The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Brigid was in the company of her friend Tessi. They were together, but Brigid was thinking about Tessi as if they weren’t, thinking about her friend even though she was right in front of her. Being close to Tessi made it easy to reflect on how much affection she held for the other woman. Brigid loved her redheaded friend, even though she was a bit younger than her. Tessi was only in her mid-twenties, but she, Brigid, was approaching the end of them. She and Tessi had been friends for a long time, despite their slight age difference, and they enjoyed doing everything together, and had ever since they’d become friends as children.

This had been the case even recently; Brigid had gotten engaged to her fiancé Dylan a few months earlier, and shortly after that, Tessi had gotten engaged to her fiancé Matthew. As the slightly older friend of the two, this dynamic had happened before— Brigid did something first, then Tessi followed. Monkey-see, monkey-do. But Brigid had taken it in stride; which many of her other friends had praised her for. Privately, Brigid had not felt all that deserving of this praise. She’d actually been thrilled that Tessi had gotten engaged just after her; it meant they could do a double wedding if they wanted, and for two girls who had always down everything together, that prospect was too tempting to pass up. And a double-wedding also meant a double-bachelorette party, and that would be a fun bonus too.

At least, the idea of a double-wedding had been a fun idea in the first week of planning; but after putting a little work into planning it together, the two women had decided to abandon the idea of the double-wedding and have two separate weddings after all. But they’d kept the idea of a double-bachelorette party as a vestige of this earlier stage of planning; so when the time came, they’d still be going ahead with that.

Each of the two women had only been engaged a few months— Brigid just a week longer than Tessi, but they’d deliberately both set dates that were only a few months away, so their respective weddings were coming up quickly now for both of them. In less than three weeks, they would each be married to their husbands in their separate ceremonies; and the double bachelorette party they were planning would be happening in just one week— mid-next week, Tessi and Brigid would be enjoying their double bachelorette party together, and then both of their weddings were spread out in the two weeks following that.

Before then, though, there were all kinds of last-minute organizational wedding things to take care of for both of them, and so Tessi and Brigid had teamed up to run their remaining errands together, going around together taking care of them for each of their ceremonies. This had given them plenty of time to talk with each other, even more than usual, and Tessi’s list of conversation topics had been much shorter than usual.

At almost all times, on almost every day, Tessi only wanted to talk about how excited she was to be marrying Matthew— how much she was looking forward to being his wife, spending her life with him, having her wedding, being a bride. Her excitement and anticipation almost bordered on childlike excitement for something like Christmas— and it did start to grate on Brigid after awhile. She was getting married too, to Dylan, but she wasn’t talking everyone’s ear off about how excited that made her. Though it did make her excited, she was keeping it to herself.

Dylan was special to her, though. He’d been her first boyfriend; she’d never been with any other man, and she was proud to know that, since she and Dylan were marrying, it would be like that forever. Dylan had been and would be the only man that Brigid ever dated, ever slept with, and that was exactly the way she wanted it to be.

Tessi’s outspokenness lately about her wedding was a little out-of-character for her. She was usually more shy, more reserved, less likely to speak up. She was usually more comfortable hanging back, and keeping her thoughts private. But it seemed she was so excited about her upcoming marriage that this excitement was irrepressible for her, and it was overriding her more typical shy demeanor.

Brigid was a bit shy herself— it was another thing she and Tessi had in common, and maybe one more commonality which made them feel closer to each other— but Brigid had been acting much more truly to her type, keeping her thoughts and feelings mostly to herself. She hadn’t let her upcoming marriage transform her entire personality the way Tessi had done.

All this marriage talk was a bit of a change from the things she and Tessi usually discussed. Despite their relative shyness, they had always felt pretty free in discussing their respective sex lives with each other. They had a similar taste when it came to sexual matters too; Tessi was only interested in normal, plain sex, and so was Brigid. They had a lot of overlapping experiences and perspectives as a result, so they often found value in trading notes with each other or sharing about the sex lives in their respective relationships.

They hadn’t really been talking about sex as they’d run their wedding errands, though. They’d only been taking about marriage and their weddings. Brigid was pretty sure all this excitement talk from Tessi would die down once she was actually married— but she was looking forward to reaching the end of her and Tessi’s shared wedding month, for more reasons than one. Not only to be joined to the fiancé and love of her own life, Dylan, but also because by month’s end, Tessi would be married too, and she would have to shut up about how excited she felt since her wedding would be behind them all instead of ahead of them and coming up.

Today, the two of them had both gone in for a last fitting of their wedding dresses; and Tessi had gone up to do hers first. Hers was almost perfectly fitted now, after several appointments— the tailor was only making minor adjustments this time. The dress looked incredible on Tessi’s body, Brigid had to admit. It hugged and held up her C-cup breasts perfectly, and slimmed the rest of her body down with sleek lines that ran parallel to her frame.

When Tessi’s last fitting was done, Brigid went up to get her final fitting done. To her relief, she looked as good as Tessi. Though her breasts were a cup size smaller, her B-cups still came off very well in the design of her dress, and Brigid knew she looked beautiful too. She couldn’t wait for Dylan to see her in this dress on her wedding day.

She couldn’t wait for Dylan to see her, but she wasn’t telling the whole world about it.

She and Tessi ran some other errands that day, and at the end of it, they had a brief practical conversation about some of the logistics for their double-bachelorette party the next-week. Just one or two details that each one of them needed to follow up on — then both women split up and returned to their homes.

The wedding really was coming up quickly, Brigid thought as she got out of the car. She couldn’t believe the bachelorette party was in just one week— and her wedding was already the week after that, and Tessi’s the week after hers. She was looking forward to the wedding though— though she would never say it out loud, and never say it to Tessi, out of fear of being annoying the way Tessi was being annoying— she couldn’t wait to be married to Dylan.

The bachelorette party had been simple to plan as there were only three other girls in Tessi’s and Brigid’s friend group, and these girls would be the only attendees.

