Of course not

Disclaimer - AI created - refined by me

Ellen’s bedroom was a dim sanctuary, dawn’s pale light filtering through lace curtains. The air was heavy, thick with an electric tension as Jenny and Mark loomed in the doorway, their bodies grotesquely transformed by the tainted water. Jenny, once a shy sketcher, was a muscled goddess, her frame rippling with power, her tits swollen to obscene proportions, her thighs thick and glistening. Mark, no longer the lanky mechanic, stood as a chiseled Adonis, his biceps bulging, his cock a monstrous, throbbing beast screaming for attention. Their eyes glowed with feral hunger, their minds consumed by the substance that had turned them into sex-crazed zombies, driven to spread their lust.

Ellen, 43, a reserved widow, clutched her bedsheets, her knuckles white. Her modest nightgown clung to her slim frame, her brown hair pulled into a tight bun, her life defined by quiet routine and buried grief. The sight of her children—unrecognizable, their bodies pornstar caricatures—churned her stomach. “What the fuck’s happened to you?” she snapped, her voice sharp but trembling, her hazel eyes darting between Jenny’s swollen curves and Mark’s obscene bulge. “This ain’t right. Get out!” Her heart raced, a faint warmth stirring in her core, unbidden, shameful. The water she’d sipped last night, shimmering with that strange sheen, was already working its poison.

Jenny prowled closer, her movements predatory, her pierced clit glinting under the torn remnants of her shirt. “Don’t fight it, you uptight bitch,” she purred, her voice a low growl. “This shit’s gonna make your cunt sing.” Mark grinned, his massive cock twitching, his muscled chest gleaming with sweat. “You’re gonna love getting fucked, Mom. Time to let that pussy loose.” Ellen’s breath hitched, her mind a storm of horror and confusion. They’re my kids, my babies… this is sick, wrong. But her cunt tingled, her nipples stiffening under her nightgown. No, this is sin, it’s the devil’s work… but why’s my body so hot? She shook her head, clinging to her restraint, her widow’s vow to live chaste for her late husband. I’m Ellen, I raised them, I kept us together… I can’t let this happen.

Jenny and Mark exchanged a glance, their lips curling into wicked smirks. Without a word, Mark grabbed a glass of tainted water from the nightstand—Ellen’s own, half-drunk from last night—and splashed it across her face. Jenny followed, yanking the pitcher from the dresser and dumping its shimmering contents over Ellen’s head. The liquid soaked her nightgown, seeping into her skin, and the heat exploded, a molten surge that burned through her veins. Ellen gasped, her body convulsing, her mind screaming. No, fight it, fight it! But the substance was relentless, rewriting her flesh and soul.

Her slim frame shuddered, muscles surging—her arms thickened, her abs carved into a steel slab, her thighs swelled with power. Her tits ballooned, ripping her nightgown to shreds, becoming colossal, wobbling melons that dwarfed Jenny’s. Her ass rounded, tight and juicy, her cunt dripping slick down her legs. Tattoos erupted like a curse: “FUCK SLUT” in black across her chest, mocking her quiet faith; “WIDOW CUNT” with an arrow pointing to her pussy, a middle finger to her widow’s vows; “GOD’S WHORE” curled around her bicep, spitting on her piety. Piercings gleamed—silver rings through her nipples, a cross-shaped stud in her clit, a chain dangling from her navel. Her hair, once brown and neat, spilled loose in wild blonde waves, streaked with red.

Ellen’s mind twisted, her thoughts fracturing under the substance’s ****. I’m a good mother, a good Christian… but this body, this heat… it’s power, it’s life. Her cunt throbbed, her nipples aching, her lips plumping as her tongue flicked a new piercing. I’ve been dead since Tom died, hiding my desires, praying away my needs. But Jenny’s pussy, Mark’s cock… they’re right here, so fucking perfect. Shame burned, but the substance drowned it, replacing it with a ravenous hunger. Why did I fight this? My kids are gods now, and I’m their queen. ****’s a word, just a fucking word. I want their cocks, their cunts, I want to fuck my family, to be their bimbo whore. Her resolve collapsed, her faith a faint echo, her mind now a haze of cock-craving lust. “Fuck me, you gorgeous shits!” she screamed, her voice thick and sultry. “Ram your cock in my widow cunt, Mark! Jenny, sit on my fucking face!”

