The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“—and that’s the fuckin’ end of it, Marisa! Haven’t I made myself clear? I’m not that kind of guy! I mean, sure, I may work in some capacity for these freaks, but I really do not go in for that filth! I’m not going to sit the fuck by and let this shitty town keep on making fat, idiotic BIMBOS out of my girls! NO more visits from the Bronkos before we leave this redneck zoo town! NONE!”

Adam slammed the door to his office shut after barreling in, not noticing that all the lights were still on, well after quitting time. Nobody was here when he’d come here last night. He went on with his dumb explosion. “No! No way! I don’t care about your big tits or my big dick, it’s just not worth it if we’ll all be braindead livestock by Christmas! Of course it’s fun, but… honey, don’t you get it?”

“…What?! An OPEN MARRIAGE!? Are you fucking KIDDING me with that shit! …what, I shouldn’t want to hold down our vows? I mean — what the FUCK, Marisa? What is the plan here? Do you have anything better — besides MASTURBATING twenty times a day and eating me out of house and home with all those cases of beauty creams?”

He heard an arhythmic knocking sound a few cubicles over, once he set his messenger bag down and threw his keys into his FamTek coffee mug and got goosebumps. “Yes,” he said to his wife in a much more hushed register, embarrassed that he was probably airing a hot mess of dirty laundry to some coworker.

“Yep, that’s fine. Just underwear shopping, though. Okay? You promise? …Yeah. Yep, that’s fine, honey. Just one case though, and you guys better make it last… No-no, I’m not mad at you. I am serious! I’m just really freakin’ frustrated with it all, y’know? Yup! For the millionth time, I do think your butt looks big, and I do love it! I just don’t know whether or not Benji leaving a ‘Twister mat for the Twisses’ on our back porch was what made it ‘extra big.’”

Lydia, a graphic design hire for the new Our Family Way web redesign and rollout who started the same day as he had, materialized at the side of his desk. She drummed her nails along the vinyl edge on his cubicle wall. She looked annoyed. She usually worked from home. What was she doing here? Adam tried to wrap the convo up quickly.

One cold comfort in the midst of Marisa’s bimboization was that she was often able to instantly forget any sad feelings or arguments, if he just sweet talked to her a little. “…So yeah, let her get two bras, if Wanna is so fucking sure that Betsy’s gonna start plateauing a bit now. Lord knows she’ll need some new ones by the end of next month. …I know, I can’t believe it either.”

“I love you, too, Marisa. …No. No, that’s fine, I’ll just pick something up. Sure I’m sure! Uhh — oh I dunno, probably by 9 or 10? Sure. Okay, honey. I will. Yup. Bye.” Lydia looked down at him as he slammed the phone down and sighed forcefully. She was smirking something mean. Since when was she a redhead?

It had been a couple weeks since he’d seen her around the place, but he remembered her with boyish, mousy brown hair, buzzed up the back, and close cropped 50’s bangs. The glasses with ironic chunky frames were still there, but they looked devoid of any intended chic, and seemed rather silly now — her face had evidently filled out a bit, smudging over a pair of tautly chiseled cheekbones.

Did she always have such pronounced dimples? You too, eh, Lydia? Adam wanted to say. “H…hey,” he coughed instead. She was cute. He hated it. He hoped beyond hope that she couldn’t smell his stiffening dick.

“It’s Lydia, right?” He hadn’t gotten a shower in all day, and it was well understood that cock musk was catnip for any grown woman who’d been in the area for more than a week. His face turned nearly as red as her impossibly big, flowing curls. “Burnin’ the midnight oil, huh?”

She just sniffed and glared at him, throwing down a stack of magenta copy sheets. He flipped through them absently as she hovered. “Just a bunch of raw data on each page,” Adam said. “So?” he crabbed, suddenly losing patience. Getting a boner in Doctrine did that to him.

Lydia crimped her nose and rubbed her eyes from underneath her hipster spectacles. “Um? Haaardly,” she groused. Yup. The vocal fry, the up-tick, the thick curly head of practically pink hair… the chubby cheeks, the beauty mark right above her upper lip. Definitely infected. “This shit’s, like, important shtuff, kay?” she slurped.

Arriving in Doctrine single and not necessarily itching to mingle, she’d quickly become something of an aggrieved office celebrity. Notorious for showing up from the city unmarried, she was also one of one of only three women in the Adam’s department, and the only one who had finished or even gone to college, let alone grad school.

“I, like, need you to take me for seriously. Look again at the, um, cover… thingy.” Her voice used to be deep. It was the topic of more than a few insipid office jokes. But she wouldn’t even qualify for “husky” now.

“Okay, I definitely know the word for it, but, I just… forgetted the word. …For it. ’kay?” Sure, it’d only had a faint lilt of redneck in it, but she had come on the scene with a clinical, mid-Atlantic NPR kind of tone. This was raw cartoon bubblegum. Adam almost missed her old voice, but was exhausted and giving in to its hot as fuck new timbre.