Rowen was the first of these three. She was in her early-twenties, and she was the youngest one out of all of their friends. She hadn’t quite grown out of her bad attitude yet. It had followed her from her teenage years into young adulthood, and she was still short-tempered and rebellious, quicker to make a bitchy comment than to hold her tongue. She never could keep her more incendiary, aggressive thoughts to herself— she volunteered them at all times, as soon as they were thought, no matter who they were about, who they hurt or what kind of trouble they got her into. She was all-around kind of a bitch; but the others all tolerated her for her good moments, and out of the hope that her bitchy traits would mellow in time, and with age as she matured.

There were other teenage behaviors Rowen had not left behind her yet. She was still as sex-crazed as a teenager with an emerging libido— she loved sex, and had it all the time with whatever partner she could get, and true to her bragging tendencies, the rest of her friends had to hear about it. Though she only really liked plain sex—she had this in common with both Brigid and Tessi.

And she was still the same party girl she’d been in high school, though high school was behind her now. She drank a lot, nearly constantly, and her evenings were a never-ending journey from party to party, and once she arrived at each one, she could usually be talked into smoking a joint with some of the other partygoers there. She smoked pot almost as much as she drank.

She had a youthful look about her, too, in addition to all her other lingering traits of youth. She was slim, and tiny— petite, especially with her A-Cup breasts, so when she acted so teenagerish it was sometimes hard to remember that she was actually in her early 20s; her appearance certainly did nothing to convey this.

Lani was another girl in Tessi and Brigid’s friend group. She was single, though she kept her blonde hair so well-styled that sometimes Brigid wasn’t sure why; she was more than pretty enough to have somebody in her life, more than pretty enough that anyone would want her.

Unlike the rest of them, the hypothetical somebody that would interest Lani would be a woman, since Lani was a lesbian, but Brigid didn’t think that made any difference. With pretty features like the ones Lani had, and the pretty hairstyles she always wore, it should have been more than easy enough to attract any woman. Lani never really seemed interested in partnering up, though— there was something that seemed to keep her distant and detached from all her romantic partners, and something that seemed to get in her way and prevent her from falling for anyone new. Brigid didn’t know what it was— she often wondered about it though. Everyone in their friend group did, but when asked, all Lani would do was look surreptitiously at Tessi — which no one ever seemed to notice but Brigid, and she never knew what to make of it — and then look away, her cheeks in a blush.

Lani was sort of a best friend to Tessi — Brigid imagined that she would never tire of hearing Tessi describe her constant excitement about getting married. She never seemed to get bored when Tessi spoke, never seemed to want to turn away or move on to a different conversation. She hung on Tessi’s every word— Brigid didn’t know what that was about, either. Tessi never seemed to notice that, any more than she noticed the sidelong glances Lani sent to her. And for whatever reason, Tessi’s repeated discussion of her excitement about getting married seemed like it was the only topic she couldn’t stand to hear her talk about for hours and hours. That was too bad— it meant Brigid had to pick up all the slack and listen to it herself.

But Lani was in her mid-twenties, basically the exact same age as Tessi, and had known her the longest— she’d become Tessi’s friend in childhood too, but she’d beaten Brigid to befriend Tessi by a year or two, even when they’d all been so young. She’d had the advantage, because she and Tessi were the same age. So she’d been friends with Tessi before all of them, even before Brigid. And the only reason that Lani was in the group was because of Tessi. Lani only knew the others through her, had only been introduced by her later, long after the group had formed. So maybe Lani’s behavior towards Tessi wasn’t so strange. Though she did seem perpetually on the verge of telling her something— which at the last moment she always seemed to be too shy to come out and say.

She was a good-looking woman, though— if she ever got over whatever was hanging her up, Brigid was sure she’d do well out there in the dating pool. She was a little chubby, but her B-cup breasts were pleasant to look at; even a straight girl like Brigid could appreciate them, so out in the lesbian dating pool Brigid had no doubt she’d do well, if she would ever only just dive in to dating.

The final member of their five-person friend group was Gaby. She was also blonde, like Lani, but a different shade of blonde. Her hair was more yellow-y, where Lani’s was more white. She was also the same age as Lani and Tessi, in her mid-twenties and she was another single girl. Though unlike Lani, Gaby was straight. She loved sex maybe as much as Rowen, or more— her love for it was not immature and youthful the way Rowen’s was, though. It was the appreciation of a woman with a lot of experience— not an adolescent trying to rebel by getting with as many people as she could.

As a result, Gaby’s sharing with the group about her sex life was much more measured and less inflated by false self-confidence. She was shameless about her love for sex, and shameless about her openness to try anything with a man once— but she only shared about these things with the others if it added something to the unfolding conversation. She did not interrupt to redirect and center every conversation around herself, forcing sexual topics in where they didn’t belong to project an air of superiority— the way Rowen did, in her youthful manner.

Gaby was also probably the most attractive of all five women. She worked out, and kept her body in good shape — she would say it was so she could better use it when it came time for some sexual interaction. Her body was very sexy though, even Brigid could admit.

The week of the double-bachelorette party arrived, then the day of the bachelorette party, and then the bachelorette party itself was about to begin. All five friends in their got group together, all the plans and arrangements made— and the five of them were getting ready to leave together.

Brigid couldn’t believe it was really time for the bachelorette party, couldn’t believe her wedding was coming up so soon, in just a week. Both she and Tessi’s weddings would take place within the next three weeks, though not on the same day. Now that they were both so close to happening, Brigid reflected back on the early days of wedding planning, when they’d both still been planning on having a double ceremony together. They had considered a double wedding, and in those first few weeks had really thought it was what they wanted. But ultimately each woman’s vision for their wedding had been too different, had not meshed. And each woman had been too set on being the center of focus for her wedding day— not wanting to share it with another bride. But they had both liked this month, had both liked the same month, so their wedding anniversaries would share a month at least if not a day, and they were both just considerate enough that they could accept that. And now that her wedding was in just a week, Brigid didn’t really regret the decision to split their weddings into separate ceremonies. In the end, it had been the right choice.

