The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Briefly it did seem like a nightmare. She was looking for Jerry, and every other man was there instead. Rudely naked men, saying crude things, eager to paw at her boobs or grope her ass. They definitely wanted to fuck her. Nami avoided them, nearly jogging in her haste, looking through rows of boys to find the one that mattered.

But it didn’t HAVE to be a nightmare.

Looking down, she was surprised to find—it wasn’t like the guys were wrong. She had big, even pendulous tits. Teardrop-shaped, just big honkers that explained all the keen male attention. Nami ran a hand down her hips—the curves started high and ran low, and she was dressed for inspection in an even-more-erotic parody of asian dress. Like something found in the very back of a Spirit Halloween, sold to drunk and desperate co-eds. It was a royal red.

She put a little sway in her step. The men couldn’t help but look.

From there it was a very short step to enjoying it. Soaking in it. Male attention was a potent drug. It was evolution to like it, to appreciate it, to let it raise her temperature and her skirt. Girl solidarity, sure, but every woman knew who the most fuckable girl in the room was. Maybe it was her.

Maybe it’d be super fun.

“Jerry?” she called out, but now Nami was letting her hands trail out, to see what they touched. The men surged at her, surrounding, and she fell into their midst, giggling and eager. All those hands were a wonderful sensation, getting touched and stroked all over, the most and bestest pet. She grabbed a few dicks, just to be coy, letting them off with a stroke or two. “Uhhh... Jerry? You better... show up really quick...” the hands were getting more bold, tweaking her nipples, taking firm swats at her ass. Her pussy squeezed.

If she stopped she was going to get fucked, in just about every hole. Warm cum would spatter her inside and out, her tits would be public property, mauled and squeezed.. But her body was ready for all that. Nami was pretty sure she was up for eight to ten hours a day of vigorous sex. A group of men approached, and she knelt—

“Erin, what is this. This is a New Arrival. Hold on—this is an employee. Of mine.”

Voices...? Nami squeezed her eyes shut. She was very dimly aware that it was her own hands between her legs.

“Her Mom said go to! Her own Mother! I figured we’d keep her in a pink fog and then drop her off at Milk Day, no one is gonna care.”

“I’m gonna care, I sit on the New Arrivals Committee. I’ve been drinking this damn coffee for two weeks. I barely came three times today. I can’t be having a wife thickening up a new one. You did her lips with that Seeprince Brand crap? Shit, look at her tits. These are day five tits on a day two girl. Erin, I’m unhappy with you.”

“Feel ’em. They’re perfect.”

A strong set of male hands didn’t hesitate. They were kneading away. Nami fell right back into her fantasy, gasping, squirting. A dick went right between her boobs and emerged near her face. She stuck her tongue out...

“Erin, damn it, she’s lactating.”

It felt SO good, she was cumming... it was too much mental work to even keep a coherent dream-fantasy together—Nami opened her eyes...

A craggy man with a blonde patch of beard fuzz was giving her boobs an expert squeeze. He looked concerned. Nami looked down, to where her—her?—breasts were expressing milk. Fat droplets, running down her chest and disappearing somewhere down beneath her. She could smell herself. She smelled creamy.

“Ooo.” she said.

Another long, fun squeeze.

“They’re nice though, aren’t they?”

“Yeah. Yeah, they’re real good.”

“Give those scientists a high-five.”

“Well, she had it in her! Look how high these ride! Look, I was foursquare with the Pastor’s plan, even before that PowerPoint presentation, but these are just absolute beauts. And look at her flow, that is pure cream. We could bottle her right now.”

“OoooOOOooommooooooo,” Nami said. She tried to put a little dream together, but it was hopeless. Her whole world was in her tits, in the impossible milk leaking out of them, the mitts expertly flicking her nipples.

“Alright, that’ll do for now. Look, I’m not saying you did bad, she’s gonna be producing in the stirrups soon enough, but we have a timeline. Get the coffee. Two cups. Pull her back. Sorry, lil cow. Too much, too fast.” A cup came to her lips. Nami drank from it, hoping—milk? Some milk? But it was dark and bitter, and smelled like crushed roots, and she was—

Nami woke up.

“Miss?” a man said. He was older, his face lined like a topographical map of a river valley. But he had young biceps, or at least a lot of bicep, and a brief yellow beard pinned to the middle of his chin.. He wore a very tight NOAH’S RANGE t-shirt.

Nami bolted upright. She looked down, to find—

They were definitely boobs. Pretty comfy, hefty boobs. Nami wasn’t super sure what her chest size was, these days—thinking about it set off a warning pang in her head, like a bad note on a violin. But they weren’t the enormous jugs, spewing milk, she’d... dreamed about?

They were just pretty nice tits.

“You fell asleep and had a bunch of weird dreams,” the man prompted. “Or so I assume. You were twitching. All that shit.”

“Y-yeah,” Nami said. Her shirt was dry. It was also new—it was hard to read, stretched over her bountiful chest, but the same logo was opposite her. A cartoon cow that had been opened up, like its ribs were on a hinge, with a full stack of ribs and burgers nestled on an interior grill. Even cartoon-ified it was pretty weird and gross. NOAH’S RANGE, the logo read, in bubbly letters. “Uhh. I’m... this is—new shirt.”

“My wife put it on you, since you were late for work. Or maybe you put it on before you fell asleep, whichever makes the most sense for you, missy. Just let me know. I’m Noah, I’m your boss.”

“Yes, sir!” Nami said, automatically, at the word. She shook her head. What the hell was that? She was anti-boss. She was just outside the salon, in a cheap chair. There was a long line of women waiting to get in, now. Joyce gave her a friendly wave. They were all looking sleek and happy to wait. “What... where...”

“Fell asleep. Strange dreams. Nothing concerning and you’d prefer to move on instead of dwelling on it,” Noah said. He helped her up. “Erin and I were just saying how you look normal and dry.”

“Yeah... dry,” Nami said. Big gushing fountains of milk still pounded behind her eyes. There was a strange taste in her mouth—bold and bitter, like she’d been fucked with a chicory root. “Why does my mouth taste like sugar-free licorice?”

“Oh,” Noah said. “No mystery. You drank like, two cups of coffee, before you got all the way awake. C’mon, you’re on the clock now, and I got burgers to flip. I hope you’re ready for the fast-paced world of restauranting. For the next week or so.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Noah!” Nami said, distracted. Coffee. Boy Noah etc. Boss.

What WAS it about coffee?

“Oh—” Nami—she put her hand in front of her mouth. Her fingers smelled oddly creamy. Coffee, right, Jerry had thought—they were putting something in the coffee beans. Some sort of thing keeping everyone in town busty and foggy.

And she’d just drank two full cups of it.

“You’re gonna like this job,” Mister Noah said. “I mean, heck, you’re gonna like everything, but especially this job. Just keep your head up and your back straight. For the next two or three days. After that, whew. Lets go sell some burnt meat.”

“Okkkayyyyyyy,” Nami said, shortly afterwards.

“We’ve got six burgers, half with cheese, half with double cheese, bacon criss-cross and slabbe-dubbed, all the works, slathered and rubbed, and then fries for the tabe-uh, milkshakes are boysenberry, strawben-erry, marionettaberry, blackyberry, raspbuh-cherry, and blueberry, a veggie burger with nothing on it for the FAR end, and.. what did you say about onion rings?”

“Nothing!” the table was a foursome, all new arrivals. A husband and wife who looked more and more confused with each word, a teenage boy picking at the hairs on his biceps, and a girl with a nose ring who looked increasingly panicked. “Nothing about onion rings! Brian, you’re getting THREE milkshakes?”

“We’ll share, sis,” Brian said. His voice cracked, halfway through share, and dropped nearly an octave.

“Okay, be right back!” Nami said, tapping her pencil against the pad.

She’d been a waitress for an hour and a half, and was just starting to pick up the system.