He snickered at her, snorting hard when he saw her flare her nostrils and sniff, luxuriating, and unashamed. He “adjusted” his hardon to spritz some more pheromones her way, and maybe make a more direct imperative that he didn’t entirely think through.

“It’s a cover letter, Lydia. Cover. It goes on top, that’s why it’s a cover. And there’s… letters on it.” I’d better not let her know I’m feeling kinda foggy right now too!

“Jeez, I didn’t think you were quite as moronic as all the other females around here, but you’re really a big bubble-brain now, aren’t you?” Well. That certainly wasn’t meant to sound so mean-spirited…

“Um,” Lydia said, blushing. “Like,” she clarified. The moment crystalized as they stared down one another, both unsure, blood heating up. Lydia cleared her throat and fanned herself, able to momentarily kick out any bit of country it acquired.

“I’ve been having a monstrously difficult time, Adam, dealing with all the mutat — well, let’s just say, adjustments, to living in this town… as you can probably tell. So I must preface what I’m about to disclose to you, by requesting that you get somewhat of a hold on your habit of mansplaining. I never thought you were as bad as everybody else in Recruitment and Development.”

“See? I can generalize just like you, y’know.” Adam blushed now, too. “And — Adam, honestly? I’m a woman. Referring to me a ‘female’ makes you sound dumber than any women in town are.” Her voice was nearly back to normal now.

Lydia looked absolutely exhausted. A touch thicker, sure, so maybe even younger too (what with those couple new coats of baby fat), but visibly taxed, frazzled. Becoming a country bimbo must be psychological torture, he considered.

It was honestly the first time Adam really thought much about it. He was kicking himself for not taking his wife and daughter’s emotional states more seriously. Maybe if he was more invested earlier on, they wouldn’t have gotten so sick of him.

Family Way Flu obviously ran way much deeper with women, and meant a lot more than just exploding hormones, bigger bodies and smaller brains. A lot more. He himself had been fucking more than he’d been thinking, but not his precious girls.

They’d been struggling with their new identities, their new roles, their new bodies. He’d just been getting jealous and over-protective. He felt profoundly ashamed.

“But calling you a bubble-brain is okay?” he chuckled anyway, despite his little epiphany. He couldn’t resist capitalizing on an in, for that extra little jab. Lydia chose to ignore him, but after a second, drank in his over-full pants tent with her eyes. “Just a joke,” he said, and put his arm around her waist.

She didn’t tell him “no” with words or her body, and in fact, sunk into his touch. Not because he was a man, but because a man hadn’t touched her since breakfast in bed. Some dude’s bed. She couldn’t remember if it was her on-again-off-again Huck. It could have just as well been that brawny ginger gas station attendant with the velvet tongue.

“Just a joke,” Adam repeated, in a more hushed, calming tone.

“Sometime—times,” she stalwartly went on, “it feels as though the town of Doctrine, Pennsylvania’s working double time to convert me into another witless, supplicant cowbelle. The salary’s too good for me to refuse, though, and I know you must feel similarly torn. Duh. Of course you do, because you still think you and your family can excape!”

Adam stopped himself from chiming in and let her talk. He was way too excited that he’d given in, at last, touching another woman like he touched his wife. It had been decades.

“I don’t think I’m dropping any bombshells by saying there is a ton of heinous, evil shit going down, but, I’m finally willing to admit to myself that all the big horny dummies in Doctrine didn’t just flock here. Every Doctrinian has — one hundred and ten percent — been harvested, genetically remade by FamTek and Man Plan. You and me, too.”

“Everybody, Adam!!” Adam started to speak up and refute her, but Lydia put her open palm over his face, playful. “I know what you’re about to say, boy. Yes, some of our neighbors in Cherub Cove built the town. Of course. But you know as well as I that it’s a mooOOOooo,” she moaned. “Sorry —FUCK! A moot point. Moot!” She giggled.

“They just as big and dumb and patri…archangel over there, too, but at least they don’t install GPS implants in their bimbos’ cerebral cortexes at the five week mark.” She burped. “Sorry, all I’ve eaten tonight is chili lime Cherub Crunch. Like three ‘family fun’ bags. So bad, I know.”

“You’re a little piggy, Lyddie,” Adam teased, pinching an inch.”I thought you told us you weight trained, babe.” Lydia giggled and burped again. “Stop tickling me!” she yelped, but still didn’t make any effort in keeping him from exploring her tummy.

“The fact is, Adam, you are at a monumental advantage just by being a man. It’s not just that women aren’t as well paid or respected as well as men, like everywhere else in America, and the world, frankly. It’s that I’m expected — no, demanded — to have the body of a fertility goddess, one way or another, and to squirt out litters of — hey! Stop staring at my tits, Adam! You’re not going to see them tonight!”

