The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Punk Will Eat Itself

Disclaimer: This story is a work of erotic fiction. In real life, it is important to respect people’s sense of personal safety and consent.

The band’s set slid to a stop. The singer’s growls faded into the static of the amps. The tatted-up, gauge-filled guitarist let her piece swing from her shoulder and pretended to lick her nipple. The slouching bassist was already unplugging her instrument, creating a burst of interference. The tiny drummer closed the set out with a triumphant improv solo.

Applause erupted. At a table in the back, illuminated by a tiny candle in a red glass cup, Park picked his MP3 recorder off the table and raised it to his lips, licking them. His baritone was five-o-clock shadow for the ears. “That was Peach Pit Pap Smear, down here at Sforza’s Pizzeria on September the seventh, twooo-thousand eighteen. Feminist peace punk for all-ages, folks. It was a hell of a show. Hell-of-a-show.

“This is Silva Rubio’s new project as front woman, with her girlfriend Mandy Podgorski on the guitar. You’ll remember Silva as one of the folks behind Gypsum State records and guitarist for Macro Falco. She’s back in her battle vest after getting off the hook from the J20 trial. The rest of the Pap Smears are fresh meat from NYC, bringing some awesome talent right out of the gate. Besides Mandy, they have a Ms. Sarah Fischel on the drums and a Ms. Marisa Ordinary you heard there on the bass.

“Everybody from New York has been talking about these girls and Myrtle Beach is very lucky to have them for their I-95 tour. I’ve wanted to meet them for a long time.”

Park pocketed his recorder, adjusted his pants, and made his way over to the stage, where the band hurried to break down their equipment. The restaurant had already raised the lights and put on classic Blondie. Putting on his most disarming smile, Park made a beeline for Mandy, who was untangling her foot pedals. She straightened up when she realized a stranger was approaching.

“Hello! The merch table is next to the bar. We can’t really do change for it at the moment.” The take-no-shirt punk rocker put on her best customer relations smile. Park smiled back. Mandy’s skinny arm sported a sleeve of prismatic tattoos that curled like smoke towards her ear laden with chrome rings and gauges. As if to show off her decorated half, the left side of Mandy’s head was shaved clean, while shiny white hair draped down the right side. Lots about Mandy was showy—a black bra showed through her gauzy wifebeater.

“I’m sorry, no, I’m Park Cho? I do the Hurricane Season podcast?”

“Shit, you’re the podcast guy? Hey, Hey, Silva, it’s the podcast guy!”

“Nice. Dude, good to meet you.” Silva handed an amp off to Marisa and swaggered over to give Park the strongest handshake he had ever felt. Silva Rubio came up to Park’s chest and her round torso merged curvelessly with her hips and butt. She would have been spherical if not for her prodigious breasts. She had squeezed her legs into cutoff jeans and fishnets to go with her steel toed boots. She wore a patch-covered denim vest with spikes. Silva’s head was shaved except for jet black bangs. Park looked jealousy over Silva’s patches and noticed the stick’n’poke tattoos on her arm—SR, J20, OCCPY, FRGSN, the circle A. Silva beamed at Park. Her chubby face was cute, like a grandma, the cute of someone with nothing to prove.

“It’s an honor.”

“Jesus.” Silva blanched. “I sure hope not.”

Park laughed. “I was thinking, it’s going to be pretty noisy in here. I know a diner close by that usually pretty quiet. I’ll buy you dinner. What do you say?”

“Dude, that’s too much.”

“I know how these tours go. When was the last meal that wasn’t a peanut butter on Wonder Bread?”

“Bold of you to assume we can afford Wonder Bread.” Silva smirked. She jerked her head towards the door. “Let’s ask the others what they think.”

Silva led Park out to the side alley of the restaurant, where the rest of the band was stacking amps inside a rusty van. Marisa, the bassist, noticed them first and immediately moved back, putting the drummer Sarah between herself and Park. Marisa was gangly and tall—taller than Park—with a headfull of locs that pooled in her baggy hoody. It was funny to see her hiding behind the smaller Sarah. Not that Sarah didn’t look like she could take Park in a fight—sharp-faced, with the defined arms and shoulders of a drummer, wavy hair tucked back in a ponytail, and a loose tank top drapped over her disproportionate breasts. She eyed Park with instant suspicion.

“So this is the podcast guy.” Silva jammed a thumb in Park’s direction, for Sarah and Marisa’s benefit. “He’s offering dinner. We down?”

“Why?” Sarah immediately asked.

“Goodness of my heart.” Park gestured dramatically. He stopped when Sarah seemed unamused. “I’m just a big fan of Silva’s and I’m excited to pick her brain. I figured you could use it.”

Sarah’s eyes flicked to Mandy. Mandy shrugged. That annoyed Sarah. She turned to Silva. “We know anything about—”

“Um, is it cool if I stay quiet?” Marisa pipped up, putting her hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “I don’t like having my voice, uh, recorded.”

