The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was spreading, in joy. Each new body was a delight. It spread happiness in each system. Grabbed hold of the limbic system and bent it, added new receptors and upgraded the old ones. For the girls especially it took the confused neural pathways and cleaned them all up, made them much better. A smooth pathway for that earth-shaking, breath-taking, wonderful event it knew as orgasm.

As many as possible, that was the thinking. And did they help it spread? Yes, yes they did.

Hannah spread with her mouth all over her emo boyfriend’s cock. In the lecture hall, at first, fulfilling promises she had made. He was surprised at her enthusiasm, but also how wet her mouth was, how warm, and how much she was clearly enjoying herself. Drool and spit dripped around her noisy, vigorous oral, and Emo Boyfriend was all for it. It seeped into his skin, joining a musculoskeletal system already being upgraded and bulked.

That was just the start.

From there, emo boyfriend gave his mom a chaste kiss on the cheek—not much, at all, but with a peck of fluid. Which led to mom, feeling kittenish and unusually playful, riding emo boyfriend’s step-dad as soon as he got home, even letting him bend her over the bed, to his delight. His dick slopped around in her wet, warm pussy, and absorbed certain strands of what could be DNA.

Those were pushed back out the very next day, on stepdad’s desk, when he fucked his admin. Aging, he’d been surprised with his own rigidity, and how long he could last in her tight, quivering slit. And when he spurted out a flood of cum, it spread along with it. And this girl was so randy because she’d tried a donut with Pink frosting, just the other night.

That night, the admin got dolled up, high heels on, lipstick perfect, and went out for a night on the town. At the last second, on what she thought was her own initiative, she left the condoms in her bedstand.

By that morning, it was spreading in a dozen different directions, exulting in it, excited about the future.

There was just so much to do.

Billy was feeling very warm and wet and rebellious lately.

Clearly her body was trying to break free of its long rigidity. It was telling her something, and not shy about it. The heat, the definitely more interested libido, even stuff like her wild amount of water retention was a sign that she was ready to move on, to become a different person. Her tits especially were done with a life of rigid timekeeping, regrets, and stern self-control. They felt so lush and warm, and made heavy handfuls in her hands. She was exhilirated. She kept masturbating, all the time.

She cupped them, still unsure about their sudden growth. Every morning they were larger, much larger. She’d gone up a cup and a half, and part of her whispered things like “you’re 23.” But—no. They were trying to bring joy to her life.

But the problem with THAT was her mind. It was just so hard to picture the future, as much as she yearned to, as much as she flashed to it in bed, her dildo plunged up to a now always-wet hole. It was just hard to fantasize about an attractive future. The world was so constrained, even with encouraging flashes of Pink in it. The world was going to parcel out Pink and all the good things in life at $1 a cup, in a measured milliliter.

If only she was dumber, she thought, and shook it away. No. Of course not. That wasn’t her. She was not a smooth brained, empty-headed blissed out... slut.

Her train of thought derailed in front of a particularly reflective window. The girl in them had such big tits...

Mirrors kept derailing her. Made her feel like she—the world—deserved Pink. She’d said it to her mirror, that morning, before shaking herself out of it, confused. How long had she been sitting there, cupping her boobs, and talking to her own reflection? No—it didn’t matter. She liked being too smart, too full of anxiety to breathe. She did.

“Alright, here we go,” she said, to the circle of co-eds. “We’ve got six small coffees, Pinked. Six of them with double-Pink. And a blueberry muffin.”

“I have the muffin!” One of the Emmas said.

They’d spilled out of the shop. It was too small, now, for the crowds they were drawing. Darcie had hired Jiya, to Tommy’s delight. That freed Billy up for rudimentary table-service. Chairs had spread along the sidewalk, chairs from who-knew-where, cheap folding chairs and camp chairs, and also plastic ones meant for outdoor church services. Half the college walked over immediately after class, and most seemed to stay during class.

The smell of caffeinated Pink spread along the group—and—something else. It was certainly Pink. But more.. biological. And wet.

“Billy, sit down!” Hannah said. She patted a stolen chair.

“We saw you get into it with the manager,” Grace said. “We are in FULL support. I mean, of you. We’re pro-labor, you know? Also, are your tits bigger too?”

She’d never—talked to any of the customers, before. That was Tommy’s job. There was a spare chair, an aluminum folding one, that wouldn’t last long outdoors. It creaked when she sat down. Pink seemed to be a little fattening. She’d gained a lot, in her tits, and ass, and hips.

It was cool and misty out, which bothered the girls not at all. There were so many bare legs, the puffy and loose styles thrown out entirely. Billy definitely understood it—fashion had to be practical. And she was very warm, all the time...

