The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

10:05 a.m.: Electronics

“Wow, guys, this is really boring and stupid and dumb,” Stephanie said. “Lets just go back to school, and agree to never talk about it ever again.”

She kept her voice level and calm. She didn’t feel level and calm. Actually, every bit of her overcurved body felt a bit overheated. And there was a droplet of sweat dripping down the inner part of her thighs.

“Cutting school is what being a Senior is all about,” Mark explained. “It’s recognition of the fact that we have learned everything that can or will be taught in a High School, and that is the greatest intelligence of all.”

Stephanie wasn’t quite sure what to say to that.

She knew that usually she would cut Mark down with some witty remark, skewering him for being verbose, arrogant, and generally overwrought. But today she just couldn’t shake the feeling that boys in general, and Mark in particular, were RIGHT. She kept drinking in the words they said, and trying to find something wrong with them, and failing.

“Well, you know, maybe I could use some more teaching,” she tried. “I’m not a guy, you know. I don’t know all these things.”

What did THAT mean? That because she didn’t have some ridiculous prong between her legs, she was half as intelligent? That men were fonts of wisdom, just because they had that Y chromosome, and bundles of sexy-hot upper body strength that could easily bend her just about in half?

Stephanie shuddered and rubbed her legs together. Fortunately, Mark hadn’t noticed the faux pas. He was still covered in a light sweat from his turn on the Dance machine.

Peter stomped heavily on the mat with the arrows on it.. The three of them had Electronics essentially to themselves, alone with long rows of plastic-wrapped discs. The clientele had shown no interest in stereos, and they hadn’t seen a staffer in the hour since they had arrived. Occasionally a girl would walk by, gently pushing a cart, and Stephanie wondered if people always dressed that short and skimpy during the weekday. Was there some relaxed dress code she didn’t know about?

Not that she was much better. Stephanie had felt way overdressed in pants, that morning. And all her skirts were half-ironic black or grey wraps. So she had squeezed into an old pair of cutoffs, the stonewashed denim rounding her rear and pulling up tight.

She had shaved, too, all shiny and smooth. Maybe that explained the drop of sweat distracting her, making its way down the curves of her thighs.

“Your turn,” Peter said.

Stephanie glanced at the DDR machine. The girl on the screen was a brightly colored parody of girls, wearing multicolored bracelets and a pixelated red skirt that showed off pixelated skin.

“I don’t...” Stephanie said, but stopped. Of course. It was her turn.

Peter had said so.

She gingerly climbed onto the machine, and felt her earrings bounce back and forth. She hadn’t worn earrings in years, and had half-imagined the holes would be shut. They almost were, but the gold hoops were too cute not to wear.

Stephanie stomped gingerly on each arrow as it lit up. No doubt the boys were already giving her ass an inspection. Of course, that was their right as boys, to check her over and let her know if she—

“Stop it!” she told herself, stomping even harder. What was going on? Just the thought of boys and she was simpering like a harem girl!

“Christ, Stephanie,” Mark said. “You dance like a forty-five year old construction worker named Bob. Dance like a girl. Or at least, not like a fat old dude.”

Again, a witty rejoinder about Mark’s weight struggles died on her lips. She WAS dancing like a guy. And she was a girl. A girl with nicely shaven legs.

“So what do you suggest, smart guy?” she said. “Smart guy” was supposed to come out sarcastic. Instead, it slid through her lips like butter.

“I don’t know, move your hips, shake that moneymaker,” Mark said.

Shake her ass. Okay, Stephanie thought, glad for the direction. She could shake her ass. She put a wiggle into it, a new energy, and was delighted to see how much easier it was to bounce to the rhythm. She felt the shorts stretch and strain as she backed up, closer to the two sweat-soaked boys, a hands-grab away.

“Thanks, Mark,” she simpered.

Mark chuckled. “Awesome, Stephanie. What’re you up to today? You going to start shaking your boobs around if I tell you it makes you dance better?”

Shaking her tits would make her dance better. Stephanie struggled against it for a moment, but it was a fact, and, she realized, a guy had told it to her. Guys, she was coming to understand, really did know a lot of important things, and arguing against them was a mistake. “Would it really?” she called back, still gyrating her rear across the mat.

