The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The entire team had shown up. That was despite it being Milk Day, traditionally a day—according to Flynn—where cum ran white in the streets and even the most flexible and dedicated of cocksuckers found their jaws getting sore. And despite the fact they were all bestowed with new sexual confidence and millions of new nerve fibers, all of them eager to be touched.

Jon had stayed at work, despite his deep uncertainty about his marriage, or even if he had ever been married. His girls definitely needed their father, and he had much to do to them.

Pastor Flynn had suggested he call his family, instead, and tell them to swing by. Jon was familiar with this message. It apparently applied even to management of worldwide pseudo-Christian sex cults. It meant: you can fuck and spank your two to three daughters later, but right now the project needs to get done.

“Girls, cooperate,” he told Joy and Joyce. Assistant Manager and Assistant to the Assistant Manager. They apparently had some prior relationship, or so Joy kept insisting. Joyce didn’t seem to care. As Ass-Assistant her job was mostly keeping the floor clean, and some light ball sucking, to complement Joy’s more important work on his shaft.

Under his tutelage they were getting much better. Not too much use of hands. Gentle, steady sucking—Relax the Boss blowjob. His prick felt fantastic. He was already making long-term organizational plans to jam it down a lot of different throats, a number of different pussies. His balls were still coming in, still getting bigger, which was good.

He was really excited to get his team nice and pregnant.

“I reworked the artwork,” Sean said. “It’s gonna be pretty rough. Clip art off the server. I wasn’t sure what symbol of unity we should go with. I narrowed it down to an ouroboros or a rainbow. Your call, boss.”

He had Drana and Maria in nurse outfits—white sheaths with matching white heels. Real heels, tower heels, with their feet strapped in via white leather bands. With their new top-heavy chests and general rebalanced gravity both would’ve fallen over, except for the support of Sean’s wheelchair. Sita didn’t need it, as she was the one in his lap, her arms around him.

“Explain the ouroboros,” Jon said. The aggression was banked, but ever present. He’d probably feel a little angry forever. It would need to be forever tamed, sucked out and spurted. He’d have to discipline himself as much as his daughters. A lot of discipline, then. “That’s the snake eating its own tail?”

“I mean, it’s sucking on it,” Sean said. Maria tried to let go of his chair, to touch up her makeup, and nearly fell backwards. The dress didn’t help. She’d been poured into it. “I don’t know. Kind of right for Stork?”

“Self-suck?” Jon considered it. As was his right. “Rainbow.”

“Rainbow it is, chief.. T-minus a half-hour, Maria, hit the afterburners.”

Sita and Anand had ownership of the distribution end. “Not a problem,” Sita said, as soon as she saw him approaching.. She was naked from the waist down, as was her husband. She typed with furious intensity. “Keep licking, Anand. We can meet every distribution target across three... unhhhhhhh... three continents. Unhhhh oh- okay.”

She gave him a weak smile before starting to cum. Jon watched her slow-slide underneath the desk, while Anand emerged, wiping his mouth. He took her just-vacated seat. Apparently they switched off every ten minutes, seamless. An aspirational level of teamwork. Five quick breaths later and Sita jumped on Anand’s dick, eyebrows furrowed. Jon made a decision to ignore that Anand immediately erased most of Sita’s typing.

“Jon?”

He whirled. His Assistant Manager was out from underneath her desk. As usual she was toying with the clasp on her collar. All the girls on the team tended to, and Jon approved of it. It showed a good mindfulness of their role.

“Yes, Joy?”

She was in a silver-gold jumper. Pastor Flynn had also had his personal secretary show up with—jewelry, of all things. An odd choice for a churchman, bangles and rings and necklaces, but she shone with it. Joy looked expensive. “She’s won awards,” Flynn had said, a classic cryptic Flynn explanation. The award-winner had gone up another cup size, it looked like.

“I was—I had an idea that...”

She fell silent, uncertain. Another management decision point loomed. The boy book, and also nearly 90% of the hormones and chemicals that had been pumped into him, said that he should gently inform her that she was probably mistaken. Ideas were what girls encouraged, in boys. But—Jon was prepared to be a progressive manager, so long as his authority was complete and total. Joy had had good ideas in the past. She’d nearly brought down a major conspiracy against the public, before turning into another milk station.

“What is it, Joy?” he said, humoring her. He changed his stance so that she could see his dick throbbing. Just in case this was another lame-brain escape plan.

“I can type!” she said, quickly, before her mouth filled up with too much spit. “I’m a super good typist and I know you have a lot of ideas. I can—the thing where you put letters together on the keyboard, you know?”

“Typing. Yes.”

“I can help with that! I’m REALLY good at it.”

Jon considered. After another round of girthening the truth was his fingers were getting a little bulky. He was reduced to hunting and pecking, which was nearly embarrassing in front of the sluts.

“What about your under-desk duties?”

“I’ve been—” Joy was talking quickly, seeing his interest. She smelled like relief. In part. Mostly what Jon smelled on her was Jon. Jon’s collar, Jon’s spunk, Jon’s.... everything. It did make it hard to read her. But that was fine, so long as he trusted her. “I’ve got a really unusual.. um... it’s another idea and you’ve been SUPER patient about me having those... but...”

