The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

YEAR ONE.

“Minor cognitive effects!” Jocelyn said. “That’s seriously all it says. Minor cognitive effects.”

The bottle was primly medicinal. It was white with the usual color-coded markings. The pills inside could be taken with food, or water. They didn’t need to be refrigerated. NN-HANC-F was listed on the front with a complicated medicalese name just underneath. And side effects: minor cognitive effects. It also said “USE AS NEEDED.” As needed?

Luke nodded, solemnly. He opened the bottle. It didn’t even have a twist lock. The pills inside were big, and, the only gesture to what the hell they actually did, they were bright pink.

“How did you get a bottle?” Jocelyn asked. Her boyfriend was in the middle of medical school. She presumed this was some sort of contraband.

“Easily,” he said. “I mean, yeah, technically you need a prescription. But they’re everywhere. It’s efficacious for practically anything. Everything. From Acid reflux to… uh… whooping cough.”

“For surplus brains. For too much self-respect,” Jocelyn said. She picked up the pill, examined it. Inside of it were who-knows how many chemically engineered compounds and hormones and other things. A tiny factory of guaranteed second puberty. She held it over her tongue, waited for Luke to take it away from her.

He didn’t do anything. He looked at her intently, behind black, round glasses. Luke had a big shock of black hair and had gained some weight in med school.

Eventually she put it back in the bottle, and handed it back to him. She took a long, nervous sip of coffee.

It was everywhere. Everything had been fine, just fine, and then NN-HANC-F had appeared from nowhere and made itself into the world’s hottest candy. NN-HANC-F for big, hefty tits. NN-HANC-F will cure your libido problems, and cure them and cure them. NN-HANC-F will tighten up that ass. NN-HANC-F deals with sexual responsiveness—you will be more sexually responsive on NN-HANC-F. That fat will burn away. Those thighs will turn curvy and hot. Your complexion will clear up. Your lips will get thick and fat.

You’ll giggle and giggle and have the attention span of a puppy.

“Have you seen the latest video?” Jocelyn asked. She opened her phone and dialed up youtube. Selah M., feminist and vlogger, was bravely chronicling a full regimen of the pills. In day one she had been bone-white cheeks, heavy glasses, black t-shirt with “WOMEN WIMMIN WOMYN WOMIN” written on it.

Day two she had appeared with color in her cheeks for the first time ever. “Well it’s definitely having an effect!” she had reported, smiling brightly. “Girls, I’m gonna tell you, it is horny in a bottle. This thing ramps you up to 11 and it is RAW about it!”

Day three she had metaphorically kicked the men out of the room. “Okay, we’re starting to see a little breast growth. I’m gonna flip the girls out. You can see some nipple growth here. Sensitivity is way up.”

On Day four she didn’t need glasses anymore.

On Day five she showed up, chewing gum, and went on a long and inspired rant about how her new ass was making her feel like a feminist both front and back. “Like, okay, the tits are one thing. That’s, like, your face to the world, your boobs. And the ass is like, dirty and wrong? Sort of? And you can’t see who is watching it? But what if, WHAT IF fellow ladies, every eye on that butt was a net positive?”

On Day six she was positively beaming as she showed off her ever-expanding chest, two pneumatic tits that rode super high. She had gone on an obvious shopping spree. She was wearing bright yellow. No slogans to be found. She didn’t seem to notice the growing concern in her comments section.

On Day seven it was noted by the viewers that a bunch of the books in her room had simply disappeared, and there was a big huge vibrator resting casually on the bed.

On Day eight she forgot to do a show.

On Day nine there was a boy lounging on the bed, and she spent most of it talking about what orgasms meant to her. Commenters compared her vocal pitch and range, how it had a new high squeak, noted the soft, simplifying vocabulary, and worried, uselessly, to a girl that cheerfully took five pills on camera.

On Day ten she had hiked up her skirt, lacking underwear, and gotten the camera right up and close with her big pink pussy. “See that clit? It’s like, SO BIG NOW. I used to not find it and stuff and it is like, SWOLLEN and shit, it is WOW sensitive, OH MY GOD! I LOVE IT!” A different boy was lounging on the bed.

