The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“On left, check window,” Cleo said. That was her talent—anticipation. Of course opposing team would rush left. She could sense the alert across the server. Male brains working out the implications.

“Girl,” one said. “Girl in server.” there was a pause. “Smart girl. Woman.”

“Oh my god,” a man said. They all had such deep voices, now. In the old times Cleo could sometimes pass for a tenor. Now she was unique, playing video games in a theater of baritones. “Say something smart.”

“Math,” Cleo said. “Geometry.” The men were never mean about it. Why bother? But it never passed unremarked. She was evidence that there were still the unaffected out there. More then absent-minded toys. “Science.” Not many unaffected, but they existed.

“Checks out,” a player said, almost reverent. There was usually a rush of friend requests. She was special. Almost solitary and unique.

Almost. Natalie worked away between her legs. After class she was weak with need, reduced to panting by the volume of men, all of them close, looming above her. It usually took her a half-hour of mindless muff diving, working a vibrator on the back, to get her back to something normal. They’d tried masks and respirators. Nothing worked. Cleo idly fired electronic guns. Absent the chemical stimulation of male scent her libido was nothing special. Daily oral service had gotten monotonous. This was for Natalie’s benefit.

Natalie reached her usual climax. Cleo paused, picked her girlfriend up, deposited her on the couch. The regularity of it all made it easy to figure out trends. Every day Natalie came a little harder, was passed out a bit longer. Clearly her bras didn’t fit. It wasn’t the immediate pubescent freak show of a mouthful of cum, but it was progressing.

“How long was I out?” Natalie said, as usual, much later. She sat up. “Cleo? What—” she giggled helplessly. Natalie’s jeans didn’t fit right. The hips bulged out. Cleo hadn’t managed to tug them over Natalie’s ass. And she’d tried.

It was an odd time to be gay. In many ways all the little cocksuckers were new additions to the team. They were up for anyone so long as there was also generous provision for dick, or at least someone was spurting cum. It wasn’t bisexual so much as allsexual, an undiscerning hunt for stimulation that could and did lust for women, or men, or even the right object. Although she was monogamous and at serious risk Cleo felt a tinge of the heady power men had to feel at all times. She could fuck as many girls as she wanted.

But in another, far more real sense, it was an ending. There was not much lesbian about wanting hot male juice in your tummy. All was a sea of submission and callused knees, attuned to the most important thing in the world, the male phallus. Pussy was second best.

Many friends were now part of the bimbo ocean. Alissa had been an early adopter, determined to beat a challenge, protected by her shaved head, piercings, tattoos. Armor against hyperfemme. She’d theatrically drunken a cup of bartender cum at the table. Rich blonde hair had grown in, the tattoos barely visible on standard creamy photo-perfect skin. Her new man liked the piercings. So they stayed. He at least was a bearded biker in leather clothes. It felt like some sort of consolation. She smiled in her instagram photos now, metallic bumps just visible in her veiny tits.

They were all of them betrayed. This was not some cutesy pheromone dance of human sexuality. Women were roughly resculpted using the raw tools of hormones, proteins, and wildly spurting glands. Cleo could hardly judge. She went grocery shopping once a week. There men were, sweating and signaling, loading her up with a clever combination of estrogen and heroin. She was usually gritting her teeth, uselessly horny, before checkout.

“I nearly gave in today,” Natalie confessed. She sat on the couch with her underpants and pants half-down, her cute little muff on the fabric. She had her back arched. They were all of them just presenting their bodies at all times. “So close.”

“Yeah?” Cleo said. She turned off the Xbox and kept her voice neutral.

“This guy Jerome. In the class,” Natalie taught Anthropology. The smarter girls had fled straightaway—college was overrun with tall men with floppy, eager cocks. Or were they smart? Those girls that remained existed in Eden, passed back and forth, sometimes during class session. They now wore six inch heels but rarely had to walk in them. Even the front row studious squad was in the back, working their chubby lips on the boys, presenting their lycra-covered ass to the instructor. “He was just—sitting there, talking to a friend. Not doing anything. You could—”

She didn’t finish the sentence. Could see the outline of his cock? Could just kneel down and suck? “Wasn’t he at the march? I thought they were saying no.”

