"So as you can see from these results, we're extremely close to perfecting Cupid's Arrow."
Harry's hand shook slightly as it pointed out a few graphs. Chemical ratios, hormone levels, yields, all of the information seeming to blur into a haze of indecipherability. He was hopeful, if sweating under his collar, as he seemed to have gotten through the pitch. Then one of the men at the meeting table leaned forward with steepled fingers and uttered those dreaded words.
"That's not what we heard."
Harry sighed inwardly. Here it came.
"We heard something about an intern?"
With a practiced motion Harry clicked to the desktop on his laptop and opened up one of the folders. After being caught having to drag through some fairly personal stuff for these pictures he made sure at every other pitch he had them ready.
"Minor matter really just a, y'know, lab mix up, these things happen right?"
The things that happened loaded up on the projector, causing a gasp to rise up from the men at the table.
"She was, erm, a new intern at the lab... Didn't follow proper procedure and accidents happen right?"
On screen were two pictures. On the left a slim, tanned, smiling young woman with small square glasses and lab coat with her brown hair in a loose ponytail. On the right was a picture of a girl just recognisable as the pleasant girl on the left. She appeared to be sitting against the back of a hospital bed. Most of her body was obscured by a gargantuan pair of breasts, easily the size of beach balls, resting on top of her soft thighs. A thick curtain of hair cascading from her head obscured everything else.
Harry sighed and clicked ahead. A video started on this slide. He watched the men on the table shift uncomfortably as an orgasmic squeal echoed through the small meeting room.
The giant-breasted woman from the previous slide was spreadeagled on the bed, her colossal boobs sliding off either side of her chest and stomach and jiggling as she pushed a large dildo hard into her pussy. It was more obvious now it was not only her breasts that had grown - her plush buttocks shook slightly and her hips appeared to be twice as wide as they were before.
She drove the dildo into herself to the hilt and screamed as her back arched, her breasts shaking violently as she came and came. When she finally stopped, panting, pushing a lock of sweat-sodden hair from her face, she fell silent for a few heavily laboured seconds before giving a tired moan and starting to move the dildo again. Her hand came up and pushed up against her breast, clearly showing the heavy resistance of its weight, and guiding her nipple into her mouth.
Her wobbling tit-flesh muffled her screams as the hand moved down her body and started to push her clit hard against the dildo as it thrust which, the board members could see as they leaned in even close, appeared to be heavily swollen.
The next slide was just some information documenting the rapid growth of her breasts, hips, buttocks and the heightening of her libido over the course of a few minutes.
"I must remind you gentlemen that this was an unintended test! The aphrodisiac was not ready for human testing at this point, but with just a little more money and some time we could have it ready, we're almost there..."
"What happened to that poor girl?"
"Cupid's Arrow is currently a fairly concentrated mixture of powerful hormones intended to heighten libido and sensitivity, like I explained. She was exposed to an undiluted dose not intended for even animal testing, let alone human. It was an accident, an isolated incident..."
"Where is she now?"
Harry sighed again. Try as he might to redirect the flow of the meeting he could tell by the uncomfortable shifting in the room that all thoughts were currently on the huge-titted slutty intern.
"Mental hospital."
The man who originally asked the question answered the question for Harry, pulling out some paper. Oh God, they've got the information already...
"According to this, the hormone flood irreparably damaged her mind and sexual control. She's basically brainless at this point, and her doctors say it's unlikely she'll ever recover. She essentially spends her entire day either masturbating or sleeping. More than a few of her workers have been charged with assault, given what they're always working around and that she, well, literally cannot say no to sex."
"Well, I-"
"The doctors also say that the hormones were so concentrated that they've kickstarted her own production of them. The effect is never going to wear off or go away."
He folded the paper again.
"Mr. Rosenberg, you honestly expect us to invest in this freakshow? You've destroyed a young woman's life with an "accident" and you think you deserve more funding for your "ultimate aphrodisiac"?"
"Yes sir, but we..."
"No buts, Rosenberg. We're not paying you a cent. Find someone else to finance your sick fantasies."
* * *
A very dejected Harold Rosenberg slumped out of the office lobby. That fucking intern bitch had ruined another pitch! From the moment that story went public his patrons had cut off his research grant for the project.