The two boys were quiet, briefly. “Uh, yeah,” Peter said, finally.

She turned to face them, ass still shaking, and put a twist in her hips. Her tits briefly jiggled underneath a too-short shirt from summer camp, years ago. The cotton was cheap and thin, and it was already riding well up her midriff. Her tits swung back and forth in her bra.

“They don’t really jiggle with my bra on,” she reported, anxiously.

The boys had both gone poker-faced.

“You should, you know, take it off, then,” Mark finally said.

And that made a sudden burst of sense. With her bra off, her tits would jiggle, and with her boobs bouncing unrestrained, she would be a better dancer.

Stephanie grinned, slowly. Life was becoming easier, moment by moment. No wonder she had felt all stressed out. She was listening to boys, but not automatically doing what they said. This was much more simple.

It was pretty easy to reach behind her back and unclip it. Actually, slipping it off under her shirt was kind of a relief. The thing was pinching like crazy.

“Am I dancing better?” she asked, anxiously, high-stepping and twisting as hard as she could. Her tits swung unrestrained, jiggling up and down under a sweat-soaked shirt. She wasn’t actually looking at the arrows, of course, but the boys hadn’t mentioned that as being important.

“Oh yeah,” Mark sighed. He looked at Peter, nudged him, and the two withdrew a short distance away. They looked like they were talking about something.

Stephanie concentrated on her dancing. She was working up a good sweat now, and the shirt was sticking to the tops of her tits. This was getting pretty hot. She wondered idly if the boys had any other good ideas. That she could do.

The two approached her. Mark took the lead. “Stephanie, are you doing okay?”

“I’m doing okay,” she assured them.

Peter intervened. “Okay. Stephanie, you’re doing great, and you feel great. Now how do you feel?”

“Mmm,” Stephanie said, closing her eyes. “I feel fantastic.” It was so, so true. Everything boys said was true. Her skin was glowing hot, every bit of it, the tossing and turning waking up every nerve and fiber. She felt fucking amazing, sweat burning hot on her oversensitive skin, and a smile rippling across her face.

“You know,” Mark said, casually, “You’d feel even better if you were, you know, touching yourself.”

God, was that ever true. So, so true. “You guys won’t mind?” she said.

They both shook their heads no.

“Oh, great!” Stephanie said, and brought one hand up to caress the soft firmness of her body. It was already screaming for more stimulation from the casual dance steps she was still up to, and the feel of her hands twisting and pulling at a nipple was exactly the release she needed. She giggled, and tried to figure out why some of this seemed so wrong. The boys had been totally logical at all points. And right—she did feel great, and her dancing was incredible, judging by the bulge in each of their shorts.

“If your shorts are getting in the way, feel free to take them off,” Peter suggested.

“Oh, they’re fine, thanks though,” Stephanie assured them. Like she was going to strip naked in a shopping mart.

“Your shorts are totally getting in the way, and you should absolutely take them off,” Mark said.

Boy, was that ever the truth. The denim was totally unsuitable for dancing, scratchy and irritating. Stephanie barely broke stride, unzipping the front of her shorts and starting the sidle down her sweat-soaked legs.

“Underwear too,” Peter said.

...grabbing hold of the cotton to include them. It would feel fantastic to have the nice cool air on her snatch while she danced, and the attention from the boys wouldn’t hurt. Stephanie peeled the two items down her body, thought for a moment, then made sure to turn her ass towards the boys while she got naked from the waist down, giving them a good, warm look at her slit. It was a good thing she had gone a little crazy with the razor this morning, leaving only a little landing pad.

The boys let her dance for a moment, awestruck, eyes on the pink pussy flashing in front of them. It was a little embarassing, especially since she was dripping something fierce, the stimulation riding her wet-hot in front of them.

“You, uh, you have no problem with this,” Mark said.

“What?” Stephanie said, wrinkling her nose.

“You have no problem with this... because you’re a horny bimbo,” Peter broke in.

“Dude!” Mark said, turning.

“It only works if you give her a reason!” Peter hissed.

Stephanie smiled dimly at both of them. She felt much, much better. Things that had been kind of bothering her—why she was touching her tits, why she was naked, why she was leaking lubricant from between her legs—suddenly made a LOT more sense. She was a bimbo, and not a very bright one, judging by how she needed a good, strong man to give her some direction. She tried to keep up her dance routine, but her right hand kept snaking between her legs, scooping up fluid as her tired legs duly moved around. The Dance game had long ago flashed Game Over.

