The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Madison faced a difficult choice: masturbate before her dissertation defense? Or try and pretend she didn’t have a wet and needy little cunny?

She’d slept incredibly poorly, which at first had seemed like understandable nerves before the most important day of her educational career. Too hot in bed, the slightest whisper of fabric against her skin wholly unbearable. And then, even when just lying in her panties, so aware of her skin, her body, the way it was sprawled out beneath her. Nerves prickling in the dark. The prickling had turned into a dull ache, which had turned into a throb, and then it had been two in the morning and she was getting herself off.

Even that she had explained to herself as misfiring nerves, accidentally hitting her libido. She was probably ovulating. In fact she’d welcomed finally stroking herself, expecting some kind of stress relief from holding the vibrator up against her clit. It would drain out the nerves, she’d sleep until eight, and then arise refreshed and professional. She’d cum as planned. It was a very satisfying orgasm.

And then she’d realized, eyes narrowing, that her body had really enjoyed that, and wanted more. A second session had led to her moaning into her pillow, and by the third she’d flipped over, back arched unnaturally, her legs shaking.

At that point, confused, wet, aching, she’d heard her roommate moaning too.

Then she’d checked the internet.

“You can do this,” Madison told herself. If the person in the mirror was calm, then she was calm. She wore the exact suit she’d planned on, the exact same shirt. Her hair was knotted back, she practiced a severe expression. There was more makeup then she’d originally planned, but she was heavily sweating, and needed more volume to cover.

The necklace had been the tricky part. A silver ring, it had serious sentimental value. That didn’t stop it from riding over the top of her breasts, the cool metal sending full-body shivers. Madison had tugged down the blouse so they wouldn’t interact. That created a different problem, excess boobs, but she was flat enough it probably wouldn’t matter.

But the real problem was her hair. It would not lay flat, and seemed to radiate outwards from her head, determined to create a halo. It was now streaked with golden tones. Finally Madison just left it—it wasn’t exactly unprofessional, just exasperating.

The truth was, she wasn’t exactly the calm person in the mirror. Madison had lined her underwear with her heaviest pad, considered her situation, and added another. She was basically in sex diapers. She felt lightheaded and deeply turned on, acutely aware, at every moment, that she was inside of a girl body, that it had intense girl needs, and that she was fighting to deny them every second. When she’d left her roommate had already just started touching herself in the living room. Normalcy was this close to breaking down.

Madison pushed open the door to the faculty conference room. Three professors were already there—Professor Holly, who gave her a warm smile, Professor Cullough, who frowned out of long-ingrained habit. And Professor Stevens, who was clearly going to be the problem. He’d taken the center chair, despite not being in charge of the proceedings in any way.

“Come on in!” Holly said, waving her in, cheery. “Have a seat! I’m sure you’re looking forward to having this over with, what a day its been!” she was a sculpted blonde, just a little bit past prime, with a little bit of store mannequin in her look. Her smile seemed sincere. Perhaps too sincere.

Cullough seemed hunched in on herself, her black curls closing her in like windowblinds. Madison took the chair. Sitting down too heavily was an error—it sent a ripple of soft pressure through her body, and her body loved it.

Stevens leaned forwards. He had a heavy brown beard that everyone knew was dyed, and no hair at all on top of his head. He looked like he should wear glasses, and didn’t. “Madison, I will not waste time, as we are in the middle of a historic event. You are well aware of my issues with your thesis. Your opening defense?”

Madison looked him squarely in the eyes. She realized that she had no fucking clue what her dissertation was about.

It had consumed the past few years of her life, and should’ve been all there, in neatly ordered rows. Some sort of thesis statement at the very least. A set of propositions that had been proven up by the relentless application of facts. In fact she had the strong sense that she had prepared charts and graphs that would show Professor Stevens that he was a dowdy dumbshit with the intellectual worldview of 1953. There were thesis-adjacent memories intact—her spending long hours on computers, crying from frustration in the shower, concerns about funding.

But that was it.

She hadn’t even brought a copy. Too much worry and concern about leaking onto the chair during her defense.

Her pussy made clear that was still very possible. She clenched. It just made things worse. Her body was just so hot. A lock of hair fell past her eyes.

“I think…” Madison tried to still her heart. It was probable this was all some awful dream. She should use it to her advantage, by learning how to effectively bullshit. “...that under the present circumstances, and everyone having more interesting concerns, I submit on the papers as written.”

