The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The band staggered away from brunch. They were sloppy, temporarily satiated, and, in Yumi’s case, a little guilty over ditching her Mom and twin. All four of them clutched their shopping bags tight.

“Alright,” Liza said, after they’d trudged, silently, for several blocks. They’d reached the burger joint and its adjoining park. From this vantage point Yumi got a better look at the grass: it was a very standard green, like it had been installed by the army, with uniform blades at a regulated height. “Girls. This town is....” she waved a hand around, vaguely.

“Yeah,” Yumi agreed.

“I mean, I feel... cow,” Liza said. “The plan was I’d show up and shock these small-town dorks with my profound beats and surprising tenor. But they’re.. they’re getting their HOOKs in us, you know?”

“Did I—did I—where am I again?” Zoe said. She straightened. “At- at the restaurant? I’ve been trying to write down when it happens but I lost my notepad and I’m so gushy—”

“Yes, Zoe” Uma said. She sighed, theatrically.. With her hands free she was pulling her hair into pigtails. “I know how you feel. I’ve barely done any chess dot com matches since arriving. I think it’s the heat. It’s like the entire town is warm milk.”

“Exactly!” Liza said. She snapped her fingers. “Exactly! Beige! Everything is like... sexy beige. Alright. we are getting dolled up in shocking fashions, we are loading up the instruments, and we are playing our first SURPRISE concert. RIght here. In about an hour.”

They all mentally added in the time necessary for makeup, clothes, and maybe a little quickie hand play on the side. Zoe counted on her fingers.

“Two hours,” Liza said. “Two and a half. Catch them going to early dinner. Or late lunch.”

“It’s ACADEMIC,” Uma insisted. “It says, I am going to college! I am a co-ed! It’s an intellectual outfit, because I am super intellect-ual!”

Her bandmates had gone to separate rooms at Liza’s house to change. At Liza’s insistence—she’d shown them all around. The decor was still in cardboard boxes, although the Soriano family had obviously gone the same all-burger route as the Masudas. There were the same greasy bags in the kitchen, the only difference a touch of vinegar in the air. And Liza’s Mom had quickly nailed up a few crosses.

Uma wore plaid socks. Not quite thigh-high, but definitely knee-length, with a brief gray skirt with as many pleats as the fabric would hold. And a thin white button-down shirt, the buttons straining. She’d put her hair in pigtails.

“You look like you want to fuck Harry Potter,” Liza concluded.

Uma’s eyes bulged. Yumi was immediately sure it was the most cutting thing anyone had ever said to Uma in her entire life.

“Well, YOU’RE—YOU’RE—” Uma forced the retort down at the last second, in the greatest act of friendship she’d ever managed. Or so Yumi thought.

But it filled the room anyway.

Liza looked down at herself, sadly. The concept was clear—pink and rubber. But she’d tried to pair it with a boxy, oversized set of clothes. From whatever section of the clothing store was intended for basketball players.

“I look like a bandaid,” Liza concluded, despondent. It was Yumi’s first time seeing her free of the ever present hoodie, her personal cowl. Liza had deep chestnut hair swept to either side, and a pug nose. It was always a surprise, what voice would come out of her. But her eyes hadn’t gone away. They were even more piercing, being sad.

“What do I look like?” Yumi said, hoping to divert attention.

All the hot, fun, sexy clothes that had made so much sense in the sweaty aisles now seemed horrifying. Pink vinyl skirts? Figure-hugging blue-red patterns? Yumi regretted dumping the cheongsam. At least she could’ve worn that ironically. She’d settled on a big punk sun shirt.

“Fine for a keyboardist,” Liza said.

Yumi was expecting a comment that would make her want to die in a small hole, and it did not disappoint.

Their drummer was the only one to look, all agreed, truly incredible. The locals had decided on native Greek garb, but gotten confused about what year it was. So Zoe wore a very brief tunic, all in shimmering white, with a brief vest that acted to push and display her boobs. She had enough cleavage to power a town.

Liza had concluded she looked ready to “fuck Zeus.”

“I just don’t know,” Liza said, examining them all. Everyone looking dumb had mollified her.

They assembled in her living room, makeup on. None of the rest of them felt sexy at all. “Do we look like a band, even? We look like we all met at a bus station late at night on our way to different places.”

The band reached a collective limit. Excepting Zoe, who quite possibly had fingered herself to orgasm in the bathroom. They’d all heard and politely ignored a long, throaty sigh.

“Oh my GOD,” Uma said. “Liza, stop crapping on us!”

“No more witty remarks,” Yumi said, shaking her head. “No more. Lets just—go out and look like this.”

“No, I won’t, because I look like a Victoria’s Secret bag,” Liza said. “At least underneath you three are—”

She didn’t say it.

It was an awkward moment, and Yumi found it surprisingly hard to deal with. And she’d prided herself on being the empathy one, the sensitive and well-tuned barometer. Instead her brain felt just—flat, full, not up for the job of navigating difficult emotional moments. It was now full of parties and sing-song and just quart after quart of warmed up milk. She had to stand up to try and push through, eke some remaining heft from a mind that just wanted to rummage around in her panties and try on cute clothes.

She stripped off her shirt. “So we’ll all just do the show topless,” she declared. Liza’s eyes latched on to her boobs. Yumi thumbed a nipple. This felt right, even if it wasn’t exactly the impromptu therapy session she had intended. The air felt good on her tits.