“Yeah, but you didn’t need to make her a stupid bimbo,” Mark grumbled. “It’s Stephanie. You could just say she needs to drink sperm to stay hydrated or something.”

“Ummmm,” Stephanie moaned, a sudden thirst hitting her. God, it had been... well, a long time, apparently, since her last drink of delicious boy. She needed to slurp something long and delicious, and get bathed in a flow of white fluid.

“Oh damn, I think she heard you say that,” Peter said. The boys watched Stephanie smile at them, and lick her lips. “Okay, I think I’m totally okay with fucking Stephanie.”

“Stephanie?” Mark said. He unzipped his shorts. “I know we’ve been bad about keeping you hydrated. So, anytime.”

Thank god! All that dancing had given her a serious thirst. Stephanie fell onto her knees, wiggling towards them, the shirt drenched through with sweat. Mark’s cock waggled before her, inviting and long, and she didn’t hesitate before wrapping her lips around it, a spongy hardness nearly hitting the back of her throat.

She sucked hard for the moisture. Mark gasped. “Ah, I produce more when you take your time!” he said, staggering.

Stephanie rubbed her tongue gently against the underside of his cock, practiced and slowly, concentrating on keeping her teeth out of the way. The trick to a long, lasting blowjob was to rock back and forth, letting the boy spooge your brains out, passively letting him treat you like a receptacle. That virtually guaranteed a fountain. Mark’s pubic hair nuzzled against her nose, and she suckled at his rod with delicate care.

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do?” Peter said. He had his cock out, as well. The floor beneath the three of them was getting wet with Stephanie drippings.

“I don’t know, man. Wait until I’m done,” Mark said. He gingerly put his hands on each side of Stephanie’s head, and urged her a little faster. She swirled her tongue up and down the tip, and was rewarded with a surge of white nectar. It tasted salty and sweet.

“Uhh. Stephanie, I need to, you know, hydrate... your pussy. There,” Peter said. Stephanie nodded the best she could with a cock in her mouth. That made a lot of sense. She could certainly use an injection, what with the hot streaks currently streaming down her leg.

She felt Peter gingerly put his hands on her ass, and a cockhead fumble back and forth around her slit. She gave him a helping hand, steadying the cock as he pushed forward into her insides.

Mark and Peter ended up facing each other.

“This is kind of awkward,” Mark said, thrusting gently into Stephanie.

“Lets just.. worry about the awkwardness later,” Peter said, pushing harder. He had his hands on Stephanie’s ass, sweaty palms struggling on a sweaty, sexy rear, a perfect half-moon curved to the best advantage.

For a moment, they all concentrated on assigned tasks. Stephanie as the sandwich between two childhood friends, the boys on pushing their dicks as far as they could into the formerly bossy girl.

“You know,” Peter said. “As a bimbo, you’re super-sensitive when you have sex, and cum incredibly hard.”

And she was a bimbo, Stephanie realized. No wonder she could feel every inch of Peter’s rod as it pushed against her from the inside, hard and insistent, sending her repeatedly to a black edge with the rough sensation.

“Dude, she’s losing the rhythm,” Mark hissed. “Lets clear this stuff together first. No more instructions. I don’t want her becoming an insatiable brainless cum-slut just because a guy is telling her to do something.”

A guy was telling her to do something. Stephanie’s mind whirled, draining gently around a bowl, as years slipped away. All that mattered now was the need for more cum, shot from hot guys, filling her to the brim with a white goo. She would do anything for another go, dress like a whore, do it in the bathroom, even go door-to-door if it was a Saturday and no one else was around. She wrapped her lips expertly around Mark, squeezed muscles she didn’t know she had around the base of Peter’s cock, and timed each thrust perfectly. The boys sped up too, helpless, grunting and spasming beneath an onslaught.

“Oh.. fuck..” Peter said, eyes closed. “What did you do to her?”

“I don’t... ahh!”

Mark came, flooding her mouth with a white stream, ropes blasting down her thirsty throat. Peter was next, dribbling hot and wet inside her slit. She milked them both clean, until both nearly collapsed, falling backwards. Smiling, Stephanie let herself orgasm, moaning and twisting in a last, erotic dance.