“Oh, sure, sure, I’m sorry, yeah, none of you have to be part of the interviewed if you don’t wanna.”

“Then it’s settled.” Silva clapped her hand on Park’s arm. “Lead the way, dude.”

“Yeah,” Sarah reached into a bag wedged between the amps and pulled out a butterfly knife. She shoved it into her jeans where Park could see the outline. “Lead the way, dude.”

The Palm Tree Diner was empty, except for a matronly Somali woman in a headwrap and pink gingham. She hugged Park and he gave her a peck on the cheek, introducing her as Michele.

“This woman brews the best coffee on the Atlantic seaboard. She is my muse.”

“You flatterer, you can’t help yourself.”

“How’s the family? How’s Zoey?”

“She just gave birth. I’m a grandma.”

“Holy shit, congratulations! I’m doing an interview, but you’ll have to fill me in—”

“Are you ladies one of those bands that Park plays on his show? How nice. I’ll get you some coffee.” Michele started handed out menus before they even sat down. Michele’s broad smile didn’t waver as she turned to Park. “The boys are helping Annie with something in the back.”

“Great. I’m gonna say hi to some friends, real quick. Order anything you like.” Park excused himself as the Pap Smears settled into a booth. He didn’t wait for their reply. Park let himself behind the counter and swept through the swinging door, making a beeline for the dumpsters. He closed in on the sound of grunts and slapping flesh.

The Hannigan Brothers, line-chiefs for life, were taking turns facefucking a leashed Annabelle Grant, their boss. Annie was a southern belle who had gone fat and dumpy in her middle age. A dog collar dug into her neck as her deep, wide cleavage bounced with each thrust, having jumped free of a tight white blouse. Her black pencil skirt had ridden up her twenty-pound ass to her belt line and she must have been crawling on the floor, judging from the destruction of her sheer stockings.

“Hey! HEY!” Park clapped his hands for attention. “Gentlemen, I’m sorry to interrupt!”

“Wheeeeeeell, look who it is. It’s the Parkster.” Hands on his hips, Benjamin Hannigan swung his wet dick around to Park. Their club-like dicks were the only things healthy about the Hannigans. Park thought they looked like the ‘after’ in a crystal meth PSA.

Harry Hannigan, the one holding the leash, pulled his dick out of Annie and, taking a handful of her perm, swiveled Annie’s face around for Park to see. “It’s your best friend, Miss Grant. Say ‘hi’.”

“Woof!” Annie barked gleefully. A foamy mix of spit and spooge dribbled onto her tits. “Hello, Mister Cho!”

“Not such a bitch about our raises now, are ya’?” Harry rocked the grinning Annie’s head back and forth. Annie giggled and shook her head ‘no’.

“What’s the occasion, Park?” Benjamin folded her arms. “Decided that tonight’s the night we spitroast Mich?”

Park’s response was stony. “I’m buying dinner for four people tonight. I need you to give them all a full dose.”

He took four glass ampoules with flame-sealed tops out of his coat pocket and laid them out on the stainless steel countertop. Each contained less than a mouthful of clear liquid. Benjamin grinned at the sight of them.

“Four at once. New record for you, isn’t it?” Benjamin chuckled and shoved his dick back in his pants. “What are you gonna be eating?”

“I’m going to order a half-cup of chili.”

Benjamin went to wash his hands. “The paprikash is good tonight.”

“Who made the paprikash?”

“Yours truly.”

“Thanks.” Park turned to leave. He glanced back at Annie, gleefully jerking off Harry for what was probably round five. She smiled vacantly at Park.

“It’s so good of you to always help out Mister Cho, boys. I really, really appreciate it.”

Park put his MP3 recorder down in front of his chili. The five of them had taken a booth. Silva sat across from him. Mandy sat next to Park, between him and the window. Marisa sat the window on the other end of the table, with Sarah making sure she sat between Marisa and Park’s interview with Silva.

“So how does it feel to dodge prison?”

Silva swallowed a mouthful of her club sandwich. “I guess I should say I feel great. But it’s more like, I’m in the valley after an adrenalin high. Right? I go to protest a presidential inauguration, like, people are always protesting, and next thing I know, I’m pinned to the ground with a SWAT shield and could get life for ‘felony rioting.’ I spent a whole year scared out of my mind, and now I’m… tired? I’m out of the spoons for politics. I’m just looking for someway to recharge.”

“And how did that lead to the Peach Pit Pap Smears?”

“You ask her. I’m along for the ride.”

Silva had gestured to Mandy, who was trying to salvage the toppings slipping off her nacho. “No, no, that’s not fair—”

“I was going to say, Pap Smears is a pretty different sound from Macro Falco.” Park turned to Mandy. “Is this your first turn at song writing?”

“I’m not what I’d call a songwriter. Most of the stuff we play came out of jam sessions. All that I’ve been doing is writing it down afterwords.”

