Digby Goode License To Fuck Ch 01

Introduction:

Digby Goode was just an ordinary guy leading an ordinary life. He loved his wife and his son. He even loved his job as a private investigator, despite it being tedious at times. Everything about Digby Goode was, well, ordinary.

That was until the day he had the accident.

While testing out a chemistry set he had bought for his son as a birthday gift he unwittingly mixed together just the right chemicals in the perfect ratios to create an explosion of SEXUAL CHEMISTRY.

It soaked into his pores and reconfigured his DNA. He suddenly found himself the living embodiment of sex appeal. If he grew attracted to a woman he released powerful pheromones that drove them mad with lust for him.

Suddenly just glimpsing his wife in her underwear was enough to launch them into wild sexual abandon that could last for hours. It may have scuffed up their carpets, but it spiced up their marriage something wicked.

It had all seemed a blessing until, 2 weeks after the accident, while their son was away on summer camp, they had been discovered by Digby's mother-in-law, lying on the floor, covered in carpet burns, malnourished, dehydrated and still fucking like a pair of completely exhausted bunnies.

It seemed their sexual chemistry, combined with his new powers, was just too potent. After a brief stay for both of them in hospital, his fluid levels were dangerously low, and hers, not so much, she went home and he stayed on for further testing. However, after four female doctors went insane with lust and several of the men were seriously beginning to reconsider their sexuality, the government intervened and locked Digby up in a secret black site prison.

Unfortunately this too backfired. Digby was there less than 3 days before his pent up sexual energy boiled over and became a beacon for every woman in a 50 mile radius.

Have you ever seen a thousand women, mad with desire, tearing at their clothes and throwing themselves at a prison guard tower?

Well, it's every bit as sexy as it sounds. But, rather messy to clean up afterwards.

Finally, after consultations amongst the finest minds in the land it was decided, for everyone's well-being, and for the reason that this story still needs a plot, to let Digby free. Not wanting to risk a similar disaster, and for the safety of everyone in society, they granted Digby a special dispensation in the form of a small laminated card with an official government seal. It read:

Digby Goode: licence to fuck.

*************

6 months later:

"God, I really need to jerk off," Digby squirmed uncomfortably in his car seat. He meant legally, as well as sexually. The doctors had ordered him to knock one out every six hours, or else seriously increase his risk of a SEXUAL CHEMISTRY incident.

Digby wondered what teenage him would have paid for that excuse.

He was not helped by the picture tacked to his dash. It was of the girl he was trying to track down. She was beautiful. She had smouldering dark eyes set in a oval face and the poutiest lips he had ever seen. Her looks, however, were slightly marred by that universal teenage disdain that oozed from her expression. Still, her youthful face taunted him and teased at his already erect cock.

He looked around nervously. He couldn't risk it. License or not, if he was caught jerking off in his car, only one block away from a school, the cops would, in all likelihood, only find the card after they had sieved through his pulped corpse.

He snorted, he didn't really have an option either way. He had been hanging around this store now for three days, not counting the breaks where he nipped home every six hours or so on 'private business.' He had left it too late today, desperate to make a break in the case.

Could he make it home in time to avoid an incident?

He suddenly had visions of himself pulling his screeching car across lanes of traffic and ending up on the side if the road, fucking the lycra off a passing female jogger.

Perhaps he could just sneak into the store and use their bathroom. Not ideal, but probably a lot safer. Besides, he was so restless from being cooped up he was not sure he could sit out there another five minutes.

He reasoned with himself that he could go in, find a bathroom, jerk off and then use the time afterwards to ask around after the girl. "Heck," he reasoned, "I might even get some shopping done while I am in there." He picked up his wallet, along with the girl's picture from the dash, and slipped them into his pockets.

It went against his instructions, but clients are only happy to pay you to sit in a car and do nothing for so long. Sooner or later they need to see results and this was the last place the girl had been sighted before her disappearance. It seemed strange to him that an eighteen year old girl should be coming down here so regularly. Who ever heard of rich kid going out to buy their own groceries?

