The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Alone, huh?” the girl on TV said. “Are you sure? It’s okay to turn off the TV and walk around until you find someone available! You never know!”

“Fuck you!” Jon called out. He flipped double birds at the screen. The master of the household laid by himself in a room lit only by flickering TV lighting. He’d only turned the thing on because, throughout the neighborhood, it was too, too easy to hear the overlapping sounds of orgasmic moaning. Mostly women, women shrieking, but with the occasional full-bore primal grunt from a satisfied male. A sound loud enough to reverberate through drywall, and make it to the ears of other, less successful men.

“No one?” The girl on screen was a standard blonde. There were no production values. There wasn’t even a production. It was a blonde with fat tits in the studio, sit-crouching on a bale of hay. The hay had ‘CALVING STUDIOS’ marked on it. “Not a single—really? Well, okay. Sometimes that happens. You wake up after the party moved on. You’re tired and sleepy and—Chris? Can we get the spiral up? There it is. Yeah.”

An outright spiral appeared on screen. It was black and white—or possibly gray. Possibly psychedelic and bright and… dripping like gravy? How was THAT possible?

The blades swayed back and forth, all around the sympathetic eyes of the girl on television.

Jon sighed. Some aggression drained out, poured through his fingertips to the empty and cold sections of the big bed. Some.

He’d returned a male triumphant.

They’d delivered an initial proposal on time, with proper art, and even including excel spreadsheets. On the cover a faux-pregnant Maria, a pillow under her shirt, stared at the camera with dull, helpless eyes. Jon had begged off the after-party, opting instead to pick up celebratory burgers to share with wife, daughter, and daughter. The entire drive home he’d stuffed fries in his mouth, enjoying dirty fantasies about Hitomi’s mouth.

About many different mouths.

And he’d come home to find the house dark and silent. One throbbing cock, bags of burgers, and that was it.

“So yeah! Lets start masturbating! This is Masturbating with Michelle, and we’re two minutes in! Remember, it’s always good to jerk off because it’s important to love yourself!”

Fine. Jon grudgingly pulled his pants down. It no longer bothered him, how big and heavy it had gotten. It just—fit. A man of some importance would have a dick for the role. It was his due, to swing around a heavy prong and exercise authority with it. The important thing was not to question its sudden heft, the obviously newly grown skin, the bushel of pubic hair that had suddenly sprouted. Doing that just meant sudden headaches.

“Ahhh, that’s better,” Michelle said, soothing. “Men, do you like watching me touch myself? I like thinking about you watching me! Even stroking ourselves apart, it brings us closer!”

He’d—embarrassed himself, a little. Jon had to be honest with himself. Eating burgers at the table, alternating fury and humiliation. Dialing and redialing his absent wife. Jerking off in a sudden horny haze, depositing cummy loads on furniture and walls, marking territory like a disconsolate male. None of it was proud.

He’d even—Jon winced, his head spiking with sudden agony—had a brief crisis in the bathroom, from the way he needed two hands to properly grip his prong. The body in the mirror hadn’t matched his self-image. His shoulders were broader, and the surprisingly precise lines of a six-pack had emerged on an abdomen that was previously tubby and bulbous.

Most of all—he had a big hairy dick. It wasn’t even the length that had shocked him—although it was very long—it was how animal it looked. It was intended for breeding, with rough, leathery skin and snarls of tough hair.

He’d tried to hold onto his fading concern, but even grabbing it, unbelieving, sent a spurt of gummy cum over the bathroom floor. It was so hard to hold onto concern, after one of those pulses. They left behind a clump of priorities: dominate, control, maybe some light breeding...

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Michelle said. “It’s... unnnnhhhh... the same motion, over and over. Yeahhhh... Should I get some of my toys out, viewers? You wanna watch me fuck myself with a big rubber dick?”

“I guess,” Jon grumbled. He jerked himself, obediently. Part of him thought—it really wasn’t alright, was it, leaving pools of jizz throughout the house? Shouldn’t he at least get a tissue or something? But that would mean—his headache spiked—cleaning, him, a male, head of the household.

“This is nice, isn’t it? You stroking your nice big dick or wet pussy, whichever it might be? Sure, it’s a little sad you’re alone, when the whole town is sucking and fucking, but the important thing is you stare at the screen, and relax, and cum...”

More cum burbled out of him.. A fresh batch of sperm, with a fresh batch of thoughts. He needed to find Joy, or his missing wife, or even one of his hot and fuckable daughters... someone who could clean up his messes...