She could see herself, just barely, in the coffee shop window. A big-boobed black lady surrounded by smiling white girls. But they all had big tits, and they all smelled the same...

“Why are you girls... being...” Billy tried not to sound like a crouched, defensive posture of a person. Why were they all smiling at her? It wasn’t like she ever smiled at them. “I’m the drinks girl.”

“You ARE the reason we’re drooling so much,” Olivia said, smiling. There was a titter of laughter from the group, excepting Madison, the only one still wearing jeans. They looked very tight on her. “And we all watch the Darcie and Billy show. We know you have our back!”

“And our fronts, lately,” Hannah agreed, with a shrug and a drool.

“I don’t think that’s cool,” Madison said, stiffly. She gestured at their bouncing bosoms, eyes narrowed. “THAT’S why we wanted to talk, remember? Remember what Jiya showed us? We’re all drinking unregulated supplements? She wanted us to get a sample—”

“Ohhh, Madison, I’m gonna count your drool marks,” Hannah said. She scooted her chair over. Madison had worn a cream-colored blouse, and it was obviously spotted with Pink. All of them had a patina. “One..... Two.......... Umm.” Heather laughed, to cover obvious unease. “I do go to college, right? Don’t I?”

Madison blushed. She had dark black hair held back by a band. “It’s because we have more shelf,” Emma volunteered, winking at Billy. She did a little shimmy, and although it was more Darcie than Billy, it was something she was clearly proud of.

“That’s another—” Madison broke in, but too slowly. Olivia produced a vape pen, took a theatrical hit from it, and then stuffed it into Madison’s mouth. So that explained the smell. Liquified, vaporized Pink, it had to be. Toasted lavender. Billy realized that she was drooling, herself, in full view of the customers. But whatever. They were all drooling.

No one seemed to mind. It’s fine, something told her. It’s normal. It’s good...

“So. Billy. What can WE do for YOU?” Olivia said. “We keep hearing you get into it with Darcie.”

“Nothing,” BIlly said, automatically. No one could do anything for her. The vape pen was getting passed around. Drugs were a hard no for her. They were part of her current life predicaments. But—it was Pink, wasn’t it? It had to be Pink.... “I am a register slave with no will of my own. I perform my functions for my capitalist overlords.”

“Ooh. I like this. Which one of us is the one taking Economics?” Hannah said. She blinked. “Oh. Right. It’s me. Sorry, feeling very spacey lately! It does not need to be this way, Billy. Take it from me. It turns out I’m an Economics major!”

“I’m pretty sure goods need to be exchanged for, uh, money,” Billy said. She was feeling pretty slow herself. Perhaps because this was the most she’d talked to someone, not named Tommy, in some time.

“Billy, you drink more Pink than any of us, and we’re trying,” Olivia said. “Can’t you... you know...” she looked sidelong. “...do better? Wait. Emma. Pass. Now Hannah. Pass. Now Billy. Hit. And tell us what you see.”

She was handed the pen. The tip was slimy from girl mouths. The scent of tantalizing P-juice leaked out of all parts of it. Billy waited briefly for a flush of trauma—this had been part of her One Bad Day, casual drug use, albeit with a stronger intoxicant. But it wasn’t there. It smelled nice. She had to stick this in her mouth or she was going to soak her apron with girl drool.

Billy puffed. The girls, absent Madison, gave a polite round of applause.

It was—different, just like the chocolates.

More like the spatter of baptismal Pink from her bra-shopping expedition. She was briefly elsewhere, but not far. She was actually still right there. They were sitting, after all, next to an empty store front, two doors down from Titan Coffee.

At HER store front. New ideas flitted through her. Wonderful, encouraging thoughts, the kind she never had. Hopeful ones.

These nubile girls with their wet mouths could be her leaky customers. There didn’t have to be a Darcie. Her mind flitted through options—tea shop [no] dispensary [no] dry cleaners [what?] bakery [she couldn’t bake] and then landed on a natural fit.

And there she was, in her own uniform, this one practically barechested, to show off how beautiful and huge her tits had gotten...

Billy exhaled a cloud of pink smoke.

“What did you see?” Madison said, eagerly, breaking the spell. “Jiya wants us to write it down. Graduating college? Becoming a doctor?”

“Mine is just me and Clark, in the backseat of his car,” Hannah said, smirking. “Every day until we’re old.”

“You need to be more ambitious,” Emma chided her, lightly. Billy held her head, to try and clear it. This was all insanity, wasn’t it? Having partial prophecies from a multi-purpose drug? And not only that, feeling so very aroused, at work, feeling every thread of fabric on her brand new bra. Not to mention the drool problem extended to between her legs...

