The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Retail

by Limerick

CHAPTER FOUR

11:00 a.m. Toys

Amber had taken charge. Amber always took charge.

By chance or design a few refugees had made it to the toy aisle, deep inside the store and well removed from the cooing piles of sticky girls in women’s apparel. Seven or eight girls, confused, giggling softly, and without a whole lot of clothes. They had seen boyfriends energetically plowing braying friends or sister, exulting in lengthened cocks. Other girls meandering around with lost expressions, touching themselves vigorously as they searched for something vinyl, or a guy, or at least another girl.

And it wasn’t like the refugees had escaped whatever was going on.

They were just... more coherent.

“We have to assume we’ve all been compromised,” Amber told her bands, hands on her hips. She tried to ignore the milk leaking from her generous, overexpanded mammaries. It had already soaked her shirt, and she had to wring squirts of rich cream onto the floor. “I think what’s best is to be very honest and very straightforward about how we feel, so we can tell what is normal and what is... urges. For example, I feel really strongly that everyone should nuzzle from my titties, and drink my warm delicious milk, but I know that’s not normal.”

The other girls nodded soberly. Amber had only picked up on a few names. Cathy, whose dark and sinister spiderweb tattoos were disappearing from her skin as Amber watched, replaced by a bright and cheerful housewife smile. And, going in the opposite direction, Cherie, whose cheerleader blonde hair was turning jet black and dark.

They stood in the barbie/doll aisle. Everything was bright pink and ruffled. It was probably a bad place to be, since cartoonish titties were already a problem, but the boy-focused aisles had been too... blue. So dress up play it was. .

Cherie put up her hand. “Um... I don’t remember ever getting this tattoo,” she said, pulling up what had been a boring green blouse with desultory brown piping. Written beneath her belly button in gold ink was “cocksucker” tattooed on her stomach with stars around it. “Also, I could really use a smoke. And I don’t smoke.”

“Here, you can have mine,” Cathy offered. She reached into a bag with spikes the outside and pulled out a pack of marlboros. “I don’t smoke marlboros. Don’t know why I have them, I guess. Just Virginia Slims. I mean, nothing. My husband would hate it if I smoked. And it’d be bad for the baby.”

She fiddled with her hair, and it stayed twisted when her finger dropped off to check, confused, for a wedding ring that wasn’t and had never been there.

All the girls looked at each other for a moment, except for one of the girls in the corner, who was rapidly starting to resemble the plastic exaggeration of some of the barbies at the end of the aisle. She had her eyes closed, and seemed to be gone in a very pleasant and very internal glow, to the point where moving at all just distracted her.

Cherie took out a cigarette and lit the wrong end. Amber felt a strong longing to stuff her nipple into the confused woman’s mouth and drip ambrosia until she mewed. She had vague memories of doing that already. Hadn’t she arrived here with her mother-in-law?

Whatever.

“We need a solution,” Amber announced. “I think what we need to do is have everyone calm down. And I think the best way to do that is for everyone to have a few calming glasses of milk. From me. You can all form two lines, and suckle on my teats.

A few of the girls obediently shuffled towards her. One had a dog collar on, and a few cute black whiskers situated directly beneath her nose.

“You’re being a whore,” Cherie pointed out. Cherie blinked, and her eyes faded from a light blue to a charcoal black. Her mouth twisted in a sensual sort of derision. “We can’t trust you either. Lets just face it. We’re dirty. Dirty, nasty girls with a bad need for bad boys and twelve inch dildos stuffed up our holes. God, listen to me. I have three kids. I’m not some sort of raunchy ass-slut with a serious need for triple penetration.”

She lit the cigarette, correctly, and took a practiced puff. Then blew a smoke ring. Additional holes opened up in her ears, for studs, barbells, and other jewelry.

Amber sensed that she was losing control of the situation. And the floor beneath her was getting sticky and wet. Fortunately, some girl with an apron and five inch stilleto heels was following her around with a mop, which kept them all from getting washed back out onto the main floor.

“Here!” Amber said, seizing on an idea. It was obvious. There was a magic 8-ball right there on the end of the aisle, thanks to providence, able to help any oversexed girls with untrustworthy sex drives. She ripped off the packaging eagerly, clutched at the ball with milk-stained hands.