“It’s okay to let your eyes droop. Not too much! You’re rubbing yourself and you’re very comfy,” Michelle said. She wasn’t even on the screen, anymore. It was only the gray blur of the spiral. “Tomorrow you’re going to be even more of whatever sexual role you’ve been assigned, aren’t you? You’re going to do that and never question it in any way, and that’ll be fun, you horned up little slut or fuckboy or other. You can cum again!”

Jon sank into the pillows. Jizz spilled off either side of him, a warm layer mucking up the bedspread. He’d put himself right in the middle of it. His eyes slid nearly closed—it had been a long day.

Tomorrow he’d get up and—what?

Tomorrow everything would be okay. Hitomi would be in the bed, softly jacking his dick. As his wife she knew that a wakeup blowjob wasn’t his speed. He’d pull her into his lap, dick snug against her ample backside, and finger her while they watched the morning news.

Then he’d shower and shave and pick out his suit, his briefcase.

The door—did it slam?

Jon was too dazed to get up, too lost in the spiral. His hands kept rubbing and rubbing...

He’d head downstairs to the sight of Yumi and Nami, his girls, in matching aprons and nothing else. They were always hard to tell apart, but had thoughtfully shaved their pussies to make it easier—Nami’s was completely bald, and Yumi’s was very close. Kisses on the cheek, and then breakfast: sausages, toast, porridge, tea. A terse nod, to tell them they’d done well, and they’d squeal and bounce around, tits wobbling. The news was about his many successes in business.

Then off to work—men and women alike inclined their heads as he strode by, rolling up shirt sleeves. There was already a cup of coffee poured at his desk. Underneath it, waiting, her lipstick in just the perfect shade, was Joy. This was her most important duty as Assistant to the Manager.

There was definitely a noise.

Jon, still rubbing his dick, his ever-erect dick, slid out of bed. He couldn’t see the spiral, but that was okay, it was still there, on the back of his eyelids. He was just getting home, and a long day of difficult decisions and occasional employee spankings weighed heavily on his shoulders. He’d had to dispatch Maria to personally close the Henderson account. She had the most winning mouth on the team. No matter—Hitomi would be there, his wife, for his welcome home blowjob.

It was the most important blowjob of the day.

There she was—a shadowy figure, a bit shorter than he recalled. She seemed startled to see him.

“Oh! Uh, Mr. Masuda! I’m—I’m your daughter’s—” she blurted.

“KNEEL,” Mr. Masuda told her.

The girl knelt. It was confusing: she was both a startled figure in an oversized t-shirt, and his wife, buxom and overflowing, her mouth already glazed and open. Her eyes drank in his body, waited patiently as he put his suitcase down, unbuckled his belt.

“Um, Mr. Masuda—I... oh, wow, I..” the girl said. Woman. Whatever. Probably his wife. Mr. Masuda fixed the confusion by stuffing his cock in the girl’s mouth. Now everything was fine—Hitomi was sucking his cock. And after a few brief and surprised licks, so was the girl in front of him. He rubbed at her hair, then idly grabbed it, instructing her to take him deeper. Harder. It had been a long day at work. Yumi and Nami were back in the kitchen, unless the naughty twosome had crept off and ate Fritos out of each other’s belly buttons or something, usually to get at each other in a bed.

That was alright. He didn’t mind correcting them. That’s what Daddy was for.

Mr. Masuda tensed. He pushed the girl’s head all the way to the base. Joy had given him a goodbye fuck, but the drive home had taken an entire ten minutes, and he had plenty to give. Hitomi diligently kept a lock around his cock, swallowing furiously. When he felt the last twitch he let her go.

She coughed. “Th—thanks, I—I guess,” she said, and coughed again. “Oh my GOD.”

The end of another day. Jon reversed course. He laid back down. This time the TV really was off, with just a test pattern playing—one with a bit of a swirl to it. He closed his eyes, this time for real.

They’d gotten Nami home and put her to bed. She had always slept on her back, Yumi knew—or had she? If Nami slept on her back then she was likely to be suffocated by her own boobs.

It was disorienting. Her twin should have her body, but Nami’s boobs were noticeably bigger than her own, which made no earthly sense. And she herself had startled at the heft of her butt in the bathroom mirror. It was a brash and heavy woman-wagon, and she’d been walking differently without noticing it, a twisting, curling sashay that sent her ample rear bouncing.

