This story follows on from "Drugged By My Cum, Chapter 16" by dandalk, and imagines what could happen next. This won't make a lot of sense if you haven't read the excellent series Drugged By My Cum, all 16 chapters. To dandalk, thanks for the inspiration and I hope you take this in the spirit it is intended, as a homage, not a rip-off. You inspired me, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. - AgentMulder.
The raid was sudden, swift, and flawless. The weeks of surveillance and planning resulted in a perfect textbook operation. The subject was immobilized and transported to a secure facility, while the follow-up crew completed their search and set the scene for the news reports.
The pre-dawn raid netted another captive, apparently the subject's accomplice and girl-friend, who was found sharing his bed.
News reports explained the activity, and the disappearances, as a drugs bust gone wrong. The suspect had fired on officers and fled the scene in a vehicle which was later found burnt out about 30 miles away. One officer was hit, but uninjured, thanks to his body armor. The suspect is armed and dangerous, and should not be approached. Anyone with any information should dial 911 at once. He is believed to be accompanied by his girl friend, though it is unclear if she is an accomplice or a hostage.
Greg was dreaming an anxious dream about ninjas creeping into his room, when he was jolted awake to find himself surrounded by a whole SWAT team with automatic weapons pointed at him. One of them clamped a damp cloth over his face, and heavy fumes blacked him out.
A sharp pinprick in his arm woke him once more from the ninja dream, and he became slowly aware. He was sitting in a chair, his arms on its arms. He could not see. There was cloth touching his face, like there was a bag over his head. His arms were strapped down. So were his ankles. The floor felt cold under his bare feet. He felt cloth on his shoulders and arms, but not on his legs. He deduced he was draped in a blanket, but otherwise as naked as he'd been when he fell asleep last night beside Marisa.
Strangely, none of this surprised or bothered him nearly as much as he thought it should, and he relaxed and practiced breathing long, slow, even breaths. He could do nothing but wait for whatever comes next. Perhaps he dozed, waiting timelessly.
What came next was a soft, seductively velvet female whisper in his left ear. The whispering mouth was close, he could feel her breath on his cheek, and he could smell a delicate feminine scent. The rational part of him observed how his body reacted - he sucked in air deeply, trying to fill his lungs with this fragile fragrance, and as he did, he felt the onset of an erection. This was so much the wrong reaction to being ambushed and kidnapped at gunpoint, he found a giggle burst out of him before he could stifle it. Still, he felt detached, and the erection was a familiar comfort, and the fragrance was so delicious, he wanted nothing but to breath it in. Belatedly, a small part of his mind told him it knew what was happening, but he didn't care, told it not to bother me now, tell me later, and he floated in the fragrance, feeling no surprise, only pleasure, as something soft brushed lightly against his cock, now firmly at attention.
He tried to listen to her words, but they kept sliding around. He heard his name, so she was clearly talking to him, but the sense of her words would not form. Still, it was lovely to hear, and his erection stiffened by itself, it felt like a balloon about to pop. Just a touch, it would burst.
And then - not just a touch, but unmistakably the soft moist feel of lips enclosing he head of his dick, a tongue lapping gently at that most sensitive spot under the head, then a strong sucking sensation and a sudden bursting forth within him, pleasure waves flooding outwards from the head of his dick all the way to his toes and fingertips, and the simultaneous pulsing pumping of his semen up the tubes from his balls, gushing, tearing out of his urethra in thick blobs, again, again, again. The pleasure waves reflected back from his extremities, washed over his torso, and burst again out of his cock, and he felt an extra jet of semen burn its way up from his balls, and out into the mouth that still sucked on him. Never cum like that, said the last little bit of conscious mind he had left, before it rolled over, farted, and went to sleep.
Agent Mulder was already seated at the conference table opposite the Director, when Scully entered the room and took her seat. She looked flushed, and her hair was just a little dishevelled. She was as usual neatly attired in her business suit, but her shirt wasn't buttoned up as far as usual. "Sorry I'm late", she mumbled, "Took a bit longer than expected."