The previous night, gasping and tingling, she’d tried to put together Nami-like thoughts. She’d unionize the staff, that was it. She’d learn how much she was being paid, having forgotten to ask, and then make the man double it. And why not toss the entire ownership out, while she was at it? They were warm, comforting, Nami ideas, and they’d lasted about five seconds in the reality of the restaurant.

Noah’s Range turned out to be—enormous. It covered the better part of a block, kitted out in glossy timbers, farm implements on the walls, the kitchen like a temple to stainless steel. There was an army of waitresses in taut t-shirts. Row after row of tables extended out into the far distance, all of them filled up with boys and girls doing real, concentrated eating. The line to get in went well into the parking lot, and there was a takeout line, too.

But it was the scent of the place that had impressed Nami. Smoke billowed into the sky above the high arched roof, fed by any number of vents. Wood from a dozen trees, hot propane flames, an entire outdoor area seemingly made of charcoal. It all underlaid the best possible roasts of many different animals—and, since last week, their very first vegetarian menu item, which Nami was instructed to upsell.

“We’ll get—ummm...” another new couple, the guy with thick-rimmed glasses, the girl with three shades of the rainbow in her hair. She was visibly pouring out of too-small clothes, and had gone through the complimentary cornbread straightaway. She wore a black and white t-shirt of Phil Collins flipping the world the bird. Crumbs of corn found their way down her cleavage. “Veggie—we’re...” the man couldn’t keep his eyes off his wife’s tits.

“Vegetarian?” Nami said, a little uncertain herself. Noah had pinned it to her clipboard, and it helped to read the word, every so often.

“Yeah. We’re... that,” he licked his chops, as wifey licked the butter bowl clean. “Get us that. And some meat. Maybe to go. Actually. Yeah. To Go. Hurry.”

“Nooooooo!” the girl protested, with a new-to-her feminine whine. “We’re... doing normal stuff, right? Like we promised. We can’t... my butt is sore, Alan. Or it SHOULD be. Can I get more butter? And cornbread? To go?”

“Okay!” Nami made some notes. “I’ll be rig... righhhhh...” The notification buzzer was strapped around her right thigh. It was a smart place to put it—her arms were usually full, after all. But it sent a shiver-y pulse right up between her legs. Food was up. “I’ll be...ummmmm... right back!”

It was hard enough to concentrate—the place was generally an overlit palace of sizzle and steak, it smelled like hickory fucking oak, and the buzzer sent pleasure signals up her pussy every three or four minutes.

It was especially hard to concentrate when Nami was pretty sure she’d already fucked up, by drinking two cups of clearly drugged coffee.

She’d texted Jerry right away. He’d told her not to panic—that it was all just a theory, and, anyway, he was following up some leads. But the rest had not been reassuring:

J:

do you notice any body changes?

N:

uhhhh

N:

yeah, maybe some... swelling?

N:

but that was this morning

N:

I feel heavier but mostly in a ate-too-much way

J:

how much bigger than this?

He sent a picture of a skinny Japanese girl winking at the camera. She had prominent cheekbones and tiny wrists. No real boobs to speak of. She had her arm around Jerry’s sister. Nami generally recalled the moment—they’d taken a photo in line for burgers. That was her.

She looked down. The sweater puppies hadn’t gone anywhere. They wobbled all the time. The good news was, they made it easier to balance trays. She’d added a shelf.

N:

okay yeah a lot bigger :(

J:

like how much.

N:

do you want a picture?

That part, at least, had been fun. She’d angled the shot so it was 100% tits. Completely filled the frame. They were really good boobs. Nami couldn’t find it in her freaking-out heart to actually condemn them. As much as they were horrifying, and crazy, they were also great and hot and fantastic. They didn’t need a bra at all, just took care of themselves, high and proud and plump.

“Nami, hands off your boobs,” said the other girl working the New Arrivals section. She loomed. Hannah was six feet tall, with straight red hair, enough hips to slam a car door, and fierce blue-green eyes. “God, this town. Everyone’s worried about breast cancer, I guess. Hup hup, punch in the order, everyone is unbelievably hungry. Like, weird hungry.”

She chewed on a nail, pensive.

Hannah had about an hour seniority on Nami, and lorded it over her. She had thick volleyball legs. Although her own buzzer strap was extra-long and extra-sturdy it was still down to the last several slots. On her it didn’t seem to lead to the same need to lean against a wall and moan, although she did swear and wipe sweat out of her eyes.

The main waitresses—and there were so many of them, so unbelievably many pretty girls in NOAH’S RANGE shirts—had the main areas, the ones filled up with current residents. They carried stack upon stack of piled-high plates, sloshing with meats and buns, balancing milkshakes and baskets of fries where they had a spare bit of skin. They also used their big boobs to full advantage, hoisting everything onto them like they were a pallet.

With everyone in the same t-shirt the main difference point was lower body. Jean shorts, jean skirt, but also a fair amount of above-the-knee tights. Makeup was sparkly. Most also managed in two or three inch heels, which made Nami’s feet itch. She herself wore tan shorts she didn’t quite recall putting on, and pink sneakers she wasn’t sure she’d even bought.

Nami checked her notepad, to put in her orders.

She hadn’t written down a word. It was just a sketch of big, round, succulent tits. A penciled-in line of droplets tracked from nipples to the bottom of the page.

She made a confused noise deep in her throat.

“Oh, for... look, I’ll tell you a little secret,” Hannah said. She reached over to the terminal. “Fries and burgers and milkshakes. You’re set. No one complains. And throw in the veggieburgers. There, you upselled.”

J:

hey

J:

can you check your

J:

you know

J:

posterior

J:

if you don’t mind me asking

N:

uhhhh

J:

I’ve been getting intel

J:

i was thinking its some sort of side effect.. all this..

J:

like from GMO beans or something but

N:

what am I checking for?

J:

how much butt is there?

Could she ask Hannah to take a picture? The redhead stomped by, crowned with platters. No. The buzzer burned its way between Nami’s legs, and gave her an idea. “Pardon me?” she said, to Table Six. A double date of new arrivals. A big polynesian man and woman, a very petite latina girl, and her husband. The wives had swapped sides of the table since they ordered.

“Can you take a picture of my tushie?” She asked the big guy. “It’s for a medical reason.”

Just a glance at—not his spouse, the other spouse? The table shrugged. “No problem.” He snapped a full dozen pics, insisting she bend a bit more, and spread her legs. Nami’s cheeks burned. And when he was done he gave her a quick smack on the left cheek.

Life as a waitress. Nami decided she had bigger things to worry about. The wives didn’t seem to mind. They’d decided to eat while sitting in brand new male laps.

“Oh, god damn it,” Nami picked the cutest shot to send along. Her butt was bigger. Her HIPS seemed bigger. She took a moment to compose herself, but another buzz ruined that plan, too.

N:

it’s a badonker. :( :(

N:

Jerry what’s going on

N:

why do I have more ASS

N:

I DRANK TWO CUPS OF COFFEE

J:

I’m in touch with someone who knows a lot

J:

says they’re with The Resistance

N:

It’s sooo thick and big

N:

right?

N:

I slap it and its like—nothing

J:

yeah its—thicc.

J:

thick.

“Nami! Come on, hungry people, et cetera!” Hannah was nearly in a run. Nami obediently put the phone away. There just wasn’t time to think through these things.

“Hey, miss, quick question... is everything... alright in this town?” a pair of girls, looking alternately confused and amused. One even wore a tweed jacket, the only covered-up arms in the room, and the other wore a shirt with buttons. “We got in today to see Rhonda’s Mom and—whew. You look a little more.. I don’t know.. this is all so odd... with it?”

“OHmygawd,” Nami said. “Girls. Let me get your numbers I was JUST—”

“Complimentary milkshakes!” Noah plunked two buckets of cream in front of the girls. “All-berry! On the house, welcome to Stork!”

“We’re—” Rhonda started to say.

