The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1

They’d read the news and the posts and saw the tiktoks, the videos, the reels. But none of those could be tasted or touched or smelled, so they’d found Luke.

He was still flush, and the girls could all sense his heat. None of them said anything, but they thought: he smelled different. Like the inside of a man’s sweater, after a long day hiking in the woods. It registered as male, and they all flashed on important masculine moments—a crush finding their eyes after gym, a boyfriend driving a mountain road with one hand on the wheel, a man casually tilting her head up.

“The three of us would like to see,” Briana said. Her voice was all playful, teasing bounce, and only her wide eyes gave her away.

“Really?” Luke said. He was in the post-infection process of putting on muscle, but not yet. The first week of college his voice had cracked at dinner. Girls had laughed. “Cum. You want cum.”

“Each of us will pay you an entire, United States, dollar, for a sperm sample,” Briana said. The other two girls admired her, for finding a way to ask sarcastically. The news was unsettling.

“In a cup?” Luke said. Briana lost her affect. Luke didn’t shy away or look at the floor. He stared right in her eyes.

“Uh—no. Your hand? Hand is… that’s fine?” Briana said. Finally she cracked: a deep, lasting blush. Erica and Clara exchanged a look. It had struck both that Briana wore eyeshadow and lipstick. Suddenly those were considered moves.

“Alright. Hold on a second.” Luke walked off to the bathroom.

“How long do you think he’ll be?” Erica whispered, when he was gone.

“This is his dream,” Briana declared. “Two minutes, no more. I should’ve winked at him and knocked sixty seconds off.”

Then they fell silent. They recalled the posts, the pictures, the videos, the warnings. Brianna licked her lips. Text messages had been flying, between women.

“Alright,” Luke said. He held out his right hand. “I tried to get a little pool but I don’t know my own—velocity. Exit angles. I think I’m gonna need more than a dollar.”

He’d soaked his own hand. It was all sticky, like he’d climbed frosting. Luke stuck the pearly pool in the middle of the three of them. All three made the mistake of inhaling deeply. Briana, the only one with actual spunk experience, expected the usual chlorine tinge, only more so. It didn’t work that way at all. Deep musky notes, just like in the texts. It smelled good, and also necessary, a vitamin Brianna didn’t know she was missing.

“For another dollar,” Brianna found her voice, “can we, perhaps, stick a pinky in and—”

Erica went for it. She had a short page-boy cut and wore steel dot earrings, and stuck her tongue out as she dove. She slurped up the glistening jism out of Luke’s palm before the other two could react. Her eyes went wide, darting between former friends, even as she sank back onto the chair. It had been a lot of cum.

“Erica!” Briana gasped. They were roommates, and, now, had immediately betrayed each other. They had talked the scenario out beforehand. A bare touch of the good stuff on their gums. Even the text message friends, the ones sharing the euphoria of it, the rush, the shocking pleasure of it, gave a game little warning: take it slow. It was male drugs.

“Oh… I… Why did I…” Erica’s voice was already slurred. Scientists were racing to figure what new, improved semen did to girl brains. Around the world MRI machines whirred while giggling, spaced-out women tried to do math problems on command. Erica tried to stand, and couldn’t. She gave a scared little giggle.

Behind Briana, Clara was licking two of Luke’s fingers clean. The biggest ones, Briana noticed. The index AND the middle finger. Clara was very tall, with big glasses, but nonetheless cleaned Luke’s fingers with pert tiny licks. Although she was getting more and more sloppy about it.

“Hey!” it escaped as a pure, hurt, whine. Luke gently pushed Clara away after she had tested, to make sure, that there was no cum hidden in the rim underneath his middle fingernail. Briana’s heart thudded. As much as the smell was need, and her mouth was soaked with spit, and her body screamed its interest, she hadn’t actually let anything into her mouth. Apparently it soaked right into her bloodstream. Erica seemed to be having an orgasm, or at least something was happening to her.

“Here,” Luke gestured with ring finger, pinky, and, to make up for the pinky, his entire thumb. It especially was cum-laden. She opened her mouth to lick and he stuck two fingers into her mouth.

It was surprising that his expression would lodge in her memory, given all the explosions going on in her brain. But it did: he seemed very pleased. Briana started to suck.

