The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

8:11 a.m., Day 3, Cabin 3B

There were only three of them left in the cabin, which just made the MPV more mad. Berenice was off bed-hopping, Sydney assumed. Arianne was probably a hundred miles away in an alfalfa field. Laney was who-knew, but the other cats were sneaking around, so she’d probably joined that furry harem. They seemed most interested in, however, Jenny and Marissa.

“You’ve known them for, how long has it been, two days? Two days and a bus ride? Just tell us where they are. Its not snitching, its not even hide-and-go-seek,” the orc in a white lab coat was both intimidating and ridiculous. Especially when he was up against Josie, who had a wall of muscle with two extra-size boobs stuck on to them. Her single horn had started to poke through her forehead. The possibility of a headbutt was very real.

“FRIENDSHIP STARTS WITH ME,” Josie thundered. She’d given up on speaking without yelling. Josie was barely covered up in one of Arianne’s jackets. It hung open in the middle. Her Oni tits were not concealed. Dr. Glocken tried to glower at her. It didn’t go well. Josie was his height, and didn’t seem nearly done growing. They locked eyes for a long moment.

Dr. Glocken broke first.

“Let me tell you a little secret!” Dr. Glocken said. He walked through the many empty bunks. Behind him, a full four MPV operatives waited by the door. They were all wearing heavy breathing equipment. “Last night one of my men was—I won’t insult you by saying attacked. He had the best sex of his life with a woman with brown curls. He’s also, he says, going to marry her, and he is also a sort of fishman now. We can’t even tell if its mythological or animalia. Ladies, we have a succubus among us.”

Dr. Glocken cocked his head and theatrically closed one nostril with his thumb.

“Perhaps this explains some things for you girls. Perhaps you were wondering why this Cabin smelled like Penzey’s Spices when the others are damp wood and wool. Perhaps you were wondering why everyone in this particular dorm has been humping their pillows and cramping their fingers even more than this notably horny Camp. Perhaps you were even wondering why everyone here has boobs out to here and are voluptuous beyond belief. Ms. Rania, goo girls like yourself are not usually bombshell babes.”

Rania was in no position to argue. She was in the middle of becoming a pile of slime, and was in strange shape.

“LEAVE HER ALONE,” Josie thundered. “HER ORGANS ARE DISSOLVING.”

It seemed to be true. Sydney had watched while she had stuck the vibrator up inside of herself, and lost it. It was floating inside of the girl, born about by the viscous, sentient goo she was becoming. This had led to a personal crisis for Rania, who was under her blankets, nonresponsive.

Even Dr. Glocken, tusks quivering, didn’t want anything to do with that one.

“Alright, how about our harpy friend? Sydney, right? You should be more aerodynamic than this, you know. Birds don’t need top-heavy chests.”

He’d finally gotten around to her, and Sydney felt ready for it. She had an enormous amount of frustration to pour out on to him.

“Fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk,” she said, and took a theatrical deep breath. “You.”

She sat up in the bed, to emphasize it. Sydney had needed help to put a halter top on, and had decided she would never, ever ask for it. Her arms were not entirely wings—she had some flexibility, and had happily retained a hand. But they were largely wings. A stiff membrane had formed from torso to thumb, which was then covered in plumage. It was now impossible to get clothes over her head. The shirt was pooled around her neck, and showed a lot of underboob.

“Harpy isn’t a great option,” Dr. Glocken said. He made a point of looking at her wings, at her squat and ungainly legs. “Even best case scenario, you just glide.”

He reached out and touched her feathers. Sydney hissed, which bothered him not at all. She gathered her remaining fingers together in a punch. Sydney was proud of her punch—it had gotten her both in and out of trouble magnificently. She knew exactly where on the mouth to hit the orc. Even considering the tusks. She got him right in the mouth.

Dr. Glocken barely seemed to notice. He was just barely professional enough not to give her a smug smile.

“Miss, you’re bird bones, now. You probably weigh no more than fifty, sixty pounds. And most of that is your chest. Thanks to our succubus friend. Now, can you tell me where she is?”

1:30 p.m., Day 3, Cabin 3B

Sydney had found that hitting people was typically very effective. She was the second of four. Her Mom had a way of keeping her eyes up, at middle distance, where they wouldn’t drop down to accidentally acknowledge any sort of child. That meant that Kaleb and Sydney had to manage the younger siblings. Kaleb was the easy-going one who dried tears and laughed things off, and THAT meant Sydney was the one who had to muscle around two growing boys.

As childhoods went it was bad. Still, they were fed and the housing situation was cramped but stable. And there was some room in the world for a girl unafraid to throw weight around, even if it was just for the novelty factor. Sydney was even briefly a heroine, kicking a 7th grade psychotic in the balls, and then fighting off an attempted ambush. She’d held on to a rock and then hit him in the face with it. Didn’t even get in trouble. The rock was still in her duffle, blood-stained, and full of memories.

