The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Vote Pink

by Cristina Prince

3. SOOZI DRIPS

Election day was had just begun. Soozi swished, sashayed, and nearly waddled to the time clock. The growth on the lower half of her breeder body was unstoppable. Chub rub was a thing now.

Forget about the thigh gap she used to have. The one that caused her to be the butt end of too many jokes, Mostly from a lot of girls that she was now handily lapping in the bimboization department.

Nowadays, it was hard enough work just opening them all the way. Saintly, patient girls could sometimes coax them open, but basically it was down to only the biggest and toughest dicks.

It was a good thing she’d graduated the “Blossom & Bless ’em” stage of her transformation. It was 10 a.m., morning fifteen for the FamTek crew.

It was fortunate that the campus of prefab office buildings was tucked away in the forest, over a mile from the interstate.

Squelching, clacking heels, burping farting, giggling, chewing, mouth-breathing, gum-smacking, spritzing. Coconut, cherry chocolate, barbecue, strawberry kiwi, peppermint, wet pussy. This was the hot mommy-making milieu.

She’d been plagued with an extra worried, extra needy craving for her break-time raspberry spliff. She’d wanted to get seriously stoned for hours now, basically since she’d clicked open on her first document of the day.

She’d only taken five hits of bubblebutt kush before punching in, and the high seemed to disappear as soon as she entertained thought one about Baby Pink. She’d never felt as passionate about politics. The fates of America and its women were at stake!

Soozi ever so hotly rocked her new fall uniform. Teeny tiny, patriotically colored tube top, matching crotchless boy shorts, super tall high heels with camo pattern. Every good Christian bimbo in the office had starting wearing the barely-an-outfit right after Halloween.

But Soozi knew, blushing with nationalistic pride, that her overall rate of Man Plan approved Godly-Growth kept her in pretty good company around the office, and on its totem of tit-girls in training. A significant facet of this was the way her steady fattening ass was starting to swallow the fabric on her mesh bottoms.

“Play hard, work soft, right Soozi-cooze?” some slut sang. “Oh-yah-you-know-it,” Soozi muttered, distracted. The girl that asked her sounded and looked almost exactly like her (but for a slightly different baby blue of eyeshadow, a double chin and much plumper T n’ A).

Was it Anita? No, only two of the black girls she worked with had turned white, and this particular girl didn’t have the mandated afro. Was it Udda-Lee? What was Udda-Lee’s first name, again?

Well, whoever she had once been, what felt like years ago, before election season really started to heat up, Udda-Lee right now helpfully lit Soozi’s blunt as the wet, weed-needy ditz scrolled through her Gracebook feed, crying anxiously, stupidly, blubbering uncontrollably.

She didn’t know why, but she was prone to crying fits out of nowhere lately. She thought it had something to do with how hard it was to think, of anything except clothes, gum, God, and keeping boys happy, not to mention keeping her pussy and other bimbos’ pussies happy, too, but…

No, that didn’t account for how she positively bawled, for ten minutes, over a cute porcupine video on the internet. “You’re being hysterical,” her mom told her over the phone the other night during a separate fit. “You can’t get arrested for wearing pants!”

That was a relief. She was only going to wear them for the minute or two it’d take her to bring the trash down to the curb in front of her apartment. All her other clothes were in the wash, there was nothing left that wasn’t all cummy or candy stained.

A news headline popped up and snapped her to attention, even though it took her nearly a minute to read the small sequence of words, sounding them out with her big, new, hard-to-shut mouth. Soozi couldn’t decide if it was hot or scary, the fact that her lips always made soggy smacking sounds, if she so much as slightly moved them these days.

She was one of a diminishing handful of slutties around the office to insist on keeping her regular, non-holographic smartphone. She didn’t see the big deal initially. So what if she wanted to read? It wasn’t pretentious! They were all makeup or pro-life bible related articles.

Soozi was getting sick of some girls talking shit though, and it was about to get much harder to justify not signing up for the work issued Rutterz Radar pinkphone. FamTek was transitioning into purely digital direct deposit and work assignments, for one.

Beyond that, every ringtone and notification was starting to throw some migraine threatening skull-shock and nasty buzzing straight to the freshly installed Patrolman implant on the sides of her head and neck. It was worse whenever she was looking at any text that was work unrelated.