“I mean, we get REALLY good at it,” Hannah said, still smiling, if a little nervous. “I get like a gallon out of him. Its something. And it tastes like—” she checked herself, although they all know what she meant. But this is too much, still, describing how her boyfriend’s cum tastes, even if they all knew.

It tasted like Pink.

There was a sign on the empty storefront. The one two doors down. It told Billy what number to call, to rent it out.

On the one hand, everything about Jiya that Tommy thought he knew turned out to be invention.

She was not the enchantress of stocks and bonds he had assumed her to be, or a marketing queen, or deeply invested in investments. She was not even a college graduate. It turned that his darling of science, his admirable woman, was primarily editing wikipedia.

“What sort of articles?” he asked his new coworker, cautiously. It was odd, seeing her in a different way. He was already starting to see her in a different way, as a bunch of curves to be manhandled. The image kept consuming him, beating against his better nature. It would be helpful if she was at least working on articles about the effects of jellyfish stings, or the best way to reach space, or at least tidying up the earlier discoveries of Isaac Newton.

“Mostly Pokemon,” she says, with the same serious, hard-edged expression he fell in love with. “Their heights, their weights, their weaknesses, that kind of stuff. You wouldn’t expect this from people putting different Pokemon stats into wikipedia, but they are sloppy. Its—its—” even Jiya seemed to realize, belatedly, that this was lame. “You have to serve your time doing stuff like Pokemon before they trust you with blood types or reptile facts. There’s this whole subculture.”

“Sure,” Tommy said.

And to go along with all these perceptual changes, Jiya was suddenly a coworker. When Darcie offered her a job she accepted immediately, without even learning the salary. So whatever disappointment he had, that she was not the font of facts he had dreamed of, that sage of learnedness, whispering important scientific knowledge into his ear, she was, at least, standing right next to him.

Kind of drooling a lot.

“Tommy, can you spit into this for me?” she said.

Jiya held up a cup.

“Uhh. I mean, I can,” Tommy says. He took it, gently. His clumsy strength, always an issue, is getting to be a real financial problem. His hands felt, lately, like they could crush steel.

“Great,” Jiya says. Her makeup is a middle way between Darcie’s pancake mix face and Billy’s patented “no makeup at all” look. Blue mascara, and a tint of red in each cheek. Her lips aren’t as prominent as either coworker, either, which bothers Tommy not at all. She slurped. They were all slurping pretty much all the time. Some of the customers had developed lisps. “So, spit.”

“Any, uh, particular reason?” Tommy said.

“Yes, yes, right,” Jiya said. She waved her hands. Her nails, too, are painted. Dark rose red. “You know I’m investigating Pink. That’s why I took the job.”

Another surprise, not that he really believed it was because of him.

“Sure,” Tommy said. He has avoided thinking too deeply about Pink. It just seems... wrong... to put too much thought into it. Although he had, of course, noticed that he was developing washboard abs. He traced them with subtle unease.

“And the internet is abuzz, ABUZZ, with Pink, if you know where to look,” Jiya said. She waved her arms, excited. She wore a blouse with the top button undone. “It’s a fat burner, it’s the new hot supplement at the gym, people are putting it in breakfast cereal for a boost.” She lowered her voice. “It’s the most potent aphrodisiac of two generations. It’s a form of crack cocaine. You know. You can tell its about to hit the mainstream. The first posts about it just hit reddit slash r slash mommytalk.”

“That sounds bad,” Tommy said. They tended to the steady stream of customers. Mostly they have been collecting every college student from the nearby community college, but others have started to show up. Three down in the line are a duo of Moms, in their knee-length tights, and their fleece sweaters. They look very dubious, and very thirsty.

“Well, what IS the stuff?” Jiya said. “It’s... strange. It’s addictive, but, like, you barely notice? I mean, shouldn’t we be more worried about developing very powerful addictions? I think that’s bad!”

She held her Employee mug of Pink. Increasingly they are just using coffee as a way to loosen it up. It’s better to just drink it straight, with a buzz of Sumatra. Tommy watched her try to not pick it up. Then she picked it up, and drank.

“There’s that surge of wellbeing,” she muttered, briefly unsteady. “Fill ’er up. Spit. I want to check something.”

He spit. Its not hard. That is the number one symptom of Pink use. They’re all drooling, spitting, slurping, nearly choking on their own wet mouths. Men and women alike. Tommy saw a customer recently, concentrating on her computer screen, just letting it run down her chin.

When he peeked over, expecting an important exam, the girl was looking at cute skirts for sale.