“C’mon, we’re all girls here,” Yumi said. “Lets shock everyone, REALLY shock them. Huh?”

“I can’t,” Uma whispered, fingering her shirt. “I—what if someone takes a photo of me grabbing my titties, and it gets back to college admissions?”

Zoe was already shirtless. Her nipples stuck out, very hard and long. “What did you say?” she said, to Yumi.

“She said, nice tits,” Liza said. She reached into her shopping bag. “Alright. Here. We’re not going topless. Put these on.”

There were four t-shirts, junior-sized, except Zoe was a junior-medium. They had devilish cartoon rainbows on the front, and rainbow-striped bands around the neckline, and each sleeve. “Oh, these are amazing!” Uma said. “Why didn’t you—”

“Everyone is gonna have super-hot boobs in these, except me,” Liza said. “Just let me be mopey about it. Yumi, put it on.”

“You first,” Yumi said.

Liza blushed. “Fine. Close your eyes.”

Uma did, and Zoe already had her eyes closed. She seemed to be idly either scratching, or possibly thumbing, her own butt.

Yumi had no intention of closing her eyes. It was time to do something about her bandmate’s relentless, deep glare, and unfortunate lack of self-esteem. She looked right at Liza and cocked her head, then raised her eyebrows. When Liza pulled the awful pink outfit up, she wolf-whistled, as loud as she could.

They weren’t bad boobs at all. A handful. Liza struggled into her shirt and pulled it down. They stared at each other. Yumi felt her own nipples tighten, pointing straight ahead. “Okay, you can open your eyes,” Liza said.

“Oh, they’re fine!” Uma said, immediately, encouraging. Yumi pulled her own rainbow shirt on. It was a struggle—her own boobs didn’t want to fit.

“Compared to who? Zoe? Yumi? You? Do any of you have less than Double-Ds?”

“Are you kidding?” Yumi said. “My genetics top out at B. Just...” She frowned. No. Wait. That seemed off. She looked down.

“Yumi, please,” Liza said. “No modesty. You have really mouthwateringly big tits.”

No—that wasn’t... right. Yumi looked down, expecting to see her toes. She had gone into puberty with low and grim expectations. Not that she had dreamed of lusciously big boobs, nice fat tits, the kind that made girls stare and boys sweat. She’d wanted adequate, where a bikini wasn’t a little embarrassing. And that’s what she’d gotten, right? Bumps. Perfectly fine bumps.

Two wobbly boobs bounced together under a rainbow.

“Uhh—” Yumi said, confused. There had to be a mistake. She reached up and scooped them, cupped them, sure that if she just tried a different angle, the boobs wouldn’t exist. Right, she vaguely recalled some breast growth that morning, swollen and tender handfuls. But these were more than that, these were tits, they weren’t even far from udders, and she could see her nipples right through the cotton, even under blue and red and green stripes.

What was happening? Yumi reached under her own shirt.. Her self-image was—not this. How was her identity even going to find room for oversized mammaries? A Japanese girl with big breasts was pretty much just that and only that. She, herself, had watched videos of girls with her general facial features in string bikinis, shockingly erotic just by existing, bodies full to bursting on demure, gently smiling faces...

It had to be a mistake. The jolts of pleasure from squeezing them—that was proof. It felt absurdly good, therefore it was absurd. Her pussy hadn’t gotten hardwired into her boobs overnight, or overday, or whatever it was. It was cartoonish, how she could make her cunt get wet and hot just by giving her jugs a squeeze. From just about anything—a squeeze, a tug, even a yank. These were sensitive zones, not playhouse toys.

But if they WERE real—

Her mouth hung open, trying to handle the implications. A Yumi with fat tits. Her entire wardrobe would have to go. And to replace it—why bother with ironic saying t-shirts, with jeans, with the whole array of sedate clothes for sensible girls? No one cared about any of that. It’d be sad, covering up her own chestborne art. She could tit-fuck boys. She could squish another heavy-breasted girl, just like hers, their wonderfully soft boobs jostling and bouncing into each other. They’d struggle to kiss, and it’d be so sweet when they did...

God, she was getting so hot. Yumi hoped she wasn’t blushing too hard—or did it matter? Maybe it was all just a dumb dream, the band, the friends, the way she’d locked eyes with Liza. She’d wake up small-chested in the old house. Mom and Dad would be fighting, and she’d listen to Fugazi because a girl on discord swore by them. That’s what those girls did.

Big-boobed girls.. on the other hand.. they could get in front of the crowd, and sing, or anything they wanted, so long as they bounced and jiggled. Perfect jugs. They opened doors.

Part of her tried to say: no. She’d laughed at the overdeveloped girls, hadn’t she? Back pain and leers was all it was. Hadn’t that one girl, Felicia, basically ruined Senior English by breasting boobily in class, wrecking Slaughterhouse 5 discussions with the mere presence of her beautiful tits? No one cared what she had to say. And wasn’t it a little strange she had gone from Detroit Third-Generation to Plush Asian Fantasy in about 48 hours?

God, she could spend her entire life jiggling. Yumi pinched her nipples, hard, just to see if it would feel good. It did, it felt great. She was getting so wet.

Of course it was all fake. Yumi decided. There was no way she’d unknowingly added full pounds of boobs in about a day and change, reformed into a new woman, one who could fuck essentially anyone she felt like. All warm and wet she could feel the rest of her body, and that was different too. There was new padding all over. A whole new Yumi, one that could do whatever, do whoever. Her new titties didn’t even need a bra. They were perfect.