“Non-bovine! No cow ever sniffed it! And a round of our very vegan quadruple burgers? Nami, go ahead, you’re doing great.” Another pat on the butt. Was this just the life of a girl with a fat ass? Was it just routinely used to guide? The two new arrivals eyed the milkshakes. One took a cautious sip. Then another, less-cautious one.

“My last two tables ditched,” Hannah groused. “Noah said don’t worry about it. He said I’d be getting lots of tips pretty soon.” The two waitresses had found a tiny alcove between kitchen and tables, a small space just for them. Or, really, for Hannah. Every table seemed to make a huge effort to eat every crumb, leaving not a jot of meat juice, but there were just far too many french fries to get through. They were twice-fried in—according to the menu—“essential oils”.

Hannah had collected them all into a bucket of fries, and was eating them methodically. Dipped in the Noah’s Range Proprietary Fry Sauce, which was mayonnaise swirled with a different kind of mayonnaise, one a different shade of beige.

She looked sidelong at Nami, who was just trying to catch her breath. It was hard, waiting tables while toting around a brand new butt, a fresh and original cantilevered body, and the sense that she might’ve doomed her svelte figure. Sweat kept pouring into parts of Nami she didn’t have before.

“You want to know the big secret?” Hannah said, between fries.

“What?”

“Something’s up with this town.”

Nami opened her mouth wide. “No!”

“It’s true. My brother was telling me all this crazy shit when he first moved in. Then he got quiet. I came after him, here I am. And I learned an important safety tip.”

“What?” Nami said. She wanted to whisper, but it was hard enough to hear over the pumping vibe of sexed-up country music.

“Just don’t drink the coffee,” Hannah said.

N:

Jerry I’m getting kinda worried?? what do I do?

J:

okay.

J:

I have a plan.

N:

:) :) :)

J:

here’s the thing about resistance movements in general though

J:

who do you trust?

N:

you

N:

oh

N:

you don’t trust me?

J:

no no no

J:

I mean, we have to watch each other.

J:

ask for a few hours off.

J:

I found someone else to help.

Was she—compromised?

Nami wasn’t sure what to think, and not totally sure how. She felt—lost. And that was not.. her. She’d been the planning and logistics twin. At a young age she’d once taken Yumi by the hand and lead her, with total confidence, deeper and deeper into the local woods. The four year olds had been found, deep in the dark, about ten hours later. According to family lore they’d been found because of Yumi bawling. Nami, even under the rescuer’s flashlights, had been defiant and undismayed.

Of course, now she was nineteen and sloshing with some sort of farmgirl latte elixir. To—what end? Make the local women dazed and pleased with a boring country lifestyle? Lush bumpkins for the men to enjoy? It was a lot to consider, and she found, to her surprise and chagrin, that she really wanted Jerry to consider it for her. Her body, at least, wanted him to stroke his chin and guide her around with brief pats on the tush.

Wanted it really bad.

Nami made her way to the bathroom, a full two floors underground. The restaurant got a lot more secret-base-y away from the dining hall—pipes and concrete and bright lighting. The staff girl bathroom was propped open. Nami barely noticed her fellow girls, settling their jugs in tight shirts, inching their buzzers up a little higher, applying eye shadow and mascara in gobs. Each sink had a full mirror with inset lighting, a bunch of vanities.

Nami looked in the mirror.

The first thing she noticed was the lips.

They explained why she’d been fighting a lisp the entire night, burbling out words to her patrons. In retrospect the white girls had hefty lips as well, but covered in glossy lipstick, to the extent they seemed part of a package. On her they were—contrived, like she had half-evolved to get better at sucking cock. The salon girls had added a subtle lining on the outside, which just gave it more of an ‘insert dick here’ look.

The rest of her face was powdered into a uniform sand-colored fog, broken only by a ring of mascara around her eyes. Unnerved, Nami scrubbed her face with the sweet-tasting water, taking off at least the top layer of concealer. It gave her a little more—Nami.

But there was nothing to do with her hair. It was so long, cascading down the back of her neck until just past her shoulder blades. And the salon had done it, they’d given her the standard stripe of asian girls starting college. A blue line of dye, starting just beyond her widow’s peak. Nami had sworn against it. There were other ways for a Japanese co-ed to feel like an individual. Nami ran her fingers through it. It had a neon effect, far more vibrant then hair dye should warrant.

“Fuck,” she told the big-boobed girl in the mirror. “Fuck and crap. Dog shit.” Was even her voice trending higher? But it was reassuring to curse. Right, that was still her in there. She had to stay confident in that. “I hate tits, I hate ass. I hate—unnhhhh...” the buzzer on her thigh clattered. Table 8 was up.

She really needed to... to get them their milkshakes.

Nami rehearsed as she walked over. “Jerry, I got some coffee in me, and I’ve had some swelling, but I think I’m okay. My ass and titties are no longer getting bigger. I think its worn off.”

No. She needed to sound cooler. This was Jerry. Nami tried again. “Heya Jerry. Yeah I got a dose of the boob juice. Don’t worry, I can jiggle and help at the same time.” No. “Jerry, yeah, it’s Nami. Thicker but still ready to roll.” Not bad.

Luckily Mr. Noah had been cool. Nami had been extraordinarily nervous about taking time off, just a few hours into her first shift ever, but he’d been super understanding. “I gotta see a boy about some investigating stuff we’re doing?” she’d told him, shifting her weight from side to side. “If that’s okay, sir?”

“Oh! You too? Yeah, yeah, sure, that’s great you have the brains... I mean. Definitely. I remember when me and Erin... anyway, you kids go have a blast investigating. See you back here in a little bit?”

“Oh, yes, of course, sir!” Nami had scampered off before he could change his mind.. She tucked her hair back. Over on her nearest table the two skeptical women had lost a lot of skepticism. They had ordered the milkshake tasting flight, or, at least, it had been delivered to them. Twenty cups with twenty flavors. Jacket girl had taken her jacket off.

“Jerry... wassup. Yeah it’s Nami. I got giggle puppies on my chest now. This fuckin’ town, am I right? Wanna kiss?” God, no. Yes, but also no.

There—he was just outside the coffee shop, and wearing a coffee shop outfit. Brown polo with a mean looking coffee bean over the breast. He was looking intently at his phone, and tucking his hair out of his own eyes.

Next to him, practicing her scowl, still with her butt packed into her volleyball shorts, was Hannah.

It was all Nami could do to bring her legs over to Jerry. His eyes flickered up, most of the way to her face, but got stuck on her chest. Then they dipped back down, tracing her entire figure, before finally climbing up to her eyes. Nami couldn’t stop herself from lightly biting her lip.

Hannah scoffed.

“Nami,” Nami said, pointing at herself. Great, nailed it. Good introduction.

“Her?” Hannah scoffed. “I was just working with her! Jerry, come on, this is your cool friend who can help us? She’s titted up with boobs!”

“Hannah, please,” Jerry said, giving her a look. “I mean..” he gave Nami another once-over. He took a long time doing it. “Uh... you.. uh... drank some coffee, Nami?”

“Yuuuup,” Nami tried to sound as bored as possible. She gave an exaggerated sigh, running her hands down her sides. “I fell asleep at the salon and they were like, a-ha. But I feel okay, just—you know. Whoa.”

“What’s five times five?” Hannah shot at her.

“Twenty!”

“Nope,” Hannah said, shaking her head. “Thirty.”

“Girls, please. It’s fifty-five,” Jerry corrected the women, gently. “Look, I don’t think it’s just the coffee. I’ve... I think we’ve all noticed some changes? You know? Lets be honest with each other.”

They looked at Hannah, who managed an uncharacteristic blush. “No,” she shot back.

“Hannah you even—” Jerry started.

“Alright, some.. arousal. It’s not that big of a deal.” She pointed down, roughly. There was a wet patch in her shorts. Not just a little one—she’d soaked them, a blatant moist stain. Nami stared at it. Normalcy shifted again. “It doesn’t mean anything. Wetness isn’t indicative of anything. Physical arousal can be from many sources.”