“That’s bullshit.” Sarah looked up briefly from her mac’n’cheese. “You’re a great songwriter.”

“I don’t want to take credit for all the ideas you and Marisa workshopped—”

“Gaaawd, Silva, make your girlfriend admit she has talent!” Sarah rolled her eyes. Silva bellowed with laughter. Park saw a smile in Marisa’s reflection, in between forkfuls of frito pie. He moved to cover his recorder.

“I can edit this out if you’d like me to.”

“The point I’m trying to make is,” Mandy swatted Peter’s hand away from the microphone.. “This whole thing is an extension of me, Sarah, and Marisa fucking around. We fucked around with our instruments together since high school, and now we’re fucking around acting like a band, which is considerably easier to do when your girlfriend’s done it before.”

Silva nodded. “It’s been a lot of fun organizing this tour. I was started to grow mold sitting around Mandy’s apartment in Queens, ’cause the collective I was with got scattered, and then Mandy says, you’re coming to rehearsal and doing the vocals. Then we play a few basements and this guy from Baltimore says we’re welcome to play at his place. Which we didn’t really have gas money for. So I said, it wouldn’t work unless we played a couple more shows in a place like Philadelphia, but I knew someone there from Gypsum State. And if we were so close to DC anyway, I knew someone from the scene there. Then this bitch, she says, well, do you know anyone down in Richmond, ’cause she knows a guy in Wilmington and then Marisa butts in and says she has a friend in Titusville and… well, fuck, it all snowballed, you know?”

Park eyed everyone’s food. Marisa and Sarah had nearly finished their meals. Silva and Mandy were only halfway through theirs. He switched off the recorder. “This doesn’t have to go in the podcast, but I would like to hear how you folks got involved. Just my own curiosity.”

Sarah glanced at the recorder. “Oh. Well, that is—”

“You can talk if you want to.” Marisa said to Sarah. “You don’t have take a vow of silence with me.”

“I’m good, babe.” Sarah patted Marisa’s thigh under the table. She turned to Park. “Like Mandy said, we were doing regular jam sessions and a couple of good songs came out of them. And fuck it, this is more fun than most vacations.”

“Were you also fans of Silva before she got involved?”

“I was never a punk rocker, in particular. Not really my thing? My parents gave me a CD of Red Medicine for you Christmas, you know?” Sarah shot a dirty look at Marisa for snickering.

“Sarah used to be in a Rush cover band.” Mandy shoved a handful of nachos into her mouth before she could be pressed for comment. Sarah cussed with indignation. Marisa burst into laughter.

“Now that’s something I wouldn’t have guessed. Cool. Nothing wrong with a little Y-Y-Zed.”

“Exactly!” Sarah shoved a finger in Mandy’s chipmunk face. She swung her finger around to the MP3 recorder. “Turn that back on and then we’re all going to repeat what we just said. That’s going in the podcast.”

Park changed the subject. “I saw you had tapes along with the bandcamp. Do you think you’ll put out a twenty inch at some point?”

“Well, that’s a question.” Mandy shrugged.

Silva sucked a drop of mayo off her finger. “We should.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mandy nodded. “We should.”

Sarah snorted. “Stop trying to impress your girlfriend. You always said vinyl was bullshit.”

Mandy blinked. It took a moment for the wheels to start turning behind her eyes. “Vinyl is bullshit. Yeah, we’re not doing a twenty inch, that’s bullshit.”

“Vinyl is not bullshit. Vinyl rules.”

Mandy turned to Silva, bewildered. Her mouth worked silently, fish-like, before Mandy found what she wanted to say. “You’re right. Vinyl is great. What were we talking about…? Are we releasing a twenty inch? That’d be cool. Records are coo, ’cause, uh… you know, right?”

Sarah glanced between Silva and Mandy. “Are you alright?”

“Am I…?

“Mandy’s just fine.” Park smiled at Mandy. “Nothing’s wrong. You’re fine. Perfectly content.”

“Good to hear.” Mandy’s head slumped forward as she smiled. “Sarah, I feel… good? Don’t worry.”

“What the fuck—?”

“There’s no need to panic.” Park put his hand over Silva’s on the table. His eyes focused on hers. “Everything is fine. Everybody is nice and calm.”

Silva starred blankly into Park’s gaze. Her lips hung open. Slowly, she nodded.

“Hey! Hey! My friends are in trouble!” Sarah spun in her seat, trying to get the waitress Michele’s attention. Michele whistled to herself as she polished the counter. Sarah shook Marisa’s shoulder. Marisa jerked back and forth like a rag doll, but didn’t respond. “Babe, talk to me! Marisa!”

“Sarah, I said there’s nothing to worry about. Marisa, tell her there’s nothing to worry about.”

“There’s nothing to worry about.” Marisa mumbled. She let her forehead rest on the dark window.

