The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“The earth shaking last night—do you think she did it?”

“The earth shook last night?”

“For at least two minutes! You didn’t feel it?”

I had, though I’d thought the source local because my head had been between Silver Slit’s thighs just then. My nipples stiffened with the memory and I had to give Chad credit, because his eyes drove into my cleavage zone without taking up annoying long-term parking.

I’m used to having my chest stared at. I’m no SuperGlands, but neither was she before her forty-second shirt-exploding miracle boobjob made her the most downloaded woman in YouBoob’s history. I have to dress carefully to keep paparazzi lenses from swinging away from the truly famous to me, and from my photo assistant’s reaction I’d hit the balance about right, living dangerously while still playing fair.

Okay, fair-ish.

“I mean the rhythm of the shaking, the pulses getting faster at the end—that was definitely some sort of super-fuck,” Chad added.

“I live in Riverside, Chad; maybe it was only Manhattan that shook. Hell, you could even have a supe living in your building.”

“You think one could live nearby without me knowing?”

“There’s no law making transformed women don tights and a cape, is there?”

“There are no laws, period,” he nearly spat. “Except their laws.”

I was a bit shocked, because Chad wasn’t a complainer by nature. I debated whether to ignore the bitter tone as the newest How To Help Your Emasculated Loved Ones articles advised. Before deciding, my eyes were drawn to an odd motion outside the floor to ceiling windows near the elevators. A flying black limousine; or more accurately, a limo being carried aloft over the East River. It was either a flying supe doing someone a favor, or… No, no favor. Not unless those inside wanted to plunge into the river today.

“Two minutes sounds like a lot of time for an Invulnerable,” I tacked back to less violent territory, happy that Chad hadn’t witnessed the scene. “I’d guess three seconds for SuperYoni to achieve an orgasm, tops.”

“You think she has to do it at super-speed?”

He had an erection, though he was trying to hide it. My tits, combined with mental images of super-sexy babes leaping or fucking tall buildings inside his brain. “We can’t know whether she can control herself during sex or not, Chad. Her vajayjay certainly looks…”

“Super,” he interjected, brown eyes wistful. “Really super.”

As if I hadn’t noticed. “Speaking of powerful privates, did you know a new one announced herself just yesterday?”

“Women are still transforming? I thought it had ended weeks ago.”

“She changed in September, but lived in a remote village in China. She wants to be called Squirt Girl, and her moniker isn’t about being short. I haven’t seen the video yet, but they say she fingered herself to orgasm in a public square and what shot out melted a tank.”

“There are tanks left to demonstrate on?”

“Maybe she had one built just for the performance. Really though, Squirt Girl? What an awful name.”

“What a power! Where did you say she was?”

I laughed. “Feeling suicidal?”

“I just wondered if she’d be considered a supersexual, since it’s her, uh…”

“It sounds like a real power, even if it’s located in her sweet spot. I can’t see where she could have sex at all, not unless she hooks up with an Invulnerable.”

“That would make for an interesting video.”

“Which we’ll probably see, since sex has become a form of public theatre for them. I’m tempted to ask SuperYoni if she ever does it without a mirror present. I bet she flexes and admires herself the whole time she fucks.”

“Heather, stop! What if she has super-hearing?”

My normal hearing registered the click of heels approaching on the polished marble floor. “Miss Hendricks? SuperYoni will see you now.”

I did a double-take, because SuperYoni’s receptionist was just the kind of woman I would have fallen for two days ago. She had pale smooth skin and luxurious red hair, beautifully shaped lips and tranquil eyes doeishly enlarged behind stylish eyeglasses. I thought she looked like Bambi with oodles of sex-appeal, and for some reason my eyes kept coming back to the lips. I imagined Bambi in a meadow, peacefully munching grass. Then I pictured silky red locks tickling my thighs, those incredible lips not so peacefully munching away. Rowr!

I caught her admiring my tits, which was only fair. The receptionist appeared ready to make some sort of comment, but the moment passed. We followed behind her fetching behind, me ogling her calves while Chad hugged his camera bag to his abdomen, shielding his erection from view. Dicks can be so hopelessly confused—he’d been dreading this interview, with good reason. You couldn’t believe half of what you heard these days, but rumor had it that SuperYoni hurled that Khadafi idiot into orbit when he said some weird thing about her looking as appealing as a blonde camel.

We came to goldleafed double-doors so tall that you’d think SuperYoni had been turned into a giant. The receptionist didn’t knock, and she didn’t attempt to open a door for us. I signaled Chad to do the deed and sure enough, he had to put all his weight against a single door, giving it everything he had to make it budge. It was a reminder, a way to put us in our place. SuperYoni could probably fling them wide with the tiniest bit of pressure from her pinky, while Chad barely created a space we could slither through. He dropped to one knee on the other side with his head bent, which I figured she just loved. He was only trying to retrieve his breath, but still.

I suppose you could call the cavernous space an office since it had a desk at the end, behind which sat one of the most powerful beings in the world. Otherwise it looked like somebody with a bottomless budget had filled a mini-Chartres with favored objects from every major museum, periods and cultures thrown together with no sense of restraint. No Sense of Restraint—not a bad title for a future article on the transformed, though it ran the risk of having the newspaper’s offices turned to dust if it touched a nerve.

“You may approach,” sounded the familiar voice. Some of the superpowered had vocal chords so altered that they sounded inhuman, and SuperYoni’s voice was unnaturally amplified, as I expected. It was also a sexy purr of a voice, even with its force.

As we approached upon a plush red carpet, I recognized the Jackson Pollock hanging behind the desk as having been in the collection of the Museum of Modern Art my entire life. A marble Athena gazed upon us with unseeing white eyes, and the two painted ceramic warrior gods flanking the desk were Chinese in origin, belonging to the British Museum. Correction, they had once belonged to the British Museum. Nothing short of a nuclear strike would come close to retrieving an institution’s property from an Invulnerable, and then only maybe. Everything else had been tried, and everything had failed.