Pretty soon had the glass full. Tommy’s mouth felt—still full of spit, actually. His head swirls, pleasantly, and he has a brief image of Jiya sucking him off, underneath the table. Applying her diligence to the important goal of making him cum. After so many revelations about her, what was wrong with this version? This version was very good at sucking his cock.

His erection surged...

“Nothing,” Jiya reports, peering into his cup. “Hmmm. People reported a pink trace. When you think about it, it’s weird there ISN’T a pink trace, isn’t there? You’re drinking this stuff all day. So where does it go? Okay, blow your nose.”

Simple enough. Soon the girl he keeps seeing, in his dreams, with her lips wrapped around his dick, is staring at his boogers. There’s plenty. He’s drippy from all angles. “How is it?” he said.

“Green,” she says, disappointed. “Hmmm. I don’t suppose you can cry?”

“No,” Tommy says. He’s always been ambivalent about his own masculinity. Both Mom and Dad were not expecting a very tall, very broad son, and he was raised on an earnest diet of egalitarianism. Lately, however, he’s been feeling a little more... manly. At least, he’s having a lot of erections, and is increasingly interested in getting sucked off. That didn’t seem to be toxic masculinity, exactly. They’d be consensual blowjobs, and he’d definitely fuck them silly afterwards.

Jiya fidgeted, then drank another big gulp of Pink. She drew him backwards, and her voice was slurred. Tommy was getting used to that—it’s the voice of someone seeing a future.

“Can I get... scientifically... for inquiry purposes... some of your... medical... semen?” she said.

She waggled the cup.

The shift to his fantasies is too abrupt. Tommy stumbled backwards, into the wall of teas. No one has been drinking teas, since there’s potent Pink brews at hand, and they are just a wall of dusty glass jars. He hit them hard enough that they shiver, the chamomiles and aging darjeeling shuddering in their canisters. Meanwhile his cock has arisen to full mast, pointing right back at the wild-eyed Indian girl with the moist chin.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Jiya said, and sounded a little more normal. She held up a hand. “It is NOT sexual. I specifically called it semen for that reason. I didn’t say your cum or your jizz or ANYTHING like that. I want to check it for—ummmm....”

His dick tent-poled his pants, and Tommy saw her eyes focus on it. Even his balls feltl tight, already preparing for maximum fire. He felt a disconcerting shift, and, for the first time, real concern about the various effects of Pink. The world is off tilt. Girls don’t just ask for his sperm.

Although he has a lot to give.

Tommy had been chalking it up to—to everything but Pink. The scent and sight of energetic co-eds, their mouths coated in pepto-bismol coloring. The changing of the seasons. Jiya’s new proximity, Billy’s new cleavage, even Darcie’s doll-like expression. But he’d been cumming big healthy loads in the past week. Big thick white large loads, and whatever muscle shoots, it had been really shooting. He could paint the wall, he could shellac a ceiling. There was something up with his cum.

“Check it for WHAT?” he said. Now Jiya is unfocused again. She’s got her eyes on his package. He’s been jerking it a lot more, the past week. A lot more. His tissue box has been decimated.

Tommy can’t be sure, since his hand also feels bigger, more meaty... but is there more dick to go around?

“Okay, right,” Jiya said. She visibly stops herself from another sip of Pink. “So. Girls are reporting all sorts of—effects. From Pink. Like, yeah. The euphoria. Sure. But also, um, some... spaciness. And... “ she blinked. Tommy risked shifting his hips back and forth. Sure enough, her eyes traced it. “...and some bigger tits. But there’s not enough research on the men. Not nearly enough on... men. But I saw one hunk say that his cummy-cum had a little trace of.. pink. In it.” She sounds very stupid, in a hot way. He’s glued to her hand. It’s teasing at the button on her shirt.

“Like, tint?”

“There wasn’t a picture. He said it was like a single drop of kool-aid in a vat of mayo. Not a great image, I know. But.. I thought... for...” she couldn’t stop the drool, didn’t try. A girl was drooling, looking at his cock. What was the ethical thing to do, in that moment? Jiya splashed the floor. And that was fine. It wasn’t like she even went to college, right? Although plenty of co-eds were making the floor sticky...

Jerk off, his body told him. Pound his dick. In fact, if she wanted it so bad, he could fill her up. Like a donut.

“Oh! Sure! No problem!” Tommy said. “I’ll just go on break now. You got a canister for it or something?” He could tell her, its hard to aim. Much easier if she wielded the jar. He could miss, on accident. Spray her face. Tommy fought the urges down. No, he’d be normal. He’d just go masturbate into a can for her. At the moment, that was admirable self-restraint.

“Here you go,” Jiya told him.

