The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Turning into some sort of slutty creature is very, very rare,” Marissa said. “So I hear. Super-duper very rare. I bet the ceiling tiles are more likely to fall on us. Or like, a bolt of lightning will hit the building, then go through the vents, and then hit us in class.”

“They have uniforms,” Jenny said. “And there’s a logo on them. Look, its a patch with a circle, and the circle has horns. I don’t think it’s that rare if they got uniforms. I’ve heard things, on the Internet, Marissa.”

They both looked at the two MPV Operatives. They were uniformed, serious, and carried buckets full of needles.

The class was quiet, outside of Marissa and Jenny. Everyone had rolled up their sleeves. Or, where they didn’t have sleeves, made a point of cocking their arms. Their English professor watched, face set, mouth in a line. The atmosphere was solemn and nervy.

No one wanted to become a horny bunny girl at a junior college.

“Its at LEAST hit-by-car odds,” Marissa said. “We’re not routinely sprouting horns and claws and big pointy teeth, it’s very unusual. Its probably the same overall probability as getting bit by a shark. No. Less. You’re more likely to get bit by a shark than turn into one. With big boobs.”

“We’re pretty far from the ocean, Marissa,” Jenny said. She tucked her hair back behind her ears.

“Big sharky boobs,” Marissa repeated, nervous as the Operatives approached.

They were not FRIENDS, Jenny would tell anyone. Jenny, typically, had a pithy, laconic way of explaining it: they were not buddies, or chums. They were just similar types. Glasses, books, grades, anime, disheveled hair. It relieved people that there was a tubby one—Marissa—and a gangly one—Jenny—but otherwise they had crowded into the same social niche. Cruelly forced into each other’s lives, Jenny would say.

And then, there had been the Romeo and Juliet incident, and now they were both at the same local community college.

“Don’t say sharky boobs,” Jenny said. She held out her arm as the Operative approached. The testing kit was a small needle in a wet solution. The Operative peeled out a new pricker, jammed it into Jenny’s arm, and tossed into a moist bag of sharps. Marissa got the same treatment.

“They have specialized tools,” Jenny said. “Standardized procedures. Personnel. This is. A major super big deal. Getting bigger every day. So says the Internet.”

Marissa rubbed at her shoulder. The rest of the class was, shakily, returning to life.

MPV was new and frightening. There were now dozens of social media filters—you as a nymph, an elf, a harpy, a fairy. Just in case.

The government had rushed into action. The quarantine camps had been located on google maps, and, although the satellites had their feeds blurred, they clearly covered acreage.

Marissa had not paid too much attention. The subject was tawdry.

Marissa noticed a rare event—Jenny had stopped talking. She looked over. Her counterpart had a beet-red pustule on her shoulder, right where she’d gotten pricked. Marissa dropped her gaze to her own shoulder, where a very similar boil was pressing out of her skin.

“Dark and dark our woes,” Jenny said.

Marissa put up her hand.

“It’s normal to get a big red reaction, right?” she said, nodding her head, encouraging. “That’s good, right? Good?”

7:35 a.m., Day 1. The Bus Ride.

“Nice bus, at least,” Marissa said, to no one.

She wasn’t alone on the bus. The driver wore a full moonsuit with an attached breathing apparatus. It was Tyvek yellow. They hadn’t helped Marissa at all with her bags.

Also on the bus was Jenny, who sat in the very back. They traveled the highways a full thirty-five feet apart, separated by dozens of rows. Up above, a new TV played a reassuring government video. They were safe and secure, they were headed to “supportive care”. It made the point that there were snake girls in Africa and Central America who would’ve loved some cutting-edge medical treatment.

“Good bus, free... everything,” Marissa said, ticking off the positive points. She had immediately started an optimism journal. “Get to be at the center of a major world event, and not in like a, nuclear explosion kind of way. Possibility of transformation into favorable form, such as... dwarf.”

Marissa’s lip quivered at that. She hadn’t had the heart to research the two hundred and fifty-eight known types of MPV transformation. The wiki was very informative. And she’d had plenty of time, in an empty house, her parents evac’d and uniformed agents watching the residential perimeter. She’d spent much of that time looking at pictures of girls, much like her, with bristling quills or iridescent scales or the slit of gills.

“Jenny, what do you want to be?” she called backwards.

“Human,” Jenny said, eventually. About five minutes later.

“What about demi-human?”

“No.”

“What do you LEAST want to be? Did you see the list?” Marissa said. “I was thinking it was going to be goo girl but actually they’re shimmery, you know? I’m gonna say bug. No thanks on the bugs.”

Silence from the back of the bus.

“Although I don’t know about dog. All the pictures of dog girls they have the same expression. They just look like they want to play fetch. Not go to Princeton, play fetch. You know? And there’s something about a dog girl with boobs, I don’t know, it’s like a pet? Are you feeling anything yet? Like, transformative?”

More silence. And then a long, drawn out: “Yes.”

“WHAT?” Marissa said. She bounded backwards. Jenny wore the same sweater from yesterday, and possibly the same jeans. She’d secured her hair back with a headband.

“My ears,” Jenny said, reluctant.

“What about them? They’re underneath your hair. Move your hair. Pick up your hair and lets see. Donkey ears? Is it donkey ears?”

