The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A malignant cell can change, reproduce and if not stopped ultimately kill the host if exposed and the cancer is opportunistic. Viruses can change and mutate and too this day can’t be cured. What happens when one person is a malignancy and the host is a world filled with imbalance, cultural strive, and nearly toxic levels of hormones? Through a Siberian husky, a kinky soccer mom, and her son, the human race might be saved. They just might not be the same race afterwards.

Nature abhors vacuums, right angles, and imbalances. With 7.5 Billion people on the planet, lack of crops and air pollution weren’t the nightmares that the latest generation of “doomsayers” thought they would be. The world kept warming up as it had since the end of the last big ice age over 12,000 years ago (and even after the smaller ice age that ended almost 300 years earlier). Babies kept being born, and people kept fucking.

The end of the world didn’t happen quickly, and in hindsight, didn’t really happen at all. Decades later, everyone just understood the realignment of the world and their new roles in it. After all this time, T. S. Eliot was right. It just wasn’t the kind of “whimper” he had in mind.

MILF’s (Mother’s I’d like to FUCK) were a statistical bi-product of the end of the world. Women became more sexually aware as they aged, and far less inhibited. Older males in many “civilized” countries weren’t able to keep up. In a lot of the world, male impotence was address with either Viagra or increased subjugation of women and often violently. Something had to give.

It would sound odd, that a cultural change would cause the outbreak of a new virus, unless you knew that viruses were just opportunistic by nature and if they were aware, they would understand that they were just waiting for the right Petri dish.

Patrick Macaw didn’t know anything about it. He didn’t know about lots of things. As a teenager, he just wanted to get thru high school and had every fear and insecurity that every male of his age had. He hated school. Well, he hated most of it.

He’d say that he really liked his classmates. That wasn’t really true. He just liked the girls. Being as tall as he was he could smell the combined pheromones that they produce wafting just above most of them. Gangly and acne faced he also felt urges. They all smelled so…. GOOD. He understood from Sex-Education that this was normal. He just didn’t know that his normal wasn’t theirs. His urges were far more dark and primal.

If he had known that with Thanksgiving coming up, that this day, Tuesday, would be the last day of his “normal” life, he would have fucked his mother into his obedient bitch, sooner.

Just after 1st Period:

It was just after gym, and the scent of their bodies hung in the air. Knowing how girls felt about the scent of their pussies, Patrick wished he could tell them the truth. They hated the way their sexes smelled. They hated that they smelled “fishy”. Patrick wished he could tell them ALL that they had it wrong. They smelt like sex. Girl sex. Boys smelled like boy sex. Girls just were more uncomfortable about the scent they made. Living with 5 females, and an aunt who often stayed over after getting too fucked up to drive back the other side of Pensacola, Patrick knew about them. Their cycles, when and what they “got off” too, and even what the “wings” were for on panty liners.

It was the beginning of the school day and that alone, meant it sucked. After first period he passed the girls locker room, one of the girls opened the locker room door and the out rush of soap, shampoo, deodorant and perfume couldn’t mask the combined fragrance of their nubile bodies, the sweat and scent of pussy and female hormone saturated pee. He felt his heart race. Sweat began pouring from his pores and slight shakes tremored throughout his body. “Flu” he thought? It was flu season, but he knew something else was wrong. Also, a very hard swelling at the base of his dick. Almost painful, and not the regular “good” feeling of his erections. He felt a burning feeling in his testicles as well. All this happened so quickly he almost fainted within seven steps of the onslaught of girl stew.

He needed to get the hell out of this hell hole.

Heading to the school nurse, he made sure to stop at the front desk. He needed to first call his mom. Being the youngest of five kids, he also didn’t have a cell phone or a car of his own. His two twin sisters who were still in high school as well and drove him, and there were hours of school left. Even as the only boy in a family of six, he knew if would have no “hand me downs”. He would have to work for everything he needed or wanted other than the bare essentials. His mom made enough money to support the family, and when not at the clinic, she worked from home. Patrick was lucky that she was home. Often, clients would kennel their animals when they went on Thanksgiving break. The veterinary clinic she owned was almost 30 mins from their home and school and Patrick wasn’t doing well at all.

“Hey Cheryl.”, Patrick greeted the student office assistant at the front desk. Cheryl’s caramel brown hair framed her mousy face, and clear wire rimmed glasses. They were friends going back to elementary school, and it was only after they started high school that things got strained. Cheryl wasn’t equipped for the onslaught of puberty. It was horrid to everyone, but it seemed to pick on the shy girl even more. Patrick and Cheryl were friends enough that when Cheryl first came out, she did so to Patrick. Then the tit fairy came, and she filled out. Too much and too fast, and she went into an emotional tailspin that found her rejecting all males. Patrick was no exception. It was too bad. Cheryl smelled so good, and since they both grew up without a father (Cheryl’s dad died from cancer when she was two and Patrick’s dad ran off before he was even born), they knew special pains.

