The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Joy was really yammering on.

“And then we really zeroed in on Flynn after... ummm... we got this girl in the journalism-making office who was like, semi-Calving and she had the cutest tushie. She could like, do tricks with it? Like if she put her finger up her butt even a little bit she’d cum and cum? And then we were like, wow lets investigate!”

“Uh-huh,” Jon said. He glanced over. Joy had cinched herself into a very particular pose, leaning forward, back turned, so that he could see the perfect line of Stork’s best cleavage. He pinched his nose. The headache threatened to come back.

Plus he was divorced now.

“Gosh, its so hard to remember this stuff,” Joy giggled, then caught herself. She tried to clear the sex out of her throat, with limited success. “So. Yes. Ahem. My colleagues at the New York Times and the Post had their own investigat—investi—their own investi—inve... investi—” She was stuck, brain stuttering. Jon wondered if she could drive a car, if she wanted to. If she could type words on a computer.

He took pity on her. Was this what his girls were all going through? Trying to put together sentences with single syllable words? No wonder HItomi was upset. His ex. “Investigations,” he said.

“Yes! Oh gawdddddd... yes. Thank you, Jon. Men like you are..” Joy pinched the bridge of her own nose. “Sorry—I kinda read that entire girl book all night and I think it did some stuff to me, because girls shouldn’t read too much. Ooh. See?”

“Sure, Joy,” Jon said. He rubbed her thigh without really thinking about it, and barely noticed her pleased gasp. He’d ignored Hitomi. Who the hell knew where Yumi was, and Nami had—well, probably he should’ve talked to her instead of putting his cock in her mouth. But maybe that counted as bonding in this fucked-up town.

The bottom line was, he wasn’t being the best Daddy he could be.

“So where are we going?” They’d pulled into the factory. There were only one or two cars in the parking lot. Was it Saturday? He’d lost track entirely.

Joy brightened. “Oh! You’re showing an interest!”

“Lets just—get this done,” Jon said. Joy took a moment to refresh her makeup. Several minutes—she had to redo her lips with fresh pink paint, apply mascara, and had some sort of routine with her cheeks, as well. She had added a sort of powder-spray to her tits.

Jon sniffed. She smelled like butterscotch, overall. Everything in the air made clear that she was highly submissive and very turned on.. He felt his dick respond to that, jerking up and down, and didn’t stop it. It’d be fine if she scented his impatience, his frustration. He was formerly a happily married man.

“Sorry about that! A girl always has to look her best, even if a man is just thinking about her!” Joy took a deep breath of reasonably clean air. The factory was empty but the lights were still on. Steam poured from pipes. “Did I say that? I sound... so stupid. It’s hot. Thanks again for coming, I needed a MAN for this. So fucking bad.”

“I mean, Joy isn’t my real name,” Joy said. She paused at the doorway. “It’s... umm... oh my gawd, Jon. You’re gonna think I’m sooo stupid!”

“Lets go with Joy,” Jon said. He let her walk a few steps ahead of him. The results of the town’s work were all highly visible in her ass. It had its own personality. While she tried to talk seriously her ass was wide, lazy, and spraying out pheromones. She smelled great.

“Okay! Sure! I’m Joy! Anyway, Joyce and I—that’s not her name either—we learned about this town, we got me the job, I was supposed to go in, take some stuff, and bolt. We knew girls got all horny and helpless and super-duper-duper dumb. I guess maybe we should’ve sent guys?”

“That would’ve made more sense,” Jon said.

“Mmm, yeah,” Joy said. “And then I nearly got caught and had to set them on poor Cora.”

“You framed her? So I should’ve been spanking you,” Jon said. He laughed, and Joy joined, nervously.

“Y-yeah,” Joy said. “Girls need repeated correction, and I’m a girl. Anyway. I—I have a master’s degree. You don’t need to spank me. Unless you want to.”

They walked through empty corridors. Joy, for all her confusion and stammering, did seem to know where to go.

“I guess I shoulda bolted then but I was kinda having fun and I thought, here I am with the big guy himself, Pastor Flynn, maybe I’ll be getting a Pulitzer...” she trailed off, then sighed.

“What does this town even do to people?” Jon said. Getting broken up with had cleared the fog to some extent. So he’d brought his girls to the worst possible career move, in furtherance of his own busted aspirations. No wonder they’d been so eager to hire him. They wanted his dick and his daughters. Hormones surged—he had to—protect. They were his females.

His body dumped another aggravated chemical spray on Joy. A torrent of pheromones, swirling all about them.

“Oh! All sorts of crazy shit!” Joy laughed. She twirled her hair. “You’ll see in a second! I mean, obbbiously I have super-big juicy titties now. Gosh, I should’ve run when my bras stopped fitting. I was excited to get bigger boobs! I was like, this is nice! But yeah, generally girls get fertile, dumb, and compliant.”

Oh boy, and him with two daughters headed to elite schools. Hitomi had just been so—enraging, not to mention distracting, that he’d paid 0 attention to what she was saying. And Nami making any sort of breakfast should’ve made him concerned. Plus she was lactating, that was another clue.

“And... ta-da! We’re here! Jon, all the milk we’re selling, all the dairy products... they’re from... ta-ta-taaaaaa—This!”

Joy swung the door open.

He’d never been to the factory floor. In retrospect, Jon thought, all the endless corridors and long detours were to route around it. Although it had the same high ceiling and brutal concrete floor effort had been made to make it homey and comfortable—the air was warm, with a gentle breeze, and despite it being very early an acoustic version of Katy Perry played on the loudspeakers.

There were dozens of girls getting milked. And there was room for many more.

The factory floor had straps and harnesses for hundreds. Jon slowly walked up to the nearest girl. She looked—familiar, with piled-high black hair and glasses still perched awkwardly on her fattened face. She was half-dozing. The arrangement looked comfortable—on one side of of a sluice was an adjustable bench made out of wipe-clean vinyl. A lot of levers and pulleys made it easy to rearrange. Each station had a private flatscreen TV, a set of headphones, and of course two suction pumps for her tits.

