The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Everyone had returned to the ballroom, eventually. Even those attendees still butting up against some girl’s cervix had looked at their watches and realized the time. The legion of well-established bimbos and sluts that followed the convention squirmed anxiously, only partially satisfied, and unloaded their lust on each other.

A few holdouts had tried to leave and been unceremoniously himbo or bimboized. A quick and corporate erogenous overload. But very few. Damien had them.

They waited, quietly, for his return. And when he swept out onto the stage, he was greeted with vast waves of applause. And then, just as quickly, silence.

“I’ll bet you’re wondering how I finish it all off,” Damien said, pacing the floor. “I’ll bet that you all made wagers on that final coup de grace that turns the world from slightly slutty to downright bimbo-riffic. You’re thinking a big mind blast, or a TV special, or fluoridating the water.”

“You’re all wrong. It’s a pill. I started with pills, and I’m going to end with one.”

He held it up in his hand. A camera zoomed in, and the screen behind him read “NN-HANC-DD-2”.

“It’s everything you wanted it to be,” he told the crowd. “Tarts them up, makes them randy, bigger lips and tits and everything you could require. It’s the whole package.”

He smiled.

“And it’s a 100% effective cancer vaccine.”

The implications took slowly. But then they built, until the room was cheering, on and on, and didn’t show any sign of stopping.

Cousin Rebecca was turning out to be a huge disappointment. Brittany had corresponded with her for years, sharing book recommendations and political propaganda and maybe a few funny images with cats in them.

Brittany had been excited to move out of the deep country, where they farmed avocados and boredom, into a town with a mall. And Rebecca was going to be her ticket into an easy circle of friends.

Things hadn’t worked out that way, exactly.

“Are boys ALL that you want to talk about?” she asked, exasperated. The trio in Rebecca’s room gave her a puzzled look.

“…..Yes?” Anne said, frowning. The brunette was sprawled on the bed with her legs kicking in the air, two pink shoes dangling on the tip of pink-painted toes. Then there was the pink lipstick, the polka-dot bustier, and the matching underwear. “Boys are great.” She considered that statement. “Boys are REALLY great,” she concluded.

The foursome had watched an episode of The Mastersons, which had been about Jessica Masterson’s struggle to go an entire day without buying silly shoes or sexy skirts.

“Anyway,” Anne said. “so I’m at the store, and the clerk totally knows that I don’t have any money because, um, I was there the day before and spent it all. And I’m like, there must be something I can do, hint hint, look at my titties.”

Brittany rolled her eyes.

“And he says that he’s totally spent, he got sucked dry like ten minutes before!” Anne huffed, exasperated. “So now I owe him five blowjobs whenever HE wants, and he only wants them at like 6 in the morning when he gets up. It’s ridiculous!”

“Ummmm… that’s kind of hot though, isn’t it?” Rebecca said. She wasn’t very talkative. At first Brittany had just figured she was tired after long shifts at Pink!, but lately she had concluded that Rebecca was getting too stuffed with dicks to leave room for brains. Rebecca usually just wore her slutty little work tanktop and a rotating set of cutoff jean shorts with the buttons left undone. “I mean, he can have you anytime you want. Anytime. I think that’s.. umm.. hot.”

“Oh, like, you don’t know how that is with John,” Candice said, looking up from her laptop. She had bright neon pink lipstick and was drizzled with some kind of syrupy perfume. It filled every room the girl occupied. Candice lived in mini dresses. She apparently lived to flash her brightly colored underwear at passing boys. “How many times a day is he fucking you now?”

Rebecca counted on her fingers. “Seven,” she eventually reported.

“Don’t you guys have homework or something?” Brittany asked.

“Aw, school changed how it works. Girls don’t have homework any more,” Anne said. “It was just a waste of time.”

Brittany just shook her head. “No homework? I mean..”

A commercial flashed for Pink! Vaccine. It was a very compelling commercial. Brittany lost track of her train of thought entirely.

Then, when it was over, all four girls conscientiously took a little white pill out and swallowed it.

School was making Brittany increasingly jumpy. This was way different from what she had expected.

Back at the farm, sure, she had read about the hot new styles, on the internet. She had been a casual Dream Girl Kate player, although a fuzzy modem connection had kept her from getting the best dresses.

But seeing it all at once, all put together… it was overwhelming.

The campus was a playground of difference scents. Many of them were the Pink! infused perfumes Brittany had come to recognize, usually some sort of cheap candy infused with a fruit scent. Candice’s basic pink was popular, but girls waltzed around in apple or cherry or watermelon, trailing it like a fog.

And that wasn’t all. Brittany had realized, with a short shock, that she could squeeze her eyes shut and pick up that a boy was around just by sniffing the air. There was this telltale musk, this dark leather tang, that made her eyes spring open and look for the source.

