The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Second date, and they were both much more fuckable.

“You’re looking, uh…” Austin was lost for words. It was hard to say if he was struggling with the right compliment, or just brain-fucked and stud-ified. “Great. You look really great. Tonight.”

Britt nearly heaved a big wet sigh. It was sweet, she had to concede, Austin’s dogged insistence on ignoring the obvious. Yes, true, she looked fine. She had tits three times the size of their last date, a swollen and gravity-defying ass, even her eyes had longer lashes. When she batted them the wind moved.

“You can just say it, Austin,” she said. Britt tried for that old monotone, that old ironic and literal distance from an online date. “I’m just a big bimbo now.” But her voice wasn’t cooperating, not that any of her was. “Big. Butt. Bimbo. Slut.” It came out with a squeak. Some of her friends had gotten phone sex rasps, like they had smoked the perfect number of cigarettes. Britt sounded like a cheerleader struggling in Calculus.

“Aw, hell,” Austin said, encouraging. He reached across the table and took her hand in his. What he probably intended as a gentle squeeze nearly broke her wrist. He had put on a huge amount of muscle all over—even his hands were heavy and strong. “It’s not like that. You still look, you know, like you. I recognized you when you walked in once you said your name really loudly. And you look good! Really… fuckable.”

It slipped out, and they were both embarrassed.

But hell, it was true. Britt had looked at herself in the mirror before she left and conceded, to herself, that she was 99.999% likely to fuck this guy tonight. That she was dripping and gooshy before driving over, that her pussy was spasming and wet even with his pretty painful squeeze. The evening was going to end with them fucking for hours, that was a definite fact, and there was no chance her ass wasn’t getting plumbed deep. She’d definitely learn what his cum tasted like. For sure.

It was the Date part, before then, that was a mystery. How the hell did you date when Britt had to claw her nails into the table to keep them from slipping under her skirt? What in the hell was an acceptable social interaction, a relationship?

“Maybe we should’ve… you know. Fucked first,” Britt said, deciding to be bold. “Get it out of the way.”

“Out of the way?” Two bushier brows met together. Fuck, that was the wrong words.

“You know, this… I mean, I am gonna fuck you, alright?” Britt said. Old Britt would not have verbally flailed about. Old Britt wasn’t staining a wooden chair with pussy juice. “And it’s like—there’s a—ohmygod, words are so hard now!”

They looked at each other, horny.

“Tension,” Austin said, eventually. “That’s it. Yeah. Sexual tension. And yeah, true. I can definitely…” he waved his big hand in front of his face, releasing her hand. “Feel it. It’s thick as HECK.”

“Yeah! So we could’ve, I dunno, maybe…” Britt slurped. “Maybe like, I suck you off once or twice and then we’re all relaxed for the date, right?” She licked her lips. Did it make SENSE to sit and talk? She could be sucking dick, albeit in a restaurant slash pub.

“But then you’re all horny. I’d gotta—I’d have to fuck you,” Austin pointed out. He wore a dark blue shirt—the same as the first date, Britt vaguely remembered. Then it had been buttoned, sleeves rolled up, pretty standard. Now it was wholly loose and partially covered a t-shirt nearly bursting with chest. Black chest hair mushroomed out the top. Britt yearned to run a hand through it. “I’d have to…” he was starting to breath hard. “Shit, I’d have to fuck the hell out of you. I’ve have to pound you completely senseless. Just bang you stupid. And then that’d be it, that’d be the date.”

He sat up, disconsolate. Happily, the waitress, just then, put down drinks—a huge pitcher of beer for Austin, an I-don’t-care-anymore heavily-loaded mixed one for Britt. They gulped them down, grateful, in the vain hope that a depressant would make them a little less likely to tear each other’s clothes off and rut on the table.

“But yeah, you do look really good,” Austin said.

There was a time not long ago that a male employee swatting her ass would mean a brief, shocked look from Julie, followed by a swift and brutal firing. But times had changed. Now, whenever Aaron casually slapped her butt, she had to stop what she was doing and lean against a wall or a table as she had a small but extremely pleasurable orgasm.

She had told him to stop. Multiple times. Inevitably it came out as a nasally, whiny, false “Aaaaarrronnnnn, stopppppp,” and just produced a grin somewhere beneath his mammoth beard. It was totally exasperating.

And the underlying truth was, she didn’t really want him to stop. Her ass was a big bundle of nerve endings thinly encased in a pair of too-short khaki shorts. Aaron’s playful little slaps was a shot of dopamine right to her brain. It felt amazing.

“Aaron, I’m holding drinks,” she said, trying to warn him off. A big beer for the guy, a huge quart of vodka and other things for the girl. “I’m gonna drop them if you—if you swat me. Don’t do it. Don’t!”

“So put the drinks down first,” Aaron said. Ordered. Amazing and demeaning. This was her place. Her establishment. Norm’s. She owned and operated it. She employed him—he was an ambitionless early-20s guy who apparently played the drums. Julie was an accomplished entrepreneur. She found herself putting down the tray and bending over slightly to give him more surface area to smack.

Whap. Julie moaned as low as she could as the orgasm shook her. Hopefully the patrons wouldn’t notice that their server was shaking with an O radiating from her red and well-worn ass. Aaron’s hand returned to her butt, stroking it, marveling at it.

“Aaron, that’s enough,” she said, trying to steady herself. “Come on. You’re a—a bartender. Not a—a butt-tender.”

He chuckled at that, and Julie cursed herself. But the truth was, he even smelled like obeying. Her head was a big clumped-up mess of libido, pleasure centers, scent receptors, and if there was any room left for thinking smart thoughts it wasn’t clear where. She was such a mess, and he was such a man.

“You’re fired,” she said, again. This was the dozenth time she’d fired him. It just wasn’t taking.

“Julie, come on, you need me,” he said, consoling. “Look, tell me what goes in to a gin and tonic and I’ll quit.”

“You’re fired. You don’t need to quit,”

“Gin and tonic,” he said. He had tattoos on both brawny arms. He smelled like whiskey and mahogany, and wore jeans that outlined his cock. It shot down a pant leg.