“Joy, I was being nice about the one,” Jon said.

Casimir and Jesse had popped out of the men’s restroom. They’d really made it their own, decorating with pillows found around the facility, and a couple of couches. They stood in behind Joy.

Joy wrung her hands. It was just too much for a girl to have that many thoughts, even a highly valued assistant manager.

“It was actually Casimir and my idea,” Jesse said, unexpectedly. “The copywriting is done and we were both thinking.. if it was okay with you...”

“Can we take one of the turns underneath your desk, SIR?” Casimir blurted out.

Jon considered this.

He was still vaguely aware of the concept of sexual orientation. But... they were part of the team, and they were currently idled. He was all about efficient resources.

“I don’t see why not!” Jon told them. He gave them both hearty handshakes. “Welcome aboard to the desk team. I have total confidence in you. This will be a good learning experience for all of us. Get under there!”

They marched, as a team, to the presentation. At the last second the girls had realized they wanted and needed matching outfits, and had flown around looking for some sort of similar design element. The clothing pile had already been picked clean, but Drana had the idea of cutting one of the larger dresses down into strips, and pinning the strips into miniskirts.

They’d cut the strips too low, and you could see pretty much every girl’s full butt, but it still looked somewhat sharp.

Jon tried to concentrate on the big presentation, but he was still distracted by the recent memory of his first male blowjob. Dual male. Jesse and Casimir had barely fit, and Joy had insisted on typing while sitting in his lap. This had led to a Rube Goldberg level of intertwined bodies.

But it had worked. First of all, Joy was, somewhat to her own surprise, still an excellent typist. And he had, in fact, learned a lot from getting sucked off by dudes. It would be unfair to generalize, but boy suck was stronger, harsher, the industrial version of gentle girl mouths. Tempered with a whole lot of knowledge about cocks, and a level of tongue usage Jon hadn’t thought possible. He had a sense it would help his management style considerably.

Joy had turned out to be a competent typist.

Now the entire team was dressed in unison, and almost all of them were bathed in his jizz. And he had plans for Anand and Sita.

“He’s waiting for you, go right ahead,” Miranda purred. She wore a MILK DAY t-shirt, and no bottom. It did seem long enough to be a type of skirt. “Take a t-shirt when you leave!” They were there in cardboard boxes, in two sizes, extra-large and extra-small.

“You have the PowerPoint slides up, slut?” Jon said.

“Yes SIR!” Miranda chirped, cheerful. “Is everyone coming in with you? We can have lots of fun out here!”

“Absolutely yes they are,” Jon said, and he led them through the wooden double-doors, into Pastor Flynn’s office.

The pictures were back. He’d noticed their absence last time, as bald patches on the wood. Now they were back: framed photos of prosperous towns, with a small label at the bottom. There were dozens of them. The early shots were at ground-level, focused on mid-level apartment buildings, but by the middle of the array they were professionally shot with a drone camera. Factories, hospitals, commercial strips, generally surrounded by either flat fields of grain... or pastures.

It was mostly pastures.

Pastor Flynn smiled from behind his desk. He’d replaced the cup of coffee, with its hemlock-and-shrubs stink, with a tall mug of local milk. Jon wondered if he knew who made it.

“Jon!” he called out. “Welcome to Milk Day!”

The team filed in. Their mixed scent was reassuring—all of them together had a blended smell that Jon had cataloged. He was the base note, of course, but there was plenty of Sean’s oil and cigar smoke, and Casimir’s pine scent, and the various berries and candies that made up their females. Jon breathed it all in.

“You wanted us to present on the Stork Milk marketing plan,” Jon said. Flynn nodded. He wore a pink polo shirt. If Jon pinched his nose shut and didn’t look in his bosses’ eyes he was—normal. A flabby man in his 50s, with lily-white arms.

“I’m looking forward to it! And you know why?” Flynn leaned forwards. “I don’t know what you’re going to tell me. Is why. It’s been.. what... two dozen towns since anyone surprised me. Really surprised me.”

“What makes us special?” Jon said. The lights dimmed, and the PowerPoint popped on, over top a portrait of yet another small town. This one had a big building labeled AGRARIPE off to the side.

“Diversity!” Flynn said. “Diversity, of course. I thought it was an indictment of all my towns that everyone was just—going through the motions. But it was a charge against me! I kept playing the same movie. It had the same ending. And now I have—anyway. I’m rambling. Tell me how to sell milk around the world.”

The mock up of faux-pregnant Maria popped onto the wall. Maria, puzzled, checked her own stomach. Sean whispered to her—hopefully reminding her it was pillows. For now. “The plan had been... pregnancy,” Jon said. “Universal. Milk-associated. Lots of good associations—motherhood, family, youth.”

Family. He had to shake his head clear. It kept filling up with three knocked-up Japanese sluts, their bellies protruding. No. Discipline.

“Good, good,” Flynn said, nodding.