She’d practiced it while Liza went out for a drink of water, then pressed her hands into the generous curves. Her skin was impossibly soft, felt incredibly good. She stroked it, exulting in a tiny patch of butt flesh.

True, there was a cold trickle in her stomach. Trying to bang into her consciousness: this was wrong, wrong, wrong.

Until then there’d been no time to sit in the night and consider herself. At how sitting down—just sitting down—sent a warm pulse from her pussy to a rebuilt pleasure center in the middle of her head. Yumi had the sense that if she sat on the floor, and wiggled, she could probably make herself cum.

It probably made more sense to ignore it. Her body already was. She had to stop herself from reaching a finger back there, possibly an entire fist or fist and a half…. just to see what sort of fun there was to be had in the middle of her ass. At least Nami was snoring. That was reassuringly normal. That was ultimately why Yumi was the tired one. Her twin leaked onto her bed, paps milking each other under their own weight. Yumi adjusted the covers. Everything smelled like strawberry danish and slut…

Of course, she wasn’t totally stupid. They were changing, getting all wet and weird. Yumi knew that. Her own nipples felt full and engorged. She was producing milk. It turned out she was excited for it, for the sensation of letdown, for the feel of hands on her skin, for just how enormous her butt could get. It was hard to worry when—

“Oof,” Liza said, stumbling by. Yumi followed her to her own bedroom, and then pounced. She nibbled on her bandmate’s ear, then pushed her gently onto the bed. She sniffed.

Liza smelled really good.

“You smell GREAT,” she said. Another sniff. “Oh my god, Liza, you smell so good.. You’re like—oh, hold on—ummm—not cinnamon. But close. Cloves? Nutmeg maybe? Oh GOD. Did you put on perfume or WHAT?”

She had to have it. It overrode all other thoughts, dropped them stone-cold into a bin. If possible, she’d come back later, and see if she could still think. For now, there was little left but: lick, suck, taste. Liza still wore her Rainbows t-shirt. Yumi had stripped out of it, and wore just a pair of old undies, to see if she still could. The fabric had nearly disappeared inside her crack, and all the cotton was at risk. Yumi pinned her girlfriend and went in for a kiss. A thick vanilla-cigarettey iced mocha kind of girl kiss…

Liza tasted even better on the inside. Sweet and salty. It drove her too wild to ask questions or even think thoughts. She licked and tongued, eager for it, covering Liza’s face with wet and searching kisses.

“Haha, okay, yikes,” Liza said.

Yumi was abruptly in heat.

There was room in her head mostly for the sensation of it—the secretions in her mouth, even as they disappeared down her throat. And a little room for her body to report in: pussy glistening wet, tits wobbling, hair tickling all the way down to the top of her ass crack. She was wagging her ass. Like a dog...

They stopped. The scent was gone, disappearing down her throat, and Yumi felt sanity reassert itself. She had Liza completely engulfed. She sat up, unsure of what had happened, uncertain of how to put thoughts back together. They came from a part of her brain that was no longer a priority for blood flow. It helped to focus on the girl underneath her, to smell her, to start with her name: Liza.

She clicked back on. Yumi cleared her throat and sat up. Liza struggled out from under her, breathing hard.

“What WAS that?” Yumi said, trying to laugh it off. She still hadn’t cum, her body reminded her.

“This town is, like, SHO fucked utt,” Liza said. They giggled at each other, and Yumi went in for a tentative hug. Liza’s face glistened. She wasn’t sure why. Cum, sweat, spit and tears. Some mixture of those.

“Do you.. like it here?” Yumi said. If she didn’t bring it up, they didn’t have to acknowledge that she’d stopped thinking at the scent of what she now realized was lots of cum. She tucked her hair back behind her ears, and folded her legs back. There, she was fine. She was a woman again.

“I mean... mixed emotions?” Liza said. She sat up, cupped Yumi’s tits from behind. Her own pair pressed in to Yumi’s back. “I just don’t... Yumi, just now... what do you think tomorrow will be like? What do you think we’ll BE?”

The “we” resonated, and Yumi luxuriated in it. She examined her own bedroom. Hadn’t she made summer plans, big summer plans? A set of self-study courses, so she wouldn’t be caught out unprepared on literature discussion. Volunteer work. Rigorous attention to her own mental health. It slipped through her thoughts, impossible to hold onto. Her girlfriend’s hands on her tits felt so very good. She was gonna milk. A happy, steady flow...