“Gin… and… uh…” Julie tried. She KNEW this. It wasn’t clear exactly what the virus had done to her smarts, but it wasn’t looking good. She was just so—so distracted. Like—behind her the girl date, who had bright blonde hair, kept licking her lips and drooling onto her own tits. It was inexplicably hot. “Uhhhhh….”

“Tonic,” Aaron concluded. “Gin and tonic.”

She knew that! She truly did. “You’re still fired,” she said.

Of course he escalated. He just reached out and grabbed one of her tits. True, they were on display, and they looked fantastic. She had double-wrapped them in tanktops as a makeshift form of support, and her nipples kept slipping out. He wasn’t particularly gentle, just grabbed and mauled. Another red-hot orgasm shook her. This time her moan made the other patrons look up.

“C’mon, Julie,” he coaxed. “We’re partners, now. I’ll make the drinks and you take them out there and I’ll help you get off.”

To be fair, he HAD showed up for work, unlike 90% of the rest of the staff. The wait staff and the kitchen staff and everyone else were probably still at home having tons of great sex. Getting pumped full of hot cum while they watched TV. But no, Julie had decided that normalcy would return to Norm’s. She had stuffed her new body in whatever sorta fit and sashayed her thick butt over. Even hot dumb sluts needed to earn a living. And Aaron had showed up right on time, except with a much, much larger penis.

And an attitude.

The four girls waiting for whiskeys watched her get felt up by the waitstaff. Julie had both hands on the bar, chest thrust out, letting this man grope her. It felt even better than her butt.

“We’ve got... “ she panted. “Customers. They need booze.”

Aaron pulled his hands away. “Four whiskeys, coming up,” he said. Julie tried to control herself while he poured. Her body wanted so much more. Maybe they could negotiate. Like, he had to agree to lick her pussy three times a day, and she’d agree to suck his cock whenever he wanted. No—that was just bad negotiating. No more than ten blowjobs a day.

He handed her the tray. “All set.” Julie picked it up, turned around—and waited. And waited.

No slap on the ass.

She squeezed her pussy, sneaked a look back. Aaron had his arms folded. “Yes?” he said.

“No... ?” she said.

“I mean, you said no,” he told her.

Her ass wanted it, needed it, expected it. Someone had to slap her rear.

“One last slap,” she told him.

“One last slap, what?”

She took a hard breath. Negoti—whatever the word was. “Please.”

It was barely a tap, and it wasn’t enough, but it sent her out onto the floor, at least. Labor negotiations were so difficult when you had a needy pussy.

“To the Club!” Tessi said, brightly. She knocked back the glass.

“To us hot and horny housewives,” Ilana said. Katie and Bethany giggled. Tessi didn’t. They all knocked back the drinks.

Ilana had no idea what she was doing there. She had pried herself from the eager dick of her husband, from his relentless and highly satisfying plugging of her, and from her own fervent exploration of his cock, to attend a book club meeting she wasn’t even into. Had not really been into even before all the ladies had gone down with a fever and risen up cock-thirsty. With two girls she was kinda friends with and one she was certainly not.

And yes, she sort of remembered the motivation. That ooky feeling that she COULDN’T do it, couldn’t read books, couldn’t get outside and put a door between her and cock. That gut fear that she was kind of an appliance. That her knees were getting calluses. That she had drunk so much husband cum she sloshed. It had propelled her out with a stern warning to her husband to come get her promptly at 7. Not a minute later. She could spend an hour penis-free. She had to do it for herself.

On the other hand Tessi was kind of a shit.

She was a glossy blonde, her hair running in waves that perfectly framed her face. Not for her the general heavy, fertility goddess look of mounds of tits and ass. She was even still in her old clothes, was wearing an old cardigan, for crying out loud. Ilana couldn’t imagine putting wool over her boobs. Anything other than the softest cotton made her too horny to talk. Tessi wore makeup—mascara, lipstick, concealer—and a necklace. All of Ilana’s necklaces lately were of the drippy pearly kind.

“So I thought we’d go around the table and talk about what we got out of the book,” Tessi said. She slammed her copy of Winter’s Tale down on the table. There were fucking bookmarks in it. Had she really spent part of a worldwide bimbocalypse reading a weighty tome loaded with symbolism? It was too much to bear.

Ilana looked sidelong at her fellow club members for moral support. Katie was clearly finding it all heavy going. She was nearly vibrating in her chair, and wore one of her husband’s t-shirts that was still damp with—some fluids or another. Shorts that were far too tight. Bethany was previously a quite prim and nondescript girl in dark glasses who was now overflowing with tits larger than any others in the room. She had her arms crossed underneath them and the effect was like putting up shelving.

“You first,” Ilana said, smiling broadly. It was going to have to be her, pushing back against the Tessi-ocracy. She had glanced at the back of the book and had watched the movie while fucking hubbie, doing it doggie as usual. She was most-prepared.

“Hmm…” Tessi said, deep in thought. The other three gaped at her. Thinking! Had she gotten some sort of mild form of the virus? “I guess I’d say all the... symbols.”

Fucking smarty-pants ass show off bitch! “Such as?” Ilana said. She tried to catch the eye of the waitress, who was rubbing her ass on a stone pillar for some sort of sexual release. No luck.

“Well…” Tessi temporized. “There’s a—there’s a horse. And he represents…. What did YOU think he represents, Ilana?”

Oh, god damn it. Ilana vaguely remembered what a metaphor was. Some sort of… rhyme. Like a thing was for a thing. Her english degree was still in there somewhere, right? Sloshing around up there, jumbled up by so many brain-breaking orgasms that she wasn’t quite sure what college it came from. “Men,” she said, struck by sudden insight. And because she was staring at the two men in the place. “It’s like a guy. You know. Strong and… fast.”

“And horsecocks! Like Jeremy’s cock!” Bethany exclaimed, eyes widening. Her husband. She hadn’t talked much but what she had said was mostly about Jeremy’s cock.

“There you go,” Ilana said. “Men are basically horses. Running around mounting other... “ she twirled her hand in the air, vaguely. “Fillies.”

Tessi pursed her lips. “What about the actual men in the book?” she said.

“Those are also metaphors for men,” Ilana said. They locked eyes. “Very direct. There you go.”

Tessi dropped her eyes first. Success. Ilana smiled.

“SO,” she said. “How is everything GOING, GIRLS?”