“But it isn’t enough,” Jon said. The next slide put a red X over Maria. The real Maria gasped, and patted herself frantically. “Not enough girls get pregnant. Lots of emotional baggage. And frankly, a gimmick. What makes our MILK stand out? How can we tell consumers that its really different this time?”

The final mockup appeared. Photography and layout by Sean, big tits by Drana and Joy, the men with the typography. The rainbow danced behind four barely-concealed big boobs, knocking into each other.

The lettering read “FOR HUMANS BY HUMANS”.

“We sell it as breast milk. Human breast milk,” Jon said. His mouth was so dry. He’d never gotten this far into a pitch before. “No more wink-nod lies. It goes on the package. It’s pure, it’s milk, and it came out of human tits.”

Flynn froze. This, this was the key moment. And then—an almost imperceptible nod.

The PowerPoint, encouraged, flipped forwards.

“The entire sector is ridiculous. Cows. We’re drinking cow milk that was intended for cows. Most of us can’t even digest the stuff. All of us can drink breast milk, some of us are digesting it right now. It’s perfect nutrition. It has low ecological impact. It tastes really good. Lets ask the whole world: why are you drinking cow milk, when you’re a person?”

“That’s right,” Pastor Flynn said, almost angrily.

He banged the desk. The pictures on the wall leapt. “That’s dang right!”

“It’ll be normal in six months,” Jon said, holding up five fingers and his other thumb. “Six months! Then everyone in the world will wonder why we locked up all those poor cows. Half the human population has udders. It’s time we use them. We are the healthy and nutritious option. When people say milk, they should never mean ‘cow.’ they should mean people!”

One last PowerPoint slide, showing a milk-colored arrow extending around the globe. The entire PowerPoint decks was five slides long. And it had gotten the job done.

Flynn was—excited.

“Yes, yes!” he roared, standing up. “And it’s time! We did the water supply two years ago, the entire media ecosystem is laced with subliminals... this is where it starts! Being loud and proud about drinking human milk!”

The lights went back on. Maria, confused and distressed, was in Sean’s lap. He was calming her down with his finger in her lap. Her boobs were leaking, inevitably. Jon found Joy, standing meekly towards the back, and motioned her forwards. The Assistant Assistant Manager deserved to bask in a little of the praise. And she could help him with how thirsty he was.

Flynn strolled forwards.

“Impressive! Impressive!” Flynn said. Jon’s eyes watered terribly, this close to the man. A reminder: there was a pyramid, and while he was near to the top of it, the top was very heavy. But there was Pastor Flynn’s hand, offered out to him. Flynn wanted to shake his hand.

He took it. Three affirming pumps, and a slap on the back. From his boss. “I got lucky finding you,” Flynn said. “Real lucky! And your family! Shoot, we should have them over for dinner.”

“I should—” Jon forced a self-deprecating laugh. “I should probably check in with them. Make sure they aren’t getting into trouble.”

“Girls like that? I’ll bet they are!” And Flynn smiled even more. “I’ll bet they are!”

MIlk Day.

Overnight the park had been transformed—tarted up and turned out. Where before it was a staid, simple expanse of greenery, the only lush note the grass, now it was preening with streamers, bunting, flags and banners. It had sprouted a band stand in the far corner, away from the burger joint, itself operating with every burner turned on and up. Carnival games, drink stands, free balloons spilled out of its former, narrow confines, all of it a wild spray of colors. It was buried in people. And more were on their way.

The smell hit Hitomi first—by design, it was more than any simple, human brain could withstand. Chemicals could only be processed so quickly, and this was sloppy wet waves of hormones. A thrilling spritz of humanity that, especially the first time, made most people just stop and cum. It was the only way their bodies could handle it, all that stimuli—a dump of endorphins in the assumption that something insanely hot was going on. Otherwise why flood every limbic system with neurotransmitters, every sense with noise?

For Hitomi, still on the outskirts, her knees buckled. She’d tried to buck up her flagging resolve, and sense of self, with a pair of capris and a skirt. Mall-girlish. She squirted right through them, falling down on the pavement, still a full half-block away from the festivities. Left to its own devices, brain absent, she humped at the street. Other new arrivals were the same way, brains in soft-lock, overtaxed by the most potent molecules in chemical engineering. Men jizzed and roared, put into sudden fuck-or-flight. They threw their arms around. Girls flopped around.

And that was just—smell.

Hearing and sight were less intense. There was music playing, the same song but on many stations, out of speakers placed at careful intervals throughout the throng. A similar pop tune, layered and layered, the combining chords reducing any remaining cognitive resistance to an addled smear.

The visual was a combination of main street Fourth of July and depraved excess. Although everyone was wearing a lot of clothes, all had thrown sense or modesty away. The outfits were to strip and discard. There was more black leather then Hitomi would’ve thought, on otherwise all-american big-boobed girls. The men favored blue jeans, belt buckles, and were shirtless. Their bodies drank in the sun. Around all of them the new arrivals swayed and walked, many with jerky strides, getting their legs under them as freshly minted whores. Everyone’s tits leaked. Most leaked a lot.. The street was getting a soaking.