She handed him an enormous, four quart pot.

They used to use it for hot chocolate in bulk. “Is that enough?”

He examined Jiya. The curve of her ears. The way her stern, sleek expression was now breathless, panting. The way her tongue kept peeking out to rub her lips. Her perfect, flawless skin.

“Maybe,” Tommy said, earnestly. “I’ll let you know if I need a second one, okay?”

He retreated to the bathroom, tried to take his dick out, realized he was holding the glass, and put it down. It was hard to think clearly, or at all. A slow, sane part of him said—they were both acting oddly. They were both practically moaning and panting. His dick was enormous, especially in the small bathroom. The sink loomed over the toilet, and he ordinarily had to maneuver around it.

His cock was so rigid. In fact, he was a little unsure about it—he wasn’t a measure-your-cock kind of guy, but the heft seemed strange, the weight felt new. And the real change—whatever muscles were in there, that propelled a healthy squirt of personal goo, they were becoming olympic quality. He could fire artillery. The challenge, he realized, was going to be in not breaking the bowl.

“Going okay in there?” Jiya said, from just the other side of the door. He could just about hear her drooling. Over his dick. The blood pounded in his ears, he could feel it pulse in his cock.

“Um, yes!” Tommy said. “Of course!”

“Oh, right, because its masturbation. I mean, if there was another way to check, I would, I know its very personal. But you’re a boy, right? Don’t you do this three or more times a day? It can’t be very emotionally meaningful, right? Like if you don’t do it don’t you get stopped up, like you’re plumbing? Sorry, I’m babbling. Something about Pink makes me—talk. Do you think I’m acting oddly?”

There was no room for her in the bathroom, Tommy felt. Unless. She could crouch, on the toilet. She could be the toilet. Or at least a target, for him to aim at. That way, if he missed the jar, no harm done, except to her clothes and hair. As a committed male feminist he would definitely make an effort to avoid her eyes. His effort to lightly grip his prick was a failure. He wrapped his full hand around it. It wasn’t even how he used to jerk off. It just felt right, to pump, like he was a water mill.

“Anyway I’m NOT just being, um, a perv,” Jiya said, through a thin door. “I think. Everyone is talking about semen quality. Men say they’re producing... vats. There’s a real quality change. I suppose since I don’t have earlier cum from you it won’t be extremely scientific but we can...” Jiya breathing was hard. They both were. “Maybe we can get a time series going. Yes. We can do that.”

“Uh huh,” Tommy said. God help him, he was a very nice person but this girl’s big mouth would be way better wrapped around his throbbing prick. He was about to—

“Tommy.”

Billy? This wasn’t the—he was jerking off. He couldn’t stop. His mind had ceased to work. He needed to jerk off. Too much Jiya, whining about wanting his cum.

“Billy?” She sounded normal, which was to say, determined. A new fantasy leapt in. Why not both of them? He certainly had enough goo for two, if they lined up side by side. The three employees of Titan Coffee, sharing his production.

“We need to have an important labor meeting. I have an idea. Get out of there.”

“Jiya—are you—”

“Tommy is, uh, busy!” Jiya said. “We’re checking on something in the bathroom! There’s a leak! Hopefully!”

“What are you—”

Billy pushed the door open. Tommy could’ve locked it. He hadn’t. The light of day illuminated him stroking and stroking, and backlit two girls, staring at him, their eyes immediately drawn to the red and blue and—pink?—veins all along his cock. Billy furrowed her brows. Jiya looked fascinated. It was too much. Tommy came.

He turned his hips just in time, so he didn’t shoot ropes all over his co-workers. That would’ve probably been harassment. Instead it was a full paint job on the small bathroom, a surge of creamy jism that lovingly coated all available surfaces. The walls, all of them, received a bath of slowly-sliding sperm. Tommy opened his mouth to say something, and it came out instead as a throaty roar. It felt right, doing this. Spreading. Cum was for giving. Sharing. There was no point to it, stuck in his balls. This was right. He felt so wonderfully stupid.

It was alarming, how much he pushed out. Usually it was one healthy load. Now he kept spurting and spurting. Finally it reduced to a trickle.

“Ooh,” Jiya said, weakly. She sagged against the door frame. The bathroom was going to smell like Tommy, he knew, for the rest of his existence. And a strong hint of lavender.

“Okay. So. Anyway,” Billy said, with just a slight tremor to her voice. With incredible effort she brought her eyes up from his shivering, dripping prick. “Sorry to interrupt. I have an idea. I wanted to get your thoughts on employee-owned co-ops. As soon as you—clean up a little bit.”