The date was going just okay. They kept trying to talk to each and it kept ending in a confused fuzz of murmured conversation, some nervous laughter.

It honestly felt weird and strange to have a—a CONVERSATION—with a boy. She kept having this sensation like it was all a farce. The first few forced minutes of a porno, before they just jumped on each other and got down to business. Every time he moved his hands, or shifted, she tensed, like they were about to tear off each other’s clothes and get down to the real business.

“So there I am in the bathroom,” she said, foggily trying to finish a train of thought. “Bathroom. Right. And I realize I’ve… uhhhh…”

It wasn’t helping at all that he was so fuckin’ sexy. She could feel him on her skin like a warm, light pressure. His proximity was doing crazy things to her body. Her legs kept swiveling open, orienting towards him, like a compass. Britt was drooling incessantly, had to keep slurping to stop from pooling on the table. And every single flirt gesture she had ever learned kept asserting itself. She was tossing her hair, twirling it, licking her lips, adjusting her shirt strap, tilting her head, making sure her eyes were wide and dewy. It was tiring.

“Bathroom,” he said, helpfully.

“Bathroom!” Britt said, grateful. “I realize I’ve been in there for like, an entire day. Whole day! Like it was dark and then it was, uh…”

“Dark again,” Austin said, encouraging.

He was, in a way, her opposite. It was super obvious how much he wanted to fuck her. Just wanted to plant her on the table and rip her clothes off. Literally rip, reduce them to useless rags, so she could never put them over her pussy ever again. Go from helpful boy to raging, horny man. Austin held his hands together, kept biting his lip, his face redder than it should be. He kept breathing hard and it kept reaching her, blowing in her face, up her nose, and signaling: male.

“Yeah! And I’m like, I’ve been in this bathroom ALL DAY doing nothing but frigging myself with the shower going and it’s been cold for like ten hours and I don’t even.. Uh…”

They stared at each other.

“This is kinda hard,” Britt whispered.

“No, you’re doing great!” Austin said. “You’re telling stories and stuff! This is like, normal date stuff.”

“Yeah, but… WHY?” Britt said.

It was a good question. Why the hell bother? Did they need to have interests in common? Did they even have interests beyond dick in slit? Did they MATTER? Who gave a shit if they both used to go on long hikes in the mountains and enjoyed cooking? Britt wasn’t gonna haul her big fat butt up a hill now unless it was a literal mountain of cocks.

“I mean… I’m not just a penis, right?”

“Are you SURE?” Britt said.

Austin looked taken aback. “Look,” he said, eventually. “I think all the fucking will feel better if you’re more than just a cooze to me.”

It was the sweetest possible thing he could’ve said, and Britt instantly fell headlong in love. A real and enduring chemical dependency on Austin. Maybe it would’ve happened anyway, just from breathing in Austin hormones and fixating on Austin face, but now it was for certain. Whatever he told her to do, she was going to do it. There were gallons of Austin cum in her future. She was his hole.

“Excuse me,” she said, mildly tearful. Now she was really horny.

She had to powder her pussy.

Julie had the idea and then acted on it immediately. That’s just how it had to be. Heck, if she tried to write down a thought, it usually turned into doodles of dicks halfway through.

“You girls want a cumshot?” she said, to the foursome fidgeting with big, heavy books. They formed a spectrum, with the brightly smiling one on the right, all the way over to the one with the dour line on her face on the left.

They all turned to her. That got their attention.

“Sorry?” the smiling one said, through teeth. “Cum? You said something about cum? What was that about cum?”

“Cumshot. Shot of tequila with cum in it. His cum,” Julie pointed over to her bartender. “It’s the special. Our you know, whatever with cum in it. It’s a dollar.”

They thought about this. Julie could see them pursing their lips to say no, and then thinking more seriously about it. She knew they’d say yes, even with their wedding rings around their necks, makeshift necklaces due to slightly pudgier fingers. Cum was cum. It was practically currency.

“Well that’d be nice!” the one on the left said. She had dark black hair—rare, now that so many girls had been blonded involuntarily. Even the asian girl second from the left, the one with the butt that overflowed on the chair, had what looked like infection-based highlights creating almond-colored hair.

“Ilana,” hissed Blonde. Julie wrote her name down, conscientiously, and noticed, annoyed, that she put a heart over the I, for no reason at all. “We’re MARRIED.”

“It’s just a drink, TESSI,” said Ilana.

“I haven’t…” Tessi said. Julie almost laughed. They all did, smiles creeping up on their faces. That was rich. Sure, Tessi, heart-dot-on-the-i, claim you hadn’t sucked off anyone besides your husband in two weeks of violent sexual transformation. Julie herself had gotten into the habit of bounding outside when the mailman showed up, stark naked, and quickly taking a load to the face. Heroic man, he wasn’t finishing his rounds until 10 p.m. or so, what with drinking fluids to stay hydrated.

Julie wrote down the order and winked indiscriminately.

“Four cumshots,” she told Aaron.

He gave her a look, recognizing this for some sort of bimbo-y gambit, but clearly interested in cumming. In a way this was a game to see which of them could go the longest without asking to jizz. Whoever made it an hour and a half was going to win.

“Cumshots,” he deadpanned.

“Tequila and jizz,” she said, and then arched a long eyebrow at him. “Do we have enough tequila?”

He laughed, shook his head. His hair was a big clump of unwashed shaggy strands. It was unfair, Julie thought, that boys got more attractive now the less they showered. Standards were already low. “Okay, okay. So, I guess I should go to the kitchen? Beat off?”

“Nonsense,” she scolded. “This is an artisan—an.. Uh… what’s the word? Hand—something?”

Aaron shrugged. “It means the customers get to watch,” she said.

“Handjob?”

“I mean, I guess,” Julie said. The idea had worked beyond her expectations, and her hands were shaking. Aaron just wore crappy jeans. No underpants. She shucked it all down over his thighs. They were far too tight for him, she could see. The cock that emerged was basically what had floated through all her thoughts and dreams since they had started work—uncircumcised, long, rigid, veiny. Julie arranged four shot glasses on a tray beneath him and jacked just a few times.