Marissa rubbed at the outside of her own earlobe. Like many chubby girls she had glossy, fantastic hair, and although it was dun-brunette it was still luxurious and thick. She’d put “horse” high on the list, for that reason. She was already full of mane.

She stopped.

It did feel different.

It felt really good.

“Oh,” she said. She caught Jenny’s eyes. Once again they involuntarily shared something. Now it was—there were nerves connecting the very tip of her ear to two places: the rarely-used pleasure center somewhere in the interior of her head, and, also, between her legs.

The bus came to a slow, rolling halt.

She came aboard eating.

Two MPV operatives came with. In the uniforms, although with the same heavy-duty breathing apparatus as their silent driver. One to haul in duffels and suitcases, and the second to bring in three big canvas bags labeled “HI-PROTEIN FEED” in industrial lettering. And then a girl appeared. Half of a girl. The bottom half was anyone’s guess.

She wore a sunny t-shirt that showed midriff, and had long blonde hair that made Jenny’s seem faded and tatty. The t-shirt had a whimsical elf on it. Underneath she wore a tarp. It was blue plastic, and was held to her waist with a bungee cord. The—covering—was arranged like a skirt, the eyelets taut around her midsection. She moved with difficulty, pulling herself forward from seat to seat, and settling with difficulty on a chair.

She caught their scared eyes and gave a tired wave.

“Arianne,” she said. And then: “Centaur.”

Marissa briefly forgot about her newly erogenous ears.

Arianne held a big gallon-size ziploc bag in her other hand, half-full of some brown grain cluster. She lowered her face to it, licked her lips, and started to eat. And then continued eating. Loudly, with bits of feed getting all over the floor.

“Should we say hi?” Marissa said, to Jenny. “I mean, of COURSE we should but...”

“We haven’t gone twenty minutes and we have a centaur with us,” Jenny said. Her hand was halfway to her own ears. “And there were two in one classroom. Us. It’s getting worse. We aren’t even out of St. Paul.”

“We should say hi, right?”

“You can do whatever you want. I’m going to sit here.”

“And finger your slutty little ears?” Marissa said.

It was unlike her, and Jenny immediately knew it. They’d known each other, reluctantly, since sixth grade. They’d gotten in enormous trouble together.

“Marissa, from everything I have read, the main challenge here is maintaining some sort of human dignity. Despite the... bestial.... urge to feed, fight, and, yes, fuck. So I think I can manage to keep from fondling my own ears.”

“Did you, last night?” Marissa said. They watched Arianne lower her face into the feed bag, because it was faster.

“Why do you ask, MARISSA?” Jenny said. Her fingers twitched.

Why did she? It flashed on her. Easy to imagine—she’d been in the same empty house, looking at the same internet reports, thinking the same kind of crazy thoughts. It’d be like picking at a pimple, except each touch would make her blonde semi-friend more wound up, quivering with additional hormones.

And Marissa was sure, definitely sure, that only one thing would get Jenny back to her reserved ways. A nice, juicy cum, probably on the toilet, both hands rubbing away.

She jerked backwards. What was all that?

“I’m Marissa!” Marissa jumped in, once Arianne had eaten her way through what appeared to be three gallons of feed. Her mouth was covered with brown residue, and her eyes were bleary. “I got you a water bottle! Take it! I’m sure you’re really thirsty!”

“I’m sooooo sorry,” Arianne said, but took the outstretched bottle and chugged it. Her lower half was sprawled along the vinyl, and Marissa could see bulges at odd places. There was a lot of lower body.

“Oh, no, no!” Marissa said. “I know about centaurs, they have to eat, like, a lot, you know? Like they’ve got a human mouth but you gotta fuel a big.. ah...”

They both looked at the tarped-over mystery that was Arianne’s legs.

“Big horse ass,” Arianne concluded. She sniffled, and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I wasn’t even like, a horsey girl, you know? I didn’t even watch My Little Ponies. I thought it was w-weird they built a whole civilization without h-hands.”

Marissa, without quite thinking about it, tugged on her earlobe. It felt nice. It was relaxing in stressful situations, such as meeting a girl in the most uncomfortable parts of becoming half of a horse.

“Centaur is a solid mid-tier choice,” she said, shifting closer. Marissa risked a hand on the tarp. It wasn’t clear what she was touching, but it was very warm. “First of all, you keep your upper half. That’s human. So really you’re only half-changed. And the lower part is, I mean, horse. Do you do archery? That’s a big centaur thing.”

“No, I played v-volleyball in high school,” Arianne said. Despite being obviously upset she picked up another big bag of food, ripped it open with her bare hands, and started to scoop out more horse kibble.

“Leave your ears alone, slut!” Jenny called, from the back.

“W-what?”

“She means me,” Marissa scowled towards the back of the bus. But it was true—stroking her ears was making it very easy to be relaxed, even in the presence of a half-changed mythological beast. She rubbed at the tarp. It felt soothing to rub. “How do centaurs wear volleyball shorts, do you think?”

“Oh my g-god,” Arianne said. She giggled, between bites, and then hid her face, until she could summon up more courage. “Can I ask you something? Like a big favor?”

“Hmm?” Marissa found herself surprisingly distracted. She sniffed. The air smelled like—horse food provided by the government, yes. But there was something else...

“Can you... umm... can you please pull my... can you help me pull my skirt off?”