She cleaned them off entirely in moments. All the numerous neurotransmitters started to fire, and would never really stop. For the rest of her life Briana would wake up feeling happy, because those were the particular hormones floating in her blood. But she kept sucking, with her eyes open. It was a very calming and soothing feeling, sucking on his fingers.

Luke seemed a little surprised by this part. He rotated his fingers, just to see what she’d do. Briana kept sucking on them. When he tensed his fingers, pulled them towards him, she came with. All keeping up the same gentle pressure. Eventually he pulled loose. Briana made a small, disappointed noise.

“For the thumb,” he told her, slipping it in. Already he could feel a pressure growing. Luke was pretty certain he had another load ready to go. But this was fun. Clara had slipped her fingers down her jeans. Briana closed her eyes.

2

“She needs a place to stay, and she’s my sister,” Bailey said, “and she’s an absolute, unashamed, cocksucker. Just LOOK at her.”

She scrolled through the instagram feed. Erica of two months ago presented a picture of confident, self-assured femininity. Most of her pictures were of her atop hills and mountains, flipping a peace sign at the camera. She had angles and shadows, with a functional body, used mostly to go up and down trails. Then a sheepish closeup about a month ago, her lips closed tight. “Oops!” read the caption.

Erica had gone on another hike two weeks after that. She was already visibly softer, her shirt pulled down to emphasize how fast her tits were coming in. She was dressed in too-tight shorts and had her hair up in a ponytail. It wasn’t a selfie—there was no doubt in Quinn’s mind a man took the picture. After that her instagram feed was the usual assembly of sexy mirror pictures and fun nights out. There was some artistry in it—shots of bedsheets and black and white pictures of some guy’s butt.

“These are kind of artistic,” Quinn said. “The butt shots. They’re grainy.”

“Oh, that’s an entire genre,” Bailey said. “Girls rationalizing what they’re doing to themselves. Like its a journey of enlightenment, I don’t know. Its artistic to get fat tits from slurping down semen. So she needs to stay with us.”

“For how long?”

“Do you have any trustworthy guy friends who need another mouth?” Quinn laughed, then caught her expression. “Really?”

“Stable job and two girl max. Put the word out. In fact, put it on Facebook. Hell, put it on Nextdoor, sister for sale. What about your friend Carter?”

Quinn looked away. They had a small apartment together in a nice area. He’d gone through his own fever in their bed. According to Bailey the three rooms had filled up with Quinn-gas, a comforting and wonderful scent that absorbed all of her stress. Her candle, she called him. Bailey kept the windows closed. He’d caught her sniffing his undershirts, stuffing her face into them. She was so at ease, even with the disconcerting changes around the world. It was—new, to see her so disconcerted.

“She’s been sending me more pics,” Bailey admitted. “Showing me how” air quotes “suckable fuckable her boobs have gotten. She used to beat me at scrabble nine times out of ten. She used to spend an hour a day writing in a diary.”

He went in for the hug. It was magical, feeling her relax inside of it. He had such superpowers, now. He was a source of incandescent happiness. “When’s she getting here?” Quinn said.

“Like, in a few hours,” Bailey said. She grabbed at his cock. That wasn’t unusual either. They were fucking more and more. The rule was: no semen-to-mouth contact. Bailey shuffled inside his grasp to rub her ass up and down his crotch. “So I only have time to fuck you maybe twice.” He slid her jeans down, thoughtful. Of course she was milking him before sexy sis arrived. But would she admit it, if he asked?

As it was, a bushel of tits and ass burst through the door while he was still balls-deep in Bailey. The timing was perfect. Bailey had already cum and was just about done milking an orgasm out of him. The door opened just as he started to unload. They were fucking doggy over the side of the couch.

“Erica!” Bailey barked. She straightened, and Quinn’s dick slipped out. He blasted into the carpet, twice, aggravated, underneath Erica’s approving gaze. She licked her lips. Quinn was unsurprised. Belatedly he zipped up, cursing, still dripping.

“Hi guys!” Erica sang. She sounded even more brainless then he’d imagined.

3

It took Kallie some time to recognize what she was doing. She was winding up her life, tying off loose ends, and generally shutting down. That part of her life that was grad school, books, occasional dating apps. At first it was just cancelling streaming apps she never used. But then she’d moved her bills to autopay, actually moved money around in various accounts, deferred loans. Getting ready for it. She was pretty sure she was going to be yet another good little cocksucker, sooner or later.