Cupid's Arrow, he called it, a mixture of certain compounds and hormones designed to trigger instant arousal in almost anyone, along with increased sexual sensitivity. It was his project, the ultimate aphrodisiac, one which would replace every other drug on the market. And, once people found that having regular sex was incomparable with having sex on Cupid, well, they'd just keep buying.
He sighed. That was the idea, anyway. Harry had taken liberties with his story about the girl's transformation, but clearly not enough.
Stupid bitch shouldn't have threatened me, he thought. What was I supposed to do? Let some slutty little tramp run around telling everyone I was a pervert? She started it the first time and then doesn't want to do it again?
Harry had slipped her the drug when she refused to sleep with him a second time, and threatened to press charges. He thought he'd gotten it working properly, if maybe a little too strong. That was what he wanted, her horny and desperate and eager to comply. She was the best fuck he'd had in years and he was dreading having to go back to his frigid wife.
The hormones were still reacting wrong, however, and instead of just becoming horny and sensitive she turned into a sex beast. Her cute perky B-cups swelled out into those monsters that transcended cup size in a matter of an hour, her flirty little ponytail burst into a flood of thick brown hair that cascaded past her ankles and her panties split as her ass swelled.
He'd thought himself lucky at the time. She wasn't just horny, she was consumed with lust, and he'd sated his desires with that fuck-doll all night. He allowed himself a momentary grin at the thought of breasts so huge she could wrap them around his cock, though engulfed might be a better term, while he could still reach the rock-hard nipples as fat as soda cans. After his third cum, though, he'd pulled away protesting needing a rest. He wasn't normally that vigorous and even the sight of her super-sexual body couldn't bring him around for a fourth.
He'd pulled back and sat against a wall, panting, and suddenly gone white as she nearly smothered him with her boobs, howling as she dragged herself forward, fingers working desperately at her golf-ball sized clit as her pouty lips sucked hard on his cock to prepare to mount him.
She was having none of it. One of the lab technicians had found him next morning, passed out beneath her breasts as she milked his unresponsive cock for all it was worth. She wasn't saying anything anymore so it was simple to pass it off as her clumsiness, but that little stunt had cost him his funding.
Shame the hospital took her. I probably could have made more than her funding selling her to rich fuckers desperate for a piece like that.
Harry stumped through his front door, quite late. He'd been drowning his sorrows a little and he was now late to bed. His wife was already asleep as he looked her over for a moment, undressing.
He'd known why he married her. She was demanding, suspicious, bitchy and hard to please, but she was hotter than lava. Perfect body, big C cup breasts, cute short-cropped red hair. Harry had never felt himself a complex man and was perfectly willing to put up with her being a shrew for a chance to tap that every night
He laughed silently. Every night? More like every year. Maybe. If he was lucky. His wife was the queen of the cold fish. She had absolutely no interest in sex whatsoever. Truth be told that was mostly what drove his desperate quest to perfect his aphrodisiac, along with visions of cute young women in bars suddenly finding themselves so light-headed and horny and flushed and here was a man right there with a drink in hand...
He found himself growing hard. He looked down at his wife, sighed lightly, and moved into the bathroom before bed.
* * *
The news didn't go over well with the workers at the lab. Though the official line was the girl's condition was her own mistake, some of the more senior scientists had their own theories about a girl ending up a walking fetish after spending a night with Harry.
Words were said, bridges were burned, a lot of good talent walked straight out the door. Harry sighed, toying with a few leftover vials of the vibrant green chemical he wanted to work so badly. So that was it. All over. Nothing left but a lab with a dwindling lease, some machinery and four samples of aphrodisiac. He looked at one, seeing in it his gorgeous wife panting and sweating, bending over for him in bed and begging him to take her.
He rubbed himself through his pants idly as he turned the vial over, watching the liquid move. Being able to turn her on just with an idle nipple rub. He reached over for the green ledger on the table near the racks of bright red samples, flipping it open.
They'd tried hard to resolve the problems of the hormone concentration, but diluting the drug made it essentially useless. One of the scientists had come up with the concept of a staggered release, a fancy term for giving the drug out more slowly, but their funding was pulled before they could test it. Harry looked back from the ledger to the vial again, and a slow grin started to form on his face.
Morning coffee was the closest thing Harry and Lucinda had to a caring, family ritual. They spent all day apart, all evening at opposite ends of a couch and all night facing away from each other in the bed, but when Harry made coffee in the morning they managed to spend a little time pretending they liked one another.