“GOD, she smells so good!!!” Patrick’s mind screamed has he moved closer with the girl.

The dizziness and ‘sweats’ hit again along with the new “special” pain. Patrick found himself looking at her shirt. Her tits were huge and he wanted to fuck her. Fuck her and make her suck her own tits. Grab her hair and drive her mouth into the cunt of another girl. Make her an extension of his cock and use Cheryl to fuck another….” Pain shot again from the base of his cock when the crude errant thought struck him, and it strained in his jeans.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she said as Cheryl looked at her former friend. His stance started to waver and his eyes were staring uncomfortably at Cheryl’s breasts. “Typical.” She thought. Patrick was no different. “All boys ARE pigs.” She continued to think.

“Nice to see you too. I’m feeling sick. Is Mrs. Toups in?” Patrick said. His warm breath making its way to the disproportionally chesty lesbian wanna-be. Cheryl knew she liked girls, but other than playing with herself and fantasizing, she considered herself a sexless virgin. Her thinking was simple. You can want to be a pilot all day, but until you flew a plane, you were. Cheryl wouldn’t truly think herself as a true “vagetarian” until she ‘sealed the deal with a happy girl meal’

She inhaled again and Cheryl caught a sweet smell from Patrick’s breath. Something like mint. “Yeah. Go on back. She’ll be in soon.”

“Can you give Ji…. My mom a call?” Patrick asked.

“Sure.” Was all Cheryl said as she leaned in. “Not mint. More like pine” she thought. Has he lumbered past her, Cheryl reprimanded herself. She did NOT want to get sick this close to Thanksgiving.

Picking up the phone, she called Jillian Macaw’s cell number on file. As the phone rang, Cheryl felt a warm tingling. She spent a lot of her alone time often thinking about Patrick’s mom. Jill Macaw was HOT! Fucking all 5 of the female Macaw’s were. Blonde, tight little porn queen fuck dolls with tits almost as melon sized as hers. Cheryl felt the tingle again, but where they had cantaloupes, Cheryl had these fucking watermelons and a breast reduction surgery in her future. Patrick was the only obvious exception. Tall, brown-haired and worse, a boy.

The phone rang and then went to Voice Mail. “Odd.” Cheryl thought, but instead of leaving a message, she redialed and this time the phone was answered. “WHAT?” the hard female voice said on the other end. Cheryl was taken aback. She knew Jill’s voice, but it was so “cruel” sounding.

After a brief few minutes, Becky Toups RN entered the “sick room” where Patrick waited.

The thin matronly woman, now in her late 60’s, Mrs. Rebecca Toups had choices after retiring from the military. Retire at home, become a hospice nurse, or join the wonderful world of Public School systems.

She wasn’t happy about any of those options. If she picked retirement, she would be stuck all day staying home with her husband. She was no longer in love with him, and the only reason they stayed together was habit.

Hospice was just fucking depressing.

So even though this school was far too large in her opinion, she found it the least offensive option.

As she set down the gym bag she used for carting medical items around she was surprised to see Patrick Macaw there. She smiled a rare smile.

She had seen all the Macaw kids come through all 4 years of high school, and Patrick was by far the least snot-nosed fuck-tards of them all. He was, just nice. Not wanting to chalk it all up to his sunny disposition, his 4 sister’s had been “cunts” to her over their passage through the school system. Bev and Susan were still in attendance, and went out of their way to make “old maid” remarks behind Becky’s boney ass.

Patrick won, by just not being an ass wipe.

“Hello Mr. Macaw.”, Becky liked to refer to the dicks and cunts that thought they ran this school with the same level of contempt she showed her former colleagues as a member in the US Navy.

Peering over her eye glasses, she saw him slouching and even acne pitted, more red faced than normal. “Not feeling well?” she inquired even though it was obvious he wasn’t.

Even sitting in the plain plastic chairs, Patrick’s height was evident. Looking up, past her flattened shriveled tits, she was almost eye level with him.

“Yeah, Mrs. Toups. It started after first period gym. I feel achy and have chills and I swear I almost passed out in front of Cheryl.” Patrick prattled.

“Good luck you didn’t, dickweed. That rughugger would leave you there”, the salty nurse thought to herself. She didn’t like Cheryl and lesbo’s creeped her out since she first ran into them during her years in the service.

“Ok, let’s have a look at you.” She said moving the cart that held the Blood Pressure cuff and medical sundries. Years of tracking statistics in the service, taught her that if influenza, cold, or the “clap” was going around, it would pass through her duty station first.

He stood and positioned himself parallel with the stainless steel pushcart. As he moved passed her, he inhaled her scent. She was different. She smelled like warm bread, and he had to stop himself from moving closer to her. Not for the first time that day, Patrick’s cock became painful and now even engorged he felt it start to push against his right thigh. He thought briefly of mentioning the unusual pain in his ‘junk’, but quickly dismissed it since this was the school nurse, and he wasn’t going to go to a doctor for something this embarrassing. He felt an odd kinship with girls who had to spread their legs constantly for everything from a yeast infection to getting a pap smear to just getting birth control pills.