“Guys!” Kallie barely recognized her own voice, lately. It was perky and high-pitched, as feminine as her vocal cords allowed. “Dinner is ready! Come on!!” She’d spent hours on dinner, and made sure it included lots of protein. The guys were much bigger now, and badly needed it. “Guys! Dinner is ready!”

Previously life with three boys had been—not quite asexual, but broadly nonsexual. All busy with grad school programs, they hardly saw each other in any case. Really just when Ian got a new board game, freshly translated from the German, and needed players. Otherwise they passed along, politely washing each other’s dishes, and Kallie having boobs was very much incidental. She had her own bathroom en suite. There was no cooking to speak of. The oven stored overflow Settlers of Catan expansions.

Once she had left a box of pads out on the kitchen table as an experiment. The boys had resolutely avoided touching it, and even gradually erected a wall of condiments, textbooks, and even a backpack, to create a sort of walled garden.

Then Carson had come back feverish, and then Ian, and then Seth. And there was a feminine role: Kallie had nursed all three, wiped down their brows, and, with rising intrigue and panic, realized they all smelled very, very good. In different but equally interesting ways.

“Thanks girl,” Seth said, arriving for dinner. He held the bowl up to his mouth. Seth had weighed less then Kallie, once upon a time. Now he was six foot two and two hundred pounds of muscle. Kallie had to go to the store for the guys twice, even three times a week. She’d regretfully told her thesis advisor she had no time at all this semester, and would have to conditionally withdrawn.

“Thanks guy,” Kallie said, rubbing his hair. She thrust her chest forwards and out. When Carson came in she was pointedly bending over to get another gallon of milk. The guys drank one a day. She’d stopped exercising, excepting bouts of masturbation in her room. Once girls started drinking cum they plumped out straightaway. “Carson don’t forget you have that test tomorrow!” He tossed her a quick smile, and it went straight between Kallie’s legs.

And this was just from inhaling their testosterone-laden scent. Kallie hadn’t dared to get between their legs. There was no going back from that, at least according to recent medical developments. As randy and hyper-horny as her guys made her, from sweat alone, it was nothing against a full transformative load deep in her belly. Which was why Kallie had cancelled out all her credit cards. She’d already maxed them out buying cute outfits, ones she’d have to ditch once her ass got stupid thicc. What sort of restraint could post-jizz Kallie expect?

Ian let her rub his bicep before dinner. The guys were super understanding of how hard a time she was having. Actually Ian and Seth were in biology and chemistry, respectively. “We’re insane pheromone factories now,” he’d said, during their big roommate heart to heart. He’d held up an armpit for emphasis. “That’s why we’re getting these weird urges for like, nutmeg in things. All sorts of chemical building blocks.”

Ian was 220 now, and his hair was now glossy and thick. He’d been balding, at age 25. He discretely rubbed the back of her leg, during dinner. When the guys had complained about her starting to loudly masturbate with the door open he had spoken up for her. “You guys have NO IDEA what she’s going through,” he’d told them. “Her NOSE got—awakened.”

The initial roommate meeting had been cordial and productive. The guys still weren’t used to their new bodies, and hadn’t gotten new clothes, so they’d lounged around the common area in too-tight and too-short shirts and sleep pants. “So its like, very….” Kallie had explained. She’d been more with it, then. Still semi-sure she could deal with the proximity of three cute guys. “Stimulating. To be around you guys. I just want to make sure we set boundaries.”

“What if we kept the windows open?” Seth had asked.

“It wouldn’t help,” Kallie had said. Her heart raced, and she took in long, deep breaths. Afterwards she’d walked out of the room on unsteady, wobbly legs. Drunk and giggly, just from being in the same room.

After dinner, Kallie composed a brief e-mail cancelling her post presentation in Baltimore.

There were passionate essays online, if a girl cared to look, about the necessity of staying away from male semen. Many were written by men. The resistance was minimal and ebbed day after day. Even the rally marches were counter-productive—men attended them in all sincerity, and hooked earnest women holding placards on their post-march scent. One of Kallie’s friends, Helen, had explained herself that way, on their swiftly shrinking group chat. Malcolm was thoughtful, passionate, and there were far worse men to suck off for years to come. She’d taken an entire load to the face in the car after the march.

