. But, on second thought, running seemed like a better idea. It was a nice, sunny day. The Internet could wait. Greg had reached the sparkly new Chemistry building, when a young woman fell in next to him on the sidewalk. She had short black hair, held back by a hair band, and her caramel skin glistened with sweat. "Wanna race?" she asked, flashing white teeth at him. "Sure," Greg replied shortly, and kept running. The girl kept pace with him, but she never managed to get past him. Given the few glances Greg had gotten of her body, it was the toned, fit body of a real runner. This had to be so frustrating for her. At last, they reached the football stadium, having taken a roundabout, meandering way. Partly, it was because Greg actually wanted to explore the town. But it was also partly because he'd gotten lost. The effect was that the racing pair had probably gone on together for five miles or so, in addition to what they'd put in before that. The girl staggered to a halt in front of an empty ticket booth. "Damn, man," she wheezed. "I didn't know you were that good." Greg slowed himself down carefully, doing a loping circle back towards the girl. "Are you all right?" he asked. She snorted, then drew a deep breath. "Well, I'd say you managed to beat me," the girl said, taking off her soaked sweatband. "And I nearly qualified for the Olympics, so that's quite something." She stuck out her hand, and Greg shook it. "Rosita Flores. You?" "Greg Wilson," Greg said. Rosita seemed to wince at his handshake, which was surprising. He hadn't squeezed her hand, or anything. It was just a regular handshake. "Damn," Rosita said. "I don't recognize you, and with a race like that, you've got to have made your team. Where'd you race? Were you maybe at Nationals in 2012?" "In 2012, I was graduating from college," Greg replied dryly. He was a bit worn out, but not by too much. Maybe he would take the bus back to his apartment complex, but he could live with a long walk. "Huh. Don't look that old," Rosita replied, looking him up and down. Greg couldn't remember any woman being that interested in his body before. It almost made him want to blush. "So I definitely don't know you," Rosita muttered. Then she looked back up at Greg. "But you've definitely run, right? You ran in high school?" She almost seemed to be pleading for him to say yes. "Uh, no," Greg replied. "I was a big nerd at the newspaper for all four years, and I did some debate team. No track, and no cross-country. Sorry." "Damn!" Rosita said, looking crestfallen. "You can't actually be saying that you're not a runner? And you beat me? Fuck!" "I dunnoh, I just started running, and it felt good, so I kept on running." Greg was starting to realize how strange it sounded. "Normally, I don't run, but I think I just had too much pent-up energy." Rosita shook her head. "No, energy isn't enough to be a runner. You've gotta have the muscles for it, obviously, but you also gotta have the lungs, and you gotta have the head for it. My old coach used to say that if energy was all a runner needed, toddlers would be running one-minute miles. So either you're lying about not being a runner, or you suddenly developed all the things you need to beat a very good runner, like yours truly. Which do you think I think is most likely?" A Successful Experiment "I don't know what you think," said Greg, feeling a bit frustrated. "I know what's actually true, and it's what I've told you. I'm not really much of a runner, normally." "Uh huh," Rosita said. She was kind enough not to roll her eyes, but it was in her voice. Then she brightened. "Well, whatever you say, I think you're a good runner. We should do this again sometime. You up for a rematch sometime?" "Sure," Greg replied. They exchanged phone numbers, and went their separate ways. He walked back towards campus, reveling in the fact that he'd just run for miles and miles without getting exhausted. Was it the air in this town that made him so good at running? Or was it just that he was all on his own, now? Day 7 "Dr. Parsons," said Michelle, preceding Greg. "Your two o'clock is here." She avoided his eyes, and Greg didn't understand why. When he'd come in, she'd seemed annoyed to see him, even though she should've known that he was coming in. Perhaps it was how much Greg had changed in the last week. Michelle was still dumpy, without even a trace of a figure. If anything, she might've gotten fatter in the past seven days. Greg, on the other hand, had shed about twenty pounds of weight, and put on at least as much muscle. He'd kept up the running, and gone even further than that. Yesterday, he'd decided to take advantage of the university's fitness facilities. The gym was well-equipped with weights, so he'd done some experimental lifting. The small weights he'd started out with had been completely insufficient. So he'd gone through the rack, one by one, until he found the 100 pound weights. Those had given him a nice brisk exercise, without being overpowering. Once he'd worked up a little sweat, he'd moved on up again, until he reached the monstrous 200 pound weights. Those had seemed impossible to lift when he looked at them, but once he'd put his hands around them, they'd turned out to be not as heavy as he'd expected. His exercise regimen had gone from nonexistent to insane this week. When he woke up at 5 in the morning (much earlier than usual), he did 200 push-ups and 200 crunches, before going on a ten mile run. Originally, he'd thought that if he worked off some of his energy, he'd be able to sit down and do some work. But the more he'd worked out, the more restless he'd become. And that wasn't actually the weirdest part of his week. Greg was 24 years old, which meant that he was done growing. He'd leveled off at slightly higher than the average male height, and that wasn't too bad. There were taller people on his Dad's side of the family, but he'd always taken after his Mom in a lot of ways. Yet over the past week, he'd grown four inches. He'd figured out that something was going on a couple days ago, on Thursday. That was the day when he'd nearly bumped his head on the door, going out to run. Either he was growing, or his room was shrinking, and Greg wasn't sure which was more implausible. "Hello, Greg," said Dr. Parsons. A petite brunette with thick, wide glasses was leaving the office as Michelle and Greg entered. "It's good to see you again. How have you been doing?" Michelle left the room before Greg could reply. There was something very odd about her. Greg could hear her and the brunette talking a bit behind him, but he ignored them. "A bit... uh, oddly, Dr. Parsons," Greg replied. He sat down carefully in the chair in front of the desk. "I've been taking them, like I'm supposed to. But I've been feeling a bit weird this whole week." "Weird how?" Dr. Parsons said. She frowned slightly. "Changing colors? Growing extra hands?" "Uh, well..." Greg began. He explained what had transpired with his new routine. He described how much exercising he'd done, and what the results had been. He pulled out a measuring tape and showed her his new height. She sat through his whole explanation with a serene expression. When he finished, she raised an eyebrow and said, "Has it occurred to you that there are alternate explanations for all of what you described? Trimizapam does not make you grow taller or get bigger muscles." "But a growth spurt? At 24? Four inches in seven days? How does that make any sense?" Greg asked. He had the sneaking suspicion that Dr. Parsons was not taking him very seriously. "Growth spurts have been documented, under some circumstances, in young adults, such as yourself," Dr. Parsons informed him. "And how long has it been since you measured your height? It could've been taking place over years, and you've just now noticed it." "But the exercising? I haven't lifted a weight since I finished P.E. in my sophomore year of high school. Then all of a sudden, I'm throwing around 200 pound barbells like they're nothing. And running! I walk places, Dr. Parsons. Even when I was an energetic little kid, I hated running. Now I'm going out for ten miles every morning, like it's no big deal!" Greg let his frustrations out and thumped a fist against Dr. Parsons' desk. With a crunch, the desk cracked, and the two of them stared at it for a second. Then Greg recovered. "See? I've never been able to do that. Never! Ask me to punch a desk before this week, and I'd have nothing but a sore fist to show for it. Now I punch a desk and it splits apart! What the hell is happening to me?" "Settle down, Greg," Dr. Parsons said sharply. "One of the possible side effects of trimizapam is a slight hormone imbalance, such that you might have higher testosterone levels than before starting the trial. It's nothing that isn't reversible. And that could definitely explain your irritability." "I'm