Sarah turned on Park with hate. She produced her butterfly knife from under the table. Park’s eyes flicked to the knife briefly. His face was impassive.

“You don’t need that.”

“You… you… you fuck...” Sarah’s hand trembled. She tried to stand up in the booth, limbs obviously lacking strength. She swayed drunkenly. Sarah gritted her teeth and leveled the knife at Park.

“Sit down.” Park insisted.

Sarah bit her lip. She tried to pull herself up and over. Her hand with the knife trembled. Her knee hit the table with a crash. Silva’s plate flipped over. A glass spilled and the ice water dribbled into Silva’s lap. The firebrand singer mewled a little.

“Sit down.” Park repeated, not even blinking.

Sarah swallowed. Slowly, Sarah retreated back into her seat. She tried to keep the knife up. It rattled in her shaking hand.

“Give it to me.”

Sarah shook her head like a guilty little girl.

“Give it, to me, now.”

She exhaled softly. Eyes closed, Sarah leaned forward and dropped the knife on Park’s place with a clatter, before slumping back against the booth seat. Park picked the knife up with his fingers and squeezed it closed. “Good girl. That’s a very good girl. Big smile now.”

A wide, toothy smile spread over Sarah’s face. She opened her glazed eyes. Park closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. Michele came over with a cup of coffee. Park wordlessly dropped the knife into her apron pocket.

“Is everything okay, Park?”

“Just had a bit of a scare. She must have not gotten a full dose. Thank god she’s small.” Park looked at Sarah. The connection came to him immediately. The serum didn’t last long once it hit oxygen. If the brothers held back part of an aliquot, they wanted to use it immediately. And Benjamin had his eyes on someone.

Park opened his mouth to warn Michele, but he stopped himself. He looked at the four women sitting in the booth with him. He was already this far. What would happen if Benjamin Hannigan blew the whistle on it all tonight? Park licked his lips and turned back to Michele.

“Let me clear them out so you can clean up.”

Park had never done four at a time before. He kept looking over his shoulder as he herded the Pap Smears out of the diner. After coaxing them one by one out of the booth, he told the blank faced women to follow Silva, that’s right, keep your eyes on Silva, just follow Silva, so easy, no thoughts, just follow Silva, so simple, just follow Silva… Park guided Silva himself with a hand on the shoulder. As he led his group of ducklings down the dark street, Park let his hand slip down to Silva’s soft waist, sliding his palm under her shirt. She felt warm. Park’s breath quickened.

The townie section of Myrtle Beach was mercifully dead at night. Park led them down a carless highway to a darkened open-court motel and let them into his room. The lights were on. A sheet had been laid over the queen-sized bed. Facing the bed was a tripod video camera. Two costume trunks lay open on the far side of the room. Park shut the door, then one by one, sat the band members down on the edge of the bed.

“Okay, listen to me, focus on me, focus, foohcussss… Think about trust. Think about how you feel when you trust someone. Think about that feeling of trust, how good it feels, to trust someone, to be with someone you trust… Think about how you can relax, when you trust… Think about relaxing, trusting, relaxing, trust… It feels so good, to trust and relax. You have such strong imaginations, your imagination is so strong, it’s so easy to remember a feeling. You can imagine it so easy. You can feel so easy. You can just think of a feeling and you feel it. You hear ‘relax’ and you relax. You hear ‘trust’ and you trust. Trust. Relax. Thinking about those words. Trust. Relax. Imagining those words. Trust. Relax. It feels so good, to trust and relax. It’s so easy to trust and relax.”

Park switched on the camera. “Are you relaxed?”

Four heads nodded dreamily.

“Do you trust me?”

They nodded again.

“That’s good. You all feel so good. I’m going to ask you to do some things for me and you’ll trust me when I ask you and it will feel good. You’ll feel so good and so relaxed when you do what I ask, because doing what I ask means you trust me and trusting me means you can relax and relaxing feels so good. Imagine that. Feeling good because you do what I ask. Imagine it. Doing what I ask feels so good.”

Park swiveled the camera around to Marisa and focused it on her face. “Introduce yourselves to the camera and say that you’re a whore.”

“I’m Marisa Ordinary, I’m the bassist for Peach Pit Pap Smear, and I’m a whore.”

“My name is Sarah Fischel. I play drums for the Pap Smears and I’m a whore.”

“I’m the guitarist and founder of Peach Pit Pap Smear, Mandy Podgorski, and I’m a complete whore.”

“I am Silva Rubio, I’m the current singer for the Smears, and I am a whore.”

Park swallowed. He kept the camera on Silva. “Say that you’re a slut.”

“I am a slut.”

“Tell me you’re a cumslut.”

“Park Cho, I am a cumslut.”

His breath quickened. His fingers flexed around the camera. “Introduce yourself as my girlfriend. Make me excited about it. Make me proud about it.”