They were strapped in, in harness, the machinery whirring away. Despite the girl seeming half-asleep she was producing at high volume. Milk sped away with each tug of the pump, disappearing down into the piping system. There was a tray with a jug of water and several bags of corn crisps, and a little holster that contained two identical black vibrators, both with hard plastic nubs.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Joy said. Her voice had gotten high-pitched and silly again. “Every girl gets her own station. You’d expect a trough but no. They get cable. There’s fifty stations, although all of them make you wet and stupid. I’ve been kinda watching them for fun.”

“Uh-huh,” Jon said. He circled around. So this was it, for some or all of his girls. His two... three? Already it was confusing. It smelled really good out there on the floor. There was a lot of pussy in the air. Joy seemed to be feeling it too. She was struggling against a cheerful, vapid smile that kept sliding onto her face.

“Zoe,” Jon read, at the back of the apparatus. It was handwritten in, and had a list of likes and dislikes as well. There were technical details about her milk production: fluid flow, fat content, and overall quality. She’d only started production a few hours ago, amazing considering the huge bulk of her tits. “Oh. This is Cora’s daughter. They put them as neighbors, huh?”

His direct report was next door. They had similar hair, similar boobs. And according to the readout were both producing Grade A+ high-fat milk.

“They get pretty out of it when they’re producing,” Joy said, stroking their coworker’s naked butt.

Zoe wore what were presumably once pants, but Cora was full naked. She wore a pair of headphones, and was watching what looked like some sort of soap opera, except everyone had outrageous bodies in skin-tight clothes. “You can touch them, feel them, pretty much do whatever. It’s actually kinda fun, you can see their milk production pick up when they cum!”

Joy seemed eager to demonstrate. She picked up a sort of cattle prod from a holster, and not very gently started to tease Cora’s exposed pussy. The girl was situated to make her easy to fuck, Jon noticed. Perfectly level for his cock, and wet, and ready.

“I’m sure this is all pretty shocking for you,” Joy said. She walked down the aisle very slowly, heels struggling to find purchase on the grate-sluice floor. “I mean, I had to give up—ummm—like a ton of smart stuff to uncover it! I mean, I was trying to do geography and it’s like, super gone, I got SO confused about where to put antarctica. Here’s Joyce, sorta.”

Her counterpart—also black, with boobs just a smidge bigger then Joy’s. She wore a turquoise tube dress shucked up on both ends, and had her eyes just as glued to the TV. It was showing some sort of TV feed of the park next to the burger place..

“We went to J-School together at Columbia,” Joy said. She drummed her fingers on Joyce’s butt. “I bet she’s too fuckin’ dumb to remember the letter J now. Huh, Joyce?” Joyce had a feed tube sticking out of her mouth—she was drinking milk. Apparently not her own, as it connected to a canister. “You can fuck her if you want, while you’re processing all this. She’ll love it. She’s a total tits-for-brains now.”

Joyce did look... pleased.

He had to own up to it. He’d been so busy with the new job, his new urges, the demands of acquiring eight inches of hard-thrusting cock over about forty-eight hours. Clearly he’d been neglecting his girls. And they’d been sprouting all over the place, without him. Getting a new single-minded breed brain and turning into milk production. He should’ve been there for them, all of them.

To think, he’d spanked so many girls without once correcting his own.

“Joy, what is it you brought me here to do, exactly?” Jon said.

“Um.” It was clear this was asking a lot of Joy. She grabbed on to Joyce’s butt cheeks, like it would help her think. She rallied. “I mean—it’s all like, this big conspiracy to turn your girls into—this! I thought you’d, you know...”

She hesitated. Beneath her, Joyce reached climax, for no reason in particular. There was a gush of milk down her pump.

“...Be a man.” she finished, in a small voice.

“What is that? What is being a man?” Jon tamped down the expected anger. It was getting easier, if only because he was getting used to it. His cock, briefly soft, was again roused to full mast. Joy’s eyes dipped to it. She opened her book again, thumbing through the pages. Her eyes fluttered and rolled, bathed in whatever pink answers it was giving her.

“Joy, forget it.” Like a girl could tell him anything about being a man. “I’m leaving.”

“But—there’s a conspiracy!” she waved her arms, dumbfounded. “Y-you don’t even—isn’t it super-shocking? It’s like a whole thing making girls into cows! It’s bad and stuff!” she had a new dull whine to her voice that reminded him of—Hitomi. His... ex? His—what? The headache flashed on him again, stronger. He nearly fell over, steadying himself on the big butt of the nearby Cora. The headache was timed to his heartbeat.

The only way out was—

Being a man.

“Joy, Hitomi told me it was all a big plot like, awhile ago,” Jon said. He went to straighten his tie, and realized he wasn’t wearing one. He wore dress pants and an undershirt. “I’m pretty sure everyone in town knows. I’m sure they know we’re here.”

“I thought we’d—”

“Joy, come on,” Jon walked towards her. Being a man was not that challenging. First, establish dominance. “Your tits are four times where they were just recently and you’re making little puddles wherever you sit down. You sound like a complete airhead. If I tell you to kneel you’ll do it.. You’ll open your mouth whenever. I’ve made a man decision.. I’m demoting you.”

“But—” Joy’s knees had given a little buckle. They’d both seen it. She thumbed at her shirt, where it was overcome with her breasts. “We’re co-managers.”

“You can be my admin. You probably can write a little,” Jon said. He appraised her. She tried a desperate little smile. “Maybe..”

“Admin?” Joy said. She tried to recover, make her voice anything other than absurdly hot and stupid. “I have—I was a finalist for this award? Jon I’m sure after I cum a bunch I’ll be MUCH more cogn—cogniz—cog—”

“You know what this is, baby doll?” Jon said, gesturing broadly. The factory. The town. The world. “This is renewable, allergen-safe milk. Milk I can drink. I can’t drink cow milk. Gives me a tummy ache. This? Just about every human can drink human. It’s strange we roped cows into it. We should be feeding ourselves.”

“Jon, they’re CATTLE...” Joy said.

“Are we sure?” Jon said. He walked forwards, picked up Joy by the hips. It was effortless. Most of the weight was in her book, and she dropped it. She had plenty of handles on her new body. The stall next to Joyce was open. He laid his former co-manager face down on it.

