It was getting easier for Bertha. Yes, in the beginning she had been shocked by her own desires, the terrible and lusty things she did with that handsome, young Jason person. And... that was the last name she could remember from the evening. That was one of the side-effects of getting her youth back with the new Silverfox drug; the craving for men - for sex it had built up inside her like a volcanic flow of feminine wetness that erupted in explosive, fiery orgasms.
She didn't really remember how she got here - or where here was. It seemed to be some sort of...eh...frat house? Apparently. Greek symbols on the walls, dirty laundry and crooked furniture littered a communal living room, and four naked young men lay sprawled in exhaustion upon the floor, their penises painfully erect even though they were unconscious. Young college kids - far younger than her - these boys would be flabbergasted had they guessed the truth. That this lusty little nymph they had so eagerly mated with was already old enough to collect social security. Yet they could have been forgiven for not imagining such a thing - the healthiest, most gorgeous co-ed could not have had a more perfect, silk-smooth complexion, nor a firmness of skin and muscle to rival a teenager's.
Bertha was living the impossible dream that woman had craved age unto age. What women would have given a Queen's ransom to possess - and indeed, the silvery vial of Cis-sulphonamide Xanoxylate had not come cheap, but no price was too high to pay.
The miracle drug had been kind to her; giving her jutting hips and a wide bosom that pronounced her own voluptuousness even without the jiggles she made to entice the boys to gaze upon her tremulous, female charms. And her face was smooth, young, and perfect. A round and pleasant face, comforting without being shockingly exotic. Hers was the sort of form that made men snarl with lust and lay claim to her, thrusting into her womanly depths with raging, vigorous thrusts.
And there was a time when her shame would have stymied even the thought of the excesses she had just indulged herself in. Yet sex too, was far better for a woman with Silverfox in her veins, orgasms were almost instantaneous; and just the proximity of a man sent jolts of pleasure searing her nerves that she knew she would no longer be able to do without.
It was with greed that she slipped her well-used, but still aching pussy over the rigid shaft of a nameless frat-boy whom she had already exhausted hours ago. What amazed her was the fact that men no longer went limp inside her after ejaculating. Must be a side-effect of the Silverfox chemical reactions, she mused. She placed his hands upon her hard-nippled breasts as she ground herself upon his paralyzed member.
"Slut..." she spoke, testing the word. She knew that she would not give up the explosive pleasure that came from exploiting her new beauty to fuck young men, she knew that this is what she would become. And it was becoming alright now. Alright to be a slut, and she rutted and thrashed atop the nameless college-kids perpetually hard cock.
"Slut...."
**********
It was a form of revenge, in a way. It began as her own idea, but that strange, hallucination that her plaqued her lately had also contributed to the idea. She was like the distillation of every hedonistic and lusty thought Mabel had ever had, and the ghostly presence was covered in legions of salacious tattoos that almost resembled clothing. That was just one more side-effect of the Silverfox drug; it had changed her mind as well, giving her hallucinations of this she-devil that represented all of Mabel's most venal urges. And so Mabel knew what she had to do; it was sort of like - revenge on Mother Nature for making her ever grow old in the first place.
"I'm sorry miss, but the details of that investment account can only be given out to the title holder herself -" explained a portly, but strongly-built man with a bushy, brown moustache and a cleanly shaven head. He was the advisor assigned to manage all of Mabel's retirement accounts - but that was in the past - when she'd needed to worry about retirement.
Now, anyone who saw the sleek, busty redhead would have been amazed if she'd claimed to be close to fifty - much less past that. The only real clue was a thin streak of grey-white hair near her temple - in contrast with the rest of her fiery red mane.
"Yes...the account holder... you see there's been... a special circumstance in that regard that I... I need to discuss with you in private, in your office." She was playing well the role of the bereaved younger daughter, intimating that there was some sensitive, family matter to discuss. The banker shrugged, nodded and escorted her into his corner office.