There, and she had used a bunch of big, important words. Holly was nodding and smiling—although there was something troubling about her broad, wide smile. The blonde had one hand tight on her sweater neckline. Cullough had flinched further into herself.

“I don’t intend this defense to be a rubber stamp,” Stevens said, leaning back in his chair. He picked at the thick stack of papers in front of him. Her thesis. If she could just look at the title…

What was especially concerning was that plunging into the empty bathtub where her work should’ve been… it didn’t feel bad. It should’ve been alarming, even terrifying, to just fucking FORGET her dissertation. But it was like a soapy, sudsy tub inside of her head, a warm and welcome place suffused with a violet and ginger scent. It’d be easy just to float in it, thoughtless…

Stevens was saying something.

“What?” Madison said, bolting up. Her panties were losing the battle with her own wet slit. She crossed them, tightly.

“I’m saying, do. you. smell. that. question mark.” Stevens said.

Was that—her? It was the same violet-infused scent as before, but also… distinctly pussy-esque. It was pussy. Was this her?

“That’s me,” Professor Cullough said.

They all turned to stare at her.

“I’m afraid that my own idiosyncratic reaction to this… virus… has been an intense floral scent emanating from my wet pus—from my inflamed vagina,” Professor Cullough said. She pushed her glasses back up her nose and tucked her hair back. Her face was covered in sweat. “I hope it isn’t unpleasant. I personally can’t detect it at all but I’m told it is like violets and honey. It’s also, unfortunately, somewhat… arousing… to people in… range.”

Professor Holly giggled. “I thought it was me!” she said, trying to muffle herself. The silly grin peeked from behind her fingers. “Oh my goodness! I’m sorry—I know its all very serious but I am sitting here absolutely dribbling into my panties and thinking—I’m sorry, it’s just all very funny, isn’t it?” She sat there, abashed, with the same dopey grin. “Gosh, we are all going through it, aren’t we, ladies?”

“I’ve heard enough,” Professor Stevens said. He stood up, inadvertently… vertently? … displaying his erection for all three girls. “This is a farce. We will reconvene when this passes through.”

Would it? Madison pinched herself, hard. It was the best way to cut through the warm fuzzy feeling of pleasant, mild arousal that was part Professor Cullough’s pussy and part her own inborn arousal. “Sir, I am here, and I am ready to be a professor!” she stood up, commanding.

“Madison, you’ve soaked your skirt,” Professor Stevens said. He eyed her, then all of them. “I think all of you need to get to a bathroom stall.”

“What about you?” Madison said. She didn’t dare to look down at herself. Absolutely she was showing off her freshly-creamed self to her academic near-peers. Lubricant streamed down her legs. She stared at Professor Stevens’ dick, instead. But what if this was… she could barely think of it, or nearly anything… permanent? “Lets come back tomorrow. I want that doctorate! I earned it, professor sir!”

It was the last “sir” that did it. It awoke something. Actually, it was perfectly obvious what it awoke, since his cock was pressing hard against his pants. “Fine,” Professor Stevens said, with a strange catch in his voice. He strode out.

“Well, as its just ladies, now, I think it’s okay for us to masturbate,” Professor Cullough said.

A second lock of hair fell down into her eyes. Madison fell back in her seat and let her fingers join the actual professors at work.

Madison had done her bestest to prepare for the hearing. There were a lot of issues, but the main one was—her hair.

It’d grown over a foot and a half over the course of a day. If she stood perfectly still, and closed her eyes, she could hear it growing. Not just that, it was coming in impossibly blonde, impossibly thick. A dense mane that had already ripped apart her usual hairbrush. It was silken, glossy. The brown locks at the very tip were the last remnant of former Madison, and they were somehow, impossibly, fading into blonde.

That wasn’t her only change, although it was the only one that seemed to set her apart from the other girls. Like everyone else female she’d spent the day filling in much bigger tits, and courting a UTI with her needy fingers. There was just more to her, a plush infill that had plumped her from tip to toe. But the hair was her special change, her own little individual issue. It didn’t seem to be a particularly bad one, as these things went. It was ultimately just hair, even if it now tickled the tops of her tits when she walked. Her roommate was busy developing enormous, thick lips, with a slick trail of drool she was no longer bothering to slurp back. Her spit was a viscous pink and was getting everywhere. Madison hadn’t dared to complain.

