The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Tessi and Matthew had been married for one year—it didn’t seem such a big change now as it had then. Tessi had long since settled into the married life—and even before she had, it had still been a very easy transition. She and Matt had dated for a while before marrying, so even when they had moved into the same house, everything had felt very familiar.

Even before they’d lived together, they had practically lived together, constantly spending the night at each other’s places and just generally hanging around with each other. So getting married and moving in hadn’t been such a huge shift—they’d already been fairly committed, had already been acting like a married couple before they had been one in fact.

But now that the day of their marriage was just slightly over a year in the past—they’d just celebrated their first anniversary last week—everything in Tessi’s life had resolved into a kind of blissful tedium.

She was married to Matt—their marriage was happy, and comfortable. It would never change, it would always be like this: on their second wedding anniversary, and on their third, and so on. She had very few complaints about her marriage, or her life in general—if she could have chosen one thing, it would only have been the frequency of interactions in their marital sex life.

They had sex rarely—but it was too often from Tessi’s perspective. She really didn’t like sex, didn’t enjoy it. And even when she had it, she could only stand to have simple intercourse in the missionary position. Other sex acts may have been valid for other people in their sex lives—maybe even as valid as simple intercourse in the missionary position—but none of them were valid in Tessi’s eyes. She could only stand for standard intercourse—everything else disgusted her and made her want to throw up.

She knew Matt had his own complaints about their sex life, but knew also they were the opposite of her own complaints. From his perspective, they were having sex too infrequently, not too frequently—and he also would have complained about the fact that he never got any blowjobs from her.

As oral sex was a sex act that stood outside the realm of simple missionary sex, it was an act that disgusted Tessi, and she never did it for him. And even when they had the one kind of sex act that Tessi could stand—she could only stand it if it was quick and over soon, if there was no foreplay to it, and if she didn’t have to reflect on her body at all. If any one of those elements was altered, then even missionary sex was something she couldn’t go through with.

Apart from their differing opinions of their sex life, though, marriage was sweet. She and Matt were a good match—everybody said so, even if they said it with a bit of surprise. The goodness of their match was a surprise because Tessi was only in her mid-20s, and Matt was in his early-30s. It was a surprise because Tessi was so shy, and Matt wasn’t like that at all—a surprise to think a woman as shy as her had ended up with anyone, let alone with Matt.

A surprise, because when Tessi and Matt stood next to each other, they looked a bit mismatched. Tessi was fair, filled out with her C cupsize, pretty with her shoulderlength curly red hair. Matt was slim and tall, with dark and near-black hair; they looked a bit odd as a pair, and yet in their interactions, it was clear for anyone to see that they got along very well. Better than most—even if it left their onlookers feeling a bit confused.

Outside of her marriage, the rest of Tessi’s life was a blissful tedium, too. She had the same group of friends that she’d had year in and year out for as long as she could remember. They were never going to change either—they’d all been friends so long, she knew they would be friends forever.

Tessi thought of Marcela—with her long blonde hair, her mid-twenty age, her sexual adventurousness and lasciviousness. Her perfect B cup figure, graced to her by natural occurrence and requiring no maintenance of her. She was as sexhungry as Matt was, but for her own partners. She was technically married—sometimes her husband was her partner of choice, but she also seemed fairly shameless about engaging with other partners.

Marcela and Matt had been cut from the same cloth. They might have sat down to the same banquet, at the same banquet table, if the meal on offering was sexual delights. They ate at two different plates. And Marcela brought reports to their friend group for them all to hear. Of the many-coursed meal of sexual delights that she never finished eating.

And though Tessi never enjoyed sitting down to that particular banquet herself—and in particular, never enjoyed sitting down to it with Matt and eating off a shared plate with him, all the same, she didn’t mind hearing reports of other people sitting further down the table from him and enjoying their own meals.

Tessi thought of Kaia—with her brunette hair, her eastern European background, her perfect, B cup body kept that way through fitness, her preference for heavy dramatic makeup—she was also mid-twenties in age. She could be a little bossy—she always wanted things to be just a specific way. Wanted them how she wanted them, to be as she as she liked, and didn’t hesitate in bossing her friends around if that was what she judged needed to be done to get things to how she wanted them. She was bossy in such a way—so naturally dominant—that Tessi sometimes wondered if that bossiness transferred over into Kaia’s bedroom—if, sitting at the banquet table, she might boss around the meal on her plate before she ate it—

In Kaia’s case, it was all a la carte, an ever moving rotation of partners, selected and enjoyed one at a time. She was permanently single so she could enjoy any potential partner as she pleased, when she pleased. She thought sneaking around was too much trouble—didn’t understand how Marcela could have the patience for it.

Kaia was the only one in their group who was bisexual, and she was genuinely happy to get involved with either a man or a woman, depending on how the mood struck her at any given time.

Tessi thought of Lani, the group’s only lesbian. She was blonde, perennially single, also in her mid-twenties. She liked sex and had it casually, but never settled down with anyone. She was a little bit chubby, though her breasts were still only a B cup.

Her full name was Lanica, but they never called her that. She hated being called that and only answered to Lani, so that was what they called her. Matt’s full name was Matthew—he didn’t mind being called by either name, and at times, he actually preferred that Tessi call him by his full name and not his shortened one.

He was different from Lani, in that way. He was different from her in lots of other ways, too, but that way seemed the most significant. It didn’t truly matter if Matt and Lani were alike or different —they each held such different roles in Tessi’s life that it almost seemed funny to compare them. She couldn’t help it, though—they both had longer names that could be shortened into nicknames, and one of them hated their longer name, and one of them sometimes preferred it. It was such a stark difference Tessi’s mind couldn’t help but make note of it.

Lani had been Tessi’s best friend for many years. She was in most things fairly outgoing, but she had a sometime shyness. More accurately, a perpetual shyness that only sometimes came over her and showed itself. Particularly when she and Tessi were alone—as if there was some deeply painful, personal thing she wanted to tell Tessi, but which she never quite got up her courage to. Tessi never asked her about it—either Lani would be able to tell her someday, or she wouldn’t, but Tessi wouldn’t ask her before she was ready. She’d know it if Lani was ready to volunteer it and not until then, and if Lani was never ready, then she never would.

Lani was a little loosely connected to the rest of the group—she only knew them all through Tessi, and at group gatherings, she always tended to stick close to Tessi and hang around her, as if even after all these years she still felt a little awkward around the others.

And finally, there was Rowen, the baby of the group. She was also single; she loved sex, probably only slightly less than Marcela did, because Marcela’s love for it was truly unrivaled; but she was a little bit like Tessi in that she was not very sexually adventurous. She liked sleeping with men—but only if they had missionary sex together. She had no interest in other sex acts; the same as Tessi, though Tessi thought Rowen was more disinterested in them than disgusted by them as she herself was.

Rowen was a brunette like Kaia, but she was small in stature. She looked the part of the youngest with her smaller size—even her breasts were smaller, she was the group’s only A cup—though she wasn’t so much younger than the rest of them, really. In her early-20s instead of in her mids like they all were. And Tessi knew that Rowen had her reasons for being bitchy—at least in her own mind, it was surely self-justified.

And at various times, members of the group offered up excuses for her when she was not around and they were all discussing her, particularly if they were on the topic of some bitchy thing she’d just done to one of them. She was younger, she’d had less life-experience, she didn’t know better yet, she would learn—the excuses rotated, newly generated on a constant basis. They offered them up about her to help themselves deal with her behavior—these excuses were self-comfort, but at various times they wore thin for each respective member of the friend group.

Sometimes Tessi was the one who grew tired of the excuses, and when she did, she couldn’t help but think that, even though Rowen was younger, she’d still been alive for just over two-decades. After all that time, she should have learned something about living by now—something about how to properly live, by now—how to live so one didn’t constantly screw their own friends over with bitchy behavior, no matter how justified it seemed at the time.

But even when Tessi wearied of excuses and forgiveness, she usually found it within herself to be forgiving anyway. She could just make herself do it even if she didn’t feel like it anymore—in the same way she could get herself through a round of missionary sex with her husband even though she didn’t like it. She just had a sense of inner determination. She could just get things done even when they were unpleasant or hard.

So Tessi was for the most part satisfied with her friends—even though they also made her feel a little uncomfortable sometimes.

Lani and Marcela were usually less likely to make her uncomfortable. Usually, it was Kaia and Rowen that Tessi had trouble with. But even the friends she herself rarely had friction with sometimes had friction with each other, amongst themselves.

Marcela had a body as fine as Kaia’s, but unlike Kaia, she didn’t have to work for hers. Kaia had to carve and sculpt her form out in the gym, and keep returning to it to keep her body that way—but Marcela had a nature-given gift.

Her figure was perfect, and her metabolism and other bodily systems worked well enough to keep it perfect without her ever having to so much as take a single unwanted walk. She could eat as she wanted, live as she wanted, and her body just kept itself perfect for her, with no input from her end. She had the most perfect kind of figure—the kind that was perfect naturally.

Tessi often thought that Kaia seemed a little jealous, a little resentful of Marcela for that fact, when she had to work so hard to maintain her own form. Yet Kaia didn’t seem to envy her—didn’t seem to wish her any kind of secret harm in order to get back at her for her perfection—not that Tessi could tell, anyway. There never seemed to be an overt strain on their friendship, though sometimes Tessi definitely saw that resentful, jealous gleam—and maybe it was even an envious gleam—in Kaia’s eyes. Tessi could never truly tell, could never make up her mind definitively if it was envy or just resentment she saw in Kaia’s eyes; bitterness that what came so difficultly for Kaia came easily for Marcela without her any effort.

Tessi was uncomfortable with Kaia and Rowen, though—they both liked drinking, and they both liked party drugs—and they both liked them so much that they made a natural pair together, if an unlikely one.