This was Day eleven, and when the couple turned on the stream, it showed Selah with her legs up on the desk, in a rainbow skirt, with matching rainbow socks, talking about what she liked about boys—“EVERYTHING, HELL YES TO BOYS”—while a vibrator buzzed away between her legs. At some point a donation tip jar had appeared on the main screen, and the comments had given away to teenage boys hooting encouragement.

“Minor. Cognitive. Effects.” Jocelyn said, closing it up.

It was remarkable, in a way, how little Selah said about her ongoing transformation. Did she really not notice the ongoing plumpening and thickening and fattening of her fucking LIPS? The ones she had to move all the time? How lush and heavy they had become? How they sometimes made it hard for her to talk? Did she really not realize she had DROOLED on camera on Day ten? And there was definitely something surreal about her casual acceptance of her big honking tits, past Day Six or so, when shouldering around two cantaloupes apparently became routine, except when she thumbed at a nipple.

So much for every human creature being “constituted a profound secret and mystery to every other.” No more secrets. Hell, you could see well up their pussies.

The feminist community was all over Selah. There were graphs made, showing that vocabulary density dipped as cup size grew. Grim jokes were made on twitter.

And yet, there were the testimonials, before and afters of the deathly ill befores, in hospital beds, hair gone, equipped to tubes, and then bright and shiny afters winking at the camera in a ringer tee with a nice new bosom. The hell could you say to that?

She kept an eye on Luke, to see his reaction. She hated how much she was doing that these days. Watching his eye, seeing if it would wander. Could she blame him if it did? The cleavage around was rich and inviting. There were more asses to gaze at. A race of amazons was suddenly walking the streets, and it was weird NOT to gawk at their short skirts, tiny shorts, halter tops, and wonder what they once were. But Jocelyn still seethed a little, just a little, when he lingered too long on some blonde twirling her hair brainlessly as she strode around. While he was holding Jocelyn’s hand, no less.

“See, from the standpoint of a lot of doctors, this is a success,” Luke said.

Jocelyn tried and failed to keep her eyes from narrowing sharply. He smiled at her, winningly.

“No, see, from the medical standpoint, she’s extraordinarily healthy. Just amazingly healthy. Jocelyn, her eyesight improved. In two days. People actually regrow nerves on this stuff. The manufacturer is really tight-lipped but it has something to do with reactivating hormone effects that usually stop at the end of puberty—oh, c’mon, that’s three eye-rolls in a row, I’m just explaining why this stuff keeps getting prescribed. It makes cancers indetectable, Jocelyn!”

Jocelyn made it a healthy four. But she also put her hand on top of his. She really, really liked Luke. He was very kind, super supportive. He was going to be a doctor pretty soon, there was no denying she liked the hell out of that. Yes, he was going to be bald by age 34, but that she could live with.

“So anyway,” Luke said, undiscouraged. His eyes briefly tracked a brunette in a super-tight sweater walking a tiny dog, outside. “No one on the drug actually complains. They all say they love it.”

“Whatever,” Jocelyn sulked. She hated it especially when a brunette was out there. She was a brunette. So of course she had the smaller boobs—much smaller—and the less generous hips and the slight pudge she couldn’t seem to jog away. Oh, and of course NN-HANC-F gave you great hair, to boot.

The stupid pill had affected their sex life. Jocelyn was extremely conscious about their sex life. Since the pill had become a thing she had gone down on Luke, what, twice a week? More? Without him even asking? Last night she had tossed down two glasses of wine and let him cum in her mouth. Luke had spattered her tongue with a few thin ropes of cum and given her the most adoring look, and she had felt so relieved. So, so relieved. He was sexually satisfied with her.

What the HELL, she had thought the next day. What was she doing, letting some boy thrust his dick in and out of her mouth, cooing encouragement to him, no less. Letting him flood her gums with semen, so she had millions upon millions of little wrigglers for mouthwash. SWALLOWING. Looking him in the eye and swallowing! Like his little clump of salt and DNA was tasty! Feminist blogs she frequented were thick and heavy with talk of evolutionary psychology, female sexual competition, the procreative tendency.

There were new clothing packages on their way to their apartment right now so she could dress sexier. For him. This was all some ridiculous arms race where one side had tanks and she had, what, what could she fight back with exactly, INTERESTING CONVERSATION?

