The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Then hand those ones over to Leslie,” said Sister Mary MacNamara, through a sticky and massive piece of sour apple Cherub Chew. She peeled off a bit of gum that snuck onto her smooth chin, and looked off into space for a hot second. “Those ones over there, honey, with the purple pentagrams and the diagonally positioned tweed ribbon.” She smirked.

“I can’t do this, there’s too much.. hard words and stuff,” said a nondescript bubble-gut with flaxen hair. She’d been standing ahead of Kristen in line at the West Philly branch of Cherub Corners Bank for forever. Long enough for Kristen to turn her annoyance at an overly shiny barrette into envy and curiosity. She might have been relieved when the girl finally got called to a teller, had it not been so hard to wait even longer once the tart was called up there.

The blonde girl fumbled with various fabrics for nearly two minutes before settling on the correct one. She was rewarded by the teller with a red, heart-shaped lolly—no, the candy was shaped like a pair of boobs on a stick. Kristen wasn’t so sure what business that mix-n-match fetching had to do with withdrawls or checking, but she knew she could do a better job blindfolded. Come on, come on, come on, she thought, entirely impatient.

She tried to covertly pick a wedgie from a pair of freshly outgrown, white short shorts. Since Shayla’s concert in the park, they were her only article of clothing that still fit, save for a couple cocktail dresses she deemed inappropriate for just a bank trip. Now she was wondering why she couldn’t just wear one of them. These things just rode up and got swallowed by her booty. There was no excuse; she knew how tight they were before she even left the house. She was getting quite bad at making the right choice at the right time.

Hot in the frustrating wait of the queue, she felt a very masculine musk make its way to her nose. It made her feel even warmer and juicier than she already was, which was a whole lot. Funny how men did that lately. Kristen didn’t like the fact that she was seemingly turning straight at all, but her body obviously felt otherwise. She turned around as discreetly as she could, and snapped forward after a split second, not wanting to linger too long on the yummy blur of muscles she saw. I hope he doesn’t see my wet patch, she mused, clenching her pussy.

She began to eavesdrop at what was getting done at the counter, to take her mind off of her hornies. “Okay, Bessie,” she overheard the teller-nun soothe the girl, “now all we need you to do is look at these two photos of submarine engine schematics and tell me all the differences you can spot. There’s fourteen of them.” This is taking forever! thought Kristen. She craned her neck and fidgeted, tapping her feet in thuds on the marble floor. She huffed a sigh of contempt and took her phone out of her handbag, only to remember she woke up one day earlier in the week with the screen cracked all the way through. “This is bullshit,” she muttered under her breath.

Uh-oh. Kristen felt the smell of the ripped dude behind her grow closer and sweeter. The heat of his body surged up her spine. He couldn’t have been more than a foot behind her. “Just wait until you’re up there,” he said into her ear, making her mind slush. He gently, almost imperceptibly, tongued her ear for a few flitting seconds. If he hadn’t made out the now-distinct spot of moisture threatening to overtake her whole shorts, he had to have smelled it. “Betcha never thought it would be this hard to open up an account, huh?” he asked playfully.

It was far from Kristen’s priorities to tell the sweet-smelling man-guy that she wasn’t even at the bank for anything like that. But then, her priorities had shifted recently. It wasn’t enough to just know that she was right, or that she was smarter, or an independent woman. When she was made to drift into a soupy pool of lust by men, she couldn’t be bothered to stick up for herself (or recoil at a foreign tongue). Men just seemed so powerful and entitled, and for whatever silly reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about their penises. Especially now.

She resigned herself to just ignore him as best as she could, even though she wanted to flash him or “accidentally” grind into him. The heat of her arousal was brutal. She was getting gooseflesh and her nipples ached in their hardness. “No, sweetie,” she heard Sister Mary say at the window. “That ‘little gray thingy’ isn’t ‘happier’ in the left blueprint.” The nun hid her head in her hands and laughed, putting up a placard that said “Be back so soon!” She half-waddled to the other side of the window and pulled the confused blonde into an office room and shut the door behind them.

The silence in the bank was deafening. Just how long had she been waiting? It was now getting noticeably dark outside. The place was empty except for her and Random Hunk no. 90 billion. “Aw, come on!” blurted Kristen, beyond exasperated. Her new friend instantly made a bee line to the front desk and took the sign down. “Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked with a shit-eating, name-taking grin. He paused, overenthused smile sticking to his face, eyes slurping to drink in the sight before him. Though she sadly wasn’t yet a C cup even, her hips were amazing and unlike any he had seen outside of hip-hop magazines or, well, Cherub Cove.

Kristen eased forth reluctantly, gulping a touch too loud. “Look,” she began firmly straight away, “I don’t want to be here as much as you don’t want me here. First thing’s first, I’m not some random city girl, and you’re not going to work your.. your man-magic and have me down on my knees.” Unconsciously, those last few words came out in a sultry purr. She quivered as she thought about how the amount of boys she partied with in just the past week exceeded the amount she’d been with in years. She fought against her rushing desire, grasping for any firm footing she could find. “I just want to cash a goddamned check,” she struggled, peering at hunky’s nametag. “..Hank.”

Hank’s frozen smile was still there, pleased, like he knew something she didn’t. He laughed, asking, “Why on earth, if you don’t want to let St. Brittany come into you, would you cash a payroll check here?” He was quite obviously leering at Kristen’s over-stressed nipples as they rested on those meager tits he thought so tiny. She pulled a check out of her handbag and slid it over the desk to him, trying her hardest to avert her eyes from his powerful jawline. She snuck a peek anyway, when he looked down and noticed the Cherub Cove inisignia on the check: a cleavage with a cross resting in it.

“By gum!” he exclaimed, holding it up to the light to check for a watermark, then doing a double take. Unconsciously, Kristen dug around in her bag and retrieved a big piece of bubblegum and started chewing. “Well, missy, why’re we payin’ ya five hundred dollars if’n you diss-pize us so dern much?” She eased up a teensy amount and allowed her cunt to marinate in Hank’s hokey drawl. The soupy brain she had to work with lately was doing slow work. She had to get a hold of herself if she wanted to be paid her dues and get the hell out of there, dignity intact.

“I’unno,” she cooed and shrugged, and immediately realized this wasn’t the strong answer she had hoped for. “I mean, I got it at.. I mean..” She got a sleepy kind of faraway look in her eye, some intersection between mystification and primitive, unyielding lust. She had to snap herself out of it! “It’s none of your business where I got it! All you need to know is that I have a check from you guys made out to me.” She put her arms in front of her in defiance, but also to hide her perky, at-the-ready nips. This fucking hottie didn’t deserve to see them.