“And for me,” Jerry cleared his throat. He looked abashed. “I’ve added twelve or thirteen pounds, and as far as I can tell its all muscle. Just rippling, powerful muscle. I lifted my car this morning. I can bench lift a refrigerator and my cock... my penis, is two inches bigger. I don’t know how much thicker it is in, you know, diameter, because I’d never measured before, but its more hefty. Its also considerably more... active, and I think I even have more pubic hair. I’m fairly certain my testicles are bigger although, again, I can’t be sure. They’re producing more sperm at least. I feel more, uh, sexual urges. You girls don’t know this, or maybe you do, but in men that means a very powerful, aggressive urge to, uh, procreate, all over a girl. It’s possessive, that’s what I mean.”

He cleared his throat. “But so far I think I’m on top of it.”

Nami glanced down. At least she wasn’t visibly wet, so far. But the speech had gone a long ways. “Okay, sure thing Jerry, thanks for letting us know!” she said, trying to still sound dispassionate. But this time it came out in a girly squeak.

Hannah’s mouth hung all the way open. Her nipples shot through her t-shirt. Nami felt—jealousy, that’s what it was. It was useful, in a way. Jealousy she could work with. Otherwise she felt a strong desire to stand around, until Jerry had a powerful and aggressive urge.

“The good news is, I’m in touch with someone who knows a ton, and wants us to help investigate. He says we should check out the basement in City Hall. He says there’s an entire resistance movement.”

“I brought milkshakes for while we do it!” Nami held up her bag. She’d picked four boysenberries. The very bestest flavor.

It was tough, keeping up with the two of them. Hannah especially had a punishing stride. Nami was perpetually several strides behind her butt, trying to keep up. She had condescended to take a boysenberry shake. Jerry was in a hurry, and kept glancing backwards, with a note of doubt in his eyes.

She’d blown it yesterday, Nami saw that clearly. She’d had a great time riding along in a van with a boy, and then she’d just... LEFT THE VAN. True, a tender van blowjob might’ve been too much, as much as her body liked to soak in the idea. But a makeout session? At least? Sitting pertly in his lap, enjoying the feeling of his dick poking at her privates? Some sort of romantic foundation?

Now an icy giantess was running her ragged, drinking HER milkshakes, walking with HER man. While she wobbled around in a ridiculous new body. Even her lips felt like they rolled from side to side. Nami bit into her bottom lip. Her teeth only slowly sank into the skin. It felt good.

“I got an airdrop on my phone by the factory,” Jerry explained. He wasn’t at all out of breath. “We’ve been texting ever since. ENFLYNAY. That’s their handle.”

“What’s...” she was wheezing. It was all humiliating. She wanted to say—this wasn’t her. All these boobs, this butt, it was some other girl, one who was used to lumbering about with substantial ass. She was a thin Michigan girl. She went on hikes. “What’s the plan? Not our plan. The evil plan.”

Hannah’s big, bulky butt warded her off of Jerry.

“He said we’d have to find out for ourselves.”

“I think the whole town is a testing site for Big Calorie,” Hannah declared. “I bet if you dig deep enough it’s Swanson’s Hungry Man and Haagen-Dazs, in collaboration with Starbucks. The coffee primes you, then you get the sweats for meat.”

“Sure,” Nami said. She scurried along behind them. It was a whole new experience, walking with a butt. She was putting her spine through a lot. How did big girls even walk, when each droplet of sweat set neurons into a spasm? A big line of water was working its way down her butt crack, and it was all Nami could think about.

“The coffee shop was—I didn’t learn much,” Jerry said. “The girls wouldn’t say anything. And the beans looked—”

“I’m sorry—can we—can we stop?” Nami flopped onto a park bench. They’d gone—she looked backwards—maybe a half mile. But that’s what being a girl was, her hindbrain told her. Men hunted, girls waddled. Speed was not a main consideration. She needed sleek fat, she needed to nurse, she needed to perform light houseworking tasks and smile with nice big lips.. Her body was getting ready, so ready...

Hannah shook her head. “I can just carry her,” she offered. “Throw her over my shoulder. RIght? It’d be fun for her.”

“Hannah,” Jerry gave her a male look and indicated with his gaze, Nami automatically stood up and followed his eyes, over to a nice new water fountain thoughtfully placed on the path. It had excellent water pressure.

“You alright?” Jerry said.. “Sorry—Hannah wasn’t—I think we’re all being... affected. I woke up and did fifty pushups without even thinking about it. And the coffee girls called me Sir and it was—anyway.”

“This just isn’t...” Nami ran her hands down her body, again. “There isn’t some New Nami going on here! There’s not gonna! I’m not this hourglass-y! And I feel like—like I—” She sniffled, and a few tears dribbled out. It was all mortifying—she wasn’t a crier. She was the one who leapt out of the car to block the man in the F-150 from stealing their spot. Now she did want to be carried around, tits soft on Jerry’s back. Arms wrapped around him....

“Nami, don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” Jerry said. His eyebrows looked puzzled, now: had he intended to say that, or was this New Jerry? It stood to reason: men cared for women.

He stood above her, the sun behind him. His shadow had new biceps, a stronger chest. Nami slid her legs apart. It was exactly what she needed to hear. The magic words that meant she didn’t need to do any more thinking. No—she shook her head—of course that wasn’t right, she was useful and dynamic. Even if she was just a big-titted girl.

They enjoyed the moment, staring at each other’s bodies, scenting each other. It was fun to fall into a gender role, Nami was finding. So easy and fun to do what her body wanted, to let the most primal parts of her mind call the shots. She’d be good at agreeing, at rubbing Jerry’s muscles, bearing his children...

Jerry coughed. He’d let his leg in between hers, until the park bench stopped him. “Anyway,” he said. “Geez, Hannah must be really thirsty.”

The big girl had her face practically on top of the water tap. Her shirt was soaked through, and she was still chugging away, like she could possibly drink all of it. “Lets get going.”

“REEDING ROOM,” Jerry read. “Yeah. If they’re doing a big conspiracy you’d think they’d be better at spelling.”

City hall was a repurposed concrete block. Some sort of failed office building, a brutalist hunk of rebar plunked down in the middle of the plains. They hadn’t discussed what to do in the event of security, and there wasn’t any. In fact, Nami was pretty sure the town didn’t have a police force.

Out front were new signs reading “MARRIAGE CERTIFICATES → 2ND FLOOR” and “BIRTH CERTIFICATES → 3RD AND 4TH FLOOR.” No signs at all for the basement—just a small stairway leading to a dingy door.

“What’s the—umm—passcode?” Hannah said. Drinking a few gallons of water had, at least, slowed her down. And her eyes were half-lidded.

“Our mystery correspondent says—Eight Zero Zero Eight Five.” Jerry tapped it in. Nami flicked her eyes around. A discarded letter B decal was on the floor The door opened up. “Alright. Here we go. We’re looking for... I don’t know. I guess... spread out.”

“Nami’s already spreading out,” Hannah said, but it lacked vigor and an essential meanness. The redhead patted her belly. “I shouldn’t have to work off water,” she said. “Not supposed to be calories in water.” She wandered in first, which gave Nami the chance to slip her hand in Jerry’s. She meant to go hand-in-hand—but nestled inside his grip felt much more right. He had mastered the firm, warm squeeze, just like she’d known he would.

The basement was enormous. Or so it felt—it was very nearly dark, with just a small section near the doorway lit. But it was easy to feel how vast it was, the depth to the dark, the cool air used to roaming along long concrete walls. “Hello?” Hannah called. No echo, but the sound felt like it traveled. She wandered into the gloom.

There were bookcases near the door, two of them, roughly piled with dusty pamphlets. Nami picked one up, the pink one.

“So You’re A Female,” she read. A smiling cartoon woman on the front, visibly pregnant, held one tit and her belly. The picture was in black and white, and the girl was still obviously blonde. Nami flipped it over. “Calving Publications. Eight years ago.”