“You don’t mean the tarp, do you? Not that that—I think its super cool how it wraps around—I bet it dries beautifully—”

“No!” Arianne said, shaking her head. “No, no. I—I didn’t want to be naked under there so I put on a skirt and—that was a big mistake. Its all wrapped around whatever is going on and...”

“And?” Marissa prompted.

“And I’m too scared to look,” Arianne said.

It was a big ask, and, also, about as much time as Arianne could spend away from the feedbag. She groaned, rubbing at her stomach, and returned to the ziploc bag. And shifted something, underneath the plastic wrap, to make access a little easier for Marissa. Who was, now, rubbing furiously at her lucky ear. It felt like it was generating very pleasant sparks, many of them traveling directly into her head.

“Okay,” Marissa said, reluctantly letting go. “Yes.” She sniffed again. The air smelled like—jasmine and tea. Biologically exotic. It was—strange. But pleasant. She pulled up the tarp.

Underneath, a plaid skirt was tangled in the start of a new horse.

It was not the musky horror Marissa had been half-expecting, a nightmare of goo and fluids. Perhaps it had been, at one point, but the essential elements of a new body were already in place. Four legs, the front two still kinda human, and a quivering back set. Marissa had anticipated also a pungent blast of the bergamot scent—but this was barnyard, the underlying note of standardized musk. So where did the scent come from..?

“Umm, you’re just looking? And looking?” Arianne said. “And looking? For awhile now?”

“Oh!” Marissa looked up and out. Arianne was biting at a nail. “Sorry!”

“is it that bad?”

“No! I mean—you’ve got a tail coming in. And hooves. What does that feel like, growing hooves?”

“It should hurt, shouldn’t it?” Arianne said. She looked out the window. They were out of the Twin Cities Metropolitan Area, and headed east and north. Driving very quickly, for such a big bus. “My toes are fusing, I can feel that. Hooves aren’t skin, they’re this stuff called keratin. It’s all fingernail. I’ve been growing tons of it. It feels...” she sighed. “fucking great, actually. Weird.”

Marissa nodded. All the videos and blogs and accounts and journals agreed on that point. How did it feel? How did the wings or horns feel? When they were coming in?

It felt so fucking good.

“Your skirt is—and its a total loss, by the way. It’s kinda... wrapped around... oh.” Marissa looked more closely at what she was dealing with. “Huh. Hmm.”

Arianne’s... privates. Right underneath the plug of her new tail.

Her pussy, something in Marissa prompted. That was her pussy.

“I’m never gonna get to wear pants again,” Arianne said, between munching and crunching. “No pants! No underpants either! I mean, I g-guess I could but it’ll just look like I’m wearing a big gross d-diaper or something. I don’t even know where the skirt would go!”

“Yeah... yeah. Age-old problem. You could decorate your saddle though,” Marissa said. She sucked at her teeth and tentatively got a grip on the remnants of the skirt. There was a theory that MPV—which was obviously man-made—had some sort of sense of humor. “Does it hurt if I do this?”

She yanked on the elastic.

Arianne moaned. A throaty, involuntary, happy moan.

The temperature in the bus had gone up an abrupt ten degrees. “Should I stop?” Marissa said. She looked anxiously at Arianne, who was suddenly breathing very hard, eyes wide.

“Do you—do you smell that?” she said, voice husky. “Like... spices...”

“I smell lots of stuff. Should I stop? You—gave like a moan? Like a full moan?”

Arianne took one last big handful of Equine Feed and stuffed it in her mouth.

“Get me off,” she said, around it. “It off. Get it off me.”

Her breath hissed out as Marissa took hold of the skirt once again.

“Marissa, what the fuck are you doing under there?” Jenny said. She’d joined them by the tarp, and was fondling her own ear. It looked—different. There was a new shape to it, elongated and tapered.

“I’m helping!” Marissa hissed. It didn’t help that now the scent was a full melange of teas, spices, and various perfumes. Sephora, up next to a merchant from the fabled orient. She was too distracted to think—which belonged to who? “I’m trying to get this skirt off before it melds into her new horsey butt!”

“Well she’s—” Jenny looked up. Arianne had dropped her feed bag and had clutched the chair in front of her with both hands. Her pale cheeks had gone a bright red. “Uh.”

It was hardly her fault. To get the skirt loose Marissa had decided to wriggle it down. Which meant it was rubbing right over the lightly furred and very pink set of Arianne’s slit. And her asshole, to boot. Marissa breathed in and out, concentrating. She was working it loose. Arianne was twitching and spasming, which wasn’t making it any easier.

“This is so fucked up,” Jenny said. And then sat abruptly down on the next bench. Breathing just as hard as Marissa.

“I’m making progress,” Marissa said, encouraging. Arianne had her eyes closed and nodded, weakly. She managed to put her hand in to her discarded food bag and pull out a few crumbs. “Don’t be embarrassed or anything. When you think about it, your holes are about to be on display pretty much twenty-four seven.” She gave another tug, which made Arianne outright squeal.

The PA clicked on.

“STOP MASTURBATING THE HORSE GIRL,” it blared.

“Oh, shut the FUCK UP!” Jenny yelled. The bus driver hadn’t moved, besides flipping on the intercom. It was crackly enough that Marissa still had no idea what type of person was in the suit. “Marissa. Stop.”

“I am HELPING,” Marissa insisted. The scent agreed with her—now violet and lavender, now macha and oolong.