“Jon...” she had a brief expression of panic, and it bought some clarity.. “What are you—you have a family—you need to GO...”

“Go where? Back to Michigan? I’m in CHARGE, Joy. I’m making triple my last paycheck. Pull your shirt down.” She complied, and her brown-butter nipples finally squeezed out. They looked possibly too big for the cups. “Big house. Nice community. Everyone’s friendly. We’re making eco-friendly dairy products for the mass market. A family-oriented product. For a company with a commitment to diversity.”

Making the best of things was what being a man was all about. One of the hundreds of things.

The cups and pumps looked very complicated, but Jon handled them effortlessly, like he’d known the instructions for a long time. He fit the clear plastic over as much of Joy’s tits as she could. She moaned as they went on, unresisting.

“Jon—please—don’t turn on those—I’m... I’m barely holding on here. I want to... I want to suck someone’s dick so badly,” Joy said. “I’m like, a super good journalist. Really.”

“I’m in a hurry,” Jon told her. “I’ve really been neglecting my family.” He thumbed the switch.

It was just gentle suction, but Joy didn’t act that way. She shuddered and arched her back. The air smelled like warm butterscotch. Two jets of white milk filled the pumps. Joy’s shrieks were loud enough to wake up Joyce, who turned her head, slowly oriented on Joy, and then smirked.

Jon went to check his watch, recalled he wasn’t wearing one. It was a little embarrassing to be at the workplace half-dressed, but, then, this was not a usual workplace. He snorted, and made a decision. He was, after all, now divorced. He could spare three more minutes. He’d already wasted most of his life.

Jon pulled down Joy’s pants.

Her slit was a perfect pink and oozing. All the fight had gone out of Joy—she was supine, legs limp, and perfectly positioned to fuck. She did manage to turn her head slightly, to see him angling between her thighs.

“Oh, gawdddddd,” she said, breathy. “Jon... you’re gonna melt my lil girl brain with that. Like, the book said it would turn me into, you know, PUDDLES. Aren’t you married or something?”

“Newly single,” Jon assured her. That was the last piece of resistance she could manage. Joy’s legs fell apart, and she even arched her back, to make sure he had the right angle for entry. His cock was beating for her. The headache had disappeared entirely, replaced by a set of new to-do items. First of all, his assistant had to be broken in.

He slipped his cock inside of her. There was a rightness to it, a bonding he hadn’t really thought about. A man should certainly paddle a disrespectful rear end into compliance, but good management took both the stick and the carrot. The carrot slid all the way inside her slick pussy, each fold presenting itself. He had a lot of employees he needed to fuck, come to think of it. On the big manager desk that was his, his alone. In the bathroom, as an executive perk. And then there was milking fucks, designed to improve female production.

“Jon.. I’m...” Joy was just gurgling. She backed up against the thud of his dick. “The.. my files are password... um... protected... and... the password... its... its... Oh... Oh... oh GAWWDDDDDD!”

Another stream of milk nearly overloaded the pumps.

She had every intention of leaving, but it had taken a lot out of Hitomi, not just getting divorced but collared and regressed. She was barely legal now, for one. Her twenties rolled out in front of her, and while a hot piece of ass hardly needed to plan her next decade, she still wanted to give it a little thought.

“Nami, just put the vacuum away,” Hitomi said. “We don’t have any carpets. I don’t know why we even brought it.”

The collar, that was a thing. It wasn’t clear the legal effect it had, but Hitomi was pretty sure she could pass it off as a fashion thing. Maybe she was only partly Daddy’s property. A time share.

And if she could pull that off, then traveling sounded nice. A globe-hopping whore, that made her pussy glow. A resident of first-class cabins, earned with mileage and sugar daddy credit cards. Champagne on takeoff, cock on arrival. Or why not Vegas? They were always in need of party girls. And she really wanted to be a party girl.

“No, Nami, we just moved in, you only need to dust every other month. Actually, you know what, fine. Dust that mantle. Can I get some more pancakes?”

Her... what was Nami? Hitomi toyed with her collar while she thought about it. Nami had to be a... sister, right? Obviously a younger sister, since Hitomi was the smart one. Although Nami was definitely a little more.... physically developed. Overripe, if she was being honest. Even her lips had an overenthusiastic plushness, a stuffed shininess.

“Sure, Hitomi!” Her sister was eager for household tips, and Hitomi was happy to impart them. She could feel them draining out of her, forever, as she told Nami items about laundry, dishwashing, cooking, and so on. It was anyone’s guess if Nami was retaining any of it—the only thing she was retaining for sure was milk.

“These are great,” she said, about the pancakes. Hitomi was on her third helping. It was probably a bad idea, given that they were looking to escape, but she’d spent all night slurping and sucking with nerds, and was starving. “Guys will LOVE these you. They’ll sleep over just for breakfas—oh.”

Nami looked crestfallen. Hitomi had never met Jerry, but the guy had done a number on her sister. Although it was possible she just no longer had the room for more than one guy in her head.

“Nami, sit down, sis,” Hitomi patted the chair next to her. She’d changed out of her spank-me gear and found some cute girl shit from her shopping trip. A white pair of knee socks meant that the rest of the outfit hardly mattered. But she’d gone with a tartan skirt and a button-up white blouse that didn’t button up. The perfect preppy slut. Nami wore a black skirt and white bodice, maid-adjacent.

“You gotta get over this guy.” She flipped on the TV. It was showing a feed from the park in Stork, where a crowd was starting to gather. “Look at all these guys. I was just hanging out with them, they are desperate for some new pussy. Right now it’s all loose white girls and they are BORED. Geez, these guys are pretty hot.”

They sat together. watching. Inevitably their legs started to spread apart, watching the chiseled chins on display, and the many biceps. “I guess they’re cute...” Nami conceded.

They were both breathing hard. Ridiculous how hard her current libido went. Maybe it was good she was collared, at least for awhile. Daddy had much to teach a girl about self-control. Hitomi slid her hands under her skirt. “Go get that vibrator you hid from me,” Hitomi said. “We’ll share.”

Nami’s eyes widened. “Y-you knew? You...” the shock of it slid the lust off her eyes. “Mom, are we... why are we such SLUTS all of a sudden?”