SuperYoni didn’t have heat vision; even so I’d swear my breasts grew warmer as she evaluated my figure. She might be used to seeing women in gaudily colored leotards these days, but I knew I looked damn fine in sensible heels and a grey wool skirt just tight enough and short enough to make a statement. She stared right at my jiggling tits, and I suppressed a smile.

“Miss Hendricks,” her voice boomed, eyes still locked on my boobs. “Your, er, reputation, precedes you.”

Yes they did, there was no denying that.

“You brought a male photographer?” her voice suddenly shook the room.

Marking her territory, because she’d seen him there all along. “Chad Wilson is my right hand, and worthy,” I replied as we came to the far end of the carpet. “You agreed to photos and his presence is non-negotiable.”

It was an involuntary action, the way Chad and I both fell to our knees from the statue-rattling sonic boom. SuperYoni practically stood over top of us in much less than the blink of an eye, her super-speed creating its own localized weather. My skirt felt like it might tear off my waist for an instant, and most of my dark hair settled in front of my face. I had to yawn to correct the pressure in my ears, and I knew I didn’t look happy when I smoothed my hair back.

Chad’s close-cropped hair appeared untroubled, and I’d swear his erection had just grown an erection. I concurred, allowing my eyes to slide along every super-delectable super-inch of SuperYoni’s super-defined super-physique. She could wear any damn thing she wanted, and she was presenting herself to the world today in the hot pink latex outfit that clung to her impenetrable flesh like an additional layer of worshipping skin. Every muscle was highlighted in gleaming watermelon hues, as were her super-tits with the renowned nipples of steel punctuating the big yellow Y on her chest.

Y? Why not try? As of yesterday that was my motto, and my mission.

I didn’t even attempt to hide my fascination with SuperYoni’s namesake, and the way the crotch of her outfit accentuated the form of what most women tried to keep private. The exaggerated latex folds (they were artificially exaggerated, right?) made her cootchie look all pumped up, as if it had its own membership to a gym. If everything I could see there was real, not some molded insert…

“Why aren’t you trembling?” SuperYoni glared at me.

Oh, I was trembling—more like hydroventilating where the sun don’t shine—and if she had super-smell she’d already know it. “The interview was your idea and why would you harm me if you wanted an interview?” I spoke hurriedly. “Silver Slit said you were merciful and Chad is the best photographer in New York even if he is male and I thought it would be disrespectful to give you anything but the best because you’re, you know, you?”

That satisfied the super-ego. “Rise.” She pointed to two ornate chairs that probably came from a French palace. “Sit.”

As if we were dogs. “Chad will need freedom of movement to explore different viewpoints for the photos that accompany the article. With your permission…”

“You may move about,” she granted with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Don’t break anything.”

Chad’s rigid jaw confirmed that he’d heard the unspoken, “Or I’ll break you”. He backed away and raised the camera for his first shots.

I cleared my throat, loudly. “Chad? The lens cap?”

“Oops,” he fumbled with his equipment. He looked like a flustered amateur, which was understandable. A lot of guys would have come in their pants by now, or even lost their bladder.

SuperYoni did not look amused as she returned to the plush chair behind the desk. The bright pink boots thumped upon the desktop and she leaned back with hands behind her head, uncuttable blonde hair cascading and biceps bulging.

“The Triumviri have agreed that we will sometimes use conventional media to make our decisions known throughout the world,” she announced. This was progress, as they had pulverized cherished monuments at the beginning, issuing decrees in front of the smoldering ruins. “Know that without Silver Slit’s persuasive recommendation, you would never have been chosen for this interview. Feel proud, feel feminine, knowing how The Triumviri considered you worthy of delivering our wishes to all of womankind.”

I felt feminine, all right. So many wondered what it would feel like to have sex with a supe, especially a supersexual, and now I knew. Something like beads of shimmering mercury had darted out from Silver Slit’s metallic snatch just moments before she came, and they had become surrogate lovers for their writhing host, finding my clitoris and coating it, then doing God knows what to make me feel what I felt. The living beads slipped inside me after I came and they knew exactly where to tease, giving me no time to recover before I was bucking and screaming again. It took hours to get over those orgasms, and when I could think again and see again I knew I’d never be the same. I loved sex—who doesn’t—but after that it was like my purpose in life had suddenly become clear.

“Many are stricken with flushes of lust in my presence,” SuperYoni mistook the reasons for my excited state. “Calm yourself.”

I nodded, secretly delighted that my nipples felt almost impossibly hard and tingly. She was looking right at the punctuations pushing at my blouse and I took a deep breath, outlining them further. Some have been stricken with lust in my presence, too.

SuperYoni appeared to lose focus, absently licking her lips. “You had a prepared statement?” I prodded.

She gathered herself before launching into it, declaring that all financial institutions of any kind would have thirty days to replace their male presidents or board members with females, three females from each newly created board being designated as links to one of three Councils of the Transformed, which would in turn communicate at regular intervals with The Triumvirate. I wrote it all down on my notepad as another part of the new world order became apparent. So many threes—were they adhering to a particular form of governing or taking their cues from Triadic Treat, who always seemed to be hanging out with one of them like a groupie?

Everybody knew by now that SuperYoni, SuperGlands and SuperBod—the three Invulnerables—had formed The Triumvirate, which would lead the world’s women as they corrected the mess the men had made over the last several thousand years. The more she spoke the more I admired how SuperYoni’s statement pulled no punches, telling the formerly powerful that they were being counted on to know their place no matter how disorienting or humiliating it might feel. Capitalism, communism, socialism, cronyism—all such distinctions were dust ground under the super-feminist heel. She didn’t say one word about the world leaders and bankers and CEO’s that had “mysteriously” disappeared, which was a statement in itself. Resistance was futile and everybody with any sense had known that after The Great Wall of China had been reconfigured, overnight, to spell “Comply Or Else”, clearly visible from space.