“Sit on my face,” Liza said.

“You’ll DIE,” Yumi protested. But she was already sopping at the idea.

“Yes. Yes, I will. Stand up for a moment.”

Yumi complied. Liza pushed her against a wall, and then knelt between her thighs. She licked her lips, top and bottom, and then dove in.

“Oh,” Yumi said. Did this count as losing her girl virginity? Liza had fingered the heck out of her, earlier. She’d never learned the rules. She looked down. Liza’s face was already sopping wet. There was even Yumi juice in her brown-black hair. She was pushed so tightly into Yumi’s snatch that the girl could feel her partner blink. It felt good.

She slid down the wall, leaving a smear behind her. Liza swung her around and planted her on Liza’s chest, plush on plush. Yumi could barely see Liza’s hair past the steady bob of her own heavy tits, and encased in the new diameters of her thighs. It seemed incredible that one small but determined tongue could get the job done, and just leak quarts of drool with every suckle—she was built for rough treatment, for determined pounding by a foot or more of inseminating breeder dick. But it was just right…

She came. It was an orgasm she’d think about for a long time. Parts of her melted. She started to leak warm rivulets of milk. Liza seemed tireless, and kept finding new ways to innovate. The first time she sucked Yumi had a big one, the first sudden orgasm, where Liza needed to hold her up.

She had to—reciprocate. She was long past rational thought, but any animal knew how to soothe. She reached backwards...

Liza caught her wrist.

“Pleasseeee,” Yumi said. She needed to—“Please please please. I need—YOoooU must ne—nnnnhhh—eeeeeed—”

Liza gently levered her backwards. “That’s a no.”

“I don’t care what’s down there! I just need to—I’ll lick whatever it is,” Yumi said. “I—Liza—please—look, I’m drooling, I’m so wet...”

“Yeah, I know, I need goggles in this household.” Liza said. She wiggled out from underneath Yumi’s stupendous butt. “Yumi, look.. it’s a me issue.”

“I know it wants—”

“Yes, it does want,” Liza said. She let out a very slow sigh. “It wants. I—what’s the word—HATE it. Maybe if I had the balls to go to the pharmacy and get my meds—I mean, having balls is the whole—” She sagged. “It’s tough, Yumi. I’ve never felt more like a girl... you’ve made me feel like SUCH a girl.. and its never felt more like a man...”

She put her head on Yumi’s chest.

“Okay, lets—” when did she lose the ability to form coherent words? A hundred licks ago? Yumi persisted, fighting through pink happy waves. “Lets—meds! Lets go get them. First thing in the mor—gan… morgan-inninning.” They both laughed at how fun-dumb they were getting, scent by scent and lick by lip….

“I’m not going to a cow town podunk pharmacy and asking for girl-drugs,” Liza said, not moving her head. “I’ll get beat up AND no girl drugs. I’ll wait for mail order.”

“We’ll go together, and I’ll hold them off with my ass if there’s trouble,” Yumi declared. There was no response. She looked down.

It was possible Liza was crying.

There was just too much fluid all over the place to tell—milk and spit and pussy juice and all sorts of stuff. She hauled Liza out from underneath her, flipped her shirt up. “Liza you got some pretty titties.”

“I know!” Liza said. They had big fat nipples and, if not as big as Yumi’s, looked extra suckable. “I don’t—maybe we just need to sit down and think some fucking thoughts about what the fuck is oh my god Yumi oh GOD.”

Yumi had latched her lips on to Liza’s tits. She rolled her tongue around her left nipple. “First thing tomorr-in-ow,” she said, breaking suction for just a moment. “That’s what tomorrow is gonna look like. And then the concert. Tomorrow is gonna be awesome, Liza, right?”

“Yeah,” Liza said.

Her breathing was getting more and more ragged. “Yeah, Yumi. Don’t stop. And hey, I should tell you. I sucked off your Dad in the hallway just now. That was your Dad’s cum all over me. I hope that’s okay. This family is really..unghhhh... really some…thing?”

Nami knew that she was licking cum off the floor. Even then, at that late stage, it did bother her. Not that it was cum. She was increasingly sure that a lot of her future was tied in to sperm—either drinking it, or it being used to impregnate her, or just generally walking around in a crackling, sticky suit. And as cum went it tasted especially good. Not quite sweet, but at worst like a day-old cookie.

