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New World Order, A
|In the days and weeks after Voluxil's introduction, men and women both took extreme pleasure in the developments and changes that the woman now experienced.
Almost without exception it was the man who encouraged the woman to go on the drug. Self-respecting women refused at first. Even those who were intrigued by the advertisements oftentimes simply did not want to give men the satisfaction of letting themselves be transformed into a big-titted plaything. But one by one, as their girlfriends, sisters, mothers and daughters went on the drug and reported the wonderful life-changing transformations they were experiencing, women all over the world gave Voluxil a try. "What harm could an added cup size do?" was the common rationale that cautious women used as they popped that first little white pill out of it's foil tray.
Husbands and boyfriends as well as the man on the street rejoiced.
Voluxil seemed like yet another male triumph. * * * * * * * * *
Paul Morton had been apart from Sheila Martin for almost six weeks.
He was there when his father died. He was only 60. His father's young female doctor concluded that Stan Morton had suffered a degenerative syndrome of some kind... Paul still couldn't remember the name. In his final days however, Stan had confided to his son that it was Promade that was gonna be the death of him. He had been feeling severe chest pains and Joyce, his wife, suggested he stop taking the Promade. At first Paul was shocked to discover that his father had taken the controversial drug. It made him realize how popular the stuff had become. He could hardly blame his dad. It was sort of nice to discover he was no different than any other guy.
On his death bed Stan had looked emaciated and weak. Supposedly due to the fact that he'd stopped taking Promade. Whatever gains of vitality and strength that the drug had made possible, that had all disappeared after the daily doses of Promade stopped. Then he proceeded to lose muscle mass, muscular coordination. His hair fell out. He looked like a man of seventy by the time he passed away.
"Stay on the drug", Paul said to himself.
His mother agreed. She was happy, weirdly enough, to find out that her son was enjoying the benefits of Promade. But she urged him not to go off the drug. Mother and son both reasoned that dad's chest pains were simply due to the fact that Stan Morton was an older man. Promade was surely a younger man's thing.
Joyce had to carefully explain to her son that the last few months had been some of the happiest times of his father's entire life. On the day after the funeral, mother and son sat at the dining room table and talked.
For hours they sat and talked. She showed Paul the last photograph taken of her and his father, from when they went on a cruise only two months ago.
Stan Morton looked tan, rugged almost, his hair thick and windblown. Paul noted a prominent bulge in the front of his father's swimming suit. His mother's hand rested on his smooth bronze chest, her breasts pressed up against his side. Mother proceeded to give Paul a sense of what a miracle Promade had been for her and Stan, going into graphic detail about the size and the staying power of his father's "love gun". Paul couldn't believe his ears! She blushed now and then during their little talk, but Paul blushed even more. He couldn't believe his mother was telling him these things. She was like a stranger, this woman. When he first came home he had noticed that her mode of dress was changed slightly from her usual. He hadn't seen her in a year, but it seemed she was dressing kind of "young" for her age. He didn't think much of it. Now as she revealed to Paul the wonderful days that preceded her husband's death he couldn't help but reevaluate his mom. She was saddened at her husband's sudden demise, but somehow she didn't seem despondent. She looked great in fact. Paul was puzzled. At 52 years of age, Joyce Morton could have passed for Paul's older sister, and he told her so.
Mother and son looked quite a bit alike. Paul had inherited his mom's cute facial features, the up-turned nose, dimpled cheeks and hazel eyes. But what accounted for this rejuvenation she'd undergone since he saw her last? She'd lost a little bit of weight, had her hair colored. That helped, certainly.
She also had a tummy tuck and an eye job though, and a little bit of a boob job, which she chose not to tell Paul about. Joyce offered that perhaps it was all the hot sex that she had enjoyed, right at the peak of her sexual maturity, on the cusp of menopause. The conversation made her son uncomfortable but she seemed almost eager to talk about it with him. The last six months turned into a tragic "last hurrah" for his father, but it had been like a new lease on life for Joyce Morton.
As a result of all this, and despite having done her fair share of crying over the past couple of days, his mother looked oddly refreshed and prettier than ever.
Even a little bit sexy he thought. Why did he THINK that??
Paul would be flying back to Sheila in two days time. And not a moment too soon, he thought. He was looking forward to it. The two lovers had been apart for too long. And wouldn't Sheila be surprised to find out he'd grown another half inch! As his mother climbed up on a chair and rummaged around for more boxes of family photos, Paul's mind drifted off to thoughts of Sheila. His cock stirred slightly inside his sweatpants. He found himself staring at his mother's ass. It looked round, pleasingly plump, and very sexy as the fabric of her dress jerked this way and that. As she reached her arms up overhead Paul caught the curve of her bust from behind. He could see into the gaping armhole of her dress. He eyed the curve of her breast under her arm as it disappeared into the cream colored cups of her old bra. He should have looked away but he didn't. He smelled the air and could smell his mother's perfume. He reached down and eased his cock down the leg of his sweat pants, and moved his chair under the dining room table. Hopefully his poor mom wouldn't notice his raging hard on.