Retail had turned out to be an ideal use of her talents. Managers immediately liked her. Hard-working, unsentimental, eager for shifts. The older male managers called her spunky, which was a miserable thing to be called, but they got her in as assistant manager straightaway, with the two dollar fifty cent raise. The other girls immediately hated her, but that was fine. She’d never had much use for her own gender, and there was nothing in their sulking and group texts that Sydney gave a shit about.

From Walmart she’d hopped to Target, and was just about to make the big switch to Costco, with the actual health care plan for associates, when the MPV had done an employee sweep.

Now she weighed maybe sixty pounds, and the walls were getting close.

They had been stuck inside for the better part of the day. Food had been provided for them. Sydney had been worried, once she’d realized she was becoming a birdwoman, that she would have to peck at the ground. With her transformation heavily advanced it was a relief that she didn’t have to jab with her nose at seeds. The wings folded inwards, just enough. And, anyway, she wasn’t hungry. She’d barely touched anything since arriving. All part of dropping well over half her body weight in four days.

“Do you even still eat?” she said, to Rania. “Like, if we put a burger on your chest, would you just absorb it? Like, would it sink in?”

“SYDNEY,” Josie said. They’d lugged in one of Arianne’s feed bags, and Josie had gone for it. Her shoulders had split through another sweater, and she’d torn off the sleeves, going with a ragged sweater vest that read COME TO VALLEYFAIR! She was still trying to hide her face underneath hoods, but it was a waste of time. A new, brutish troll face was pushing out, topped with the classic Oni horn.

“I’m not bothering her,” Sydney insisted. “I think she got the best deal of all of us. She looks the same except its like, her jello self. She’s versatile. And the purple look is good. Looking like a fruit snack.”

“SHUT UP, SYDNEY, THANK YOU,” Josie said. She stood up, suddenly looming, her paw mitts clenched. She had topped six feet awhile ago and kept growing. Sydney’s bird heart skipped a beat, and she fought an urge to squawk.

Rania hadn’t said anything, but she took a pringle from the brown-bag they’d been thrown, and put it on her exposed stomach. All three girls watched it intently.

The little chip paused, then slowly sank out of sight, down inside of her. Rania let out a heartfelt sigh.

“Look, I got wings and I can’t fly,” Sydney said. “You know there’s an angel subtype? So says the fucking monster binder?” Just to reassert herself she tried to throw the binder across the room. Grasping it was hard, and throwing it more so. It was perhaps two pounds and felt like a boulder. She barely managed to dump it off the bed. Papers fluttered out. “Wings on the BACK, what a concept! How convenient! And they’re huge and beautiful instead of scraggly membrane pelts!”

She had to fight to keep from picking at her feathers. True, they had a lot of growing in to do. And in the sunlight it was possible they’d be a rich golden brown instead of a dirt display. If she could see the sunlight.

The ceiling was so CLOSE.

“I need to get out,” she said, suddenly, hopping off the bed. Her talons skittered on the floor. “Out out out I need to get out.” The close air was suddenly stifling, impenetrable, impossible to breath. She was in a cage. She’d been clipped. The soldiers outside didn’t matter. She’d caw at them and throw her slim new body in their direction, and then not fly. But at least it was a try.

“HEY, HEY, ITS OKAY,” Josie said, as gently as she could, and put out a muscular arm. But Sydney was fast, if nothing else. She tore open the door, fully expecting a smack to the face from a baton.

The only person there was an MPV staffer, her pants pulled down to around her ankles, rubbing herself off.

Her eyes had a dazed, horrified look, like she was watching a very frightening movie. She had a pair of pale green underpants clasped to her face, and was huffing in with long, noisy breaths. Hyperventilating, and trying to collect more oxygen than was really healthy. The panties were nearly stuffed up inside of her nose. She wasn’t young and wasn’t very small, and had obviously struggled to get her pants down with one hand.

It wasn’t masturbation like Sydney had ever experienced. The woman had her entire hand up there. From her eyes it looked almost painful, but she was panting and twitching her hips like it was the best auto-sex the woman had ever experienced.

“DON’T SNIFF,” Josie said, putting a huge mitt on Sydney’s back. But it was too late for that—she’d sniffed the air, and the wisps of thyme and black pepper still around. Her body twitched. It’d be interesting, Sydney realized, to kiss this woman, while she still had the undies wrapped to her lips. Almost a challenge.

Josie’s arm pulled her back, and Sydney turned, eyes bright. Or the Oni could lick her out, that was good too. Hold her up with one powerful arm and eat her like a donut. Anyone could do it, she barely weighed anything. Sydney was a delicious snack for anyone who came around. Like eating a chicken wing.

