Credit to the original author...
1st Day Free
by Pugugly001
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'1st Day Free' the sign had said . . . and what male wouldn't sign up for a free day at a 'gym' exhorting the health value of looking at cleavage? Even so he had known it was more than that, as he entered he saw men leaving the gym exhausted and shaky, but still, he wasn't in bad shape -- he could handle whatever exercise the models acted as the carrots for.
And they had to be models too - even your 'average' aerobics instructor didn't combine this kind of fit body and killer curves - he felt like he had stepped into an 80's video with spandex clad models strutting with attitude. Even by the time he reached the front desk he wasn't thinking straight - when the next 'available' instructor walked out and had him fill out his forms, his original intention of lying about name and address evaporated in the face of her smiling subtly at him . . . a smile that switched from harmlessly flirtatious to predatory after she turned away with his signed intent to use his free day immediately.
Thus began his day of training . . . as he walked into the next room he was, quite simply, gagged, bound, and hooded so that he could see out only in the narrow field it was designed to see. A machine was attached to his cock, and he was stimulated for 24 straight hours, with only enough break time to prevent damage from the blood being held in his cock.
He never saw a face, nor legs, nor the ass. His eyes saw only breasts and cleavage, his sense of smell was exposed only to the pheromones produced by the various surfaces of the breasts, his sense of touch was suborned via only one texture. In his ears women's voices explaining that their breasts made him weak and helpless, that he was a slave to their breasts, helpless . . . that they could take his very soul . . .
It was 24 hours before his sense of taste was fulfilled. He was . . . finally, given a half-hour respite before the end. Released (accidentally?) from the bindings and helmet only the device was left on his cock, and even that seemed quiescent. The room was, he saw, featureless - Off white with a small dais where his various tormentors had stood. He was on the wrong side of the room when the door opened, and his original instructor walked in in a business suit, skirt and jacket.
"Want out?"
He nodded, too tired and hoarse to speak.
She dangled a key - "Come and get it"
That there was a trap was obvious - perhaps in his current condition he would lose a tussle, but what other choice was there?
Just over halfway across the room she removed her jacket, revealing the cleavage that had initially helped to cloud his judgement the previous day - just the sight of it made his knees weak. He wanted to back away, but couldn't move his legs in a way that was . . . away . . .
Her alternate hand circled her nipple through the business suit - it hardened with an almost audible 'pop' as she smirked . . .
"Come and get it" . . . His Knees gave out
"Come and get it" . . . he crawled, tears in his eyes, but his focus never wavered . . .
"Come and get it" . . . she revealed one (perfect?) breast
"Come and get it" . . . she guided his lips to her nipple . . .
As they touched, he felt his body twitching and spasming as if lightning flowed from her nipple, frying his brain, going down his spine, and finally grounding out through his cock. It might have been instantaneous, or it might have been weeks with her hand holding the back of his head, his tongue lapping up the hormones from her carefully designed areola, hormones that destroyed any last vestiges of resistance to the new order that might be left.
Not entirely ungently she let his flacid muscles drop him to the ground, methodically removing the device that had captured . . . what? His sperm? His essence? He contemplated that as he dressed himself - he *felt* drained of vitae, life force. He felt some semblance of sanity that her breasts were no longer an obsession, but one of the many devastating assets she could destroy a man with. Succubi? Or where the legend came from?
It was as she led him out he saw what it was used for thru an opened door . . .
An older woman, heavyset, rather homely, strapped into a machine, with a container like his attached - Power flowed . . . and it changed her. Subtly in some ways, in others . . . less so. Skin smoothed, tightened. Fat . . . compacted . . .into fit muscles, minus only what was needed to smooth out rearranged itself as needed to excite the eye. Hair picked up a lustre only seen in commercials. Maybe even taller -- She was still in her forties, but it was an energetic healthy forties. Sexy and vital and her rivals - her male rivals anyway - would never know what hit them.
He had to stop it, he had to . . . He jumped as she whispered in his ear - "You're cute. It'll never work. You created four more women like that tonight. Maybe five - intelligent imaginative men always do great for us. And next month you'll do better than that."
He rounded on her "I will *never* . . " Her hand teased his cock again and he lost his thought as to his shock he immediately became hard . . .
"You're doing it now. Whether you come back here or not, every sexual impulse you ever have for the rest of your life is going to make the women near you sexier, stronger and smarter. And you *will* be back here - because a smart imaginative guy like you? You're going to have a *lot* of sexual impulses - by next week you'll be *begging* me to drain that off you, just so you can think straight." She pulled his tie down till her lips were right by his ear again " . . . and you know what?" she said, stroking him . . .
"*I*" . . . stroke . . . "*won't*" . . . stroke . . . "*let* you" . . .
He was whimpering against the wall as she held him there and simply stopped touching him. "Because more than once a month is just unhealthy boy. You'll just have to wait your turn to help enslave mankind."
She shoved him out the sidedoor toward his car, sitting there since yesterday - "Now go home. See you in a month but I've got other boys to enslave to the cause."
He saw the front doors as he limped out to the car. All the lambs to . . . well, if not to the slaughter, then at least to be sheared. He had a sudden vision of running up, screaming "It's a COOKBOOK!!". Or would "Soylent Green is PEOPLE!!!!" be more apropos?
He looked for a moment, but the front barrier . . . would stop his car. And he drove off.
As he dreamed of the encounter that night, every woman within 120 feet of him in every direction became, every so slightly smarter, stronger, and sexier. But how do you prove that?