She decided to open her eyes, but, first, she’d treat herself to one big squeeze. Put as much hand as possible on the velvet new skin, and just treat them like pillows, like balloons, and see if either they popped, or she came.

Yumi got ready.

She had to admit, she was betting on orgasm.

“Yumi. Yumi! Earth! To! Yumi!”

Yumi popped one eye open.

“We’re at the site. Help us get set up.”

She was in the back seat of Liza’s Mom’s car. They were all four of them in there. Zoe had done her best to put her band shirt on, but a lot of underboob poked out. Yumi pulled her hands out from underneath her shirt. The big boobs were still there.

“Ngh?” she said. Her shirt was wet with—drool. Liza gave her an exasperated look. “You back with us? Done having a party? Get back in the game and handle the drums.” But her eyes strayed to Yumi’s shirt. At least the rainbow felt looser, all stretched out.

Yumi felt looser too.

The show did not go well.

Almost no one saw it. They unloaded instruments and a single speaker without interest from any passerbys. Liza had spotted an unguarded outlet the previous day. The concrete pad by the grass lawn still smelled like burgers and charcoal.

“We’re the Rainbows!” Liza told no one. A few plump birds. Nearby, the takeout line for Noah’s Range went down the block. The cars defied her expectations—not a single pickup truck. Lots of minivans. Lots and lots of them. New ones, prosperous ones. Staff girls ambled by, taking orders—they wore denim shorts and tied-off t-shirts. Nami didn’t seem to have joined their number, just yet.

None were interested in Stork’s newest and hottest indie band.

Yumi struggled. She still felt—slow. A good kind of slow, like she was waking up. Possibly naked, in someone else’s bed. She was sure that she had higher levels of critical thinking, and, eventually, they’d probably fire up. There’d be all sorts of interesting ideas on her obviously bigger boobs. But it was all music, and drumbeat, and the sway of her spheres as she mashed away at keys.

Occasionally, if she played the right notes, both arms pushed her tits together. That was nice. Although her hair was definitely getting into her eyes a lot. It didn’t help at all that Zoe’s drum sent her new boobs to shaking, every time. They kept quivering. It was very pleasant. And made it hard to keep any sort of time.

Liza wasn’t making it easy. She opened with a Float On cover and sang it studiously neutral. Next she led them on to Ke$ha and sang in a cracked, defiant soprano. Then, just as Yumi felt a little more normal, their front girl dropped pitch and sang an aggressive, hungry Down With The Sickness.

“Quick break,” Liza croaked, after they gradually made their way through that one. Uma had lost her way entirely and was reduced to basic chords. Zoe was note-perfect on every single song. “I think I taste blood.”

They all panted. Sweat poured down Yumi’s forehead, through her bangs, and then down underneath her shirt, where it found her breasts. She felt a need to sit down. If she could just have a good sit, she felt, all the new demands her body kept making could be properly sorted out. There was the tickle of hair surprisingly far down her back, the heavy pull on her chest, the sense that her entire internal gravity had shifted...

The nagging and wet button between her legs...

Someone was applauding.

Yumi looked over—boys had appeared. It was MALE applause. And not from the standard Stork version of a man, a side of beef with jeans on. These were boys her age, or thereabouts, and although they had the girthy Stork frame and the powerful Stork biceps they also had scraggly facial hair and smirks. They wore—Yumi’s eyes darted down—Vans. Not ideal, but something she could work with.

It added up to an indie gloss on a six-foot-two body.

Yumi’s thoughts, trying to emerge from a deep pink pool, bobbed right back down.

“I thought we were hearing, I don’t know, a rare bird,” the lead boy said. He was a redhead, with auburn tufts out of both sides of his hat. Getting closer, Yumi upped his height estimate another dangerous inch. He wore button-down short-sleeves. They all did. “The wah-ah-ah-ah bird. Or something.”

“Next I was going to be Shakira,” Liza said. She did her best to keep her register high, with boys around. Uma hadn’t quite stopped drumming, although she was eyeing the men, same as the rest of them. Four boys—redhead, two wiry brown-haired guys with long arms, and the required blonde. White guys, sure, but with variety.

“You’re new, right? I mean, yeah, obvious. I’m Hunter.” Hunter had leadership vibes, which blended well with the rest of him. Yumi shook her head—she wasn’t going to be Nami, slobbering over a local guy. If she was into a man she was damn well going to be terribly conflicted about it. “This is Tyler, and Tate,” the brunettes, who had brother energy. “And Dalton.” the blonde, who gave a cheery wave.

“We’re...” Liza cleared her throat. Luckily they had all refilled their water bottles. “We’re the fucking Rainbows.”

“Hell yes, new arrivals,” Tate said. “We’ve been looking for new arrivals.”

“You’re harder to find than we’d thought,” Tyler said. “I guess you’re not as big as the girls we have. It’s like natural camouflage.”

“You’ve been to the clothes store, right?” Hunter said. “And the restaurant and the salon?”

“Uh, yeah?” Yumi said. Or close enough.

The boys exchanged looks. Happy looks.

“You’re coming over to our place,” Tate said. That earned him an elbow from Hunter. “WOULD you LIKE to come over to our place?” he said. “PLEASE. And we can maybe drink milk? And we have Rock Band on the PS3? And we can talk about... music? And books, I bet you girls love books?”

“Oh yeah! Books!” Dalton said. He chuckled. “Wow! Man. Do you remember—who was it—guy with a spear?”