“That’s over,” Natalie said. “Now its leftist… male leftist… to share. To each according to their needs. And besides, they barely notice now. They don’t even stop talking when a girl needs a drop.” She laughed, shakily.

It wasn’t even, Cleo figured, all that wrong. There were lots of needy girls out there. The government was working out a system. To go along with the package of Girl Laws. They were going to have girls just vote for more appropriate things, like the shape and color of federally-provided vibrators. A stimulus package.

“Okay,” Cleo had thought all this through. It was a real skill. She’d made preparations of all sorts, signed over power of attorney and etc. to the few men she trusted. “Hold on a second.”

The man lived several doors down and was happy to help—or at least didn’t object. “Here,” he handed over the mason jar. It was three-quarters of the way full. A settling, pearly gel. And so much of it. Cleo stared at it. It just looked great. How much had she already changed?

“There’s… I brought shot glasses,” Cleo said. From their trip to Yellowstone.

Spencer laughed, darkly. “And that’s after the girls got theirs. I’m a big producer.” He stood at the doorway to his bedroom. An Xbox was visible. Should they exchange tags? Or would she be one of those many accessories to online gaming, lapping away between his legs?

She took the warm vat back home, closed the door, and locked it. Natalie had managed to get her pants back on, but still sat on the couch, upset. Either at the confession: she could no longer resist, or at the fact of it.

Cleo had thought through the sequence. Natalie’s eyes locked on the jar. “Okay, lets get this over with,” Cleo said. She opened it up and breathed in a cinnamon wind. Her body tingled. As fast as she could she spooned it into her mouth, took the three steps to Natalie, and kissed her. Already her body was trying to hold it in. But she managed to slide a snowball into her girlfriend’s mouth. Their eyes opened wide as the sparks started. It seemed dumb to hope.

“Stupid butt! Dumb-ass big-ass butt!” Bailey’s cheeks were an adorable pink, and she spit curses from between softer, broader lips. Her jeans would absolutely not round the curve of her hips, the padding on her butt, and she was apoplectic about it. All that new tush gathered in an attractive muffin top as she hopped around, tits now shaking to boot. Quinn’s cock stirred.

Finally his girlfriend collapsed backwards onto the bed. Her boobs, now, belled attractively into cupcake-frosting handfuls on top of her chest.

“Fucking ERICA,” she growled, next to him. Bailey was very clear, in her cum-sodden mind, that this was all her sister’s fault.

Really Bailey had held out magnificently, far beyond most friends and the ordinary tolerance of general females. True, in the end they were going at it basically continuously, cum dripping out of Bailey’s snatch almost without cease. But it was honest sex, regular sex, her lips and limbic/endocrine system untouched by magic cum. Standard fucking.

Fucking, in fact, in front of Erica. Quinn still felt a little bad about that particular incident. Bailey had done the dishes and obviously wanted to get fucked—backing her ass up and singing a dirty ditty entitled “Buttfucking Bailey”. But she’d hesitated when he’d poked it out and slipped down her tights. Of course he’d known that Erica was right there, watching either fashion or porn on the ipad. He’d just stopped caring. Probably, in retrospect, Bailey had expected to be carried off, shrieking, to the bedroom. Nonetheless, presented with his insistent tip, she’d slowly, inevitably, backed up onto the full length of his cock.

“Oh wow, you guys are fucking!” Erica had said, clapping her hands together. “In the kitchen!” Bailey hadn’t said a word. Quinn had put his hands on her hips to steady her. It was possible he’d shot Erica a long, lingering stare. But she’d been too focused on the drip from her sister’s slit to notice, even so. Anyway, Bailey came just as regular, grunting and screeching as Erica chortled. And when he’d pulled out, balls freshly emptied, there Sis was, scooping drip off the kitchen floor to slurp.

“ERICA!” Bailey had complained, wobbling over to the chair. “Don’t you DARE—ERICA!” She sucked it up. His prick popped up, watching sis lick her fingers.

“Do you want to know your flavor?” Erica said.

“Erica, enough!” Bailey was beat-red and apoplectic. Nonetheless she’d been fucked hard for ten minutes and her legs didn’t work.

“Candy apple,” Erica told him, and nodded: it was final.

Bailey had given in that night, sort of. His girlfriend had locked the door and given him her “lie down” look. It was the last time he’d ever see her stern, or slender, or, really, fully alert. Then she pulled out a condom from a drawer — an aging prophylactic from some other era of her life. It was cheap when made, and orange colored, some sort of college handout.