Darcie was having trouble gearing herself up for the four-man investor gangbang she was pretty sure was coming. Pretty sure. Pink was making it a little tricky to differentiate fantasy and reality.

Chester had brought her along to a business and beer session with some of his investor-class friends, all varieties of aging nerds with soft, sagging skin.

Darcie was, even now, fairly confident, fairly sure, that if he’d just said there were three friends right away she wouldn’t be constantly playing out orgy scenarios in her own head. The issue was that he’d mentioned one friend, Paul, and each sip of Pink had brought with it images of her very first spitroast session. Darcie wasn’t quite sure why—because he was older, accomplished? Because he was Chester’s friend? Because he was a man, with a cock?

Nonetheless the intrusive sexual fantasies had started and hadn’t stopped, almost like a paused Netflix series, resumed with each delicious lavender drop. Herself, resuming her normal position on Chester’s dick. Then feeling wonderfully violated, someone else’s hands behind her, rearranging her [pink, obviously pink] panties for access. And then all her overwhelming wetness nearly sucking the man in, filling her so perfectly...

“Hmm?” Darcie said. “Sorry?”

“Its fine, you don’t need to hear anything I say,” Caleb said, and laughed. He examined her bottle of Pink, set out on the table in front of them. Caleb was portly, but, according to Chester, had the most talented painter’s hands in the City, which were wasted on multiple Warhammer armies. Darcie was still concentrating on the hands. “So this is it. It’s starting to get mainstream, you know. Vice wrote an article on it. Just the cultural side, the girls dancing and showing off and drooling all over the place on TikTok. The drool! The drool is wild!”

“Darcie’s coffee shop tripled revenue in a week, from this stuff. And yes. Everything you read is true,” Chester said.

He meant her tits, and how much bigger they’d gotten. He’d insisted that they be prominent and obvious for this important meeting. Darcie hadn’t been able to protest. She was having enough trouble telling herself that she wasn’t about to engage in a multi-faceted sexual encounter with rich businessmen.

So she’d gone shopping and bought a low-cut tube top.

It wasn’t helping her recent disconnect from reality that she even HAD tits. They’d been getting bigger all week long. Darcie hardly at all recognized them, sitting pretty and prominent above the table, shading her feet. They were very perky, although she didn’t have Billy’s natural cleavage line. They looked a bit fake, round and high and tight. Not that they felt fake. They felt good.

Caleb had been the first person invited, and most of her fantasies had revolved around just him and Chester. The problem was, as much as it was starting to tingle, and very pleasantly, Darcie was nervous about letting a man touch her asshole. And she only had so many holes.

If anyone was going to fuck her butt it was going to be Chester. But Chester was so very dedicated to her mouth it was hard to imagine him traversing the back way. Even on the full flush of Pink, when every hole seemed so fillable, so aching and needy, her Chester fantasies were oral-oriented. Their relationship had been moving very fast. He had thrown himself wholeheartedly into her dreams of coffee-lavender empire, so they had lots to discuss. Or, more accurately, he would tell her things while she sucked him off.

Darcie wasn’t sure about that, either. Why was she so into blowjobs? And why were her boobs growing at such an accelerated pace? Every so often she thought—throw the Pink in the toilet, put on a sensible shirt, and abandon these heady dreams of prosperity. You are Darcie, a confused small business owner of no particular tits.

But.. it was good. It was really good, really really good, to feel calm and confident with Chester’s prick in her mouth, coated with her spit. Thinking of nothing but a full-figured future, while he grunted and told her things about P/E ratios and loans and guaranties. And his friends that could bankroll big, big dreams. Left unstated—for girls with big, big boobs.

“My step-daughter has been drinking this stuff. Or eating it. Or.... I don’t know. The whole house is lavender. Its lavender, right? That’s what I’m picking up on?” That was Anthony, who had a civil war beard. He was the baldest among them, and that was saying something.

“Lavender,” Darcie said. As a future leader of man, she had to make a contribution. She was trying really hard not to drool.

“Lavender plus, I think. It has really, really, really helped her mood,” Anthony said. It was his turn to handle the jar. “She’s even dressing more optimistically. She was wearing pajamas pretty much all the time, even to college. Pajamas and anti-depressants, that was her wardrobe, The zoomer lifestyle, you know? This morning she stole one of her Mom’s skirts. I was surprised she knew how to put it on.”

Chester nudged her. Right, she had to comment on the habits of zoomers, what made them spend money on something besides squishmallows and water bottle stickers. Darcie suddenly wanted Billy around—she’d have an entire thesis on the lifecycle of 21 year olds. “Which anti-depressant is she on?” she said.

“Uhh—I think its lexapro,” Anthony furrowed his brow.