For the double-bachelorette party, the five friends were planning to go to a club together; they would each order their first cocktail of the night as soon as they arrived, and half-drink it before making their way to the dance floor, then dancing with their drinks forgotten for a time. That was the plan: but for now, all five of them were riding in Gaby’s car, Brigid and Tessi both wearing mock-veils, in the back with Lani while Rowen sat next to Gaby in the front, having insisted on that seat. Brigid and Tessi were both impatient to arrive at the club— they were looking forward to a fun night, and feeling pretty excited about what was coming up.

But Brigid and Tessi cried out a few minutes later when they saw Gaby drive right past the club. “Where are we going?” Tessi asked.

“Before we go to the club, we have a surprise for you!” Gaby’s voice drifted back from the front seat, sounding excited herself.

“Yes, we’ve changed the plan for the party,” Rowen said. “Get used to it.”

“We’re taking you to a special brand-new circus that just rolled into town,” Lani explained, and her voice was the most apologetic of all three. “When I say they just got here, I mean they just got here. Their first show was last night. They’re for adults only. It’s an erotic show.”

“Better kick Rowen out of the car then,” Brigid teased. “She acts too much like a kid.”

“Shut the fuck up, Brigid,” Rowen snapped— surprising no one with her rudeness.

“I don’t want to go there,” Tessi interjected, leaning forward in her seat. “Think about it, Brigid, do you really want to go? I mean, it’s a circus. No matter how erotic they make it, or how ‘adult’ it turns out to be… it’s… a circus. It’s still going to be lame. Have you ever been to a circus that wasn’t lame?”

Brigid couldn’t honestly say that she had— what Tessi was saying made a lot of sense to her. “Yeah, guys, let’s not go. We’ve already got our plans to drink cocktails and dance— and I’ve already worked out in my head exactly which cocktail I want to order, and to tell the truth, I’m kind of craving it already. I don’t want to go there either.”

“Just give it a chance, guys,” Gaby encouraged them. “Look, we’re already here. We can sneak out of the circus tent after a few minutes if you really don’t like it.”

They pulled onto the circus lot, and Gaby parked. Grumbling, Tessi and Brigid climbed out of the car, followed by the rest of their friends. Then all five of them walked towards the tent’s entrance.

There was a female clowngirl standing by the side of it; she was busty, and she was giggling as she stood there. Tessi and Brigid were still protesting their attendance at the circus, and when the clowngirl heard this, she laughed again and sprayed something pink and dusty in both of their faces, forcing both the girls to inhale it.

Immediately, Brigid forgot what she’d been saying— forgotten what she’d even been thinking in her recent short-term past; only stared ahead of herself, dazed. Tessi was looking dazed too, and had forgotten as much as she had.

“Come on, let’s go in,” Gaby said, hooking arms with both sprayed girls— as they seemed to have momentarily forgotten how to walk. “Isn’t it nice that they have an interactive element right at the door?”

All five girls entered. Brigid and Tessi were both still feeling a bit out of it when they got in. Inside, everyone had mostly taken their seats. The audience was populated by a mixture of men and women, and all of them seemed to be looking forward to the circus’ erotic content. All of them were pretty clearly fans of fetish things, most of them dressed in suggestive erotic costumes to get into the spirit of the show.

But not all the audience members were just sitting there and waiting, statically. Some of them were actually having sex, right there, among the bench seating, with more giggly busty clowngirls like the one they had all seen at the entrance. There was something senseless in the way those clowngirls laughed— like they didn’t even know why they were laughing. Maybe they didn’t even know that they were laughing— something in that laughter suggested they didn’t know anything. It bothered Brigid, but she couldn’t say why. She was too disoriented still to figure it out.

Rowen and Gaby had noticed this going on, but they were both laughing at it, clearly entertained. But Brigid was starting to feel clear-headed again, and from the expression on her face, it looked like Tessi was too. That pink dust spray was wearing off for both of them… and neither one of the bachelorettes thought the sex happening in the audience was particularly amusing. It was more concerning than anything— and they both shared a concerned look with each other.

Privately, Lani thought to herself that she wasn’t sure about being there, at this circus. Rowen and Gaby had pushed for this, and she’d gone along with it, but now they were all here, Lani wasn’t quite sure that this was the place to be… wasn’t quite sure this was really the right place for them… thinking that maybe the club would be better, after all, as Tessi and Brigid had tried to convince them in the car… but she kept this to herself, and didn’t say anything to the others.

Before the friends could take their seats, a spotlight fell on the circus’ stage and a man, who was clearly the director of the circus, stepped into it. His chest was bare— and his pants were pretty tight and revealing even though they covered his entire legs.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our Adult Circus!” The director called out; it echoed through the tent, and the audience cheered in response. Even the people who had been having sex just a moment before stopped to take notice. “Thank you for being in our audience tonight— you’ll be as much a part of the show as we are, as we have some interactive components and audience participation as part of our performance!”

“Do you see any seats that are available?” Lani whispered to Gaby, who was scanning the benches for some place that all five friends could fit in.

“No, not yet— we’ll just have to keep standing and watch from here until I do,” Gaby whispered back, before looking back out over the seating.

“Yeah, duh.” Rowen hissed to Lani.

“I see five young ladies over there who haven’t found their seats yet,” the circus director said; and the five friends realized he was talking about them. They looked at him, some of them shocked at being noticed, some of them pleasantly surprised by it.

“Since you ladies haven’t found anywhere else to sit yet, why don’t you come down and sit in our VIP lounge? It’s right here directly in front of the stage.”

“What do you guys think?” Lani whispered.

“I think we should do it— who knows if we’ll be able to find five seats together if we take our chances out here. I’ve been looking since we came in, and I still haven’t found anything,” Gaby replied.

“Let’s go,” Brigid agreed, begrudgingly. She still wished that they’d never come here at all.