A squirt of wet, creamy cum came out. Aaron growled, which made her squeeze her thighs together. It was an act of pure willpower not to just start sucking—her face was right there. But she was reasonably sure that sucking dick on the restaurant floor was still out of bounds, socially speaking. And besides, that wasn’t the plan.

“Okay, I have plenty,” she said, and released her grip. Her body screamed at her.

“Ex-excuse me?” Aaron choked out.

“Aaron, they’re full,” she pointed out. “They’re just shot glasses. They didn’t want boy beer.” Cum-chardonnay. Oh god, that was an even better idea.

Aaron looked at her, face red. She realized, too late, that boys were getting a lot angrier. They were just messes of hormones, and theirs were occasionally violent. And she had just blue-balled him. But he took a long, deep breath.

“Fair,” he said, with gritted teeth. “But you need to clean up,”

Clean up? Oh. Her hands were… overflowing with… gooey, sticky, yummy cum.

“I’ll just…” Wash them off? Unthinkable. Julie didn’t see any other way. She licked at each of her fingers. Aaron tasted warm, and with a citrus-y thing that was so perfectly bartender that it made her shudder. There was the standard sparkle of endorphins in her head, the quiet understanding that this was not good for brain cells.

God, she needed to cum.

They looked at each other, deeply turned on.

“I’ll just bring these out, then,” she said.

“What about the tequila?” Aaron said.

“The what?” She had to get away before she just started nuzzling him. Stupid sexy men. Julie plonked the cups on the table. All four customers stared at the pearly droplets inside the glass.

“What about the—oh, christ, whatever,” the foursome downed the shots in one go, even Blondie. All four sat back hard in their chairs and took long, slow breaths.

“Excuse me,” if Julie didn’t get to the bathroom and jam her hand down her pants, she was going to scream.

Ilana’s vision felt a bit fuzzy from the unexpected but welcome cum in her—heck, all of her felt fuzzy—but she knew an opportunity when she saw it. She mouthed an “excuse me” to the other girls, wiped her cummy lips, and headed to the restroom.

Britt got inside and started to rub herself.

Back in the before-times, Anno Bimbo, masturbation took extreme effort and was truly challenging. She had some luck with a pillow between her legs. But the stuff in porn, wildly thrumming on her clit, fist spasming, just made her feel tense. And it wasn’t hot. Vibrators either overstimulated or understimulated. Plus it was hard to relax with the persistent threat of UTIs.

Now she just stuffed her fingers wherever. It didn’t really matter where they went, they didn’t even really need to go in her pussy. She was basically a clit all over. But it was efficient and intensely pleasurable to push five fingers up her slit while pushing down on her pelvis. It was rough and should’ve hurt—used to hurt—but instead felt like five streaks of red hot heat that got her off in no time.

That was all she intended—pushing down her too-tight clothes and taking all of five seconds to get herself off. Squirt a little on the ladies’ room floor. Then back at it, the soup of hormones in her head briefly relieved.

Except a second girl came in right after her.

Julie was proud of the state of her ladies’ rooms, and made a point of keeping them nice. She had been in too many brew pubs with stinking girl bathrooms with pee on the floor, some that had urinals, for some reason. Hers had a huge mirror, porcelain sinks, two of them, a very nice toilet. Tile floors, freshly mopped. Good thing, because she intended to fuck on it.

The two girls looked at each other. Britt was deeply involved in pushing her fingers inside herself and—Julie knew this from experience—would just treat her like a vibrator. The customer had hopped up on to the sink, had her shorts around her ankles, and had a piece of overstretched underwear straining between her widespread legs.

Julie knelt down and started to lick. She had to push up on her knees, very slightly, but for whatever reason the sink was at a pretty good height for pussy-licking.

Britt was barely aware enough to remove her fingers. But then she opened her eyes, realized her waitress was licking her off, and pushed Julie’s face right into her cunt.

Julie licked with abandon. She was hot enough that just licking felt good, plus the scent of extremely horny girl leaking a pleasantly sweet lubricant. Girls tasted sweeter in general—like mildly sugary water, with a strange but delicious aftertaste, like cloves. She dug her fingers down the front of her khakis. She could reasonably expect that Britt would lick back—that’s what was polite—but even without the reciprocation, this was a glorious sight to breathe and scent and taste. Britt’s big thighs were trying so hard not to crush her , with all the weak willpower of an orgasming slut, and it was so cute.

Around then the third girl joined in.

Ilana had never had the slightest interest in other girls. She had read—when she was doing the reading thing—that girls all had natural bi tendencies and blah blah blah. Academic cant. Not in her life had she felt the slightest desire for ladies. Straight as an arrow, that was just what she was.

But times had changed. Girls were, it turned out, delicious and wiggly and cheerful about reciprocating. They had tongues and fingers and were very familiar with girl anatomy. You were never a receptacle, to another girl. What wasn’t to like? Plus rubbing anything felt good, and rubbing hot, wet, horny other girls felt better.

Ilana rubbed on her waitresses’ big tits. They weren’t quite as big as hers. Hers were currently pressed up against the girl’s head—sandwiching her between pussy, thighs, and two big tits. Julie was reduced to a tongue that was licking super hard. Ilana took the opportunity to explore the girl’s boobs. Large, of course, with that odd pillowy softness that seemed like it should droop halfway to the belly button, and didn’t. No one really needed a bra. She unleashed Julie’s hand from her shorts and put her own fingers in, digging into the girl’s pussy.

Whatever marriage meant these days, there was just no way that this counted as cheating. They had to be able to fuck other girls, that was not even a point of discussion. It might even be Ilana’s marital duty to find and capture other girls—bring them home as fresh meat for her husband to fuck. They’d have to discuss that.

But at any rate, it wasn’t like she was a lesbian or anything. It wasn’t clear if there were lesbians these days. She was, Ilana thought, a little bit of a dog. It didn’t really matter who was petting her.

Britt exploded onto Julie’s face. After that her memory was—fractured. Understandably. Two girls, one of whom was maybe a waitress? Anyway, it was her turn to lick, so mostly she remembered pussy. She was down on the floor? The tile was cool, and there was hot slit on her mouth. Her hands were on titties. Her own? Her own were getting stroked, for sure. By herself? It was all a wet blur. Who made memories during orgasm? It was just pulsing pleasure, driving out everything else.