Darcie nodded. “Ahhh,” she said, like it was highly meaningful to her. It wasn’t. Her Dad forbade the use of drugs of any kind. Daddy didn’t know she was drinking mood-altering pink stuff. She gave Anthony a very pleasant smile. That seemed to make him happy.

And that was good. She had a lot of men to make happy.

They were at a big male-heavy bar and grill, and Darcie wasn’t sure if she should mention that all the girls there were already on Pink. She could smell them, their sultry lavender perfume. It clung to the waitresses, and the bartender was soaked in it, probably drooling into the drinks. Which was fine—Billy and Darcie both had accidentally slurped into a customer coffee. No one seemed to mind.

Figuring Anthony into the menage a trois was where the big sweaty sex fantasy went out of her control. Naughty spitroasting dreams were one thing. Darcie was pretty sure, or not sure, or who knows, that they were just Pink thoughts, part of the process keeping her remarkably wet at all times. Obviously there had to be a psychological component to her juiciness.

Working a third man into it was more like—work. She felt inadequate to the deed, and her fantasies stuttered, confused. Her Pink-sucked mind helpfully suggested she include coworkers in the fantasy task, maybe put Jiya at work sucking some dick, but she rejected it, horrified. Billy was not horning in on her sex life. It was still wild and crazy she had a sex life at all, even if it mostly involved exploring Chester’s pubic hairs with her nose.

After some considerable anxiety she came up with a plan. She’d suck Chester’s dick, no question. That was a cornerstone, and it calmed and relaxed her. She’d gotten to really enjoy the taste. One of the men could lie down, and she’d bounce up and down on him. Two. The third she’d jerk off. That settled it.

And there was always her mouth, for round two.

It was nice, that her mouth was good for something. Talking had never been a strong suit for it. Sucking dick was just fine. And, apparently in response, her lips were—something. Darcie wasn’t sure anymore if she had put on lipstick. Her lips were moisturized and ruby-pink and thick and all of it was—natural? She definitely had cocksucker lips. They were becoming, day by day, nearly sex doll-grade. If she ran her finger along them, she could cum, just like that.

And it just seemed inevitable that she was about to dole out a ton of blowjobs. This was a thing that was going to happen. Men with gobs of money did not just give it to young girls. She had to go out and suck them off to fulfill her dreams, and let them cream in her pussy to boot. MAYBE her butt.

“My wife has been going to that new donut place, they do a lavender donut, of all things,” Peter said. “Like a Bed Bath and Beyond donut. I don’t know. Drool. Eh.”

“You’re opposed, then,” Chester said. Could he tell how nervous she was? He was patting her thigh. Darcie had torn her wardrobe apart, for the meeting, and eventually just gone shopping. SHe’d settled on a white linen skirt that was very high off the knee. It was not business appropriate, and it showed the drool stains prominently. The issue was, it had shown up in her dreams as the skirt she wore while getting gang-banged. And now she was wearing it. At least she’d defied the persistent fantasy, by wearing panties. True, they were dripping wet. She should probably take them off.

“Oh, I’m not opposed,” Peter said. He was six foot three, at least, and wore rimless glasses. “She’s been jogging over there every morning. Every. Morning. I guess there’s a long line. Then she returns sweaty and sugary and lavender and—well. Happy to see me.” He chuckled. All the men chuckled.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t fought the image of her, caught in a four-way fuck fest. Darcie had been appalled by it, even as she dribbled and drooled and juiced to it. She was a young business owner who weighed, even after her recent boobosity, maybe 115. It was bad that she was even dreaming of sexually satisfying four older men, much less doing it. It was some sort of anxiety thing.

But it was there at night. When she slept it was front of mind, and she was waking up in a frothy sweat. Darcie hadn’t bothered to wash her sheets in days. They’d just get soggy again. Her pillow was a soup. She really needed to cut down on Pink, needed to stop drinking so much Pink, even if it was the best way to soothe, to reduce her quivering body to relaxed bliss, while her pussy pulsed, expectant....

Working Peter into the fantasy had been a delightful, tantalizing agony. She’d been up almost all of last night, alone in her drenched sheets, steaming and thinking. Masturbating had felt impossible—this wasn’t some fun fantasy, this was important business decisions. This was the course of her future life, step one on her road to personal greatness. She couldn’t just stick her hand up her slit, as much as it was dribbling and needy. Eventually she had gotten up and gotten a piece of paper, to write down her thoughts.

She had the piece of paper in her purse. It was still sodden, with drool that, if she had held it up to the sun, would look a little pink.

