The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

When you’re on pins and needles about something, you want it to fucking happen. But it wasn’t a quick trip inland—there are only two bridges connecting the Outer Banks to the mainland, and the highway was clogged with traffic from others leaving before the storm. The hurricane was still a day or two away, but it had become obvious that it wasn’t anything to screw around with.

Could it really be possible that what I did or didn’t do could make a difference in that regard? If Brandi’s dream had the prophetic or reality-fulfilling power I thought it might have, Irene would be even stronger category 4 by the time she arrived.

As traffic creeped along, I thought about Brandi’s dream, and how it had played out so far. It seemed bizarre that she’d dream all the women’s breasts growing as they had—was that a fantasy she had? Or had she read some of the porn stories Pascaline had on her computer, her subconscious mind borrowing some of the ideas?

Brandi, especially, had become a woman with pure fetish proportions—I had to wonder if a woman like that had ever existed before, with her body all petite and worked out, yet with the tits of a boob valkyrie. Would that all go back to normal when the dream was over? The question could matter to me if her dream grew my dick as predicted. Would I have the experience of a Megatron cock for a day, and then be normal Jake again? Would I grow and stay grown?

The words from her journal that troubled me the most were there at the end—keep grow, insane so gigantic, go insane so gigantic. What if Brandi literally went insane, like into a catatonic state where the dream never ended?What if I had to go through the rest of my life with a monster schlong and no sexual off-switch?

My imagination was driving away much faster than the van, and it was kind of freaking me out. That was exactly why I needed to see Amelia; she, if anyone, might have some answers, or even a plan.

I stopped for gas when I was close to Amelia’s house, using the pit stop to call and warn her of my arrival. Just putting the phone near my nose almost drove me nuts, because it smelled like every girl I’d fucked, including Brandi. I didn’t see how that was possible, until I remembered all the things flying around her bedroom like bees attracted to pussy nectar. I’d thought they were all dilators and dildos, but maybe her subconscious mind had tuned into all the phone sex going around, and she’d made that happen, too.

“Amelia?” I said when she picked up. “I’m...”

“Close, I can feel you. Come, Jake. Come quickly.”

“Do you know what’s going on? Brandi’s dreams...”

“I know. Come. Hurry.”

She hung up after those words, and I found myself breathing heavily with the phone to my ear. Just hearing that woman’s voice made my cock want to pump fuel.

As I drove the last couple of miles, I silently pleaded with Brandi’s dream to let me ask a few questions before all hell broke loose. In Brandi’s scribblings, there had been no indication of what Amelia and I ended up doing before the three women arrived, but supposedly we had a matter of “hours” to be alone. The traffic was bumper-to-bumper, just crawling along—unless Brandi’s dream magic allowed the women to teleport into Amelia’s bed, they would be making even slower progress than me.

I saw the long sandy driveway and turned in, kicking up a cloud of dust in my wake. The droning that had been in the back of my head all day merged with the natural sounds here—had my ears never fully left this place?

I parked under the big oak and sat there a few seconds, and somehow remembered that I needed to turn off my phone. I was putting the thing in the glove box when I saw a movement of color to my right and the passenger door opened. Amelia swept into the van in a tight-fitting salmon colored sundress that showed off her legs and tits.

In an instant it was as it had been the day before but more so, that sense of a dense fog of sexual desire filling a space. It hung in the air inside the van and seemed to fill my pores—was this what five years of pent-up sex did to a person with psychic abilities, all their desires radiating off them to seep into objects, people, saturating the upholstered seats and beading up to drip from the roof?

“I knew she’d bring you here,” Amelia said, curling her knees next to me to unzip my shorts.

I wanted to be active, to ask questions and not just let her take control of events. But she looked like the proverbial farmer’s nympho wife and my cock pulsed wildly the second it was in her hands. I was lost to her at that first touch—she squeezed the shaft and pulled up, and did something with the pads of her fingers, little variations of pressure that made me suck in air and hope I didn’t cum so hard that it coated the entire windshield.