not irritable!" Greg growled, then caught himself. "Sorry, Dr. Parsons," he said, after a few deep breaths. "I shouldn't be yelling like that. But I'm really concerned. You might have a point with some of what you've said, but I'm really stressed, what with starting school and all these changes. Normally, I'm a good student, but I've been having trouble concentrating, and what if that carries over to my classes?" "When the trial is over, you should see the side effects end," Dr. Parsons replied. "On the other hand, they might persist a little longer, due to lingering traces of trimizapam. If they do, you can tell your instructors to speak with me, and I'll try to help you. I'm not your enemy, Greg. Is that all for today?" "No, um, there's one more thing." Greg blushed. "It's... um, it's related to that question on the questionnaire. You know, that one that I had to guess on?" "Ah, yes," Dr. Parsons said, raising her eyebrows. "Do you have something to report on that?" "Well, yesterday, I, um, received a stimulus to that... thing," Greg said. He wasn't about to specify that he'd seen Cecilia Parsons in a bikini, and that his dick had thought she was super hot. "So, I decided to go ahead and measure it." He definitely wasn't going to talk about how he'd kept himself erect while measuring his dick by imagining increasingly perverse things relating to Cecilia. "And, um, it turns out I was off by a few inches. Um, it was eight inches long." "That's something," Dr. Parsons said. She scribbled down a note, possibly about the size of Greg's penis, then looked back up at him. "Well, keep taking your pills, and... oh, wait, I nearly forgot something." She sifted through a pile of papers, and pulled out one in particular. "On the questionnaire, you listed the doctor you treated as Dr. Suhail Khan. Do you know how to contact Dr. Khan?" Greg shook his head. Dr. Parsons sighed. "I was afraid of that. You see, I found the information for his practice, but the woman who answered the phone said that he'd had surgery, and he wouldn't be at work until late next week. I was just hoping that you might have his personal contact information." "Nope, I'm afraid not," Greg replied. "I couldn't even remember the address for his practice for certain. Normally, I would punch it in on the GPS." "Thank you anyway," Dr. Parsons said. "It's mostly a formality, at any rate. He might have some data that I like to have as a bit of background, when I'm analyzing the results. It's not precisely necessary, but I prefer to have it." "Okay," Greg said, deciding that there was nothing else to be said to that. He picked up his water bottle and left. If he ran back to his apartment, he might be able to take his pill and run back to the gym in time to put in some lifting time. Day 9 It was Monday, the first day of classes. Greg definitely had at least one that he should be attending. Instead, he was at the gym. He'd gotten up at 5:30, done a quick 200 each of pushups and sit-ups, then taken a run. He'd done about 12 miles, gobbled down a quick breakfast at his apartment, and taken off shortly thereafter for the gym. His brain kept reminding him that he needed to go to classes. That he was here for graduate school for the primary purpose of going to classes. That, as recently as nine days ago, he'd been very excited about the possibility of going to classes. But he disregarded all of that nonsense. Classes were all boring. It was just a bunch of sitting around when he could be out exercising. He would've been squirming with boredom and irritation within minutes. With a grunt, he finished bench pressing 220 pounds and returned the weight to its resting position. His spotter, some random guy with nowhere near Greg's muscles, blinked. Greg had no idea what the guy's name was. He'd just been hanging around, and Greg had roped him into being his spotter. "That's all," he grunted, and walked away from the bench. The other guy called after him, but Greg paid no attention. He needed to find something else to do. He pulled out his phone and found that he'd gotten a text while he was lifting. It was from Rosita, the chick he'd beaten at running a few days ago. "Want to race?" she had texted him just a few minutes ago. "sure. first to stadium wins," he texted her back, and slipped his phone into his pocket. All he needed to get was his pill and water bottles. He popped the pill bottle open, poured out a single pill, took a drink of water, and swallowed the pill. The moment the pill went down his throat, Greg felt even more energetic than before. He washed it down with another quick swallow of water. The pills went in a pocket, and he jogged out of the gym, and into the sunlight. It was the middle of the day, but he couldn't care less about anything but running. By the time he reached the library, he'd picked up a good amount of speed. There was some little protest going outside, with a bunch of frumpy chicks in glasses waving signs. Greg gave them no more than a passing glance as he ran by. He just knew they would all be boring as hell. Greg reached the Chemistry building, and spotted Rosita out of the corner of his eye. She was a good distance behind him, but he put on an extra burst of speed for good measure. If he was going to race her, he was going to win, because he was better than any chick. From the sound of panting, Greg knew that she had gained on him, but she was unable to pass him. Every time she tried, he just ran a little faster, until she had to drop back. He didn't bother looking back. Chicks were never gonna beat Greg Wilson. The two of them arrived at the stadium in rather different states. Greg was sweating, but not too much. Mostly, he was pumped up by his exercises. The glistening layer of sweat over his naked upper half actually made him look more attractive. Rosita, on the other hand, was a mess. She didn't look like she'd been prepared for running. Her clothes were a normal pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Her sweatband was nowhere in evidence. And the run in the midday heat had given her plenty of sweat that could've been soaked up by a sweatband. Her hair was disheveled and all over the place. "Wow, what the hell, Greg?" Rosita said, walking off the sudden run. "I'm gonna have so many cramps from that. When I texted you about racing again, I thought we could meet up tomorrow on the track. I didn't really think you'd want to do this right away!" Greg ignored the chick's words. She seemed to think she could talk back to him, and that wasn't right. He was having trouble seeing straight, and the blood was still thundering through his head from the run. There was something he could do that would resolve both of his problems. "Come on," he grunted to Rosita, and walked over to a locked door that led into a rear area of the stadium. She followed him over, squawking about something that couldn't possibly interest him. Greg grabbed the padlock that kept the door shut, and pulled it apart. "Jesus, Greg!" Rosita squawked. "I was gonna open the lock anyway! Now how am I gonna explain this to my boss?" "Don't know," Greg grunted. "Don't care. You wanna fuck." "Well, I'm not sure this is..." Rosita began to temporize. Her talking turned into a squeal as Greg grabbed her and pulled her up against his bare chest. That had been a statement, not a question. Even in his current grunting state, Greg knew the difference between the two things. They had stepped inside a dark room, and Rosita reached for one of the walls. She must've found what she was looking for, because the lights went on. It was a storage room, with a table going down the length of the room, and shelves on either side of Greg and Rosita. Greg grunted and heaved his running buddy up onto the table. Ignoring her squeal of pain, he pulled down his gym shorts, revealing a massive erection that they'd been terrible at hiding. His cock was still about eight inches, but it was definitely more than it had been. He could vaguely remember a time of lonely masturbation, when his cock had not been so huge. That must've been a boring time. Instead of jerking it, Greg ripped open Rosita's shorts. She protested, and he ignored her, just like usual. Taking them off the normal way was too time-consuming. He couldn't be bothered to care about what shape they'd been in after he tore them apart. With Rosita's shorts floating away to the cotton clouds of short heaven, her pussy was out in the open, ripe for the taking. Apparently she didn't shave much, because there was an untidy bush of black hair between her legs. Greg curled his lip mentally. He thought he preferred girls with bald pussies, but he was so damn horny that he didn't really care. He plunged his cock into her pussy, leaning in towards the table. She squealed, taken by surprise. Still, she was into it, leaning into his strokes, moaning in pleasure. Soon