The boys were like gods.

They trailed girls like heads of their own herds. Each boy had his own adoring, doe-eyed fawn with pendulous tits hanging out of something skimpy. They casually groped their own girl, hands never to far from some pert, loving rear.

“Thank you for meeting with me, sir,” she babbled, to the school’s assistant principal and part-time guidance counselor. “I really wanted to get a letter of recommendation for some state colleges…”

“College!” Mr. Demetrios said, raising a dark black eyebrow. He noticed for the first time the worried expression, the fact that she wore jeans. “I haven’t had a girl come in here for a college recommendation in months. I thought you had all given up and decided to be girlfriends.”

The door was closed, and it was a hot spring night. Mr. Demetrios had his own scent. Brittany could pick them out.

“Um, of course I’m going to college, sir,” she told him, nervously.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” he said, soothing. “Lots of girls are going into different fields. There’s housewife, there’s, uh, salesgirl. College is really hard, you know. Lots of different books to read.”

“Oh, of course! I love, um, reading!” Brittany said. She leaned forwards. He was smiling at her. It seemed really important.

“Okay, but it’ll be a shame to lose you just after you arrive,” he told her. Her heart thumped. What was WRONG with her, lately? Maybe it was all this sex-talk, but she had been increasingly randy since getting into town. And her stupid boobs were on the grow once more.

“Stand up,” he told her. “Let me see you breathe in and out,”

She complied, letting him gaze up and down the length of her jeans, the tug of her sweater. Why had she worn such a frumpy outfit for such an important interview? Brittany pushed her boobs out to do the best she could.

“And the back,” he ordered.

This seemed so wrong—plus, she was starting to get wet. But Brittany complied, letting his eyes wander over her ass.

“Okay, I don’t see any problems,” he told her, cheerfully. “You’ll get your recommendation. Thanks for coming in, Brittany.”

The dirty blonde trotted out, elated. But she remembered to take her vaccine, just like a good little girl would.

“They’re taking away our right to VOTE!” Brittany exclaimed. She had been helping Rebecca with the housework. It was soothing, calming stuff, exactly what she needed.

The vaccine was giving everyone what was described as a “mild, secondary case of Boob Flu,” as part of the toxin-eliminating process.

Brittany had spent the past four days sneezing in bed. At about day three she had gotten up, sneezed, and all the hair beneath her neck had simply sloughed off. Pantyhose sales had fallen apart, and sales of razors had stopped entirely.

That hadn’t been all, either. Of course there was the additional boob growth, as if all the tit-obsessed girls in this town needed to pack another inch to their bustlines. Even the girls who had somehow escaped a top-heavy look were packing big boobs in their bras.

No, the worst part was the way “sexual sensitivity” had increased. Her clitty was puffy and pink like a gumball. It stuck out from her now-easily-visible slit.

“Do you really want to vote?” Rebecca asked, wielding a broom. “I mean, what would you vote for?”

“Ummm,” Brittany tried to answer that one. It wasn’t easy to think of good ideas. They kept revolving around her body. “Because… it’s important. And if we can’t vote, only the men will vote. And they’ll vote for guy stuff! Like cars!”

She smelled him before she heard him. “Is that so bad?” John said, putting his arm around her waist. Drawing her close in.

“Oh… hey John,” she said, weakly. He had been spending more time at the gym. There wasn’t much nerd left in him. Or if there was, it was somewhere behind those muscles.

“Doing okay, Britt?” he said. He rubbed one finger down the curve of her butt. “You’re looking curvier then usual. You go through Boob Flu again?”

“Y-yeah.”

“So did I,” Rebecca said, pointedly. “My lips are all soft and puffy and cushy.”

But John was watching her. “Wow, are you soft,” he told her, rubbing her legs beneath her skirt. Brittany had taken to borrowing Rebeccas. They were too cute. “It’s like you’re made out of rubber or something. Hot.”

“John, do you want to see my pussy?” Rebecca asked, pouting. “It’s extra pink. EXTRA.”

“Maybe soon,” John told her. He casually reached around Brittany’s skirt, dipped two fingers into her glistening honeypot. He fed her her own juices. Brittany sucked hard on his fingers.

“Okay, Becky, lets ride,” he said, and walked out.

Brittany nearly collapsed on her broom. “I’ve got to get out of here,” she thought, dully.

Brittany’s titties were bigger then ever, and her hair was growing like a weed. It was silky soft, and shampoo seemed to be a waste of time. With her newly flawless skin she was starting to look like… like all the girls, really. The ones walking down the street, everyone decked out in skirts excepting a few holdouts in jean shorts with the cuffs turned up. The ones on magazine covers with their tops off, on Time and Newsweek and The Economist. The weather girl with her half-lidded eyes and 4th grade vocabulary.

