The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Choose Your Own Transformation: The Curse of the Pink Cookie

SYNOPSIS:

Emily Brown writes for the college paper. She investigates whispers of a new website spreading across campus and finds herself to become a part of her own story.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

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DISCLAIMERS:

  • This story is a work of fiction; any apparent resemblance between the characters in this story and any actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental and unintentional.
  • Do not read this story if you are under the age of 18 or if explicit sexual fiction is illegal in your jurisdiction.
  • This story contains mind control and explicit descriptions of a sexual nature. If any of these concepts disturb you, please find something else to read.
  • This story is a work of erotic fantasy. It is not meant to reflect real life, nor should it be read as an endorsement of the actions and attitudes contained within.

All kinds of rumors were circulating around campus about a new website that a lot of students were hitting for some kind of weird rush. Details were scarce, whispered at best, like some sort of thing out of the dark web that if you speak loud about it, men in black will secret you away. But I write for the Campus Times and I will get to the bottom of every interesting story that comes my way. Boys are the easiest targets, a touch of the bicep, a flick of my hair, a feigned giggle and they’ll basically tell me anything. The clues give me enough information to start to piece it together on my dorm room laptop. I search for a combination of “weaver” and “choose your own adventure” and what I think to be the site in question pops up. I click on the link and my screen momentarily flickers, slowly at first, but then at an alarmingly fast rate. I worry that it’s going to die. I don’t have the money to just up and buy a new one. Thankfully, this stops and I’m prompted to enter my name—Emily Brown.

Are you over 18?

Yes

No

This question more than anything else makes me think I’m on the right trail. I hurriedly select “yes.”

From here on out, all of the sections will end with multiple options to continue.

Do you understand?

Yes

No

Yes, I’m a writer. I’m intimately familiar with the English language. I select “yes,” again, ready for the good stuff.

To which gender do you identify:

Female

Male

Female. Let’s get to it.

A list of potential “adventures” appears with a command of PICK ONE:

Building a Better Relationship

Inflation!

Invaders of the Nether Realm

Journey to Uranus

Mystery of the Grand Tetons

One Perfect Date

Prisoner of the Master

Slice of Heaven

The Cave of Remaking

The Curse of the Pink Cookie

The Dame That Came

The Lost Canal

The Secret of the Box

Treasure Trove of Wonder Untold

(more)

All the titles seem a little juvenile. I know this is a story trope popular for middle schoolers, but the pseudo-sexual innuendo is a bit much. This means, of course, that I’m going to pick the silliest of the lot.

I select The Curse of the Pink Cookie.

My screen explodes in white, momentarily blinding me, but when my sight returns, the site shows my story.

No one had ever seen the inside of his factory. Not you. Not anybody. There was talk that the elf didn’t exist. There was even more talk that the elf was an actual elf and that’s why you never see the owner of the cookie factory give press interviews, or any interviews for that matter. You got the pink ticket, which means you and you alone get entry. No fanfare. No press. You weren’t even allowed to tell your family. If there was a hint of someone else being outside the factory in cahoots with you, it would be immediately called off and forfeited. You stand at the gate and hear some jangling off to your left-hand side. You look over and see a homeless man shaking a cup at you. “Spare some change, miss?” he says in a voice hoarse and deep through lips dry as a desert. He’s big, if he got a hold of you, you’d be done for.

Emily, do you—

Ignore him and push open the gate

Fish around in your pockets for change

Eh. Ignoring sounds boring. Rhymes with it even.

I select—Fish around in your pockets for change.

The best thing about being a reporter, even if it is only at the college level currently, is helping people. If I could build my life around one thing, it’s that—using my gifts to help people and make the world a better place.

You approach the homeless man, a couple crumpled dollars in your outstretched hand. He stands up suddenly. You stop cold, unsure of what’s about to happen, but then he discards layers of costume and mask to reveal himself to be your host.

“Looks like fate picked a worthy visitor.” He says, his bright and friendly smile, filling you with both comfort and awe. “Oh. You can keep your money, I’ve got tons. Come on!” He gestures.

The gate swings open, seemingly of its own accord.

The elf’s back is turned.

Emily, do you—

Take the selfie while you can

Simply follow him

Eh. I want to see what’s inside these gates. Selfies are for the immature. I’ll take memories every day.

I select—Simply follow him.

There’s something really great about surrendering to the idea of just doing what you’re asked to do. I’ll spend my time thinking about investigative reporting and not what I should or shouldn’t do when there’s already a clear path delineated for me. Follow along. Simply do what you’re told. No harm will come to you if you just obey. Why waste my mental power on anything else?

On closer examination, you find your guide to be lithe and almost ethereal in nature, as if he weren’t completely human. You thought the “elf” mascot was just that, but the qualities and presence of this person suggest something a little different, something beyond human.

“Where are my manners?” He pats his pockets. “I must have left them in my other coat. Can I interest you in something to eat or drink before we start our tour?”

Emily, do you—

Ask for something to eat

Ask for something to drink

Say that you’re “fine”

I mean, it’s a cookie factory, yes? There’ll be cookies galore. I do, however, wonder what they have in terms of beverages.

I select—Ask for something to drink.

I probably should have showered before sitting down in front of the computer as I’m still sweaty from today’s workout. Two hours a day, seven days a week. No Freshman fifteen or Sophomore slump or the like are going to make my body anything more than the temple of supreme fitness I’ve honed it into.