“Ooof, it’s warm in here,” said Hank, ripping off his shirt, revealing a tanned, rock hard wonderland of an upper body. Kristen wasn’t thinking and started pulling up her halter out of sheer, drooling mimicry, but stopped just before he could see a naked tit.

Grinning, he scratched, the friction of his chest hair sounding like steel wool rubbing rougher steel wool. The guy was built. “Now c’mon now, baby,” he said, “Tell me where you got thut thurn check at. Ain’t no harm in it, right?” He flexed a pec and winked at her. It sent warm currents of sexy electricity all throughout her body.

Kristen scrunched her face up in disgust at herself. “F-fine! Fine.” She couldn’t believe she was letting him grab the upper hand this soon, if at all. There had just been so many changes in her body, brain, routine, and hormones that she had to do something to make good with her promise to remain her own woman. Right about now, she was broke.

Keeping up with a clothes shopping addiction, and her constant cravings for various Cherub Cove food and beauty products, had kept her from paying the rent. She had started off the day with her last two twenties, but had carelessly splurged for the lunch buffet at St. Brittany’s Steak Pit, and then felt the need to get some condoms and lube, “just in case”. As humiliating as it was, this was her last chance to get any money.

“I got it when I drunkenly.. and stupidly signed a waiver that my image would be used in a future Cherub Cove tutorial.” Did she say that right? She couldn’t tell, and picked something from the side of her lip. She felt a warm wave of embarassment and shyness, and her face turned bright red. “They weren’t my proudest.. mmm.. moments and I barely even remembered fucking that cop when the check came, but I’m glad it did. Call it the first of many settlements I plan to make with you guys.” She tried to scowl but it kept wanting to come out as a pout.

“I dunno, ma’am, you seem like you’re pretty gunnin’ fer it,” he joked, pointing vaguely at his crotch. Kristen lazily peeped the size and meat of it through his blue jeans, before realizing he must have been referencing hers. But it was a big, big dick, she could totally tell. “You could slake juss about any young buck’s thirst, can’t yah?” She slushed around in her shorts and luxuriated in his voice. It was like a cool, rocky stream of honey. She had no idea what he was talking about, but it sure sounded like a compliment. The words pooled into nonsense and melted into her mind like chocolate.

Kristen felt almost drugged in the sheer amount of pheromones Hank was perhaps knowingly throwing at her, even at four feet away. It took only five or six seconds for her determination to buckle and move a bit closer to the impossibly rugged teller. She giggled and scrunched up her nose again, this time letting herself flirt. “Just as long as I get my money, you can talk to me like that all you want.”

She didn’t know where it really came from, but she loved blurred, pan-regional country accents more than anything lately. Maybe it was all the bumpkin exploitation films she had started studying at school. Maybe it was because those same movies had also always been playing, with their loud sound, at Little Cherubim Deli when she was waiting in line to waste money on Cherub Cream, the cherry-cola-flavored gunk that worked as an edible beautifier. It seemed like all she did was wait in line lately, especially for that sweet, thick stuff.

“They really think of everything in that town,” she had gushed to her concerned mother a few days before her cell phone broke. Desperately doing her best to rationalize the situation, she had adopted a jingoistic tone she never so much as hinted at before. “They’re so state of the art, so modern! Really the wave of the future, mom!” Kristen didn’t dare tell her mom how after a few 8 oz. tubes of the stuff, it made her pubic hair evaporate. At the time, she looked on the bright side and chalked it up to false advertising, if disturbing. It had taken her two dumb days to understand that it was an advantage, a sexy secret weapon, a treasure of a side effect. She blinked.

She realized he was mid-sentence and struggled to pick apart his words before they sizzled and liquefied. Pay attention! she scolded herself. “..and when you got there, you’d pretty much live like a dern millionaire. Yeh said you went to our pop concert in the park, well, if’n you like that type-a thang, with this check, all them purdy li’l schoolgirls will be blastin’ your tracks a week after they’re recorded, and your titties’ll just keep on—” Kristen was made rigid with anxiety. I deserve this, she thought, laughing at herself in her mind. She was the one who let herself trance out on Hank’s voice mid-way through another countless Cherub Cove pitch.

She was still riding a flirty crest of hot wet hornies, though, and chose to not address it. To keep her eyes on her reward for basically volunteering to be in a bimbo porno. “Say titties again,” she said, giggling. One look at her face as she crimped it cutely again, and Hank knew that this girl was what they affectionately called a “juicer” back home. Eyes that even seemed moist with budding tears of unbridled amazement. Once he made sure she had her eyes on his package, he unbuckled his blue jeans and let them fall slack to the floor. Kristen could just barely see a micron of cockflesh at her angle. It made her soak all over. The tent in his boxers was certainly more obvious.

He stroked it slowly with his big man-hands. “Tit-iss,” he husked, grunting as he began to jack himself more rapidly. The smell of the thing actually made her whimper, and again she shadowed him, not even conscious this time when she pulled her own tormented shorts down and tossed them aside on the tile. “Oh, you like it when I say titties, dontcha, huh, Miss City Girl?” He asked, beckoning her with a demanding finger.

She didn’t think twice about getting closer, getting another good whiff of him, and maybe even taking another gander at his cute, huge and hiding rod. “I like it when you say anything,” she said, honestly, “but I have no interest in moving to the country. Nuh-uh, no sir, like, no way!” She imitated his accent and approximated it, that last word fading away with a long “i” sound. She giggled. ”Tittiss,” she chirped, sticking out her gum-smothered tongue. “Ah like ‘at.” Oh no, she cursed herself, I’m doing it again!

Over the past week or so, she’d randomly find herself locked in a makeshift southern accent with no way of getting out of it. In class, when ordering coffee, chatting about thongs at the lingerie shop with the cashier. If she fought against it, or tried to enunciate, it only came out more drawly and ludicrous. She wondered how long this bout would last. When it first happened, it went away after a few minutes. The last time, she had unfortunately been talking on the phone with her brother. It had lasted for twenty minutes.

She was too preoccupied with the sticky saliva and voice wafting out of her mouth to consider why it might have been wrong that Hank was pulling at his now completely-exposed prick. Besides, it looked so big and red and sweaty and fun. She was just happy she resisted the calling to ask if she could maybe sneak behind his work station and help him out with it. “I know you like it, sweetheart,” he slowly said, taking his time with it until his dick had plumped even more, full and puffy like some sausage balloon. “I hope y’don’t git cross with me for doing this,” he told her, in a tone that implied that she could be doing a better job at the jerking.