I have a talent where my ears hear and my hand writes even as I think of other things, and I used it, picturing the current cover of Time, which asked the question: Evolution, Or Did God Create Our Goddesses? Even as SuperYoni communicated these new structures, the old world order was disintegrating of its own accord. Religious types all over the globe were struggling to incorporate the arising of the supes into their theologies, their confused sermons delivered to conspicuously empty churches and mosques. Governments had disbanded or gone into hiding, and it sometimes felt as though all of humanity—excuse me, all of huwomanity—was holding its collective breath.

I’d studied the numbers and double-checked the known facts in preparation for this interview. There were slightly less than a thousand transformed women according to the most recent estimates, and not one was plain or fat or over thirty, nor did they have pimples or flat chests—hell, it appeared that they’d rarely had a bad hair day before changing. Did good genes and youthful vibrancy somehow presage the transformations, or was it more like nature abhorred a super-skank?

A BBC/CNN/Al Jazeera poll showed that women worldwide were 68% in favor of the supes’ arising, although that result was thought to reflect an element of jealousy, as 92% of female respondents also expressed disappointment in not having developed superpowers of their own. Formerly affluent or influential males were overwhelmingly against the supes, as were those who described themselves as highly religious. Teen-age boys, however, were a whopping 92% in favor of the new super world, and in polls that only dealt with the arising of supersexuals, minus the superpowered, the separation between male demographic groups evaporated, with an astounding 98% in favor.

I’d been collecting plenty of anecdotal data of my own since the changes began, and most of the men I knew were like Chad, quietly terrified of the superpowered even though their dicks gave stiff applause to the feats of the shapely costumed females in their midst. Show them the newest video of a supersexual fucking twenty guys and all the toys in a sex shop in a span of three minutes and they just went chronically bone-hard. Guys’ dicks dug hot babes with impossibly needy and impossibly efficient cunts, big surprise.

Some attitudes were universal, however. Whether drooling or applauding or envious or fearful, it seemed as though everyone everywhere was asking the question: What does this mean for me? How will this affect my life, and what is my role in this brave new world? For gossip journalists like me it was mostly positive, the gorgeousness of all super-beings assuring that celebrity-driven media would flourish in a changed world. That wasn’t enough, though, not for me. I’m not particularly religious and had no established faith to lose; even so I couldn’t believe that the transformed had transformed without some greater purpose involved. I thought it especially relevant to ask: Whether it’s uncaring evolution or a loving God, why would invulnerability—the supposedly ultimate power—be given to the three hottest women of professional wrestling and no one else? Sure, all three Triumviri had looked like the superest of super-beings even before the changes, but the world was going to be ruled by three twenty-something blondes who’d faked fights for a living before becoming all-powerful?

I’d been as confused as anybody; more confused than most, actually. Until yesterday. Until Silver Slit and all I’d felt with her. Now I kept having this image of a jigsaw puzzle composed of a thousand pieces. Each piece was incredibly dazzling when seen on its own, yet when all of these super-lovely pieces were interlocked into their inevitable pattern, the larger picture was a major disappointment, the whole so much less exquisite than its individual parts. I kept wondering: What were the individual pieces supposed to feel if they could see that final picture, and didn’t like it? What was one individual piece supposed to do if she opposed that outcome, especially when the three pieces at the puzzle’s center were essentially all-powerful and couldn’t be harmed?

“Read every word back to me,” SuperYoni commanded, interrupting my divided attention.

Though she looked the part, she had never been a dumb blonde, and she had the sense to double-check that the announcement of the future of the whole frickin’ world didn’t contain any careless errors. I read from my notes and her head nodded a few times, after which she granted me twenty minutes to ask “the people’s questions”.

“Only twenty minutes? I think it would be best if you cleared your schedule for the rest of the afternoon. It would help others to obey if we could dispel some of the rumors flying about.”

SuperYoni’s brow furrowed and her biceps twitched reflexively. I never would have thought of myself as a muscle freak, but the flush of lust she’d mentioned before was beginning to feel more like an elephant stampeding under my skirt. Otherworldly power really was sexually intoxicating, and I was no more immune than anyone else. That woman could literally move the earth if she put her mind and body to the task, and my frothing girlmones kept wondering what it might feel like to move her.

“Leave us alone for the next hour!” SuperYoni’s voice rattled the statues, the furniture, the walls. The walls of my pussy, too. She was granting the request, and who needed an intercom when half of this midtown block must have heard her wishes? “You may begin,” she addressed me in a less deafening voice.

My inbox, the computer one, was filled with questions my readers wanted answered. Could a supe get pregnant, or were male sperm not up to the task? Would a supe age or were they essentially immortal? Did they need oxygen like any normal, or could the flying ones go into the upper atmosphere, or even space? Did they still need to eat? If an Invulnerable pooped, was their poop invulnerable? Why were their costumes always getting torn away at the breasts? How did Minirette get her costume to shrink when she shrank? Was it true that Shapely Shifter could approximate the powers of another supe if she took their form? How many supes had been lesbians before the changes, and what supes were doing which others? Were Dyspareunia and Terrible Tongue officially dating? Why weren’t MasoKristy and The Sadistress a couple? Did some of the superpowered keep supersexuals as love slaves?

I would ask some of those questions if I intended to do my job. I didn’t. I was here for myself, with questions carefully choreographed to tell me what I needed to know.

“It’s no secret that the people don’t understand why powers have only arisen in women,” I began. “Have you discovered the source of the changes, and why they spread across the globe so suddenly? I take it that you’re familiar with the 2012 theories, and the Resurrection of the Goddess articles.”