Licking it off the floor was also not really a major concern. That was by choice. Floorgirls sometimes got the best whiffs and tastes… There was no point to picking it up just to lick her hands. And because she had to spot it by smell there was no way to avoid moving along a hallway, checking walls and floors. At that point licking it was natural and efficient.

It didn’t bother her that she was face down, ass up, and generally available for manhandling, except for the clothing situation. None of her clothes fit. She’d found a camp t-shirt in extra-large that Yumi had really liked, because it read CAMP GAYLORD. It sloshed over her boobs. But the underpants situation was hopeless. She vaguely remembered getting new, especially stretchy undies at the store, but Mom was AWOL.

So it was back into the old ones from last night, as milk-stained and generally soaked as they were. If a guy wanted to come upon her, wearing scraps and crusty undies, and still wanted to pull them aside, that was more than fine. They were like three or five sizes outgrown.

The issue was—control.

It wasn’t really her decision to play jizz bloodhound first thing in the morning.. Her body was calling the shots, and there was so MUCH of it.

She’d woken up with the determination to stay in bed, all day.

After all, yesterday had been very bad. She was definitely miffed, and maybe even peeved, that she’d been so swiftly and easily turned into a milk cow. Nami’s pride was now buried deep, underneath a hundred instructions about how to clean for men, but there was still a bit of it knocking around. And despite Jerry’s best efforts she’d been an eager little cow, stumbling into obvious trick after obvious trick.

She’d put up no real resistance.

Just stared, dumb-founded, as watermelon tits had swiftly poured in. And dumb doe eyes affixed their permanent position on her face.

She’d woken up college-bound, yesterday. Now it was—what? Serving burgers and milking the last few concepts of geometry out of herself. That sucked. And yeah, it’d be pretty fun to suck a lot of cocks, and she was open to maybe seven or eight kids, but that had not been the initial plan of life.

She’d stared, resentful, at a stack of pre-University books she and Yumi had planned on sharing.. Now even the titles were boring. Who ever wanted to learn about weather systems anyway? So stupid when you had like… Maybelline…

Worst of all. Jerry. She had a full morning, at least, of moping about Jerry, before maybe getting up and wandering downtown to find some cocks to suck. Not even good ones.

All that moping had been the plan.

But then her tits had reminded her: they were full, and swollen, and she needed a morning milking.

“Fucking MOO,” Nami had groaned, swinging her legs out of bed. “Moo moo fucking moo god damn it moo.” Over to the sink, to check on the overnight growth. They were so, so big. Her nipples jutted out, threatening to cut the glass of the mirror. “Stupid nipples, stupid milk, stupid Nami, stupid... ungh...”

The first shot of milk blasted out of the sink, ricocheting back onto her legs. Of course. But it did feel good, and she cantilevered over automatically, assuming a position that felt perfectly natural.. “Moooooo,” Nami said, more comfortably this time. Without really thinking about it. She pulled on each teat in turn. It was a satisfying feeling, emptying out, and as much as her dopey expression in the mirror was disturbing, it was hard to shake.

It was only after she’d relieved the immediate pressure that Nami realized she’d made a big mess of the bathroom. The sink was still draining milk, and lots more had sprayed, via tidal effects, onto the mirror, the vanity, the floor, her thighs, her toes. She felt the same warm glow when she toweled off the glass—revealing the same very big-boobed Japanese girl with a very happy grin. Her hair was still pulled back in a ponytail from her waitress shift, but had kept growing nonetheless, right through the bright pink scrunchie.

“Moo to you too,” Nami said to herself, and then, inevitably, unstoppably, her body kept cleaning.

A complete toweldown of the bathroom led to the laundry room, where she put in a huge load of milk-stained items to soak. As much as she wanted to go lie down and mope, her body was insistent that there was much to do. After cleaning up the bathroom she really needed to sort out her clothes and find something cute to wear, then it was time to vacuum, and then makeup and hair, and then she’d probably need to be milked again. Nami scurried along, helpless to stop herself. Walking around was making her thighs rub together, too, and that was gonna make her really horny.

Her sister was gone somewhere. So was Mom.

The only person in the house was—Daddy.

He was snoring in the master bedroom. Nami peeked in. New instructions poured through her, crackling and insistent in her head. Daddy would wake up soonish. He’d be very hungry. It was her responsibility to feed him, make him coffee, suck him off...