The enormous Oni did pick her up. She stepped quickly past the masturbating woman and out into the broader outdoors.

“Can I ride on your shoulders?” Sydney said. There was so much bulk to the girl. She’d gotten close to finishing her own transformation, and the small, shy camper was long gone. This girl was sweat and muscles and hard, focused eyes.

“MARISSA IS HORNING EVERYONE UP,” Josie grunted. “TAKE DEEP BREATHS. ACTUALLY... SHORT, SMALL BREATHS. AS FEW BREATHS AS POSSIBLE.”

“You know I can’t masturbate, now, right?” Sydney said, in a mix of lust and sadness. She was still being carried, like a parcel, in Josie’s arms. She tried to remind herself—whatever she liked, it was definitely not being a small pet bird for a girl. The few times she’d had sex, it was on the provision that the guy lie back and let her do what she wanted. Not to be treated like an avian toy. “It’s sooooo sad. Wings don’t QUITE reach. I can’t fly, and I can’t jerk off.”

The campus was nearly emptied out, the MPV retreating before the insidious work of numerous wet succubus panties. Not entirely empty—over by the basketball hoop two of them were sucking each other off, a brawny sixty-nine on the cracked pavement.

“I GAINED A HUNDRED AND TEN POUNDS IN THREE DAYS,” Josie said. “I SOUND LIKE A WASHING MACHINE. HERE. FLY AWAY.”

They’d gotten outside the cloud of pheromones.

Sydney blinked, sniffed. She didn’t dare turn around—she’d just had a wealth of fantasies about strong Oni legs crushing her in two. She had a feeling that she was a lightweight when it came to Marissa fumes. Josie seemed fine. Meanwhile, she’d taken one whiff and gone into a bird sex frenzy. She’d nearly laid an egg.

“GO AHEAD, FLAP,” Josie said. She crossed her arms. “YOU WANTED TO BE OUTSIDE. FLAP.”

It WAS nice to be outdoors. The panic was gone, perhaps chased by a sudde sex fug. But—Sydney gave her new wings an experimental flap. It didn’t seem like they could make her take off at all, much less launch towards the rising sun. They seemed like chicken wings. Wasn’t some sort of new instinct supposed to kick in? Arianne had figured out galloping, and Berenice had worked out getting pregnant.

“I don’t think I CAN,” Sydney said. “I—I don’t know—maybe I’m still too heavy? Or—maybe I need to be thrown or—”

She turned around. Josie’s broad back was to her. “Hey!” Sydney called, alarmed. “Where are—you—”

“THAT’S EXACTLY HOW MUCH I WANTED TO HELP YOU,” Josie said. “THAT MUCH.”

She watched the Oni leave. A number of shitty remarks she’d tossed in Josie’s direction, and everyone’s direction, floated through her head. Sydney had never, in her life, felt so completely tethered to the earth.

2:10 p.m., Day 3, Campfire Grounds

She’d learned to fly not at all. And, to make it even more frustrating, everyone except her was having a ton of sex.

Sydney had chosen the campfire amphitheater for her efforts at flight. It was a natural depression in the ground, and gave her a tiny amount of ordinary altitude. The rows were covered with wooden planks. It had to be enough. Birds flew with no launch pad. They just hopped and were aloft.

Her body wanted to fly. She could feel something happening, some deep-set new instructions from somewhere far inside of her. An order of operations before launching occurred. A great burst of effort, she’d rise up, and then set her eyes to the setting sun. Freedom loomed. And then presumably she’d end up laying a bunch of eggs.

The entire camp now had an underlying note of coriander and sex. This was both frustrating and not—her body definitely liked it, and was also looking around for an eagle man. Or at least a falcon. A pigeon guy if nothing else was available.

The jerking off MPV staffers seemed to have somewhat come to their senses, and joined the others in a retreat.

“Jump, beat, fly,” she reminded herself, again, and went for it. Sydney jumped with all the coiled muscle of her feather-furred legs, and outstretched her wing-arms, and beat them towards the waiting sky. Even a puff of lift would’ve made her feel better. Made her feel something.

She didn’t even finish the single flap before half-landing, half-sprawling on the row below. Her talons scrabbled on the wood and found no grip. She fell forwards, face and boobs dragging in a lot of loose, dry dirt.

“Calvin, go help her out,” a girl said.

“Why not me?” a man said, amused.

“That would be too much help.”

Sydney tried to pick herself up. Accepting help was not what she did. But her arms were still outstretched, in her feeble flying position, and everything had been so miserable, and sad, and it was easier to wait with her half-beaked nose in the dirt for a man to help her. He had a chitinous hand, and hauled her up easily.

“You’re really light,” he told her, amused. He had an east coast accent, out of nowhere, and a poised stinger tail behind him. Like all the men he was shirtless, with some poorly-fitting basketball shorts for modesty. The new camp uniform for men.