"Well?" the director didn't need to spell out the question. "He's the real deal, alright" said Scully, with a slightly glazed look. "It took me a good four hours to come down. Even with the antidote." Mulder thought she looked uncommonly smug, like the cat who'd got the cream. Hold that thought Mulder, he told himself.
"It's pretty strong stuff" continued Scully, "and I got an unexpectedly large dose". "How large?" asked the Director. "Well, given the urgency, I wasn't able to measure it," - and here she glanced coyly at Mulder - "but it was easily 2 good swallows, and I still had enough left over to brew up an effective dose of Magic Potion."
"You could have sent it to the lab" said the Director. Unabashed, Scully shot back: "You wanted the results right away. You know how long the lab takes. Anyway, I wouldn't trust them not to blow it". Mulder raised an eyebrow at this. Scully froze for an instant, the intense professional facade cracked, and she and Mulder dissolved in a fit of laughter. The tension was broken, even the Director premitted a brief flicker of a smile to cross his lips, and it lingered even longer in the creases around his eyes.
God, thought Mulder, she's gorgeous when she lets go. "So, you decided to blow it for them?" he asked, straightfaced. "Exactly" she replied, deadpan, then ruined it by exploding in a fresh bout of laughter.
"Mulder?" The Director tried to get the meeting back to business.
"Situation contained, sir. We have the subject restrained, he's had a full dose of Scully's Magic Potion, and he's been implanted with the override commands."
"Stop calling it Magic Potion" said the Director. "It's VSMCS. Vaginally Secreted Mind Control Serum. The first we've had in years."
"Yes sir" replied Mulder. "The Subject is quarantined at present, so there's no immediate urgency to pull in his network. He's been using voice control by phone, so it's going to be a simple matter to get him to hand over to a new voice, we can do most of it by phone. We believe he has some second tier controllers. Once identified, we'll do the same with them."
"Good" said the Director. "But about the voice control, who's going to take it over?". "Not decided yet, sir. Probably Scully, with me as backup". "Install an override password while you're at it" said the Director.
"So we're not just going to cut them loose? Set them free?" asked Scully.
"Not before I say so" said the Director. "It would be a shame to undo all this young man's effort without getting some use out of it first. The password will be need-to-know. Just we three, for now". "Yes sir" chorused Scully and Mulder.
"What about the subject?" asked Scully. "The cover story paints him as a wanted fugitive, we can't just let him go." "Oh, we won't be letting him go, not for a long while."
The meeting was over.
Greg was waking from a deep sleep, tattered fragments of the ninja dream swirling round him as he felt himself rising towards the surface. Then he was awake. And before he opened his eyes, he knew that it wasn't all a dream at all.
He was in a strange bed, in a strange room. A comfortable double bed with clean white sheets in a room furnished in bland but comfortable taste. Like a mid-range hotel room. He was wearing a strange teeshirt, and a strange pair of boxer shorts.
"Awake at last, I see" said the voice, that soothing sexy female voice, the one from his dream. He sat up.
"You've been a very naughty boy, Greg" said the voice. He turned and saw a redhead of about 30 wearing a dark business suit over a white open neck shirt. She wore red lipstick, and looked attractive in a cool professional sort of way.
Before he could think of anything to say, she went on: "You didn't think you were the only one, did you? Oh, you did, didn't you! Well, you're not. You are quite rare, though. It's been ages since the last one. Or rather, the last one that came to our attention." Greg tried to say something, but his mouth just flapped a bit, no words came.
"Just listen. You can ask questions after, but for now, listen up and don't interrupt." Greg lost all desire to interrupt, and settled to listen closely to whatever this woman had to say. He liked the sound of her voice.
"You have inherited a rare genetic mutation. It is passed via the male line only, but it is usually recessive. Dormant. It's only activated when it meets up with another rare mutation from the mother. This means we don't see it very often. It becomes active in puberty, and you've already discovered what it does, and put it to considerable use. You've been a busy little slavemaster. We were surprised to find the extent of your network of control, you're quite the enterprising young man. Your whole school!!!". She shook her head, the auburn hair framing her face, a half smile playing across her red lips.