“Of course. Our new colleague, Fembrain, assures us that she is close to answering these important questions. What we do know is that the phenomenon is a natural progression—this was not a scheme concocted in a secret laboratory. We are curious as the specific cause, the same as others. We’re obviously pleased with the results, however it came about.”

Fembrain. Why hadn’t someone been given the gift of super-marketing to help the others pick out better names for themselves? “Is it true that Fembrain ‘sees’ in ten dimensions? Some believe that her almost limitless intellect makes her even more powerful than The Triumviri.”

“We three are invulnerable,” she answered smugly. “Even the incomparable Fembrain knows her place.”

“You have no weaknesses? There’s no kryptonite in this story?”

Laughter. “The Triumviri believe it unwise to advertise the scope or the limits of our powers. If there are any limits.” She winked, and with the clicking of Chad’s shutter I could imagine that wink appearing on every magazine cover in the world. Only it wouldn’t, not if I had my way.

“Can Fembrain determine whether the powers bestowed upon a woman are permanent? You’re all so young, after all. Might the powers dissipate with age?”

“The powers become one with the D.N.A. They are permanent and we are here to stay.”

I scribbled, my hand trembling with excitement. “There’s no chance that a supe will someday revert back to her pre-transformed self?”

“None.”

“Do you have X-ray vision?”

SuperYoni stared straight at my tits, and grinned. “What do you think?”

She didn’t. “There are rumors that some transformed women have not yet announced themselves, that they’ve chosen to hide their…”

“Nonsense.”

“You know that? How?”

She looked thoughtful for the first time, as though a bit of Carrie Simmons—her real name before she’d become Thunderloins in the ring, then SuperYoni after her transformation—had finally agreed to participate in this interview. “Being a normal, you can’t imagine how it feels to become like this,” she said, the amplified voice sounding wondrous. “The changes come upon one so suddenly, the power churning to life inside, rippling through our bodies, going so deep that it’s like even your soul has become something super!”

It took a ton of willpower to keep from laughing out loud. I saw no evidence of an evolved soul here, and that was the problem, wasn’t it? “You make it sound like you gave birth to the power,” I continued. “Is it like that?”

“No, it’s… Interesting, though, because people do talk about being ‘born again’. I never understood what they were talking about when it was only a religious belief. Perhaps we, the transformed, really were born again, only as goddesses. I feel like that, like a goddess, and no woman would ever run from that feeling, or hide it from the world. She would celebrate it as we have. She’d bathe in it, and…”

“You speak as though there’s a kind of sexual rapture involved.”

“Do I?” her blue eyes twinkled.

“The supersexuals speak frequently about sexual rapture and the opening of their hearts to an enhanced state of ‘super-love’.”

“Bully for them.”

I’d irritated her with that one. Had I touched the lone spot that was vulnerable? “Even those not classified as supersexuals must have altered sex lives after transforming. You must know how my readers want to know about the, um, carnal possibilities of being super.”

“You mean super-sex? They wish to know SuperGlands’ cup size and all about my…”

“Your super-privates, yes.”

She smiled, a bit wickedly. “Don’t be so delicate! My transformed twat, that’s what they want to know about.”

“Well, you did name yourself for it. And it’s kind of, you know, prominent. I’m almost afraid to ask this but I must. Is that some sort of prosthesis under your tights, or has your vagina really become that outstanding?”

The forceful laughter was not that far from a super-cackle. “I think we should continue to allow the ordinary people the pleasures of their imagination. Let them fantasize about it if they wish, and wonder.”

I can read expressions, and hers said: You’re dying to know, aren’t you? You fantasize about it yourself, don’t you? The answer to both questions was yes, yes, yes! I swallowed, and maintained control, and asked her about lust.

“Lust? Are you asking what I lust for?”

“The reverse, SuperYoni. You know how so many all over the world lust for you. I get the feeling you like that.”

“I do, especially if they can’t help themselves. To be feared and lusted over at the same time… I can live with that.”

“You’re the most popular, you know. Many already wonder if you’re actually more powerful than SuperGlands or SuperBod. You can fly, they can’t.”

“No two transformed are identical. We are individuals, and receive our powers individually.”

“I’ve followed your career since your debut with the Beautiful Wrestler’s Federation three years ago. You were always the most skilled. Also the best looking and by far the most well-spoken. You’re bigger and smarter and it only makes sense that you could still kick SuperGlands’ and SuperBod’s butts.”

I’d watched hours and hours of film, and recognized this particular gleam in her eye. The competitive juices still flowed.

“You can kick their butts, can’t you?” I egged her on.

“Anything in that direction would have to be off the record,” she dangled, wanting to say it. “Off the record forever.”

Her tone was serious. I put my pen down, and even motioned Chad to lower his camera. He was barely snapping any photos anyway, apparently caught up in our conversation. “We know what you could do to us if we betrayed your confidence, SuperYoni. If we promise…”

“I will kill you if you tell,” she dictated the terms. “Both of you in the same second, even if you’re on different continents, I promise.”

I wasn’t afraid and didn’t have to feign my excitement. “You can kick SuperGlands’ ass! You can kick SuperBod’s ass! You’re the most powerful of the most powerful, I knew it! They aren’t a threat to you, and Fembrain isn’t a threat to you—no one is a threat to you!”

She had great teeth, and you could count them. “I could strand them on the fucking moon if I wanted,” she chuckled. “I’m the tippy-top of the food chain, and it’s a very nice place to be.”

“Oh God this makes me excited!” I gushed through lips that really had begun to quiver. “I… Oh God it makes me so…”

The white teeth gleamed as I hiked up my skirt, tugging my panties aside to stroke what wouldn’t stop aching.

“A natural reaction, if shockingly unprofessional,” she commented, hovering out of her seat to stand upon the desk, fists on hipbones in that classic superhero show-off pose. She didn’t think it odd at all that I would lose control, wanting to cream all over myself just from contemplating her magnificence. I did what she expected, groaning excitedly as I grasped the bottom of my blouse, then lifted, pulling it over my head in one smooth motion.

