The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Firehose”

by Limerick

Chapter 5

Her hands felt funny. Miranda worried that rubbing the sperm into them had been a big mistake. She had figured it would just go away, but, instead, they seemed to be covered with a buttery sheen, and, what was worse, they kept trying to stray to her ass or boobs. Like the boy batter was trying to control her.

The girl’s bathroom was the only refuge she could think of. First she added another piece of cond-gum to the wad in her mouth. This one was apple. The other one hadn’t lost its flavor or anything, but gum seemed like a good idea. Then she escaped behind the heavy metal door with the reassuring female stick figure on it.

Miranda failed to notice the heavy breasts and larger ass drawn in with permanent marker.

It was immediately disappointing. It smelled like cum in there, too. Her nose felt packed with that marker of male territory, like she could pick out individual boys from their casual territory setting.

But at least the bathrooms were empty, however temporarily. Although evidence of slutty girls was still everywhere. The sinks were crammed to overflowing with cosmetics, of every kind, and the girls had drawn hearts on the mirrors with red lipstick. A few vibrators rested casually inside the bathroom stalls, for easy access. They smelled like pussies, and more than one.

Even that was getting her turned on. She slipped into a stall with a translucent glass door and, still in her clothes, turned the shower on.

Okay, lets figure this out totally logically and intelligently she told herself. First, everyone is being dumb and sexy. Like, it’s not just that their dumb, they’re also all hot. And this had to be more then a temporary outburst of sexual enthusiasm. Her dormmates were... CHANGING... into sperm-obsessed parodies of themselves.

Miranda kept trying to get the shower to cold. It seemed like it would help, that it would do... something... about the scent of boy sperm and sex and pussy still making its way slowly through the softened, thinking parts of her head. About the way she felt so wet and... bigger.. her body making lots of insistent demands about lying on her back or stomach, about filling holes with hot inches.. But the god-damned dorm showerhead wouldn’t go below a comforting warm heat.

It has to be something about the Agreement, she concluded. What bits she remembered seemed less like a contract and more like a code of female sexual slavery, prescribing a world where women woke up cock-crazed and went to bed dripping from every end. Where she would happily flounce about in differently-colored skirts and shop, shop, shop for sexy stockings, until her husband returned home with heavy, full balls that needed to be unloaded all over her face...

Ohhhh god, why can’t I get this shower cold, Miranda wondered. Her clothes were wet and heavy, but taking them off seemed like losing her last shield.

“There’s a conspiracy,” Miranda said out loud, once her vision cleared. The water tasted good. Like cantaloupe. She drank some of it. “There’s some sort of stupid conspiracy where it’s making girls all horny and stuff.”

It felt good to express her theory. So good that she rewarded herself with a tender squeeze on her boobs. Her wet clothes were in the way. Why was she wearing them in the shower? She shed them as quickly as she could.

Naked, Miranda took stock. It was hard to tell without a mirror, but she certainly felt expanded, stretched out, like she had been tossed through puberty once again. Usually when she looked down she saw a stick figure with a few girl attributes. Slightly larger hips, slightly more boobs.

But now she practically fizzled with curves, and they almost seemed to be growing in the shower, soaking in the water and... USING it. And the drizzle of the water hit her titties with a warm, wonderful heat.

Scared by it, she shut the water off. But it was too late, really. She felt curvier, a new ring of padded flesh around her hips, accentuating the long lines of her legs. She had been made cuter. Her skin had goosebumps with the water off.

“Oh, FUCK,” she swore. It was getting to her. Whatever it was.

“Don’t swear,” an amused male voice said.

Oh, fuck, she thought. “Who’s that?”

“Nelson. Hi, Miranda. Welcome back.”

“Nelson, what’re you doing in the girl’s bathroom?”

“The what?” She remembered Nelson, barely, as a wannabe journalist with long, dirty hair. The vague, translucent figure beyond the frosted glass looked a lot bigger then that. “Oh. You missed the meeting. We voted to go co-ed. I mean, the guys voted.”

She was so... vulnerable. And wet. From the water, she meant. Wet from the water, not from the chiseled guy no doubt getting hot over her naked body. “What, the girls didn’t vote? That’s disgusting.”