Kaia was not in fact any older than the majority of the group—but she had such a competence about her that it projected years onto her she didn’t actually have—years unearned, years unlived. And Rowen was the youngest—so by that logic, “oldest” (even if she was only oldest by her manner) and youngest together were not a natural pair, but they made a natural team, because they both enjoyed getting high or drunk together—shared their drugs, shared their alcohol, often did it in front of their other friends and made fools of themselves at group hangouts.

They would often also try to tempt the other women into joining them—but Marcela’s adventurousness was only for the bedroom, and both Tessi and Lani had always been lacking theirs, so they all three of them would always refused no matter the temptation. No matter the temptation, they were never very much tempted, and Kaia or Rowen might have minded this more if either one of them had been the group’s only hard partyer.

But since there were two of them, and they each had at least one drug buddy in the other, they never seemed to mind too much. They could still get completely shit-faced in the company of at least one other comrade; and for the reluctant audience of the other three. Rowen did go a little beyond Kaia in her love of altering her mental state—she also enjoyed doing weed, and Kaia didn’t particularly care for it. So sometimes Rowen did her weed all alone—or sometimes she got intoxicated with Kaia, and then afterwards got further intoxicated by herself.

Tessi was not beyond seeing the flaws of her friends, despite her appreciation for them—Lani was a little too pudgy. Some people in the world could overlook a bit of pudge; and some people could see it on themselves when they looked in the mirror, and accept themselves for it—still love themselves with it, but Tessi’s inner determination to get things done and get things through transformed into a critical eye when she looked outwards, and she judged her friends, if only privately, for all the ways in which they didn’t measure up.

Judged Marcela—for being so sexually explicit in her expression, with her offered up stories—for her sexual avariciousness. Judged Rowen—for being a bitch, and also for being a borderline addict—and in this judgement was Kaia joined to her—Tessi also judged Kaia for being a borderline addict.

Judged Lani—not for her shyness and her perpetual paralyzation at the point of confession, but for her pudge. Kaia put the effort into working out and keeping the fat off—why couldn’t Lani? Kaia worked hard to keep herself in shape, keep her body perfect—why couldn’t Lani?

It wasn’t as if Kaia wouldn’t have helped her—just as Kaia and Rowen had paired off to be addicts together and revel in their mutual addiction, Lani could have paired off with Kaia and reveled in a mutual fitness interest.

It wasn’t as though Kaia didn’t drop hints that she wished for a friend to be her workout buddy and go to the gym with her. She did, near constantly, and she didn’t only have Lani in mind for the role—she would have taken anyone in the group if they’d been willing. The five of them were all so close that in when engaging in any hobby they would always wish for one of their group members—one of their already existing friends—to join them in it, before seeking to make friends outside the group.

But it seemed to Tessi that Lani was the best candidate for Kaia’s workout partner—and why couldn’t Lani see that? If she had only forced herself to develop the taste for fitness, she could have shapened up and lost that extra weight she carried—she’d look the better for it.

If only Lani could lose her weight, if only Rowen and Kaia would stop using and partying so much, if only Rowen would stop being a bitch, if only Marcela would tone down her sexual appetites—then Tessi’s friends would be perfect. They were very sweet, kind and fun apart from their traits of imperfection.

And because of Tessi’s inner determinative drive, she strived for perfection in all things—even her friends—but she never told them any of her judgements. She knew they would never take action on any of them—it would only estrange them from her—they would stay just as they were forever. They would never change.

She felt the same about Matt—though she had more love for him as her husband than she had for her friends, and that love blinded her to most of his flaws. It still left her enough clarity to see that she wished he wasn’t so sexhungry, wished he wouldn’t always sit down to dine at the banquet of sexual hunger—wished he didn’t wish for blowjobs, wished he would have been accepting of an even less frequent sex schedule.

If he only could have been like that, then he would have been perfect too—but she never said that to him either, because she knew it wouldn’t change anything. She knew he wouldn’t change anything about himself. He would never change anything, her friends would never change anything, none of them would ever be perfect—nothing in life would ever be perfect, no matter how happy she was—and being only one week out from her first year wedding anniversary had made her pretty happy—nothing would ever change, everything would stay static, just as it was now.

And yet that staticness was its own kind of perfection—so in that imperfect way things could always be perfect. She had the same, static, unchanging people in her life—and she had already learned to accept and love them despite their flaws—and they were all such steady people that none of them would change suddenly or unexpectedly. So things could stay just as they were permanently—they would never become more imperfect than they were now, which meant they were as perfect as they could be, and that almost made Tessi happy all over again, in additional to the happiness she already felt.

The only concession she had to make to her inner perfectionist was letting herself run wild with the internal judgements she kept from her loved ones. They gave her mental relief; they were almost like an addictive fix for her—which in turn helped her sympathize with Rowen and Kaia more—understand them better. If this was what their addictions were like for them, when this was what it was like for her—she could make sense of it, why they wanted to completely disintegrate themselves into the stream of drugs that entered their bodies at friend parties. Why they wanted to run into water to cycle with those rivers—her own addiction was much less physically destructive, but it was still a habit she couldn’t break.

It made it easier to empathize—and in turn, accept that she herself was not perfect either—and all these perfectly imperfect people still accepted and loved her anyway. So maybe it was okay that nothing would ever change—maybe it was okay that nothing would ever be more perfect. Everything was already at its utmost zenith—she could appreciate that kind of perfection by relativity.

And she didn’t think that even if she could have found some set of perfect people—the kind that might have grown on a vine in total duplication—she didn’t think she would have wanted them, even if she could have found them.

She preferred the imperfect set she had—she had so many beloved memories with them all—and loved them even with their faults, loved them even with their imperfections, loved them for their foibles, and never tired of being in their company, even when they behaved in ways or kept themselves in ways that were less than comfortable for Tessi.

At least Lani was always there—when Marcela regaled them with her sexual explorations, or when Rowen and Kaia got high together—Lani was tamer than all the rest, and always close at hand to take comfort with, commiserate with—at times like that her pudge was easy to overlook. It was basically her only flaw—and she at least seemed to accept herself for it, so the least Tessi could do was try harder to do the same.

She had her friends: she had her husband: she had her life. She had her life, and it was a full life—the last piece of the puzzle had been her wedding ceremony the year and a week earlier, and now Tessi had everything set up just the way she wanted it to be. So in that way maybe she was a little like Kaia after all, in setting things to how she wanted them—as friends they had at least this in common—Tessi had her life set just as she wanted it, and she knew it would never have to change. It could stay just as she wanted it to, and that was a calming thought when other imperfections plagued her. Nothing would change.

On the Friday morning of the week that followed their wedding anniversary, Matt left the house for work. Tessi stayed at home; she herself had the day off from work. So instead of working one day and then taking two days off, she had a three-day long weekend ahead of her to enjoy. Just three days of complete freedom and enjoyment. She was anticipating it.

After Matt left, Tessi sat down to eat her breakfast; she took some coffee to drink with her meal, and took some milk and sugar in her coffee. She was a habitual coffee drinker—never missed her morning coffee for any reason.

It was a delicious and full meal. She had started cooking it before Matt left—he didn’t tend to like eating big breakfasts the way she did; he preferred to skip the meal entirely, or only eat a small bowl of cereal. Tessi thought it was probably one of the things that kept him so slender. Although at later meals in the day, he was known to eat large servings, and then his metabolism just burned them off and kept him slim. He had the same kind of luck as Marcela—didn’t have to do much activity to keep his form.

Tessi had started cooking her breakfast before Matt had left, so the timing had worked out. The food was ready now he was gone. She savored moments like this; of quiet serenity and simple pleasures. She was glad the house was empty—glad she had nowhere to be—glad that nothing would interrupt her.

And then something interrupted her.

Tessi had wanted things to stay the same forever, and for a while she really believed that they would, but even in her happy status quo, she could not keep interruptions like this from coming in. Another perfect imperfection for her static state of being.

So on that Friday morning, with Matt gone to work for the day, Tessi knew things couldn’t quite stay the same. They had to change enough at least to accommodate this interruption—and she couldn’t keep interruptions like this one from coming in. She couldn’t keep the interruptions from coming in, even when she was otherwise in a state of serenity.

Her phone had pinged her with a notification. She set down fork and knife, reached past coffee mug, and picked her phone up from where she’d left it on the counter.

Having opened her phone to see what the notification was, she saw she had been sent an embedded youtube video from her friend Marcela by a whatsapp means of delivery.

Marcela didn’t often send Tessi videos. In fact, Tessi couldn’t think of even one other time when she had done it.

She opened her whatsapp, opened her conversation with Marcela. Curious, she tapped the video and made it start to play, wondering what her friend had so wanted her to see.

The footage showed a man standing outside on a starry night—he must have set up some kind of free standing camera outside, but he didn’t seem to be with anyone. At least he was not talking to anyone off-camera, or looking in their direction.

He seemed to be alone; and the camera was tilted up, catching the upper half of his body, but also catching the starry sky overhead—it was a wide and bright sky in the night, filled with silver stars; but whether it was that particular arrangement of constellations, nebulas, comets—or nighttime cloud cover—that night, the sky looked like a wash of painterly grays and navys, speckled with those stars.

It was the kind of sky that seemed to open up like a dome; the kind of sky one might fall up into, suggesting an unknowable void beyond—Tessi tapped her phone screen for a second to make sure the video was actually playing, because the filmed footage was so still—the man was not moving or speaking yet—and that sky was so perfectly still, she thought the video might still have been paused.

When she tapped, she saw the play cursor was progressing after all, so she looked back to that man standing under that navy gray black domed opening stillness.

He looked past the camera and mouthed something—it looked like “are we recording?” or maybe “are we rolling?” —so there was a cameraman after all, they were just a quiet, unassuming one—seemed to get some kind of confirmation, and then looked back to the camera and began speaking.

“This is an urgent message that needs to get out to all my viewers—“ the man said. “This is a phenomenon I’ve only noticed in the past few days, but it seems to be spreading rapidly, and the sooner everyone knows about it, the sooner we may be able to do something to respond to it.”