“It’s HITOMI,” she said, firmly. But Nami still looked frightened, even as her hands started to stray under her own skirt. “Nami, don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control. Lets just... enjoy these boys, right?” she pulled aside her panties and stuck a few fingers up her pussy. It’d be weird if this was her daughter, so it was a good thing she wasn’t.

“But... uh.. Hitomi... I think we’re supposed to be... look at these TITS, when did I grow such huge fucking titties, Mom!”

“It’s HITOMI,” the girl was truly dumb as shit. Hitomi leaned in. Her sister smelled really good. She went in for a kiss, peppering her cheek until she giggled. They were both like that, thighs spread, watching the start of Milk Day festivities on TV, when the door slammed open and Jerry stalked in with an unconscious Liza.

Nami had her legs open wide, and she wasn’t NOT making out with her sister-mom. They were murmuring in each other’s ears—fun girl stuff, about how hot and dumb and fuckable they’d gotten. Just pointing out things that Nami hadn’t even realized, like how you could even spot her clitoris between her legs. It had thickened into a fun and easy-to-spot bulb, like a weak spot on a midboss, and was visible from across the room.

Jerry stared at her.

His beard had come in, and he was broader then before—a hirsute golem of a man. He still wore his work khakis, and had his sister in his arms.

Yumi bustled in behind him. “Jerry! Upstairs!” she commanded.. “My bed! Then go boil some water or something! I don’t know!” The three of them marched upwards.

Nami belatedly closed her legs.

“That’s the guy, huh?” Hitomi said.

“That’s the guy.”

“And he’s back in your house.”

Nami looked at mom-sister, or whatever she was. She’d covered that face in wet kisses. Kind of a conduit between Daddy and her. “What do I DO?” she said, hyperventilating. It made her boobies bounce. “Oh! I’ll—okay. I’ll get super buck naked and wait at the bottom of the stairs and then when—”

“God, Nami, stop,” Hitomi said. She put a wet finger to Nami’s lips. Nami started to suck on it, automatically. “You—okay. Fine. We have just a few minutes to get you ready. Wipe off your face and put on—clothes. Any clothes.”

“It’s harder to fuck when you have clothes on!” Nami pointed out, logically. She was proud of that fact. She even spat out Hitomi’s finger to make the argument.

“Just—do it. Trust me. Trust your big sis. Which is me,” Hitomi took Nami’s face in her hands. “It’s really important you stop calling me Mom, okay?”

Nami did her best, which was her waitressing clothes. She couldn’t button the top button on her shorts, and her shirt now showed off a lot of underboob. But it was clothing, at least, and she even had on shoes again. White pumps that seemed to have appeared in the house, but at least they forced her to walk slowly and with something like ladylike elegance. And they made her boobs bounce, but what didn’t?

“TEND to him,” Hitomi whispered, from the kitchen.. It went against her instincts, which, as of yesterday, were to relentlessly tease a man until he either spanked her or fucked her in the ass. She had to summon up the last fading reserves of being a moth—a mo—some sort of not-sister. “Sit him down, ask how he’s doing, how his sister’s doing, and then ask if you can get him a drink.”

Jerry ground down the stairs. The energy he’d used up, bursting through the door, was all gone.

He looked completely depleted.

“Nami,” he said. He was barely able to face her. Considering the rich, mouthwatering expanse of her cleavage, it was indicative of extreme guilt. “Uh. Hi.”

“Did your sister die or something?” Nami said. Hitomi nearly bit into a kitchen towel. “Oh, no, wait. I got the question order wrong. How are you doing?”

“Well, Nami, instead of escaping this town of—of—what’s that bible town where they were all sluts?” Jerry winced, and put his hand to his head. “You know?”

“The ark?”

“I mean... sure. All the animals were fucking. Yeah. The Ark. That was the whole point. Anyway, Liza took some experimental drugs. With a needle. Not the first time, not gonna lie.”

“You wanna...uh... do you drink? Like, water?” Hitomi could tell Nami was trying incredibly hard. She’d even put her hands behind her back, so she wouldn’t start suddenly rubbing at her boobs. “You should sit down. You look super hot and tired.”

Jerry nearly flopped backwards, at the invitation. “Oh. Sorry there’s... it’s a little wet...” he said.

“Oh yeah, my other sis was there.The one that made me. She talks big but she’s pretty juicy too.”

It was a fair hit. Hitomi pulled her hand out from between her legs and, curious, sniffed it. Everyone else she met had a chemical signature, some sort of mark, like they were animals pissing on a neighborhood tree. What was hers? And why, exactly, was it important to the town to give her a particular brew?

“Doing pretty good?” Nami said. “Pretty... pretty alright?”

“Well. No. It’s been a lot,” Jerry said. “You know. Emotionally and physically. A whole lot.”

Nami was perched on the side of the couch, nodding every so often, just like Hitomi had told her. Men loved a girl who could nod sympathetically, and not say a word. It was nice to see Nami shoot her a look of nervous anticipation, a soft and happy grin. Hitomi pantomimed glugging water and, eventually, it made its way into Nami’s head.

“Let me get YOU something to DRINK,” Nami recited.

“I got something already,” Jerry said. He had brought in his backpack.. Out of it he pulled a large bottle of black coffee, chilled, with the label “FLYNN’S NECESSARIES.”

“I was going to bring it to the outside world, see if they could test it, figure out... I don’t know... some sort of anti-drug to the drug that’s drugging us. What’s the word for that?”

“Antidote,” Hitomi said, into the kitchen towel, to muffle it. She could see why Jerry and Nami fit together. They could play tennis with their remaining brain cell.

“Anti-drug drug,” Nami said.

“Right, right,” Jerry reached out and rubbed at the small of her back.

Hitomi hadn’t had the time to coach on this. The important thing was to not immediately fall over and start moaning and cumming. Nami was trying. She did shudder and droop, but rallied, taking the opportunity to sit next to Jerry on the couch. With her legs actually—well, not crossed, but angled towards each other.