“Don’t make no nevermind,” she purred, pouting at but coming to grips with how sweet and raspy her throat made her sound. “Juss as long as you kin gimme mah five hunnerd,” she said in a desperate grab at reining in the conversation and coming full circle. But she didn’t want to be too forceful and risk leaving there with an empty Hello Kitty wallet and yet more clothes with cum stains on them. She had read in the church’s wiki that Brittanian men had super thick, creamy white sperm that simply couldn’t come out in the wash, no matter how many loads you put them through.

Still, she dimly eased her way back to a topic they could both agree on. “If you pay me mah dues, I reckon these titties you like sah much’ll just get fatter-n-fatter.” She glistened at how true that was. “Besides rent a-comin’ on up an’ them Cove Cookies I been wolfin’ down, I eat a lot of Cherub Cream.” She felt like she was giving too much up about herself, but the heat and sensory cloggers flooding the bank made it hard not to gush and gab. “A lot of Cherub Cream.” She held open her bag and halfway pulled out two empty tubes of the stuff. “And that’s just from this morning.” Bargaining with her boobs was fun!

Hank took stock of the small but eager mounds on her chest, and scoffed. He jacked and jacked his swollen dick, admiring her courage to deny the milfy way. Most girls, after the first week of their transformations, had downed a half dozen Cherub Creams daily. If they hadn’t already made the jump to Booby Brownies. “Your tits’r fuckin’ pathetic,” he clued her in coolly. She seized up and blushed, sad in a way but now filled with more resolve at the insult. “So any way you can improve them is okay in my book.” Kristen was pissed and humiliated, but her face beamed in gratitude without her consent. “Anywhut,” he went on, looking at her check, “this is five hunnerd in Cherub Cash.”

Kristen just knew there had to have been a catch like that, and swallowed hard. A smooth gulp of avocado gum-juice sluiced down her throat. “..H-how much is that in real, American dollars?” she asked, mocking. She softly remembered digging through message boards one night a month or so prior, reading an exposé piece on the church and its country sprawl of a town. Cherub Cove would employ normal, innocent, headstrong girls at their various coffeeshops and markets in its urban targets, and in return the naive girls would get paid in official cove currency. It was useless anywhere else.

She must have forgotten about that when she decided to kiss the envelope the check had come in. It was no matter now. She wasn’t going to get tricked into moving there just for some relatively smallish amount of money. Hank fiddled with his fingers as he did the mental math. “Let’s see,” he said, his dumb rock of a chin hanging open. “Seven dollars and thirty-eight cents.” He gazed deeply into Kristen’s eyes as she stammered in disbelief. She squeezed her thighs together to punish him. They were cold and wet with their sauce of pussy juice and sweat, and she thought about how awesome it would feel if they could just ride something.

“Please,” she said, and fluttered her eyelashes. “I’m not just some random girl. I even led a bunch-uh dem pro-tests against yer church. I don’t deserve this.” It was clear on his face that she wasn’t swaying Hank one bit, and she started to see that it was more than likely that she did deserve it. She had brushed off all the weird stories on the internet and, until lately, the TV. She had to have known what all those creams and products might have ended up doing to her. The ridiculousness of it all was just too intoxicating and enticing. “I’m sorry, I’m broke,” she admitted between tears. “I’m so stupid. What you guys do, it’s.. well, like.. it’s just plum no fair!” She sobbed compusively.

Hank was thankful that she didn’t find it in that mooshy brain of hers to bring up legality again. “Sorry, pretty little miss, I’m juss doin’ my Lord’s work,” he slurred. The juicy mess of eager beaver just a foot or so in front of him slowly finished her blubbering and straightened out her thickening, curly head of hair. She nervously ripped open a tube of Cherub Cream, squeezing and pushing it up her exhausted mouth, letting it spurt onto the roof of her throat.

He noted the quickening severity of her addiction with pity, and let his hardon bob freely in the air He took one more look at the check and, sighing, informed her, “I couldn’t even cash this check anyway.” He pointed at the corner of it and handed it back to her. “It’s dated for tomorrow.” Kristen glumly folded it and put it back in her shiny neon wallet. She had to get out of there before she jumped over the counter and dove to maul his memeber with one of her holes.

She resigned herself to making do with the eight or nine dollars she had left until she had to buckle down and call her mom, which would probably end up being later in that same evening. She wanted to, no, needed to buy the new half-dozen special of Cherub Cream, to soothe her after an encounter like this. “Awright, daddy, this has been awful fun gettin’ sore and teased by yah,” she said as she turned to go. “And you got a real, real nice cock there,” she winked, making a kissy face, “but I better get going. Appreciate yer time, Hunk.” She gasped and held her hand to her chest. “I mean, Hank!”

She made a hasty retreat before she got herself hit with another trace of his scent. “Do me a favor,” he called out behind her. She refused to turn around. “Bend that corn-lovin’ butt over when you pick it up!” Before she could register it, he had flung a wad of cash at her. Real cash. She thumbed through a thick roll of twenties when she reached down to grab it, sticking her healthy, eye-popping ass up in the air and shaking it like a video star. She was having so much fun showing off that she forgot to adequately count how much money he had graciously given her, just shaking her big booty as she flicked the bills.

Out of thanks, she did him one better and fished around for a Banger brand (Shimmer edition) dildo in her purse. She squatted down to fuck it, and, without a word of thanks, impaled herself on the big long thing, pulling her panties aside to let the toy slip in easy. She would have heard Hank grunt his long-delayed orgasm had it not been for the loud, close slurping of her vadge. I’m killing two birds with one stone, she thought. He deserved to cum, and so do I. A few lights inside the bank turned off. Kristen didn’t even think for once that he wasn’t jerking off still, and finished off a few minutes later.

She was so slippery and ready still, she was sure that her shorts had simply shrunk as her asscheeks had grown. Stranger things were happening to her, and would continue on happening. For what it was worth, she had escaped untouched and unpenetrated. Well, except for having her ear licked. As she playfully sashayed out of the foyer in her panties (ironically turning into a thong), halter and heels, Hank turned a couple lights off and went out to the floor to pick up her soggy hot pants. He held them up to his face and congratualted himself with a deep, long sniff. “Yup!” he exalted to no one. “This one’s a juicer!”

On the subway back to her apartment, Kristen spotted a decent-looking kind of guy who looked to be up for it. When she went to sit down next to him, he closed his trenchcoat and turned away from her, content at staring into the tunnel. Should I say anything? she asked herself, then hated herself for it in an instant. She couldn’t believe such a chance encounter at some random bank would end up being one of the sexiest encounters of her life! And here she was, wanting to get freaky with some totally random stranger.