enough, they had built up a fantastic rhythm of fucking. A small part of Greg's brain wondered how Rosita's pussy was even taking a part of his cock. It wasn't just longer than he remembered, it was wider, too. Somehow, though, he managed to impale Rosita on it, and she seemed to be having fun. Greg felt Rosita bucking under his hands, and he could hear her moaning intensifying. That served as a signal for some dim corner of his brain, and Greg orgasmed. He came in Rosita's pussy, as hard as he could. Streams of cum gushed out of his cock, flooding her pussy with white goo. Around the edges of her pussy, cum started leaking out, onto the table. At last, his orgasm petered out, and he withdrew from Rosita. She was even more disheveled now, and her thighs were streaked with cum. "Oh, wow," she said dazedly. "Wow. That was so wild. And hot. Oh, wow." "You wanna suck my cock now," he said, and she sat up, looking quizzically at him. "I dunnoh that I do," she replied, looking around for her shorts. They were in pieces all over the floor, so that didn't do her much good. She tried to stand up, but her legs wobbled from how hard Greg had fucked her. "Ok, how about this," she said, sitting back down on the table. Her ass squelched into a pool of cum. "I've got a locker in here with a change of clothes. But apparently I'll have trouble walking there myself. Carry me there, because you can so obviously do that, and I'll suck your dick." "Deal," Greg grunted, and picked up Rosita with barely any effort. She wasn't a big girl by any stretch of the imagination, but she did weigh at least 130 pounds. For him, that was an easy lift. Now that she was in his arms, he heaved her over his shoulder. She squawked at being suddenly put in such an awkward position. As compensation, he began rubbing one of his thick fingers along her pussy, and felt her shudder in response. It was sticky with his own cum and her juices, but he didn't care about that. She deserved a bit more pleasure. "Oooh, take a right," she said, then moaned as he hit her rock-hard clit again. The stadium was a maze of confusing hallways and tunnels, some of which led to dank, disgusting crapholes. Greg needed help avoiding those. He wasn't terribly good at thinking, just fucking and exercising. "Here we aaaaaaaaaah!" Rosita said, her voice squeaking higher and higher as she orgasmed in Greg's arms. There was a locker room to Greg's right, so he went inside. His fucking buddy nodded, momentarily rendered speechless by the power of her orgasm. Greg set her down on a bench, and Rosita grinned tiredly. "You got me here, and gave me an orgasm," she said. "I guess you've earned that blowjob." She got down on her knees, even though the floor seemed a little disgusting. Greg's cock was already at full mast, so all Rosita had to do was open her mouth wide and take it. Obviously, she would be hard pressed to fit all of him in her mouth. Still, she only seemed willing to take on his tip. That wouldn't do at all. Greg grabbed her head and thrust it further on, ignoring her muffled squawk. Her mouth went about halfway down his cock before the tip struck the back of her throat. He tried to get her to deepthroat it, but she gagged a bunch, which was extremely unappealing. Strictly speaking, a blowjob probably wasn't necessary. Greg had already been erect, so he probably could've just jacked it a little while, and gotten about the same results. But he liked the feeling of Rosita's wet mouth around his cock, her tongue stimulating him even further. The only warning Rosita got was a cryptic grunt. A nanosecond later, streams of cum erupted from Greg's cock. Her eyes widened as the cum flooded her mouth and began dripping out of it. She pulled off of his cock in alarm, which turned out to be a mistake. Greg's cock was far from finished, and it kept spurting giant strings of cum at her face. Pretty soon, her pretty little face was white all over, so much so that her eyelashes were all that stood out. "Holy shit, man!" Rosita finally managed to say. She'd needed to spit out a bunch of cum, and wipe away some more. "What the hell? Are you made of cum or something? Now I'm probably gonna have to take a shower, too!" Greg grunted. "Sorry," he said. He was not sorry. That had been the best. While he watched mutely, Rosita changed, and wiped away all of the cum. She made a vague protest about him seeing her naked, which was silly. He'd just fucked her twice, not to mention fingering her to an orgasm. There was really no reason he couldn't see her totally naked, and they both knew it. As they left the stadium by the same door they'd come in, Rosita shook her head. "I'm still gonna have to explain to my boss how that lock got broken." She looked accusingly at Greg, who just shrugged his shoulders. That wasn't his problem. "Hey, wanna come back to my place?" Greg said, pulling her in closer. "We can fuck some more." "I'd love to, Greg," Rosita replied, wriggling out of his grasp. "And I probably will. But I've got a class pretty soon. Don't you have classes?" He shrugged. Classes didn't matter. She went on talking, "So maybe I'll come over later. And, you know, I could bring a friend. My roommate Clarice is kind of a perv, so she'd probably like a threesome. That sound good?" A Successful Experiment "Yep," he grunted. They split up, and Greg began jogging, then running. He could - and would - do this all day. Either fucking, or exercise. Or, hell, he could do both. Sex was very sweaty. It had to be some kind of exercise. When he arrived at his apartment complex, he was still feeling restless. Fortunately for him, there was a petite redhead carrying a bag of laundry away from the laundry room. "Hey," he grunted. "Wanna fuck?" The redhead looked surprised, at first, but she soon began to grin. "Sure thing, uh... you're new, right? What's your name? I'm Amanda." "Greg," Greg said. It had almost been hard to recall his own name, he was so consumed with the need to fuck. "Right, Greg. Your place or mine?" Amanda said, throwing her curtain of copper-red hair back over her shoulder. "Mine," Greg replied, and guided her into his apartment. The door shut behind them, and soon the sounds of loud sex were audible to anyone nearby. Day 11 Cecilia sighed as she returned to her apartment. She'd hoped that the apartment next door would be quieter when she got back from class, but it wasn't. She could hear grunting and moaning, as clear as day. When they'd first met, Greg had seemed like a nice guy. Just a bit older, and not precisely hot. But he'd definitely seemed like a scholarly type. Not the sort of guy who had an endless string of women beating a path to his door. Behind which door they had incredibly loud sex. On Monday, she'd dismissed the first few instances as happenstance. Anyone might get lucky once, or twice. By Tuesday, when Cecilia's professor from last semester's English Composition class had passed by wearing a goofy smile, a few strings of cum, and not much else, it had been officially weird. By this morning, there had been a nonstop stream of women in and out. None of them even seemed to care that there were other women in the picture. They arrived fidgety and nervous and they left with torn clothes and enormous smiles. Not to mention that some of them could barely walk. As she approached her own apartment, a trio of girls waltzed down the sidewalk towards her. She recognized one of them from a few days ago, a Hispanic girl with a trim frame. Another one, a chubby brunette, looked vaguely familiar. The third girl, a rail-thin dirty blond with a pinched, scholarly look to her, was totally unfamiliar. "Look, why are we here?" the third girl said, stopping on the sidewalk. "I don't know that I want to do this." "Look, April, I said that I'd get you laid one way or another," the brunette said. "I'm telling you, this guy is great. You know how much sex I've had, right? This was the best sex I've ever had." "But why do you have to come along, Clarice? And why'd you bring your new roommate?" the blond replied, her voice picking up a whining tone. "Are you going to watch, or something?" Clarice grinned lecherously. "Why wouldn't I want to watch?" "Okay, I'm getting out of here. I don't care how good this guy is." April tried to turn around, but Clarice and Clarice's roommate, who stood on each side of her, caught her arms. She tried to shake free, fruitlessly. "Let me go!" "The real reason I'm here is to keep you from chickening out. And Rosita agreed to help me. We just want you to have one sexual experience in college that doesn't involve masturbating in the shower." Clarice flipped her wavy brown hair over one shoulder. "Besides, I want another turn at this guy's dick. It's mind-blowing." At last, they seemed to notice Cecilia. "Hi!" said Clarice, as April blushed. "Are you in line for Greg?" "No, I live here," Cecilia replied, holding