She just had to hope that Luke liked them a little sarcastic, basically.

It was hard all over. Her friend Pauline had called her not long ago, in tears. Her long-term boyfriend had broken it off. He was now dating a coworker on, of course, the pill.

“I knew he was fucking someone else. I knew it,” Pauline had said. “He didn’t even care. I tried to give him a—what’s the word for it—when you massage his dick between your boobs?”

“Titty-fuck,” Jocelyn said. She was learning a TON of new sexual terms recently. Rimjob, creampie, all sorts of euphemisms for anal.

“Yeah, and we did it, and it was like he just didn’t care. And you know. It was kind of hard to do. I mean I have pretty good boobs, right?”

“Sure.”

“Yeah but they’re just BOOBS, they’re not like, titty-crack boobs. So it was kind of a thing! I looked this girl up on facebook and she has got crazy hooters and you couldn’t even SEE the penis in between them. So I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna take just a few. Just for the tits.”

Jocelyn was horrified. “Oh, come on, Pauline, no. There are other boys.”

“There are a TON of girls with tits for days! And they are available as hell! Come on, Jocelyn, we don’t all get hooked up with doctors. Some of us have to go out there and date and watch a single giggling redhead’s boobs spill out in a date restaurant and every, EVERY male eye turns to look at her! And she doesn’t even bother to put them back in!”

“Pauline, it makes girls into TOYS,” Jocelyn had tried.

“I’m taking two pills. That’s all. Bulk up on breast meat, then I’m done.”

Jocelyn had been vaguely supportive when the first overjoyed pics came in, of an obviously swollen Pauline chest. And then when they came in on Day Three she had called and gotten a breezy, confident Pauline, promising just “one more pill.”

After that Jocelyn had stopped responding to the naked pictures of bulky, heavy and heavier tits. The last one had, in fact, had someone’s penis between them.

She had started talking dirty. Luke loved it. “Mmm… fuck me right there,” she had moaned at him, a few days ago. Her period had just ended, and she wasn’t really feeling it, but she had a strict policy of fucking before dates, now. Jizz him out before the night. “Oh my god, Luke. That’s so fucking good. Mmmm you’re so god damn big. God, I love that fucking cock.”

There was a wet splash in her. How many times was she getting cum on or in, lately? Oh well. At least she was cumming, if not at the jackhammer intensity of a pill patient. They came like there was a wire on their clits.

“How the hell did these even get approved?” she groused, picking up the bottle. Jocelyn caught a glimpse of her own reflection. Cute enough, with a nose she didn’t really like, but which boyfriends praised as “pert”. A slim, totally acceptable figure, fit and trim, 100% a 7, 7 ½ until the latest inflation. Now what was she, a 5? 4? She barely counted as even having boobs, in this new era.

“Fertility,” Luke said. He had clearly looked into the drugs. She hoped just professionally. She would say no if he asked her to take one, right? Right.

“Oh,” Jocelyn said.

“Yeah, no problem getting pregnant on these. Hell, the trick is to NOT get pregnant. And then everyone started investigating the secondary effects—anyway, here we are.”

Here they were.

And practically on cue, a clearly pill-popper came in through the front door, tits preceding her. As much as these girls struggled at math now they kept an effortless sense of sexy style. This girl was blonde, great skin, central casting bimbo, in a sweater dress that had a plunging neckline. She walked comfortably in high heels despite having a double-sized ass. Her hair was a tangle of curls.

It drove Jocelyn nuts that these girls, despite losing all interest in politics and literature and math, still cared deeply and intently in their wardrobe and look. What did it fucking MATTER what they wore? They would look good in sackcloth and ashes, they would look hot and fuckable in a muu muu. They didn’t NEED to advertise. And yet they were perpetually in figure-hugging, tit-accentuating, ass-lifting apparel, and no less than three-inch heels. Makeup always perfect, nails painted, lips slathered in some shade of red.

It had been ages—AGES—since Jocelyn had dared to have a hobo-clothes day, where she lounged around in a t-shirt and ripped jeans and flip-flops. Every morning she had to bite her lip and shimmy into something tight, and hold her breath to close a button or zip up a zipper. She wore makeup like it was armor. When Luke had complimented her on her “natural look”, contrasting her with some powder-puff chinese girl with mounds of mascara, she had bit her lip and just accepted the comment. She had spent nearly an hour getting the natural look.