“Seriously?” Quinn said, as Erica started to roll it onto his cock. Latex was magic rubber, nonetheless it hardly rolled down halfway and looked like a banged up water balloon. He could feel the ribbing already pulling apart. His cock was so big now, the weight of it heavy and comforting when just walking around.

“Just so my sister—” Bailey wet her lips and started over. “Obviously I’m not doing a good enough job milking you. I don’t want any jizz on the floor. It’s unhygenic.”

Bailey was so cum-stuffed on a regular basis she left predictable trails on the wood. “It’s not gonna—” Quinn tried, and then she was blowing him.

It was noisy and strange, getting licked around a rubber. Bailey hadn’t learned how to avoid teeth involvement. It scraped against the tortured condom. But overall it was pleasant, watching her bob. He did want this, had wanted it for a long time. Bailey made guttural noises of satisfaction. She was hardly just working the head—he could feel a pleasant tickle that had to be the back of her throat. And then a warm, wet feeling that meant the condom had torn right down the middle.

Bailey looked up. Something about her alarmed-but-resigned expression, face fully wrapped around a cock, pushed him over the edge. He shot a load right down her throat. She swallowed it in its entirety. And another and another—catching every single pearly drop. Only when he was utterly spent, fully done, did she let his dick plop out of her mouth. The remnants of the condom were in a sad orange ring, pushed all the way to the base.

“Well, that’s just… just…” she’d managed to summon up something, but it all caught up to Bailey. Her face went slack and he had to catch her, just in time for the best orgasm she’d ever had.

“They’re already getting HUGE,” she’d said, the next day. “God, I’m gonna pay for that. What was I thinking? Look at these TITS.” She’d filled out overnight—hardly done, but with a layer of padding unbelievable in its speed. Already her lips were plump fun pillows—he wanted to squish Erica side by side, for comparison purposes. Only comparison purposes. “God damn it, so much for jogging. Damn it!” Was her voice different, higher? Or was that alarm?

Then she’d gotten on her knees and waddled over to test out her new lips. This time there was no teeth involvement. In fact there never would be ever again. Just perfect softness. Quinn started to fuck her mouth. This was going to be a new world, regular blowjobs. He had much to learn.

“I mean I—” this time Bailey managed to stay cognizant, if slurred and cock-drunk. “I might as—I might as—gotta drain you. I’m gonna have such big tits. SO big. Big fuckable titties. And we’re never gonna fuck again. I gotta… I gotta suck you off. I gotta always suck you forever.”

“Its okay,” Quinn assured her. “You’re already doing pretty good, right? Usually after the first suck girls are just giggles and honey. You’re still you. You’re pissed off!”

Bailey swallowed, hard. “Great,” she tried to growl. And then opened the bedroom door. Erica was right outside on the couch, masturbating. She had her legs in the air and had left a wet mark on the cushions.

“Hi!” Obviously she knew—despite managing a scowl Bailey was flush with dick. Her tummy gurgled, just to confirm the obvious. “Bailey? How’re you doing? You said we were gonna read a book about a Man and a Park today!”

Bailey glared at her. “I will,” she managed. “After—I’m a little hungry. Then. I enjoy… reading.”

“Okay!” Erica said. She patted the book. When Bailey looked away she gave Quinn a cheerful wink, with both eyes.

“Pancakes… and milk,” Bailey said. She made her way, slowly, to the kitchen. Not just cum-drunk—her center of gravity had already shifted. She bumped a hip into the doorframe. “Maybe not milk. But I’m… really hungry. By the way, you were wrong.”

“Yeah?” Erica said.

“Sour apples. Not candy. Sour.”

It really didn’t take Esther very long to turn into a sort of pillow that sucked his dick. About a week and change. After he stopped fighting the inevitable she started to swallow four or five times a day, which made it all go very fast. Her last bra burst mid-suck, tits apparently expanding as she worked. Esther didn’t miss a stroke. In fact the skin was stretched and tight until days six and seven, when it all smoothed over into overripe but well-supported breasts.