“They get a vote. But it’s like the Agreement says. It’s not fair to the guys with just one or two girls when the guys with three or five girls can corral all those votes together. So they get just one.”

Okay, that did make a sort of sense. What if a guy had five adoring minxes melting into his arms, waiting their turn patiently? He’d have six easy votes. But—no—this was bimbo-logic, that pink fuzz that kept eating away at her non-fucking-focused mind.

“Anyway I’m collecting clothes for charity? And we were gonna take all of yours,” his voice turned faintly accusing. “Miranda, do you know that when a girl wears all kinds of clothes, it takes them away from needy shirtless orphans in Africa?”

Miranda stepped closer to the door. Could he see her increasing tits through the glass? She could see him better, in a flannel shirt with the sleeves turned up. “We went through your underwear drawer, and you’ve got enough cotton there to clothe a continent. Can we just get rid of it?”

“You want to take my clothes?”

“Uh, yeah. Look, it’s so warm out. Technically all you need is a swimsuit. You don’t need all these blouses and pants and sneakers. When do girls go running, anyway?” Nelson said.

He did make a persuasive point. She did own, like, six pairs of boring jeans. Stretched end to end they would probably get to the moon or something. And how could a girl run with the melons on her chest bouncing back and forth? “Wait, what will I wear?”

“Huh? Oh, I don’t know. We can leave you a t-shirt if you want. If, you know, you hate orphans. Is that what you’re telling me?” Nelson said.

“No!” She loved orphans! He was... this was unfair, getting at her in the shower!

“So great. There’s no problem. Here, throw me what you have in there.”

Miranda picked up her soaked, wet clothes. Her skin recoiled at the touch. They were coarse and hardly fashionable unless she was digging mines or something. Yuck.

She opened the door before quite remembering that she was totally naked and that a guy was right outside. Nelson was a newly built stud, the oily hair trimmed to a military precision and the sleeves on his shirt turned up over well-built biceps. He eyed her casually, appreciative.

“Here!” she said, throwing the wet pile at him, and then fled back inside the shower.

Nelson chucked. “Thanks Miranda. Do you want me to come by later?”

“No!” she said. Yes, she thought.

“Suit yourself.”

* * *

She had trapped herself in the shower. Good job, Miranda, she told herself, bitter.

She was naked and horny, and everyone around her was acting like insane sex fiends. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” she told herself. She was still chewing her doubled-up condom bubble gum. It hadn’t lost any flavor, and the sweetness soothed and consoled her.

Even when her boobs got too big for her to see her feet. And now it felt like her spine was shifting to compensate. How did that even work? And where would it stop?

Finally a duo of girls entered. Miranda stayed quiet. Maybe they weren’t totally dumb sluts. Maybe there was some hope.

She risked opening the shower door. On the other side were the remnants of what were formerly Annette and Keri. Annette had been a sour ex-goth with a set of tattoos on her back and forearms. They were all gone now, or almost gone, with just a thin trace of ink left underneath brand new and shiny skin. Their clothes were barely worth mentioning. They were cheap polyester pieces designed to show things off and then get thrown away.

Keri had been an outspoken and confident young lesbian. Had been, apparently. She had cum leaking down her thighs.

Any remaining hope fled with the first inane high-pitched voice. It sounded like Keri sold hair bleach for a living. “So I’m trying to study, because, like, I haven’t studied in a week and honestly I was having trouble with what political science even meant,” the first girl said. “How is politicals a science? And then Greg comes by and says that I owe him a fuck because I was wearing that so-cute purple bandage skirt? With the ribbing?”

“Oh, I saw that,” Annette said. “Yeah you really did. You got all the boys super-hard when you wore that to the meeting.”

“Yeah, I mean, I jacked Thomas off right there, but Greg had a point. So I decide I’ll study and he can feel me up while I’m reading, but that doesn’t go to well.”

“Ah-huh.”

“It’s like, I can’t think with him touching my boobs, especially with that big dick poking into my back, so I’m like, fuck studying, lets have a ride, and luckily I’m not wearing underwear so I figure it’ll go quick.”

“Sure. Oh yeah. Gosh I guess I haven’t worn underwear in days! That’s so funny, how do you forget about underwear?!”

