The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Monday, April 10th, 7:53 a.m.

Clay had no idea how horny his wife was. Probably a lot, probably a ton. He drove the rental car hard, pulsing on the accelerator with nervous, quick bursts of speed. His phone was plugged in, charged, and hadn’t peeped in the last eight hours. The last message he had from Julia was an accidental shot of her toes. The second to last was her texting ‘ddddd’.

The one before THAT was ‘pls hurri. Sex.’

He’d arrived in Denver at the worst possible time, for a wedding that had been called off. No telling what Michael and Erin were up to, their wedding party scattered off, Vail reduced to a breeding frenzy. By the time he reached the hotel the looks on nearby girls had already turned vague, worried, distant. By the time he got to his room he could hear the first unreserved moan of a woman going through it. He’d texted Julia then:

C:

You seeing all this? On the news?

J:

Yeah

C:

You okay?

J:

Ummm.

C:

Oh shit.

J:

No.

It was no surprise she’d caught it. After all, it didn’t seem to be a normal virus of any kind. Girls blinked, and then gasped, private parts heating up. Like a switch had been turned on. It was weird at best to see women ambling around and think, with total certainty: she is so horny, she is desperate for cock. Funny that he’d thought that it was hard to say if a girl was feeling it. These walked with a twist to their hips, with glassy, half-drunk smiles, nipples erect, deep longing breaths. By the end of day one they were giggling and wet, wandering the streets.

C:

Are you staying inside?

J:

yeah i’m okay.

J:

I mean, you know?

J:

is it okay…?

C:

What?

C:

oh. Oh okay.

C:

Yeah! Of course just stay inside.

J:

When is your flight again?

He’d told her a dozen times. That was nearly the most concerning part—Julia seemed so dull, so half-asleep horny. A lot were—and even those that weren’t, looked lashed with some inner electricity, practically whimpering as their bodies were altered. In the event, it didn’t matter when his flight was. The ground stop came in while he watched a dark-haired girl across from him at the airport rub slowly at her tits.

“They’re getting bigger!” she’d told him, half scared, half conspiratorial.

And that was that, he was off on a road trip west, taking a Hyundai Elantra to its absolute limits. Julia kept him apprised while he poured through the Rockies and across the desert.

J:

boobs definitely getting bigger

J:

lots bigger

J:

Vibrator broke :( :( :(

C:

K

J:

whats your uhhhh

J:

the word for when you are gonna get somewhere

C:

ETA

C:

18 hours and fifty-seven minutes

J:

oh nooooooooo

They’d talked somewhat, although after awhile Clay had avoided the phone. Julia kept turning them into sex chats, trying to get off over the phone. The disconcerting part was how well they worked—she would start moaning and cumming into the receiver, the interior of the Elantra vibrating to his wife orgasming just from him gamely saying “cum for me.”

The radio reception was a mess but apparently there were a number of different strains going around. Too many to count, like the internet had broken loose and infected them all with every fucked up fantasy. Halfway through Utah a girl walked by the gas station in impossibly-tight shorts, her eyes broad and wide, hair all the way down to her ass. She had far too big boobs for a wasp-thin waist.

That didn’t describe Julia, who reported being hungry, so hungry, eating and eating in a long and endless meal.

J:

finished the rice

C:

did you cook it first?

J:

uhhhh

J:

i mean

J:

what’s your eta again?

J:

my tits are SUPER big.

He had no idea what to expect. The internet was not reassuring—there were porcine girls, generically big girls, something called ‘breeder’ that sounded bad, cow sluts, and just all manners of esoteric and bizarre results. One of which was his wife. He coaxed the flagging car over the Sierras and sped into the bay.

The front door was open. He was still in the same clothes as at the airport two days previous—there was no chance the airline had the wherewithal to return his baggage. His phone hadn’t lit up for hours and Julia had stopped answering his repeated calls entirely.

He hesitated on the threshold.