Underneath her jeans, mostly an afterthought for her initial nineteen and five-sixths years, her own pussy was throbbing in agreement.

“You’re jerking her off! Look at her! She’s about to cum!”

“I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum!” Arianne agreed. She gave a throaty moan on top of that. Her new back legs kicked and kicked.

It was time to stop, and be normal. Marissa’s sexuality was based around steamy online fandom. She’d read hundreds of accounts of media property men—cartoon boys, anime men, some few nonthreatening actors. And while they’d gotten into some wild stuff it had all been text. She had rarely seen a picture of a penis. She’d only seen other pussies to compare, a self-esteem exercise in normalcy. She’d never gotten excited about other cunts. She’d never wanted to sniff and touch one, stick her nose right up it, and lick.

Lick and see what they tasted like.

“So WHAT if I’m jerking her off?” Marissa snapped. Her fingers were wet with Arianne juice, and it was making her body flush.

Jenny’s whining puzzled her, and she pushed it away. Although she’d been the one loaded up with anti-establishment geegaws and laptop stickers Jenny was a huge sucker for following rules. Everything flooding into Marissa’s head agreed with her—what was so bad about rubbing off a new friend? The only counter-argument was that, if the skirt stayed on, soon removing it would make her cum even harder.

And besides, she could hear Jenny whimpering behind her. She was probably just as horny as Marissa was. A new kind of horny.

The elastic gave way. A wet piece of fabric, that was previously a thirty dollar skirt, and was now a cum rag for a transforming centaur, came loose in Marissa’s hand.

“Oh—oh no,” Arianne said, and Marissa knew—was somehow 100% confident—that she was right at the verge. The barnyard musk swirled with more sophisticated scents, and told Marissa that she absolutely needed to jam her palm right on the developing bud of Arianne’s slit. She put her palm right on it, before she could remember she was a shy, chubby girl. .

Arianne howled. Kibble spray shot out. She kicked Marissa full in the gut, with all her new strength.

“Oof,” Marissa said.

The wind was fully knocked out of her. She got just a glimpse of Jenny guiltily removing her hand from underneath her skirt. And then, from the floor, saw the approaching form of the bus driver. Who managed to radiate annoyance, even in her suit.

3:04 p.m., Day 1. The Auditorium

“Urges,” the goblin said. She wrote it on the board behind her, very slowly and carefully, with a dry-erase marker. An auditorium full of partially-changed men and women watched her write on the lowest part of the board.

The powerpoint slide above her clicked over to a new slide, which was also the word URGES. It clicked again, and an animation underlined it.

Marissa sat on her hands.

They’d driven for another three hours, and picked up quite a few people. None like Arianne, already more than half-made. Just a few traces and clues, to speculate over as the bus driver rolled on. Bernice kept rubbing at her twitching nose. Laney’s eyes had gone golden overnight, which sorted her out as definitely feline. Tiny Josie in her oversized sweater was also starving, which meant she was getting big, but no other clues. Sydney wasn’t hungry at all, but her legs were rough with some sort of keratin. Rania was sweaty.

There were boys, too, and they huddled, miserable, towards the back of the bus. Which didn’t stop the girls from eyeing them, curious.

Arianne was terribly embarrassed, and more so that every single new bus rider reacted poorly to her bulk. She had, however, said a heartfelt ‘thank you!’ to Marissa, in between feed bags.

Marissa had kept the sodden skirt. She wasn’t super sure why.

They’d driven for hours. Jenny was reasonably sure they’d passed into Michigan. Then disembarked in a clutch of other buses, in a cluster of buildings that had been very hastily constructed by the government, except there was a half-abandoned amphitheater in a clearing in the woods.

The previous name of a decrepit summer camp was still on the sign. It read:

CAMP LUDMENKOFF

“YES, you are turning into something exciting and new,” the goblin girl said. “Something nearly unprecedented! In fact, at this very camp, we had the first confirmed bee queen in the last batch!”

She had identified herself as Doctor Frees. Doctor Frees wore a white lab coat retailored for her small size. She was perhaps three foot five, which meant her wobbly green boobs were extra-obvious. She was a medical puzzle—everyone knew MPV targeted men and women in a very narrow age range.

“We will provide you with suitable clothing—yes, even the centaurs and cow girls! We have pants suitable for all!” The powerpoint slide clicked over to clip art of several different types of jeans. “We can accommodate all types of wings and tails. And we have a very hardworking commissary that will properly fuel your metamorphosis—even in pizza form! What do we ask in exchange, you might be asking?”

Once again the tiny goblinness doctor returned to the slide marked: URGES.

“You may have already felt them. A blend of powerful hormones, new nerve clusters, and—we avoid the word ‘instincts’...” Dr. Frees made tiny goblin air quotes. “...but I see many of you nodding. MPV seeks to reduce you from man, to animal. A rutting, dangerous, amorous animal. It makes you delectable in each other’s eyes!”

A new powerpoint slide popped up—DELECTABLE. Just that, on a white background.

“You are intensely fertile during this time!” The goblin proclaimed. “So it is your responsibility to yourselves. And to help us help you. And for the good of everyone. TO KEEP. YOUR HANDS. TO YOURSELF. NO. BREEDING. I WILL SAY IT AGAIN. DO. NOT. BREED.”