Hitomi looked down. She was no different. A vague memory of—nursing?—floated out from somewhere, and was effortlessly killed by a lyric about getting ass-fucked in a pickup from the nearest speaker.

On the outskirts of all this, near enough to be excluded, Tre and Henry sat in front of their half-empty storefront with identical sad expressions. They’d hoisted their signage for ANIGAMESANDMORE. Out front they’d piled every figurine, plush, and boxed game set they could.

No one peeled off the general festivities to look.

They somehow looked pitiful even with Mary and Jess giving them noisy, satisfied blowjobs, side by side. The goth girl had found a small triangle panel of black velvet for underpants. Jess was simply naked, although she had a proud muff of pubic hair, befitting a barbarian whore.

Hitomi admired the long shaft sticking out of Jess. She had declared to her sisters that she was going to return with transport for the escape. Privately she felt a strong interest in getting Tre’s dick inside of her cunt at least one more time. She felt pretty sure that if she pushed hard enough, her tonsils would feel the tip.

“Nerds,” she said. “I see you’re failing.”

“How does she still have an attitude?” Henry complained. He was being rough with Mary’s dark black hair, using a bat-themed bow to push her back and forth. “I know what’s in her. She should be Pliable, capital-P.”

“Your dumb camera,” Tre groused. He pushed Jess off, but paused, unloading a fresh batch of cum onto her face. Hitomi narrowed her eyes. That was supposed to go in her. “Yes, Hitomi, the shop isn’t going... great. So far.”

Hard plastic anime girls looked out towards the broader crowd.. Even the brain-bending scent didn’t reach them, across the street..

“I don’t care though,” Hitomi said. “And you can keep the figurines and anime gear. My Daddy doesn’t even want them back. I’m just here for the escape you promised.”

Henry stood up, which forced Mary to quickly shift to a sort of squat position, to keep her lock on his dick. She ended up bow-legged, half-squatting, but with her face still planted in his pubic hairs. “Keys are in my pants,” he said. “You can see the issue.”

“Uh-huh,” Hitomi said. Henry’s jeans were in a clump around his ankles. She walked over to Mary, gripped her by the tits, and walked her backwards. Surprised, the ex-Goth didn’t resist, letting Henry’s dick plop out with a wet smack. Hitomi positioned the girl in front of her cum-drunk friend. “Lick each other,” she said.

They were happy to do it.

“Now you can get the keys,” Hitomi said, pleasantly.

“Fine,” Henry wiped his hands on Mary’s ass, then pulled his pants halfway up. He handed her a pair of tin keys. “My Acura. Gassed up, good to go. Its around the back. Bring it back when you’re done escaping. I don’t know why you can’t just drive the car you came in on. How do you think you got to town?”

“Its—” Hitomi stopped. She lost her train of thought, trying to chase that one down. Why hadn’t she just—driven off? True, it was a Kia Carnival, a Mom-mobile, and probably the seats would instantly dry up any pussy inside. But...

“Hitomi, help us get some people here,” Tre said, heartfelt. “Please. You owe us. We played D&D with you. We’ve got it all planned out. The perfect cosplay.”

HItomi snapped back to him, and to his quivering cock. “Absolutely not,” she said. “Limp dick. Honestly. Don’t be pathetic.” Men. Did she have to write it down? “I’m gonna go drive off to find some actual men, so... enjoy your librarian girls. Nice and quiet when you fuck them.” This was unfair. They were enjoying each other, definitely, and being noisy about it.

She strode off, wagging her butt as hard as she could. It was hard, walking away from Tre’s dick, but a girl had to have her self-respect. She was the hottest piece of pussy property in town. A man who would snivel and let this ass get away...

“Hitomi! Hitomi, come on, we need you!” Tre called.

She had better things to do than climb aboard the best dick in the world. The entire world was in front of her, ready to be sucked off. She anticipated pictures of her barely-legal pussy in front of the monuments of the world—dripping in front of the Eiffel Tower, wet and juicy against the Hong Kong skyline.

“Hitomi—god damn it!” Henry said.

She slowed, almost imperceptible. And cast a single look back, with a single eyebrow raised. Men were so stupid. It was unfair that the things swinging between their legs were so good and so useful, and that their dumb big bodies made her so very needy.

“Look, we won’t make you play asian dress-up! Except this once! We’ve got this hot outfit and—GET BACK HERE YOU STUPID SLUT!”

A large part of the town’s female population turned to look. And Hitomi did too. She felt an anticipatory drip between her legs. She rubbed her thighs together, the wet patch sliding and oozing.

Tre really did have a great dick. And even Henry had those nice strong hands.

“GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW or you’ll get a BIGGER spanking then you’ve ALREADY EARNED!” Henry said. He gave Tre a desperate look. Hitomi gave them both an appraising look.

She mouthed the word she wanted to hear. Maybe it was unfair, giving them pointers. But a girl had to be clear how she liked to be treated. When they still just stared at her, uncomprehending, she mouthed the letters. B-R-A-T.

Tre took a deep breath. “You dumb, needy, worthless, free-loading, jailbait, big-boobed ridiculous little BRAT!” His dick wobbled as he roared it.