“Come,” she said, head turned to the back of the van, and the bed.

After the crazy hard-to-follow sex of the morning, being with Amelia was relatively gentle, and sane. Except that she had her way of making my hormones vibrate until I couldn’t stand it anymore, and then she’d ease off just in time, turning a hand-job and eventually a blow-job into a G-force roller-coaster ride inside my balls. When I finally let loose, it felt like free fall as much as cumming.

After drinking me down she gave me a little bit of time to recover, then opened the van’s doors and pulled me towards the house. I had my hands under her dress by the front door, and two fingers inside her pussy before the bedroom, and totally naked on the way to her bed, my tongue teasing at her pussy the moment she lay down.

That was what I wanted—her sweet country pussy, delicate and fragrant like a Carolina peach. She was a vocal lover with more “yes!’ prompts than I’d ever received, and I loved how she pinched and pulled at her nipples as I had my fun between her legs, giving in to the pleasure everywhere she could. When she came it surprised me—she squirted her orgasm in powerful streaming bursts, just the kind of effect I’d been hoping to get from Pascaline the first night I screwed with her plumbing.

I climbed on the bed and lay beside her and that drone in my the back of my head was louder than ever. I tried to read Amelia’s insides through it, and it was like the day before—I could feel the lust she gave off as if it were a heavy mist, yet the insides of the woman simply weren’t accessible.

And that’s when it hit me that we’d had sex twice now, and I’d never reached inside to make anything happen. No manipulations, no choreography, no angling or scheming. Just sex, coming at me of its own accord, and the sex was truly exceptional.

“Do you know what’s going on?” I finally asked. “Brandi’s dreams... They’re becoming real.”

“I told you the fabric was becoming elastic. She’s been given this and it will have to play out.”

“They’re all coming here, you know. And when they do... It might be too much, maybe for everybody.”

“You still don’t understand what you’ve done, do you? You’re the man behind the curtain, Jake. The energy isn’t all yours, but you make things go.”

“What do you mean?”

“One scale feeding another, actions conforming to the advanced bands of energy...”

“I’m sorry, but could you stop being so fucking obscure?”

She wasn’t offended, and smiled. “We have time,” she said, sitting up to position her body above mine, facing me. She took my cock in her hands and winked, looking at me with mischievous eyes. “You can almost hear it, can’t you? The music.”

“Amelia! I’m trying to... Oh Jesus.” Her miracle hands worked my dick for a few seconds and I was rock hard again.

“That droning in your head—it’s the vibration of lust, everywhere. Open yourself to it and to me, Jake. Just lie there and let me do the work, and you listen. Just relax and listen, nothing more.”

It wasn’t so easy to relax, but she kept repeating the word and it happened, like she could actually perform the kind of hypnotic act I’d bullshitted about. She raised up on her knees to slip me inside, and moved her body extremely slowly, jack-knifing her legs so her pussy gently massaged my dick. The drone at the back of my head rocked with our bodies, going louder, softer, louder, softer.

“Helping you to hear, I might lose consciousness,” she said, keeping her pace steady. “Look at my notes when we’re done!” she grunted, going a bit faster, taking me in deeper. “They’ll tell you... what you need to know.”

I don’t know how to describe the sex that followed. The sensations of her pussy around my dick became part of the droning, and the drone seemed to fragment at a certain point, blended sound becoming barely perceptible melodies that disengaged into a head-space where they could be heard. As more melodies emerged they overlapped, like an auditory web vibrating in a rising wind.

It wasn’t that sex was in the wind that moved the sound; sex was the wind, was the sound. The slide of Amelia’s pussy was that wind, and as she moved faster the volume increased. Yet always that softer/harder pulse, a musical heartbeat pumping sound, pumping desire, pumping the need for membraneous contact and firing nerve endings. It sounded like a bright sunlit rainforest having sex with a dark, enigmatic cave. It sounded like the insect world having sex with the tunnels they lived in. It sounded like the insides of my dick singing into Amelia with every note answered, the music inside my heart cumming an instant before my cock did.