She said it directly into the microphone, and Marissa was sort-of sure the volume was turned up, just for the word ‘breed’. She looked around—they were all college co-eds, ripped from home or dorm, and subjected to a frightening transformation into a monstrous form. In the clutches of an unsettled government agency, and being yowled at by a goblin girl whose own tits were barely constrained by a tube top. It was—she was sure of it—objectively unsexy.

So it had to, HAD to be the transformation making note of which boys and girls had the best hair. And the darkest eyes. It was definitely the virus, percolating in her blood, making her lick her lips softly at soft, downy fur on the backs of the hands of a guy in the front row. She was going to have to take a lot of cold showers. And stop jerking off horse girls.

Marissa wasn’t sure what was happening to her, and the authorities were not giving her time to process it. She could just about manage the following thoughts:

1. She was so wet her panties were not just soaked through, they had become waterlogged and drawn back into her own pussy. It was kind of fun.
2. It was weird that she wasn’t more bothered about completely slathering her own underpants in pussy juice.
3. Something was up with how smell worked.
4. Her boobs felt heavy.
5. She kept licking her fingers, because the boys were going to like it, and also because she could still taste Arianne on them.

The powerpoint belatedly put a big red X through clip art of a heavily pregnant cow.

“We have MANY outlets as you progress through your transformation!” Dr. Frees said. Her green boobs wobbled, and reflected the hastily-rigged lights. “Running! Swimming! Archery!” Marissa looked over at Arianne, who was still furiously snacking. “We have clear skies with lots of sun for the new plants and avian-sapiens friends who are joining us!” Deep breath from Dr. Frees, who treated each sentence like an excuse to bark. Or was it a goblin thing, Marissa wondered.

“One last thing,” Dr. Frees said. The powerpoint, this time, clicked over in advance. “For everyone’s safety, anyone transforming into a particularly dangerous form must self-report. Those are. Medusas. Toads. Some but not all snakes. And, last but not least, Succubi, Incubi, and Sirens.”

“And, at all times, everyone—remember. You are human. You are people, you are not creatures, you are not the horny monsters the media makes you out to be. Inside of you is a human, wrapped in additional fur, and with new parts, as the case may be. But human, nonetheless.”

The green-skinned goblin girl paused to let that sink in. A pink heart appeared on the screen, with the word HUMAN inside of it.

“Please enjoy your time here, and keep your hands to yourselves!”

6:05 p.m., Day 1. The Dining Commons

“Incubi are, what?” Bernice said, at dinner.

“Horny guys,” Rania said.

“Okay so. All men are incubi. They’ve all got erections right now, you can see them.”

“Oh, they can’t help it,” Laney said. “This virus just pours sex into them. And you know boys. Already topped up and ready to burst. If you blow in their ear they’ll cum.”

Table 3B considered this news.

There were eight of them, all from the same bus. Overall Marissa was pleased with her group of transformineers. A lot of the tables seemed withdrawn, and kept their heads down. Only Arianne and Josie had their heads down, and that was because they were barely using utensils. They had a lot of growing to do. Arianne already was able to partially support her back half, although she kept pitching backwards.

“Anyone feel like they’re turning into a medusa?” Marissa said. “Anyone got snake hair? You don’t think they actually turn people to stone, do you?”

“I guess the answer is in HERE somewhere,” Sydney said. She had auburn hair and one and a half sleeves of tattoos. They’d all been handed an enormous and hastily-copied binder on their way out from orientation. It read “MPV: A New Journey!” Flipping through, it seemed to be summaries of the known transformations, with some grainy printed out jpegs of topless MPV girls.

“There’s a picture of a dog boy with his cock out on page 54,” Laney said. She had dark, short hair. Her face featured darkset, shadowed eyes, and they already had a golden, feline cast.

They flipped through their binders. Even Arianne, and even Jenny, who radiated disapproval at everyone at table, and had barely spoken civilly to anyone. She sat as far apart from Marissa as she could, and had her hands jammed into her hoodie pockets.

“Huh,” Marissa said. It hung down nearly to the man’s knees. “Do you think he was always this—muscular? Or is that an MPV thing?”

“We all get to find out,” Laney said.

They were all quiet, at that. The mood oscillated between “making friends at summer camp” and deep anxiety. The government had strung up white lights between the tables, and it was a beautiful and breezy late spring night. Dr. Goblin Boobs had not been kidding about the natural beauty—there were stars out in the sky, a whole lot of them.

Marissa did feel like she needed some time to process the way she could smell and even see everyone’s sexual arousal.

It had crept up on her, on the bus. At first she had assumed that everyone was well aware of the overwhelming scent of Arianne. It blared in her nose. It was equal parts equine and sunflowers. Crisp, newly shorn wheat. It had crested as Arianne had reached a sticky, moaning climax, and was still very high. It had made sense that the girl just had a big new cunny and it was dumping hormones and pheromones at a terrific rate.

But no one else seemed to notice it at all. Marissa kept waiting for someone to wrinkle their nose, or mention the obvious fact that the bus was thick was horny centaur.

But they didn’t.

And then, after the presentation, Marissa turned to pass the salt to Laney, and realized she already knew it was Laney, to her right. Without even seeing her. Because Laney smelled like wet fur and a subtle tang of unspayed cat. And was, Marissa was sure, dripping wet underneath her brown corduroy pants.