There it was. They just had to say the right word. Why was it so hard?

Her ass outright hurt. She’d been spanked in public by two boys she didn’t really respect. They’d taken turns paddling her heinie, telling Hitomi what a stupid, reprehensible, slutty, teasing, little cocksucker she was. Each word punctuated by a wildly exciting paddle on her butt. Tre tended to switch buttock, while Henry reached across the whole of her ass.

It was amazing. Paris could wait.

“Unh. Unnnnnnnnnnnh,” Hitomi said. She was limp on Tre’s lap. He still had his fingers up her pussy. That was a new thing he’d just invented—with his left hand inserted, spank with the right. Sent her clit right up against his palm. Hitomi was pretty sure she’d died at some point. Or at least, left her body.

“Okay, now lets get you dolled up,” Henry said. “Silly tease. We’ve got the perfect outfit. You’re gonna bring them all in. I hope you don’t mind a few dozen dicks in your slut pussy today. And by today I mean, the next hour.”

They stripped her, roughly, while she was half-conscious and unable to really consent. It was magical. What was difficult to remove they tore off, and they weren’t shy about copping feels as they did it. She was duly punished, humiliated, and naked on the street. Hitomi could see her pussy juice running through the asphalt, picking its way through the frozen tar and the pebbles.

Paris could wait...

“I learned to sew for this,” Henry said, pulling the outfit from a bag. His librarians, newly ignored, weren’t sure what to do with themselves. They stood up for the first time in what seemed like awhile, given how unsteady their legs were. Henry pulled two white stockings up Hitomi’s legs. The tops were immediately wet with her own juice.

“Is D&D over?” Jess said, vacantly.

Tre and Henry ignored her.. The new outfit was white and red, with a flared skirt designed to cover half her butt. The bodice was just as pure white as the socks, and it was clear most of the sewing and design work had gone into making it hold her tits. Then folds of fabric around each arm, and some sort of spiritual staff dangling with bells.

“Hirume of Heavenly Incense,” Tre said. “From—not that you care. That’s fine.”

“What about the fox ears?” Henry said, in a tone of voice that indicated “she should wear the fox ears.”

“Too much,” Tre said. He snapped a collar around her existing collar. Double-collared, this one red velvet. It felt nice. Hitomi’s mind rebooted, post-spanking, resuming a kind of operation. She sat up, bustling with stiff new clothes. The boys looked at her, enchanted and stupid. Bells tingled when she stood.

“How is this going to bring in business?” Hitomi said. “The bells?”

“Well—you’re—you know. Exotic. Demure but with big boobs.”

Hitomi looked over at the carnival. Everyone seemed to be having a very good time on their own.

“If I’m going to help you then—”

“You ARE going to help us, you worthless brainless bimbo,” Tre said. He reached underneath her choker and pulled her close to him. It made it difficult to breath. “Or we’re going to spank you stupid again. Do you understand? Don’t try to talk, you dumb little girl.”

Tre got it.

She could feel her pulse beat against his finger. For a brief moment the nerd sloughed away, and what was left was rough, commanding, and male. He held his life in her hands, careless of it, seeing only a pleasure tool that he had to shape to his own desires. She was a quivering piece of high school ass to him, and that was about it. His fingers flexed. His scent clung to her, marking her, telling her that she had better not put a single foot out of line, unless she wanted to be licking his toes.

Hitomi nodded.

Tre released her. He squinted. “Was that okay? Just like that?”

“I’ll be right back,” she told them, and gave Tre a peck on the cheek. He puffed up with pride. His wonderful cock swelled up. “And that was PERFECT! You’re gonna be so proud of me, SIR!”

It was very easy to make out the New Arrivals, even now. Although they’d been molded and transformed into rough facsimiles of the sex-obsessed long-term residents, it was still a basic and pale copy. The detail work wasn’t in yet, just the lumps and bulges.. The men hadn’t quite grown into their craggy jaws or their sharply defined pecs. Some of them had tried to shave, despite the iron bristles sprouting from their chins.

The girls were still swelling, and were over-puffed, their tits riding just a bit too high. They had a balloon-like quality, almost glossy, and had no idea what to do with their fountains of hair.

But mostly it was their attitude that gave them away. That and the clothes—almost every new arrival was still trying to make tattered old clothing work. They’d shoved their biceps and enormous cantaloupe tits into polo shirts, or mementos from 5Ks they’d run, and would never run again, and painted-on shorts that would have to be cut or ripped off. It was pathetic and hot.

Their eyes were all dreamy. Unreality clung to them.

It was Milk Day, and the residents were no longer trying to hide anything. A pregnant girl was getting porked behind the counter at the Hot Dog stand, her limbs splayed out, a man in an apron feeding her his meat. Nonetheless the new arrivals didn’t seem to quite notice, or process, just how carnal it had all gotten. Their eyes still slid off the wet prongs, the cum strands worn proudly on hair or faces or cleavage. Clinging to some unreality that none of this was happening, Hitomi figured.. They had gotten snacks and licked them with vacant, worried eyes.