“Not light enough,” she told him, and looked over, where Berenice was hip to hip with another man. A really big one, with puffed-out white fur on a barrel-chested body. Of course Berenice would find and fuck a Yeti.

She’d said a lot of pretty mean things to Berenice, thinking about it. Berenice was also thinking about it. She waited to say “you okay?” to Sydney, and it was very grudging. Enough that even the men picked up on it.

“Doing great,” Sydney said, and spit out some camp dust.

Berenice was sex itself. A day or so ago she’d been an earnest camper, moving around gingerly in an expanded, sultry body. Easy and fun to tease. Now she leaned with ease against the bulk of an abominable snowman, her considerable tits up against his waist. Her ears had grown in. She wore basketball shorts as well—clearly nothing else would fit on her waist—and a scrap of fabric that covered some but not all of her boobs.

“Good luck,” Berenice said. “There’s a—we’re setting up a kitchen, if you’re hungry. I don’t know how you feel about scrambled eggs.”

“I haven’t been hungry in three days,” Sydney said. She drew her wings in. “I’m still too big. I’m not aerodynamic enough. My bones are still hollowing out. Maybe.”

The men had pulled back. Berenice idly poked at the stinger end of the carapace-heavy man, touching at the tip.

Sydney readied herself for another pointless jump. Perhaps it was something to do with the wind. There was none. The air hung stagnant around the Camp, still faintly laden with distant spices.

“Fourteen guys, if you’re wondering,” Berenice said. Her nose twitched.

“Great,” Sydney said. She tried jumping straight up, no horizontal component. Set her wings straight down, see if beating against the ground got her anywhere. Or even slowed down the back half of the jump. No success.

“So you were right, I guess. Little Miss Knock-Me-Up. I just got done having sex with a kind of... mythological scorpion beast. And an abominable snowboy. He wasn’t abominable at all. You know Marissa was making our cabin extra-super horned-up?”

“Yeah, I heard about that,” Sydney said. She’d tried everything, hadn’t she? Every possible angle and jump path and wing position. Sydney resorted to flapping her wings as hard as she could, to see if that would generate some sort of local lift. Dust blew all over Berenice’s nice white fur.

“And now you’re definitely feeling all sorts of built-in urges, same as me,” Berenice said. “Probably... making you realize... that you could’ve been nicer to all of us instead of playing instant mean girl. And then you apologize, and I’ll accept, and we’ll move on like adults....? Right?”

Sydney turned to stare at her. “I’m trying to FLY,” she said.

“Okay, okay, fine,” Berenice said. She huffed out a breath. “I don’t know what I was expecting. You’re coming with us. The entire camp is gonna meet. I’ve been passing messages back and forth like a horny bunny spy. Great way to meet men.”

2:59 p.m., Day 3, Dining Commons

The entire camp was there. They’d kept it outside—Sydney supposed to avoid turning everything into a Marissa-induced orgy. Or maybe so they could bolt, should the MPV reappear in sudden force. It was ominously quiet on the other side of the gate. They’d posted Josie there, holding a big tree branch, to stop dozens of well-armed soldiers from forcing their way in.

If the goal of being outdoors was to keep the amount of sex down, it wasn’t working. Marissa had left her imprint on the entire camp—and MPV automatically left everyone quivering and eager. Perhaps all she had really done was issue license—everyone could claim they were stroking their neighbor because A Succubus Did It. Everyone had their hands, or what were previously hands, all over each other. The main issue was working out everyone’s tails. Boys and girls wanted to sit in each other’s laps, and have an important meeting while grinding, but at this late stage some pretty bushy tails were coming in fast. Sydney saw a mouse girl coyly look back, to where her long, pink tail crept out of her man’s lap, and over to a snake girl’s stroking hands.

There weren’t any actual tits out, but that was about it for modesty. Not a single guy wore a shirt. Some of the girls were topless as well—the naga with a rodent girlfriend was outright barechested, as were most of the furrier women. Most hadn’t had fur actually creep over their boobs, although with the dogs and cats it was often close, acting like a sort of furred brassiere.

Even among this horny crowd Cabin 3B was noticeable. Arianne was always going to be noticeable, with her big horse ass, but all of them were exceptional. Berenice and Laney were best in show, with the glossiest fur, the biggest boobs. And the subtle things, glossy lips and perfect hair. Sydney could feel it too—that extra glow that came from succubus proximity. And extra big titties, obviously.

Jenny stood on top of the Cabin 3B table, and waited, perfectly confident that everyone would quiet down.

“We stand at a crossroads,” she said. She’d actually found a dress, and, although it was very short on her lithe elven body, she looked perfect in it. “We have barely any time before they regroup. While they do, we are going to build barricades, stockpile what food we have, and organize. What we are NOT going to do, and I see where your hands are, Mr. Lion, is lapse into a generalized orgy.”