“Anyway,” Jerry said. “I was thinking of just—drinking it. Get it over with. I can’t escape, not with Liza laid up sweating weird pink globs. I’ll just drink it, and get horny and stupid, and that’ll be it.” The man put his big mitts on the other side of Nami, and softly drew her closer. It wasn’t clear if he knew he was doing it. Hitomi cheered, internally. She decided it was okay to put her fingers back up her pussy.

It was immensely difficult to control herself. The only thing Nami could draw on was—he smelled sad. Forlorn and—yes, horny, but a self-hating kind of horny. She forced herself to stand. “You need—” and had to stop. Her body was trying to force her to kneel in front of this man, salve his concerns with the best medicine, her mouth. Nami pressed down on her own knees, which nearly bobbed her boobs into Jerry’s mouth. His eyebrows went up.

“—A drink,” she said, and noticed his lips pursing towards one of her nipples. But—no. She was NOT just going through the inevitable pre-fuck motions. Instinct was nice, but relationships required more. Maybe. Probably sucking on her tits was just as good. At least this was an opportunity for Jerry to notice her butt, waggling all the way to the kitchen.

“This is fun,” Hitomi said, once she’d escaped. Sis was touching herself, and sitting on the kitchen table. “You got me pretty good with the juicy line. Hey, what do I smell like? We all have our own pussy perfumes now, you smell like persimmons to me.”

“Granny apples,” Nami said. Hitomi’s eyes narrowed. “Hitomi, where’s the drink? I need a drink!”

“Oh. Right. That was my idea.” Hitomi flipped off the table, twirling her hair automatically. “Okay. I was thinking a Manhattan. Ultra-masculine. All you need is whiskey and vermouth and... hmm.”

“He’s gonna leave and go have sex with other girls if I don’t get him a drink!” Nami said, frantic. “You were supposed to hand me the drink! And now if you mix one it’s gonna taste like Hitomi cunt!”

“I can wash my hands, dummy,” Hitomi said. She opened the liquor cabinet. “We have one bottle of vodka. He’s filipino, right? So not Russian? We’re sure on that?”

“Hitomi, please!”

Hitomi slammed the bottle on the counter, theatrically rinsed her hands, and poured two big glugs into their nicest glass. Then she held it right underneath Nami’s chest and honked her boob. A gush of milk added a spray of white. The flow didn’t stop, either, staining her shirt wet.

Hitomi saluted her sister, and took a sip.

“You’re the best cocktail I’ve ever made,” she pronounced.

“It’s a white russian I guess? Is that a thing?” Nami handed it over, and held on to her own cup. Hitomi wasn’t sure how to feel about Nami drinking her own milk. She was pretty sure her sister wasn’t supposed to be lactating at all, much less self-succ. Would that make her fat, or skinny?

Jerry sniffed it, then drank, and drank. “Pomegranate?” he hazarded. “Is that the secret ingredient? I’m mostly a strawberry guy... not a lot of fruits, you know?”

“Sure!” Nami chirped. “I’m—I’ve been learning all sorts of stuff, you know. Learning how to cook and dust and—I think I said cook? I made pancakes!”

“That’s great,” Jerry said. Hitomi could see his shoulders relax, his hands unclench, under the double punch of vodka with Nami in it. She filed that one away—she wasn’t clear on whether or not she’d be lactating for the th—for the first time, but it’d be handy if so. “I mean—I know I was—look, I’m sorry I dropped you. The whole thing with the Mayor. That was the stupid thing. Not you.”

“Oh, that’s okay!” Nami slunk in next to him. Her shirt was getting soaked. Once the tap was opened up it didn’t like to close. Hitomi could see Jerry breathing hard. She was breathing pretty hard herself. Nami was an incredibly powerful aphrodisiac, the fuckable little minx. “I don’t think anything we do right now is anyone’s fault because we’re being turned into breed sluts!”

“Yeah,” Jerry agreed, nodding his head, sincerely. “That’s so true. And I don’t know if the town mayor with a dozen vibrators strapped to her is as trustworthy as I thought, you know? But it was still—bad. And I’m sorry.”

It was the moment. Fuck him, Hitomi thought. She concentrated all her mental powers on it, urging them forward on her silly daughter. Or at least kiss the man. They were snuggled up against each other on the couch, breathing in each other’s pheromones, reconciled and ready to bang. Lean over and kiss the lunk, or rub his thigh, or do anything.

“What now?” Nami whispered. “What do we do now?”

Hitomi smacked her forehead.

“I don’t know,” Jerry said. “And I really think we were SO close to solving all this. I got another text message from the conspiracy guy but I couldn’t figure it out.” He pulled his phone out. Hitomi couldn’t see it, but Nami and her maybe-man were practically cheek to cheek, staring at it. Just one of them needed to turn a head. It was possible, Hitomi concluded, that they’d both become too dumb to fuck.

“Get...I think that says ‘thee?’ Gosh, it’s a puzzle!” Nami said. She slipped her arm around him, at least. She glanced backwards. Hitomi tried to pantomime her giving a sloppy blowjob to the man. It didn’t get through—Nami just looked even more confused than normal.

At least, Hitomi had to concede, it was a cute look on her.

Jerry growled, frustrated, and tossed his phone across the room. Nami’s pussy, already drenched, throbbed a little harder. They were jowl to jowl and thigh to thigh, and yet... he still smelled angry, uncertain, upset. Jerry picked up the canister of coffee and unscrewed it. “Might as well,” he said. The scent of dark black beans leaked out. Nami stared at it, horrified.

“Jerry, that’s...” just the scent seemed to let loose more words. “That’s ridiculous. Like, it makes no sense. Don’t drink the stupid juice.”

“I just want it over with,” Jerry said, holding the bottle up. “I can’t get out. I couldn’t protect Liza from one of her classic Liza decisions. I messed it up with you even though I super wanted to fuck you.”

“Yeah?” Nami said, leaning forwards. “Oh? Me?”

He snorted. “Yeah, no shit! You smell like—like pure sex. You’re got tits out to here, I can smell how hot and wet you are. I was—I was scared how bad I wanted you. I felt like—I felt like I’d never stop.”

“Like maybe... for the rest of your life?” Nami said. They looked at each other. She could feel his breath on her cheeks. It was so warm.