It was priceless, the look in her eyes when she said, “Guh!” Chad got something similar out, although his reaction was more wet and drooly. His camera dropped to the floor and I winced before remembering that his photos were on the memory card inside. Fuck publishing them—I was going to keep these photos as a souvenir.

I had chosen a semi-transparent white bra for this coming-out party, one size too small. My boobs bulged and enough flesh was visible for SuperYoni to be affected. She was struggling, though, fighting inside in a way no one else had. Fearful that her incredible strength might apply to her will, I hurriedly unhooked the clasps of my bra, the resulting surge of boobage hitting her with the full effect. She let out a much louder “Guhh!” when I pulled the bra away, setting my beauties free.

Still sitting in my chair, I hefted my super-breasts in my hands and pointed them right at SuperYoni. She was a fighter, I had to give her that. No one else had resisted in the least, whereas her scrunched face and corded neck muscles made it look like she might have a super-aneurism. One of her feet stamped reflexively, smashing the desk in half. She didn’t fall, instead hovering higher, grunting something that might have been “bitch!” She looked overwhelmed, dazed, yet there was a deliberate target for her erratic flight, and it was me.

I fled my seat, backing away with my torso arched to keep my tits aimed at her eyes. She fell, the impact shaking the room and cracking the marble flooring to pieces. On hands and knees she crawled toward me, lust and rage intermixed behind her piercing irises, powerful fingers digging trenches in hard stone. I kept backing away, jiggling my tits and playing with the nipples for her to see. She groaned a room-shaking groan when I pulled at my nipples, and then her jaw finally dropped, the rest of her body losing all of its tensions. Her chin smashed the floor when she slumped down on her belly, panting for breath.

Or just plain panting. One of her arms was stretched forward but the other was underneath, and I heard the definite squish sounds of active fingers. I felt triumphant and power-drunk as I demanded: “Stop playing with yourself and look at me!” Her head tilted back and she peered up, eyes fixed on my tits like nothing else existed. I almost came from it, from seeing SuperYoni all glazed like a Dunkin’ donut, abused marble and a trail of fragrant fluid marking her defeat.

Top of the food chain, my tits.

My knees felt wobbly and I sank down, the moment getting to me. I was panting too and I could feel sweat beading my forehead. I’d come this close to being squashed like a bug; no wonder I had an adrenaline rush, and no wonder my tits and pussy felt like they could fuck hordes of the superpowered.

I don’t know how it works, any more than anyone has figured out how any of the powers work. My areolae don’t twirl like tanned spirals, and people don’t succumb to them through eyeglasses, or when they’re reflected in a mirror. I’ve heard since turning fifteen that my breasts are just freaking gorgeous, and now they really are freaky—freaky hypnotic and freaky great. They’ve become so compelling that it’s even a danger for me if I stare down at them for too long, so I don’t. Normals go blank instantly, their hormones screaming for my boobs even as their willpower turns to mush. Not a bad way to get a quick fuck with no complications, but I’d known I was thinking too small when I experimented with that. I learned last night that even a transformed wonder like Silver Slit was not immune, and I took the ultimate gamble that SuperYoni, the most powerful super-being on the planet, would be the same.

I have a theory, based on personal experience, that when the changes came to life inside us, they amplified some chief feature or special trait that already existed. The awesomely muscled wrestling babes are an obvious example, and Fembrain received one of those MacArthur genius grants at age nineteen, two years before the changes. I’d built a good career for myself and I wasn’t even twenty-six, so it might bruise my ego to admit that my tits were of better quality than my brains when the changes hit me. Or I could just be happy that I was one of the lucky lottery winners, my winning ticket sitting right there in my cleavage.

I guess I’d call myself something like HypnoTits or MesmerRack if I wanted tell the world about myself. I’d look pretty damn world-conquering in tights with my boobs thrusting out for all to worship, but the public will never know. No one will know, other than those unable to tell. I’ve downplayed my figure for years, allowing the spotlight to shine on others. I flourish behind the scenes as fame picks away at the souls of those who love being the peacocks of the world. I have no illusions about myself—I’m a decent person privately and a back room backstabbing parasite professionally, living off of others’ fame. I did that quite well without any magical powers; now that my tits could turn even the most super of the supes into a mind-puppet, I saw no reason to change what works.

They could have the glory, attracting the cheers or the jeers. I’d just be the perfect pair behind the curtain, doing what I could to police the superpowered from the shadows. Oh, and getting off with tons of super-sex. Couldn’t forget that, not after deciding it’s what I live for. Find some actual love along the way and it might even be a perfect world.

“You will never do anything to harm me, or harm Chad Wilson,” I wrote my first words upon the void that had once been SuperYoni’s autonomous mind. “You will never allow anyone to harm me, even another Triumviri, because you live to serve me.”

It was weird, feeling her silent screams of protest vibrating my tits. I’d felt the stimulating connection with others inside my nerve-endings before, signaling the point where I could impose fresh commands to my breast-struck victims without even speaking the words. This titnotic bond with SuperYoni was even more delicious, because a tiny spark of protest remained at her core, flickering but never lighting, filling her soul with frustration.

However you feel about it deep inside, I thought-commanded, outwardly you will always live to serve me. You will pretend to be autonomous and full of yourself just as before, but you are my obedient pet, now and forever.

“Forever,” she repeated blankly. With that word I cried aloud, legs jerking wide with my tits afire as something like the death rattle of SuperYoni’s will burned deep inside my chest. The connections between my tits and clit had become like a superhighway since the changes first appeared, but it had never been like this.

My tongue felt thick with anticipation as I ordered SuperYoni to tear the fabric of her costume away from between her legs. She did so at normal speed, perhaps intuiting how delicious each and every second was for me. I gasped when I saw it uncovered, and ordered her to hover in front of me, legs spread wide, the ultimate object of my desire parted for inspection.

