The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

January 17th, 9:36 p.m.

“A party,” Geller said, as flatly as he could.

“A GOOD party,” Alex emphasized, playing his ace. He sat back in his chair, confident.

The men-boys of Delta Epsilon Zeta looked at each other across a dim, candlelit table. The meeting formality levels had gone back and forth over time, and were currently on high levels of fraternal mystique. Candles-only, some mild chanting in greek. And they were all in itchy suits from prom or from dad donations.

“I wish to address the Brotherhood,” Clay said, rising and pushing back his chair. He paused for effect. “We’re the nerd fraternity. We should be honest with ourselves. Our parties are adventuring parties.” He rubbed at his nose. In a year’s time he would be employed at a farm, tenderly squeezing milk out of overproducing bimbos.

Alex did not bother to rise. “Outdated stereotyping,” he declared. “Nerds control the box office receipts, popular culture dances to nerd tunes, even hip hop ARTISTS,” he emphasized the term “are into My Hero Academia. And why not parties?”

He was the only one at the table with a correctly tied tie, and the others deferred to it.

Geller rubbed his hand across his face. He had more pressing concerns, including a phone that was rumbling ominously with girlfriend texts. It was an unwritten rule that the Fraternity President should have the wherewithal to actually date someone. He beheld his brotherhood. Their glasses twinkled in the candlelight.

Alex sensed his advantage. He rose for the first time. “We bring in better than average alcohol, we make this huge house work for US.” It was a solid point. D-E-Z occupied a building both historic and massive. Solid oak construction, glossy floors, windows from before the first world war. Lots of interesting looking fireplaces. “I have already selected a spotify playlist.”

Clay had not sat down. He had to settle for folding his arms to make a point. “And who is coming?”

The men looked down. “I hold in my hand a phone with the phone numbers of a number of girls,” Alex announced. It took the membership a moment to parse that. “WOMEN. Not just girls. And my entire CS section!”

Geller really needed to end the meeting. His phone quivered, bucking under the pressure of unanswered girlfriend texts. “Lets vote,” he said, and caught himself. The formalities were his idea. “Assembled brotherhood, cast your minds into the pool of truth!”

January 20th, 7:32 p.m.

Emma was certain, deep in her heart, that no one actually wanted to go to the fraternity party. There was some complex, fathomless game theory bullshit going on. If she threw up her hands and yelled “I am a pathetic sad woman who does not want to go out on Friday night,” she felt 90% sure that Lily and Riley would agree. It would probably even be a bonding moment for the dorm room.

But that ten percent…

Alex had texted her. They had not been close in high school, excepting the most cursory ‘the smart kids’ acknowledgement. Even so, they had never overlapped in clubs, had never even shared social circles in any way. Nonetheless he had assaulted her phone with dozens of exclamation marks—party, his fraternal order, please please come, please bring roommates. !!!. And she’d told Riley, out of some half-assed attempt to impress her. That a fraternity boy had invited her to a party.

“Then we’re going,” Riley had said.

She’d been Getting Ready for the past fifty minutes, which had meant Lily and Emma had to Get Ready as well. Three people working on outfits in an extremely small room. In practice that meant Riley had taken the floor space for herself, and her skirts, and her shirts, while Lily and Emma had hopped around pathetically on the bed.

Emma and Lily had shared an uneasy look once Riley had departed for makeup. Lily had huge glasses that at first meeting Emma had taken for extreme fashion sense. It had only gradually occurred to her that Lily just needed them. As far as Emma could tell she had some vast online life that involved dozens of chat rooms and a symphony of barking notifications. Today was the first time Emma could recall seeing Lily in a skirt. It was stiff, stiff denim, and uncreased.

“Lets get going…” Riley savored the moment. She was perfectly dressed in a light green skirt with matching plunging cami, the hemline just a touch higher up than Lily’s. “...my bitches.”

Emma had also gone shopping, pre-college, in preparation for this moment. She forced herself to look down—a plaid skirt. She’d bought it semi-ironically. Just in case she needed to look… like she was the type of person who went to college parties. It had turned out she wasn’t, but there was no turning back. Plaid skirt and white button-down sweater. .

“Can’t I wear leggings?” she said, after losing a struggle with herself.

“Do you wear leggings to class?” Riley said.

“Look, they are snug. They are form-fitting. Boys will see MORE of my butt when I’m wearing leggings. If it was even, I don’t know, ten years ago, I would be considered daringly slutty. Like I’m wearing underpants to a party,” Emma said.

“Do. You wear. Leggings. To class?” Riley said.

“Yes,” Emma said. And with a sweater typically tied around her rear end, she didn’t add. Or a long shirt. Going to college and learning just how much boys enjoyed looking at butts was one of those things she hadn’t enjoyed learning.

“So it is not for a party,” Riley said.

Emma felt confident that with another year of psychology under her belt she could say to Riley: you win. You are the dominant bad bitch in this tiny stupid room. You do not need to butt in knowledgeably to make sex jokes, you don’t need to police our collective sexy level, you don’t need to play your indie music just loud enough we can hear you do it. With some more study she could do it. Just not yet.

“Ladies,” Riley said. She produced a set of condoms from somewhere, like it was a magic trick. They were the ultra-cheap kind passed out on campus, and had all the cum-stopping ability of a disapproving look. “Just in case.”

“Just in case of WHAT?” Lily said. Emma backed her up by snickering. But Riley didn’t let it bother her. She held out her hand until her roomies picked up the rubbers, sheepish. God. Condoms. Inherently disgusting, Emma thought. Penises were bad enough, but coated in the cheapest latex?

“Just in case of just in case,” Riley said. “YOU know frat guys.”

“No, you don’t,” Emma wanted to scream. Riley was certainly not going to parties, Riley was certainly at study hall all the time, writing with nervous jerks on her notebooks at one in the morning. Emma wanted, very badly, to know what Riley’s parents were like, to have produced this daughter.

But she wasn’t quite trained for all that, just yet.

January 20th, 7:45 p.m.

Alison liked to walk around when they fought. It was exhausting, although Geller was getting some good workouts in, as of late. His stamina was definitely coming around.

In really bad fights, like the current one, Alison felt no compunction about simply drifting in to open rooms, whether or not it was socially acceptable. She’d float in to some room on the second floor, eye the decor critically, the gaping fraternity brother, and then wander out again.

It wasn’t totally clear what she was angry about. “It’s fine, throw your party,” Alison said, in her most angry possible tone, which was also studiously breezy. “I’ll try and stop by. Will it still be going after 10:30, you think?”

Geller winced again. The brothers really were making an effort, and it didn’t help to hear withering critiques of their social skills from the only House Girlfriend. “10:30 a.m., maybe not. These things tend to break up around dawn.” or so he had heard. The last house party had been billed as a throwback LAN. It had been well-attended, by males. “I think it’ll be fun.”

“Very exciting,” his girlfriend said. She was not usually so withering. Alison prided herself on finding joy in little things, on walking around in botanical gardens, on patience. He’d shocked himself in a General Studies class by asking her out on a hike.

Nowadays, when she showed up in hiking boots and comfortable, breathable clothes, it meant they were about to tromp through the entirety of the house.

It was an incredible house, at least, and before the clutch of current nerds it had generally contained architecture majors. It was generically haunted, but genteel, with, if any, aristocratic ghosts that knew how to set table settings and tie spectral ties. It was turn of the century eccentric, included several working secret passageways, and an entire set of an insane wealthy man’s private library. Generations of sweaty college students had never erased the peculiar, Haunted Mansion charm, no matter how many beers they spilled on it.

Alison opened one of the numerous doors that went to nowhere, Just a brick wall underneath. A playboy pinup had been placed there at some point in the 1980s, judging from the photography aesthetic, and never removed.

“You’re not telling me what’s wrong, so I’ll do this thing where I just guess,” Geller said. It was a brave statement for a boyfriend to make.

“Stupid concerns of mine,” Alison said. She sauntered into a bathroom. A stricken fraternity brother dashed out. “Idiotic things. That’s all. I’m probably getting my period or something like that.” She paused, horrified. “My god, maybe it’s a double period. An exclamation mark.”

They were trending upwards in the house. The brothers were hard at work, to their credit. Valuable pictures of old people had been removed and placed in closets. There was a team of men scrubbing accumulated yellowed urine stink off the bathrooms, and one of the seats, dating to the Johnson Administration, had been completely replaced by a nice new white ring. Down in the kitchen a noble brother had gone out and purchased an entire crate of red solo cups. Geller really needed to get back to helping out, instead of trailing after an upset girlfriend.

He knew perfectly well why she was upset. Of course, for her to have found out, she must’ve been snooping in his things. So the present impasse.

“Look, I have to get back to this,” he said. They’d reached the staircase that led onto the roof. It was kept locked with a combination lock. Geller was pretty sure only he knew the code. He and Alison had spent a lot of time up there on warmer nights, watching sunsets and necking. “Our party. I’m in charge.”

“No one is coming,” Alison said.

“Alex has promised people,” Geller said. “Girl people.”

“How many?”

“At least three,” Geller said. He thought about that conversation. “Probably exactly three. Look, three girls would be a big deal for this crowd. And four!”

“Lets go to the roof,” Alison said.

“You’re going to break up with me up there,” Geller said.

His girlfriend stared, stymied, at the lock. “I don’t know what’ll happen up there,” she said.

“Tell! Me! What is wrong!” Geller hissed.

“You! Should! Know!” Alison hissed back.

They had reached total deadlock.

“Enjoy your party,” Alison told him. “Tell the three girls that I said hi.”

“Fine!” Geller yelled, to her back. It was all he could think to say.

January 20th, 8:02 p.m.

Grace knew she was defective, and felt not at all bad about it.

The men had been quite honest about it. Yes, she was supposed to have big, pillowy lips, and huge tits that sopped up spilled cum. She was expected to be an enthusiastic cocksucker with callused knees and impeccable technique. But their chemicals and hormones and gases and whatevers weren’t QUITE a science, and everyone was a little unpredictable. So instead of transforming into an obedient, docile dumb bimbo they’d gotten some of that but MOSTLY a truly incredible dicksucker. Perhaps the finest and most dedicated cocksucker there’d ever been.

But she hadn’t matched their nefarious, stupid plans, and had been assigned as a bonus to whoever got assigned to college recruitment. Grace had come with the van and the vats, leaning over from the passenger seat to get some wonderful dick in her mouth.

Even that had been a failure of an assignment. The men had complained—they liked to plow a piece. Getting your dick sucked was FINE but there was something truly manly about putting it between a girl’s legs. Just a little thrusting. Which Grace had patiently accepted as the price of getting to lick wonderful cocks. Boys had quit, frustrated, for better jobs at other colleges or hospitals or high-rises or wherever. There were thousands of places that needed to be turned fertile and wet. Places with bimbos that knew how to fuck.

And then Alan had come along.

Now Grace was sort of his snorkel. Sometimes they’d drive idly for hours, Grace nuzzling away, occasionally and quietly swallowing a pomegranate-scented load. It was a true, perfect match. She’d found her cock. If she could, she’d suck it forever.

“Bit of a problem from HQ,” Alan said. They drove around the quiet streets off-campus. It was technically a party night. Alan stroked her hair. She loved it when he stroked her hair. “We’re below quota.”

“Mmmmm,” Grace said. That was her usual contribution to conversations.

“A lot below,” Alan said. It wasn’t that Grace was AGAINST making co-eds into dumb sluts. She was very much in favor. It was just… nicer to cruise around getting sucking Alan’s dick then to pump a bunch of Juniors and Seniors full of transformative chemicals. “We kind of need to do something about that.”

Grace licked harder, which was a sure sign she was concerned. If you weren’t much of a recruiter you were just another breeder. No van, no vats, no Alan.

“Uh-huh,” Alan said. He pulled into fraternity row. Dark all around. There was a semi-official party ban in place. Some hazing incident or another. Why frat boys needed to spank each other, when Alan could get dozens of girls to do it to them, was beyond her. “Hey. There’s one. Grace, you’re from around here, I saw your file. What’s the story?”

Grace made a noise deep in her throat. It wasn’t enjoyable to try and shift through the wreckage left behind after forcible and extreme transformation into an incredible cocklicker. She’d been pumped with chemicals, doubled in size, her brain treated like a disposable sponge for hormones. It seemed unfair to make a boring girl into a fuck toy and then ask her about the boring girl part. What was left in her picked-over memory was dream-like at best, and hard to believe. Gauzy images of her tiny-titted self frowning into a mirror—she wasn’t sure she could frown, these days. And she’d really been planning on ACCOUNTING?

And, more immediately, she had to lift her lips from Alan’s dick, so she could talk. Obviously Grace knew she couldn’t nuzzle penis every moment—she had to sleep, and there were a few nutrients she couldn’t suck out, although altered men like Alan were very caloric. But it was annoying. She reluctantly broke seal, and started to jack his penis to keep it hard. Drool and jizz ran down her chin.

“Nerd house,” she said, piecing together puzzle piece fragments of stray memory, lucky survivors of rough sluttening.

Alan grinned. “Nerd house, huh? I like that.”

Grace swept her hair back and descended back down to heaven.

January 20, 8:31 pm.

Philip locked the deadbolt. He threw the two other locks for good measure. Those two he had installed himself, and had the only key. Frankly he suspected that the fraternity brothers had lost the third key as well, but there was no way to be sure.

It didn’t really matter.

He’d started boarding at the fraternity four—no, it was five years ago. When he’d still been enrolled, still a junior. The room was close to campus, the house was dead quiet, and he’d burrowed in for two years of coursework, nodding to the brothers at breakfast and never bothering to learn their names.

He’d graduated, looked briefly into the job market, and come to two important realizations in his life.

One, there was nothing about the post-college life that appealed to him in the slightest. A review of twitter and contemporary media confirmed this view. Adulthood was shit and college the apex of life. No responsibilities, bills, debts. Late night video games. Co-eds enjoying warm weather.

Second, and more importantly, no one at the fraternity was cashing the rent checks he mailed in. Carefully, very carefully, he determined that an outgoing fraternity brother hadn’t bothered to mention the boarder rent situation to the next set of officers. It was the kind of fiscal management to expect of 19 year olds, and the implications were enormous. No rent. Food was communally provided for. Utilities were included. He had a complete, and free, Maslow pyramid. All he had to do was avoid triggering some new President from thinking—didn’t Philip pay rent?

He didn’t disapprove of the party, per se. Philip made note of empty rooms. It was vital the fraternity stay vibrant and whole such that he could maintain his lamprey-like hold on the house.

Over time Philip had come up with rules and systems to protect his small, free utopia. He worked freelance jobs for his few monetary needs. He’d grown a beard to conceal aging and look plausibly college-aged. He ate breakfast early and dinner late, prowling at odd hours in the kitchen. Inside his door he’d placed a large chinese screen, to conceal his purchases: large TV, coffee table, rug. The sofa he’d gotten into the room at the crack of dawn on Christmas Day. No takeout deliveries. And of course, no amplified sound. Everything was routed into bluetooth headphones. He was a ghost. The ghost in room 8. College students had enough problems looking past their own lives. They never thought to ask about him.

The issue was: this was a lonely life. He could hardly date. Nothing would attract blazing, spotlit attention like bringing tinder girls up to the room. He’d be evicted by nightfall. In part for that reason he’d accumulated a large collection of lovingly curated porn, stacked and sorted on terabyte drives. For friends he had the entirety of the internet.