The man gestured again to the cameraman, and now the camera was tilted down; its upward angle before had not only been a choice of cinematic flourish—it had been to strategically keep something cropped out of the frame, which was now revealed in explicit detail.

“This is an invasive species of flower—“ the man’s voice could be heard from off camera; but as the camera was pointed down to earth now, showing green grass growing—its greenness shadowed by nightcover—only his legs were yet visible.

It looked as though the man was filming a patch of yard between two houses—the tops of both house had been visible before when the camera had pointed up—and while this patch of yard that extended between the both was mostly clear nightwashed greenery in flatness, there were some… rings… of growth. Each ring encircled a beautiful pink flower—with things that were looking fuzzy and mossy in the circular outcropping around it. The flower came right out of the center of the outcrop, perfectly placed, as if it drew on the ring of growth for survival—as if it depended on it, all interconnected in a complex emerging rooting system.

The man was only standing a few paces to the side of where the growth started—that pink petaled flower was perfectly framed in the camera’s view.

“This is going to sound very strange. Invasive species of plants or flowers are not so uncommon in the world, but this particular invasive species is different. It’s not from our world. These flowers are from beyond our world—they’re from outerspace.

“I saw a strange craft hover in the night; it was not of human origin, I’m sure—it dropped seedbombs not only here, by my house, but it passed over our entire area, and I assume dropped seedbombs there too. This happened only three nights ago—and already these pink flowers have proliferated. They’re very dangerous—you should stay away from them at all costs.

“This is how they are invading us—this is a legitimate alien invasion, and our entire population should be informed of this. These strange pink flowers are coming out of the ground in several different gardens; as I said, I only saw the craft three days ago. This has come on quite suddenly.”

The cameraman had tipped the camera back up to center on the video’s speaker—his eyes were wide in a slightly frenetic way—making him look a little too paranoid—a little too intense.

“These flowers only bloom for a short time; a strange quality that results from their outerspace origin, I’m sure. They only bloom until they’ve infected an earthwoman down here. Take a look at this footage I got a few days ago.”

The video cut away, and began playing footage that had clearly been taken on another day.

This footage had clearly been taken secretly, and from a distance—it was looking out through a window at the same stretch of lawn the man had been recording near before. And since the camera was up and pointing through the window, the opposite house across the way was visible under the night sky. Tessi recognized it from the earlier footage. It was the house next to the one the video’s speaker lived in, and clearly he had filmed this sub-video himself looking out through the window from inside his own house.

The house across the way was quite traditional looking, brown stones building it into structure, short and square, only one story—the door opened, and a woman came out.

She was not very attractive. She came closer to the flower—nearing it, and its bed of supporting growth that, now Tessi thought of it, seemed a little strange—with all the other earth and grass around so flat and uniform, the way all the mossiness and fuzz struck up stood out unnaturally.

“This is my neighbor,” the speaker spoke over the footage. On video, she was only look at the flower, as if she were transfixed.

Tessi felt a striking of fear. Why was he letting her approach it? Why was he not stopping her? Why hadn’t he left his house to stop her? Why had he only stood there and filmed instead of helping?

He had just said how dangerous the flowers were, how they should be avoided at all costs—but now he was letting his neighbor go right up to it?

Tessi wanted to shake the speaker into action—shake the man behind the camera who was only filming as a bystander instead of acting—even started her arm with a shaking motion, but realized that it was only holding her phone.

“I have to look at it—“ the woman said, and her voice sounded dazy. The man’s window was cracked open—and the night was quite enough that the woman’s voice carried. She wore an expression of total transfixion as she came closer to the flower and its growth. She had eyes for nothing else. “I must get closer—”

She seemed even more attracted to it when she got closer—she crinkled her nose as if she was sniffing—perhaps the scent of the flower was what drew her closer now.

She kneeled down in the grass, right in front of the flower, leaned down and put her face directly in front of it. She was looking deeply into the blossom. It could not be seen what was happening there—but the woman was watching even more intently now that she was right up close to it. Watching there as if there was something to see, as if there was something there catching her attention. But what could it be?

“The flower will mesmerize her now,” the video’s speaker was describing—again Tessi felt irked with him, his being a bystander—he had only filmed as this had happened to this poor woman—done nothing to help her— now he was using her after the fact as only an instructive example. “It snared her from afar—if you feel any strange desire to get right up close to a flower, and to look at it this way, you must not. Now that the flower has her within reach—and now that she is distracted—it will—”

Tessi stiffened when she saw; the flower had sprayed some kind of flowerstuff directly into the woman’s face. It had pollinated her with its pollen.

“Now it has infected her—its spores have entered her body. They are even now circulating in her bloodstream. This feels very good for her—but it’s as nefarious as it is goodfeeling. Now that the spores have entered her, they are slowly changing her. The transformation takes up to ten hours, but at the end of it, her breasts will have grown, her lips, her ass; and her mind will have changed too—she will only be a mindless bimbo, craving for sex—and any one she has contact with, anyone who exchanges bodily fluids with her will get the sporelike infection from her. It’s very transmissible—she’ll also be emitting pheromones so that both men and women will be attracted to her—will want to fuck her, and if they do, they’ll become infected too. When the infection is passed host to host, it grows more quickly; the transformation will happen in the infected within a few hours only instead of ten—the plants are using are bodies to adapt; learning how to better bond to our systems to change us.”

The woman was still staring into the flower, but she seemed to be keening, rocking her body on all fours, shifting her hips slowly.

“The sex drive is raised almost right away—it will just continue to rise—and any orgasm that is achieved will kill out braincells, decrease awareness—the infected literally orgasm their brains away—”

The woman rocked harder now—

“She’s watched long enough—I think she’s about to—”

The woman coughed out the pollen she had inhaled—she seemed at first to have returned to herself, brought back by her coughing.

But then she reached out, plucked the flower; she shifted her skirt with her free hand—it looked like she was going to—yes she was—she was putting the flower directly inside her pussy.

She didn’t look happy about it—she seemed to be trying to pull her own hand back even as she was reaching for it, fighting and crying as she did. But in the end, it was all for naught, and the flower ended up inside her anyway.

“It can have more direct control over her there,” the man said.

Now that the woman had taken the flower into herself, she seized up orgasmically; then shook her head, and appeared normal again, rose and stood.

It was at this point that the speaker of the video, and the filmer of the video’s sub-footage, chose to go outside and interact with the woman. Not when he could have helped her—only now that he could make a lesson of her.

“Neighbor,” the man called to her—he was still filming her with his phonecamera. “What happened?”

The woman turned and looked past the phonecamera directly at him. “I don’t know why I came outside,” she laughed. “I don’t remember anything from the past five minutes… but I don’t care about not remembering.”

She turned and walked back to her house, went in and closed the door.

The man reversed his phonecamera, and made a cutting gesture. Tessi wondered if the video would be over.

But then just a second later, the image came back; it was night again but things had shifted; Tessi wondered if this supplementary footage had been filmed the night before this current filming.

The sub-footage was over. The filming from the beginning of the video continued now—the man was standing outside, speaking directly to his viewers.

“I’ve seen this happen twice before around town. As I said, the sex drive increases. There’s an immediate spike, but then it continues to build up over the next few hours. Most women who are infected immediately start masturbating, but others makes passionate love to their partners. None of them know what is happening inside them—the more they orgasm, the more the blossom in them is absorbing their minds. It makes them dumber and dumber. Eventually, as I said, it will make them into bimbos, and also turn their hair pink; with balloon breasts and pillow-plumped lips. They just get ditzier and ditzier, and hornier and hornier.”

The man was speaking with absolute certainty. It riveted Tessi to the video—she had to hear what he was going to say next.

“The absorption of the mind feels wonderful for the women afflicted; it feels like getting very stoned; it affects the woman’s ability to see, and it makes them feel as if their brain is literally getting masturbated until all its thoughts are out. And the more the woman feels this, the more dependent she becomes on the feeling. So after a while, the infected wants to lose their mind.”

The man cleared his throat. He had been talking a long time; perhaps it was starting to strain his voice. “For the first twenty-four hours, the transformation is slow. For the most part, the woman’s sex drive will be higher, and she’ll want to feel a release; but she’ll also become more sexually experimental. But then, slowly, her ass and breasts will start to swell a little, and she’ll lose the ability to understand complex things. She may still be able to understand simpler things—or even complex things on occasion, but she lose that ability more and more.”

Tessi found her eyes wandering up past the speaker to the sky again—to that distant vastness from which the flowers had apparently come…

“After one day, the infected’s lust for sex gets higher, and it kills more of their IQ; slowly making them more and more dumb and giggly. And the transformation of the body starts to accelerate. When the woman’s hair has turned color to pink, the transformation is nearly over, and then she starts sending out pheromones that no one can resist. Guys will feel they need to fuck her and girls will feel that too. But any kisses or bodily fluids exchanged with other girls will infect them too. But when the infection is spread by direct contact, the transformation and mind absorption happens very fast.”

The man cleared his throat again—clearly his voice was straining now, but he had learned so much about all of this—he’d carefully researched before filming this—or elaborately made it up, which Tessi was more inclined to believe—but it was so much to take in that it was almost convincing, just for the sheer amount of content that was in it.

“A plant infected woman needs about 30 hours to turn into a blank minded fuckdoll, but the girls she infects will turn within the next hour into pink haired, dumb and giggly bimbos with no intelligence, and only a dumb bit of their minds remaining.

“These bimbos crave for sex with all of mankind. They’ll fuck everything they see; and their pheromones help them out by making every man want them; but the time will come for the mindless dronegirl to come out to the garden again—I think it’s just about that time for her—”

The man, still standing outside, turned and looked back over his shoulder.

Once more his neighbor emerged—the door was already partway open, so it was like he had timed it with his cameraman to catch her reemergence. She did not look like the woman from the night before, though—she had great pillowy lips, huge breasts, a much widened ass, the pinkened hair—

“Do you remember what happened last night?” The man called to her.

She only gave him a dazed look—as if she had no memory of it at all.