Kallie had stopped wondering if. True, when she was outside, between shopping trips, or doing the guy’s laundry, more doubt returned. Was she really about to toss it all, to become a very permanent and sexy kind of junkie? It was clear to all that girls who swallowed would soon lose the right to drive cars. And yet, she’d nearly licked Ian’s cum-stained shorts at the laundromat. Most of the girls there were fattening little sluts, trading tips on tongue use and hair and makeup. Kallie had used up her remaining self-control in tossing the shorts into the washer and slamming it closed. The girls had consoled her with boob-heavy hugs when she’d cried, body overwhelmed.

She stopped by the bathroom mirror. Kallie had stopped seeing herself. It was all about: what was next? What laid in wait? Where did one go from chubby short Korean girl to sexpot? From internet searches she had some idea. Obviously she’d go from a pear-shaped sag to an overcurved defiance of gravity. In fact it was likely she’d get even shorter. The virus was unrelenting in its sexual dimorphism. Men grew, women shrank. Even six-foot Hayden, who ran track, had dwindled into a spindly but stacked blonde.

But her face—what about her face? The group chat pics were mostly sluts and slits, but there were faces sometimes, above the eagerly-presented tits. It was hard to tell what had changed, and how it would apply to her. Outside of the inevitable fat lips, thick with lipstick. Was it just a matter of bright smiles, bright eyes, rosy cheeks? Would it still look like her?

It was a terrible thought, and Kallie regularly masturbated to it. Staring directly into the mirror, bent over, rubbing herself. It wasn’t a comfortable position. Nonetheless she came gangbusters from it. Or from almost anything—her body prickled to be touched and handled. Kallie had read the most recent literature. She had been primed for seed, that last necessary step, via pheromonal haze. Primed for seed, she told the reflection.

The fantasies were overwhelming. Her mind’s way of coping with a constant chemical bath of sexy men. Dozens of unlikely scenarios that all ended with her sucking wholeheartedly on one of the guy’s dicks. Tripping onto one of them, or even two, sleepwalking, even saving a guy’s life via fellatio. And most of all, one of the guys (although mostly Ian) walking into her room and shoving his cock into her mouth. At the outset she’d tried to add a consensual gloss to all this: she’d get married, or they’d at least move in together. Now they were just sweaty fuck thoughts, and the hopelessness of them was all part of the kink.

“Ohhhhh,” Kallie moaned. Of course all the guys could hear. And it wasn’t like they weren’t masturbating, having sex, all of that. Seth had a regular piece named Ava who came by all the time, a redhead getting more svelte and top-heavy by the day. Kallie had never spoken to her, hidden from her.

“Guys! I’m gonna take a shower!” Kallie called out. She passed by the common area door, half-naked. A guy would see her and put an end to the farce, to her acquisition of an advanced degree, to her ridiculously unsucked status, and use her mouth—no. They were playing video games. She shucked off her remaining clothes and started the water. Kallie paused — she heard them talking. With her ear up to her bedroom door she could just make it out.

“Guys,” Ian said. “Lets figure out the plan for Kallie.”

“What, like, lets all jizz in a cup and share her?” Carson said.

“Man, just take her,” Seth said. “You’d be doing her a favor. Just keep her cooking and cleaning, you know?”

Kallie felt her body start to shake.

“That’s the whole thing. I’m not, like, gonna be primary but you guys can share whenever,” Ian said. “You know how the girls are. She’ll suck off whoever.”

“Then put a collar on her and bring her to class,” Seth said. “Its on you if you want to leave her alone for eight hours. Just do it, alright? I feel bad about it. Ava says its cruel. Ah! Fuck you, Carson.” That last was about whatever video game they were jointly playing.

“Alright,” Ian said, eventually. Her entire future had been decided for her. Items spun around in her head: she would need to get rid of her books, her retirement account, her ugly clothes. She would give Ian all her money. She would need a nice comfortable collar.

4

“It’s SO nice to be here!” Helen said, to Malcolm’s Mom, desperately trying to keep it together, to keep up appearances. Her stomach was still warm with a full morning of sucking off Malcolm. Everyone was still new to the consequences of all these viral antics, but the first suck off the morning was certainly one of the best.

“We’re happy to have you… uhh…” Malcolm’s Mom struggled with her name. Which was fine, Helen was struggling with it too.