I know it has no power to convey the whole of the experience when I write the following words: The cumming was every note from everywhere, all at once.

But it was like that—the music of our sexual union, clear as a bell. It pushed my orgasm up, like it happened in or between my ears. I came. I heard the cumming, and played it, too.

It was some good fucking music.

Amelia kept going at me as I lay there. What she had said about relaxing became more than that, as I just couldn’t move. Maybe, with practice, the sex music could blossom in my head and voluntary action would become possible; just then, I could only lay still with my dick doing all the driving, the rest of me more or less trapped in the power of the sound.

The music didn’t so much stop as slowly let go, and when I came out of its grip, Amelia was curled into a lovely ball next to my legs, the smell of her pussy everywhere. I spoke her name a couple of times and even nudged her for a response, but what she had done to allow me to hear had knocked her out. Just as she’d predicted, always the good psychic.

I got dressed and looked at my watch—I’d been at the house for a little more than an hour and a half. Meaning Brandi and the others wouldn’t be long in coming, which might conceivably make my dick extra-long in cumming, and who knew what else.

I still had no clue what it might mean for Amelia to become a sex demon—what I’d just experienced gave me a clue that she really did possess unusual abilities, and there was no telling what Brandi’s subconscious influence might unleash when the party got started.

I knew what I had to do next, because Amelia had interrupted our fucking to tell me to find her notes. I got dressed and went into the room we’d first fucked in, then the porch where we first touched. That’s where I found a clipboard with a yellow legal pad affixed, and page after page of notes concerning her sessions with her clients. I thumbed until I came to yesterday’s date, and the heading: The Aftermath of Jake’s Visit.

The beginning made absolutely no sense. It was all stacked lines of parallel dash marks, with little notations inserted here and there that said things like “louder” and “wetter”. I flipped through earlier entries and found similar markings from other sessions, though those lines were much less densely packed. The vital clue came in an entry from what might have been Brandi’s very first visit, dated in late May. It said: “Brandi Bonaventure’s music”, and half a page of varied dashes followed.

Brandi Bonaventure—until that moment I hadn’t even known her last name. She wouldn’t even have to change it to have a porn star name, and the way she’d looked when I left her bedroom, she’d be the hottest porn star ever.

I thought I understood what all the little dashes were about—Amelia had devised her own form of musical notation for the interior sound she heard when she touched someone. I scanned several examples; Brandi’s stood out with its density of marks, but not even hers were packed like mine. And my music took up an entire two pages—either I had more of it, or Amelia had been able to tune in longer than normal. And near the end of the marks, a section was circled in red pencil, with the notation, “pure sex.”

Nice to think my music might make me the king of fuck n’ roll, but did it really matter when I didn’t have the language to understand it? I turned to the next page and found a colored Google map of the United States taped sideways onto the paper, and on top of the map Amelia had sketched a spiral in white crayon that looked a hell of a lot like a hurricane.

She’d written, “Jake” above the spiral, and this hurricane—I wondered if there had ever been a Hurricane Jake—was a monster in size, with its spiral arms touching the Great Lakes to the north and parts of both coasts to the east and west. Much of the spiral lay outside the map—they weren’t depicted, but I’d have to assume that parts of it would overlay the Gulf of Mexico, Mexico and Central America.

I read the notes on the side, perplexed. She had the letter “e”, underlined, and a string of numbers lined up that she labeled “Fibonacci sequence”, followed by NGC 2997 circled with an exclamation point. A drawn line connected those letters and numbers to the hurricane overlaying the map. In every case the meaning evaded me, but something had to be registering because the more I looked over the page, the more uneasy I felt.

I stared at the map, and the drawing. I looked at the numbers. I looked back at the map, and absorbed where her hurricane spiral was situated. The center was more or less over the center of Texas, and she had numbers scrawled at that location that had to be interpreted as a date.

I felt a chill up my spine, because that date had meaning for me—it was the day I’d set off on my bicycle journey. And the center of the spiral was located where the journey had begun, just outside Fort Worth, Texas.