“For the rest of my life,” Jerry echoed.

“Then we should drink it together,” Nami said. She took the bottle, maintained eye contact, just like big sis had taught her, and drank deeply. It was the right decision, from Jerry’s sharp intake of breath. He liked the tits, the silly voice, the everything. How much more female could she be, for him? It was worth finding out. The coffee tasted vile—bitter and acrid. It practically burned her throat.

Jerry took it from her, and took a long swig. “I bet I end up with the biggest cock in town,” he said, awkwardly. “It’s already.. uh.... real big. Its real thick, if you want to see it.”

Hitomi had contemplated rushing in on the two and mashing their heads together. Or something. And they thought the coffee was turning them into dumb sluts, and they were still drinking it.

Incredible.

It was a good thing, she supposed, that this wasn’t her kid.

It was a terrible kiss. They were both full of coffee, and what should’ve been a triumphant, sweet-smelling exchange of pheromones was instead full of harsh black spit. But they were both too far gone to care—the important thing was, they were kissing, actually kissing. Jerry, to his credit, Nami felt, managed to avoid grabbing her tits for several solid minutes, chastely exchanging kisses and laughs with her.

But not forever. Then he attacked them, chasing coffee with the sweetest milk. It flowed in abundance, and he didn’t hesitate at all, filling his mouth with big long sucks of dairy. He even squeezed them together to speed up the flow. Nami even wondered if he was hungry. When he surfaced he kissed her again, and Nami finally tasted—persimmons.

“Careful, I’m a virgin,” she said, when he pushed her back on the couch.

It had the intended effect—Jerry nearly ripped his own pants off. His cock was as big as advertised, with the same stocky, squat build as its owner. It had a functional, solid look, like he could fuck for a paycheck. The tip oozed at her.

“You’re a VIRGIN?” Jerry laughed, amazed. “How did you—alright.”

“And I’m not on birth control,” Nami said. She whined it, just like Hitomi, and looked over for approval. Her sister was too busy rubbing herself, back arched, tits heaving. Oh well. “I’m probably super fertile right now. I feel pregnantable.”

“Oh, Christ,” he was actually sweating. It was so hot. Jerry grabbed her thighs and yanked her forwards, until the tip of his dick was nestled in her cunt. Already she was starting to spark and shake, waves of long-delayed gratification hitting her. He paused—Nami realized, to see what she had to say next.

“And if you fuck me like this, I bet I smell like you forever. I bet I do your laundry forever and make you milk booze forever and fold your underpants forever and ever!” Nami said. She tried to squeeze the tip of his dick, but it wasn’t quite in enough. She needed more. “Jerry, fucking fuck me!”

Two enormous and powerful hands gripped her hips and hauled her forwards. Jerry’s dick poured into her. A quart of semen pumped right up against her womb, and it was great. Nami wrapped her legs around him and vowed to never let him go.

She waited until they had a rhythm going. But a big sis had her own needs, and watching the two go at it was getting Hitomi very randy. It had a lot to do, she judged, from her drinking a tall glass of Nami milk. The girl made sex juice come out of her tits, and it left Hitomi buzzing and needy.

There was a picture on the wall of the four of—them? Of somebody, anyway. Four family members and none of them could smile correctly. Jon, who always smiled too hard, like he was making up for someone else. Nami, who didn’t smile. Yumi, who smiled like she was told to. And the last one, the Mom, who just looked tired. Hitomi took it off the wall and put the photo face down. It was bothering her while she touched herself.

Of course she wanted to get out, see the world, save her family, but all that kind of old stuff was just bummer stuff.. Buzzkill. Or—she’d have to get newer slang terms from Nami.

Nami was making guttural semi-human noises.

Hitomi stripped her shirt off, and ambled over to the couch. She admired Jerry’s body. He even had a strong, muscular ass. His eyes didn’t see anything but the pink of Nami’s pussy, and possibly not even that. Hitomi was pretty sure he’d already cum once or twice, and he hadn’t even seemed to notice that either.

She climbed over Nami’s legs, briefly tickled her sister’s belly, and then looked at Jerry. He didn’t seem able to focus on her, which was fine. Hitomi approached, tits first.

“You’re gonna suck on these until milk comes out,” she told him, and fed him right boob. He wasn’t very gentle with it, and there were some teeth. But after a little bit that started to feel really good.

“Liza. Liiiiiiizaaaaaa,” Yumi said. She’d made Jerry put her sister back on Yumi’s bed, and then chased the boy out. She could hear him doing something downstairs. “Wake up, baby. Wake up and sing me some Tom Waits. Sing God’s Away on Business. Give me some Doja Cat. I don’t know. Wake up!”

Yumi was trying not to close her eyes. The fantasies were coming fast and hard, jumping in whenever she happened to shut her lashes. It didn’t help that her eyes were semi-drooped, heavy-lidded and very sultry. At some point during the morning she’d added an extra level of luscious. It was hard to pinpoint what it was—an extra bow to her lips? The final glossy shine to her skin? Or could she just smell herself, her own new blend of girl pheromones and lubricant?

She had to blink every so often. There they were—she and Liza, hand in hand, arm in arm. Sometimes they were in harness, bonking colossal butts together, milking under industrial lights. But usually they were out and about, wearing new cross necklaces, bringing god’s light and god’s thighs to beknighted communities. Now they’d left a bar in the early morning, after a long show and subsequent town-wide orgy. The sun was coming up, and it’d be nice to watch the light flicker on Liza’s tits.

“Up up up!” Yumi said, opening her eyes. She even smacked at Liza’s cheeks. There was definitely a lot going on with her girlfriend. She was breathing hard, and Yumi could see her eyes flickering under her own lids. She smelled like pure lust, and kept dripping an increasingly-pink goo from every bit of herself. Her boobs, in particular, were red-hot and getting bigger almost moment by moment. They were going to challenge Yumi’s, she could already tell. “Liza! God damn it! Get up!”

Liza murmured something. No—she’d sung something, hadn’t she? A few bars.

Were they sharing the same waking dreams?