The Lion’s hand shot up. It was still noticeably wet. He had a purring panther girl nearly limp in his lap. “I thought that was the goal!” he said.

“No, that is NOT the goal,” Jenny said, pacing back and forth. There was a grumble from the crowd. “I know everyone is feeling—the effects of the virus. And as you all know, we have a succubus among us. But instead of just letting her make us... exceptionally brazen, and downright monstrous, she is helping us secure independence. WithOUT public sex.”

There was more discontent.

“Can’t we have a little public sex?” the male centaur asked. Arianne, next to him, had a combination bug-eye and giggle fit. They butted butts and eyed each other. Others had to move to avoid their feet and whipping tails.

“No!” Jenny insisted, but she’d lost the crowd. They were already randy, and Jenny herself had seeded the grounds with biological fuck bombs. A lounging skunk guy had a host of female admirers—he had the best tail around, a perfect black question mark with a white streak. All sorts of excited females were around, including a duo of big-assed hucows vying to park their ass in his lap. “Enough! We have work to do! We are in a VERY precarious position, and I need that energy used up making a barricade!”

“Where IS Marissa?” one of the sexier girls called out—some sort of living dream of smoke and curves. She had eyelashes that could blow down a house.

Jenny hesitated. Her eyes betrayed her, darting to the cabins. “Resting,” Jenny said. “She got a little dehydrated. Don’t worry about it.”

It was all Sydney needed to hear. Jenny produced a clipboard, and started reading out work details. It was so un-sexual that it actually worked. Head down, stuck to the earth, Sydney made her way back to Cabin 3B.

4:00 p.m., Day 3, Cabin 3B

Marissa’s scent had gotten stronger, much stronger. It was on a fine line between a perfume and a stench. Sydney had only a second to consider her decisions of her own volition before it pulled her in and fucked her up.

She went in.

The cabin had been transformed by Marissa’s presence. The creaking wood and lackluster amenities were barely noticeable. It was all transfigured by the warm spice of her scent, practically its own light source. At least, it was totally obvious where Marissa herself was. She was lying down in Arianne’s lower bunk, moaning to herself.

“Oh. Don’t come in,” Marissa said, too late, as Sydney approached. “You’ll get eaten. By me.”

“Yeah. I know,” Sydney said. The succubus didn’t look great. She was wearing boy underpants, for one thing. It threw off her entire look. Her endless, bouncing hair was matted with sweat, and she wore an unbuttoned shirt. Her tits were luscious and had big brown nipples, and Sydney immediately wanted to suck on them. “You okay?”

“I thought I was dehydrated,” Marissa croaked. “But I just drank a gallon of water. Maybe now I feel bad because I drank a gallon of water, I don’t know. I’m probably just... tired. Need to get some sleep or something.”

“Do you need to fuck someone?” Sydney said. She sat on the bunk. The scent of cardamom and turmeric beat on her senses. Her own tits were on fire. She wanted someone to stroke her wings, and admire her feathers.

Marissa paused, and tried to keep her lips closed. It didn’t work.

“Yesssssssss,” she said, loud and lusty. “I mean, no. That’s wrong. I need some sleep. I don’t need to lick more virus into someone. Did you know my tongue is longer? And more sensitive? Not that it matters.”

She rolled it out. It did have an extra inch or so.

“I’m gonna get on your face,” Sydney told her. She tried to shuck off her shorts, and couldn’t. Even highly motivated, her wings wouldn’t quite reach to her waist. “Hold on.”

“No, you’re not,” Marissa said, sitting up. “No no no. Jenny said she put a skull and crossbones on the door. I’m a BIOHAZARD. I’m not doing this to people! I’m not some—”

“Succubus,” Sydney said.

“I’m not a piece of shit!” Marissa insisted. She put her hands over her mouth, rolling her tongue back in.

By twisting her hips and straining one wing, Sydney was just able to hook into her waistband, and fling her shorts down. That still left her underpants, which someone else was going to have to deal with.

“Look, I know pieces of shit,” Sydney said. She paused. Even with a rising, unstoppable urge to fuck, this was hard. “I’ve been one a lot. You’re not. Just sit back and feed off me.”

“I’m not doing anyone else!” Marissa insisted. Sydney couldn’t help but notice, Marissa hadn’t fought, for one second, the underlying premise that Sydney herself kind of sucked. Apparently the world did look different when you needed someone else. She climbed onto Marissa’s legs, and started to hop her way forwards.

“I’m just being selfish, like usual,” Sydney said. “I want to be smaller. I want bigger wings. I’m still too human. I can’t fly. I’m just a bitch. You’re gonna make me a bird bitch.” She stopped, when she made it to Marissa’s pussy. She couldn’t grind down, exactly, but she could try.