It would be stupid for this to be the hill she’d die on. Plus, Rutterz Radar had several super-hawt Republican Party skins to accessorize with whatever synthetic treats she poured her princess curves into. They could change the color of the synthetics she was wearing, do all sorts of fun things.

She’d in fact decided to go to the Booster Mooobile kiosk at the Vanilla Hills Mall later that afternoon. There was no use waiting any longer. She could pick up a new vibrator and a few gallon jugs of Cherub Cream while she was there, too.

Maybe a new dye job, too. Her strawberry pink curls were getting sort of shaggy and lackluster. Too much of her now-natural blonde roots were showing. It was silly to have to go this soon after getting her hair cut on Friday, but then again, most of the gals went two or three times a week.

Soozi blurted out the headline, an aggravating one, once it could manage to become locked into her overheating skull. She sounded like a scared little puppy. “Olive Russell doubas down on c-claims that Baby Pink is anti-femmy… femma… nist!”

It had been a while since she could make the “L” sound in words like double, trouble, bubble, or cum-bubble. Her lips were getting too puffy and slow and useless for saying too many words at once that weren’t monosyllabic. “FUUCK, what a dumb li’l skinny-ass lib’ral BITCH!” She smacked on a suffocating wad of gum. It barely consoled her.

“She fuckin’ sucks! Like she ever did anything for us breedin’ belles. Nothin’ for us! She HATES our way of lifestlyes! I mean, how can she, like, pretend-o she gon’ be prez if’n her belly’s totally motherflippiin’ FLAT?! SHOW US DING-DANG OL’ JPEGS, PRUDE!”

She shouted her partisan spiel to no particular audience, seething about the fake pregnancy scandal that dogged Governor Russell ever since she announced the news in early October. “I mean, I ain’t a-votin’ for homegirl’s bony butt no-how, but I wouldn’t even think about cast-ironin’ my ballots for some HEATHEN BEAST what wears a C-CUP! How GROSS!“

The progressive candidate had gotten close to universal pushback, even with a substantial but shrinking contingent of staunch anti-Man Plan stalwarts left in the Democrat electorate. Many of these radical leftists who flat-out refused to breed, but nevertheless saw lying about doing it to be alienating and unacceptable, were planning on stayiing home.

“AT LEAPS SHE FINELY SHAVED-ed HER DANG LEGS! We was all a-gettin’ mighty SORE about all ’at cunty STUBBA!”

The bimbo speech impediment made her sound so fucking dumb, and the worst part, for whatever pointless girl-power type reason she couldn’t 100% remember anymore, is that it all started way before she’d fully become so dumb for real.

“Stub-buh-buh,” she attempted, out of some bit of waning, far away, reflexive determination, soft and sheepish, vainly pushing past a thick and warm mask of tears, Nope. Couldn’t do it. Fuck it, who CARES? she thought, bitterly.

So she wasn’t smart anymore — at all. So what! Entire book series, tough and nuanced concepts, one after the other, had consistently, and with scant pause, dissolved underneath the fizzy fuzz and yummy heaviness of that increasingly ubiquitous hot pink film.

Every animator’s name, every cheat code she ever used, her parents’ birthdays, her parents’ names, their faces, concepts like intersectionality, gender fluidity, why anyone would try to separate church and state, the real meaning of reproductive rights, why there ever was such a thing as voting rights…

For each one of things that got suffocated in awesome, pussy-dousing, butt-expanding, boy-starved brain fog, she acquired a new erogenous zone. What a trade.

POP! You’re dumb. POP! Now cum!

Rinse, re-fill your Cherub Chow trough, repeat.

It was a pink brain no-brainer. New places on her neck, tits, kneecaps, hair that could compete with her clit?! Heck fuckin’ YEAH! Bring that shit on! Lately, the mere feel of nylon on her steadily transforming body was enough to bring her close to the edge… A feather-light breeze running through her hair could make her knees buckle, especially if there were boys, any boys at all, within a hundred foot radius...

So, so what! Anyone in her life who cared about that shit, that dignity and intelligence type shit, was either plenty of miles away, if not long bimboized and moronic like her by this point. None of her friends back home probably gave a shit about books anymore, unless they had pictures of bomb-ass sex positions or some shit, or coupons or perfume samples or something...

It took a while for Soozi to feel that her nose was dripping, that she was still silently mouthing some horrible, sticky hard word. “Now, now, cute little baby-makerin’ baby,” Udderly comforted her, “hoes like us ain’t-a ’poseda do dem biggy big-words, right? I’m right… right, honey-slit?!”