Yumi tried to croak out a No. Saying no to these kinds of boys was an absolute bedrock part of her character. These were Nami’s guys, a blend of insouciance, rebellion, and punk that her twin was all about. Yumi only liked those qualities in women. If she could just have a nice long sit, no doubt her sexuality would concede that she was right.

“Also we have lots of weed?” Hunter said. “You coming?”

“Right!” the girls chorused. It was their most musical sound so far.

They lived in the Apartments beyond the factory. Just beyond the factory—there was a lot of sheathed silos, a network of shivering pipes, then a narrow two-lane road, and then a five-story warren of small apartments. It was all brightly painted but already in shadow, the buildings finding a way to loom over each other.

They took two cars, following Hunter’s 2012 Dodge Grand Caravan. “What’s the.. you know... what’re we doing here?” Yumi said. Uma especially seemed very excited. She was fidgeting in her seat. Zoe was still patting her leg to the rhythm in her head. She had managed to just tug her shirt over the bottom of her boobs.

“We’re going to go see what the deal is with the guys in this town,” Liza said. “Also to sample the quality of their smokes.”

“The guys!” Uma whispered. She licked her lips, excited.

“Yeah but.. you know....” Yumi said. Why was it so hard to THINK? And she was even sitting! “Pretty sure they just want to, you know, girls. Boys and girls. That kind of stuff.”

“That kind of stuff,” Uma echoed.

Zoe stopped fidgeting and looked around. “I was... I was investigating this place with my Mom,” she said. “Did you know it didn’t exist a year ago? It’s all.. ummmmm... brand new.” She blinked. “Are we about to have sex with boys?”

“I mean, look at these apartments, they’re tiny,” Liza said, waving her hand. “Unless they think they’re gonna fuck us all in the same room. Right girls?” She looked backwards. It wasn’t reassuring. Uma was already looking out the window, smiling. Zoe had lost her brief respite from her pink clouds. Yumi tried to look reassuring.

“It’ll be fine. I’m one of those bis who only fucks theoretical men,” she said.

“Oh yeah?” Liza said. She said, too fast: “I’m primarily into girls too.”

“Any particular kind?”

“Ones with big tits,” Liza said. She pursed her lips. “Big squeezable boobs. And it helps if they play music. Violin, trumpet, maybe the harp.”

“Piano?” Yumi said. Her face flushed. Had she said that? Impossible.

“You know, I don’t know! Lets see.”

For the first time they—met eyes. It helped that they were both giggling, softening Liza’s gaze, for a minute. But then they held it, and held it.

“So I’m a farmhand,” Hunter said. “Tyler and Tate are farmhands. And Dalton over there is a chemical engineer.” Dalton gave a cheery wave.

They had entered a Male Living Space.

Yumi had been in a few boy rooms in High School before. The kind of boys who made their beds. Of course she’d been curious, but once she’d seen a few Naruto posters and Marvel-themed bedspreads she’d gotten the general idea of high school boys.

This was certainly not that. It was like entering a den, a sodden bed of straw where a male dragged in kills and copulated with females. It definitely smelled that way—a raw and hot scent that all the girls were clearly wide-eyed about. It just couldn’t smell like this. A crude and unwashed musk, like the entire air was made out of sweat and manual labor. It was alarmingly hot.

The air was how it smelled to get fucked from behind.

“What kind—” Yumi was working hard to stay cool. Among other things, it was not very cool to flirt with Liza, then turn around and thirst for farm boys, right in front of her. Although Liza was also wide-eyed. “What kind of crops?”

“Oh, some stuff you’ve never heard of!” Hunter said. “Believe me, these veggies shouldn’t even exist. They are a testament to man’s dominion, that kind of thing. If I put one of them in your hand, and said it used to be a tomato, you’d laugh at me.”

“Uma, you’re, uh, uh, uh, Indian? That’s the kind of ethnic person you are?” Tyler and Tate weren’t doing a good job hiding their interest. They were on both sides of the girl, rough jeans pressed against her legs. Uma sat on the floor, looking back and forth, trying to smile at both boys.

“Is that okay?” Uma said, a little anxiously.

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah!” Tyler assured her. “Just, you know, checking, the list says...”

Tate elbowed him. He had to reach all the way over to Uma to do it.

“What list?” Liza said.

“Pastor Flynn made a list of the new arrivals,” Hunter said. “Since we’re embracing diversity. A cheat sheet. Just stuff like how to spell Punjab.”

“I think there’s like... a J in there,” Uma said, scrunching up her nose. She giggled.

Yumi realized she was giggling too.

The room itself was not great. It was hard for Yumi to even see, beyond the four boys in it, and their mouthwatering, leg-opening scent. There was a very small kitchenette that looked totally unused, a bunkbed right in the main area, and one couch. No one was sitting on the couch. For decor the boys had put up a Memento poster. Yumi latched onto it—that was culture, a little.

They’d started a playlist on a tinny bluetooth speaker. Yumi had expected something intended to impress them—Infected Mushroom, Black Keys if playing it safe. Instead it was the same bright pop princess, somehow working giggles and laughs into a song.

“Anyway lets definitely smoke!” Hunter said. He pulled it out of the kitchen. A bong shaped like a naked lady—a very large naked lady. A fertility goddess of sorts, vibrant and plus-sized, her wide hips wrapped around the glass. It was almost classy.