It made them easy to spot. And of course it was pretty clear to Hitomi that the six foot three black guy was probably new.

He wore sweatpants that were now capris, ending just below the knee. He was barefoot. He had on an old Lakers jersey. From the way it was nearly splitting in two Hitomi guessed he’d grown—eight or nine inches? He was licking an ice cream cone. Two scoops in a waffle cone, just like all the boys got.

She was in a hurry. “What’s your name?” she called up, craning her neck to look.

“John?” he said, generically bewildered. He gave her an apologetic look, as if he was sorry for all the confusion. He wasn’t really a towering hunk, who smelled like burnt sugar. He was John, he wasn’t this tall.

“With an H?”

“Uhh—”

“Nevermind. Good name. John, I’ve got a job for you, okay? You come with me.”

“My girlfriend is getting her face painted,” John said, with the same confused smile. He pointed. There was an entire row of arts and crafts. It seemed to be the long-term girls, pulling together some faint memory of previous artsy-fartsy-ness. Hitomi peeked in to the tent. There was a very roly-poly latina girl in there. She was, in fact, getting her face painted, although probably not like John meant.

“She can have a job too,” Hitomi said, pulling him away.

John wasn’t really sure what was happening. Carmine was the one with the new job. He’d preoccupied himself with video games—the local ISP had thoughtfully and in fact aggressively advertised a sort of farm-themed Doom clone. It was graphically advanced, and Carmine didn’t seem to mind that it had a lot of scantily-clad rendered girls. In fact, after work she’d sat and watched him play, before they descended into several bags of takeout. She’d laughed when he’d unlocked the Cuminator.

Then she’d started sucking him off while he played, and things had gotten really hazy.

Uma was next to the port-a-pottys. Hitomi wrinkled her nose at that one—it spoke of poor personal self-esteem. She was kneeling, her mouth open.. She wore a t-shirt with a Rainbow on it.

“Come on,” Hitomi said, yanking her up. “Lets re-think your decisions. Not next to a toilet.”

The girl burst into tears. “It’s all I’m good for!” she insisted. “I had a—had a pre-college interview thingie, for Stanford, and they asked what I liked to do, and the only thing I could think of was—sucking cock! I was like—uhhhhh, like… durrr—and finally I just… said it? Said it. I said I was really good at sucking dick and having boys cum in my mouth, and I was like, oh no. Its fucking TRUE.”

She sniffed. As distraught as she seemed, the girl had done her best to attract as many penises in her mouth as possible. She’d put on her best lipstick and a heavy load of mascara, and she’d even taken the trouble to draw two arrows on her cheeks, to show where the cocks went in.

“I figured I could just be—” she sniffled. “a recepta-macle. You know. I could be convenient.”

“I got you a new job,” Hitomi told her, leading her through the crowds.

Uma brightened. “Can I suck dicks though?” she said, eagerly.

The twins were with their Mom. Alice had her arms around both of them.

She was sure she could tell them apart, if she just had her hands on them enough. The twins had actually never been that much alike. Jason was the one who got into skating, not to mention light drugs. Theo was the one who actually seemed to like going to Church. They kept their hair very different, they never shared clothes.

And yet ever since they’d gotten there they’d gotten—similar. The same new pecs, the same shaggy hair.. They’d both clamored to work out, finding heavy things of all sorts, and walking around with their shirts off. Alice had found it infuriating, staring at her sons, unclear which was which.

So she’d started to touch them, rub them, sniff them. There was definitely a slight smell distinction, although it seemed to change, all the time. One was the scent of laboring horses, the other was a raging bull. But which? And they weren’t content to let her prod—both started to poke back at Mom, at her own body, touch parts of her that really liked to be touched.

“Theo!” she had said, uncertain which one was boldly grabbing her tits. He had just smiled at her.. And was that Jason giving her a friendly pat on the ass? It was maddening.. Which one had finally shoved her down, informing her that if she wanted to sniff so bad, she could check his dick? Which one was in her ass, and which one was unloading down her throat? It made her so horny and wet and irritated...

They’d gone as a group. Vivien had suggested it—it was just too embarrassing, otherwise, to admit that she was getting very confused about who she was married to, who was a new next-door acquaintance, and, especially, which of them had the kid, and which one just had the super-mom bod...

“I’m so glad we came!” she said, to both men. She’d woken up in Jaydon’s bed. But that hardly ended the inquiry—after all, Vivien had sucked Tomas off last night. She hedged her bets, smiling broadly at both of them, her eyes flickering across the swollen packages in each set of pants. One of these men was married to her, definitely. And one she was committing sinful, steamy adultery with. But which was which? They were both giving her the wood pretty damn good.

This made her relationship with Katerine more important, as at least she knew where they stood. She was stealing this woman’s husband. They’d gone at it on day two, a cat fight that had ended with mutual 69’ing, the men jacking off over them. Spattering their lawfully wedded wife and some stupid homewrecking slut.

“Come on guys!” Leni said, urging them onwards. It’d be nice if she got some clue as to who was who, but currently she was a generic piece of big ass with generic dusky skin. She’d let Tomas fuck her in that ass in front of everyone, during Family Game Night, but Vivien doubted that was a clue or whatnot. She knew for a fact that Jayden had plumbed the same rump.