He climbed out of the beat up old Buick and stretched until he felt his back click. Digby did not like going into crowded public spaces. The chances of a SEXUAL CHEMISTRY encounter were just too high. But, he was still a professional, and he would do whatever it took to solve a case.

Especially a case like this, for such a high profile and wealthy family. This was a meal ticket if ever he saw one. Not only do the wealthy have the money to pay for outrageous overcharging, they are often, usually, highly dysfunctional, and in need of a good investigator on retainer. Digby needed this one to go well.

Digby had had to move out of his house and into his own apartment. His SEXUAL CHEMISTRY with Hailey, his wife, was just too potent. If he spent too much time around her he knew that they would fuck each other to death. He missed Hailey every day and, amazingly, she still loved him. It bugged her that he was often out fornicating with complete strangers, but she had accepted his condition. He felt guilty every time he did it, but what choice did he have? The doctors had proven that, if he did not finish once he had begun, he physically wasted away, and the women literally went mad. Masturbation only really bought him some time between inevitable incidents.

He got to see his son on weekends at least, and Hailey was just a phone call away. Digby sighed. Her missed her scent, the way her skin felt against his. He made a mental note to call her after this.

He shook his head. "I can get through this," he told himself, "I just need to keep my mind focused on the mission: first, jerk off in the bathroom. Then, buy eggs, milk, bread, and maybe some fruit," he checked off his mental list, "Oh, and I should probably ask around about the missing girl."

He walked in through the automatic doors, careful to keep his eyes on the floor just ahead of him. "Don't look up," he reminded himself, "You can get through one simple shopping errand without sticking your dick in someone, Digby Goode."

To be fair to Digby he really did try, and he had almost made it too. He was nearly at the back of the store, just passing the fresh produce section. His mistake was to contemplate the melons, which are already pretty sexual, as fruit goes. He was just pondering what a sweet honeydew might be like for breakfast tomorrow when the inevitable happened.

She too was in the melon section, although what she had on display was considerably more impressive than any of the produce. She happened to lean over the melons for a closer inspection just as he was letting his eyes travel over the pile of fruit. He was in complete control of his eyeballs until they absentmindedly tracked over her exposed cleavage, now at eye level with the melons. He did the briefest double take, as any heterosexual man might. But for Digby it was game over. He lost complete control of his eyeballs as his brain switched over to automatic cleavage tracking mode.

He was fucked, but not as much as she was about to be.

The problem was, Digby decided later, like that of the frog in hot water. A frog will jump out if you put it in hot water, but it will just sit there until it boils if you put it in cold water and gradually heat the water up.

Some pregnant women are like that. Although you should never make that comparison, if you want to remain alive. They continue to wear their normal clothes, while their bodies undergo gradual changes. At first it is not noticeable. A little tightening around the belly and hips, a more generous cleavage. But there is certain point, call it the 'frog point', where the clothes no longer fit in a manner that would be considered decent. If it had happened overnight the woman might be horrified by how much her clothes revealed. But, as it happens gradually over months, some women fail to notice it. Much to the delight of most men, and the chagrin of Digby Goode.

This particular woman was heavily pregnant, and well past the frog point. She wore a tight black tank top that visibly strained to contain her prodigious chest. Digby could see how her breasts were rising out of the top like cake batter in the oven. As she leaned forward to inspect the melons, Digby was all to aware that he was inspecting her melons with equal attention. He could see deep into her cleavage, past a dark grey bra, and to the top of her swollen belly.

He felt the familiar stirring in his pants. "Fuck, not now," he groaned. He could see the bathroom door, it was so close. He looked at the exit, it was far behind him, but he knew it was already too late. He could actually feel his pores opening up, venting pheromones into the air. Even if he left now the damage was done.

He cursed again when the woman's husband came up behind her and placed his hands proprietorially on her near perfect orb of a belly. He was huge, and looked strong. Digby hated it when the husbands were around, especially when they were built like trucks. It seldom ended well for him.

The woman was upright now, sharing a smile with her husband loaded with the intimate warmth only expectant parents could have. Digby hated that he was about to mar that.