up her key. She put it in the lock and turned it for emphasis. "Oh!" Clarice said. "You must have a lot of fun, living next to Greg. How many times have you done it with him?" "None," Cecilia said frostily. "And all the racket from people like you is keeping me up at night. I don't appreciate it." "Well, that's too bad," Clarice replied. "You don't know what you're missing. And if you're a virgin, like April here, you could do much, much worse. Believe me, I did." April blushed red-hot. "You know what, Clarice?" she said, still trying to get out of her roommate's grasp. "Maybe we should give her a break. Getting, uh, laid, you know, it's not that important." "No," Clarice said flatly. "I'm going to get you laid if I have to tie you up, gag you, and carry you in myself. Which would be pretty kinky and fun, now that I think about it." At that moment, the door opened, and a grinning redhead stumbled out, followed by another young woman who looked similar enough to be her sister, and probably was. Cecilia thought they looked familiar from somewhere. "Didn't I tell you he was great, Jessica?" the first redhead said. "Oh, you were so right, Amanda!" Jessica gushed. Now that Cecilia could put a name to the face, she remembered that Amanda lived a few buildings down. Cecilia hadn't known that she had a sister, though. "Great fucking," came a rumble from beyond the doorway. "Always great, with twins and redheads. Come back soon." The massively overmuscled Greg poked his head out of the door, missing the top only by ducking very low. "Bye Greg!" the redheads replied, wobbling away and talking between themselves. Cecilia heard a giggle. "Hey, Cecilia," Greg said, noticing her. He had a dopey sort of look to him. The genial image was slightly undercut by the glistening, erect dick he was flashing around willy-nilly. "You wanna come fuck?" "No," Cecilia replied. "And I think they were here first." She pointed at the threesome of girls. Greg looked where she was pointing, and started. "Hi, Rosita," he said. "Hi, Clarice. Who's your friend?" Clarice began explaining, as Cecilia, disgusted by the whole thing, slipped into her apartment and shut the door. She'd thought Greg was a nice, intelligent guy. Until he'd started on her Mother's drug trial... What was Angelica Parsons, M.D., Ph.D up to in her laboratory? Was it even possible that all of this madness had been caused by a simple drug? How could that possibly work? For some time, Cecilia just sat at her desk. She listened as the moans and thumps began again next door. She simply pondered what her mother dearest was capable of doing. Would she willingly allow a bright young man to be transformed into a grunting, muscular sex fiend? After a little while, Cecilia came to a decision. She grabbed her purse and got up out of her chair. She hadn't even taken off her shoes, so all she had to do was get up and leave. When she passed by Greg's door, she saw that it was wide open. On his untidy, wildly stained bed, he was balls-deep in April, the thin blond, while he fingered Rosita's cunt. Clarice was slumped down in an armchair, grinning wildly as she masturbated. Cecilia tried to pretend nothing was happening. She'd parked her car, not too long ago, just a few spaces away from the building. When she reached it, she noticed a young woman in a flower-print headscarf standing next to it. The other woman's head was down, and she seemed to be muttering to herself in another language. "Excuse me?" Cecilia said, and the other woman jumped. "Sorry, sorry," the woman said. "This is your car, I guess? Sorry, sorry, sorry." She stepped back, then seemed to realize something. "You live next to Greg Wilson, don't you?" Cecilia rolled her eyes. "To my infinite misfortune, yes, I do." "Oh, um, sorry again," the woman said. "Uh, my name is Soraya. I live a couple floors up? See, I was wondering if you could..." "If I could get Greg to make less noise?" Cecilia finished her sentence. "No, not a chance in hell, even though I've tried a million times." "No, no, no, that's not what I want at all!" Soraya replied. She blushed. "It's really embarrassing, but... could you introduce me to him? Mother told me I should stay away from boys at school, but I really want to, uh, get to know him." "Introduce yourself," Cecilia snarled, and flung open the front driver's side door on her car. Soraya jumped out of the way, and Cecilia slammed the keys into the ignition. Mother dearest had so many fucking questions to answer. All through her drive, Cecilia fumed. If Mother was the root cause of this, then what responsibility did Cecilia have? After all, Cecilia was the one who'd recommended that Greg try Mother's study for some extra money. Could any of this possibly be legal? She arrived at her Mother's house in a fury. Ever since Dad had died, this place had stopped being a real home. He'd been the only thing worthwhile about the place, since Mother had never bothered to pay attention to family things. Some people were astonished that she had moved out when she went to college in the same town. Cecilia was astonished that she'd lasted all the way to college without running away from home. "MOTHER!" she screamed as she wrenched open the front door. The outburst startled one of her mother's students, a simpering little brunette with thick glasses, whose name was Tessa. She appeared to be licking the pussy of Michelle, Mother's bitchy assistant. "Aww, does wittle Ceci need her mommy?" Michelle chuckled. She reached down and pushed Tessa back into the exposed pussy. "You don't want to disturb her right now. She's very busy, and you might get more than you bargained for." "Fuck you, you fucking prick," Cecilia replied, deliberately choosing that particular insult. She knew that the radical feminist Michelle would hate it. And sure enough, Michelle's face darkened, and she opened her mouth to respond. "Michelle, that's enough," Dr. Angelica Parsons said, from the second floor balcony overlooking the living room. "Cecilia, what are you doing here?" "I'm here to talk about Greg Wilson," Cecilia said. She heard Michelle sniff, but her eyes were fixed on her Mother's. "Let's talk about that in private," Dr. Parsons said. Her eyes flickered back to her bedroom, which she had just left. "I need to settle a few things first. Deirdre, what are you doing, out like that?" To Cecilia's dismay, though she couldn't bring herself to be surprised, Deirdre Collins, the Dean of the College of Science, had emerged from her Mother's bedroom. As Dean, Dr. Collins was the only real boss Mother had, short of the University's upper administrators. The current departmental chair was terrified of Dr. Parsons, and had given her considerable leeway. Dr. Collins was new, and thus, seemingly, immune to pressure from Mother. "Oh, Mommy, I thought I heard something bad," the Dean said in a little girl's voice. "I thought someone might want to hurt Mommy, and take DeeDee away from Mommy. Are you alright, Mommy?" "Yes, I'm fine, DeeDee," Dr. Parsons replied. "Go back to the bedroom, and Mommy will be along to tickle you some more in a little while. Okay?" "DeeDee" murmured a bit, and Dr. Parsons gave her a hug. "Let Mommy take care of business for a little bit." The Dean, embracing her inner child, skipped back into the bedroom. Mother shut the door behind the childish Dean, and descended the stairs to the first floor. As she reached the bottom, Michelle began to climax, bucking and moaning as Tessa kept up her licking. "We'll take this into the kitchen, Cecilia," Mother said. Cecilia had no real choice but to follow, though she looked back over her shoulder, to see Michelle rubbing Tessa's face in her slick pussy. When Cecilia entered the kitchen, Mother was waiting to close the door. It clicked shut behind Cecilia, and she heard the deadbolt go in. "What have you done to Greg, Mother?" Cecilia asked heatedly. "And don't try to put me off. What twisted scheme of yours did I lead him into?" "If you led him into anything," Dr. Parsons replied, "he entered of his own free will. And as for what I've done... that's neither here nor there. You don't need to know what I'm doing, unless I decide you do. And you don't." "The hell I don't!" Cecilia slammed her fist down on the counter. "My next-door neighbor is turning into some kind of musclebound, empty-headed fueling station for sluts! And you did it! I don't know how, but I know you did it! And the Dean! What are you..." Dr. Parsons put a hand over Cecilia's mouth. "I don't have to answer to you," she said coldly. "My plans are what they are, and you won't change them. I'm within an inch of a great success, that will one day change the whole world. Humanity will be changed for the better! You have no idea what you're trying to meddle with." "You're fucking nuts," Cecilia replied. Indeed, Dr. Parsons' eyes were rather wild, and she