She walked back to the place she’d taken the flower from, which was only slightly further down from the flower that still grew, the one the speaker had showed off at the beginning of the video.

She crouched down, stripped naked—and peed a stream.

“The seeds of the flower are also conducted through the urine—a new flower will grow out of that stream she just laid down. And by now she is so controlled by the flower that she will have a mindless orgasm as she’s urinating.” The man said. “And now—“

A beam of light came down from that domed starry sky. Perfectly white, it seized the woman—it pulled her up—she disappeared with it into the dark of the night.

“She will never be seen on this earth again,” the man said, with the camera back on him. “No one knows where they go. But she’ll stay up there with them—the ones invading us—who sent these flowers—as their mindless slave forever.”

The man looked thoughtful. “These flowers seem to grow particularly well under nightcover. They grow well in the darkness—they don’t need sunlight—and they grow fast—there will be a new pink flower where she peed in just a few hours—grown entirely in the night, under the night sky and with no sunshine at all.”

The camera panned over—there was another flower that looked similar to the pink one, but its petals were indigo, not pink.

“These indigo flowers have made an appearance too, but they don’t seem to do anything except grow—it seems as though they haven’t quite adapted to our ecosystem as quickly as their pink counterparts have. I would still exercise caution around them, though.”

The camera panned back to the speaker one more time. “I have seen these pink flowers growing around town—not just here—I’ve seen them in multiple places. They seem to be spreading. You should under no circumstances approach them, or try to look at them more closely.

“If you are sprayed with their pollen, if you get their spores, the transformation will be irreversible, and once you are transforming, but before you’ve finished, who knows how many people you yourself may infect. We must all stay vigilant about these flowers—band together, make a plan; stop their spread; stop their invasion—or we will all suffer for it. This could be the end of mankind if we are not careful. Stay safe.”

It seemed the video would finish then, but then, two other girls came out of the neighbor’s house. They must have been friends of hers, before; but now they were clearly bimbos, like she had been before she was taken up. They both approached the video’s speaker; their breasts were as ballooned as hers had been.

The man looked very nervous—he tried to back away—but it seemed like he was getting their pheromones—inhaling them like pollen—and he seemed to lose his good sense—he couldn’t resist them, in the end, let them strip him down, and when he was naked with them, he fucked one as the other ran their hands all over him.

Tessi thought again of the cameraman—now he was the bystander who did not intervene. And perhaps, because he had been a bystander, he deserved this as some kind of retribution. He had not gone to his neighbor’s aid, so now he didn’t deserve any himself, but all the same, Tessi wished the cameraman intervened—he only filmed for a few seconds, at least, but then it seemed he was already turning, and running—he must have been the one to get the video uploaded—so he must have gotten away before the two other infected turned on him—the video froze while the cameraman was in midrun, its narrator slightly out of focus as he fucked and was fucked by the two bimbos—then the video was over.

At last it really had finished this time, unlike all those other false starts throughout its runtime—Tessi stared at her phone. Why had Marcela sent this? She was actually mad at her friend. It was clearly a joke—some silly prank, but it was so crude; the woman had stripped herself naked—had peed and seemed to take more than just physical relief in it—it had been near pornographic, the whole thing, and Marcela knew Tessi didn’t enjoy pornography. Not on its own merits, not when in service in humor—she’d had no business sending this video to her! Why would she send her porn bullshit like this?

She saw that a video call was coming in—from Marcela—she answered it, intending to give Marcela a piece of her mind about sending the video.

But before she could speak, Marcela did. And when she heard the tone of panic in her friend’s voice, she couldn’t be quite so mad anymore—and the look in Marcela’s eyes was total fear. Tessi was staring into the eyes of a frightened woman, hearing the voice of a frightened woman. She just couldn’t stay mad at her.

“Did you watch the video I sent?” Marcela pressed, urgently.

“Yes I did,” Tessi told her.

“It really scared me,” Marcela went on. “Tessi—there’s a flower like that outside my house. I can see it in the garden through my kitchen window.”

Marcela tilted her phone to show her kitchen window—through the pane of windowglass, it was clear to see that outside on Marcela’s front lawn, there was a pink flower growing amid its circular outcropping of mossy fuzz.

Marcela turned her phone back to face herself—her eyes were still wide with fear. Tessi felt compassion for her friend—also a little pity—she’d clearly been taken in by a falsely manufactured video. She’d been fooled and now she was afraid when she had no reason to be—Tessi hoped to set her straight.

“Marcela, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Tessi reassured. “That video was obviously just made as a joke. Just a prank they’ve put out to frighten everyone. They’ll frighten the gullible and then laugh about it—you don’t need to be one of the people they fool, one of the people they laugh at. Just remember that it’s not real. I mean, flowers from outerspace? Whoever heard of such a thing? Things like that don’t happen in reality—it’s all made up. That pink flower outside your house is perfectly normal. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Marcela exhaled in relief. “You’re right, Tessi. Thanks for helping me get my head on straight.”

Though Marcela did look back out the window—off-camera now—and a bit of that dazed, transfixed expression came into her eyes. “I think maybe I still want to go out and take a look at that flower, though… see what’s up with it…”

“Okay…” Tessi said. She felt a twinge of doubt—like maybe Marcela really shouldn’t be going anywhere near the flower—maybe the man had been right—but she reminded herself it had just been a prank. There was no harm in Marcela just going out to look at a flower.

“I’ll call you in an hour,” Marcela said, looking back to the video call, and so back at Tessi. “I’ll tell you if I’ve come to any conclusions about the flower once I’ve seen it.”

“Sounds good, Marcela,” Tessi said, reassuring her own fear inside herself. “Talk to you soon.”

Marcela ended the call.

Tessi went back to what she was doing. She had finished eating breakfast, so now she cleaned up her breakfast dishes. Then once she’d gotten the kitchen clean, she sat back down at her kitchen island, and scrolled her phone’s newsfeed just for something to do. No one else was talking about the pink flowers—that meant they were definitely just a prank.

But the hour ended and no call from Marcela came.

Tessi sat—watched the hour become an hour and five minutes, an hour and ten minutes, an hour and twenty, an hour and thirty. As she watched the time tick by, she told herself that Marcela had just gotten busy—she would call a little late but she would still call. She still meant to call, she just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

At an hour forty-five, Tessi could wait no longer. She called her.

To her relief, Marcela answered on the first ring.

“Marcela? Why haven’t you called me yet?”

Marcela stared blankly into the camera. “Call you—did we talk earlier? I don’t remember… I don’t think we did talk, but it’s a nice surprise hearing from you.”

That upset Tessi. Marcela was clearly making fun of her, and she didn’t want to hang around on this video call just to be mocked, so with a tap of her finger, she ended the call.

She went to her own kitchen window—she saw that there was a pink flower outside her own house. Late breakfast and waiting for Marcela had turned morning to afternoon.

Tessi decided. She would get to the bottom of this herself—she had to know what was going on with these flowers, what was going on with her friend Marcela. Marcela didn’t tend to mock people. It just… wasn’t like her… So on the off chance that something had happened to Marcela when she’d gone to look at the flower, it was so mysterious that Tessi badly wanted to understand.

Taking a look at these so-called alien flowers might give her the answers she sought. So she would look.

She left her house and walked outside; crossed her own front lawn to where the flower was centered in its circle of sprouts. She wondered if she wore the dazed looking on her own face that she had seen in the video Marcela had sent—maybe it wasn’t only a logical, puzzle-solving feeling that was sending her out here—below that feeling—maybe that feeling was only a rationalization to cover an irrepressible urge—below that feeling was just… a draw to be near to the flower—to see it, see what was really going on with it—she had to kneel down to get a better look.

She shook her head. That was silly. The flower was only part of the elaborate joke Marcela was playing on her—she must have planted it there to try and convince Tessi that all of this ridiculousness was real.

She knelt. She got forward onto her hands and knees. It smelled wonderful now that Tessi was so close; but that wonderfulness was exactly the thing that made Tessi feel uneasy. Maybe she shouldn’t be so close—maybe she should get up and leave.

But then Tessi looked directly passed the flower’s petals to the flower’s center.

What she saw there surprised her—and also made sense to her—she thought of the woman in the video who had stared into who only knew what, stared into an unknown and been mesmerized by it. Now Tessi was like her—Tessi knew what, knew what she had stared at, what had captured her and kept her attention so well.

Inside the flower, on its face, there was movement; a pattern of lights; or maybe circulating smoke; she could not reach out and touch the flower, so couldn’t know if what she was seeing was on the flowers surface or suspended and hanging just above it. But there was light, in color, and it was circulating itself in a swirl that just made Tessi want to watch forever—she felt her jaw drop open—felt as if the flower was emitting a golden light that was shining on her face. The flower was the sun and she was a flower, opening and turning in the direction of its sunlight—she stared—she stared—it swirled—so beautiful—she never wanted to stop staring—it was making her so dizzy, and the dizziness had crept up on her so slowly that she’d almost missed it.

This wasn’t natural—flowers weren’t supposed to spiral like this—something was happening here that Tessi couldn’t understand. But even though she couldn’t understand, she knew she didn’t want to be part of it—she wouldn’t look, she would look away. She tried to wrench her eyes off the image—then when her eyes didn’t go, tried to wrench her head—then her neck—her whole upper body. She just wasn’t moving.

She was fighting, and it felt like she was fighting herself. Part of her was just settled in and watching—but the other half of her did not want to watch, but no matter how she fought, she didn’t seem able to interrupt what was going on.

She watched again as the flower swirled on its flowerface; spinning in color, and her eyes tried to follow it—around—and around—she didn’t know what she was chasing but if she could watch just a little longer—something had opened in her now, the way the flower’s petals had opened—she was so alike to the flower, the same as it—she had flowered to its sun, now she opened like its petals—and she felt that if she could just watch a little longer some great truth would be revealed to her. So she had to watch with all of her intention—with all of her focus.