The locks were sturdy and sound, but he took one last look at them, and then settled into his chair. Video game music flickered on.

Someday it would all end.

But not that night.

January 20, 9:01 p.m.

They’d kept the condoms and the skirts. Riley had led the way through empty streets. It had rained a few nights ago, and the mist and fog had stuck around, making everything rinsed. Emma’s experience in heels was minimal, and it was a fight to stay upright. Riley, to her credit, was marching without a wobble. Her back was straight and determined, which had to help.

“Where is everyone?” Lily said, eventually.

Inexperienced with frat row crowds, Emma hadn’t even considered how empty everything was. The houses around them were ancient and cold, with forbidding greek letters tacked on the exteriors. There was no one around at all. None of the swaggering boys out front, hustling in nervous girls like herself, big doors wide open. Sorority girls ambling about, mildly drunk. It was just cold and dark and wet. During her college tour, Emma had seen packs of co-eds marching throughout campus, their legs bare in nearly-freezing weather. She’d marveled at it. Now it was her.

“Ah, one of the fraternities got caught shooting initiates in the butt. Or something. Something with their butts. Now they’re all laying low,” Riley said.

“So our party gets the entire campus to theirselves?” Lily said. That was a concerning thought. Although if there was a maddened crush of party-seekers out front, it would be a good excuse to bail.

She’d kept the condom in a tiny, strappy purse. It basically held her ID and one rubber. Emma tapped her fingers against it. Its presence was unnerving. Her legs were clamped shut against the chill. It was troubling to imagine herself spreading them wide in the next few hours. Was alcohol really that powerful?

“We’re…….. here,” Riley trailed off. The front doors were shut. There were lights inside, but otherwise the eaves and gables were creased with gloom. Mist dripped. Emma was no expert on parties, but she guessed she shouldn’t be able to hear mist dripping, over the sound of thumping, pounding bass. “I think. Maybe there’s another fraternity with the exact same greek letters, and address, except its throwing a fucking party.”

Lily, to Emma’s surprise, took the initiative and rang the doorbell. An intercom panel that appeared datable to 1984 crackled on. It was the size of a small refrigerator. “Hello?”

“We’re here for the party?” Emma said. It was HER friend’s party. Acquaintance. Counterpart. Whatever Alex was. “Alex’s party?”

“The party—oh!”

The intercom shut off. They waited. Nothing happened at all.

“Maybe Alex died,” Lily suggested. “Or someone else.”

The door cracked open, and then got wider. The hinges had a peculiar squeak, unique only to them. “Oh shit,” a head said, sticking outside. “Girls. I mean, women. Ladies.” he paused. “Come in?”

It was Alex.

Riley was happy to admit that the house was impressive, from the perspective of gothic architecture. It looked like it was intended only for candlelight. The entryway had a vast marble inset with some latin quotation. A fireplace immediately dominated the room. It was unlit, although one of the boys had printed out a picture of a fire, in black and white, and put that on the soot-darkened brick.

A mirror the size of a small car stood above it, set at a strange angle. It gave Riley a good view of her own boobs. She resisted an urge to adjust her cami. First of all, her therapist had recently stood up, and in a loud and demanding voice, had demanded that Riley have a slight iota of self-confidence. Second, there hardly seemed to be a reason. It was just her dormmates and Alex and whatever ghosts haunted behind the mirror. There was plenty of room.

“Uh, yeah, come in!” Alex said. He looked like he’d recently recovered from some disease, his cheeks as pale as the marble floor and prone to casting shadows. Riley looked briefly at Emma, just to make sure the look was intentional. The boy wore a dark black collared shirt that his body was lost in, and black cargo pants.

“No need for condoms, then,” Riley thought. Maybe they’d make balloon animals when they got back to the dorm, in probably about twenty minutes.

“Gosh,” Alex said. He seemed to realize he’d said “gosh” to three girls and flushed. “Come on in! We’re, ah, we’re just getting started. Just, ah, leave the door open behind you, for… the folks.”

Lily led the way. The house was truly enormous, with not just one but two grand staircases. “Any ghosts?” Riley said, putting her hand on a massive pillar.

“Oh, no, no,” Alex said. He tried not to wring his hands. “Yeah, the fraternity got started when one of our members fixed the builder’s, ah, speakers and got deeded the entire thing. Always been a spot for, you know, engineers. We do have really strong wi-fi which is kind of like ghosts if you think about it. Metaphorically.”

The girls fidgeted. They’d reached a large open room, a crushingly big ballroom that seemed ready to host a treaty signing. It was a beautiful room—polished wood floors, bay windows overlooking a copse of old oaks, the walls hung with glossy ancient portraits. It just didn’t really have any people in it. Besides them. The members had even put the enormous heavyset table over on its side, which looked like it should’ve taken an entire forklift to accomplish. A pool table had been set aside as well, and as Riley watched, the 7 ball trickled out of a pocket and onto a floor.

Alex, to his credit, did not give up. “We’ve got our DJ, DJ Robert,” he said. Robert had set up on a card table by the kitchen, and gave them all a terse nod. He wore shorts and wraparound sunglasses. His laptop was hard-wired to a set of computer speakers, which he had pointed outwards, towards the room. “Robert is playing... ?”

“Dance,” DJ Robert said, withering.

“Oh, well, of—”

“CHIPTUNE Dance,” DJ Robert said. He clicked a mouse for emphasis. It was thin, and immediately lost in the room, but a dance remix of the Ducktales Moon theme wafted through the speakers.

Riley was through with politeness. She had read a number of books about the pitfalls of being polite to men unnecessarily. “Girls,” she said, with command. This didn’t have to be humiliating for her. It was Emma’s fault. Of course.

“We have beer!” Alex said, uneasily. Riley felt the eyes of boys on her. There had to be other men in this complex, right? Somehow she could sense them listening in, waiting for the girls to either commit or bail. Ghosts would’ve been more reassuring.

He pointed, quickly, at a single silver keg, with a proud display of red solo cups right next to it.

Riley had struggled with depression for years. Heck, it was strange to know anyone who didn’t. And now here they all were, standing in a loose circle, making each other inevitably, unstoppably sad. Caught in a web of cringe that would be imprinted on her mind for the rest of her college career, if not her entire life. Riley repositioned her shoes to get ready to bolt. Running away felt like the correct move.

Except there was a gigantic man standing in the doorway, peering inside.

They all turned to look at him. He was only vaguely human, compared to them—he was at least a hundred pounds heavier, thicker, larger, everything made to a bigger size. The house they all felt lost in was immediately the right size. The big man toted an entire keg in one arm. The other arm held a single oversize speaker. He wore jean shorts.

“I heard there’s a party here!” the man said. His voice filled the void. He took a step inside, and the overstuffed bimbo behind him entered the house.

When it was all over and done with, and the world reshaped, DJ Robert was a champion breeder. Of course they all were, all the men retooled and transformed into testosterone-rich studs, their big balls bouncing between their legs. But even among them, DJ Robert was a king, his dick whorled and heavy between his legs. Out of respect, and because he could hardly work with so much penis to deal with, he was generally free to do nothing more than walk around and fuck girls. Girls told each other—and these were fully bimbo breeder girls, mostly pussy with legs—that to ride DJ Roberts was not to be done lightly. At best you’d be bow-legged for days. And you’d certainly get knocked up.

Post-transformation, DJ Roberts was not the brightest. All those hormones and chemicals and the addition of seventy-five pounds of muscle and six inches of dick had taken its intellectual toll. It didn’t help that he was balls deep in cooze nearly every waking hour. He wasn’t there for the conversation. He was there for noises, not words.

But still, even after fucking hundreds upon thousands of women, leaving a bunch of puddly messes throughout the country, he would remember the party bimbo.

There were audible gasps among the boys. The three girls took steps backward. The bimbo didn’t have any makeup on, and was carelessly dressed in jean shorts and a saggy, ripped t-shirt. It didn’t really matter—her tits ballooned out the old shirt, her body filled not just her clothes but the entire room with curves. Her lips, especially, caught everyone’s eye. She licked them, lightly, even as she stepped forwards. They were the most soft and inviting pair of lips DJ Robert had seen, and would ever see. Over the years he would collect thousands of blowjobs from girls, all of them eager to see if they could really handle that much penis. None of them would quite compare.

The bimbo took the plug out of his computer speakers. From a back pocket she produced an actual, ancient MP3 player, a beat-up piece of archaic technology. It was slightly warped from the curve of her rear. She pushed the aux cord into the hole, and every male in the room shuddered slightly.

The music started to bump.

And when the stud brought in a bunch of actual, powerful speakers, it really started to bang.

January 20, 9:10 p.m.

“Well, this sucks,” Kim said. “What happened to that pledge, exactly? He didn’t die, did he?”

“BB pellets in the ass is what I heard,” Alison said. She’d deliberately put on sweats and put her hair back in a scrunchie and surrounded herself with textbooks. She’d erased Geller’s number from her phone. He was basically dead.

“Is that really all? Pellets in the butt?” Kim had made an effort to match her roommate’s mood, which meant thick sweats and sympathy. She was assessing whether or not to break out the emergency bottle of rum.

“And one in his testicle. I think. I don’t know.”

Kim waited.

“Geller is going to break up with me!” Alison sobbed.

“Going to,” Kim noted.

Alison sob-nodded.

“So he hasn’t actually done so.”

“I basically broke up with him tonight,” Alison sob-said. “We’re done. Oh my god. I know people say that nothing lasts past college but he was so freaking stable. Just one foot in front of the other and all I had to do was keep walking and—” she had a hard time speaking.

“He was essentially going to but had NOT broken up with you, so you basically but did NOT break up with him,” Kim assessed.

Alison wiped her face.

“So you two are still together,” Kim concluded, after letting her roommate have a moment. She cancelled the rum.

Alison pushed a rumpled letter at her. “This was in his room,” she said.

Kim examined it. It was from MIT, which was interesting. It was disappointing that MIT had to send paper letters around. “Shouldn’t this be an e-mail? Or like, on some sort of app?” It was an acceptance letter to a graduate engineering program.

“And he hasn’t said anything about this to you?” Kim said, tossing it back. It sailed around.

“He never told me anything. Nothing about the application or the acceptance or that he’s a LIAR who is USING me for SEX until he BREAKS UP with me. So I cussed him out and left and... “

She trailed off.

“Do you hear something?”

It could not have been very loud. It was a misty, leaden night. Geller’s fraternity was several blocks away, and between her and it were a number of oversized fraternity and sorority buildings constructed out of ancient oaks and slabs of 70s-era concrete. The music had not the slightest hint of a bass line. It was pure sugar pop. Nonetheless it creeped in an open window, clear and cheerful.

“Shake, shake, shake your titties!” it rang out, over the entirety of Greek Row.

“Whoever is throwing a party is getting kicked off campus tomorrow,” Kim said, peering out into the gloom. “I’m pretty sure that pledge really did have his balls destroyed, the e-mail we got was REALLY mad.”

“That’s coming from Geller’s frat,” Alison said, confused.

“They throw parties? I thought they were just Greek for tax reasons. You told me you were worried having sex in there would wake up some angry ghosts.”

“No one had tested it before me. No way to be sure.”

Outside the window frat boys and sorority girls were peeking out into the street. The beat clicked through the street and into any open window, up drain pipes, in open doors, and into a bunch of bored college students. A small herd began to move. “I can’t believe they’re really throwing a party.”

Kim cocked her head. “Did that song really say ‘come on and lick my pussy’?” she said, eventually. Her fingers rapped against her desk in time with the music. It was catchy, even from this far out.

“Lets go,” Alison said, decisive. “If he’s being expelled tomorrow I deserve an explanation tonight. Come on.”

Kim nodded her head, listening hard to the lyrics. Something something lick my nipples, something something fuck my something. Her eyes widened. “Okay, but we gotta get changed first!”

January 20, 9:26 p.m.

Geller was pleasantly high, the right way to think about his future. The Presidential Suite, his room, was just up the main stairs and shaped roughly like a small cathedral. It had massive double-doors, only slightly smaller than the front ones to the house, and its own mail slot, to boot. The inside contained a poster bed from the Victorian Era, or some other Era at least, and not just one but two persian rugs. He had his own balcony. It was the major reason he had run for fraternity president—to have the single best living arrangement on campus.

Of course, once he’d moved in, the drawbacks had piled up. The inadequate heating system somehow missed the cavernous bedroom entirely, despite sitting in the heart of the complex. The rugs were filthy and the mattress was ancient. It wasn’t clear what it was stuffed with, but there were hard interior lumps that seemed to move on their own. It did have its own bathroom, which was a small hole in a closet. It wasn’t clear what it led to but it was definitely not a plumbing system.

However, the balcony WAS nice. He could watch the sun set, admire the campus clock tower, just a few blocks away.

He’d fucked Alison all over the room, of course. Ironically, not on the bed. The bed had enough problems, and enough nutrients, without adding wet spots and extra bodies. But definitely on the couch, any number of times. They’d made it to the balcony twice, shushing each other and giggling. They’d hike and flirt and then get back and paw at each other. It was nice.

Now he had a decision to make. Or maybe not, after Alison had torn out of the room. He hadn’t really thought MIT would take a sniff at him. Or send him a physical letter.

It was probably too cold in Boston to hike.

“Hello? Anyone in here?”

There were girls at the entrance to his room. One of the doors was sealed closed, but he rarely bothered to close the other. It weighed a ton.

They were blonde girls—no, just two of them—and they wore bright halters and tight going-out jeans and held red dixie cups. Alex had come through, it turned out.

“Uh, hi?”

“Oh, shit! I thought you were some kind of statue! I can’t believe people actually live here, isn’t it spooky?” the girls walked in, all three of them. They mostly looked like standard sorority girls, which meant, not at all like Alison.

“We check all the time for ghosts and we’ve never found any,” Geller said. He walked in from the balcony. There were a bunch of girls sitting on his couch. Re-engaging, he heard music. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s called a SONG,” a blonde told him. “Did you know there’s a party downstairs?” She looked thoughtful. “Are you SURE you’re real?”

“Not recognizing music is ghost behavior,” a girl agreed.

“I vote ghost,” the brunette said. Geller closed in on the intruders. All of them had tight grips on their cups. The beer inside was a very mild amber, and it seemed to leave a mild pink glow on their lips. Or was it his imagination? The third girl wiped her mouth, and it disappeared.

It smelled very sweet.

“I’m very real,” Geller told them. “I can prove it.” Now the music was setting in. It was… it didn’t fit the house, but anything outside of a dirge wouldn’t fit the house. It definitely fit the girls—like bubble gum pop mixed with K-pop catchiness. Or something. “Poke me.”

“Ooh, a horny ghost,” the first blonde said.

“Five minutes here and ghosts are hitting us up for handjobs,” second blonde agreed.

“You can poke my chest,” Geller said. He made a personal decision and sat in the center of the threesome. It was a spot he and Alison had befouled any number of times, and now he was sharing it with many other girls. They had no trouble at all welcoming him in. His arm went all the way around all of them, gathering them in to a giggly, collected mass of girls leaning into his chest. High as he was, it took him a moment to figure out how weird the situation was getting. Girls didn’t just amble into rooms and casually push tits into his chest.

It smelled SUPER sweet.

“What are you drinking?” he said.

“It’s YOUR beer,” the first girl to his left said. She pushed it into his mouth. It was the sweetest, most sugary beer he had ever tried, with hints of strawberries and raspberries. More than hints—a fruit explosion. She kept letting him drink, and Geller saw no reason to stop her. The other girls poured more down their own throats.