She took his hand off her back before he could rip her bra off, and buttoned the bottom of her prim, navy blue blazer as best she could. It was more than two sizes too snug now.

“Sorry,” he said, brain able to see past his dick for a change, instantly tumbling back down to the terror of his new reality. “I’m really sorry. I guess I’ve been so busy coping with my own bullshit that I never really thought about how much worse it is for the fe— the women.”

“It’s just that my wife and I have been having some trouble, and it’s fuckin’ challer… chuh… REAL HARD,” he grunted, pulling on his cock again, “to go from getting fucked or at least sucked five to ten times a day, to zero today. Not even a lousy handjob. I know it sounds crass, but I NEED to stick it in something.”

“Look,” Lydia snapped, “That’s pretty, umm….” You can do this, girl! “Sad. Totally sad. But I am not going to end up sucking your dick, okay? So get that out of your chauvinist head. It’s nothing against you, per se, I actually love to shuck dick, and I’m, like, really dingdong exsh’lent at it,” she slurped loud and long, edging back toward her new bimbo hick voice.

“But! I done promised myself that if I could go a whole week without touchin’ a penis, then next week, I’ll treat myself to five times as many blow — Nevermind. You really don’t need to know everything about my personal life.”

She hurried the conversation along, fanning herself, spitting bubbly pink saliva into Adam’s wastebasket. “As for ‘burning the midnight oil,’ I wouldn’t be here for no reason. If you even bothered to look beyond coding and view our operation for what it really is, you’d have gotten your family thousands of miles away from here, weeks ago.”

She pointed a patriotically manicured finger on the pink cover letter, at the working title of Project 36G3042. It was the project he’d been tweaking the back end of since the beginning of the month. He was intimately involved with it, and more than a little insulted that she assumed he wouldn’t know what he was working on.

“Permanent Salvation Initiative?” he asked, barely interested. It was kind of an ominous name, and didn’t really gel with the idea of the church database of parishoners and bingo schedules that Father McRoddin had in mind, when he cut the ribbon on the project. But now he was getting kind of mad that she wouldn’t be deep-throating him.

“Uh-huh!” Lydia chirped. “Yeah! It’s taken me almost a week of sitting at a computer for ten hours a day, but I’ve been able to make some sense of some of the data stream, and I’ve looked into parent companies, evangelical Christian organizations, and super-PACs. It’s all pretty grim.” She twirled her hair.

“Basically, what it boils down to is this. None of us can legally leave here on our own accord, and that means women and men, though men with five or more wives can supposedly apply for a passport, though processing can take up to two years. Adam, we never had a chance, even if we tried to make a run for it back when it mattered, um, y’know, like when we weren’t physically too far gone and addicted to feelings and food yet.”

Her stomach audibly rumbled. “Excuse me. Only when the global infrastructure that installs Our Family Way as one world government is sufficiently in place — only then will we be able to go anywhere, even Cherub Cove. Are you freaking out yet?”

Adam grumbled, breathing sharply out his nose. “Lydia, I don’t want to make you feel bad, but a lot of what you’re saying is pretty much common knowledge all across town, and definitely in this office.”

The young redhead tried not to cry, and smoothed her tight blazer over her hips, and lightly unzipped her already unbuttoned, painted-on khakis. She committed to the proper look she’d proudly displayed on her first day at FamTek, but in another week, she’d be backed into a corner and would simply have to buy some of those skimpy Angelwear products.

She tried to stave off a feeling of profound disappointment and dread. Adam wasn’t taking her seriously, and wasn’t paying attention. And why should he? She couldn’t manage two sentences in front of him without drooling or belching or mooing.

“See?” she laughed, sinking into her anticipated role yet again. He was too horny to deduce that she was placating him. “Girls are stupider than guys! Okay, listen. I need to get out of this office for a change, clear my dumb-ass head, y’know? Buy you a drink somewhere?”

“Only if you show me your tits,” Adam joked boldly.

“Dude! Fine. I prolly will, okay? Eventually.” Lydia frowned. “They’re so fucking dribbly lately. But I swear: don’t expect me to do anything with your dick. I’m being serious now. You’re a married man, Adam. You should act like one.”

“Lay down the law with that wife of yours. I heard you yelling at her on the phone. Be a fuckin’ man, and tend to her needs, even if they’re new needs, y’know? If you’re so convinced she’s acting like a slut, then fuck her like she’s a slut! Mmm, and spank her like the big dirty shlut she’s become. Lick her up an’ down like an ice cream slut!”

She grinned, eyes slowly shutting, and bit her lip. “Nnngh, sorry, sir, it’s just that… A dick that smell good as your’n don’t deserve to be cuckolded. That’s the right word, right? Cock holders?”