No, she didn’t want to—she didn’t want to watch—didn’t want to see—she just managed to shift her body, and for that second believed she would be able to turn completely away—

It was at this moment that the flower seemed to pull back, in preparation or bracing, she wasn’t sure—but then it reared forward, the face of it seemed to open slightly and something—fuzzy and soft—filled her world—and the world of her body. The flower had sprayed her with its pink pollen.

Immediately her mind put it together—these were the spores; everything the man in the video had said had been true, and these were the spores of the flower, the spores of the plant that grew unseen beneath and partly up around it in outcrop; the man had said that transformation was irreversible once a subject was exposed to these spores. And she had just breathed them in—directly inhaled them all through her nose and mouth. Her transformation was inevitable now, and she didn’t want that. She started to cry, breaking through the flower’s imposing stupor—

But the fuzz, the flowerdust it had blinded her with had cleared. It had temporarily obscured her view until she had breathed it all in, but now that all of it was inside of her, she could see the flower face again. And still it swirled—so still she had to watch—it was dazing her again but there was a new feeling this time—the man had said the sex drive increased immediately and—Tessi had found this to be very true—she could feel pleasure starting there between her legs. It was a foreign feeling—as foreign as this flower from places unknown—she almost never felt turned on. Even on the rare occasions she did have sex with her husband, she still rarely ever felt aroused—she just did it for him.

But this was arousal now—gushing—pouring—it wouldn’t stop—god, she wanted to touch or be touched, to fuck or be fucked; but she could only rock forwards and backwards on hands and knees as she stared into the flower’s face, face to face with it, watching in amazement; how could anything be so beautiful, so wondrous, so perfect? How could anything—? Of course it had come from outerspace—earth could never have yielded anything like it—she wanted to touch—she was so incredibly slippery, she knew if she did touch, her hand would just glide. But she wasn’t allowed to touch yet—she wouldn’t be allowed until—

No, wait. She tried again to shake herself out of staring. Tried to tamp down on the running river of arousal that was exiting her—the flower was making her feel this way with its mesmerism—trying to prepare her for what would come next. She had to be stronger than this trap—stronger than this temptation. She had to rise above it, best it—she would not fail to a flower, would not lose to a flower, no matter where it came from—she would not let herself be hypnotized, she would fight—she was fighting already, any second now she would take her eyes—from—

It had just absorbed her focus again—with its swirling. She stared further into it, seeing beyond to some further plane that was receded back into the flowerface—just where it seemed to be splitting—opening—seeing it was apparently enough to be impressed by it—she was porous, she absorbed it directly and it came out in her, came out in her actions—her hand was reaching forward to pluck the flower—

She cried, sobbing many tears—she reached with her other hand, by singular force of will, and seized her own extending wrist with it. As one arm reached forward, the other tried to pull it back. She heaved with one even as she felt the other going, but it didn’t seem to make any difference.

“Please!” She cried out, seeking mercy directly from the flower, like it were sentient and might be inclined to show her sympathy. Why would it be? It wanted something else from her than gratitude for mercy—wanted something else—wanted and would take it—

For all her pulling, she had nothing to show—her hand had reached the flower’s stem, and she ripped it out of the earth.

Then even her free hand was lost to her—once the flowerstem was in her hand, the spores in her blood sang under her skin and made her hand warm, pleasurably warm where it touched the flower directly. Her free hand was captured, went down to her trousers, rolled them down and moved her underwear aside, so she had free access to her pussy.

She passed through her river to finally touch her begging, crying pussylips—parting them, teasing her own entrance wider open. She had to work it looser with her hand because it was already so tightened with arousal—already trying to clench in and suck in something that wasn’t there—the hand that held the flower moved closer as her other hand worked her entrance, stroking and teasing and pulling and widening. Making the space.

She couldn’t stop her hand from moving past her rolled down trousers—couldn’t stop it from moving past her rolled down underwear, either—

The flower’s face was coming nearer to her pussy. The flower’s face zeroing in, approaching her pussy like a lover—her hand was steering it there. She cried above it all, unable to do anything to stop it. She knew what it would do to her when it happened—what it would do to her when the flower had its way, but the spores in her had control of her physical function now, and her mind was still feeling the after effects of the flower’s trance. She was dizzy, disoriented, horny, and turned on. Turned so on she could not remember ever being off—the flower was right nestled in close to her pussy—she had gotten her opening wide enough—with her first captive hand she drove the flower head first into her pussy—

When it got inside, she immediately exploded in orgasm—it was indescribable, but it had only happened silently. Every inch of her was already so sensitized inside, and the head of the flower was just thick enough to stretch her perfectly—and once it got into her, it kept moving on its own, driving further back until only the very bottom part of its stem remained, poking out from her pussy—it didn’t stop its movements even once it was nestled inside.

Its petals flowered open again, every single one expanding to line and massage the insides of her walls from every possible angle. Soft, soft, petal soft tickling touches stroking—dragging—all at once—every part of her from the inside, touching every inner wall—flowering—fluttering—never stopping—always moving—and she could feel herself clenching around the stem of the flower—clenching on it so tightly—she was still twitching in orgasm, and the spores in her blood—she felt them—they were only boosting her arousal—making her feel that she wanted nothing so much as complete surrender to lust, no matter where it led her.

It was all she wanted, it was the only thing worth wanting and nothing else would ever be so worthy; the petals kept their movements inside her, but both the flower and its spores had completely taken over her nervous system and she could move no more unless they approved it—they directed her to rise from her crouch on the ground and move inside.

Once she stood, she felt a fog come over her mind—it was a wonderful fog, she loved the feel of it. With it, she forgot everything—what she had been doing, why she had gone outside—she forgot it all and went inside as if everything was perfectly okay.

Back inside, Tessi called Kaia, Rowen and Lani in turn to ask them if they wanted to come over that Saturday in the early evening. Matt had an appointment with a friend to go to the cinema first and then to a bar after. Tessi didn’t want to be alone while Matt was out. Luckily, Kaia, Rowen and Lani all agreed.

Her conversations with Kaia and Rowen unfolded normally, but her conversation with Lani was… a little strange… as she spoke to her, she found herself strangely attracted to Lani’s voice—like it was so lovely and warm that she just wanted to keep listening to it—in fact, it made her feel so warm that Tessi felt the warmth even in her privates. Her hand wandered down, and she started to rub herself slightly. She kept rubbing as she listened—the warmth of Lani’s voice washing over her—but she did not achieve orgasm.

But even though she didn’t, she still thought to herself that this was strange—and after Lani agreed to come over on Saturday, Tessi thanked her, ended the call, and pulled her hand away from herself.

She went up to take a shower then—and found herself oddly possessed by the impulse to remove the shower head from the wall and move it directly to her crotch. She had showered in this shower a thousand time and never had such an impulse—but it felt so good—she moaned—her body resolved into a small orgasm—It felt better than any orgasm she’d had before. She was feeling confident—she was feeling better than anyone ever had before.

After her orgasm, she felt a bit dizzy. She managed to get out of the shower, and redress herself. Underwear, shirt, pants, shoes. Then the phone rang again.

It was Marcela calling her again. She was still angry at the way Marcela had mocked her before—but this time she didn’t seem to have the strength in her that she would have needed to hang up the phone when moving seemed so hard suddenly.

“Something came into my mind, Tessi… I felt that I just had to call you…”

Tessi thought of the first phone conversation they’d had that day, when Marcela’s voice had been tinged with fear. Now it was more than tinged—but the feeling color it was not fear any longer. Now, her tone was drenched in arousal—she was clearly turned on, and even the way she spoke was sexual and interspersed with heavy, labored moans.

“I don’t know why,” Marcela continued. “but thinking of you makes me feel so hot…” She moaned.

Tessi was feeling very uncomfortable with the direction that the call had taken. She made a stab at appealing to normality.

“Marcela—don’t you remember when we talked before—when we talked at first?”

“We… never… talked, Tessi,” Marcela repeated.

It chilled Tessi this time instead of angering her. “Yes, Marcela, we talked this morning—you sent me that video about the flower—then you said that you were going out to look at the one growing by your house—and you said you’d call me back in an hour once you’d seen it, but an hour forty-five came and went and you still didn’t call—then I had to call you—”

There was a wet slapping sound. Tessi realized with a blush that Marcela was masturbating herself. That disgusted her—she wanted to end the call now, but she could feel her body getting excited to—and still, for right now, she didn’t seem able to move.

“Sorry—Tessi—I didn’t remember—I didn’t realize—ooh… Tessi… I don’t know why… but your voice feels so good to listen to—sexy—making me feel sexier—I just want to—touch myself more—“

The slapping sound increased.

How could Marcela have completely forgotten there conversation earlier? Tessi no longer believed that Marcela had been pranking her—clearly she had just genuinely have forgotten.

But how could she have forgotten? And not just forgotten, but forgotten everything? The video she’d sent herself, the videocall, going out to see the flower, the fact that she was supposed to call Tessi back after that? She didn’t even seem entirely aware that they had spoke briefly a second time. Could it be just possible that flowers were as dangerous as the videoman had said? She was missing some things in her own memory… she worried about what they might be… what might be hiding in those gaps.

“I won’t be part of this, Marcela,” Tessi said, her voice in an outrage. But her body was clearly enjoying Marcela’s audible masturbation—she felt herself getting wet enough to drip—wet enough drip in constant streams, wet enough to gush—Marcela’s fingers slapped more loudly, and then Marcela let out a very explicit moan; but Tessi seemed to have regained a little control over herself.

She was able to end the call, so she hung it up and left Marcela to her masturbation—remembering vaguely the videoman’s description of the increase in sex drive, the insatiable desire to masturbate in the infected.

Marcela was pretty promiscuous, but it was very out of character for her to masturbate herself while talking to a friend—it made her think that the video might be for real after all—that Marcela really might have been affected—

She felt stirring inside—remembered and forgot the flower and its spores at once—they were becoming active again, taking control of her.