At first, not noticing his discomfort, she took the tongue depressor and pen light, to see…. nothing, his throat was fine. Removing the wooden depressor she tossed it in the lined trash can, and took his vitals. Patrick had been alone in the room for five minutes before Becky caught herself looking at the young man’s straining blue jeans. That surprised her, and when she looked up, he exhaled. The effect was like the menthol cigarettes she used to smoke back in her days at Subic Bay. Having quit years ago, the effect was still intoxicating. She leaned in as he exhaled again and she intentionally inhaled.

“What the Fuck” Patrick thought as Mrs. Toups moved closer her eyes half closed. Her mouth only a couple of inches away from his. Open and inviting?

She stopped herself and regained a measure of her former discipline.

“Patrick. Have you been smoking?” She asked trying to sound stern and prepared to launch into a lecture of the dangers of smoking on…. “On…… hard cocks, fucking my hairy gray cunt into submission. Eating my pussy until it is chewed up like bubblegum. Fucking me until I break my hips from cumming around hard man flesh. FUCK!!!”.

“What the Fuck” Becky thought as Patrick moved closer. One more exhale.

“I think you need some bedrest, Mister Macaw”, when she said the words, it was different this time. Softer. “Need you in my bed, fucking my gash. Making me suck your cock and drinking your twat slimed cum down my throat-cunt.. FUCK ME!!” her mind screamed.

Regaining her composer once again, the older woman shrilled “Cheryl!!”.

“His mom is coming” she heard the pint sized clitlicker say from the other room.

“Ok Mister…. Uh, Patrick, we will get you signed out.” Giving him the song and dance about staying off of his feet, and plenty of fluids,” her mind once again wondered to him jerking his cock off and shooting white clouds of icing over her useless, inadequate tits.”

Since starting to die after gym, Patrick had been producing what would be considered later, “Hu-Pack-A1”, the aerosolized part of a unique 2 part virus. Since Mrs. Becky Toups spent the most time with Patrick so far, the virus replicated, infected and attached to the right Caudate Nucleus of one of the key sex centers of her brain. At the same time her cerebral cortex linked “Patrick” to her right Caudate Nucleus. Every sexual memory, fantasy and desire would start realigning themselves around the “concept” of Patrick. He was becoming everything she had ever wanted or known about sex and pleasure. Patrick was every drag from each cigarette she ever had. He was the reason she had her first orgasm. Patrick was every desert she ever had, and every fuck she ever enjoyed.

For the first time in years, Becky felt her sex overflow her panties, and drip down her thighs.

For the first time in over 200,000 years, Mrs. Becky Toups was the first human female to go into true polyestrous.

50 seconds after Patrick left the school’s “medical” room, Becky Toups was on the floor grinding her hands into and around her panties. The skirt hiked up, she worked her fingers into her sex and pulled at her mound and slit. Pain was also her pleasure now.

“Fuck. Cock. Suck. Cunt. Me.” Words and memories raced through her. The harder her heart raced the more her body was flooding itself with adrenalin. Long passed menopause, her emptied ovaries started over producing estrogen. When the dark climax burned her above her mound, painful words became pleasurable.. Unfertile! She was unfertile. The climax seared at her, and wouldn’t stop. Dry, barren, useless, old maid. The pain of it ripped through her, and the smallest part of her tried to be quiet; not to be heard and she whimpered as her emptiness seized her. With the last of the quaking orgasm, the pain stopped.

She was left panting on the vinyl tiled floor, and only after several minutes did she see her fingers. A couple of the nails were torn and coated with girl goo, blood and gray pubic hair. She had clawed at her snatch until it bled and ripped her own sex hair from herself.

Her first rational thought was, “Thank god no one walked in. Next time, lock the fucking door, Becky”, the infected woman said to herself. “Next time???” The horror that there would be a next time was only outmatched with the idea that there might not be a next time.

Jillian Macaw pulled in front of Lionsgate High School. Looking in the general direction of the front office, she was still struck by the size of the building. All of her kids had gone here, but with well over 4500 students (most of whom were from military families), it was often hard to spot her own kids. “Patrick should be easy” She thought to herself. He was tall for his age, and although not the “jock” type, was often pursued by basketball coaches even in Middle school.

“Thank god he wasn’t huge at birth”, Jillian, not for the first time, pondered. Keeping physically fit, was part of her nature and now part of her job. Having 5 kids did not help in that process. They were going to stop at 3, the 50 year old lamented, but after the twins, #5 was just a surprise.

She was not happy to be here. Her client would still pay for his session. Officers could never afford to be found out to be submissives. The hardest for the part-time dominatrix wasn’t striping out of her corset, removing her black cum covered boots, or the supplementary items needed for her “other” profession. The hardest part was changing her headspace from “Mistress Diane” back into “soccer-mom”.