“Lets keep going, honey!” she called out, generally.

Tanya had gotten in that very morning, which meant there was no time for niceties. No space for the genteel three-day routine. She’d gotten out of the car, gawking at the half-naked sluts setting up tents, and gotten a syringe full of girl juice in the arm.

But hospitality meant a lot in Stork, so she was bundled into the festivities, and given a big welcome. She was deposited in front of the big creamery tent in the middle of the park, the one with five hundred and ten flavors of ice cream. When a distracted boy or girl left their complimentary pint half-eaten, it went in front of the developing cow, for her to stick her face into. And they’d put a tablet in front of her, showing a video. It was one of the less subtle ones, an explosion of colors and lights, but Tanya found herself really vibing to it.

She barely felt the man slide her shorts down. Another thoughtful move: soon they’d be far too tight on her. Her entire body was fire-hot, which meant the ice cream was perfect for cooling it down. She felt him sniff at her hindquarters, then rub at her snatch. All her pubes abruptly fell off.

“Okay, she’s settled,” the man announced. “Past the danger stage. Anyone got a dildo handy? A fully charged one, I mean.”

Millie struggled not to cry. It’d ruin her mascara. But she couldn’t recall being so happy.

She was smart enough to recognize the problem. Or had been—whatever brains hadn’t been lumped into her new tits were padding out her generous lips. America had a hierarchy of hotness, and there was an invisibility tier, for girls that were miscellaneous brown, with no real features, and a functional body. “Its perfect if you want to be a housekeeper at a hotel,” a fellow invisible friend had told her. Or a Starbucks drive-thru barista, or for working a call-center. Inoffensive femaleness. One of the many girls.

She’d tried, very hard. Millie had sculpted and scooped and gone deep into the science of sexy faces. She’d done so many things with blades to her own eyebrows. Her hair had gone through showers of dyes, and she’d alternately gained and lost weight, trying to add a something to the tedious expanse of her cheeks. She’d done so much stupid stuff to get from a 5 to a 6.

And now she was—an 11? 36? Arithmetic was part of her titflesh now. In retrospect she’d been going about the male gaze all wrong. No one in town cared about her face, except as a target, and as another hole. Beauty meant being a good toy. Squeezable and pliable. And she sure was—just that morning, a man had complimented her on how leaky and wet her pussy was.

Sure, this male gaze wasn’t big on her individuality. But it wanted her and desired her—one of many holes, but a fuckable one. Eyes kept assessing her, and approving. Over and over and over. Millie quivered with it. To hell with it. She let herself sob. She had lipstick roughly applied to her ridiculous pillows of lips, and racoon eyes, and no powder at all on her cheeks, and she’d never felt so very wanted. She could feel it in the booty…

Elma had been one of the operatives. From—she wasn’t sure on the agency. Or country, it could’ve been a country, or even some sort of corporate or other entity. Definitely something investigate-y. She sort of remembered being sleek and slick, a puma of a shadow world of undercover work.

Which made her cotton-candy brain and new stupid body that much more distressing. She was just so fucking fat, even by the generously curved standards of town. So unbearably public, a slab of girl curves for the enjoyment of the town. Just walking around she was pinched, stroked, prodded and rubbed. Her tits leaked lots of milk. The sun shone on her face, highlighting how piggish and broad it had gotten, especially the porcine pre-mom nose and weird new kewpie cleft on her chin. How could jawbones fucking shift like that?

She wore a tied-off shirt underneath two enormous wobbly boobs..

Most distressing of all, Elma could tell her mind was getting as soft as everything else. Just that morning she’d confessed her mission to the postman, just so someone else would know. Or tried to—he’d been packing a full foot of dick, and it mostly came out as grunts. All the dossiers she’d committed to memory were lost to food sessions and craven nights of humping dick.

Finally she’d hit on a plan—to avoid at least the final humiliation Stork had to offer. The relatively slender Japanese girl in front of her stared at her nametag.

“Elma. Spy.” she read.

“That’s right!” Elma said, triumphant. Her butt rumbled with another girlish fart.. She scritched at the denim. “I told someone!”

“Well, I’ve got a new job for you,” Hitomi said, and couldn’t resist slapping the new employee on the ass. It was just so slappable.

They were already playing grab-ass when Hitomi got back, her final shade of the rainbow in heavy-footed tow. Tre and Henry still seemed confused by it all.. They’d settled back into their lawn chairs, roughly batting away the attempts of Jess and Mary to get back aboard. Hitomi was pretty sure she couldn’t resist the towering length of Tre’s dick much longer. She could still feel his exasperated hands underneath her collar. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“John. Stand here,” Hitomi ordered. The big man was very obliging. She put him right in the middle. He made a surprised noise when she reached into his sweatpants and pulled out his dick. It wasn’t even hard. A part of her thought: it was a little sad to ruin this tiny oasis of innocence. But then the dick got very big. Very very big. A towering mountain of virile male strength, wrapped in mighty veins. John even shifted his weight to compensate.

