The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Little Escape Times

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(April just might be the slowest and sluttiest runaway in God’s America.)

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“Why is this place even called Cherub Cove when there’s no actual cove, anyways?” April almost whined her question, wincing immediately. She knew there hadn’t been any real need to pluralize that last word. Up until the month before, she was a copy editor for a small and struggling alt-weekly.

Then she got married, moved to cow country to live rent-free with her husband’s sister, and seemed to never have time to read at all, not even picking up an old New Yorker to re-read an article or two. No TV or internet, either. What little pop culture and literature she could hold onto was limited to coupon cutting, hymnals and town gossip.

“Do you know why it is? I swear! Gosh, well, I for one fuckin’ don’t. Like, do not. I swear. It doesn’t make a lick of sense. Not one lick! We’re, like, hundreds of miles from any real body of water-type... thingies, ’cept, for... y’know, like, Thick Gravy Gulch or Hot Prickle’s Pond.“

“Welp,” she tumbled on, a paragraph away from babbling, “I guess, like, I s’pose they’s—” She fake-coughed, blushing into a deeper, sweatier beet red. It mingled gaudily alongside her hour-old sunburn, awkward. “Sorry—there’s also St. Peter’s Natural Kiddie Pools, I know, and the Ol’ Babblin’ Baby-Makin’ Brook... but cove? Nuh-uh!!“

“It jus’ don’t—” Fuck it... It was time to grab the water bottle from her bag, not time to keep talking with her parched-ass mouth. If she heard someone else talking like she had been—like some ditzy motormouth—she would punch that bitch square in the face...

...and then, if that stupid slut had any more fight left in her, I’d wrassle with the dumb-dumb. Even better if it was outside like right now, cuz we might could strip down an’ get so filthy an’ muddy an’ sweaty, an’ really hot, like—really, really hot. Like finger-each-other style hot, an’ maybe we could take turns giving each other, like, fuckin’, uhhhh, mani-pedis or whatever, an’ nuzzle an’ suck’ on some big cocks an’ be big hawt stupid dumb-girls an’, like, jus’ let rivers of hot sticky cum drip down our sticky sweaty fluffy thighs an’ for real, like, eat that hot motherfuckin’ cum outta each ’nother’s hot pink swollen stupid snatchy-watchies cuz that’s the way good cowgirls—

Nope. Her subconscious shut down the worrisome but super-hot rambling fuck-thought, tamping it down, saving it for later. The ying-yang trifle popped and evaporated just as soon as it came.

April the heather-toned brunette groaned at the lazy, sun-stricken way she was murdering whole words, chalked it up to the humidity and the unnecessarily early super-long hike, then winced again as she tried to adjust a faded flannel button-down.

The one that kept shrinking in the wash lately, ever since moving to the middle of country-cooked nowhere. So much sweat. She started to wonder if it wasn’t the bra underneath that was making it all unbearable, but even so, whatever it was, it was pinching and tugging hard at her breasts.

Maggie, big and beautiful and proudly blonde, ran her sweaty ringlets away from her face and gave her brother’s lightly bloated little wife a cockeyed look of pity and just sort of huffed out a laugh, watching her struggle with her too-tight blouse.

“Well, sweetness, the cove ain’t actual a cove a’tall. Iss really more, uhhhh... one-uh-them fuckin’, uh, ‘states of bein’’ or whatnot—yeh, an eternal spiritual hangout for all of God’s sexy angels. It’s also short for ‘covenant.’ It’s an... acrobat, too, or whatever them words is what make a smaller word when you only use the first letters of ’em, or... Good garsh, lookit me tryna ack all like I’m li’l miss science-girl!“

Under better circumstances, April might have known the word Maggie was looking for, might have thought her travel guide totally stupid, even. It was clearly too hot and super-sunny for April to do anything but let her jaw hang loose, let her sister-in-law’s words pingpong between her ears and fizzle right into Martian, simmering all along that endless summer-time skillet that used to be a skull.

Maggie noticed and grinned huge, showing off gums and two front buck-teeth. Why didn’t she just take the fucking that raggedy old shirt off? It was just the two of them out there in the valley, after all. Just two happy hot girls, getting nakey and being fun and hot. What harm could come from that, out in the valley, out in St. Brittany’s Real American church country?

