The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Family Farm

The rooster was crowing right outside my window. He’s probably on the bedroom balcony and he succeeded in waking me up, but that’s fine. I should be up now, anyway. I get out from under my covers, swing my legs out of my bed and sit staring at my naked body in the mirror on the wall. I look really, really good. Starting at my feet, I run my hands up, my toned white calves and over my plump creamy thighs to my bald, tight honey-pot. I massage my legs, spread them and stretch them. They look good enough to eat. From there rub my yummy breasts, and shake my short blonde hair out of my eyes. The rooster crows again, and I smile.

Then, with slow, luxurious movements I stand up. Still watching my naked form in the wall mirror, I can see how I bend my legs at the knee into tense crooked lines, my toes clawing into the plush carpeting. I grin as I see my ass push back and my breasts stick out as I arch my back.

Then, with the grace of the dancer I once was before I had my children years ago, I bend my awkward arms into two perfect wings.

“BWARK!” I cluck loudly, and begin my day curiously pecking around my room for a crumb or grub. Funny, it took a visit to that hypnotist show last night for me to realize the truth-that I wasn’t some public relations specialist, nor was I a 44-year-old wife and mother. I am clearly a big, stupid, chicken. A hen.

“Bwark!” I cluck again, bobbing my head, taking in the weird surrounding of this chicken coop. I try to dig up some bugs from the ground by scratching my toes across the carpeting and bend over at the waist to investigate. Damn, nothing. Cluck.

Cluck, cluck. I am glad to have realized what I am. I think about how much school, I went through and how hard I worked. I wish I learned sooner that how fowl I truly am, cluck. I used to negotiate with media outlets, and wear pant suits. Now I am naked, and care little of what anyone thinks of me.

“CAW!” I look up and see the rooster come in naked from the balcony, looking proud that he succeeded in waking up everyone near by. His cock cock is sticking up in the air letting me know that he needs me to mate him. His head bends to the side as he considers me with interest. My head also bends as I considered him. His cock makes my pussy tingle. He thrust his chest out and struts over to me with a masculine swagger-a cock walk, if you will. I fluttered my wings as a spun around and bend over, allowing him to push into me.

“Bwark!” I scream.

“Bwa-Bwark!” he cackles back. Mating is fun, messy business between us chickens. In fact, I can hear my chicks getting it on out in the hall. I have two chicks: one rooster and a hen. Both are also big, stupid chickens. Like me.

Yesterday, I had a daughter and I had criticized her outfit as “too revealing.” Now that daughter is a chicken. One I hatched, but still I chicken. I don’t mind what she does. Chickens don’t have much room for feelings.

Once my eggs were given fertilizer, my rooster and I clucked and pecked around the room for a while until we found ourselves in the hallway. My chicks were out there. I had forgotten, since I have a useless birdbrain.

“Cluck?” my young rooster said quizzically. He is naked, as we all are. Chickens don’t wear clothes. I find the sight of him perplexing for some reason. I have known him since he was hatched, but I can’t recall seeing him like this. His form intrigues me.

My little hen is playfully flapping her wings around, having found what I used to call a scrunchie, but now thinks is a worm. She has it in her beak. Her chicken breasts shake with victory and pleasure as she tries to inhale it. I want that worm!

So does my rooster, who, wings beating charges into her small form and begins pushing into her. Lil’ hen is having none of it and pushes her naked body back into rooster. Eventually, they are both tugging on either side of the worm.

“BWARK!” I cry out. The other rooster is mating me! His cocky cock has entered me from behind! My head, considers the entire room for long moments until I truly recognize what it happening. I am so very stupid. So unlike the human I was yesterday. I turn my head and my beatie blank bird eyes meet his.

For a moment I am lucid. I am Chris’s mother! My loving teenage son is trying to fuck me and I am going to let him. He doesn’t know any better. What did that monster do to us? He made us into giant, sex crazy, chickens! I’m going to kill him! I’m gonna, cluck. Cluck? Cluck, cluck, cluck!

I am happy because a rooster is mating me. He seems to be good stock. I am good stock, with my sexy body, and empty head.

Rooster and lil’ hen have abandoned the worm. She is now bent at the hip, her wings squeezing her breasts together in a rigid position as the rooster starts mating her too. This all makes sense. We need to make more chickens. It’s the chicken way.

I am a chicken.

The upstairs hallway is filled with clucks and squawks and other bird sounds as the roosters emotionlessly drench our eggs.

Suddenly the coop’s door opens downstairs and I watch the farmer walk up the stairs. He is in a black human suit, with a devilish looking human beard and a red human cape. He is smiling at us chickens with amusement.

He may have food! We all think that the farmer may have some tasty chicken feed so we stop our chicken activities and mindlessly begin to cluck around him. And then he answers our banal wishes and throws some breadcrumbs on the hardwood floor.

“BWARK!” I call with great excitement once again I bend at my waist and lower my head down to the floor to eat my breakfast.

After a few minutes, the farmer walks up to me. Funny, I am a chicken, but we are almost the same height. Oh well. I will never figure it out. I’m too dumb. For some reason he begins to stare at my body. Is he considering me for dinner?

His hands run all over my body. I let him squeeze my big, sexy breasts. He stares into my eyes and smiles when I fail to show him any sort of intelligence. I let him taste the inside of my beak. I seem to recall a time when I would be upset with this kind of treatment. A time when I would have run, or fought if some strange man tried to touch my naked body. But I am a chicken, and it seems a pretty normal part of life to allow a human to do what he pleases.