It was so strange to look at girls on the street and think, with total certainty, that they were HORNY. That they were actively interested in fucking. Just from the pop in their braless boobs, the way they eye-fucked boys, licked their lips, smiled unceasingly. They were wet! It was a certainty that they were juicy and open for propositions.

Pill-popper made her way over to the counter.

“Do you have…. Umm…. ummm….. Coffee?” she said.

The girl behind the counter looked at her deadpan. “Yes,” she told the lady. “Plenty of coffee.”

“Do you have like a really BIG coffee?” pill-girl said. Her hands moved around. Jocelyn watched her tug at her hair, tug at her skirt. Pill girls were so unmistakeable. They just couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.

Counter girl had worked with enough pill-girls to know to take things one step at a time. “Do you mean, a large size, or something else?”

“Large! That’s it. That’s what I want.”

“Do you want—” counter-girl checked herself. Introducing more options would not go well. “One large coffee, coming right up. It’s $2.45.”

“Oh!” pill-girl furrowed her brow. “What about my ummm….. Ummmmmmmm… ummmmmmmmmmmmm.” It went on like a koan. The word finally came to her. “Discount!”

“What discount?” counter-girl said.

“AARP? No?”

Even Jocelyn’s eyebrows shot up. Counter-girl, thank god, asked the question for her.

“How old ARE you, ma’am?”

Pill-girl grinned, and hefted her boobs. She wasn’t bothering with a bra. “The girls and I are 61 years young!” she said.

How could Jocelyn condemn that? And hey, people had tried. A bunch of luminary writers, with the very best in feminist education and practical experience, had come together to produce a series of essays attacking the pill on every conceivable ground. They had started a website and a nascent movement to reject, firmly and forever, the seductive but shitty power of the little pink pill.

It had gone overwhelmingly poorly and the reason why was other women.

How stupid had they been, to staff it all with young, attractive, white, girls from fucking YALE? The critiques had flooded in from every possible angle. I’m fat, downright obese, who am I to be lectured on staying ugly by a bunch of privileged assholes with trim butts? I’m 55 and I haven’t had sex in twenty years, fuck you for telling me to shut up and accept celibacy. I’m infertile and this is my only chance to have a kid. I walked for the first time since the accident. I work a shit service job cleaning floors, god forbid I enjoy my life. I came for the first time ever last night, and then eight more times. I can be HAPPY and FUCKABLE and HEALTHY and how DARE you elites tell me to fight for YOU?

Since then all had been confusion.

The counter-girl slid a big coffee across the table. “I started the pill last night,” she confessed, shyly.

Pill-girl gave a happy little sigh and reached across the counter to embrace her new comrade in mammaries and tingling nerve endings. “That’s so great!”

“Yeah!” counter-girl said, mustering up a slightly scared smile. “I’m just gonna take a few. To lose some weight.” She was a big girl, naturally barrel-like, with tousled black hair.

“Oh, you’ll love it,” Pill-girl declared. “I love it. My husband is over the MOON. We are like animals, these days. Animals!”

“Great,” said counter-girl, with minimal enthusiasm. “Yeah, animals. My boyfriend thought it was… a good idea. Animals, huh?”

Pill-girl patted her cheek. “Yeah.” she smiled. “How do you feel?”

Counter-girl couldn’t lie about it. “Good,” she whispered. “Really good. Uh. That’ll be $2.45.”

Pill-girl tossed her wallet on the counter. “Just take what you need, honey,” she said.

Luke and Jocelyn had both listened, rapt. Jocelyn recognized the glassy look in Luke’s eyes. It was like a porn star was jiggling in front of him.

In her heart of hearts she worried that he liked it, liked the subservience, the sluttification, the bigger boobs and thick cock-sucker lips, that he was just sublimating it all because he was a nice guy. She made a quick decision about herself and reached underneath the table. Yep, her boyfriend had a very hard cock. He startled.

“Lets go home,” she whispered at him. Behind them, the counter-girl, her cheeks red, was asking to go on break. Jocelyn took Luke’s hand, and nerved herself up, internally, to let him put it in her butt.