“I’m Silva Rubio—I used to play for Macro Falco, I used to run Gypsum State Records, I sing for Peach Pit Pap Smear, I’m a certified badass—and tonight I’m your girlfriend.” Silva giggled and licked her lips, leaning back slightly with her eyes closed.

“How do you feel about that?” Park turned the camera to Mandy.

“Thinking about it… feels good.”


“I trust you.” At the word ‘trust’, a sigh rippled through the band.

“What about you?” Park turned his attention to Sarah and Marisa. “Are either of you in a relationship?”

“I love Marisa.” Even under the serum’s influence, Sarah reached out and grabbed Marisa’s hand. It was a death grip.

“I love Sarah.”

“We’ve been together for years.”

“I’m so lucky. She’s been my friend forever.”

“She’s so damn gorgeous.”

“She’s so fucking sexy.”

“I’d kill to protect her.”

“I just want her to be happy.”

Park worried the two would hurt themselves with the force of their fingers wrapped squeezed together. The serum could be unpredictable with particularly private persons. “Thank you for telling me. I’m so glad you trust me. You’re so in love, it’s good and relaxing. You can relax while you’re with the one you love. So relaxed and fulled of trust. You know you can touch them and feel good. That’s what you really want. To feel good with each other.”

Marisa and Sarah visibly relaxed, tension draining from their features. Their faces drifted together and locked lips. A happy little shriek from Mandy caught Park’s attention. ‘His’ girlfriend had hugged Mandy from behind and now peppered the guitarist’s neck with kisses. Park felt annoyed, but he reminded himself that there was a difference between getting someone to say something and getting someone to be something. He let the camera roll, switching between the two make-out sessions, before the next idea came to him.

“Everybody get up on the bed, please.” Park took the camera off the tripod. “You feel so good, now, you’re body is aching and sensitive. That’s what trust means. Trust means your body is hot and aware. Trust makes you feel needy and sexy and horny. You trust me so much, you’re body is burning, it needs to be seen and felt. Do you trust me ladies?”

There was a chorus of soft yes’s. The two couples had wormed their way up the sheets, still crushing their bodies together.

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’re horny...”

“I feel sexy...”

“I want to get off and I want everyone to see me get off...”

“We’re porn stars.” Mandy laughed drunkenly and looked straight into Park’s camera. She writhed in Silva’s hands. “I feel so horny, I feel so excitedly, I need to be seen, I trust you so much… We’re your porn stars...”

“That’s a great idea, Mandy. What do you think, ladies? Doesn’t Mandy have a great idea? You feel like porn stars. The idea makes your pulse pound. You feel like you want to show off and you want to show off each other. You love and trust each other so much, you want to show your girlfriend off, like she’s a porn star. You’re filled with so much trust, you’re nerves are burning.” The others murmured in agreement. Their breathing quickened. Sarah stroked Marisa’s cheek appreciatively. “It’s too much. The need is electrifying. It’s more powerful than anything you can think of. Why don’t you help each other out of those clothes and put on a show? You don’t have any choice.”

Marisa yanked the tank top off Sarah in a clean motion that dislodged Sarah’s breasts from her half-cup bra. As Sarah struggled to unclip her bra, Marisa straddled the smaller woman’s torso. Marisa licked both her thumbs, then grabbed Sarah’s peach-sized breasts and rolled her wet thumbs over the nipples. Sarah swatted away Marisa’s hands and got her bra off, tossing it in Marisa’s face. The blush on Sarah’s face trailed down her pale neck and cleavage, nearly down to her naval. Sarah stuck her hands under Marisa’s sweatshirt and tickled the black girl mercilessly. Marisa rolled off of Sarah. Sarah wasted no time pulling Marisa’s hoodie and undershirt over the taller woman’s head. Marisa disentangled her locs from the clothes as Sarah ran her hands up and down Marisa’s svelt muscles and flat chest.

“Show the camera your ass, baby.”

Marisa, still kneeling on the bed, straightened up and slid her pants down to her knees. This revealed her long, smooth legs and her tight ass in hot pink panties that were practically neon against the brown skin. Hugging Marisa’s stomach, Sarah looked at the camera and pressed two fingers, through the fabric, in Marisa’s crack. Marisa shuddered. She grabbed two handfuls of Sarah’s curly dark hair as the tiny woman swirled her fingers around, driving Marisa’s panties up her crack. Marisa bucked her hips. Sarah hugged her harder and drove her fingers home.

“Oh god!” Marisa whined as she drove five claw-like fingers into the small of Sarah’s back and raked upwards. Shrieking happily, Sarah bolted upright. Marisa wrapped her arms over Sarah, drawing her in for a kiss. They broke the kiss long enough to cock their heads at Park, inviting him to bring the camera around to their side. Sarah’s hand, inside Marisa’s panties, fondled Marisa’s erect dick. Marisa used one hand to pop the crotch on Sarah’s jeans and pulled the crotch on her boxers down slowly with a thumb, revealing a trail of dark bush. Marisa slid her finger through the hair, then held it up for the camera.