“Wow,” Geller said, once it was all down. It occurred to him, muzzily, that he was starting to pop an erection. That had to be the line between innocently flirting with co-eds and downright cheating on his sorta-girlfriend. He tried to get up.

“Calm down, Casper,” the blonde on his right said. “Look, this is fun, but… are you holding?”

It all fell into place. They were looking to get high. It was a huge comfort to Geller, who was starting to wonder about the situation. “Ghost pot,” he told them. “It’s spectral. Doesn’t work on the living.”

“Oof, I can’t get up either,” second blonde on his right said. “That stuff is great. This is a really neat party. Oh my god, we’ve only been here for like ten minutes, right?”

“Yeah,” a girl agreed, from somewhere in the line.

They sat there in brief, companionable silence, alcohol working its way through all of them. Geller felt his concerns receding. It was very easy to find the logic in the situation. They were his guests, and it was his responsibility to show them around, get them high, maybe eventually take their clothes off, if they wanted it. His erection surged, and he didn’t try to tamp it down. There was a soft round of giggles at it. Tits pressed in on him from both sides, warm and wonderful. Everyone smelled like cherry beer.

The girl on his far left reached over and put a finger right above his dick. “Boop,” she said, tapping it. All the girls laughed as hard as they could. Beer sloshed around the couch, spilling out of cups.

The image of Alison washed through Geller’s head.

“Lets find my bag,” he said, standing up. He pushed his dick back down, but it popped right up again.

January 20, 9:43 p.m.

“And THIS room,” Alex announced, “needs no introduction!” He paused. “Its the game room.”

The room was heavy with cardboard and rich with dice. In the center of the room was the single nicest card table Lily had ever seen—a rose wood inset with dozens upon dozens of wooden shards, so that it looked like a finalized jigsaw puzzle. The table legs were carved into frozen lions. Around it, on shelf after shelf, dozens of boxed games waited for someone to take them down. She looked around in vain for something she recognized, like a monopoly or clue. These were ornate, big boxes for the most dedicated of war gamers.

And there was a single deck of cards on the table.

“Oh?” Riley said. “The game room?” Lily could tell she was still trying to maintain high levels of snark, and having a difficult time.

The truth was, the party was coming around, and Lily personally attributed it to the fucking awesome beer.

She’d thought of beer as something to be endured until graduation, when she could escape into grad school and endless bottles of cheap and enjoyable white wine. Obviously it wasn’t very nice to dump on beer entirely, but it was basically sharp, sour piss with all the class of bathroom urinal. Or at least, so she’d thought.

This stuff was… pink. There was no other word for it. Someone had invented Beer For Girls, that was the only explanation. A certain mildness to the aftertaste, a certain strawberry-cherry palate, and Lily found herself going through multiple cups. The alcohol spread through her, warming her up. She found herself smiling, pleased, at the poorly-stacked set of Risk-derivants.

“Oh yeah,” Alex was completely immune to Riley sarcasm, or any sarcasm. He looked relieved the party was off the ground. Lily had to admit, it had been gallant of the man to whisk them upstairs as the horde broke in. They could still hear the bubblegum pop rattling the windows. It seemed to make everything vibrate just a little.

Heck, Lily felt a little vibrate-y herself.

“We’ve got Settlers of Catan, EVERY expansion, including the ultra-rare banned one where you can kill the sheep,” Alex thumbed the collection with pride. “Ticket to Ride with house rules so you can play every continent at once, dungeons and dragons modules galore, and….” he looked alongside. ‘Well. Maybe later we’ll get the Warhammer figurines out. MAYBE. Every game. Except chess.”

Lily giggled, and after a second the other two girls joined in. As stupid as it was, they were at a real actual party at a real actual fraternity, and getting free drinks. Plus an exclusive tour. They were not just adults, they were CO-EDs. It was very liberating.

“No chess though?” Emma said. It was her first comment in some time. Actually, all the girls had been content to let Alex do the talking. There was a lot to take in, especially beer,. “How can you impress girls without chess?”

“Oh, there was a whole thing a few years ago. It got competitive, rooks ended up in parts of the body.. The police got involved… no chess.” Riley took the opportunity to drain her solo cup. Lily squinted—was there some pink froth on her lips? Was there pink residue on HER lips? She felt a minor urge to check her reflection—how DID her lips looks? How was her outfit working out? When could she get another beer?

“Let me refill those,” Alex said. He whisked downstairs, leaving the three of them alone. Forgotten Guess Who boards rattled to the tune of the music. It wasn’t clear the song ever changed.

“Well, we did it,” Emma said, eager to take credit. “We’re at a party.”

“Alone in the game room. To be clear, the board game room,” Riley said. She theatrically took out her condom from her purse. “Huh, I’d figured it burned up when we walked in.”

“Oh, come on,” Lily said. “I’m sure someone has gotten bent over this table.”

The other two looked at her, surprised.

“What? It’s a really nice table. Look, I’m not saying anyone needs to, but there are worse tables than this.” Lily knocked on the top. “That’s solid. You could put a dozen girls up on this.”

“My SECOND time can be bent over like a cheap card table on a frat house… uh... card table,” Riley declared. She only slowly realized her mistake. To be fair, Lily didn’t feel like her head was firing on every cylinder either. It felt muzzy, wet, and sweet in there.

“What’ll your FIRST time be?” Emma said, nearly purring. The dynamics of the triple dorm room were shifting before their eyes. Riley was a VIRGIN. This changed everything.

Riley was saved from responding by a couple stumbling upstairs, slamming open the door, and pinning each other against the Clues.

All three dormmates stared, mildly shocked. The twosome were locked closely together enough it wasn’t easy to tell what they looked like. Their faces were tightly embraced, hands moving all over, and the girl especially was a wriggling, murmuring thing beneath the man. He at least was recognizable as a standard fraternity bro, obviously from some other house, with the half-muscles and mildly broad shoulders of someone just hitting twenty. His hat was on backwards. The girl was some sort of black-haired woman. The only thing that was clear was that she had really long legs, as she kept trying to scrape them on the man’s back.

“Oh fuck, oh god,” one of the two kept whispering. The boy had his hands on the girl’s ass, and didn’t look about to let go.

“Oh MAN,” Riley said. All three of them dropped their voices and clustered together, differences forgotten. “Is this what parties are always like?”

“They’re gonna get hurt. Look at Scrabble up there,” Emma said. “They’re knocking it loose.”

The couple did seem likely to get beaned by a scrabble board, until the man outright hoisted the girl up with both hands and moved her over to the table. She put her legs all the way around him, this time.

They broke for just a second, to stare at each other.

“Girls,” Lily said. “Do you think they’re going to…. fuck?”

The word explored the room. Of course it was obvious they were about to fuck. There was no way the twosome going at it would call a halt. They were half-fucking already, slamming into the table with rhythm. It matched the beat of the music. Lily thoughtfully moved her hips to it. So that was the rhythm of sex. Bang, bang, bang. Her cheeks flushed.

All three girls licked their lips. The room had gotten noticeably warmer now that some girl was about to get reamed on the table. Good thing, Lily though, it was well-constructed.

“We should… ummm…” Emma’s mouth hung open. She’d had sex a few times. This was far more erotic, in a fucked up sense. First because her own sexual encounters had been halting “are you sure?” incidents with all the intensity of a 19th century ball. This was two mammals about to breed. If she stuck her hand in there one of the two would probably bite it off. Or maybe… bring her in. She squirmed. Second of all, watching two people have sex, live and in person, was rare. Of course she’d seen pornhub videos. This was yards away. She could taste the sweat in the air. It smelled different. Lathered.

“We should go,” Riley managed. They stood there. The boy somehow managed to get the girl’s shirt off. They both had a half-second of reality, looking around, as the girl dealt with her bra. The boy frowned at them, seemed about to say something, and then the girl’s tits were free. He returned to them.

He made loud slurping noises as he sucked on her nipples. The girl moaned.

“We should REALLY go,” Lily said. But—the twosome had both been carrying nearly full beers. They danced together, at the edge of the table. Once the two were really enthusiastically fucking, and they were definitely about to, the beers were going off the table. “...after we get those beers.”

“What, seriously?” Emma hissed.

“Girls, lets GO,” Riley said. She shook her head. “Is this SERIOUSLY what frat parties are always like? I should be wearing the condom. Or a shield.”

“Hold on,” Lily said. She could taste the nectar on her tongue. She wanted it. So what if it probably had boy sweat and girl sweat in it? It would be sweet, and Alex was taking forever to get more. She moved forwards, decisive. They were cold in her palm, and she looked up right into the gaze between the couple. They were unable to talk, gasping and shuddering. Her nipples were so hard. Lily froze, a few feet away, and somehow totally unnoticed. She slowly crept back, back to where her dormmates were.

“Just in time,” Emma said, eyes even wider. She pointed. The boy’s dick had come out. The girl made a delighted noise. It was a coo of pure delight, looking at a red, angry prong that was about to go between her legs.

Lily tried to pay attention, but the scent wafted at her. The first beer cascaded down her throat, rich and sweet and clear. If she could’ve moaned she would’ve. It was pure candy.

“Hey, save some for us,” Riley said. The other two girls had their eyes locked on the couple. The girl was having trouble getting her panties off. They were fumbling with them while trying to fuck, growling, out of their minds with lust. Riley was twirling her hair, her eyes glassy. Emma wasn’t much less glassier.

Lily poured the second beer in as soon as the first was gone. It was a strawberry overload, and seemed to trickle all through her body. It went down so smooth, she didn’t even think to choke. The other two glared at her.

Lilly giggled. “Oh my god,” she said, along with the girl. They had finally torn her panties off, and the boy had just slid into her. It was the first coherent sentence she had said. She felt warm, wet, dizzy. Her nipples flushed against her shirt. She staggered, and would’ve fallen, if Emma hadn’t put a chair underneath her.

“Lily, lets GO,” Riley insisted. “They’re HAVING SEX.”

“Woo. In a sec,” Lily said. God, that had been good. She really wanted more. She craned her neck to get a better angle on the twosome. She could just see his dick slide in and out. Each stroke made the girl shudder and gasp. It was the best movie she’d ever seen. “As soon as Alex brings more beer.”

When she looked up again her roommates had gone.

Well, that was fine. She had something to do. Wait for more beer, and watch a very nice fuck. Lily’s legs slid apart, and she put a finger up her skirt. It was a party, after all.

January 20, 9:48 p.m.

Grace was surprised by how much she enjoyed sucking on DJ Robert’s cock.

Of course, it was a dick, so there was a baseline of how little she could enjoy herself. It was always going to be fun to have a cock in her mouth. They’d hooked that part of her up to her clit, and sucking dick always sent ripples of pleasure through her.

But still, he was so small compared to Alan and the rest of them. Maybe half the size. But it was nice to actually get to use some oral technique for once. Alan’s cock was basically a meat log in her mouth, and she was essentially a vacuum seal. Obviously it was good, but it was just as fun to tease a dick with her tongue, lap at the back of it, and overall be creative. She’d brought him to the edge twice. That was another fun thing, the way he was clearly having the best-ever moment of his entire life. Alan barely reacted when he came in her mouth. DJ Robert was seeing god.

And it was fun to transform him, too. Her spit had all sorts of enzymes and hormones in it. She was basically sucking him bigger, making him swell in her mouth. You could practically see the testosterone sworl in his eyes. Between that and the drugs Alan was pumping into him, into everyone, he was going to have much bigger balls like, overnight.

She had a good feeling about DJ Robert.

“Hey, do you—holy shit,” Alex said.

They were in the kitchen, the one empty room in the house. Just outside the swinging double doors the party was already at capacity. There was a squeeze at the door trying to get in. Nearly the entire population of the college had heard the music, and they were all, all, feeling it.

“Robert, she’s sucking your dick,” Alex said, urgently. “Dude. She is completely sucking your dick.”

Grace really doubted DJ Robert had the capacity to talk at the moment. He was going through a lot. Puberty was getting a one-night-only second look at him.

“Hey, help me fill these kegs,” Alan said, clapping Alex on the shoulder. He’d been out front at the bar with two other fraternity brothers, both of whom were working for blowjobs. Grace was looking forward to it.

“He—blowjob,” Alex’s brain sputtered. “That’s a blowjob.”

“Yeah, this is turning out to be a good party,” Alan steered the boy away and handed him the last cup of beer. It was primarily foam. Waving it under male noses tended to distract them. “Help me with the kegs. We are completely empty.”

The huge stud had brought his own hookup, and attached it to the water line. Alex brought it to full blast. It took him a moment to figure out what was going on. He sipped the beer. It made everything seem more normal. This was a party. An epic party. Yeah. That’s what was going on.

“You’re filling these with water?” Alex said.

“Stop the valve,” Alan said. He had a bottle of what looked like herbal extract pills with him. They didn’t have any label at all. He picked out just one. “Grace, do you remember—oh. Nevermind. It has to be one pill per keg, right?” He dropped it in. A second later the water started to foam bright pink. “That looks right.”

It looked delicious. “Wait—what? What was that?”

Alan regarded the boy. At a certain point you could just say “It’s a pill laced with powerful chemicals that’ll give you an enormous donkey dick” and the guy would just respond “oh, okay.” He sensed they weren’t at that point yet.

“Hops and barley,” he said. “And alcohol. Beer.”

“I thought they had to brew it?” Alex said. Didn’t he know that? He had a bottle of whiskey in his room, and had even drunk from it, but other than that he was desert island dry. It was hard to concentrate when a bundle of boobs was sucking one of his fraternity brothers off a few feet away.

The big guy looked right in his eyes. “It’s concentrated beer,” he said. “Dried beer extract.”

“Oh.. okay,” fine enough. It was a good party. DJ Robert growled and bucked in his chair. From his reaction Alex half-expected fountains of jizz to spew out of the bimbo’s mouth, but she clearly had it all on lockdown. She released him with an affectionate kiss. Robert had passed out entirely.

“Mm, that was fun!” she had a voice like spun cotton candy. “Who is next?” She looked him right in the eye. “I bet I can make you forget how to spell,” she cooed.

“I gotta… I gotta go,” Alex stuttered. He stumbled backwards, and overturned a filled-up keg. Pink foam spilled all over him. The kitchen immediately smelled like a cherry farm. Alex felt an erection popping up. The bimbo shrugged at him.

“Suit yourself,” she gave him a peck on the cheek. “Ooh, a kiss! That felt weird! I’m not used to it,” she giggled.

Alex fled.

“Alright, lets do this,” Alan said. He laboriously texted away on his phone, his oversized thumbs struggling to get the letters right. He’d been a scrawny 150 pounds, once. Now he kept getting stuck in door frames. And he was going to need to fuck a co-ed unconscious in the next thirty minutes or his balls would start to ache. “I’m calling in backup. This party is going to fill our quota for the next six months.”

January 20, 10:04 p.m.

Kim had gone a bit too slutty for Alison’s liking. They were visiting her boyfriend’s fraternity, after all. She’d put on a light blue top with a low-cut bust line and a jean skirt. But the real issue was a full and thorough makeup set, flawless skin, wide eyes, and bright red lipstick. She had her hair up in two pigtails with pink and green scrunchies.

“Are you cold?” Alison said. In the sorority world, that was the only socially acceptable way to say “you look like a whore.”