I heard something outside—only a gust of wind but it scared the shit out of me, reminding me that Brandi and the others could arrive at any moment. I flipped to the next page and found a string of words that looked like stream of consciousness writing, and after reading only a few lines I had to stop, because my heart was pounding so hard that I was on the verge of a fucking freak-out.

Three sides of of the porch were glassed in, and I became hyper-aware of the clouds in the sky, and every trembling leaf. I didn’t know if those clouds were in any way connected to the approaching storm, and I didn’t want to find out.

I knew then what I had to do, and it had to happen fast. My hands shook but they worked, and I tore all the pages related to me out of the pad. I folded them and put them in my back pocket, and ran to Amelia’s room.

She was still unconscious. I could question her, demand answers, but if I’d interpreted things correctly, every second here was an invitation to greater disaster.

I ran. The keys were still in the van and I got the fuck out of there, fearing I’d see Brandi’s car coming down the long driveway in the other direction. I had to get out of their lives, and especially out of Brandi’s dream. Now. Right now.

At the highway it was still an unbroken line of cars creeping along. I honked my way in and creeped west with all the others, not caring where I was going or how long it took to get there. I just needed to be gone from Amelia’s, and not part of that multiple partner configuration scribbled in Brandi’s dream book.

No quad-babe sex for me this day. For me. For them. For everyone.

It was a good thing I had the van because you couldn’t get a hotel room anywhere. I drove as far inland as Rocky Mount before giving out, and set up the van at a truck stop. They had pay showers and I took the longest one of my life before sitting in the diner over a big plate of roast beef and gravy.

There was a choice of TV channels—baseball or Irene, and I watched the reports on Irene. It remained on its track to the Outer Banks, but had begun to show signs of weakening. I thought I should be happy about that, or maybe even pat myself on the shoulder. But really I was just exhausted, and kind of numb.

I bought a variety pack of Saranacs and a bag of ice to take to the van for a drink-and-think session. Inside I read over Amelia’s notes by camping light.

I was more ready for it this time, and tried to remain calm. I’m going to copy Amelia’s notes out as opposed to trying to describe them, but it’s important to keep in mind that they weren’t nearly as linear as they’ll appear. They showed signs of having been gone over several times, with notations added as more information had come to her through whatever psychic channels she had access to. Anyway, here they are, as best I can duplicate them without resorting to a photocopy:

Jake: Fibonacci sequence, golden ratio, form. Ratio inside Jake, invisible spiral, bright, glowing

Interaction of NGC-2997? (Confirmed!)

Music—multiple scales, galaxy/hurricane, connection.

Spiral arms = subconscious desires/advance waves

Invisible influence, thought as action, bending of rules

Reality-warping, sexual fantasies months in making.

Limits? must be, no idea. Need understanding of chaos theory, string theory, uncertainty principles, quantum level intersect stellar matter

Desire/mind/matter Energy-where? Borrowed?

Irene: borrowed energy/transfer/reciprocal feeding

Jake potency spiral upwards with my energy/transfer to Brandi (dreams)

Irene: One woman, category 1; two women, category 2; three women, category 3; four women, category 4—Direct correlation!

Brandi dreams, Jake and four women intersect my home = category 4 landing, immense energy. Sex inside, all grow as storm grows, growth proportional to storm, all affected.

Brandi’s most vital question—overwritten? Confirmed. New vital question, need to find!

Brandi—overwritten, rules changed every level. Only Jake.

Reversal? Pascaline, Lori, possible. Others, unknown.

My question affected. Sex, hunger... Too much, no control, no going back. Have to have Jake, show music.

Jake’s most vital question: Am I Still Human?

I can’t pretend that I understood every bit of that. Even now, when I’ve had more time to look up the mathematics of a Fibonacci sequence and digest the suggestions, I don’t know that I have it all right. But I had gotten enough, even inside Amelia’s house, to know I couldn’t allow myself to get involved with all four of those women at one go.