They got her touching herself, and kept her touching herself for hours, making her come and come. The world seemed to dim with every shattering of ecstasy—vaguely she also remembered the man in the video saying subjects of the flower would come their brains out, come themselves stupid, but neither the flower nor its spores let her think about that too long. They were always there to direct her back to pleasure—she wanted to fuck and be fucked—fuck anyone she could get. Her pussy was only a crying pit of need that could never be filled, but something needed to try—at least something needed to try to fill her, or the things that grew inside her would drive her entirely crazy—

She touched down on slickness, moving around and over the extruding stem—the stem she kept crying lubrication onto—when she touched it, it shivered, and the flower increased its movements inside her. It had gotten so deep it was into her womb—so now it was like some living thing grew there—but it was parasitic—it was wrong. No human thing grew in her womb, moved, extended, drew sustenance from her. This alien thing that was trying to take control of her—that was trying to change her, that was what lived in her womb now, and her mind had already been dumbed down enough by orgasm after succeeding orgasm that she couldn’t properly be frightened of this.

She stayed there on the living room floor masturbating—the bedroom had been too far, and she’d gone back down to living room after her shower to take Marcela’s call.

Tessi was curled up around the flower—the spores had spread to fill the total volume of her blood. There was not a drop of her left that was free of them—if she had pricked her finger to bleed a drop onto a surface, that single drop would have been contagious enough that any person touching it would have been immediately infected. She was teeming with the flower’s spores, getting more saturated in them all the time, and the whole thing only made her feel more hot—only made her feel more desperate to touch, so she did, jerking and twitching on the floor, curling into a ball around her womb and then shooting back out into limb extension when the orgasms were particularly brutal—

She had another orgasm—it felt now, when she touched herself, that fingers were stroking directly on her brain, touching down on brain folds, masturbating her mind directly—what touched her mind was making her lose it, but the feeling was so good she didn’t want it to stop, didn’t care if her mind was lost in it after all—the blossom was absorbing her brain through her masturbation, orgasm after orgasm was dissolving her more; she had another, and it was completely mindnumbing—for a moment after, as the flower kept her touching herself, she had no awareness at all.

Then she found herself asking why—she had forgotten the flower inside—why was she touching herself, what was she doing, why couldn’t she stop? She only felt herself getting hotter—she was so hot now that she wanted to giggle; she touched more and giggled her laughs out—she got even more aroused still.

This was how Matt found her when he got home from work that day.

“Tessi?”

She looked up at him but couldn’t stop coming—the petals were still moving in her, the spores were still making her leak. They had been teaching her for hours that the only thing she wanted was to fuck—that she would fuck anyone, that she would fuck everyone—that she just wanted to fuck whoever she could—and now at last, here was a candidate for fucking. She recognized Matt as her husband but just barely. He was her husband, but he was also a cock—a cock she could lick and suck, and that was all she wanted him for in that moment.

She was so aroused now that she was craving release; her nipples were erect through her bra, and she knew Matt could see that as she writhed on the floor—she felt them chafing against the cups of her bra and it was too hot to handle—

“Matt,” she said, and her voice was strained with orgasmic release—the huskyness of it was clearly having an arousing effect on him. It was that or the pheromone laden air he had walked into—probably both were working together—she’d been making the pheromones without thinking about it—her body just knew how to do it now—a third kind of flowering—setting out her own flowerstuffs into the air—pollinating with no aid from insects necessary at all. “Please—take me to the bed—I need—to fuck—”

Matt thought his wife was acting a little strange; but she almost never initiated fucking like this, and it had been months since the last time they’d done it. He scooped her up, and carried her to their bedroom.

He set her down on the bed. Her nipples were still erect through her bra and shirt, and now that she was on the bed, she removed her shirt, then got her bra off too, so that it wouldn’t irritate her nipples anymore.

Matt stared at her in wonder. She knew what he was thinking—she would never normally strip for him like this, but here she was doing it for him now. She crouched, lining her cleavage to his cock, then took it out of his pants put it between her breasts, wrapping him up in them. Letting him titfuck her.

He took her cue, and did titfuck her, with vigor—the titfucking went on until Matt finally came, and his come got all over her shirt—and bra—she’d worn a button shirt, she hadn’t taken it all the way off—she’d worn a front-closing bra, she hadn’t taken it all the way off—she’d only opened things up so that Matt would have access to her breasts, but she hadn’t been patient enough to get completely naked, and now she paid the price. Matt’s come was all over her clothes—her open shirt, her open bra, some of it had even run down and got onto her pants—and of course, some of it had sprayed directly up onto her face, had run down onto her breasts.

Normally she would never have let any of this happen—but the only thing she felt about it now was satisfaction. When they finished, it was with reluctance that she cleaned herself back up and got dressed again in fresh clothes.

After sex, she and Matt sat down together in the living room to watch a television quiz show. It felt strange to Tessi, but she found that she could not answer any question harder than the beginning, easy question. She never got upset when she guessed a wrong answer—when she got the answers wrong, they only seemed funny to her, and made her giggle.

Eventually the quiz show ended. It had become night. Matt and Tessi went back upstairs to go to bed together—Tessi found herself strongly craving sex again, but Matt told her that he was tired. He fell asleep pretty quickly after saying it, so Tessi figured it had to be true.

She wasn’t tired enough to sleep, though. She was still very horny, feeling very hot—she started rubbing herself again, rubbed right to orgasm, and when orgasm was once again achieved, she felt her mind grow even number—and it felt almost like her tits and ass grew too.

The next morning, Tessi woke up before Matt did—and even in his sleep, he was hard—she moved the blanket back, and as soon as she fully saw his cock, she felt her eyes bug out in her head, and her lips began to drool. They felt… a little plumper… was it possible… had they grown bigger too?

She sucked Matt into her mouth immediately, not even hesitating at the thought that he was still asleep. The flower pulled her strings from the inside, she was only its puppet, and it knew how to make her lick. It knew how to make her lick, and suck, and kiss and swirl, and she was swirling and seeing the flower’s swirls of light and color in, swirling that same pattern around the head of Matt’s cock as if it would be enough to hypnotize him—she sucked him harder, hollowed her cheeks around his form.

He stirred awake, but she kept sucking him. She was taking him with her mouth ravenously as if he was sustenance for her; at last, she herself was sitting at the banquet so many others had sat down to before; that Matt had often sat down to before; and she sucked and she sucked, and thought of how her bodily fluids were touching his.

The precome leaking from him, the precome leaving him and touching her spore-infused saliva; she was giving them back to him and he didn’t know it—the flower made her more aroused when she thought that—she came again and felt dumber. There was only cock—there was a cock here for her to fuck, so it was all that existed for now. If there had been a pussy, she knew she would have felt the same way, and the cock would be forgotten—but there was only cock, so it was the only thing that mattered—

She licked and licked and kissed and sucked—came again, moaned gutturals out around the cock filling her mouth, plunging her throat; Matt was giving her thrusts just as hard as she was taking them; they had rolled so she was lying on her back and he was straddling her chest, plunging his cock down her throat—she never needed to breathe, it didn’t matter that he stayed so deep down her throat all the time and never came back out—the spores had her now, they were doing everything for her—making her breathe automatically through her nasal passages without her thinking. He was heavy on her chest, supporting himself to get all the way down her throat, and she wanted him there, wanted him deeper, as deep as she could take him.

“Tessi—” Matt exclaimed—“You never let me do this—this isn’t like you—you never do things like this—it’s so—incredible!” He sounded thrilled with happiness—

They shifted—he wanted to fuck her between her legs now. She felt the flower retract its stem, curling itself up hidden inside her. She was more than wet enough—she lay atop him, completely exposed, completely naked—this was also something she would never have done. Before when they’d had sex, she always tried to cover herself in blankets, or hide behind pillows—but now she was completely showing off her body—and it felt a bit different—like maybe her breasts had grown too, when she was not looking—her ass—and it was a definite certainty that her lips had inflated to near-bimbo size; she enclosed herself around Matt’s dick and let herself fully be seen.

He commented on this too—“Tessi—this isn’t like you either—you usually like to coverup—I really like this side of you—I—”

Tessi rode him harder, rocked herself, thrusted herself, fucked herself on him; she imagined the stem of the flower inside her, coming back from its hiding place receded up against the ceiling of her womb—coming down to find Matt’s dick inside her, winding itself around him, keeping him tied inside her, tied in so he could not pull out, and then barbing him with itself to get its spores into him through every part of his surface dickskin—the only thing that filled her when she thought of that was arousal—she wished it could be happening for real—that she could know that it was happening—there was no trace of horror in her at all.

She had another orgasm—then another—then another—finally she milked him for everything he had, and he still was able to say; “You’ve never clenched me this tight before—feels like—I’m tied up in your inner walls—“ And she knew it had really happened for real.

Once Matt had come to orgasm inside her—he had not bathed her, he had bathed the flower with his ejaculate and not known it—and it must have absorbed it all, eaten it for food, taken in human DNA to continue its adaptation to its new host species—Tessi pulled off of him, but she still wasn’t satisfied.

She shifted herself so she was the one sitting on his face—he couldn’t comment this time that this was unlike her, because his mouth was busy, but she was sure that he was thinking of it—thinking it as he licked her; he was giving her the same focus, the same devotion that she had given him when she’d licked him before. He licked her harder—she came again and it numbed her mind further. At last she withdrew from him.

Matt stayed sitting on the bed and looking at her, though—“Tessi… has your body… changed…?” He frowned. “I can’t… think… your… pussy juice…”

From the look in his eyes, it seemed that his mind was numbing out too.

Tessi redressed herself. She knew what she needed to do now.

She went down and started getting ready for her friend’s visit later that night. Matt was tired after sex so he stayed in the bedroom and slept; Tessi made preparations; they would be over in just that evening; she got food ready for them—but really she would be fucking them all—she needed to fuck more, needed to fuck so badly.

She felt increasingly hot as the morning went on, but there was no further sex between her and Matt—she also found it increasingly hard to concentrate; she was a little dumber than she had been the day before, she thought.