“There’s a guy one too,” Jerry said. “It just reads—Men, A to Z. What is this?”

Nami opened it up. She sniffed—the dust flew around with every turned page. “Oh, weird, it opens up,” Nami said.

It had been folded on itself a number of times. The paper was high-gloss and felt slick on her hands, and even in the dim lighting was a bright pink. Whorls and swirls filled the unfolding poster. And what seemed to be words, perhaps, hidden in the contrast—or were they?

Nami hesitated, and kept unfolding, until the poster filled the entire small, low table. Completely unwrapped it was a whorl of bubbling color, enough to make her dizzy, her mouth open up. It was hard to read the words in the center, although Nami knew she had to. She absolutely had to.

“Women are girls,” she read. “What do you—”

She stopped. Right, that was a true statement. She was a girl.

A girl.

Femininity coursed through her—the realities and implications. Right, a girl. A girl!

Something deep within her mind was unlocked, all the stored-up imagery and expectations and cultural mores. Cute dresses, purses, lipstick of all kinds and colors. There was just so much to being a girl, and all of it was her. Long hair shaped into so many different styles—ponytails, pigtails, long cascading waves to the curve of her back.

Of course that meant—Nami tried to blink, but it was so hard—it meant she could do... anything. Right? Hadn’t she worn a t-shirt from Target with that slogan? When she was eight?

The image dissolved. She could wear bracelets and cute hats, and nail polish of all colors. A short skirt to open the door, no matter who was there. There was so much, so much gender identity, it had her filled up to the brim. She whined, and that was girl-like, too.. She did in a a girly way.

“A is for Aggressive, but in the best way,” Jerry read, puzzled. “Men should be listened to whatever they say. Is this really a—does it all rhyme?”

Nami wrapped the poster up. There were more pages, after all, many more pages. The slogan got folded away, but that was fine, she could still feel it pulsing on the forefront of her brain. Especially now, now that she’d been a silly girl and gotten herself T and also A. Everyone would look at her and think: girl. Girl shaped.

The next page was a word search, beneath the legend “GIRLS ARE:” And there was a pack of crayons, right there, tucked into the bookshelf. Nami opened it up and giggled.

They were all different shades of pink.

“B is for Boy, which is what you are,” Jerry said. He’d put his own book down on a separate table, and rubbed at his chin, examining it closely. “in every family, you are the star.”

“Kind!” Nami said. She sat down in the little chair. Her boobs hung right above the page, and she had to shift, to get the light. She barely heard Jerry. Hannah had completely disappeared, off into the gloom. “Oh, nurture!”

She circled each word very conscientiously. The crayon was old, and greasy, and left a pink stain on her finger.

Was—was she all those things? Nami was pretty—oh—and there was PRETTY, on a diagonal. She shaded it in, flushing with pleasure. Girls were pretty, and she was a girl. But was she really NURTURE and TENDER and HOT? Hadn’t she planned on going to college? It wasn’t like she flounced around in dresses and heels, dusting the TV.

Of course, she could do those things. Nami thought about it, scrunching her nose up. Yes, and why not? Why had she been in such tension with being a girl, when it was EASY and FUN to vacuum and cook? She’d cooked breakfast for daddy with just milk and scraps. CLEANING and COOKING—ah-ha, they used the same C—that would be simply nice, simply easier. Wasn’t that every co-ed’s joke, that’d they’d just marry and turn their brains off? Not that she was going to—to turn her brain off. And be a GOOD GIRL.

Nami circled DUMB.

She realized she was sucking on a crayon. She checked the label. It read PASSIONFRUIT PINK. Weren’t those purple? But it tasted good.

“Oh!” she found the last one, along the bottom row, nearly filling it up. SUBMISSIVE. “Jerry, I got it!”

“...and sometimes also a nice easy suck.” Jerry read. He sounded puzzled, muzzy.

The next page was a maze. And it was very obvious, from the get-go, that it was one long spiral, leading inevitably to a picture of a beautiful house, and a man, and four baby carriages, in the very middle.

Hannah pushed forward into the dark.

She was doing her best to bluster through it, but she was nervous, very nervous. She’d first learned of the town from her brother, Hunter, who had sent an innocuous text several months prior that he was visiting with a college buddy. Then: a week of silence, except for a mysterious picture of two tanned girl butts side by side, with very glistening and wet pussies, and the message ‘which sister goes first?’ Followed by ‘whoops!’

After a week he’d resurfaced. Claimed to have gotten a job in town, that he was dropping out of college “for a little bit”.

And that had been it for her prior brother. The new one posted primarily to some social media site called HiFer that Hannah had never heard of, mostly him with biceps Hannah didn’t recall, his arms around all sorts of girls with big boobs. Including what looked like a lot of Moms.

She’d slipped in to locate him, and gotten a job, but, for once, it was hard to spot a redhead. And to make matters worse, she was starting to feel a little—different—herself. Starting the day she arrived, when she’d gotten to her apartment and rubbed one out in the shower, then another, then another. And passed out.

But she’d found a new way of dealing with it.

Hannah had always been tall, had always had the volleyball coach, the basketball coach, giving her yearning looks. And she’d never cared—her length was a curse. There was no need to add to her bulk by getting—athletic.

Now Hannah discovered the stress-relieving qualities of working out. The next morning she’d punished herself for pigging out on local burgers by going on a 5 KM, then looked up and performed a variety of bodyweight exercises. It helped—with some of her anxiety.

But running past other men, only men, on the side of the road wasn’t precisely helping with the libido issue. They were all big and stacked and easy with the smiles. Their eyes clearly flitted to her butt. A butt she had never given much thought to. Now she started doing squats.

After a few days she’d picked up an enormous rock on the trail, just to show she could, even without proper equipment. A guy had wolf-whistled at her. She’d nearly cum while at full extension, pussy spasming.

“This is stupid,” she told herself, pushing into the dark. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” She’d found Jerry, who seemed... with it. That was a good start. But she’d also spent every rest break at her new job with her fingers in her snatch. Hannah found herself constantly in movement, constantly lifting, running, touching, stroking. Life was turning into running, lifting, and rubbing. She had to find Hunter and get out.

She bumped her knee into—a bench.

Hannah lit it with her phone flashlight. Exercise equipment, of all things, although some sort of old-fashioned gear. It had actual stirrups. She reached out for it without thinking—finally, finally some sort of bench. There was a gym in town, of course, an enormous gym, but even Hannah had lost her nerve before going in. She’d managed to convince herself—that wasn’t her. She was just tall. Even if her new muscles already gleamed in the mirror...

She sat down. That triggered—something. A male voice, from out of the darkness. “Okay! Lets get our reps in, ladies!” it said. A deep male voice. She shifted onto her butt automatically. This was some sort of—reps machine. Legs and core? Hannah put her feet onto the stirrups. That forced her thighs apart. The position was odd. She had her legs up and cocked, extremely vulnerable. She looked down. She couldn’t stop soaking through her shorts.

“Back and up!”

Hannah pulled back. Weights, underneath in the dark, fought back. With great effort and a strangled grunt she was able to lift the edge of the bench just slightly. It was humiliating, how difficult it was.

“C’mon girls! Use your ass! Let your core do the work!”

Shift her—it made little sense, but it did work. By squeezing her thighs Hannah pulled the machine back and up. From out of the gloom the edge of the bench rose up. On the edge of it was a polished rubbed knob. With another heave she could pull it all the way up, until it gently nestled right up against her super-soaked shorts. It was somehow warm. It prodded into her pussy. Hannah grunted. Or was it a moan? She wasn’t sure.

This was doing wonders for her anxiety. She wasn’t anxious at all.

“You’re doing great!” the man said.

Nami tried not to make it all the way through the maze. She was very certain on her life goals. Well—that was a lie. She was sure what she didn’t want. She didn’t want to be shackled to an apron. Wherever life led her, it was going to be bright and important, not the four walls of a house.