was making as much sense as the average schizophrenic. "And you changed Greg! You didn't deny it, Mother. How could a drug possibly change him that way?" "Trimizapam isn't just a drug," Dr. Parsons said. She opened her mouth again, then seemed to think better of it. "You'll see, daughter. One day soon, you'll see my plans unfold. And I am generous. I will forget that you've never loved me, that you were always loyal to your damned father. And I will give you a high place, second to only me, in the world that will replace the old order." "I never loved you?" Cecilia said incredulously. She decided to leave aside the crazy stuff and focus on something she could actually comprehend. "You were never around to be loved. It was always conference this, and seminar that, and 'Cecilia, I'd love to come to your recital, but I'm afraid I'll be busy in the lab tonight.' You couldn't be bothered to take care of me, Mother dear, and the only reason I didn't grow up as warped and miserable as you is Dad. "He cared about me! He loved me! You only loved your research, and God only knows how you and Dad got married in the first place! And he was always faithful to you! He never even thought about leaving you, even when you couldn't be bothered to help with his cancer! You didn't deserve him, particularly since you didn't even care enough to go to his funeral!" Cecilia was aware of the tears streaming down her face, but she plowed on. "I don't give a damn about your crazy plans, Mother! I don't care about 'a high place' in your insane schemes! Fuck you! Fuck you, and your fucking minions, and your fucking plans, and all the fucking shit that made you the worst person ever!" Dr. Parsons looked momentarily astonished. "I never..." she said, sounding emotional for a second. Then she stiffened herself. "That is irrelevant. You cannot comprehend what I am doing, and you will not understand what I have done. No one will stand in my way, not even you." Cecilia felt a sharp prick on her arm from behind, and she spun around to find Michelle holding an empty hypodermic needle. In her anger, she'd missed the sounds of the graduate student entering the kitchen. "What should I do with her?" Cecilia heard Michelle ask. "Dispose of her?" "No," Dr. Parsons said, her voice distorted. Cecilia couldn't make out anything but vague, fuzzy shapes. "She may be a disappointment, but she is still my daughter. Put her back where she came from, and let her sort herself out. She will remember nothing, and when The Day comes, you will have her place." Cecilia vaguely heard Michelle thanking Dr. Parsons, but at that point, she was having trouble perceiving things. The last half hour was slipping away from her mind. All of her most recent memories seemed to be vanishing. Why had she even come here in the first place? She felt herself being carried outside, and into the passenger's seat of her car. The car began moving, but Cecilia couldn't see where. She couldn't even tell how long it moved. At last, they came to a stop, and Cecilia giggled. She heard the voice of Michelle, telling her things, but she didn't really hear any of the things on a conscious level. All the instructions she received went into her mind, filed away until the proper time. When the voice stopped speaking, Cecilia felt herself stepping out of the car. The haze in her mind had cleared a little bit. She could vaguely see the shape of another person, possibly Michelle, getting out of the car, and getting into a different car. Cecilia giggled. "Bye-bye!" she chirped. "See ya, you dumb bitch!" Michelle replied. Cecilia giggled again. She still didn't quite understand what most words meant. As the car bearing Michelle drove away, Cecilia just stood there, waving her heart out. For a few minutes, Cecilia just stood at her car. She was looking at nothing, and thinking about very little. The drug in her system was breaking down rapidly, and her body really couldn't be bothered to do anything else. When her senses returned, Cecilia looked down at her car in bewilderment. She'd been meaning to do something, and she couldn't remember what. Had she done it? If she had, why didn't she remember it? Those troublesome questions swept into her mind and immediately left. The only thing she really remembered was that it had been about her neighbor Greg. Who had a really big cock. That she hadn't fucked yet. Her purpose fixed, Cecilia went back to her building. Not fucking Greg was a monumental oversight. If had a cock that big, she should be fucking it nonstop. It was no wonder all the other girls had been coming to Greg's apartment in droves. They knew what Cecilia had just realized: she needed to fuck Greg's giant cock. Cecilia arrived at Greg's apartment just as the three girls from before were leaving. Rosita and Clarice were supporting the thin girl, April, who had an arm over each other girl's shoulder. April sported a dazed expression, streams of cum running down her face, and bowed legs. Gosh, Greg must've really fucked her hard. "Anytime," Greg was saying to them. "More fucking, anytime you want." His deep, deep voice made Cecilia's pussy feel weird. It was like he had hit the resonant frequency for her pussy, and made it vibrate. "Hi, Sheshilia!" April slurred. She might actually be drunk, or maybe filling a girl with cum just made her act that way. "Yer gunna fuck 'im? Have lotsa fun!" The other two girls dragged April off, and Cecilia found herself standing alone in front of Greg. Whose enormous cock was out. It looked simply delicious. Cecilia was about to say something, when she heard a little noise behind her. She turned rapidly and looked behind the stairs in the hallway. The Middle Eastern girl with the headscarf stood under the stairway, looking frightened. "I am sorry, sorry, I did not mean to pry..." Soraya said. She looked miserable and frightened. "No, no, come on!" Cecilia replied, grabbing the startled girl's hand. She dragged the barely resisting Soraya out into the light. "I've always wanted a threesome, and you're gonna be the third part!" Day 14 Greg grunted as he came in Soraya's pussy yet again. The shy, modestly attired girl of a few days ago was nowhere in evidence. For the last three days, she'd been fucked within an inch of her life by Greg, alongside her new best friend Cecilia Parsons. Yesterday, Soraya had even managed to rope in her old friend Mona, who was currently having her pussy licked by Cecilia. Soraya's smile grew broad and glazed, as she came for the eighth time this session. Greg had enough room left in his brain to be a little considerate towards his fuckbuddies. They deserved to at least get an orgasm out of being fucked in the pussy. When they were sucking his cock, he could normally find another fuckbuddy to lick that lucky girl's pussy. His severely diminished brain turned to ranking his fuckbuddies. For sheer weirdness, no one beat Clarice. Soraya had turned out to have hidden depths of lust, making her the most wanton girl in his stable. Rosita could ride his cock like a motorcycle, loud, hard, and fast. Amanda was a pro at swallowing his cock, even managing to deepthroat it a couple times. But he had a surprising amount of fondness for the blond girl next door. Cecilia had been the first girl he'd met in this town, and once she'd stopped being a stick-in-the-mud, she'd become a great fuck. Her willingness to fuck nonstop was almost astonishing, and he couldn't remember not seeing her in his apartment for the last three days. Something had happened to Cecilia, and it was Greg's cock. A Successful Experiment "Uh, Greg, honey," Cecilia said, raising her head from moaning Mona's pussy, "your phone's going off. There's some kind of notification about an appointment?" The word "appointment" triggered Greg's brain to lurch in another direction. "What?" he said. "Where?" He had trouble expressing himself in more than one word at once. Fortunately, the language of fucking had no words. "It says 'Day 14 Checkup'," Cecilia reported. "Oh, you've got to go to my Mommy's office! She's the best!" With a grunt, Greg pulled out of Soraya. His cum spilled out of her overstuffed pussy in a steady stream of white goo. Whatever this appointment was, he had time for a little more fun. Greg began jacking his cock, which had already returned to its full length. Soraya knew what was about to come, and looked eager. His beefy hand lovingly caressed the most important thing on his body, carefully stroking it. He knew full well that his hand could crush bones, the way it had crushed the hand of Amanda's loser ex-boyfriend. The guy had swung at him first, so he wasn't really in trouble. But he'd heard that the guy's hand was almost totally broken, to the point that he might never be able to use it again. Served the scrawny punk right. He grunted again, that being the only warning sign before he came all over Soraya's