He didn’t even smell half as good as hunky Hank. She couldn’t wait to try to Facebook him or something. Stop thinking about Hank, she pleaded silently. She tried her hardest not to look at her smooth, beefier thighs either, or acknowledge that she was on a moderately crowded train wearing undies and a halter top. This is wrong, this is wrong, this iswrong. She was glad Mr. Trenchy didn’t want to make out or whatever. He seemed like the sweetest gentleman. I’ve got to stop thinking about boys!

She stood up and held onto the bar, pulling down her small, itchy halter and fanning her boobs with the sweat-soaked fabric. “I’ve got to stop thinking about boys!” she cried out, mind racing and delirious with regret. Kristen now saw that the car was filled with youngish Phillies fans, all of them male, and not a single one of them without a wedding band. She sniffed the close, stale air and hit a sweet spot. She tried not to look at their faces, but had to. She recognized three of them from the concert at Rittenhouse. She even knew what their dicks looked like. They were Cherub boys.

She reached into her bag and was met with an awful choice to make. It made her pussy twitch. Jittery, she held her last Cherub Cream up to her mouth and tongued the tab at the top of the tube. What to do, what to do.. The next thing she knew, she was already halfway done eating the syrupy sludge. It took her mind off of the boys for a little bit, but it also just turned it off too. She thought the blackouts were sort of.. scary, but otherwise it was a quality beauty enhancer. The trolley came to a stop and when the doors flew open, the draft was sexy torture for her whole body.

Most of the Cherub hotties got off, but there were still two muscley guys standing guard at each door. Kristen tried to play it cool and tried to think of something boring, like Women’s Studies classes on wednesdays. She timidly slurped the last of her body-beauty-yummy-thing and discreetly unkinked her panties from her crack. She snuck a few fingers in for a few seconds, just to get a feel for it. She noticed the country jocks had meat rockets in their pockets. “No more boys!” she hissed at them, somehow thinking it wise to assume a kitty-cat attack position. “This one has a lot to learn,” one of them said.

“I know, brah,” said the other, reaching up behind her and pinching her butt. She knew he was only kidding around, but it still felt wrong somehow. Just something wasn’t right about it. In a second, she knew. “St. Brittany’s treatise on frotter’s rights says that you can only slap a proven initiate on the ass,” she said snottily. Inside, she didn’t know why she was even giving these guys the time of day. Outside, she was all smiles, beaming at her own memorization of the church’s wiki. That thing sure did come in handy for all those silly fun protest parties.

“Oh-ho, she talks!” said one of the douchebags. Mr. Trenchy immediately zipped behind her and put an arm around her. Though Kristen hated that show of almost ownership, she nestled into it and kissed and bit his shoulder coyly. What a charmer, she thought, and scooted back into him, mechanically reaching around behind her for his crotch. Uh-oh, he’s biiig, too! She straightened herself and chose not to stroke it. He dry-humped her slowly, anyway. That took the edge off and gave her time to think. To think about how great big dicks felt, up against her ass.

She played it off like nothing was happening, and absentmindedly went diving for a Cherub Cream. Her eyes got wet. She tried to pull more cracky goodness out of the empty tube, but to no avail. “Why’re you feastin’ on thur cola cock when y’all could juss have the real thing?” one of the dickheads asked. He looked like he should have been back home at Culver’s Crook, chopping wood or doing metalwork. She closed her eyes tight when she heard a zipper being pulled down, until that sweet and sour smell budged them open again. She whimpered again. “I’m sorry,” she drawled. It was really more of a whinny.

“Are you a pony, missy?” the shirtless one asked. His pecs flashed like blinkers, left and right, left and right, as he laughed. She snorted out of anger at being so insulted, and so typically, but made sure to sneak a long deep inhalation on the uptake. “That’s yer name, babeh. Pony.” He high-fived the one with his cock out, who was saying how he wanted to ride the pony.

Kristen got so mad, she pulled down her underwear and ground her wet naked pussy onto Mr. Trenchy. He knew what to do. He unzipped his Dickies and shoved it all in. He guided her to a seat and she rode him happily, feeling weightless, being held up in the air by a deep-dicking in a trolley car. Kristen knew the curse of the nickname very well, and she wasn’t about to leave them to go back to their hick town after the ballgame without at least giving them something to remember.

“Fuck me! Fuck yer fat-ass Pony!” she cried out to the handsome stranger in the trench coat, shimmying at the end of each downward thrust. The Cherub boys could only look on helplessly, intimidated by this renegade. “Hi, boys!” squealed Kristen brattily, dangling her fingers in a dippy wave.

Before she could ask any of these cute boys if they’d be interested in a threesome, something she so very much wanted to try, they were off at the next stop. Now the only audience was a tired old man with Santa’s beard. He was in the way back, surrounded by bags of cans. Mr. Trenchy burrowed deeper in her, smacking her ass left and right, left and right. He took stock at the Phillies fans as they walked away from the stopped train.

“Married and breeding is worse than married and cheating,” came his dorky mantra. All of a sudden his dick didn’t feel big enough to her. She tried to work him around but it just wasn’t working. Maybe she needed Cherub cock. Maybe I need no cock! she thought, trying to make sense of it all. “I’m just a slut, I know,” she realized aloud, “but ain’t it ‘married and breeding is better with sucking and eating’?” She wasn’t sure if that was something from the website or her own opinion.

After almost knocking her forehead into the pole in front of her, she saw that it was her stop and popped his less-than-stellar seven inches out of her. It was all so retarded and ridiculous. He handed her a photocopied zine called “Bomb All Breeders”, which she promised to read with no intention of doing so, tossing it to the bottom of her bag. She kissed him, shot him a fast and fond look, and kissed him again. She trotted down the aisle, forgetting her panties.

All in all, she was happy that she still didn’t fuck a guy from Cherub Cove. That would have been so lame and gross! “Thanks for helping me forget about boys!” she called out to Mr. Trenchy. “Uh.. okay!” he yelled from the back of the train, “Can I have your number?” Kristen unloaded a bunch of empty tubes of Cherub Cream into the trash as she stepped down, her sumptuous rear swatted with good humor by the operator. “Oh, I don’t think so, sweetie,” she sang. “I’m a lesbian!”

There were five bimbos waiting for her on the stoop to her building. Two of them were visibly pregnant, but they all looked chunky and bubbly. They took note of her waist-down nakedness and tittered amongst themselves. An unfortunate brunette with dark emo bangs flicked her hair aside and started mauling her phone to send a text. A fairly petite, red-haired girl with a bob cut, whose baby bump was more than complimentary to her small figure, waved to Kristen. “It’s Coptease!” she shouted to her friends. They all laughed, high-pitched and in unison. Kristen shuddered at yet another nickname. Although, in a warped way, it was exciting that her video had already leaked.

