It worked in theory, and in every simulation I ran. The university's supercomputers had spent months in molecular simulations, time stolen from official projects for this personal obsession of mine. All for the chance to make a man of myself again.
I had not been a great lover at the best of times. Back before the accident that had stolen my legs and left my genitals mutilated beyond use. I hadn't been a virgin. I'd had a few dates, a couple of blowjobs and some fumbling, inelegant fucks. I'd even had an official girlfriend for nearly a month.
I hadn't been well endowed. I'd been at the wrong end of the Bell curve, forever envious of other men for their length, their girth, their voluminous outpourings. They say size doesn't matter, but that's not really true.
So a drug that would undo at least some of the damage done to me? To make me a real man again, and in addition boost me to the better end of the curve? Of course I was willing to steal every hour I could to spend on it.
So much time, and therefore money, just for one simple injection. Of course, if it worked, I would make a fortune selling it to others. What man wouldn't want to be equipped like a porn star?
And it did work.
It just worked a little too well.
*
For seven days I charted in precise detail the repair and growth of my genitals. After five years with a misshapen cock and no balls at all, it was magical to see between my stumps a hairy ball sack, the balls within growing quickly to the size of plums, and more slowly thereafter to the size of peaches. It was awe-inspiring to see the remains of my three-inch cock grow quickly to a healthy six inches, and gradually increase to an eventual twelve, the girth increasing likewise to a phenomenal eight inches.
Erect, my healed and transformed cock and balls were a magnificent sight indeed. For years I had hated the sight of my lower half, and now I could gaze for hours at its beauty, stroking my shaft with teasing delight.
A full week passed before I succeeded at last in achieving orgasm, and produced such an epic fountain of thick, creamy cum as I convulsed in mindblowing ecstasy that I nearly fell from my chair. The mess I made was as glorious as it was obscene. The suddenness of my climax had caught me momentarily unprepared, and in consequence my cum burst out across the floor and wall, and took some considerable time and effort to clean up afterwards.
In such, my formula was a success. There were, however, side-effects. One being how swiftly and urgently I now became aroused. Just the smell of a woman was enough to awaken my beautiful new serpent and have it salivating like a hungry predator.
I discovered that the hard way when the maid, Consuela, who does my apartment twice a week, walked in on the morning after that first, great ejaculation. She was fifty-something, a happily married mother of three, and usually cheerful but professional. Usually I was casually friendly back without ever thinking of her in a sexual way at all. On that fateful morning, however, something about the smell of her made me immediately dizzy with lust.
I was in my armchair, reading, and suddenly my cock was swelling with urgency, bulging painfully against my shorts. I waited in stoic discomfort until Consuela was out of sight in the bathroom, then quickly undid my shorts. I intended only to rearrange myself somehow, to ease the pain of unnatural constriction, but once released the weeping monster resisted further concealment.
When Consuela returned from the bathroom too soon, it was to discover me with cock very firmly within hand. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, and I was sure she would scream or react in horror. But I didn't see horror. I saw astonishment, and confusion, and as my instinctive panic receded I saw desire and conflict in her expression. I saw her hand drift to her crotch, scratching idly at the fabric of her trousers.
When after a full minute had passed and she still stood there, as if hypnotised by my cock, I dared to stroke it in full view of her. In all my fantasies of what I would do if I ever had a working cock again, I had never imagined wanking myself while Consuela watched. But she was there, and I was achingly hard, and if she was happy to stand there and watch, I was happy to let her.
"You can come closer," I said tentatively - and she did. She knelt close in front of me, her gaze fixed on my hand as it brushed down and up along my new, huge shaft. More excited than ever, as much by the strange command I had over this woman old enough to be my mother as by the delicious friction between my hand and cock, I dared to go further. "Take your shirt and bra off. Show me your tits."
She looked up at me and frowned. "I need to finish my work," she said, and glanced worriedly at the clock on the wall. But she didn't stand up. Instead she returned to watching my hand. "It's so beautiful," she murmured, and licked her lips as she slowly unbuttoned her shirt.
Soon I was rewarded with an open view of her bare breasts, a little saggy with age but a good size. "Use your tits to make me come," I said.
"I shouldn't do this," she said, as she did it.
I tried once to get a titjob from my girlfriend, but my cock had been so small it had proved pointless. Now, however, I had a huge, thick length, and Consuela's breasts were perfect cushions too. The press of those soft, smooth pillows about my shaft, slippery with copious precum, was a sensual delight as well as a visual feast.