Julie’s mouth hurt, just a little, and it was startling. How much slit had she licked? She focused on the pain. She hadn’t really felt any in awhile, and it was novel. Mostly it was pleasure, sweet, tingly pleasure, and the dull ache from having her face jammed into a sopping wet slit was refreshingly old-school. Her tongue hurt, too, and she wiggled it around, experimentally. A bit of reality came back to her—she was half-naked on the floor, covered in stranger juice, and heaving with orgasms on her nice tile floor.

Ilyana was on the bottom of the pile but didn’t really mind. Above her were four tits, two slits, two clits, four hands, and as they weakly tried to get off her parts of them ground into her pussy or jammed into her nipples. It was a kind of inadvertent massage. She appreciated the calmness that came after a frenzy of fucking—when she was so chock-full of hormones and fun chemicals and sparkly neurotransmitters that she could think a little bit. First, she had to invite the date girl over for a threesome. Her body was an absolute playground. Second, she had to ask the waitress for another cumshot.

“Sorry we took awhile,” Ilyana said, flashing a cheerful smile at the group. “Long line for the bathroom.”

“Ilyana, we heard you screaming,” Tessi said, glaring at her. “And screaming and screaming. With the other two. And you all left as a group. And you have what is clearly pussy juice dribbling down your chin.”

The other two girls stared at it, envious. Ilyana wiped her chin and sniffed at it. It was funny how she could tell who was who. She was so animal-y, lately. “That girl,” she said, pointing at the date. “Hint of cranberry.”

“Alright, lets have that conversation,” Tessi said. She deliberately closed her book, which she had also deliberately left open. Bethany had her copy jammed between her thighs, clearly going through some things about reading and sex. Katie was fingering herself quietly and looking at her with undisguised jealousy. “Are we here to be women or are we just cows, now?”

“Now cows,” Katie said, breathily. She was obviously not all there, her fingers humping her slit. Ilyana felt guilty, momentarily, and held out the finger with the pussy juice on it. Katie unapologetically lapped it up.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Tessi said. “Look, I’m all for getting fucked raw at home, but I am just not into this whole fuck anyone-anywhere stuff! We need to have standards! Lapping up juice is just not—it’s just not book club!”

“We’re HORNY,” Bethany said, unexpectedly. But everyone was tired of Tessi’s shit. “It’s like… uhhh… it’s a medical condishh—” she slurped, mouth clearly missing that juice Katie had lapped up. “Condition. We got hungry pussies now!”

“People eat in public because they’re hungry, now they fuck in public because they’re horny,” Ilyana said, nice and logical. She sniffed. Yeah, that was the smell of Tessi, wafting across the table. What was the point of all this self-control? She was raging horny, her nipples betraying her. Her chair was probably soaked. “You just drank semen. From the bartender.”

They all went a little limp at the memory. “Bartender!” Bethany called out, across the table. “Four more cumshots!” She looked at the others. “Do you girls want one too?”

They quickly ordered fifteen cumshots. Tessi made a big show of only ordering three.

“Society is COLLAPSING,” Tessi said. Her hands weren’t helping her argument. She had started to stroke her tits, underneath her overstretched cardigan. “Yes, we’re horny, and we need to show a little self-control until SCIENTISTS FIX EVERYTHING.”

“Scientists are fucking as much as we are,” Ilyana said. “Probably more. They look so hot in those lab coats. Shit has changed, Tessi! Deal with it!”

They all looked at each other, chests heaving, frustrated and miserable. They were four horny girls wearing far too many clothes, using up too many brain cells, for arguments it was hard to care about. There were so many persons they could’ve been doing, instead of hashing out societal values post-virus. Holes to fill, fucks to fuck, bathing in a sheen of lazy cums. All four of them had drool issues now, their mouths gone too long without something in them. Tessi was the only one bothering to try to slurp back in.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Tessi said, triumphant. She pointed with nails painted pink. “That is not acceptable! Blowjobs, under the table! Not okay!”

All three other heads shot around at the realization that cocks were out. And it was true. There was a long, thick, wonderful dick, getting serviced underneath the table. The couple dating were really getting to know each other.

“Sorry I took so long!” Britt said.

“It’s… fine,” Austin said.

It was not fine. Britt could smell it. It was difficult, getting used to smelling emotion. Part of her rebelled against it—it was so animal, so weirdly mammal. Made her feel like a bitch in heat, like she was mating, copulating, breeding. But the fact was, if she breathed in and out near a male, she could tell with certainty how he was feeling, and how horny he was. And Austin was damn horny.

Not that she needed to smell it to tell. His face was red, lip quivering. Fists were clenched. He held himself with rigid self-control.

“Oh—oh!” Britt said. Her wet hand flew to her wet mouth. She had been horribly selfish. It had been hours—hours!—since her man had jizzed. Since his big heavy balls with their loads of spooge had gotten emptied out. His dick had to be backloaded with sperm, all because she had, of all things, gone off in the middle of a date and fucked two GIRLS.

They were in the middle of a restaurant-bar. Part of her felt like she needed to suggest going to the bathroom, or his car, or out back. But he smelled like a man who needed to be sucked, so badly. Sent little signals of need and want to her head that if he moved, even slightly, he would blow a sad blue-ball load in his pants. And what kind of date was that?

Britt looked around just slightly. She had never considered herself the type of girl who would give hummers in public. Or very many hummers at all. She put dicks in her mouth on very special occasions. But this was practically a medical emergency. And it was just staff plus four ladies, one of whom she had swapped slit juice with. This was going to be like emergency CPR on his cock.

She slid underneath the table. The wet stain on Austin’s pants distressed her.

“You don’t…” he managed to grunt, while she was pulling his cock free.

“Shhhh,” she urged. Her poor man, her poor man! He had spent all this time manufacturing load after wet load, for her, and some of it had already soaked into his pants instead of getting shot into her face.

His dick sprang free and hit the bottom of the table. It actually moved it.

Britt fell deeply in love with it. It was an impressive penis. Way too long to be practical, with huge veins that wrapped around it, and a bright red tip already slick with cum. All the boys had such dumb, wonderful dicks, now. They didn’t need to be that long, that hard, that thick. Britt was pretty sure she could get knocked up with a smoky glance. It still only took one sperm, as far as she knew. Nonetheless, Austin had a cock that could fill her to overflowing, screaming ecstatic with orgasms that should be illegal, that were probably bad for her. And enough gooey, wonderful, gooey cum to guzzle endlessly. He was just a fountain for her.