Besides, April didn’t seem to mind when Maggie went topless, either. It was like it hadn’t even registered with her that her hubby’s sister was now only in teensy glittery gold boyshorts and hot-pink tennies. And big dumb electric orange bangles for her cute little wrists, and big dumb platinum hoops for her cute little ears, of course.

Then again, poor April had also been constantly occupied with the snug chafing snag of her own itty-bitty shorts: khaki cargo shorts that cut into her sides and made her burn and itch. Working in cutesy tandem with the outgrown plaid up top, they forced her softened but still-toned belly to push and puff out above the waistband into a creamy, flawless sphere of fleshy-pudding.

They also gave her this nagging, bratty little camel toe, to boot. Every other minute, she whinnied and mewed, made to pause to unkink the sopping, outrageously tight cargo shorts from her sopping, outrageously wet crotch. Soaked and slushy from the heat, yes, not to mention the friction of recently thickened legs.

Not even three weeks before, she had a thigh gap a runway model could be proud of. She was naturally quite gaunt—that is, she used to be. But since she and Brendan moved to Cherub Cove and unpacked and rearranged their lives and lifestyles, a sudden lack of motivation or time (or a myriad of other excuses) to exercise had cropped up, and clueless, unrelenting sloth took its place.

April kept kidding herself about the exceeding strangeness and unchecked rapid growth, rarely realizing, or at least refusing to come to terms with, the fantastical truth that her hip bones had expanded right along with her impossible weight gain. It was a very nice thing Brendan was still attracted to her at all, let alone seemingly more captivated and into her than ever.

Her man was apparently blind to things like the dimpling on the backs of her thighs and the blurring of her cheekbones. They only started to fuck more and more. That was the only word for it, really, because they certainly hadn’t “made love” since Philadelphia.

His ignorance felt like pure horse apples and drove her crazy at first. How he didn’t once compliment or even question her boobs. How he rubbed without comment at bonus inches of padding on the cartoonish cuts of meat that were now her buttocks, like she was always this budding little thick country slut. Like she’d even had a butt at all before farmtown living.

Maybe it was because they were rutting and banging anywhere between six and eight hours a day, and he was seeing his wife transform, little by little, to BIG. Little tennis ball boobies swooshing into big teardrop-shaped knockers, and a flat little rear shimmying into a big fat shelf-donk.

April was sure that in a month’s time, she’d be housed in a centaur bod, a walking piece of femme furniture with a superbooty, but she’d probably still be pulled down to the earth by her jugs. Who knew how big she’d get, or why? She didn’t want to think about it. Even if most chicks in town were hot and thick and mega-stacked, and it all seemed so deliciously inevitable.

She’d quickly learned to use her hubby’s oversight toward her advantage, namely, putting it out of her head so completely that she could also deny anything was happening. It was much easier to disbelieve than feel any fear.

So when she had tried on the flannel shirt and cargo shorts for him the night before, all Brendan could say was, “Didn’t you wear that our first night in town?” Not “Don’t you think that stuff is ten or twelve sizes too small?” It was refreshing to experience the absence, if a little psychotic, whenever she spent a second or two to think about it.

Today, it looked like the poor girl was wearing her outfit in a kind of defiance of... something, as if it was some battered stuffed animal from twenty years ago. A little but unmistakable rip along the shoulder stood in for the hypothetical teddy bear’s missing eye.

Ditto the fabric gash on the opposite underarm, the undone button on the shorts, and the exposed tiny pools of fat flushing out of the tear where the waistband had once been dutifully threaded onto her shorts. It was threatening to turn into a belt holding nothing together.

The new bubbly ass she grew nibbled on the back pockets with every step. Every bit of clothing she had on flooded her with frustration and broiling in body heat. “Uh hey, Maggie?” she simpered. “Do you think I could unbutton my shirt a little more, maybe? I didn’t realize it would take over two hours to get to the highway and hitchhike. Our little escape time is makin’ me so dang hot!“

Five more minutes down the empty dirt road winding along endlessly steep and deep green hills, and April was completely topless. “Will you finally admit you ain’t no B cup no more?” Maggie rasped, giggling. “It ain’t like you gotta worry none, anyhow. A double D is still on the small side of St. Brittany’s bra law, y’know.”

That was, like... three goddamn cup sizes in under twenty days? What in the name of AmeriChristian pride was going on? “Small!?!! Oh, fuck off, Mags!” she whined, officially now. Like a ten year old. It was beyond embarrassing, especially since Maggie was only twenty-four, just barely two years older than her and Brendan.