The three collided, a frenzy of muscled flesh and slick holes. Jenny straddled Ellen’s face, grinding her dripping pussy on her mother’s pierced tongue, moaning, “Suck my cunt, you slut!” Ellen lapped hungrily, her hands clawing Jenny’s thick ass, her own clit stud pulsing. Mark slammed his monstrous cock into Ellen’s soaked pussy, his balls slapping her thighs, growling, “Take it, you widowed bitch, your cunt’s fucking mine!” Ellen’s massive tits bounced, her body quaking with orgasms, the room shaking as the bedframe splintered. “Harder, you fuckboy prick!” she roared, her mind fully broken, reveling in the taboo. I’m their mother, their whore, their bimbo goddess. Fuck morality, fuck God, just fuck me! The substance amplified every sensation, their incestuous union a fire that consumed all restraint.

As dawn bled across Willow Creek, the trio stumbled from the house, their bodies glistening with sweat and cum. Jenny’s muscles flexed, her eyes scanning Maple Street with predatory glee. Mark’s cock, still hard, strained for release. Ellen, a towering sex goddess, licked her plump lips, her pierced cunt dripping, her mind synchronized with her kids’: more. They needed more holes, more cocks, more bodies to join their crusade. “Let’s fuck the neighbors raw,” Jenny hissed, pointing to the Wilsons’ house across the street—Sarah and Tom, a prissy couple known for their churchgoing ways. “Those tight-ass fucks are gonna beg for it.”

They moved like a pack, their buffed forms slicing through the morning mist. Mark kicked the Wilsons’ door to splinters, and they stormed inside. Sarah, sipping tainted coffee, dropped her mug, her eyes wide. “What the fuck—?” she gasped, her cunt already wet from the substance. Tom, clutching his newspaper, stood, shouting, “Get out, you sick bastards!” but his cock twitched, the heat rising.

“Shut up and take it, you prude cunt,” Ellen purred, pinning Sarah against the counter, her pierced nipples brushing Sarah’s blouse. Jenny and Mark grabbed Tom, their grins feral. “Ready to get your dick fucked, you uptight prick?” Mark snarled. The substance hit fast. Sarah’s body bulked, her tits swelling into massive melons, her ass rounding, her pussy dripping. “FUCK MY PRUDE CUNT” inked across her thigh, her mind collapsing into lust. “Pound my pussy, you freaky shits!” she screamed. Tom’s frame morphed, muscles surging, his cock a veiny monster, “STUD” tattooed on his chest. “Give me some cunt, you fucked-up whores!” he roared.

The house became a fuckstorm, furniture shattering. Sarah rode Mark’s cock, her pussy slurping his shaft, moaning, “Fuck me, you bastard!” Jenny ate Ellen’s cunt, her tongue flicking the clit stud, while Ellen sucked Tom’s dick, growling, “Suck it, you prissy fuck!” Mark pounded Sarah’s asshole, while Jenny’s pierced tongue lapped Ellen’s pussy. The Wilsons, once prim, were now sex zombies, their minds consumed by the need to fuck.

“More, you cock-sucking fucks!” Mark bellowed, his dick still slamming Sarah’s ass. Jenny grinned, her muscles gleaming. “The whole fucking town’s next,” she hissed. Ellen flexed her thick arms, her pierced cunt pulsing, her mind reveling in her new ****-loving bimbo self. “Let’s make ‘em all our whores,” she purred, her voice dripping with hunger.

They spilled onto Maple Street, a pack of muscled, pierced fuck machines, their bodies a testament to the substance’s power. House after house fell, doors splintered, bodies transformed—cocks swelled, cunts dripped, minds shattered into lust. Willow Creek’s quiet streets turned into a writhing orgy, the tainted water flowing, its shimmer promising more.