She put her lips around him, felt her face assume the dumb, slack, but intent expression of a post-virus girl with a mouthful of dick. She was 50% just a hole, 50% involved. It was basically his call—he could treat her mouth like a second pussy, thrust hard and touch her tonsils, or let Britt suck him dry, or they could find a medium. Whatever. Anything was fine, so long as she got the salty squizzle down her throat.

He tried to do hard, firm thrusts. Fair enough, after all that denial, that he’d want to fuck her mouth. But still seated, the physics were impossible. It was up to Britt. She caressed it with her mouth, licking the underside, encouraged by the herky-jerky squirts already coming out. It was easier than ever to tell how a blowjob was going. Just check the flow rate. This one was oozing nicely. It was a taste and a scent that Britt would never forget, etched into her brain, marked deeply in the highly reconfigured brain that was her new self. Austin’s girls knew what Austin tasted like, what Austin liked, how to suck and fuck Austin.

Part of the sluttening process was getting extremely fucked up by boy cum. The first time was always special. Britt was aware that she was getting marked, that there were exotic hormones doing things to her body, that she sort of belonged to Austin at a certain level. That it’d be harder than ever to say no to him, that if he started to finger her butt, for example, she’d just bend over. It was biologically important to figure out what clothes he liked, how he liked to fuck, if he liked to be woken up with a blowjob or woken up for a blowjob. She was only a little aware of this, feeling it mostly as a series of disorienting orgasms, weird strange ones that left her urgent for more jizz in her.

The other girls watched, mouth agape, as Britt became Austin’s Britt, in the middle of a restaurant, to the radio on the restaurant PA.

Aaron was washing glasses, quietly. Julie automatically checked the bulge in his pants. Large, but not throbbing and leaking.

“How’s the bathroom?” he said, neutrally. “You need me to clean it up?”

It was—it was spattered with girl juice, actually, fluids staining everything. There was some on the ceiling, when Julie had left. She took a look at herself—she had clearly been through an epic fuck session. She smelled like a bunch of girls. Not very professional.

“I’ll do it later,” Julie said. “I just gotta… wash my hands.”

“Why bother?” Aaron said.

It was a fair point. Yes, they had been jammed way up three different pussies, and several mouths, but did anyone actually care? She was more attractive, in a way—instead of smelling like attractive and horny girl she smelled like three of them. Come to Norm’s! You might get fucked by the owner in the bathroom! Exchange of bodily fluids was a bonus, not an instant health department violation. Getting cunt lubricant in a drink was good business.

Julie settled for briefly wiping her sticky hands on her sticky apron, and moving on with her life.

“Order came in for fifteen cum shots,” Aaron said, still rubbing a glass clean with one of the few white rags still available.

Julie gasped. She was too freshly fucked to even try to hide reactions. No wonder Aaron was stuck in neutral. He had just won the whole game.

“Fifteen?” she said, playing for time. How in the hell would she get 15 shots—god, the number was too high to count—out of his drippy dick without simply impaling herself on it? The idea of spitting was unthinkable.

“You—you can cum up my ass,” she tried, thinking furiously with a few dinky brain cells.

That was too far even for this gross world. Aaron wrinkled his nose. “Yuck,” he said. He rounded on her, loomed in front of her. Julie had to be honest with herself. He was large, male, imposing, and she had avoided a dick she really did want for too long. She was going to say yes to whatever he said.

“How about this,” he suggested, rubbing her pussy with his left hand. She melted into his fingers. “You fuck me, and if you can pull off, I’ll jizz into the cups, instead. If you don’t pull off, we’re co-owners.”

Another dang deal. Julie was tempted to just let him keep rubbing, let him fuck her, let him do whatever he wanted. Asserting dominance around a man was so exhausting, so endless, so pointless. She was ultimately a girl with a super needy pussy who was going to say yes for dick. She agreed to it because he wanted her to agree to it.

“Just don’t let the customers see,” she said.

He smiled, at ease. They both relaxed. The tension was over with. Julie had accepted the inevitable, and they were both about to fuck. It had been a difficult two hours or so until she had given up and let him do whatever he wanted, but now she had.

Aaron arranged Julie how he wanted, which was on her hands and knees behind the bar. Another fuck on tile, she thought. Around her were lemon slices and clean glasses and the wet scent of alcohol. He peeled down her panties very slowly, savoring the moment, and then gave her ass a light whack as punishment. She gritted her teeth, enjoying it far too much.

“Oh, man,” he said, sinking into her. Julie started squeezing immediately. As fun as the bathroom fuck had been, her pussy had been comparatively empty, and it was desperate for stimulation. All the inches buried into her helped with that. For a second they just stopped moving, Julie on hands and knees, Aaron buried up to the hilt just behind her, pubic hairs tickling her butt. He seemed too fascinated with it to thrust, playing with her rear, enjoying it. Fair enough—she had padded out entirely and was thick in the rear.

“Okay,” he said, definitively, and started to thrust. He liked it fast and hard, which was unusual, in her new experience. Most of the boys liked to pull out nearly all the way, enjoying the sight of their brand new penises sliding in and out, drenched with pussy. Aaron was trying to bottom her out, best she could tell, with quick strokes that jiggled her back and forth. She wondered, breathless, if this was so she couldn’t pull off even if she wanted to. She’d have to slide forward off nearly a foot of dick, bang her head into the little refrigerator under the bar. Not that she was about to.

They were settling in for a long fuck. Two or three hours of it, testing their own post-virus endurance, their own insane capacity to rub, their ability to let loose crazy amounts of sex fluids. By the end of it Julie would be covered in baby batter, just thick with Aaron. He would have cum in all of her various holes, bathed her face, squirts of Aaron would be here and there on the floor. It would end when one of them collapsed, body unable to process, ability to speak english at a record low. And then, gradually, they’d rehydrate, and come back to being people. Part of the way. It was a good sign that Julie could feel both of them getting ready to cum at the same time—a simultaneous burst of grunts was the most romantic thing she could currently think of.

Except just then all the customers started yelling.