Another fired through Yumi. Joint appearance on the radio, a half-bimboized host trying hard to hold onto her mid-Atlantic smooth voice. But she kept cracking, gushing with praise for their album Tee-Enn-Ayy. “I just—I just LOVE it!” she said, face feverish. It was very tight in the studio, and both she and Liza were, as usual, pumping out the love smoke. The hostess looked around for something to suck on. She’d already drooled on the mic. “Tell me—tell me about how you came up with ASS SUCK!”

Eyes open.

“Okay, you dummy,” Yumi said. Desperate times called for the most desperate measures. She found it in the cardboard box—her old vibrator. Someone had put fresh batteries in it. It whirred in her hand, reassuring. Yumi peeled the remnants of her panties off. They’d snapped in two in the urgent flight home, and she was really just wearing bits of elastic.

Yumi eased her now-immense rear on top of Liza. Carefully, making sure to leave her nose clear. There was so much butt it’d be easy to choke her lover. She was already dripping into Liza’s open mouth. It was weird but—hadn’t they done this in Dallas, on stage, to the frenzied cheers of a hundred thousand fans? Liza had sung MY EYES ARE UP HERE [PUSSY DOWN THERE] into her cunt, a microphone awkwardly lodged next to all the skin, in between licks. Or had that not actually happened?

Yumi thumbed on the vibrator. It seemed very small, now.. She got to Liza’s legs, hesitated, and then just laid the machinery on top. Something down there would enjoy the sensation.

“Wake UP, SLUT BUTT!” Yumi hollered. She jammed her pussy in Liza’s face, and thumbed down on the vibrator.

Liza’s eyes flew open.

For a second they seemed pure pink, not just the iris but the whites as well.. The purest, bubblegum, flamingo pink.

Then she started to lick in earnest.

The orgasm was loud enough that Jerry stopped his methodical, workmanlike thrusts. He fucked like it was a trade. The noise set unattended glasses and mirrors vibrating, and rose from there.

Jerry had to spit out a mouthful of Hitomi tit to comment. Her milk had let down, for the first time, halfway in. It was faintly lemon-lime, like buttermilk.

“She sounds like you when you cum,” he told the girls. They both took it as the compliment it was.

By the time Yumi was done screaming and shaking and twitching Liza was already up and about. She was primping in front of the big mirror, and had gotten into Yumi’s inadequate makeup bag.

“You’re... you’re...” Yumi slurred, trying to form thoughts with her mind. It was all glow and sex and the warm memory of a hot tongue.

What she was groping for was: Liza was.. ready. At first look she was just another thick brown girl in a house full of them. But this Liza made sure to keep her back arched so her boobs could pop. She’d drawn over her eyebrows with liner, and fluffed out her hair until it was a dark night sky, in the middle of Yumi’s room. And she had cocked her hips, one hand held on her new rear. She abounded with curves.

“I woke up and you were—oh!” Liza said. She put her hand on her throat, new eyes shocked.

“Oh!” Yumi echoed.

Liza sounded like a soprano on gas. She had an impossibly high squeak of a voice, a voice that tittered by default.

“Oh my god, I sound like a fuckin Powerpuff Girl,” Liza said.

“You’re pony-level,” Yumi agreed. Her girlfriend had wrapped a towel around her midsection, and had nothing else on. Yumi drank in the body: it was so obviously warm, possibly even torrid. There was no hiding under baggy t-shirts, hoodies, slumped shoulders.

The only thing left of old Liza, the only thing, was the best thing. She still made Yumi cum just by staring right into her eyes.

“Nice tits,” Yumi said.

“Great ass,” Liza said. She shook her boobs around. Everything was, if not a squeak, not far from it. “Mmmm. This is rela nice but I don’t know how I’m gonna sing at this concert. You’re gonna have to do it, Yumi.”

“No, I—” Yumi said, automatically. She was keyboards. Liza stood over her. The towel was draped very loosely over her midsection.

“Watch this,” Liza said. She smacked at the cotton, at groin level. “Doesn’t hurt. Feels good actually..”

“Is—it...?”

“It’s still.. tender... but... you deserve a look. You’re gonna be spending a lot of time with it. I’m starting to come around on this town.”

Liza triumphantly whipped off the towel, to reveal the nicest pussy Yumi had ever seen.

It sang to her, a pleasant tune that had hints of Handel and a lot of Doja Cat. It was far from a minimal slit, an entryway with no other purpose but allowing in dicks. It featured a big pink clitoris up top, a perfect cherry both shining and large. It nearly pulsed with blood flow. She had folds and lips, all of them pouty and plush, and perpetually soaked. It was such perfect girl plumbing that Yumi gasped, and drooled.

“I got labias,” Liza said, triumphant. “I have big pussy flaps!”

It had been awhile since all of the Masudas were thinking thoughts at the same time. Mostly due to Nami.

It would be rare again—there was just so much breeding, marketing, fucking, and teasing to do. They were all only a little transformed, dependent still on the flood of chemicals and suggestions and inhaled dusts and consumed goos. A completely indoctrinated girl could reduce a PTA meeting to ravenous whores in the course of a week, purely through her own secretions, overwhelming scent, and some cheerfully delivered blowjobs. There was still lots to do with their wombs; their hips were just starting to really shift, girl bones accommodating an anticipated flood of infants.

And while their minds were—especially Nami—broadly smoothed and peacefully pink, there was still so much to install. The girls had no idea how to start work at a large company, and quickly reduce the men and women into good, praying, breedsluts. Or even how to satisfy six or seven cocks in a single session.

But they would.

Nami thought: oooooooooohhhhh SHIT.

It wasn’t that she’d been totally brainless, although she’d done a lot of floor-licking for a supposed college student. It was just that thoughts hadn’t driven her nice new body around. It was more about what she had recently smelled or tasted, plus an overriding drive to have a cock in her. Occasional ideas had floated in a happy endorphin mixture, strangely happy not to be needed.

Her next thought was: Oh. I sucked Daddy’s dick.

“Feeling better?” Jerry said. He sat on the couch, gamely tugging his polo back on. It barely fit over his head, and she could see every muscle on his body. “Cumming helps me, too. Sometimes. Other times—”

“We drank all that coffee, though,” Nami said. She was proud of that “though”. Until she’d lost all that vocab she hadn’t realized how hard it was, to put together well-phrased sentences, accurately containing meaning.