She wasn’t going to be Mom.

Nami tried to hold onto the thought, but the pink crayon kept gliding through the maze, making its way to the center. She was pretty sure she had a different crayon in her mouth. It tasted like candy wax.

True, she was getting kind of into thoughts of Jerry fucking her into a home, serially impregnating her, various fantasies of housework intermixed with breeding. Right? Hadn’t that been her long-time sex fantasy? Nami was uncertain. Maybe because it was taboo, turning the scowling punk-adjacent Detroit-adjacent girl into a sunny, smiling bundle of domesticity.

It wasn’t like, an actual goal. It just made her pussy throb and her tits swell.

“Oh nooooo..” she said, softly. She was almost at the middle. Nami had tried to stop, but when she pulled her hand up, it was just to add more drawn-in cribs to the iconography.

“This is ridiculous, that doesn’t rhyme with penis,” Jerry snorted. She glanced over. There he was, the man who could settle and gentle her. Maybe she was just—scared. There was a finality to that life, especially to a 19 year old. The rest of her life spent making him happy, pleasing him, thoughts extending no farther then the tip of his dick. So simple.. but girls were SIMPLE, weren’t they?

Her own Mom. Nami sat upright. Was she happy—was Hitomi happy? Nami looked around, anxious. Yumi and Nami hadn’t made things all that easy. And if the six to eight kids she was considering were so easy, why had Mom stopped at two?

She got ready to stand up. This was—right. They were supposed to be investigating some sort of weird conspiracy. Some sort of explanation for the way her hair had grown a foot in a day and a half. But the problem was, she’d left a puddle of lubricant on the chair—or was it drool? There was a pink sworl in it...

“Q is for...” Jerry was breathing so hard. “quart. Put a quart in her shorts.”

He had his legs spread, and was rubbing with one hand at the outline of his cock. It knocked everything else clean out of Nami’s head. Right, penises. The male phallus was the center of the household, around which everything else revolved. Especially her pussy. She could SERVE and SUCK....

Nami glanced down. She’d reached the middle, and circled the little stick figure in the cartoon dress. There, that was her. She was vaguely aware of fighting the conclusion, but not clear why. Wasn’t she a girl?

“Unh. Unh. Unh.” Hannah’s worries were quickly dissolving. Even the long-term anxieties, stuff like career and personal goals. Each complex push-pull brought the metal prong a little closer. She gave no thought at all to just getting up and backing her ass down onto the thing, sending it deep inside of her. This was her reward for each rep. She was gaining. And it seemed wonderful.

And such gains. Hannah was pretty sure she had cum, but it was fun, not really knowing. Working out and being intensely pleasured, all at the same time. In retrospect Hannah was pretty confident that this had always been the thinking—hadn’t it? Hadn’t she done soccer, volleyball, track? What was an exercise high, except a clean and wholesome kind of orgasm? What was sex but physical activity?

Hadn’t she made the state finals in basketball?

Not to mention—the looks. The cheerleaders liked to pretend they were the lead sexpots in the school. But Hannah was sure—wasn’t she? was she always so horny?—that the boys were looking at her, aching for her. The short shorts, her body on display, shaking and gyrating and wobbling. When she’d led her volleyball team to another 10-0 run?

“Ohhhhhh,” she moaned, as she earned another half-inch. At some point she’d somehow shoved her shorts down. It was hitting her clit directly, now. She felt powerful, and, if she pushed even harder, it’d go right inside of her.

“Good!” the exercise track said.

It had been a mistake to avoid the gym. It was understandable that lots of boys went for soft, sweet things with all the muscle tone of a comfy sweater. But she could wrap her legs around a man, draw him in, and squeeze. Already, each squeeze of her cunt seemed to help, drawing the phallus closer through mechanical action. She could probably drain a dozen boys in fifteen minutes, her heart rate never dropping. The fantasy pulsed in her, growing bigger each second. She’d have her pick of the men. Or maybe they’d just line up. With these thigh muscles she could—she grunted—pull the dick in another inch....

“Nice work, slut!” the voice said. “Squeeze your pussy a little harder!”

“Ummm... oh!” Nami said. “ASS!”

The jumble was going well. After the turmoil of reorienting herself towards motherhood, fertility, and pleasing men, the booklet had shifted more into basic biology. She’d learned a lot of useful facts. It turned out that fertile females could be inseminated by men a lot of different times. And it felt great, a wet dick gliding into her pussy. If she tilted her hips backwards and waited, motionless, she could increase the chance of pregnancy by a lot.

But all the facts were exhausting on SILLY girl brains, so the jumble was a nice break.

Nami sucked on yet another crayon. Her spit was bright pink, now. Which made it easy to see she was drooling a lot. She was on another pack of crayons.

“OOBBS,” she read, running her hand through her hair. It felt longer. This was a tougher one. “SSA” and “CNUT” had been relatively easy.

“Men fuck and suck,” Jerry repeated. “Men pump and dump.” Nami was pretty sure his dick was out, underneath the table. He was definitely rubbing away at something under there. The odds were good he would place his dick in her and spurt a lot of cum in her pussy, and she was really coming around to the idea..

There were still parts of her that were... unsure... about becoming a full-time housewife and cum dump. She was pretty sure she wanted to at least go to college first, if only for a weekend or two. Just to see what the fuss was about, and maybe suck off some college guys.

But the guilt about her Mom, she was working her way through that, crayon after crayon. She just needed to be a better daughter. Do chores, clean, cook. Make Daddy happy. Whatever it took.. It was so hard to think of what else she could be, besides a dedicated spouse and jizz sponge. She was just a DUMB girl, after all.

“PYSSU,” Nami read. A hard one. She had her waxy pink fingers up her pussy.

“Fuck her bushy pussy,” Jerry read, or perhaps not. His book was on the floor.

“Oh!” Nami penciled it in. The last one. The book was just about done. She’d nailed the matching game, matching common chores to how happy they’d make her—Ohhhh to doing dishes, and AhhhHHH to vacuuming. The hidden items games hadn’t given her much trouble either. They were just penises, and she’d found them all, no problem whatsoever.

Nami turned the page. The final page was... magic eye. The instructions read: FEMALE: LET YOUR BRAIN RELAX.

Let her brain relax.

Something was—something was banging away at her consciousness. She was... a GUSHY and PLUSH girl. No, she was a dumb bunny slut. No, she was hunting for conspiracies, and letting her eyes cross while she looked at a magic eye was an all-time STUPID idea. She couldn’t do it. It was so DUMB. Her eyes unfocused. It was already obvious the magic eye was a picture of a smiling pregnant girl.

“Fuck a slut in the butt,” Jerry said. “Ungh!”

She had to FIGHT. No, wait, that wasn’t a word.... She had to SUCK and FUCK.

Groaning, confused, she slid back in her chair, eyes fixed on the image. It was getting clearer all the time. She was heavily pregnant, and smiling. It wasn’t clear yet if the girl had a soft, secret smile or a full-on slutty grin, although Nami could make an uneducated guess. She had hair tumbling down to the top of her ass crack. With every second she looked a little dumber. Nami could only imagine she was the same, her eyes crossing, her tongue sticking out.

She stuck her fingers up her own pussy. It was slick and inviting and bright pink, in many different shades. Nami had wondered where the coloring was, and now she knew. It was her. In every possible shade of pink.

She had to not look. Just... close her eyes... but she was so dizzy...

“Keep going, whore! Get that pussy in the air! Lets go!”

Hannah stroked and stroked. The phallus was most of the way in. Her legs and lungs were burning, but in a good way, a fitness way. Her eyes were squeezed shut. A guy was in between her legs—a fan, he’d watched her spike on lesser girls, watched her squat multiple plates with ease. He’d eased his way between her legs and quickly found his rhythm.

She was so close. He was going to cum in her. Hannah arched her back for one last stroke. The stirrup tore, the left one, bursting underneath her orgasm. Spasming, moaning, Hannah fell backwards. Her arms shot out, hit a dusty switch on the wall...