“I have a good feeling about this party,” Kim said. She seemed very taken with the beat of the music, which was getting closer and closer. The hordes of students were ahead of them, although there were still fellow men and women alongside, making their way towards the music. These were the ones who had bothered to put on party clothes, which meant Kim fit right in. There were many barely constrained tits, boys in tight shirts, and every ass was very easy to trace.

“We’re going to be here BRIEFLY,” Alison said, although she wasn’t really sure what she wanted. To break up with Geller? To talk to him? Was she really that kind of sucky ex who just wanted to deny him the satisfaction of a post-maybe-breakup party?

“Says you. Do they really have a game room? With multiple copies of Connect Four?” Kim said.

“Multiple. They’re like, vintage. If there’s a Connect Five, they have it.”

“Ooh, I am excited for this party.”

And then they couldn’t get in.

There was a crowd around the house, no crowd control at all, and a logjam at the entryway. The many many boys and girls beyond could see in, which meant they could see flashing lights, the music pumping, and a lot of people having a really, really good time inside. Between beats of the music Alison could swear she saw tits out, although that couldn’t be right. But that left a lot of people in party gear outside in the cold.

“Aw, fuck,” Kim said, disappointed. The crowd around them was all looking in the same direction, inside the house. There was something about the music and the lights that was…. soothing. Very soothing.

But still, the party was inside and they were outside.

“I should get VIP treatment,” Alison muttered. “I’ve slept in that insane bed. I’ve done things on that couch. I’ve earned it.” But there was a wall of fraternity boys between them and it, an entire barricade of shoulder blades.

Two trucks pulled up at the edge of the crowd and honked, just once.

Studs poured out of them. It seemed strange that even one should fit, much less the half-dozen that filtered out. They had the no-rush intensity of firefighters, as well as the build. The very first move was to haul out speakers, huge ones, which they placed in front of the vans. Music started to pour out of them almost immediately, already synchronized.

“Oh, hey, now we’re talking,” Kim didn’t need much excuse to move her hips. Alison wrinkled her forehead. It wasn’t just the exact same song, it was at the exact same moment in the song, blending together into a flawless warble of some brainless girl braying on about sex.

Then the studs pulled the kegs out. One carried a stack of red solo cups that was twice as tall as he was. The outdoor crowd took a breath, and cheered. The party had instantly doubled in size. And that was all before the second truck got in.

It was twice the size of the first, and shiny with bright pink and chrome. The large men unlatched wings and pulled out awnings, and it exploded in a bright flash of yellow lights, an instant beacon. When her vision cleared, Alison could see what looked like a carnival food truck, only, and this was the important part for the crowd, entirely free. “FREE” was written in brain-melting pink lights from the top of the display, alongside videos of churros and cotton candy and sweet-looking drinks.

“Holy shit free, I love free,” Kim said. She had started to sway and hadn’t stopped. There was a wild new heat despite being outdoors. It was pure body heat radiance. The candy truck was right near them, and Kim and Alison would’ve been pushed into it regardless—the crowd surged right at it. The windows all had huge pairs of tits behind them—some sort of whore squad in the tightest possible tubetops, simply handing out all manner of sugary sweets.

“What are you promoting?” Alison said, once they’d reached the front. The line wasn’t taking long—it looked like everyone just received whatever a bimbo could reach.

“Sugar!” the girl behind the window said. It was hard to look at her—the lights shone bright and rapidfire, with some sort of odd strobe effect. The video played a loop of some cartoon girl melting into a chocolate bar, her eyes uneasily wide. She was enjoying it too much to be healthy.

“Sugar… the company?” Alison tried, but she was already getting handed a candy necklace that draped around her and reached nearly to her waist, like mardi gras beads. Kim scored an enormous wad of cotton candy.

“Holy crap, cotton candy,” Kim said, once they were clear. Alison couldn’t find a ladylike way to bite at her necklace, and wasn’t sure if she wanted to. But it did smell like an entire Halloween. Her nose quivered. The first one she tried was banana, and it delivered a rush of endorphins to her. She had to blink away stars.

When she’d cleared them, Kim had finished her entire cone.

It had been at least three times the size of her head, so Alison was both impressed and appalled.

“Geez, Kim, slow down,” Alison said, playful. She waited for Kim to respond. Her friend seemed lost, blinking hard, and nearly staggered. “Whoa, whoa. You okay?”

“My…” Alison put her head near Kim’s mouth.

“What?”

“My pussy feels… good….” Kim said.

She straightened. “Did I just say that?”

Alison laughed, uncertain. “Sorry?”

“It feels… super good. Holy wow. Does your clit feel good too?” she looked completely sincere. “Alison? Like… a rush of blood or…” Kim licked her lips. “Uhhh… am I really saying this? That was a LOT of sugar and I think it all went… south.”

“Kim?” Her friend was still rocking to the music, but privately. Her eyes slowly closed, and when she put her hands on her hips, she hissed out loud. Big chunks of red sugar goo clung to her lips.

“Whoa, that was a little too much, huh?” one of the studs had an arm around Kim. “Lets get you inside, okay? Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” He was at least a foot taller than Alison and had the build of a stump. Like most of the men he wore a polo and jean shorts. It was some sort of quasi-uniform. His forearms were covered in burly hair.

Alison bit into a second link of candy, concerned. Belatedly she started after them. The big stud had his hand behind Kim, guiding her, and stuck his hand into the waistband of her shorts. Kim, for her part, leaned right into him, jiggling softly to the music. Alison found her own steps in time to the music, as she trailed the mighty ship SS Hunk. The crowd, satiated with alcohol, colored lights, music, and now free candy, was both settling in and getting larger. Couples were slowdancing to the peppy music, which didn’t make much sense to Alison, although everything was making little sense.

“Ohhh shit, I’m gonna cum,” Kim said, loudly. She giggled. “Oh.. oh.. Oh my FUCKING GOD!”

It wasn’t a joke. Kim lost leg cohesion entirely, and thrust her hips at nothing in particular. The big man swept her up before she could fall, cradling her against his chest. Kim moaned a throaty orgasm. The crowd around them cheered. A wet spot appeared on her shorts.

“This is crazy,” Alison managed to think, around the noise and the light and the candy. She followed the big man and her friend inside, munching on lime and raspberry candies at the same time.

January 20, 10:44 p.m.

The house was getting full. The pressure from down below had shoved dozens of increasingly drunk boys and girls upstairs. All Emma and Riley could see was pink beers, shiny blonde hair, and lots of lots of giggling. Everyone moved in a way that was not quite dancing, but in time to a chirpy beat. Emma had to force herself out of it, her rear end tending to sway in time. But they were all doing it. The air smelled like a skittles factory.

“In here,” Riley said. She’d taken the lead. The twosome pushed past the mob. In a way it was easy—everyone seemed to enjoy getting pushed hard into someone of the opposite sex, or the same sex, or whatever. A brunette near them was draped on some boy, her tits on his chest, her hips resting lightly on his. One of the actual house members had three girls with him, and seemed to have trouble picking which ass to fondle.

Emma didn’t even know where she’d gotten another beer. This one was pure bright pink, and it tasted like pixie sticks. She didn’t feel drunk, exactly. Just a very, very comfortable warmth. An acceptance that was hard to fight—a sense of wellbeing. Ordinarily she’d have frowned at a girl in pigtails openly humping a boy in a hallway, grunting in time to the music. Now it was just—fine. Everyone was having fun. It was a party.

Riley was more concerned. “In here,” she said, pulling Emma along.

It was, unexpectedly, a girl’s bathroom. Or rather, girls had colonized it. It was dense in there with girls, almost all of them in heels, crowded around a large mirror the boys had thoughtfully installed decades ago. They were all busy with makeup. Not just touching up lipstick, although they all had perfect pink and ruby lips, but mascara, blush, eyebrows and foreheads. A big crowd of girls trying to doll up.

Emma found a tiny spot of mirror. She looked—tedious.

Boring. Normal-whatever.

Riley had been right, she was essentially opposed to having fun. Fun was something that happened to other people. She’d never walked through campus smiling, drinking in the sun, assured that she was about to have a good time.

She was just... dry.

“Here,” one of the plush girls had shown up in the bathroom, wearing one of those tube tops that covered about half her nipples. She had a huge pink bag on her shoulder, and handed Emma a tube of oversized lipstick. It was a neon pink. “Free! I’ve got other stuff too!”

Riley and Emma examined it. It was instagram model stuff, and would be almost impossible to apply correctly. It would just glob on. It was also alarmingly pink.

“Pussy pink,” Emma said, and giggled. It even said it on the side—PUSSY PINK. Well, it was true.

“Should be blowjob pink,” Riley said. They looked at it. It matched their drinks. Emma shifted. Her bra hurt. That seemed to be a common problem, as there was a pile of underpants stacking up in a wastebasket. Not just bras but some faded panties as well.

“Good party,” she reminded herself. A trill of concern broke through, but it was hard to be worried surrounded by other girls. Even if someone was moaning in the bathroom. Riley snatched the lipstick from her.

“Goes on like this,” she said, slathering it on. It looked cheap and whorish, just like Emma expected. It really was novelty stuff, made for putting on in the ten seconds before wearing it off on some guy. Leaving pink bow lips on his neck, a ring around his cock. Emma picked up the tube. She’d never looked horny before. The beer told her—it was fine. It was strange not to be a little cheap, a little slutty, at a party like this one.

She rubbed the lipstick on. It unexpectedly pricked and stung, just for a second. She checked her little patch of mirror. Her lips looked beestung—puffy, and dramatically wet. Lubricated. An image of a penis sliding in flashed unexpectedly through her. It seemed to flash through all of them, every girl image in the mirror looking around with hooded eyes and open mouths. Emma couldn’t shake her head to clear it—what if that messed up the makeup?

“Concealer?” the bimbo suggested.

“Yes,” Emma and Riley said, together. “Definitely yes,” Emma added, just to differentiate herself. Her skin was gross, pocked and practically scarred against the wet silk the woman had. She was so very moisturized.

“This will cost you,” the bimbo said, regretfully. “One bra. Or half.” she stopped to put her few thoughts together. “Take your bras off.”

“Okay,” Riley said, and was quickly digging at the straps. Emma demurred, as much as she wanted the sweet powder cloaking her awful skin. What the hell was this? “Why do you want our BRAS?”

The bimbo pursed her lips. “Any ideas?” she said, after a bit. A trio of girls walked out of the bathroom stall. It wasn’t clear what they had been doing in there, but they seemed very pleased. They definitely weren’t wearing bras.

“Charity?” One of the mirror set said.

“That’s it,” the bimbo agreed. “Boob charity. Titty Donations. Toss ’em.”

Charity, of course. No doubt there were unfortunate girls all over the world with poor breast support. Making do with wraps and cheap lacey things. Emma nearly groaned when she took hers off. It really was an enormous relief. Her boobs were squished in there. Hanging free they felt much, much better.

Any relief she felt was washed away at the sight of Riley’s boobs. They were fat fucking tits, god damn her. She’d always been able to wash that jealousy away, but not tonight. Tonight Emma wanted nice big boobs.

“Powder away,” the woman said. She tossed Emma’s and Riley’s bras behind her, where they joined the tumbling hulk of discarded pieces of underwear. Emma wondered what she’d get for panties. It had to be good.

But first things first. She leaned forward towards the mirror to properly dust her face. Her lips glistened in the light, and her nipples ached against her sweater.

January 20, 10:46 p.m.

Geller had learned the girls names, and was feeling guilty about it. Hannah was the blonde, Erica was a second blonde, and the only non-blonde was Carrie. Carrie could pass for Alison in a certain light, at least enough to make him feel bad. Actually, everything about hanging out with three drunk, giggly girls was making him feel awkward. He kept expecting to run into his girlfriend around a corner.

“This is the greenroom,” Geller said. He’d just about finished up with the tour. It was for the best. He was feeling just as wobbly as the girls were. They were all getting increasingly handsy, using parts of each other for balance. Was it his fault he’d used some taut backsides for a good grip? Definitely the girls were all over him, running their hands over his biceps on the stairs and generally digging in to the lines of his body. “It’s where we keep the garden.”

There had been a flourishing indoor garden at some point, lit by a bank of cantilevered skylights. The room still had specialized watering lines run along the walls, which were pitted and pocked from occasional water damage. Fraternity men weren’t good at keeping plants alive, which meant it was all down to one tiny cactus kept in the middle of the room.

“The garden, huh?” Carrie said. She seemed to be the smartest of the three, or at least did the most talking, which also reminded him of Alison. His dick hadn’t gone down since they’d left his room. The horny fog kept following them around, keeping him iron-hard.

Geller pointed to the cactus. It wasn’t doing well at all, wilting and shriveled.

“Look what I have!” Hannah said. She took three tries to get a set of joints out of her purse. “They were handing them out down there! One of those guys! Free!”

People were just handing out drugs downstairs? Geller owed Alex an apology. This was one of those parties you read about years later, in memoirs. Geller was unsurprised to see the joints wrapped in pink paper, and apparently sparkly. He pulled out his lighter. This WAS the smoking room, which probably hadn’t helped the plants any. He looked around for a couch that wouldn’t permit a girl to sit next to him. There was an armchair, which didn’t help at all when Hannah and Carrie sat on the arms.

The four of them puffed away. Carrie was right across from him, which meant Geller had a perfect view up her legs. Her skirt was short enough to show all of her thighs.

Maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was the momentary chance to think, but Geller started to get mad at Alison. Here he was, surrounded by girls practically dripping down their own thighs, and she still dominated his imagination. She should be up there, getting stoned with him, listening to music and also getting absolutely demolished by his dick. Bent over on a chair and shrieking his name. He shifted and let his legs fall open. This should be a lifelong achievement for him, getting stoned with attractive girls, and it was getting ruined by just the memory of her pussy.

“I can see your pussy,” Erica teased.

Carrie smirked. Geller sat up straight. She’d let her legs slide all the way open at some point.

“So?” Carrie challenged.

“Holy shit, what is it with this place?” Hannah said. She looked around. “I don’t—Carrie you have a BOYFRIEND. I don’t…”

“It’s a party, Hannah,” Erica said.

“No, there’s… there’s…” poor Hannah was clearly far too drunk and high to finish the thought. She looked around, confused. “It’s… it’s just..”

“Hannah I saw you take your panties off downstairs,” Carrie said.

They all looked at Hannah, who seemed as surprised as anyone. She slowly put her hands up her own skirt, reaching deeper and deeper. Eventually she reacted. “Oh shit,” she said. “Why did I do that? Why did we all do that?”

That took them all aback, sitting in their spots, horny and high. The smoke was coagulating in a tiny cloud in the center of the room, right above the abused cactus. It had an odd neon tinge to it.

“Something is… I don’t know… I took mine off too,” Erica said. “Weren’t we just gonna… stop in? Because the house was always so dark and we were like, it’s probably a ghost house? And now I took my undies off at some point and I am super fuckin’ horny…”

The admission that she was hyper ready to go electrified the room. It was challenging for any of the four to speak, wrestling with conflicting emotions and past needs and a growing sense that they had to get off. It was too much for Carrie, first of all, and she put her hand between her legs. They watched her hitch up her skirt. Her pussy was wet and pink and dribbling onto the couch.

“Carrie!” Hannah gasped. “That’s.. That’s your vagina!”

“Look, its just a party, we’re supposed to do crazy shit like this,” Carrie explained, rubbing her clit in front of two friends and one male stranger. It became normal almost immediately. They all understood that something had to happen, after all. Everything ached too much not to be released with a messy climax.