The five of them moved towards the stage, into the small section the circus director had indicated. It contained only five chairs— five chairs, instead of benches like the rest of the audience! — which sat underneath an arcing standing banner sign above which read “VIP.”

There was grumbling as they walked to it; audience members complaining about the girls being invited to sit in the VIP area. “We should have just stayed standing, and then they would have invited us,” one woman said; but there were many other disgruntled comments as the girls walked down the center aisle to the indicated area, some of them very loud, some of them almost directed directly at them, but all of these comments were distinct, hard to ignore or miss.

When they reached the VIP box, each girl sat down in one of the five chairs. Gaby thought to herself that they were lucky to have been invited up there. These chairs seemed like they were much more comfortable than the benches everyone else had to sit on. They were plush, cushioned and soft instead of firm and hard.

“You girls are the lucky ones tonight— I think our audience is even jealous of you!”

Somewhere, from the back of the arena, a person booed.

“Definitely some jealousy there,” the director laughed. “But you’re even luckier than our audience knows! You get to be part of tonight’s show. You can enjoy the interactive experience and audience participation components of our show that I mentioned before for yourselves!”

Brigid thought to herself that this audience participation experience must have been arranged by their friends as a special for their bachelorette night. Tessi thought the same thing, but it hadn’t been arranged, and all that Gaby, Lani and Rowen thought was that it was a lucky coincidence; it was the circus’ plan, not theirs.

The show began, then, with “contortions.” What was performed was not so much the circus-type of contortions as a variety of sex acts between clowngirls who laughed throughout and honked their own breasts. Some of them did end up in pretty twisted and mangled positions throughout, but it wasn’t really fair to describe it as pure contortion since it was more about the sex acts than the contortion itself.

All five friends were disgusted by these antics; they’d come expecting an adult show, but this was depraved in a way that was unsettling; off-putting, stomach-turning.

The director spoke up again. “It’s time to center our VIP lounge guests,” he announced. “They’ll be a part of our show like I told you before. We’ll bring them up one at a time— the two ladies wearing engagements rings will go last and next-to-last. And we’ll start with that one who looks like she’s the youngest,” he said, and pointed to Rowen.

Rowen felt nervous, and told herself to stop being foolish. There was nothing to be scared of: she’d been looking forward to this show, and she wasn’t a fucking crybaby like Tessi and Brigid. And someone as confident as her never got stage fright. At least, someone who pretended to be as confident as she did could never admit to having stage fright, so she stood up, projecting a bold demeanor, and willingly stepped out of the VIP box before the clowngirls had even gotten all the way to her.

As soon as she was outside the box, everything changed. Rowen froze.

Bars had come up out of the floor, forming a literal cage around the VIP box, and containing her friends within. The cage did have a door, but it was clearly pre-locked.

Rowen stared in shock— what was that about? What was really going on here? Why had they locked her friends up?

“We don’t want any runners, do we folks?” The circus director invited the audience’s input, and the audience made raucous noises of agreement.

Rowen was now really feeling afraid inside; not just from stage fright, but because things seemed to be going wrong; something darker was happening here, and she was going to be a part of it. It was about to happen to her first.

She couldn’t do anything about her friends right now— it looked like the cage was locked tight. But she was outside of it— and though part of her wished she could go back inside and hide there with them, hide behind them, be protected by them as she cowered in fear — (she just wanted someone else to take care of this for her, someone else to resolve this for her) — at this moment she had something her friends did not. She was free— she could move, she wasn’t locked up.

So she moved to run, thinking as she did that she could leave the circus tent and go for help— get the authorities, bring them down here to bust up the circus and set her friends free. She didn’t want to have to be an adult and do this, handle this, but she didn’t have a choice. Someone had to do it, and she was the only one who was not locked up.

But the clowngirls had gotten closer to her than she’d realized. And when she tried to run, she only ran into them— and there were enough of them to stop her, first hold her steady and then forcibly walk her up the stage steps and center her in its spotlight.

She struggled— she screamed— she protested, but the clowngirls sprayed her with their pink dust, temporarily dazing her.

“Is the machine ready, ladies?” The circus director asked the pair of clowngirls who were standing by.

They both giggled and nodded.

“Then folks, I think you’re in for a real treat. This machine is state-of-the-art, top-of-the-line, and you’ll get to see it at work on all our VIP guests tonight.”

A cheer answered this.

“Let’s get the first girl in there!”

The pink dust had already worn off, so Rowen could see the structure before her with her right mind. The machine was mostly a loose metal framework— columns that made it up with spaces in between them. Clearly the columns were more than just supports; they had compartments, they might be able to send out extensions, or they might encase wires which sent electrical pulses around to run the thing. Or maybe these columns held both; but they formed the structure into a hollow box, and within it, the only solid thing was a cushioned bench at the base— which the clowngirls were already laying her down on, despite her struggling attempts to pull free.

Maybe it was more like a cot than a bench— it supported her body entirely. She couldn’t be sure, but it felt like it pulled out lengthways and sideways to become the appropriate size for her body. With all the empty spaces between columns, the audience would be able to see Rowen from all sides within it.

Once they had Rowen lying down, restraints came up around the bench. They bound Rowen’s arms across her body and against it, so all she could really do was try to wrench her shoulders and back— she couldn’t move her arms at all with them locked in place like that. She wailed, she begged— the clowngirls laughed, the audience cheered.

And then the bench started to rotate; to lift up, and make Rowen hang, so she was facing the audience and could see out into the sea of their cheering faces.

The last thing the machine did was attach two transmitters to her temples— Rowen wondered if they would emit shocks.

“Now, let’s turn it on, and start the process!” The director cheered. The audience echoed him.

There was a pause; and then Rowen could only assume the process had been initiated, and one of the clowngirls had turned it on, because a flash of light seemed to blind her for a second. It struck directly into her eyes, so she could not see, and there was a vibration as the emitters taped to her temples did… something…

Oh! They had transmitted a thought to her. Or, more accurately, an image. It was an image of her: but no, that couldn’t be her. The young woman wearing her face was… also wearing a large adult diaper, and sucking on a pacifier. The image was distant from her— she could only just make out the face of the false her and what she was wearing.