Old Marissa re-asserted herself. “Sydney, all you did was make some snarky remarks.”

“If it makes YOU feel better,” Sydney said, “you’re not alone in here. Rania is right over there.”

She nodded at a puddle of goo in Rania’s bunk. It was a round circle of slime, with a weakly pulsing vibrator still plugging away in the middle of it. The entire sludge was vibrating to the pulse.

“Looking good, Rania,” Sydney said.

“Oh,” Marissa said. Sydney used the opportunity to slide up a little farther. She left a skidmark of her own wetness on Marissa’s stomach. The succubus had very warm skin. Her tail stuck out to the side, the flared lawn dart at the tip quivering just like Rania.

“Give me what I want,” Sydney said. Her head whirled, not unpleasantly. It was now unclear if she was making some sort of argument, or just doing what she needed to do to get fucked. Sydney just had to hope she’d made the right decision, awhile ago. There was no more decisionmaking. “You just need to lick.”

“I can fuck now, too,” Marissa said. She had a new look in her eyes. Her fatigue seemed to be ebbing. “The tail. It folds in, becomes a kind of dildo. Isn’t that fucked up? I was putting it up myself when you burst in.”

“Uh-huh,” Sydney said. She reached the top of Marissa’s chest, needing to scale it, like two rolling hills. She was drooling, too, all over Marissa’s titties. Stupid bird that she was.

Marissa reached up and pulled at Sydney’s panties. They were already loose on her—she really had lost a lot of weight. Sydney was past scent, past thought. The smell was a physical thing, inside of her, promising her things. First, herself buried on the mattress, helpless underneath Marissa’s tongue. Second, herself gliding up through a cold blue air, wings beating on an updraft. It wasn’t clear which was hotter.

She humped her way, finally, to Marissa’s face. With the single iota of assertiveness left in her Sydney rolled her hips downwards, so Marissa had little choice but to bury herself in her snatch. Even so, Marissa’s eagerness surprised her. She grabbed Sydney’s little bird butt and shoved it towards her open mouth. All the remaining strength left Sydney’s body.

She’d never felt like such an—object. A toy, without agency, without a brain, just a body for someone else to enjoy. Prey for someone stronger than she was. It was bliss. There was no need to be anything but a warm body, dribbling juice into Marissa’s eager mouth. No reason to struggle. Her first orgasm was used, by Marissa, almost like she was being juiced. A way to get her to shake more lubricant.

Internally, Sydney clocked over from domme to sub, for the entire rest of her life.

Sydney was a little surprised when Marissa shifted, and, shortly afterwards, a firm but insistent tail started exploring her backside. But she was way beyond complaining. About anything. As Marissa probed her butthole it occurred to her that she really did owe Berenice and the others an apology. Or at least a silly smile, if she was afterwards too brain fucked to say words.

“Tastes like chicken,” Marissa declared. Sydney didn’t respond. She was getting licked out on one end, penetrated on the other, and Marissa was also squeezing her tits for good measure. Already Sydney felt lighter. It was glorious.

The door burst open.

A squad filed in, all in full containment suits, with hoses and hoods. The bulky gloves wouldn’t let them hold firearms, in any case, but they had truncheons held up as they ran in. For Sydney, dazed and cumming, it was difficult to process.

But when two men laid hands on her, to get at the succubus underneath, she found a reserve of her past self. She twisted, snarling, whipping her wings around. Too light to injure, she had the wingspan to surprise. They let go, and Sydney got her footing. Falling backwards, she brought up both feet, now gnarled and taloned. The first MPV soldier to lunge at her got two claws. They tore long rents in the suit.

“Oh, FUCK!” Sydney heard, underneath the helmet. And then a big snort as the soldier tasted the air in an enclosed space.

He fell over, overcome, and shaking.

At that point someone else clubbed Sydney upside the head. She didn’t wake up for some time. But it was alright—inside of herself, in a concussed and confused dream, Sydney was flying very high up in the air.

MARISSA 5

4:02 p.m., Day 3, Cabin 3B

“You did NOT have to hit Sydney,” Marissa said. “I mean, look at us. We’re just hot and sexy, boobs like volleyballs. Not physical threats. Except for Josie and Arianne and maybe Laney, if she has claws.”

They weren’t sure how to carry her. The moon-suited MPV men—and Marissa was very aware they were all men—were doing their best to touch her as little as possible. At first that meant each took a hand or a foot. But that left her outright spreadeagled, pussy exposed, and the two men at her feet were having trouble with that.

Plus her tail was still free. It had recently reached full length, or at least, Marissa hoped it was full length. It was pretty long. She snaked it around her butt to the plastic and rubber-covered crotch of the guy holding her wrist, and wrapped it around. The tip looked a lot like a wet black penis.