“Geller, what do you think?” Erica said, and all the girls relaxed. A man was here and could make the decision. There was a lot going on in all of their systems, experimental chemicals and barely-tested hormones and dozens of compounds and additives that were poorly understood even by their creators. But first and foremost was a small but potent drug that essentially said to girl minds: listen to boys. Do what they say. If you do what a man says it’ll feel so good you’ll never want to disobey ever.

Geller was basking in the male version, the one that told him: spank them. Turn them over your knee and spank their bare asses if they talk back even a little, until they’re moaning wet messes all over your lap. Finger them, fuck them, stroke and fondle them, but first and foremost tell them what to do. Just the anticipation of a response from the three girls made his dick even harder. He was going to have to eat soon, so it could get bigger.

“It’s fine if you get yourself off,” he said, years of socialization fighting back against the drugs. “That’s okay. That’s no problem at all.”

They all relaxed, endorphins pumping into their systems, helped along by the weed. Carrie didn’t need any more invitation to put her fingers up her thighs, and the two blondes already had their legs spread. Whatever hesitation they had melted once they inserted their fingers up needy, needy slits. Geller was about to take out his own cock when both girls tumbled into him, hands still busy. He was half-buried in masturbating girl.

“Girls. Girls. Hey,” Geller said. They were both dripping onto his legs and he had tits in his face. His erection raged at him. “Lets move a little.”

Carrie was first to cum. She’d left behind tentative strokes after a few seconds, and rubbed hard with as much of her hands as she could. Her face was dull, her eyes nearly rolled back, whatever she was feeling leaving no room for anything else. Geller stopped struggling to watch. Often Alison would bite her lip, and look around with serene satisfaction, but this was at a whole different level. Carrie’s joint, forgotten, burned a hole in the couch.

“Unh… unh… UNH!” Something burst inside Carrie. She slid gently off the couch, hips bucking, and came to rest on the floor. She was completely and utterly knocked out. The other two girls started to buck and thrash right on top of him, burying Geller in half-naked, orgasming women. Erica’s head caught him on the jaw. He winced.

“Girls. Girls?” he said, when they were done.

All three had passed out entirely, breathing slowly and gently. In years to come they’d stick together through everything, close as sisters, big and bountiful and placid. Their tits were nearly all the same size, and they liked to trade clothes, presenting generally as a trio of soft boobs and perpetual pregnancy. No one thought of breaking them up, and if the cost of that was generally forgetting their names, it wasn’t like they minded. Too dim for the corporate world, or to do much of anything, they ended up in the country, servicing a rural hotel and all its clientele.

Alison found Geller still buried underneath them.

January 20, 10:47 p.m.

Alan’s boss was Connor, and he was an ass of a man. It was difficult for Grace to put that thought together—she’d been hardwired to think of men as generally awesome, specifically great. And it came along with a warning buzz of cognitive unease, like she was rubbing her finger along the edge of a piece of paper. But she’d been a bimbo long enough to know the little tricks to having the very occasional non-bimbo thought, and she’d sucked so many wonderful dicks the unhappy jolt was underneath a huge flood of good chemicals. So she managed it: Connor was a jerk.

It was still fun to suck his dick.

“Alan, this is just… its unplanned, its unsanctioned, its deeply out of control!” Connor gestured out at the party, which had just added pink and purple flashing lights to the dance floor. It was a wall of massed people out there. Whenever the door opened a rush of body heat came in, mixed with the smell of people rapidly changing for the better. .

“Who is gonna complain?” Alan said. “We’ve got the entire school in the net.” He seemed unconcerned, but then, he always did. He was busy filling more beer kegs with pink powder and water. A stud team had taken over for the fraternity boys. That was mostly Grace’s fault. She’d sucked them all dry and now they were in a comatose heap in a corner, quietly growing bigger muscles. “That’s the entire reason to go slow, right? Missing people. I saw a chance and I took it.”

Connor sighed, massaging his head. Grace risked another unpleasant ripple by thinking—Alan is SO much smarter than him. Leadership in the organization was apparently based largely on muscle mass and dick circumference. After all the normal men, fitting Connor in her mouth was putting a strain on her jaw. He had a real horse cock.

But Grace was a professional. She found a way to get her tongue involved. Connor hissed, pleased.

Alan pressed his advantage. “It’s the perfect night. The perfect location. And honestly, its going great. You get the busses here and I’ll have a herd for them.”

“Some of this stuff is untested,” Connor muttered, but she could feel him tensing in her mouth, ready to explode. Grace doubled her effort. She did it for Alan. And the cum drizzling her throat was a nice bonus. “Hell, most of it. We’re even passing out the weed and the candy. That stuff is crazy, even for—wait, how much pink stuff are you putting in per beer keg?”

“Uhh, this much?” Alan said. At that moment, Connor exploded, and Grace knew they had him. She let his jizz fill her. She’d never really doubted it. These men wanted the entire world to be plush and slutty. All the how-dare-you stuff was for show.

“That’s double the recommended dosage,” Connor grumbled. He pinched his nose. Grace wondered, just for a second, what sort of stuff the boys had trouble thinking about. “Let me make some phone calls. I hope you like girls with huge fucking tits, because this batch makes them grow like crazy.”

January 20, 11:02 p.m.

Emma’s nipples were driving her absolutely crazy.

She’d had sore boobs on occasion, and she’d thirsted to unleash them from sweaty bras. What was new was feeling every press of fabric against them, every slight breeze in the air. They were tender and raw and she felt a strong urge to cup them. But that was unacceptable, because they were the only thing keeping her alive in the ongoing battle with Riley for male attention.

It was unclear how they’d gotten pinned by the boy. She had no clue what his name was. All Emma knew was: he was at least six foot two (!), he had broad shoulders that could probably shoulder a bridge (!!), and Emma couldn’t hear a fucking thing he was saying. It was all washed away underneath the music, undecipherable behind a wall of background noise, the party getting louder and rowdier. Riley, meanwhile, could hear the boy just fine.

Fidgeting as they talked, Emma had realized she was still getting the boy’s occasional attention. He was shamelessly admiring her tits.

It was a huge revelation. Privately, Emma had been a little—a lot—uncertain about her chest. The girls rode high but she had always judged them too widely-set, like bookstops, not “tits” but tit and tit. But the boy’s sincere, lengthy, and unashamed appreciation for her boobs was making her think twice. If he wanted to stare down her cleavage, Emma found, she was very ready to let him. It was just some curves, after all—the top part of her chest. And if she quietly pulled down her shirt, behind her back, another inch of skin could pop out.

Riley kept shooting her annoyed looks. And it wasn’t like the boy wasn’t staring down Riley’s chest, too. His eyes meandered all about. That was fine, Emma realized. He could look. That was his right.

It was incredible how much fun it was, how deeply important it was, to have a man looking at her. Before tonight male attention had been rare, and often resented. She’d bent over to pick up a pen in class and sensed their interest with irritation. Congrats, men, you are examining where I poop. But this was electrifying, totally different. The very idea that he liked her, that he was getting hard for her, was making it hard to breathe. The feel of his eyes on her chest was nearly as good as sex. She’d do anything for it.

It also occurred to Emma, as she took another sip of beer, that she could do much better then just heaving her boobs out at him. If she let her lips part—and they wanted to slip apart—and cocked her head just a bit, and let her eyes not quite focus, she’d look as adoring as she could. She had, after all, literally sold her underpants to make her face look cute. When she got the boy’s attention Emma lightly ran her tongue on the underside of her top lip, then slowly smiled.

That did the trick. Although she suspected that, under Fraternity Law, she’d basically promised him some sort of blowjob. Well. She’d worry about that later. Her nipples itched. The lipstick had to come off sometime.

Blowing a random guy didn’t seem as crazy as it did, perhaps ten minutes ago. No one had told Emma that once a girl was around a bunch of tall, hot guys, and was liquored up, and properly admired, she would get downright horny. Not just hot but achingly so. But in an empowered way, cool and adult and surveying a field of guys in t-shirts with biceps. She could blow any of them.

Heck, maybe she would. One after another.

Sensing her distraction, Riley took her chance, grabbing the boys hands and pulling it tight against her stomach. She giggled as hard as she could. His hand was right above her pussy and Riley was sure he could sense that it was at an all-time fire.

After getting embarrassed over still holding her V-card, Riley felt increasingly confident she needed to fuck it away. Not have sex. Mere sex with some fumbling boy would hardly wash it down the drain, after it had had nearly twenty years to congeal. She needed to be thoroughly, deeply, enjoyably fucked. Some man’s penis so far inside of her they’d trade pubic hairs. The bigger the better. And then a rough, shuddering bang session, shattering her virginity into tiny little pieces. It wasn’t even important that she cum, although she was pretty sure she’d cum, and cum, and cum. She could feel wetness dripping down both thighs, and, although part of her was horrified, another part thought—eh, Emma? No juice dripping down YOUR legs.

It was hard to not think about fucking. Despite how enormous the house was, every single alcove and kink in the hallway was getting filled up by couples touching each other. A girl with her top off walked by, behind the boy’s big shoulders. Her tits were proud and full. Everywhere she looked were co-eds with big boobs, their faces painted pretty pink.

Just like hers.

The boy said something else, and Riley made sure to giggle at it. She hadn’t understood a word he was saying the entire time. The music slammed into all three of them, purring about needing to breed. It wasn’t supposed to be used for this long. It did funny things to memory. People would remember their past lives as as lot more fuck-filled then they had really been. They’d hum it for months afterwards. Riley closed her eyes, willing the boy to slide his fingers down a little lower.

That’s when Emma grabbed his dick.

A wave of fear accompanied the move. This wasn’t her, even drunk-Emma didn’t do THIS. Didn’t feel the big bulge of a man’s cock through his shorts, feel it shift and respond to her fingers. But then his attention shifted to her, immediate and intense, and it chased doubts away. It made her feel so warm, so wet, to have his eyes on her. She stroked at him, and tried to shove her tits forward at the same time. Riley reached forward to tentatively rub at his chest, but it was too late.

It struck her that the boy would probably fuck both of them. It wasn’t exactly what Emma wanted, but everything about her was a hot mess of drugs and need and music, and if she had to lick Riley’s pussy, that was something she was prepared to do. She was just about to catch Riley’s eye, and nod assent, when a bull voice bellowed through the music.

“PIZZAS ARE HERE!”

“Oh, thank god, I’m fucking starving,” the man said. He turned away from both of them. Most of the men did, their bodies needing a lot of things, but carbohydrates first and foremost.

The girls watched them go, pussies drooling and bereft.

“But, my nipples,” Emma said, to his back.

Alex wandered by, confused, and they turned to him, instead.

January 20, 11:06 p.m.

Lily gradually came to with a penis on top of her.

It was floppy and warm, and was nestled between her breasts. There was a lot of weight on her, but it was pleasant, like being underneath a weighted blanket that smelled extremely good. And underneath her was all cushion. She shifted, percolating in a happy, hot moment. Her dreams were fleeing, but they were definitely hot—her thighs were soaked.

There was a penis in her tits.

Her eyes popped open. A naked man was on top of her, asleep. His chest hairs poked at her face, like she was sleeping in a carpet. It should’ve hurt, except underneath her was the girlfriend, and her oversized boobs were keeping them all supported.

“What the fuck?” her lips said. She didn’t want to wake the boy. What the hell had happened? Her mind was soggy chunks of memory. Lily recalled watching the two go at it, her own skirt hiked up, her fingers slipping in and out of her pussy. No—that couldn’t be right. And then she’d something something ended up sandwiched between them. Her face was sticky. A lot of her was sticky.

She was in an entirely different room, among other things. This was someone’s bedroom. A bunkbed, faded rattan rug, bookshelf with the books sorted by color. Computers were on, with the monitors on some sort of screensaver that was mostly flashes and sparks.

It was soothing to look at. Maybe she could just… fall asleep… and wake up back in her dorm room. And not an inexplicable middle to this… madness. How had they all fallen asleep, on top of each other?

The man grunted. He moved just slightly, and every single one of his chest hairs wiped sweat on her. It smelled like wood polish and baseball games. Lily caught a tinge of salt on her tongue. She could’ve, perhaps, laid there peacefully, until the penis started growing at her.

The shaft rose upwards, turning rose-red, and perking up from between her boobs. Lily stared at it. Part of her said: let it grow right into your mouth, and suck it. It was right there, a beautiful flower, and she just had to open her lips and stick out her tongue. The rest of her life would be taken care of.

But then the boy shifted, and she was squirted out from between the couple, deposited onto a never-swept wooden floor. The girl gave a coo of happy surprise when the dick found her, instead.

“I need to get out of here,” Lily thought.

She rose, unsteady, and tried to ignore the big wet patch between her legs. She was still basically clothed. She just had to… ignore the sticky parts of her. Ignore how heavy and full her tits felt. Certainly ignore how she’d drunk, what, seven or eight beers? And yet didn’t have to pee at all—it was all sloshing around her chest. And possibly some in her butt.

She tried not to freak out, but it was a challenge when looking down was a whole new view. She didn’t used to have boobs like those. She could see her feet, previously. Everything felt strange and hot and part of her wanted to slide back in to the happy couple bed and close her eyes. Except they were now going at it once more.

“Get out of here,” Lily told herself. Just get back to the dorm.

She had to push through the second floor, which meant putting her hands on a lot of hot, moving bodies. Everyone was having an amazing time. And there was more beer. It was a maze of hands, finding ways between men riding up behind girls, cocks nestled between ass cheeks, couples locked into each other. Some of the duos were at risk of going daisy-chain, hands pulling in some other pair of tits. Lily squirmed between them. It was sauna level heat, and sauna level damp. Making it to the top of the staircase was an accomplishment that left her breathless and horny, her legs shaking. There’d been so many fingers on her rear. She was panting, and not from exhaustion.

It was far, far worse down below.

Every inch was taken up by skin. It was hard to tell gender from gender, everyone a wiggling body of beers, body parts, and music. Taking up the entire floor, the only thing they all had in common was moving in partial time to the music. It was at full blast.

“Fuck my cunny / fuck me silly / fuck me nice and wet and willing,” the voice somehow managed to simper in song. Lily took a deep breath. That was a mistake too—there was a rich cloud of pheromones and other chemicals floating around the crowd. They were all getting high off each other. The crowd needed each other. The smell made a memory surface—Lily, on her knees, crawling towards the man in the game room, his girlfriend urging her forwards. “Come on, suck it, we’ll do it together!” she’d said, as Lily had wobbled forwards, speechless. “Suck!”

No, that hadn’t happened. The crust on her face was… anything else. And she’d probably fallen between the twosome by mistake, over her own shoelaces, or something. She was fine, and just had to walk down a flight of stairs, through a room, and she’d be out. She could DO this.

Lily whimpered, deep in her throat, and went in.

It was like walking through warm honey. There were just so many boys and girls, packed too closely together to do anything besides move to the rhythm. Lily found herself slotted in, her ass up against some guy’s dick, her tits glued to some other girl’s warm boobs. Any spare space was taken up by sweet-smelling pink beer, or someone tossing a ring of candy around. There were even glowsticks now, flashing ones that sent their light deep inside her mind.

It was the scent that really got to her. It was a fug of overactive pheromones, so many people pumping glands they didn’t know they had under the influence of the most nefarious drugs. Not just one eager male shunting chemicals into her face, but dozens of them, sporting new and growing erections, spurting fuck-me signals from every pore.