Everyone at the table was glowing with it. They all had a dozen tell-tale giveaways. Their eyes were a bit too wide, cheeks flushed, they avoided anything that might brush against their double-layered chests. Respective scents trickled into Marissa’s head. It was bewildering. Smell had been the least of her senses. Now she could—what?

What was she becoming?

And most of all she could smell—herself. She’d wandered away, just to be sure. She was fragrant, surrounded by a satchel of spices. Like a newly made chai. What did that MEAN?

“So I feel like my chest is bigger?” Arianne said. “Is that a thing? Why would I have more of a bosom?” She honked her own boobs, confused. “I guess there’s just a lot of calories in there?”

“Yeah!” Marissa said. “You’re gonna need a really good bra if you’re galloping at full speed, huh?”

“What does the book say about slimes?” Rania said, a bit too quickly.

Slimes. They all flipped, excepting Rania, who sat there, eyes downcast. She was a short-haired Indian girl in a double-pocketed blouse, and kept sniffling.

“They’re—something else. Like, they don’t even breathe. I don’t know.” Marissa said.

Another lull. Marissa tried to catalogue scents, as fast as she could. Josie, the shortest one of all of them, and the only one with her hoodie up, was a burning candle and a burnt candle, at the same time. Ash and fire. Rania was—the ocean? Sea foam? It was beyond her Minnesotan range of experience. Berenice...

Berenice, her cheeks burning bright, was gnawing on a carrot in the most stereotypical way.

“Bunny,” Josie said, pointing at her. “You’re gonna be a bunny girl.”

Berenice looked down. She’d gnawed through a big yellow carrot, and there was a hint of buckteeth in her horrified expression. She was their final blonde, and where Jenny was workmanlike blonde hair, and Arianne’s was lush, hers was friendly, and pulled back in a neat ponytail. She wore bracelets and clearly made an effort to smile at new people she met.

“I was thinking it too,” Sydney volunteered. She smirked. “Page thirty-three. I already looked it up.”

They flipped to page thirty-three. Everyone silently read the part at the top, which read: “CAUTION. Even among MPV Patients, characterized by EXTREME LIBIDO.”

They all read the foregoing paragraph. It had a lot to say about bunny girls and pregnancy.

“It also says you’ll be a vegetarian!” Marissa said, encouraging.

“Oh my GOD,” Berenice exploded. She rubbed at her front teeth. “What am I even supposed to do, now? Just start hopping around? I’m a virgin! What does that even feel like, extreme libido? Why is all of this happening? I have an exam next week! And now I’m gonna have—whatever its called, a litter? I’m gonna have a litter? I’m a—what’s the word? What’s the word for a girl bunny?”

Silence from the assembled girls.

“Person. You’re a person,” Jenny said. She reached over and closed the binder. “You’re a girl with a medical condition. Same as the rest of us.”

“Paragraph three says that female rabbits are called a doe!” Marissa said, still reading. “And no one has given birth yet, but this says that ‘given the almost inevitable pregnancy—”

“MARISSA!” Jenny said, sternly. Enough so that one of the nearby boy tables looked over. Including a blonde guy with the very start of antlers. “Close the binder. Lets all close the binders.”

Jenny and Marissa looked at each other. Marissa slowly, and deliberately, reached over, and grabbed at Jenny’s earlobe. They were definitely getting longer. And there was new cartilage in there. Jenny, to her surprise, let her. They shared a look.

“Thou art a villain,” Jenny said, quietly, and shook her ear free.

Berenice was crying. Laney and Sydney had their eyes down. Rania was shaking. Josie was eating, and so was Arianne. They were surrounded by uniformed MPV staffers apparently seconded from some federal agency. From the facial hair and sour glances Marissa guessed border control, possibly some FBI. The chow was served out of tureens underneath a single floodlight. It didn’t seem to be animal-based protein.

There were well over a hundred kids, just like them, and someone in the Camp was acquiring a cloaca. There were dozens of boys and girls still in the clothes they’d worn to disappear in. Neutral tones, and lots of layers, with hoodies up. They sat on long benches from some nearby school’s overflow. Everyone was assigned a dorm, and everyone had to sit with their dorm.

Marissa, as usual, counted her blessings.

The girls were all very nice, excepting the one she’d already known. The stars overhead were whirling and brilliant. And she felt good, just like the binder had promised. It felt good to change, everyone was clear on that. Often they were scared of it, that it overrode who you were, smiling and giggling as the tail floofed out... but...

But it felt good.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve got a horse vagina now,” Arianne told Berenice. “It’s huge. Real huge. Ask Marissa.”

8:35 p.m., Day 1. Dormitory 3B

“Cabin 3B,” Marissa read. There were a dozen barracks. Half were prefabricated army sheetrock plunked onto the ground. The other half were roughly-cut logs with chinks in every crevice. They smelled like the United States Forest Service, 1972.

“Not only are we turning into monsters, we have to worry about Jason attacks,” Laney said. “One of us might even be turning into an unstoppable killing machine.” She clicked on the switch. Three fixtures with exposed bulbs clicked fitfully on.

“Two vegetarians so far,” Marissa said. “I think that’s a good sign!”

“I’m not a vegetarian,” Arianne said, making a face. They were all bonding by helping her get along. The tarp now covered a distinct back half, which hopped along. She kept her arms out for balance.

