The pitcher was nearly empty

This was either the greatest thing to have happened or it was terrible, and Tom wasn't entirely sure which it was. The pitcher of what he had now dubbed Jizz-erade was nearly drained. So who had gotten a dose? He knew Charly and Logan had. But what about Wanda? Samantha? Catherine?

The walls of the house began to feel like they were crushing in on him until he began to do a little deep breathing, a trick he had picked up from Julia when she had caught him having a panic attack at the coffee shop. Once the panic had stopped, he thought it out.

Multiple people, perhaps the whole family, had at least one glass of Jizz-erade, which was probably as watered down as what Carrie's first exposure was. If the Jizz-erade did nothing, then Carrie and Ashleight both just decided to blow him of their own free will. That would mean that he just pranked everyone, and in a way he didn't need to tell them. It could be his little secret.

Meanwhile, if his jizz did do something, he could see what the results were. They wouldn't know the changes were because he had somehow gained some kind of magical mutant cum, and they would at the very least become nicer to him.

This was all good in theory, but he wouldn't have results until people returned home.

Or so he thought. His phone buzzed with a text message from Catherine. She hadn't sent him a text that wasn't "pick up X on your way home" in forever. But here there was a selfie of her, with some of her rather impressive cleavage on display, pouting, with the message "Missing you hubby!" followed by five heart emojis.

That was pretty good proof to him. Catherine being flirty again out of nowhere was impressive. But that was one load, split five ways. He had seen what a near full dose had done to Miss Ashleigh Billings, and he frankly hoped for that sort of change in at least Catherine. The thought of her pawing for his cock the way Ashleigh and Carrie had been was a heavenly thought, and he soon found himself smuggling a bar of rolled steel in his pants. He decided to **** his now jumbo chicken again and shot the first load of the day into the pitcher. He then mixed up more of the sports drink on top of it to hide his transgressions. As he mixed the concentrated citrus goo with his concentrated man goo, he thought of how it might be to be able plow his wife up the ass every night without her whining, and instead with her enthusiasm. His erection returned again at the fantasy of Catherine the butt slut.

Tom was surprised. It had barely been three minutes. He couldn't possibly have another load ready to go again. But he had the house to himself, so he tried anyway.

This one took about twenty minutes and some porn, but he managed to squeeze out another sizable load into the Jizz-erade pitcher. It amazed him. Whatever made his cum into the slut-maker serum he had also gave him a near limitless supply.

His elation was short lived however. His legs and arms began to hurt, and Tom was suddenly very hungry. He grabbed a package of salami from the fridge and devoured it himself after replacing the pitcher. Once he had eaten it, the pain subsided.

Okay, so I need protein. That makes sense. He thought about what could possibly happen with all of this. What changes would he see in everyone else as they came home?