She was lost and disoriented almost right away, and it didn’t help that something was rubbing up against her pussy. Looking down, Lily found it was her own hand. But of course it wasn’t that simple. She’d put it there in a half-assed attempt to keep herself pure, but her hand was caught against some co-ed’s rhinestone skirt, and all of them were grooving and shaking to the sound.

“Rub me raw and red / rub me nice and nightly!”

Lily took deep breaths of salty-sweet air.

God, she was so fucking horny.

It was tough, soaking in the hormones of fifty-plus men, all of them full-blast determined to fuck. Her body did the best it could, dribbling her wet for the many dicks it anticipated. Her hips floated apart even as she danced, readying for pricks to find their way in between her legs, one after another. Her skin was pricked taut, waiting to be stroked and touched, her heart beating as fast as it could to keep the blood flowing. There was a whole party of new endorphins waiting, like balloons in the rafters, ready to cascade down the moment she started to cum. It was all very exhausting, being remade for breeding, and it was so easy to fall into the music, letting it take over her thoughts.

“I’m a pretty pink pussy slut,” Lily told the nearest boy. No, that wasn’t—but saying it out loud set off wonderful sparks. It was hard to remember that she’d gotten up that morning in kitten pajamas, had blown out a booger with one hand, had read an essay on politics. Now someone was finally, finally stripping her skirt off. She’d lost her purse awhile ago, left it upstairs. So that was a no-go on the condom.

The crowd had reached a point where penetration on the dance floor was not just okay, but expected. It was kind of a slow dance—girls would climb aboard a dick, and then ride it, facing forwards, while the man jackhammered standing. All in the time of the beat, which made it okay. A boy stepped forwards in a momentary gap, his eyes shiny, pants around his ankles. His cock led the way, bright red and already dripping.

Behind him was the door outside. It seemed simple. She’d get on board his dick, ride it, and then walk out, full of cum. He was so hard he was shaking, his cock already spitting white onto the increasingly-slick floor. She helped him slide in, and the balloons dropped, all at once.

Of course she never saw him again, although her first kid had red hair. For the most part she was a dutiful housewife—meeting her assigned man at the door, mouth open, tummy plump and thick. Naked under an apron, the very picture of the new system. Of course she fucked other men, or anyone who stopped by, but there was something comforting about fucking the same cock, learning what it liked, treating it like a god.

But when her husband was away on business, Lily would drop the kids off, get dressed in shiny pink and neon yellow, and get absolutely bathed in jism at a dance party.

She never really lost the rhythm. Her husband told her she hummed it in her sleep.

January 20, 11:26 p.m.

Geller was stuck underneath two mostly naked girls, and there was a third one on the floor, her hand still buried up her pussy. It didn’t seem possible for a woman to be unconscious like that—her hand should’ve fallen out. He seemed to have briefly passed out himself.

Alison had spent a long time trying to find him, munching on every fruit flavor of candy there was. She’d been through a number of bananas, a grape, any number of limes, searching room by room, being jostled by half-naked women. His room had been empty except for three wet spots on the couch. The search had gotten confusing. At some point she had a vague memory of drinking a beer while a guy put his hand on her ass. Although that couldn’t be right.

But at last, she’d finally found him.

Alison expected to feel an enormous surge of righteous fury. This was about as compromising a scene as could be imagined. The air reeked of weed, and her BOYFRIEND literally had pussy juice dribbled all over him. He was in the middle of trying to carefully pull the girls off him when Alison had showed up. Their tits covered his face. She told herself: sniff once, derisively, and then turn around and shut the door. Not slammed. Simply close it.

And yet… it was really good to see her boyfriend, even if he was covered in cooze.

She felt immediately safer, certainly, in the thumping, alien party the house had turned into. He’d protect her and take care of her, Alison could feel it deep inside of her. He was her man and if she clung to him, he would make everything okay. Not only that, he was HER boyfriend. They’d fucked all over. It should be her big boobs mashing into his face, her overactive cunny juicing all over his thighs. Alison nervously bit at her candy necklace. This one was lemon-lime. It was comforting. Her mouth was so juicy it was hard to talk.

“Alison,” Geller said, in the hopeless, defeated voice of caught boyfriends. “I.. I can’t explain, actually. There’s no possible explanation.”

“Just push them over,” Alison said, swallowing spit. “They don’t weigh anything. And they’re all plush.”

It was a test, and Geller passed. He unceremoniously stood up, letting a pile of tits and ass fall onto the floor. They both stared at the girls. All of them had happy grins, and seemed to be giggling at something, while they slept.

“I’m very stoned and confused so whatever you want to do is fine,” Geller said. “Slap me around.”

He was tall and so adorable when he was sad. It was reassuring that his pants were still on. Alison reached out, touching at his pants. “That’s not theirs,” she said, surprising herself. She gripped as much dick as she could. “Correct?”

“Of course not,” Geller said. They eyed each other, seeing opportunity. Geller’s dick was rock hard in her grasp. She could feel it pulse and pound, big and heavy. Alison flushed, her own thighs damp. The first thing to do was erase those damn hussies from her boyfriend’s memory, cover his dick with her lubricant and squeeze. Never ever let it go, not really. They needed to smell like each other. But then one of the girls on the floor shivered and moaned, somehow cumming while still asleep, and it snapped the idea. She reluctantly let go of his cock.

“Kim,” Alison said. “They brought Kim up here. We gotta… find Kim.”

Holding Geller’s hand was no substitute for his penis, but it would have to do. The sugar ate away steadily at the part of her that cared. She was getting high from the secondary smoke still floating around. “She has to be nearby.”

“Kim, your roommate? She’s here too?”

“Everyone’s here. She ate cotton candy and it made her orgasm. Something is going ON, Geller! Something super strange and weird and fucked up.” His eyes were examining her tits, greedy for them. Alison couldn’t fight the urge to hoist them up to admire. Their bodies ached to fuck. They had already been pretty good at it, and now it was all heightened with a chemical edge.

“She’s somewhere upstairs,” Alison managed, pushing her libido back. “This huge guy brought her upstairs for sure, but by the time I got up here she was—”

Geller fondled her tits, thinking. It was in lieu of what he really wanted to do, which was bang her senseless. “Maybe they broke into the attic. We boarded it up but there’s a huge space up there.” Huge space was enough to make him thinking: Alison had to be so wet. He could practically smell her, even over the dank. “Lets go. This party is getting out of hand.”

It was, in fact, easy to find. There was a small door off to the side of the third floor, which led to an unused room a bit too big to be a closet, a bit too small to be a room. And then from there into the rafters on the north side of the building, partially furnished. Someone had easily broken the door in. The lock was surrounded by raw broken wood.

Inside was a triage and resupply station, set up and staffed by bimbos in nurse outfits. Two of them, in white linens that were clean but otherwise fully whore-nurse. They had ruby-red lipstick and polished white faces, and had even bothered with smooth blonde curls. The nearest one was carefully stroking the cock of a fraternity bro on the floor.

“Just let it out,” she cooed, as the man thrust at the ceiling. “I know, its getting so nice and big, isn’t it? I know its all very sudden but once you have a nice healthy cum you’ll feel so much better. This is just your plumbing getting set up—oh, there you go!”

The boy was a geyser. Cum shot out and up, spattering the nurse on her carefully arrayed hat. She kept stroking, expectant, until the jizz slowed to a mere fast drizzle. “There you go,” she said, cheerfully. “We’ll get you on top of one of these girls in a moment. You okay now?”

The boy managed a nod. His dick was enormous, and he was still clearly orgasming. It was like a brass rod. Geller’s dick throbbed in time, and he put his arm around Alison. She was his.

“There! There’s Kim,” Alison said. There were well over a dozen co-eds in the room, all of them half-naked and most of them cumming to some degree. The room smelled like rafters and fiberglass insulation and also a deep, animal scent, loaded with chemical markers. It told Geller that he should roughly breed Alison. He snorted, involuntarily, his dick aching underneath his pants. “God damn it, Alex,” he muttered, drawing it in.

Kim was face down on top of a bean bag chair stolen from someone’s room. The second nurse was patting her back, and gave them a cheerful, unworried smile as they approached. “She’s coming in fast. It’s the cotton candy. Powerful stuff.”

“Kim, holy shit,” Alison said, coming around.

Her roommate had sprouted enormous tits in the space of about an hour. They hung down just a little despite gravity doing its best, and were roughly spherical. Her nipples looked painfully erect. “What did they do to you?”

“It’s her milk,” the nurse said, sympathetic. “It came in a bit fast. Sometimes it comes in before the nipples are ready. Actually, why don’t you express her?” She caught Alison’s expression. “Oh, she’ll be fine! She’ll be just fine. Everyone here is just catching up to their own bodies, it’s perfectly safe. For the most part.”

Geller looked around. The first nurse was in the process of gently guiding her still-erect patient to fuck one of the girls on the ground, one with platinum blonde hair that seemed to be growing out as he looked. Most of the girls were just playing with their tits, mashing them back and forth as they almost visibly expanded. He could smell how turned on they were. His nostrils flared wide open.

“It’ll help if you fuck them,” the first nurse called out. She was in the process of positioning her boy, who was still shooting ropes. “Gets everything nice and synced up. VERY healthy.”

“Kim, are you okay?” Alison said. Kim’s boobs, never particularly impressive, nearly outsized her head. Kim had her eyes squeezed closed. Her nipples quivered. “Do you, uh, should I? Your boobs?”

“Squeeze my tits, Alison, for fuck’s sake!” Kim gasped.

She didn’t even need to squeeze. Alison’s hesitant, unsure touch let the milk loose. It was far too frothy and rich and glue-white. Alison had seen plenty of breast milk before—she’d worked maternity trying to get into college. This was a sputtering cream tap, soaking the dusty floorboards.

Just in case she wasn’t freaked out enough, Kim started to cum. Her moans hurt Alison’s ears.

“Oh, that’s very good,” the nurse said, admiring the flow. She put her hands over Alison’s, setting her palms firmly on Kim’s teats. “What a producer she’ll be! It makes me feel sad about my own boobies!” They were wobbly and enormous in the nurse costume.

Alison, caught between the boobs, yanked away. Just as she was about to say—no. This is madness. The scent hit her. It was very wholesome. Intoxicating like a trip for ice cream as a kid, with the same contentment. Better than actually drinking it—except she was drinking it, licking her cream-slathered hands clean. Alison made a noise very deep in her throat. Dimly, very dimly, she realized the nurse was rubbing her pussy. It was a distant fourth in the things happening to her body, and she didn’t have the energy to focus on it.

Geller had gotten glued to a trio of asses in the air. It looked like someone had gone through every room in the house for pillows, propping the girls up on top with their heads gently leaning to the sides. There were three in a row, mildly different shades, and they smelled so good he was unable to move.

It was pussy-scent, triple. The purest, nastiest perfume, and it was crashing the inside of his head, making way for new instincts. His body was flooded with testosterone and close-but-not-quite equivalents. He’d become lightheaded, his cock getting most of the blood flow. His brain was getting remodeled anyway, and hardly needed a ton of oxygen for what it needed. He just had to fuck.

“Its a lot, isn’t it?” The first nurse said, sympathetic. “They’ll have to go to the backwoods, poor girls. You can’t get anything done with them around.”

Geller’s tongue was thick with spit and unable to sound out words. All three girls had lubricant dribbling out of them, oddly thick, and slightly golden. He could tell how it would feel deep inside them, bottomed out, that warm slick eddying around his cock. If he tried to not fuck them his brain would break, he was sure of it. The nurse helped him pull his cock out. It was barely recognizable as his, surrounded by dense, thick hair. He would’ve plunged in already, but there were three of them, and choosing was more then he could do.

Through his tunnel vision he saw his girlfriend lean back into the second nurse, drooling while her tits were fondled.

He willed his legs to move, and was able to shuffle them away. Both nurses looked surprised. Geller picked up Alison, only mildly aware of how light she seemed, and inserted her onto his dick. She smelled like milk and sweat, but it was better then the cock fuel transforming him into something bestial. Milk was all over her, spattering his dick as he started to slam it in and out.

Under the circumstances, it was the best move he could make.

January 20, 9:02 p.m.

“Not them,” Sarah said, when the music found its way inside. “Not the nerds. No way.”

“Can’t be,” Patrick told her. “They were the only good ones. I think they almost called the cops to have us keep it down, that night we played scrabble and you lost.”

“This was going to be the weekend! THE weekend!” Sarah was upset. She threw her book down. It was a hardcover from at least forty years ago, one they’d salvaged together from a used bookstore. The spine cracked against the hardwood. Patrick winced.

It wasn’t clear who had suggested the neighborhood, although they each suspected the other. Sarah had picked up her assistant professor job and brought Patrick along as an instructor. Which meant, as the power dynamics played out, he had responsibility for house shopping, but she had the bank account.

The real mistake was house shopping on a Sunday autumn morning, in the 9-11 a.m. window when the hazy harvest sun brightly lit the leaves, and all the frat bros were too hung over to go outside. They’d admired the stately old buildings, talked themselves out of any concern regarding the big greek letters out front.

Then the parties had started.

“I’ll go take a look,” Patrick said. “There IS a curfew.” They’d played a role in that. Patrick felt mildly bad about narcing, but an entire pledge class had been forced to stand during his morning class, owing to painful ass injuries. He’d made a concerned citizen call to the police.

“Hurry back,” Sarah said. Patrick wasn’t super sure why. Sarah had made such a huge deal about a noise-free weekend, and then they’d spent it….reading. True, they were both professors—she slightly more then he—but they were also just around 30. There was room for excitement. And maybe just a single thank-you blowjob for ratting out the fraternities.

“Fine,” Patrick said.

January 20, 9:32 p.m.

“You brought back BEER?” Sarah said. She’d given up on reading. She idly clicked through on TV, but they’d prided themselves on cutting the cord entirely. It was just hundreds of channels of static. Netflix wasn’t working right for some reason. Nonetheless, the fuzz was soothing.

“Evidence,” Patrick said, defensive. “Curfew evidence. Music goes away, beer stays around.”

She peered at it. “Its pink,” Sarah noted. “What the heck is that about?”

“Its a…” Patrick had to admit it. “Not a bad party all considering. Especially considering its pure gothic in there. There’s probably a hidden victorian sex dungeon.”

“The Victorians rarely hid their sex dungeons, they just called them Female Spaces. Honey, I notice you’re drinking the beer.”

“Free beer,” Patrick said. “It’s a lambic, maybe? Strawberry notes? Cherry?”

Sarah sniffed it. She finally took a sip. Then another sip. “All I taste is pink,” she said.

“Good, though,” she had to concede.

January 20, 10:22 p.m.

The walls shuddered. The music had gone up another notch. “Is this K-Pop?” Patrick said. “What the fuck?”

“The cops?” Sarah said. She’d given up on putting her head under a pillow. Actually, it was a little bit catchy. She wasn’t THAT far removed from bopping out to boy bands, was she? That was only… a decade ago, but a mild one. She wasn’t even close to 35, much less 40. Her hips still remembered how to move.

“Yeah. I called. They said they’re handling it. Maybe they’re there now. I’ll go check.” He’d just kept his jacket on after the last trip. Free beer was free beer. They’d both filled up on the pink stuff. It never stopped tasting like pink, to Sarah, but it also never stopped tasting good as hell.

“Bring back more beer,” she said, and burped. He gave her a thumbs up.