“What happens once you get us all high?” Liza said. She had glassy eyes but seemed reassuringly with it. One of them had to be. Zoe was inching her way onto Dalton’s lap already, and the brothers had each put a casual hand on Uma’s thigh.

“During coffee season? Usually we just talk about stuff from before we got here,” Hunter said. There was a note of—wistfulness? “Stupid stuff, like hey do you remember reading the Crucible. Do you remember Game of Thrones. You know.”

“Coffee season is ovvvvvverrrrrr,” Tyler sang. Hunter tamped down a lot of weed. It had purple and—was it pink?—shades mixed in.

“Not until tomorrow,” Hunter presented the lush bong to Liza. “Do the honors?”

Yumi watched closely. She was going to be next.. Hunter flourished a lighter and brought forth a bright yellow flame. His hand rested on Liza’s leg. She inhaled deeply. The water shone at them, fluorescent purple. Now it was her turn, and she was ready for it, had gotten a sense of the procedure. Hunter rested his hand on her thigh, now—his procedure for lighting bongs, she supposed. It was the first time a guy had touched her... at all, Yumi figured. Just inches from her quivering, wet slit. Liza gave her an encouraging thumbs up.

“Can I pretend to inhale but not, like, actually do it?” Uma said. Both brothers stroked her thighs, reassuring. “What if I’m drug tested at that college I’m gonna go to? Uhh—that one?”

The light flickered. Yumi inhaled—

“We came in with the last arrivals batch,” Tyler said. Yumi looked up, surprised. She didn’t have the bong anymore. Zoe had her entire mouth stuck on it, and was wielding the lighter herself. She rested her back against Dalton, who had both arms around her. His knee bounced between her legs. “All of us at once—we were all at the same school, Dalton’s Mom got the job, I think the plan was to stop in on Spring Break?”

“That was it,” Tate said. “We were headed to Nashville.”

Yumi looked around—she was on the floor, now. Her legs were far apart. All the girls seemed to have nice, open legs. So, this was what being stoned felt like, she thought. Calm and cool, just like she’d hoped. Yes, her nipples were achingly erect, and the guys could definitely see up her skirt. But it was all okay.

She was high, then, really high. She’d actually done it. The closest she’d been had been at an illicit party, someone had passed around a joint, and she’d said... No. Firmly and clearly.

Maybe it had been for the best. Apparently being high made her pussy drool.

“Dalton’s Mom meets us at the door in—what was it—a tube dress? And she says—literally says—leaving so soon?”

Tate did it in falsetto. It was so funny. All the girls laughed. Uma had found Tyler to be snuggly with. Liza was up on the couch with Hunter, who had his arms outspread.. but not around her. It was unclear why not. She had warm red cheeks and lipstick on her lips.

“We walk in, and up comes Dalton’s sister, just as happy to see us, licking her actual lips, and then his YOUNGER sister strolls in, and she actually fans herself. Finally Dalton’s Mom shuts the door, counts heads, and says—remember what, Tyler?”

Tyler rode his hand up so it was resting on Uma’s boobs. “She said, don’t worry, Dalton’s Aunt is in the shower.”

They all laughed. Why? Because—what? Yumi tried to think, but it was so unrewarding—

She was—on the couch? Yes, with Hunter in the middle, and her and Liza on either side. And something felt super great, very good indeed. The kind of sensation that made a girl want to cum.

It took Yumi some time. Her mouth tasted like sweet and weed. Pretty good, really. And far too sticky to talk, but that was okay, the men had plenty to say. The reason she felt super good, and there were happy lightning bolts in her brain, was because Hunter had his arm around her and was squeezing her right tit. Just the right amount of squeeze—plenty of it, but consistent. Two fingers on top of her nipple.

“Really it’s supposed to be bitter coffee and cold showers until tomorrow night,” Dalton said. He had his hand down the front of Zoe’s shorts. Yumi wanted to frown at that—pretty overly familiar. But Zoe had a hysterical expression on her face, like he had found a live wire down there, one that connected pussy right to brain. And she was grinding her hips in a way that seemed like she was very into it. “But—eh! I mean, look at Yumi’s boobs.”

“Yeah!” Liza said. They all laughed.

“We’ve gotten pretty advanced,” Dalton said. He slipped his other hand under Zoe’s shirt. That made all of them getting their tits fondled. Uma had managed to get in both boy’s laps, sort of, with her back against Tate and her feet in Tyler’s lap. Yumi was sure she wasn’t giving the boy a haphazard foot job. “It used to be just Flynn’s Additive Number Seven. And it had to be in liquid. Now—I mean, there’s probably two dozen compounds in this room alone.”

Yumi paid attention to none of that. It was so NICE to get her boobs touched. And to make things better, Liza was on the other side, getting hers fondled as well. She looked so very happy, her apple-sized chest getting felt up by a redheaded man in a dark room full of smoke and scent. It was a completely different expression, one Yumi had never seen before, without a hint of dissatisfaction, reserve, distrust. She put her head up against Hunter’s chest, and Yumi, hesitating, did the same. He gave a male grunt of satisfaction.

She wondered if it would be okay to masturbate, just a little.

“Oh, no, that’s very normal,” Hunter said. He was still on the couch, but she wasn’t. Yumi blinked—she was all the way across the room. In... she craned her neck back... in Dalton’s lap, this time. The blonde boy gave her his usual winning smile.

Hunter had Uma in his lap. The Indian girl’s shirt was pulled up, her tits bouncing free, one of Hunter’s hands cradling most of one of them. His other hand had slid her skirt down her legs, to just about her knees, and he appeared to be finger-fucking her. Or was—she looked confused, blinking.