On day two, and while she still was reasonably bright enough to drive, she went and got his Xbox from his old apartment. Spencer still hadn’t left the apartment. That made the process much easier on both of them. It gave him something to do while Esther was working between his legs—divorced him from her ongoing transformation into a sort of super whore.

She did keep him apprised—“hey I kinda can’t drive anymore,” she told him, dropping the car keys on the ground. “It’s hard with my boobies and the street signs come up SO fast!”

“They sure do,” Spencer told her. Satisfied, she took up her usual post. With him distracted she could practice different techniques, suck vigorously, or just nuzzle affectionately. In the gaming world much was the same, although very, very few girls were logged in. Occasionally he’d hear a giggle from about three feet south of the microphone. Or a player would spasm for about ten seconds, low grunts on mic.

When he could bear it Spencer would briefly check the news. Even female bylines were disappearing. No one was posting to pornographic subreddits. What would be the point?

Esther told him when she was all done. She celebrated by titty-fucking him. His cock fit neatly between her melons, and she’d found some sort of oil somewhere. “I’m all done!” she said, pleased. “I did a math problem yesterday and I could still do it today! And my ass just CANNOT get any bigger!” It was a shelf and swallowed shorts. Esther’s butt turned everything into a thong, given time.

“What was the problem?” Spencer asked.

“Five plus five!” Esther said, proudly.

Spencer didn’t dare ask the answer.

But there was peace in his acquired bedroom. Groceries were provided by Esther’s roommate Emelia. Video games, cocksucking, and not much else.

Until the roommate came and sat on the bed.

“Hey!” Emelia said, nervous. they’d never once spoken. Spencer had approved of that. It was strange to hear a normal woman talk. No wispy lilt, no dicksucker lilt, no giggling, just standard english with a feminine voice. “So! I was—ahh. Wondering. Did you know you’re like, a rare commodity?”

Spencer gave her a look. He put down his controller. “Sorry?”

Emelia scratched her head. She’d already put her chestnut-brown hair up. Her eyes had that hunted, hungry look he recalled from day one. “Yeah! So you’re cinnamon! That’s like—I’ve never, actually, sucked any dick. I mean I did, in college, but…” His dick rose up, curious. Emelia sucked at her lips. “Yeah. Not a… a monster… a big monster… like that one. Anyway cinnamon is super rare and… yeah! I was wondering if you’d be my first time!”

“You want to suck my dick,” Spencer said.

Emelia giggled, helpless. “It’s more like I kinda have to?” she said, and paused. “Please?”

“I have a—” he stopped. What was Esther, exactly. “Girlfriend. A girlfriend. You know it turns women into—you know.”

“OH yeah. Well aware,” Emelia said, nodding vigorously. She indicated with her hands a curvy hourglass body on her own small frame. “It’s not really my call, you boys sure smell good!”

Esther wandered in from the main area. “I told you he wouldn’t want to,” she said, fondly. She was all in pink. Somehow she’d gotten new clothes, most of them ultra-femme. “Spencer… baby… let poor Emelia get a taste.”

“You owe me,” Emelia blurted out. When he didn’t protest, or say anything, she ventured to lower her head and, timidly, lick once at the tip.

After that the taste pretty much took over. By the time he came the brunette had managed to get her lips down about eight or nine inches. Esther could do more, but Esther had practice. His girlfriend/toy rubbed Emelia’s back, sympathetic, and pulled her off when she passed out, mouth coated white.

Eventually they just kept the door open.

As a bimbo Esther was enormously outgoing and eager to share. As she did not engage in productive activity, or read books, or do much at all besides give incredible head, she had plenty of time to make friends. She had a shared interest in sucking dick with half the world. For their part, the new angels were terribly promiscuous and loved to compare flavors—and he was a rarity. He was cinnamon.

Everything Spencer knew about the outside world, at this point, came from asides mentioned by bimbos or bimbos-to-be. Mostly the days blended together into a melange of suck and video games. There was still some variety in the eager mouths showing up at the doorstep. Different hair colors, oral techniques, some remnant of regional accents in the sexy purr most affected. Certainly some array in the variety of sexual transformations. Some girls could barely wedge their fat asses through the door frame, some had retained a curvy elegance. They all had names, and generally recalled them.