Every light in the room clicked on, all at once.

And a bunch of sirens did, too.

“Well, well, well, WELL,” the dark-haired woman purred. She paused. “Well!”

Nami hugged herself in her chair. She felt—slightly more normal. “My name is Nami Matsuda, I am nineteen, and I am a suckable, fucka—” no. “I’m a silly girl.” Close enough, although Nami felt a little conflicted about it. Wasn’t ‘girl’ a little demeaning?

She was at least a fertile female, ready to accept the blessing.

“Ooh, you three are struggling!” the mayor said. “That’s okay! That is super okay! I know that glazed look, oh my gosh do I ever! Okay, don’t worry, I’ve got a great treatment for this!”

Nami vaguely heard the sound of a slap, then a second one, and then, just when she was about to touch her pussy again, her head rang with a practiced smack to her chin.

Pain slushed through her, sending the mixture of hormones and chemicals somewhere deep. She sniffed, and smelled a brief espresso mist.

The Mayor had slapped her un-silly.

She had very, very long dark hair, jet black, and wore a dark black blazer with large lapels. Her heels were also black, albeit at least four and a half inches, and latticed with leather. Overall she was short but stacked, and although the most sable-clad girl they’d yet encountered, had the usual overspilling tits in a tight barely-buttoned chemise.

And she wore a sash that read “MAYOR”, strapped above her boobs, and backwards. So that she could read it by looking down.

“I’m Miranda,” she said, once she had their attention. “And YOU, I know ex-ACT-ly who you three are! You’re resisting, aren’t you? And doing such a good job of it!”

“Uh,” Jerry said. They weren’t restrained or anything. He kept squeezing his hands. His pants were a mess of precum, and he looked at them, sheepish. “Are we?”

“Oh, honey! Of course!” Miranda said. They were in her office, Nami assumed. It was stylish, at least at first glance—golden honey-colored furniture and furniture in red velvet. All three of them sat on sturdy armless chairs.

She had a very nice desk that was littered with sex toys.

Nami blinked. Sex toys?

“You realized you were getting all sexy and horny, you made a plan to investigate, you found the Breeding Room! That’s at least a B+. I’m proud of you! And can I tell you a secret?” She stepped over to Hannah, who was working hard to recover her glare. The girl’s hips kept bucking back and forth. Miranda rested a hand on the girl’s thighs. She’d lost her shorts, and just wore her underpants, which were—of course, Nami thought—boy shorts.

Miranda whispered it. “I’m in the Resistance too.”

Sex toys. There was at least a dozen on her desk, and more on a side table, and some on the floor. Colorful silicone penises in many different colors, and complicated apparatuses that looked sort of like snowblowers. There was a power bank in the corner with a dozen USB cables in it, ready for charging. That was far from all—the Mayor had a full Sybian in the corner, with a second Sybian facing it. And a roll of paper towels. There was some sort of sling hooked up to the side of the wall, and specialized furniture made for bending girls over in an orthopedic manner.

“Are you sure?” Nami said.

“For years!” Miranda said. “Oh, I know, I’m not saying I did the bestest job of it. I mean, LOOK at these TITS!” she opened her blazer. They were really special boobs—riding particularly high and firm. “I’ve been investigating for like, oh my gosh, SO many years, but I worked my way up! I’m like, even the mayor now!”

“Mayor of tits,” Hannah said, trying to be defiant.

“Ohhh, you’re still snarking! You’re doing SO good! But baby, let me help you.” Miranda knelt in front of Hannah, and suddenly had a very large, very long dildo in her hand. She snagged Hannah’s soaked undies with one finger. They all just watched, including Hannah, as she started to feed inch after inch of rubber cock up her cunt.

“Unh,” Hannah managed to say.

“THERE you go,” Miranda said, satisfied. “That’ll vibrate just a lil. It’s okay, don’t fight the cummies! Your hips are actually bucking, they want to cum so bad! Here’s the BIG SECRET to keeping your brains in—you gotta cum like, ALL the time.”

Hannah got started. She started to shake, mouth open, then kicking her legs out. She nearly hit Miranda, who had to dance backwards.

“You just—how big—” Nami said.

“Oh, that was just an eight-incher,” Miranda said, dismissively. “See, you’re fighting cumming, aren’t you? You think it’s bad, that you’re giving in? That’s how they get you! The more you fight a nice lil orgasm, the dumber and hotter you get. Lets see how far along you two are.” Jerry was next, and made no effort to resist. She shucked his stained shorts down.

There it was, Jerry’s penis.

Cut and proud and not even trembling, despite how big it was. Completely firm. Nami didn’t fight the drool.

Miranda took a tape measure out of her jacket pocket. “Mmmm. Let see. Eight and three quarters. So a long ways to go. But OH my boy, do you ever need to cum! I’m surprised you can talk! Boys especially need to jizz at LEAST nine or ten times a day! Its okay, baby, let it out.”

She reached out to gently stroke the shivering, vibrating prong in Jerry’s lap. The moment she took hold of it it spurted, shooting all over the long length of her black coat, and getting all over her face. Miranda didn’t seem to mind at all. She scooped it off her face and had a lick.

“Doesn’t that feel better?” she said. “I bet you can have thoughts again!”

“What—what are they doing to us?” Jerry said. His cock was leaking and dripping, and still very hard, with just a slight droop to it. “WHY are they doing this?”

“Mmmmmm you taste good,” Miranda said, suddenly slurring her words. The jizz had hit her like a drug. “Every boy a different spice, you know. You’re gonna be sweet, I can tell. I like sweet the best. Why are they doing this? Baby, I’ve been investigating for like, years and YEARS now, and here’s what I’ve found out.”

She looked both ways. “I think it has something to do with getting pregnant,” she whispered, giving Jerry a playful tug. Jerry groaned, and more cum squirted out.

“You like that, right? You wanna squirt in some girl’s pussy, make her smell like you?” Miranda said. “Well, that’s hot. And you will, can’t fight that part. GIrls around here are SO hot. Shoot, I’ve gotten knocked up myself like, three or four times, trying to figure stuff out from boys. And I’m the smartiest girl in town!”

She turned to Nami, and smiled.

“Here’s MY secret,” she told the girl, and pulled up her skirt.

Underneath it she had a number of ties and straps, all of them to keep secured a dizzying engine of vibrators. There were wires and battery packs. At least two fed directly into her pussy, and another two slid around the enormous expanse of her ass towards her asshole. Her midsection buzzed, audibly. “Keeps me thinking lots of fun thoughts!”

“Look—how do we—we want to.. umm...” Nami faltered, staring at her quasi-boyfriend’s panting, cumming form. What did she want, again? She found a reserve of brain-thoughts. “Escape! Or investigate, I don’t know. Who is doing this to us?”

“Oh, Pastor Flynn! He’s doing this. He’s SO nice,” Miranda said. She giggled, and rubbed at her nipples. “That man is so bad! I’ve confronted him like, a dozen times, and he said he’d make me mayor so I stayed out of trouble!”

She knelt down, rubbed Nami’s thighs, pinched her hips. “Hmm. You’re almost there, aren’t you, lil missy? Big suckable titties... super big ass... you got that look in your eyes, like you’re just about alllllll done.”

“No!” Nami said, with as much defiance as she had left. “I’m—I’m gonna go to college. I’ll just—get in a fucking car! And drive out!”

Miranda giggled. “I’ve done that a LOT.” she said. “I had two journalists drive me out, once. Cute lil couple were sucking each other off by the first night. It’s okay, baby. Not everyone is resistance material. Have a nice lil vibrator.”

She produced a small one, and fed it between Nami’s unresisting thighs. Nami couldn’t summon anything to stop her. She had a nice juicy cum.

“You new arrivals are SO CUTE!” Miranda said, adjusting her skirts. “Pastor Flynn gave us all a big speech about how we had to be nice, and respect cultural whatevers, and we were all like, lets go fuck the rainbow! I hope you like it here, I know I do.”