It was just her and the music. She’d wandered into the bathroom to pee, and it had followed Sarah there, too. Even the static on TV seemed to be hopping around to it, jumping with each warbling teeny-bopper note. The lyrics were just at the edge of hearing—something that ended with -ussy. Hussy?

Maybe it was a mistake, throwing her husband at the biggest banger of the year. All those hot little hussies bored and horny, and him an older-but-not-that-older man. Slutty co-eds practically begging to be bent over. The static on the TV bopped in rhythm. Sarah slid her fingers underneath the blanket. She could be wet too, if it came down to it. God, they hadn’t fucked in weeks, had they? And now that she was getting drunk and turned on he was out around sexy girls. Her hubby was out there staring up the skirts of nubile 19 year olds. Bad move.

Her finger came out soaking. Sarah hummed along to the music.

“The cops are there, and they’ve joined in,” Patrick reported, slamming the door. He tossed off his jacket. Sarah admired his arms. Not bad, husband.

“Wait, really?”

“Everyone is having fun. It’s a hell of a party. I think we’re just gonna have to wait it out and file lawsuits in the morning. Here, I got you something.” He had it behind his back and held it out. It was a massive lollipop, in every color of the rainbow.

January 20, 11:42 p.m.

“Patrick, you don’t get horny for your students, right?” Sarah said.

They were cozy and lazy underneath the blanket. It was probably stupid to sit there watching static pop and crackle, but it was… comforting. Patrick had been rubbing her thighs for the past five minutes and Sarah was so horny she could scream.

‘Whoa, whoa,” Patrick said. “No. I am horny for my wife.”

“I don’t mean, you’re cheating or anything,” Sarah said. She knew she should be stroking him back, but the lollipop was really, really good. She’d licked through half of it. Her tongue should’ve been worn raw. Instead it felt… really good. “Just that, you know, they’re ummmmm…” the word eluded her. She giggled. “They’re hotties! They’re like peak hot.”

His fingers finally found her pussy, and she sighed, contented. “It’s okay if you do,” she whispered. “They have such nice bodies. Big boobs, big butts. You can look.”

“Are you fishing for compliments?” Patrick said. “Want me to say, I only have eyes for my sexy wife’s ass?”

“Mmmmmaybe,” Sarah giggled again.

“Then you better blow me.”

It came out of left field. Sarah stopped licking. “What?” He withdrew his fingers, and she ached from it.

“Blow me. You want me to say how hot you are? Prove it. Suck me off.” He wasn’t kidding. He threw the blanket off the two of them. To be fair, his dick was struggling with his fly. “We haven’t fucked in weeks.”

“Umm.. lets fuck then!” Sarah said, trying to smile it away.

“I could go outside and get a co-ed to suck me off, right now,” Patrick said. “Maybe two.” He loomed, next to her. “I’ll have all sorts of compliments for you. After you. Blow. Me.”

It was pure authority and wasn’t making Sarah any less wet. Her mouth was sticky-sweet with candy, and no matter how hard she swallowed, it wasn’t going anywhere. The music soothed her—he deserved a nice suck. This was her husband. He hadn’t gotten a blowjob in months, and that was a sad perfunctory licking. He was her big strong husband and if he wanted to he could face-fuck any girl on campus. Sarah fell onto her knees. Her blood throbbed.

His dick was so big. “Put your mouth on it, and the compliments will begin,” Patrick said. She tentatively put her mouth on the knob. It wasn’t very dignified for a full professor. “There you go. You have a great blowjob mouth.” Her knees quivered. But he was right—she had really wanted that compliment. “Keep sucking, it feels amazing. Get me deeper in your mouth. God, what a fantastic mouth you have.”

This was definitely going to alter the relationship dyna—dyna—and then Sarah didn’t have room to think over a mouthful of cum.

January 21, 3:12 a.m.

He’d been gone for a long time. Sarah was having a rough time keeping track of time, or keeping track of anything, but there were clues. The lollipop was 100% gone, for one. She’d sucked it down to the stick, then sucked the stick, and only then, with regret, tossed it aside. Her mouth no longer tasted one bit like Patrick cum, which was really starting to bother her.

She passed the time with her hands between her legs. Sarah had her feet up on the couch, naked from the waist down, fingering away. The test pattern quivered and rumbled to the beat. Another clue was just how much drool she’d put on her tanktop. A lot. The last batch of it was a mild pink. It probably should’ve concerned her, but her fingers were doing a good job bringing on orgasms.

“I’m back,” Patrick said.

“Patrick!” Sarah lit up, pleased. “Ohmygod I was getting worried! I went to call your cell but there were so many numbers and I was like, whoa! And—oh.”

There was someone else. She walked in behind Patrick, enormous tits slung in a blue tanktop not too unlike Sarah’s. She had the same look, honestly, like Sarah minus ten years. Brown hair in a ponytail, smooth, New England looks, sapphire eyes. Patrick had his hand on her ass to steady her.

“This is Dianne, from my morning section,” Patrick said. He was shirtless, his body shiny from the mist. It defined all his nice new muscles.

“Hi!” Dianne chirped. She seemed half-drunk. Sarah tried to stop touching herself. This was important. Her husband had brought home a younger model. She really needed to stop touching her pussy. Any second now.

“She looked lost,” Patrick said, as an explanation for adding her to the marriage. He unzipped his fly, casual. Dianne immediately dropped to her knees. Her husband took his time easing his dick out. No wonder he’d been gone so long—he’d been busy growing a nice big dick. Sarah had forgotten the word ‘girth’ a few cums ago, but it would’ve helped.

Dianne opened her mouth. God damn slut, Sarah thought. Diving right on.

“Ah-ah,” her husband put up his hand. “That dumb little bimbo over there gets first lick. IF she gets her ass over here immediately. Right now.”

Sarah didn’t need to be told. She tumbled to the floor—his floor, she reminded herself. His house. His nice big dick, bobbing against her lips.

“What’s the word?” Patrick said, holding it up, like it was a box of cereal and she was a disobedient girl.

“Please, sir,” Sarah said.

It didn’t last long, any sort of wifely priority. Patrick fucked whoever was convenient, whoever had their ass closer, whoever could double-time faster on their knees for a fresh batch of jizz. After awhile, softened and knocked up, it was hard to recall what being a wife meant, and which of them had arrived first. But there were compensations—Dianne was such a fun girl, always happy, even if she never really had time to leave the house. Too much chores and Patrick to do.

In the future Sarah would find her wedding ring and blink at it, trying to remember what it made her sort of recall.

But at the moment, it meant first dibs on a shiny new dick.

January 21, 12:44 a.m.

“I kind of think this party is getting out of hand,” Alex said. He paused between bites of pizza. He was close to tears. “I think its actually a BAD party.”

“Noooooooo,” Emma said. At some point in the past…. time period... a boy being sad had gone from mildly amusing to deeply upsetting. She felt an enormous urge to do whatever it took to make Alex feel better. Anything. Whatever it took. “It’s a really impressive party. And your first one!”

“I’m having a lot of fun,” Riley told him, rubbing his shoulders. They were on either side of him, still eyeing each other warily. “Super fun great good party.”

They’d retreated to Alex’s room and locked the door. The music did its best to get in through the keyhole, but it was blocked by a full two floors of people. A llittle bit of sense had returned to Emma. She’d managed to close her legs, at least.

“That’s nice of you to say, Riley,” Alex said. He shook his head, crestfallen. A coat of highly attractive stubble had sprouted on his chin. Emma was extremely into it. He looked like an early-model action hero. “But there’s a bunch of weirdos floating around and they basically said they’re transforming everyone into like… sex monsters. Horny fuck monsters. Like the entire party.”

There was nothing to say to that. Emma was trying hard to be concerned about it—SHE was at the party, after all. But she’d never been in a boy’s room before and it was really really interesting. There was such a thrill in intruding on a man’s stuff. Alex’s male jeans in a ball on the floor, the unkempt bed that smelled exactly like Alex, the desk with all his guy knick-knacks.

And then there was Alex himself, who was right next to her, and currently eating an entire pizza. It was a manly pizza, to boot—layered with all sorts of meats. The slices were disappearing one by one into him, while the girls sympathetically rubbed at his biceps. Their man was hungry.

“I mean a lot of parties have people fucking and stuff,” Emma said. “Drunk and fuck. Riley even gave us c-o-n-d-a-m-s in case we wanted to fuck tonight, and we haven’t, even one time, even though we totally could’ve.”

“I could’ve,” Riley said. They exchanged glares while Alex sank another beer.

Emma stuck her hand in her third bag of chips. They each had a different flavor and each one so far had been irresistible. Her tits ached inside of her sweater, hungry to get let out. The only good news was, her lips felt very very good each time she put something through them. It did give some credence to Alex’s ‘bimbo fuck party’ theory that she shuddered with wet need each time she ate a fuckin potato chip.

Riley was far more than wrist deep into an enormous bag of popcorn, her mouth full, but still pulled a march on her. “Ummmm… Alex… I think there might be something about that. My tits have been feeling super enormous.”

Damn her! But it was a brilliant move, Emma had to admit. Why hadn’t she just agreed with him? “Here, take a look,” Riley offered. She yanked her shirt up.

“Jesus christ,” Alex whispered. It was a fair response. Emma was no expert on Riley’s boobs, but there was no way she had walked in with those. They were gigantic, the nipples swollen and pink-tipped. They strained at Alex. The jaw with all the adorable stubble on it hung wide open.

“Mine too,” Emma said, too little, too late. She felt a twinge, looking down. Actually, her titties were extremely big. How had she not picked up on this? Somehow, over the past few hours, she had developed gigantic boobs, with nipples she didn’t even recognize. It was hard to be concerned, however, when Alex tore his eyes away from Riley to examine hers as well.

“Looks like I got a lil more boob juice then you,” Riley said, smugly.

“Yeah… yeah, the beer…” Alex whispered. He was starting to sweat. It wasn’t making him any less fuckable. “Beer gave you these… huge fucking AMAZING tits….”

“Its my lipsh too,” Emma said, only a little exaggerating the lisp. “They feel sho good when I touch them. Ohmygod Alex, you’re so smart. We really are turning into big dumb bimbos.”

She blinked. They all perked up. A cold wind briefly blew the hornies out of the room. “Oh fuck we really are.” Emma said. “Oh shit.”

They stared at each other, momentarily undergraduates again. It was hard to hold on to that sense of worry. Emma and Riley covered the awkward silence with big handfuls of pretzels. Emma, at least, was desperate for calories. No wonder, if her boobs were getting that big in the course of a night. And probably her lips took some work. Something occurred to her, pushing the realization of incipient fucktoy status to the back of her list. “Oh shit, is my ass getting really big too? I got a skirt on so I don’t know if I can tell.” She humped up and down on her butt, experimentally. “It feels squishier.”

“Probably,” Alex said, still unhappy. Nonetheless he reached out to stroke Riley’s tits. They looked like they wanted to be played with, and she reacted to his tugging on a nipple with crossed-eyed delight.

“Umm, you guys, you probably shouldn’t do,” Emma burped, long and loud. “Excuse me. That. If there really is some weird stuff going on.” She felt underneath herself. It definitely felt like a heftier butt than before.

“Alex, what should we do?” Riley said, as he reluctantly pulled his hand free. It was a huge mental relief for Emma to put it on the man. It freed her up to admire his room. She really felt like she was getting to know Alex. He had two video game posters up, one of them all the Smash characters, with notations written on the character list. That was interesting. The other was a skeleton dude in armor giving a thumbs up. So he had his own room, he threw the BEST parties, and he knew how to decorate.

“Alex, I want you to know, I fuckin loved your party,” Emma said. He reopened his eyes—Alex had scrunched them shut, apparently trying to eke some thoughts out of his brain. What a trooper he was. “I’m having the best time, I’m making friends, the entire fuckin college is here, Riley and Lily and—where is Lily?”

Downstairs, Lily opened her eyes wide as a ten inch dick unloaded down her throat.

“It’s just—it’s great! And I know there’s some weird stuff and we have super juicy pussies now but hey! I had fun.” She snarfed another mouthful of corn derivatives.

“Where’d all this food come from?” Riley said.

They looked around. There were two pizza boxes, almost all of which was inside Alex, and at least a dozen cheap plastic wrappers filled with snacks, all of which were inside Riley and Emma. They had to have eaten over ten thousand calories easy. The wrappers had pink labeling and were greasy on the inside and out.

“Oh crap,” Alex said. “That’s not good.”

Emma was still munching away, greasy soggy chunks halfway down her throat. She wanted to stop them, but she’d already swallowed. So all three of them had loaded up with a feast of unquestionably-sinister snack goods. Alex especially. He’d inhaled nearly two entire large pizzas. In retrospect, they didn’t even have anything written on the box. It was blank cardboard. That should’ve been a clue.

“Alex,” Emma said, very slowly. “Are you growing a really big penis?”

He flushed, and both girls stared at his crotch. No wonder he was cross-legged and giving them both pained looks. All of those drugged calories were going straight into his dick. He was probably getting bigger with each breath.

“You should let it out,” Riley urged. “Let it be free. Let it be free, Alex!”

“You gotta,” Emma said. Her spit tasted sweet. That couldn’t be normal. “Alex, let it out. Holy shit.”

“I can’t,” Alex said, stubborn. “I don’t want to know. And we’re all chock full of crud. I bet you’re gonna want to suck it.”

The two girls sat back on their heels, crestfallen. They both really wanted to see, smell, touch that dick. It was important.

At that moment Riley finally proved herself to Emma as a roommate and fuck buddy.

“We’ve got CONDOMS!” she said.

It was true. Emma had lost her purse at some point along with her phone and ID and all her money. But Riley still had hers, the strap lost in her tits, and there inside was a purple wrapper with a comforting DUREX slogan. “We’ll put this on the penis,” she explained, excited. “Then it’ll be protected from us! And you can’t dump cum all over our big titties!”

It was all the urging Alex needed. His cock hurt something terrible, and his brain was getting impatient with reasons why not to fuck these two stupid sluts. They were in his room, for god’s sake. Each was fertile and sending out fuck-me pheromones in great chemical clouds. He yanked down his pants.

It was incredible. A fiery red, all throughout the shaft, but far more than just a prong full of blood. It was craggy but stately, the veins giving it heft. It was clearly the most important thing about Alex. For the rest of his life he was going to be secondary to his own cock.

“Don’t touch it,” Alex warned them, breaking his own rule. He gripped the underside, possessive. It immediately spat out the first of many loads of jizz. “Oh, jeez. What the hell was that?”

“I’ll, uh, get the condom on it,” Riley said. Emma made a half-hearted effort to resist its pull. It was just a foot or two from her mouth. There was no going back from opening wide and letting it drool down her throat. Everything else could be excused as a bad trip, a weird party, something she’d have to detox from over a bad sunday morning. Her head under the pillow as her tits de-expanded. Letting a man jizz all over her with chemically-enhanced cum was a line in the sand that she had to fight for. “This was just gonna be a dumb night out,” she whispered, to herself.

Riley took the tiny disc of rubber and raised it up to the cockhead. The instant she touched it it jizzed all over her. The condom flew away, defeated, and slid under the bed.

“Well, shit,” Alex said, defeated.

“No, it’s uh…” Riley had gotten some in her mouth. Whatever she had eaten before, it was apparently nothing as good as this. “Uh. Holy shit.” Emma’s roommate sat back down, hard. Her hands moved between her legs. “Alex this tastes so good.”