Eventually, he seems satisfied with me. He walks over to my big rooster and grabs his cock in his hand. He waggles it at me. Wait? Hold on. Is that a cock? Or is that a big, yummy worm? It can be a worm. But it’s attached to that rooster’s waist. I like worms. I should check it out.

Cluck, cluck, cluck, and I chicken-walk over to the rooster and put the worm in my mouth. I don’t snap at it, but I do try to suck on it. That’s how I like to eat worms. The rooster seems happy.

My eyes still continue to zip back and forth, and I notice the farmer is investigating the smaller hen. I know chickens aren’t meant to have philosophical conflicts, but I suddenly do. “What is that son of a bitch doing to my baby girl?” I think as I continue to gobble this yummy, yummy worm.

“SQUAWK!” I caw. Enough is enough! I need to protect my hen-daughter!

I charge over to him, wings fluttering, my French-tipped, pedicured claws attempting to scratch the farmer.

The man I once knew as “Doctor Mind” snapped his fingers and my movements instantly stopped. I was starting to come out of it again. My humanity was returning! Looking around with a clear head for the first time since last night, I saw my family rousing from their trance as well! Now if only once of us could push this asshole down the stairs.

My darling husband screamed, “get off my daughter you sick fuck!”

Doctor Mind responded with a silly phrase, “Martins go moo, moo, moo” and he snapped again.

Suddenly my balance was off. Standing on two legs? This feels so weird!

Still naked, we all fall to our hands and knees.

“MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” I hear the other heifer call out. Stupid cow. Yum, look at these two bulls! I wonder if they’re out to stud?

I know I am a stupid cow, too. My brain feels so full of cotton and cream. “Moooooooo” I sigh, expressing my horniness.

I hear the words, “Perhaps you need to be milked, Bessie?” Maybe once that would have made sense to me, but now I only understand the words, “Milk Bessie.”

The call dumb female cows Bessie. I’m Bessie!

“MOOO!” my udders hurt. I hope that human will viciously tug on my big swollen nipples and get all my yummy milk out! I feel so docile. I just want to eat, fuck and get milked.

The young stud mounts me, pushing his bull cock in to my hungry pussy as the older, bigger bull plows into the other dumb cow. For a moment I am proud and appalled at the same time.

My revulsion flashes me back to last night. What started out as a family-friendly hypnotist show at a local comedy club-we all had volunteered, and ended up dancing around like Lady Gaga and Justin Beiber-had turned sick. After the show, we were compelled to meet Mind in his bus out back. He took us, an upper middle class urban family and convinced us that we were backwoods, backwards, incestual hillbillies! He played a recording of Dueling Banjos, and the more I heard it, the more I wanted tochew tobacco, to make passionate love with my children, and to drink moonshine-in that order! I remember wanting to show my husband how much I loved my son as I sucked on both their cocks.

“Golly, momma, kin’ I put my log in yer shitter?” I remember my darling son asking me in a new, heavily southern affect. And for the life of me, I couldn’t remember anyone asking me something as sweet as my son asking to give his “darlin’ momma” an anal fuck, nor can I remember wanting anything more than giving him that honor.

I remember having the first anal sex of my life while holding my daughter’s hand, proudly watching “her pa’” give it to her.

“Honey chile’,” I drunkenly cooed to my son as we shared a bottle of whisky, our naked bodies entwined on the bus’s floor, “I done luv you, so much. Gonna make ya’ my second husband, an weze can sleep, an fuck, and ya can put babies in my tummy til’ I can’t pop chilluns out no more!” I actually said that to my baby boy! I actually meant it! And he wanted to! Wanted to live as a redneck motherfucker!

I joyfully remember my husband, wanking off as he instructed our daughter on how to suck off that hyp-mo-teest. I didn’t hesitate to lick his cum off her back. In fact, it was the motherly thing to do.

I remember holding my daughter in my arms, both of us drunk beyond belief, me casually masturbating my girl, as Dr Mind reminded us how much we love living on the farm. How we want to leave our good jobs and secure lives and move to the Appalachian. I remember him encouraging us to share our views on hillbilly lifestyles. My son-husband graphically described the enjoyment he would have “watchin’ dem dumb bitches (me and his sister)” debase ourselves by fucking the family pig.” That aroused me so much and I knew there was nothing I’d deny him.

Doctor Mind, naked from the waist down, stroked his cock and shuddered with an idea. That’s when he convinced everyone that my son that he was a donkey, and convinced us all that my husband he was a big, surly boar. He didn’t need to convince my daughter or me of anything. Beastiality was clearly part of the hillbilly package. From there, we were programmed to be chickens and cows, and programmed to return to our hillbilly minds in a day’s time. Part of me can’t wait. Chris Bob Martin promised me a honeymoon at a Shoney’s. I am going to lurve him like none other woman can. I am gonna be a fat, beer swillin, baby machine. Iz gonna put film up on ther intersnet of me fuckin my family and use da money on gittin me bigger juggs. But right now, I am a cow.

The young bull grinds his penis into me slowly, and it feels good. It brings me back to reality. Reality where I am a cow. Not a professional woman. I chew cud. I don’t care about my children going to college. I get fucked by whatever bull wants to put his shaft up my cow cunt. I don’t have a husband. I imagine that it will feel nice to have a calf come spilling out of me. I hope his cow cum does its duty.

“Moo?” oh that feels nice, the farmer is twisting my nipple, and pulling my udders. He is milking me. I’m a happy cow.