He dropped her.

The ground wasn’t muddy, but it was hard. And she hit tail-first. Succubi turned out not to land on their feet.

“Ow,” Marissa said, accusing. She rolled, and made sure to present her ass to the uncertain men. Her tail waggled around, inviting. “You BRUISED me.”

Even she wasn’t sure if this was self-defense, or a legitimate attempt at a four-some, or what. It did feel strange that everything she did had a sexual tinge. Would she be able to play Settlers of Catan without banging her opponents? Was this how she was going to trade for sheep, or wood, or stone? She could sneak her tail across, into the laps of the other players, toying with them underneath the table...

Marissa was interrupted by her board game fuck fantasy by a man hoisting her up. This was a heroine-style carry and pushed her tits nearly right into his face. Her pussy rubbed on his rough goretex-covered arm.

“Hi,” she breathed.

“Run for it!” the man ordered. The foursome bolted.

The rest of the Camp was throwing things at a nervous line of MPV staffers. Not that many MPV staffers—only so many as had full suits, which was just about fifteen men. They’d formed a line by the wooden gate, and brought up a high pressure water hose. The pressure, this far out in the woods, was not high. The water was mostly blowing off the remaining clothes of the Campers, which were ill-fitting and half-hearted to begin with.

In their lead was Josie. She’d reached a full, magnificent height, cresting around seven feet, and perhaps taller, with a big horn crowning her forehead. She was covered in bulk muscle, all of which was very visible, because the water had blown away everything but a haggard pair of male boxer shorts. Her tits wobbled under the pressure. Otherwise, despite the torrential spray, she was unbowed and at the lead. She managed to bring her arm up.

“THEY’VE GOT MARISSA!” she roared, through and past a wall of water.

There was an answering roar. It would’ve been heartening if so much else wasn’t going on. Despite the man being a jerk it was nice to be held in his big strong arms, and also try to poke at his butt with her tail.

There was also the man with a cut in his suit to consider. He was trailing the other three. Marissa wasn’t a fan of horror movies—she’d watched Killer Clowns from Outer Space too young and sworn off the genre—but this was classic stuff. Anyone who smelled her wanted to fuck her. And she wanted to fuck them. At least she’d always be popular, in a biological disaster sort of way.

The Camp receded. They were in the soldier’s quarters now, which meant hastily-pitched green tents on top of the dusty road. The big buses were parked haphazardly, and there were barely any MPV staffers around. The soldier took her to a set of doubled-up portables.

“Is there a bed in there?” Marissa said. “I didn’t get your name. You guys should have nametags.” She traced where it would go. Flirting came so naturally now. Or was this just a different way to be friendly? Had she harbored some inner slut, all along?

He ignored her. Marissa made a decision. When the time came, and it would, she would fuck him, rather than him fucking her.

Inside was an unexpected laboratory, with a makeshift containment center, clearly meant for her exclusive use. This was two big visqueen sheets, translucent, taped up to the ceiling. One of the corners had been hastily cleared of lab gear. Marissa was brought inside, dumped on the floor, and the soldiers immediately set to taping the two sheets together.

“How are you gonna take your suit off?” Marissa purred. “I leaked all over it. You’re all completely covered in succubus. You are super-duper-DUPER contaminated by lil’ ’ol me.”

She made a note to try the fake Southern accent again at some point. It had an immediate stiffening effect on the boys. She waved a cheerful goodbye as they left—the one with a cut in his suit slowly, and reluctantly.

Marissa took stock.

She was naked from the waist down, and had recently grown a tail she could have sex with. This alone was a major change she could’ve used some time to process. The tail tip made a classic spade, but could wrap in on itself, forming a phallus. Brief experience thrusting it up Sydney’s butt made clear it felt really good. Marissa had never felt overly attached to her heterosexuality, but now it was a total joke. She was pretty sure she could fuck Arianne’s boyfriend, and a tree, and six or seven girls, all the same time.

The good news otherwise was that she was nice and full—however her virus-gorged body worked. She’d gotten alarmingly weak just from dripping in her panties. But after feasting on harpy pussy she was good to go.

Otherwise she needed a lot of time to process the host of mental and physical changes. For example her asshole was feeling really good lately. And she could cum from having her horns rubbed. Also, she had full, spiraling horns. She rubbed at one, then the other. They felt equally good. And her ears, those also felt great. Plus her boobs, which were frankly enormous.

Plus she wasn’t even done. There were bat wings back there, Marissa just knew it. They felt like two pimples, waiting to be popped. She rubbed at her back, wondering if she could make them unfurl. And she rubbed at herself more generally. There were so many fun places to rub.

At some point Marissa realized that the trio of scientists were watching her feel herself up.

“Can I have some panties?” she said, hopefully.