It wasn’t that I made the hurricane happen, nothing as absurd as that. The hurricane was there and it would have been there; at least I believe that’s true. But what she’d written about the number of lovers I had at one time, and reciprocal feeding—I think that was real. If I’d stopped with Pascaline, the hurricane might have remained a category 1. But I had two lovers and it got stronger, and three lovers and it got stronger still. And when I bolted, preventing any further exchange of energy, it began to weaken.

With that potential catastrophe averted, it was the very last line that kept kicking me in the gut: Jake’s most vital question: Am I Still Human? I mean, what kind of most important question was that? Wasn’t I human? Of course I was. Wasn’t I, still?

I had an idea now what NGC-2997 might be, and pulled my phone out of the glovebox to go online and check. A quick Google search showed a spiral galaxy 40 million light years from our own, in the constellation Antlia. 40 million light years sounded like a preposterously huge distance, but in the scheme of the entire known universe the galaxy was practically in our backyard. I pulled up a whole page of photos—the galaxy was broadside to the earth’s viewpoint in perspective, like it was posing for portraits.

I’m no mathematician by any means, so I won’t say much about how the numbers in a Fibonacci sequence correspond to the shaping of a spiral form; really, ask someone who understands that kind of thing. But the shape of this particular galaxy was unmistakable—it was the same spiral Amelia had superimposed over a map of the United States. I looked at that, and noted how its arms touched all the locations I’d ridden or driven through, including the Outer Banks. Spiral arms = subconscious desires/advance waves. Amelia had spoken about “advanced waves, reaching out”, supposedly existing for months.

If I interpreted her revelations correctly, those advanced waves were connected to my sexual fantasies, or were my sexual fantasies, hanging out invisibly everywhere the map showed them to be. And they weren’t just hanging out—they were orchestrating events to make those fantasies come true. Invisible influence, thought as action, bending of rules, Reality-warping, sexual fantasies months in making.

This was so heavy. I’d set up the entire beach adventure in advance, like walking onto a stage where my dick’s wishes had already assembled a cast and written a script?

I popped the top of a second beer, and downed half of it in one long pull. I hadn’t known Brandi or Pascaline or Lori when I began my journey, but if I understood this right, it hadn’t mattered that they were strangers. From what I’d gleaned of their history, Pascaline had suddenly, perhaps miraculously, reached out to re-gather the trio, and had rented the cottage on the beach where I showed up later. If the weather hadn’t gotten so hot I might not have gone to the beach at all, or I could have gone to a different beach, or into a different bar that first night—foreordained, as in created in advance? And holy shit—the hottest of the three women just happened to have acquired a psychic earlier in the summer, with repressed super-sex abilities and psycho-sex energy I might borrow to make Brandi’s dreams go.

I re-read the few lines that appeared to be self-referential, like Amelia was trying to understand how her life had been changed because of my arrival: My question affected. Sex, hunger... Too much, no control, no going back. Have to have Jake, show music.

She’d shown me the music, unless there could be even more. And Brandi’s essential question—the very thing she and Amelia were working to get at—had been “overwritten, rules changed at every level”. By me? By her dream through me? And what rules—things like whether a woman’s tits could grow in a single day, or she could cause dildos and anal dilators to zip through the air looking for appropriate holes to fill?

The phone rang and I jumped, spilling beer on the mattress. My heart pounded and I didn’t pick it up, letting whomever it was go to voicemail. When I thought it was safe I checked my messages, and found I had twenty-three.

Brandi’s voice on the first one: “Jake, we’re leaving the house. Stay where you are and...” Girl sounds and a sharp intake of breath, like someone thought it was a good idea to eat Brandi’s pussy during phone time. “Oh God, yes! Yes!”

The second message was Pascaline: “Where are you? We’re at Amelia’s house and where are you? Come back, we’re here, come back!”

Most of the other messages were along those lines, though increasingly desperate. From the sounds of things they’d split up into more than one car, and they were looking for me.