“Stephanie, ah, you usually fall asleep after a good hard fuck,” Peter gasped.

She smiled, closed her eyes, and fell right away.

The boys looked at her.

“What the fuck do we do now?” Peter said.

There was a feminine titter. Both looked up.

The ash-blonde there wore a pair of dark black pantyhose, thick black heels, and a perfectly white apron.

“My name is Tracy. I’d REALLY like to help you clean up this mess,” she said.

10:30 a.m. Sports

Whenever Bret told friends at other schools that he was dormmates with a substantial portion of the women’s gymnastics team, he got a similar reaction. A leer—or a virtual leer if online—some comment about the virtues of serious flexibility, and then something about how hot leotards could be if worn on a lightly perspiring girl. Erotic sheen. Etc.

They were all wrong. First, all three of the girls were stubby, even boyish. Sure, all three had aggressively toned rears. But that was about it. Second, none of them were at all interested in doing splits on top of his cock, or using him as a set of parallel bars. And finally, and worst of all, a lifetime of tapping out code on computers had given him the muscle tone and manly presence of a pile of rags, and every single one of the girls treated him accordingly.

Even now he had to struggle to keep up with them. Kristina led the way, her carefully combed and straight dark brown hair bouncing against her shoulders. Then Megan, her arms crossed, jet black hair tied back in a bun. Even Julie, who was maybe five foot two, easily outpaced him.

“Can we just pay and leave?” Megan complained. “We’ve got the lamp. We’ve done what we need to do. Lets just... get out of here.”

The four of them had made an outing to pick up a light for the trio’s dorm room. Bret had been invited because he had a car. He had not been asked to carry anything besides keys.

“Maybe I feel like a little shopping,” Kristina said, innocently.

“Kristina, I don’t know how you haven’t noticed, but this place is giving me the creeps,” Megan said. “Didn’t you see Women’s Apparel? Nobody was bothering to even make it to the changing rooms. It was... umm... very pink.”

They all stopped and remembered Women’s Apparel. Bret remembered it very fondly. Curvy, smiling women aching to be free of bras and tired old jeans, eagerly squeezing their way into everything short and tiny the store owned.

The girls paused, thoughtfully. Kristina, especially. A smile started to creep up the sides of her mouth. Pearly white teeth appeared. “I do remember it,” she said, slowly, from a great distance away. “Those girls certainly weren’t shy with their... bits...”

Kristina wasn’t dressed in her usual loose sweats. Actually, none of them were. Kristina had poured her ass into a set of jean shorts that had seen service in the 1990s, and the buttons on the back kept threatening to pop. She had also, for some reason, shown up in a towering pair of four inch heels with brown and black leather stripes. Megan had ditched her standard starving-artist leggings for a dark blue dress that clutched tightly at her midsection, then poofed out, with sparkles running down the side. The only halfway normal person was Julie, who had huddled inside of a cavernous sweater.

“Umm... actually, I was thinking of making a pit stop back over there,” Julie squeaked.

“What? Why?” Megan demanded.

Julie looked nervously from side to side. “You have to PROMISE not to tell Coach Anders,” she said, anxiously.

Then she simply picked up her sweater.

There were a lot of tits underneath.

“Holy shit, Julie!” Kristina exclaimed, then giggled. “Where did you pick those up? Look at those monsters!”

“Don’t laugh!” Julie said, near tears. “I.. I have no idea. I, I don’t know, basically woke up with them.”

Bret just stared. Julie yesterday was a surfboard. Julie today ballooned with firm handfuls of breasts, lightly tanned with nipples that poked right through an overstretched undershirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Bret wasn’t sure she owned bras. There had never been any practical point.

“And I think they’re still getting bigger,” Julie whispered. “I mean, I can feel them pulling me forwards.”

“We should head over to Gardening and get you a wheelbarrow,” Kristina said, marveling. “Wow. Those are melons. I’m not sure you even fit between the bars, now.”

“This isn’t funny, Kristina,” Megan said. She crossed her arms. “Okay. Since we’re sharing. And since something weird is going on... I’m also feeling kind of strange.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve popped out in knockers too,” Kristina said. Julie only now, and slowly, put her sweater back down.