She punched her sister-in-law on the tit playfully. Then Maggie punched her back. Soon, they were a giggly, tit-wubbly pair, before Maggie’s phone started to buzz and April immediately did a split with her healthy new thick-girl gams and started to grind her crotch onto the sodden path, compulsively.

Something about the buzzing sound demanded she do it, something weird and sexy about all the different tones to it. She kept riding the earth, not even kind of hearing what her guide was saying, and scarcely curious, even, as to who she might have been talking to. She appeared to be much more interested in getting grass stains on her ass.

Thirty seconds went by like that, and felt like thirty years to April. Maggie said goodbye and pulled her own shorts to the side and stuck the fuschia, cock-and-balls-shaped phone safely within the confines of her vadge, pressing a button on the nub underneath the thing’s vinyl ballsack, and this made its tough shaft pulse and vibrate.

“Heyyyy, soooooo” she gently sang, moaning. “So. Okay. Sliiiight, ummm... like, super-slight change of plans, bubbledoll. Looks like two, three, mmmaaaaaybe four boy-cops are on their way. Uhhh. To... ummm-uhhh.... to help us gals out. An’ shit. ‘Parently, it’s against the law for gals like us to go on little daycations an’ stuff without the company of male shap-ponies or something.“

“Chaperones?” chirped April, suddenly lucid for a few seconds. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense. All we want to do is go a couple towns over. Is that such a crime? This a free country. I mean, Brendan has work, otherwise he said he’d drive—” Maggie’s face scrunched up in an irritated thundercloud.

“Sweetness, exactly! Now jus’ settle your shit down, y’hear? I swear I, like, totes didn’t know about this here law, honey-drip. But it’s the law. Real America ain’t no free country, not for girls it ain’t. St. Brittany’s church is in direct... accordions with Man Plan. It’s fiiiiine, for serious. They just want us both to either suck or fuck all of ’em and if we do it real sexy-like, they’ll think about not taking us straight to jail. Should be fine, sounds easy-penisy.“

April remained dry-humping her impossible exit out of church country. She considered the enormity of the request while gyrating. Okay. She’d just stripped half nude in front of her husband’s sister like it was nothing. And now she was about to tagteam a bunch of police officers?

She’d never cheated on anyone before with any of her relationships, and had felt especially faithful to her fucking husband. Now she was expected by his own sister to do just that, about a dozen times over!

All she’d wanted was to go to a nearby town and find a bookstore. The movers had lost her entire library somehow, and it sucked. She was feeling dumber already, and it was terrifying. But maybe, she reasoned desperately, she should try to escape, for real. Something very bad was going on, she just knew it.

Even if she was much too horny to concentrate and find out exactly what it was. Maggie grabbed hold of her hand as her phone started to vibrate again. April could feel the thick veiny boner-phone throb inside of her like it was actually there. Electronic, ephemeral semen flooded the both of them, rocked them to orgasm. April blacked out and forgot a whole bunch of shit.

It took her a few seconds to find some real words to string together into ideas. It hurt to do it. Conceding felt easy, because it meant she wouldn’t have to talk for a while. Plus, she was still so horny. The word “whatever” floated through her veins and ricocheted around her soul. She convinced herself it made sense. Of course Maggie of all people could keep this all a secret and not tell Brendan.

It just made sense. Everything made perfect sense. She just had to make a bunch of dicks cum. Cum made so much sense.

The phantom phone buzzed again. “Fiiiine, Maggie-wags, then, help a bitch out? Peel these ding-dong shorts offa me, will ya!”

SIXTEEN MINUTES LATER

“...........up! Yoohoooooo!! Waaaake uhhhhhhp! Like, omigosh, hooker—you startin’ to worry me, Ape-girl. Can you fuckin’ hear me??” The half-conscious, full-curvy girl came to, slowly, wiping a crispy sludge of drool off the side of her face. Some of it had gotten onto her left eye, apparently. She nodded, barely able to open it.

“I know it sounds like something out of a bad dream,” Big Maggie said, “but you almost drowned. In cum. Duuuude... You almost drowned in cum! Isn’t that funny?! That’s cum, sweet-slut.“

April bolted upright, but the unfamiliar weight of her new country chest sent her right back down to the earth. She tried to scream, “Stop saying ‘cum!’” but it came out as a husky, pained moo. Then she mooed some other shit out about whatever.