And then a different sort of call, from Amelia: “Jake, I hope you’re safe. I understand what you had to give up—you did the right thing. I saw that you took my notes—surely you understand that we have much to discuss. Wait a couple of weeks to let things settle down, and then come to me, and we’ll... I’ll show you things.”

The messages had me hard again, and that last one was like a good long lick up the length of my cock. How was it that Amelia could sound more self-possessed than the others, more calm and sensible, yet her voice had me feeling like I needed to beat off?

Staring at the phone in my hand, I began to have the sensation that I was being watched. I’d heard about cell phones working as homing signals—weren’t there services that tracked a phone’s location through GPS? Pascaline was rich—how hard would it be for her to get an app or bribe some phone employee to track me down through this thing?

They say that even the paranoid are sometimes being watched, and because of that I shrugged off my fatigue, driving to the outskirts of town to toss my phone into a dumpster at the back of a McDonalds. Back at the truck stop, I parked my van at the very rear of the tarmac where it wouldn’t be visible from the road.

I bought a phone card next, and called Val. I knew she wouldn’t be there at this time of night, but I left a message that I was coming back home, arriving sometime the following night.

Home. Funny how I called it that when I didn’t have such a thing. I really had believed I’d return to Val all along, but it had never occurred to me that I’d want to curl up and hide next to her, like she might represent home base, embodying normal desires in a world gone mad.

Home base. A place to stay out of trouble, and think. About where to travel next? About whether I might have “changed the fabric” in locations I’d never been to, inside scores of women I’d never met?

Maybe I needed to think about whether I was still a human being. And what if I was, or wasn’t?

Fuck.

It was probably inevitable that I’d have sex dreams when I fell asleep. I was the commander of a squadron of living dildos—they were all kinds of colors and shapes, not capable of thought but perfectly able to feel desire. There were thousands of them ready for flight, and I watched at the side of a runway as they took off in formation to spread across the country, seeking attractive women to screw.

The dream shifted and I was a rambling stranger taken in for a meal at the home of a sweet country family. We were at the dinner table and there were three gorgeous daughters, looking oh-so virginal and in need of a hands-on sexual education. As serving plates were passed around, I noticed that the breasts of all the women were growing under their clothes. The father didn’t seem to see it, but all the girls exchanged knowing glances and secretive smiles, and I felt someone’s small hand rubbing at my cock through my pants.

One of the girls said she wanted to show me something in the night sky, and the next thing I knew we were laying in a field looking up at the stars. She pointed at a patch of space with a raised arm and said, “So that’s where your people come from?” It felt like I should pay attention to the spot she’d indicated; instead my eyes traveled the other way, down her pointing finger to the delicate wrist and extended forearm, and then the curving rise of her breasts.

“You’d like them even bigger, wouldn’t you?” she whispered, turning her body until a big breast pushed against me. “Make them grow,” she said, rocking back and forth. “Make them grow so big and then fuck me, fuck me...”

She kept rocking as her breasts swelled, the boob pressure pushing against me until I was rocking too, gently rocking, gently rocking...

I woke up with the van moving from gusts of wind, the farmer’s daughter’s boobs gone. Opening the back doors, I saw that it had been raining, with low grey clouds darting across a greenish haze higher above.

This must be part of the hurricane, and I had to know. I got dressed as fast as I could and ran to the diner to watch the TV—Irene was still barreling towards the Carolina coast, and the rain here was from its most outward bands. The satellite images showed the storm to be larger than I remembered, and one analyst kept repeating that it was an unusual hurricane. It had all the energy of a much stronger storm, perhaps even a category 4, but it had lost its focus, with all that power spreading out over a wider field.

I found myself smiling, though I’m not going to try to convince anyone that I did that. I don’t want to believe it myself, especially when the breadth of the hurricane helped it to spread devastation to unprepared parts of the northeast. It was an historic hurricane, sure, but it was never my hurricane.

Still, I pictured Amelia alone in her house, and three beautiful, almost unnaturally busty women driving all over the countryside in separate cars. All that energy, all that desire, not concentrated as it might have been, but spread out over a wider field.

