George’s Marvellous Medicine – [MF][Bimbofication]

Every morning at 08:32 am, George Battersby folds his copy of the Daily Mail and sets it to one side. Draining the coldly disappointing dregs of his breakfast tea, he stands up from the Formica breakfast table and brushes his trousers with his fingertips. Having removed any wayward crumbs of toast, he says “Right then” in a peremptory tone, and kisses his wife, Missy, on the forehead. Missy, every single morning, looks up from her soft-boiled egg and her breakfast smoothie and says with mild surprise “Oh, are you off to work?”.

At 08:35 Mr Battersby dons his jacket in the hallway, neatens his tie in the full-length mirror, and steps outside into the suburban street where his neighbours, Messrs Foreman, Patel, Tartley, and Krupp are also emerging blinkingly into the morning sunlight. He gets into his pastel blue Ford Focus and drives to his place of work on a disspiritingly landscaped business park where he is a salesman for a moderately successful manufacturer.

At 08:55 am, he walks through the revolving door of Frigitech Ltd (the South East’s leading supplier of commercial refrigeration and air conditioning units) and spends the next eight hours at his desk in a fugue state of spreadsheets and despair.

George, just like you, has a secret. Left spiritually malnourished by work, and physically unfulfilled by the marital bed, he has for the last 18 months been furtively dosing Missy’s breakfast smoothies with herbal aphrodisiacs. Over time he’s built up quite the collection of Devil’s claw, and horny goat weed, and wild yams; homeopathic Viagras and Ayurvedic tinctures; crushed beetle wings that cause tingly nipples; and foul-tasting fungi that offer to increase the blood flow to her presumably undersanguinated pelvic region. What began as a small act of rebellion, a desperate blow against the soul-crushing conformity of his dreary suburban existence, has become a quasi-religious act of sacrament, a daily offering to the twin gods of hope and libido. To his knowledge, none of the various concoctions have made the slightest difference to his spouse of twenty three years, but the act of secretly drugging his wife in order to return her to an Edenic state of carnal vigour has become meaningful and singularly thrilling in its own right.

It is breakfast time and in the kitchen George performs his dark alchemy: to a pinch of catuaba bark, he adds a sprinkling of clavohuasca, and the chopped petals of one Damiana flower. Stirring counter-clockwise he adds orange juice, kelp, a carrot, and spirulina. He sprinkles a soupcon of Cordyceps Sinensis, a touch of Tribulus Terrestris, and the barest smidgeon of Shatavari. When Missy, bleary eyed and disshevelled, comes downstairs she pulls a face at the brown liquid. The smell is eye-watering. Bubbles rise unappealingly through the gloop to burst malodorously at the surface. Too polite to refuse, she drains the slurry to its last gritty drop, grimacing at the flavour, and sits down to her soft-boiled egg and Kindle.

Neither she nor George has any way of knowing that he has – by sheer fluke – recreated the recipe for an ancient love potion of staggering potency. Even now, as they sit together in the kitchen, the philtre is working its way through her system. Her several billion skin-cells plumpen and renew, so that a soft pink glow comes to her cheeks. Her blood quickens and thins, rushing to bathe her dilating labia with nutrients. Her breasts tighten and enlarge, drawing themselves together as they swell, like a timelapse of growing watermelons.

George kisses her head, performs his ritualistic dance of crumbs, jacket, and tie and leaves for work.

Nine hours and ten minutes later, he opens the front door and is surprised to see Missy on the stairs. His first thought is that she has fallen and hurt herself: she is on all fours with her knees on the third step, and her hands on the fifth as though she were attempting to crawl her way upstairs. His second thought is that her clothing is entirely unsuitable for housework. She’s wearing six inch pink stilettos over her white stockings. Her pink taffeta skirt is so short that it serves only to frame the pleasing compactness of her rear, which is raised in the air as though presented for inspection. Her breasts have ballooned since the morning and are trying to escape from her matching crop-top. Her hair, usually left to hang straight, has been gathered into pigtails, each finished with a large pink bow.

“Oh,” he says, “Are you alright, dear?”