It was almost too streamlined and too powerful, in the way a Maserati might look too streamlined and powerful sitting next to an ordinary sedan. I didn’t know how she could shave but she was completely hairless, and the exaggerated folds had an exaggerated scent that filled my core. Though she hovered motionless I saw glistening highlights dancing on glistening membrane, and realized with a flush of fresh lust that her vagina was vibrating.

I needed to get off, desperately, and I’d prepared a plan for doing just that. I stood and considered Chad, still drooling from having his brains boobed for the umpteenth time. His big cock had become my regular office dildo in recent weeks, though he remembered none of it. I needed his equipment today, but more in the way of a guinea cock. I had to know whether SuperYoni’s super-tongue and super-lips could pleasure something without destroying it, and whether something could enter that suped-up cunt and come out intact. If she could suck and fuck a weak male without obliterating his dick, then just imagine all I could do.

I would allow him the option of saying no to the experiment, but come on—he was a guy with a crack at a super-crack. I didn’t want him cockless or even dead; I wanted the experiment to succeed, and would do everything in my power to make SuperYoni as super-gentle as she needed to be with him.

Don’t move a muscle until I tell you to, I directed at SuperYoni as a precaution, then addressed my assistant. “Chad, I free you from the tit-spell. Your will is your own again.”

He finished his arrested lust-groan as my commands supplanted the trance. We’d done this dozens of times, but of course it was always new to him. It was one of the greatest pleasures when I fucked someone now, that every time could be their first time if I wanted it that way.

He gasped for a while, bent over. “You’re a supe!” he gushed. “Your tits…”

“Control minds, right. SuperYoni has no will of her own now, and I have a not so little proposition for you.”

“My god, Heather, your tits are… I’ve never seen anything so…”

“Get over them, Chad. I need you sharp here.”

“Get over them? How? They’re so…”

“You have sunglasses, right? Put them on. They’re just tits though glasses.” The best tits ever, probably, but not magical beyond that. I’d never reveal how to avoid my power if I didn’t know Chad would be made to forget. Actually, I knew he could be a slave to my tits even with the glasses on. He always pleaded for a tit-job once we got started, and fell into a different kind of trance if I allowed it.

“Jeez, Heather!” he exclaimed from behind his mirrored shades. “Do you have other powers, too?”

Jeez? When had Chad ever said that? “I have super-strength, though nothing close to SuperYoni’s class. And super… appetites.”

He always asked, “What sorts of appetites?” but this time he got it right off. Chad’s lips broadened, more of a leer than a smile. I briefly wondered if he could remember his role in engaging my enhanced appetites on my desk or office couch, but that wasn’t possible. Our dick-draining escapades were completely inaccessible to him unless I chose to set the memories free.

“You’ve been a very wicked girl, Heather Hendricks,” he said, his voice growing higher in pitch. “I understand those super-appetites completely, believe me.”

“Chad? What’s…”

“In fact, I’m going to insist on sampling those appetites.”

Fuck, it wasn’t just his voice changing—all of him was changing! Changing into… “SuperYoni!” I exclaimed, knowing it was all wrong as I said it. “Oh fu…”

The super-speed might not have been quite as speedy, but it was still faster than I could deal with. I heard and felt the sonic boom and in the same instant found myself wrapped inside super-strong arms, a hot female body pressed into my behind.

“Shapely Shifter!”

“In the flesh!” she declared, and it really was bare flesh smacked against my back and ass. “And no longer must I put up with imitating pathetic male flesh. Now I’ve appropriated the most powerful flesh on earth!”

When had the switch been made—before I even picked Chad up this morning? When he went to the restroom? I struggled, but it couldn’t be much different than struggling against the real SuperYoni. Shapely Shifter did appropriate the powers of those she imitated. She probably wasn’t completely invulnerable; even so I was…

“Oh fu…” I began to cry out, finding myself thrown into the air. It was like being inside of a horny tornado on the way up, a blur of tit-sucking and finger-probing bringing me off in the space of two or three shocked heartbeats. I couldn’t even draw a breath as she speed-stimulated me into a blinding orgasm, though I expelled air when my rump smacked upon the floor. My pussy ached like it had fucked a small sun and I felt warm drizzle dotting my bare flesh. Through blinking eyes I saw that my pussy was literally squirting, like I’d become a superhuman girl-cum fountain.

“Oh God!” I choked out. I’m almost like a tank strength-wise, but I didn’t know how many speedy fuck sessions I could take and still survive. I had to be crazy because I longed for more, even though it might be suicide.

“God?” Shapely Shifter/fake SuperYoni repeated. “I haven’t figured out how to imitate that one yet!” She laughed and it was almost one of those evil genius cartoon laughs. “But being SuperYoni is close enough, don’t you agree? Thanks for immobilizing her, and making this possible!”

I needed to see the real SuperYoni to remove the immobilization command, but the fake version hovered in a spread-legged sitting position right in front of my face, blocking any view. Though barely able to think I stared at the perfect facsimile of the super-cunt I’d coveted. If her appropriated version of SuperYoni’s sex was identical to the real one in ability as well as form…

The oversized vagina pressed against my lips, and I felt the pulsations I’d seen before. The glistening membranes were somehow as soft as melting butter, but when my tongue pressed inside I felt and even heard a change, the pulses beginning to whine against the pressure. I had it figured out in just a couple of seconds—SuperYoni’s super-snatch could be soft and welcoming, benignly allowing delicate intrusion. No doubt the effect would be quite different if I tried to shove a steel rod in there, the vibrations so sped-up that the rod would instantly disappear as heat and smoke. It was perfect super-design, allowing sex while maintaining invulnerability; even so I felt a twinge of pity for the real SuperYoni. I liked sex slow and gentle, too—sometimes. But to have all raucous reamings wiped off the table? Uh-uh, no thanks.