“Binder says otherwise,” Rania said. She wiped her sweaty forehead. She adjusted her waistband. No one had talked about clothes, yet, but they were going to be a real problem. It was hard enough buying items that fit when you had a normal girl body. “Says you’re a vegetarian through and through.”

“God, really? Like, what, grass? Do I eat grass?” Arianne shared a look with Berenice, who hadn’t said much, post-bunny. Marissa’s eyes kept returning to the patch of skin between her light-wash jeans and loose-fitting blouse. Where the puff ball would appear.

“Arianne, you get top bunk,” Marissa said, to another round of giggles. She beamed, even despite Jenny’s unfriendly glare. Which was just an excuse to fondle her own ear.

There were exactly enough beds, and the cabin did have an attached bathroom. The girls gave themselves a tour. The beds were made up with wool blankets and a stained cotton sheet, still scented with bleach. There were two bathroom stalls.

And one bathroom mirror.

They all crowded around it. Everyone needed to see: was this still my face? Was it already obvious to everyone else?

“One at a time,” Jenny finally decreed. “And brush your teeth. It’s a small room, and we all just ate a lot of government protein chow. They said lights are out in a half-hour.”

“I’ll go last!” Marissa volunteered. “No problem, guys! Girls. Folks. What should we call ourselves.”

“People,” Jenny said. She stuck her hair behind her ears, deliberately. To show that she had longer, pointed ears. The same as Marissa’s. “We’re people.”

That gave Marissa time to sort through the binder, on the top bunk closest to the light, where she had a modicum of privacy. The bed squeaked alarmingly when Arianne heaved herself down below. The centauress had put on a yellow-print pajama top, which at least fit, although was clearly not intended for her current chest. Although overshadowed, literally, by growing a horse ass, she was also clearly getting top-heavy.

“Sorry,” Arianne said. “And.. for earlier. Sorry again.”

“Uh huh, no worries!” Marissa read “ELF” again. The ears matched. The scent part did not. Elf was a big winner in the transformation sweepstakes. Taller, much taller, and with delicate features, approaching ethereal. Warbly elf voices. But generally it was like turning into a leggy supermodel.

No one had mentioned “can smell horny from across the room.”

And it was across the room. Berenice laid in bed on the far end of the dorm. She’d foregone her mirror-staring time and was just facing the wall. Nonetheless, Marissa could—how? how was that possible?—she could smell her with her eyes closed. It was easier, with her eyes closed. A light scent of melting snow, pine, and deep-down earth, pulsing Berenice’s overwhelmingly aching snatch into Marissa’s brain.

They were all changing, now. They had a belly full of fuel and the virus was ready to work. Everyone had pulled on their previous pajamas, and none fit just right. Josie especially was nearly ripping a size-small pair of pokemon themed pajama pants. An eevee set. They had turned into yoga pants, and were about to split. Sydney was swimming in hers, and Laney kept scratching at her arms, and Rania kept wiggling her shoulders, and everyone was, Marissa could tell, achingly horny. She wondered what the boys dorms were like. A bunch of men jerking off together? An interesting image. She liked it.

“I’m just gonna say it. Does anyone else smell that?” Laney said.

“Did I fart?” Arianne said. “I don’t know if I can tell anymore. God.”

“No. I can too. It’s... potpourri? I don’t know. Floral, herbal? It’s not bad,” Berenice said.

“It’s Marissa,” Jenny said.

“It’s me!” Marissa said. “Sorry! I don’t think its coming out of my butt, at least, if that helps.”

They all thought about that. “I guess it helps.”

“Is it bad?” Marissa asked. “I can... uhh... well, I don’t know what I can do about it.”

“No,” Laney said, a little quickly. “Not bad. Its not bad.”

“Is that you, Marissa? No, I... I like it,” Arianne said. “It’s... comforting.”

“Its NI—” Josie’s voice broke into a sudden growl. She cleared her throat. “Nice. Its nice.”

“LIGHTS OFF!” The power cut off. No one needed to touch the switch at all. Rania, who hadn’t made it to the bed, had to bang around in the dark, cursing. There were two windows, and they displayed a sliver grey-black sky. Otherwise it was dark as coal.

Eight horny, changing girls laid awake in their bunks. The bed was still groaning with Arianne’s weight. She and Josie had been permitted to bring a bag of chow in with her, for regular feedings.

Marissa dug her hands between her own legs. It wasn’t like she was some exception to the horny rule. She was as wet as the rest of them, and making it dark out just brought out a host of sweaty fantasies. New entire types of fantasies, with lots of people in them. She had no real idea what all the local male phalluses were about to turn into. But it was fun to imagine.

She sniffed herself. So very unlike the others. An outright perfume bottle of shifting spices, like she’d been carried from Marrakesh. On impulse she licked her soaking fingers clean. It was nice. And: that was uncharacteristic. She didn’t usually taste her own pussy juices.

What was she becoming? She burned with it. She was so warm...

There was a sniffle underneath her, and another one down and to the right. The air pulsed with so many confused scents. Her body pulsed with it, over and over. Was she really supposed to sleep with her hands under her own butt? Marissa’s body throbbed in a new and pleasant way. The unrequited needs of seven other girls poured into her, and lust poured out of her.

Hot, wet lust.

“Mmm,” Marissa said, louder than she needed to. She wiggled her pajama pants down. They felt taut on her hips. although she didn’t seem to be any taller. She had noticed additional pull on her chest, but that was practically a given.