Why were they showing this to her? What were they doing?

Rowen’s friends watched from their cage— horrified, as Rowen struggled against her binding, and was dazed by the blinding lights in her eyes.

Another pulse of light stuck her in the eyes, and the transmitters pulsed in time. Distantly, she was aware of the audience cheering, and the director egging them on. This time, the image in her head was closer; maybe only a few feet ahead of her instead of off in the distance.

Another pulse: the false figure was right in front of her. She could look into its eyes from this range, so she looked. And she saw: the thing’s eyes were dead. Insensible— from one look, Rowen could see there was no thinking go on in there. So why were they showing her…?

More blinding color in her vision, more cheers, more encouragement from the director: she thought she could see words laced throughout the color, but she couldn’t read them. The color was there and then gone too quickly.

Then it started streaming into her eyes, without stopping— Rowen was too disoriented to close them. It held the image in her mind constant, directly in front of her in her mind’s eye, and all the words that were laced through — but ghostly and impossible to catch — seemed to create the sensation in her mind of background murmuring, as if some crowd were standing around in her head and whispering amongst themselves.

The Rowen in front of her was a baby, but when she tried to think about it, her mind couldn’t make the distinction between her and her false facsimile. Rowen is a baby— I’m Rowen— I’m a baby.

It was like her thoughts had a mind of their own. She’d tried to think one thing, but the thought had broken away from her and gone completely alone in its own direction.

“Watch her pupils dilate, folks! The colors are reaching deep into her brain!”

She could feel them getting right into the very backs of her eyes; it seemed that way to her because they were blinding her to everything else so extremely. She knew what the colors were doing now— what they were turning her into.

“They’re trying to make me into an adult baby!” She screamed hysterically. “I don’t want to be! You sick fucks! Let me go, I don’t want this!”

But didn’t she? Hadn’t she always been immature for her age— hadn’t she always acted a little-age regressed? This was just the natural conclusion for that line of behavior.

(No, it was no fair— the colors were digging into her brain and using her memories against her— using her personality against her, twisting everything inside to make it into a weapon, a tool with which to change her… they were using her insecurities to make her closer and closer to the baby she could see in her head.)

She thrashed against the restraints, but couldn’t stop the thoughts coming— maybe she was reading them in the laced-through words she couldn’t see, or maybe the emitters on her temples were pumping them into her head— but wherever they were coming from, they were coming and wouldn’t stop, to the audience’s delight.

She’d always acted bitchy— because deep down, she was afraid of the world, and she defended herself by being bristly, and treating everyone around her like shit. She knew that wasn’t an excuse— in her lower moments, which she never admitted to anyone, she hated herself for this tendency. But she didn’t need to be afraid of the world anymore— the world didn’t matter, the world was going away. Some new person would come and become her world, replacing it.

A caretaker would come, a caregiver would come, and they would take care of everything for her… they would take care of her, she never had to think or worry again… she could just feel soft and warm and cared for. Thoughtless and sleepy all the time, forever… only sleeping and eating, and getting played with… she never had to think or speak again, she didn’t need to remember words anymore, language had no further use for her… she was a baby. After all, hadn’t she always secretly wished someone would care for her, take care of everything for her, anyway? Hadn’t that been the reason she’d always rebelled and lashed out? Anger, that no such caretaker had ever come? They would come now… she never had to be angry again, she would finally have what she’d wanted so long… She could stay a baby forever, and someone else could make all her decisions for her, do all her thinking for her. It was all that she’d ever wanted.

The clowngirls were taking her clothes off— putting a diaper on her now. They’d long since loosened the restraints and helped her step down and stand on the stage again. She hadn’t even noticed. After a certain point, the lights had kept her more forcefully pinned on the stage than any restraint could have done.

She sucked her pacifier— she stood in her diaper, wearing nothing else. She was a baby. Everything was right. Everything was perfect. This was how she’d always wanted it to be. She was warm, and happy, and she would be cared for— she was a baby, she’d always been. And she didn’t need to remember or worry about anything else now.

She was glad to be a baby, so relieved that someone else would be taking care of her from this point forward. She was so happy that she wet her diaper, and even felt happy about that. It was satisfying, just to follow her bodily impulses without judgement, without thought, without making herself wait or do things the way they were supposed to be done. It felt better to just follow her bodily impulses with no delay, to just let them go freely. None of it was her problem anymore: someone else would come and change her diaper later— she didn’t have to worry about anything— she wet herself again, feeling even happier the second time, laughing a youthful laugh of carefree thoughtlessness.

The clowngirls helped Rowen off the stage, leaving her to sit over to the side of it.

“Wasn’t that fun? Now, let’s get the next girl up— the blonde with the yellow hair!” This dispatched another set of clowngirls; Gaby recognized that they were taking about her, and she was filled defiance. She rushed the side of the cage, pulling at its bars. It was the only thing she could think to do. She’d seen what they’d done to Rowen, and she didn’t want to find out what they were going to do to her. She knew logically that pulling the bars wasn’t going to make them come loose. No magical cage-break was going to happen. But she couldn’t just stand there and let them take her. She had to try something— and the only thing she could think of was pulling on the bars that were stuck fast into the ground.

Unsurprisingly, the bars did not give to her tugging. She pulled harder; encouraged her friends to join her, but the other three of them seemed too stunned to respond. She was still pulling the bars when the clowngirls came for her. They came into the cage, and were grabbing her on all sides and dragging her out, even as she fought helplessly against them.

“Don’t take me up there!” She screamed. “I don’t want to change like Rowen did!”

They sprayed her, and took her up anyway.