They crowded on the steps to clog Kristen’s entry, spraying some cherry-vanilla body spray on their cleavages. She scarcely made out their faces, too lost in the steamy fog of their boobs, at her eye level and so smooth and round. One of them had on a “Shay-Belle is Family” baby tee. Kristen sadly knew the heavy price tag for it at Bimbo Boutique.

She fought against the bright idea of nuzzling her face into the jello-y pair of tits she was addressing. “Ladies, I appreciate this, but I’ve had a real fancy and busy day already.” She held her legs together, her bald pussy hid by her impossible expanses of thigh at either side. She cupped her crotch for emphasis. “I gotta pee.”

She tried to get past her fans but their mass was too wide and sexy. Kristen felt herself creaming again, getting goosebumps in the cool fall air. “How many angels did ya fuck today?” one of the girls asked, slipping something into Kristen’s pocketbook. She laughed slyly and replied, “Eleventy billion!”

Such ridiculousness placated the giggly girls and she found some room to squeeze through. They pawed at her ass as she escaped behind the door, and she could have sworn she felt a fingernail graze her lips. “We love you!” a couple of them screamed together as she managed to slam the door behind her.

Fucking hipsters, she thought. On her way up the stairs, she inspected her bag and saw that the one girl had given her a bag of Cherub Crunch. She looked at the pouch for a second like it was in a different language. Whatever, she thought. This oughtta hold me over until I can buy more Cherub Cream. It was strawberry and cashew flavored.

Stepping into her apartment, she tossed her keys on the counter, popped open the bag and tasted a cluster. “Yummy!” she squealed to herself between bites. She plopped down on the couch and turned on the TV, some silly song called “Knocked Up” was playing on the country music station. She turned it down a bit and opened up her laptop. It was time for some Facebook fun, or something.

It seemed like the site was taking its extra, irritating time to load. That was okay, though. It just gave her time to think about how waiting around for stuff made her nipples all hot and bothered. She grazed a nub, and could barely feel it, noting the dull feeling around a hard, gummi worm kind of texture. She popped another four clusters of Cherub Crunch in her mouth and chomped away, trying not to make too much of it. These are so good-n-crunchy, she thought, satisfied.

She looked at the bag, curious as to why there wasn’t any religious or.. feminine imagery on it. How was she supposed to know it was a trial product with ten times the effect of Cherub Cream? “Fucking internet!” she yelped. Facebook was being so annoying. She could hear faraway cheers and hoots coming from the street. Did I just hear a boy? she wondered, shutting the drapes without indulging a peek of her porch. She reached over to her dresser and lit a half-smoked bowl.

As soon as she pulled and felt the weed coat her lungs, she started to feel high. It was getting to the point that she could almost feel high just by smelling the stuff. Granted it was good bud, but she was sure it was all her body’s creepy-cute changes that sped up her stoning. She thought of a great idea, falling heavily back down to the couch. But, to her chagrin and bother, she couldn’t make it happen. The page was loading, but still so slowly, a few pictures and some illegible text here and there.

Her mind was getting drenched in fuzzies. She always forgot about her withering tolerance to the drug, and this time was no exception. She ended up taking three strong, forgetful hits. Puffy mouth drooping lazily open, she saw that Facebook had finally loaded. That’s weird, she thought, lighting a slim, melon-flavored cigarette. The color scheme had to have changed. She didn’t remember such bright, girly tones. Oh well. She clicked on the “Classic Facebook” button. Of course it took forever to load.

“Stupid internet,” she muttered, recollecting a promise she made to herself, to call her provider and let them know about a days-long drought in service. She reached for a phone but stopped herself, immediately chucking the thing into a wastebasket. She would have to make do with her weird and slow internet. Kristen’s nipples were doing that itchy/horny thing again and this time when she went to pinch them, they just felt like a rubbery imitation, darker, and coated with a plastic sheen.

When she flicked one, she noticed the boob it stuck out from started to wobble. She could almost feel her breasts pumping up bit by bit, filling with smooth, comfy tissue. She wiped a crumb off of her shirt, stopping to curiously cup a titty underneath her halter. She took it off to make sure she wasn’t seeing things, and steadied her hands, now clutching both boobs, nervy and dampening. She was disgusted at how good her hands felt on them, and held on tighter to blot out the fresh-baked sexiness. Pockets of flesh began to pillow up between her fingers, and then she knew they really were growing.

When Kristen snapped back to reality long enough to pull her hands away, she was a bit discouraged to see indentations of her hand print on each tit. They rose up like memory foam after a second or two, which was relieving. They seemed to be, if not stopping, certainly slowing down. Her status update feed was dominated by Ralph, at one point her best friend, and before that her first of two boyfriends— awkward, inhibited relationships. She realized she hadn’t called him or texted him or commented on his page in days. “Really worried about my friend Kristen,” said one of the more recent updates.

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” Kristen mewed, letting the last few crumbs of Cherub Crunch fall from the bag and into her throat. She was gassy, and let out a tiny fart that soon blanketed her living room with a spicy caramel scent. She took a second to think of how to adequately respond to her friend. After blearily gazing about her apartment and accidentally getting a hearty whiff of her sweet-smelling toot, she just had to type, “Smoking and farting is so fun ;)".

Kristen posted it to her own wall, thinking it too important to show just Ralph. She made herself laugh, until she saw that her cigarette was on its last leg, mostly ash and unsmoked. She rubbed her red eyes and ran her hands roughly through her hair, lying to herself that she hadn’t wasted any time the past fifteen minutes.

She looked at herself and felt sorry: a budding girly-girl completely nude in heels getting hypnotized by her computer. So stupid. She ran her hands across her trim stomach to make sure it wouldn’t set her off or make it grow, and she saw that it did, and that it already had. She thought it inevitable, given the new size of her hips.

She spotted some odd little build-ups of that dark, hard jelly stuff from her nips, though. “I’m a dirty girl,” she said, and meant it literally. One on her side, where her tummy melted into her hips, and one resting close to the curve of her navel. They were the size of big freckles. She reached around, hunting for some on her big ass. When she found one, she tried to peel it off, but it actually hurt her, so she didn’t bother.

Get-clean-time was fun and steamy. Kristen must have been in the tub for a full half hour, bending over to let the showerhead flush softly into her beauty-holes. Knuckles deep in her insatiable cunt, she noticed those pesky birthmarks fall down her shins and disappear down the drain. They left real marks that she could keep forever. She stepped out of the hot shower after she managed to cum in the bubbling broth of soapy supernatural goodness. Drying off, she felt the towel crinkle against her chest. She looked down.