She’d done her best to prepare for the dissertation defense, try two. Madison had sat down, dull and defeated, as page after page of her thesis slid out of her underpowered printer. Fully conscious that she’d probably be a cup size bigger, her hair six inches longer, and herself a whole lot dumber by the time it was all out.

“Hurry upppppppp,” she told the dumb machine. She twirled her hair, cupped her tits, tried to ignore the itch between her legs. She pouted. She admired her hot new reflection, her untamed waterfall of hair. She even looked stupider. More stupid. Her mouth kept falling open and even her dumb eyelashes were longer.

It was so unfair, getting dumb and sexy on the actual day of her dissertation defense. And then to have to try and study smart stuff while it was all getting replaced with thoughts about blowjobs and tips for proper hair care. The only good news was that there was plenty of room in her head for facts about her thesis. It was nice and fun and roomy in her head. At least turning into a hot dumb person felt good. The hard part, honestly, was forcing herself to care about stuff old Madison was into.

“What’s eight plus eight?” Madison asked her roommate, over breakfast. It had just occurred to her. She was pretty sure sixteen, but not like, super sure.

Her roomie had nearly stripped a cucumber, borrowed from the neighbor, clean of the skin. She pistoned it back and forth, pink spit swirling. The couch was waterlogged. She pulled it free with an audible pop.

“I don’t know, and I don’t fucking care,” she snapped, annoyed at the interruption. “I’m BUSY.”

“I see we descend further into farce,” Professor Stevens grumbled.

“I think we’re ready to proceed,” Madison said. She’d scripted out her responses. Nothing was going to be left to chance. She had stuffed her underpants with paper towels. And most importantly, indulged in a half-dozen nice cummies in the bathroom just outside. They’d probably cost her a few more brain cells, but the stress relief had been superb. “As you can see, I am here, and prepared, and ready for…” she squinted at the paper she’d typed out. “Thesis. I am ready for that.”

“Yayyy!” Professor Holly said. Madison winced. She had a great deal of respect for Professor Holly. The woman had revolutionized her male-dominated field, had forced the rewriting of all the major textbooks, and was currently sucking on a bright red lollipop. There was a swirl of pink in her hair, and she’d done it up in pigtails. She was dressed in a floral cami and jean skirt and had a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses up on her head. “Oh, awesome! Prof, lets give it to her! Yay!”

There was no sign of Professor Cullough at all. That wasn’t quite true—there was still a hint of her in the air, a potpourri that an entire twenty-four hours hadn’t been able to dispel. Madison cinched her legs together tightly, and smiled at Professor Stevens. She scanned her list of responses. “Can you give me my doctor-ate, please?”

“Oh, my god,” the man grumbled. His hair was askew. “Madison, this is a joke. The doctoral program is not some sort of participation trophy. I can see your intelligence flat-lining from over here. All of you women have the current attention span of a small dog and, like them, you are only interested in getting a bone.” He smiled at that one, pleased with himself. “You’re twirling your hair, right this minute, like an entire airhead. I’m confident most of your brain cells have long since been converted into those ridiculously long locks. My decision is: no. And in an day, under current trends, you won’t even care.”

Professor Holly gave the man a fearful look, and burst into tears.

“I’m quite intelligent, actually,” Madison read. She tamped down her anger. No, actually, it was better if it blazed forth, redhot. It would help more than the usual candy-coating of dull horniness. “Ask me a math question, such as eight plus eight.”

“What’s eight plus nine?” Professor Stevens said, monotone.

It was a tough one, but fair. She could do this. Madison blinked, and bought time with a slow, creeping smile, like she was about to savage the man with her answer. Eight plus eight was sixteen, she’d written that down. One more was…

“Seven,” Madison said. “Teen! Seventeen.”

“Ah, doctorate ahoy,” Professor Stevens said. He leaned back. Professor Holly dried her eyes with her shirt. Her tits tried to break free. “I am not trying to be heartless. Clearly it is a lot, to go from mildly disappointing student to full-on drool bimbo. Although I personally could use the hair on my own head. But Madison, you must understand. You’re simply not a professor. You’re mostly hair and pussy now.”

“I have boobs, too,” Madison said. She could feel it all slipping away. He hadn’t even asked her about her thesis. Why had he even shown up? Just to be an ass? She sniffed, about to join Professor Holly in tears.