"Alright Miss, what's this all about?" She responded by tearing open the subdued, black funeral-appropriate dress-suit that she wore, releasing into the light her spectacular pair of perky-nippled Triple-D's. Despite the girth of her endowments, they remained remarkably firm and upright, like sexually aroused grape-fruits that gleamed with pink aureoled magnificence in the florescent office light.
"Wh- you..."
"This... is about... my tits...and your cock..." she hissed wickedly as she sauntered towards him, the rest of her outfit peeling away; she wore neither bra nor panties.
"This... you can't...seduce me into...b-betraying... account information.." The bald banker stammered.
"You're not betraying anything;" Mabel replied, jiggling her chest at him. "Y'see, I really am Mabel Hayworth." She began stroking the pale, grey streak through her sunset-red hair.
"But what're you... that's not possible it's..."then Banker's eyes widened. He would have remembered all the news reports... they would have discussed symptoms of the Silverfox contamination. Recognition would be dawning. "It's... you really are....her?" He was expecting a senior citizen, what was now almost naked before him was a nymphomaniac with a body as firm and smooth as a high-school senior.
"That's right; and you're hornier for me right now than you ever were for your wife." She sneered, as she swept the papers, books, ledgers, and keyboard of his desk with a wave of her youthfully strong arm.
With the dexterity of a much younger woman, Mabel swung her hips up onto the desk; pussy thrusting towards him.
"And I'm not here to check my account status...." The reddening of his face, the tenting of his pants, the stammering in his throat; they were music to Mabel's ears.
As he scrambled atop her, and began to slide eagerly, earnestly into her cunt - she gasped with a delight that was not so much the achievement of pleasure, but more the relief of a pressing, pussy-moistening need. She pressed her lips to his own moustached ones to stifle her scream of pleasure as the pulsing fire of xanoxylate-enhanced sexual excitement coursed through her.
**********
But there was more; Mabel was a woman on a mission. She wore a spicy, brilliant red dress that pumped up her ample breasts, draped around her legs and opened to allow the creamy curves of her toned thighs and calves to reach the gaze of admirers. As she strode into the sleazy, singles bar her heart skipped a beat in delight as she felt so many eyes on her. It was milk to her soul to be so craved again - after so many decades. She could not suppress a brilliant, teeth-flashing smile as she approached the nearest bar-stool.
"Don't you just hate it..." Mabel began in a voice that dripped with sultry appeal. "When women dress in super-skimpy outfits that expose everything... and then get angry when men are attracted?" She angled her chest so that the red dress allowed a deep view into valleys of bouncy cleavage. He didn't even pretend not to stare.
"Errh... yeah....I...know what you mean." He was a thick-browed man with a broad shoulders and a hawk-like nose, with salt-and-pepper iron-gray hair in a crew-cut. And it was no coincidence. She was here, at this stool, talking to this man for a very particular reason.
"Just burns me up..." she cooed, flicking her hair and arching her back. "You wouldn't do that to a woman, would you?" She asked flirtatiously, a hand rubbing his thick shoulder.
"I'm not sure if I..."
"It's obvious what a handsome, attractive man you are. You wouldn't get angry... if a woman were to...admire you?"
The blushing. How sweet. She grinned inwardly and outwardly.
"I....I've got a hotel room... if you're...interested?
**********
She had to restrain him and herself, she didn't want him to throw her down onto the bed and begin the main event - before he knew. He had to be told who she was. And her had to want her anyway.
"Pretty snazzy suite," Mabel remarked. "With Susan changing all the locks with the divorce and all, I thought you'd be strapped for cash." She appraised the lavish, beige-carpeted room with a jacuzzi and four-post bed.
"Say wha..?" His mouth opened in an abortive query.
"I admit," Mabel said, kicking off her panties while still wearing her dress. "It was exciting hearing all the gritty details of the marriage. Me being your next-door neighbor, I guess it was natural that you ask me for impartial advice."
"What the Hell - the only person I ever talked to my marriage about..." His brow darkened, his hands pausing in the midst of unknotting his tie. "only.... Mabel Hayworth."