face. White streams of cum shot out of his cock, splattering all over the black-haired girl's features. As her face became indistinct beneath the cum, her tongue flicked in and out, licking up any bit of cum that approached her mouth. Soon, all Greg could see was her smile. It reminded him of something in a book, but he wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders today. At last, his cock finished up, leaving Soraya a grinning, cum-splattered mess. He let Mona lick the tip dry, and squirted a little extra into her mouth. Now that he was done fucking for just a little while, he needed to put on some shorts. He would've put on a shirt, but none of his shirts fit his oversized frame, and also, he didn't feel like it. At least his athletic shorts were stretchy enough to fit. Greg left his fuckbuddies behind to entertain themselves, and started running. His destination was not that far away, so he could make it there, easy. It was just on the opposite side of campus, so that would be about six miles, which would take him about 45 minutes. And he only needed to bring three things: his nearly-empty pill bottle, his water bottle, and his journal thing. He'd made sure to take the pills, even these past few days. He'd also kept up the journal, though that had required some help from his fuckbuddies, who could tell him the time. And the recent entries were somewhat lacking. His entry for yesterday had been a crude picture of a cock, followed by a string of obscene words. The journey went by in a blur, and soon enough, he found himself entering Dr. Parsons' lab. That fat Asian bitch Michelle still sat at the desk outside the lab. "You're late," she said, distaste apparent in her eyes. "Follow me." Greg said nothing. His brain was still in running mode, and it took a while to get out. Responding to insults had never been his specialty, and he was even slower now. "Ah, Greg!" said Dr. Parsons. "Thank you, Michelle. That will be all." The bitch sniffed and slipped out of the lab. Greg didn't give a shit about her. "So, it looks like you have been working out quite a bit," Dr. Parsons observed. "Have a seat, and go ahead and take your last pill." She indicated a heavy-duty seat that might be able to support Greg's weight. He sat down obediently and opened his pill bottle. One last pill. He turned it over, dropping the pill into the palm of his hand. A swig of water later, and he swallowed the whole pill, then washed it down. "What do you feel like, Greg?" Dr. Parsons asked, looking into his eyes. He grunted, then picked up a pencil. Holding it in a fist, he opened his journal and laboriously wrote down, "G-R-E-A-T." "Oh, this is such a wonderful day!" Dr. Parsons exclaimed. "Just sit right there, Greg. I need to draw some blood for the lab, but I think we can declare this a success. I never dreamed I would see this day so soon! Let me go get the sampling vials, and I believe I should be getting the preliminary results on the base sample." She bustled off into the lab, leaving Greg by himself, sitting quietly in the chair. He could feel a few last physical changes happening, but most of those were already complete. If he'd had a measuring tape (and the ability to count past two), he would've found that his cock was now precisely 12 inches from base to tip. He grew another half-inch in height, and some of his muscles finished bulking up. Perhaps if he'd had the mental capacity to do anything beyond eat, drink, breath, and fuck, he might've noticed any of these things. His nose caught a whiff of a musky smell that he'd never noticed before. It was masculine to the extreme. It was the smell of a man's man, someone who could have any woman he wanted. Women would come flocking, pussies dripping, to a man who smelled like this. "You did have some anomalies in your bloodwork," Dr. Parsons said, mostly to herself, as she returned, carrying the blood sampling equipment. "The lab said that that included a protein of some kind that they have never seen before. But I doubt it will have had much effect on the results." She set down the kit, and sniffed the air a bit. "That smell is... oooh..." Dr. Parsons braced herself against the counter. "Gotta fuck... take samples..." she muttered. "This isn't s'posed to happen. 'S an anomaly. Feels so fuckin' great! When this's finished, 'm gonna fuck you so fuckin' hard!" She tied off his left arm and stuck the needle in the vein that presented itself. Fortunately, she accomplished that with a minimum of mistakes. As the vials began to fill with blood, Dr. Parsons giggled a bunch. "Oh, I feel so fuckin' awesome!" she announced. "You better be sooper fuckin' hard for me, mister!" Greg just grunted, and watched mutely as Dr. Parsons took the full vials and slipped them into an insulated case. She removed the needle, patched up the needle hole with a band-aid, and gave Greg a long kiss, full on the lips. Then Dr. Parsons ripped off her pants, tossing the pieces aside. "I just wanna get fucked so hard," she said. "Fuck me hard, Greg! Fuck my pussy like this!" She got on her hands and knees, then arched her back, presenting her ass like a target. Her pussy was already moist for the taking. Obediently, Greg grunted and pulled down his shorts. His cock sprung out from its inadequate confinement. She looked back and cooed with amazement. At her mute urging, he pointed it towards her pussy, and slammed it in hard. "OH!" Dr. Parsons cried out, her body shaking. Greg grabbed her by the ass, and rammed her body back onto his cock, and she shook again. He blinked as the clouds over his mind seemed to thin. Another thrust into Dr. Parsons' pussy gave him actual thoughts for the first time in perhaps a whole week. He looked down at the wanton doctor, impaled on his cock. She'd done this to him! She'd made him into some kind of muscular, lustful cockmonster. And fucking her seemed to be returning his intelligence. Greg smiled thinly. It was a tough job, fucking the woman who'd tried to screw him over, but someone had to do it. Now that he felt even more motivated, Greg slammed back into the fray. He bounced Dr. Parsons harder and harder, shaking her lying bitch body with each thrust. Revenge, served piping hot, was a very tasty dish. The more he fucked Dr. Parsons, the more he realized that something weird was happening to the scientist. With every thrust he made into her pussy, with every shake of her body, her hair grew longer and blonder. Her skin cleared up, and her figure tightened, her stomach and waist drawing in ridiculously tight. But the biggest change he noticed, by far, was to her breasts. They had been fairly ordinary, when he'd first started screwing Dr. Parsons' brains into mush. A middle-aged pair of breasts, well-hidden behind regular working clothes and a lab coat. Now, her breasts jiggled and strained at their old bra, cutting deep into her flesh. Greg reached down and ripped off Dr. Parsons' bra and shirt in one go, liberating her breasts. They kept growing as he kept fucking, until they were the size of watermelons. At last, Greg climaxed like he'd never climaxed before. He let out a roar, squeezing Dr. Parsons' now-svelte figure between his hands. She cried out, though who knew whether it was from pain, pleasure, or both mingled. An endless stream of cum poured into her pussy, thanks to his massive cock. Something else flowed the other way, as Greg felt his mind filling with knowledge of chemical formulas and elaborate plans. Greg pulled out, and Dr. Parsons dropped to the floor, cushioned primarily by her ludicrously oversized breasts. She giggled. "Like, I'm rilly dumb now, aren't I?" she said, looking over her shoulder at Greg while twirling a bit of platinum blond hair. "What's your first name, Dr. Parsons?" Greg asked, helping the bimbo doctor to her feet. "Uh, like, I dunnoh," she replied. She seemed to be straining for a thought. "Maybe it used to be, like, Angelica, or something." She perked up and giggled. "But I'd rather be Angie the bimbo! I'm not some stuffy doctor! I'm a bimbo!" "What the hell?" said a female voice, and Greg turned around. Michelle, the bitchy assistant, stood in the doorway, mouth agape. "What the fuck is going on here?" "Oooh, fuck!" Angie said, poking her head above the counter. Greg knew that the face Michelle was seeing was definitely that of a bimbo. Angie's lips had swelled when he'd fucked her, to the point that they couldn't seem to close all the way. That, combined with her now-blue eyes that barely seemed to close at all, gave the impression of a stupid bimbo. This was, in fact, the correct impression. "I wanna fuck fuck fuck!" "Dr. Parsons?" Michelle said tremulously. She stepped into the lab, towards her bimbo mentor. "This is... what happened? Are you Dr. Parsons?" "Nope!" the bimbo replied. She hefted her big tits and giggled. "I'm Angie! And I'm a bimbo doctor!" "What