“But—how many fingers do you.. is there two fingers up my pussy?” Uma said. “Um. I’m a virgin so.. be gentle when you put them in... back when you did that? Also wasn’t I just making out with—that guy? Over there?” She didn’t seem very worried, and kept arching her back to get his fingers that much deeper..

“It’s a brain brownout,” Hunter said. “VERY normal at your stage. Not a problem. It’s because your brain wants to cum more than it physically can.”

“For now,” Tyler interjected.. “Don’t worry. You’ll have a whole new brain in like, a day. Smaller but better.”

“Sorry? What?” Yumi fought to keep her head in the game. It wasn’t easy. Dalton had her shirt up too, and was rolling her nipples in his hands. And not just at random—he had a clear system for fondling tits, pinching and stroking each in turn. Each jolt was doing real damage to Yumi’s system of boundaries.. It was possible she was up for whoever, so long as they squeezed her new jugs.

She chalked the brain bliss, the disconcerting difficulty with basic word retrieval, to getting high. That had to be it. It was marijuana.

“Don’t worry about it, baby,” Dalton told her. He gave both boobs a hearty squeeze for reassurance. “We do some nutty stuff with the amygdala. That’s the fuck machine of the brain. Or, it will be. DOUBLES in size. Wild. Like, your heart beats faster because it needs that much more blood.”

“I don’t—I don’t know if that’s...” Yumi frowned. “Is that good?”

“You’re gonna love it,” Hunter said, encouraging.

“Yeah, but... Uma? Zoe?” They were very busy getting pawed at. That left Liza, who was on her stomach, right next to Tate. She was intent on his fly, zipping it all the way down, and then reaching her hand inside. What came out was an enormous red cock.

“Uh—ummmm,” Yumi said, voicing her concern. The non-amygdala parts of her brain were saying—time to go, time to leave. Cocks were out and getting stroked. It was all too much, and although the alarms were nearly lost, underneath the pink fog, they were still there. Yumi shrugged off Dalton’s hands.

But she couldn’t help but stare at Tate’s dick. Out in the open it had no calming indie sheen. It was just raw dick, pulsing and throbbing, way larger than even the porno cocks she’d guiltily reviewed.

“I gotta—I gotta go, thanks for the smokes...” her legs wobbled and shook. Her thighs were drenched. The door was surprisingly hard to find, for a very small room.

“Yumi!” Liza intercepted. She whispered right in Yumi’s ear. “Don’t go! Come on! Don’t ruin this!”

“They said—look—everyone’s dicks are out. We’re gonna get—they said something about fucking our brains out—its just weird, Liza! It’s just—mmmpphhhh—”

Liza had taken advantage of her stupid, silly, open mouth, and kissed her. And folded her arms around her, pressing her close. They both had their tits out, and they rubbed together, skin on warm skin, soft on soft. It was the best moment of Yumi’s life, and only Liza’s support kept her from falling over. Liza tasted like dank and sugar. The boys cheered.

“Check it off the list!” Tyler called out. “We’re almost there!”

Yumi couldn’t quite get her eyes open. They flickered dully. But that was okay—smell was there, doing the work. There was man-smell and girl-smell, heady and wonderful.. The two together was especially nice. And a particularly strong note, saline and cinnamon, with a promising note of honey. She managed to get an eye open.

It was a dick, wobbling right in front of her. Big and red and insistent. She was crouched on her knees, tits touching the floor.

“Hey, welcome back,” Tyler said. “Fun, isn’t it? It brings you back for the best moments. Suck away, you’ll love it.”

I’m not sucking this big.. hot... throbbing cock, Yumi couldn’t say. It definitely smelled fun. She did a survey of the room—Uma was on her knees in front of Hunter, her head practically at his balls. Zoe was jacking on Dalton’s dick, watching his jizz spill out and catching it on her fingers. And, right next to her, Liza was energetically sucking Tate’s cock.

Hadn’t they just been—making out? But the cock in front of her was very insistent, spraying pheromones directly in her face, informing her changing mind that large cocks were intended to be sucked. She could sort out her conclusions after she’d swallowed a lot of jizz. Yumi put her mouth on it, at first tentatively, and then with greater interest. If nothing else, it tasted great.

Tyler put his hand on the back of her head, and thrust at the same time. Six inches slid into Yumi’s mouth. But instinct, or whatever they were calling it, was taking over. Whatever it took to get more cream, more thick and heady jizz, Yumi was aware she would do it. She was distantly aware that guy penises didn’t ordinarily work that way, leaking a steady stream of cum, a pleasant drip-drip that a properly configured male could keep up for hours. But she was distantly aware of a lot of things.

The room settled, and the boys relaxed. The room was awash with the muffled sounds of suck and the sound of four girls breathing through their nose. All four were now nuzzling and sucking. The difficult part of easing them into their new role was almost done with. They were now breathing in heady amounts of concentrated boy pheromones right at the source, and drinking in the same. If Dalton looked closely, he could just about see them plump up as they drank.

The band members might’ve been more concerned if they knew just how often, every day, they’d be spending with their mouths on someone’s dick. Generally at least an hour and a half minimum. Long-term residents didn’t even consider that kind of low-effort mouth work to be a blowjob. It was similar to a nap or a snack. It was also both nutritious and replaced fluids, and was considered refreshing. As part of their ongoing mental rewiring they’d be able to pick out a boy they’d sucked, just from the taste of his jizz, years later.