“We need to stop this!” Tessi said, although she didn’t move. “We! Need! To Stop This!”

“Tessi, calm down,” Ilyana said. They were the only two having a conversation. Bethany and Katie were turned around entirely and were watching the show, fingers snaked down their respective shorts and skirt.

Ilyana kinda wanted to watch, too. The boyfriend had a heck of a dick, and it was thrust entirely into the mouth and probably halfway down the throat of the girl Ilyana had been so recently licking.

“Are you serious, Ilyana!?” Tessi said. She kept sitting there, chest heaving, legs primly closed. Her cheeks were a furious bright pink and her cardigan heaved with tits. “They’re getting sucked off in the middle of the restaurant! It’s disgusting!”

“They’re in love. It’s beautiful,” Ilyana said, firmly. Firm, that was a hell of a word, lately. The boy was starting to cum. You could see his balls tense and empty if you tilted your head to look under the table, which Ilyana and Bethany and Katie did. They were hairy and they were good.

“They’re… they’re….” Tessi was having a hard time saying words, and she was drooling nonstop, big gobs of spit on her sweater. It was all very tiring. Yes, getting a blowjob in the middle of a public establishment was fine now. And fingering yourself and getting tossed onto a table and fucked up the ass in a cleared space between the french fries and the beers. Duh.

And yes, there were a lot of Big Questions that raised that Ilyana frankly just did not have the cranial capacity or remaining attention span to deal with. Like, yes, sure, she’d probably get pregnant soon and the entire city could be the Dad. And it wasn’t clear who was gonna, like, farm stuff. These were important questions that could wait until after she dealt with Tessi being a really whiny bimbo.

True, Ilyana felt a small sense of regret as well at the time when they could sit around and laugh and drink and not have it end in a communal orgy. But that was over with, and now she needed dick.

A few thoughts occurred to her. It was kind of sad her husband wasn’t there, actually, because Ilyana was feeling like a genius. There was a special kind of clarity that only came from getting her pussy licked, she was discovering. A gentle, easy high. “Tessi, are you..?” But of course, it made sense of everything. Ilyana slid across the table to her pink-clad, overwrought book club member. She put a hand to her crotch. It was vibrating hard. “Ah-ha.”

Found out, Tessi gave her a guilty look. “What?” she said. “So what?”

“So that’s cheating!” Ilyana said, triumphant. Tessi was done resisting. Ilyana manhandled her, sliding her overstuffed pants off, admiring Tessi’s very nice and very wide thighs. The hussy had stuffed a bunch of paper towels in her underpants to hide that she was gushing uncontrollably. The smell of Tessi flooded the room. It was a shame that she had hid it all, because she smelled like wine and chocolate—sophisticated pussy. It all made sense with the weird new nose Ilyana had.

Ilyana reached in, without hesitation, and withdrew a ten inch black vibrating dildo. Tessi came hard as it was withdrawn, half-crying and half-screaming. Ilyana held it up, triumphant. Katie and Bethany chose that moment to cum, slamming their hands hard underneath their panties.

It was around then that a bunch of horny husbands flooded the restaurant, as well as Austin’s next date. It was 7 p.m.

“Bethany, I’ve been waiting in the car for an entire minute, and I am HORNY!” her husband bellowed. Her husband was a compact, shirtless man who didn’t wear any shoes. He picked his wife up, placed her onto the table, and pulled her skirt off. Right behind her was Katie’s husband, hairy overall, with a bald head that shone underneath the track lighting. He looked like a muscle-y penis. These days, it was a solid look. He didn’t look able to talk, his dick straining at light-blue jeans, teeth bared.

And behind them was a girl that looked a lot like Britt, except wearing glasses. She wore a college t-shirt stretched with tits, and a pair of dark blue compression shorts. “Hi… Austin,” she said, crestfallen, at the boy getting his cock sucked underneath the table.

“Oh,” Austin said. He had the grace to look a little embarrassed. “It’s… 7. I guess. I… I forgot how... time... works I guess.”

Britt managed to let go of her thirsty grip on Austin’s cock. She moaned, shattered. It was hard to withdraw—she felt strongly that she shouldn’t punish Austin’s dick for Austin’s thoughtless actions. It wasn’t the cock’s fault that its owner had scheduled two dates in a row, an hour apart. She should maybe continue servicing the penis and let the Austin above the table get yelled at. But no, she had to say something, and stupid worthless science had yet to figure out how a girl could talk and suck dick at the same time.

Britt disengaged, reappeared on top of the table, and glared at her date. “I swallowed a gallon of you!” she said, accusingly. “How DARE you?”

“Girls… please…” Austin said, hands up. Behind him, two husbands were fucking their wives with nearly identical strokes, legs wrapped around their backs. Ilyana had seated Tessi in her lap and was thrusting a truly huge black plastic dick in and out of her. “I’m REALLY sorry. SUPER sorry. VERY sorry.”

“I’m Britt,” Britt said, introducing herself.

“Amber,” Amber said.

They shook hands.

Bethany could see Amber taking in the scene. In the past a girl starting out the date with her beau getting an enthusiastic blowjob from another girl would’ve almost certainly been a dealbreaker. Definitely at the very outset. It set the wrong tone.

But things had changed, and Amber was smelling and sensing things that kept her rooted. Like the fact was that Austin clearly still had heavy full balls that had a lot of cum still in them. He was attracted to Amber, that was also really clear. And hey, Britt was hot, and horny. In fact, they were all having a fun horny time and Amber wasn’t sure the right move was to just walk away from all that dick and pussy. She fidgeted, uncertain, her temperature rising. Her nipples were certain she should dive in.

“Look, girls, I know this seems bad, but…”

“But, WHAT? You’re a two-timer! I thought you meant something to me! You looked me in the eye and had me suck your cock in a RESTAURANT!” Britt was upset. But even as she yelled she felt dull defeat. What had she expected? She was interchangeable. She wasn’t smarter or hotter or a better fuck than other girls. They were all basically the same fuck meat. They just cooed in different ways, that was about it.

“Girls! Just… look. I want you two to kiss each other.”

They glanced at each other. It WAS a little sweet how Austin clearly had a type, and that type was each other. Short, big red lips, fat tits, dark-set eyes.

Really big red lips.