“And so I told Greg that I really didn’t want to get pregnant right then, and I wasn’t on the pill because I was still kind of a lesbian, so there wasn’t any point, so he probably shouldn’t dump a load in me,” Keri said.

“And did he?”

“Uh yeah, haha, he did. Oh my god. He was so into it. I was like, pull out you dummy, pull out, and he just kept fucking my brains out!”

Both girls giggled. Miranda re-closed the door. There were vague flashes of blonde on the other side of the glass.

“So then what?” Annette said.

“So then I, I don’t know, I didn’t want him to STOP. And then I started cumming myself, so it was pretty much impossible to stop from getting all filled up with boy stuff, plus I just kept squeezing and squeezing him.”

“Oh no! You are the worst lesbian ever.”

“Yeah. Yep. Oh yeah. And here’s the total kicker. When I finally woke up he had brought Christopher over! You know Christopher right? He’s in the dorm next door? Asian guy?”

“Ummm. I think I might’ve given him a blowjob this morning.”

“Seriously? Haha, you slut. Anyway, you’d remember, because he’s got a dick like a firehose.”

“Yep.” Annette said.

“Haha, that’s hilarious. Anyway, he’s got this monster dick and just swings it out, and it smells so good I had to have a taste. And I figure I can’t get any more knocked up then I already am, so I just keep my legs open. So he squirts it all in me too! Twice in like thirty minutes. I am just chock full of baby batter, it’s still leaking down my legs. So yeah. Gonna swell up like a house I guess. That’s what happens when you can’t keep dicks out of you.”

“What about your internship?”

“Ehhhh. Fuck it. Yawn. I can’t remember going to class. Class is so fuckin’ boring. I’m already so excited about seeing if a tan or a white or a black baby is gonna come out of me. We should bet on it!”

“Black?”

“Oh sure. Yesterday? Oh, you weren’t here!” Keri said. “I was like, I’m a lesbo! And he was like, lets see!”

More giggling.

“Oh, that is so awesome. I’ve been kind of thinking about it myself. I mean, I’m still taking my pills, but Jacob has got this prong and it’s such a shame that it goes to waste.”

“We can be baby buddies!”

“Oh, that would be awesome!”

Miranda couldn’t take it anymore. “Girls? Hello?” she called out.

“Oh, is that Miranda? Hi! Welcome back! Oh my gosh we missed you so much!”

“Yeah. Great. Look, I’m... I’m naked.”

Miranda re-opened the shower door and looked at the girls. Their eyes were wide set and stupid. Annette sucked on a finger.

“Can I get some clothes? And Keri, aren’t you a lesbian?”

Keri considered this calmly. “I don’t see why that means I can’t fuck a bunch of dudes,” she concluded. “I can still fuck girls. It’s just that they don’t have dicks. You can totally see the problem.”

“Aw, do you need clothes?” Annette said. “I think we can help. What size are you?”

Miranda checked the mirror. “I have no idea,” she said, despairing.

She had been softened. The hard lines she had treasured, the athletic build, all that had apparently been washed down in the shower. Now she rippled and bubbled in a new, thicker body, stacked and packed with ripe new lines. Wide hips that would rip apart her old clothes, mammaries that looked ready to spray milk.

“Dress up time!” Annette squealed.

* * *

“Everything is.. it’s got cum all over it,” Miranda said. She stared at the proffered clothes. There was so little fabric she could wad them up in her hand. Someone had. And busted their nut all over them; they were spotted with obvious spurts of dried spooge. They smelled like walnuts.

She had to be very careful with these girls. Very careful. They kept trying to rub on her or slip a hand somewhere newly sensitive. Heck, they kept rubbing on each other, a hand slipping between thighs, or stroking a permanently-erect nipple. And she was pretty juicy herself.

“...Yes?” Keri said, patiently.

“I... okay, fine.” Miranda kept looking at the door. What if a guy came in, and saw her naked and wet and ready to go? Her pussy was so pink. He’d probably fuck her so hard she’d go blonde. That would be awesome. Awful. It’d be awful.

They both looked so far gone that it would take both of them to add and subtract. But she had to try. Maybe there was still some Annette or Keri lurking underneath that bimbo-body exterior.