Eventually Matt woke up from his nap, and left with his friend to go out to the cinema. Tessi stayed behind at home, putting her finishing touches on the on their dinner.

But it had been too long since she’d had sex, and she just couldn’t take it anymore—she took a cucumber out of the fridge, and slowly slid it into herself. It was satisfying to fill herself up; and she was still so hot for any fucking she could get that the cucumber slid right into her, requiring almost no direction to send it inside herself. It was like her pussy was trying to slurp the cucumber up—or maybe like the stem of the flower had wrapped around the cucumber and pulled it into—so now she had two kinds of plants inside, deep, and the cucumber seemed to be thrusting into her of its own accord—her hands had dropped the counter, and she gripped it now, riding the cucumber’s thrusts—maybe the flower was twined around it—really fucking her with it—maybe it wasn’t only fantasy—

She came again, and happened to glimpse herself in the window above the sink; it was dark outside, and light in the kitchen because of the kitchen’s overhead lighting, so the window reflected so well that it might as well have been a true mirror. She could see there that her red hair was turning pink. It wasn’t very notable—but there was a slight pink shade to it that hadn’t been there before.

At first when she saw it, she giggled; but when the giggle passed, she felt afraid—there was no good reason for this to be happening. Anything causing this could not be good—she was finding it so hard to remember suddenly…

Something… about Marcela… she couldn’t remember what she was being reminded of…

She decided to call Marcela, by video call this time. That would probably remind her of whatever she was forgetting.

It took a very long time, but eventually, Marcela answered. Except, when she answered, it wasn’t Marcela. The girl on the other side of the video call could only be called a bimbo—a drooling bimbo with a dumb face, big lips and enormous tits; a bimbo who could not stop giggling; a bimbo who, when she spoke, could not speak with any greater complexity of thought or vocabulary than that of a child.

Tessi hung up the video call—she must have called a wrong number—that had to be it—

Tessi took the cucumber back out of herself. It didn’t catch on anything inside—nothing tried to hold it in—she removed it easily, and then threw it away.

Only a few minutes later, Tessi’s friends arrived—they seemed a bit wary of Tessi, nervous of her new appearance.

“Is everything okay, Tessi?” Lani asked. “Is everything… normal?”

Kaia looked Tessi up and down too. “You look a little too sexy,” she agreed.

“And you’re giggling like a dumb idiot,” Rowen said—in her bitchy way, describing Tessi bluntly without any thought of trying to spare her feelings.

Tessi only giggled at that—it didn’t even occur to her give a proper answer.

Since Tessi gave them no answer, the conversation moved on past her.

“Did you guys see that strange video that’s going around?” Lani asked. “About those pink flowers that have been popping up?”

“That was just a joke, Lani,” Kaia said, with a shake of her head. “You didn’t really think it was real, did you?”

“Yeah, are you really that dumb?” Rowen snickered—her laugh was almost cackling.

Lani bristled; and when everyone else laughed, Tessi didn’t. When she heard Lani mention it, she remembered—what had happened in that video had happened to her, and it wasn’t funny—it had happened to her—it had been terrible—it was still happening—

She felt a flashback coming over her; the flower, there in the garden—she had kneeled—smelled—seen—then had taken it inside herself—and there it still was—

Tessi burst into tears and ran from the room—Lani followed after her—

Tessi felt the pheromones leaving her again. They seemed much more powerful this time—Lani pulled Tessi down to the ground, started kissing her—Tessi didn’t want to have sex, because she knew it was only the flower working in her; she didn’t want to be controlled by it, didn’t want to be made to fuck by it—but Lani seemed to have been completely taken over by the pheromones and she wasn’t resisting at all. She was giving in so easily—now they were naked together—licking and kissing each other—Lani was licking around the flower’s extruding stem, and didn’t even seem to notice that it was there—Tessi didn’t want to, and tried to struggle against what was happening—but the flower had made her lick Matt, and now it made her lick Lani—and she forgot all about not wanting to.

The pheromones extended beyond Lani—once Lani was infected, she and Tessi both paired off with Kaia and Rowen—Lani to Rowen, and Tessi to Kaia—pretty soon they were infected too, and just as horny as Tessi. None of them had seen flowers, except Tessi, but they all seemed to be going crazy for her pheromones—kissing, licking her, kissing, licking each other, so they were all getting the infection from each other where they passed it around.

The others tried to fight it at first. They fought, and they fought very hard—no one fought so hard as Tessi; they all fought except Lani, who had given in so easily. Lani had given in so easily that Tessi might have found it comical if she hadn’t been so afraid of what was going on.

The others lost their fighting spirit the more that the fucking went on—Tessi was the only one who held on to her fight. Her inner determination was still in her—her drive to make things how she wanted them to be. She wanted things to be anything other than the way they were—that kept her fighting on, clinging to the fight even when the others had forgotten how, but in the end it still wasn’t enough. She had come too many times—like the others, she was a totally dumb and giggly bimbo; but she was further along than all the others. Her hair had turned completely pink—she was a pinkhaired sexbomb, completely naked, totally bimbofied—and the flower seized her.

She was prepared. It was time; her breasts had grown humongous, her lips, her ass—and her mind had been shorted out with pleasure.

She went out into her neighbor’s garden and crouched down. The urge to pee was irrepressible. Her body needed her to do it—the flower was making her—there were so many spores moving through her now, and they were all agitating within her. They would not settle down to peace until she had done as they were making her—until she had peed right where they were making her crouch, behind the house of her neighbor, alone in that garden.

The spore, the flower were already giving her relief just for crouching down as directed. She felt more pleasure easing through her, warming her muscles where they were exercised to keep her down low to the ground. She was still naked; had stumbled out naked directly from the orgy she had left; so there was nothing in the way to block her flow. The flower curled in her again, pulling her string one last time, and she had to bear down and let the stream leave her.

“Ahh—” She sighed—the pee was still coming out of her—it seemed as though there was a lot of it that needed to come out. As she was thinking—with the last fight in her she had left, at the beginning—she thought of how she was spreading the seed of the flower with her spray.

At first peeing felt orgasmic. It felt like a joy when the urine left her in its stream; it was such a relief in her bladder, but the relief was nearly orgasmic since her entire body was now so tied into the pleasure response. Her body was now tied into the pleasure response, and all of her seemed to run on it for fuel. She crouched, she urinated—the stream came out of her—she was coming—she knew she was seeding the earth with more flowers like the one that was now nestled up inside her, flowering against her walls—

But the longer she peed, the more the feeling changed. Now it felt not so much as if her brain were directly being touched, or masturbated. It felt like some kind of spoon or crusher had gotten into her head, and now it was mashing her brain to a paste—making it nothing but melted, runny liquid—her brain had been liquified completely within her head, and now it felt like a straw was getting up there and draining the liquid down—it was coming all the way down through her body to reach her bladder, and now she was peeing her brain out with the rest of her urine.

Her liquified brain had melted into her pee—and now that she was sending it out of her body—now that there was nothing left in her head, since all that had been up there had been liquified, as Tessi sent the runnings of her brain around the seed her stream contained, she thought nothing. She was lessened of all her thoughts—there were none left in her to remain, and she watched only mindlessly as her pee stream faltered, then finally stopped. She had peed her all her mind out and couldn’t even be aware of that now. She was entirely blank, simply a nothing, with no brain left. When she finished peeing she crouched there motionless—she could only move now if the flower inside moved her, and it seemed to want her to stay exactly where she was.

A minute later it was clear why. The flower inside made her stand. A white light had come shining down on her body as soon as she stood, bringing her up. She felt nothing.

It drew her until she stood among sterile metal—looking at strange creatures she had never seen before—aliens—she was only a fucktoy to be used—a fuckdoll for them.

She had felt nothing all the time the light had carried her up. Felt nothing until she was standing among the aliens, and now feeling stirred in her again.

The light had made her come up to them, and now that she was with them, she was no longer numb inside. She felt, and the feeling was a ravenous lust—it suited her new station in life as the aliens’ fuckdoll. She lusted—desperate desire to be used over and over again—but even when she became able to feel again, there in the aliens’ presence, she wasn’t at all able to think. She could not even form a single individual thought. She was too happy where she was to even care about that. Caring would have meant thinking—and she could not think.

They wanted to fuck her so she let them—she would fuck them forever, taking their alien cocks anywhere they wanted to put them—in her mouth, in her pussy, in the ring of her ass—taking two in each if she could fit them—or licking alien labia—they fucked her—they fucked her and all time stopped—she was an alien sex slave, an alien fuckdoll just as all humans were now meant to be—just as they all soon would be—she’d done her part to help, and now she could fulfill her destiny with no other distractions. There were no thoughts left inside her head anymore. There were still no thoughts since she’d pissed her mind away. Everything was only sex.

Back in Tessi’s house, things were changing. While she had still been there, and constantly putting out her pheromones, her friends had been very much affected, lost to their lust—but now they seemed to find themselves coming slightly back to their senses—their transformations had all progressed so far; Kaia, Rowen and Lani all had very pinkening hair, but without their original host, their original source of exposure, each one of them found themselves thinking a little more clearly—remembering that they wanted to fight.

And yet each of the three of them were still feeling incredibly turned out, and all three of them had been in the middle of fucking each other—Rowen had her face in Kaia’s crotch, and Lani had her face in Rowen’s—Kaia and Rowen had each regained their minds enough to concentrate, to consider that they should hesitate before going right back to licking and fucking and sucking. But Lani was staring a beautiful woman’s crotch right in its center and it seemed so enticing there in front of her—she remembered how easily she had given in last time—it had only taken one look from a transformed Tessi, and she’d crumpled.