“Here, this will help,” Austin said. He reached down to his lap and emerged with a pool of spooge, and then drew it along Amber’s lips. She lapped at it, involuntarily.

The two girls looked at each other. Of course there was attraction there. They were both hot girls—after all, they were similar. Those lips were yummy. And there was cum on them. Plus it was really obvious that them lezzing out while Austin watched would get him truly horny, and then they could both kneel in front of him and nuzzle on his cock, until he bathed both of them with more sperm.

“I guess we can TRY,” Amber murmured. She even had the same sing-songy voice. “It’ll be like, ummmm, OUR date,” she said.

Britt liked that. Actually, she was starting to like this a lot. Another set of hot hands and pussy lips, plus obviously Austin had enough dick to satisfy both of them, and then some. In fact, she realized, sinking in for that first, wonderful kiss, this was a super great, awesome idea. Austin had basically arranged for a present to show up, an hour in to their first date. Who wanted roses or chocolates when they could get a tongue? What sweeter present was there but another her to suck and fuck?

Did she NEED to be some sort of indiv—indvid—a separate person? Why not just be part of the crowd, an orgy that never really ended, where there were enough cocks and slits and boys and girls to never stop rubbing, never stop moaning, never stop cumming? She’d never need to think again. That sounded SO hot.

They sank into each other, mewing, looking into identically-colored eyes, and deeply appreciative when the first splash of Austin’s cum hit them. A guy getting so turned on he’d deign to jack himself off—that was a real compliment.

Julie pulled off to see what the fuss was about.

She did it with regret, and just out of the nagging sense that there might be a huge fire or something. She was still ringing with the last hundred or so of Aaron’s thrusts, but had a vague idea that she had to do something if a customer was literally burning to death. Something… she wasn’t sure what.

She gave Aaron a friendly little squeeze, just on the tip, as she slipped free. It was poorly timed. He gasped, shuddered, and shot a worthless load of cum all over her floor. “FUCK!” he swore, red-faced.

Julie spared a regretful look at all the wasted sperm, and then surveyed her restaurant. It was a bleating, screaming, ongoing fuck session. Two of the girls were getting noisily reamed on top of the table, another two girls were all over each other in a booth. And then a trio were going at it, two girls with similar ponytails licking earnestly all over some guy’s knob.

Overall it was a really hot scene, and Julie was nothing but happy about it. Her establishment needed a light sheen of boy cum, she had decided. Her tables and chairs were perfectly sized to permit all sorts of acrobatic fucking. And the floor would wipe clean. All she needed to do was to start charging a cover.

In fact, the more she thought about it, the more the future unfolded. All this thinking about feeding people when you really just needed to heat up batches of corn dogs every hour or so. And give them water to drink and cum to guzzle. Who even needed alcohol? What drug was better than men? Norm’s was a space to fuck at—THE space to fuck at! 24 hours a day, no holds barred, the sluttiest sluts and the hottest of guys! Clothes cut off and burnt at the entrance!

“You win,” Aaron said, defeated. His great big dick swung between his legs.

“Win what?” Julie said.

“The bet. You pulled off. I’m a man of my word. You get to be manager,”

Julie stared at him, honestly puzzled. “Aaron, baby, what the fuck are you talking about? Of COURSE you’re in charge. You’re the MAN!”

What the hell was he talking about? She was his girl. She had just gotten fucked out of her mind by this guy. Of course he called the shots.

“Really?” Aaron looked suspicious. But then he took in her vacant look, rigorously fucked. The way she was still stroking herself, the half-hooded eyes and the heaving chest. The way her pussy was oozing with his precum, and the way she kept licking her lips.

Oh. He had fucked her into his. Both of them didn’t even need to think about it. Their bodies had figured it out, after all that stupid talking. He was her man, which meant that he called the shots. Just to be sure he reached over and ran his hands over her body, drinking it in. It felt really good to have her. HIS Julie. That felt right too.

“You’re the waitress,” he told her, pleased at her cheery nod and unthinking acceptance. “And you’ll handle cleaning. I’ll make the decisions.”

“And fuck me,” Julie prompted.

“Of course I’ll fuck you,” Aaron said, patting her ass fondly. She looked thrilled.

“Here, lets do a round of shots on the house. For the guests,” Aaron said. He poured out something brown and cheap. “Out you go. Wait!” Julie had moved to put her underwear back on. “Not needed.”

Julie gave a knowing nod and a wink. This was going to be the best-run restaurant in town!

“Ilyana, it’s past 7 and I… oh,” Edward said. He had a full beard that tickled her pussy wonderfully when he dove down on her. His continued enthusiasm for pussy-licking was one of his best qualities. Ilyana loved her husband. “Hi everyone. HiTessi.”

“H-hi,” Tessi said. Ilyana had lost count of the number of orgasms she had brought the uptight blonde to. She had lost her cardigan, and bounced around topless on Ilyana’s lap. Her boobs flopped up and down.

The restaurant was all fucking. Bethany hadn’t been kidding about the girth of Jeremy’s cock. The partners were all starting to bang in similar directions, and there were just moments left before people started swapping around left and right.

“Tessi, how are you getting home, baby? You didn’t have your husband pick you up?” Ilyana said.

“I’m gonna… gonna… drive m’self,” Tessi managed. Ilyana shook her head.

“Well that’s not gonna happen. A couple more cums and you’ll forget how to brake. You’ll come home with us. Just as soon as Edward gets done fucking you.”

Edward raised a bushy eyebrow. “Really?” But he was already getting his cock free. They had been totally faithful to each other, thus far. But Ilyana was thinking more and more, that had to change.

“I’m… I’m married, I don’t… I’m not some whore. I don’t… we’re in a RESTAURANTTTTTTTT!” Tessi moaned. Her hips bucked towards Ilyana’s husband. He had a good, meaty dick.

“Just spread your legs,” Ilyana said. She held Tessi up so that Edward could pick her by the hips. Watching her husband’s dick slip inside of her was satisfying. Edward deserved a blonde to fuck. They all deserved to fuck everything.

She looked around at the dicks thrusting, the boobs bouncing, the jets of jizz starting to paint girl after girl. The waitress was handing out shots, naked from the waist down, juice dripping between her legs.

“Good book club meeting,” she said.