“Girls, we can still get out of here,” she tried. “I don’t think the whole world is messed up. We can leave and... Keri... what’re you doing?”

Keri was approaching her with an electric razor and a calculating look. “Oh, I don’t want you wearing my underwear if you’ve got pubic hair still,” she explained. “That’s not hygienic.”

Oh. That was fair. Miranda looked past her fattening mammaries to the heavy triangle between her thighs. It was a lot tangled and messy. “Alright, fine,” she conceded, and sat on the sink counter, between two sets of lipstick, powder, and blushes.

“Spread your legs, Miranda,” Keri commanded.

Sure. “I mean, I bet you’ve just been drugged up with something, or maybe there are some sub, um, liminals in the air, and it’s making everyone excessively horny,” she said. Annette handed her a shiny white tanktop with a pink set of lips printed over the boobs. She put it on, still wet, and it instantly clung to her chest.

Keri smiled and nodded, and knelt between her thighs. The hum of the electric razor made Miranda a little nervous, but it did feel really good to have that first swipe take out way too much dark black pubic hair. God, why did she have so much? Was she trying to accomplish something with such a thick bush? It was gross!

“We can, I don’t know, we can.. Annette, what’re you doing?”

“Fixing your makeup, silly,” the ex-goth said. She still held mascara brushes with a steady hand, and approached Miranda with quiet confidence.

“Oh. We’ll.. Keri, please be... please be careful.. anyway we can become waitresses somewhere far away, and we’ll only let boys fuck us if they’re progressive and gentle and have... umm.... big heavy dicks...”

Keri was taking liberties. She had shaved away almost all of Miranda’s thatch in a few strokes, and now she was just letting it buzz over the red nub of her clit. It felt divine. Miranda let her head fall back, resting it on the mirror. She felt a tug on her lips, and realized that Annette was anointing her with some kind of lipstick. Letting her eyes open, it appeared to be wine red. So long as it isn’t... pink... she thought.

Miranda’s legs kept stretching wider. And now Annette was rubbing at her titties with one free hand.

She felt foggy, her brain snowed in by juice and heat and wet pleasure. Like the part of her that enjoyed puzzles and verbal wordplay was snugly locked into a little cabin, where it could play jenga alone and not disturb her while Keri gently worked a finger on the outside of her snatch. Locked in with clinical, boring words like “vagina” and “contraception” that just didn’t seem to apply.

“Noooooo...” she moaned, upset for some reason. She wasn’t some... juiced-up whore with an endless hankering for boy-cum. She was an activist. She was active. She was whimpering as Keri explored with a finger up her slit. Maybe she WAS a lesbian. At least, she knew how to use her fingers on a girl.

I can’t give in to this, Miranda thought. Her thoughts had to pierce a pink and red film that closed down stray thoughts. Every pulse of pleasure was getting her bigger and wetter. Getting fingered wasn’t supposed to feel this good, to make her feel like cumming would burn her out like a filament in an old bulb.

“Just relax, Miranda,” Annette whispered. “It is the role of a girl to be a font for the sacred. To accept his offerings with grace and giggles, to be a pool for the man’s holy fountains of jism. To accept seed, to know the pleasure of it, to let it grow within you.”

Miranda’s eyes flew open. That was... almost memorized. And it cut through the heavy sheets of pink gauze that left her so helpless. She batted Kari’s hand away, grabbed the cum-spattered jean skirt they had offered, and pulled it on. She was CLOTHED now, even if it was in over-exposed clothes with sperm still staining it.

“I’m going to help you girls,” she declared. “I’m gonna... find out... what... umm.. is going...”

She looked down. Her previously cum-flecked hands were exploring underneath her jean skirt, poking at her already overheated slit. She felt an orgasm rushing on, and couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Miranda shrieked so loudly that even the dorm residents of 46B, used to orgasmic screaming, looked up. Then she crumpled, her legs too weak to hold her. Luckily, she landed on her own more-pillowy tits.

The two girls looked at her.

“I’m still a lesbian, right, Annette?” Kari said, finally.

Annette hopped onto the counter. “Sure you are. Go ahead and kneel, then.”

Kari kneeled, and tried not to let the sperm trickle out of her snatch.