“Look how wet she gets for my cock.”

Sarah smirked and gave Marisa a squeeze. “More like, how hard this chick gets for my tits.”

“Hey, get that camera over here!” Silva called out, punctuated by a moan from Mandy. The two of them had gotten completely naked. Silva sat on the edge of the bed, with Mandy straddling her leg. Mandy’s arms were pinned behind her back by Silva, as the tattooed girl ground her snatch against her girlfriend’s knee. Mandy’s scrawny body arched backwards, anchored in high tension by Silva at one end and her needy pussy on the other. Colorful murals played over her baby pink skin. The sleeve on her arm showed catfish winding through smoky water. A small patch of wild flowers sat under her right breast. Her thigh had a woman’s face, shrouded in rainbow ribbons, winking lasciviously next to Mandy’s wet crotch.

“Get in there!” Mandy scrunched up her brow. Her platinum blonde sideshave bounced in front of her face. “Get a good shot of my pussy!”

Park knelt down to oblige. Her engorged lips, rolling back and forth over Silva’s knee, were an earthy brown. Thin wisps of strawberry blonde hair trailed up from her hood like clouds following the sunset. Her clit itself was collared, the little prince wrapped in a shiny steel ring that pierced the hood from side to side, with a protruding bearing pressed into the underside of Mandy’s erection. Her hips shuddered as she crushed the metal against her flesh.

Mandy came quietly, petering out, and rolled off of Silva’s leg. Silva gently slid her hand through Mandy’s hair. Mandy let herself be guided to Silva’s crotch. She peppered Silva with appreciative kisses, when Park interrupted them.

“I’ve got an idea. Silva, put your vest back on.”

“Whatever you say.” Silva patted Mandy on the check, making her let Silva up. Silva moved with impeccable posture, steering her weight with ease. She had a farmer’s tan; the contrast drew the eyes to Silva’s broad shoulders and massive thighs. As Silva picked over her clothes on the floor, Park realized she had never been wearing underwear. Silva had been commando under her daisy dukes. He wondered how the denim had felt on the thick pussy that now winked at him from under Silva’s prodigious ass.

Finding her war vest, Silva turned to Park and grinned knowingly. She pulled the vest on, then drew the front together, squishing her cleavage together. For Park, it was an eyeful.

“Do you like riot grrls, Mr. Cho? Do you think punk is sexy?”

“I just think you’re… cool.”

“Is that why you’ve been hiding an erection all evening?” Silva ran a hand over her buzzed scalp, then twisted a bang between her fingers. “Because you’re such a big fan of my activism?”

Park’s head spun. He hadn’t told her to do this. Had he? He had told him to make him excited that she would say she was his girlfriend. That sounded kind of vague, didn’t it? Or was this real? Had he just given her a little push and this was real and Silva Rubio was coming onto him…? Maybe it wasn’t the serum at all…?

Park mentally told himself to shut up.

“You’re a legend. Getting the chance to see you like this is…. There’s a shot I want to get!” Park waved the camera around, barking orders. “Silva should sit up against the back on the bed. Everybody else should be getting her off. Like she’s sexy hot shit. Like she’s a.. a.. goddess or something.”

Marisa and Sarah disentangled themselves and crawled up to where Silva took her position. Park kept coordinating the scene. “Mandy should get in-between Silva’s legs and eat her out. Sarah, Marisa, you should each take a breast and… suckle? Suck on it. Kiss it. Lick it.”

The three band members crawled over each other in silent compliance. Silva grinned from ear to ear. Her eyes were wide with excited disbelief. She only mumbled a faint ‘oh my god’ as the other women took their places. Mandy buried her head in Silva’s cunt. Marisa lifted a breast in her hand, using the other to prop herself up, and began to alternate teasing the nipple with her lips and teeth. Sarah pressed her face into Silva’s fat, inhaling the nipple with a baby animal, one hand gripping Silva’s shoulder and the other teasing Silva’s belly.

Silva closed her thighs on Mandy’s head. The trapped girl’s fingers dug into Silva’s buttocks, while she showed no signs of slowing down her personal pie eating contest. Silva softly stroked Sarah and Marisa’s hair, before looking at Park and his camera. She made a bicep and kissed it.

“Is this what you want in a girlfriend? Is this what you want to see? Why don’t you crawl in here and join the fun? Give your punk girlfriend a little kiss.”

Park stopped breathing. He knees felt watery. He nearly dropped the camera. “No, I don’t… This is good. Let’s do something else. I brought costumes.”

It’s not rape if I don’t touch them, Park told himself. This was just pictures and video and recordings. He wasn’t hurting them. It wasn’t rape.