She was subdued for a few minutes; but her head cleared again by the time she in front of the machine. The settings on the machine had been changed; some more clowngirls — (where had they come from, was there an endless supply?) — had been fiddling with at the director’s instruction, just before the other ones who were constraining her brought her up in front of it. It seemed to loom before her— she tried harder to pull free of the restraining arms containing her now that her head had cleared, but didn’t manage it.

They were starting it up now— a fearful noise escaped her.

The machine was clearly doing something different to her than it had done to Rowen. It wasn’t pulsing light into her eyes. Many lights were shining on her from all sides, swirling and strobing over. They felt like a physical presence. The lights were warm on her skin as they started washing over her. Warm… and warmest of all when they fell across her erogenous zones.

She was not bound as tightly as Rowen had been, either. There were cords around her wrists and her ankles, keeping her tied to the structure of the machine so she could not run away and escape, but she was capable of free movement within them.

They stripped her naked so she could feel the lights on her skin completely. The warm lights washed over her in their shifting dance, making her feel… pleasant. Turned on; that warmth was getting through her skin, into her muscles, into her flesh, and creating arousal in her. It felt great— she had to have more of it.

She started to feel thoughts instead of think them; physical impulses came to her, and she followed them. First to move as the lights strobed in some kind of strange, half-dance of drifting movements. This increased the pleasure that was being beamed into her. “Watch her dance! Watch her dance!” The circus director called out, eliciting more applause.

After dancing this way for awhile, it started sounding like a pretty good idea to her to start touching herself, so she did that. It had come to her as a physical impulse, and it had been the most natural thing in the world to follow it. But as she touched herself… she couldn’t quite name it. She touched, feeling around more thoughtfully— she wished her breasts were bigger. That was it— she touched, and it disappointed her that her breasts were so small. She wanted big breasts— they felt good, and everyone liked to look at them, liked to see them, and she wanted to be onstage like she was now, onstage whenever they asked her to come on and when she came on, everyone would look at her breasts and think how good and big they were, and that would turn her on and fuck her pussy with pleasure even if it never used physical touch…

They were injecting her with something now, and it was making her breasts grow; she felt relief, they wouldn’t have to stay so small! They were spraying her with the pink dust again, they were painting something onto her face which had chemicals that seemed to seep in through her skin. It felt the way breathing the pink dust did, but since it was creams and colors and paints sitting there statically it was a constant feeling that didn’t come and go— it stayed, it stayed soaking into her and making her more confused. But the more confused she got, the funnier that seemed, until she was laughing and eagerly playing with her own growing breasts.

Growing… growing… they were as big as the other clowngirls’ and she wanted to be just like them. She wanted to join them and stay with the circus forever, or if not then, then whatever they told her to want… but for now, wished she could help the circus make more clowngirls, every girl should be a clowngirl, and the circus director would tell her when she could give this gift to someone else, if they wanted her to stay… and until then she would wait and fuck anyone who wanted her. She had a slut’s pussy and she wanted anyone who was willing; she’d take anyone and everyone, at any time and every time. She loved being a clowngirl— she wanted to be one forever. She giggled— she masturbated herself more— she giggled— they let her free and told her she was complete. She went to stand with the others, and climbed into the same costume as they were all wearing. She giggled, and felt her new, bigger breasts through her clownshirt. And giggled again.

“Bring up the other blonde now!” the director called out, and more clowngirls fanned out to retrieve her.

Lani was standing off in the corner. She’d hidden her eyes, unable to watch Lani’s transformation after seeing Rowen’s; Tessi and Brigid had watched both transformations in total terror, paralyzed in shock and unable to look away. Lani had been hiding her face, but when the director called out, she knew he meant her— and she retreated further into the corner, trying to be out of reach.

But she knew it was hopeless, really. She was going to be transformed the way she’d seen happen to Rowen— the way she’d heard happen to Gaby, even after blocking out her vision. She couldn’t stop it. She, as herself, she, as Lani would no longer exist. She was going to cease to exist. This hadn’t been the place for them— she and her friends should never have come here, and she should have spoken up before, she should have linked arms with all of her friends and dragged them out of the circus tent before they could be shown to the VIP box. She shouldn’t have stayed silent. She should have acted.

And it was too late for action now, too late to prevent what was going to happen. It had already happened to two of her friends; and they were lost permanently now. It would happen to her next. Then to Tessi. Then Brigid.

Since they were all facing their own eradication, for the cheering din of the crowd… should she? Should her last act as herself be confession? Should she tell Tessi her secret— that she loved her, and had been in love with her for years?

It would make her feel better to finally say it out loud. It would probably only make Tessi feel worse; it would be selfish of her to do it. But Tessi wouldn’t have to live with the knowledge very long. They’d take her and transform her too, and she’d forget all about it.

Should she tell Tessi now? She’d kept it secret so long, but should she tell her? As a last dying wish? For her own selfish relief?

Or just so someone could know all of her, all of the truth about her— including the deepest secret she’d never admitted to anyone? So someone could fully see her, fully understand her, fully know everything about her, every part of her, her entire self— just before it was lost forever? Just so it could happen once, even if the one and only time had to be at the end.

And did she want that someone to be the woman she loved? Tessi knew her better than almost anyone else. There was only one thing Tessi didn’t know about her… and if Lani told it to her, Tessi would have the whole picture, at least for a few minutes. Did she want someone to know her, and did she want that someone to be the woman she loved, even if that woman didn’t love her back?

It was an easy answer. Yes. She did.

“Tessi,” Lani said, turning to her. “Before they take me, I want you to know. I was too shy to ever tell you before— but I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years and I could never tell you. It’s been hell watching you get ready to marry another man. I just wanted you to know.”

The clowngirls had already reached and come into the cage— they were dragging Lani away before the expression on Tessi’s face had the chance to change away to anything else from the shock that had first spread across it. Lani felt sadness— she didn’t want to transform— but she also felt as though a weight had come off her shoulders. She’d kept her secret so long, and it had weighed on her. At least she could have lightness from it now, freedom from it now. Even if it came at the end of her existence.