Not for the first time he tried to wish away his condition. The woman was beautiful, there was no denying that. Her thick dark hair was tied in a braid that fell over one shoulder. She must have been curvy even before the pregnancy. Her breasts were enormous now. Digby reckoned she was beyond the realm of the average range of proportions and into the exceptional.

She caught the scent a moment later.

Doctor's had traced Digby's SEXUAL CHEMISTRY to a complex group of pheromones he released when he was aroused. These were like a skeleton key, conforming to the pheromone receptors of the subject of his attention. When these connected it was like the key turned and released a life-time of pent-up sexual energy.

The woman sniffed at the air, curiously, as if discovering a pleasing smell. Digby almost couldn't bear to watch. She leaned back against her husband and drew in the air more deeply, her nostrils flaring.

Digby knew, if he was closer, he would have seen the effects hit her like a drug. At this moment her pupils were dilating and her heart rate increasing. Blood was being pumped furiously into her erogenous zones and her nerve endings were being lit up like a Christmas tree.

Her husband looked down, confused, as she moaned loudly and writhed against him.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Digby muttered.

Then she looked up, like a hunting dog locking onto a scent. Her eyes were so wide Digby could see the white all around her irises when they centred on him. Her husband followed her gaze and looked, understandably, even more confused.

Digby gave a lame little wave. "I am really sorry about this," he said softly through a clenched smile, knowing it was meaningless now.

The animal brain inside the pregnant woman had taken over. She looked like hunter who had spotted her prey. If her ears were capable of moving they would have pricked. Digby's prick, on the other hand, was capable of moving, and it was straining forward to meet her like it was magnetically attracted.

The woman grinned wolfishly, before sticking a hand into her bra cup. It was swallowed up by the great mound of flesh. She was squeezing at nipple under the tank top and bra, massaging at the skin Digby knew was already piqued with desire to the point of being painful.

"Hey, what the," her husband was looking down at her in shock. What was his perfect, committed, demure wife doing in this very public place?

She, on the other hand, was no longer aware of his existence. Her exclusive focus was set on Digby. He was trying to look casual, browsing a basket of onions, but keeping track of her out of the corner of his eye.

She had to use both hands, her breasts really were quite enormous, to reach in and heft the mountain of flesh out of her bra. Digby had given up the pretense now, he was staring directly at her deep pink, stretched areola, with it's hard little bud of a nipple in the center.

It was a wondrous breast. Full and heavy, without any sag. The type of breast only possible late in pregnancy. Digby remembered fondly how beautiful Hailey had been at this stage of her pregnancy.

The woman's husband was suddenly frantic. "Honey! What the fuck are you doing?" He yelled as he tried to grab at her breast. It was a futile battle. Trying to get it back into her tank top and bra would have been like trying to push a watermelon into a tube sock. Digby marveled at how she got them in there in the first place.

He sighed, resigned, and walked over to the couple. The man was struggling with his wife's exposed breast. All his efforts succeeded in doing, however, was to jiggle and sway it more, making it more of a focus for Digby and, seemingly, arousing the woman further.

She kept slipping a hand over her nipple, when her husband couldn't bat it away, and rubbing wide lazy circles around it.

Digby stood in front of them, shaking his head. His cock was practically vibrating with energy now that he was in such close proximity to her. Their cloud of pheromones had intertwined and fused in an embrace.

"Excuse me," he said.

"Fuck off!" The man was patting his wife's cheek in a desperate manner that bordered on slapping. To her he said, "snap out of it honey! What the fuck are you doing?"

"Excuse me," Digby spoke again.

"I said 'FUCK OFF!' Something has happened to my wife."

Digby sighed and shook his head, "I know, that is what I wanted to discuss."

Digby couldn't help but look at the man's wife. She continued to stare intently at Digby, while licking her hand from fingertip to palm, before returning it to its sensual massage of her exposed breast.

"What?!" The man turned his furious stare on Digby. He had a brutish look about him. He might have been an athlete of some kind once. A football player, maybe? It might explain why his wife was at least 5 points higher than him on the attractiveness scale.