It would have been so much worse if I hadn’t escaped from Amelia’s in time. Though, of course, that’s only a fantasy.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I traded my van for a used Honda Accord later that morning. Was that another move to keep three sex-crazed women from finding me, or had I concluded that a predator-mobile was no longer my style? I asked myself that as I cleared my personal belongings from the van, and there was no clear answer.

I bought my own smartphone after that, and used it to see where the closest planetarium might be. Raleigh, as it turned out, and I drove there to take in an afternoon show. I’d been hoping for something that might explain the structure of spiral galaxies, but the program was all about black holes, and how reality would change if one got sucked into an event horizon.

Just then I didn’t want to think too much about how many ways reality could change. I wanted a safe harbor, and that meant the outskirts of Charlotte, to the south and west. I dialed Val’s number when I was about an hour away, and got her machine. I thought she might already be at work, which only goes to show how much I needed to read a couple of the romance novels she adored.

It was a dark and stormy night—sorry, couldn’t resist. It was, though, with rain from one of Irene’s westward bands coming down pretty hard as I pulled up outside Val’s building. I had no umbrella and my hair was wetted to my skull by the time I ran inside. I climbed the hallway stairs with my shoes making wet squeak sounds. No answer to a few raps at Val’s door, so I used my key and stepped inside.

No lights in the living room, but the kitchen glowed and the place smelled like comfort food. I peeked, and saw a roasted chicken cooling on top of the stove, with potatoes and sauteed collard greens in pans alongside. An opened bottle of Sauvignon Blanc cooled in a container with ice.

Thunder rumbled, just before I became aware of a presence behind me. I turned and there she was, clad in nothing but heels and a black fishnet outfit that swelled outward at the immensity of her breasts, tapering to a fine suggestive line at her crotch.

She was a high-impact woman, and I swear my tongue swelled a heartbeat before my cock. Brandi’s magical tits had been bigger at their fullest, but I wouldn’t say they’d been better. The fishnet pattern widened where it tried to contain Val’s breasts, which really had been blessed with some extra meat during my absence. Her entire body struck me that way—she’d been a slim-n-stacked gem all along, but her physique had become more toned since I left, no doubt from all the pole-dancing routines.

I’m pretty sure a male character in one of her romance novels would have said something like, “Oh Valerie, my love, I’ve missed you so much!”, or, “Valerie, you’re so beautiful it’s almost more than my heart can bear!”

I’ve never pretended to be anything but a flawed hero—all I could manage was a weak but extremely meaningful, “Homina!”, followed by a hard swallow.

She giggled, a hand going to her mouth, and when I reached inside her head I saw how she was filled with one part lust and two parts pure joy—she was living a romance dream, and there almost wasn’t anything I could do to ruin it.

Which meant we were still on track when I inverted the ratio—two parts lust to every bit of romance, which was more my speed.

She rushed me, and we kissed with our tongues locked in a writhing, darting snake dance. Her breasts were hot against me and I worked my fingers through the fishnet webbing, feeling how much difference a few extra inches can make.

We stumbled our way to the bedroom, locked together and unwilling to separate. Val pushed me onto the bed and she had somehow gotten hold of a pair of scissors, and she made a real show of cutting her boobs out of their fishnet entrapment.

It didn’t hurt the romance atmosphere to have our lovemaking take place with wind and rain slapping at the windows, and thunder growling overhead. It was like Irene became an additional partner, though only on the sidelines, watching and commenting every now and then.

Maybe the storm huffed and puffed in frustration that Brandi and Lori and Pascaline and Amelia weren’t there to feed her. Maybe she was just going through the motions, being a hurricane with no sense of purpose. Whatever—once I had my dick sandwiched between Val’s newly enlarged fucking-saucers, I just loved the one I was with, and forgot about the storm entirely.

Val and I took a sex time-out for dinner and wine. She wore a short see-through nightie that was almost unbearably sexy, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the way her tits surged out from her body. It felt so right to me that in turning down Brandi’s ever-growing fantasy tits gone wild, I’d ended up with this woman with this pair, so big and majestic and still growing, naturally.