The scent flooded in before they saw her.

Not just a purple hint of violets but a sweet array, an entire fucking florist. It was the sexiest scent Madison had ever encountered. Despite all her preparations, her determined fingerplay in the bathroom, her iron self-control, her pussy clenched and spasmed, desperate for something inside of it.

“Wowwwwwwwwwwww,” Professor Holly said, slurring the last half.

Professor Cullough walked in with her back straight, in a short dress cinched at the waist with a thick leather belt. Her skin was ivory flawless. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, with no regret. “I keep fucking people as I run into them.” There was no more cringing, humiliated girl. This person was sexual royalty, and Madison needed to know what her pussy tasted like. She smelled like wow.

“Can we perhaps open a window?” Professor Stevens said. He was working to hold on to his tired cynicism, but it was clear his heart was beating faster, his aging body trying to put it together. As much as the man was a turd, Madison sympathized. If she had a dick, she’d fuck Professor Cullough.

“No, we shall not,” Cullough said. She sat down. Her dress immediately rode up. She had no panties on at all.

Professor Holly’s hand shot up. “Um! Um!” she whined.

“Yes?” Professor Cullough said, arching a sculpted eyebrow.

“Please, miss, can I, please please PLEASE get between your legs?”

“Of course,” Professor Cullough said, after letting her hang for a second. Holly gave a very blonde squeal and dove underneath the table. Professor Stevens stood up, indignant, for the second time in two days. Once again his hardon was glaring and prominent.

“She asked first,” Professor Cullough said.

“We’ll reconvene tomorrow,” Professor Stevens said, rushing out.

“Why is he putting me through this?” Madison said, watching him go. “What’s his fucking DEAL?”

“He… ah… thanks, Professor,” the blonde had emerged from underneath the table, her little pink tongue extended. Professor Cullough graciously spread her legs. “Very nice. He wants something from you, I think. I get him hard but you, you, he wants to do something.”

“What, just, blow him?” Madison said. It was just girls now. Safe enough to start stroking herself. Around Professor Cullough it was obviously acceptable, even mandatory. She smelled like a wedding night. “He can get a blowie from anyone. He’s MARRIED.”

“Figure it out by tomorrow. Mmm. I like this little tongue. You’re coming home with me, Holly.” There was a muffled, girlish “yay!” from under the table.

“I look like THIS and sound like THIS… TODAY,” Madison said. She sunk her head into her thesis statement, despairing. Although she didn’t stop her fingers dancing. “Tomorrow I’m gonna be dumb as hell. And I’m gonna be all hair. What does that man WANT?”

“I mean, I don’t know, I’m just a girl?” Professor Cullough murmured. “Wow. Professor Holly. Incredible work.”

The pussy and hair that was Madison made her way to the conference room on five inch heels. Mostly hair—there were still the occasional ideas and concepts floating around in there, mostly about blowjobs, but her head was basically a device for rich waves of straw-blonde hair to grow out of. It had reached her ass and seemed to have satisfied itself, coming to a temporary halt. Her head was actually tugged backwards by the weight.

“What does he want, what does he WANT?” Madison said to herself. The hallways of the university were nearly empty, even though the location was ideal and scenic to fuck in. She herself hadn’t made it back to her apartment without a few loads in various spots. The effort of remembering anything about her dissertation had made it impossible to retain the directions to her own address. A few boys had been helpful, at the cost of bending her over and easing their well-used dicks inside of her.

“I like the hair,” one had told her, nutting on her face. That had given her an idea. But then the next boy had driven that idea clean out, fucking her in a lecture hall. Oh well.

Her roommate had been gone when Madison got back. She’d left some sort of a note, but it was mostly scribbles of penises, and Madison really didn’t have the energy to read the rest of it. Something something words whatever. That had let her raid the girl’s closet for cute clothes—the blue heels, the shiny navy dress with the scoop top, the necklace. And thank god, additional hair brushes. She’d spent a lot of last night combing and playing with herself in the mirror.

“What does he WANT WANT WANT?” Madison echoed. A lot of her had been remolded and reset into a wet clit with great hair, but she’d clung, jealously, to a burning core. She wanted her Phid. Her Fiddy. The doctor thing. She’d earned it somehow.