“A drink would be lovely,” you say.

He echoes your statement, but with different emphasis. “A drink WOULD be lovely.”

He pulls a vial from one of his internal pockets and presents it to you. It has a little ribbon and a small note on it that reads “Drink Me.”

When in Rome, you think, popping the cork and downing the vial. It’s syrupy and sweet, a little thicker than water and you can feel it work its way through your body and hit your stomach.

Your stomach grumbles.

Then, your body grumbles.

Then, you find your body noticeably tightening in all areas.

Where once was pudge is now nicely toned.

You catch sight of yourself in a mirror and it looks like your head has been placed atop a supermodel’s body.

Emily, do you—

Ask why he just did that to you

Thank him for his efforts

It’s not like I’d be ungrateful if someone handed me a drink that gave my body great shape. However kind a gesture though, that’s the sort of thing you ask before doing.

I select—Ask why he just did that to you.

Men cannot be trusted. It’s a weird dichotomy to want to follow orders and be commanded but to also not trust the potential commanders. I think that’s why reporting is so important to me. It gives me the chance to dig below the surface and hopefully root out the bad seeds from the good. I get to help people, make the world a little better, and stop any bad influencers from taking control.

“Excuse me, what was that?”

“What? Not a fan of Alice in Wonderland? You be sad later you didn’t choose the ‘eat me.’ Oh the wondrous changes that little piece of cake can do!” And that’s just the start of your adventure here, dearest newfound friend. Unless, of course, some silly warning bell is going off in your brain signaling some sort of danger. I mean, you could turn around now, but that would be downright silly, wouldn’t it?”

Emily, do you—

Press on with your tour

Take this chance to exit

If I exit now, I won’t have the full story. Without the full story, there’s no story for me to report on to the Campus Times. What kind of investigative journalism career will I have after college if I can’t complete my assignments?

I select—Press on with your tour.

Sometimes I feel like a silly, silly girl with a head full of fluffy cotton candy thoughts. I guess that’s why they assign me the “fluff” stuff. Like this story thing. Sure, it’s a lot of reading. Like… A LOT, but it’s also fun. I can see why people on the campus are totally into this.

“I’d like to see more, please,” you say politely.

The elf turns, eyes and smile both wide. “By the end I think you’ll see it all, young miss. All of everything and more!”

He leads you through a series of tunnels in rapid succession. It seems like the hallways get smaller the further you go. All of the sudden, you’re on your hands and knees crawling behind him and trying your best to keep up. Then, you’re on your belly, propelled solely by your arms. You lose sight of him. You lose sight of everything in the pitch-black darkness that surrounds you.

“Hello?” you say to the nothing.

“Hello!?!” you plead.

Suddenly, a bright light fills everything.

First, you couldn’t see because of the darkness.

Then, it’s the light that blinds you.

“Oopsie,” you hear the elf say somewhere in front of you. “Someone forgot to turn on the lights.”

You blink your sight back. You’re still in a tunnel, but there’s what looks like a set of roller coaster cars on tracks in front of you. The elf is in the first car. He motions to the one behind him. With nowhere else to go, you get inside.

“Shouldn’t there be a lap bar or a belt?”

“I don’t know.” He uses his cane to flip a lever, the car shakes to life. “Should there be?”

You push against the front of the car to secure yourself on your seat as the ride starts to speed up. And speed up. And speed up.

Everything is a blur.

You just want it to stop.

Emily, do you—

Close your eyes

Scream

I hate roller coasters. They always make me…

I select—Scream.

“Wow. I can’t believe I’m still reading this.” I say aloud. “It’s fun and all, but there’s probably other fun things I could get into.”

You scream and the ride slows to a halt. It seems like you haven’t moved. Maybe it was all lights and fans.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” The elf says. “Would you like a cookie? It’s pink! And it will melt away all of your cares and concerns. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

He holds out a pink cookie.

Everything inside you says that you probably shouldn’t eat it—that it’s the most dangerous thing the elf has in his arsenal. That every uncomfortable thing you’ve gone through was to set up you wanting this cookie, needing this cookie.

Emily, do you—

Lick the frosting

Take a bite

“I want it all in my mouth. The whole thing.” I say. “Hmm. I can’t seem to stop verbalizing my thoughts. Weird.”

I select—Take a bite.

The sensation of sugary sweetness begins in my mouth, spreading out to my face and down through my body. I feel my boobs throb and swell. I feel my clit do the same. The hair that cascades down my shoulders is cotton candy pink, soft, and shiny. My stomach grumbles when the sweetness hits it, then it contracts, shrinking my waist, even as my hips widen and my behind bubbles out. My fingernails grow out a little, coated in a bright pink sheen. I shed my clothes. My nipples are pink. My pussy is pink.

“I’m pink! I’m all pink!” I realize. “I’m a sugar girl, delicious from head to toe and here for the licking. I’ll get up and leave this computer behind to find someone, anyone, with a tongue as soon as I finish this story.”

You bite into the cookie.

The elf smiles.

“Good choice. Who wants gradual change when immediate is an option?”

Even as he talks, you continue to devour the cookie, bite after bite, as alterations sweep across your body, building and rebuilding until you are the elf’s ideal mate.

“The factory will be half yours, my dear, but you? You’re all mine.”