God she looks hot, thought Greg, though he tried to listen to the meaning of her words, and not just float off on the seductive sound of her voice.
"Quite simply, you went too far. With a network the size of yours, there's bound to be some leakage at the edges. Out of character behaviour, unexplained absences, stuff that gets noticed by people outside. A little bit you can get away with, but your network was so large that it really couldn't keep itself concealed. Routine monitoring picked up some anomalies, and then some more. Basically, you drew attention to yourself. Our attention. What you have been doing is illegal, or it would be if our lawmakers knew it was possible. But, they don't. But we know, don't we Greg? You and I both know what you can do, what you have done."
And here Greg had a sudden rush of pleasure. You and I. Us. She and me. He gazed at her face, she was really quite the pretty one, under the severe professional manner she'd adopted.
Unbidden, his dick flexed itself and inflated slightly. A semi-erection, not noticable thru the bedsheet. He hoped.
"We could describe it as the biggest case of mass date-rape ever discovered. You've had sex with - what - a hundred girls - many of them under age. And their mothers too, some of them. And at least one of your teachers. And none of them gave her consent, at least not while she had her wits about her. You're in so much trouble, young man, that it's just as well we pulled you in when we did. You're also lucky it was us. Do you want to know why your particular mutation is so rare?"
Greg shook himself - a question? Was he supposed to answer?
Apparently not, as she continued: "Because it's not good for survival. Evolution is a race between reproducing and dying, and your particular mutation tends to die faster than it reproduces. So far you've been successful at accumulating your own personal harem, but you have no idea how close to dead you are already. In bygone days guys like you got burnt at the stake, or just quietly drowned in a ditch, once you got found out. You've been clever, and careful, but we still found you. Imagine if it was the Evangelists that discovered you first. You'd be dead in a day, and hordes of them willing to take the rap. No law could prosecute you, but no law could protect you either."
Greg was mesmerised by her voice, so it was only with difficulty that the sense of her words came through. He didn't know how to feel about it. It was over. It was fun while it lasted. He was going to die.
"Relax, Greg. We're not going to kill you, but we can't just let you carry on, and we can't just let you go. I think you understand that already. But I don't want you to feel like you're a prisoner. How about a recruit? We could really use your special gift. This is your chance to serve your country."
At these words, Gregs erection pulsed wood-hard rigid. How can that be?
"Are you willing to serve your country?" she asked, with a strange half-smile.
She licked her lips, and rose from the chair by his bedside. Once again, at the words, his dick stiffened even more, making a tent pole in his bedsheet, she's got to notice it. He's beyond embarrassment, beyond thought now, he's got a hardon for patriotism, who'd have thought it.
Leaning over him, her copper hair framing her face and falling as a curtain around his, she drew down the sheet as she put her cheek close to his, whispering seductively, huskily "let me show you how you can serve my country", and quickly, as the words triggered buried responses in his brain, she ducked her head to his groin, freed his throbbing dick from his boxers, and clamped her lips around it just as he began to spurt. He felt his cum gushing out, but not a drop saw the light of day. As his pulses subsided, she sucked at him, and he felt her tongue licking up the very last driblets. When at last she released his cock, it was clean and so was her mouth, as she moved up the bed to bring him a long lingering kiss, before dreamily flopping down beside him.
Just before she zoned out completely, she whispered: "You don't want to control me, Greg. Just enjoy me."
And she was gone. Her body was there, breathing gently, but her mind was on vacation. She'd just swallowed his cum, and it worked! Now would be the perfect time to take her over, whisper the words that would make her his willing slave, get her to help him escape from this place. She'd certainly had a full dose, right from the source. But as he gazed at her lying peacefully beside him, he had no desire to control her.
She was powerful. A confident adult woman, not one of his teenage cheerleeders, or little-sister preteen admirers, and not one of their MILF mothers. She had the assurance of his gorgeous teacher Miss Shell, times a hundred. And she'd said "enjoy me". So he did.