But from his perspective it was mostly a succession of fat lips and shiny glossy hair, while he kept his legs spread. To be fair, they all shared what few clothes remained, and they all liked the same styles. Taut shorts or skirts that showed off half a buttock. Scoop necks with obvious nipple bulges. Pink and purple predominant. And they weren’t there to chit-chat.

His oversized package was up to the challenge—he deposited creamy cinnamon as often as every half an hour, without fail, and often without more then a soft grunt. Sometimes a girl would suck away while the last one was still drowsing on the bed, giggling as his jizz dissolved vocabulary.

At one point he realized that the chubby package of tits and ass licking away on one side of his cock was Emelia. She’d gotten amazingly curvy, thighs especially turned into buttercream. He noticed her mostly by a characteristic waggle in her ass, stuck up high in the air. The girl on the other side of his dick turned out to be Esther. They’d worked out a routine of making out with each other with his cock in the middle. He obligingly soaked them down.

But every so often the girl at bedside would be a survivor—unmodified, untouched, with dark-rimmed eyes and flaring nostrils. For them Spencer turned off video games and talked. Briefly, before they got what they needed. It turned out the world was still turning. The lights had stayed on.

To Spencer’s amazement he was considered, if not heroic, then at least an important community figure. A public utility. He was always there for the girls, and he asked nothing in return. Plus he tasted super great. For most of the girls there for their first taste he was a kind of reward, for making it that long. They’d fought the good fight and now they could luxuriate in a bakery-scented bliss.

It was something to think about, as much as Spencer tried not to. But it was hard to keep recriminating himself. At night he slept with Esther in a ball to his right and Emelia a snoring tangle of butt on his left.

When the neighbor came to the door he was, unusually, alone. The girls were out shopping. So Spencer roused himself to the front, opened his own door. The woman on the other side had the usual tired eyes, these ones actually dark-smudged with kohl. She wore a jean vest just in case Spencer wasn’t clear she was gay.

“Can I get some sugar?” she said, her arms crossed.

Spencer thought about this. “Actual sugar? For like, baking?”

“No—I was making a joke. Yeah,” deep breath from the neighbor. Spencer didn’t know her name. “I’m sorry, I don’t actually know your name. I’m Cleo. Surviving lesbian.”

“Spencer. Town cum pump.” They shook hands.

“Yeah. I would appreciate some cum actually.” The words seemed torn out of her. She leaned forwards, saying them.

“Yeah! Yeah, sure, let me get a—you’ll need a cup. One second.” he knew nothing about the kitchen, the apartment. After hunting around, hyperaware of the woman in the doorway, aware that he wore a bathrobe with no underpants, aware that his cock was sticking up again, he found an enormous unused mason jar on top of the refrigerator.

Spencer hadn’t actually bothered to touch his own dick in a long time. He retreated to his bedroom, aimed, and stopped. He was going to have to fantasize, come up with some sexual imagery. That too had not been necessary. It wasn’t clear he could do it. He tried a half-hearted stroke. The sight of Esther and Emelia taking turns licking his cock came to mind, and stuck. Their soft happy laugh. Licking each other’s faces clean. He nearly filled the jar, it just kept coming.

Cleo was clearly taken aback. “Thanks, neighbor,” she said, walking away. “Whole neighborhood owes you.”

Spencer watched her go. There it was, the entire outside world. It was getting dark out. A girl in a leather skirt walking a dog gave him a wave. She blew him a kiss with pink-rimmed lips. It was nice and warm out. If he cinched his bathrobe, he didn’t really need to go put on underpants.

Spencer went out.

Clara had fucked up big time, and it was getting hard to think straight. Not in a good way, not in the ‘surrender to bliss’ haze she’d expected. She’d started up a major sperm habit without first securing a supply.

In retrospect, Clara probably should’ve given the consequences of cum-drinking more thought. At the time she’d considered it a dramatic rejection of society, capitalism, existing hierarchies, her own struggles with anxiety, and, secretly, she kinda wanted a cuter butt. She’d had a butt like two ping pong paddles.

Again in perfect 20/20 hindsight she’d also overly discounted the urgent reports of girls turning into a cum-obsessed dum-dum. Plus guys made her mouth water.

This had all led up to the best moment of her life, which was licking a few gummy drops of cum off a fellow student’s hand. The next day, high-happy, she’d slapped her ass and seen a real jiggle.