There was a smatter of hesitant giggles.

“MMM!” Marissa said, more insistent. And she pushed her fingers inside her own snatch, for emphasis. Now she could smell—herself. A lot of herself. An expanding floral bouquet that blossomed with each thrust of her own inadequate fingers. She’d have to start painting her nails. And wearing earrings. Wearing a lot of jewelry. It made a sort of confused sense. Especially when she added a third finger.

“Do you—do you girls...” Arianne went silent, then performed complex acrobatics, to get her oversized lower half within reach of her own fingers. Probably the last day, Marissa realized, that she could jerk herself off. “Ohh.”

“Girls, come on,” Jenny’s voice, in the dark. With a new level of imperiousness. “Go to sleep.”

There was thirty seconds of quiet, except the wet sound of Marissa rubbing herself off. All the lust was hanging in the air, and Marissa felt herself—grab for it. Push it. Add to it. Give license to it.

“Oh FUCK it,” Josie growled. “DAMN!” Her bed started to outright bounce. With Jenny on top of it, Marissa recalled.

Marissa willed them to touch themselves. She was sure it was for the best.

That broke the dam. The smell of girls satisfying themselves crept up into Marissa’s bunk, fueling her, nourishing on a new level. She needed this, now, in some way. She needed someone cumming, nearby, or on her, or in her, she needed it. As much fuel as Arianne’s endless need for protein. There was a tearing noise as Josie’s pajamas gave way. The rest of them had their hands down their pants, mostly doubled up in a ball. But Marissa could sense—how? she wasn’t sure—that Rania had her pillow between her legs, and was humping away, and Berenice had lost her pajama pants entirely, rubbing and licking and stroking in a pent-up frenzy.

Jenny shouted something that no one heard. For a brief, lustful moment there were eight animals in the room, rushing to climax. Marissa had never masturbated like that. She’d rarely touched herself at all. And when she had, it was humping on a soggy pillow, followed by mixed emotions. She’d never just thrust all ten fingers down between her legs to rub as much as they could. She wasn’t even in any sort of rhythm

And the fantasies were—disturbing. The binder rifled through her mind, showcasing dozens upon dozens of whimpering, prone figures, their genitals garishly lit for the camera. All of them visibly throbbing, even in still, swollen with blood and desperate for release. They had sad, needy eyes, needing someone to penetrate or be penetrated. It was all hot, the underslung cock meat of the horse boys, the furred slits on the leopards, even the discreet and barely-there orifices on the coy slimes. There were slutty plant girls that Marissa ached to fuck. She could do so many things to them. She could—

Her hips leapt off the soaked camp mattress. She whined it out, joined in a slutty chorus by her other dormmates. Her hands didn’t stop, even as the other girls feebly broke away, throats exhausted by braying in unison. Marissa’s orgasm grew, fueled by the scent of cum, of girls reaching orgasm. Delicious smells of girls soaking the mattress. Finally her arms gave way, the muscles contracting, and she lost her grip on her own clit. She tried, vainly, to flip herself over, to grind even more.

The light clicked on.

Dr. Frees was there, diminutive and grim-faced. She sniffed, wrinkling her nose. She was still in her white labcoat.

“GIRLS,” she said, even sterner close up. She marched between the rows, where the sheepish and flushed dormmates were huddled underneath the sticky sheets. “I know what you are going through. I know very well. But if you cannot exercise self-control, if you cannot be a human, you will be taught how to do so. Does a human masturbate in public?”

“No, ma’am,” Jenny said. She was the only one to not join her satiating scent to Marissa’s pool. She sat straight up, her pajama pants still on, and impressively dry.

“Does a person screech like that?” Dr. Frees said.

“No, ma’am.” And the others joined in as well.

Excepting Marissa.

“Good NIGHT, girls,”

The light flicked back off when she left.

11:23 p.m., Day 1. Dormitory 3B

She waited until everyone else was asleep. The pool of fluid in her lap was still warm, and only starting to dry. It was hard, even so, for Marissa to fight off sleep. Her body wanted her to sleep. It was easier to change her in her sleep.

She crept out of the bunk.

Her phone didn’t have reception—the orientation had bluntly told them that they were cut off—but the flashlight worked. She put her hood up and turned it on. The light reflected off the dingy mirror, into her eyes.

It was—her. Pudgy nose, wet brown eyes, chubby girl curly hair. Cute round cheeks, but ultimately a girl who spent lunch breaks in the library. Not—a horned up mistress of masturbation, urging every girl around her to greater heights. What WAS that?

Her ears were changing. Marissa pulled her hair away. They were longer, slanting backwards. Elf, then? It had to be. Pointy ears meant elf. Right?

Marissa rubbed at her sweat-soaked forehead. The sleeve of her hoodie—caught. On something.

Something sharp.

She touched at it with trembling fingers. It was a round rough patch, and there was another one, on the other side of her head. Covered by her hair, for now. Horns. They had to be horns.

Panicking, now, Marissa slid down her underpants and felt at the base of her spine.

It was barely detectable. Another round patch.

For her tail.

There was no need to poke through the binder. Everyone knew this one. The horniest of the dozens upon dozens of changes. The sexiest one of them all. The monster who could smell arousal from a hundred yards, who could snack on just the scent of cum, of any kind. Who fed on sex.

Marissa was becoming a succubus.