They brought her up onto the stage. Then they led her over to their machine.

Lani closed her eyes in resignation, feeling the hopelessness of the situation wash over her. Feeling the ending as it unfolded. She closed her eyes as they put her in.

For her, the machine had been changed again, into cuffs that came out of the floor. They put her wrists through the front, and her ankles through back— the two sets were set apart from each other, so that when she was locked into them, she was on all fours on the floor of the stage, her ankles and wrists locked so she was forced to stay there.

She felt something like a heat lamp come on— and she felt her clothes come off, the clowngirls tearing them away. The heat burned into her, heated her up— made her sweat, and sweat so much that her mouth fell open and her tongue lolled out as she panted. She didn’t want to pant— it was humiliating, it made her sound like a dog, but it wasn’t a voluntary reaction, so she couldn’t stop it.

She felt something very slick slide in through her folds— when it nested inside of her, she realized it was also thick, and now thickly penetrating her. The machine sent out manipulable extensions too, which settled on Lani’s breasts, and began kneading and stimulating them roughly, pulling hard on them in a downwards direction, taking advantage of gravity since they were already hanging down beneath her as she crouched on all fours.

She panted more— the machine fucked her and played her tits. They were taping the emitters they’d used on

Rowen to Lani’s temples now— and those pulsed, letting out a droning tone inside her head— it was rising in pitch and getting higher and higher. It was so loud she couldn’t hear the cheers of the audience, nor the director as he narrated her transformation for them. Could only see them moving with no sound; but couldn’t bring herself to look over at the VIP box, and Tessi, couldn’t bring herself to see what expression Tessi wore know that she knew.

If she had looked, she would only have seen Tessi (and Brigid too) looking on in horror— and still unable to look away.

Tessi didn’t know what to think of the tone in her head, at first. She knew it was communicating something to her— and some part of her seemed to be understand and respond to what it was telling her. The tone seemed to reach deep down within in her and do something way far down in there… and only after that did bubbles trail up from the depths to the surface and give some clue of what was going on down underneath.

The bubbles came as thoughts— they were keeping her in a dog-like position… she liked to be in dog-like positions, liked to be treated as a dog, wished she could be a dog…

Oh, no. They’d done something down there… in the depths of her subconscious… to make her think that, and thoughts like those were only a belated sign of what the tone had already changed in her a few seconds before. New thoughts would come from whatever the tone was doing to her now— she was behind on a delay, but the tone was streaming into her vulnerable brain with no hesitation, and she wouldn’t even know what it was doing until seconds after it had already done it— meaning she had no hope of fighting. It was building up a backlog of control in her— and how could she resist things she’d already absorbed before she’d even become conscious of them? She could try… but it would be futile.

She could guess what they were trying to do to her, though. Or what they were probably successfully doing to her, she had to admit, if she were being honest. They wanted to make her a dog.

Yes, they were fucking her like a dog, and giving her all the thoughts that went along with that feeling. She was a good girl— she was a good girl— it would feel so much better when there was someone to scratch behind her ears or under her chin, or rub her vigorously over her skin. No, she didn’t have skin— it was all fur; even if she was a dog with thin fur, or a dog that was hairless for now, it was still all fur, and she wanted someone to rub over her. She wanted to be rubbed, she wanted positive attention, wanted to be praised— and wanted to always get fucked like the good girl puppyslut that she was. The way she was getting it right now.

They were fucking her like she was a dog, and she was an animalistic craving for pleasure that had to howl at the feeling. They were playing dogwhistle tones for her, telling her they were playing dogwhistle tones for her, and she knew it was true because they were telling her so. They were pumping the sound of dogwhistles in her ears, and she could hear them only because she really was a dog. A cute young puppy, eager to feel good and get fucked; she was a dog in heat now, she was sweating, she was panting— she was doing everything a dog in heat did, and she was rutting against the things that were fucking her. That made her an animal. She was doing all the things an animal did— she couldn’t argue with that. She was doing everything that an animal did… because she was an animal. A mindless animal that only wanted to obey her owner, whoever they would turn out to be— she’d never thought, never been human, couldn’t remember any time before this— had only ever been here, been this, eager to be fucked and played with, and to pant and bark her satisfaction.

She should bark right now: and show everyone what a good puppy she was.

She let out a chipper barking; then a string of barks, always panting in between. She was a dog.

They let her out, and put her over to the side of the stage with the babyfied-Rowen.

“We’re down to the last two, folks!” The circus director announced. “Get the redhead up here first.”

The clowngirls came: Tessi was panicking so much she couldn’t think of a strategy for escape, a strategy for avoidance or evasion. They came, they got her, they took her, and she was unable to do anything to stop them. All she could do was cry, and scream— even after they sprayed her with the pink dust, the tears didn’t stop coming.

She was already standing on the circus stage; there was no going back now.

They’d brought her over to the machine. They’d switched the dials on it again after what it had done to Lani before her— Lani who had loved her, apparently, and she still hadn’t figured out how to think about that or understand it. But she was so panicked, had been so panicked in these past few minutes — her last few minutes, that now she never would figure out how to think about Lani’s love.

The lights were blasting her— pure white light from all sides. They didn’t feel like anything; just light, but they blocked her seeing the audience or the director or anyone or anything. It made her feel totally alone on the stage.

She was only bound by her wrists and ankles, the way Gaby had first been— but they were attaching transmitters all over her body, and those transmitters were pulsing a beat into her muscles; into her skin; into the depths of every physical part of her.

The first, immediate pulse filled her with a sense of peace. She didn’t need to worry now— the beat would tell her what to do. She only wanted to follow its instructions and go where it led her.

It was making her march in place now: then pace the stage. She was pacing the stage; now marching again— pacing the stage— now marching.

After some time passed, they hooked an earbud receiver over each ear, and took the other emitters off her. Those earbuds receivers seemed to be burrowing in and binding to her skin. She would wear them forever, and the beat that controlled her was pulsing more intensely into her eardrums, reaching her brain— she marched, she walked, she marched, she paced.