Then she’d gotten thirsty. Water hadn’t done it. Milk was not much better. It was white and creamy but…

At that point Clara recognized she had a semen problem. She’d fled Duke, for home, and the need had come with her. But she was working on it. She didn’t have much of a choice. Clara had found a pacifier from her babysitting days but it was not doing the job, was just marginally soothing. She sucked on it fiercely.

C:

Hi Peter!!!!

C:

Are you in town?

P:

yeah

C:

Same!

P:

yeah

C:

Soooo how tall are you now.

P:

I’m still short for a guy.

P:

6′1″

C:

Sounds great!!

C:

You’re probably wondering and yeah, haha.

P:

you did it huh

C:

You know me! I’m doing good though, I’m still spelling words right and using punctuation!

C:

Pretty impressive, right?

C:

did you see ‘though’

P:

hey Clara

P:

Trudy is over here.

Trudy.

“Trudy!” Clara said it out loud. She threw her phone onto a freshly-humped pillow and then screamed into that girl-scented pillow. It took a moment for her veins, now furiously pumping mega-endorphins, to pull her back to normal-levels of bliss.

They’d been a kind of a trio, her and Mara and Trudy, clawing at the title of valedictorian. Peter had of course transcended their petty female squabbles, with his tennis shirts and flowing hair and aquiline nose. And Mara had been too taciturn to ultimately care. So that had left the two of them, destined frenemies, waiting for the other to slip up. Relaying hostility through Mara. Toting up awards and club presidencies.

Trudy had outscored her on both the SAT and, ultimately, had been named valedictorian. Clara had gotten a C in PE her Sophomore year, and, once it had gone to the third tie-breaker, that had done it.

Peter had taken all three of them to Senior Prom. Clara had worn a flowing gown that made her look like a fancy mop, and watched Trudy on the dance floor, already accepted to Dartmouth. She herself had gone to Duke for all of two months, until all women were relegated to second-class citizens with callused knees.

But Peter had liked them all together, hadn’t he?

All of them.

C:

hey is mara in town to?

P:

*too

C:

She is rite?

C:

*Right?

Long pause.

P:

Uh-huh.

Clara burst out of her room, dressing as fast as she could. A belted shirt, cuffed jean shorts, her prom heels, no panties, no bra. She paused, to send Peter a picture of her butt, and then out the door.

“God, your lips,” Mara said. She was unmarred, her own mouth still untouched. She’d failed to answer the door and then had come around from the back.

“Butt, too,” Clara said, showing it off. It had felt very padded on the drive over. Horny and anxious, she’d blown numerous stop signs and nearly run into a different bimbo behind the wheel. “That’s why I did it.”

“What’s it like?” Mara liked to describe her ancestors as unwittingly creating Korean linebackers. She had a certain block-like quality, with feminine touches. She’d gone as a goomba for Halloween one year, and everyone had found it very funny.

“I mean….” Clara hadn’t really had time to consider it. She’d done it, then passed out, then touched herself a lot, then realized she needed more jizz. “It is what it is? Do I still seem like myself?”

“With DSLs and…” Mara examined her. “I don’t know. You’re definitely different. Are you dumber?”

“Maybe?” Clara was anxiously twirling her hair. That was new. And she was involved in lame-brained schemes to suck off boys. “Anyway lets go see Peter. Trudy has her hooks in him but I bet he’d prefer a trio. Like before. Is that okay? Was there another guy you wanted to suck off?”

“I’m trying not to give any blowjobs. I got into Brown,” Mara glanced back at the house. “But I’m happy to get out of the house.”

Clara’s mind was increasingly preoccupied with the idea of Peter’s dick. Length, girth, thrusting speed. What would he taste like? Probably really good, she was sure of it. “I just want to suck his dick,” Clara confessed. “You can too though. He’s a good guy and he has money!”

“Uh-huh,” Mara said. “Lets go. I’ll drive.”

Peter lived in a very big house in the part of town with the very nice grocery stores. The last time they’d been here had been — Clara frowned. That part of her memory was all dissolve-y, replaced with repetitive images of her sucking cock. Probably because she’d only done it once, so her new fucky mind had little to work with. “Mara, when was the last time we were here?” she said.

“Six months ago, after Senior Prom. We tee-peed the whole place,” Mara said. “Do you really not remember?”