Emma took a last look out the window. There was a hint of a moon behind the dark grey clouds. They could’ve stayed in. True, Riley would’ve been obnoxious about it. But she would’ve stayed a sassy, insecure roommate, and Emma would’ve stayed a normal college co-ed, and they wouldn’t be about to get soaked in sperm by a rapidly mutating penis.

But on the other hand, while Riley was distracted, she could suck Alex’s dick until he coated her throat with a gallon of the bestest, most wonderful tasting spermies ever, and then he could fuck her on his bed. She opened her nice new lips and waddled forwards. The party wasn’t over.

January 21, 1:03 a.m.

“The Boss wants to talk to you,” Connor said. He held out a cell phone at arms-length. Even the phone looked menacing—it wasn’t one of the bright pink cheapo jobs they handed out to soon-to-be sluts. The ones with a vibrator feature that could make a girl cum herself stupid. This was a sleek metallic grey.

Grace didn’t recognize the man on the other end of the video link, but her body did. It rose to full attention, pumping even more hormones into the thick gunk that passed for her bloodstream. She shuddered, orgasming from the mere look of his features.

Alan watched her, then turned his attention to the boss.

“Heya Dad,” Alan said.

“Alan, what is this?” Dad said. Groggy, Grace picked herself up. They’d gone down into the depths of the house, the only place partially free of sex gunk and shrieking couples. And not really—as lust-crazed as they were, couples still liked to fuck in the dark. The darkness was full of satisfied, breathy moans.

“A party?” Alan said.

“It’s a mess. The entirety of your assigned college is on their way to becoming freshly minted bimbos and studs. I am this close to declaring Operation Bull and letting the chips fall as they may. I have no clue how this could be cleaned up.”

“Why would you hesitate?” Alan said. He sounded surprised. Grace trailed behind him, one hand on her master’s back. She tried not to look at the phone. Just the man’s deep, growly voice was making her pussy quiver. “Do it. In one night, with a standard staff, we changed an entire college. All the music, the candies, the beer, the everything. It’s ready. It’s all ready.”

“You know as well as I do that unless the entire WORLD is ready—”

“They’re ready! I barely had to get any beer into these people and they fell over each other to fuck. We’ve been priming for so long, Dad, the water supply, the TV signals…. it’s TIME, Dad.”

“That’s not your call to make!”

They’d reached the basement. In almost every frat house it would reek of decades of spilled beers, weed particles lost under the floorboards in the 1970s, general dank. Here it was primarily dank, along with musty heaps of old clothes from long ago. There were nearly a dozen couples underneath the light of one single old bulb, fucking away.

“Here, look at this,” Alan said. He walked over to the nearest duo. The girl had messy black hair that spilled down to the sticky concrete floor. She was naked except for a tattered tanktop, and had her teeth clenched. The boy behind her was shoving an increasingly enormous cock inside of her. Alan put the phone right up against where the dick slid into the girl’s pussy.

“I’m well aware of what sex looks like,” Dad said.

“She has her knees bent, ass up in the air, braced. Full on breeding position. And watch what happens when they cum,” Alan said. He handed Grace the phone. She risked a look at the man, through just one eye. It was enough to make her pussy ripple and squeeze, desperate for contact. Alan knelt down and squeezed the girls tits.

She gasped and bucked, pushing back, squeezing as hard as she could. That did the trick on the boy, who grunted, nearly pained, and started to empty out.

“Four hours ago these were boring co-eds. Now they’re BREEDING,” Alan said. He waved the phone at the girl’s pussy. It was true—the boy’s new balls hung heavy and full, and not a drop had spilled out. They clung together fiercely, the boy buried inside of her, his dick quivering and spitting. “You see? I didn’t tell them to do that. They had like four beers and listened to one song, and now she’s pregnant.”

“Wha?” the girl said, muzzy. But she made no effort to move. The boy was half-collapsed on top of her, still weakly emptying out. When he finally withdrew the girl automatically clenched closed. “Lie on your back with your legs up,” Alan told her. She gave him a half-aware look, but complied. Not that it mattered—she was definitely full up with wrigglers.

Grace decided to make a positive contribution by licking the boy clean.

Dad was silent. “Alan, very well. I’ll talk to the others. I need you to come home. Immediately. I’m sending a car. And buses for this impromptu epicenter you’ve created. But be honest with me—did you really intend to force my hand, or were you simply bored?”

Alan pulled the phone back so it could catch all of his shrug. “See you soon, Dad.”

He turned to Grace. “I gotta go,” he told her. “My Dad. Just me.”

Her world collapsed.

He held out his arms.

It wasn’t sucking dick, but Grace appreciated the hug.

January 21, 4:55 a.m.

It would be the best sex they ever had. Alison and Geller both suspected it, deep down, as they rutted in the unoccupied part of the attic. True, they were fucking on an old board suspended over exposed timbers, surrounded by insulation padding. The board rapped up and down with each of Geller’s increasingly heavy strokes.

But they were learning to really, truly, fuck each other senseless, and that was a one-time only experience. Geller would pull her hair back a thousand times as he climaxed, but the FIRST time was a shock that made Alison immediately cum. He would sprawl forwards and grope her tits in mock-exhaustion, squishing her boobs against each other, again and again and again. Only the first time made Alison smile with warm happy feelings: this was her man. And of course the first time he spanked her was extra special.

They’d be together for decades, fucking in every concievable position, at all hours, breeding again and again and again. But never quite like that.

It also helped that they were way overloaded with fuck chemicals and transforming nearly from minute to minute. Geller’s jism at the start was a standard, soggy wet muck. By the end it tasted like cherry candy and had a glossy tint to it. It could and would feed Alison her daily nutritional requirements. For her part, Alison was doubling up on tits with each orgasm.

They finally collapsed, minds briefly free of the need to penetrate and be penetrated. Alison crawled on top of Geller, his dick bobbing between her legs. He was now big enough to serve as an entire mattress. His chest hair smelled like them. It was very comforting.

“I was so mad at you,” she said, playfully.

“Why?” Geller said. He clasped her ass protectively. His.

Alison paused. Trying to retrieve memories sent her into a momentary panic. They were somewhere, they had to be, but—how much had she just fucked away? Wasn’t she some sort of college student?

“I think you were gonna go do math somewhere without me?” she hazarded.

Geller laughed, incredulous. “Why would I do math?” he said, amused. “I’m busy doing you.”

It was the most clever joke he had left in him for the rest of his life.

“Right,” Alison agreed. She felt heavy, tired. Hours of nonstop sex and bimbo transformation were exhausting. She’d sleep on her cozy boy pillow and wake up refreshed. At that moment floodlights shone in through the attic vents.

The music came to a sudden and crashing halt. It had been such a consistent backbeat to everything she’d done that Alison momentarily forgot how to breathe. Every intake and exhalation had been to the unsubtle rhythm of some brainless girl singing about turning into a whore. For a moment she thought—panicky—would she remember how to fuck? How could they find a nice steady fuck beat without the song to guide them?

But then it started again, soothing as a heartbeat, but outside.

“BOYS AND GIRLS, GET ON THE BUS,” a male voice thundered. It was set for maximum authority, and Alison would’ve gone for it instinctually, if she wasn’t in a cloud of Geller.

“What the fuck?” Geller mumbled, sitting up.

“WE HAVE CANDY AND BEER ON THE BUS,” the voice continued. “YOU WILL BE ABLE TO FUCK, ON THE BUS.”

Geller stood up, his cock dangling well below him, still dripping. They had found themselves a nook off to the side of the attic, around the corner from where the overdoses were undergoing nursing care. Geller poked his head around the corner. Gone, all of them, Kim included. They’d left behind settling pools of various fluids, seeping into the wood.

There was a bunch of discarded towels on the ground, nearly the only thing left. Geller tied it around his waist, for modesty. It was sopping wet. Alison, following behind him, got her own little towel bikini. It was probably thick with some other guy’s spunk, but Geller was too worried to care.

“YOU CAN HAVE SEX WHILE YOU BOARD THE BUS,” the voice droned on.

“I don’t like the looks of this,” Geller rumbled. His voice had dropped into a deep baritone.

“I don’t know, fuck bus sounds okay,” Alison said. Neither of them sounded remotely like they used to. Alison frowned at her own voice. She sounded like a breathy slut.

“They’re hauling everyone out. Of my fraternity! Alright, I know what to do. Come on.” When Alison had trouble walking, her hips squeaking from too much sex, he simply swept her up. It was effortless. His body rippled with new muscles. He was starving, and would have to deal with that, but first things first. He was fraternity president, after all.

Outside, intent-looking studs and bimbos were ushering new sluts and hunks downstairs. They were all still mildly dressed in old party clothes, now wet and dripping. They went calmly enough, so long as they could thrust or be thrust into as they moved. “Ignore them,” Geller whispered. They were on the top floor, and he was the only person who knew the combination to the roof.

There was only one room between him and the trap door to the roof, and it happened to be Alex’s. Geller paused.

“God damn it, Alex,” he said, pushing it open.

His fraternity brother was seated on the bed. Two tubby bimbos were on hands and knees next to it, outright slobbering on his outsized dick. They both tittered as he let loose another gush all over their faces.

“Party’s over,” Geller announced, flatly. “We’re getting to the roof, unless you’d rather be on the fuck bus to nowhere.”

Alex stood up, which made it hard for the twosome to suck on his cock. “Girls, girls, come on,” he said, placating. “Lets go. We gotta go.” Geller gave him a solid punch on the arm when he got close. It staggered them both. All the muscle would take a lot of getting used to.

“Good party, asshole,” Geller said.

“I mean, I had fun?” Alex said, weakly. They both lumbered about, Alex naked and Geller nearly so. It was hard to see the spindly nerd in this new hunk and his large dick. Both of them had a lot more chest hair than before.

“Give me that pizza and we’ll call it even,” Geller said. That seemed fair. There was exactly one slice left, and, miraculously, all the spunk now coating his room had missed it. Or seemed to have. Geller ate it in one bite. “Come on.”

The way to the attic was secured by a single padlock. Geller furrowed his brow, let out a low whistle, and tried to think. He was vaguely aware of being simplified, most of his world turned into acting as a pair of legs for his sperm. “You can do this,” he told himself, sternly. He was a man, and men could do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. Veins popped out on his neck.

“Nine nine nine,” he said, exhausted. “I fuckin got it. C’mon.”

Geller went first, still holding Alison, who was leaking all over his shoulders. Alex let his bimbos go second, giving Emma a friendly slap on the ass. She nearly fell into him, legs shaking. Finally all five of them were up on the tar-paper roof. There was little up there—Geller had reserved it for himself. Just a single lawn chair that was angled towards the sunrise. And one tiny potted cactus that had been doing poorly in the greenhouse room. They all stumbled around, tits and ass and dick, vaguely feeling the chill of the night. There was a tiny smudge of light on the far horizon.

Over the side of the house the buses were pulled up in long rows. Most of the party attendees had already been loaded up, and the full buses rocked with concentrated reproductive activity. They were sleek grey buses, high off the ground, and had not a single stripe of pink on them. It was down to the stragglers, the ones so thoroughly dedicated to fucking they couldn’t bear to get onto a bus.

“Oh, its Lily,” Riley murmured. Their roommate was latched on to some big guy, her legs around him, her arms stretched tight. Honestly, it could’ve been any asian girl with new massive tits, but Riley felt certain it was their roomie bouncing up and down as they walked. She had clearly found herself a great guy, given that he could fuck and walk. They were nearly the last ones on the bus.

“Hands and knees,” Alex ordered, losing interest in the buses. He hadn’t really properly fucked his girls, and it felt right to fuck them as the sun rose.

The twosome settled in next to each other, obediently putting their asses up in the air. They kept close to each other, to keep off the chill. “Go easy,” Emma said, “sir. The roof is all rough!”

“Sir,” Riley added, and they both giggled. They gently bumped butts together. They would never really be friends, despite spending decades and decades together. Frenemies, if either of them could’ve remembered the word. Always looking to one up each other—sneaking in for that first blowjob in the morning, angling for that post-dinner fuck, comparing titty sizes each and every day. And if, yes, they would spent hundreds of hours licking each other out, it was just so the other would be too dazed and pleased to go looking for dick.

Alex, behind them, would only hang on to the girls for a few months, before they got passed along, always as a pair. He preferred to just fuck what came along, eventually wandering in to the empty University and setting up his own school “of knockers”.

Geller was tired—thinking of numbers was pure strain—and was grateful when Alison sat him down on the lawn chair and gently climbed onto his dick. They were a rarity in town from then on, a real couple. Certainly they’d fuck other people, hundreds of them, but almost always as a trio or quadruple or in a huge, huge group. The guys loved to rib Geller about it, but he was certain no girl could squeeze his cock like Alison.

He shuddered as she rubbed up and down.

The sun peeked over the horizon.

January 21, 6:33 a.m.

It had finally gone quiet. Philip opened the last of his locks.

It smelled like—a lot of things. “Hello?” he called out, uncertain. A spritz of something biological and deeply troubling, a lot of pizza, and all overlaid with sweet spilled beer. The outside of his door was wet.

“Anyone?”

It had been a long night and he hadn’t gotten any sleep. The idiotic pop music and noise he had blocked out with heavy-duty headphones and blaring techno, also video games. Nonetheless, around 2 even that had palled and he had attempted to go to bed. Lying awake in the sea of noise, the breathy and concerning yells outside his door. For no reason he could think of he’d developed a powerful erection and had jerked off at 4 in the damn morning. His dick was still oddly hard. Finally he’d tossed the headphones back on, started up a movie, and done his best to maintain.

“Anyone there?”

What in the hell had happened? There were discarded red solo cups in every corner, not to mention a ton of lost clothing. T-shirts, bras, and a disconcerting amount of underpants both male and female. There were new holes in the drywall. And it was just bottomline humid—something had dumped moisture into the air. At the top of the staircase were unmistakable cumshots, all in a row. Like there had been an impromptu competition.

It was hard to get into the bathroom—someone had turned it into a warren of left behind damp panties. The lights were broken. Philip got into a stall only to find a half dozen vibrators still in there, all buzzing away. He touched one. It was slick.

“What the fuck?” He managed to get his dick down by concentrating heavily. He hadn’t peed all night. But then it went right back up.

The staircase itself was littered with pizza boxes and what appeared to be candy bracelets. The floor on the bottom level squelched when he walked on it, the grime and fluids deep. He left footprints, and it made his bare feet very tingly. He realized he’d picked up a spare beer. Philip sipped it. It was pinkish.

There was a single person left.

Alan had given her a kiss on the forehead and left in a car with a half-dozen bigwigs. Grace had put her clothes back on, found a chair, and watched the sunrise. She’d sucked thirty-six dicks that night, and was still feeling sad.

“Who are you?” She turned around. An awestruck boy was there. No, a man, somehow making it through the night still gangly and slender, but a man. He had a full beard that was about to get a lot more manly.

Grace and Philip eyed each other for the first time. Once the house was cleaned up it would become legendary, the den of blowjobs, where newly minted sluts and bimbos went to learn from the very best. Philip was the man of the house, of course, very important. But people came there for Grace. And then she made them cum.

It was said that Philip alone was the only man who could last in her mouth for more than a minute. And Philip would answer that he had managed a minute and two seconds.

She stood up and smiled at him. Maybe thirty-seven was the charm. “Why don’t you sit down?” she suggested, and licked her lips.