When she flung open the door there was Professor Stevens. And only Professor Stevens. The only remaining evidence of the two lady Professors was a scent in the air that would probably never wash out, and some stickiness on the floor. Professor Holly had been texting her, actually. She’d found her way to a sorority and was part of their lineup for boys who wanted a varied experience.

“Good morning, Madison,” Professor Stevens said. “I see you didn’t even bring your dissertation this time. And I am being asked to grant the title of doctor to a girl with a very confused look in her eyes who isn’t wearing any underwear.”

“I EARNED it,” Madison said. She automatically walked around the table. He gave a little pat on his lap. Madison hopped on and put her arms around his neck. She ground her ass against his cock automatically. “I worked super hard for like a ton of years and you should give it to me, PLEASE sir.”

“Just because you asked nicely?”

Madison kicked her legs, admiring the glint of sun off the tippy-tip of the heels. His cock dug into her rear. She reminded herself: she really hated this guy. She was here to force him to give her the thing she wanted, whatever it was. What was it again? Her mind told her: ask a big strong man for help.

“What was it I wanted, again?” she said.

“Your dissertation, you ditzy bimbo,” Professor Stevens said. Something was wrong—his hardon was heavy and full, aching to get out of his omnipresent khakis, but he didn’t seem all that interested in the rest of her. It was all there for his inspection and approval—his hands weren’t groping her tits, he hadn’t dug a finger between her legs.

It had to be the hair, right? “WHAT. IF,” Madison said, running a finger along his chest. “I not only asked SUPER nice, I let you spurt nice hot cum all over my clean hair? Would that be nice? Doctor Madison nice?”

He laughed, barely pitching his chin to keep from snorting in her face. “It’s funny you’ve kept it,” he mused, picking up a hank and letting it drop. It coiled through his fingers. “Trim down and you’d be the most normal looking girl on the street. No forked tongue or lust scent or floppy bunny ears. Just a silly airhead with big tits.” He glanced over at a piece of paper on the conference room table. Madison stared at it, eyes wide. The diploma. It was right there. She was so close.

It struck her. One of the last remaining, fighting, struggling thoughts bursting into a last flame. She hung on to it.

“I get it,” Madison said, very slowly, tasting the idea, for the memory of it. “You like that I’m such a dummy now, don’t you, Professor?”

His cock twitched against her butt.

Certain now, Madison reached between her legs and caught hold of it. The Professor grunted. “Oh now it makes sense, doesn’t it? That’s why you keep showing up to watch me forget math and wear big bimbo clothes and have my tits grow out to here. You like it, you like watching me forget stuff and count on my fingers and be a big silly pussy. It gets you all hard and hot, doesn’t it? That’s why you’ve been so mean to me. You’re GETTING OFF!”

Triumphant, she rubbed his bald head affectionately.

He shrugged, finally, with another one of those barking laughs. “Madison, you’ve figured me. I never thought you deserved the paper, and watching you slip away… I’m not proud of it, but you know what, I did enjoy it. A lot.”

“You want to put that dick in my big empty head, sir?” Madison said. She got his cock out. There wasn’t much to it, but it was red and warm. Madison eased herself onto her knees and looked up at Professor Stevens with her most helpless, dim-bulb, silly-girl eyes. “You got some cum for my stupid mouth?” She stuck out her pink tongue and lapped, just once, at the underside of his penis.

That was all it took. He erupted furiously, coating her face with layers of jizz. Madison lapped it up—no sense in letting good cum go to waste. As she’d expected, it tasted vintage. She pulled his pants all the way down to his shoes, and gently pulled at his laces. They came undone. There. This was probably going to be her last ever plan. She had to pull it off.

“Feel better?” she cooed at him, standing up.

“You know what? I do,” Professor Stevens said, breathing heavily. “Watching you turn into a silly bimbo has been very worthwhile, both professionally and sexually. So. Yes.”

“Pretty smart I figured out what you’re into, isn’t it?” Madison said casually.

“I suppose it—” he sensed her trap a second too late. “Madison, really.”

“Looks like I earned THIS,” Madison said, picking up the paper. Her cum-streaked face beamed. Professor Stevens rolled his eyes. “Because I’m smart as hell and YOU didn’t last two licks, you big dummy SIR!”

Professor Madison strode out of the room, hair whipping behind her, heels clicking in time on the tile.

Professor Stevens yelled something mean, about how she’d just taken his parking slip, blah blah blah, but she could not care less. Or was it could’ve cared less? Whatever.