I lost my breath again as Shapely Shifter pressed her vibrating vagina against me, engulfing my mouth and a good bit of my nose. I couldn’t resist licking at it, tasting super-nectar just as I’d dreamed I would. Only this was not the real deal, not the authentic taste, and I was no one’s unwilling suck-servant. I only needed to locate the actual SuperYoni with my eyes, then direct her to my rescue…

“Ah!” Shapely Shifter/fake SuperYoni cried out, the pressure on my mouth disappearing. She hurled herself backward, crashing through the center of the marble Athena, then up through the ceiling, falling back through at a point ten feet away. I didn’t understand what was happening but I knew to dive for cover, dodging chunks of toppling marble and splintered wood. Plaster dust assaulted my lungs and I had to put my hands over my ears, because the cries coming out of her contorted mouth were deafening.

She fingered herself frantically, more like hysterically, writhing on her back on the floor like a woman possessed. I glanced at the real SuperYoni, still completely motionless. What on earth had gotten into Shapely Shifter? She’d had me at her mercy but was now in the grip of something like super-epilepsy, only no one in an epileptic fit would be masturbating like that. One moment she looked like she was going to have an orgasm that would blow out the walls, the next her eyes grew desperate and fearful, the screams no longer screams of pleasure.

“Gahh!” she ga-boomed, pulling her vaginal lips wide. She collapsed lights-out and I thought I saw something shoot out from the super-twat, and in an instant that something enlarged, becoming a goo-covered costumed female. With goggles as part of her costume, fuck!

“Release my master!” Minirette demanded of me. Shit shit shit, she might have been in the room the entire time, a mote of a spy completely clued in to my intentions. I hadn’t known she was SuperYoni’s pet and I’d just witnessed how she could literally get inside a body and tear someone apart from within!

SuperYoni, protect me! I thought at the superest supe in the room, and within the measure of something much smaller than a second it was a contest between the super-speed speeding and the shrinking woman shrinking herself too small to be caught.

The shrinkage was faster, which wasn’t the same as Minirette being safe. SuperYoni’s eyes blazed and I could see the exhalation of breath that presaged the super-inbreath to come. I tried to call out “No!", but something big and heavy clobbered my jaw, sending me sprawling. All the objects in the room, including me in mid-sprawl, were speed-sucked toward that mouth, statues and paintings and rubble flying as if in a vacuum tunnel. I didn’t smash into SuperYoni; rather I smashed into a broken chair and a hunk of marble that had smashed into whatever else, and whatever else before that. My flesh was being pummeled and something extremely uncomfortable dug into my back. I thought I saw one of Shapely Shifter’s arms ahead in the rubble—fuck, I wasn’t even sure if it was connected to the rest of her. I had just a moment to fear that SuperYoni would exhale all at once and with force, getting me killed in the next county as she mindlessly tried to protect me. “Enough!” I heard, or head-heard somewhere inside my brain. Gravity took hold and everything dropped all at once, a jumbled pile with only SuperYoni standing unscathed in the destroyed space. Parts of walls and most of the roof had caved in, and bright sunlight glowed through a gigantic cloud of swirling dust. I tried to stand but couldn’t, then heard the click of heels somewhere to my right. I could just make out the slender shape of a woman standing with hands on hips.

“Some of the most precious objects in the world are smeared all over you!” the unknown woman admonished. “Do you really want irreplaceable treasures and Shapely Shifter to be the first victims of your power play? Is a taste of SuperYoni’s altered anatomy really worth all this? I know you crave super-sex but she can’t even fuck you hard, not without killing you!”

“Who the hell are you?” I addressed this new element.

She stepped closer, and I recognized the fine legs before the rest became clear. The receptionist? But she wore glasses and no woman with bad eyesight could... “Holy crap, I fell for the Clark Kent routine!” I muttered, tasting blood on my lower lip. “Let me guess—LipSmacker, or something like that.”

“I’m in the habit of calling myself Curvature, although I’m like you—what’s the use of a name if you don’t want it known?”

“You’re underground too,” I coughed, which hurt something awful. Probably broken ribs or some other internal damage, despite my strength.

“I’d like to play with those,” she said a bit dreamily, spectacled eyes on my tits. “I’d like to experience them. But not on these terms.”

“What are your terms?” I was half-broken and she wore glasses—a nerd, even a male one, could wipe the floor with me right now.

“I’ll just do what I do best,” she answered cryptically. “I’ve been trying to clean up what I can but there are so many of them and they’re so impulsive.”

She was an undercover world-protector, the same as I thought I might want to be?

“Keeping close to SuperYoni keeps me in the loop,” she answered. “I might need to clean it all up someday, undo every single transformation, if they don’t get their act together.”

“You can do that?”

She didn’t answer. “And sometimes a girl needs a reward, know what I mean? We all want something, or someone. I’m pretty sure I want you. I knew it the moment I met you.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off her mouth when she said that. “What is your power?” I asked. “It’s something with your lips.”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” I thought I saw her say, the lips twisting just slightly. Actually they seemed to bend, and then everything near them bent sympathetically, the bending reaching out to me until I bent, too, and everything my bent eyes could see became curved, like curves were curving in on themselves, curling until their insides were out, becoming all curvy-wurvy topsy-turvy…

“Heather, stop! What if she has super-hearing?”

My normal hearing registered the click of heels approaching on the polished marble floor. “Miss Hendricks? SuperYoni will see you now. If you have nothing more interesting to do, that is.”