Barely sticking on to her left tit, there was a cellophane-like bit of dead, cherry red skin. She plucked it off, and the other one too, and noticed her fresh new nipples. They stood out a whole lot more than before, almost matronly in their porkiness. The ones she took off looked more like layers of an onion the more time they sat there on the sink, away from her scintillating brew of a body.

She tossed her old nipple skins into the bin, feeling a lot like a snake. Cherub Cove wouldn’t turn its girls into reptiles, she comforted herself. She was more of a butterfly. A busty, rumpy butterfly angel. She looked in jubilation at her image in the bathroom mirror, doing a mock ballerina spin and jumping up and down, eyes tearing up at her glorious new boobies. She wrapped a tiny towel around her that didn’t cover one single centimeter of her butt, and strutted back down to the couch.

Kristen woke up in a cool sweat to the sound of someone banging on her door. She didn’t waste a second to survey herself to see that she had gotten even curvier as she dozed. What she did notice was she was cheery, airy and refreshed, not slowed-down or hungover at all. She squeezed her bimbo bounty into a way-too-small terrycloth robe. Her mother had taken it home for her from a business trip when she was in junior high. It had fit snugly even when she first came to college, but was now useless under the mighty heft of her new physique.

She paced around, eyes eventually drifting to her laptop. It looked blurry or something, but maybe that was a trick of the morning light. She laughed nervously at some random, pastel pink webpage dotted with colliding animated GIFs: dancing babies rubbing blockily against bouncing breasts. What did you get into last night? She tried to keep her boobs from popping out of her yellow robe, forlorn when she found out that one of them had to hang out if either of them were going to stay in. Its nipple fattened up again in the sicky-sweet air. She fiddled with it for a second, seeking to calm it down.

The knocking at her door grew more aggressive. “Comin’!” she chirped, a strange, slurry voice floating from her. It was much sexier and confident than any fake accent she attempted lately. She opened the door, panting and beet-red. It was Ralph. He drank in his best friend’s exaggerated curves and swallowed in deference. He could see that the front slit of her robe wasn’t being held shut by its straining belt. Asking if she was hairless down there wasn’t exactly a proper greeting. “Kristen, I know it’s lame of me to drop by unexpected, but I—”

“Ralph!” she sighed, pulling him into her apartment, so happy to see him. She didn’t know why or how, but he would surely set everything right. Without hesitating, she flung off her robe and let her naked assets bounce and breathe, comfortable. He hadn’t seen her in the buff for many years, and she had never, ever looked anything like this. She looked even bigger without the robe. “Didja git mah message on the Facebook?” she asked, eyes wide and moist. She forgot precisely what she had written, but figured it was something really sweet and special.

“Actually, that’s why I’m here,” he said, sniffing at the air, reluctant to sit down on her sofa. Mostly because she was now doing toe-touches in front of it, miming along to a grainy Cherub Cove excercise video on TV. Her booty was bobbing up and down, fleshy and endless. On a slow down-swing, he saw that she was indeed completely bare. And that her vagina was bordering on hot pink, swollen and slick. His suspicions were confirmed. “Kristen, have you been feeling alright?”

“Couldn’t feel any better, really!” she answered crisply, half-forgetting who he was or why he was there. She had started a jumping jacks routine and was severely into it, jiggling all over the place. Ralph took the chance to snoop around her apartment while she was preoccupied with the television. All of her riot folk vinyl had been replaced by a stack of excercise and glamour DVDs, mixed in with a few Shayla and Miley Cyrus CDs. A golden but leathery dildo rested, coated in some kind of residue, next to a pudding cup. Her dining room trash was absolutely littered with empty tubes of Cherub Cream.

The telltale signs of her transformation were all there, and they were disappointing. “Kristen, just out of curiosity, when’s the last time you even went to class?” He figured he was so blunt that his old friend ignored him. She just hadn’t heard him at all, lost in the comforting, repetitive glow of the workout. She was now hunched over the screen, mashing her tits into it. “Kristen!” he shouted, reaching around her to shut off the TV, making sure he didn’t get too close. She smelled retardedly good. She spun around and bit her lip, covering up her boobs with her arm as a reflex. “Hmm?” she sang.

“Neh-nevermind,” he said, surprised at himself. He had to cut to the chase if he wanted to save her. “Why do you want to become a cherub?” His point-blank nature made Kristen defensive. “Pshaw, baby, I ain’t a-fixin’ ta be no cherub!” she retorted. In her head, this stream of country cowpoke drawl came out as perfectly eloquent. She congratulated herself with a hit of weed. “They just got that good food,” she added, patting her little tummy and letting out a blast of smoke. The outrageously pungent mix of smells made her friend’s head spin.

Ralph refused to believe how deluded she’d let herself become. Then he remembered the empty wrappers. “Honey, you know that all those Cherub Creams you suck down are making you into one?” He remembered putting “NO MORE BABIES!” posters up with her just a month earlier. Her rapid, substantial growth gave up her gullibility and it made him worried and sad. “Right?”

“No way!” she teased, pouting. It was really emotional for her to suddenly realize that not only was she naked in front of him, but she hadn’t even thought to really process the new bod she was shoving in his face. “I think you might be, like, totally right!” She hurt her softening mind looking for a reason why that should matter. “What do you think we should do?” she asked, appearing concerned, but deep down just wanting to keep this funny little game going. She didn’t feel any great danger, even though she knew her life had morphed into something more than just unusual.

“Kristen, you’re my best friend.” That meant that he wasn’t going to stick it in. “I really care about you, you know that. You’re going to have to tell me what happened.” She got a look in her eye and tried to sift through the muck of sex and flesh that mandated her last week or so. She started crying when she remembered she was fresh out of Cherub Cream. She was starving, and didn’t have much in the fridge except mustard and some withered tofu cubes. She sniffled out a stop to her tears and wracked her brain, looking to put the pieces together. But she couldn’t remember if the first time she tried a tube was before or after she fucked the cop.

She blushed. “Their food is just so creamy!” she sobbed, not interested in owning up to her actions. “I need help!” she admitted, running her hands over her hips. She wondered what alien sort of panties she would have to wear now. Ralph was getting stiff; he just couldn’t take it anymore. And she could smell it. “Can you help me?” she asked in her new voice of syrup and thistle. She batted her eyelashes at him, and he saw that her eyes were a vivid, enchanting green.

He eased up. It was going to be a tough job, but he was pretty sure he could deprogram her. He felt comfortable enough to pitch his original plan. “I was thinking we could get away to Poren Springs,” he said, almost tossing it off. It had been the site of a handful of class trips in high school, because of its mini-theme park, complete with a pool and tiny old ferris wheel. The foggy memory made her so excited, she started dripping right in front of him. She hoped he couldn’t see. That sounded exactly like what she needed. Time away. Time to think. And, if Ralph was good, time to titty-fuck for the first time. “Oh, that sounds right fun,” she husked.