"Digby Goode," Digby held out a hand, only to withdraw it when it was met with a deathly glare, "Uh, Your wife is suffering a spell, for lack of a better term, brought on by certain pheromones I produce."

"You did this?!" His eyes bugged out and his face flushed red.

"To be fair, you really should have said something to your wife about going outside dressed like that." The man clenched a fist, Digby hastily added, "Not that it's her fault, women should be able to wear whatever they want and be free from judgement. Only, she didn't count on me being here today."

"What the fuck are you blathering about."

"Ah, yes. Sorry, I haven't made the proper introduction yet," Digby dug in his pocket to find his wallet. He pulled out a card and said, "This should explain it."

The man looked at it, "you're a private investigator? So what?"

"Oops, sorry wrong card. Although, While you're here I might ask you about..." he reached into his pocket for the photo of the girl, then thought better of it when he saw the veins bulging in the man's neck. "No, no, let's deal with this first. Ah, here it is!" He pulled out his other card.

"Digby Goode: license to fuck."

"Is this a joke?" The man was practically foaming at the mouth. "Look at my wife!" Digby did, so did the husband, who immediately regretted his instruction. "Look away!" He bellowed.

She had melted to the floor. Both her breasts were popped out of the obscenely tight top now. They were so large she could stretch them to her mouth, where she was lapping at her own nipples as if they were coated in honey.

"My apologies," Digby pushed on, not fully able to tear his gaze away from such an alluring sight, "But, I don't really have time to explain. Your wife's sanity hangs in the balance." He tried his best to look regretful, "Basically, what you need to know is that I have a rare condition where I send out pheromones that make women go mad with lust for me."

"For you?" The man looked incredulous.

"I will try to not take that personally. But yes, for me. Now, don't get mad, but the downside of that, for you at least, is that I will have to fuck your wife." Digby paused to let that sink in, "Right here and now," he added through teeth clenched for what he knew was to come.

Sure enough the husband roared and leapt at Digby. The huge mass of muscle barrelled down on him. Digby patiently stood his ground.

"I should warn you" Digby spoke calmly, "This is not going to end well for you."

But it was to no effect, the man was enraged. There was no finesse to his attack. He just stepped forward and swung a ham sized fist with all his might.

It came at Digby in slow motion.

Literally.

It landed on Digby's cheek like a gentle pat, and the husband crumpled to the ground.

"See? I did try to warn you. Part of my condition is that my pheromones accelerate the autonomic nervous systems of the person, or people I have been aroused by". Here Digby made the unnecessary gesture of pointing to the man's wife. She was lying on the floor, her arm had snaked around her protuberant belly and was rubbing at her sex through her jeans, while she made small animal noises.

"While others in close proximity," He continued, "have their autonomic functions somewhat dampened. Hence your muscle weakness, inability to walk, difficulty breathing. It is all very interesting, but quite difficult to explain. I'll tell you what, you give me an email address and I will send you some of the notes my doctors gave me." The eyes staring back at him from the husband, now lying immobile on the floor, were filled with unblinking hatred.

"Perhaps another time. I do hope you won't be offended if I step back a bit as, sometimes, when I get too close to someone a total loss of muscle control is a possibility. As is a loss of bowel control. Quite frankly, this is going to be messy enough without all that."

The man's lips twitched. With a bit of imagination, Digby thought he could make out the words, "Fuck," and "You."

Digby was within arm's reach of the pregnant woman, now furiously rubbing between her legs at the blooming wet spot on her jeans. Her face was starting to twist in the rictus of a lust-filled grin. He did not have much time.

He looked around and saw a crowd gathering. It was another reason why he hated public places. Though they suffered similar, if lesser effects to the husband, people were actively drawn to his SEXUAL CHEMISTRY. He did not find having sex in front of a bunch of gawking strangers as thrilling as he had read about in books. Quite frankly, it added a lot of pressure. Still, he was in it now, and the only way through was forward.

He bent at the waist and tentatively cleared his throat. "Excuse me," He said to the pregnant woman, but she must have been too busy trying to rub a hole through the crotch of her jeans to hear him. "Excuse me," He said, far louder this time. Her eyes flicked around to lock on him. "I..." He began.