She groans, a deep, guttural noise that speaks of agonising lust; she purrs huskily, her voice caramel and sin, “Baby,” she says, “Baby, I need you to fuck me. Right now.” She reaches backward with her left hand, under the frilly skirt, to her white satin panties and peels them to one side. She is so wet that her underwear sticks to her skin. “Please.” she sighs, “I want you so badly.” She begins to wiggle her butt from side to side. Stood six feet away, George can smell her arousal. He takes one joyful step forward and his jacket is on the floor, a second step and the hated tie is sent flying uselessly into the living room, a third step sees his belt unhooked and his trousers tumbling to the floor. He tears her panties down, exposing her perfectly shaven pussy. Her lips are plump and full, painted a burning pink by the circulatory enhancing effect of George’s concoction. Her cream is thick and coats her entire mound so that the smooth flesh glistens. She is desperately wet, and he plunges himself inside her, sinking the entire length of his averagely sized manhood. She screams at once, she has never felt so sensitive. Nothing has ever felt so right as this: his cock stretching the clenching walls of her vagina while she frisks and grinds her clitoris with one index finger. Her passage is at just the right height for George to sink effortlessly into her velvety tunnel and within seconds he is pounding her harder than he ever has before. She sobs with the ecstasy of it, grinding into him, begging him to fuck her harder and deeper. Desperate not to cum, George thinks of spreadsheets, and the mean-time-to-failure of industrial cooling units while Missy orgasms, once, twice, three times. Her slippery wet hole massages and milks him, pleading with his cock to give up its seed and, before he knows it, George, too, is carried away, high over the threshold of pleasure and begins to tremble, fucking her savagely. When he eventually cums, the two of them collapse to the floor. Their hands and mouths seek one another and their tongues roam and ravage. She sucks him into her mouth, he pulls her hair cruelly, she squeezes his left buttock and grinds her sopping wet cunt against his leg. Reaching down, she guides him back inside her and he fucks her for a second time on the fawn-coloured carpet of the staircase, heedless to the inevitable burns and probable staining.

When at last he shudders to a halt, she continues to grind against him. Her eyes are burning with passion, she moans breathily into his ear and covers his face and neck with wet, hungry kisses.

“Jesus”, he says, “Where the hell did that come from?”

Her only response is a plaintive mewl. “I want you to fuck me,” she whines, and she slips the croptop up over her breasts which bounce forth fleshily. George’s eyes grow huge, for – conspicuously – so have her tits. Where once she had womanly C cups, slightly deflated by the ravages of time, now she has perky F cups. She is obscene, pneumatic. She is pornography made flesh. Her hands are wet with their sweat and the fruits of their labour, and she rubs her enormous dugs leaving them shining and wet. She pinches roughly at her nipples and pouts. “Don’t you want to play with these?” She offers. “I know you’d like to fuck my tits. Imagine me rubbing your cock between these until you shoot your cum all over my face.”. She licks her lips lasciviously. It is the most erotic, most disturbing thing George has ever seen.

“Are you okay?” He asks. She takes his hand, kisses it open mouthed and rubs it against her drooling slit. Her eyes close in pleasure as she humps his fingers, then slides his hand underneath her to rub him against her perineum.

“You could fuck me in the ass, if you like. I’ve never let you do that before, but God I want it so badly right now. I want your huge, fat cock buried inside me. I want you to spurt your thick cum in all of my holes. I want to be dripping with your jism.”

Slightly appalled, George tries to stand up, wincing a little as his back complains. “I think this has gone far enough, Sweetheart, don’t you?”

She beams at him angelically, pushes herself to her knees and dives for his cock. Her warm, soft lips nuzzle at him while her hand dandles his emptied balls. She sucks him entirely clean, making appreciative noises of erotic joy. Helpless to defend himself, George is nuzzled and caressed to a tired third erection and valiantly takes his wife for a third and final time in the hallway of their suburban home.

It is later. George is stood in that same hallway. He is dressed only in a shirt and his socks. His poor penis has shrivelled as though to hide itself from further assault, he is red raw at the tip. He stands in the hallway, with one hand pressed to his forehead, and the other holding his phone.

“I don’t know what’s come over her.” He says, though he knows full well what has happened. Incredibly, his prayers have been answered, and his loving if ordinary wife has been transformed into a ravening fuck bunny.

“No, you don’t understand. She’s out of control. I had to leave her in the shower so she could … massage herself. It was the only way I could get her to leave me alone.”

“God no, I can’t take her to a hospital. It would be – ” he closes his eyes, visions of shining medical equipment, buxom nurses, wired junior doctors, Missy with her legs held open in stirrups, fucked by eager strangers ” – I think that would be inadvisable.”

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I’m Robin Goodfellow. I like writing stories for people based on their secret kinks and burning desires. If this got you lathered up, drop me a PM. I crave your attention like Missy craves cock.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/7np5in/georges_marvellous_medicine_mfbimbofication