Megan twirled. She gingerly pulled up the back of her dress. Bret swallowed. The girls didn’t seem to care that he was standing right there.

Megan had grown a spectacular ass. The dress had covered what were formerly boyish hips, and were now voluptuous sets of curves, running in all directions and only barely contained by an overstretched pair of panties. The elastic was tearing away from the cotton, and the entire overstressed fabric was dwarfed by the epic turn of her rear.

“It feels like I’m sitting on a pillow,” Megan said, anxiously. “I don’t know what happened. My entire center of gravity is off. Something is really wrong.”

Kristina couldn’t seem to stop giggling. “I’ll say, darlin’. You’re giving Bret here an AB-solute peep show.”

Megan reddened, twirled, letting the dress fall back around her rear end. She did carry herself with a certain lower center of gravity. And Julie looked like she was about to topple, weaving back and forth with the new weights on her chest.

“Well, gals,” Kristina said, still smiling. “Since we’re making all sorts of confessions, my feet feel kinda funny.”

She stepped out of her heels. Except... nothing changed. Her heels still towered in the air, like she was a ballerina. “Ican’t seem to push them down,” she remarked, unconcerned. “It’s like they want to be in heels.”

Megan looked at her quzzically. “You sound different,” she said, and shook herself. “Look, girls, lets get out of here.”

“After we get a new bra for Julie,” Kristina said.

“No, I mean... well....”

“I can hold the lamp if you girls want to shop some more,” Bret offered.

They all stared at him. It was like a dial had been turned. Moments before they had been three girls with a driver. Now they were three girls with a guy around. Julie smoothed down the front of her sweater, outlining the spreading lines of her new boobs.

“Sure you can handle it? It probably weighs five pounds,” Megan tried. But the venom just wasn’t there. “That’s, like, one more then four pounds.”

She handed him the box. Their fingers touched. Megan blinked.

“I’ll bet Bret can handle way more then that, huh?” Kristina cooed. “Why don’t you show us, big guy?”

They were right next to Sports.

Most of the items for sale were for youth soccer and youth baseball, but there was a lifting bench in the exact center of the marked out area, with a big red “FOR SALE” sign clipped to a barbell on the rack.

“Go ahead and lift it,” Kristina said, encouraging. “Lift that weight.”

All three of the girls watched him.

Bret walked over to the bar, and put both hands on the cool gritty metal of the grips. The steel shaft alone looked too heavy to pull.

But there WERE girls there...

Bret heaved. Small, residual lumps of muscle strained, awakened for the first time, immediately taxed beyond capacity. Even the extra weight of three girls eyeing him with curious expressions couldn’t cope with year after year of lifting computer mouses and aluminum cans.

The bar moved a half-inch.

Bret put it back down, heaving, exhausted. Embarrassed.

Kristina cleared her throat. “Okay. Uh. We’re going to get some shopping done. See you real soon, Bret!”

Humiliating. And he was still panting like an exhausted dog.

Bret took his shirt off. His chest was glue white, with a tuft of chest hair pasted on to the top, like a crafts project.

He got under the bar, on the bench. Testosterone flowed through him. He had a raging boner, and barely even noticed.

The bar went up. Bret held it over his head, startled.

A new energy flowed through him.

A sudden reprioritization and change. Diverting nutrients and energy away from stupid stuff like programming, memories of playing video games, and video game strategies, and into newly important things, such as looking and acting like an actual man with actual balls.

Muscles glowed, soaking in a new bath. Bret grunted, fiercely, and raised the bar up and over his head. His arms shook, and he ignored them.

The second set was even easier. He had broken out in a sweat, but it was a good sweat, a bath of hot heat that trickled down the expanding groups of biceps and deltoids and all other sets of muscle. Even his thoughts were redirected, simplified, running along streamlined paths that concentrated on weights, physical activities, and ruthlessly fucking girls.

A residual attraction for chess faded and died a quick death. Bret did another rep, and forgot entirely how the little horse shaped pieces moved. Who cared. Flip the board, beat up the nerd on the other side. That was motherfucking chess.

It was even getting easy to pull the weights over his head. Bret glanced down, was pleased to see the ridges taking shape on his chest. He was vaguely aware that this was unusual, as was the aching hardon, bigger then he remembered.