Soozi nodded as her co-worker yanked a lime green, infrared equipped crucifix from betwixt a reassuring, milk-heavy (yet, astoundingly, somehow still pillowy) whopping set of tits. “Right-right-right,” she mumbled, zombie-like. Her mouth, face, and skull were all full up to bursting with sweet flourescent air. “You riiiight, Ubba-beeeee…“

The thing was slick and muddled with… Soozi thought it was sweat for a second? But it was totally a big batch of fresh jizz. How could I ever think it was anything else? she asked herself.

Udda-Lee pressed the big red button on top of the dubiously religious thing, and in the process sent a dollop of spunk tumbling down onto Soozi’s exposed toes. “Oopsie-woopsies,” the bimbo chuckled, snorting like a pig. She didn’t even try to pretend it was an accident.

The impossibly thick, industrial strength man-goop came alive on Soozi’s foot, changing it, from an old, chipping pedicure of errant tangerine, into a brand new thick coat of golden shields, embossed with silver crosses. She got goosebumps and could taste an orgasm approach as she watched the other foot get worked on by the cyber-cum, too.

“Ya sure we got time to pray? I mean, the clock says —“ But Udda-Lee and a few other thick slut-workers had formed a close circle before she could finish the “thought,” to ensnare our big, straggling but all too inevitable, blessedly forever-young bimbo. “Nevermind. Sorry!”

She launched into The Katty-Patty Kreed, right on cue with all the other girls, a half-step ahead of them, even. It was only the second or third time she’d recited it, and indeed the first time in public. However, she was shocked at how easily it came to her. Like it was always with her, maybe hardwired onto her DNA at birth.

It was so beautiful, too gorgeous, so right and true, every word, every sound, every breath. She could feel her co-workers’ brains and souls and pussies all swirling around within and all around hers. Such a spiritual, celestial communion was a righteous and palpable thing.

She wasn’t Tai Wattkins in this whole body, whole soul cowgirl communion. She wasn’t even Soozi Wettklitz. She had been handed over now to the bountiful joy that is Our Family Way. Just a loyal animal of The Maternal Herd of The Eternal Word.

Her line of vision was momentarily deleted, in a staccato strobe, just a wet, powdery cotton candy lag screen. So she couldn’t make out Udda-Lee as she pointed her cummy cross at the girl’s cranial implant, but—she sure as sugar felt it.

Pink, electric shock, black, pink, pussy pulse, black, electric shock, pink, bright pink, white, black, electrick shock, pink, black, pussy pulse, pink, baby crib, pink, baby blue, pink, baby blue, electric shock, pussy pulse, baby bottle, baby blue, baby bib, clouds parting —