“No..” Nami found the word, from somewhere deep inside. “We’re... I’m... a girl from Detroit. I’m not... this...” The vibrator buzzed away. It felt really good.

“We’re not. We’re.. we’re leaving.” Jerry said. He stood up, dick waggling in front of him. “She’s leaving.”

“Oh, baby,” Miranda said, sympathetic, looking at Nami. “The muscle girl, I think she’s got something. But this one? She’s all done. Look, her tits are starting to leak. She’s lactating.”

The mayor reached out and squeezed Nami’s tits. Nami opened her mouth to say—what? stop?—but the sensation of swelling and welling stopped her.

Hannah—recovering and standing back up—and Jerry and Miranda watched as Nami’s paps squeezed forth two squirts of dairy-scented white milk.

“No—no,” Nami said, stammering. This wasn’t her. She wasn’t some smiling, pliable milk sop, cleaning dishes until her fourth kid got hungry. She was more than a factory for kids, a stress ball for the husband. Right? But then why was she leaking cream on the floor?

Jerry and Hannah both looked bothered, although Hannah’s hand was between her legs, stroking away.

“It’s okay, darling,” Miranda said, patting her on the head. “Not everyone is meant to be a cool rebel! It’s perfectly normal for some girls to just sit around and breed! It is nothing to be ashamed of! And you have wonderful tits. Some of the best. That’s the MAYOR telling you how nice your boobs are!”

It was hopeless, and true. The fantasies were already beating away at her: Nami in a kitchen with white and black tile, overwhelmingly pregnant and mixing Jerry a gin and tonic.. Waiting for him in their king-sized bed, freshly shaven, tummy touching the bedspread, ass pointed at the door he’d have to come through. She was dripping even more, two twin streams of breast milk, mixing in with her lube around the buzz of the vibrator.

“We’re gonna—” Jerry stood next to her, but kept his arm apart. She was infected, after all. One nuzzle and he’d be stuck in town. “We figured out the coffee trick. We’re not gonna...”

He stopped, winced, and rubbed at his forehead.

“It’s tough on you boys too, isn’t it?” Miranda said. “It’s okay. Here’s the plan. Ditch your cow friend. Hopeless case. She’d have you sucking tit milk in a heartbeat, then you’re never getting out. Fuck Ms. Volleyball over here, that’ll clear your head. Then get in the car, drive about five, maybe ten miles.”

She led him over to Hannah. The redhead leaned back in her chair and cantilevered her legs out, like she’d done it ten thousand times. Miranda stroked Jerry’s cock with long, comforting rubs and tugs. His head lolled back.

“Then stop, and fuck, and maybe fuck again. Then the car stops working, and you start to walk back, getting blowjobs all the way. Now you’re back in town and stop for burgers and milkshakes. And there! You’ve had a fun little escape day! I’ve done it dozens of times. Yeah. Lets eaaaase you in here.”

She pushed forwards. Jerry slid right into Hannah’s pussy.

Straightaway, without missing a beat, she wrapped her legs around him, and pulled him close, and all of Nami’s new dreams, new hopes, fell apart in Jerry’s first thrust.

“Boss? I’m back...” Nami slid the buzzer back on. It immediately started to vibrate, welcoming her to work. Nami adjusted it as high as it would go, wiped her eyes, and found a notepad. The scent of burgers and fries slid in all around her.

It was getting dark.

It was time to get back to work.

But it didn’t seem like anyone really needed her. All her tables were very distracted. Rhonda and her girlfriend were right next to each other, giggling and dizzy, and urging each other to try different milkshakes. Their entire table was covered with them—multiples of each flavor. “Try—umm—try—umm—“ Rhonda peered at the label, trying to decipher it.

“Bubblegum,” Nami said. A girl was HELPFUL.

“Oooooh bubblegum!” the girlfriend said. She’d lost her shirt at some point. She still wore her bra, but it was sticky-sweet with ice cream in many different colors, and barely contained her wobbly tits. Rhonda stuck her finger down there, just to see what flavor she’d come out with. “Chocolate!” she reported, pleased.

The family did order more fries. But they were all looking at the daughter. She’d lost her frown at some point, and looked just exhausted, eating more fries as they were urged on her. Her brother, especially, kept feeding them to her one by one, smiling and nodding as she ate and ate. Her eyes drooped. But her mouth worked fine.

The couple duo was gone entirely, but they had left behind a magnificent tip. Nami figured the other new couple arrival was gone as well—the man at the table was burly, didn’t wear glasses, and didn’t notice her at all. But the girlfriend’s sweater was still in the booth. Nami peeked underneath, where the girl was getting dessert, from his cock. She was rubbing her boobs while she sucked.

No one needed her at all. So Nami just stood in the middle of the restaurant.

“Nami! Oh, you’re back and you’re—you’re upset. Everything okay? Hey, how many fingers am I holding up?” Noah stopped mid-stride and held one finger up. “What language am I speaking to you? And where’s Hannah?”

Nami burst into tears.

“Whoa! Wow, a girl crying, been a long time. Okay.. come with me... over here... and sit down. Tell Mr. Noah how your transformation into a breed slut is going, okay?”

“Oh, Mr. Range, sir,” Nami sniffled. “I know I’m supposed to be a good girl but I want to be a good girl with HIM and... and...”

“Hey!” Noah squeezed her boobs to calm her. It did the job, although more milk leaked out of her still-growing tits. “Hey hey hey. This is about a boy?”

Nami nodded, sniffling. “And also about becoming a big boobed horny COW, but mostly the boy,” she said. She leaked tears all over his polo.

“Alright...alright.” Noah said. He put two beefy biceps out, and popped them for emphasis. “I think this one is ultimately on me. Now, I haven’t done this is in ages but... Pastor Flynn said we gotta work on our empathy. So, lets hug.”

He put his arms around her. It did help. Nami squirmed and had a good little cry and soaked his OWNER/OPERATOR Noah’s Range t-shirt.

“Listen,” he said. “There’s a lot of boys to be a good little girl for. Tons of them. Lots of fish in the pasture.. You take the rest of the night off, okay, Nami? Go sleep it off. You’ll feel better tomorrow. A LOT better. You might not even remember his name. Actually... I’ll give you some more coffee so you can remember his name.”

“It’s just hard!” Nami said, in his arms. He smelled, very comfortingly, like barbeque. “He was fucking her! Just—fucking her!”

“Don’t give up on him!” Noah said. He stood her up and patted her butt. “He’ll come around. Everyone fucks everyone eventually. And.. okay. These are insanely impressive tits. Why don’t we give those boobs a nice drain before you go, okay?”

He led her into a new area, one she’d never been into, back past the grills with their rows of manly men wielding griddles and beef. Past the milkshake machines and their spotless stainless steel.. Into a room with a small trough on each side, at a little above waist level. There was a chrome rod set above it. It was immediately clear what to do—a bunch of resident waitresses were already there, leaning forwards, big boobs getting emptied by tubes connected to the wall. Milk churned forth, spurting in big jets.

The girls moaned and panted.

“Here—right here, Nami,” Noah said. He settled her against the rod, kicked her legs a bit more apart, and then flipped up her shirt. “I’ll get you going.” Two hands started to pull at her teats. Nami slumped into it.

Her milk squirted into the trough.

“You’re a good girl, okay, Nami? Don’t give up on this guy. Don’t give up on yourself. Pastor Flynn wants everyone to believe in themselves. Okay, I gotta get back to work. Fun to hug a female again. Like old times.”

Nami picked up her own tits. They were fat and heavy, and hers. She wasn’t gonna be a rebel, or Mrs. Jerry. She squeezed one, then the other, until a real white stream got going.

She was going to be generic girl at the trough, just part of the milkshake team.

It felt good to milk herself. “Ooooooommmoooooooo,” she said, weak in the knees.