riseofwives:“What is it honey, what’s wrong?” she asked innocently, “Aren&
riseofwives: “What is it honey, what’s wrong?” she asked innocently, “Aren’t I perfect enough for you yet?” Smiling prettily and posing for his benefit, she could see the gears of arousal turning, the battle behind his eyes. She raised her chest a bit more. He struggled for words, struggled to stay focused, but the world, everything - everything but her, that is - began to blur. Oh my god, he gaped. He couldn’t believe it. This was it, this was really happening. This was the woman he’d been assigned to, by the Collective, and soon they would be together. He had no choice, really, now. No way out. She had won, won the rights to be with him, from among hundreds upon hundreds of other women. Or, rather, he had chosen her to win. He had known her - hadn’t he? - before. She’d been a friend of his wife. Cute, petite - pleasantly busty, if he remembered. But that was before the plag- wait…what was he supposed to call it again? He couldn’t remember. Anyway - it was before he lost his wife, before the deaths of most of the world’s population, and nearly all the men. He had known her, and thought maybe - maybe - he’d be safer with her than under the care of a woman he’d never met, randomly assigned. She’d survived, of course, because of her hormone levels. Protective, they said, those abnormally high levels of…whatever it was, he forgot the name. Meant she was a fertile little thing, though. All the surviving women were - young, fit, almost preternaturally female. Genetically gifted…breeders. All of them. But she - she’d been chosen, chosen to receive the “medication” by the still-nascent government. Medication that, from what he’d heard, had been previously some sort of protected, biological weapon, now re-worked, re-tooled (or just re-branded? They didn’t call it “The Program” anymore…) to “save the human race”. She’d be chosen, started on treatments because he had finally complied with the “strong suggestions” of the government, deciding to end his near hermitage in the old abandoned, now decrepit apartment building, and take a mate. He’d been contacted by her many months ago, through the rudimentary e-mail system the Collective had restored, soon after he registered himself as a surviving male. He had registered, ostensibly, so he could receive food and supplies, rations to take back to his hovel. But also - he knew - they were registering any unassigned males so they could…watch them. She had not been the only one to contact him, not by a long shot. He’d started receiving emails - more every day, at times dozens of them - from countless women. Strangers who’d been given his name - but thankfully not his location. Women desperate to find a mate, desperate to start on the treatments - to “live forever”, if the Collective was to be believed - if only they could secure one of the few remaining men. And these were not all mere emails of greeting, of introduction. Many were blatant offers, offers for deviant, carnal pleasures, promises for a future life with a doting, attentive partner, growing to fulfill his every fantasy. And these were offers he could not ignore easily. Though he had survived the sickness - he was not untouched by it. Like all surviving men, his frontal cortex had begun to dim, and he was becoming more and more a creature of his base instincts - not the least of which his libido. Every day he became more and more fixated on sex, on thoughts of the female body. Every day it was harder to resist the temptations of this new, budding society, ultra-fertile women everywhere… What was worse: soon they could send pictures. And he’d gotten them, day in and day out, many of them of beautiful women. Women who wanted him. Women who wanted to grow for him. Women who wanted to care for him in his waning, to be the one to whom he would go for sustenance, for warmth. Women who wanted to shrink him, so they could Ascend, become the goddesses that would walk the earth as a new race. And he’d seen her picture - among all the others to which he was beating off at a near constant rate until he discovered, to his horror, that each climax caused him now to shrink, fractions of an inch - and recognized it immediately. Someone he knew! “Hi!” her message read “Remembr me?? I was friends with Jill at the gym.” He gravitated to it immediately - a link to his old life, the old world - but soon found the same refrain: “We shuld totally get together…” He resisted her emails, always friendly but increasingly flirty, for as long as he could. But he saw the day coming. He saw the day that - if he hadn’t chosen a mate already - he would be assigned one from the Collective. “The human race needed him,” or so the propaganda sang, “Each man is a treasure.” And so - it had come to this. Their third “date”, such as it was, since his commitment. A meet-up, a walk along the old river path.They had seen one another a few times before that, but she had been on treatments, now, for several weeks…. …to be continued. Another Denise morph by mig with my re-mods and filters. Anybody getting sick of these yet? -- source link