For her part, Yumi found having a cock in her mouth initially unsettling. Moments ago it had been Liza in her mouth, and she felt like that hadn’t been explored enough. She definitely wanted more of that. Plus she barely knew the guy. But once they got a rhythm established, and several swigs of Tyler down her throat, Yumi found herself reconsidering. Sucking dicks was fun. Mom would definitely panic, first of all.

Liza was right next to her, and the two jokingly slapped their butts into one another. There’d be plenty of time to kiss later, and have hot sapphic flirting, and squeeze tits together. Dicks were just super fun and great-tasting and could be a nice change of pace. All sorts of positions floated through Yumi’s simpering, simplifying mind.

She had to admit—the dick in Liza’s panties—she wasn’t sure how to deal with that. She got the sense Liza didn’t either. But now they could just rub each other’s tits. Problem solved. Dicks could be hot and ancillary appendages, like appetizers you could suck and fuck, or something…

The steady nutrient drip into her tummy kept doing its work. Yumi had no idea she’d been sucking her first cock for a good twenty-five minutes. With time, her jaw muscles would slacken and loosen, the taste buds on her tongue would triple, and, if she was lucky, she’d get the nerve-heavy bud at the back of her throat that the locals called Flynn’s Apple. But for now her mouth was getting tired, her tongue getting sore. Tyler stroked her hair to soothe her, and it worked great.

It occurred to her, borne along by vast streams of artificial chemicals—why had she treated being Bi as a reason to be weird about having sex with anyone? She could fuck anything, anyone, she was the AB Positive of sex, sampling dicks and slits at her whim, her body a temple of—

Tyler, with no warning, unloaded a quart of semen down her throat.

Eventually all local girls were cum pumps, but not yet. Yumi coughed and choked, just as Tate emptied his second shot into Liza. They both gagged. It was good but too much, too much, a torrent of frosting down her mouth. “Dude, they’re NEW,” Hunter said, annoyed. He thoughtfully pulled out of Uma’s mouth, and shot his first load on her face.

“BINGO!” Tate yelled. “Bingo bingo bingo! We have a winner!”

He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper, waving it, triumphant. Yumi spit up an enormous amount of cum. Reality briefly reasserted itself—what the FUCK was she doing? Sucking stranger dick in weed-soaked frat rooms? It bubbled down her chin, soaking her new band shirt, and collecting in her cleavage, which, she belatedly recalled, she was also supposed to be freaked about.

The bingo sheet landed right in front of Liza, still gamely trying to swallow. She stared at it.. Her lips moved, working out the words. Yumi could only see a few categories. But one was definitely: ASIAN.

Then she stormed into the bathroom.

“Liza!”

She was trying not to cry on the potty. Her boobs were shaking. They’d gotten visibly bigger since they’d gotten to the apartment, and were very good handfuls. Liza’s tears mixed with the cum still dribbling down her chin.

Yumi had no idea what to say, or even how to say anything. She’d been used as a cum dump for the first time, that much altered boy jizz was having its way with her already frazzled intellect, and it had been a busy day already. Plus she was really stoned.

“Umm...” she tried to talk, but her mouth was thick with cum. “Liza. Don’t cry I guess?”

“I’m just not a GIRL to them!” Liza said, breathing into fresh sobs. “I’m a bingo spot! I’m a joke! I sucked his dick for, what, an hour, and he’s like, BINGO! I did it, I knocked off the dick girl spot! Yahtzee!”

She rubbed her eyes, getting more cum in them. Outside they could hear a fierce argument starting. Yumi locked the door, whirled.

They looked at each other, minds struggling with the situation. Yumi’s threatened to brownout, dealing with both emotional upset and incredible chemical highs by going unconscious.. She fought through it, motivated. She had to help this friend she kinda wanted to fuck.

“Liza!” Yumi said. It came out harshly. “I don’t care about those dumb sexy boys and neither should you! All they are is nice, fun, cocks! I don’t care about their mouth saying words at all!”

“You—” Liza wiped her eyes. The bathroom was a male bathroom. For the three resident boys—assuming Dalton didn’t sleep in the bath—there was a small bar of blue soap, two stiff white towels, and an empty roll of toilet paper. And a book behind the toilet that read “LEARNING WINDOWS XP.”

Liza tried again. “You don’t have to—”

“Oh my god, talking is soooo stupid!” Yumi could only imagine doing one thing. She’d been wanting to do it all night. She picked Liza up underneath the arms and kissed her. Neither closed their eyes. They were right up against each other, the liquid white and black shining under the bathroom lights.

Liza even tried to pull away, despite Yumi’s full embrace and pillowy, soft tits. She only melted in to it very gradually, and it took even longer before her tongue returned to the action.

They were both drizzled with cum. Yumi could taste the difference—Tate was allspice where Tyler was cinnamon. Her brain made a note of it. One salty-sweet kiss fed into the next, the perfect amount of rewarding boy essence mixed with creamy-soft girl kisses. Their lips were velvet smooth. When they ran out of cum Yumi found more lodged around her chest, and fed it to her new lover, one finger at a time.

Once they were all licked clean Yumi broke the kiss. She felt powerful, energized. Bits of her were still saying: don’t listen to your amygdala, it’s dangerously swollen with blood, all it wants is touch, and all it gives is dumb. Its taking over Geography and History, big swathes of both hemispheres. Yumi ignored it. “Lets go fuck up the boys,” she said, encouraging. “Stand RIGHT behind me, okay? And—since you’re there—am I bigger, back there? I feel kinda assy? Is my butt getting a lil thicky?”