He started by slipping off her low heeled black leather shoes. He massaged her feet in their nylon hose. Pantyhose or stockings, he wondered, and knew he was soon to find out. He massaged her calf, raising her knee so that the hem of her skirt slid upwards. He lifted her knee upwards and outwards, and slid his hand gently along the inner surface of her nylon clad thigh, until he ran over the top of her stocking - for stocking it was - and onto the impossibly smooth flesh of her inner thigh. He felt her up, luxuriating in the smooth sensation, reaching the edge of her panties, finding a damp patch, stroking it with a fingertip. Now his erection had returned, he wasn't fully recharged, but at least he had a boner again.
She was aware enough to lift her hips as he slid off her panties - black, lace trimmed. He found the zipper on her skirt, and she lifted her butt again as he slipped that off her too. Kneeling between her legs, he raised her knees and she kept them there, wide apart, as he lowered his face into her. To his delight, she was completely shaved, and had the most luscious outie cuntlips he had ever seen. He sucked them together into his mouth, and almost fainted at the heat and glowing woman scent that drifted from her. Between her lips was slick with mucus. He opened her then, pulling her lips apart with his thumbs, and leaned in for a long deep lick, from right down by her butthole, then deep as he could into her cunt, then probing her pisshole and over the swollen knob of her clit, bulging like the head of a miniature dick in the centre of the fleshy flower that was her pussy. She moved her pelvis in response, and he settled in for a long long slurpy session of kissing, licking and probing her seeping vagina. He put a finger inside, then two, then three, as he sucked and flicked her clit. She bucked in response, demanding her own rhythm. He met her pace, fucked her hard with his three, then four fingers, still sucking that clit, until she shuddered and spasmed and flooded his hand with clear fluid and white froth. He pulled out his fingers and licked them, then pushed his face into her to lick and suck and swallow her juices.
He was wet from nose to chin as he quickly discarded his teeshirt and shorts and moved on top of her, sliding his dick inside her as he slid his tongue between her parted lips. She wrapped her legs around him and her tongue joined in with his as he probed her mouth and cunt together, dick and tongue in unison moving in fluid warmth. She broke off the kiss, gasping.
Then dreamily, she whispered: "Serve your country, Serve your country, Serve My Cunt...", and he surprised himself with the suddenness of his ejaculation, deep inside her, no time to even consider pulling out.
The endorphin reward for successful copulation flooded through him, and he collapsed beside her. She was still wearing her shirt and suit jacket, stockings and black suspender belt. She reached between her open thighs, curled two fingers into her pussy, scooped out some of their mixed juices and greedily sucked them from her fingers. Again, and again, she scooped out and devoured all she could of the cum that was dribbling out of her pussy. Then: "Suck my cunt. Suck it dry. Don't swallow. Then kiss me" she commanded, and she straddled his head in the 69 position and lowered her dripping fuckhole onto his mouth.
He probed with his tongue, and slurped out the last of his cum along with her own love juice, while she sucked and licked all the juices from his cock. He kept all he'd collected in his mouth as she flipped round and engulfed him in a deep wet tongue kiss, rolling over so she was beneath him. She scoured the fluid from his mouth, and gulped it down.
"Wow" was all he could find to say, as she discarded her jacket, shirt and bra, lay down in his arms and drifted back to her personal Nirvana.
Greg was amazed. She wasn't immune to his cum, but she was clearly able to suppress its effects when she wanted to do something. And just as amazing, she knew what his cum would do, and still she wanted it. Wondering about her, who she was, what she wanted, he drifted off to into dreamless post-orgasmic sleep.
He woke in semi-darkness. He could see her silhouette. She was dressing, hooking on the bra, buttoning the shirt, pulling on the skirt and jacket, then she silently tiptoed round the bed, planted a soft kiss on his forhead, and left the room. Sitting up, he noticed a tray. Room service had delivered a meal. Breakfast? Dinner? The main plate was still hot under its cover, and there was a glass of freshly squeezed juice. Maybe this captivity isn't going to be so bad after all, he thought as he realized how hungry he was.
... to be continued ...