Now it only took one glance at the crotch before her face, and she crumpled here too, crumpled all over again. She tucked her face back into Rowen’s crotch and eagerly began licking. Even without any stimulation of her own body, it was more than enough to continue the arousing of her body—the spores she had been infected with saw to that. And the lips of Rowen’s vagina were so soft and teasing against her plumped lips—her plumped, full-lips were so tender in their new pillow like form, and the more she felt Rowen’s pussyskin brushing her lips and skin, the more she got turned on. And the more she got turned on, the more she felt the transformation speeding up in her. A new orgasm released itself within her—and she gave in again, completely—forgetting there had ever been a Lani, not caring that there ever had been—she only wanted to be able to keep licking—keep fucking—keep feeling the pleasure. She was a vessel for lust and that was all she was; she just wanted to keep functioning in that capacity.

Rowen had been holding herself still, and keeping herself from starting to lick Kaia again. When she felt Lani start licking her she cried out—she wanted Lani to stop, and at the same time she hoped she never would because it simply felt much too good. But the more Lani licked her, the more she wanted to give in and start licking Kaia, and if she gave in and started licking, pretty soon the three of them would be right back to engaging in the lesbian orgy that they had only just been able to stop because of Tessi’s leaving.

“Fight it, Rowen,” Kaia said; her voice was encouraging. “Try and move yourself away from me—that’s it,” Kaia cheered her on. The spores were trying to stop her, but Rowen could be very pigheaded and stubborn sometimes. That was what made her act like such a bitch sometimes; she knew she could be a bitch, and it never bothered her much, even when she was reflecting on herself and her life. Now she was particularly grateful for it; she had just enough bitchy spirit left in her to overcome the spores and shift away from Kaia—she collapsed to the side of her on Tessi’s hardwood floor, crumpling in around herself as if she had been struck or shot with something; it had taken so much concentration to move that as she fell against the floor her body seemed to be trying to cave in around itself; she rocked, rolled in place, lying on one side of her body only—but when she managed to move herself away from Kaia, Lani followed her determinedly, knocking her off her lying side and into lying on her back.

Rowen’s eyes screwed shut—“No—please—“ She begged—Lani wasn’t stopping—and Rowen was keeping her eyes closed, as if she believed that not seeing what was happening would suddenly make it go away. She needed Lani to stop licking her, or she was going to give in to the absorption of the lust—the absorption of her own mind—and only be a bimbo again—

But now that Lani had Rowen on her back, she lined herself up, waggling her pussy directly in Rowen’s face, and from this new angle getting back to licking Rowen up, licking her out. She was licking her up like she was syrup—like she was a desert—as if she had just started eating some meal and now she licked its plate clean—she was running her tongue in about the same kind of pattern, wide circling circles, tracing the edges of Rowen’s labia, trying to catch every new bead of moisture as soon as it came up, as if she were knocking beads of dew from the morning grass after sunrise—her tongue was ravenous, ever seeking, and Rowen kept her eyes shut tight—but she could smell Lani’s pussy, could smell the pheromones that were coming out of it—she tried to turn her head, but the spores wouldn’t let her, and she had used all the strength that was left to her just in moving herself away from Kaia. She could no longer move her body.

Lani didn’t seem human anymore—she had been so completely taken over by the spores, she might as well have been a single human-sized spore, doing all their bidding—she licked and Rowen wanted to lick her back—she licked and Rowen’s own spores were making her think of how good Lani would taste when she put her tongue out. She felt Lani’s sporebearing lubrication falling from her pussy and running onto her face in globs and pours that streaked her skin—she licked her lips and tasted them there—and was so incredibly tempted to follow them back to their source that she had to clench her fists to keep from stopping.

Kaia, for her part, had at least for the moment been temporarily spared from the kind of seduction Rowen was suffering, and undergoing—but the spores had her kneeling and watching her two friends on the floor from just a few paces back, and they were making her masturbate herself as she watched. She didn’t want to masturbate as she watched this—she was the one who liked to be dominant, she didn’t like being made to do anything by anything or anyone else, but she wasn’t strong enough to fight—and it felt so good to touch herself as she watched Rowen breaking down under Lani’s repeated lickings.

It was at this moment that the front door opened. Matt had returned from his movie with his friend to find that Tessi’s friends were still there, following their planned dinner—that Tessi herself was missing—and two of her friends were fucking each other while the third one watched.

Matt himself was still feeling pretty affected by the sex he’d had with Tessi earlier—and feeling pretty far along into his own transformation.

The two bimbogirls lying on the floor had been fucking, and the third one had been touching herself. And now they all looked at him.

They had turned to see him when he came in. And now each bimbogirl’s eyes went to only one place—the space directly between Matt’s legs.

“Yummy,” Lani said, having pulled her mouth off of Rowen’s clit long enough to speak. “Yummy, yummy cock…” She was drooling as she spoke her bimbo’s welcome—maybe because the spores were salivating her, maybe because she’d worked it up naturally from licking Rowen with such deliberation, but the drool was pouring out of her mouth as she stared at Matt’s cock, and then she fell into a fit of giggles.

Rowen and Kaia were staring in fascination too, but both of them looked reluctant; they were swallowing all of their own drool to keep it from pouring out of their mouths. They clearly felt the same draw to Matt’s cock as Lani herself felt, but neither one wanted to indulge that craving, knowing where it would lead.

Lani only looked at Matt for a moment though—she had a pussy directly under her mouth, and she seemed impatient to get back to licking it; she kept her hips swaying before Rowen’s face, and Rowen was shaking in orgasm against Lani’s tongue—looking like she would break apart and give in at any time. She was shaking so hard it looked like shuddering; and the pheromones from all three girls were so thick and heavy in the air.

Matt was dizzy from them; it was an incredibly arousing sight to watch Lani make very aggressive and slurpy lesbian sex to Rowen’s crotch—but Kaia was there too—completely naked, with huge tits, ass and lips—and pink hair—Matt felt his cock springing up. He wanted to fuck her—he didn’t care about what was going on with Rowen and Lani’s lesbian pair anymore.

He pulled his clothes off just inside the door, and Kaia stared at his cock in fear—he approached her but she was paralyzed by the sight of his naked.

“Please,” she tried pleading—“Don’t fuck me—I don’t want to be a bimbo! If you fuck me it will turn me into one—I don’t want to be!”

Matt didn’t want to care—he only wanted to fuck. He had never wanted to fuck so much; the air was thick with sex, smelled like sex and something foreign though appealing—something not quite human—and all of that sex-laden air was getting into his brain through his inhalations, shaping his brain around, making him determined to have Kaia.

Kaia tried to break free of the paralysis the spores had her in, but they held her still until Matt got to her. He eased her back onto the floor, just a foot or so down from Rowen and Lani—Kaia looked to the two of them in a panic, seeking help, or at least sympathy from Rowen—but she saw that Rowen was no longer there. She had been replaced by another one of the spores’ creatures—she was now licking and making out with Lani’s pussy as vigorously as Lani was making out with hers.

Matt plunged into her quickly, so eager to start feeling her, start touching and fucking her. He pumped himself inside her impatiently—Kaia thought her only hope was to keep herself talking to Matt; maybe she could still reach him, keep the spores from taking him over completely—or for that matter, herself. She felt a pang of regret when she thought that she had infected him by exposure to herself.

“Matt—it’s the spores—haven’t you seen that video? They’re making you do this now—the pheromones—you’ve breathed them in the air, and now you’ve taken them from my body—you’ve picked them up from my body—you have to stop—they just want to turn you into their mindless sexbot, fucking mindlessly—agh—gah—sexy—horny—cock—so big—”

She’d been speaking like a perfectly normal human woman a minute before, but it had completely lapsed into bimbospeak for a second there. She reflected on it now and it made her giggle. But no, that wasn’t right—she had to try and convince him—it was so imperative he stop now—before the infection could spread more—before he could speed along her own process of bimbofication.

“Please, Matt, you have to listen—you must stop now—owwww—ohhh—oooohhh—yummy yummy cock inside bimbocunt…” she giggled in titters of laughter… “so full… so stretchy… can’t… remember… big words… too hard…” she giggled again—it was hard the second time to come back out of it, but she remembered that she didn’t want to be a bimbo—that she hated obeying anyone, that she wanted to be the one who was giving the order—she was able to hold onto that tightly enough to force her voice back into normality of speech.

“I need you to stop now, Matt, before you ruin us both—booh ohhh ohhh—heee eeee eee!” She’d fallen into the giggles again as Matt kept rocking into her so deeply. The more that she took his cock in the more she forgot how to think—the more it all just seemed so funny. And more and more it seemed that the sexual was the only thing that was real—the only thing that mattered—she squirmed on Matt’s cock and giggled again—she tried speaking again but could only speak nonsense in disjointed syllables. She didn’t mind that anymore—she was happy to be a bimbo. It was the very best thing to be, and now she just wanted to keep getting fucked, so she kept giggling happily, and squirmed harder on Matt, trying to get him in even deeper.

Matt’s mind was still numbed out, had only become more that way as he’d gone on fucking Kaia, and he was thinking the same thing as Tessi’s three other friends.

Each of them, Kaia, Rowen, Lani and Matt, were all only thinking of one thing—thinking of fucking, of how much they wanted to, and they all started fucking each other in varying combinations. They fucked as bodies changed further—much more quickly than it had happened for Tessi, since each one of them was getting direct exposure to an infected host instead of from a plant that needed time to code itself to human DNA—Matt fucked each girl, fucked and was licked around where he was fucking, then he was licked, then stroked and sucked as he watched other unoccupied girls fuck each other. They all fucked for hours as their bodies kept changing, Matt’s dick growing to becoming larger, and almost permanently hard—He and the bimbogirls were so happy together, fucking away—happy—

They all went out when they were done and watered the earth with seeds—then each one was seized and pulled up by the bright light. They had gone on, like Tessi had, to fulfill their destinies—but they had left more flowers behind on the earth to keep spreading the invasion.

Mankind would never be the same; was doomed and had no chance—the invasion would continue, spreading across country, spreading eternally. Things would never again go back to the way they had been before—more and more people would become sex slaves for the aliens as the days passed, and there was nothing that any of them could do about it anymore to stop it from happening. Even if not all of them were taken up—the ones who stayed behind on earth would be forever changed. Nothing would ever be the same again.