She rubbed her temples. “Shit. Let’s go, huh? I think I’ve used most of my brainy power-ups for the night. I need to get shitty, like, a hour ago.”

“…and so I said to him, y’know, I’ll continue to stay on at FamTek, but I cannot allow myself to be subjected to untoward advances from male coworkers simply because they’re men, or taller than me, or older than me, or, whatever the latest excuse may be. I get it — men are smarter! Wait. That is a fact, right? Science people have dissolved it or whatnot? A-Man?”

Clyttia was getting kind of drunk. A-Man was trying his best to keep up and match her emotionally, and be a real man, not a fake, “AmeriChristian” jackoff. “No, honey. That’s not true. There’s been no definitive, uh, conscientious, on any link between gender and intelligence.”

He was getting pissed off again, at the idea that a woman should make him feel like he had to locate and string together big words. They’d been at Babes & Ock’s tavern for practically an hour, and she didn’t even grip his cock once. Maybe she was a lesbian.

No, that didn’t make sense. Clyttiaa must have spent 40 minutes gabbing about sucking cock. “Dee-fin-i-tive,” she repeated. “That’s a good word! You’re real smart!” What did it mean, again? She knew this. Definitive… fin… something to do with fish? It was probably a bad idea to ask.

“So I said, I’m sorry, sir, I said,” she carried on, “but I was hired for web and graphic design expertise,” she bleated, accenting those words with pointed pauses, “and not to rustle up some coffee, or curtsy when a man says hello, or ‘take for the team’ when someone pinches my ass.”

Clyttia pounded the second half of her third beer in one gulp. “Thank you for calling me ‘honey’ by the way, it’s nice to be appreciated sometimes. Adam, are you even listening to me?” He wasn’t. Okay. Change of tack then. “A-Man, do you want to look at my boobies now?”

“Fine, I guess,” he grumbled, “but only if it makes you feel better about yourself.” He wasn’t merely horny and impatient anymore, the imperial porter was really going to his brain, and now amplified his loneliness as much as it did his sex drive.

What was he still doing here, exactly? Making some partially bimboized chick feel slightly better about making the wrongest career move possible, inadvertently dooming herself to a life as a human cow?

Weren’t there other feminists in town she could bitch with? It was unrewarding business, taking a stab at being platonic pals with someone who shared the same sex virus as you.

He’d been hanging his head and barely making eye contact anymore, until he heard half the bar whistle and cheer. The male bartender clapped riotously, nudging A-Man in the ribs. “Holy. Fuck,” was all he could say, once he saw why everyone else was applauding.

“They’re real pretty, no?” They were. They were perfect, super fat, veiny, game-changing. Clyttia beamed, unable to contain how proud she’d been of them all along. She shuffled them around a bit, snapped the sports bra’s elastic atop them after pulling it down so most of her areola was out in the open.

“Sorry about the milk,” she coquetted. She was already leaking through the polyester fabric, drenching it enough that rose colored discharge oozed in droplets on to the other side. “Can’t I be primed for pregnancy and look like a normal person? I know that it’s Our Family Way’s mission to make every woman fertile, but why do we all end up looking so ridiculous?”

Clyttia’s huge tits made A-Man work. They’d tented her blazer an awful lot as it was, but now, they looked to be more than twice as big in just a pink and yellow, polka dotted bra. Maybe if he tried talking to her again as if she wasn’t a fuckable five course meal, he’d be able to pump them full of his jizz.

Because you look and probably feel amazing? It took unimaginable strength of will. “I don’t mean to be forward, but you were, uh… I mean, Clyttia, didn’t you used to be…”

“Flat chested? Yup! I had fuckin’ nothing going on up top just three weeks ago! That’s why I’m convinced Man Plan has it in for me. I don’t think it’s a church country folktale that the biggest fighters become the biggest bimbos.” Clyttia started crying. “I just wish I had just one more month to go jogging, you know?”

“Breast pump, ma’am?” interjected the helpful and enthralled bartender. He’d fucked her only a week ago, and they weren’t yet a quarter as big as they were tonight. Clyttia nodded somberly, pulled her bra down to her waist, and bent down to place her pale giant knockers firmly into the baby blue cones nailed down to the bar.

Leaning forward, her fully ample new butt stuck up and out, taunting her coworker. Her khakis were straining, creaking. The pockets looked ready to pop off. The fabric was so threadbare, A-Man could plainly make out the matching polka dot design on her panties.

Clyttia looked back at him, held eye contact with him deliberately, soulfully. Tears streamed down her face, and she was drooling heavy pink gobs onto her tits. “Adam. Dooooo yooooooou wanna ssshpank muh…. me? I can pump faster that way. But I TOTALLY don’t want you to bang my brain outta my skull, or become your, like, second wife or anything like that, okay?”

Was he really about to go through with this? He had to think quickly, because his arm was already bent back, about to smack.