I started to rise, but something in the unexpected words and golden tones of her voice made me stop. I did a double-take, because SuperYoni’s receptionist was just the kind of woman I would have fallen for two days ago. She had pale smooth skin and luxurious red hair, beautifully shaped lips and tranquil eyes doeishly enlarged behind stylish eyeglasses. I thought she looked like Bambi with oodles of sex-appeal, and for some reason my eyes kept coming back to the lips. I imagined Bambi in a meadow, peacefully munching grass. Then I pictured silky red locks tickling my thighs, those incredible lips not so peacefully munching away. She puckered her mouth just slightly and it was like the woman used hot sauce as lip gloss. Rowr!

“What could possibly be more interesting than SuperYoni?” I asked, my eyes wanting to watch her mouth form the words. Any words, any words at all.

A little smile, making my heart do flips. “How about destiny?”

“Destiny? What...”

“Do you like curves?”

That mouth! “Curves? As in…”

She didn’t speak, but something a lot like her voice resounded in my head, saying: “Your curves meeting my curves, Heather. An even exchange. A world-changing exchange. A partnership.”

I could barely make myself breathe. Screw the glasses; she had to have perfect vision. She had a power, like me, and her curves were certainly… curvy. But my upper curves were unlike any others; one look at them without the glasses and she’d live for these tits, unless I made her forget.

“They certainly do look overwhelming,” I heard inside my head again.

“They’re outright mind-bending,” I spoke aloud. I’d never warned anyone before—what was I doing?

“What’s mind-bending?” Chad asked. “Heather, aren’t we going in?”

“I can bend things, too,” the receptionist spoke aloud, her lips puckering as if to kiss the air.

I gasped, that kiss planting itself under my skirt. Her lips twisted into a tiny smile and I felt a sympathetic twisting inside my panties, so distinct and strong that I cried out, legs going wide as I slipped down onto my rear on the floor.

“Heather?” Chad asked, alarmed. “Heather, what…”

The receptionist just smiled, then slowly licked her lips.

“Gahh!” I gushed, about one breath from totally losing it.

“Heather? Heather?”

I’d dreamed of getting my tongue on SuperYoni’s super-cunt for weeks, and it wasn’t easy giving up one’s dreams. Besides the sex I’d hoped to affect SuperYoni, titnotizing her into being a more benevolent ruler. It was a selfish mission but also more than that, and I was going to choose unforeseen supersexual lip play over the fate of the world?

“You do the interview, Chad!” I managed to croak between excited gasps.

“Me? But I’m a guy!”

The receptionist laughed inside my head.

“Just be yourself, Chad. You’ll do fine.”

“Are you crazy? I can’t…”

It wasn’t fair but I did it anyway, stretching the opening of my blouse and hefting, dropping a boob-bomb on Chad’s brain. He let out the customary “Guh!” and went completely horny blank, spittle darkening a spot on his shirt. My new female friend’s doe-eyes widened in awe, but her glasses kept her from completely succumbing.

“You’ve always been a talented and confident young man and you will comport yourself that way in SuperYoni’s presence,” I inserted my will into Chad’s vacuum of a mind. “Go in there and be respectful, and do whatever SuperYoni says. Now go, and remember nothing of having seen my tit today.”

The receptionist helped me to my feet as my assistant strode away. We stood with our noses nearly touching, my bared breast grazing the full round contents of her blouse. It felt like my heart literally ached. I wasn’t one to fall so quickly, so hard—what was happening to me?

“What is your name?” I asked.

She didn’t answer. Instead she tilted her head, lips grazing mine, and it was like pillowy electricity crackling in bent or curling air. I felt me curling too and almost cried out, but then the soft contact was broken, and the details behind the red mane were completely different.

“What on earth?” I looked around—we were in my bedroom, and I was naked but for my sexiest black bra. Somehow it was night, not day, the clock reading nine p.m.

“It’s the day before yesterday,” the impossibly luscious lips informed me. “Silver Slit has yet to appear in your life. I think I’d like to meet her with you. We could share.”

I gulped. This was in no way an unpleasant chain of events, but... how?

“I’ve shown you a bit of mine,” my new super-friend explained. She was completely naked and oh God what a body. No glasses, either, which meant... “Now show me yours,” she urged.

“What is your name?” I asked again, reaching to unclasp my bra. “Who the fuck are you?”

Her lips formed the syllables, though if she actually spoke I couldn’t hear it. I couldn’t listen because I felt my clitoris twist as her lips moved, shooting stars flying inside my eyeballs. I couldn’t even work the bra clasps, my fingers going tingly-numb as I toppled onto the bed all come-shocked. She, whoever she was, climbed over me, our super-privates nearly touching.

“Could you tell me your name again?” I pleaded. “Only this time draw it out, slowly.”

It was total detonation this time, my whole body bucking. I still didn’t hear the two syllables but that didn’t feel like a problem anymore. When my stunned eyes could open again they immediately sought my bookshelf—I was going to have to make this total lipbomb read to me tonight. Love poems. No, a novel. A long one, the entire fucking thing.

“Show me yours,” she thought into my head, her lower body curving down until her vagina was pressed to mine. I finally understood that projecting thoughts kept her lips still—she didn’t have to do that bendy sex-explosion thing when her lips moved, but right now she could frown with that mouth and I’d totally lose it.

“You’ll never be the same once you see them,” I warned her.

“I love first-times,” I heard in my head. “And I can give us as many as we wish.”

“I can too!”

“I think I love you,” I head-heard.

“I think I’m in love, too!” I spoke aloud, and I meant it.

“Michelle,” I heard inside. “My name is Michelle.”

I did it like I never had before, taking my time with the bra, giving Michelle one creamy centimeter after another. She was gushing before the full effect got to her, and when this woman’s lips went slack with the “Guhh!”, it might as well have been a black hole pulling at my clitoris, twisting me all around and inside-out, one giant orgasm, soundlessly exploding.

Come as incredibly as I’m coming! I commanded, and through the shockwaves and tit/mind connection I felt hot liquid hitting my body, hitting my pussy, nectar joining nectar as the bed vibrated beneath us.

It was… super.