The boys glared at each other. It looked like they’d only held off on a confrontation out of consideration for Dalton, who was just then emptying his balls into Zoe. Unlike the rest of the inexperienced band she had her oversized lips wrapped securely around the very base of Dalton’s dick, and swallowed each pump. The only way to know he was coming was the shiver in her ass. Her panties were missing, if she’d ever worn them, and she had enough black bush for a haunted mansion.

“It’s just Bingo!” Tyler said. “Girl Bingo. Except for the New Arrivals. You’ve played Girl Bingo. This one is just like, Greek instead of Blonde With Glasses, that’s ALL.”

Hunter was furious, and looming. It smelled like angry man, and the fiery scent made Yumi want to curl up and placate—any boy. Suck dicks until it smelled more relaxed. She had to force her legs to stand straight. Liza hugged her from behind, trembling. “Not with the NEW ARRIVALS!” Hunter nearly yelled. “You talked me into this, you know they’re off limits until tomorrow! You want us taking shits in the pasture, eating grass?”

“Everyone’s already—” Tate said.

Hunter snatched the paper up from the ground. “What word did you use for her?” he pointed to Liza. “What fucking word?”

Tate said: “Tran—”

Hunter hit Tate in the face.

The boys went at it middle of the room. Dalton scrambled to his feet and joined in—apparently on Hunter’s side, although they were all soon swinging at each other. “Oh my GOD,” Uma said, standing next to them. She was still thick with sperm, although she was scooping and eating it as they watched the men battle.

It went abruptly from threatening to hot, the girls relaxing nearly at the same time, settling into a preset response. They had been unknowingly programmed for this scenario. Just the boys getting at it, the winners to be sucked and fucked, the losers to be sucked and fucked afterwards.

Hunter got the best of it. He had an angry welt on his face that would need kisses and attention. He hauled Tate up to his feet—both brothers already had black and blue bruises—and handed Tyler the bingo sheet. Tyler tore it up.

“What’s Pastor Flynn’s second rule?” Hunter demanded.

“Respect the cows, it’s harder to kneel,” both chorused.

“And the third rule?”

“Every hole leads to the heart.”

“Good.” Hunter dropped them, and pushed them towards Liza. They both looked abashed. “I’m super sorry, slut,” they chorused, and then dropped their pants. They were semi-flaccid, which meant only eight or nine inches of cock, and it was easier to see two big balls dangling about at mid-thigh.

“One free apology kick,” Tate said, and squeezed his eyes closed.

Liza tensed her foot. “Wait—what word did you even write? For me?

Tyler tensed. “We’re SUPER sorry.”

“What was it!”

Tate whispered it, low and solemn. “Transmitter.”

“Oh—I mean—” Liza huffed, stamped her feet. “I—okay. This stupid fucking town! Don’t even know the right wrong—pull your fucking pants up!

Hunter stood tall, red-headed, and magnificent. His dick had gotten loose, and stood proud and majestic. Uma and Zoe obediently pranced to him, cooed over his injuries, and made sure to rub their boobs against his chest.. As much sweat as he was willing to give.

“Now, let’s play some damn video games,” he ordered.

They did other stuff. Yumi didn’t remember very much of it, afterwards. The night was doctored by her animal brain and only the hotter parts were partially preserved. Girl kisses, cummy girl kisses, the soothing pacifier-like feeling of a dick in her mouth. Smoking weed was fun.

But she also remembered karaoke. The boys really did have a PS3, a battered one stuffed in a drawer, and a working microphone. And when Liza got up to perform Don’t Fear The Reaper she pulled Yumi up, off where the girl had been casually jacking on Hunter’s dick. He tasted like peppercorns. She and Liza had been taking turns on him, as the victor.

“I don’t—I don’t sing!” Yumi protested, which Liza cared about not at all. She just wanted them together, lips next to lips, warbling and whispering right next to each other. Her new girlfriend—was that right? But it had to be, it had to be—her new Gee-Eff opened with her best throaty soprano, and Yumi joined on the second verse.

The boys perked up. Tyler and Tate were on the couch—as penance they had to make do with just Zoe, who was having no trouble at all double-teaming the brothers. She was the first to be actually penetrated, waddling over and just sitting her pussy on Tyler. Uma didn’t notice anything when she had a dick in her mouth, but Dalton gave a cheery thumbs-up.

Yumi hardly recognized her voice—she’d never really liked it. It tended to a monotone, which made it good for irony, but nothing else. But it had added a soft purr at some point, maybe wetted down and greased with rope after rope of cum. It blended perfectly with Liza, who actually knew how to sing. She smelled so wonderful. They all did.

“Baby, I’m your mannnnn,” Yumi sang, looking right into Liza’s eyes. It had to be the drugs, and the conditioning, and the confusion, and everything else, but Yumi was pretty sure, just then, that Liza was absolutely hers, and vice-versa.

“You two girls should sing tomorrow night, at Milk Night,” Hunter said, tugging his own tool for a change. Dalton unbolted Uma, who had gotten the hang of swallowing, and sent her over to give Hunter’s tool a suck. Her face was almost lost under a white icing coat. “I’ll talk to Noah about it. The entire town will be there.”

They both looked at him. “The entire what?” The Rainbows said.