Nami shook her head, uncertain. No, she wasn’t going to do that. That was the line. Not her Dad, for crying out loud. She stumbled backwards, sniffed, and within three more steps was licking her first patch of late night jizz off the wall. Her tits pressed against the paint. It tasted—and it took her several drying droplets to realize this—like nutmeg.

This was even farther from achieving her morning goals—licking up dried cum on various parts of the house. But it was also getting more challenging to care with each bit of spooge. After all, it was nice to let the happy glow of cum substitute for thoughts and intentions. Especially for a girl suffering heartache. Jerry was, after all, probably on his way to freedom. He was probably driving in a convertible with the top down, Hannah slobbering on his dick, his hair streaming in the open air.

They were probably already in a hotel, chuckling over their escape, their needs wholly met by the water in the sink, the minibar, and each other.

“Nami?” Jon said. She had her butt to him, and shot upright. She replaced her tongue in her mouth, finding enough embarrassment to even redden her cheeks. Daddy wore pajama pants and an A-line shirt. He scratched at new lines of muscle along each bicep. “You’re—Nami—what happened to your- uhh—your—” he wasn’t sure what word to use.

“Boobs, Daddy,” Nami said.

“Y-yeah,” Jon said. “Your... boobs.”

“It’s okay if you want to call them tits,” Nami said, helpfully. New instructions and demands flowed through her, presented with a man. Part of her was still riding a cum high, and it was so easy and fun to do what good girls did in these situations. “I guess Mom is out? Go sit down and I’ll make you breakfast!”

Jon sat down with caution. He was already exhausted. Nami had no idea that he’d spent a good five minutes keeping himself from fucking her from behind.

He’d woken up after—how many dreams had it been? Dozens, it felt like, like they’d hustled to get fit in to limited time. Fuck fantasies covering almost every possible hole, every possible partner. During the night he’d done a lot of fucked up stuff to Hitomi in particular. Welcome home blowjobs was the least of it. He’d put her mouth and ass to use in and out of public, in every room in the house. Then on to his employees, dressing them up in outfits and enhancing their productivity by fucking away all non-work-related attachments and concepts. To save time there’d been no foreplay, and almost no dialogue. These were instructions on pulling away sopping wet pieces of cloth from their slits, and sticking his dick in.

He’d spanked Dream Joy so much her slumberland voice had gone hoarse.

And then on to his daughters.

In the night he’d enjoyed himself. Especially because the tarts teasing him were obviously just pornified parodies of his girls. His Yumi and his Nami weren’t cooing big-titted bimbos, single-minded sluts angling for his cock. So why not throw them in to the conga line? He was never going to find actual Nami on the floor, butt up in the air, her scent slipping inside of him...

And then—there she was.

A nymphette with Nami’s name, a hyper-busty version bursting out of her clothes. Cleaning the floor or something. Wiggling her butt in his face. And—god help him—she smelled exactly like he’d expected.

“Pancakes okay?” Nami said. It was Nami’s voice, but with a breathless affect, and a tinny, high-pitched lilt. It was making him even harder.

“We don’t have any eggs,” Jon said. He had to—get up and go to work. No, look for his missing wife. Where the fuck was Hitomi? He had to concentrate on that, and not on Nami putting on Hitomi’s apron, her boobs spilling out of both sides.

“I know, it’s okay! A good girl can cook with just about anything!” Nami said. She pulled out a bag of flour Jon didn’t recall buying.

“Nami, are you feeling okay?” Jon said. Had he—just not noticed puberty going completely buckwild on his daughter? Too wrapped up in his job? But—no. He’d notice Nami’s butt extending to wagon status, wouldn’t he? The cost of clothes would be enormous.

Nami turned to look at him. “You know what, Daddy, thanks for asking,” she said. Her lower lip quivered. “I’ve been—well—I mean, I don’t want to bother you with all my pwoblems! I just want to make pancakesh for you!”

Jon exhaled. This Nami had pink perfect lips—if maybe a little swollen—and a set of generous thighs. The straight lines of her apron—Hitomi’s apron—just showed how impossibly curved she’d become. Yards of bad girl road… Parts of her spread out at every chance they had. The scent in the air was milky and sweet. He gripped his cock underneath the table.

“That makes sense,” He agreed. He’d earned—what had he earned?—but whatever it was, it was this. “Thanks, honey. Do you know where your Mom is?”