—— I PLAY HARD—I WORK SOFT—I BOUNCE SO I CAN SOFTEN—I TWERK MAD OFTEN—I JERK HIM OFF—I JERK HIM RIGHT—I FLY WITH THE RIGHT WING, DAY AND NIGHT—IT AIN’T NO THING—I FEEL THE SPIRIT SING—I FLY FRIENDLY SKIES—WITH BIG OL’ THIGHS—LOVE YOU, BRITTANY—LOVE YOU, JESUS—Y’ALL GIVE A HOME OUR CONSERVATIVE FLOCK—FILL US UP AND PLEASE US—I ROLL THAT CUNNY FOR TOUGH AMERICAN COCK—UP AND DOWN—BIG AND DUMB—I’M SO DUMB—I NEVER FROWN—LET JISM BE MY BRIDAL GOWN—I DRINK IT DOWN—THAT’S MY CROWN—GOD IS TIGHT—HE FATTENS MY BOD WITH ALL HIS MIGHT—LOVE YOU, GOD—LOVE YOU LOTS—I LOVE MY BOD—FILL IT WITH TOTS—BABY PINK FILLS ME UP WITH LIGHT—HIS AND HERS—PUSSY PURRS—I DON’T THINK—I VOTE PINK—I JUST CHEW—PRETTY BABY—HAIR SO WAVY—HOT PINK—MIND SINK—BABY BLUE—BABY POWDER U.S.A.—PRINCESS POWER ALL THE WAY—I FUCK ON THE REG—I’M PUT HERE TO GET PREG—IF HE’S TIRED, YOU KNOW I BEG—I DON’T JUST SHOW SOME LEG—I SHOW THE PROMISE OF MY EGG—I’M FERTILIZED BY SPERM—I’M BAPTIZED AND I YEARN—HEATHENS WILL SURELY BURN—I WILL TAKE MY RIGHTFUL TURN—THEY’LL GO TO HELL—LIBERALS AND FEMINAZIS BURN SO WELL—I USE GOO—I USE GEL—GET THAT GOOEY IN MY BELLY—I’LL COO AND I’LL SWELL—WHEN I GO I’LL KNOW—MY SOUL DID GLOW—THIS COW DID LOW—I ALWAYS FELL—FOR MEALTIME BELL—ON MY KNEES—PRETTY PLEASE—I LIVE ACCORDING TO THAT BREAKFAST, LUNCH AND DINNER BELL—I LOVE THAT COUNTRY COOKIN’ SMELL—I’LL NEVER EVER GET THINNER—I HATE EVERY LAST SINNER—I’M A HOT BOUNCY WINNER—THEY ALL SKINNY BORING MESSES—NASTY COALS ATOP THEIR HEADS—SERPENT TRESSES, BURNING BEDS—I’M THAT BOSS HILLBILLIE BITCH THAT GOD ALWAYS BLESSES—THANK YOU, SAINT KATTY-PATTY—HELP ME PICK OUT A DADDY—I WILL LOVE AND ADORE YOU FOREVER—HELP MY SPIRIT SOAR WHILE MY HEAVENLY VESSEL GETS ALL FATTY—BUOY MY FAITH WHEN MY BRAIN GETS ALL DING-BATTY—HEAVEN IS MY PEN—THE BEDROOM IS MY STY—I’M A CHUNKY SLICE OF AMERICHRISTIAN PIE—I KNOW EXACTLY WHY—SLUT IT AND SEE—BUTTER BELIEVE—MY OLD LIFE, I DON’T GRIEVE—I’M A SILLY CREAMY SLITTY NOW—WITH THE ASS OF A CHAMP AND THE TEATS OF A SOW—CLITTY LIKE WOW—I LOVE BOYS AND GIRLS AND BIG HOT STRONG MEN—MY ETERNAL VOW—I MAY BE PLUS-SIZE BUT I’M A PERFECT TEN—YOU WANT MY VOTE—YOU GOT IT—JUST TELL ME WHEN—MY DESTINY BOUGHT IT—CUM IS MY ZEN—THIS IS OUR FAMILY WAY—SAY BYE-BYE TO YESTERDAY—THIS IS OUR CHRISTIAN AMERICA—NO, WE AIN’T AFRAID OF YA—THIS IS OUR HOT N’ HOLY WAR—WE BRITTANY’S ROLY POLY WHORES—OUR ASSES BELONG TO GOD—WE GREW SO QUICK—FOR BIG THICK RODS—WE SO DANG THICK—BUILT TO BE SPANKED—BOOTIES LIKE TANKS—WE’LL TROT THEM OUT—TRY NOT TO POUT—WE’LL SUCK AND SHOUT—FOREVER AND EVER WAVERING NEVER, Amen!——

Soozi came, cumming pure feeling, in undiluted, deified pink. She came at subatomic and planetary levels. “Ayyy-menn,” she mumbled, moaning “mmmmm” just after her goopy mouth snapped shut. Her very existence was taking its sweet time to return.

All of time and history throughout the universe swirled helix-like around her deepest core. She heard a rusty symphony of cowbells. Moody and mooing cows. It was impossible to tell if they were farm animals or her slutty colleagues...

PINK PUSSY PULSE

Dry desert. The past was in a decaying book that fell apart at the spine when she tried to open it. The language was like nothing she’d ever known, anyway. There was a picture of an… old? Wait, old was the opposite of how she and every other good Christian girl looked — right? There was a picture of an old woman on the cover, in a gray pantsuit. The material looked so not-hot, and super itchy. So groty!

PINK PUSSY PULSE

Lush green jungle. Not even all that humid, an ncongruous and surreal, perfect climate. Present time was wrapped up in a long plywood box, painted in pastel purple, dotted with blush, and a Christmas bow on top. She thought for sure that she could fuck a towering mirror that rose up in front of a giant prehistoric fern. But in her gorgeous reflection, she noticed that the box looked too much like a coffin.