Val knew I couldn’t take my eyes off them, and she teased me when carving the chicken, facing me and bending over, letting all she had hang down like an offering. My dick was raging again and a thought popped into my brain—I swear it was like my dick might have been the one to realize the truth first.

“You really have grown,” I said. “It’s kind of amazing.”

“I know you love them. I love them, too.”

“When did all this start? You said you were something like a C-cup, and then...”

“In the spring, like March sometime. I’d been one size for years and then, boom. Like a switch thrown into the on position. My doctor calls it macromastia—it’s a benign condition, and she says there’s nothing wrong with it as long as I like the results. If anything it’s been speeding up and, well, I like the results. I hope they keep going.”

Back in the spring. When I began my bike journey.

Spiral arms = subconscious desires/advance waves

Invisible influence, thought as action, bending of rules

Reality-warping, sexual fantasies months in making.

So maybe not so natural after all. But who cared, as long as we were both happy?

“Wing, leg or breast?” Val asked with a knowing smile.

I took a big swig of wine, and then two breasts, back in the bedroom.

Have you ever been completely happy, yet felt at the same time that something was missing? That night was a perfect illustration, because Val and I were ideal for each other in bed, yet I couldn’t open up to her about what nagged at me underneath. And damn Amelia—I found myself longing for the music, even when everything else was just right.

Would I ever call her, or go back? Would I ever try to track down Brandi or the others, and see for myself if they’d gone back to being their old selves, or had kept their outrageous curves? I couldn’t say, in either case.

One question just wouldn’t let go, though. “Would you say I’m a good person?” I asked Val during one period of recovery.

“A very good person,” she said, cuddling closer. “Maybe a bit restless, but I can live with that. Especially when you’re such a wonderful lover.”

“So that would make me a person. A human being.”

“I would say so, yes. In fact I wouldn’t have made love with you if you weren’t. I like you on all fours sometimes, but it might be a problem if you had to walk that way.”

I wasn’t so sure, not after reading Amelia’s notes about me. But it was good to get a vote of confidence.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what else might be happening out there. If I could have switched on Val’s tits before meeting her, and primed Brandi and Lori and Pascaline to become the hurricane related event they became, what else might I have done without knowing it? The spiral bands Amelia had drawn over the map had touched at least three-quarters of the country, and I’d had dreams about farmer’s virginal daughters, and read stories about vampire sex and girls being inhabited by horny ghosts, and all sorts of other crazy shit.

By that Sunday, Hurricane Irene had become Tropical Storm Irene, causing less destruction in New York City than feared, but more flooding elsewhere. I followed the news on it when I wasn’t in bed with Val, but we always came back together to create our own surging tides, blowing the hell out of each other without ever getting quite enough.

Late that night, with stars blinking over the nearby buildings again, she said there was something special she wanted to do for me. She confessed that when she practiced playing her harp, she’d often go into a zone where the playing became a form of playing with herself, and making music turned into making herself cum. She’d even taken her harp to her dancing gig one time, and stripped while playing, her musical instrument standing in for the pole. The club manager had been furious until she went wild when playing, and the audience went wild from her going wild.

I’d given her that, and by candlelight in the living room she let me watch. Her breasts had become far too extreme for any thoughts of angels to surface; it was more like watching some sort of sex nymph in action, not so much playing a harp as stroking it, her deft fingers plucking sexual vibrations right out of the air.

As Val got lost in it, got wet with it, the music became just close enough to what Amelia had let me hear that I felt her with us, like a bit of her horny mist had entered the room. I didn’t ask for Val’s permission before coming up behind her, cupping and squeezing her burgeoning breasts in my hands as I could and driving my dick hard inside her as she played.

We made sex music together, that anyone could hear. We rocked.

And while rocking, I knew there were other songs out there waiting to be played, waiting to be sung.

Sex, hunger... Too much, no control, no going back.

Not just for Amelia. For me, too, human or not.