The first set of costumes they had broken out were simple car ears and tails. Everybody looked adorable with the ears on, but the clip-on tails were a problem because nobody felt like putting pants back on. Mandy made an effort to clip a tail on her panties, and it pulled the fabric down over her ass. Park had to settle for close-up shots of Marisa giving Sarah a tongue bath.

The maid costumes went over better. They were just frilly hairbands, white aprons, and black sashes. With a little prompting from Park, the ladies realized how fun it was to play the sexed up characters. The four members of Peach Pit Pap Smear lined up ass-to-groin, hugged each other around the waste, and smiled angelically for their ‘Master’. They eagerly presented their behinds for inspection. They knelt down in a polite row and looked up at the camera with big, innocent eyes. They lined up, neatly folded their hands in their laps, bowed, and seductively intoned, “How may we serve you?”

“Good, good… You’re having so much fun acting like sexy maids. Acting out these sexy fantasies is so much fun. I know something that’s going to be even more fun. You should pretend to be someone you would never want to be. That will be really fun. You should pretend to be a woman who’s the complete opposite of who you are, a woman who’s the opposite of who you want to be. The idea sounds great. It will be so much fun, you won’t be able to help yourself—you’ll be smiling and giggling the whole time. That sounds fun. Can you picture your character?”

“Yes, master!”

“Go change your costumes and show me.”

The four women—the girls—tittered with joy. “Right away, master!”

They tore into the trunks Park had brought to the motel beforehand. As bikinis and edible panties went flying, Park checked the time on his watch. The serum would last past sunrise, but he would need time to get them in shape to drive themselves out of town before it did. This would be the last of their playtime. They had been going for nearly two hours.

Two hours since Park left Michele behind at the diner…

“Ready!” Park’s thoughts were interrupted by a sing-song voice. Marisa stumbled forward on six-inch platform heels, leaning against Sarah for support. The now-even-taller woman couldn’t comfortably wrap her arm around her short girlfriend. Marisa had gone from naked to practically naked—only two thin tubes of hot pink rubber covered her waist and her chest. She had found the make-up and splashed gold lipstick and sparkly gold eyeshadow over her face. Smiling wide, she sung-spoke loud and proud. “What’re we going to do next? Put on a fashion show?”

“I was thinking, a music video.”

“Juice sounds lit, fam. Singing at 2 am is so mood.” Sarah giggled airily. Her hair was scrunched up in two thick twintails. Big plastic heart-shaped shades hid her eyes. Sarah had strapped a white string bikini over her privates parts and somehow wiggled her way into a cherry-colored varsity jacket that would maybe fit an eleven-year-old. Wearing kneesocks and trainers, she bent one leg coquettishly, with one arm wrapped around Marisa’s waist.

“Oh, no, we can’t do that.” Mandy called out from the bathroom. “We’ll disturb someone who’s sleeping.”

Park nearly dropped his camera at the sight of Mandy, mincing out of the bathroom with her hands folded under her chest. She had evidently gone for ‘modest’ and the only thing she could accomplish that with was a poorly-cut tear-away dress meant to invoke June Cleaver. Fake pearls hung from her ears and her neck. Her wild hairstyle was tucked up a pageboy wig. Park supposed that this is what a showy sex-positive feminist imagined when she tried to imagine “the opposite of who she wanted to be.” The transformation, alas, was ruined by the way her vacuous smile kept shifting to a shit-eating grin.

“C’mon, girl. Don’t be shy.” Marisa gave Mandy a slap on the ass, eliciting a theatrical cry, before she and Sarah took either arm and dragged the “resisting” woman forward. “Are you ready, honey?”

“I sure-as-shooting am, yesiree.”

Silva bustled up behind the rest in a navy blue poodle skirt and a red-and-white striped blouse. The blouse was too small and stretched taut over Silva’s torso, so that even with the top three buttons undone her unsupported breasts were crushed tight. A fourth button threatened to go flying. A wig of golden blonde ringlets framed Silva’s cherubic smile. She pushed her way to the front of the pack and clapped her hands excitedly.

“Well, golly gee, a music video! We are grateful as a hot hound with a cold bowl of water. The Peach Pit Jamboree shooting a music video! I’d never imagine it. Places, girls, places. We mustn’t waste Mr. Cho’s valuable time.”

Silva’s display made the other three burst into peels of laughter, breaking character. Silva made a big show of shushing them and admonishing them for their lack of respect for somehow as important as Mr. Cho. There came stomping and cursing from the room upstairs. Park set his phone to play the bounciest of the Pop 100. When he turned his camera on the girls, they were already swaying their hips, grinning wide.

Cum trickled down Park’s inseam.

“That’s right, get all comfortable, you’re ready to go to bed, you had so much fun and you’re so tired, you’re about to go into a deep sleep, it’s so important to listen to me but you can barely stay awake, when I leave you’ll fall into a deep sleep, because you’re more tired than you can remember…

“Listen, you ate dinner with me and you drove out here and you fell asleep. All the sexy fun we had is like a dream. You’ll fall into such a deep sleep that you’ll only remember all the sexy fun we had like it’s a dream—you only ate dinner with me, then you drove out here and fell asleep, that’s what you remember, everything else is like a dream...”