Jerry shrugged it away. “Maybe it didn’t take? Why did we even do that?”

Hitomi snorted. She was getting dressed, pulling on a bandage dress in bold yellow and red. She was as subtle as a disco ball, Nami thought, and was proud of herself. An analogy!

“The message!” Nami said. “From that guy!”

“We were—Nami, baby, we couldn’t even fuckin read. I already looked,” Jerry said. “It said, ‘come thee to the factory, all who resist.’ I just didn’t remember what ‘thee’ was. It’s still weird. But anyway. I’m going. You stay here and stay safe. I’m worried the coffee will kick in and you’ll just want to rut and suck my cock..”

“But,” Nami said, “I w—”

“Okay, you can come,” Jerry conceded.

Hitomi thought: “it’s probably good Nami doesn’t know her boyfriend fucked me in the butt.”

Nami had passed out from cumming too hard, which had left Hitomi the only conscious female in the room. This had caused an ethical dilemma. On the one hand, stealing Nami’s new man was not sisterly behavior. On the other hand, stealing Nami’s new man was extremely hot and fun.

Butt-fucking was the compromise.

And to be extra-fair to Nami, Jerry hadn’t even really known who or what he was sticking his dick into. He would’ve fucked a hose if she’d lined him up. It had been her first anal experience of her life, and overall she’d enjoyed it, if mostly on a psychological level.

Over time, of course, the new nerves already growing in her rear would bloom, and it would become essentially indistinguishable from regular sex. Not to mention the extra-special nerve tendrils already setting in to the back of her throat.

“I know a few guys that promised to get us out of here,” Hitomi said.. She examined herself in the mirror. Fire engine red, bird plumage yellow, and blue heels. She kept touching the collar at her throat. “We should all just go.”

A glance showed this wasn’t going to happen. Jerry was puffed up with his own pride. The two of them were making some sort of dumb plan to sneak in to the factory, using Nami’s waitressing as a disguise. Nami sat in his lap, rubbing his chest, cooing over all his good ideas.

Well, she’d been young once, and still was.

“Alright,” Hitomi amended. “You two go and break in and have fun. Just be outside at three. Actually, I’m going to put alarms on your phone, so it actually happens. And look for your Daddy. Our Daddy. Look for Daddy when you’re at the factory. Tell him we’re leaving, either as a family, or not as a family.”

Jon thought: he was really starting to miss the girls.

The factory floor had been fun, but it was ultimately, at the very end of the day, work. It turned out there was a lot that had to happen to keep a fully-functioning milking center running. The girls needed to be fed, monitored, drugged and fucked. They couldn’t do very much for themselves when in-harness, besides suck on anything in their immediate mouth vicinity, and back up at anything poking at their rears.

Fucking them was also work. Tied down and docile, they were mostly just immobile pussies with very little excitement. True, they gripped his cock with unconscious skill, and he’d already cum in Zoe. He had to mark it in the rota—everything was professionalized, industrialized, and impersonal.

Not like the excitement of having Nami clean him off with her tongue.

His new admin wobbled around behind him, tits freshly milked.. Joy was still trying to tell him they could escape or something. She wasn’t very convincing, buck naked, boobs dribbling milk, and whimpering and touching herself whenever Jon serviced a milker. In fact he was pretty sure she was just forgetting she had already tried to do the escape ploy. And she kept staining her notes with breast milk.

By this point Jon had completely forgotten his vow to do better by his family. The work was in front of him, and had to get done. All that was left was a nagging sense of guilt—and occasional, ruminating thoughts of going home. Which left him, each time he came in a breeding female.

But they kept coming back.

It had been good to learn the ropes, and also to shoot ropes. It was time to concentrate on the home front, Jon told himself. For real this time. Jon took a selfie and sent it to the girls. Their last group chat was from a few days ago—Hitomi on her way back with burgers. Two thumbs up from Yumi and Nami, nothing from Jon.

Well, that was going to change. After all, he had pretty much exhausted all the cunts on the factory floor..

And someone new had shown up.

“Girls, come to the factory,” he texted, mouthing the letters. He glanced over at the boss, who wore a nice suit for the festivities.

“All set, sir,” Jon said.

“Great!” Pastor Flynn said, beaming. His teeth were particularly white that day.

Yumi was thinking the least. The worry and adrenaline of Liza’s collapse, followed so closely by the fun and excitement of Vagina Reveal, had taken a lot out of her. And her clit was still tingly from getting licked so thoroughly.

Generally she was getting tired, very tired, of thinking. Although she hadn’t gotten the same extra-heavy dose of slut drugs as her sister, they were still lacing through her system. Lots of them. And she’d used up most of her brainpower on getting a relationship started. Her body told her: it was time to flop around on her huge ass and let it do the thinking. Be warm and comfy and dumb.

But she still had some commitments.

“That’s our drummer, in the background,” Yumi said. Dad’s photo showed a lot of girls in alarming positions, in what seemed to be a kind of industrial milking facility.. Of course, she’d seen it before. Often, when she closed her eyes.... “That’s Zoe. And I think that’s Zoe’s Mom.”

“Well, shit,” Liza said. She had planned her concert outfit out with great care, and was strapping into the pink with pink highlights. Her new voice was stupid hot, and made Yumi’s nipples hard. It was like a slutty minnie mouse. “What are we gonna do about that?”

“I think...” Yumi said, slowly. There it was again, the sense that she’d started down the wrong path. Playing with Liza’s new bits, that was the right answer. Not thinking. But still. The concert. “I think we need to get her back.”

“Oh yeah, with the power of music,” Liza said. She pushed a pair of pink-rimmed sunglasses to the top of her hair. She’d put it up, and poofed it out. When she glanced at Yumi, Yumi could just see the glint of pink, still reflected in her eyes.

“Right,” Yumi said.

“Right,” Liza echoed. She’d found time to paint her nails, with some of the quick-drying goop from the boutique. It was probably gonna make their tits even bigger, but Yumi was way past caring. “That was a joke, big butt.”

“I don’t think it has to be a joke,” Yumi said. “I don’t think its a joke at all.”