But he hardly cared.

He quietly worked the bar up and down, stopping only to add more weights. Then a little more.

The girls came back.

Julie was in the lead. She teetered like a top, oversized and ridiculous, and hadn’t helped things by finding a pair of short heels to wobble around in. Her tits were mashed together, and each unbalanced step sent them shaking and gyrating. The skin between felt hot and stretched. She felt hot and stretched. Her tits needed something on them, something to ease a faint, needy itch. She hadn’t found a bra that fit, so had just poured herself into a tube top. It didn’t cover much, but it did cover her nipples, and that was going to be enough. Thin khaki shorts reminded the world that she wasn’t all boob, she was just mostly boob.

Kristina was going blonde. Fast.

It had spread up half her hair, and the strands of brunette were bothering her, as she twirled and twisted the blinding yellow locks. Somewhere she had found a rhinestone-covered pair of shoes, in a deep wine red, that would’ve looked ridiculous if they weren’t so stunningly slutty. The trash didn’t stop with the shoes—she had paired her overstrained jean shorts with a tied-off flannel short, carefully constructed to encase her tits.

Megan... wore the same outfit. And was the only one with a hunted, concerned expression. Julie looked half-asleep, rubbing at her tits, and Kristina was smiling broadly.

Bret briefly took notice. He had just added ten more pounds. Muscles gleamed under a gloss of sweat.

“Well,” Kristina said, still twirling her hair. She sported a new nasal twang. “Look at this. Little boy Bret has been working out!”

Bret glared at her. He was still working on the new mental architecture, but he was fairly certain that girls were supposed to be begging for more inches of his cock. None of this teasing flirting nonsense.

“He’s... he’s so much bigger,” Megan said. “Like.. he’s... um... why is this so hard... he’s, like, DOUBLED in size or something.”

“Lets take him home,” Kristina said, eyeing his chest, appreciative. “Maybe have him perform. That sounds nice.”

Julie... was staring at his chest, too. It was running with rivulets of sweat. Her overtaxed brain, half converted into breasts, caught the scent of something in the air. Kristina and Megan were starting to feel it, too, and Megan’s legs started to spread apart of their own accord.

It smelled really good. It smelled like brainless nights of fucking, drooling on dicks, of black out orgasms, mewing for more cock. Addictive and scary. Julie, especially, needed it.

She ran a finger along Bret’s chest, through a new fur of chest hair, and came away dripping with sweat. She put a bit into her mouth, and massaged the rest into the exposed upper portion of her tits.

Julie whimpered. It tasted salty and delicious, and it was already starting to change her. New needs and desires. More sweat, fluid, scent. She started to rub at her nipples, and had a sudden sense that she would never really stop.

Kristina giggled, and put her hands on her hips. “Now that is adorable,” she cooed. “Julie’s got a boyfriend. Better put them in the bottom bunk, they’ll collapse the top one.”

Bret growled, to quiet her down.

It worked a charm. He sat up on the bench, then stood, glorying in the spray of musk and sweat. A few drops landed on Kristina’s chest, where they trickled down her bare midriff. Megan put her finger in her mouth, and sucked on it, worried, unable to move.

“Well, sugar, that is a very impressive, um, display,” Kristina said. “I’ll bet you could show a girl a, um, pretty good time, with all those... huge... glistening... muscles...”

Bret stood in front of the blonde. There was next to no brunette left, just a few roots, quickly dwindling away. And, up close, something was happening with Kristina’s lips. Not just the constant talking. They were plumping, thickening. It gave Bret an idea.

He gently put his hand on her hips and helped her onto her knees.

If she resisted, he didn’t really notice. Kristina knelt in front of him, still gamely talking, trying to flirt. Julie was already on her knees, a more comfortable position for her, anyway. She scooped more sweat from his leg, used it to melt another collection of unnecessary brain cells.

“This is very cute,” Kristina conceded, as Bret unzipped his pants. “But I don’t... I don’t... look, I’m sure you have a perfectly delicious cock... but...”

It flopped out. Before, it had been a pale, pink thing, an appendage he wanly abused. Now Bret’s cock was long and thick, and a musky odor slipped off the length and hit Kristina between the eyes. Already there was sticky goo spurting out the tip.

