Of course they can’t just accept me. I spend more than a week filling out forms. They want to know all about my hobbies, my friends, all of that. They even want the contact numbers for other college girls I know. I suppose they’re just being thorough, so I give them what they want.
If that’s what it takes to be healthy, I’ll do it.
They give me instructions on where to go and want me dressed in loose fitting clothing. What’s really weird is they don’t want me wearing a bra or underwear. That’s a little freaky, but I assume they have a reason.
I arrive at the office and they take my temperature. Then there are about a bazillion consent forms I need to sign. They really want to be sure that I’m okay with whatever they’re doing.
I am. I sign everything, barely looking at the pages. What’s the worst that can happen?
I’m led into a room with bright pink paintings on the wall and pictures of girls that look just like the one I saw in the app. Former subjects? I’m not sure and I’m a little afraid to ask. A glance in the mirror on the wall shows just how much I’m not like them.
My boobs aren’t too big, though the chill in the air has my nipples peeking out through the fabric. I’ve never worn heels that tall in my life. Yikes! I’d be tumbling over in no time. And my hair is certainly not that shade of blonde. I’d guess the girls are around my age though, eighteen, and ready to take on the world.
Though I’m pretty sure they’re taking it on with their wet pussies. I’d rather use my brain.
I shiver.
A few minutes later a woman comes in. She’s practically bursting out of her cardigan and is full of smiles.
“Hi Angie! I’m so glad you’ve come to join us! We’re going to keep you here while you undergo treatment and then you can do whatever you want with no risks. Isn’t that great?” She’s bubbly and happy and it’s a bit freaky.
She sets the tray she’s holding down and pours a milky substance into a glass. It doesn’t look like medicine. But if this is some strange, all natural formula I’m more than eager to try it. I’m practically drooling at the thought, and it doesn’t hurt that the liquid smells really good. It’s almost familiar, but I can’t identify the flavor.
“Um, are there any side effects?” Maybe I should have asked that first. Too late now. I clutch the glass in my hand.
She giggles. “Nothing you need to worry about. Now, bottoms up!”
I can walk away. This little… bimbo isn’t going to stop me. But I want this treatment. I want this thing to be over with. I don’t want to worry anymore. I take the glass and tip it back, letting the creamy goodness slide down my throat.
Do you love me?
Leave a comment and let me know! Then be a good slut and sign up for my newsletter so you can get smut straight to your inbox.
You can find my books at Smashwords.
Support the creation of more sexy smut by purchasing a downloadable copy of this story.
Pay whatever you want… or nothing at all!