“Oh yeah, its all suckin’ dicks now,” Clara said, walking up the steps. She nearly tripped in her heels. Her brain told her she needed to wear them, and looked hot as hell, but she was only half-done.

“No regrets?” Mara said. She waited at the top of the stairs. “Is that part gone too?”

“First thing! Look, Mara, let me do the talking, okay?”

It really was all going away, all the old stuff she didn’t need anymore. Probably after the first several mouthfuls the absence wouldn’t even occur to her, like she lived in a new house. But for now the old one was still there, big shiny dildos and cummy sheets rubbing against stuff like geometry and times tables. It was all very scary and hot. Clara thumbed at her butt as she waited at the front door.

“Push the doorbell,” Mara said.

“Right.” Clara popped an enormous wad of bubble gum, and wasn’t really sure where she’d gotten it from.

Peter answered the door. Sort-of-Peter. Clara felt a sense of relief—first that she’d managed to maneuver herself in front of a male, and second that none of her old memories mattered for anything, anyways. Peter was so different—new and big and hot. He was shirtless, and wore pants that didn’t fit, the cuffs ending high above his ankles. The only thing really the same was the suave swept-back hair, like he was a breed of falcon. Her mouth started to water.

“Hi Peter,” Mara said, when Clara just began to drool.

“I guess come in,” Peter said, half-hearted. “Thanks for the picture of your pussy, Clara.”

“Oh, you’re welcome!” Clara said, perking up. The interior was genteely appointed and well-kept. She looked around for her rival. “Where’s you know who?” Did Peter frown? She had to hope so. “My room,” he reported.

“I’ll just say hi real quick,” Clara said. Up the stairs. She’d been there—had she? It really was getting hard to think about anything from the past. Her butt swung about as she ascended steps. It was pretty good now and was primed to be a fat-ass badonk, a real wagon. Hadn’t she slid down that banister once, perhaps even on prom night, ripping sequins out of the dress? It wasn’t clear.

Trudy was in Peter’s room. What was left of her.

She was nestled in his bean bag, and, in many ways, resembled it. Trudy had been the stern one, black-sheaf hair and eyes that burned through anything less then brick. Usually stylish in cardigan or jacket. The eyes were all glazed over, now. She wore a dirty striped tanktop with a tit flopping out, and a stretched-out pair of panties that would’ve showed a lot of bush, if she still had a bush. She had her legs stretched out on Peter’s computer chair, and was watching porno on his computer.

“Heya Clara,” she said, cheerfully. “Nice butt.”

The room smelled like Peter—lemon sugar. Like crisp minute maid on a summer day. Clara opened her mouth to say something intense, and felt it all flood away. She wasn’t even totally sure why she’d hurried up there. The man with the dick was downstairs. “You here to suck Peter’s dick too?”

“Uh,” Clara said, processing the scent of a boy’s room. “Yeah. Oh yeah.”

“It’s sooooo good,” Trudy gushed, kicking her legs. “Oh my gosh. You’re gonna love it.” She made room for Clara, even, or at least shuffled part of her well-stuffed body aside. Clara sank into the bean bag chair, and then immediately sank into Trudy’s very warm skin. She smelled spunky.

“Is—sharing okay?” No, she was there to roist Trudy, wasn’t she? But what had all their fighting been about? It was very hard to recall, especially with the scent of Peter jizz clinging to her skin. It was all very smooth and very clean, all those sharp-edged memories. Trudy affectionately stuck her finger in Clara’s mouth, confident that Clara would start sucking. And she did.

“I’ve been sharing with my dang MOM,” she said, teasing. “You’re gonna have the BIGGEST tushie, you know? Look what it did to my tits!” The salutorian proudly indicated her enormous breasts. Thinking about it, she detached Clara from her finger and attached her to a boob.

“Remember fighting about stuff?” she teased, turning decisively towards Clara. Clara could barely shake her head, attached to a tit. It was crusty with cum—some of it must’ve gotten stuck there. Trudy’s hands reached for her skirt, and she was just aware enough to reach back. Clara felt a last, momentary surge of—but it was already gone, fading away. She closed her eyes.

Downstairs, Peter shook his head. “I mean, her Mom is hot, and she’s very nice, but I know what other dicks she’s sucking,” he complained. Mara, her mouth wrapped around Peter’s cock, nodded.