“I’ll totally be a good babysitter,” Brittany promised the Stocks. “I’m.. umm.. I used to know CPR, I probably can still do it if I need to.”

“Eh, whatever works,” Mr. Stock said. He tugged at his tie. His collar was too tight. “The kid is in the second bedroom down the hallway. Help yourself to the TV, to the kitchen, whatever. We’re easy.”

“Ready to go, baby?” Mrs. Stock said. Both Mr. Stock and Brittany’s eyes widened. She was over the top even by the loose standards of a sluttier world. She wasn’t even wearing a dress. She wore patches of fabric that could be easily removed. Her nipples were already edging above some pink nylon.

“Okay, we’re out of here. We’ll be back around… midnight. Or one. Just come upstairs if there’s an emergency.”

“Ummm.. upstairs?” Brittany asked, twirling a lock of hair.

“Oh! Yeah, of course upstairs, honey,” Mrs. Stock cooed. She grabbed Mr. Stock’s arm.

“We wanted to have a little intimacy without worrying about the kid,” Mr. Stock said, unapologetically. “We might get a little loud. Hopefully it won’t wake the baby.”

Mrs. Stock was already grinding up against her husband as they strolled upstairs.

Brittany checked on the kid—sound asleep—and had just sat down in the living room, legs primly crossed, when the screams started, punctuated by Mr. Stock’s thick grunts. Mrs. Stock was an incoherent moaner, then a transcendent yeller, without anything like actual words getting in the way.

The audio porno was hot. Brittany tried to drown it out with TV, but channel after channel was nothing but pink, brown, and tan skin in different states of arousal. Even the golf channel calmly featured a lanky blonde announcer with her legs open. Her panties were green and white.

Brittany took her vaccine pill. She only had twenty left. That would barely get her through tomorrow, even if she sucked each one as long as she could.

Then her hands wandered between her thighs, and she whimpered in counter time to Mrs. Stout’s groans.

A few days later and Brittany found herself on Rebecca’s bed, letting her cousin gently lick between her thighs.

It was like she couldn’t say no to anyone—no matter how trivial it was. At the store she made sure boys could look down her shirt, she tugged up her pantyhose, she wore Rebecca’s big heels and tumbled around in them like the oversexed teenager she was.

On her way home she had let a couple of teenage boys feel her tits. They had pulled up besides her in their Dad’s car, and they had asked politely. Well, not politely. But they had asked. She had gotten in the car and mewed to herself while they casually used her body to break up the monotony if commuting.

She popped another vaccine pill. She was sucking on them pretty much constantly. Everyone was. They were delicious, AND they prevented harmful cancer rays, or something like that.

“Mm, you taste different from Candice and Anne,” Rebecca told her, nuzzling her slit. “Candice is really sweet, she’s like licking a candy cane. Anne is like a big green apple, plus she giggles too much. But you..” she slurped away. “You’re cherry.”

“Thanks,” Brittany squeaked. She tried not to buck her hips in Rebecca’s face. But she didn’t seem to mind. The girl’s face was dripping with Brittany’s juice.

“Rebecca… what’s.. what’s going on?” she said, gasping for breath.

“Oh,” Rebecca said, coming up for air. “It’s a big conspiracy or something. It makes girls sexy and dumb. You know. I got tons of proof of it on the computer.”

She went back to Brittany’s red-hot clit.

“Why.. why didn’t you do anything about it?”

Rebecca just smiled and licked even harder. And Brittany was too overstimulated to do anything but kick and scream.

It was all there, on the computer. And on the internet. Enough people had pulled it together to prepare a damning report on mind control, body manipulation, a worldwide bimboizing game that was already far along.

Brittany sat at Rebecca’s computer for hours, examining the clear, crisply written documentation from the overendowed girl that spent hours each day keeping John’s dick moist.

At long last she stumbled away from the monitor, just in time for John to enter the bedroom.

Brittany rushed at him. She beat uselessly at his chest. It was a waste of time. She couldn’t hit a guy. And she was weak, all her muscles devoted to keeping her titties from producing any sag. Eventually she just collapsed against his chest and patted his chiseled abs.

“Come on,” he told her, patiently, “the big national address is tonight.”

He guided her by the ass. It’s how most girls liked to be walked. Holding hands was so… 9 months ago.

Everyone was already sitting around the TV. Candice was there, her eyes thick with mascara, and reapplying another set of perfume. Anne had monopolized the couch, and was absent-mindedly massaging the shoulders of a couple of guys Brittany didn’t recognize. And Rebecca sat in a chair, her legs open, waiting.

A dark-haired man appeared on their television screen. He wasn’t that tall. But he was overwhelmingly, shockingly attractive, and Brittany swooned right back into John’s waiting arms. He smiled at the camera, and Brittany’s hands darted for her pussy, waiting for what he had to say.