It was getting easier and easier to just play along with Daddy. At some level Nami was aware that—this was a kind of dance, wasn’t it? Going so fast that it just about had to be muscle response and ingrained reactions.. Like how when she bent over at the waist, to search for a spoon, Daddy snorted and groaned. The way his eyes bored into her when she tied the apron underneath her tits. There was no time to think about it, and no need.

She dumped flour in the bowl. Was there something else that went into pancakes? It definitely took more than one ingredient—flour by itself wasn’t gonna do it. But her hands were already untying the apron, and then pulling a boob from underneath her shirt.

“Nami? What are you—what are you doing?” Daddy said.

The feeling of letdown was getting familiar. But this time it was—triumphant. She wasn’t dumbly leaking onto the floor, or numbly squeezing into an anonymous vat. This was family.

Her pussy quivered.

“We’re out of milk, Daddy,” Nami said. “Sort of. Except me.”

“You’re LACTATING?” Jon said. “Nami—what—do you need to—you’re supposed to have like—are you PREGNANT?”

He was concerned and also staring, rapt. Nami turned to give him a better view. She knew exactly what to say to calm him. “Oh, no Daddy. It’s better this way. It comes out all warm-y and creamy. And its even a little shweet!”

“C-creamy,” Jon mouthed. “But—you’re... how old are you?”

“I’m legal! It’s okay!” Nami assured him. She threw in another “Daddy!” It never hurt.

Nami found a mug, and used left boob to fill it up. Daddy watched her, awe-struck, as her boobs and nipples approached him, still streaming milk into Mom’s apron, the Katy Perry bimbo mush. She put the mug down and stood at attention. Daddy picked it up right away. His milk mustache was very cute. All of him was very cute....

Human milk was natural, delicious, nutritious, and environmentally friendly. And there was probably some other good stuff in it too.

“I should—I should write this down,” Jon thought, drinking his fill. And it smelled—so good. Not just antiseptic generic dairy. Musky and thick, but in a way his hindbrain enthused about. This, by itself, was a complete breakfast.

His body screamed for more. Jon rubbed at his cock, underneath the table, trying to soothe it. The tap was right there. Two of them—he could switch off. It was his prerogative. But no, not for his daughter. HIs dick sprung free of his pajama pants. Now he was just rubbing his dick in front of his daughter. His daughter. His hot and fuckable daughter.

“This is—great, Nami. Are you sure it’s—are you sure it’s okay?”

“Oh, Daddy, this is like the least of it!” Nami said. She’d filled the bowl with milk and flour, and stirred it with her finger. The kitchen had gotten disturbingly full of gas before she’d managed the griddle, but it was now on. A dry griddle, since she wasn’t producing butter yet. But the marketing manager in him made a note. “Gosh it’s so much! I’m like, such a thicc-y now and I am getting super silly, you probably noticed, and I’m all leaky and drooly. The milk part is like, the easy side!”

“Uh-huh,” Jon said, hardly listening. She poured the pancakes onto the griddle as one big sheet. The bottom immediately burned. Otherwise it smelled fantastic in there. “So, what’re—what’re you going to do today?”

Nami bit her lip. “Is it okay to ask something from a man?” she whispered.

“No, never,” Daddy said. Her eyes looked very sad, and he relented. “Alright. You can ASK.”

“Can we maybe have... a Daddy-Daughter day?” she said.

His cock surged.

Pancakes were hard to cook. The bottoms were a uniform black, but at least the middles had cooked, to a certain extent. Nami found a spatula and turned them all over in scraps of half-fried dough. She very nearly burned her boobs. Daddy seemed to be thinking. That was good. At least one of them was.

She could smell him masturbating, of course. It reassured her tremendously. Her brain was barely keeping up with current events, but even it had caught on to her body’s overall plan. If Jerry was gone, Mommy was gone, even Yumi was gone, then Daddy was there. He’d be very good at milking her. She could—Nami hardly dared to dream it—she could take over all essential Mom functions. Smoke rose from a section of pancake.

“Oh, poop!” Nami scraped them up. They seemed mostly cooked through. On the plate they were a heap of flour and milk in brown and black stripes. She stood there, blankly, brain cells sputtering, before realizing. “Oh, and they need salt!”

She shook a few grains out, and found a fork. The rest was perfectly automatic. Big smile, eyes wide, bend forwards, put the plate in front of Daddy, and giggle. He stared at it, took the fork, and stab it in. She watched him take an enormous bite.

“They’re fucking great,” he reported, eyes wide.