“Helen,” she said, happy to help. “And yours is…”

“Lily,” they beamed at each other, social awkwardness avoided. Lily, she should write it down. Only not now — her wobbling legs had barely gotten her into a kitchen chair. And Lily wasn’t bustling around either. They exchanged knowing looks, or tried to, with brains still sparking and fizzing from early morning service. “Helen,” Lily repeated again. Trying to force a fact into a mind sodden with hormones. A probable waste of time. “We’re happy to have you.”

They beamed at each other, trying to make this work.

“I really like Malcolm,” Helen said. It was the right thing to say. She didn’t say: we’ve known each other for all of a week. I met him at a rally march, earnestly and deeply committed to resisting this swift subjugation of women, and I sucked his cock by the end of the day. Twice more that night. Three or four times a day ever since, and once this morning. Was it even a week ago? In that space of time she’d gone from promising co-ed to completely devoted house spouse—no, she had to be honest with herself. A sort of pet. Of Malcolm’s. “He’s a GREAT guy,” she said.

“You two need anything up there?” Lily said. “Towels? Water? Anything?” A forgotten bit of cum dripped out of the sides of her mouth. Helen pretended not to notice—or was the etiquette to say something?

Maybe the etiquette was to lick Lily’s mouth.

“Just uhh—” Helen paused. She took a sip of coffee. Lily had forgotten to use a filter. It was thick with grounds. That was okay. Helen had forgotten to bring socks, panties, a toothbrush, all sorts of sundries. “Nope! We’re all good.” She drank the coffee anyway.

Lily looked incredible, compared to the pictures on the wall. The benefits of a semen diet. Arguably, college-aged co-eds with pert young bodies had no need for the second puberty induced by boy juice. That was part of her protest, as Helen dimly recalled. But over-50s? Facing the scythe of time? Lily looked perhaps thirty-five, and the lines on her face had all melted away. True, she was going to struggle at Scrabble same as Helen, but youth was its own reward. “You look…” did she dare complete the sentence? “You look like guzzling cum has had its benefits”. She trailed off and did not.

Helen looked at the table. There was a white droplet of her own there. A lot of it. So she’d drooled as well. Two modern women, dripping jizz onto the table.

“Let me just get that,” Lily said, just as Helen said “Oh! Sorry!” and scooped it up. She licked her hand clean. A shadow passed over Lily’s face. So this had been a faux pas, licking her son’s cum at the kitchen table. So much to learn.

They both looked outside, where Malcolm and his Dad were having a manly heart-to-heart, throwing the tennis ball to the family dog. Probably Lily was as horny as she was, and Helen was desperate to get fucked. In the week of their whirlwind—romance wasn’t the word. In her week as his pump Helen had already established a routine. Suck, fuck, suck, suck, and then either suck or fuck. She already lived with him. When he’d gone to drop her off, the next day, she’d just not gotten out of the car. And unzipped his fly, for round five.

“Sorry about the coffee grounds,” Lily said. She chuckled, sweetly. “I guess I’m getting a little ditzy. Do you think they’ll do something about that?”

“Like, doctors?”

“Right, doctors,” Lily nodded.

“I hope so?” Helen had barely been able to concentrate on that particular issue. Her pubes had all fallen out, the morning she was supposed to meet her—boyfriends?—parents. And she’d found dried jizz on nearly everything she owned. Malcolm had promised her they’d do flashcards or something, to combat “hormone-induced grey matter loss” or whatever.

The boys were returning. There was a jingle of a golden retriever bouncing around. Helen felt her own throat. A collar. She’d seen a lot of them, on the ride into town. The girls couldn’t help glancing at each other, helpless, happy. Were they in this together? Unlikely—Helen couldn’t even keep this woman’s name in her head. In a few minutes she’d be sucking away, awaiting another thick, transformative blast. Was it—Laura? The picture on the mantle was no clue. There was a Lily and a Lyla, and this big-boobed lady looked like neither.

“Can you stay upstairs for a bit, uhhh…” Lily said, her eyes gone glassy.

“Helen,” Helen said. “Yes, of course. Can I ask you a question?”

Lily shifted her eyes from her approaching husband with the greatest effort. The men were both visible through the front window. Their partners were both drooling. They exchanged looks that said: lets pretend this is normal. Helen wiped at her chin.

“What’s Malcolm’s last name?” he’d told her, more then once, but she kept forgetting.