“I just want to warn you, I’m not trying to.. make out with you or something,” he let her know. Kristen seized up and walked down the hallway to her room. “I know, I know,” she said, trying not to let her letdown show. “Just let me get mahself changed, mmkay?” She looked back at him, smiling, but couldn’t push her door open. She finally did, and laughed at herself as it bounced back into her wobbling cushiness. “Be right out!” she called out, slamming her door behind her. A few seconds later, Ralph could hear the muffled sounds of Britney Spears throbbing out of her bedroom, and knew that he was in the clear and had to act fast.

He sat down on the couch, intending to rifle through her Facebook inbox. If she wasn’t going to clue him in, he wanted to have at least some idea of how much trouble she was getting into. He had a hell of a time closing out a bunch of superfluous, bright and obnoxious windows before clicking on her messages. He heard the bubblegum track in her room stop abruptly, and then the jangling of keys. Hurriedly clicking back to the main page, the server lagged and he could make out a couple subject lines: “Luvin’ that azz, gurl :-p” and “When can I meat you again?”

He sat up straight and couldn’t believe his friend’s stupidity. She was in a violet string bikini that must have been a dozen sizes too small. Kristen was all smiles. “You like it?” she preened. “This is the one I wore on the senior trip!” He didn’t want to reprimand her on why that was wrong, but felt he had to say something: “Kristen, it’s not even sixty degrees out there, I don’t think we’re going swimming.” Her lower lip curled. “I’m hot, though.” She catwalked over to him, in what he thought was an effort to seduce him. “No, really. Feel my arm.” She held it out in her best put-on platonic way. “Besides, I don’t have any clothes that fit!” Ralph wondered how much she could have grown just from the past night.

Her arm radiated warmth, and was nearly too hot to touch. In fact, he was almost starting a sweat from just standing close to her. If what he read about Cherub Cove was true, this meant she was changing too much and too soon. They had to get out. He would probably have to force her to detox. “Okay, whatever, you’re scaring me,” he joked. “Just grab some food and let’s get moving.” She was happy to do as he asked, grabbing a slightly moldy apple from her vegetable crisper. She resigned herself to the notion that he wasn’t going to let her have any sweet creams or crunchies. The cravings were already beginning to agitate her.

“Aren’t you going to wash that?” Ralph asked, a bit perturbed. She tossed the old fruit into the bottom of her backpack, already promising to herself that she wasn’t going to even think about it ever again. She was content in depending on vitamin water, Ralph’s granola, the Greek yogurt, and the avocados. She touched something and sniffed her fingers. She rattled a bag around. “You brought chocolates?” she sang, delighted and thankful. She popped one in her mouth. “Candy’s a girl’s best friend!” she said, apropos of no damn thing.

And so they left, Kristen busting out all over in her bikini and flip flops, and Ralph trying to hide the intrigued bone in his cargo shorts. Simply breathing the fresh air as she watched him pack made her feel a whole lot better. Less slutty. She was so clear-headed that by the time they made their way to the on-ramp, she only had to stroke her pussy for a few minutes. This made her so proud, she rewarded herself by soaking some fingers in her mouth and then bobbing them back in her snatch. Ralph pretended he didn’t see and put his sunglasses on, distracting himself with the passing crush of Cherub-related billboards on the highway.

A few dozen miles down the road, they pulled off at a convenience store. They weren’t even halfway there and Kristen had already eaten all of their food. Popping the last piece of chocolate in her mouth, she clutched her small spare tire as her stomach gurgled, and warned him, “I don’t feel so good.” They spent a needless twenty minutes in the shop, looking to re-up on rations, on his dime. He didn’t expect her to understand money obligations if she saw it perfectly sensible to wear a bikini top that didn’t fully conceal her rowdy nipples. Besides, he was trying to ignore all that and just be nice.

Kristen took her time, strutting throughout the aisles, pausing to bend over and pick out what kind of chocolate-covered gummis she wanted. She made sure she was bent over an extra long time so that a passing teenager could get a good look at her. She felt her bikini bottom string into her more tightly, chewing at her crack. With an armful of various snacks and drinks, she ambled up to the register. She was proud that she did as Ralph asked and avoided any and all Cherub products. Although, for a moment, she considered stuffing a tube of Cherub Cream in her cleavage on the sly. There was definitely enough room.

She slurped lasciviously at a 20 oz. fountain Coke. It sorta tasted like Cherub Cream, but didn’t have that soothing kick or warming after-effect. “Can we pleeeease just get one or two tubes?” she begged. Withdrawals had started to trickle in, and they were so predictable and annoying. She started to feel chilly in the air conditioning. “Please, I’ll be a good girl!” Without thinking, she unwrapped a package of mini-donuts and scarfed two down at one time. It didn’t exactly help her cause.

“Give ‘er what she wants!” a burly man in plaid and a trucker cap bellowed behind them in line. Kristen laughed, causing her titties to jump up and lazily jiggle back into place. “I’m sayin!” she cried, glad that she wasn’t going crazy. Hadn’t the whole protest dealie been all about feminism and independence? And now a man was trying to keep her down and tell her what to do? It was her right! “Listen,” Ralph said, reasoning. “I’m not paying for any of that garbage. I refuse. If you want it, you buy it with your own money.” She thumbed the roll of twenties Hank had thrown at her the night before.

“I got this one, miss,” said the teenager she essentially mooned. He stepped up to the counter, to her rescue, with two six-packs of Cherub Cream. He wasn’t about to let this one shrivel away, not with an ass like that. He hadn’t actually seen a shrinking cherub, he just heard the awful, awful stories. “It’s on me,” he said, patting her on the booty. Kristen grabbed the boy’s wrist tightly and guided his hand into her wet, neglected cunt.

She had been awake for two whole hours without fucking anything, so she felt she deserved this. She looked over to Ralph, who was making his way to the bathroom out of disbelief and disgust. She stuck her tongue out at him as he passed and he gave her the finger. Relishing the digits all up in her slurpy sex, she popped open a tube and squirted it hard into her mouth.

The pleasure hit her like lightning and her pussy spasmed and she squirted all over the floor. Kristen and the boy were ushered out of the store by the attendant, and had to finish out back by the dumpster. She gave him a blowjob for his sweet gesture, and luckily swallowed all of his seed by the time Ralph left the store, looking for her. She wiped a coating of cum off of her teeth and tried to look proper.