They all wore N95 masks, but no other protection. Probably, Marissa figured, because their transformed bodies wouldn’t fit a suit.

“We’re thinking of stuffing you into a hazmat suit and taping it shut,” Dr. Glocken growled. He was looking more orcish than ever. He’d modified his N95 so he could poke through his tusks, while leaving a good fit. “Then off you go to Atlanta CDC.”

“Is there a pen of us? Like a big room full of succubi just like me?” Marissa said. She considered this. Hot.

“It isn’t really your decision, is it?” the tree-doctor rasped. Every word he said had to struggle over wooden vocal cords. When he crossed his arms, for emphasis, it was very slowly. “I think we should consider the costs sunk. The situation is irretrievable. Most of our staff fled, many of the remainders are growing tails. The Camp is a farce. Dr. Frees, your social conditioning—”

“...Is more important than ever,” Dr. Frees interrupted. Her N95 covered most of her tiny green face. “Especially if this is so very widespread, if the entire Country has to learn to live with gills. America couldn’t even manage black people, much less green. Marissa—” she took a step forwards. “We know you can infect—anyone. We need your fluids. There has to be some clue under the microscope...”

“You want fluids? Sure. Here.” Marissa reached down and dug a few fingers inside of herself. Her body obligingly dumped a quarter of viscous, warm lubricant onto her hand. “Do you have a test tube? I can probably fill a dozen.”

“This is POINTLESS,” Dr. Glocken said. He’d been swelling with frustration as time went on. “We have all the virus we need! It floats, even now, in the air around us! We take the demoness and her new strain, we duct tape her into an enclosure, and we make for—Miss! Give it a rest!”

“Sorry!” Marissa gave them an apologetic look. “Just succubus stuff!’ She had started to rub herself again, and it wasn’t easy to stop. It was fun with an audience. She was definitely curious about what the growling, heavy-breathing orc was packing. Turning wild-eyed aggressive men into desperate fucktoys was her stock and trade. But she had some interest in the half-immobile tree man. He probably had a woody. It seemed like a fun challenge. And why not throw a goblin girl into the mix?

“Marissa, please stop fucking us with your eyes,” Dr. Frees said. She wore a short tube dress underneath her lab coat. It had to be specially made, given how short she was. Her tits fit proudly into the top, and it was cut well above her knees. She had a large birthmark on her cheek, or perhaps that was part of the goblin warty experience. “The whole intent of this facility is to see—to show—that virally-effected men and women can be normal. Human. That they’re more than sex-obsessed changelings. So can you please stop—Marissa!”

Marissa had come to a realization—she could fuck herself with her own tail.

She was both cock and pussy. What this meant for her gender was uncertain and could be considered later. By curving her tail underneath herself it could go right up her slit. She tentatively played with her slit, still half-disbelieving, and then started to work the tip in.

“Ooooooooh,” she told the scientists.

“Marissa!” Dr. Frees said, urgently. “I am trying to keep my colleague from shipping...”

“Oooooooooooooooooooooh,” Marissa said. She had to sit down. There was no way to fuck herself from a standing position. It felt too good. And not only that—she realized that her hands were free, which meant she could rub both tits. Or even better, rub them against the plastic sheeting, to mess with the scientists.

“This is stupid,” Dr. Glocken said. “Ridiculous. Look at her. She’s controlled by it. All she is is a transmission vector.”

“Do you have a hardon for me?” Marissa said. “Do ya?” Another thought struck her. If she had her boobs on the sheet, then one hand could explore her asshole.

“Yes! Of course I do!” Dr. Glocken yelled, furious. “That’s the entire problem!” He stormed out, followed, eventually, by his shuffling plant colleague.

Dr. Frees put her small face close to Marissa’s perspiring one.

“Can’t you find it in yourself to be normal?” she said, pleading. All the scientific reserve was gone. There was real desperation in her eyes.

“I think this might be normal,” Marissa said. She pushed her index finger inside of her butt. “Sorry.”

“Isn’t the Marissa who read Romeo and Juliet, and watched anime, isn’t she somewhere—”

“How did you know about that?” Marissa said, curious. She even pulled her fingers out of her butt.

Dr. Frees averted her eyes. “I’m trying to find the person inside of you.” she said. “The human. Marissa. Not the girl who touches herself in—in so, so many places. While holding a conversation.”

“I’m still that person,” Marissa said. “Sort of. Maybe.”

“Then can you please at least take your hand out of—”

“But I think that person, if she grew a tail penis, would put it up her butt,” Marissa said. “I mean, I am.”

“See, now the virus is talking,” Dr. Frees said.

“Aren’t you a scientist?” Marissa said, arching an eyebrow.

“I am. I still am. I know what I look like, but I am.”

“So why can’t you just see what’s right in front of you?” Marissa said, and she rubbed her boobs on the visqueen, extra hard.