She was a drone. Only a drone— she would do everything the circus needed from her. She would strike stages and sets or put them up, along with all the other drones; she would do any and all organizational work perfectly, without blinking, perfectly, without thinking. Her hands and body and fingers would move themselves, directed by this beat that would never stop, and it would tell her everything she ever needed to know how to do without ever making her wake up or think.

She never had to think again; her brain would waste away and atrophy from lack of use, but she liked that: it was good, because the beat was telling her that was good. The less she used her brain, the longer since the last time she’d used it (it had been a few minutes now and that time would keep counting up) the more her mind would decline, the more mindless she’d become, the more of a drone she would turn into. Someday, she would be completely robotized, completely automatized with no mind remaining at all. There would always only be this beat. It was all she needed now.

Something shifted inside, something fighting to get free in her. She felt herself emerge again, coming out from behind the droning beat. She stopped being the drone for a second, and she was Tessi again. She was Tessi, and she was horrified by what had been happening inside her for the past few minutes. It frightened her to think that she could be so easily changed, so easily controlled, that the transformation could happen so fast.

She wasn’t a drone— she was a person— she didn’t want her brain to waste away. She liked thinking, liked using her brain, liked being herself. In fact, she wished she could be thinking right now, about something other than this. Part of her still wanted to figure out Lani’s confession of love, make sense of it and take some kind of meaning from it. But she couldn’t think of that, couldn’t do that, couldn’t think about anything but her present situation since it was such a dangerous time for her. She was balancing on the point of annihilation.

Now she knew it really could be done— it really could happen to her. If anyone had asked her, before coming to this circus, she would have said permanently changing someone — the way she’d seen her friends changed, the way that had just happened to her before she snapped out of it— wasn’t possible. But it was possible, it had happened to her, would keep happening to her unless she could somehow get away, and she could no longer hold on to the comforting belief that such radical change to identity couldn’t happen. It was happening to her.

She felt suffused with panic— she didn’t want to be a drone! She had an identity already, her own identity. She was herself; she was Tessi. She had a whole life— her own life. She was more than just a mindless robot that did things for other people, who only did what others wanted from her. She wanted to go back to her own life— wanted to make her own decisions, do things for herself— not just be a mindless cog turning in someone else’s machine, a structure within someone else’s framework.

The panic overwhelmed her, filled her— the beat was still pounding into her head. She couldn’t let this happen, couldn’t let it erase her, she had to fight not to be a drone— she had to stay Tessi, she had to hold on to herself—

But the beat was unrelenting. It kept pulsing into her head, and every time she heard it, the impulse to follow and do exactly as it guided her took her over again. It was so loud— it was drowning every other thought she had out… she couldn’t hear them anymore, though she was trying to hold onto them, trying to remember…

It was easier just to listen… she should just listen and stop thinking… let the beat control her… Yes, she was doing it now… she was doing it now and it felt good, felt good to move… it was making her pace again… pace the stage in perfect time with its droning. And she followed.

She loved the beat. She could feel it inside. It pulsed in her and it pulsed inside; in the highest reaches of her womb, make her inner walls shake in time. She didn’t know if she’d ever have a proper orgasm— or maybe this quaking in her was an orgasm, a continuous orgasm that would never stop… she didn’t know if she’d ever start orgasming or if she would ever stop… didn’t know if she was or was not— but all her walls contracted and pulsed inwards pleasurably, perfectly synced to the beat drilling into her brain from the implanted earbuds in her ears.

It was a pulse in her body everywhere else now, too. Not only inside her cunt— her breasts throbbed with it as well. Her nipples tightened. She was mechanized, a machine, a cog, she ran on the sound of the beat droning into her, too unaware to know if it was causing her constant orgasm or not, but completely washed out, completely controlled, completely held within an unending, level pleasure. It would never stop— she would hear the beat forever, be the drone forever.

They released her wrists and ankles; she was already needed backstage to join with the rest of the crew. She went on to join them without a single thought, guided there by the pulsing of the sound in her brain that echoed through her entire body, spreading out its pleasure.

“Only one girl left, let’s bring her up,” said the director, and the clowngirls made their way to the cage, and entered it.

Brigid remembered how Tessi had reacted when the clowngirls had approached the cage to come and claim her, and drag her into her new life as the new thing she had become. She felt the same way now, panicked and unable to think coherently, even though it was more important that she do it now than ever. She needed to be thinking clearly, needed to use the moment they opened the cage door to engineer some kind of escape, even if it was too late to take her friends with her. All she could hope to do now was save herself. But she couldn’t even do that. She was too full of panic to be able to form any kind of plan, and when they opened the cage door to get her, she was unable to put up any kind of meaningful fight at all. She did fight, did try, but her attempts were all over the place, and scattered, and against so many clowngirls, it was impossible to succeed. They dragged her up to the stage.

Her set-up was the same as Gaby’s— that meant they were probably going to make her a clowngirl too. At least she knew what to expect; having already seen it happen once.

The lights washed over her, washing her warm. She hated them: but they washed her in pleasure, washed it into her until she was already laughing and giggling, giggling as they injected her and her breasts grew. She’d seen it happen to Gaby, and now she knew what it felt like— here it was, happening to her… here it was happening to her, and that only made it funny. She giggled harder; she played with her breasts and stirred her hand in her pussy; she giggled again.

She was a clowngirl too, and so happy to be.

“That’s all the transformations, folks. But the show’s not over quite yet! Let’s bring the redhead out from backstage, let’s get the blonde with the yellow hair, and the one who went last out from among the clowngirls, and you can all see the baby and the dog by the side of the stage. We’re going to raffle them off to you, and if you win one of them, you can take them home!”

They raffled each of the five transformed girls off, transferring their possession to the lucky audience members who’d won. The girls left the circus as the audience filed out of the tent— went home with their new owners, each of the five of them going their separate ways as they went off to live their new lives.