Hitomi looked over at Tre, and winked at him. It’d be fun to see who had the bigger cock. Which one hit her tonsils first.

“Get the chairs and the tables!” she ordered her confused employees. Her clothes seemed to lend authority, especially the way the white-cloth folds whipped around. The men and women hurried to obey. While they did, Hitomi swept a folding table of its piled-up comics, and dumped the confused, dazed Tanya on top of it. The girl’s tits were inflating almost moment by moment. John came forward, kneading his hands gently into her rump.

“It’s—hot,” he said, reverently. “Damn hot.”

Hitomi turned to the Indian girl. “Keep his dick nice and wet, whenever it gets too warm in there,” she commanded, arm flung out. Then over to the Chinese twins. “I want you two feeding this girl cock. As much as her mouth can take.” They surged forwards, towards Tanya’s open mouth. That meant Alice needed a job. “You’re fluffing the free one. Kneel.” She knelt.

Sex organs started to move. The key was John’s dick, which was receiving an anticipatory spit bath from Uma. The machine was starting to move. The twins were getting sucked off by their Mom, who was doing a good job treating them both equally. Diligent, and eager to try Tanya out, the men at both ends lowered glistening prongs towards the fast-transforming bimbo.

The men caught each other’s eyes, just long enough to coordinate. They slid meat into her at nearly the same time, and practically the same length. It was hard to believe they didn’t touch tips. Tanya, who was a HIgh School biology teacher as recently as six hours ago, took every centimeter. Not quietly—her thrashing, while impaled on both ends, attracted the attention of the nearest group of long-term residents.

Her crew had brought out chairs and tables. “You—” she commanded the nearest guy, an olive-skinned man. “Sit down on this chair. Mary and Jess, you get to work on his cock.” It wasn’t a complete picture of diversity to have the two white girls involved—or was it? A rainbow did need every stripe. At any rate, the two librarians didn’t miss their chance, nearly pushing the man down and yanking his pants around his ankles. They were both smooching testicles before she could turn.

“You make out with you.” That was the spy girl and the big one. That left one guy and two girls, didn’t it? Hitomi threw Leni into the pile with Elma and Millie, right beneath where John was sawing away. Flecks of precum landed on the girls, as they tentatively started to kiss.

“Excuse me?” Vivien. She looked demure and unsure. “Where am I supposed to go?”

Hitomi considered. The machine was starting to really go. Tanya had a dick flying in and out of each end, periodically wettened by a blowjob machine. There was cum and pussy juice getting everywhere.

“Just show everyone your pussy,” Hitomi concluded, and patted the woman’s cheeks.

“Hitomi, what the fuck are you doing?” Tre said, watching the scene. Things were already starting to move of their own accord. One of the twins had wandered over to the Leni-Millie-Elma pile and was jacking off onto it, ropes of cum landing on all three girls.

Hitomi caught her breath. The scent of it all was—new. Something new, something no one else had scented, throughout all of Stork.

“I thought we’d make this a welcoming place for all the new people,” she explained. Her body was in no mood for any more tease/domination shenanigans. She just started to rub at Tre’s cock. “No patronizing white guys. Besides you two. Like nowhere else in town.”

The general mass New Arrivals were starting to filter over. Partly the acquaintances of her new employees, especially John’s girlfriend, who had a face completely glazed with jizz. She mutely fell onto her knees, joining Uma in cock-worship.

“But—” Henry had come over too, hard and unhappy. Hitomi found the reserves in her to start rubbing his dick, too. Both boys were breathing very hard. Stork residents, in the presence of an orgy, almost had to join in. “But what about...”

“Everyone else?” Hitomi wet her lips. There was a spare table that no one was using. Mostly because a lot of people were just wriggling on the ground. She led her two boys over to it, and climbed aboard. Tanya seemed like she was having fun.

Hitomi looked over at the carnival. It was already working. The tableau was something special, something new. A colorful orgy, a diverse fuck. Whatever hangups and prejudices all the eager men and women had, Stork had a way of burning them clean. So long as they got to cum.

It was getting her extra revved up, just thinking about it. No more insulting clothing stores or condescending salons. They were different colors on the outside but all pink on the inside. They were all the same animals. Everyone bred the same way, stuffed to the brim with cock, squeezing sperm out of a grunting, needy male. They all made the same delicious milk. All of them could and did cum, regardless of continental origin. Hitomi squeezed her tits, thoughtful. She ran her fingers through her hair. It had gotten long enough to touch the curve of her butt.

From the way John was going, they were already about to make some cross-cultural and highly diverse inseminations.

“Let me tell you something all asian-american girls know,” Hitomi said. She settled herself on the table. After thinking about it, she got onto her back. Tre took his place between her legs. He was already losing interest in the business. Henry swung his cock towards her mouth.. She only had a moment before her face was stuffed with dick. “White people LOVE to watch minorities fuck.”

The crowd poured in all around them.

In the confusion and fun a lot of anime figurines were broken and jizzed on. They didn’t actually sell anything. But as opening days went, Tre and Henry and their business partner Hitomi had little to complain of.