"Paulie? Would you come here and take these?", Joyce Morton asked as she handed down two faded cardboard boxes from at high shelf.
Paul jumped up to help his mother. She pivoted and handed the boxes down to her son. He looked up at her, staring straight at her bust which seemed to jut towards the ceiling, tugging the thin fabric of her dress with it. Joyce peered down at her son as he stole a peek at her tits. "Just like his father." Paul's mind was fuzzy. Was his mother wearing a padded brassiere? He took the boxes from her and must have gripped them too hard.
The old cardboard broke in his hands and boxes of old snapshots went flying all over the floor.
"Oops... sorry!" he said as he bent down to pick up the photos.
His cock snaked down the leg of his sweatpants and nearly brushed his knee. His heart was pounding as he felt his mother's hand on his back. She commented on his new muscular development.
"Ooh, you feel so strong. Have you been working out or is it... from the Promade?" she ran her fingers through his hair.
Paul continued to gather the photos, trying to think of baseball, anything but sex.
"Um, I guess a little bit of both mom..." he said nervously.
He stood up and handed his mother the stacks of pictures. Joyce Morton looked down at her son's crotch and stared. An astonished smile came across her face.
"Honey, is that all YOU?" she asked point blank, staring at the definite outline of his fully erect cock as it strained at his sweatpants.
Paul was speechless. He couldn't look his mother in the eye, but he couldn't avoid checking out her body. Her dress clung to her figure, accentuating her curves. He noticed his mom's cleavage. It didn't seem right. Surely the Promade was messing with his mind, he thought to himself.
Joyce Morton reached for the drawstring of his sweatpants..
"Do you mind if your old mother has a look?" she asked as she bit her lip and pulled on the drawstring.
Paul froze. He imagined he felt extra blood surge into his cock.
"Not now. Not this!" he thought to himself in quiet panic.
Joyce Morton undid the drawstring knot and the waistline of Paul's sweatpants sprung forward, making a gap at the top of his pants. They had already had their conversation about Promade and now mother wanted to have a look at what her son had done to himself. She smiled as she gingerly pulled down her son's pants and let his organ spring free. Stan Morton had been a puny little thing his entire life and had managed to enlarge his cock to seven inches before his death. She now felt the same relief and happiness for her son as she had felt for her husband. She knew Paul had suffered from the same smallness. But it was nothing the family ever talked about. She held onto the elastic waist of his sweatpants, staring at her son's big unit, shiny, covered in thick veins. She wanted to measure it. She wanted to touch it. She managed to restrain herself though. She just stood there and smiled and stared. Paul's eyes met hers and she chuckled.
"I don't believe it! So what do you think?" she asked, innocently enough.
Paul stammered and tried to think of something to say. Nothing came to mind.
"I'll bet your Sheila is enjoying.... well.... ha...", she stopped, realizing that she was embarrassing her poor son. Her poor fantastically endowed son!
She looked him in the eye, searching for some acknowledgement that the young man was indeed happy with himself. He looked confused, panicky. His face was red. She took him in her arms and gave him a kiss. Hugging him close to her body, she gave her son a loving kiss flush on the mouth, intent on summing up all this craziness that could not quite be summed up with words. She loved her boy and that's all that mattered. Paul's heart raced as he felt his mother's chest press up against him. He kissed her in return, letting his hands wrap around her thick waist. Joyce felt her son's manhood digging into her plump thighs. She liked the feeling. She closed her eyes and held the kiss, letting a long sigh escaped through her nostrils. She held him tighter. His cock pulsed with life. Paul's instincts took over. He pulled his mother closer to him. Holy shit. What was he thinking? Their lips parted and with in consensual breech of propriety mother and son exchanged tongues. Paul grabbed her ass in his hands and squeezed it. What in the hell was he doing? He couldn't control what he was feeling. God how he wanted to fuck her. Joyce should have resisted but instead she moved her left leg and allowed her son's cock to brush against her pubis. She pulled him tight to her, squashing her fake boobs against his rock hard abs. Her mind raced.