Who, exactly, was in there?

Julia enjoyed true crime podcasts and treated them like oxygen. When there’d been a break in the McCann case she’d cried happy tears. She liked to bake and hated baking the same thing twice. She wore dresses as much as she could and loved big stupid necklaces. In the bedroom she appreciated stupid jokes. Now she’d been through two, three days of harsh treatment, reshaped by something and driven to eat and eat. And the front door was open, wide open.

He stepped inside. She was waiting at the table.

The house had been trashed. Empty boxes of cheerios, spaghetti, milk, covered the kitchen floor. The shades had been drawn, leaving the entire house dim. Clothes filled the gaps wherever food didn’t—underwear of all sorts, even his own clothes. The living room still had the TV on, tuned to porno. He did a double-take—no, it was CNN, there was the logo. Just showing two people fucking. But he had to attend to his wife.

She didn’t move despite his slow approach. Julia had put her head low and her ass up, and her tail swished nervously back and forth. His wife’s tail. It had black and white spots. Her pussy was as up and presenting as it could be, and was dense with matted hair. She was much bigger, tits resting on the table, an ooze that had to be milk leaking onto the floor. Julia still had the same dark hair, but her skull had subtle changes, not quite a muzzle. She had big liquid brown eyes that looked at him with total unconcern.

“I’m back,” he told her. He sniffed.

The scent flooded him.

He’d been holding his breath, anxious. But the house smelled like—sex, but also Julia. It was indescribably her, all her, a rich, relaxing musk that lulled him, relaxed him. A touch of barnyard, but also memories of her pouting about the madeleines not coming out right. He’d probably smelled it ten thousand times, just never this intensely, this intimately. It was pouring out of her pussy. A pussy so wet and red it was drooling.

He stood there and breathed it in, unable to do much else. Tension poured out as the heat built. The relationship was definitely going to change. It’d be hard to bring her outside, smelling like this, her body trying to get bred. Maybe on very windy days, and definitely with a collar on. They’d have to toss out her wardrobe. Maybe some of her sweats would fit, with a hole cut out for the tail. He watched it swish back and forth, in perfect rhythm to the blood pounding in his cock.

It reminded him that he really needed to fuck his spouse. His dick started to ache. He dropped his pants, smacked her on her much bigger rear, and pulled her tail aside with the other hand. He’d have to get her new clothes. Or maybe not, maybe that was old thinking. Clay slid into her, rocked all the way to the back, and smiled affectionately when she squeezed him. That was his Julia, always thoughtful.

Holidays would be a challenge, but the important thing was: they’d go together. Maybe drive to the relatives, his horny spouse in the passenger seat, vibrator pulsing between her legs. Stopping every two hours or so to air the car out and relieve the pressure in his balls. And what would he get her for anniversaries? Milking buckets? But these were all problems for later on. Definitely a new ring to fit her. And why not make it a choker, instead? A selection of leashes? His dick told him: good idea.

“Missed you,” he said, still breathing hard and fast. He could work with this. There’d be a lot more cooking, but dairy was now locally provided. He’d fuck her morning, day, and night, of course. See if that new mouth could give a nice blowjob. And if not, no trouble at all to just push in to a snatch that was always docile, ready, and willing. Definitely she needed a cute black and white spotted skirt. Luckily the backyard was grass.

Julia came. It was a long, shuddering moan that was just, just shy of a moo. That was fine too. It struck him that maybe her scent was a narcotic, or something. On the other hand, if that was his wife, so be it. He came in her, admiring her new ass. It was truly enormous, fat and wonderful. He flopped onto the couch, and so did she, hairy and sweating and wonderful. Clay could tell he would be ready for round two soon.

“How’d you know it was me?” he asked. “You didn’t even look around when my dick got in you.”

She smiled, pleased. “I remembered your E-T-A,” she said, pleased with herself, and lowered her mouth onto his cock for cleanup.