Two of the girls were fingering each other, and one seemed to be vibrating gently, like she was battery-operated.

“Magic 8-Ball,” Amber said, shaking it wildly, “Should we make for an emergency exit?”

There was one just a few aisles away. The only problem was that it led through maternity, and the few glances Amber had thrown in there were both incredibly disturbing and deeply tempting. But there were so many of them, that together...

The ball floated up. “Ask again later,” it read.

“It’s not clear yet,” Amber reported, disappointed.

Well, the magic 8-ball knew best.

“Let me try,” Cathy said. She snatched the ball. “Uh... please,” the former goth said, politely. “If it isn’t too much trouble.” She kept rubbing at her eyes, washing off a gallon of dark black makeup, and leaving behind a fresh-faced worry-free complexion. She looked like she was ready for church.

“Magic 8-ball, am I ever going to find a husband?” The ball floated up a yes. Cathy squealed with delight, her pink lips flushing red with pleasure. “Is he a doctor or a lawyer?” Again, a yes. “Wait, doctor or lawyer? Or is he both? Ohmygod he’s both!”

Cathy burst into tears, excited. She was still dressed in doc martens and knee length black skirt, but her hair bobbed neatly around her shoulders, and her cheeks had a rosy red glow.

“My turn,” Cherie said, grabbing it. “Magic 8-ball. Is Cathy’s husband going to cheat on her because she won’t do anal? Ah, see, Cathy, it reads outook probable. That’s what happens. Got to give up the back door. Guys love it.”

“I would to do anal!” Cathy said, offended. “Just... my husband isn’t into filthy sluts like you! He’s a doctor! And he’s an attorney! And he’s probably in the Senate!”

“Girls...” Amber began, but didn’t get the chance to intervene. Cathy, outraged, grabbed the 8-ball and tore it from Cherie’s arms, then pushed the new goth back into an aisle. Plastic figurines rained around her. Cherie shoved back, then both girls slipped in the fluids on the floor, stumbling onto the linoleum. The 8-ball rolled free, and barbie girl picked it up with stiff plasticy fingers. “Magic 8-ball,” she asked slowly and politely, “can I talk?”

“What’d it say?” Amber asked, curious.

Barbie didn’t say anything. She smiled, peacefully, and leaned back, poseable, into a sea of similarly pleased plastic smiles. As stiff as she was, she was still dripping between her legs.

“Am I a dumb slut?” another girl asked anxiously, snagging the rolling ball. Her face reddened at the answer, and her hair lightened to peroxide blonde. “Oh no! No, I’m not dumb right? I don’t wanna be stupid and stuff.” She gave it another shake and flounced. Her tits shook, growing and flopping about. “Come onnnn! I was all smart and stuff! I don’t wanna be super dumbo stupid! Am I like the dumbest girl in this whole stupid mall or what?” Her voice rose in pitch to a reedy, girlish whine.

After the last shake she whined, deep in her throat, and dropped the ball. Then she absent-mindedly started to rub at her pussy through her jeans, checking her nails at the exact same time.

The ball rolled to Amber’s feet. Her tits felt heavier then ever, laden with milk, overflowing with a dairy’s worth of heavy milk. She needed to nurse, on anything. She had already done so, she remembered now, reducing those around her to dull-eyed cow-like obedience with the brain-dulling weight of her milk.

“NOW can we go?” she said, shaking the 8-ball as hard as she could.

She peered at the 8-ball. It read:

“Yes”

Amber looked around. Cherie and Cathy had given up on fighting, and had their heads buried in each other’s slits. Cathy gently and quietly lapping away, while Cherie had her lips up Cathy’s skirt, looking she had found a new popsicle. And she had her finger up the back end of Cathy’s panties, which probably explained Cathy’s blissful expression. They had even found time to swap over Cherie’s wedding ring.

Everyone else was fucking, or orgasming, or blissfully lying on the floor, overwhelmed and okay with it. Except for the single puppygirl, obedient as ever, waiting patiently for her chance to nuzzle.

“These things are stupid, anyways,” Amber decided.

She dropped the ball, and beckoned her new best friend over.