She'd been promiscuous with other men in the past few months. Something she never thought she'd ever do in her life. Since the world went nuts with Promade and especially since her boob job, Joyce Morton had undergone a serious mid-life crisis. Stan had urged her to get the implants. At first she thought he was insane, then later she warmed to the idea. At his sexual peak, Stan Morton had actually encouraged Joyce to take part in a three-way with his buddy Kenny. It was soon after that when Stan started getting his chest pains. When he fell ill and was unable to leave the house, Joyce continued to see Kenny on the side. She'd been promiscuous with a few men, actually. One of them was the young man who came to mow the couple's lawn every week, a boy of eighteen who had managed to scrape together enough money for some Promade and was hung with a lovely eight inch cock that he let her suck one afternoon in the garage behind the old house.
Paul's hand moved up to the zipper on the back of his mother's dress.
He slowly pulled down on the zipper and Joyce's dress fell open, dropping down to her waist, then onto the floor.
Joyce Morton pulled the shades closed in the dining room where they stood. The closest neighbors were over two miles away, but she felt the need for privacy. She tried to talk some sense into herself, even as she dimmed the overhead light. Her stomach churned with nervousness and... excitement.
Paul sat himself down in a wooden chair, watching his mother's body move as she ambled across the room. She looked so sexy to him. It was like he wasn't looking at his mother. Her tits were even bigger than he suspected, straining against the cups of her tight bra. She knew what her son was looking at. She knew he was probably perplexed that her boobies were a couple cup sizes larger than they were supposed to be, just like everyone in town had been perplexed. It turned her on to have her little secret. She took Paul's head in her hands and held it to her bosom. Paul's face brushed against her bare skin. He inhaled her scent and kissed her flesh. She lowered herself down in front of her son, kissing him on the lips again. She smiled at him as she knelt down onto her knees and took his rigid member in her fingers and felt it for the first time. She couldn't believe how huge he was. This was her son, her own flesh and blood. But she pushed that thought out of her mind. She kissed the head of Paul's cock. He took a deep breath and held it. He closed his eyes and thought of Sheila. He pictured Sheila that night on his own kitchen floor, the first time she mouthed him. Joyce's pussy was wet. She craved Paul's cock. She wanted it inside her. Something made her stop herself.
"Honey, we better stop this. Before I do something I'm gonna regret", she said.
Joyce Morton suddenly pulled her son's sweatpants up and put away his magnificent tool. She fanned herself with her hands. Paul exhaled and moaned. His right hand was cupped around his mother's left tit, squeezing it through the fabric of her bra. His mind struggled for coherence, his balls ached. He realized how desperately he had wanted to get his hands on a pair of nice tits... for weeks and months the desire had been building, to the point of obsession. And now he gave in to the feeling. He took her other tit in hand. His mom's breasts were a handful... more than a handful! And they felt so full and firm, like the tits of a much younger woman. He didn't want to stop. He slipped his fingers under her shoulder straps and pulled them down over her shoulders. Joyce's hands shot up and clutched her straps. As much as she wanted to shed her tight brassiere and feel Paul's hands on her bare tits, she resisted the urge.
"I think you should go to the bathroom."
Joyce removed her son's grabby hands from her body and backed away.
She bent over and gathered up her discarded dress and covered herself, hugging her big boobs in shame, trying to push back the remorse she was already feeling. Paul came to his senses and noticed his mother looked sad now. He lowered his head and pulled tight the drawstring on his sweatpants.
He retired to the bathroom without a word where he relieved himself and took his nightly dose of Promade. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, rinsing away unpleasant thoughts of having wanted to fuck his own mother.
Joyce got herself dressed and waited for Paul in the living room.
A few minutes later Paul emerged from the bathroom refreshed. He had his wits about him again and so did his mother. She approached him, her dress in place, her body still flushed. She could still feel her moistness between her legs. The room was filled with her sweet smell. Paul wanted to go home. Back to Sheila.
"Can I just tell you one thing? I love you. More than anything in the world. And all I want is for you to be happy. And I hope you are happy, with this Sheila. She sounds like a lovely girl, and... well I don't know how to say this... but.... I'm just so...."
She had tears in her eyes. Paul kissed his mother, properly. And he smiled.
"I'm happy mom. Life has gotten weird in many ways... but... like it's mostly good stuff, ya know?"
She knew what he meant. And he knew that she knew what he meant.
"I think I just better go to bed. Don't want to be late for my flight in the morning."
That night Paul Morton lay awake in bed until the wee hours, trying like hell to get to sleep. He masturbated himself in a steady series of orgasms as he lay there, draining his balls, soaking his mother's cotton sheets with his cum. In the other room he could hear his mother, half crying, half moaning. For a couple hours he listened to her until eventually she fell silent. If he'd gone into her room he would have discovered her sobbing quietly, sprawled across her bed, legs spread eagle, with a flesh colored plastic dildo, fucking herself to sleep.
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