did you do to her?" Michelle cried, giving Greg an accusatory look. "I know that's Dr. Parsons there. You did something to her, and I want to know what it was." "I did just about the same thing you did to me," Greg said, his voice still deep. He stepped towards Michelle, and her nose flared wider. "The two of you changed me, and it had a few unintended consequences. She's the result. And, yes, I know all about your crazy plan." He barked out a laugh. "World domination through docile, pleasure-giving men? You folks are nuts." "Why am I..." Michelle said, "Uh, why do I want you to fuck me? I'm a lesbian. I shouldn't want this. I should hate thiiiiis..." She trailed off into incoherent moaning, as Greg put his arms around her. He ripped off her clothes, first the top, and then the bottom. It sounded like she was trying to protest, but her slick pussy belied anything she might try to say. One of her hands reached down and began pumping in and out of her pussy, causing her to moan again. He chuckled a bit, and she looked up at him beseechingly. "Yes, that's fine," Greg said soothingly. "I don't want your pussy. At least, not yet. I'd prefer to try out something else." Before Michelle could realize what he was talking about, and protest, he moved behind her, bent her over at the waist, and rammed his still-moist cock into her ass. Michelle let out a shriek as his cock penetrated, but the fevered smile she gave him suggested that she was getting pleasure, not just pain. Restricted as his cock was by the narrower, tighter channel, he could not quite bounce her on his cock, the way he'd done with Angie. But he did his best, and she moaned as the two of them got into a rhythm. Greg fucked her somewhat dispassionately, a portion of his brain analyzing the assistant's transformation. Like her boss and mentor, Michelle was losing weight in some places, but gaining it in many others. Unlike Angie, though, the gaining didn't seem to be concentrated in her breasts, though they certainly grew as the two of them fucked. Instead, Greg felt the expansion beneath his hands, as Michelle's ass ballooned out. There really was no other way to describe the way it was changing. He could feel the extra jiggling of her cheeks as he thrust in and out. When he was done, she was going to have a gigantic ass, one that might keep jiggling even when she stopped moving. Maybe it would be so big she'd gain a few inches of height in the sitting position. Michelle orgasmed a couple times before Greg finally did, thanks to her self-assisted double-teaming. Her fingers were glistening with juices, still plunging in and out of her pussy, when he came. The two of them climaxed together, Greg's roar and Michelle's moaning whimper mixing in the laboratory. Greg clutched at her enlarged ass, digging his fingers into her flesh as deep as they would go, which was pretty deep. He caught a glimpse of Angie rolling on the floor, in the midst of her own orgasm, pussy juices leaking onto the floor. As Greg finished and began pulling out, Michelle said, "Yay! Now I'm, like, such a bimbo! And I'm totes gonna be Mika the bimbo! Yay!" She looked up at him and grinned vacantly. Cum was leaking out of her asshole, and onto the floor. "Michelle?" said a choked-up voice from the door to the laboratory. Greg sighed and looked over his shoulder. It was the brunette who'd been leaving the lab when he'd come in for his previous appointment, a week ago. She had a horrified expression on her face as she took in Mika and Angie, both of whom were naked and grinning. "Hi, what's your name?" Greg said, as though fucking two women so hard they turned into bimbos was a normal thing. He stepped a bit closer to the brunette, and she shuddered a bit. "Uh, my name's Tessa Paige," the brunette said absently. She sniffed hard at the air, then sniffed again. Her eyes went unfocused, and she tottered on her feet a little bit. "Why... why are you fucking my girlfriend? Michelle's my girlfriend. We're in love... and you're... you're just..." "Giving her what she wants," Greg filled in, as Tessa's brain seemed to be having a few problems. "And I know what she used to think about you. The old Michelle didn't love you, Tessa. She was using you. She was a terrible person, Tessa, and you're better off without Michelle." He gestured at the Japanese bimbo, who was licking Angie's pussy. The blond bimbo made little sounds of ecstasy as her former student and assistant took intimate care of her sexual needs. "Mika, on the other hand, is a much better person. She's more than willing to share, and she loves unreservedly." "Un-res-erv-ed... lyyyyyyy..." Tessa moaned. Greg closed the small gap between the two of them and hugged the brunette to his body. As he held her close, he could hear her devolving into incoherency. His new body seemed to do all the work for him. For the third time today, he ripped off the clothes of a transfixed woman, and she paid no attention. Tessa, as it transpired, was so light that Greg could pick her up. He hefted her, then set her against one of the tables. With her in position, he spread her legs and plunged his cock into her pussy. "Oh!" Tessa said as he penetrated her. Greg felt something tear, and saw a little blood on his cock. He almost asked her if she was actually a virgin, but Tessa was in no position to answer questions. And this wasn't the time for questions. Greg began to fuck her vigorously, and, just like with Angie and Mika, Tessa began to erupt with curves. Her breasts seemed to be the focus, as they had been with Angie. As they fucked, her thick glasses slid down her nose, further and further, until they fell off entirely. She didn't seem to mind, even when they fell to the floor and shattered. When Greg felt like it, he allowed himself to orgasm, shooting a flood of cum up Tessa's pussy. She squealed and came in turn, as Greg's cum overflowed around his cock. As their orgasms faded away, he set her down, and took stock of what he'd just created. The new Tessa had smooth brown hair that almost brushed against the floor. Her body overflowed with curves. The fact that she was barely five feet tall made her enormous breasts seem that much larger. And even though she was naked, her tremendous titties stood out proudly, wobbling without sagging. "Like, I'm so hot and stuff!" Tessa chirped, and her two fellow bimbos agreed eagerly in equally high-pitched voices. They made a move towards her, lust in their eyes, but Greg held up a hand, and they stopped. "We're not going to get started on that now," he told their pouting faces. "If I'm not mistaken, Angie, you've got a much nicer house we could be using. And, Tessa, I can see now why Michelle was so interested in you before. Ten million dollars in one trust fund alone, huh?" Tessa looked puzzled, as did Mika. He waved it away. "Never mind. Look, let's get you guys dressed at least a little bit. We can go to Angie's house, and you can have fun there, while I take care of a few things. Okay?" The three bimbos nodded eagerly, and started digging through Angie's boring office for clothes. Greg just sat back and watched them bouncing around, chirping happily to each other. No one else, looking at them, would guess that one had been a highly regarded biochemist, another had been her assistant, and the third had been a mousy, quiet undergrad with glasses thick enough to replace the Earth's crust. After some effort, the three had managed to come up with a mismatched assortment of fabric and lab coats that covered up the important parts. Greg smiled fondly. It wasn't exactly high fashion, but it would do for now. He twirled Dr. Parsons' keys on a finger. "Time to go, girls." They followed him outside to the parking lot where Angie had parked her car, back when she'd been boring. She had no idea where it might be, because that wasn't important to her new brain. But Greg knew perfectly well, thanks to whatever mystical voodoo had given him the bimbos' old memories. Dr. Parsons' might not have intended this (or she might have; it was hard to tell, even with her memories floating around in his head), but Greg wasn't about to argue with the results. If he'd known that graduate school would involve getting turned into an enormous hunk with the ability to turn women into bimbos, he would've signed up a lot earlier. "Let's get on the road, girls!" he said, as they piled into Dr. Parsons' car. "There's a few loose ends to handle, and I think you'll like the way we do it." Epilogue Cecilia looked around the apartment in confusion. It had been four hours since Greg had left for his appointment. Without Greg around, the orgy had sort of fallen apart. Mona was off in one corner, muttering about what her parents would say. Soraya had taken over the bed, sprawling across it, staring at the ceiling, as she absently masturbated. April, Clarice, Rosita, and Amanda had all