PINK PUSSY PULSE

Deep blue ocean. Unforgivably vast. She floated on a raft cobbled together from translucent gold dildos. The future was in her womb. A massive, wavy American flag was projected onto her tummy. It puffed out a few more tubby inches right in front of her eyes. If it wasn’t pollinated anytime soon, it might become her tomb. What good was a girl if she didn’t get to be a real American cow?

PINK PUSSY PULSE

If she and every good Christian girl in the country managed to send Senator Pink to that White House, she could sTai young and hot and fertile for forever and a day. And given Pink’s populist platform of Universal Babecare with Wifey Welfare Clubwear and Patriot Princess Option, she’d be able to make some crucial choices herself, if she so desired.

Just how would she be raising all those kids she’d pop out back to back to back: by herself, along with a providing husband, after she settled down with one man? Or would she send all her babies to foster farms and let the state take care of her brood until she was ready?

Ready on her own terms, ready to stop whoring around, once she’d had her fill of being independent as she could be in her sanctified role as a commitment-free, cock-satisfying baby machine. Free to walk around fully nude 24/7 if that was her style wish, sucking cocks and licking cocks and deep-throating cocks, all the cocks she could ever want, and more, more, more, more more more cock

Decisions, decisions…

Oh. Right! It was election day! She had to… Had to… Hmm…

PINK PUSSY PULSE

A fat pastel pink thumb pushed her back down by the brain. Everything was relegated once more to the raw worlds of the temporal and sensory.

Soozi felt the heft and the power of eternity. Felt a microsecond flutter and flap back into and onto itself, over and over again. She was met with some more visions. Still faded, still glassy and glossed over with degrees of hot pink, pale pink, purple and baby blue tones. But they were… different.

They got weirder and more cryptic than the others, less interactive. They flitted across her mind’s eye much too speedily to process. If there was anything left in her ravaged vocabulary to approach the word “allegorical,” she might tack such a word on for a touch of context.

Soozi couldn’t quite grasp what it all could ever possibly mean, but she knew that the imagery was more important, more necessary than her own life. She could feel certain inalienable truths get soldered onto her brain, body and soul. Good old fashioned American truths...

She felt a click. Out of the tightening corners of her consciousness, she saw a long scroll, of lime green LED numbers and hieroglyphs, stream across either side of her skull. Another click, then another.

Her brain felt shiny pink and chrome metallic, overheated and vibratory as it went knocking against her skull. It sounded like there was a robot in there, fighting a slot machine to the death.

PINK PUSSY PULSE

God as a bull, darting mightily through an ancient Roman coliseum as full house cheered, crashing through an array of American flags studded with Christmas lights, each bigger and brighter than the last…

Abraham Lincoln in a spacesuit, hotboxing his helmet with a blunt the size of a stogie, while a very female Buddha with full preg titties doted on the president, rubbing on the glass like she wanted four score and seven wishes…

Marilyn Monroe, writhing on the floor of the stock exchange. Though she looked twenty or thirty pounds heavier than her biggest cheesecake days, there was no mistaking her.

Gorillas and orangutans in Brooks Brothers caterwauled about their fistfuls of tickers, ignoring her. She was on her back, big pancake nipples pierced with huge platinum crosses and pink pleather tassels.

Her pussy drooled out great gobs of jizz through a tattered polka dot bikini bottom that was more than just a few sizes too small. She turned over, onto one of her plush sides, revealing half a shaved head. Red and green lights blinkied in the shape of the Venus symbol...

PINK PUSSY PULSE

How many seconds, hours, centuries had passed since the nearby mooing had subsided? Some bimbo-slut was gabbing on about something. English came back to Soozi erratically. Only fractions of words registered, and this wasn’t useful at all.

Oh yeah. Udda-Lee and the rest of the FamTek starlets. They’d all just recited The Katty-Patty Kreed. They were still on break?! It all felt like years, maybe decades had passed.

“…so that you may never look back and long for the past, ever again, and always serve to strut and swerve with every wiggle and every curve. Are you ready to vote Christian and American!?”

PINK PUSSY PULSE

“I am,” Soozi declared with a kittenish register and a clogged throat, and tongued her buck teeth (a recent bible-ogical development) and the massive, neon pink pull of smoke she didn’t even remember taking was misting and solidifying atop her lips, painting them with a fresh new coat of bright sexy happy.