There was only one thing that made sense. She’d bounce on top of Peter. Caleb and Anthony, she’d either jerk off, or they could jerk off onto her. Chester would maintain his prized spot in her mouth. She would make a good faith business effort to suck him off fast, so one of the other men could take her mouth. It was far from a satisfactory plan. It felt like a personal failing to leave her asshole untouched, as nervous as the idea of stretching it made her. But business was about compromises and choices.

“Sounds like we’re in a hurry, then,” Chester said. “The entire world is getting in on Pink.” He was almost unrecognizable in a tie, and a black leather jacket. While he still had his trademark jowls he’d been working out, although mostly in Darcie’s tonsils. There was a glint in his eyes that was new. Kind of a pinkish hue...

“But I mean—what’s in the stuff?” Caleb said. He looked at them. “No ingredient list. No manufacturer. The claims people are making are—I’ll just say it. Unsettling. Chester, I’ve watched Darcie here nearly drool a half-dozen times. Just some truly heroic slurping going on. Her lips are... different. I’ve watched YOU almost drool.”

They’d rehearsed how to respond to this objection. Chester gave her the squeeze on her thigh that meant—time to close the deal. He’d told her exactly what to say.

“We’re about ninety percent sure it’s all just sugar, water, pink dye, and lavender extract,” Darcie said, with just the right hint of smug. “Mostly sugar. And the boobs are all Darcie.”

The men laughed. Of course, stupid zoomers, getting worked up and hot and bothered for a silly video-based trend. Silly girls, giving themselves an excuse to put their boobs on display. Although a lie it felt very right. These men were going to invest in Pink. They wouldn’t ask these kinds of uncomfortable questions, once they’d drunk some. And sealed the deal, on her face, her hair, her lips, her back.

“Gentlemen,” Chester said. He picked the bottle up, spun it in his fingers, and held it out. He poured generous portions in each man’s beer. “To our CEO, Darcie,” Darcie was drinking a coffee stout. Even so, she could taste the Pink settled deep in the depths. Bartender drool, no doubt. They were really doing it. Dozens of coffee shops loomed in her vision, after a welcome sip of Pink. She’d wear the cutest business outfits, her Dad booted from the board of directors. Although first she’d be painted white, her skin hot with dripping pearls...

“Excuse me,” she said. “Little CEO’s room.” She put a sway into her step. This was new, as well. She’d never slipped her rear from side to side, for male inspection. Her concentration lapsed, and a Pink and beer strand of drool ran down her chin. What wouldn’t, soon enough?

Locked in the stall, Darcie sat down, and permitted herself a long, full-body shiver. What was she DOING?

Who was this vixen of the board room, this horny and confident creature of capitalism? It certainly wasn’t HER—she was barely able to get through a given day, disdained by her employees. She was a very anxious girl with most of her sexual experience off a screen, or conveyed through text. Her body was primarily nervous. Why was she plotting gang bangs? Why was she so achingly WET for them? And why did her lips look like a blow-up doll?

Darcie slumped back against the toilet, and spit into the bowl. If she’d looked, it was staining the water a very, very light Pink.

Her fingers groped between her legs, and found a sticky, hot button to press. Darcie fingered herself in the women’s restroom. She was so lubricated, lately, that she made greased-up noises when she touched herself. Which was fairly often. A porn-y shlick-shlick like she had been doused with oil. The entire area was greased and hot. The fantasy hit her again—the men, all somehow cumming at once. A torrent of cum, from leaders of industry. Even so much from Chester that it ran down her chest. It was true to life. He kept spooging more and more.

She had a little anticipatory orgasm, and made a noise like a trapped animal, deep in her bubbling throat.

This wasn’t her. She had to—somehow fight against it, to remind herself that she was Darcie, anxious mess, and not Darcie, focal point of male lust. She was not a CEO. Among other things, it was an LLC. That her Dad owned. She didn’t even have equity. And her growing boobs, her needy, wet mouth, those were things to nervously google, not to enjoy, to lose herself in...

Darcie pulled out her phone. She’d make a note to herself. No—a business plan to fail. She’d pour out the Pink into the potty. This potty. She’d tell the boys their plans to skeet on her tits were off for the evening. It was all too weird.

She had a text from Billy. Darcie checked it.

After she washed her hands, and used a dozen paper towels to dry out, Darcie rejoined the men at the table. They were drinking more of her Pink. They all looked at her as she walked in, and she couldn’t help but smile. She wanted so badly to kiss all of them, didn’t she? Or have something of theirs in her mouth, to see what it tasted like.

“Gentlemen,” she said, and gave an apologetic smile. “I think we may need to table this for a bit.” She held up her phone. “My employees have mutinied.”