shown up, just after Greg's departure. They'd been expecting him to be there, and they'd been disappointed to find nothing but other girls. Still, they hadn't come this far for nothing, so they'd each paired off and started licking pussies, taking turns with each other. As for Cecilia herself, she was trying to sort out what she'd been doing these past few days. She had some foggy memories of talking to Mom- Mother. But she couldn't quite remember the subject. Had it been Greg? Mostly, though, she wanted to know why she'd been so obsessed with fucking him. Sure, he had a great, huge cock. Sure, it had been so much fun, riding him long into the night. Sure, she didn't regret any of it. But wasn't she here for school? She was supposed to have classes, wasn't she? Why hadn't she gone to any of those for the past few days? A Successful Experiment A noise came out of Cecilia's purse, and she let it go for a few seconds, before she realized that it was her phone ringing. She dove in and dug around for another second, before she had it in her hand, and could press the "Accept" button. "Hello?" she said. "Cecilia, it's Greg," Greg said, and Cecilia nearly wept. He was back! He hadn't left them! Though he seemed more communicative than he had been the whole time they'd been fucking. "Do you think you could get all the girls to come over to your Mother's house?" Greg asked. Cecilia thought about it for barely a second. If she told them who had called, they'd be wherever he wanted in a heartbeat. Even if he wanted them on top of the Eiffel Tower, they'd find some way to cross the Atlantic in five seconds. "Oh, yeah!" she said happily. "We'll all be right there!" Everyone had stopped what they were doing, and instead, turned their eyes to Cecilia. "Can't wait to see you!" She hung up, and looked up at the curious, hungry eyes of the other girls. "That was Greg," she said, and everyone erupted at once into speech. Cecilia tried to speak over it for a little while, but that wasn't going to work. She was going to need to be a bit more direct. "Everyone SHUT UP!" she hollered, and the other girls did, indeed, shut up. "Greg said that he wants all of us at my Mother's house. I know where that is, so you guys can follow me in your cars. Or ride with me, but I can't take everyone." The prospect of more cock from Greg led everyone to resolve their problems almost instantly. It didn't take any arguments to figure out who was riding in which car. Cecilia ended up taking Soraya and Mona, who had started making out at the news. The other four went in Clarice's car, which was how she and her two friends had gotten to the apartment in the first place. "Don't get too busy back there," Cecilia warned her passengers, as they slipped into the backseat. Soraya and Mona, their lips locked, gave only a muffled uh-huh as an acknowledgment. Cecilia sighed. She was probably going to have to clean the backseat, since Mona had only managed to find her shirt before they'd left. The drive went uneventfully, though Clarice kept tailgating Cecilia. Either the brunette was afraid she was going to lose Cecilia, or she wanted Cecilia to speed up. Or possibly both. Cecilia kept going at the same speed. She was not about to explain to an officer what her deal was, or why her friends in the backseat were sitting on big damp spots. When they got there, Cecilia pulled into the driveway and hopped out, followed very shortly by the rest of the girls. They chattered and speculated. A couple of them complimented her on her Mother's house, and she thanked them absently. She agreed that Mommy's house was great, and she was indifferent because it was Mother's house. Maybe Greg's cock would help clarify things for her. A beautiful Japanese girl with a tremendous ass opened the door, beaming vacantly. She looked a bit like Michelle, Mommy's bitchy assistant. But Michelle would never wear a fetishized French maid outfit. She didn't have an ass so large it kept jiggling long after its owner stopped moving. And most of all, she wouldn't smile at Cecilia that way. "Like, c'mon in!" the girl said in her high-pitched voice. "I'm, like, Mika, and this is, like, Master Greg's house! He said that if you come inside, he'll be right around with his cock in just a minute!" At the mention of Greg's cock, all of the girls behind Cecilia surged forward, babbling eagerly. They left Mika and Cecilia in the dust. Cecilia looked quizzically at Mika, who just stood there, grinning vapidly. "Do I, like, know you?" Mika asked finally. "'Cuz Master Greg told me that I should, like, apologize to you. So I'm, like, rilly sorry, and all that. And also, he said I should, like, tell you that he thinks you're, like, the best, and he really wants to fuck you." At that, Cecilia brightened and entered her Mother's house. Mika followed her in, bouncing up and down, sending her ass jiggling in all different directions. Cecilia barely had time to notice that the whole place smelled very different, before Mika loudly announced, "Master! She's here for sexy sex-times!" "I can see that, Mika," said an amused, low-pitched voice. Greg stepped into the front room, trailed by six enraptured ordinary girls, and two bimbos, one of whom looked a bit like Mother. "Hello, Cecilia. Everything's been waiting for you," he said, looking her straight in the eye. Her heart skipped a beat. She tried to say something, but as he drew closer, she found that there was nothing she could say. The strange smell that she'd barely noticed seemed to be all around her. It slipped into her nose and mouth, and filled her head, leaving no room for the little voices that tried to tell her things. Things like, for instance, "Hey, maybe you should get out of here, because things are super weird." Cecilia only distantly felt it as Greg ripped off her clothing. She did feel his hands as they turned her around and bent her over at the waste. "Cecilia," she heard him say. "I'm going to fuck you hard in the pussy. That's okay, right?" She moaned affirmatively, and felt him penetrate her pussy. It was impossible for her to do anything but moan. She just moaned and moaned as she felt Greg's cock working its power upon her, beginning to change her body. For a little bit, there was a part of her mind that wanted to ask Greg to stop. It wanted her to get away, to run away and never look back. It could see that there was no way back from where she was going. That tiny little part of her was terrified that she would end up like Mika. But it just felt so. Fucking. Good. Cecilia could feel her body swelling and changing. She could feel her personality becoming lighter and fluffier. Her ambitions shriveling away into almost nothing. Her memories and knowledge slipping off into oblivion, to be replaced by fucking, clothes, and service. She felt all of that and more, all until she was barely conscious that she'd even existed before Master fucked her. That was when she felt Master's cock drive deep, and a torrent of cum erupted inside her pussy. "Gyaaaaaaaaaah!" she shrieked, as she experienced an orgasm the likes of which only three women had ever experienced before. It filled her with bliss that would never really recede. It smoothed over the last rough edges in her mind, creating nothing but agreeability and happiness. It caused the whole world to go blank for a minute or so. When Ceci opened her eyes, she looked up and saw Master Greg. She giggled. Gosh, he was so dreamy! And rilly hot, too. "I think I've got the hang of this now," Master said. "Is your name Ceci?" Ceci giggled. "Like, got it in one, Master!" She beamed vapidly at him, because it seemed like the right thing to do. Thinking was super hard, and only a boring person would care about thinking, as opposed to looking good. And fucking. Fucking was just as important as looking good, if not more. "Ceci? Ceci?" Master said, and Ceci blinked. "You drifted there a little bit. I'd love to fuck you a bunch more, Ceci, but right now, I've gotta fuck a few other girls. Go ahead and go off with your little sister Angie. You show her that you're the boss, okay?" "Oh, yay!" Ceci chirped, and she looked over at the group of bimbos. Somehow, she knew that Angie was the blond bimbo, just like Ceci. There was a niggling fragment of memory that led Ceci to briefly think (a bad idea for any bimbo) that Angie hadn't been her little sister before. After a second, she dismissed the notion. If Master told her that Angie was her little sister, then that's who Angie was. "C'mon, little sis," Ceci said. She could hear her friend Soraya being fucked by Master, her loud cries in a foreign language turning into groans. "I'm gonna, like, fuck ya rilly hard. Just like Master said." Angie giggled, grinned vapidly, and followed Ceci out of the room, as Soraya's bubbling ass reached its logical conclusion, and the new bimbo reached the highest summit of bliss.