“That’s good. Get comfortable. You’re falling asleep. You’re falling into a deep, dark sleep. Goodbye. Goodnight. I love you.”

By four in the morning, Park felt his those two hours of fun and excitement had never happened. He pulled his junker into the motel lot. The clean-up almost made Park’s adventures not worth it. He had to calm them all down, convince them to follow his car out to a lonely stretch, and then finally guide them into a deep sleep that would swallow up their memories. It was much more work than the sex-capades themselves, dealing with the wound-up band members when he was getting sleepy himself. He swallowed the dregs from his instant coffee and crushed the cup with a shudder.

Park considered the motel. The room was still a mess. He’d have to clean up all the costumes and (ugh) sweep the room to make sure nothing incriminating got dropped. He need some quick shut-eye. Of course, he could catch a nap in the motel itself, but the smell afterwords always got to him. Instead, Park pulled his car out and headed down the drag towards his apartment. The motel rooms had been a matter of precaution, not travel time.

On the way, he passed the Palm Tree Diner. Park stopped his car. He didn’t need more coffee. But he did need to confront this, sooner or later. He parked the car, got out, and climbed the three steps into the fluorescent light. The diner was preternaturally quiet. Park had to stop, even hold his breath, before her heard the quiet sobs. He saw Michele sitting in one of the booths, far away.

Park took a step towards her. Benjamin Hannigan’s hand slapped down on Park’s shoulder.

“I figured you’d be around. Figured you’d catch wise.” Benjamin laughed nervously. “I guess the half-pint gave you a little trouble, after all. I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would make a difference, right? Probably didn’t. You still got her. No harm, no foul.”

Park didn’t turn around. The bathroom door was open. A puddle was oozing out of it. Michelle didn’t have her shoes on. “What did you do?”

“Look… she’s fine. She’s gonna be fine. Michelle’s just confused, like, about why she did it. The poor woman is emotionally overwhelmed. I don’t have your finesse. But she said yes, right? She basically said yes. That’s the important part.”

Michele looked up, overhearing them. She smiled at Park and nodded her head, confirming what Benjamin said, before her body seized with a fresh bought of sobbing and Michele buried her face in her hands. Park turned and swung on Benjamin.

Park came back to his apartment with a cut cheek and a broken nose. He wiped the blood on his sleeve and stumbled over to the filing cabinet by his desk. Taking a manilla envelop, he dropped in two USB drives, tonight’s concert flier, and one Peach Pit Pap Smear demo tape. Park closed the envelop with the flexible clasp, then neatly labeled it with the date and the band’s name. He put the envelop into a drawer with so many others.

Morning rose on the Peach Pit Pap Smear sleeping on the side of the road in their van. Silva and Mandy were in the front seats, leaning against each other. Marisa and Sarah, sharing a sleeping bag, were wedged into the gap left between the equipment. When Marisa came to, she found Sarah awake and starring a thousand yards away. Sarah’s arms were tight.


“Good morning.” Sarah shifted her gaze to Marisa. Her features softened.

“You doing okay? You look like you weren’t sleeping.”

“I think…. I had one of those dreams that you feel like you have to apologize for? You know when you dream about chewing someone out or making out with your crush or some dumb shit and then you feel guilty about it, even though it was just a dream.”

Marisa laughed kindly. “Are you cheating on me in your dreams?”

“Nothing like that. I can’t even remember what I was dreaming about. I just feel guilty.”

Marisa smiled. She thought about giving Sarah a reassuring peck on the check, but the idea lacked appeal. She didn’t have any affection to give. Marisa felt drained. If Marisa had to place the feeling, she would’ve likened it to post-scene drop, which was weird, given how unexcited last night’s show had been. She slid her arms further around Sarah. Being in the sleeping bag with her girlfriend felt like aftercare.

In the front seat, Silva was woken up by a yawning Mandy falling over her. Silva pushed Mandy off of her. She saw the sun on her left, blazing over the road, and sighed. Silva didn’t feel like she had slept at all. An annoying flash from Mandy’s phone turned Silva’s head.


“I dunno, I woke up feeling sexy. Like hangover sexy.” Mandy swept her hair to the side and made a kiss at the camera, before a second flash. “Like Courtney Love.”

Silva grunted. “Just don’t get me in it.”

“Aw, you look cute, babe.”

“Yeah? Well I feel like someone’s lunch.” Silva scanned the horizon and started the van’s engine.

“Ouch. What the happened last night? I didn’t think the show or that interview went bad.”

“I dunno.” Shift gears. Ease into the road. Aim for the horizon. “But whatever it was, it savored me and shat me out.”