His foreskin was back. The new, simpler Bret made a note of that.

“Uhh... uhhh,” Julie said, reaching out to get more of any nectar that Bret dripped. He gently moved her away. The girl... what was her name... Kristina... needed to get her face fucked in a serious and personal way.

“Well.. that is a very... thick cock... sir...” Kristina said. She was mesmerized by it. Her mouth made a perfect O. And still she kept talking. Females. “But I’m really not the kind of girl... ooh... so drippy..”

Bret gently fed her the prong in his hand. She didn’t resist, although her eyes widened as Kristina gradually took inch after inch in her mouth, letting it slide to the back of her throat and wrapping her tongue around the entirety of the thing. It looked like she should choke, her lips stretched wide nearly to the base, but the new blonde was up for it, and jacked her mouth as far as she could.

It felt nice. It felt... appropriate. Having a blonde nuzzle on his cock while he stood shirtless, sweating, basking in the pleasant afterglow of a workout. Feeding her white drizzle, and feeling her response go from surprise, to delight, to need and addiction. Julie huddled in, supporting her tits, and worked what she could into the crevasse of her breasts.

“What’s happening to you? To us?” Megan said. The girl had found a chair, fanning herself, taking deep breaths of spunk and heat with each labored breath. She was nearly panting. “This is.. this is insane..god, I’m dripping.”

She spread her legs, pushed up on the curves of her ass, and gently fingered at the soaking wet cotton stretched over her rear.

Bret’s nostrils flared. New sensory apparati kicked in. Here was the dominant female. Forget the other two—fit mostly for guzzling sperm and some light tit-fucking. There was a new perfume in the air that lit up his soggy, testosterone-fueled brain. An insistent need that he inseminate this one first, bring this one to shrieking heights first, and let her have first dibs on any sperm he produced.

He disengaged the mewing, shaking Kristina, and nudged in Julie to let them finger each other to a second-best orgasm.

Megan’s dress was hiked up around her ass. The pillowed rear gently lifted her up, made it easy to fuck her where she sat, legs spread wide and shoes dangling from her feet. She focused on his cock, of course. It swung between his legs, confident, and the two marinated in the intelligence-sapping goo wafting in the air.

Megan was still fighting it. “C’mon, Bret. We don’t need to fuck.. and fuck... and fuck... We can just go back to fuck. I mean, you don’t want to tear my underwear off. It’ll take you seconds.”

Little bits of Bret started to pull back. What WAS he doing? He was a computer... typer... guy... not this musclebound stallion.

“Besides,” Megan said. “I’m ovulating right now..”

Bret licked his lips. He pushed forward, and Megan, protesting aside, reached down to pull her panties just far enough aside. She had a thatch of fur, and that just made him harder, glistening wet with a spray of lubricant.

He pushed into her, and they both gasped, overwhelmed with sensation, moving on automatic as tattered brain cells were relentlessly assaulted. Megan’s breaths came out in short bursts, her eyes rolling, body tensed and hard beneath the weight of his cock.

Bret picked the girl up, effortlessly, like she weighed nearly nothing. They were joined together like animals, humping and moaning, her nails biting into his back.

Beneath them, Kristina and Julie fingered each other and looked resentful.

Megan’s ass was too tempting a target. Bret spun her onto the weight bench, still slick from his sweat, and raised her up in a half-crouch for his cock. She backed into him, mindless and rutting now, coaxing spurts of sperm from an already half-spasming dick. It mixed and coagulated on her slit, an effortless lubricant for him to pound hard into the hole in her perfectly shaped butt.

Her pussy squeezed him, totally concerned only with getting filled to the brim with his sperm. Bret let it go, luxuriating in the fierce bursts, feeling it flow out and around as the entirety of her slit was filled with spurts of cum.

She collapsed, exhausted. The other two females—what were their names again?—converged on him to lick up what was left.

Brute collected his females. Ass was permitted to walk at his side. Her thighs dripped with his spunk, as was her right. Lips a step behind, of course, still giggling softly to herself. And then Tits, dazed and happy after an epic flood from an enthusiastic titjob.

He considered something, lips moving. “What was your name?” he said, to Ass. “Be-fore?”

She shrugged. It didn’t really matter.