They had been driving for over five hours, turning around in vain a few times and merging onto ill-placed lanes. Grey clouds loomed over the horizon. “And then he, like, offerin’ me a U.S. conver.. conversate..” She stammered, having lost the word. “Conversion rate?” Ralph offered, bored and depressed.

It was hopeless. Everything. The trip, saving Kristen, the whole kit and kaboodle. She sucked down her eighth Cherub Cream of the day and wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Her impossible body, growing before his eyes, had ripped her bathing suit to shreds, and she sat there gabbing away, nude. The mutilated bikini lay in a soggy clump in the back seat.

“Yeah, that’s it!” She said, unsticking her hand from her left boob and admiring the way her own teat drooped and settled. She stretched, doing this kooky little scrunch thing with her face, and yawned. Ralph didn’t know much about bra sizes, but he allowed no room for error in guessing she was well on her way to Double D status. “That’s totally it! Yer so smart!” she sighed, and poked his nose.

He ignored her flirting and focused on the road. “Yeah, well, I just hope that hick threw you enough money to make your rent, because I’m not bailing you out.” Kristen flicked through the wad of cash in her pocketbook, lost in her own mammary-warming reverie. “Stop!” she screeched. An outlet store.

He did, but only to set her straight. “You obviously need clothes, okay, but I’m not going into a store called Angelwear. That’s not me, that’s not you. You stay in this fucking car, I’m taking your dumb ass home.” She instantly started sniveling and convulsing out of fear and hatred, and the tears came. They streamed and streamed down her face. Pores on her forearm were leaking, too. The syrup spots looked suspiciously dark-colored. He scooped up a tiny bit of it and absentmindedly sucked it off his finger.

“Cola!” he screamed, already beginning to feel an addiction to Cherub Cream sneak its way into his system. He foggily noted that she was expressing the same gunk from her nipples, and decided to dive for them, burying his face in tit. At first, she let him, happy to be sucked by anything. But when she fished out his dick and saw he was a paltry eight inches, she blanched and took her hand off it. “What?” he asked after a few more seconds of feeding. His face was covered in reconstituted Cherub Cream. “Fuckin’ stroke it, you slut.”

Disgusted and humiliated, she dashed out of the car and over the lonely, stormy freeway. “I’m not a slut,” she said to herself through gritted teeth as she flip-flopped up to the official St. Brittany’s clothing store. Her big flip-floppers were bouncing up and down as it started to rain. “That’s a girl’s cream anyway, you fag!” she screamed at the car, now turning on his emergency lights. She felt no shame in just walking right in to the clothier, nude. It seemed like a sanctuary.

Over the next twenty minutes, she tried on an array of pencil skirts, good, sexy bras, and leggings. The old couple that helped her out didn’t comment on her shame, but instead turned out to be quite helpful. They had even given her a bag of Cherub Crunch to snack on while she waited to use the lone dressing room. She hadn’t looked at any price tags, but she assumed that the stuff was within her price range. Just having them on her body for a few seconds made her feel so comfy and horny, she had to buy them.

She popped a couple clusters into her mouth and chewed, ambling up to the register with her finds. Cherub Crunch was kind of tough to eat, but she was able to get them down her throat. The effort was worth it. She felt great, and the wardrobe she decided to wear showed off maybe a little more than she’d initially planned, but she was only going back to Ralph’s car. It was a spare, knit tankini that really showed off her big nipples and bigger breasts, paired with a pair of gold hot pants, and silver pumps too. White hoops were the cherries on top.

Kristen looked down at her beautiful rack as she was getting rung up. She was proud of the girls, and was waiting for them to start rising like homemade bread again. “Cherub or American?” the old granny asked. “Definitely American,” she said, trying to look serious but only looking dumb. She was a confident woman and stuff. So confident that she didn’t even really feel hurt when she looked out the storefront window and saw that Ralph had disappeared. She had enough cash to get a bus ticket home.

She felt that familiar, awesome kind of heat and could see the holes in her top expand, and the knotted rows of yarn getting tighter and tighter. Kristen felt amazing. “I ain’t a cherub. I’m a human girl,” she explained in her new all-purpose country accent, defiant. She couldn’t wait to peel off her nipples and see what her new ones looked like. She secretly wished they were even longer and fatter than the ridiculous ones she already sported.

“Oh-ho, okay, ma’am,” said the old lady’s husband. He squinted at the readout on the old register. “That’ll be three hundred and eighty-eight dollars.” Kristen adjusted her tits so that each nip had its own hole to breathe and mutate out of. It helped her do the mental math. If she bought all these clothes, she’d have a little more of that precious dignity stuff, but definitely not enough to cover for rent.

Still, she would feel kind of bad for dashing on the sweet little old couple. It didn’t look like they were getting any business. She grabbed her money and counted sixty bucks before she was met with a lot of green construction paper. That idiot Hank! she thought, anxious and weepy. Her pores were getting all cola-greasy again. He tricked her! She opened her wallet, looking for a credit card that hadn’t expired. She saw a folded up check.

“Um,” she said, dippy-like and crinkling her nipple. “How much would that be in Cherub Cash?” She blushed, having to resort to the cove’s currency. “Let’s see,” said the old man. “Oh, about eight and a half bucks.” Kristen’s pussy swam in joy. “Can I use this here check?” she asked, holding it up. “I don’t see why not,” he drawled. “You are a new visitor here in town!”

Kristen was taken aback. “You mean?” The old man nodded, whipping out his dick. It was like something out of a dream. The rest of him was pretty wrinkly, and she could take it or leave it, but that cock was enormous, leathery, yummy-looking and seemed to be coated in magic, like some sexual 3-D. She couldn’t wait to Facebook and text her friends about it. If only she had brought her computer, and if only her phone wasn’t busted. Through no design of her own, she had landed in Cherub Cove. It was hysterical.

“That’s right,” said the old man. “You ain’t-a never seen nothin’ like ‘iss before, have ya?” Kristen gulped and shook her head. She went behind the counter and knelt down in front of it, cradling the big thing in her meek hand. “Bend over,” he told her, “bend over, my child, and let’s git you started in the milfy way.” She shook her head some more. This was getting insane. It ought to have felt like what it really was, something out of her worst nightmares.

She just didn’t need any more sex! “No! No, I won’t do it. You can’t tell me what to do ‘cuz I won’t do it. I’m my own woman.” So, instead, she remained in position and starting jerking the magic psychedelic dick, shimmying out of her straps in the process. She sandwiched the gigantic dick safely between her gigantic jugs. “I’m-a titty-fuck y’all fer bein’ so dern harsh!” It was her first time. As she felt the first gouts of thick, unbelievably potent farmer cum hit her happy chin, the weight of the city just eased out of her like a breath. This would turn out to be a nice little vacation. Some time for her.