“They’re fucking—Nami, they’re fucking fantastic!” The praise was good, but the smell of warm nutmeg under the table was better. He’d cum, just from her.

“I’ll clean that up,” Nami said. “But first, let me get you some more milk!”

He was lost to it. Even the guilt that he’d jizzed, literally cum from the first bite, couldn’t get in the way. Ultimately a man was power and hunger. And he was a man, wasn’t he? It beat on him every moment, every action he took. He had to hold his fork like the pater familias he was. He had to nod at Nami in the right way, to show fatherly approval.

The pancakes really were good. They’d arrived in a huge mound. There was uncooked batter and a lot of charcoal but it didn’t matter. He watched his daughter crawl underneath the table and felt: good.

A lot of different dreams were coming together.

“This tastes really... uh—” Nami’s voice started to shake. “Goo—it’s—you’re good—Daddy.” He couldn’t see underneath the table, but was pretty sure he knew what was going on. He’d cum in a big pool on the floor. Nami was probably just cleaning it off. Daddy-Daughter Day had begun in earnest.

They ate together, amiably. Jon was pretty sure that once he was done eating he’d find the energy to say: stop. This was fucked up. Sure, his daughter was an impossible sexpot, and he could smell her considerable arousal, but there were limits. Although, to be fair, he was already drinking her milk, wasn’t he? Families fed each other, cleaned up after each other. He really needed to write all this down. It was marketing gold. Although the idea of writing gave his head warning stabs of pain...

“Honey, you okay down there?” He said. In response he felt a perfect wet mouth slide over his cock. He took a long drink of milk. He’d just not cum in her mouth. Then it was okay.

He tasted like—Daddy. Nami had already filed the taste and scent away, and could pick him out of a crowded room just by sniffing. But this was the real stuff, not the dried remnants, and her body rejoiced at it. He could hardly complain about giving up his dick, after drinking all her milk. It was an even trade.

It was a little strange, and scary, to put her lips on the bobbing red dick in front of her. She wasn’t sure she could go through with it if he was just standing up, if she had to stare Daddy in the eyes. Part of Nami made a last-ditch effort to avoid sucking her father’s cock. She could still go back upstairs, having fed him properly, and crawl into bed. That had been the initial plan.

But it was so drippy and tasty...

Her body agreed, and eventually her mind got there. This was so much better than having to come up with her own plans. He could tell her what to do, and she would do it.

Was she sure about this? Sucking Daddy’s dick was a big move. Of course, it was already in her mouth, thrusting back and forth, already jetting ropes of delicious goo into her mouth. But before he Came, capital C, it could all be a big accident. She tripped, and caught herself, by her mouth, on his wonderful dick. The one she was already licking.

Nami gave up. Why keep pretending that she was calling the shots? Her hands had grabbed her boobs and were kneading them gently. No reason to squirt more milk on the floor. Her lips had formed a lock on Daddy’s cock. All over she was warm and wet and willing. The only thing left to do was luxuriate in it. Everything would be taken care of—Daddy Daughter Day could go on and on and on...

“Nami... you should... Nami you’re sucking my cock, so... you probably made a mistake... gently lift your lips...” poor Daddy was trying hard. He had no idea he was blasting her with pheromones, reshaping and sculpting her even more. He grunted, and the first real blast of jizz hit the back of her throat. Afterwards she would... would... even that much thought escaped her, lost in steady bursts of heat. Waves of pleasure nearly wiped her out. Her tummy filled up. She’d turn it into milk, and then he’d drink the milk, and turn it into cum, and...

The door slammed shut.

Daddy made a strangled noise.

She strode past at speed, dressed in what Jon recognized, even in his extremis state, as a poor quality Ishtar outfit.

“Hitomi? Hitomi!” He—what was he doing? Jon tried to rub his wedding ring, only to realize he’d taken it off. His fingers were too big now for it to fit. He felt a stab of guilt. Also their daughter was still sucking him off under the table. “Hitomi, where the hell have you been?”

He stood up. His dick popped free of Nami’s mouth, with an audible pop. Her face got an extra coat as his penis flopped around, still semi-hard. He tucked it away, hurried, and strode after his wife. “Hitomi, come over here!”

Under the table, Nami sighed, and licked her lips. Rational thought slowly came back to her. She needed to.... clean the floor. It was wet with sperm and milk, and Daddy had gotten pancakes everywhere. He was a messy eater.

But first she could spend a little time feeling super duper sorry for herself.